They say when you lose someone, it's a feeling you'll never forget.

Some would compare it to drowning, some would say it's alike to being set ablaze. It's an unwanted ache in your chest and churn in your gut that makes you want to puke. But you're not sick; you're sad. So you cry instead.

It's a difficult sensation to explain mentally, but many have their own physical descriptions. One example would be the agonizing pain of your ribcage being pried apart, and your heart being ripped from its web of veins. Another would run along the lines of something sharp being shoved your throat, holding you underwater as you struggled to breath. Cheesy and cliche, but viciously accurate.

People are supposed to cry. They're supposed to sob, and wheeze, and bawl their lungs out until all of that turmoil is released. Then maybe they'll cry some more. It's reaction the body enforces without permission; a natural physical response to control a devastation that your mentality can't process. It lightens the load just enough to collect yourself and carry on. Tears don't always represent happiness, but it can represent healing.

Jeremy didn't cry. He just went numb.

It's not cloudy enough to rain, but enough to block out the sun. A grey haze falls over the crowd as they gather around the podium, each person taking their respective seat and falling quiet. It's a small group, no more than a few close family members and a neighbor or two. The funeral is held outside, not exclusive, but certainly not open to the public.

Mike knows that no one aside from the deceased really wants him there, but he shows up anyway.

Thinning his lips into a line, he straightens his suit as he stands by the very last row, hidden from view. It's the middle of Fall; the air is cool and windy. Many attendants have their dresses or their hair gently ruffled by the breeze, but they all look much too distracted to make adjustments. The only thing anyone cares to notice is the bouquet sitting atop the casket. The flowers tilt in the slightest before the petals bend in the wind.

He watches as Jeremy stands from the front row, walking over to fix the flowers before sitting back in his seat. The neutral expression on his face never changes.

The whispers that fell over the crowd went silent as a man in grey stepped up to the podium. Mike is sure that he can't be more than around 50, but the stress lines in his face and red rimmed eyes make him seem much older.

The man coughs into his hand before speaking. "We gather here today to bask in the loving memory of my beautiful daughter, whom was a lovely wife and a caring mother. There are no words I can use to describe what a joy it has been as her father to see her grow up to be the wonderful woman she became. She was kind, she was grace, she is someone we will always remember fondly as a ray of sunshine..."

Mike tunes him out, focusing on the stilled figure sitting attentively in the first row. Jeremy doesn't look bothered, not even in the slightest. He's entirely blank, void of any expression or feeling. Family seating around him have stuffy noses and wet eyes, but there's no indication that Jeremy has even so much as shed a tear. He looks like a emotionless doll.

The man steps down from the podium and ushers Jeremy to take his place. Hesitating, the son stand, calmly stepping up and facing the crowd. As green gazes over the sorrowful faces, it misses Mike watching him carefully from the shadows.

With a deep breath, he begins to speak.

--

Jeremy's Aunt, Mike learns, is not a very agreeable woman.

"He'll be staying with me" She insists, "I know what my sister asked of you, but I can't agree with this. Jeremy just lost his mother, and I just lost my twin. The only thing the Fitzgeralds need right now is family..." She trails off, eyeing him up and down critically. "And you are not family"

Naturally, Mike wants to snark something back, but he keeps his temper. "I made a promise ma'am, and I intend to keep it. I'm sorry for your loss, I am, but..." He bites his lip, stuffing his hands into his suit pockets. "Do you really think moving him away from his hometown, away from his friends and school is going to be good for him at a time like this?"

The woman merely sneers. "He'll adjust. Who are you to decide what's best for him-?"

"Plucking him out of school in the middle of the year and cutting contact off with people he can confide in is only going to fuck him up" The guard retorts, returning a sneer of his own.

He spares a glance at the little girl holding the woman's hand, quietly eavesdropping on the conversation. "...Excuse my language"

"He can confide in his family, Mr. Schmidt." She shields the child from the man, though the blond kept a close eye from behind her mother's dress. "He seems to be doing just fine without you anyway. He's a brave boy, I know. Hasn't cried since the announcement" Posed uptight, she straightens her dress. "I'm sure in time he'll be perfectly fine"

"You're pretty fucking clueless, aren't you?"

