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Kel knocked on Basil's door once a year, for four years.
The first year had a small knock; lively and with a tune, but still fairly quiet. It wasn't hard to tell that behind it was a boy who just wanted to stick together despite the circumstances.
He said something that day, he recalled, but he couldn't remember exactly what.
There was no response.
The second year was given a more enthusiastic knock, with more pep in its step. Hope fluttered with each hit of the door, looking forward to watching the other boy behind it step out with his usual shy greeting.
He waited hours that day, politely standing outside his friend's front door.
Again, no response.
The third year saw a twist. A loud knock, but not out of joy or optimism—Rather, it was desperation. That year's knock was a silent plea, asking for the lone flower bud trapped inside its home to bloom and show its face to the sun once more.
The door opened this time around, only for Kel to come face-to-face with a young woman he didn't recognize. She asked if he was upset, wondering if he was a neighbor with a noise complaint or somesuch.
No, it's nothing, he told her, with a smile he put on his face the second she opened the door. He was just wondering if he could see his friend that day, is all.
He couldn't.
The fourth year had a quiet one. A small knock, with barely any energy put behind it. The fist put against it could barely even be called one, quickly slipping off and relaxing into being a limp hand at its owner's side again.
At this point, he just wanted to see Basil's face again. He just wanted Basil to say something, to show a sign that he was still there, still waking up every day, still okay. Basil did, he knew; he saw him before, albeit briefly, and in the distance...but never properly face-to-face.
So he gave the door one more knock.
Please come out, it begged. Come back.
Don't leave me behind.
Not like they did.
I know I left you behind, too, but…
And just like the past three years, he didn't get a response.
That year's knock was too quiet to be heard, he knew, and he wasn't even sure if the boy they were meant for would be able to hear it if it was loud enough to reach. He knew his other friend didn't care, though it reached him. Maybe this was the same.
Maybe he was meant to move on.
He had other friends, didn't he?
…
I'm sorry, Basil.
Tears fell that day, quietly hitting the porch. They were quickly wiped away, though, as Kel stepped away from his friend's home one last time.
He shouldn't cry. That wasn't like him.
He just...needed to move on.
It'd been four years. Sunny already made his choice.
It was clear that Basil did as well.