South Park © Matt & Trey
Lyrics to "Anywhere Is" © Enya

A guy with a rifle was caught 10 minutes away from where I live this morning :( Half the town is on lockdown.

The moon upon the ocean
Is swept around in motion
But without ever knowing
The reason for its flowing
In motion on the ocean
The moon still keeps on moving
The waves still keep on waving
And I still keep on going

The following day, Stan is at my house before I'm even out of bed. There's a bruise on his face and it's all thanks to me. I sit up and when I'm about to puke out an apology, he cuts me off. "I'm embarrassed," he murmurs, laughing sheepishly. "I'm sorry I kept, like, uh, coaxing you into sleeping with me… That's kind of rapey of me, isn't it?"

"You did no such thing," I swear. I guess now is the time to be honest. I don't want him to ever think things like that. "Truth is, I liked it. Part of me looked forward to you breaking up with Wendy because I'm a horny faggot who wouldn't put your feelings first." Fuck it. I'm sober and Wendy is right. He deserves to know how I feel.

"What?" he asks stupidly.

"I love you," I tell him.

"I love you, too…" he returns. "Even now."

I can't even find it in me to be impatient because this is part of why I love him so fucking much. There's something so naïve about him – like Kenny in a way. He's so small and childish. It makes you want to protect him. Wendy is right about that, too… but I guess I'm not the one who is going to be protecting him. She is.

"No," I smile somewhat bitterly. "The love I feel for you… is the kind where I want to take you out on dates, be your boyfriend… marry you and maybe adopt a fuckin' kid. I've loved you like this since we were children and I know the last thing you probably need is a confession like this, but you deserve to know so I'm letting it all out."

I'm starting to get emotional because I know what this means. It means change. Even if he insists things will be the same, I know they won't. They can't.

Stan doesn't look surprised. His face is blank and maybe somewhat pensive. "I see," he says after a short pause.

"You don't need to say anything," I tell him. "I'm sorry I hit you. That was shitty of me. I guess I just got sick of keeping it all inside so it came out in other ways… y'know?"

"Yeah," Stan says quietly. "Look, this doesn't have to change anything." Called it. "You're still my best friend. Am I yours?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "Always."

And it goes without saying that I won't be fucking him anymore. It's for the best, really. We were both playing with fire.

He takes a seat on my bed and stares at me. "Part of me always wondered… if maybe you felt something for me," he admits quietly. "I guess that's why I was always so forward. I mean… I knew you were gay, but I felt like it was a vain thought. I didn't want to be the kind of guy who assumes that just because someone is gay they're into me, you know?"

I told him when we were twelve, but it was never really a secret. I've always been the gay jock on the basketball team. But school is out and there's no room for schoolyard stereotypes in the real world.

"Yeah," I say quietly. I reach forward and put a hand on his cheek, brushing my thumb across the bruise. "I'm really fucking sorry," I choke out.

He smiles a small smile. "It's okay, Kyle," he insists. He wraps his arms around my shoulder and pulls me towards him. I know I'm crying like a big, dumb baby but it hurts. It hurts to be rejected.

I rest my forehead on his shoulder and stay quiet. I'm not about to start sobbing like a fuckin' idiot. I don't want Stan to feel bad about this.

A minute later, I raise my head and wipe my eyes. "Sorry," I murmur again, offering him an incredibly forced smile.

"It's okay, dude," he says. "What are you going to do today? Want me to stick around?"

"You don't have to," I tell him. "Go spend time with Wendy. You guys probably need it, huh? I'll go visit Kenny or something."

Stan nods thoughtfully before softening. "About Wendy… It's always my fault when we break up. I always get crazy and she breaks things off to teach me a lesson. She deals with a lot of my shit. So do you. I'm moody and a bit cynical. I demand a lot. I'm a bit high maintenance… So, thanks for sticking around."

I let out a chuckle. "You make yourself seem worse than you are. You're not that bad. A bit moody, yeah, and definitely cynical, but you're nice to be around."

"What can I do to give you closure?" he asks.

