He was asked not to come, very nicely and they weren't trying to sound like assholes, but in his mind it felt like an order, and those are much easier to disobey than requests.
And they told him not to come to the funeral.
He was going to listen, he would swear to his original plans on his Star Wars Boxed Set, maybe, but he stood in the doorway to the apartments one bathroom, watching her put the finishing touches on her makeup and she had slipped into the black dress she knew he liked and he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his sweatpants.
But looking at him in the mirror, she said please, please don't make me do this alone.
He contemplated it, he honestly did and for a second he was going to follow his orders and continue to his beer and chicken wings and distraction.
And her hands were shaking as she set down the mascara and he watched her shoulders hunch in defeat and her knuckles go white as she gripped the counter and because he was sure she was about to completely fall apart, he asked which tie she wanted him to wear.
Because protecting her is and always will be his first priority.
The chairs are set up in rows on the cemetery grass and they sit in the back, the very back and far away from anyone who would truly know who they were, and closest to the exit because he'd whispered just in case.
She wears the dress but her black coat covers it all, tied around the center, and the sleeves hide the scars down her pale forearms and the heels are more than uncomfortable and she doesn't really want to be here since it means it must be true, but she needs to be because it is true.
He holds her hand in his lap, playing with the silver rings on her fingers and looking at the way the hedge needs to be cut and the delicate curve of her messy crimson bun, a fiery cascade of curls that is an entirely new class of elegant to him, and he listen to the birds in the apple tree while some guy he doesn't know gives a eulogy he doesn't really want to hear for a man he doesn't want to be dead.
When it is over, when the dirt is poured and the tears are still coming from the rest of the crowd and there's many 'I'm sorry for your loss's to an old woman in a long dress and a younger girl with a black rose pinned in her hair, they stand together, side by side, and slip easily out the cemetery gate and it is as if they were never there.
He slips an arm around her waist and she leans into his shoulder as if it was much more than a shoulder and a fistful of his suit jacket is clutched in her hand like a lifeline.