The Man Who Never Speaks

14. The Magic of Candlelight

"I have this dream you're doing cool shit
Having adventures on your own."

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FP had dreaded this moment for decades, but with Alice by his side he knew that even if feelings that had been buried deep would come to the surface, he would be alright. She had his back. Always. That is one thing he had learned the last couple of months. Especially when they felt they could take on the world after the romantic picture of them that was spread in the newspaper. Nothing could break them, he was convinced.

It was strange to think that barely a year ago, he didn't speak a word. Day in, day out, he was stuck in his own mind in that wooden little cabin that he called home. But now? He was in love. He wasn't alone anymore.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Alice squeezed his hand comfortingly as she gave him a way out, in case he needed one.

She knew he was perfectly capable of making a choice, but in the months that she had gotten to know him, she had learned that sometimes he had trouble feeling his own boundaries.

"As long as you're here, I am." He told her confidently.

It was time. And though he had been terrified to face what he had known the past two decades, it was less scary knowing that there was someone next to him who would dry his tears and put his pieces together if he'd break.

Slowly, they walked over the graveyard, searching for the right name. The gravel crunched under his feet, an unfamiliar sound that he'd rather not get used to. His skin got covered in goosebumps as he looked at all the different graves and thought about all the broken family members that must come here for comfort. Even when FP had grown up in Riverdale, he didn't recognize any names. Maybe if he hadn't isolated himself, he would have. Now it was all just a mystery to him.

"It's here..." He stopped in his tracks as he was met with the name of his best friend carved into stone, including his birth- and deathday. Frederick Arthur Andrews. May 21st 1977. The day he was born. October 6th 2002. The day he lost his brother.

"Someone has brought flowers." Alice noticed a few white roses. They still looked like they were in the peak of their blossom, telling her that they had been brought not long ago.

"Must have been Mary. She goes at least once a week." FP concluded as he sat down on his knees in front of the grave, his eyes glued to Fred's name. His hand had fell out of Alice's and his eyes almost looked hypnotized.

"Do you want a moment alone?" She asked him, still standing behind him and not wanting to assume that it was okay for her to stay. After all, she had never met Fred and she didn't want to impose on a moment that was so important to FP.

"Please, stay." He turned his head to look at her, his soft eyes meeting hers.

There was only one hand he wanted to hold while feeling so close to Fred and that was hers. It was the only way he could bring his best friend and the love of his life closer together.

Alice sat down next to him on her knees and offered him her hand and a warm smile. He accepted her offer gratefully and intertwined their fingers once more. Her thumb was absentmindedly stroking his and even the tiniest gesture as that one, could make him feel like he wouldn't break.

"Fred... I—" FP took a breath, trying to find the words that had been inside of him for eighteen years. And yet, it felt like he was speechless. What could you say to the one that you had promised to protect but failed to do so?

"I miss you, man. I miss you so much." He choked out, the first tears slowly falling from the corner of his eye down to his chin.

"Every day I wake up and wish there would be a way for me to bring you back." He said sniffing, his shoulders shocking a little.