You laughed, loudly, jabbing him in the arm.

He was always making jokes. Most of the time you loved them, and now was definitly one of those times. But you always, always remember that in a moment, he could take that back, and just ruin that moment. You keep quiet, in fear of ruining this moment.

You looked around, smiling at the falling leaves. It was Fall, and the crisp leaves, fallen from the trees were crunching beneath each footstep the two of you took. You paused, barely listening to him anymore as you inhaled the cool air. A breeze rolled by, flicking you hair up from it's normal position.

You huffed, scratched your head and fluffed it back into place. Rolling your eyes, you look over at him. You could never tell what he was thinking behind those shades of his, but you grinned anyway. You always liked to make up stories, though. Sometimes it got the better of you, and you turned a good situation into a rather awkward one, for you, anyway.

You let go of his hand to reach up and ruffle his hair.

You're going to ruin it, he claims.

You never do.

It's near impossible to ruin those spikes. You're not even sure how he gets them to be like that.

You ask him if he's chilly, as he never brings out his jacket. He shakes his head. Mentions how Striders don't get cold, and he could verify that when the snow falls.

You roll your eyes and elbow him in the side. You're pretty sure that he's going to get shivers someday. Everyone gets shivers, right?

He starts walking again, and you follow like a lost puppy. Asking where you two are going ever couple of minutes, to each a response of 'places.'

You're starting to get a little fed up with that answer. Shoving your hands deep into your pockets, you stick your tongue out at the back of his head.

Stick it out any more and a bee might sting it, is always his remark.

Usually, you would follow that up by telling him it's too cold for bees this season, and the silence falls.

This time there was no response.

He looks back and remembers, you were never there.

He had never had the chance to see you, face to face.

Not really, anyway.

He was too late, and every day his heart ached with regret.

I'm sorry, he whispers.

You tell him it's okay.