A/N: Here it is – an emo oneshot I started months ago, that I finally decided to finish. Title cred goes to Snow Patrol. It's a great song, I would recommend downloading it.

Thank you all for all your support and reviews when it comes to my writing. They really motivate me to continue.

How To Be Dead

"Brooke Davis was one of a kind. She had the ability to make you love her and despise her at the same time. Feelings of hatred, however, were only based on jealousy. Brooke Davis died young. She was the girl that my brother was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. Brooke – wherever you are, know that we miss you."

Nathan doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

Neighbors approach the house with casseroles, which he finds quite odd, considering they weren't even related to Brooke. Then again, they were the closest family she would ever have, and he figures most people around their small town had known that for awhile.

Were. The past tense. He finds it quite odd to not be able to talk about her in the present tense, or really talk about her at all. Every time Jamie brings up Brooke, and asks why she hasn't been around in awhile, Haley abruptly leaves the room. Nathan has no words for his five-year old son, and really, he has no words for anyone.

Apparently he's supposed to take care of everyone else. Peyton was her best friend. Lucas was her ex-boyfriend. Haley was her roommate for 6 months. Mouth had a crush on her for years. Millicent had spent more time with her in the past year than anyone else had.

And Nathan is – well, Nathan. The guy she had fucked at a party the day after her sixteenth birthday. The one that was farthest down on her speed dial within their core group of friends. The boy she had given her first kiss to during a game of truth or dare in sixth grade. Their relationship had always been somewhat…disconnected. Distant.

One night as he's throwing away a couple more casseroles that have gone bad, he realizes it's probably too late to start wishing he had gotten to know her better.

--

"Brooke Davis was my son's godmother. She was one of my closest friends, and has changed my life in so many ways, it seems silly to list them in a eulogy. I can't say that I am reassured of where Brooke is right now, because that would be a lie. I want to believe that she's somewhere safe, but then again, I'd rather just have her back here with us."

Haley's a crier.

She's stopped bothering to find tissues so the pillowcases on her bed just stay soaked and salty. She kicks the sheets around, moans uncontrollably into her pillow, and wonders whether screaming hard enough will bring Brooke back. Like a little girl, she's lost on how to grasp this concept of death, and is overcome with this insatiable need to understand.

After about a month, things begin to relax. Jamie starts to ask about Brooke less. And then he just stops mentioning her at all. Nathan takes him to the Rivercourt most days, and Haley realizes, as she stares through the window and watches them drive off, that by the time Jamie hits puberty, Brooke's presence will be erased from his memory.

The first day she visits the cemetery since the funeral, Lucas is there. She hadn't heard from him all month, and according to Nathan, he spends all day every day in bed with the lights turned off. Haley figures that's probably untrue, and she has a bit of a feeling that he spends most of his time out here.

It's drizzling as she approaches the grave, and he looks smaller than normal from where he sits cross-legged, hunched over in front of it. She kneels down next to him, ignoring the mud seeping through the material of her jeans, and stares, emotionless, at the headstone.

She heard through the grapevine that, about a week before the accident, the two of them had kissed. Apparently it had been quite romantic, and that it had been drizzling that day as well. Apparently the kiss had taken place along the Riverwalk and they had held hands both before and after. The last thing Haley's source had told her, before clicking off the line, was that Lucas appeared to be quite smitten.

She'd never really gotten a chance to talk to him about it, although she wasn't all together too surprised. Peyton had been spending more time with some record producer, Mike, that she knew, and Lindsey had long since returned to New York. The reuniting of the cheery brunette and the broody blonde was somewhat inevitable once Angie left and they began to spend every waking minute together.

--

"Brooke Davis is my best friend. She always has been, and she always will be. I like to think of her up in heaven, with both my moms, hanging out with them and making fun of me. I like to think of her as one of those perfect angels, whose halo never falls off. I'd like to think that Brooke is happy. But I'd also like to imagine that she's back home with us. With her friends – her family. I'd like to pretend my best friend is still with me."

