Even as they stood together, smiled, and shook hands...even as they made polite conversation, they knew that the words were meaningless.

They knew that there was much they both wanted, needed to say to each other.

If one looked closely, one would see that their eyes betrayed more things, than their empty words.

That the smile they gave each other, spoke of secrets they both reminisced.

That, as he shook her hand, Koizumi George gently caressed Hayasaka Yukari's fingers, as he slowly, lingeringly let her hand slip.

And that when they finally said something that was, in the very least, true ("I've missed you."/"I've missed you, too.")...it still wasn't what they had meant to say.

Yet, both understood it, all the same.

Because, Yukari knows George will only break her heart, again. (Though it never mended. Not really.) And she insists that it wasn't worth her pride to hurt so much. (Though it never stopped hurting, to begin with).

Because George knows she would only refuse him. (Even now, the memory of it still made him bleed.) And he insists that he wasn't the type who held on to anyone, or anything permanently. (Then why did he feel like he had to let go, if he wasn't holding on, to begin with?)

So many things needed to be said between them, but they continued to talk about everyday things. Things that didn't really matter, each holding firmly onto their self-control, because words have now become their excuse.

The wall that they could hide behind. The chains they used, to enforce the decisions they had both made, knowing that if the words are spoken, their resolve would falter, and it would start all over again.

As much as she loved him, if she stayed, Yukari knew she would eventually turn into his mother. Weak-willed and clingy, needing and wanting to be with George, forgetting everything else. She would become the kind of woman he hated.

As much as it hurt him, he couldn't ruin her life. He knew how hopelessly flawed he was, and that it would break her. And if he said those words, now, he would never be able to let her go. To, possibly, a better future, with someone who would be good for her. And he couldn't deprive her of that.

And so, to anyone who saw them, they would only see two people, possibly close friends, each, standing on the other side of their own fence, keeping a respectable distance.

And that's what they've become, it's true.

There was nothing concrete spoken between them that would say anything different. They both had their own lives, separate from the other.

Yet, even though no words were spoken...though all they had were these chance meetings...

...Passing each other on the street. Suddenly noticing the other was also having coffee in the same place, between days, months, or sometimes, even years...

Even if all they had were these small, seemingly mundane gestures...they still manage to communicate, the things they couldn't say.