The air is damp – it was raining again earlier, but right now there's a lull in the summer storm – and I'm really cold, even though it's summer. Zexion told me it's because I'm too skinny, and I'm inclined to believe him because I trust him. Even if he totally got engaged to Olette without telling me. He did it because there's actual chemistry there – I haven't seen it, but again, I trust him – and because he knows I can't be happy without Larxene, even though our relationship (whatever it is) is so toxic.

In retrospect, it was a terrible idea to goad Larxene into hitting me. After the adrenaline wore off, I felt like I'd been hit by another truck, which is probably an inappropriate analogy to use but also very accurate. She hasn't done it again, and I'm only half-thankful for that. I still feel like she should…

But I know that's the unhealthy part of me, the guilt talking. I also know that it's not my fault. It would be arrogant to think it is; I'm not some kind of god, and I don't dictate life or destiny or what have you. I just…want it to be my fault. Because if it is, then there's somebody to blame, somebody to punish. And if I'm such a bad, poisonous person, nobody will want to come near me, which would mean I'd never have to lose another person ever again.

Tennyson was retarded. It isn't better to have loved and lost. When you're alone, you don't know what you're missing.

"I've been thinking about what she said," I tell the headstone. "I know you can't hear me, so this is really for my own peace of mind…but I wish I could ask you if I ruined your life."

I kneel down, sorta wincing in pain, and I know my knees are going to be muddy but I feel like I need to be closer to him. I don't actually think he's here, listening, but it's not for him. It's for me. Isn't that why we have funerals? There's no point in caring what happens to your body after you die, but the people you leave behind need closure.

On the space in front of the stone, I put a little bundle of bay leaves and chamomile – for love and protection. Not that I think he'll be the victim of a grave robbing, but it's sort of a personal thing. He gave me one of these about three months after we started hanging out together. Told me it would keep that asshole Jim off my case. It was really Marluxia, who threatened to cut off his dick and make him choke on it if he even looked at me funny again, but it…was the thought that counted.

I can feel myself smiling. "I don't think I did. You were…really successful without me. Larxene told me you loved me. I probably loved you too, if I even know how. I don't know if I can feel enough to actually love someone. Lately it just seems like I'm completely useless. I mean, it's not just lately. But now it feels like that's all there is. At least before, I could make jokes in my head and distance myself by being a bitch, but I can't do it anymore."

I pat the ground a little. "I hit my head really hard, you know. Maybe it made me a little stupid, which is why I can't think my way out of feeling so often. Or maybe it got rid of some block. Or maybe I'm just reading into it too much; feelings have to do with the chemicals in your brain, but you don't have to be stupid to feel. You…don't even have to be stupid to feel stupid. You told me that once. I didn't believe you then, but now I do. I don't think…I don't think I'll be able to miss you. You also told me you'd rather die in a huge freak accident than as a boring old man. I guess I agree with the sentiment; you'd be a really boring old man."

My smile slips off my face. "But in all seriousness…I really don't think I'll ever let myself imagine what it would be like if you came back to life. I might miss you, in the sense that I never got to do or say half the things that were in my head, but I refuse to remember you with sadness. You were one of the best things that ever happened to me. Even if I didn't deserve you. Even if I didn't always appreciate you. I do now."

I'm about to stand up when I feel Larxene's hand on my shoulder. I know it's Larxene because she's saying, "I figured you'd be here."

"Why?"

"Because there's nowhere else you'd go."

Ouch. It's true, though. Everywhere is saturated in memories, and I don't really want to go anywhere anyway. Not here. I don't even really want to go back home, to Twilight Town. I let her pick me up by my arm and follow her out of the cemetery. It's not like I have to say goodbye; he wouldn't hear me and it would hurt. Closure sometimes hurts just as much as leaving things open-ended.

I'm not delusional. I know he's not coming back, just like Sora and Riku aren't coming back. Just like Kairi never came back. It just…feels better, not saying goodbye.

Also she's going too fast for me to turn around without annoying her. I don't think she likes it here, and I way don't blame her.

I get into the passenger side of her van and she starts driving – the wrong way. The only things we could possibly be heading for – practically everything is closed on Sunday – are Burger King…and my dad's house.

Fuck.

"Um…"

"Your stuff is in the back," she tells me. "I got it all. Your artwork was virtually untouched, so…don't worry about your project."

"I can't go back there," I say, almost desperately. I should be able to, and maybe it's my own stupid pride keeping me away, but…it's true. I can't.

"Well, you can't stay at – the house," she replies. "I can't stay here. I have to get out of here."

