I walked Amélie to the door. I had called a taxi for her, and shoved some euros into her palm for her fare. She tried to refuse at first, but I told her to take it as a token of appreciation, and as a way to say thanks for everything that she has done for me.

"One last thing," I said, as she walked out into the corridor. "If you don't mind."

She stopped and turned around. I struggled to cough up the right words.

"What about us?" I asked. "Do you think. . . We could go back to the way things were?"

She was silent for a while, before letting out a shallow sigh.

"I've moved on, Mateu," she finally said, clasping her palms in front of her. "And you should too."

I watched her walk down the corridor, slowly getting further and further away. Her pretty blond hair was let down, no longer in her fishtail braid. She had changed a lot in my absence. In a sense I was happy for her, but I couldn't help but feel like I had been left behind.

I returned to my apartment and closed the door behind me. Only after her leaving did I realise how lonely I truly was, the emptiness creeping into my home.

The lone branch in the vase lasted a week. A strange sadness washed over me as I watched it die – the peony pink petals turning pale and lifeless, before dropping off. The branch turned limp, its leaves turning yellow and wilted. I felt like I was watching Rafel, watching him wilt and die into nothingness. I wondered how he was doing now. Cold, dark, and alone with only the worms and snakes for company. How could someone so warm be extinguished just like that?

I started to ask these questions. Questions that I had been ignoring for months. Amélie was right, running away wasn't going to solve anything.

If there was one person who was hurting more than me when Rafel died, it was his little brother.

I thought about what Amélie said. Perhaps I should talk to him. I didn't even know how he was doing now. There were only a couple of months left before the school year ended, so I guess he must've been busy preparing for the baccalaureate, and if he were to try for the more competitive universities, he would have to sit for university entrance exams. I still had his number, sitting in my contacts.

I pondered over it for the next few days. Every time I wanted to pick up the phone and give the boy a call, I felt a paralysing hesitation, and eventually I never did.

I had an itching feeling to find out how he was doing, and in the end I gave in and looked him up on social media. I struggled to remember his handle, so I had to search for him from Rafel's account.

I hadn't viewed Rafel's profile in a very long while. I was hit by a wave of nostalgia as I scrolled down and looked at all the pictures that he had posted. It all seemed like a lifetime ago. And in a sense it was – from a life that I could never have again. A life where my best friend was still alive.

But the memories were all happy ones, and that gave me a sense of comfort, I suppose. His last picture, a picture of him facing the sunrise while we were at the beach had a barrage of tributes in the comments. He wore a red linen shirt, half-unbuttoned to reveal his toned chest and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Red had always been his colour. 

I was the one who had helped him take that photo of him, during the last time we ever hung out together alone. I was about to Marseille, and him to Paris. Knowing that we would never do anything like that ever again made me wish I had savoured every moment, every second I had with him while I had the chance. 

I missed him, I truly did.

But I wasn't there to reminisce about the good times we've had. I wasn't ready for all that. It was still too painful, especially now when I've finally accepted that he was gone. I was there to look for Ferran.

And find him I did. He had been tagged in a photo Rafel had posted.

Without hesitating, I tapped on his profile.

His profile picture was just as I remembered him all those months ago – his blond hair swept to the side, looking at something far away.

But there was only one post up throughout his entire account. He seemed to have hidden everything else.

It was a picture of himself and his brother. It was a candid shot of the both of them, taken by Amélie on our final camping trip together last summer. It was a beautiful moment, really, entombed and encased into a photograph. 

I remembered the scene perfectly; the cicadas were singing their songs from the forest and the sparks from the fire were jumping about. I sat with Amélie while Rafel sat with his brother. Ferran was exhausted from the day's hike and had rested his head on his brother's shoulder. Rafel, who had been talking and laughing throughout most of the night, turned to look at his sleepy brother, gazing lovingly at his with his warm hazel eyes. Amélie just happened to capture that perfect moment of tenderness, preserving it forever.

Scrolling down, I read Ferran's caption.

You'll forever be in my heart.

It was posted about a few months ago, and nothing was posted ever since.

A wave of sadness washed over me. Not over Rafel, but for his poor brother. I could only imagine the immense pain that the loss of his brother had brought him. He had meant the world to him. 

Ferran was almost like another limb to Rafel, and wherever he went, Ferran was always there. How would it have felt like to be him, to have someone I grew up with, someone I had spent seventeen years with suddenly deciding to take his own life? I almost picked up the phone to call him to ask how he had been.

But I didn't.

The last time I had met Ferran was something that I still didn't know what to make of, and I would rather avoid seeing him for as long as I could. Even after all these months I didn't know how to process it.

It was a week after Rafel's funeral. The wounds were still fresh, and everything reminded me of him. It was then when I began to deny it, to pretend like it didn't exist. I had returned to our village house in the foothills of the mountains, because I needed to get away from everything. Everything had been so suffocating and I just needed to retreat somewhere safe and away from the world. My parents were back in Perpignan, and I was the one who had asked if I could spend some time in our other home alone.

