Aran stood there amongst his new guild, wearing the suit he recently bought. He had joined very recently. He didn't know a Grey Fullbuster, a Juvia Lockser, a Freed Justine. He didn't know the Guild Master, Makarov. Yet, he had attended. He felt it right, like the fallen Journeymen who traversed the world. All people need someone to see them off to the next road, the next path. He felt something in the air, an aura of something... Something he had lost years ago. He looked at the faces of his new comrades, tears masked by rain. Aran glanced back at the ground, he felt ashamed that he didn't feel as emotional as they did. He was just detached, he hadn't known the people behind the names.
He looked towards the sky, and felt the rain drops pelting his face. And then he remembered, the distinct soft touch of the cold snow, the smell of fire and burning flesh. He had attended a funeral like this, a warrior clan was cremating their leader in complete silence. Dozens of warrior monks, their curved swords and spears planted into the ground in front of them. Aran was crying then, although none of the warriors shed any tears, Aran felt it in the air. That distinct atmosphere of sadness. Of the loss of a comrade, someone you would trust. Someone to watch your back in the chaos of war, to laugh alongside over a bowl of rice. Someone to rely on, gone.
He remembered his own friend, who had saved him countless times, he remembered that fast as lightning grin. How he had loved the color green, how he liked that fried fish... Aran was crying now. He felt the full weight of it all now, Aran reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out a green pen, clutching it tightly. 
He sniffed. He let the rain wash his tears away. He felt the gaze of the warrior monks upon him, in the face of such sadness, they had not let a single tear fall from their eyes, not a single whimper escape their lips. But their eyes betrayed their faces. They were all mourning, over a great leader. A great friend, a great father, who had taught them many things. Aran wanted to be like them. Strong, silent. Strong enough to not let a single tear out. He wanted to be a warrior.
But he just couldn't.