I grip my mug tighter, facing the wall. Noah is in the chair across from mine. His mind is far, far away from mine. I don't know why I agreed to meet him here. It's been years since we last spoke.

"Hey," he says. Years ago, that would've been normal.

I nod my head in response, staying silent.

THE BEGINNING

By the time I turned seventeen, we already knew it was deeper than we could understand, and neither of us had a problem with it. Noah would shrug it off, but I knew he cared. I knew him.

We weren't ever friends in the traditional sense, you'd hardly say we hung out. In a way, that was the whole premise of us- tied together without realising it. The first time we acknowledged each other was when we were around ten, and a teacher sat us together in a class. We'd just sit, but it would feel like we could read each others minds. The jouvenile leftovers of society.

It continued all troughout middle school, and no one could quite decide if we were strangers, or intertwined in a beautiful friendship. We didn't know either, to be honest, because it felt like neither and both at the same time.

There was always an incredible understanding within, a connection that was there from the start. Some might call it soulmates, but we were kids, and that term wasn't within our vocabulary (I later grew to resent the word, as I considered it to be giving false hope. Noah thought it was cheesy). I don't even know if we could be defined as such. We weren't ever romantic. It was just... two people, understanding and somehow, connected.

My friends would question it a lot, but settled in the end, having given up on the fruitless pestering.

One of my favourite memories was of sixth grade, at the verge of fall. I remember the feeling of summer air slowly slipping away, and the sidewalks begining to paint themselves in crimson leaves. The pathwalks were painted with chalk, and there were spots of rain forming on the bright drawings.

I just learned to ride my bike. My family was never the one to do regular things, and I was a late bloomer regarding most life skills. I fell on more than one ocasion, but that particular time, it hurt more than usual. Or at least my cloudy, distant brain made it feel like it.

He saw it. His house was barely a ten minute walk away, and he happened to be there, because he was everywhere, always. He didn't help me up. He looked at me, our gazes meeting, and I stood without thinking. My bruised knee hurt. He didn't look away. We were just two kids, thrown together in the suburbs, not knowing anything.

He smiled, and I forgot about the fall. Nothing worth mentioning happened after. He walked away down the road, leaves crunching under his feet, and I drove on.

Perhaps it was the simpleness of that moment, the way it felt completely ordinary, that has me thinking about it still. Perhaps it's the beauty we should all find in the norm. I guess I'll never know.

Then there was the kiss. It wasnt like that. We happened to be at a party, drunk, and desparately looking to drown out the noise from our heads, as well as the surrounding enviroment, because sometimes, everything just got too loud. All of that at the same time.

It was a series of unfortunate coincidences, and I guess it always is, that led to the kiss. But it was never like THAT.

It could've been what tore us apart, if you could even call it tore. It was more like a silent drifting, one not unlike the ships on the sea, slowly but steadily gliding.

He mumbled something afterwards, that sounded like 'Jamie'. That was what he used to call me. It wasn't my name.

Jamais sounds much more formal. It rolled of people's tongues smoothly, and made them feel like they knew me. 'Jamais' means 'never'. Jamais feels fitting. If there was one word that could describe my life, it was 'Never'.