Childhood Best Friend (bxb)

So My Neighbour's Mom Didn't Come Home.

He's holdning around himself, shivering like crazy. He's wearing a single tank top and skinny jeans -- In white January!

It was something very familiar about him. I must have seen him before somewhere. He couldn't be a stranger. Then it suddenly hit me.
He had grown up.

"Owen?" I squinted, I wasn't sure it was him.

"Yeah, hi, can I come in?" He asks frazzled, and walk in anyway before I could answer.

I guess it's Owen, then --the neighbor I haven't been in contact with since I was eleven. Why was he here? Now? He literally lives a hundred meters away. Was he locked out or something?

I follow him up to my room and give him a wool sweater of mine and a blanket. He sits on my bed, looking around in my room, small shudders coming from time to time. He looks at my long desk with my stacks of science books and notes, then he turns to my Star Wars posters that has hanged there since we were kids. I remember he used to comment on how stupid it was that I'd placed the posters in random order and not by the 'correct' order. He moves his stare around in the room, studying it as if it was sacred. Or as if it had been a long time since last time.

He's two years older than me, nineteen now, I suppose. He's changed a lot --his dark hair is longer, almost down to his shoulders. His body, his face, reminds me of my own changes, though he has a lot more facial hair than me, even though it's really patchy and thin. I remember as kids he told me he was never ever going to have a beard like his dad had. Now he looks just like I remember his dad was, just a little younger. Such a strange thing to see.

We were friends as kids. Good friends, I recall. 'The sweet neighbour boys', the adults called us. At times, I felt he was my only real friend. We played together all the time. Then we stopped.

We stopped seeing each other after some family drama of his some years ago. His parents didn't love each other the way mine did, he had told me. I was ten when we just stopped hanging out. I was told we grew apart and that it's hard for two opposites to stay friends. Never understood any of it, though.

"You're just gonna stand there in that towel forever?" Owen suddenly asks, and you would've thought it was sarcastic, but the way he said it made it all so serious.

I just completely forgot about it. My towel around my hips, I mean.

"Um, no..." I mumble as I turn and walk to my closet.

I open it, but hesitate to do anything. I don't want to change in front of him. Like, why the hell is he even here?

"Oh, I'll turn around," he mutters and I see him turn his back against me of the corner of my eye.

I'm relieved he took the hint and then let myself drop the towel. While getting dressed, I say;

"So, um, last time I talked to you was seven years ago..."

Owen cracks, finding it somewhat funny.

"Don't be so dramatic, we've talked sometimes --what about the dinner party?" He says as if us talking little together was an issue.

I guess he's right, we've chatted briefly times when I've seen him at my runs in the woods, chitter chattering about routes and nature and the weather and stuff. But the dinner party? two years ago? He didn't even look at me, so how could he even bring that up as an example?

"Sure... but why are you here now?" I ask, putting on sweatpants.

"Because you let me in," Owen answer and I can't tell if he meant it seriously or not.

I continue dressing and finished in silence. Then I turn and go over to the young man with the patchy beard in the wool blanket. He turns back at me when he figured I was done and we look at each other.