The world has disappeared to Peyton.

She wanders the rooms of the house that now feels so empty, touching surfaces to remind herself that she's not dreaming. That the hell she's been living in for the past few weeks is real. Nathan comes over at some point and tells her it's time to start sorting through Brooke's things. Peyton nods reluctantly, and he leaves her to it.

Brooke's room is full of things that she was hiding from everybody else. The bottle of vodka in her bottom-most drawer. The hideous shirts from her preteen years that Brooke had kept in the back of her closet. A picture in her nightstand drawer of Brooke, Lucas and Peyton in September of their senior year. And an old shoebox under the bed, with 20 or 25 letters, all addressed to Brooke Davis – from Lucas Scott.

Mike calls a few times a day, but Peyton doesn't really want to talk to him. She feels bad, because he's really trying to help, but all she can think about is how, if they got married, she would have to replace Brooke as the Maid of Honor.

She goes over to Lucas's at one point, to give him the letters, thinking he should have them. His house is a mess, and he takes the box wordlessly, dumping the contents into a larger cardboard box, containing Brooke's letters to him.

"They should be together," he mutters, and Peyton isn't quite sure if he means the letters, or him and Brooke.

--

"Brooke Davis was beautiful. She was brilliant, and brave, and every day, hour, minute, and second that I spend without her gets increasingly more difficult. I can't express in to words how I'm feeling right now, other than that my future is virtually gone. The thought of moving on, and loving someone else, hurts too much to even consider. Brooke Davis would have made an amazing mother. She would have been an excellent wife. And my Pretty Girl was an indescribable presence. We love you, Brooke."

All he can think about is her lips.

He figures that's somewhat shallow, in light of all that's happened, but he can't think of anything else. He's awakened, almost nightly, by the memory of their last walk together. The one in which he had boldly taken hold of her slippery hand, ran a hand through her short hair, and simply leaned in and kissed her.

It had been soft, wet, and long since overdue. It was somewhat reminiscent of their kiss in the rain from senior year, and this time, it was definitely for keeps.

Or so he had thought.

These days, he tosses and turns, waking up abruptly in the night from dreams of her hovering over him, breathing hot air into his ear, sliding herself down on him with an un-repressed moan. He thinks, for a split second, that she's there for real, but then that feeling goes away, and suddenly he's all alone in his bed.

He finds her letters at some point, and at that moment, he isn't sure if his heart could ache any more.

Weeks pass, but nothing really gets better for him. Peyton has left town, the thought of being surrounded by memories of Brooke was too much for her. The last he heard, she had headed off to Savannah to visit an old friend…

Months pass, and Lucas has managed, somewhat unsuccessfully to get on with his life. He's more subdued, if possible, and most mornings he wakes up disoriented and depressed, having to think up reasons to get out of bed.

A year passes, and Haley is pregnant again. He tries to be happy for her – he really does, but all he can help thinking is how he and Brooke could've had a baby on the way by now.

On Jamie's 9th birthday, Peyton comes home for the first time in 4 years. The previous year, she had married Jake Jagielski in a ceremony at City Hall. She and Jake, with an 11-year old Jenny in tow, show up, Peyton's stomach rounding out at 6 months along.

2 year old Brooklyn Lucas Scott is crawling along the grass. Nathan swings his daughter high in the air, and she lets out a squeal of excitement. Lucas looks on, realizing that she'll never know her namesake.

It's time for presents, and Lucas has given Jamie a photo album, detailing his 9 years on this planet. With a polite thank you, his nephew begins to look through, recalling faces of relatives and friends along the way.

The 9 year old flips to a picture of Brooke and him on his 5th birthday, Brooke tickling him on the living room couch.

"Hey Uncle Lucas," says Jamie, pointing to the picture. "Who's that?"

Lucas locks himself in the bathroom for the rest of the party. He hadn't been aware that his heart could hurt any more than it had.