Above the Crimson Sky (Sequel to Beneath the Midnight Sky)

XXVIII. Grief Is Not Time Specific

Nobody expected him to live really. People that knew him remembered how sick had been throughout his entire college experience. Surely, he would be too weak to survive a gunshot wound.

Others anticipated that if the injury didn't kill him, he'd do it himself. I know I would, they'd whisper. Losing the one you love to gunfire; watching him die right beside of you knowing that one of the bullets was meant for you; well, must be hard.

They weren't ready for the time they saw him kneeling at the candlelight vigil in front of the theatre. The local news channel hid behind a tree and livestreamed the entire thing. Greedy bastards.

New York watched as he sat down on the ground and stared at the picture. They noticed that his hair was unkempt, his eyes had profound dark circle, and his skin appeared clammy and neglected.

Tears were shed when they watched him run his fingers down the picture, as if petting the portrait would bring him back. They held their breath when he reached in his pocket. What is he going to get? Is this where he ends it all?

They exhaled when a white piece of paper was revealed. Though they could only hear half the words that he was speaking due to the distance, they heard enough: He missed him. He longed to be with him again. He was sorry he couldn't love him the way he wanted to, he tried. He hoped that the last few months were happy. He was sorry he couldn't save him and return the favor. He thanked him for loving him but he'd never say goodbye.

He stood up and dusted off his jeans, ones that were loose around the waist. He's so thin, everyone watched captivated. Peeking from under his shirt was a large bandage that was wrapped around his abdomen. It must have been itchy because he kept trying to adjust it.

Some views sobbed without warning when they watched him sit back down, unable to tear himself away from the vigil. He put his head in his hands, sitting indian style on the cold and wet grass.

They became confused when they saw a student walking across campus to him, phone clutched tightly in his hand. They raised a brow when he kneeled and wrapped his arms around him. When he started to fight the man to let him go, their hearts torn asunder.

Yet, when the curly haired man didn't even flinch and only held him tighter, their hearts became full and mended. They watched as slowly, he turned to face the man and accepted his embrace. He let out a loud wail, hitting the man's chest repeatedly. He tried to pull his own hair out. He tried to get away again, but without warning, dropped his arms in surrender and let the man stroke his back affectionately.

When a blonde with an acoustic guitar and a brunette with aviators and a shiny gold watch came and joined them, the world gasped. A movement was happening. A red-haired Ginger covered in tattoos soon followed, a theatre major with big goofy glasses; a girl with long hair and a million dollar smile; a teacher with music notes on his tie...and countless others just circling around.

The boy did not notice most of them. He nested himself deep into the curly haired individual who first came to the rescue.

When all was said and done, the world witnessed grief in real time.

The curly haired man let someone else hold him tightly while he walked toward the newscaster's camera. The last thing the world saw was a broken lens and him speaking into it:

"We are not here for your ratings. We are here to mourn the life of Zayn Malik. We are here to try and pick up the pieces of our lives. We'd appreciate it if you gave us privacy during this time because if not, this lens will be your head."

& the screen turned black.

*****

When the clouds burst, and night fall emerged, Harry sat on the grass still holding Louis into his arms. Most of the students left hours ago and when the rain made its appearance, he dismissed Niall, Liam, and Ed.