He accepts Will's hand on his shoulder, sagging into a sigh and leaning a few degrees toward him. Will is right, of course — the hurt is too big to just shut it away and hope it will die. The darkness is where it thrives. Wilhelm spends another moment contemplating his unevenly browned marshmallow, aware that there's a next step he's supposed to be taking but too weighted with inertia.

Then he admits, "I never told him I love him."

It's a form of mourning, like throwing flowers down onto the casket as it's lowered into the ground.

"I wanted to, but...I wasn't sure he felt the same way. I was afraid I wouldn't hear what I wanted." I hope you have a nice Christmas. That's what he got the last time he said I love you. "Now I wish I'd said it anyway."