With her eyes closed, she could feel everything around her shift. Or was it just her imagination. Running free just as the countless other times she found herself here. Trying to hold on. Trying to grasp on to something.
"You got me."
Snapping her eyes open she turned in the direction in which the voice came.
There he was just as youthful as she, although much older. His fro now somewhat tamed in comparison to when she'd last seen him.
"You've been calling."
"I didn't think you'd come," she mumbled, her emerald eyes locked upon his, terrified to blink.
"I wasn't planning to."
"But, you did," she replied, the gems glossing over.
"Yeah."
"It'll be two years on Saturday."
His left cheek raised slightly. "It's just another day."
"Right. Just another day," she repeated as a single tear cascaded down her right cheek.
His hand immediately rose to wipe it away, until he froze, afraid of what may happen if they were to touch. If they could touch.
"Don't cry."
For the first time in those few minutes, she tore her eyes from him, blinking away the remaining tears. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like—
"—to see you cry," he finished. "I don't know what you've been doing with those other brothers, but I still don't."
"Yeah, yeah," she simpered, taking a deep breathe before returning back to him. "So, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he assured her with a dainty smile. "But you don't look too good. What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing," she shrugged. "Just missing you," she managed to croak.
"I hope it isn't too much."
"Ha," she smiled. "Sometimes it feels like it is. Like I'll never get over it."
"You will. Everyone will. We all do when death pays us a visit. It just takes time."
He spoke with such certainty, but she had yet to believe him. It'd been quite some time and it still felt like yesterday. Yesterday, when she'd gotten the finally late night email, followed by a five hour long phone call. Yesterday, that she argued up and down about him coming to stay with her for the weekend, in which he finally agreed to leave Friday morning. Yesterday, that he would never make it to see her small apartment on Chicago's south side.
"How much time?"
He fiddled with the fabric of his pants, seemingly searching for an answer. "I wish I knew."
"Hm," she managed. "Well, they say it'll snow on the 21st."
He chuckled at this, reveal the boyish. "When doesn't it snow in April?"
