Author's Note: Okay, it's official. I'm a terrible person. I've been so off my game lately, though I'm still whole-heartedly blaming writer's block for my long gaps of absence.

Anyways, I was kind of in the mood for a sad-ish story since I'm going through some not happy times right now, so if you don't like tragedy stories I'm afraid this one isn't for you, though I implore anyone who wants to to give it a shot. It will be shorter than my usual stories since it mostly revolves around one area, but I hope anyone who reads this likes it, though it's not really a happy story.

And even though I'm a terrible person, I'd love it if any of you review! Perhaps reviews will shoot me out of my slump so I can finish BTL once and for all! It's really eating at me that I can't find out how to end it :P

Anyways, I'm babbling a bit here. So in short, I hope you guys like this!

Rating: Ehhh...I'd say K. Nothing risky about this story ;)

Tears And Rain

The Absence of Sunshine

Today was not a day to be happy.

Even the sun, so bent on shining down on even Marco del Rossi's darkest days, seemed to be paying him a little respect. It hid behind the clouds as they omniously rolled in, causing the sky to become a watered-down reflection of how Marco felt. He stared blankly out of the passenger's seat window, eyes skimming over objects of little importance to him, still searching. Always, always searching.

His knuckles were white from the force of which he grasped the dashboard, his hands shaking slightly. His darker-than-usual hair stood up in every which way, making his normally tan complexion appear pale and sickly. People walked by, regarding him slightly with alarm as he continued to intensify his look, scanning each and every face desperately. The muscles around his mouth seemed to forgotten how to smile, making him look much scarier than he was. And making him feel that much more alone.

The car came to a gentle stop, and the air surrounding him became thick with sympathy and remorse. "Do you want me to go with you?" Ellie Nash asked softly, breaking the suffocating silence. Marco shook his head slightly, not trusting himself to speak. "I'll be back later then," she replied just a quietly as before, squeezing Marco's hand and unlocking the doors.

But Marco remained seated. It seemed like an alien idea to him. Getting out of the car. What did that even mean anyway? What did anything mean anyway? It's really just a bunch of made up sounds and symbols, Marco thought randomly, his mind hazy and disfunctional. Just a bunch of symbols that we've convinced ourselves to mean something. But when did getting out of the car ever come with the definition of having to face the tombstone of someone you love?

Marco sighed and pulled himself out of his distracting enigma of a mind. Ellie had driven him all this way to finally say his last goodbyes. He couldn't just sit here and tell her he wasn't ready to say goodbye and to just take him home. Well, technically he could, but it was against his morals.

So, gathering up what little will power and misplaced courage he had left, Marco slumped out of the car without a goodbye, shivering in the wind. His frail body, easily five to ten pounds underweight, shook from the tremors that ransacked his frame and nearly knocked him over. His legs seemed to be resisting his attempts at walking as he wobbled his way down the muddy path, occassionally stumbling over roots of trees or protruding pebbles. His stride was broken, his shoulders slumped as though the world itself sat upon it. But no matter the difficulty, the dark haired boy walked with purpose. He was significantly clumsier, creating the illusion that the proportions of his body weren't correct, but still, he stepped with power. Like he had something to prove.

A slight sprinkle of rain started to fall and splatter on the ground, blurring Marco's vision. Pedestrians ran from the water, shielding their hair and faces until it was just a single dark haired boy stumbling time and time again over his own feet. It was the epitome of helplessness, pulling on the hearts of anyone who could've glanced his way. The wind howled and danced, predicting a storm, but Marco neither headed its warning nor did he have any intention of doing so later on. What was a storm to him anyway? A different storm had already crossed his path and taken the one thing he'd been so scared to lose. His heart ripped open at this very thought, pain making it almost impossible to breathe. Time...time, supposedly, healed all wounds, but holding on to fragments of what had caused the pain wasn't going to make it go away any faster. What he needed to do was get rid of anything that could remind him of what he lost. Purge himself, so to speak.

Normally, Marco was a bit of a packrat. Anything that held good memories or might be needed in some distant future he held on to. He was weird that way. But he just couldn't bring himself to torture his heart with these things any longer. What was the point? They represented a past he could never quite reach again, a past far happier than the future. And no matter how much it hurt, he knew he needed to keep going. He needed to move on...

A flimsy, plastic, grocery store-type bag twirled in Marco's clenched fists, flittering longingly with the wind. But despite its efforts, the boy's frozen fingers refused to release it until he was ready to let go. This bag held Marco's entire reason for being here, his entire life in its grasp, and he wasn't about to allow it its freedom to disappear just like that. He needed preparation. He needed closure.

