The funeral is over. It’s been over for hours, but I’m still trying to figure out how I feel. There’s no preparing for the kind of finality that I saw today, your name carved into stone. I tried. I really did, and you would have laughed at me for trying to rehearse grief like it was an exam. Hell, you probably would have arched an eyebrow and asked me why I was suddenly getting sentimental.

The truth is, I didn’t cry. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know where to begin. I’m lonelier in a way I never expected to be.

Who’s going to roll their eyes at me across the High Table? Who’s going to let me sit in the greenhouse for hours and talk about nothing? Who’s going to tell me to stop being stupid when I worry about lessons and students? Who’s going to let me drag them on stupid adventures that never go as intended, but are still fun in the end? (At least to me; I hope you had fun too.)

You were my best friend, Mason. And I never told you properly how much that meant.

So here it is, too late and too quiet: thank you. For staying. For seeing me. For letting me see you.

I promise to visit.

I’ll take care of Pepper, too.

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