He smiled brightly when he saw me entering his room. He opened his arms and I ran into them and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around me and I buried my head at the crook of his neck. I sighed, frowning slightly. His arms were now so thin. I remembered how strong and toned it was before.

He must have sensed what I was feeling because he cupped my face and turned to me. "I'm still me." He didn't look like him. He was pale, thin, weak, and the worst of all . . . he gave up.

"But you refused to fight," I whispered.

He frowned, dropping his hands and I immediately wished I hadn't said that. I looked down, fiddling with my fingers when I felt his arms enveloping around me once more, pulling me up to him. I leaned back in his chest, feeling it rising and falling every time he breathed. He rest his chin on my shoulder, pressing his warm cheek against mine.

"I'm going to miss you," I told him.

"Hey, none of that," he said. "I do not want you to cry. I'm fine. I'm going to be okay."

"But I won't!" I burst out, tears threatening to spill. "I'm not going to be okay! How am I going to get through a day without you? Who's going to be there when I need someone? Who's going to tell me everything will be fine when I'm down? Who's going to catch me when I'm falling? How can I ever find another best friend as good as you?!"

He didn't say anything. He looked straight ahead to the wall in front of us. "I'm sorry."

I turned my body to face him and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. I didn't want to cry in front of him. I wanted to be strong for him. But seeing him in this state . . . it was painful, it was hard, it was agonizing. I felt him placing a hand on my head, my hair softly, his fingers running through my hair, while the other hand was placed firmly on my waist, his thumb moving in circular motions on my waist.

"I don't want to leave you. But I have to leave you eventually. And -" He hesitated. "- I didn't want to do this, but I felt like I should." He drew a shaky breath as he made he face him. Then he did something that surprised me.

He kissed me, on the lips.

I blinked, surprised. He kissed me. Not on the cheeks like how he used to, but on the lips. . . .

I tried to gather my thoughts but they were all muddled up into that one kiss. Why . . . how . . . when . . .? I looked at him and saw that he was nervously watching me, scrutinizing my face for my reaction. "Why?" I whispered. "Why tell me only now?"

"I wasn't sure how you felt," he whispered. "I still don't."

"How long?"

" . . . A long time, actually."

I felt a sudden urge to scream at him, a wave of anger washing over me. "Why confess to me now when you're not going to stick around for long?" I yelled. "Why kiss me when there's no point to it?! Why didn't you tell me how you felt earlier?" If he weren't sick, if he weren't so ill, I would have slapped him or had thrown his pillow at him like I normally would have.

He looked down, flinching and I knew I'd hurt him. "Do you . . . love me?"

I threw myself at him and sobbed. I hugged him tight to me, wishing he would never leave. "Don't go," I sobbed. "Please . . . don't go. Don't leave me. Don't . . . I can't . . . don't . . ."

He kissed my temple. "Mii ah . . ."

"No," I cried. "Don't . . ."

"I love you."

He always said those three words to me, always, and I knew he loved me. But now, saying those three words to me, I knew that this time it was different. This time it was the real thing.

He cupped my face and wiped my tears away with his thumb. He leaned in and kissed my nose. "I've always loved you," he whispered. "I wanted to so much to tell you but I was scared and now it's too late."

I shook my head. "No, it's not too late. You can still fight."

"Mii . . ."

"Please . . . no, don't. I - I love you too," I confessed. I buried my head in his chest as he held me tight.

"You do?"

"How could I not fall in love with my best friend?" I whispered.

He smiled wanly at me as he hugged me tightly in his arms. "I'm glad to hear that," he whispered back.

"I love you. You can't leave me now that you've told me how you felt."

"I'll . . . try . . ." He was getting weak. I could hear it in his voice. He was trying not to let the pain show, but I could tell he needed the painkillers. He needed to sleep again. I didn't want to let him, but I knew that he was tired and that if I stayed any longer, he might get worse.

Just then a nurse came in and smiled sympathetically at me. "Miss, I'm sorry, but visiting hours are up."

I nodded as I extracted my arms from him. "Okay." I looked at him and smiled softly, wishing he wouldn't stare at me with those brown orbs. "I'll come and visit you tomorrow, okay?"

He tugged on my hand and I leaned in. He kissed my lips again, his lips soft and sweet, gentle and careful. "I'm in love with you," he murmured.

A blush crept to my cheeks as I kissed his forehead. "I love you too," I whispered. I looked down and walked away. But I stopped at the doorway. I turned to see him watching me. I gave him a small smile and made a heart with my hands.

He smiled softly and did the same.

I walked out of the room, past the nurses in the halls, tears falling down from my eyes as I exited from the building, clutching tightly onto the heart locket he had given me for my birthday. My heart was feeling heavy.