The woman's lip curls back in offensive, putting both hands on her hips. "You are in no position to speak to me in such manner, much less make vital decisions on such a delicate topic"

Mike's fists ball up in his pockets. "With all due respect, you sound like you have no idea what it's like for someone his age to lose his mother so suddenly."

She grits her teeth. "Oh, and I supposed you would know?"

"Yes, I do"

The answer takes her back a bit, blinking in surprise. There's a flash of sympathy on her features, but it's gone with the next moment. "Listen, I understand you want the best for Jeremy-we all do, but things are going to change whether either of us like it or not."

"Some things don't have to" He glances towards the thinning crowd, family and friends leaving now that the service was over. The sky is gradually darkening, blending with the warm orange-brown of the falling leaves. He takes a deep breath of cool air before continuing; "Trying to start new sounds like it's the right thing to do, but believe me: it's not"

"Why should I take advice from you?"

"Because I know from experience-"

He's interrupted when a tiny hand boldly tugs in his pants leg. Ice eyes blink before peering down, locking with green. The girl looks confused, maybe even a little scared. "...I-is Jeremy gonna be ok?"

There's a pang in Mike's chest that he can't identify. "...I don't know, kid. He's pretty upset right now..." She frowns, unsatisfied with the answer. "But you're gonna fix that, r-right?"

Mike grims. "I promised to take care of him"

There a moment of silence before she smiles, turning to the woman. "See? Mikey's gonna make everything all better! He's gonna-"

"I won't allow it"

The woman cuts him off sharply, pulling the child away from the man and giving a cold glare. The guard wants to return the favor, but there's an approaching figure in the corner of his eye that halts him.

He peeks back to the fuming woman and opens his mouth to speak, but finds himself interrupted. "You're just his coworker, and I doubt you're someone Jeremy would like to have as a friend, much less a roommate. I don't know what exactly my sister asked of you, but you can forget whatever 'promise' you made, because he's coming with us." Her grip tightened around the child, finalizing. "You don't even deserve him"

"...Auntie,"

Shock flies across the woman as she whips around. Jeremy stands before them, quiet and void. There's no telling as of how much conversation he's heard, but with absence of reaction, it wouldn't have mattered. His Aunt simply turns to him, ignoring the guard tensed behind her. "Hey, sweetheart..." She trails off, sparing Mike a glance. "I was just telling Mr. Schmidt here that-"

"I want to stay with Mike"

His little cousin giggles as the two adults stare wide eyed at the brunette, equally shocked with the demand. "Are you sure that's the best decision, sweetheart?" The woman urges, smiling nervously. "Maybe you need a day or two to think it through-"

"No, Auntie" Jeremy's tone is flat and unfeeling. "I'm staying here"

Lost for words, lipstick clad lips open to protest, but close again when she see just how broken the brunette looked. His expression is neutral, but there's absolutely no light in his eyes. His skin is paled and lack of life, like all of the color had been slowly ripped away from him. The black of his suit only washed him out more so, painting a picture of a hollowed, empty boy.

Mike swallows down the dryness in his throat. At times like these, he'd have cigarette, or even a drink if he was desperate enough. But this was Jeremy were talking about here, someone who relied solely on hugs and head pats to cheer him up. Only; Mike was afraid that if he tried, Jeremy would shatter into pieces.

He looked so unbelievably fragile that it was sickening.

Neither adults have registered the small child moving forward, reaching out to the brunette. When her small hand slips into Jeremy's palm, he doesn't even so much as blink. "...Mikey says he's going to take care you now, ok?" The grip around his hand tightens. "Your mommy made him promise!"

The air went tense as the three of them stiffened. Painted nails come to rest on the child's shoulder as the woman gently pulled the child away from the teen, keeping her distance. "Are you sure this is what you want, Jeremy?" She eased, eyeing him carefully. "We can still talk about this."

