Many Goodbyes

Broen didn't have a favorite place. That had made things harder, for sure. He'd considered Halcyon--as excessive as it might have been--and then decided Broen had hated Halcyon even more than he'd hated Manta Carlos. Japan, maybe? Japan had been freedom, for Broen, but it had also been far away. Impossible to consider as a real option.

It wasn't going to be a big funeral. He wasn't even sure if it could be classed as a funeral at all. There was no body to bury, only ashes to scatter, and he'd picked the plainest jar possible. There was no music or flowers, no headstone. No place to go to mourn after the fact.

Broen wouldn't have wanted it at all, but if he had, Angelo was sure he'd have wanted it simple. Don't spend money on him. Don't give him any attention.

Well, fuck that. Funerals were for the living, and Broen didn't get a say. Angelo had done his best to make sure it wasn't something that would horrify Broen--no suits and ties and formal service--but he was having one anyway.

He'd opted for a black shirt. Not even a formal shirt - just a black T-shirt with a little symbol on the front. It was as close as he was willing to let himself get to somber. Aside from that? There was nothing. He'd picked a cliff, made sure everyone knew where to go, and picked a time. Thursday morning. A shade under a week.

It felt like it had only been a few hours since he'd died. But at the same time, it also felt like it had been a million years.

Angelo had kept it small. Him. Travis. Janelle. Blade. He'd brought along his father, and he'd invited Finch (who'd showed up early with a swarm of birds), and Armourer. A late addition had been Hwum, Broen's roommate, and a large part of him worried she'd feel out of place. Everyone else knew each other.

He was holding the jar in his arms, waiting for people to show up, already, in his own way, eager to be done. For it to be over.

He waited until people will there. Until they'd all gathered around. No one had brought any flowers, which was a relief, but Angelo still felt the need to say something, even if it was short.

"I don't think Broen would have wanted a funeral," he said, knowing it was true. "I think he'd probably have asked me to just burn all his stuff and be done with it. If he had to have a funeral, he'd probably have said something like 'bury me face down so the whole world can kiss my ass'. He was that kind of person."

As somber as it was, he smiled a bit at the idea. He could practically hear it in Broen's voice.

"But he's not here, so he doesn't get a say. We are. We do. So I'm having it anyway, even if he'd probably have hated it. Not a big thing, but... a thing. Because he was--is--my friend. My best friend. He was... he made me a better person."

He had more to say. Things he'd planned. But the more he thought, the worse they felt. Like they were burning a hole in him. Had Broen known all that? That he'd made Angelo better?

He hoped he had.

He didn't say any more. He waited to make sure no one else was, and when no one did, he turned to the cliff and carefully upended the vase into the ocean below.

He'd look down at it for a long while before he returned to the onlookers, ready to go home.

But maybe not ready to start again.