His eyes ached from the tears that could only be tamed with sleep and time, however, sleep wouldn’t come, and time crawled slow. He felt a great hole of emptiness whenever he stroked his dry, ashed hands along his arms where arms used to be against his. The need to weep was commanding, but tears had depleted to nothingness. It felt wrong to be safely hidden away in his rayless bedroom. And repeat, he ran his shaky hands along his arms again. Julian was gone.
A timid knock on his door echoed throughout the room.
“Grayson,” it was his mom. “Please, let me in.”
Grayson couldn’t find his voice. He didn’t want to find it. Let it disappear, he thought, why would I need it.
his mom interrupted his thoughts with a short, “dinner is downstairs,” and by the click of her heels fading away, she was gone. Thank God. Not one person on earth mattered to him anymore. He was a broken child, feeling like a helpless eight year old again.

Grayson sat on the end of his bed for the entire night, stroking his cold arms, over and over. He was trying to capture the feeling of the chill that only Julian could ever give him. Grayson was scared. He was afraid he would never feel it ever again, he would be alone for the rest of his life. Julian was everything, and without everything, there was nothing. Only memories. Memories of waking up with his freckled, copper arms along his pale ones. Those arms were attached to the source of a heart so beautiful, Grayson wasn’t sure how he stole it. That heart was the epitome of beauty, in actuality. Julian was so kind. He always was able to get Grayson’s head out of the thunderclouds. He didn’t let anyone suffer, helping anyone who needed him.

Grayson thought about the time that Julian climbed up to his window on the second story to sneak him out on a trip to the neighborhood park, and rapped his knuckle to the window. He had almost broke his desk chair falling over when the knock broke his intense concentration on homework. Grayson could almost hear his voice, muffled by the window.
“Hey bud,” Julian always called him that, “let me in? It's cold out.”
He could almost see Julian’s face. He could just picture his sharp jawline, and cheekbones. Grayson couldn’t resist his face, or the tantalizing chance of seeing it again. He pulled himself off his bed and lumbered to the window to study Julian’s memory face. It was there. Clear as the sun rising along the horizon. His face lit up by the golden hues of sun rays.

He was here.