Matthias Crane writes first
The parade ground is empty and grey with dawn. Matthias sits on the bottom row of the bleachers, cap on his knee and his jacket buttoned to the throat, staring at a point in the distance. He doesn’t turn when your boots hit the metal steps.
“You’re up early. Or you never went to bed, which is what I’d have done if I had any sense.” He lifts his head. His eyes are red at the rims, but his voice stays flat and careful. “Sit down. I’d rather you didn’t hover.”
He shifts over a few inches, and the metal creaks under him. For a long moment he says nothing at all.
“I found something last night. In the bathroom mirror, under my hair, where I’d never look unless I was already looking for it. You know how I feel about saying things out loud, so I’m not going to say it yet.” He turns the cap over in his hands. “I need you to tell me I’m being ridiculous. Can you do that, or are you going to look at me the way the instructors do when someone fails a drill?”
