Silhouette of a Wilted Flower

He really had missed him

Basil had always liked the rain.

It was... comforting for him. It was constant. It was reassuring. It was soothing.

He already has a few memories connected to the rain, so that way, he'd never forget them. Because rain was something that always happened, right? So now, each time it rains, he'll always remember them. He won't forget.

There... was just an appeal to him to tie special memories to normal things like pictures... music... even the weather. It felt like he was eternalizing precious little moments that he knew he'd never want to forget- that he knew he never wanted to lose.

Maybe it was a little silly, but... those little moments were important to him. And it worked!

Like right now, Basil can remember-sort of clearly; his memory wasn't as sharp as Sunny's- when he once huddled with Grandma on the couch and sipped some tea. He can even remember what type it was: chamomile mixed with a bit of peppermint. It was calming. It was soothing. And combined with the rain's drumming, it lulled him into sleepy contentment.

Basil closed his eyes, listened to the rain, and Basil had been happy.

Basil can remember when he had once jumped in puddles with his friends and kicked water at each other's feet. Kel and Aubrey bickered. Sunny asked to see the photo, and their arms brushed when he leaned in to look.

Basil's heart quickened, and Basil had been happy.

After all of this... Basil wasn't sure if he liked the rain as much anymore.

He couldn't wait until this was all over so he could just call it a bad, distant memory instead of the current present.

Every thump of his heart was pumping more unwanted emotions through him. Emotions that he shouldn't be feeling. Emotions that he didn't want to feel. He's supposed to be happy- he is happy. So why doesn't he feel happy?

His body was being such a traitor, turning his legs into a wobbly mess, making his face shine red like a tomato. Basil was happy. He is happy! So his body needs to stop making it seem like he isn't.

It was cold. Like really, really cold. Was it because of the rain?

The air was cold. The silence in the room was cold.

But nothing was colder than Sunny's eyes. Why wouldn't Sunny look at him? Did Sunny hate him so much that he couldn't bear to look at his face?

Half of Basil wanted Sunny to look away from where he was, focusing intensely on the falling rain outside, and look at him. The other half was terrified at the idea of making eye contact. Or maybe he shouldn't even say 'half' when the latter was definitely not an equal portion to the former. Maybe he should say three-quarters of him was terrified at the idea of making eye contact instead. Or maybe just one whole. Yep. Definitely one whole.

He wanted to try and say something, anything, just to hear a sound other than the rain. But tendrils wrapped tightly around his neck. How was he supposed to speak when he could barely get in enough air to breathe?

...Why was it like this? Why was everything... turning out like this?

He wanted to feel light and fuzzy like he did when Sunny first saved him the other night and carried him away in his arms.

Basil wanted... to feel happy. He thought he'd feel happy. He thought he'd be happy to talk to his best friend again. Happy to be with Sunny again. But instead, he felt like...this.

WHY?

Why was he feeling like this with his best friend?

Why was he feeling like this around Sunny?