Gideon meets us on the street in front of his apartment building on Monday. Merely three days after the whole ordeal with Ben. We're lucky it's an odd time of day and the street parking in front is open for both cars to park. Not seeing Gideon these past two days after everything, even though it'd been for a good reason, really hurt. I wanted to be there for him knowing the rollercoaster of grief he must be going through, but time just didn't work out. One day had been spent making the urn, the second glazing it to the colors of our choice. We're lucky Zelda had unlimited access to the studio and the kiln to get such a quick turnaround. She'd even gotten up bright and early to pick it up for us this morning.

We're all balls of nervous energy – we hope this upsets him the right way and not the wrong one – and we're all displaying it in different ways. Kento won't stop skating idly up and down the sidewalk, John sits still on the hood of his car, Will and Reese have resorted to playing some strange form of footsie, while Harper and Zelda fiddle with their nails. I'm grasping the urn tightly in an embrace and pace back and forth until I hear the telltale screech of the apartment door opening.

"Jesus, why are you all here? Don't you have jobs?" Gideon says in shock.

He's wearing a hoodie and black basketball shorts with some slides, hair tangled in a messy bun.

"We all took the day off," Reese says.

"Why? Is everything okay?" His eyes scan over the group like he'll find someone missing.

"Everything is fine," Harper says. "Great, actually!"

"Reese and Wal let us know what happened," Will says in a tense voice. "It's fucked how that happened. We are all pissed about it."

Gideon sags and gives us a sad smile. "Guys, it's alright. It's done, you know."

"It's not alright," Kento says. "You deserve better. Infinitely better than some damn box with your mother's ashes."

Gideon seems baffled at the sight before him. That all of his friends share the same anger for Ben and this situation that he does.

"We didn't think that was right," I say, pushing between Will and Reese so Gideon can see me fully now. "So, uh, here."

It's awkward, and I don't know how not to make such a situation not, so I hold the urn in front of me with both hands with little grace. He seems almost confused, tilting his head and looking at the urn like he didn't even know what it was.

Like he'd never been given a gift with so much thought before.

After a moment of what feels like an eternity, Gideon finally takes the urn from my hands. The tenderness that he places upon it, one would be forgiven in thinking that the urn itself is alive. I hear someone sniffle their nose behind me, but I can't be sure who it is. It might even be me, since I can feel the corners of my eyes start to burn with tears knowing how much Gideon struggled for something so simple.

The urn itself is a disaster. Misshapen and an awful array of colors because no one could agree on a color scheme. The only reason it's able to stand on its own is because we let Zelda do the final touch ups on it. Lopsided with a lid that barely slides into place. But there's a lot of heart that went into the creation of it. A lot of heart and several long days at a ceramic studio.

Gideon carefully holds it in his hands and twists it around to almost appreciate the artistic horror that is the design before holding his hand on the lip. There's a slight tremor to his grip and he swallows thickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

I slide my hand gently over his when I step into his space and his eyes shoot open upon contact.

"Did you guys seriously make..."

I nod. "You shouldn't have to spend money on something like this. She never wanted it in the first place, so we thought..."

"She deserves something with more love and heart in it," Zelda finishes.

Fat tears come then as he presses a hand to his face and his shoulders shake with each sob. I rub a hand up and down his back.

He laughs through the sobs, "Seriously, what the fuck is this urn, though?"

A chorus of laughs burst through the group.

"We worked hard on that! Don't be rude!" Will scolds.

"We wanted to do something together. To show you that we love and care about you," Harper says. "Problem is we aren't very good at pottery or agreeing on colors."

Gideon wipes the tears and snot from his face messily onto his sleeve. "You all made this?"

"Each and every one of his had our hands on it at one point," John says from his position on the hood of his car.

"The mess of colors was a surprise to us as well. Probably not the smartest choice to let everyone go rogue with the glaze. They were like kids in a candy shop," Zelda snorts.

"But it very much symbolizes our love for you!" Will says proudly.

"I feel like my children have given me their art project," Gideon laughs.

His shaky grin fades into a more solemn expression and he sniffs and clutches the urn tightly against his chest.

"Thank you guys. Really. I don't know if you know how much this means to me."

"It's the least we could do," Kento says as he idly slides his skateboard back and forth with one foot. "I mean, you move heaven and earth for us half the time. You're family to us, Gideon."

Reese strides up to Gideon and, careful to mind the urn, pulls him into a hug that can only be shared by brothers who love each other. The rest of the boys soon follow, piling on top of one another while Gideon's shoulders shake.

Gideon corrals us upstairs to his apartment and we all collapse in various places – the floor, kitchen island, couch, armchair. He heads over to the window where he has several ivy plants wrapping around a bookshelf tucked in the corner and pulls the box that contains Miriam's ashes off and carefully transfers them to the urn we made. He slides the urn into a little nook almost like it's made for it.

