#; luc

It had gotten dark a while ago so the only way to tell time was by how numb Luc’s fingers had gotten despite the gloves, the damp evening chill slowly but surely seeping through the fabric to eat at his fingers. It nibbled at his nose and cheeks as well but those stayed warmer with the regular stream of tears that had pretty much been a constant since Luc had planted himself on the bench. 

The idea had felt silly at first, going to the cemetery when there wasn’t even a grave there for him to mourn at but at least Luc blended in here. No one questioned grief and tears at a cemetery and the grave he was sat in front of had dates marked in the late 1800s so hopefully, no one would be around to visit this grave (a thought that had evoked a new wave of loneliness and sadness in Luc for this stranger who had been dead for more than a hundred years). Maybe there would never be a grave for Sebastian - there wasn’t exactly a handbook for this sort of scenario. How many years did someone have to be missing for them to be declared dead? Not that the police had ever fully believed Sebastian to be missing, just gone, just unwilling to stay where he was, with Luc. In between the cresting waves of grief, that thought was one that made it easier to breathe for a moment. Seb hadn’t wanted to leave him. He’d just… helped the wrong person. 

A crunching of old leaves that hadn’t yet managed to vanish (did they blow away or simply disintegrate like all dead things did?) had Luc’s head jerking up, spotting a woman who was clearly heading for this grave. Clearing his throat, Luc made a barely successful attempt to wipe at his face as she got closer. “Sorry, I didn’t– was this like your great grandmother or something? I can explain, sort of,” Luc started to babble, feeling silly all over again as he shuffled to unsteady feet, ready to leave if this woman wanted him gone right away. 

—-

She had learned her lesson a hundred times over when it came to visiting cemeteries after dark. Rosemary knew better. She knew she shouldn’t. Knew it wasn’t safe, knew that if magic went out again and there was something waiting in the dark for a meal, that she wouldn’t stand a chance in hell at surviving. But with the shortened hours of daylight, she didn’t have as many daylight hours free to visit the cemeteries and get her supplies. So she marched into the damp, chilly evening with a bouquet of flowers to leave at a grave. 

There was something about cemeteries, as the winter drew closer, that the witch appreciated. As though the ritualistic death of the natural world was a reflection of the dead that rested beneath the half frozen earth. As though the scene before her was coming out of discordance with itself, and embracing what it was. Quiet and cold and peaceful. Except it wasn’t entirely peaceful that evening. 

There was a man on a bench, lost in his thoughts as he stared across at the headstone of a Lilliana Ivanonva, dead and gone for at least two hundred years. She hesitantly reached for the magic she could feel humming softly in the air, just past what the naked eye could see. She could feel the threads that poked up from the graves like daisies, but sensed none from the man in mourning. Maybe he wasn’t there to mourn the long dead woman. She drew closer, deciding that Lilliana was a good choice to give the flowers to. If the man in the cemetery wasn’t mourning her, at least she could be remembered by someone. She offered the man a sympathetic smile as she walked up beside him. “No. Well-” She cocked her head to the side, thinking about it. It was possible, for how long the Kanes had lived there, that Lilliana was some distant relation. But she doubted it. “No.. No probably not. You don’t have to apologize; it’s a cemetery. Public property, technically.” She stooped over to set the flowers down to rest beside the headstone. “You’re not related, then?”

—---

Right away, the woman seemed nice. Kind, even, something in her eyes confirming as much, visible even in the dim setting of the cemetery. Her voice wasn’t harsh, either, as she explained that whoever was buried here had as much relation to her as they did to Luc. A relief, even if it didn’t fix Luc’s melancholy thoughts of this woman, who had passed away over a century ago, having no one to care about her anymore. Only it did, as the kind woman placed down a nice bouquet of flowers at the grave despite the lack of familial relation. The warmth of it cracked the chilly ice around Luc’s chest just so, which wasn’t super productive towards his mission of stopping the tears from flowing. 

