"You ever hear that one about the priest and the painted lady?" he asked.
"Nope," the other responded.
The deadpan look stopped the punchline in place and what would have been some crass anecdote died right there in the kitchen.
"Look man, I warned you about this in the beginning."
The other nodded and stared back at his book without responding. It wasn't like him to just...not talk.
"Listen dude, it's not a big deal. Okay? I just didn't know what to say to you about it and then I forgot, and you know."
"Yeah."
Weight filled the room in some inexplicable way. The air felt tepid and full of cotton. Hangovers aside, something felt foreign to the body, like that ache that begins right before a hard flu season.
"Seriously man, you gotta get over stuff like this. I told you, it's not a big deal."
"I told you, I get it."
And it hit him. Not like a Mack truck or a brick, but the truth plummeted down from some transcendental place and a quiet note in his head whispered "It's never going to be okay after this."
And the first looked at his friend, sitting quietly reading a book, and felt for the first time, the gravity of cowardice. The season of casually hurting people was over.
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