I let myself in to Shawn's laundromat, err... apartment, a few minutes before half past ten. After all, Burton 'Early Bird' Guster is never late, even if nobody ever actually calls me that - they could, I wouldn't mind. As I adjusted my tie before unlocking the door, I hoped that Shawn would be awake and ready to go. On most days, such a hope would be futile, but today was different.

"Hey Shawn."

My eyes quickly - though not as quickly as Shawn's would - scanned over the laundromat and came to rest on a figure dressed all in white, with his head in his hands. A sweatband held back the wavy brown locks that he was always so proud of, and a racquet lay strewn across the floor.

"Shawn, what the hell are you wearing?"

He looked up. I could see that he'd been crying, though the tears on his face had all but dried. I sat down beside him on the couch and put my arm around his shoulders.

"I couldn't... couldn't save him." he choked out slowly. "I knew, and I still couldn't save him." Shawn wasn't sobbing any more, just staring silently at the racquet on the floor, and suddenly I understood.

"Shawn, it's not your fault. You did everything you could."

"But it wasn't enough. I'm the psychic, I should have seen this coming. I should have stopped him."

"But you're not really psychic, Shawn."

"I know." For the first time that morning, Shawn looked me in the eyes. I could see how this was tearing him up inside, and there was nothing I could say that would make it better - nothing I could say that would change the past, so I just held him tighter and lied through my teeth.

"Shhh... it'll be okay, it'll be okay."

"You know, I thought when this was all over, we'd go play racquetball or something. It would've been fun..." I nodded in reply as Shawn kept talking.

"...kind of like a creepier, less attractive version of me, you know?" This, I hadn't seen coming. Reminding Shawn of himself was one of the highest compliments he could give.

"You know that's right." I could, at least, get behind the 'creepy' part.

"You know, Shawn, we've got to go now. Are you going to be okay?" He nodded meekly and got up to make his way toward the door. He made no move to change his outfit, and I certainly wasn't going to ask him to. In fact, I figured we still had time to swing by my place before we left for the cemetery, or they wouldn't call me 'Early Bird' Guster (I know, I know, they don't. But they should.). Because if Shawn wanted to wear a racquetball uniform to Mary's funeral, then I would too. Isn't that what best friends are for?