The scent of lavender was overpowering.
The potency of the flowers was nearly suffocating to the blond, who cleared his throat in the silence. Oz stood stiffly in place, his muscles tense with stress and lack of movement. His legs, slightly unsteady from the long period of disuse of the carriage ride, were rigid and unable to move. He pulled off quite the large contradiction - quaking like a leaf and on the verge of crumbling yet so petrified into place.
He wanted nothing more to crawl in a hole and simply be liberated from the long dormant emotions brewing in his very own chest and free from the suffocating atmosphere. Though, even if the boy could muster the strength and feeling in his extremities to flee, he still wouldn't be able to.
No sounds rang in the air - not even the delicate sound of leaves rustling in wind or birds tweeting in the sunlight. With the cool breeze blowing and the sun radiating warmth, the day almost felt normal.
Lavender. The scent of lavender was the only thing that Oz could smell despite it being bundled together with various other flowers in the bouquet lying in his golden-eyed companion's hands. The very shade of amethyst was the only color Oz could see as Gilbert crouched down to set the innocent bundle onto the ground and over polished stone.
The silence in the air might have made the blond more tense. A slight breeze would pick up occasionally and effectively keep the aroma faint in the air.
Forest-green eyes lay fixated low on the ground, line of sight wavering to the inoffensive flowers. Oz's stomach was practically in knots as he took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, thus alerting his companion.
"Oz, are you alright?" Gilbert prompted cautiously, a heavy concern evident in his soft voice. The two stood adjacent to each other, shoulders brushing slightly.
A head of ebony locks turned to face the younger boy, giving him his full, undivided attention along with a worried expression. The teen's eyes raised from the ground finally to meet the honey-gold orbs before a weak smile formed on his lips.
"I'm fine, Gil." Oz's voice was small and strained to sound nonchalant as he responded. He dropped his gaze back to ground, huffing quietly and pausing.
"It's just that..." The blond continued in a hushed mumble, before Gilbert could speak up. The noirette listened diligently and felt his heart twist at the boy's next words.
"I miss him."
The two stood in silence for the next moments, simply reveling in the universal truth of the statement. The older nodded before sighing.
"Me too," Gilbert mumbled in a low voice, now looking down on the ground himself.
The silence was once again broken when the blond kneeled down to the flowers, where his companion had placed them. The noirette followed, squatting slightly to and craning his neck to watch the teen curiously.
Oz lifted a shaky hand to the bouquet of the flowers, prying out a single lavender. In close proximity, the flowers' scent was much worse and more affecting. The bouquet smelled of childhood. They brought back memories of innocence, days gone by, happiness, and loss. They had picked the flowers fresh from the Vessalius gardens. Though, the unease wouldn't have been lessened even if they had been random flowers.
Oz lifted the single flower up to inspect it before he set it down to rest upon the center of the smooth, marble tombstone.
Oscar Vessalius.
The name centered on the surface of the tombstone haunted the teen to no end.
"Hello, Uncle." The teen took a quiet intake of breath. The strained smile once present was now slightly bigger and almost believable - almost being the keyword. The small chuckle that followed wavered and the pseudo qualities of the cheery voice were only growing more evident.
"Happy Birthday."
"You're getting old, you know?" Oz teased with a light chuckle; though, the laugh shook at the ends.
A warm hand landed on the blond's shoulder, briefly making him look up to once again meet the familiar, cautious, and concerned gaze.
"Oz-"
"It's okay, Gil." Oz's steady voice successfully cut off Gilbert and prevented him from speaking. The older furrowed his brows and glanced at the younger searchingly. The emotionless stoic in the boy's voice bothered Gilbert.
"Oz," he began again, "It's okay to mourn." He made the comment carefully and in a sympathetic and gentle voice, careful not to upset the boy.
A faint mutter of "yeah" was all the male received in response before the silence was once again thick.
"Can we stay a while?" Oz finally spoke up again after a long moment of detached silence.
Gilbert only nodded in response. The feelings were mutual after all. In their loss, they both tried to appear strong in front of the other. They shared an unspoken and mutual understanding.
The whole scene was sorrowful. The two stood together in the middle of a cemetery, with flowers from the garden that their deceased, loved one cherished so much and with lavender. Lavender was the flower that Oscar Vessalius had always taken a special liking to and would always tuck it in his suit pocket during occasions. He would always outwardly show his appreciation for it. The flower was said to be a favorite of his late wife.
A gloved hand, now the man's only remaining hand, reached to hover by Oz's adjacent hand. The blond surprisingly held onto the warm hand without hesitation, quickly lacing his digits together with the other's and intertwining.
The two practically became stone for the next half hour, unwavering and still hand in hand. Gloved fingers would only move to rub delicate circles onto the back of the blond's smaller, ungloved hand in a gesture of comfort. Oz's hold on the male's hand briefly relaxed before tightening his hold gently. He didn't plan on letting go anytime soon.
In that moment, they stood the same way they did two months prior while attending his funeral.
Just like before, time seemed to become tangible as they stood, making them feel every minute stretch with a heavy and almost thick atmosphere.
Eventually, the two stopped being stones when the larger hand gave a gentle squeeze to the younger's, rousing him. They made eye contact before the noirette was about to speak, but the blond spoke sooner.
"You're probably right." Oz whispered in affirmation, knowing that the older would suggest that they leave. In all truth, Oz knew very well that it was probably for the best. It wasn't healthy at all for either of them. It wasn't comforting at all and didn't make him feel any closer to his uncle, only more distant.
Plus, they both knew very well that they would much rather cherish the happy memories of him when he was lively and well - not cold and buried several feet below the ground without so much as a presence.
This was also acknowledged and shared in their unspoken state of understanding.
A simple nod from the older agreed. It was with those mutual feelings in mind that the two finally parted with the grave and began to head back to the carriage.
Before the pair was about to begin walking, Gilbert's hand began to slacken from around Oz's and began to pull away.
Though, the younger didn't allow it. For the second surprise of the morning, Oz reached out to retake the hand in his and begin to rub circles into the silky, soft glove of the older's hand.
Please just a little bit longer, can we stay like this? The question was left unspoken but shone brightly in the boy's emerald orbs. His expression was of an attempted nonchalance but Gilbert knew better. He gave a tender squeeze to the teen's hand in reassurance before he re-tightened his hold.
This was also understood and shared in their mutual insight. The two would give the other any kind of comfort they could provide - which was good, because they both needed it.
With that small comfort, they began heading back to the carriage.