Austin gripped the rose stem in his hand, and, breathing in, he does everything in his power to stay strong and keep from crying. That's who he was - Austin Moon, cool, fly, and stable. Always strong, 100% of the time.

He had a reputation for that now, growing more and more popular by the day. His album was out. He had sung at New Times Square, and many other big places just like that. He was the famous Austin Moon, and he was strong and stable and cool and fly and all of those things the girls always swooned over him for.

But not today.

Oh my god, he was going to cry.

The moment Austin woke up that morning, alone in his bed, the somber air settled itself around him as pungent and inescapable as a thick fog.

It's been a year, and he still hasn't fought it down. Of course he hasn't. How could he?

That moment he woke up, the memory fresh as ever, screaming 'Don't cry Austin, don't cry,' That was the exact moment he had to rush to the bathroom and splash his face with cold water. Crying's going to make it worse. The memory hated him.

And he hated it right back, completely and utterly.

He exhaled, stumbling forward and into the warm, welcoming Miami summer air. By now, the rose thorns were digging into his fingers, his eyes were burning, and Austin didn't need a mirror to know that his cheeks were as red as apples.

Because he had loved her, completely and utterly.

It was like a fence. A barbwire fence that dug into the ground and kept him frozen in his tracks between him - and the only thing left of her, a dull stone slab - apart. The fence was fear, fear that he was going to go up there and open his mouth to talk only to have sobs spill out and his frame would shatter and he would be broken.

Hah. Like he already wasn't.

Austin rubbed roughly at his eyes, wiping away to-be tears. And he stood there, glued to the prickly grass. He didn't want to keep going. He wanted to turn back to Sonic Boom and realize that this was all a bad dream, realize that she was still here.

He wanted her to walk right back up to him right now, tap him on the shoulder and smile with that smile he loved so much. And then he would laugh, grab around her waist and lift her, and he would kiss her he used to, and she would tuck her hips perfectly against his like she was so good at doing and kiss him back and his stomach would flutter like it used to.

But she didn't come. And it was just him, and the stillness and anticipation of it all killed him.

Sun catches on the pitiful stone slab, making it glow.

Austin finally worked up enough strength to take another step forward. The grass underneath him crinkled, and that was the only sound around him, or at least the only sound that he heard.

Another step.

And another.

He was finally kneeling at her grave, gripping the rose much harder then he had before. Austin had seen it all in movies before. They kneeled, left the flower on the grave bed, and walked away easily, defeating whatever sad past they had, and the credits would roll and it would be all over.

He tried to do so, but Austin was once again frozen in that position, throat swelling up as his eyes looked the ingraving up and down for the hundredth time.

Ally Marie Dawson

1996 – 2013

Friend, daughter, commited musician

Always remembered

Austin clenched his jaw, and with much difficulty, lightly set the flower down, letting the stem fall off his fingers. Just stand up and leave, just like that. Like in the movies.

But he couldn't. How could he?

No, of course not.

Instead, he sat there, crossing his legs, folding his fingers together, like he was just another guy meeting his friend for coffee. His mind was racing, staring at the grave with empty eyes.

Instead, her name rolled off his lips.

"Ally?" clear and sincere. It felt so natural.

He could almost hear her reply.

Hey, Austin. What's up? Like nothing had ever happened, the words flowed through his ears like silk.

He sighed, biting his lip. "I miss you." His voice cracked.

I know. I miss you too.

"It's been so hard, Alls," he said, grabbing at the grass. "I only wanted this career if I got to live it with you."

It's going to be okay.

Austin didn't care if he looked crazy. Maybe he was, for talking to Ally like this, some sort of insane. In denial. Whatever. But what he really wanted at that moment was to just talk to her, his Ally-Gator, his Ally-Cat, like he could have before, and he could look straight into her peridot eyes.

But all he had now was her voice, and it was a deal Austin was not going to pass up.

And then he talked to her for hours, sitting criss-crossed in front of the grave with the corners of his mouth nearly turning up because he was so happy to be talking to her. He told her everything, from his growing music career to how his favorite clothing store – the one on 41st street - was closing down, to how he had personally met Bruno Mars and how he told him how big of a fan you were as he ran his hand through his hair and struggled to fight back tears.

And she replied, and he could see that amazing smile that brightened up a room in a nanosecond, and her big brown doe eyes that lit up.

But by the end of that, he was crying waterfalls, tears streaming down his face, head locked under his arms as he hugged his legs. He wasn't even trying to hold it back now, because there was no stopping them, as long as he still sat there in front of the stone slab. But they weren't all tears of agony – some of them were just happy to hear her amazing voice again, overjoyed to talk to her again. But then he ran out of words to say, he had used them all up.

And so then he was silent, and after moments of saying nothing, letting the soft breeze billow his already-ruffled bangs, his mouth opened to let out barely a squeak.

"Please come back, Ally."