I love him. He loves me.

The next morning I woke up to the sound of rain pitter-pattering on my window pane. I groaned. It's raining. Such a gloomy way to start off my day, too. I sighed, checking my phone. It was five in the morning.

Sighing, I grabbed Belle, the stuff giraffe he'd given me a long time ago, and hugged her tightly. It smelled a lot like him. In a way, it brought a sense of comfort into my heart. I laid back down in bed to continue sleeping when I heard a familiar ringtone ringing right next to me.

I froze.

Reaching out with a shaky hand, I took my phone to check who had messaged me. His guy best friend.

I unlocked my phone and opened the message from his guy best friend.

Are you awake?

I bit my lip as I typed back, I am now.

Ten seconds later, after the message was sent, my phone rang again - this time, he was calling me. My whole body stiffened as I realized just why he was calling me so early in the morning. I closed my eyes and counted to ten - and the ringing stopped. I opened my eyes and hoped that it was just my imagination; he wouldn't call me so early in the morning.

He called again.

I gulped and my trembling thumb pressed on the 'answer' button. I took a deep breath as I brought the phone to my ear, trying to stay positive, that he was going to tell me good news. "Yeah?"

He took a sharp breath. "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

 It took only those two words for me to understand exactly what he meant. Two seconds later my phone slipped from my fingers, landing on the soft mattress I was sitting on.

He's dead.

His guy best friend called my name over and over again, apologizing for something he didn't do. But I didn't hear him. I ignored him. His voice faded into the background as the rain grew heavier, pouring down harder, like shattering glass as it roared in my ears. My body grew numbed, my head began pounding. I forgot how to breathe. I couldn't move, couldn't cry, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything.

He's gone.

 He's really gone.

My pillar of strength when I was weak, my comfort, my mender of broken things, my best friend.

Gone.

Realization finally hit and I broke out into anguished sobs, crying into my pillow, clinging onto Belle.

He's gone, he's really gone. He's never going to come back. He's never going to tell me to smile and to not worry about anything anymore. He's never going to ever hold me and make me feel happy, make me laugh and smile ever again.

My best friend is gone. . . .

A Year Later. . . 

I walked around the basketball court, not really sure why I was even out here. I looked up and saw that the sky was getting darker, the sun hidden behind the clouds. It was going to rain.

It was raining when he died.

Tears stung my eyes and I furiously kicked a fallen leaf away. I am not going to cry. I'm not going to cry at all.

I felt the first raindrop on my head but I continued walking. I didn't want to go, I didn't want to leave, I didn't want to run for shelter. I just continued walking around the court. It began to pour harder, hitting me like glaciers. It was hard, sharp, and it hurt a lot. Just like how it hurt a lot when he left me. It was painful, like how it was painful knowing I'd never see his smile ever again. It brought me sorrows, like the sorrows I felt when I realized he'd never hug me again, when I realized I'd never be in his warm embrace again.

I heard someone calling my name. I turned looked up to see him I ignored him and continued walking. He called me, holding an umbrella, running toward me. "Come under the umbrella," he said. "You might get sick."

I pretended I didn't hear.

Frustrated, he pulled my wrist and made me turn to him.

I yanked my hand away and walked off. I couldn't bear to face him because seeing his best friend was like seeing him. The pain was still raw, it was still there, and I didn't want to feel the pain of missing him that I was feeling.

"Enough," he growled as he stormed up to me. He pulled me under the umbrella and hugged me.

I just stood there awkwardly.

"I promised him I'll take care of you."

I shoved him. "Take your promise and shove it up your . I don't like you and I never will."

"But I like you."

I paused. I turned back to face him, staring incredulously at him. "You what?"

"I want to take care of you. I don't like seeing you cry. You think I liked watching you suffer? I may have been a jerk, but I've always liked you. Please, give me a chance to be your friend." He closed the umbrella, letting the rain soak the both of us (well, I was already wet). He stepped toward me and pulled me in for a hug. "I'm sorry. I know you're hurting. But he was my friend too."

I hugged him, knowing that my bet friend didn't want me to be alone. Stupid him. I cried in his arms as he held me close, standing in the middle of the basketball court, crying.

Why . . . why did you have to go?

"I'll be here to take care of you," he promised.

Two months later . . .

I stared out of my window. It's going to rain again. And this heavy, painful feeling began creeping into my heart as it began to drizzle.

My phone beeped, indicating that I'd received a message from him: It's going to rain. Do you want me to call?

Before I could even answer, he called me and I anwered the phone. "Hey, you feeling okay?" his guy friend asked like how he'd call and ask every time it rained.

I smiled softly, glad that I had someone to take care of me, like how my best friend would have if he was still here, doodling on a piece of paper as I replied, "I am now."