Warnings: Slight slash but not graphic.

Disclaimer: I own Edan and even though the other two characters do not have names that are mentioned, I know who they are and I own them as well.

Feedback: Please.

AN: This is the sequel to your best friend and it's basically the aftermath of what has happened. I suggest reading that one before this story or else it won't make that much sense; it's not mandatory but it may soften some confusion. Takes place about a week after ybf.

my best friend

The harsh wind tears at my thin sweatshirt, the ice-cold gale quickly penetrating both flesh and bone. The English country weather matches my mood: cold and dreary. A change from what I used to be: an optimistic young man who hoped to accomplish everything I set out to do. Now, I'm not even sure I can walk the few feet it will take to reach your side, my knees shaking; body not convinced that it can carry me through this day, this year, this life. My heart gave up on caring about anything but the pain too many long days ago. Upon reaching my destination, I fall to my knees, not really caring about the wet grass or muddy dirt.

You're my best friend.

To say I'm not hurting would be a lie. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to speak, and most notably: it hurts to live. Existing without you is something I thought I would never experience. It never even crossed my mind. Years ago, both of us had laughed over brownie sundaes and come up with the notion that I would go first after getting caught in some sort of weather phenomenon and you would tap dance gleefully on my grave. If you ever learned to tap dance before the twister turned me into mush, that is.

You're my best friend.

I told you that I wanted my funeral to be a celebration of my life; that's how I've always wanted it to be. No crying, no wailing, or teary-eyed speeches. I just wanted my friends to say a few words and go out for pizza or something like that. Simple, never anything more then simple because all I am is simple. On the other hand, you wanted a funeral with all the fixings. Screaming mourners and sobbing speeches. I always looked at you strangely when you said that, still saying around bites of ice cream that it would be too bad that I wouldn't be around to see it because I would go first. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out that way.

You're my best friend.

Well, it was you wanted and it was what you got, even though most of the screaming was coming from me and not from the professional mourners you'd wanted to hang around. People looked at me with sympathy, knowing why I scratched at my arms to feel the physical pain that could match the mental anguish I felt every time I blinked, every time I looked at that closed casket. They knew why I took this so hard, the chain of human telephones quickly passing along the news of an answering machine suicide, the message addressed to me and no one else. Thankfully, no one but me knew about the one you'd left only hours before that one. In a sense, the sobbing plea for help was worse then the good-bye.

You're my best friend.

I knew you were troubled, the loss of your music career creating demons I was positive you would never defeat if it became too hard to deal with, the loss of your will to live not too far behind the will to drink but I was going to help you anyway. You didn't know about the bags and boxes I had packed and stacked in the foyer of my home, waiting for the time when I would place them in my car, drive to the airport and fly halfway around the world to appear on your doorstep, ready to make all the pain disappear in a wash of peanut butter and chocolate bars. The ticket was on the dining room table, waiting.

You're my best friend.

I had worked late that night, cramming all the photo shoots I could into three days so I could leave the country and be where I needed to be: with you. I was tired, thoughts focused on nothing but the warm bed and the warm arms of my lover, the lover I would soon leave behind to be with the one who needed me more. Luckily, he understood why I had to go; he never said anything more then 'be careful, call me often and tell him I said hi'.

You're my best friend.

A gulp of cold orange juice straight from the carton, a finger pressing the play button on my answering machine and seven messages later, I'm sitting in the middle of my kitchen floor in a puddle of sticky juice, sobbing hysterically as I tried to get in touch with the person I counted above all others on this earth. Immeasurable rings and deep down inside, I knew you wouldn't pick up the phone. I heard the gunshot and a silly aspect of my now tattered mind wonders where in the hell you got the gun.

You're my best friend.

Edan has held my hand throughout this entire ordeal, patiently wiping away my tears as I cling to him like a child, whimpering like the lost soul I've become. He's waiting for me in the car, and even with the distance between the two of us, I can still feel his gaze. I know he is worried about me, silently terrified that I will follow my best friend to the place you went without me. Part of me wants to because I know you have to be lonely wherever you are because isn't death in itself a lonely mistress?

You're my best friend.

I know I should go, it's beginning to get dark and I have to get back stateside before my boss decides to send me packing for good. There are only so many sick days he could give me. After all, I've become one of the most sought after photographers. With a final look at the marble headstone that reads the name of the person I feel so empty without, I lean down and press a kiss to the dew-soaked grass at my feet, whispering the three words I've reserved for only four people in this world. But now only three people will hear them pass my lips.

You're my best friend.

I drag myself to my feet, fingertips tracing your name one last time before I turn and walk away, idly brushing away tears I didn't even know I cried with the sleeve of my hooded sweatshirt. A small smile taints my lips when I realize that the garment was your favorite color but the simple grin disappears when I remember that you aren't around anymore to tell me how horrible I look in red.

You're my best friend.

Edan softly calls my name and I look up, surprised to find myself standing before him. I nod numbly when he asks if I'm okay, welcoming the feel of his arms around me as I take a final look at the cold stone marker that marks the plot where the man I regretfully admit means more to me then the one who holds me now, lies.

You're my best friend.

You were my best friend.

Tears begin to fall yet again and I realize that maybe, just maybe, you were more.

End.