Life's problems were better solved by candlelight, I had come to find out recently. Whether that be a difficult translation of some old Greek passage, or figuring out an alibi for when the cops came banging on your door and interrogated you about the murder of your friend.

It has occurred less than 12 hours ago. The sense of impending doom had already set. Henry had told everyone to go home, "read a book," and not speak to each other. So, I did exactly that– I went home.. But not for long.

I showed up on your doorstep, canvas bag full of Greek works and my favorite novels. Neither of us had to say a thing. You knew why I was here, what I wanted. And you wanted the same thing.

So, we curled up on the couch with a few of the books I had brought– You, with The Great Gatsby, my favorite, and I with some old novel by Camus I didn't bother to remember the name of.

Boundaries were blurred. By what, I didn't know, but they were blurred. The two of us sat closely, with my arm resting on the back of the couch and you tucked right under my arm. Our thighs were smushed together, bodies leaning on the other's. It was new, unusual.. But very comfortable.