A/N: I've been working on this one for a while and already have five chapters finished, I was just waiting until I really got it rolling before I posted it on here. The good news is that you guys will get faster updates on here. I plan to update every couple of days to every week. If you guys are really eager to read the other four chapters, you can find them on my blog at fanfiction.

It's probably my favourite fic I'm writing right now. Hope you guys like it too :)

Part One: Goodbye Addict, Goodbye Friend

The funeral took place on a Saturday morning at the end of May.

He stood toward the back, where the crush of people hid him from view. He didn't know why he was so self-conscious, why he wished not to be seen; after all, he had as much right—perhaps more than most—to be there as anyone.

After a moment of thought, he realized he did know: he was afraid that someone would see him, and recognize him, and judge him as harshly as he was judging himself.

The black suit he was wearing was too short in the arms and legs, a little too tight around the middle, and he tugged awkwardly at the cuffs. It had been a last-minute rental, and the options had been slim; he was still small for his age, and even the small men's size had looked ridiculous on him. There had been no time to tailor it.

Not that it mattered anyway. No one would see him in his slightly too-small suit, because he planned to stay for the service, perhaps for one last goodbye, before leaving for good.

He had given the idea a lot of thought over the past week. When he was lying in his bed—where he had spent a lot of his time—with his blankets pulled up to his chin, his eyes trained blankly on the ceiling, and everything inside him aching like it was about to fall apart, it seemed like the only solution.

He wasn't running away from his problems. Rather, he was escaping from everyone else he had the opportunity to hurt.

Or at least that's what he'd tell himself when the guilt came creeping in, a different kind of guilt from the one that was always pressing down on him. This was the type of guilt that told his conscience he was going to hurt someone and he did his best to push it away, because he was going to hurt someone sooner or later, and it'd be less painful if he did it sooner.

There was a shuffling of feet, and he realized with a start that the service was over and he hadn't taken in a single word.

But he didn't need some preacher to tell him what to think, or what he'd miss; he knew his own best friend better than the back of his hand. He knew that he had been friendly and giving and gifted; he knew that his life had been lost far too soon, before his full potential could be realized. He knew that he'd spend the rest of his life missing him, like there was a hole in the sky where the sun should be.

His eyes pricked with painful tears, but none fell. He hadn't cried since that first night, when the phone had fallen from his nerveless fingers; he was too empty, too weary, to find the energy for tears.

As everyone began to move forwards, down the centre aisle, he hung back, pressing himself up against the back wall. Still no one noticed him: all their eyes were trained on the coffin dominating the front of the church, not a small teenage boy hovering at the back.

He waited until almost everyone had paid their respects and filed out of the building before slowly making his way towards the coffin. His footsteps were leaded and heavy, and his breath caught in his throat, and he wasn't ready for this confrontation, not now, but he forced himself to continue forward. He wasn't that weak. He owed his friend at least that much.

Still, the sight of the polished, closed, carved wooden lid almost sent him bolting in the opposite direction. He steadied himself, and then reached out a cautious, trembling hand to touch the top of the casket. It was smooth. It didn't feel like there was only a thin layer of wood separating him from the still, cold body of his best friend.

This was his chance. But he found he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Or rather, there weren't any words to describe what he wanted to say. It wouldn't be enough, anyway; it had never been enough.

A single tear carved a trail down the inside of his nose, and he raised his free hand to wipe it away.

"Hey, kid."

Slowly he turned, and saw a man standing in the aisle perhaps fifteen feet away from him.

"The ceremony's moved outside. It's time for the burial."

"Oh." The single syllable escaped him as a squeak and involuntarily he took a step back, breaking his contact with the casket. Dazed, he turned on his heel and left the church for the bright, midday sun outside.

Everyone else was already gathered around a hole in the ground. He could see his friend's parents and sisters standing near the grave, and made sure to stay out of their line of sight. He stood in the back, unobtrusively, like he had during the indoor service.

A moment later, the coffin was brought out by two men. They bore the weight between them like it was nothing, like the box was empty. For a brief moment, his heart lifted in the hopes that it was, that this was all just a scam, or a dream, and his best friend would come jumping out from behind a tree, laughing about how he had tricked him.

But he knew that that wouldn't happen.

The actual burial happened quickly and silently. Many wept; he wasn't one of them. He hung around after it was over, hoping to get some time alone, but the family of the deceased was still gathered in a tight knot around the grave, and he realized they would probably be there for awhile.

Instead, he cast his gaze up towards the sky, figuring he was just as likely to be heard that way.

I'm sorry, Josh, he thought to himself. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I didn't know you needed saving, until it was too late.

Sniffling a little bit, wiping at his eyes, he turned to leave.

"Matt, is that you?"

Josh's mother had raised her head and was looking at him with red eyes. Her gaze was questioning, and heartbroken, and, giving into the guilt that was swallowing him whole, he turned and ran.

He didn't stop until the church and the graveyard had been left far behind, and he felt as though a weight had been lifted off him and he could breathe again.