I had switched my phone off. My parents knew this, but they weren't too worried since they could just call me on the landline. I had spent the past few days lying on the sofa and lazing about. I didn't feel like doing anything ,nothing was enjoyable anymore. I barely ate anything, not really having any appetite. I didn't have the appetite for anything - not for food, not for life.

 It didn't really matter much to me anymore. Life felt like a haze. At times it didn't even feel like I was alive anymore.

That day, I felt a little better and I spent the time slowly trying to return to my normal self. I had gone out for a walk in the village, and bought things at the shops. As the evening drew nearer, I was sitting on the back porch overlooking our little aromatic garden, reading La Dame aux Camellias. I had already finished reading it from cover to cover a long time before, I was merely tracing every word, every letter mindlessly just to ground my thoughts. The evening summer sun turned the sky red, tinting everything with a radioactive warmth.

It was then when I heard the doorbell ring. For a moment I considered ignoring it, if it were the neighbours I could always see them the next day, and if I had a package it could just be left at the door. But the door rang for a second time, and I was finally moved to answer it. Putting my book down, I headed over to the door.

I opened the door expecting a deliveryman or the squat old lady living next door. What I didn't expect was a tall boy with a crown of golden curls and eyes of arctic blue.

"Oh, Ferran," I blurted out. "What are you doing here?"

The boy only had a shy smile on his thin lips, his eyes barely looking at me. He wore a a greyish blue polo that matched his eyes, and beige chinos. 

With a nothing more than a curt nod, I let him in. Leading him to the sofa, I immediately headed to the kitchen and grabbed two cans of cold beer from the fridge. There wasn't really anything else to drink. To be fair, I never expected any guests. Especially not the brother of my best friend himself.

Ferran sat awkwardly on the sofa as I placed the can in front of him. He never touched it.

"I was meaning to see you," he said, his voice soft as velvet, barely a whisper.

It was the first time he had ever talked to me directly.

"Right," I muttered awkwardly, myself being unsure of what to say.

Ferran and I weren't close. Sure, he was always there with the three of us but for the most part he felt like he was in the background. He was always quiet and reserved, and I don't think he had ever spoken to me directly, even after two years. Whenever he ever was part of a conversation, it was because Rafel had drawn him into it, and even then you couldn't get anything more than a sentence or two out of him. He always seemed to be lost in his own world, and only Rafel could break into that little bubble of his.

Him sitting there on my sofa was the first time we've ever had any one on one interaction.

"I still don't want to believe it," he began, letting out a sigh.

"And neither do I," I replied, not really knowing what else to say.

We fell silent for a brief moment, a heavy mournful mood descending into the room.

"I think about him all the time," he continued. "And it's like I'll always recount a new memory with him that I've forgotten so long ago, and it comes back so intensely; it's just so painful."

I nodded in silence. I totally understood how he felt. Occasionally throughout the day I'd remember small moments that I've grown to associate with him – cycling down country roads into town, how he would annoyingly click his pen as he studied, how he loved to snap his fingers when he was nervous.

I've spent a good three years with Rafel. I could only imagine the pain for someone who had spent their entire life with him, only for him to be snatched away just like that. I myself was grappling with my own grief, and if it was comfort that he was looking for, I didn't know if I could give it to him.

I heard him sniff, and then I noticed his blue eyes were getting glassy.

Something must have stirred within me that I got up and sat beside the poor boy. I noticed him shivering, trembling under the weight of his own grief.

It took me by surprise when he collapsed into me, clinging onto my arm like I was a piece of driftwood and he was being taken out to sea. Burying his face into my shoulders, he burst into tears as his sobs filled the room. I felt the warm drops dampening my shirt, but I couldn't say anything, I didn't know the words. Instead, I just held him there as he cried.

Ferran was slightly taller than I was, and he wasn't the lightest person. As awkward and uncomfortable as it was, I just let him cling on to me, not really knowing what to do. His soft blond hair brushed against me, and it felt strange. I just couldn't bear to leave him alone in that moment.

He cried for what seemed like forever. His sobs would begin to trail off before reducing to a hiccup, but then it would seem like another wave of sorrow had hit him with such intensity and he would let out an anguished cry as he clung on to me even tighter.

"I'm sorry," he muttered eventually as he let go, rubbing his reddened eyes. "I'm sorry I-I didn't mean to."

"It's - uh," I replied, rather relieved that he lifted his weight off me. "It's alright."

It was getting dark, and I got up to turn on the lights. I didn't have the heart to push him off me to get up earlier, so I just sat there as the sun set and the darkness soon started encroaching.

"Do you want something else to drink?" I asked as I headed into the kitchen. "Something warm."

"Uh, sure," he replied. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Down the hall."

I made tea for the both of us. I didn't really ask him what he wanted in my tiredness, and after what had just happened, I was exhausted. My shirt had traces of dried mucus on it, but it was fine. I couldn't possibly scold him or anything, how could I possibly get mad at the poor boy who had just lost the only brother he had?

