Kevin Day

Kevin left for night practice at 1 a.m. Aaron heard the door slam and the engine of Andrew's Maserati start. He wasn't sleeping, of course. He almost never slept when Kevin wasn't around.

The dorm room seemed empty. Too big. Too quiet.

Aaron sat on his bed in his room, hugging his knees and looking at the clock. Every minute seemed to drag on endlessly. He counted them, but lost track because his thoughts kept returning to the same thing: "When will he be back?"

He hated this feeling. The weakness that crawled beneath his skin. The dependence that made him want to howl. Aaron hadn't been like this before. He used to not care whether anyone was there or not. But Kevin had broken something inside him, and now the silence weighed heavily on his shoulders.

He heard every sound: the hum of the refrigerator, the wind outside, his own breathing. But he didn't hear Kevin's footsteps. He didn't hear his voice.

Two hours. Three. Four.

Aaron barely moved. He'd occasionally curl his fingers in his lap until his knuckles turned white and bite his lip until it bled.

As dawn broke outside, Aaron heard the sound of a car pulling up. His heart skipped a beat. He jumped to his feet, numb, and ran to the door.

He opened it wide without even checking who had come.

Kevin stood in the doorway, tired, his jacket wet, his hair disheveled. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn't have time.

Aaron lunged at him, crashing into him, wrapping his arms around his neck, pressing his whole body against him. So tightly that Kevin staggered backwards.

"Aaron?" Kevin was confused. He didn't understand what was happening. But his arms were already hugging him back—awkwardly, tiredly, but tightly. "What happened?"