A few more escaped down his cheeks, running down silently with Luc quickly wiping them away before the stranger got to her feet. He cleared his throat before answering, “no, not at all. I’m not even from here so no chance of me being related to anyone here. Just… I don’t really have a specific place to go to mourn, uh…” Damn it. His voice caught in his throat, cutting off more words and Luc attempted to clear the lump again. “My fiance died.” It was still such an odd thing to say but speaking it out loud to a stranger was easier than telling the people he still hadn’t told, the ones who did deserve to know but Luc didn’t have the strength to tell. Not now, not yet. Real as the hurt was already, telling Sebastian’s parents or his own moms would make it even more real, would cement this new reality Luc didn’t want to be living in. 

“So uhm, figured no one would question a guy crying in a cemetery, right?” A lame attempt to lighten the mood, arms wrapping around Luc’s chest as the chill of sitting out here all this time properly caught up with him, a shiver passing through his body. “Why the flowers for someone you’re not related to?” 

—--

Oh. The witch’s easy going expression wrinkled into a frown. The man didn’t seem too far off from her own age- to have been practically widowed so young. Sympathy panged in her chest. She wasn’t used to seeing a partner mourned. The loss of her mother was barely something that had seemed to register with her father. Like he had long since reached the acceptance stage of the grieving process, and was simply ready to leave whatever he had had with her mother in the past. This stranger, however, sat alone, in a cold cemetery that didn’t even have a headstone that bore his fiancé’s name, mourning a love he’d had for so little time. What must that love, that devotion, that loss be like? If the witch were ever to be mourned, she hoped for loved ones who would miss her like this man. 

“I’m so sorry,” Rosemary moved a bit closer, perching on the edge of the bench next to the bereaved young man. “But you’re right… no one really questions the grieving. And besides, that’s what cemeteries are for, I think. The living that are left behind. We need spaces to cry, and to remember. Regardless if the ones we’re mourning are here, or not.” She shrugged. 

It was a good question. Lilliana wouldn’t give a damn if the witch left flowers or not. And her leaving flowers was sort of symbiotic- she’d come back for them, when the color in the petal had faded to grey, and they became fragile as centuries old paper. She’d use them, or sell them. But she’d always bring fresh flowers to replace the ones she’d taken. “I don’t know,” she sighed, stuck somewhere between the truth and a lie. “The forgotten ones deserve flowers, too.” Rosemary turned away from the grave, and looked back to the living. “ What was their name?”

—-

Gosh, there it was again. That quick shift of someone’s expression into obvious sadness and pity, which was a valid reaction, for sure but that didn’t mean Luc didn’t dislike causing others to feel that way all the same. It was bad enough that he had to carry this weight around every day but unloading it on other people, especially unsuspecting strangers, never failed to make him feel bad. Worse? This woman looked so sweet and now she was being subjected to some rando’s mourning? There was no backing out now, not with her earnest sympathy that, despite the guilt of involving a stranger, Luc genuinely craved. She moved closer and all Luc could think was that she looked like she gave good hugs. Maybe he was just missing his moms. 

“I’m sorry too for like, dumping this on you,” Luc sniffled, faintly reassured by the woman’s soft yet somber words. She had a very nice presence and somehow fit in here perfectly despite the colorful clothing, almost as if her job was just to move around the cemetery and provide a bit of peace to those grieving. Which wasn’t a real job, obviously, but Luc felt this woman might have knocked it out of the park if it were. Luc nodded at her explanation, once more weighed down by the thought of those dead and forgotten. Sebastian was anything but forgotten, a daily thought in Luc’s head and probably Baz’s, too, but he didn’t have a resting place. There was nowhere to bring flowers or light a candle. The woman’s question brought him back and Luc turned his head to meet her gaze, reigniting the thought that she looked like a good hugger. 

“Sebastian,” Luc answered, and as much as he hated making people sad and a bit awkward by sharing the fact of Seb’s death, he really liked sharing the tale of Sebastian’s life. “He was an artist. A really good one, not that I know anything about art but… he really enjoyed it, too. And he was kind and funny and brave.” Luc’s smile was sad but genuine and he brought up an arm to wipe away the tears with his sleeve. “And uh, I’m Luc. For the record. Hi.”