I came back to the living room and placed the two porcelain cups on the dining table. I had also brought out some panellets I had bought from the boulangerie earlier, just in case he was hungry.

Ferran came out of the bathroom, looking a bit fresher. He had washed his tears away, but his eyes were still red and his blond hair a mess. He sat down at the table without needing an invitation.

Taking a cube of sugar from the jar, he dropped it into his cup. In the silence, even the slight plop sounded like a splash. He took his spoon and stirred for what seemed like a painfully long time, the sound of the metal circling against the porcelain seemingly going on and on. The boy leaned his head against his free hand, elbow propped up on the table, his eyes avoiding me as he looked towards the ground.

My heart was thumping in my chest, with the tension threatening to strangle me and squeeze all the air out of my lungs. I rapped the table with my fingers, hoping the sound would help drive the awkwardness away, but it only served to make it worse.

It was very clear that we barely knew what to say to one another. 

But he still chose to see me, and even if I refused to admit it out loud, I was glad he did. Grief is a lonely cage, and in a sense seeing someone who was going through the same thing I was, was a relief. Perhaps it was selfish of me to find comfort in the fact that I wasn't the only one, that I wasn't the only one going through all this pain. That others were suffering too made me feel better.

Despite the utter silence I somehow felt comforted in his quiet, wordless presence. The last bus from my village to Perpignan had long gone, and it was getting dark. I wondered how he was going to get back. But it didn't seem to bother the boy, he hadn't shown a sign that he intended on leaving any time soon.

"Do you want me to call your parents?" I offered eventually.

"It's fine," he said as he stood up from the chair.

He never touched the pastries, each piece laying exactly on the plate like I had brought it.

"How do you plan on going back?"

The boy was silent as he stood near the window overlooking our backyard. It was dark outside, so I don't know what he was looking at.

"Actually," he muttered as he turned to look at me. "I was wondering if I could. . . stay here for the night."

I frowned in confusion. I had nothing against it, but it seemed like such a strange request.

"Sure," I said, somewhat hesitantly.

"I just didn't want to be alone," he muttered under his breath.

I just shrugged. I didn't really care for it, but if it made the boy feel any better, I didn't see why not.

I lent him a towel and looked for some of my spare clothes while he was in the shower. In the end I found an old rugby shirt and a pair of shorts that he could wear. He was roughly my size after all, just a few inches taller.

As he showered, I quickly took off my stained shirt, tossing it to the side. Before I could put on something else, I heard footsteps coming from beyond the hall.

He stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. His blond hair seemed darker as the water dripped down his strands, falling onto his bare chest. He had a slender and nicely toned body, with well-formed pecs and abs that were barely visible under the shadows. It shouldn't surprise me given that Rafel used to go to the gym with him together all the time. Rafel was still much more built than he was, but Ferran almost seemed like a porcelain doll, his skin spotless and smooth.

We made eye contact, and I quickly looked away. I didn't admit it out loud then but Ferran was truly beautiful. He had a youthful face and an aura of innocence that was just so alluring. Something in that moment drew me to him, and he must've felt the same way.

Perhaps it was the despair. Perhaps it was the isolation. Perhaps it was the clashing of two lonely souls desperately craving for warmth to take away the pain. Perhaps it was even the reason why I let him in in the first place. Whatever it was, his soft lips tasted sweet and his skin felt smooth underneath my fingers.

I slept with him that night. It was the most intimate I have ever been with anyone. Sure, I've had sex before but none of it was ever so raw, so emotional as that night with Ferran in my village house. As I lay the pretty boy with the angelic face on my bed, I looked into his aquamarine eyes when I entered him, feeling his nails dig into my back. Beads of sweat dripped down his chest. I kissed him everywhere, on his neck, on his lips, on a trail down his chest, relishing in how sweet he tasted. I felt his palms run down my back as he moaned in my ear. His moans were soft as silk, caressing my ears through the silence of the night.

I suppose I needed it. No matter how wrong it felt. No matter how strange it was to be sleeping with the brother of my best friend who was no longer with me in this world.

Halfway through it I noticed the tears running down his reddened cheeks, pouring from his glassy eyes.

"Am I hurting you?" I asked as I stared into his eyes.

His eyes were wide open, and I felt like I was looking into the cerulean sea. He shook his head, but the tears wouldn't stop flowing. He clung onto me as he sobbed amid his whimpers, all while I pushed deeper and deeper inside him. He was intensely tight, gripping my length as I felt a guilt-ridden pleasure arise within me.

I reached my climax soon after, ejaculating inside him. I decided to at least return him the favour, reaching down and giving his erection stroke after stroke. An overwhelming feeling of guilt had hit me like the roaring waves against the rocky shore – I couldn't bear to look at him. Instead, all I managed to do was close my eyes as I nuzzled against his neck as I continued to pleasure him.

I listened to his moans get even higher in pitch as his breathing grew even more rapid and shallow.

With a sigh I felt him approaching his limit, his body shivering underneath me. I felt the warmth of his semen as it spurted against my stomach. He clung onto me tightly and that was when he moaned out loud and clear –

"Rafel."