Crimson and Clover

## Content Information

Rhys had often desperately wished to visit the small and insignificant city of Bend, Oregon. It was only a six hour drive from his hometown, but it might as well have been across the world for an ordinary high schooler. It was the place Colby had moved to and disappeared to for all those years. If only Rhys had visited, if only he called or texted more persistently, if only he’d tried just a little harder to make contact with them maybe, just maybe they would have at least had more time.

It was something he’d heard a million times. A useless sentiment, that every moment was precious because you never know what will happen tomorrow. That you should live every day like it’s your last or you’ll regret it when you lose someone you love. If only he’d had a little more time. Even just a little. He’d give anything for just a little more time.

Bend, Oregon was dressed in humid, overcast weather. It seemed almost picture perfect weather for a funeral. The grass looked greener against the pale sky, and the black umbrellas darker still.

There was barely anyone in attendance. It made it hurt more somehow. Rhys knew Colby’s father and his two siblings, and somewhat recognized other members of his extended family. There were a couple other young people too, from Colby’s high school maybe. Locals. Rhys had flown in from Night Falls, a feat that was easy enough for him, but it didn’t seem like anyone else had gone through the trouble.

He came even though he was tired and disoriented, sick and strange and wracked with grief. Nothing had been the same since that night. He couldn’t keep anything down no matter how much he tried to eat. His body felt like it was constantly on the spin cycle of a washing machine, everything was so bright, loud- disorientating. He was cold but burning up in the sun. He threw up at least six times on the airplane. Everything was wrong. All because Colby had died. Maybe his body was trying to kill him too, rather than deal with the grief. Maybe it would be better that way, too.

The church was empty and quiet. The speeches were short and lacking meaning. Rhys couldn’t bring himself to go up to say anything. There didn't seem to be a point of laying his heart bare for people he didn’t know. Especially not when Colby could now never hear it.

He watched the others go up one by one to shake their family’s hands and give a final goodbye. He could make out Colby’s outline in the casket. It seemed clearer than it should be. He could hear the murmuring up on the stage word for word, too. The quiet sobs from his sister. All fragile goodbyes.

His feet moved on their own when the others had mostly cleared out heading to the burial site. Even though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see his best friend’s dead body. Even if they were dead no matter if he saw them or not, he didn’t want to. The feeling made him sick to his stomach.

“Thanks for coming, Rhys.” Colby’s father’s sentiment felt hollow. His hands felt as cold as his eyes. Their siblings were speechless, accepting hugs for what little they were worth.

Rhys walked, somehow. Against his will. Colby looked no different than he did when he was asleep. It made him think of how many times they’d stayed up playing games, watching movies, talking. How Colby would sometimes fall asleep first. He was always on edge, looking for a weakness to exploit or an opportunity to try and push himself away from the world. There wasn’t much that could lower his guard. But when he slept first, Rhys could get in close and easily. Could tuck in under his chin and settle in his warmth without resistance. Could be close to him, like that.

Now there wasn’t any warmth. Colby wasn’t sleeping. And Rhys wouldn’t ever be able to close the gap. Words bubbled in this throat but all that came out were quiet sobs. He didn’t want to look anymore. He didn’t want to be here.

“I hate you,” he struggled. He’d never said anything like it. “I hate you so much,” the words burned on his tongue. It didn’t make him feel any better. “You never wait for me to catch up.” It felt pathetic to sob in front of his dead body. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

“No you don’t, Rhy,” Colby murmured softly, behind him. “No you don’t.”

They weren’t sure if Rhys could hear. They weren’t sure if anyone could hear. Somehow, they were here, except they weren’t here at all.

Colby was dead. So close to being literally six feet under. And yet—

Here he was. Here he was, looking at his own body—hair brushed back and neat, arms calmly folded. He looked soft, peaceful. Like he hadn’t sat through the world's worst funeral.

It was a fucking pathetic show, if Colby said so himself. Practically no one came. And even fewer seemed to care. They knew that the same thing happened at funerals; no one told the truth. No one said, “Yeah, Colby was a real fucking asshole. A pathetic loser. No one liked him.”

Somehow, through eulogy, he became quiet and reserved, stubborn and kind, his edges all worn away to soft palatable pleasantries.

Pathetic. Even Rhys wasn’t being honest.

And Rhys looked like shit. Pale, gaunt, shivering in his cheap suit. He looked like an addict going through withdrawals, but Colby doubted Rhys had gotten hooked on anything. Even as much of a pushover as he was, he was even more a stickler for the rules. And that meant getting him to drink remained a bit of a challenge.

Colby bit his lip, expecting to taste blood, but there was nothing. His body felt weirdly solid to him, but trying to touch anything else…. he just passed right through. Invisible.

There was a deep irony to that. He always wanted to be alone.

Still, something told them they needed to try. They reached out, trying to think solid thoughts, trying to clasp Rhys on the shoulder and say it was alright; they were still here. He could still catch up. But their hand just passed right through.

