(François' POV)

Well, it's a crazy month and two weeks. I've honestly enjoyed it. I was so depressed for so long that I honestly forgot what happiness felt.

Lloyd says he has something planned for my birthday. I didn't want a party, but Bella insisted. The plan is, from what I know, we'll have a small party here, then he'll take us somewhere "up in the stars."

I think his obsession with stars is a bit concerning. Apart from the wedding ring and the Medusa one, he only wears stuff with stars on it. Star earrings, star rings, he even got star tattoos. I read his little notes, and he has star drawings all over it.

I tried addressing religion to him, and he told me something that got me really upset. He doesn't believe in God anymore. He's an Atheist, I suppose. I can't understand it. I'm not mad with him, how could I be? How could someone who came from the afterlife not believe in God?

I tried to change his mind. I tried praying with him, lighting candles, nothing. The only thing he ever prays to is a painting he made of the giant that came to me. She's very pretty, but she isn't a religion. He prays to it, offers it fruit, and sometimes, I catch him talking to it. I would be lying if I said it didn't freak me out, especially because the things he gives the painting disappears. I honestly don't know what to think of it.

This whole thing is crazy, really. I wish he told me sooner. I would've helped him with it. He seems so stressed. I hate his brother. He turned him into this. A broken, overwhelmed man.

"Lloyd." I said one day after dinner. We were sitting on the balcony. "I think you should go see your family."

He looked like I suggest him to kill a village of babies. "..I can't. I look so weird."

He was smoking. I hate when he smokes. Those things remind me of cancer, and I never want to think about cancer for as long as I live. I still hear the coughing any time I'm in the hallway. I see yellow and think of his skin. His trembling, yellow hand stroking my face. It's a nightmare, and although I woke up from it, it follows me everywhere I go.

"They really want to see you. Especially your father. His face..."

I stopped. I've shoved the memory of January down where my mother is. But like her, they always come flooding back to me. The quiet music, the emotions I still can't explain, the faces. Lloyd's wax face. It didn't look like him. It was some cheap actor with eyes tied shut and makeup on his rotting skin. The skin I used to touch, to taste, to love. The last time I saw the real Lloyd was when I left him to buy the wine at the store. He told me he would meet me in the backyard with everyone else. He never did meet me there, did he?

I remember the faces around me. Mrs. Sauveterre's horrified face as she screamed for Lloyd not to go down in the ground. It shamefully made me envious. My mother never loved me as much as she loved him, but I feel so terrible for both of them. They never realized how much love was between them. She had to be stopped from jumping on his coffin by three people. She's a very tall lady. She was utterly destroyed.

Mr. Doh's face was the worst. It shook me to my core. This man, this machine, had seen the worst of the worst. Men eating each other when there was no food left, babies dying in his hands, organs, shit, piss, everything your mind can make up. But seeing the only thing that truly belonged to him leave him, oh. His face. His old, wrinkled, red face.

"François." He brought me back. "I actually do want to see people, just not my parents yet." His voice became soft, softer than I've heard him speak in a very long time. "I miss my best friend."

I thought of Bella. She missed hers too. "Which one?"

He looked up to the sky as if someone was giving him an answer. "Charles. White. James." He sighed. "I miss them, Franny."

"We can go. But first," I stood up. Lloyd floated up. I like it when his wings do that. He looks awesome. "I need to take you somewhere."

----

(Lloyd's POV)

Now, I really had no idea where we were going. François brought three bouquets of flowers. The drive was quiet. I'm not exactly a fan of those, but I'm way too shy to start any conversation when it's that quiet.

I looked out to the cemetery. The sky was still bright, though it was setting. I wish I could see a sunset again, and I know the other people here have that same wish.

We got out. François put the flowers on his grandparents' graves. I made roses from ice and put them next to them before bowing to them. I liked them a lot. They were so sweet, but I think death was best for them. They got to see her again.

He gave her flowers as well. I started to make flowers for all the graves there, accidentally forgetting to give her some. Many of them were old. Forgotten souls with no one to grieve for them. I wish that happened to me. Nobody would've been suffering.

I saw my gravestone.

I stared at it. I breathed in the smell of dirt that hid my skeleton. I couldn't believe it. What man has the opportunity to stare at his own headstone?

I touched the letters with my fingers. I felt every one of them. L. J. S. D. D. These are mine. They're actually mine.

François sat next to me. I felt his arm around my shoulders.

"It's strange, isn't it?" I nodded. "I know how it is, feeling like a part of you died. Though mine's not literal."

"..that's me. But this is also me." I touched my chest. "I don't know. I just don't know."

He rubbed my back. I thought about me. The me that flew planes into countless battles, praying that my death would mean something to my country, even if it was small. The me that destroyed Coia and my beautiful plane, seeing the dead bodies of children and women burn right in front of me. The me that failed my country as king.

But, I'm good. There was one that saved my best friends. The man that stopped Coia from destroying us. The king that made my country the best it ever was. The one that fell in love.

I still have the good parts left. A lover, a son, a friend, a writer, and a father to a little girl up in the stars and four pets. I think I'm okay, not great, but not the worst. I'm glad some parts of me are dead. The cancer patient, the disobedient son, the child.

That's when I realized it. I cried, but it was good tears.

"Don't worry, Lloydie. I know it's hard." He rubbed my wrist. It's still skinny.

"He's gone, François. Henry." The air became tight, and I felt him stiff. "His touch is gone. I don't feel it anymore."

He started crying too. I don't know why. I think I made him emotional like me. Before, he didn't cry often. He was like my mother, strong and always had his head up. I think a few years around me made him mush. I got it from my dad. He cries at the drop of a hat.

"I'm glad. I'm very glad." He kissed me. I wish kisses could last forever, but then you think of all the germs and shit and you get sick.

I touch my arm. "Kim is gone, too. All of it is gone." I made his hand touch my heart. We could both feel it beating. "But you're still here."

--

(François' POV)

After the whole thing, we arrived home. I honestly felt better, and so did Lloyd. I love seeing him happy. He was on the bed, cuddling with Blueberry. She's been all over him, which I don't blame her. She missed him. We all did.

"So, here's the plan," I told him as I laid in bed. I finished my whole skincare thing. It's crazy how all my pimples just vanished when I started doing it again. "I texted White first, and I told him I wanted to visit. He said I could come tomorrow."

He hugged the dog. "Yeah, I'm just nervous." Damn, I wish he would hug me like that. She was all in his chest. I hate when people say dogs can't smile. That girl was grinning ear to ear.

"Don't be. White might ask questions, but I don't think he'll care all that much." I gave him a kiss, that always works. "And if he tries anything..."

"I know, I know." He lit up again. I can't stand that! Sometimes, I just want to rip it out of his mouth and break all of them. "Alright, baby girl, I gotta put you to bed."

He stood up to tuck her in. For a snake, he still has a big ass. I don't know how, but I'm more than fine with it. He kissed all the dogs, gave them their blankets and pillows, and then went to Jr. Should we even call him Jr anymore? I have blue hair now. We could dye the cat, but I think he'll scratch us to death if we tried.

"Does baby Jr want a kiss too?" He gave him a kissy face. The little asshole hissed, then rubbed his face against his. "Aww, good boy."

"Someone else wants a kiss too." I played with my hair, batting my eyes. "Just saying."

He smirked and gave the biggest, wettest, most annoying kiss ever on my cheek. I laughed and then pulled up on the bed for his annoying kiss. He looked so happy. I never, ever want that to leave again.

Today was a good day.

--

Speak! Speak!
John Everett Millais