"Probably nothing," I admit. "I'll need to… just try to fall out of love, I guess."

"I want you to be happy…" he says sadly.

"I'm not unhappy," I tell him. "I mean, it sucks, yeah, but one's first love is often not their last. I'm sure I'll fall in love again someday."

"I hope so," Stan says with sincerity.

"Me, too."

Stan doesn't stick around much longer after that. He heads out – probably to go see Wendy. I decide to roll out of bed and shower. My hair is always a chore to wash. Sometimes I think I should chop my damn afro off, but I know I'd regret it immediately. Bald doesn't suit me. I've taken enough of Cartman's farts to have had at least that much sink in.

After washing up, I step out of the shower and dry off, wiping the condensation off the mirror. I stare at myself. I think I'm the stupidest looking kid in the world, but I'm not insecure about it aymore. I've got the big-ass nose, the big-ass hair, I'm too tall and pretty slender, but I've got muscle gained from years of organized sports. At least I don't have freckles. Kenny has freckles and he hates them. I think they look sweet on him, but Cartman likes to poke fun.

Kenny is pretty good looking. He's probably one of the best looking guys in town. He's tanned and blond – not tall, but not short either. Stan is really short. He stopped growing before the rest of us. Even Wendy has an inch on him, but he doesn't seem to mind. It's no secret that Wendy is the dominant partner. I guess that works for them.

I always preached this body acceptance crap, but as a kid I was a wary when it came to my own looks. Even Cartman had more self-confidence than I did and he's fat as a whale. That hasn't changed. Where does he get it? Hell if I know. But good for him, I guess.

I wrap my towel around my waist and cross the hall into my bedroom. I throw a pair of shorts on and some jeans along with a t-shirt. I pocket my cellphone and grab my keys before strolling out the door.

I just got a car. I've been saving for it on and off since I was sixteen. A part time job at a book store doesn't make you much money. The car is kind of shitty looking, but it works and it's good on gas. I had to give it a pretty wicked clean when I bought it. It smelled like somethin' and it wasn't sweet, let me tell you.

I park on the side of the road and knock on the door before letting myself in. Karen is in the living room. I wave to her before walking upstairs.

Kenny is lying on his mattress with his laptop. When he sees my hovering in his doorway he sits up and sets it aside, closing it. "Hey…" he greets slowly.

"Hey," I return, taking a step inside.

"Are you… okay?" he asks me somewhat cautiously.

I let out a sigh. "Who told you?" I murmur the question.

"Eric called me," Kenny admits. "He said you went on a bit of a bender and got violent."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, there's one way to put it… I'm surprised Stan doesn't hate me now. I never imagined I'd say a thing like this, but fuck, I'm glad Cartman was there. If not, I don't know how far I would've gone."

Kenny shrugs. "I think… the two of us need to get our shit together. We need to try and move on, right?"

"Right," I agree quietly, flopping onto his mattress. Out of the blue, Kenny stands up. When I think he's trying to distance himself from me, he starts removing his clothes and ignoring the strange look I'm giving him. "Stop…" I say as I perch myself up on my elbows, but he doesn't stop. Soon, every inch of his tanned skin is carelessly revealed. He crawls back onto the mattress and sits on my midsection. "What are you doing?" I ask flatly, staring up at him.

"We're going to fuck," he says bluntly.

Kenny is cute – I mean he's really cute. He's the kind of cute that makes you want to say 'aw' out loud… Since I'm horny and gay I wanna shout hell yeah and get my dick out… but I don't. Instead, I stupidly ask, "What?"

He lets out a soft sigh. "You're angry and upset, so let it out."

"On what?" I urge warily.

"On me," he says, placing a hand on his chest. "I can handle it."

I sit up and he falls onto my lap. "No!" I exclaim, grabbing his shoulders. "I don't know if this is how you did things with Craig, but I'm not that kind of guy."

He gives me a strange look, as if he doesn't quite understand. "Yes, you are," he says surely. "Isn't this what you do with Stan? He uses you and you use him?"

