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Grayson didn't sleep. He laid in his bed, tucked under two blankets in pajama bottoms and a Colts tee shirt, but he didn't sleep. He hugged his pillow, watched shadows play across the wall as the branches outside swayed in the wind, and he simply breathed. In one hand, he clutched a wad of paper, pages ripped from a diary that he hadn't been able to leave intact. They were strewn all over the carpet, pages filled with memories good and bad, frustrations and triumphs, their order shuffled and lost. He hadn't torn them free in a rage, and he hadn't intended to make a mess of things... he hadn't felt much at all, really, as he'd gone through the old books. He'd simply started reading, at the very beginning, and somewhere along the way, he'd grown irritated with himself.

All the misunderstandings, communication errors, willful deceptions. How many times had he held back saying what he wanted to? Too many to count. How many times, instead of simply asking Jude why, had he written the things down he said, puzzled over them, never sought a deeper meaning? He was regretting it now.

He'd never regretted so many things in his life.

He watched the sun come up, pretended to be asleep when first his dad, then his pop, and then finally Tristan peered in to check on him. Don't wake him, he heard them murmur outside. Just let him rest. He needs it. By some blessing from above, his family understood that, at least just then, he needed to be alone.

By the time they vacated the house, he was going a little crazy by himself. He showered, idled long enough that the hot water ran out and he was scrubbing his hair clean under a lukewarm-at-best spray. He stumbled out, naked, remembered his towel at the last second and looped it over his shoulders, drying his hair as he went. He managed to get halfway dressed and dropped heavily onto his bed, tired beyond imagination, and simply cradled his head in his hands.

A thousand times he'd thought of Jude during the night. He would think of him a million more during the day, each time he drew a breath, each time he closed his eyes. It was impossible not to, and not that different from when he had been alive, except now it was... more.

More, and it hurt. He hadn't thought anything could hurt more than being second place in Jude's heart. Now he knew that he would gladly do anything, be anything, just to be able to stand close to him again.

He checked his phone again, pulled up his message history. The last one sent to Jude -- good morning. 1 pm still counts as morning right? -- unanswered. Unread, he was sure. A hundred others, a blend of messages to Jude, Dani, Ignacio. His sphere of friends was so small, he realized, looking down at the tiny phone in his hand with a barren look on his face. And it had gotten ever smaller, would never be quite the same again.

He knew he would never be the same again.

Texting Dani and Barnaby, he asked them to meet him outside the school, closed his eyes as he rolled his neck. Dani wouldn't be impressed when he showed up in street clothes, but he wasn't all that concerned. To be honest, he couldn't work up the energy to be concerned about much.

Honestly, he didn't feel much of anything at all.

Shrugging into a jacket, he padded downstairs, unable to distinguish the gnawing in his stomach as hunger or grief. He grabbed an apple, took a half-hearted bite, found it difficult to swallow. He hadn't had dinner last night, either, so he forced himself to keep eating, feeling sick with every passing bite. What good would it do if he didn't eat? Then he'd just waste away.

He didn't need to give his parents anything else to worry about.

Slipping his feet into his boots, he left them untied, checked his watch. He had a few hours left before school was out, but he didn't want to stay inside his house. He was beginning to feel smothered, trapped inside his own head. Outside, at least, there were distractions.

So, he walked, eating his apple down until there was nothing left of it. He walked the park, sat on a bench for a while, replayed scenes in his mind until he felt like he'd spent hours at the theater. He could almost see Jude and Dani coming around a corner, their breath puffing out in little clouds in front of their mouths, grinning at each other as they shared easy conversation on a morning run. An awkward conversation on a bench, being led to Jude's apartment for the first time...

Rubbing a hand on his face, he drew a shaky breath, rose as he wiped his face for the hundredth time. He walked to the school, cheeks dry, shadows flirting under his eyes as he leaned against a wall and waited. He checked his phone again, ignored the text from Dani asking what was wrong, simply tucked his hands in his pockets and crossed his legs at the ankles. People started filtering out, a couple of his classmates greeted him, and Grayson offered them tired smiles. He didn't seem all that different from usual, really; just tired, the way he usually was in class.

A familiar blue head of hair came into view, dragging a red one toward him. Grayson sucked in a breath, pushing off the wall, and bit his lower lip.

Hopefully, he'd manage this without bursting into tears all over again.

Probably not.

"I know that, I follow sports," Dani hissed back, looking supremely offended. "I'm going for the Saints, but don't tell Grayson or Jude. I think they'd disown me."

Because they were now within earshot of one of the aforementioned, Dani released Barnaby, adjusting the hem of her skirt as she did so. She'd been in quite a rush to get out of the classroom on the logic that because Grayson very rarely sent cryptic text messages it was probably a big deal. She was disappointed to see him in street clothes, and every bit of her looked it. Upon closer inspection, though, it looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep, so she relented a little.

He was probably sick or something. At the thought, Dani actually took a step back. She so totally did not want to be sick.

"What's up, Grayson?" She was not a girl to beat around the bush. Producing her cell phone, she pointed, adding, "Sending texts like that isn't fair. I've been stressing all day, thinking something terrible happened."

Grayson smiled wanly, reaching up to massage the back of his neck. "Let's go somewhere, okay?"

Looking none too enthusiastic, Dani pressed, "I actually have somewhere to be. Can you just tell us real quick? I mean, how bad can it be?"

As she asked, she flipped open her phone, firing a quick text to Parker -- c u soon, gray is being weird! -- and looked up, irritation on her face. Grayson's expression was hovering in a peculiar transition between devastation and nausea, and she didn't think she liked it.

"Jude died." Two words, delivered quietly and simply, and she simply stared.

The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up. "What? Grayson, that is not funny."

