"I'm your friend."

Craig nodded. "You are."

"And I've known you for... seven months?"

The screen in front of them flashed, congratulating Craig on a flawless win. Neither of them could care less, however. "Yeah. Something like that."

"So you should talk to m–"

"I shouldn't have to tell you anything, dude. It has nothing to do with you." Craig fidgeted with the controller in his grasp before sighing, "It doesn't matter." A guffaw. A putrid and disgraceful guffaw to the left of him.
Craig seethed with irritation when his grievances were responded with a mere chuckle from the guy he considered a "friend."
"Don't shoulder me, dammit. Come on... instead of being a hermit, talk to me." Mitchell slung his controller to the side, allowing it to hit the carpet with a clunk. Craig, of course, would have reprimanded him for it, but nothing. He couldn't move or speak, and resorted to staring blankly at the TV screen. He'd won the match–no deaths, mind you–but he'd certainly been prone to Mitchell's constant questioning. It irked the shit out of him.
"Yeah, well, sometimes I try to talk to you but you're always caught up with yourself. All you fucking do when we hang out is talk about you!" Craig's voice quavered with irritation, but god knows he tried his best to lower his tone. "So why do you care now, huh?"
It frightened Craig when no remark was returned; absolute silence choked out the enjoyment of their gaming session. Craig's anxiety increased at the realization of his harsh words. Maybe Mitchell was planning to leave now, or getting ready to punch the lights out of him, or was going texting his other friends about him. It was meant to happen, he thought. He'd ruined the friendship one day. It was a shitty, abusive one, but it meant too much. Mitchell meant the world to him, and just like that he could decide to withdraw.

But nothing. Nothing other than Mitchell laying his head on Craig's shoulder and murmuring "You're right."