"Are you okay?" Limca asked. "Because you look like a hot cheeto and it's only February."
"Uh?" Heathcliff said with stark uncertainty. "I think I am fine. Just been working hard."
Limca sipped her drink loudly. "So you tell me. You haven't even shown me the dress."
"Oh, yeah." Heathcliff laughed at his own forgetfulness. He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and showed her the photo.
"Him." Limca said. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, her eyes sticking to it, though he could tell she wasn't talking about the dress. "He-He is your wallpaper."
"Wh-o?" Heathcliff lied through his teeth. "Isn't the dress-"
"Heath," Limca said, staring at the swirling patterns of wood on the table, "I know it's hard. I understand, I had been friends with him for months but-"
"Understand?" Heathcliff laughed hollowly, a ghost of a smile plastered on his face. "Yeah, I am sure you do. I had known him for four years. I am sorry, I still love him."
Limca looked dazed. She rarely touched upon this topic of his life. She tried to grab his hand to comfort him but he pulled back with a jerk. He stared lifelessly into her eyes.
"I don't get you. Uncle, you, teachers, therapist. You all tell me to get over it, like it's easy. WHOOSH! A flick of a switch and all my memories will disappear." He looked away, as if he felt ashamed. "I am nothing without him. Maybe," He said with severity, "I would not mourn him much if he had been some random kid that became the victim of a hate crime. I would care more about my skin and learn better than to wear pride flag capes through homophobic towns. But this isn't the world I live in, Limca. I LIVE IN A WORLD WHERE HE IS DEAD!"
Limca looked at him with pity and sympathy looped together. She pushed her curly hair aside.
"You once told me about multiverses from your quantum mechanics class," He said, pushing aside his lemonade. "In some parallel universe, Julian's mom would not have been sick and he would have stayed home with me. In that universe, we would have watched Fresh Prince and fallen asleep on the couch together. We would see the news broadcast and another kid's name would flash instead of his. Maybe, I would cry for the life lost, due to one man's thirst for what he thought was justice. We would post a tribute to him on our Instagram stories and move on with our lives. I would not get panic attacks twice a week. It would be me and him.
"I don't wanna live in this world," He said, looking down at the floor. He looked like a little kid who had been denied candy. "Nothing can make me. I am trying to cope but the only reason I haven't left is...because I don't want my family and friends to feel the pain of losing someone they loved, LIKE I DID!"
"Heath..." Limca whispered, trying to connect with him, like she always did. They were friends, weren't they? Why couldn't she find words to comfort him? "I sorry. I just care about you a lot. It's best that you-"
Heathcliff phone rung and he picked it up quickly He seemed like he was on the verge of tears. Yet, he put up his best 'I am totally fine' voice.
"Hello, Karla. Can I call you Karla?" He asked, nodding and licking his chapped lips. "Oh, payment? Yeah. Ten? What?! I want more?! No! I mean, of course but- Okay. By tomorrow, this evening, you say. I will be there."
He tucked the phone into his pocket as the call dropped. "Ten thousand bucks for that dress. Turns out rush order calls for more."
"Do you need a ride?" Limca asked. She was sort of glad that the air between them had changed. Heathcliff still wanted to say things, she could tell.
"I don't wanna bother you." He said. "I-will just collect the payment from his flat-Hey." Limca looked at him, expecting another rant. "I need more time and space," He exhaled, "Sometimes, I feel like I have forgotten what it feels to live without him. I can never get over him." Tears finally streamed down in his, hot and gushing, held back for too long. "I- I will just g-go."
"I swear to god, if you come at my door once more, I will-" Conan said. "Oh, h-hey."
"Hey." Heathcliff said nervously, lifting up the cloth bag. His cheeks were tear stained, dry and partially chapped. He seemed like he had had a good cry. "I can come back later, if-"
"NO!" Conan blurted, turning a shade of deep red at the suggestion. Heathcliff scanned him. He was in a tight fluffy white robe, wearing flip-flops. He was holding a bottle of nail polish in one hand and a brush in the other. So, he had crashed his relaxation party.
"I- I just thought you were the annoying door-to-door sales man." He said hastily, trying to clear up the doubts. Heathcliff didn't believe him, he had abruptly left the last text conversation they had, when he tried to confront him. Moreover, it was quite clear, from the last meeting they had that he was avoiding him.
"If you don't want me here," Heath said calmly, staring into Conan's deep brown eyes with flecks of gold, "Just say so. I am just here to collect the money and return your clothes."
Conan looked a little taken aback from the remark, flinching a little. "Um...it's really not like that, you know?"
"Is it?" Heathcliff said, handing him the bag. "I got it dry-cleaned. It had gotten a little fungus."
"Wow, um...thanks." Conan remarked as he placed the bag on the table, near the door. "Y-you can come in, you know. I was making coffee."
Heathcliff smiled ruefully. "It seems like you were having a bit of alone time."
Conan's look was scared and suggestive. Heathcliff didn't want to go back to his apartment and face his Uncle. Limca had never told on him but he still wasn't sure, if he wanted to face her either.
"I will take you up on that offer."
Author's Note: I said I would update once a week, but I guess you all are in for a treat. That was a terrible rhyme, wasn't it?