I've never regretted something I did. I always regret the things I don't have the guts to do.

Like, for instance, I regret that all the times I was thisclose to him and I didn't take advantage of it. I regret that every time he put his arm around me, I didn't melt into his touch and savor it, instead becoming rigid. I regret not fighting my own battles, leaving him to stand up for poor little weakling me.

But I've never regretted the things I do.

I don't regret befriending him. I don't regret helping him. I don't regret letting him into this little world that only I had inhabited for the past 17 years. And I certainly don't regret letting him go.

I want him to be happy. That is all. I don't know how else to put it. I want him to go and get married to that girl and live in the suburbs and have 2.5 children named Jack and Diane. He deserves it and he could never have that with me.

So I'll stand by his side and play the happy Best Man, be "proud of him for taking such a big step and damn, man, I never thought you'd get tied down first!" I'll throw his bachelor party, and I'll try not to screw it up like I do everything else. I'll get drunk at the reception, but not drunk enough to be making any admissions of affection, just enough so that her face is blurred just enough that I can pretend she's not really there. I'll throw rice and to hell with it being illegal because my best friend just got married and good fucking God, I hope they throw me in jail so I never have to see them happy together again.

We'll drift apart, and I'll leave his life knowing that he's happy. I'll wait until I'm sure, though, because if he needed me to fall back on and I wasn't there, I don't know what would happen to either of us.

I'll grow older and I'll probably marry some girl I have no interest in. Or maybe I will be interested. I'll marry her and we'll have 2.5 children of our own.

There will be one significant difference, though. In my home, there will be one room, that no one is allowed into but me. I will paint it dark purple, put candles everywhere, erect a giant bookshelf and fill it with dusty old tomes. I will put a computer there and I will study all the things my wife and 2.5 children will never know I studied: mystical beasts, the occult. I'll keep track of the Pleasantville Werewolf, or the Buffalo Werewolf, or the Wichita Falls Werewolf, where ever he ends up.

And I'll keep a picture of us next to said computer. Keep that book of lycanthrope information I comiled under my pillow until the bitter end.

And pray to the forces that be that he didn't forget me.