Just walking down the street.

There he is, just walking down the street. Dark, curly hair hanging around his ears-- always just a bit messy. There isn't much you can do with curls. Dusky skin, a warm brown that goes so well with the dark brown/black hair. Thin frame-- slim hips, slim waist, widening out at the shoulders. He's wearing his glasses-- thick black square frames that compliment the straight nose and dark eyebrows.

He walks casually, and with confidence. His hands are kept in the pockets of his coat for warmth. The coat itself is a rough, light-brown suede thing, lined with off-white fleece. He's wearing a burgundy scarf, as well, and boots somewhere under the well-worn jeans. No hat, no gloves.

But there he is, just walking down the street.

What do you know? Here's Max.

He was strolling, really. New in town, sight seeing after a fashion. The sidewalk was slightly crowded, but not overly. His attention was mostly on the buildings lining the street, ignoring the people.

Well, most of them.

As he walked, he passed Jon, his eyes gliding over him as uninterestedly as anyother person. It had been such a long time, all hope had been given up of ever seeing him again. That's why it took a few more steps before he realized.

He paused, thinking it over. 'Is it?' he asked himself. 'Couldn't be. Could it?' Max turned around, looking for the thin frame.

There.

"Jon! Jon, is that you?" he cried, jogging to catch up with the supposed lost friend.

It couldn't be, could it?

It might have been a mistake to use the name. As it is, when he hears someone calling 'Jon!' he turns around, looking to see who it is.

His eyes should ahve been a deep, rich brown. They were, at some point in the past, a deep rich brown. They aren't now. They're cold, sparse white walls. Instead of inviting a deeper look, they prevent it.

Jon gives the other young man a vaguely confused expression, not really recognizing him.

"Yeah, hi?"

Taking a few more steps, Max stopped just short of tackling the taller boy.

"What? 'Yeah, hi' is the best you can do? Where have you been?" He was hurt, briefly. "Where'd you disappear to?"

Those eyes... he never thought Jon to be the type to get contacts like that. Max'd also never though him to be the type to disappear the way he did.

For a moment, the ice-white eyes inspect the shorter man. Without his customary smile, the warmth that usually counteracts the chilly eyes is gone.

For a moment, there's a hint of some other expression on the full Mediterranean features-- worry? Fear? Something else...

Sort of the like facial equivalent of 'oh, fuck.'

And it's gone very quickly afterwards. "Listen... I," pause, glance away, "Should be going. Nice talking to you again." As though they'd actually said enough to be worth calling nice.

He's already starting to move away.

Shock. That all Max felt. Shock. He stood where he was for a moment, still trying to figure out what had happened as he watched the retreating back.

"Wait!" he called, running to catch up and grabbing Jon's elbow. OldJon wouldn't have cared about that. No telling if NewJon would. "Can't I get an reason? Something? You just up and disappear and all I get is 'Nice talking to you'?"

He couldn't believe this. Something was wrong.

The elbow flinches almost out of the other guy's grasp-- not all the way out, but almost. Jon, this Jon, moves his back to the wall and faces Maximillian squarely. No emotion in the white eyes, but too much in the expression-- too much to sort out.

"Yeah. That's all you get." The voice isn't different, but the way it's used is-- the inflection, the emphasis.

Max made no move toward him again. He stood with his arms hanging limply at his sides, his shoulders drooping. They'd been such good friends not that long ago...

"Please? Can I at least know why you left?" His voice was almost pleading. Odd, because Max was never like this.

The words fight for freedom and win.

"There was an accident," he mutters, and then proceeds to glare down at his own lips, troubled.

Briefly, though, because he proceeds to turn and continue walking. His pace is brisk, now-- none of the casual confidence he'd shown before. Not unfriendly...

troubled.

This time Max let him go.

He wasn't so sure he wanted to see Jon again. Then he slapped himself mentally; of course he would. Maybe some other time. Max'd look him up. Or something.

For the moment, he was thoroughly confused and slightly depressed. Maybe he'd stop his sight seeing, go back home and drown himself in television.