I bite my lip. "It wasn't like that," I murmur. But maybe, in a way, it kind of was? Shit, I don't want to think of it like that. I give Kenny a sympathetic smile, cupping his face and moving my thumbs across his cheeks. "You're too altruistic, you know."

"I know," he admits with a sad laugh. "That's what everyone says."

"I don't want to hurt you," I tell him.

"You won't," Kenny says surely. He wraps his arms around my neck and presses his face into the crook of my neck. "Let's just do it, Kyle."

"I don't want to use you, either," I murmur.

"I don't mind," he promises.

I feel his breath against my skin and I can't help but shiver at the potential of it all. Nonetheless, I say, "I do…"

"Then try not to see it like that," he says, drawing away and staring at me.

I look into his blue eyes and ask, "Then how am I supposed to see it?"

"We're two friends blowing off steam," he says simply, slipping a hand beneath the rim of my sweatpants. "I don't think there's anything wrong with that. Do you?"

"No," I mumble slowly.

He leans forward so our noses touch then he tilts his head and presses his lips to mine. Two point five seconds later, it's boner city in my pants. He's a good kisser. I should've known. He's experienced – even more so than I am. When he draws away he looks at me and promises, "I want to do this."

"Can I ask why?" I wonder.

"I want to do it with someone I care about," he says.

"Oh," is all I muster up and I can't help but wonder if he's let anyone touch him since Craig offed himself, but I can't bring myself to ask.

He moves away a moment later and grabs lube and a condom – safety first. I roll it on and he lies on his back, touching himself lewdly. For a few minutes, I just watch him. It was like this with Stan, but at the same time, it wasn't. He never let me look at him – not really. Kenny, on the other hand, doesn't seem to mind my eyes on him.

I ease my way in slowly, not wanting to hurt him. "More…" he murmurs, reaching up and wrapping his arms around my neck, keeping my close.

Apart from Stan, I haven't slept with another person since I was seventeen. I lost my virginity to Stan three years before that. I was naïve and inexperienced. I hardly knew where to put what, pathetic as it sounds. Stan had to show me what to do. Now is different. I like to think that I'm at least all right in bed. I've never had any complaints. In high school everyone slept around. I was no different.

Still, I've never dated. I've never had a boyfriend and the only girlfriends I've had were Bebe Stevens and Rebecca Cotswolds. Those relationships lasted all of five minutes. I guess I've always been too infatuated with Stan to pay attention to anyone else. I wonder if that will change at all. I hope it does. I don't want to keep fawning over someone who will never return my feelings. It's not Stan's fault, really. It's no one's fault. I can't help the way I feel and neither can Stan.

But I shouldn't be thinking of him right now. It's not right. I shake the thoughts away and stare down at Kenny, who is staring up at me. Yeah… this is a lot different than it was with Stan.

It doesn't take either of us long. Afterward, we just lie together side by side. For a while, neither of us talk.

"That was nice," Kenny decides to break the silence first.

"Yeah," I agree.

He pulls the sheets up over himself and gets comfortable. "I'm going to take a nap," he says. "You can go clean up, but don't go, okay?"

"I won't," I promise him. I'm not that kind of guy. I've had it happen to myself enough times to realize how shitty it feels.

I stare up at the ceiling and soon, his breathing evens out. I sit up and try to find something to entertain myself with – maybe Kenny's old PSP, but I can't find it.

I leaf through some crap on his floor and pick up a coiled scribbler, opening it because I'm a nosy bastard. It's Kenny's writing – messy and crooked.

I feel stupid for writing all these little things down. They're the things I never got to tell you. They're the things I wish you could've heard before leaving.

I'll close my eyes and my life will flash before my eyes. Funny, that is. I'm not even about to die.

