[ WP ] `` Do you still think about what you did ? ''

`` Not until you just asked,'' he chuckles back. The laugh is a little too boisterous for the man, the answer a little too swift for the stoicness he so exemplifies. 
 
 `` Come on,'' I chide. `` I'm serious,'' I lean forward at him, fiddling with the beer can. In my experience, inebriated on a moonlit night is the best time to be serious. It coaxes the truth out of people. Must be something to do with reducing inhibitions. 
 
 `` Look, Diane,'' the worry lines form across his face, creases appearing in familiar places. A face he'd made far too many times. `` I do not want to talk about it.'' 
 
 `` Well, you've clearly been thinking about it,'' I shrug. `` First thing that came to your mind.'' On another night I would've dropped it, the same dance we'd made a million times before. I prodded the campfire with a stick and watched as the flames flickering across his face changed positions. He looked grim one second, pensive the next, and I was n't certain whether it was a trick of the light. 
 
 `` I did what I had to do. I do not need to be poked and prodded about it. Especially not by you,'' he said, pointedly. He tossed aside his can of beer and reached for another. 
 
 `` You ca n't keep it all bottled up like that,'' I inch my chair closer to him, the plastic legs scratching into the gravel. `` One day it's all going to come out, and it wo n't be pretty.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, well, cross that bridge when we come to it,'' he swigs another beer. 
 
 `` Fine,'' I sigh. `` I think the marshmallows are done anyways.''
