AN: Prepare for feels.
"Hey Sixer, time to- oh..."
Stan rolled over and suddenly remembered that, yes, he no longer had a Sixer to wake up.
"Right," he mumbled. He laid in bed for a bit longer than usual before sitting up and getting dressed. He combed his hair and almost spoke to challenge Ford to a toothbrush race like they did every morning.
"Mornin'," he greeted upon reaching the kitchen.
"Morning, sweetie," Ma murmured, squeezing him in a hug before setting a plate of breakfast in front of him. There was an extra set of waffles. Stan knew it wasn't just his ma trying to comfort him.
The breakfast table was quiet for awhile as Stan poked at his food. He, surprisingly, wasn't that hungry.
"So... honey, how's school?" Ma asked cautiously. "Is everything ok?"
"Everything's fine, Ma," Stan mumbled. "I promise."
Ma sighed and hugged him again. Stan let her.
"I'm sorry, sweetie," she whispered. "I just don't want to lose the only baby boy I have left."
-----
"Hey Stan," Fiddleford greeted outside of school. "How ya feelin'?"
"Not great," Stan mumbled. Bella nodded in agreement.
"It's so weird," she spoke. "Like, not a good weird. I keep seeing things and thinking 'Oh, I should send that to Ford!' And... yeah..."
"I get it," Stan nodded. "I went to wake him up this morning, until I... remembered he wasn't there..."
"Gosh," Fiddleford murmured, his eyes drawn to Ford's locker as they passed it. "Everythin' ain't right. I always ask myself if I'll ever have the courage to tell him I like him, and Ah did it this mornin', too..."
Stan would have cried again if he still had any tears in him. What was it Ford always said? People can't cry if they're dehydrated, because they don't have enough water or something. Stan thought he should probably drink some water, then.
As they arrived in their first class, they saw that everyone kept glancing at Ford's desk. Stan, however, was trying desperately to not look.
That was difficult, since he sat right next to it.
Halfway through class he began to lean over and try to copy his brother's notes, only to be met with nothing.
During gym, Ford's locker was empty. Of course. His gym clothes were back home now. No use for them anymore.
At lunch, he sat with Bella and Fiddleford and almost saved Ford a seat for when he returned from his locker. He almost bought a second ice cream, since it Friday. He almost offered to throw Ford's tray away, since he likely had his nose stuck in some book.
In English, the teacher took out the stack of books Ford had given her and called Stan up.
"Stan, you knew Ford best- do you know which one of these was his favorite?" She asked. Stan looked at the titles on the sides of the books.
"That one," he answered, pointing. "That one is his favorite. He always goes on and on about it."
"Thank you," the teacher pulled it from the pile. "For the next few days we'll read this together. For Stanford."
Stan sat back down next to Bella and remained silent for the rest of class. Every time the teacher would read a part or sentence that Ford would always quote, he could hear his brother say them instead.
Halfway through that class, an announcement was made to wear gold and/or maroon on Monday, since those were Ford's favorite colors.
Almost, almost, almost. So many of them throughout the day. Almost this, almost that. He almost called for Ford when he saw Crampelter bullying some kid, to make sure the kid wasn't his twin. So many 'I should tell Ford's that ended in the unwelcome reminder that there could be no more 'I should tell Ford's.
So many kids talking about all the good things. All the fun memories they had of him. Someone even remembered that time in third grade when Ford dressed as his new favorite scientist for a week. By the end of the day, Stan's locker was also covered completely in sticky notes. There was no more room left on Ford's.
It happened again. And again, and again.
"Hey Ford-" what's the homework?
"Do you wanna-" go work on the Stan O' War?
"Sixer! Get your-" gross underwear off my side of the room!
It would stop eventually, Stan knew. He would learn that every time he yelled 'Ford' or 'Sixer', there wouldn't be an answer.
The problem was, he didn't want it to stop.
