If his eyes had been closed, he could have been sleeping.

.

What was he supposed to do with all this stuff? He didn't want it, but he needed it, and he didn't need it, but he wanted it. He wished Lee would show up already, even at the same time that he wished he never had to talk to anyone ever again.

.

They had never been as interconnected as "the trio". Lee was just a good friend. But he guessed that was as good as things were ever going to be, now.

.

The silence was maddening. Sure, he knew that outside, that everywhere there was some sort of... busyness, but it was always silent for him now. There was probably an ear joke in there somewhere...

.

See... the good thing... the great thing about... about being part of a duo was duality. Other people always had theirs internally. Hell, look at Harry. But when there's two of you, it's more... pure, pristine... concentrated. Because the duality's external, you know? You each play a role—heads and tails.

.

He never realised it was so difficult to make decisions. How does everyone else cope? The inside of his head was nothing but conflict in the big wide silent emptiness.

.

Empty-headed. He was sure there was a joke in there somewhere. But he was only half, now. And the only emptiness he could be decisive on—where he really knew what was up and what was down—was how empty blue could be.

.

And he wished they had been closed, and that he could have pretended, believed just for a moment in spite of the neverending white inside of him, that he was just sleeping, with a big smile on his face.

.

Must have been one hell of a dream.