We're eight years old and I hate you and you hate me and neither of us care enough to do a damn thing about it. Were ten years old and some of that hatred has begun to melt away because you're growing up faster than I am and no longer holding grudges. We're twelve years old and I start a fight, getting up in your face but you just laugh at me and it becomes my favorite sound. We're fourteen years old and I'm the only one you'll laugh with and it makes me feel a little special. We're sixteen years old and all we want to do is fuck so we do and the fast-paced anatomical collision has me falling harder than ever. You're eighteen and I'm still seventeen and we're the only thing in the world that matters. I'm eighteen and you're gone. Nothing else hurts quite like this. You weren't good or pure. At least, that's what my friends said. But they didn't see you the way I saw you. They didn't see the beautiful little pieces. Clearly that wasn't enough. It's never enough. Nothing is ever enough.

To me, it didn't matter that you weren't good and you weren't pure. Eric would joke around about it and say I was good and pure enough for the both of us. Maybe he was right. I never minded that you were mean. You were always good to me and when you weren't you made up for it. It kills me, you know. I feel like we would've been great for a damn long time. I still have all these things I want to say. I have all these questions I wish I asked sooner because now it's too late. Too fucking late. I used to think we'd have a lifetime.

Every time I see my body I can't help but think of the things we did when we were together. I don't want to keep seeing you when I see myself. I thought maybe I'd be all right if I touched someone else and you know what? It kind of did help. So last night I let a man twice my age fuck me. He whispered dirty things in my ear. It was a hit-and-run kind of fuck. We moved fast, we came hard and then there was nothing at all. How beautiful. How disgusting. I went home. I threw up. I went to bed. I fell asleep and I remembered that I was the last thing you saw. It made me feel a tiny bit better and a tiny bit worse. Still, I'm glad it was me. Are you glad it was me? I can't help but wonder.

"Jesus Christ," I whisper once I'm done reading the first entry. I guess this is why Kenny wanted to have sex with me.

"Yeah," I hear Kenny say and it startles me.

"Shit," I murmur, putting the coiled scribbler down. "Sorry…"

"It's okay," he says. "I don't mind if you read it, Kyle. You're the only person who doesn't tip toe around me. All you had to do was ask."

"I'm sorry," I apologize again.

"I've been writing down my feelings… things I wish I could say to him," he murmurs.

"You should go visit Craig's family," I mention tentatively. "I think it would be a good idea."

"Want to come with me?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, though I know I'll feel out of place in his home. I'll do it for Kenny.

"We'll go… soon…" he murmurs. "When I'm ready, we'll go."

I offer him a smile and say, "Fair enough."

I stay with him until early evening strikes. Then I head to work and he does the same.

On the weekend, Stan calls me to tell me that he's going away for the summer. "Where?" I sputter.

"Dubai," he says.

"Why the fuck are you going there?" I ask, trying to hide my outrage.

"You know Wendy's mom is Middle Eastern," Stan explains. "Her grandparents live there, so she's going to visit and explore her roots a bit. She invited me to come along. I think it'll be good for us."

"What about the language barrier?" I ask.

"Wendy speaks Arabic," Stan reminds me. "I won't be leaving her side."

"Be safe," I murmur. "When do you leave?"

"Thursday."

"Shit, that's soon…"

"I'll miss you," he says almost shyly.

I knew my confession would change things, even though he insisted otherwise. He probably feels awkward and hesitant to say things like that. Nonetheless, I say, "I'll miss you, too."

The following day, I drive Kenny to the Tucker residence. Craig's parents don't look upset to see Kenny at the door. Instead, they look relieved. Mrs. Tucker smiles wearily at Kenny before welcoming us both inside. "We were wondering when you'd show up," she says.

"I was afraid to," Kenny admits meekly.

"Why?" she asks with a frown.

"Because… because I thought maybe you blamed me," he says, sounding small. "I thought… maybe it would've been justified."

"No, sweetie," she chokes out, reaching forward and wrapping her arms around Kenny. He hugs her back and for a while, they don't separate. It's like they're both trying to comfort one another without the use of words. "Thomas doesn't blame you either," she promises once they part. "Craig loved you. We love you."

"Okay," Kenny relents quietly, but there's relief evident in his tone.

"So, thank you," she says in an anguished tone.