Rhys shivered. He’d never felt so grief stricken in his whole life. And now he’d have to watch them bury his best friend. The day just kept getting better and better. He wanted to stand here sobbing forever, but he couldn’t. His shoulders steadied as if someone were there supporting him. But he was alone.

He had to say goodbye. Somehow.

Glancing back at Colby’s family, Rhys waited a moment. They weren’t looking. Maybe it was stupid or gross or inappropriate but…

He reached over the casket gently, hand trembling. Colby was so cold to the touch. Dead.

Softly he thumbed a stray strand of hair back behind their ear. Just a couple days ago he’d done the same. Watched him give him that annoyed look, nose wrinkling in response. It was so warm and familiar. Rhys had been searching for it ever since he left.

“It should have been me,” Rhys whispered, voice still broken from sobbing. “It’s my fault. I’m not worth anything, C. I’ve never been. I was only happy because you were with me. I haven’t been happy since. And now- I’ll-“ he teared up. “I’ll never be.” It never hurt so much to swallow. “That night meant so much to me. But it killed you. I killed you-“ Rhys cried. “Because I couldn’t say it. I’ve never been able to. I’m so sorry. I don’t hate you- I- I-“

I love you.

Rhys sniffled, cupping Colby’s cheek gently. “I can’t say bye. I’ll just wait- I’ll just wait.” It felt beyond terrifying to speak to their corpse. To touch them. But Rhys leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead anyways. “How can I move on? I- I can’t. So I’ll- I’ll just wait. I’ll wait like I always do.”

If Rhys could collapse from sobbing he would have right there. But he took a deep breath anyways, stabbing pains in his chest. “I’ll see you, Col.” The words were gentle and surprisingly soft.

Colby swallowed, their chest tightening. He wanted to say it was alright. But it wasn’t. He wanted to say he understood but he didn’t.

The things Rhys was saying… they didn’t make sense. How did they make anyone happy? How could anyone miss them that much? How could anyone…

No. They couldn’t think about that silence that stretched until it snapped thin. The things that hung in the air between them. The things neither of them said.

Did Colby ever say how much he missed him? How much he ached to find the words?

Now he stands behind his best friend, watching him try to choke back sobs. All for him. And some best friend Colby was. Colby treated him like shit. Ignored him. Made fun of him. Let him slip through his fingers.

But…. Rhys couldn’t hear him. Colby could say anything and Rhys couldn’t hear.

Somehow, it made Colby feel brave. He could say the things he should have.

“I- I’m sorry, Rhys,” they said softly. It still came out choked and half mumbled. Colby hasn’t been emotionally vulnerable like this, ever.

“Don’t go thinking this was your fault, you idiot. You didn’t kill me. If anything…. it’s my fault. We should have gone together. But I was too stupid.”

Colby swallowed, thick. Their eyes burned with phantom tears. It was so hard, even like this.

“I couldn’t tell you how… jealous I was. I always knew you’d be better off without me, and there you were. Making friends. Having fun. Instead of hanging out with a dumbass like me. People like you, Rhys. And they’d like you more if you were yourself,

“So promise me, Rhy. Promise you’ll forgive yourself. That you’ll learn to stand up for yourself. Be brave.”

Colby looked up at the sky, as if they were mortified by what they were about to do. But then they steeled themself. They floated in front of Rhys, matching his brown-red eyes with theirs.

Softly, quietly, mostly for themself, they mirrored Rhys’s movements by their corpse. Softly stroking his hair back, softly pressing their lips to Rhys’ forehead.

But this time, when Colby reached out, something was different. A soft breeze fluttered, smoothing Rhys’s hair. A shiver from his forehead where Colby gently pressed their lips.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” they murmured softly. “I’ll have your back this time.”

Rhys swallowed, thick. His heart beat almost too slow in his chest. It wasn’t beyond belief to hallucinate their voice when he was so steeped in grief, but it still frightened him just a little. Barely audible on the wind, telling him it wasn’t his fault. Is that really what he wanted to hear? Maybe it wasn’t, but even in Rhys’s wildest dreams had he ever heard Colby sound so soft. So vulnerable.

It would have made him cry harder, but for some reason it felt comforting. Rhys rubbed his forehead, a cold patch melting under his touch. He gave a final look at Colby, burning the image into his mind. How long would it be until he forgot what he looked like, what he sounded like. But he’d try at least to make it last. As long as he could.

The burial was as inspired as the funeral. Rhys could hardly watch as they lowered the casket. He was glad when it was over, despite what it meant. Glad to leave the cemetery behind.

He’d come back the next day before his flight back to Night Falls. The fact that he had to return there somehow made him feel more sick than the grave that stood in front of him. But there wasn’t much he could do about that.

The sunlight stung his skin, but Colby’s grave looked so peaceful in the light. Rhys was sure he might be committing a crime, or at the very least the groundskeeper would curse him. But he’d leave the site with dirt on his hands, and Colby’s grave growing clovers.