I know Nick can tell something’s up with me, but he doesn’t ask questions or try to make me talk. It’s just one of those things about us. I know his voice and expressions and his weird little habits. His random existential monologues. The way he taps his fingertips along the pad of his thumb when he’s nervous. And I guess he probably knows the same kinds of things about me. I mean, we’ve known each other since we were four.
