I knew there was something strange about Ferran a few weeks after the start of my second year at Carcassonne. From the very first day he stepped onto the grounds, he rarely left Rafel's side.

Rafel had grown to be well-liked in the first year and naturally we had many friends who would hover around our little core group. Why wouldn't he? He was friendly, witty and his charisma could draw inalmost anyone. He was truly the most charming person I have ever met. Everyone wanted to talk to him, and he talked to everyone. Boys, girls, teachers, cleaning staff, even the custodian. Everyone knew Rafel Dubreuilh - no one could resist someone as magnificent as him.

But that all changed with Ferran's entry. There was just something about the boy's demeanour that seemed to put people off. Perhaps it was how he barely spoke a word, or the way he barely looked at anyone, or the way he always seemed so lost in his own world. Whatever it was, the number of people that fluttered around Rafel like moths to a flame dwindled as the months went by, leaving only the four of us remaining.

I never really knew too much about Ferran, especially since we were in different years, but I did hear things about him occasionally from my teammates who were in his cohort. They were never explicitly rude or mean, but it was mostly about how strange he was. I heard how in class he basically ignores his classmates, never really speaking more than necessary, and even then, only doing so with great difficulty. I noticed that too when he sat with us, but at the very least he acknowledged Amélie and I. I just thought that Ferran was close to his brother, and never took any more notice to it.

It was roughly a few weeks into my second year when I woke up in the middle of the night to a raspy knock on the door. I hesitated, not knowing whether I should bother getting out of bed and answering it. The clock on my desk announced that it was two in the morning, and I honestly couldn't fathom who it could be at this hour.

But I didn't need to. The door opened anyway, its creaks breaking the silence. I lay there unmoving, my heart thumping in my chest.

In the pale moonlight I spotted the familiar blond curls. He was dressed in a thin white shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. It was no other than Ferran.

He was shivering, and I could hear the faint traces of sobs. Before I could get up to ask if he needed anything, I saw Rafel stir, turning around to face his brother.

He quickly sat up, shuffling to the side. He was in nothing but his boxers, and in the pale moonlight I noticed the beads of sweat down his chest. Patting the space beside him, he beckoned his younger brother to sit.

"What's wrong?" he said in a hushed tone, but still loud enough for me to hear.

Ferran leaned in and said something, but it was too soft for me to catch. But what I saw in the pale moonlight was Rafel holding his brother tightly, as the younger boy buried his face in his brother's shoulder as he trembled. Rafel hushed him as he stroked Ferran's golden curls, cradling him in his arms.

He held him there for a while in silence, the moonlight casting shadows on their faces. They almost looked like marble sculptures, so perfectly sculpted in pose.

Ferran slept in Rafel's bed that night, huddling up to his older brother, and by the next morning, he was gone. I never asked Rafel about it. It felt strange, but I wasn't in the place to question him. But from what it seemed to me then, Ferran just seemed like an overly attached younger brother looking for comfort in his brother. But after hearing him moan Rafel's name, those memories all seemed tainted, sullen and dirty all of a sudden.

That was the thing about the past. They're all fragments of memories walled away by thin, impenetrable sheets of glass. It wasn't like I could just go back in time and ask Rafel. All I had were bits and pieces in my mind – nothing complete.

Ferran sometimes refused to leave his room or attend classes. Rafel was the one who either had to convince him or explain it to his teachers. But for the most part the school left Ferran alone. After all, he was still doing well.

I knew Rafel loved his brother, that was a fact clear as day. Ferran meant the world to him – there was no doubt about that.

"So when my mother left – my real mother, she took Ferran with her," he told me. "He was gone for a few months but my father never stopped looking for him."

We had snuck out of school after dinner. Rafel and I were sitting on one of the large low-hanging branches of a sycamore tree, one of the many in the grove at the western limit of the school grounds just beyond the stone fence. I remembered swinging my legs freely, as the sun begun to set in the west. The orange light filtered through the branches and leaves, shining on his face.

He held a lit cigarette in his hand, from the box he had smuggled in from our trip down to town. The smoke from our cigarettes wafted through the air, mixing with the earthy smell of the dry leaves underneath us. I didn't remember asking Rafel about Ferran, but I suppose it was just something that he felt like sharing with me.

"He was twelve at that time," he said. "And when he came back he was so different."

"What do you mean?"

"He used to be so cheerful," came Rafel's reply as he stared into the sunset. "He used to talk a lot. But when he came back he was never the same. Until today."

Rafel exhaled, sending a light stream of smoke into the air.

"But he went through a lot," he continued. "People just don't understand. . . I don't know how I'd end up if I went through the same thing as he did. And that's what I admire about him – he keeps fighting."

"What happened to him?" I asked.

Rafel fell silent, breathing in through the cigarette, before exhaling. He avoided any eye contact, and just kept looking at the sun setting at the horizon, the light bathing his chiselled face in a golden glow.

"We should really get going," he finally said, stubbing the cigarette into the branch. "Wouldn't want to get caught."

Rafel never told me what happened to Ferran.

"He told me that he admired you," I said to Ferran.

"Really?"

The boy's blue eyes lit up, and for a fleeting moment he seemed joyful. But that flame was quickly extinguished, and the hollow, empty sadness came creeping back.

