"He plans to do post-grad there, then figure out a way to stay." Kevin chuckles, but it's far from genuine. "Whatever. It's his life."
My chest tightens at all the lies Kevin's still spinning. It's presumptuous to assume I know what he's feeling, but if he didn't care, he wouldn't sound like his whole world has collapsed.
"Kevin, it's okay to be sad. Francis has been with you for so long. Your best friend is leaving, and it's only natural—"
"He's not my best friend!" he snaps, but backpedals right away, voice softening. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean to shout. He's just... family. My parents brought him in, and I never had a choice."
I feel a lump rise in my throat as I roll onto my side, clutching my pillow closer.
"Then I guess this is a relief for you."
"W-What do you mean?"
"I mean, he's leaving. Finally, right? Your Dad gave his life to save him, and your mother's attention has been split between you two, even though you're her only son," I say quietly, my tone hollow and cold.
I'm fully aware of the fine line I'm crossing, pushing his buttons when I shouldn't.
But time's running out, and we both know it.
"Y-Yeah," he stammers. "That's true..."
"This is great news, isn't it?" I continue. "What should we do for him? Throw a party? We should give him something to remember us by."
Silence stretches.
"We might never see him again."
Then, sobs.
I swallow, the guilt spreading and hardening in my stomach. I can't act like I understand what Kevin's going through—because I don't. I've never been in his shoes, tangled in a web of anger and love, of blame and reluctant forgiveness. To wish someone would leave, yet dread the void they'd leave behind.
But I understand what Francis means to him. With his parents absent through most of his life, it was Francis who kept him company. Almost like an older brother, someone to absorb the waves of grief when they hit, the dormant rage that spilled over when it became too much to bear.
Do I think it's fair? Not in the least. Francis lost his parents at a young age and had to depend on extended family. He needed support, too, but he was forced to grow up early and take responsibility for the things he didn't do. 
Yet, I don't think Kevin hates him, nor do I believe Francis harbors any resentment.
Francis knew where he stood, balancing guilt and gratitude. If there's any anger in Francis, it's likely turned inward, not toward Kevin.
"Kevin," I start, holding back my own tears. "It's okay to be sad."
His muffled sobs intensify.
"Gabby," his voice cracks, heavy with sniffles. "I've been an asshole to him. I can't be sad. He deserves to be free from me."
"Don't say that," I gently cut him off, wiping away the moisture from my eyes. "He's not leaving just to run away from you."
"Isn't he, though?"
I bite my lower lip nervously. I don't believe that's true, but I can't be the one to say it—it needs to come from Francis.
"What did you tell him?"
A beat.
"I told him congratulations. Like I should," he replies. "There's nothing else to say."
There's a lot to say.