"What for?" Kenny asks weakly.

"For loving our son," she whispers. Thomas is silent and solemn looking. He doesn't move to hug Kenny, so being the angel he is, Kenny moves to hug him instead. Thomas wraps his arms around Kenny and his face looks pained – like he's touching something his son left behind. In a way, he is. Craig left Kenny behind.

When they part, Craig's mom continues to talk and everyone's eyes are glassy. "We haven't touched his things," she says softly. "Everything… We've left everything as it was. Thomas can't bear to go inside and I…" she trails off and closes her eyes. "You can go up there if you want."

Kenny nods, curling his fingers around my wrist and dragging me along without a word.

Craig's room is pretty typical. The curtains are blue and the bed sheets are blue. The furniture is simple, dark wood. The carpet is beige, just like the walls. It's simple. It's boring. There's a bed in the center of the room against the wall and next to it is a nightstand. There's a desk in the far right and a tall lamp in the far left. Mirroring the bed is a bureau and all that's sitting on it is a roll of deodorant.

Kenny moves to the opposite side of the room and opens the curtains, letting in the light. "I'm sorry," he says aloud. "I wish I had it in me to come here and say goodbye, but I don't. I'm still hung up on goodnight. That's the last thing you said to me… so I closed my eyes thinking I'd wake up to hear you say good morning… but I didn't."

He's not speaking to me. He's speaking to Craig. I stay silent, sitting down on the edge of Craig's unmade bed and listening to Kenny talk. It's kind of heartbreaking to hear. Kenny's voice starts to waver, but he won't cry. He won't cry because Craig told him he wasn't allowed to.

I feel my throat constrict. I'm so bad at dealing with death, even when it's the death of someone I was never close with. I can't handle seeing people grieve. I let out a shaky breath, trying hard to keep silent.

"For two days you acted strange," Kenny continues. "You took me out and you walked me home. I told you I'd see you tomorrow. You kissed me and you smiled and said goodnight. I thought it was strange, but I shook it off. You weren't one for smiles. The next day…" He lets out a shuddery breath, pausing and closing his eyes before he continues. "I spent the day and night with you. I was lazing around in your room while you showered. When you came back you were ready for bed. So, you said goodnight again and we both went to sleep. I wrapped my arms around you and you didn't complain about feeling too warm. I was glad… so glad that I never noticed your heart stopped beating."

That last sentence hits me really hard and I need to choke back a sob. Fuck. I swallow harshly as I listen to him talk. He's not crying, but I am. I bring a hand to cover my mouth and I stifle any sounds that want to escape. I take a deep, slow breath and let it out. I turn away before Kenny can see and I start wiping my eyes. I want to stay strong for him, but I'm such a pussy.

"In the morning I tried to wake you up," Kenny whispers. "But you wouldn't wake up and that's when I knew. I started screaming. Your parents came in. They started screaming. Ruby came in. She started screaming. They were all crying, but I was too shocked. Then there was that fucking letter… just sitting there in plain sight on your desk…" He stops, opening his eyes and letting out a shuddery breath. "Fuck…" he states with finality.

"Are you okay?" I ask cautiously after a moment's pause. Stupid question, I guess.

Kenny stares at me with a blank expression. "Kyle, help me… help me find something to take," he requests in a strange, soft voice. "I want to take something back home… something of his."

I want to ask him if it's really healthy, but I won't. I'll let him cope the way he deems fit. Maybe it's okay if he does this. Maybe he just needs to learn to let go. Maybe keeping a piece of Craig close to him well help him move on. So, I nod and I begin rummaging through Craig's room with Kenny.

It feels strange being here and even stranger doing this – looking through the belongings of a dead person I once knew. It's a bit macabre.

