An apologetic simper stretched quickly across Sonny’s face, and he eased backward, a deliberate motion to appear nonthreatening. He could do that, though, he knew, regard death with too much nonchalance for the average passerby. In some ways, it helped, allowed him to pick through the logistical matters for which mourners often did not have the headspace. But at the same time, he was nothing if not empathetic. Anywhere else, there would have been a quip, the usual slick remark about the little cat bell meant to announce his presence. But not here, not in this place. And so, the hurried “I’m sorry,” which Sonny muttered with head ducked low, seemed, at its core, genuine. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to.”
Still, when Neve seemed to settle more at the offered flower, he allowed his own shoulders to slump with relief. He offered a short nod in response. “Uh…I think I do, actually.” He offered a light smile. But as disconcerting as the notion could be, Sonny knew the graveyard like the back of his own hand (largely because he and he alone was shuffling in the newest residents. He cleared his throat. “I…uh, I’m sorry. My name is Sonny. My family owns the funeral home in town. I don’t quite work for the graveyard, but….I’m not just some goth kid or something, I swear.” He tried a laugh, a short, but genuine noise, meant to ease any remaining tension. But places like graveyards always felt like that, he was distantly aware.
“Sometimes, I just visit,” he continued to explain, bobbing his head to indicate the bundle of flowers still in his arms. “But…uh, if you wanna follow, I’ll show you where. It’s not really that long from here.” He cocked his head as if for her to follow. “I think my family knew the Donovans. The house, not so far from here, yes?”
his apology relaxed her, even if it had been forced from her own poor attitude. as cliche as it sounded ( and neve hated being/sounding cliche ) she was something of a ‘lone wolf’, used to being disregarded or overlooked, so the fact that a stranger had acknowledged her ( in a graveyard no less ) had certainly caught her by surprise--- albeit, a good surprise.
the brunette ran a hand through her hair, tucking the stray strands behind her ear. her heavy eyeliner was slightly dampened, only a touch giving away her silent tears. her mother’s death was still fresh in her mind. still there were some nights she’d wake up from her nightmares, wandering into evie’s room only to find it empty; the bed stripped, wardrobe still full, untouched as her belongings began to gather dust, the chair she spent her final days in sat silently at the window, empty now that its task was over. she shook it off. evie had always told her to be tough anyway.
❛ I’m neve. ❜ she said finally, awkwardly meeting his gaze. it was somewhat creepy, the idea of someone uncommitted to such a place to find themselves there so often, watching over the dead. yet neve found it also somewhat endearing, a kindness she could not have thought of herself. she laughed at his jest. she herself had been previously labeled as a goth: what was wrong with eyeliner and ripped tights anyway? she nodded finally, following him through the tombstones. neve seemed somewhat surprised that someone knew her grandparents, especially seeing as she had never met them. ❛ yeah, ❜ she answered. ❛ I think thomas was the pastor or something? my mom said they lived in one of the houses near the graveyard but I’ve never been to town before so I’m not so sure. ❜ a pause. neve pondered her next question, allowing it to suspend on the tip of her tongue for a moment before asking it. ❛ what were they like? they’re my grandparents but I... I never met them. ❜