"I don't want to" The nightwatch gives a sharp reply. "I'm legally old enough to determine where I want to live, and I want to live here..." He press his lips together before continuing. "...with Mike"

Defeat washes over the woman's demeanor, but she leans forward to persist anyway. "You know that if you change your mind, you can alway call me, right?" She smiles softly, fidgeting when the teen remains void of emotion. "We can take care of you..."

"I don't want to live with you." Jeremy's tone sounded final

The woman is frozen by the brutal bluntness, standing awkwardly in between the pair. "I see..." Sensing her unease, Mike rubs the back of his neck, looking away from the two. In reality, he's just as surprised as Jeremy's aunt. "Listen, Jere..." He trails off. "We can run by your house and grab your stuff, just...let me know when you're ready to leave, ok-?"

"I'm ready to go now"

Mike raises a brow and inwardly questions the action before sparing the fresh grave a glance, going silent. "Alright..." Fingers shift in his pockets, double checking the inventory. The metal of his keys run under his fingertips and he sighs. "I can pull the truck around front. You should say goodbye to your family."

"I'm walking with you"

His sentences are short but precise, like a scissor blades cutting paper. With the body language of a still doll and monotone voice, Jeremy seemed almost robotic. There's no stutter, Mike notes. No familiar repetition of vowels or slight mispronunciation of certain syllables that he adored. This definitely isn't normal for him, causing the security guard to wonder just how much of a front the nightwatch was putting up.

He straightens his tie by habit as he grits his teeth. It wasn't showing, but Jeremy was thin glass right now, and there was no telling as to when he'd crack.

"Right..." He looks down to his watch; the time ticking slowly towards 7PM. Luckily enough, the night hasn't arrived yet, but it was approaching steadily fast. "....We should get going then"

Jeremy's only response is a blink, so Mike nods his head back to the teen's Aunt. "I understand where you're coming from, and I'm really sorry for your loss..." Blue eyes dart to the unmoving brunette before returning. "But you're gonna have to trust me on this, Ma'am. I swear that if I fuck up, you can yell at me all you want."

She frowns at the language, crossing her arms. "I'll keep that in mind."

The older man takes a breathe of relief, eyes dropping half lidded. "So we're done here?" The woman merely nods. "Finally..."

He misses her cold glare as he turns back to the nightwatch, still as emotionless as ever. "Truck's just down the path. You sure you wanna leave right now?" Once again, the air is quiet. The only sound breaking the silence is a little whine coming from the little girl, to which the woman promptly shushes her for it.

Mike's fingers tap against his pants leg before he speaks again. "...Alright, let's go"

Jeremy passes the remaining family and security guard, paying them no mind as he calmly walks towards the direction of the vehicle. Mike bits his lip at the teen's retreated back before following after, trying his best to ignore the sad whimper coming from behind him.

The little girl is half bent on following as well before she's hushed once more. The woman glares at her, gripping her tightly as the males moved out of hearing range. "Behave like that again and I'll put you up for adoption." She threatened.

"So?" The child sticks her tongue out. "I'd make Mikey take care of me too, then I'd be with Jeremy!"

--

The ride is quiet and uneventful. There's absolutely no conversation, not a sound from the both of them. It's so quiet, Mike finds himself glancing sideways every red light or turn and so just to see if the nightwatch was really still there.

Jeremy has his head tilted downwards, staring blankly towards the floor. He doesn't gaze out the window, peer around the truck or even blink for the matter. He's completely immobile, frozen and captive by his thoughts. Mike grimmly notes the nightwatch putting his face into his hands just as they pull into the Fitzgerald's driveway.

It's just as they left it: white picket fence, three-stair porch, decorated with a multitude of flowers. Though, from the looks of it those flowers wouldn't last much longer. What used to be pretty scarlet poppies and violet tulips already wilted to a ugly, deathly grey. Even the pink pot they grew in didn't seem to contain any color.