Craig doesn't have that many things. His room is plain. He has a desk, a chair… a bed, a nightstand, a bureau. Things like that. I open the nightstand and peer inside. There's some drug paraphernalia and pornography, but I don't exactly want Kenny to take any of that shit so I close the drawer. I leaf through the papers on his desk, most of which are old school assignments. Craig wasn't a good student, by the looks of things. He had a lot of F's and his best marks seem to be C's. I guess he doesn't really need to worry about that anymore, though…

In his desk drawer, there are pens and pencils and more papers. I leaf around them, pausing when I see a simple sheet of loose leaf with Kenny's name written on it. "Hey…" I murmur. "Ken, look." I raise the piece of paper and he makes a strange face, holding out his hand. I give it to him and watch as he reads it over. His expression changes, his lower lip trembles, his eyes grow wet and his brows tense.

The moment feels incredibly long and I can tell it's something bad.

"No, no, no, no, no…" Kenny repeats frantically before starting to sob loudly. The paper falls from his hands and falls like a feather to the carpet as he covers his mouth in his hands.

His reaction scares the hell out of me. I stare down at the paper where it lies on the floor. It's a big messy block of text. I don't know if I have the right to read it, but I do –

Kenny

Where do I start? Everything I felt for you can't just be summed up. It can't all be put to words. It transcends. It can't be explained by something as simple as language, but I can try. For the first time in my life I can make an effort to do something, to get a point across. It's the least I can do. It's the last thing I'll do. So here we go. The first time I looked into your eyes I saw myself. It wasn't just the familiar blue color, it was everything. It was the look you wore. You are self-destructive. You are a bomb. You are fucking crazy. So was I. We were crazy together. Sometimes I liked to imagine you maybe saw a piece of yourself in me as well, but I could never find it in me to ask. I think if I did, the words would come out sounding like a demand just like every other damn thing I said. We fucked wildly, we did stupid things and I loved every damn second of it – of us. I loved you too much and I guess that wasn't healthy and there were times I did things wrong. I tried not to hurt you but sometimes I did. I said things. You always forgave me. Sometimes it pissed me off. Sometimes I wish you'd scream in my face, but you never did. You'd give me a smile – a brilliant fuckin' smile as wide as the open road and you'd tell me everything was fine. You always reassured me. I never thought that was something I needed, but you knew me best. You made me feel better. You calmed me down. I felt like I'd never be normal. With or without you, I'd never be normal. The pills took away so much, but you stayed. I never thanked you for it, so I'll do that now before I go: thank you. I stopped caring about the things I knew I should've cared about. I stopped caring about things I used to feel passionately about. You're the only thing I never stopped caring about. I was dependent on you. I wanted to be inside of you and I wanted you to be inside of me. Forever. I wanted all of you, even the parts I couldn't touch with my hands. I wanted to force every single inch of my inner and outer being into yours. I wanted to cut open your body and sew myself to you so we'd never be apart. I wanted to create a hole in your mind and bathe in every single one of your fucking thoughts and emotions. That scared me. These fucked up thoughts scared me, but they weren't just thoughts. They were dreams. Maybe this isn't suicide because the pills killed me before I actually had the chance to do it on my own. I'd look at myself in the mirror and I wouldn't see that spark I'd see in your eyes. Mine were just dead – like my insides. I wouldn't see myself in you. I guess that's why I grew so obsessed. That's why I'd fuck you so hard. Maybe I was trying to grab some of that spark. Maybe I felt like you were slipping away when in reality I was the one slipping. I slipped further and further and further and then I was gone. Stupid of me. No, crazy of me. It's true what people said when they said I wasn't all there in the head because I guess I wasn't. I was fucked in every sense of the word. Funny, life is. I hated most of it. You were the only good thing. I'm not afraid to die twice, really. You're the only thing I'll miss. Wherever I end up, I'll miss you, but I'm doing this for us. Both of us. And maybe that's fucking crazy of me and maybe you won't understand, but it needs to be this way. You don't need me as much as I needed you. I lived and died for you more than I did myself. I don't think I ever knew myself at all, you know. But that's all right because you knew me. I hope you find this letter somehow. If not, at least I got the words out. I feel better now. No more regrets. I'm just happy knowing I'll be able to die in your arms.

