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It’s sad to think about it, you look over at him and wonder how it got this bad, he’s speaking, though you can’t exactly hear what he’s saying, but you know who he’s talking to, he mutters his name in slight exasperation, seemingly arguing about something, you catch the end of a comment about star wars, so that’s what they’re arguing about, playful banter, nothing else, it’s always like this.
Thinking about it almost makes you cry, it did before, but not anymore, you’re over that now, as you look back towards him you see him go still and his eyes widen, he looks down at his trembling hands, then looks up at you, your eyes meet briefly, black meets hazel, before they’re forcefully shut and with a slight tremor, you watch him get up and rush out of the room, his hazel eyes normally have no light in them for a few days after something like this happens, before it happens again. You’d tried to help him once, but it didn’t work.
Once he’s gone, you gaze back to where he was sitting, a wooden table and two empty seats across from each other, mournful thoughts about the boy that once sat across from your sad hazel-eyed friend fill your head, you still find it sometimes hard to believe that he’s gone, the teenager that once upon a time you called your best friend, your brother, it hurt, but thinking about it now, it seems that, while it broke you, you were able to heal, it totally destroyed your fleeing friend, and it left him broken, unable to fix himself and shutting out anyone who tried.
You often find him like this, talking to someone who isn’t there anymore, and with a pang to your heart, wish that he still was. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. And that is, probably, what torments him the most, especially when he was the one who found him.
You still remember that day, you’d rushed in, after the call you’d gotten, to see him holding your best friend’s body, he was trembling, you remember, he’d looked up at you with terrified eyes and whispered, “Stiles says he’s cold,” tears had started to run down his cheeks before he said, “I tried to get him warm,” he looked down at the body’s lifeless eyes staring up at him, “It didn’t work”. You close your eyes when the sudden lump in your throat grows, you force the memory away.
You stand up too, with a parting glance to the empty chair that brings back bitter memories, you walk out the same door your friend, Derek, rushed out through.
Perhaps, if you’d stayed for a moment longer you’d have seen the boy that is now sitting in that chair, alone, in the empty room, would have noticed the look of utter loneliness he carried.
He’d died believing he was alone, unaware of just how much he would be missed by the one person he thought would never love him back.
He’d cried, suddenly feeling cold all over, and whispered that he was cold to whoever was holding him, he’d been aware that someone was holding him, at least he thought so, he couldn’t really see.
Only Derek is able to bring a smile to his face nowadays, seeing as everyone else ignores him, hah, just like high school, he’d been invisible then too...