News traveled fast in a school as small as our own, especially when said news concerned one of the most popular guys in school. Blake’s death was instant scandal, everyone wanting to add their two cents in about why he did it. There were rumors, more than I ever could have imagined, about how he did it. Most people knew that he overdosed, but I heard at least six people swearing to each other that their friend knew him well and he slit his wrists or hung himself or something of the like.

I knew what had happened, of course. I had been there, but I wasn’t about to share that knowledge with anyone. Most people just wanted to satisfy some macabre curiosity about how and why a person would kill themselves even though most of them didn’t know anything about Blake other than the superficial. Indeed, none of them knew that he was gay either, and there was no way I’d share that little tidbit with them, as it would only create further scandal.

I considered it almost a blessing that most people knew nothing of my relationship with Blake. I had seen all his friends, all the other members of the basketball team, being fawned over by a large number of girls and school staff alike, wanting to know how they were ‘dealing’. The school was even encouraging people to see the counselors, to help them to do so, and I’d even heard that they were brining in some guest speaker to give an assembly on suicide prevention. It was all complete shit.

I hadn’t anticipated how much I’d miss him. I knew that I loved Blake, more than I’d ever loved anyone in my life, and even though I had known what was going to happen, it didn’t make it any less hurtful. It made it a little easier, at least, to be able to scoff and roll my eyes at all the people who seemed so distraught but hadn’t known a thing about him. I’m sure anyone who saw me do so would just think that I’m being some sort of asshole to do so, but they knew nothing.

It hurt, though; it hurt more than I could bear. It was good thing that people had always considered me quiet, so no one thought it strange when I stopped talking to virtually anyone. I was able to grieve for him in silence, and not share with anyone the truth of what we’d had. I had honestly thought it better that way.

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It was a strange thing, two days after Blake’s death, when one of his friends came over to talk to me. His name was Trevor, and he had been on the basketball team with Blake before he had died. Blake had spoken to me about him before, and he was one of the only people Blake had ever mentioned with something akin to fondness. I felt almost compelled to like him, in a way I wasn’t compelled to like any of Blake’s other ‘friends’.

It was almost a bizarre parody of the first time Blake had spoken to me; I was sitting outside on the bleachers, eating my lunch alone, since most of my friends had noticed that I was in a mood and had decided to give me some time alone to work though it. I was thankful that Blake and I were so different; none of them even thought to connect my melancholy with Blake’s suicide. Trevor came up to me and sat next to me on the bleachers.

“Hey—you’re Darren, right?” he had asked, unconsciously echoing Blake’s own words years ago. I remembered every word of that first encounter with vividly; I’d never forget.

I nodded mutely. It seemed a shame to waste my energy on speaking when I was using so much of it remembering Blake’s life slipping away just before my eyes, using so much of it to grieve and cry. Trevor nodded back.

“You knew him, didn’t you?” Trevor asked after a long moment. “Blake?”

My head snapped up in surprise at his words. I hadn’t known that anyone had taken note of my friendship with Blake, and it was a surprise to me that Trevor knew anything of it. Blake and I had rarely, if ever, spoken at school, saving it instead for each of our homes, when we could be together and no one could say anything about it.

“How—?” I began, but I trailed off, unable to continue.

Trevor smiled benevolently. “I saw you guys together a couple of times,” he explained patiently. “You seemed close.”

I quirked an eyebrow in a carefully practiced manner. “Really?” I asked dryly, as if giving the sentiment little consideration. The reaction was a little contradictory to my usual behavior, but this was the last moment I wanted myself connected with Blake. I didn’t want anyone’s pity; I didn’t want anyone to take this as an excuse to relate to me.

Trevor, however, seemed unperturbed by my response. “Yes,” he said openly, honestly. “He mentioned you once or twice, in passing. He talked about you like you were the Second Coming or something. He really admired you.”

I blushed, not only from embarrassment at the compliment, but from the fact that, unbeknownst to him, Trevor had connoted something much different than he had inevitably expected. “Yeah. Thanks,” I replied simply.

“He had a lot of your paintings in his room. He seemed very fond of the ones of the ocean,” Trevor told me. The wind blew the leaves across the ground, making a gentle scraping sound. I listened to it for a second, glancing down at the fallen leaves and having my own idle thoughts about painting the scene. Somehow, I knew I’d never pain the ocean again.

“Yeah,” I repeated, shifting uncomfortably on the bleachers.

Trevor shifted also, but he didn’t look all that nervous. “You must be surprised by what happened,” he commented idly after a few seconds of relative silence.

I picked at a piece of nonexistent lint on my pants, as if that would somehow distract me from the conversation I had never wanted to have. I didn’t want to talk about Blake; not then and not ever.

“Not really,” I replied finally, my voice dull.

At this, Trevor’s eyes widened to nearly twice their normal size. “You had some indication that he would do this and you didn’t stop him?” he inquired disbelievingly. I’d only really met the other boy a few moments before, but still the response seemed a bit out-of-character.

I shrugged, trying to convey a persona much cooler than I felt. “It’s what he wanted. How could I deny him that?” My voice was just as flat as before; if what I felt was as obvious as I believed, he would easily have sensed that I was just parroting back words that had been ingrained in my mind. Trevor’s face softened.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed after a moment, though he still looked slightly perturbed. “I get the impression that no one ever really asked Blake what he wanted. Maybe if someone had—”

Trevor’s words halted immediately, the conclusion hanging thickly in the air between us, even if it hadn’t been spoken. He finally began to look uncomfortable, as one always does upon realizing the wrong thing has been said, or even insinuated. He cleared his throat.

“Well, anyway, I’m glad that Blake could find someone who could make him happy, even for a little while,” he commented, patting me on the back as he jumped off the bleachers. I turned abruptly, hit by the realization—he knew. With complete and total blinding certainty, this boy whom I’d never met in my life knew. But once I had finished turning, the other boy was already disappearing into the distance. I sat alone for a few more minutes, puzzled.

But strangely enough, the only thing I could find myself wondering—softly, solemnly, but with a certain sense of serenity—was whether or not Blake’s parents would have his ashes sprinkled in the sea.