—-

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Rosemary offered the man a crooked smile. “Strangers in cemeteries are impartial third parties. Besides… Talking about it can help sometimes.” She wished she’d had someone to cry to when she’d been in the throes of grief as a child. But her father was never there, nor would he have made himself available as a source of comfort to the scared, lonely little girl she’d been. And the dead that shambled through the halls, doing the chores she had still been too small to accomplish, were void of any feeling. They were simply there physically. Any soul that had brought warmth and personality to them once had long since departed. So she became what she needed for herself. Self sufficient, and unproblematic. So that maybe, she’d be acceptable. And if she could be that shoulder to cry on for herself, it wouldn’t be hard to extend that courtesy to others. 

“Sebastian.” She echoed, nodding slowly to herself. It was a good name. And it sounded, from everything the man on the bench beside her had to say about him, that he’d been the very best sort of person. Kind, and creative, and so full of life. The sort that was infectious, and crept in to warm the darker corners of other people’s hearts like sunlight breaking through a cloud on a cold day. The sort of life that’s loss was all the more notable for the love and joy it had brought to other people. Rosemary didn’t want to be too presumptuous, but the poor man - Luc - was holding in so much. She reached over to rest a hand on his shoulder in comfort. A gesture that she hoped helped to make him feel maybe just a little less alone. “Rosemary. It’s nice to meet you Luc… How’d you two meet?” She asked the question, not because she felt obligated to. There were stories behind all of the headstones that dotted the grass in these places. The most she ever learned about them was that they were devoted fathers, loving mothers, beloved spouses. This was different. Sebastian’s body may not have been resting beneath the frozen earth, but his loved one was. And what better way to keep someone’s memory alive, than to talk about them?

—--

Yeah, yeah, enough with the apologizing, Luc chastised himself as well, even if it sounded eerily familiar to Sebastian’s voice the way it echoed in his head. But the woman continued speaking, giving Luc something less sad to focus on - or a person to share in the sad, the thing Luc historically had a bad time with. But she seemed earnest, like she genuinely wanted him to talk however much he wanted to talk. Would he not have done the same for her if the roles were reversed? 

Hearing Sebastian’s name coming from someone other than just Baz stung, but not in an entirely bad way. So many people had known Sebastian, had cared about him, and barely any of them knew for a fact that he was gone. Didn’t know how important it was to keep his memory alive. Even if it was just with this stranger, Luc appreciated that more people would remember Sebastian, no matter that it was simply by way of sad stories shared in a cemetery. A steadying hand settled on his shoulder and Luc sniffled, lip twitching into a soft smile. “You too, Rosemary,” he sighed, wishing it was under different circumstances. He’d have to offer to buy her coffee or something to repay her kindness. “Oh…” The question gave him a stop. It had been so long since someone had asked it, since Luc had seemed single all this time, carrying around his secret. His chest warmed up from the inside out as the memory returned to him, full force. 

“I model,” he started, a bit sheepish as he said it, pulling the hat on his head down a bit further. “And I was modelling at Seb’s art school, you know, anatomy and poses and all that. Shirtless, yes, since that’s what everyone wonders.” Luc let out a quiet chuckle as the memory continued to play out, his voice soft, as to not disturb the dead with his melancholy and bittersweet tale. “He came up to me afterwards, offered to take me for coffee, even though my clumsy, paintcovered fingers almost ruined his painting. And uh, yeah. That was that. I proposed like… I don’t know, eight months later or something?” Luc’s smile had grown, even if a fresh tear had accompanied it, rolling down his cheek. 

—-

Love was a messy thing, wasn’t it? 

Rosemary watched the smile stretch across Luc’s face slowly as he lost himself in a memory of the start of something good. Something that should have lasted far longer than it did. Her fingers found the pendant that hung around her neck as a pang of sympathetic grief coiled in the hollow of her throat. Love had this man sitting alone in a cemetery, grieving for the partner he’d lost, and the future they could have had. It had a tear cutting down his cheek at the thought of this otherwise happy memory. Love so often ended in pain and tears. Everyone knew that, and and yet every single person she knew reached for love anyway, willing to take on the risk of being hurt, if only for something worthwhile.  They all stretched for it like flowers that had gone too long without sunshine. 

