"Tell me, do you even recognize yourself anymore?"
James didn't answer.
Marcello laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Guess that means no." He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Look, man. I don't know what you've done to get here, and I'm not asking. But I need to knowl, are you still you?"
He didn't answer right away. Then, after a long pause, he muttered, "I don't think I am."
Marcello nodded slowly, as if he expected that answer.
"Then why the hell did you agree to meet me?"
James finally looked back at him, something sharp in his gaze. "Because for a moment, I wanted to remember who I used to be."
"So, now that you're here, what do you wanna do? Reminisce about the good old days? Act like nothing's changed?" His voice carried a hint of bitterness.
"No." he said quietly. "I just wanted to see if you'd still look at me the same way."
Marcello stared at him, searching his face, then exhaled sharply. "And?"
