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He remembered having a best friend back in highschool.
Not Matt, or Puffer, or anyone in his group.
His name was John. And that's all Smitty could remember about him.
He remembered all of their inside jokes. All of the times they've hungout.
Yet he doesn't remember his last name.
His favourite hobbies, or colors.
What his voice sounded like.
Did he have soft, brown, wavy hair - or was it bleached blond and straight?
Were those hands Smitty so desperately wanted to hold adorned with rings, or could John never be bothered to dress up?
..Maybe he loved to paint?
Or-.. no.. play video games? make music?
Was it all three?
Did he smoke cigarettes? Or was it just vapes?
Weed maybe..?
He remembered getting lost in his brown-.. no... blue eyes.
Or.. were they blue? Maybe grey?
Smitty would never say he had particularly terrible memory, so why couldn't he remember these small details?
Why could he remember everything but who 'John' was?
He remembered them giggling over stupid shit. late nights where they just held each other after a rough week. times during school when they'd skip the classes they didn't like and hang out in the bathrooms.
He remembered hearing him joke about being long gone before they'd graduate.
He remembered brushing it off, excusing it as another one of his jokes.
Maybe..
Just maybe if he took it seriously, he'd know who John was. What he looked like. What his voice sounded like.
Maybe if he rushed over to his house in the middle of the night quick enough.
Maybe if he tried hard enough.
Maybe if he loved him as hard as he should've.
Maybe if he insisted on staying by his side that night.
He could've held him in his arms. kiss his scars and promise he's more than enough. see that gorgeous, perfect smile one last time.
The only thing Smitty remembered from that night was rushing to his house.
He remembered John's mom tiredly opening the door for him, unaware of what her son might’ve done.
He remembered running to his room and slamming the door open.
The one thing he remembered about John that night was the way he was collapsed on the floor, halfway through the doorway to the connected bathroom in his room.
His arms were covered in fresh cuts, bleeding and seeping into the carpet below him.
Smitty remembered sobbing as he called an ambulance, desperately searching for a heartbeat. He didn't care about the blood or vomit that got on his hands.
He didn't leave his side that night. Not when they pulled him onto the stretcher. Not when he was brought to the hospital.
The words played over and over again when they finally told him it was an overdose. How there was still a chance he'd be able to make it.
Smitty didn't talk to anyone the day he died.
He remembered locking himself in his room, staring at the ceiling as he held onto John's hoodie.
He remembered Matt coming over a couple times over the next month. Smitty wouldn't say a word to him.
He was in college now.
Surrounded by a group of friends he wouldn't trade for the world.
Yet sometimes, he still found himself cracking a joke and glancing to the spot beside him, wanting to see that familiar man holding back a smile.
He still found himself reaching a hand out beside him as he walked before inevitably gripping onto nothing.
He still found himself making those same inside jokes, desperate to see him giggling before joining in on it.
Everytime he was always met with that same sympathetic look from his friends.
All Smitty wanted to do was hold his face in his hands one last time. to burn the memory of what he looked like into his mind.
To see that lovesick expression on his face one last time.
Yet he remembered none of it.
The only thing he has of John's was that stupid hoodie.
That's the only thing he remembered about John's appearance.
The only thing he was 100% sure he wore.
Maybe in another universe, Smitty would be able to hold that gorgeous, pretty boy in his arms again.
just one more time.