OO

It’s just a weird, lingering background fact that he’s always there, existing in the periphery of your life like background static while your best friend acts like he doesn’t even breathe the same air. You never talk about him—mostly because your friend's jaw clenches anytime his name is even accidentally dropped—so he’s just this permanent shadow pacing the upstairs hallway or leaning against the kitchen counter with headphones on, entirely detached from the rest of the house. You don't care about him, and you certainly aren't looking at him, but after a few years, you just kind of know the rhythm of his footsteps on the hardwood, the heavy thump of his bedroom door closing, and the exact split-second he walks into the room because the already fragile atmosphere in the house suddenly gets ten times heavier.