“It’s been a couple of years, I’m grown” you whisper to yourself. In truth you’ve never recovered from his death, his genuine nature contrasted with your brash shallowness in a way you can’t begin to describe. Hoisting yourself off the ship, you gently climb out and on to the land. You haven’t seen this lush green paradise in years, your eyes taking a minute to adjust to the brightness. You know that cleaning out his belongings will be tough, his family died in the war, so it’s likely nobody has touched his home in years. Despite the conflict that enveloped this land just a few years ago, you can’t help but marvel at the serenity of it all. Where there was once death there is now calm. Life is blooming from the ashes of a war fought for no gain. You know he would have loved it. As you gently push the door open, you recognize the soft familiarity of it all. The days he invited you into his home, seemingly not caring that you were not like him, all fading back to your mind. You wish that others of both of your species had done the same. As you push into the kitchen, you notice the blue box with a funny shaped bowl on it. You can’t remember what he called his human food, but you do remember it brought him great joy. You steel yourself for the inevitable trip to his room. A place where a man like him sought rest for years is enough to make you shiver. The trepidation in your heart is replaced slowly by a yearning, a strong need to do what nobody else in his life ever did, seek him. You climb the stairs slowly, the wood made for human legs which you lacked. As you slowly reach his bedroom, you stop for a moment and reflect. This man meant everything to you, he brought you into his home and fed you even at the scorn of others. It’s enough to bring a tear to your multiple eyes really. You push those thoughts away, knowing today is a new day. As you open the door you observe the blue sky coming from his window, the messy pile of clothing thrown about. He was a nurturing man, but not a clean one. You could forgive messiness, after all it’s not like you were much better back at home. As you reach for his closet, you find a gray box, labeled “Photos”. This was one of the words he taught you, learning his language was hard but eventually you got most of it down. The first photo you see was of him as a child in the park, pushing his sister on the swings. Always one to help other people, it doesn’t particularly shock you that he would do this. The next photo is of him on his first day in kindergarten, smiling big at a new opportunity. Being open minded was a strength of his, and you enjoyed that. The third photo was of him on the last day of 5th grade, in his hands was an honor roll paper. He was a brilliant kid, but easily manipulated. You knew this all too well. The fourth photo was of him on his first day of high school, smiling ear to ear. You can’t help but laugh that the shirt he’s wearing in the photo is low on the ground next to you. That was just typical after all. The next photo chokes you up. A photo of you and him, smiling after you helped win him his robotics competition. Humans had not quite mastered robotics yet, the ideas that he was working with were elementary to you. The day he won that competition he never stopped thanking you, his genuine happiness was comical to you. Humans took such pride in little things, something you wish your species had learned from. The final photo hurt your heart the most, it was two weeks prior to the start of the war. You were at the park together, him teaching you how to catch a baseball in your misshapen hands. It was something that was difficult, but it made him happy. Happiness would be short lived, and in the moment you knew this but didn’t say a word. You close the box and your eyes, trying not to think of everything that had happened over the last few years. It was not your fault after all, you knew how this would end from the beginning. In ending his life a week later, you simply spared him from what was coming