"Please stand. I am here today in order to deliver this court's ruling in regards to testimony which we have heard over these last several weeks on the People versus…"
A quick glance over towards Lilette and Levi can't help himself from wondering: what's running through that mind of hers? Nearly two hours of the judge's sentencing at this point, long and drawn-out lists of crimes and punishments, last minute moments for the victims to speak.
Victims. What a strange word. An all-encompassing word, Levi finds himself lulling over the two little syllables in his mind while wondering how can a war have two sides, both with victims? Wondering how he can sit beside a woman from the other side – the enemy's side, for the longest time in his mind – and yet feel as though her pain surely rivals his. Equals, rivals – all the same. Both broken, both forever changed.
A glance up at the man on trial, Levi doesn't recognize him. Doesn't recognize those beady eyes or over-plump neck spilling out from a shirt collar that should fit. Must be nice – he narrows his eyes. Must be nice to be a prisoner of war and still find yourself taken care of to a level where he can maintain that extra skin. Would have been nice to have such luxuries to be overweight when living down in the cold, dark caves of –
No. He pushes those thoughts away. Never much one for lasting anger or grudges, he's seen far too many men brought down to their demise from such a thing. Perhaps he carried one of those longer than he should, and a quick glance down at his ankle serves as a harsh reminder of that. Yes – grudges can be dangerous. Though perhaps that was more of a promise. To the only person he'd ever make such a foolish thing as a guarantee. Erwin.
Another glance up towards the man as he hears his crimes read out for a final time. Surprisingly left with no anger, no hatred in his heart. Certainly not forgiveness. No, certainly not. Yet an absence of anger, perhaps a heart can finally begin to heal with such a thing.
For it's not his place to dwell on these items any longer. He's done his work, given countless years of his life. A quick glance over towards the tiny woman on his left and a little warmness seems to spread through a few impossibly cold spots which he never really expected to thaw.
What is she thinking? Has she, too, released the anger? Released the pain?
Can everyone hear that? The ringing in my ears, the piercing sound of bells or chimes or some energy cackling through the air. Can everyone see the pounding of my chest? Heartbeat sky rocketing to a level unexperienced before. I steal a glance over at Levi, wondering if he can see the way in which my hands tremble. Fingers grasped tightly onto the skirt of my dress in a desperate attempt to ground them, but trembles breakthrough nonetheless.
Though not from a sense of sadness. Not from a sense of fear or fright. Anger. A thick, warm rage settles within my throat as I stare out at that man – the one with the sickeningly beady eyes, the one who's throat I nearly envision throwing myself across the courtroom and wrapping fingers around to watch that repulsive shade of red drain from his face.
How does he look so calm? Another glance at Levi. He's hiding it. The anger, the rage. He's hiding it because he's lost someone too. Lost someone to this hellish war, to the man across the stage. Well, to many more but this man is here. Before us, my eyes able to stare into his very own. He's an outlet, a figure for all the bitterness that's lingered within. A place to hurl it all towards without remorse or guilt because above all else, he deserves it.
Breathe. A need for that little reminder many times this afternoon as I come to realize why I've avoided these things. Out there, out in the world – in the teashop, I can pretend that I've placed all of this behind me. Can pretend that I don't have an empty shell of a heart with the oh so very heavy exception of hatred.
I don't want to be here – shivers spill over my skin as I close my eyes, willing myself to another time; another place. My foolish attempts for a happier one, a happier place, are entirely disregarded when I find my mind pulled off to one perhaps much worse…
I'll burn this dress when I get home. It's all which runs through my mind as I stare down at the black chiffon, stare down at the belted waist with a ribbon which has been tied into a little bow. Ridiculous, entirely contradictory to the heaviness my very limbs feel while stuffed inside this dress. Arms and legs feel heavy, a little dead. Unmalleable if anything, certainly not lifeless enough to reach out and shake all of the many hands which come my way when I walked into this thing.
Walking into the sea of people, the ones with faces that replicate mine but it can't be…
It can't.
My pain is special, unique. I can't bring myself to consider anything else as I stand here for the mass funeral put on for all those lost to the rumbling, for how else would I ever stand again? How would one carry the weight of all the pain, of all that grief?
No – I do not pretend my loss is distinctive for selfish reasons. Purely for resilient ones. To know that half a nation, perhaps more, shares my grief and pain is far too much. Too all encompassing, so I force myself to believe that my pain is special. My lost love was a love far more meaningful than most.
Lies, I know. Yet to merely meet the other's eyes, the other widows spread out before me – clutching my heart, the children… lies are what is needed in this moment.
Words are spoken as I walk around in a sea of black, a sea of black dresses or suits or peacoats. Words of loss, a few embolden words of courage and strength to rebuild – for which I need many little breaths to calm myself to withhold from releasing all of the rage over these last few weeks upon them.
