He had been running all his life. In the early years of his life he ran from childhood, then from his parents, and now he was running from life itself.

'Time heals all wounds' was not applicable to him, if to anyone at all. There had been so many times he had wished this saying to be true, he had waited patiently for time to pass, but weeks had turn into months and finally he found himself a year older, but the pain still remained and it reminded itself with any little thing that could be associated with him.

There was no point to living without him. There never had been. Though they had never spoke of it, there had been a silent promise between them from the beginning: I will always be by your side.

Albrecht had not broken that promise - death had come between them. Friedrich had hoped he would somehow still feel Albrecht's presence after he died, though it did not matter how hard he tried or how passionately – desperately – he wished for it, Albrecht was gone. The only traces remaining of him were the few of his scarce belongings that Friedrich had managed to rescue. Whenever the surges of loss became too intense, he would find a piece of Albrecht's clothing to soak up his tears, or a text to read with Albrecht's voice in his head. The things he left behind were so few; their time together had been too brief. Friedrich was crippled by the memories of the two of them together; he clung to them so intensely his whole body ached. He did not know what else he could do.