Refreashing his lungs, Mike switches the engine off and unbuckles his seatbelt, stepping out of his truck. Making sure to grab the duffle bag situated in the back seat, he shuts the driver's door behind him, moving around the front to open the passenger's. Jeremy is still behind the tinted glass, making no sudden movements when the car door is swung out for him.

It's not supposed to be this cold, Mike thinks. But for some reason, the lack of Jeremy's reaction to anything is sending chills down his spine. "I'll help you get your things if you want me to." He eases. A moment passes and his grip on the door handle tightens. "....when you're ready."

Ten seconds pass and no response has him itching under the skin, but then Jeremy blinks, unclasping the seat belt and stepping out of the vehicle. Even as he moves there's a sense of stiffness in his motion; so keen on keeping himself from showing expression that one little mistake, just a little slip of the thought, would make him come crashing down.

Half of Mike is urging him to reach out the brunette and try to offer any comfort that he could, just as long as Jeremy was breathing in his hold. The other half is screaming for him not too, afraid that any contact would snap the night watch's mentality to pieces. So instead, he watches helplessly as Jeremy pulls out a set of keys, walks up the front porch and unlocks the door.

As he hurries to catch up to him, Mike enters the living room and freezes. Everything's nearly gone.

The sofa, the bookshelf, the television, most tables; even the pictures that used to dot across the walls were missing, leaving dusty imprints in the wallpaper. Hardly anything is in the living room and kitchen, so it was safe to assume that most of the house was cleared out, aside from Jeremy's room. All that's left now is skid marks from heavy moving and boxes full of little littered memories.

Mike watches as Jeremy crouches down next to one in particular, eyeing the picture frame sticking out of it's panels. Biting his lip, the guard closes the front door with his foot and lets the bag hang from his shoulder, pausing. "...You need a moment?"

To his surprise, Jeremy nods his head. Damn him if he didn't believe that such a little response would give him even just a little bit of relief. "Alright...." He's reduced to standing awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hands and clutching the bag tightly with his other. Glancing around the room, he notices chipped paint where one of their family photos would have been. Shame.

"Mike"

Said security guard pipes to attention, shocked to hear the faint voice so suddenly. Jeremy has his fingers wrapped around a picture frame, gently pulling it from the stack. "...Could you go into my room and pack my clothes for me?" He rotates the picture in his hands, a familiar one he's taken himself. "...I'll be there in a moment"

As much as the guard doesn't want to leave him alone, there's a possibility that solitude might just be what the nightwatch needed. "Yeah, take your time." The older man sigh, swinging the bag over his shoulder and turning on his heel to walk down the hallway.

Mike is not a soft hearted man; he doesn't feel upset when he spots a dead pet on the highway, he doesn't feel remorse when he slams his knuckles aside someone's face, and he didn't even scream when his own mother passed away leaving him with a nameless father as the only family he has left.

Yet, as his fingers tap mindlessly on the bedroom door knob, there's a strong concern and worry he can't deny burning deep in his chest for the brunette in the next room.

Taking a deep breath, Mike turns the knob and opens the door. The bedroom looks untouched.

The lighting is dim, but it's not hard to spot the dresser on the other side of the wall. He saunters up to it, pulling out the drawers and begins to semi-neatly toss articles of clothing into the duffle bag. It's best to do this quickly. Since Jeremy's Aunt repossessed the furniture and such, there's no telling as to how many memories she sold away. This room was probably the only safe point in the entire house.

He's halfway through the second drawer when something plastic runs over his fingertips. Blinking, Mike moves away the remain clothing, staring at the simple binder hidden underneath them. So this is where he kept his scrapbook? Not a very original hiding place, but effective nonetheless.

There's a few photographs sticking out at the ends as MIke takes it in his hands. Was peeking through it the right thing to do? No, it wasn't, especially since he knows the nightwatch is sensitive to having people look through his work. Even so, the guard can't withhold his interest when he spots the corner of a specific picture sticking out of it's flap.

He flips it open, skimming over the collection before resting his view on the photo. Mike swallows; it's an old photograph, a little faded and rough around the edges, but the figures in color were clear.