The day had started off great. We had the week off and that meant I didn't have to worry about silly history or French classes. I was practically bouncing with energy and the need to do something fun was bubbling inside me. Of course, I couldn't do anything awesome without my pal Gene, so I walked off to our shared room.

"Geeeeeene!" I sang as I burst through the door.

Instead of a greeting or even an acknowledgment, I was met with silence. Gene was sitting on his bed, his legs pulled up to his chest and his head resting on his knees. His eyes stayed closed and did not even flutter at my loud outburst. Right away, I could tell something was wrong.

"Gene?"

As if suddenly waking up from a trance, Gene moved, blinking several times. Dazed, he looked at me and it took him a few seconds to respond.

"Oh. Hey, Finny."

The energy I was feeling earlier waned down to curiosity and worry. Gene never really was much for talking, but even this was unusual for him. His voice was monotone and sounded almost emotionless. Almost. There was something laced in his voice, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I knew he wouldn't tell me if there was something wrong, so I became determined to find out.

"What's wrong? Do you wanna talk about it?"

The moment I asked the question, his whole demeanor changed. Lips pursed and fingers clenched, his hands balling up to fists at his sides. Suddenly, he moved off the bed and began walking towards the door

"I need some fresh air," I heard him mutter

He brushed past me, and before he could reach the door, I grabbed his wrist and held on tight. His head whipped around to meet my gaze and his posture stiffened. His eyes flickered, as if challenging me to do something.

So I did. I started to tickle him.

Gene is probably one of the most ticklish people I have known. I had first found out when we were roughhousing one day. We had struggled in equal strength for some time before I had gained the upper hand and had come out on top. In victory, I had poked him in the stomach, playfully joking that he was as slow as a turtle. Instead of a witty comment, he had let out a very un-Gene-like giggle. With the knowledge of this secret, I tickle him whenever he gets sad or moody. Like I did then.

Naturally, Gene tried to escape. His mouth was firmly clamped close and he squirmed in my hold over him. His resolve did not last long. My fingers were relentless, and soon, he gave in. Giggles erupted from my friend and I started to smile.

"That's the spirit Gene!"

He laughed like crazy and swatted at my hands, but without success. I tickled his neck and he ducked his head down, laughter on his lips.

"I'll show you the spirit!"

Before I knew it, the tables were turned on me. His hands reached for my sides and I felt his fingers before I let out giggles myself.

"Oh now you'll get it!"

I'm sure that anyone who happened to walk pass our door at that time would have wondered what the hell was going on. We were making such a racket, our laughter filling the room. I couldn't tell whose giggles were whose anymore.

At that instant, there was no one else in the world. It was just me and him. Nothing else mattered.

Our struggle for dominance had moved to my bed. The tickle war went on and I was winning. I was on top of him, tickling him mercilessly, when he started to shout, "Stop! Stop! You win! Please, just stop."

Gene's plea was the white flag of surrender, and I obliged. I sat on his stomach, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He just looked up at me with narrowed, but playful eyes.

"Get your 150 pounds off me."

"Scoot your 140 pounds over. Taking up all the room and it's my bed!"

Gene made room for me and I lied next to him. The bed wasn't big to begin with, so we were squished, our shoulders pressed together. Gene and I lied together in silence, trying to catch our breaths. After a few moments, Gene broke the peace.

"I didn't get a letter from my brother." He stopped, looking as though he was lost for words. But I did not press him. I said nothing, and waited patiently for him to continue. Gene took a big breath and started again.

"On the 1st of every month, I receive a letter from my brother. He has sent me letters ever since I started attending Devon. It's something between us. Even when he…even when he was drafted and sent off to the war, he never stopped. He's supposed to be stationed somewhere in Europe. And I- not getting a letter- I'm – what if it means-"

It's weird how quickly the mood in a room can change. One second, it can be a light and happy as our harmonious laughter. The next, it can be heavy like a tank. The tension hung like thick smoke in the air. Yet, I wonder if it was there all along. We just chose to ignore. Only now did Gene's brother remind us of what we had always known, but quietly tried to forget about.

"It doesn't mean anything Gene. Maybe he is just busy. For all you know he could be on some top secret mission. Assigned by the president himself!"

Gene smiled bitterly. "Yeah. Or maybe he's too busy shooting some Nazi's head off."

I turned my head towards him. I could feel him against my shoulder. I could practically feel the anxiety rolling of Gene. It seeped into my skin and ran through my blood. I didn't like the feeling. I didn't want Gene to be sad. If he was sad, it made me sad.

He must have felt my stare because he turned his head towards me and our eyes locked, blue meeting brown. We were so close I could see the specs of green that dotted his irises and the sorrow that flooded his eyes. I nudged him and said, "Everything will be alright. You'll see." I didn't know if everything would be alright. But it should be alright. It wouldn't be fair to Gene if it wasn't.

Gene licked his dry lips and another unnamable emotion flashed across his features. But it wasn't the same emotion that had infiltrated his voice though. It was different.

So gently I could barely hear it, Gene whispered, "I believe you."