“What’s your biggest fear?”

It was summer yet despite the time of year it was still cold. The afternoon was soon melting into evening. I was lying on the grass and I could feel the damp seeping through my clothes. I sighed, knowing I would have grass stains I’d probably never be able to get out, yet it was comfortable, lying next to him. I thought about his question, but I couldn’t think of an answer. It was out of the blue and I wasn’t prepared to answer it. I probably should have expected it, he certainly had a habit of asking random questions, I never knew if he was genuinely just trying to get to know me or if it was just something to break languid silences. I looked up to the sky and around at my surroundings desperately trying to find some sort of inspiration for something I could be scared of. 

“That’s an odd question, I don’t think I really have one.”

He sat up onto his elbows and looked at me with a questioning look, his head tilted like a curious puppy. “Come on, you have to be scared of something.” 

 I shook my head. “I mean, I’m not fearless, I’m scared of lots of small things. Like my neighbours’ scary dog. But I wouldn’t say it’s my biggest fear.”

He laughed, before staring ahead and answering his own question in a more sombre voice than before. “My biggest fear is, well, I have mono-phobia. It means I’m scared of being alone.”

He turned away from me so all l could see was the back of his messy icy-blue hair 

that he had dyed to match the colour of his eyes. I think he was embarrassed.

“Hey, that’s much better than a big dog. Why are you embarrassed?” He didn’t answer. Instead he started picking the flowers growing in the grass around about us, probably as a way to distract himself. So I tried something else. I hated seeing him uncomfortable, his emotions were always so infectious. It was great when he was happy, but not so great at times like these. 

“You won’t be alone. I’m here for you ok?” I reassured him, placing my hand on his shoulder hoping to make him feel better. 

He turned back around, this time with a smile. Neither of us said anything else after that. We lay in a comfortable silence, looking up at the sky. I noticed him moving his hands, so I started to watch him as he began making a daisy chain. 

“You know, daisies are actually a type of weed. So are dandelions,” I said.

“They might be a weed but I wouldn’t mind lots of daisies growing in my garden. They’re really pretty, maybe even my favourite flower, or well, my favourite weed.” He picked up the now finished daisy-chain and placed it around my neck.

“Thank you.’’

“You’re pretty too,” I heard him mutter. I couldn’t tell if I was meant to hear it or not but I decided to acknowledge his comment regardless.

“Thank you” I replied. It wasn’t meant to come out like that. He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help my mouth from grinning back. “I mean, nobody’s ever called me pretty before.”

“Why not? You are. Is it because you’re a boy? Honestly, I think everyone deserves to be called pretty.”

It was something I’d never really thought about but now that I was, l realised it was true. Why can’t boys be pretty? Who decided that compliments had to be gendered? I never thought there was anything wrong with being called ‘handsome’. Yet when he called me pretty, it felt different.

The sun was setting, turning the sky hues of orange and pink, and you could already see the stars. The quiet of the park really started to set in, and all I could hear was the sound of both of us breathing. It was relaxing. I started to feel my eyes getting heavy so I let them close, and soon I was slowly drifting off to sleep.

It’s been almost a year since we lay on the grass watching the sunset. I miss those times, I miss him. I looked at the photo on my desk. His smiling face, his bright blue eyes and messy hair. His arm round my shoulder. If only I’d known that was the last photo I’d have with him, I’d have taken so many more. He was the only person that made me truly feel like myself.

It hurts me that that memory that keeps replaying is one of my last memories with him. I could already feel the tears forming in my eyes. The more l thought about it the harder it got to stop them. It was only a few days after that he went for a walk and never came back.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over his death, it was so sudden and l never expected it to happen. Whatever happened between the time he went missing and the time his body was found is all a massive blur in my head. That memory replays over and over in my head every day since I heard the news. It made me so mad that someone could take away an innocent life like that. Years he had ahead of him, stripped away by someone’s selfishness, for what? What could anyone possibly gain from taking away his life, taking him off of this earth, taking him away from his family and friends, taking him away from me. 

It took me a long time to understand why it was that this memory was so prominent in my mind. As it replayed over and over, I finally get it. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, I now know my biggest fear was losing him.