(BBB Fanfic: #ANGSTHO) If You Read This, Please Stay

-- epilogue --

The brooch Gopal has gotten me shines under the room's silver lighting, and I drive its needle through the fabric of my headscarf until it fits snug.

Fang will be ready to escort us at the site in a matter of minutes before all of us are set. Outside, the weather stands comparably fairer than that of three hundred sixty-five days ago. The memory of the pouring rain and the clean whir of silence dawns on us all.

It luckily doesn't manage to sweep the rest of our awareness off before we actually get there. It's not a mystery when my friends hand me glasses of water every now and then considering I have the tendency to spit out certain emotions in a blink.

My phone rings almost in the middle of the spurring, busy background of Tok Aba's home. I read as he says he's walking to our place already. "Guys, Fang's on his way," I call out to the rest. "We need to get ready."

I pace towards the foot of the staircase, "BoBoiBoy! Fang's coming, you ready?"

For the first time, his name comes out of my lips in a stutter.

We watch him moderately parade down the stairs, his clothes appearing more formal than supposedly. His cardigan jacket, white over his simple black shirt. A new thing for him, I must say. Still, the style doesn't waver off the cap on his head.

"Your cap," I mutter, unfolding the creases at his sleeves. "It's crooked," I laugh, taking it off.

The smoke of reality falls on me the moment I lift it up. His hair is brushed flat and straight, clean and tidy, all without that signature white streak on the right side of his head.

I can only manage to emptily stare at him for a couple of seconds over his elegant stance. The apparition stands clear, crisp, and real in front of me. The sight can manage to wring tears out of anyone's eyes. I try to focus at the task at hand, looking into his eyes to let me forget all the sudden events.

But I get drowned in his chestnut eyes, eyes resembling those of the boy I loved so much. All his emotions reflect like pearls under strands of his hair. Today, they radiate sorrow, grief, regret...pain.

I don't note the silence as I reel him into an embrace. One he desperately needs. I whisper, "Are you sure you want to be called BoBoiBoy today?"

His voice is funny to my ears, a voice I can't let go of, but already had. "He wanted it, right? But...for respect...y'know..."

I pull back from the embrace (it's a miracle I'm not crying.) I put back the cap over Ree's head with a sigh of acceptance. I nod, patting his shoulder, croaking out, "Let's go see him."

.

The walk all the way there is tense in every step. Barely one of us even speaks along the way, and I'm tempted to break our wall of silence. It's awkward how we march through the grassy, ghostly lawns with the clone of the boy himself, but Ree keeps mum during the walk, with a different cap on, its bill shadowing his eyes.

It was Gopal who volunteered to go buy the flowers outside, whilst I am the one leading us (with Atok and BoBoiBoy's parents) to that point of the cemetery.

I admit not visiting him much during the past year, given how I don't do emotionally well with dead friends and how I embarrassingly get lost multiple times through the labyrinthine pathways.

When we find him, it's sad how no monument stands above his little stone, considering how we'd like to keep his spot private and simple (we don't appreciate tourists dancing around, taking pictures of our loved ones.) Only stands above him a tree we never remembered was there in the first place.