Yours,

Craig

PS: I'm sorry. I loved you. I'm sorry.

The entire letter is written in past tense – as if Craig had already died when he wrote the letter. Then again, in his own words, he was long dead. There are a few words at the bottom of the page that are smudged and I can only assume Craig was crying when he was finishing the letter. He lived a lonely life, but he didn't want to die alone. He swallowed all his medication and he went to sleep in Kenny's arms and he never woke up. It's sad, really. It's too sad to think about. It makes my stomach tighten and it makes my chest hurt.

I stare down at Kenny who is still sobbing loudly on the floor. I kneel down next to him and pull him into my chest. I wonder if this will make him feel better or worse. Sometimes the truth hurts more than not knowing, but it's for the best.

"You never knew me so don't you dare cry for me…" Kenny quotes wetly. "That first letter…It wasn't addressed to me… or his mom and dad… or his sister or his friends… He wrote that letter to himself."

I don't know what the fuck to say to that, so I don't say anything. I just rub a hand down Kenny's back and through his hair. He's shaking pretty badly. I want to ease his pain somehow, but there's literally nothing in the world I can say or do. I think it will get better from here, though. At least now he knows and now he won't have to keep asking himself questions.

"He never cried for himself, you know…" Kenny continues, sniffling. "No matter how shitty his life got, he never cried. I guess I get why now. I don't think he even realized how lonely he was, even with me."

"It sounds like he was dissociated," I murmur. "He cried writing that letter, though."

Kenny sighs. "Probably not for himself…"

"Oh," I say quietly.

Kenny wraps his arms around me, tightening his grip. "I only saw him cry once," he whispers. "I got hit by a car and he went crazy… I died but then I came back and he forgot. Everything was okay again. He cried for me. Usually I feel bitter from death, but he cried for me and it made me feel better. He cried for me when he's never cried for anything else. I knew then how much he loved me… how much I meant to him. He couldn't bear the thought of losing me. Out of everything in the world, I was the one thing he needed."

"Yeah," is all I say. I feel sad for Craig, even though I never really knew him so maybe I have no right… but his entire existence seems to have been incredibly bitter and distorted.

"God," Kenny chokes as he's overcome with another wave of sobs. "I f-feel like I'm dying, too… but I'm not. I can't die… If I could, I'd want to. Then I could be with him. We'd… We'd be together…"

"Yeah," I say again. I hold him closer. My heart is aching for him.

We stay glued together for what feels like a really long time, but I don't dare be the first to move. However, soon the door creaks open and Ruby is standing there with a pained look on her face. "Hi," she murmurs.

He pulls away from me. "Hi," he responds hoarsely, briskly wiping his eyes.

"I took Stripe," she says. "I've been feeding him… playing with him. I think he knows Craig won't come back. Maybe he's sad. I don't know… I don't know anything about animals. That was Craig's thing."

She must've been listening to us.

"Oh," is all Kenny responds with.

She takes a step into the room and moves towards Craig's closet. "Here," she says, picking up a blue hoodie. "This was his favorite sweater. He wasn't one for material items, but he really liked that sweater. He wore it a lot." She hands it to Kenny and then leaves the room without another word.

Once she's gone, Kenny buries his face in the fabric. "It still smells like him…" he murmurs.

I stand up first before helping Kenny to his feet. He hugs the sweater to his chest and I hand him the letter. He folds it and we leave the room. Kenny shuts the door and stares at the archway. "I really wish… I could say bye," he murmurs, "but it's too soon."

"That's okay," I assure him. "You're allowed to grieve."

He nods lazily and together we go back downstairs. I wait outside as he talks to Craig's family, not wanting to intrude more than I already have. It's quiet, but soon I can hear crying. Kenny leaves a few minutes later. His face is tear-streaked but his expression is hardened.

I don't ask him if he's okay. That would be fucking ridiculous. I just stand up and we get in my car. The drive is silent and soon we arrive in the poor part of town. I park on the side of the road and ask, "Want me to stick around?"

"Please," he whispers.

