I don't like the way Taylor has been looking lately. He constantly is tired as hell, has dark circles under his eyes and I think he's lost weight. Which he definitely could not afford to do in the first place. He sits there slumped in the chair, reading a newspaper,

"You okay?" I ask him

"Yeah," He mumbles,

"No, Taylor, you okay?" I stress. He looks up at me, nods and looks back down, "You're lying,"

"No," he answers vaguely. I get fed up and walk over and swipe the newspaper from out in front of him.

"What is up?" I ask, making I look at him the entire time.

"Nothing is up,"

"Why do you look like shit then?"

"Gee thanks,"

"It's true,"

"Nothing is up," he reaffirms, "Hey what are you doing on Friday night? I was thinking of going to catch the Powderfinger show. Wanna come with me?"

"Actually, it's Asher's and mine six month,"

"Oh," he replies. He looks suddenly downtrodden. I feel overwhelmingly bad. I'm meant to be here for him. I've known him for twelve years. I've only known Asher for ten months. This is so hard. But I can't keep putting Taylor before all my romantic interests...because that's going to leave me all alone at fifty wishing I had him.