"Are you cold?"

"What? No, I'm not. It's July."

"Sit down then," With a confused look, Pierre did as Ethan told him, exhaling the smoke. Ethan followed him and looked at Pierre. They were staring into each other's eyes. Until Ethan took Pierre's hands, making him look down. Pierre grabbed his hand tighter and shut his eyes. Ethan could only guess what the other one was thinking. He knew Pierre had problems, all of them had problems, not only their alcoholism and almost-everyday joints. He honestly thought that the alcohol and weed were just consequences of problems. Drinks, weed and cigarettes were an escape for a band of teenagers that somehow got along. What a comedy. He didn't even really remember how they met and when they became closer than their actual families. Much closer. Pierre's face and a single tear snapped him out of his thoughts. Oh, fuck. This was bad. He never saw Pierre cry. He was always the coolest and most popular among them. Wearing his leather jacket, playing guitar, having long hair, just acting and looking like a 90's rockstar and doing all the other things Ethan adored. He was always there for everybody. He was the strongest of them. Fuck, it was him who was comforting Ethan minutes ago. He was wild, bold and never gave a fuck. He was the one that was fighting for them. He may was the reason why they were still fucking alive and together. Why didn't Ethan think about this earlier? Why the fuck? His brain was suddenly screaming at him. He should say something. He should do something. This wasn't right. What is this? His head hurt. His heart also. His whole body was in pain. No. Not now. Pierre needed him. No. He couldn't do this. He needed to be strong. C'mon. But what the fuck should he do? Hug him? Pierre didn't like contact like this. Ask him? Yeah, and he will get another lie saying that it's just bad lighting and nothing's wrong. Fuck his overthinking. Fuck all of this. Next thing he knew, Pierre's head was buried in his sweater and Ethan was trying not to tangle his cigarette into his hair.

"Thank you. Thank you. I'm so-"

"Don't even try to say sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about, Pierre. Neither something you should be thankful for right now, okay?"

What a comedy this was. It felt like a movie. Straight up from Hollywood. Just the image, two boys in love are comforting and supporting each other, with the pretty stars above their heads, that are filled with joy from life, even though they have little issues. Except it was more of a depressed boy and his, unfortunately just friend that was a little anxious and needed a hug, the stars weren't visible, their minds were rather interested in the thought that they were on the balcony than optimism and the little issues were just their families basically disowning them and little addiction to alcohol and tobacco. Yeah, straight up from Hollywood. His mind was cruel for this.

"Shouldn't we tell Lana and Harry that we're okay?"

"You want to?"

"Not really. You?"

"Then no," Ethan took a drag out of cigarette. He wanted to ask what was wrong but what if...What if it's something he can't deal with? What if Pierre asks the same question? What if he just needs some space? His thoughts went on and on, until he couldn't take it anymore. Maybe he will break his strongest friendship, but if so, fuck it. Like, what was the worst thing that could happen? He would just lose his best friend, nothing he couldn't take. At least it sounded like this in his head. When he decided to speak, his voice was hoarse and shaking. The hoarseness was probably due to the cigarette though.

"Want...Do you wanna tell me the problem?"

"Do you want to hear it?"