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"…a thing." The whisper drifted across the silence; a thud echoing behind it where Billy's head dropped to his knees. His arms wrapped tighter around his bent legs, hands pulling the worn fabric of his blue jacket over themselves. Soft drops fell onto the newly overturned dirt beneath him. He refused to look up at the rough stone before him, lest his shattered heart chose to pulverize itself once more on the hard granite. He didn't have to look anymore to know exactly what it said.

The wind swished through the trees, brushing through his unkempt blonde hair and almost bringing to his ears notes of a song he once knew. On the grave of his love, Billy broke.

Billy slumped back further, losing the strength to keep himself upright. A single bandage wrapped hand automatically attempted to grasp the strings of the sweatshirt hood, stiff fingers fumbling to draw the worn fabric closer in an effort to preserve heat. He shivered fiercely, the cold sapping the strength from his muscles, but made no attempt to move. Penny! His mind screamed. His lips trembled briefly, hesitating to open, before falling still in hopelessness. He remembered the pain that had shot down his already sore throat the last time he had cried out. It had been far too long to remember what exactly he had been screaming, but he remembered each word had been oil flowing to the fire in his chest. That fire had been put out long ago, the winter chill in which he bathed himself had extinguished the flames, replacing the pain in his body and mind with blessed numbness. I won't feel a thing. It had become his mantra, repeated again and again until it was true. He had shivered in the cold for longer than he would admit but even that was fading quickly. He curled on himself more, grateful for his lanky flexibility, and inched closer to the dirty stone behind him. He'd have to clean it soon. He'd done it long ago, but the rain and dirt darkened the rock faster than he remembered. Fumbling his hood closer the fabric pillowed beneath his head as he sunk further into his baggy clothes and his eyes began to slip close. The shaking of his body keeping him conscious had long since stopped, letting his mind fade away as faint notes of a song floated briefly across.

The short man squelched closer to the figure of his friend in the distance, the moisture rolling off his body and slipping into his shoes making them squish with each step. He paid it no heed, he was used to it. Sighing, he took in the pale image of his friend. The man looked like a child huddled in too large clothing, pale skin not old enough to feel the pressure of the sun and face slack in the innocence of youthful sleep. Moist was hard pressed to want to remember the man who had stood in this child's place only months ago, the same sweatshirt and clothes fitting comfortably on admittedly still somewhat pale skin, but the haunting image of the man collapsed before him forcibly imprinted it in his mind. These days the usual frumpy lab coat hid more than just identity and a lack of confidence, the goggle-hidden eyes now sunken and darkened.

The moisture dampening his skin transferred to soak into his friend's jacket as his wrapped his arms around to lift him but he doubted the unconscious man would notice. Billy barely shifted as his friend effortlessly hoisted him into his arms, Moist frowning at the ease it took to lift his friend and the chill that transferred from him. Something threatened to tumble from one wrapped hand (Moist was honestly amazed the gauze hadn't been removed already in a bout of frustration) and Moist caught it, gently laying it down while balancing the man in his arms. Worriedly Moist headed towards home, hoping to return some warmth to the broken man before him.

Without its usual visitor the graveyard was left lonely and silent. An almost forgotten, dirty headstone rested at an angle in the back corner, a bright cup of frozen yoghurt placed lovingly before it.