"Hey, wait up!" I called, jogging up to meet his pace. He continued forward, his barren expression giving nothing away. Despite knowing it was for the best, I felt guilt. That I had lied about Scott, that it was me and not him who had gone. Guilt that I hadn't noticed earlier, "Are you alright?"

"I know you do not actually care for a proper answer," Scott said, the words void of emotion. We stepped onto the cracked cement platform of the train station, an advertisement playing in the background, "So I will not waste my time and energy answering,"

"I do care," I said, wondering if somehow he knew what had happened. But in truth, I was worried about him. Although he was blunt, harsh, arrogant and often times wouldn't keep his mouth shut, he was one of the very few friends I had, something I didn't want to lose.

"Don't lie," he said, staring ahead at the adjacent wall. He closed his eyes as if thinking about something deeply, before continuing, "You're a bad liar. Now do us both a favor and refrain from talking to me,"

Although this had not been the first time Scott had told me to stop talking, it was the first time that I listened. And I stopped.

When the train arrived I did not speak to him. As it went from station to station I spoke no words or asked any questions. He remained silent, staring out the window with empty eyes. And when it reached our station, there were no words exchanged.

The elevator ride was silent, aside from the robotic woman announcing our arrival at my floor. As I stepped off, I turned around, to try and say something. But as the doors closed and I met Scott's eyes, he gave me a brief head shake.

I walked down the hall to my room, a dark feeling resting at the bottom of my heart.

I flashed my watch against the scanner, which worked as if it were my card. It gave a satisfied beep, flashing green as I heard the door unlock. Might this have been a different circumstance, I would have been so pleased with the new technology. But all my mind could seem to wander to was Scott.

Opening the door, I was met with an odd sight in front of me. Jake had already arrived home, still in his sturdy uniform, aside from his helmet and gloves. He sat at the kitchen table where a pristine fake flower hung out of a transparent vase.

He had a piece of paper, his large hands folding it delicately on angles. For a moment, I forgot what I had been thinking, instead perplexed at the sight in front of me. The way a man supposed to be feared for his work, in deep concentration on a delicate fold.

"Hey," I said, closing and locking the door behind me. He looked up, his boring blue eyes staring at me with a look of guilt.

"Shit, sorry... I forgot to make dinner," he said. I ignored him, too tired for an argument and too stressed from a days work to even handle one. I sat down across from him, looking at the oddly folded paper.

"What're you doing?" I asked, slipping off my jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair. His eyes brightened slightly, as he turned back to the paper.

"Origami... although it's just a paper plane," he muttered, however, I didn't fully understand what some of the words meant. He must've sensed my confusion, continuing, "Origami is an old Japanese word... means folding paper. Have you made a paper plane before?"

I shook my head, as he grabbed a piece of paper from a nearby pile, before handing it to me. I had now been distracted from my worries, instead curious about what he was making. He finished folding his piece, and I watched in silence.

He folded a triangle on top of another, his thumb running along the edges to sturdy them. After two, he flipped the paper over, folding the ends into more triangles. He stared at me, a childish smile on his face as he pressed the paper together, before placing his hands at the bottom.

"Watch this," he said, bringing his arm back with the plane in hand, before throwing it forward.

I flinched, ducking away for a moment, but the paper plane glided through the air. I turned around in my chair, staring in awe as it sailed through the kitchen as if something was guiding it. It spun in the air, before slowly drifting to the ground.

He walked over, picking it up and handing it to be. Hesitantly, I took the plane from him. He nodded for me to try. I gripped the folded paper, mimicking his action, before throwing the flimsy paper forward.

It dived towards the floor, before dipping up mere inches from crashing. It slowed to a stop as it reached the top, before diving down once more. It curled around, flying into the living room before hitting the television and falling to the ground.

"How did you make that?" I asked, still amazed at what I was looking at. He smiled and walked back over to the table. I followed, sitting down across from him. He placed a paper in front of him, smiling at me. He clearly seemed to be passionate about this.

"So first, fold it in half, but on the small side, so you have a longer strip," he folded it in half, so it was now 11" by 4", which I copied. The ends were uneven, unlike Jakes, which were perfectly folded. He reached across the table, unfolding my piece, "It's important to make it as perfect as you can, or it might be unbalanced, here,"

He began to fold it in half once more, lining up the ends up the top. Then, lining up the ends of the bottom, before running his thumbnail along the crease and handing it back to me. He then went back to his own paper, unfolding it, which left a straight line down the middle.

