Silence formed a rift between them as they both lay there, at a loss for words. The harsh ones had been exchanged like shrapnel of brutal honesty, draining their frustrated rage from them and hurting them both with the brunt.

It had been an age-old trap, and it got them every time.

Now, the still of the night veiled around them, guilt and regret burrowed their way through heart and soul as minds raced to compose (and reject) unspoken apologies. Neither one would speak first, not because it might seem as defeat –the skirmish was long over- but because no words could measure the regret or fully express the sadness and shame which fueled them.

And so they remained in stalemate. Sleep, while graduately conquering the world around them, would not enter this room with offerings of sweet salvation or temporary oblivion. And though redemption was what they craved most, they would not have it. Every fibre of consciousness bombarded them with a million fragments of alternate pasts, haunting the bed of misery they had made for themselves.

Finally, five fingers would stealthily carry a hand under cover of sheet and blanket to bridge the dark distance seperating them, and meet their counterpart in unspoken reconciliation.