The day of the funeral ended up being beautiful. Really. The sun shined bright in the cloudless sky and it made it warm enough to be a little too hot to sit in the back of the limo without turning the AC on while wearing a fucking suit—same one Colin wore to his showcase. He kept on his hat. Couldn’t bear the thought of taking it off. Not today and Colin didn’t give two shits if people thought it was weird. Didn’t care that he got a few weird looks as a result of those thoughts. Ma would understand. Dexter would, too. Colin would take it off when they got to the church. Respect and all.
Not that he remembered the ride there. Between not sleeping and barely eating, it was a wonder that Colin was still on two feet. Every now and then someone handed him food. He never really paid attention to who, but he held it in his hands for a few minutes before either setting it aside or just tossing it in the garbage. The thought of eating made him sick. The thought of everything made him sick.