I look at my hands. "Like…for a road trip, or…a permanent move?"

Larxene replies, "I mean I need out. For good. But I guess I could do a road trip first." She looks at me peripherally and I know what's coming next. I also know the answer is yes when she asks, "Are you coming?"

"Yeah...I told Amber at the studio I won't be back for another month," I tell her. After a moment, I add, "You can come with me, if you want...you'd have a job, and a place to stay if you wanted it."

"A job?"

I can't fault her skepticism. "I've been thinking about hiring another photographer."

I'm quite sure she wasn't made to smile that hard, but she's pretending, and really, I am too. I'm talking about business when I'd rather throw myself into her arms and bawl. It's us passing off as normal.

"Well…" She looks at me and I can't read her expression. I'm not sure I want to, anyway. "It's better than the alternative. We'll figure it out."

I like that she said we. It's stupid to like it, but then, I'm stupid. I've always been stupid in the way that has nothing to do with books or science and everything to do with how you react to things. I guess I never really thought about the difference before.

"You're always welcome," I tell her, and I mean it. I shouldn't. But I do.

She isn't speaking. But now we're at my dad's and she says, "Whatever. If you're coming, you'd better hurry, because I'm leaving in no more than ten minutes."

"It won't even take me that long," I tell her, and then I get out and enter. I don't want to be here, but I don't have to be. It's just temporary. So I can really leave.

Suddenly my head is…fuzzy, kinda. Vacant. I guess I want to be here even less than I originally thought. But I can do this. I have to be able to get through this.

Separate. Concentrate.

I walk up the stairs.

It pretty much takes me no time to get my shit together. I stop in my dad's study, and I can sorta hear myself telling him what's going on, and I can sorta hear him saying something, but I just nod and hope it was a question or a blessing. I sorta feel bad for leaving him again, but...no, actually, I don't feel bad. I don't feel bad at all.

It's now pretty much all a blur, even when I throw my stuff in her big van, and I'm glad she isn't talking to me. She looks just as vacant as I feel. When she starts driving I close my eyes and try to pretend it's Marluxia driving, but it doesn't work.

I open my eyes again and resign myself to coming back. I know I can't keep my mental distance for long anymore, and maybe…maybe that's a good thing.

She's biting her lip a little. I don't actually know how long I've been looking at her, but it must have been a while because we're already out of Spaghetti Highway. Fuck, where am I?

"Sorry," I say, even though there's absolutely no reason for me to do so.

"Whatever," she says. I notice she says that a lot. Now we're both silent and it's a little sad, in the way that death is sad.

I'm going to check out again.

Hollow Bastion looks different in the morning light. Even fuzzy like this, through eyes that have spent too long looking and not seeing, it looks…pretty. I can sort of see why Larxene would be proud of coming from here. But she probably isn't anymore.

Or maybe that's just me projecting. I love and hate by association, I guess. Sometimes.

We pass the site of the accident, and it looks perfect. Like nothing happened there at all. It's a bizarre form of normalcy that makes me laugh suddenly. Yeah, suddenly I'm laughing so hard my sides hurt and maybe I'm crying, but I'm pretty sure this is laughter. I can hear Larxene doing the same thing.

She pulls over and we sit there on the side of the road laughing our guts out, and the weird thing is that it feels right. Like this is what we're supposed to be doing. Why grieve, when there's so much out there that's amusing? For me, it's like this sudden revelation. I don't have to grieve. Losing people...it happens. It will keep happening. I can't stop it, no matter how hard I try, so I should just stop trying at all. I'll be able to laugh more, that's for fucking sure.

It seems like we stop laughing at the same time, but I think laughter is contagious and we're just not feeding off each other anymore. I guess it's the same thing. I get sorta quiet, but the peaceful kind of quiet – and she says, "Music?"

It's such a random question, but I agree anyway because the world would be better if there was a soundtrack, wouldn't it? At least if there's music, there will be something external to focus on.

Larxene pushes the power button and rolls down the windows and starts driving again. I feel myself smiling for real through my terrible singing, even if I'm not sure why, and the song on the radio is somehow perfect despite our mood. Or maybe because of it.

And it's kinda funny, in the way that death is funny. Everything totally fell apart and I've exhausted myself feeling shitty, and I may never regain full control over my left arm because of that slight brain damage from the accident – but I'm here in the passenger seat of her beat-up van, a mattress in the back and the wind on my face. I'm watching the road and we're singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs and I'm pretty sure I've never been this free in my entire life.