They were sitting in the Office, another long day's shift drawing to a close.
"Hey, Scott," he asked suddenly, "if you were gay, which one of us would you date?"

Scott tilted his head, "Well that question came out of nowhere. I don't know. Probably Mike?"

His eyes had flickered with something Scott didn't quite understand, but his voice was just as cheery. "What, that old loser? Ugh."

"Why?" Scott asked, "who would you date?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He had asked, looking at him for a bit as if deciding whether or not he was joking.

"Uh, no?" Scott had replied. "It's not like I look at you and go 'I bet you he'd date Jeremy'."

He'd laughed, "No, I guess not... Oh well. You'll know someday."

I wish he was still alive.

"Morning, Scotterooni!"

Scott had laughed, "Scotterooni? That's a new one."

"I was thinking, you wanna go out sometime?"

"What, like to the arcade or something?"

He blushed ever so slightly. "No... To dinner."

Scott had blinked, "You? Take me to dinner?"

He nodded slightly. "I know this Italian place..."

"I... Guess... If I'm not busy. I've never really hung out with a friend at a restaurant before... Isn't that more of a date thing?" Scott laughed again. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

His eyes had widened and his blush deepened - Scott figured he must have embarrassed him - and he spoke quickly, covering up with an uneasy, nervous sounding joke. "Why yes, Scott, my one true love." He put a melodramatic hand to his head and grinned. "I'm joking with the restaurant thing. The Arcade. Sounds great. See you this afternoon, Scott."

"Um, yeah, sure," Scott frowned, confused, as he walked off, "This afternoon."

"Scott."

Suddenly Scott wasn't living through his memories, he was standing in a black void. He spun around, trying to find the man behind the voice he so loved. He thought he might have called out his name, but that couldn't be; Scott didn't remember his name.

"Scott."

Scott whirled around again, and was face to face with him. He remembered him, every detail, and he felt a warm glow in his heart, just like he had back in the pizzeria days. He once thought it might have felt like love, but surely that wasn't the case. It was only true friendship.

Scott searched his face for that wonderful grin he always had which spoke volumes of what he wouldn't say out loud. But he wasn't smiling. He turned to face him. "You should have been the one to die."

Scott flinched back, hurt. But worse of all was the nagging voice in the back of his head that agreed.

"I died for you," he hissed, "And what became of it? You're still a nobody, living an average life in an average town. You even spent five. Years. Trying to forget I even existed! What kind of repayment is that?!"

Scott closed his eyes, his friend's words ringing in his ears. He tried to say 'I'm sorry', but his mouth was glued shut.

"You didn't go to my funeral, didn't try to bring peace to my soul, just left the city and destroyed all evidence of you ever having existed. I should have lived!"

Scott started to cry, large, shuddering sobs. "I know. I know. I should have died. I wish I'd died."

His face blurred as he glared, "It's all your fault. I died because of you. You're the reason all of this ever happened!"

Scott broke down, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated as the void swirled away and he found himself sobbing into the couch in his living room where he'd fallen asleep, "I'm so, so, sorry."

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