Burning Heart ▹ CIAMPA [COMPLETED]

20 ▹ steady

IT was morning and we were at the airport, and I had made sure that — this time — my seat was next to Tommaso again. Over this short weekend, I realized that — by now — I spent a lot of time watching Tommaso, especially from the distance.

Our plane was announced to now be ready to board, so we all headed that way and, using Tommaso as my guide, I headed his way. This place only had two seats than three, so we got lucky this time. I came to him and handed over my suitcase. Again, he was confused.

"Swapped seats again?" he asked and I shook my head. "Dammit. Did Johnny tell you where I was sitting?" I nodded with a smile. I think that I'm slowly ruining their friendship little by little, whatever is left of it.

Nevertheless, he took my suitcase and threw it up top. I slid in, taking the window-seat, while I took the outside seat again. I placed my backpack on my lap and began to get comfortable for our three-hour trip back.

He sat down next to me and, just like I was, he was also trying to get comfortable, too. I didn't bother him while he did this and he didn't bother me, either.

Eventually, five minutes had passed when the captain announced himself over the intercom and all that good stuff. Then, we were taking off and we hadn't even spoken to each other yet. It was weird, even for us.

Finally, after about a good fifteen minutes of not speaking to one another, he shook his head and slapped his knees with his flat hands. "Why aren't you talking to me?"

He was becoming frustrated and I didn't know rather to find humor in it or not. He expected to speak and, when I didn't, it was running him up a wall. Or, in our case, out of this plane.

I smirked at him and asked: "What do you want me to say?"

He shook his head, took a deep and heavy breath, and replied: "I don't know. I just want you to talk to me."

I felt the bond between us coming closer together and, not only that, but the strings that were being stitched back together again. For once, he wanted me to speak to him and, just this once, I didn't want to. Maybe the swings would continue to always be broken and we will never be whole again.

"I don't know what to say to you," I confessed and my cheeks filled with red. "For once."

"Just talk to me," he whispered and leaned back, resting his head on the chair. He was looking down at me, like he was lost in my trance or something. "Tell me everything that I don't know."

"But you already know everything," I countered, keeping my eyes on his orbs. "What is it that I don't know about you, though?"

He shook his head and whispered back: "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My past doesn't define the man that I am today."

"Just like the man that Pete used to be isn't who he is now," I countered and he didn't seem to like that much. "Who I once was isn't who I am now, either. I'm different."

"I want you to talk to me, but," he paused and sighed, "I don't want to hear Pete's name today. Not today, maybe another day, but not today."

"Okay," I simply agreed and gulped. I had to think of something quick to follow that up with. "Then, what do we talk about?"