He walked for what felt like hours, knowing exactly where he was supposed to head but in no hurry to reach it. Marco's whispered presence seemed to alarm the area, the trees quaking almost in fear. Birds stopped their angry calls and nothing seemed to want to enter Marco's realm of sorrow. Shadows even retreated from him. Only the soft padding of his feet could be heard beneath the roars of the wind.

Eventually, Marco spotted exactly what he had been dreading. The tombstone held faint traces of familiarity, though Marco had only seen this sight but once. But just the simple fact of knowing who was buried under there, who the gravestone before him represented...brought tears to his eyes. He dragged the plastic bag behind him as he inched his way closer to the drugged up and muddy earth, each step feeling like a thousand. Marco had never known himself to be this anxious or depressed before, but he supposed that was what happened when someone close to you dies.

The grave seemed to give him an expecting look when the Italian finally reached it, as if knowing why he was here. Despite the mud and grime on the ground, Marco crossed his legs like a little kid and sat before the stone, simply staring up at it with unaccepting eyes.

Deep down, he figured he knew this was real. But the protective part of his brain, the part that continued to make him feel numb so he wouldn't become suicidal and jump off a cliff, refused to let rationality convince him.

However, Marco was here. And whether he really believed that this was reality or just some sick, twisted nightmare, he supposed he might as well do and say what he'd planned the whole time. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly, the thought that if he couldn't see the sight before him while he spoke, somehow it wouldn't become true working its way into his brain. "Hi Dyl," he whispered, his voice breaking on the man's name. "I've missed you."

The wind suddenly picked up, rustling Marco's hair in the same loving manner that Dylan used to, and the Italian could almost imagine the blonde's hands running through his hair. But the mirage was broken when he opened his eyes a bit too eagerly, expecting to see his fiancé's bright blue eyes smiling down before him. But instead all he saw was the stupid, boringly grey stone coldly looking back at him and the wind immediately stopped blowing, making the Italian feel like he lost him all over again. Marco tried to convince himself that the sudden stillness of the air was only a coincidence.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Marco bravely went on, his voice barely audible. "Almost two months." The rain continueed to grow fiercer and pummel the poor boy until he could barely see anything in front of him. Yet still, Marco remained where he was. "We were supposed to get married today," Marco choked out quietly. "Lovely weather for it too," he rolled his eyes, but tears started to fall down his cheeks and mix in with the rain. "And...and I can't help but think...if I'd only stopped you from getting in that car." His bottom lip quivered. "If I'd only delayed you for even a few brief moments, we might still be...still..."

But the flashback was too much for Marco to bare and still keep talking. He could remember it with absolute clarity, something he sorely wished he couldn't do.

Marco was roaming around the house, conjuring up tedious task to keep himself preoccupied while Dylan got himself dressed for a family dinner. Well, technically they weren't considered a family just yet, but really, what was two months? He would soon be a Michalchuk. Or...Dylan would soon be a del Rossi. The specifics on which last name they would take weren't exactly decided on just yet.

"Are you ready yet, Dyl?" Marco called up frustratingly. "They're bound to be here any minute!"

"Yeah, yeah," Marco could hear his fiancé's amused smile in his response as he thumped down the steps. "And how do I look?" He grinned widely, spreading his arms out to his sides and twirling comically.

"Dashing," Marco rolled his eyes, turning worried eyes back over to the table set. This was going to be the first dinner with each of their families all in the same room. They'd been to dinner at each other's houses before they moved in together, sure. But never all of them in...one place. The del Rossi family and the Michalchuk family were just as opposite as Marco and Dylan were, only they made it work. They loved each other. Their families? A totally different story.

Dylan came up behind Marco and started rubbing his shoulders. "It'll be fine Marco. Everything's perfect, stop worrying."

Marco sighed, still not convinced, until he suddenly realised something that made him go into a mini heart-attack. "Oh my God!" he cried, wrenching away from Dylan and running crazily into the living room.

"What?" Dylan asked, running after him and looking at him expectantly.

"I completely forgot! Ellie's supposed to be coming over to pick up her mother's birthday present! She'll interupt, then hate me for not telling her sooner!"

"Why do you have her mom's gift?" Dylan replied, finding this whole situation highly amusing.

Marco glared at him, reaching for the phone. "Because she had to hide it somewhere, and her mom knows all the good hiding spots."

Dylan smirked, grabbing the phone in Marco's hand gently away from him and speaking in a soothing voice, "Marco? Listen to me. You're way too high-strung right now. I'll just take it to her, okay? Anything to calm you down a bit."

"But-"

The blonde placed a finger over Marco's lips, stopping him. "No buts. She doesn't live far, I'll just pop in and give it to her and be back before they even get here. No problem."

Little did Marco know that that would be the last time he'd see him. Marco sighed, curling up into a ball, completely forgetting the reason behind why he was there. He tucked his face into his knees and allowed himself to pretend that it was merely the rain that was wetting his face.