We were high up in the foothills, just the both of us. The sky was a vast canvas of blue, without even a cloud in sight. I truly missed the mountains and the highlands of home where I had grown up. It was liberating to finally be back, to be hiking up in those foothills again, surrounded by the trees and mountains that had watched over me for so long.

I had invited him to go hiking up the foothills near my home village, and he agreed. Picking him up from his house, I drove all the way to another village much deeper in the foothills. I had parked the car in town, and the two of us started the slow hike up the foothills to a little, isolated priory – a spot that I knew from my own adventures. That summer was certainly bizarre, and it never even struck my mind before this that one day I would be spending so much time with Ferran, the boy whom I barely spoke to for two years, even when he was right with us most of the time. But if Ferran hadn't wanted the same he wouldn't have agreed to come.

"He said he admired how you keep on fighting," I replied.

A sad smile appeared on his lips.

"That's how he used to encourage me," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I wish I could hear it from him one more time."

"Well, we can't change anything now," I answered.

Ferran let out a sigh.

"I know," he muttered. "But I just wish there were things I hadn't done, words that I had never said. Some things are just best left unspoken."

Obviously I didn't think there was any reason why Ferran could be at any fault, but him mentioning that reminded me of something bizarre. A few weeks before school ended for good, Ferran had snuck into out room at night like usual. And as usual, Rafel would hold him and he would make space for him on the bed. But this time was different.

I didn't know what happened, but all I heard was a loud thud and crash. I almost sprung up, but for some reason I just froze and just pretended to be asleep. I heard sobbing and hurried footsteps, and the door slamming shut. When I finally had the courage to open my eyes again, I saw Rafel at the edge of the bed, shivering.

I never asked Rafel what happened, and he never mentioned anything the next morning either. He didn't talk too much for the next two days, always seemingly lost in his own thoughts. But on the third day he was back to his old self, so I didn't think too much about it. I never even asked if he was okay.

I shoved that incident away in the back of my mind – never to think of it ever again, until now.

I suspected it was this that Ferran was referring to. I wondered what Ferran could've said that caused Rafel to act like that. I didn't know if it was something that I wanted to ask Ferran. Sure, we have gotten closer over the past month, but I still thought it wasn't appropriate of me to ask.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," I said, trying to comfort him.

He only nodded, his lips breaking into a slight smile.

We finally reached the priory after a bit of walking. It was a magnificent 12th century structure, lone and solitary amongst the foothills under the shadow of the Canigou. I had been there once with my parents a long time ago, but I could never forget the view. From its vantage point, all you could see were the rolling green hills, surrounded by lush forest. The road from the valley below seemed so tiny, and you could count the occasional car that slowly made the climb.

It was a magical place with a memory I wanted to relive, and I suppose I felt like it was something I wanted to show Ferran. I brought him up to the second storey of the building, where the corridor, supported by arches and columns opened up to a beautiful view of the walled garden and the valley below.

We sat between the columns, enjoying the view.

"It's really beautiful, isn't it?" I said to Ferran, as the breeze rustled his golden hair.

Ferran leaned back, his eyes staring into the distance. I couldn't help but take in the view as well – his long, pretty lashes, his slender nose bridge, and most of all his arctic blue eyes.

"That's why I wanted to show you this," I added.

"Thanks," he muttered, a slight smile on his lips.

In that moment, he seemed happy, and I was glad I could make him smile. But those eyes of his, even with the bright sun bathing him in a golden light, seemed to me still so frigid with a melancholy that seemed to always be there

"I think you're really strong," I said, hesitantly. "I know this is really out of the blue but I know you're struggling and I'll know I'll never be able to feel what you feel. But you're a fighter."

The boy was silent for some time.

"That's the kindest thing someone said to me in a while," he replied, biting his lip.

"I don't know what you've been through," I continued. "But you're still hanging in there."

"Maybe one day I'll tell you," he said. "One day."

"I'm glad you trust me enough," I replied. "Not a lot of people do."

"You're a lot like him, you know?" Ferran said, looking at me with those pretty eyes of his. "You even look a bit like him. Remember when people would mistake the two of you as brothers?"

I chuckled.

"Yeah," I answered. "And he'll be the one who has to correct them. I couldn't be bothered."

Ferran smiled.

"He thought I would be offended," he recalled. "But truth be told I never was."

Ferran shuffled a bit closer to me, and I did the same. I playfully bumped my knee into his, and placed my hand gently on his thigh.

"I've never felt connected to someone ever since Rafel died," he said, averting his gaze. "Except for you."

"Me too," I replied.

His words were reassuring. So it wasn't just physical, that there really was something deeper to this. Something emotional and raw. Something meaningful.

I leaned in forward, and so did he. I placed my hand on his cheek, my fingers tracing his jaw as our lips finally met. Soft and sweet, he tasted of cherries and summer wine, of almond blossoms and rose garden dreams. Our kiss was long and tender, and deep in my heart I wished it never ended.

But once our lips parted, there was this aftertaste of desolation which lingered in the air.

"I don't feel so lonely anymore," he muttered as we turned our gaze back to the beautiful scenery, this time with his head on my shoulder.

I placed my hand on his lap, and he placed his palm on mine. They felt warm, his skin soft and delicate.

"Me too," I replied, planting a kiss on the side of his head. "Me too."