"Now, at the top, we have to fold two triangles down like you were bookmarking a book like a monster," I smiled at the metaphor, remembering the 6 of diamonds he had used for a bookmark earlier. I recalled seeing the folded corners of pages in the library, wondering why someone might crease a book like that. Damage a page when it is unneeded.

I folded the corners of the paper, following what Jake had said, and leaned in close. I lined up the edge of the corner to the line I had made earlier, before doing the same. He was smiling at me as if a teacher proud of a student. My face turned red, realizing how stupid I must seem for not knowing how to fold paper.

"Now we do the same, but it will be a smaller triangle," he repeated the same movement, and I followed his hand movements, still ensuring that I was keeping it as exact as possible. It was almost meditative, simple movements and rituals, but not quite so easy that it would require your mind to wander, "Then, flip it over and do the same,"

Already I was improving in my folds, and although they were not as perfect as Jakes, it resembled the plane I had just thrown earlier. Finishing the final creases, I mirrored Jake's action and used my thumbnail to secure the folds. He unfurled the sides of the paper, revealing the wings and bottom to hold.

I did the same and watched as my crude folds turned into a paper plane. He smirked at my childish excitement and making something so small. I stood up, throwing my plane into the air. And just as before, it glided, hovered, and swiveled around furniture before it slid into the hallway, coming to a halt.

Jake stood up, taking a step forward, leaning his body back before throwing it as far as he could. It zoomed through the air, a small loop upside down, and before it rammed into the kitchen cupboard, he ran forward and caught it.

"Try and catch it," he said, and before I could respond he once again threw the paper aircraft. It flew to the living room, as I quickly scurried to the other side of the sofa, catching it before it hit the TV. I reached down, picking up my paper plane from earlier. The nose was bent, and I straightened it out.

"Your turn," I said, smiling, as I held the two paper planes in each hand, "Try and catch them,"

I drew both arms back, before throwing them forward. One plane went high into the air, before nosediving into the floor. He ran for it, reaching his arm out, but missed it as the nose crunched, hitting the wood. The second one glided over to the entrance door, slowly than before, and doing a small curve towards the kitchen. He ran forward, reaching out and grabbing the paper mid-flight.

"I have an idea," he said, his eyes bright with excitement. It almost reminded me of the childlike curiosity I often saw in Scott. He darted to the table, sitting down. The sun had begun to set, golden orange, pink, and yellow rays shone into the room. I turned on the lights, sitting down at the kitchen table. He continued, handing me a small pile of paper, "Let's make a bunch,"

I decided not to question it. Up until I had walked through the door, I had been in a miserable mood. Despite visiting someone new, seeing something most could not, and receiving technology early, I had betrayed someone. I lied to Scott, and it was clear he was not doing well. And although it wasn't my fault, it couldn't stop me from this crawling guilt.

As the sun set, the golden array of warm colors fading to darkness, we continued to make planes. Jake had made more than me, and faster. A few times I had asked him to help me, as I hadn't exactly memorized how to make them yet. But as it was growing dark, we had made upwards of thirty.

"Follow me—oh and take some planes," he said, scooping up a large heap of planes. I lifted the remaining few, as he opened the glass sliding door. I followed, the cold night air hitting my face, as we both dropped the planes on the ground.

The dark city was lit up with lights, neon signs blinking in the distance, train headlights, transport trucks and people enjoying their nights in the nearby apartment buildings. I took in a breath of the late-night air.

Jake picked up a plane, a grin on his face as he drew back his hand. There was a moments pause, just listening to the whistling of the wind as it sped through the unnatural shapes of buildings. Then, he brought his arm forward.

The plane slipped from his hand, the wings picking up on the air, gliding from the balcony. I ran over to the edge, gripping the metal railing and staring out. The white paper was almost a light in itself cast against the dark blanket of night.

It dipped down to a story below, a loop as it continued forward. It was as though the plane was dancing in the empty expanse of sky, sailing like a train on tracks. It began to fly forward now, no spins or turns, as I watched it float to the ground.

He picked up two planes, as I did the same. Drawing his arms back and setting them free once more. I did the same, going against the impulse to not throw anything off. I watched as the planes drifted down, seeming to curve around invisible obstructions in its path.

For the last few hours, we stood there in silence. Throwing the planes we had folded off the balcony, not worrying about the issues of the day, the problems we shared, and the situation we were placed in. Merely existing in the moment, experience the idea of being free in a void, gliding on the air with no idea of where you will land.

And there was something oddly serene and pure about it.