He stares for a moment – like he can't believe it's truly there – and presses his fingers to his lips before placing them against the urn.

When he pulls himself to full height, he stretches, puts his hands on his hips, and says, "Who wants nachos?"

The gang stays at Gideon's until the sun goes down. We've exhausted every possible episode of Love is Blind on Netflix before it turned into a full-on debate on if half of the people on the show are legitimately crazy or influenced by production. Whereas I sat in horror that people can even fathom marrying someone they barely even know. Gideon kept criticizing the cut of some of the tuxedos the men wore.

By the time ten o'clock rolls around, people start filing out in pairs. Gideon gives each of them tight hugs and thanks them for what we did before it's just Gideon and me left in the quiet living room. I haul myself up from the couch to start gathering the trash and dishes left behind with practiced domestic ease. At this point, Gideon doesn't bother telling me not to clean.

"Thank you," Gideon says again quietly as he leans against the kitchen island next to me. "I really don't know how to repay you guys for this."

I pause in wiping down the counter to reach for his arm.

"You don't need to repay us, Gideon. You deserved it. You deserve every ounce of kindness that comes to you."

He pulls the sponge from my hand and then into his arms, holding me tight around the shoulders. My cheek presses against his chest, and I close my eyes to lose myself in the sensation of the steady pattern of his breaths.

"Are you going to spend the night?" he asks.

"Well—considering my rides all left me behind..."

I feel him rumble with laughter.

"I guess that's fine," he pretends to complain as he releases me to head into his bedroom. "I'll find you something to sleep in."

Once I finish tidying the kitchen, I flip the lights off and head into his bedroom where he's laid out a shirt and shorts for me to wear. He's still in the bathroom when I slide the clothes on and crawl under the covers with a jaw-popping yawn.

It's been a long three days.

"Wal?" I hear Gideon call from across the hall.

"Yeah?" I shout.

"Can you come here?"

I groan dramatically, complaining that I'm already under the covers, but make it clear that I'm heading to him anyway with a sleepy grin on my face. When I reach the threshold to the bathroom, he's shirtless with his hair loose around his shoulders. He holds up a pair of silver scissors in my direction.

"Would you cut my hair?"

I involuntarily choke on some spit when I try to speak at first.

"You – you want to cut it off for real?"

The smile on his face is almost painful. "Yeah. It just feels like the right time."

"Are you sure you trust me to? I've never cut a guy's hair before."

"I wouldn't ask you if I didn't trust you."

I take the cold metal into my hands with a bit of uncertainty. Gideon moves to sit on the toilet seat, and I run my fingers through his long hair several times, almost as if I'm memorializing the length of it in my mind.

Gideon seems to read my mind and says with a laugh, "It'll grow back, you know?"

I stick my tongue out.

"Do you know what you want?"

He shrugs, every the most malleable person I've met. "Not too short, at least." He tangles his hand in the hair near the front of his face. "I want to keep some length here."

"Don't sue me if it turns out ugly."

His hand traces the skin on the back of my thigh idly. "You're the one who'll have to look at me."

He spins around on the toilet so I can reach the back of his head. Locks of brown hair spill onto his bare shoulders as I snip away at the length of his hair. He involuntarily flinches at the itchiness. I cut inch after inch on the back to where I can barely run my fingers through it anymore. With a gesture for him to turn and face me and I awkwardly plant myself on my knees between his legs to measure out his fringe.

"Uh," I laugh, trying to measure with my fingers like I see all the stylists do.

"Please don't say "uh" like that while you have scissors in your hand."

"Is here okay?" I press my fingers just along his brow bone.

He considers a moment, closing his eyes before giving me the go ahead.

As I start to cut his fringe shorter, I notice he has a bit of a cow lick in the front the shorter I go, making the hair split in the middle naturally and frame his face in a messy but cute way. I keep them a bit longer than originally intended, cutting them until they fall around his eyes. Running my fingers through the hair at the top to shake out any loose bits and push it out of his face.

He crinkles his nose at the sensation before peering at me while I muss his hair up. There's a dusting of brown all over him. He's going to need a shower. I look at my bare legs. I'll need one too.

"All done," I grin.

He runs a hand over the back of his bare neck before trailing it through the longer top layers and hauls himself up to look at himself in the mirror. It's like his reflection is a completely different person to him. That's what his expression tells me. And it's not entirely wrong. Gideon with short hair is a different person. It's changed the way he looks completely.

But at the same time there's still something completely Gideon about him and the way he grins at me through the reflection that'll never change.

"Wanna shower?"