The wind on Our backs

28- Afterglow

Adrien Watkins would pass away on the first of December. His breathing had slowed to a faint whisper, and somewhere in the quiet hours of the morning, his body had finally surrendered to the fight. It had been peaceful, the nurses said. As if he had simply drifted off to sleep and never woken up. Rachel found herself repeating those words in her head as she stood outside Adrien's hospital room, her hand resting on the doorknob. She had been here only yesterday, just hours before, sitting by his bedside while he squeezed her hand and smiled that snaggletoothed smile that she had feared she would never see again.

But now, the room was different. The stillness felt heavy, like it was pressing down on everything, on the quiet hum of the machines that had been turned off, on the bare walls that seemed to echo with emptiness. Rachel stepped inside, her breath hitching as she saw the bed already stripped, as though trying to erase any evidence that he had ever been there. His belongings were gathered in a small pile on a chair by the window—a few changes of clothes, the books and magazines he had barely touched, and the camera that still had pictures of her in the snow.

Adrien's parents were there, their faces pale and drawn as they picked through his belongings, deciding what to take home and what to leave behind. When they noticed Rachel, Adrien's mother reached out to her with a trembling hand. "Rachel," she said softly, her voice strained and tired. "Thank you for coming. I know this isn't easy."

Rachel managed a nod, her throat tight. She stepped closer to the chair, her gaze falling on the camera. She picked it up, holding it carefully as though it were the most fragile thing in the world. She clicked through the photos, finding that last picture he had taken of her catching snowflakes on her tongue. It was such a silly moment, and yet, somehow, it felt significant, like a small piece of happiness captured forever.

"I can take these home," she offered, her voice barely audible. "I'll help go through everything."

Adrien's father nodded gratefully, squeezing Rachel's shoulder as he passed her. His face was lined with exhaustion, his eyes rimmed red. "We're just trying to gather the things that... meant something to him," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I don't know if we'll ever be able to part with any of it."

Rachel nodded, swallowing hard as she placed the camera into a bag. She picked up one of his books and thumbed through the pages, coming across a small folded note tucked inside. It was a letter—unfinished—addressed to her. She unfolded it gently, her hands trembling as she read the first few lines in Adrien's handwriting.

"I've been thinking a lot about the moon lately Rach..."

The words blurred as tears welled in her eyes. She folded the note back up and slid it into her pocket, telling herself she would read it later after his funeral when she could bear to. She couldn't stay still; there was too much to do, and if she stopped to really think about everything, she was afraid she might break.

Adrien's mother was sorting through his clothes, folding them neatly even though they were just going to be packed away. "He always kept this sweater here," she said, holding up a worn grey cardigan. "He said it was his favorite because it was just the right amount of comfortable and ugly." She let out a small, sad laugh, her fingers smoothing over the fabric. "He had such a silly way of seeing things."

Rachel's heart squeezed painfully. "I remember him wearing it to the park that day," she said softly. "He kept saying it made him look like an old man."

Adrien's father exhaled shakily, wiping a hand over his eyes. "He always managed to make us smile," he murmured. "He's a good kid" He trailed off, glancing around the room that felt too empty without Adrien's gentle presence.

Rachel gently took the sweater from Adrien's mother and placed it into the bag with his other belongings. She glanced at the clock on the wall, the hands ticking away the hours without mercy. Time hadn't slowed for anyone; it just kept moving forward, leaving Adrien's memory behind as it carried them into a world that didn't have him in it.

"Should we... start making some calls?" Rachel asked hesitantly, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "For the funeral, I mean."

Adrien's mother nodded, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "Yes, thank you, Rachel. We'll need to... figure out the arrangements."

The rest of the day passed in a haze of phone calls and quiet conversations. Rachel found herself on autopilot, responding to questions, making notes, trying to remember everything that needed to be done. She didn't know how she managed to keep going, but something kept her moving, kept her from falling apart.

It was well into the evening when she finally left the hospital, stepping out into the cold night air. The sky was clear, and the stars shone bright against the dark canvas. She found herself looking for the moon, half-expecting Adrien to be there beside her, pointing it out and saying something funny about how it looked like a giant silver coin.

But he wasn't there. It was just her, standing alone under the sky. The realization hit her like a wave, and for a moment, she felt herself being pulled under, struggling to breathe. She gripped the strap of her bag tightly, taking a deep breath and blinking back the tears that burned in her eyes.

She looked up at the moon, her breath forming small puffs of fog in the air. "I'm sorry, Adrien," she whispered, though she wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. For not being able to save him? For not having the right words to comfort him? For being the one still standing here while he was gone?

As she began the walk home, she remembered that snaggletoothed smile from yesterday. It was the last real smile she would ever see from him, a moment she would cling to like a lifeline in the days to come. It was a smile that told her he had been trying to stay strong, even at the very end, not for himself but for the people he loved.

When Rachel finally reached home, it felt impossible to grasp that Adrien was truly gone—just a day ago, she was by his side, and now the silence in her room felt colder than ever. In the middle of the night, the weight of his absence crashed down on her, and she couldn't stop the tears that came, her quiet sobs breaking through the darkness. Yet somehow, after what felt like hours, she managed to calm herself, her breaths slowly evening out as she clung to the memory of his voice, trying to find comfort in the faint afterglow of his presence.