Inside Kenny's house, his parents don't seem to be home. However, Kevin is in the living room sitting on the sofa with a joint. The TV is on, but he probably isn't paying too much attention. When he spots us hovering, he greets his little brother kindly before nodding at me. I nod back and Kenny holds up his hand before asking, "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"Mom's at the Olive Garden and Dad's at the bar," Kevin murmurs.

"Oh," Kenny whispers.

"Did something happen?" Kevin asks. Kenny is silent, but he walks towards Kevin and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. It's the letter. He kept it. I don't know whether or not that's a good idea, but I won't say anything.

Kevin reads it over, eyebrows drawing together. Once he's done, he hugs his brother and whispers something I don't quite catch. It's probably yet another sympathetic apology. Nonetheless, Kenny hugs him back and says, "Yeah."

He takes the letter back when they part and I follow him upstairs.

In his room, takes a string of deep breaths. "Fuck," he chokes. "It's so stuffy in here…" He moves to open his windows, taking a deep breath.

"Cry if you want to," I tell him, flopping onto his mattress.

He turns and stares at me. "I want to wear this," he says, clutching the sweater, "but it's too hot and we don't have air conditioning."

I give him a sad smile. "We can always go to my house."

He just shakes his head, probably not wanting to cause me trouble… even though he never does. "I'd do anything just to see him…" he whispers. "I want to be able to touch him again and feel his skin and know he's warm… to feel his heartbeat and know he's alive." He shudders. "I haven't been able to touch my phone. There are photos of us on there I'm not ready to see."

"When do you think you'll be ready?" I ask gently.

"Never," he murmurs before glancing over at me. "Would you delete them?"

"Are you sure you'd be okay with that?"

He nods. "I… I have some in a photo album. I always made sure to make copies of my favorite photos – the nice ones. They're all in a box in my closet now. The ones on my phone…" he trails off, closing his eyes. "I don't want to see them again."

"Okay," I agree softly. He moves towards his closet, digging through a bin of junk before finding it. He hands it to me without a word and I click on his photos, starting to scroll. Kenny lies down with his back facing me, probably wanting to pretend something else is happening. I guess I understand it. In a way, I'm deleting history – his history with Craig.

There are a lot of pictures. Some of them are sexual. I guess I understand why Kenny didn't want to see them. It's pretty grim to have photos like this of a person who died. But I guess it means a lot that he's trusting me to see these. They're lewd. I doubt Kenny wants to look at photos of himself with Craig's dick in his mouth and vice versa ever again.

It doesn't take me long to delete them. Once they're all gone I nudge Kenny and say, "It's done."

He thanks me and takes his phone, placing it on the floor beside his mattress. "Craig liked to sleep," he says somewhat offhandedly, stretching his arms. "I think that's why his skin was so nice. Sometimes when we were together, we'd just sleep. It felt nice to sleep and hold someone, especially in the winter. He got whiny about it in the summer, though. He hated feeling sticky."

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely.

"I know," he mutters. "Everyone is sorry. It's all than can be said at times like this, huh?"

"Yeah," I mumble. "I wish there was more… but I'm kind of bad at this stuff."

"It's because you're too sympathetic," Kenny says with a small chuckle. "I know you were getting teary back at Craig's house earlier… I noticed."

"Damn," I say, forcing a smile. "I wanted to stay strong for your sake, but… didn't really work."

"That's okay," he promises. "It gets hard… but it has to get better now, right? I mean… It always hits me so hard when people in my life die. I guess I just get used to coming back when I die that I forget not everyone is as lucky as I am."

"Yeah," I say quietly. "You were with him for a long time. To lose someone you were with for years… I can't really imagine what that'd be like."

"Good," he murmurs. "I wouldn't want you to… 'cause it fucking sucks. It took me forever to get over Chef's death. Now this. This is so much worse. The way I feel… I never could've imagined a feeling this bad even existing."

I put an arm around him. I don't tell him he'll be all right or any of that, whether or not it's true. I don't think he needs to hear any reassuring crap.