She fished into her purse, pulling out a packet of tissues and offering one to the young man with a gentle smile. “That’s so sweet. He sounds like he was lovely… though, I do have to know- How did you almost ruin the painting?” The witch asked. She tried to imagine it- a faceless, but handsome young man asking out a paint splattered model while a finger streaked canvas observed the seeds of love taking root. 

—-

Rosemary’s presence was a steady, calming thing. Her gentle movements, even the way she tugged at the jewelry around her neck, was comforting. Did it remind her of someone she’d lost? Was it just a thing of comfort to her, something that brought her peace on the hardest days, like when she accidentally ended up consoling a total stranger in a cemetery? Either way, sharing was easy. It hurt, but Luc was used to the hurt by now. 

A tear-filled chuckle slipped out as Rosemary, of course, pulled out a pack of tissues. “God, purses really are like magic, huh? What else do you have in there?” Luc joked, accepting the offering and wiping tears off his chilly face, his dripping nose. Definitely not the picture of a majestic model right now. Still, Rosemary didn’t seem to mind, still smiling and making Luc still want to throw himself into her arms for a hug. It really was time to call his moms again, huh? Another chuckle as she raised a very valid question and his gloved fingers pulled at the used tissue. 

“I tripped. Almost pushed over his canvas, grabbed onto it trying to make sure it didn’t fall and… yeah. Lots of paint. He said…” Luc let out a breath that was almost painful, heart swelling to a size that didn’t feel compatible with the available space in his chest. “He said he liked it better that way.” The tissue tore apart in his hands and Luc glanced back up at Rosemary, cheeks red from the cold, eyes unguarded, smile so warm despite the chill. “You’re really good at this, you know?” 

—-

“Just about everything. I’m Mary Poppins’ American cousin. Don’t tell anyone.” The witch teased with a wink as she placed the packet back into the depths of her bag. Luc’s meet-cute (or maybe accident-cute?) had the witch laughing with a sympathetic smile. “Look, you may have been covered in paint, but you gave the piece character. Besides, he probably thought it was cute” Rosemary could imagine it clearly, even if she didn’t know a single thing about what Sebastian had looked like. It was clearly love. She didn’t have to stretch her imagination too far to see that. 

The tissue ripped, and the witch was already fishing back into her bag for another one. “Eh, I don’t know about that,” Rosemary shrugged. “I’m not a therapist or anything. But I hate seeing anyone cry. And you looked like you could use someone to sit with you for a bit.” The woman paused, studying him a moment longer. “Maybe a hug, too. You need a hug?” She offered, arms open in invitation. 

—-

Luc laughed, a wet, teary sound but genuinely joyful all the same. He could already imagine the American and modern remake of Mary Poppins where she was fashionable and pink - it was the perfect twist, actually, having someone who looked like Rosemary for the part. She had that tough kindness about her already that made her perfect. Although Luc doubted she was or had any interest in being a nanny, except just temporarily for grown men crying in graveyards. “You’d make a really great reboot,” he agreed, “just missing an umbrella.” 

Despite the cold, Luc was warmed by Rosemary’s genuine outlook on the encounter she knew next to nothing about. It had been a complete movie-magic moment, the kind Luc had started to believe only happened in movies and not to real people. But just as the magical moments could take place in real life, so could the doom and gloom complications and sad plot twists necessary to give every film its hook. “Cute enough to invite me out for coffee, anyway.” 

Unsurprisingly, Rosemary wasn’t willing to accept the compliment. Again, Luc was reminded of his mom, always willing to help, bad at accepting help or any sort of thanks for her assistance. “You don’t need to know, I’m telling you,” Luc insisted as he accepted a fresh tissue. As if to prove his point, Rosemary read him with ease and Luc huffed out a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.” It was a nice hug, not just because of the warmth to contrast the chill that had built up, it was just an objectively nice hug. And Luc was still thinking of his mom, so different from Rosemary in all the obvious ways but the quiet kindness and longing to help making Luc miss her all the same. Luc hoped that maybe Rosemary had needed a hug, too, and that she could have something nice from this encounter. Even if he was the one being comforted, Luc knew he gave good hugs.