"I miss you"
1 year
"I can still hear him, sometimes." Scott played with his fingers, intertwining them and fidgeting at every three second interval as the shrink stared holes into his head. Theyd said therapy would cure him, make him alright again. They lied. "Whenever I play lacrosse, and I look for the number 24, or I check my phone to see if I have any new texts from him, or the way that my damn window is now locked, because who's going to come through there anymore?" He could feel the pressure build behind his eyes, the welling of salty tears caressing his cheek as they fell dauntlessly. "He was always the one who told me 'keep going' or 'it gets better', but what if there is no better, because there is no Stiles?"
5 years
Scott's feet padded the wet cemetery grass, his clean, sleek black dress shoes carelessly gathering dirt as he trekked his way to the familiar grave site. It was half past midnight, his jump over the fence, tearing at his suit, not that he cared. With an elongated sigh he fell down to the ground, his back soaking up the moisture from the grass. He could see the stars from here. His brown hues searching the constellations for any form recognition that things would get better. "Hey buddy..." He murmured, the cold slab of concrete that had Stiles' birth name lazily engraved on it seeming to taunt Scott. "So I uh, I bought Star Wars. Thinking that maybe if I watched it, you'd somehow be there with me to gloat, but uh... I didn't make it through the opening credits. It's hard, you know? realizing how alone you really are when the guy who promised- and you promised, Stiles- that he'd be with me till we got old, is gone. Remember our plans for wheel chair races? Which I would have kicked ass at, by the way. Or oatmeal eating contests? I guess what Im really trying to say is... I don't know how I can make it much longer without you. it's a miracle Ive gotten this far. And since you l-left, I really don't believe in miracles."
10 years
Dear Stiles,
Im writing this letter because I don't think I can face that damned slab of concrete again. You always hated cemeteries, you know that? You never said anything, but I knew. The way you would mess with your clothes whenever you feet would touch the ground there, or how you'd avert your eyes from all of the graves. And now I know why.
Anyway, you uh, you told me to keep you updated so here it goes: Kira and I had our first kid! We named him Peter. No, Im just kidding, we named him Stiles, something I thought would be endearing but in the end just kind of... hurts. Calling out my sons name and realizing his namesake wont be his god father? Or that his namesake died for me, when it should've been the other way around? I guess what Im trying to say is, I don't regret the name. I regret the choices I made ten years ago.
Anyway, Derek, Isaac and Lydia are going down to see you today, I think. Give them a warm welcome for me, alright? Haunt their asses or something.
I love you dude. And not a day goes by that I don't wish it was me.
Hope you didn't get a new best friend up there,
Scotty