Snapping her phone shut, she glared. Grayson didn't flinch like he usually would have. He simply looked... tired.

Rounding on Barny, she demanded, "Tell him that's not funny, Barnaby."

Panic and shock were like a bucket of ice water thrown over the top of her, making her supremely uncomfortable even as they numbed her. Jude was dead? That was ridiculous. Grayson was lying, he was clearly lying, because Jude was a senshi, and -- and she'd never heard of a senshi dying. She'd been beaten before, she'd nearly had the life beaten out of her, but they healed faster. They were stronger, quicker, more resilient. They didn't die, that was just --

Balling her hands into fists, she shoved her phone in her messenger bag, glared fiercely at Grayson. "You're a jerk!"

He sighed, covered his face with a hand. Held it there for a moment, two moments, dragged it down. She felt a slight tremor at the sight of him, a little bit of guilt for yelling at him when he looked so tired and beaten. She didn't like it, so she ignored the feeling.

Wheeling to Barnaby, she grabbed his arm, began to tug on him. "Let's go! He's not making any sense."

Her chest was tight, and it wasn't just with the beginning of grief. She didn't know Jude very well, but what she knew she liked. He was like a brother to her, one who had a lot of issues but was working through them. Someone to run with her, someone who was trying to teach her how to fight and be a better senshi. He was someone she knew, someone she liked, and she didn't want to think of him being dead.

It upset her to think of that, but it scared her to think of a senshi dying.

Her eyes flicked back to Grayson, and there was something in his face that made her pause, release Barnaby. Oh dear God, was he --

He rubbed the heel of his hand underneath his eyes, and Dani nearly freaked out. If someone started crying, she was not going to be able to handle the situation.

"I'm leaving!" It was getting difficult to breathe. She spun on her heel, pigtails whipping behind her, and nearly bolted. If there were going to be waterworks, she had to get out of there. She had to get away from him, from both of them, because he was standing there saying Jude was dead and that just could not be true.

Watching her go, Grayson said shakily, "I'm sorry."

Barnaby's words bounced around his head like a thousand tiny pebbles, starting a headache that grew worse and worse with each beat of his heart. The things that his friend was saying were ones that Grayson had tossed at himself the night before, vicious accusations that had no base, really. He wished he'd been there with Jude, whatever had happened, to try to... do something. Save him, stand in front of him, drag him away. Stop whatever had killed him from doing its worst, kept his life from slipping away. He would have done anything to help him, would have taken any blow, would have gladly made himself his shield.

But Jude hadn't asked.

Jude hadn't even tried to ask, and it hurt. It tore him apart, even though he knew Jude didn't depend on him like Grayson had begun to depend on him. He just wished there was more he could ahve done.

Because he would have done anything.

"It's not your fault," he said instead, mouth trembling over the words. If only he could say that to himself, and believe it. He had to take a moment, relax the tenseness in his shoulders, before he spoke again.

He didn't want to cry in front of Barnaby. He didn't want to cry in front of anyone, and to be fair, he shouldn't even have any tears left. Not after how much he'd cried the day before.

"It's not your fault." This time it was quieter, more defeated. And he closed his eyes. "I..."

He what?

What could he really say?

He knew so little about how Jude had died that it shamed him. He hadn't thought to ask Elke, wasn't sure if she would have known anyhow. That afternoon had been a blur, and difficult enough to handle as it was without getting pummeled with the details. It was weak of him, but he didn't think he could have handled the particulars... wasn't sure he could just then, either.

He didn't know if he needed the image of Jude's dead body in his head. He'd much prefer to remember him as he had been alive.

Shielding his eyes with his palm, he sighed. "No. Elke -- my sister, Elke -- she knew Jude as well. She told me, and.. I didn't think to ask."

They fell into a silence, each plagued by their own thoughts and, at least in Grayson's case, wrenching memories. He'd never thought about Jude so much when he'd been alive. Sure, he'd spent a good deal of time pondering the man, sometimes in fondness, mostly in confusion, even irritation at times. But now that he was gone, it was like he couldn't close his eyes without picturing a pair of pink ones, couldn't lay in silence without hearing his voice like it was on a cassette being replayed brokenly.

It had only been a day.

He was going to go insane.

Dropping his hand at the mention of the cat, Grayson sucked in a breath, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "The cat... at his apartment, right?" He didn't want to go back there. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. "Could..."

He wanted to ask if Barny could go get it himself, but this was Jude's best friend. He was hurting as well, and had less time to come to terms with his friend's death than Grayson had.

He bit his lip, looked away. "We should go get the cat."

Jude's apartment. It would look exactly the same as the last time he'd seen it, he bet, except there would be no Jude lounging on the couch, flipping through the channels with a half-bored expression. There would be no more Jude at all, not rummaging through his fridge for something that hadn't already been expired for a week, not stacking more dishes on an already precariously tall pile, not rapping his head against the bathroom door while he complained Grayson showered like a girl. (As if he even knew what Grayson showered like. Men took long showers, too.)

The knowledge that he would be walking into a space that had been Jude's, no matter how fleetingly, nearly stole his breath. It was too soon, something whispered at the back of his mind. He wasn't numb, he wasn't even done hurting, he couldn't walk back into that apartment.

And yet, he found himself unlocking the door, lips barely moving as he murmured, "I'll be fine." It wasn't true, of course not, but was Barnaby really going to argue? They were both men, and they were grieving in different ways for the same person. It would be awkward for either of them to insist beyond that, or even attempt comfort.

Grayson didn't have it in him to comfort anyone, least of all himself.

His feet felt heavy and leaden as he walked the familiar path to the front door, and he carefully avoided Barnaby's eyes. "I don't think I can keep a cat. Will your mom mind if you take it home?"