A sea of black, a sea of mourning. Listening to the names read out, listening to the names as they get closer and closer to the one I wish more than anything I didn't have to hear. To the one I wish more than anything was standing beside me in this sea of black. But then a tiny little ironic smile slips through to my face at the foolishness; because if that were the case, we'd hardly be here.
Eyes flash over to a man who holds a young girl within his arms, hair dark as the depressing material of my dress which causes a jolt to run through my stomach. Recalling images of another with hair dark as the night, recalling images of his blades swinging by his side as he stands proudly on top of his prey – on top of the Beast Titan. On top of the rubble which lays scattered all around us.
A dryness in my throat, I suddenly realize how tightly I am gripping the crystal glass within my hand as it shatters, shards flying down to the ground much in the very same way which that man caused bricks and boulders to shatter down upon my husband's leg. Eyes narrowed, I watch as the man with the little girl in his arms begins to turn – wondering… could it be?
No. Of course, no. It's not him and I'm left feeling foolish and embarrassed for causing such a scene. Quickly bending down to clean up the shards, I take a steady breath because my ears still listen for the names which they call out upon the main stage and, well – here we are.
His name.
It bellows out among the crowd. Just another name for all those around, a personal little hell for myself. Crouched down, the hem of my dress scattered in with shards of crystal, a little too much hatred spiling through my heart for what feels healthy, and a few too many tears spilling down my cheeks to hide.
That moment, the very one when I suppose my mind and heart accepted the weight of it all. He's not coming back. Listening to his name read among the list of victims, hearing it announced to all that he's just another one who was lost. Just another one, and yet my one. My only one. Hands trembling so dearly that I accidentally drop all of the collected shards in my hands, limbs heavy and weak as I consider never rising from this very spot.
He's not coming back.
She's acting strange. Face filled with an expression he's not quite familiar with upon her delicate features. Unable to pinpoint it exactly, yet immediately picked up on it. Knowing something is off, something is wrong.
"Do you want to come back for a cup of tea?" He asks as they walk out of the courtroom. Her head nods a little and a forced smile fills her face, yet he doesn't want one of those. Doesn't want one that is forced.
"To sign your name –" he nudges her arm, looking for a laugh. A chuckle – anything.
"What?" she mumbles in a half-distracted lazy tone while turning her head to stare over at him.
Oh. His eyes open wide, where white should be is a bright red. Tear-stained and dry eyes, immediately he feels horrible. Wishing he had never asked her to come to this thing, wishing that he'd never forced her to sit through all of that.
"I'm okay," she sniffles with another forced smile.
You don't have to be, he wishes to whisper over. Wishing to convey to her that with him, she shouldn't feel the need to pull that bullshit. That obligatory show of braveness, it isn't needed. Wishing to reach out and pull one of her tiny hands within his hand, to lend some warmth.
Instead, he clears his throat and looks away. Unsure how to deal with moments such as these. With people such as her. Ones he finds himself starting to care far too much for, far too early.
Far too easily.
"The painting." He clarifies, "You were going to add your signature."
"Oh," she sniffles back a laugh while he's left wondering how a red and runny nose can be so endearing. "Could we do that another day?"
"I promised tea." He nudges her arm, hoping to convince her.
"You did." She softly chuckles, "I don't think I've ever paid for a cup, have I?"
You have not. He stares over at her while opening the door to her car. Nor will you.
"I don't know," she whispers as his heart sinks just a little bit more than he'd care to admit. "Another day?"
Another day.
He stands behind the counter in his shop and darts eyes towards the door when the little bell sets off from a customer. Hoping it's her, disappointed that it is not. It's been over two weeks now since that afternoon at the courthouse, the afternoon of asking her to sign the bottom corner of her painting.
Two weeks and still, another day lingers in the unknown future – not having come.
She was distracted that day. Eyes not really bothering to make much contact with him, face a little less drained of color than its normal hue. Unable to stop thinking about it, he's endlessly been worrying that perhaps he pushed too much in suggesting they attend the trial.
After another full day passes of not hearing from her, he decides to do what is perhaps quite ridiculous and go to her home to check in on her. With a little bundle of tea in hand – a tiny gift – and a nervous knock placed upon her door, he wonders if this is a mistake. If she'll be frustrated by the intrusion, if she wants some time. Worries that he's overstepping, acting a little overbearing; yet as soon as the door opens to reveal her dishevelled face, he wished that he'd made this decision earlier.
"Levi?" she blinks a few times as if in confusion. The smell of alcohol filling his nose and sinking his stomach. The crumbled material of the black dress in which she wears, wrinkled in such a way that has him wondering if she'd been sleeping in it.
She's not doing well.
"Why are you here?" She frowns a little, eyes lowering down to take in the gift of tea.
He asks to come in, which thankfully she allows. His eyes glance around the small home, taking in the sink filled of dirty dishes, the table scattered with take-out boxes and items of clothing thrown among the floor. Eyes glance over to the coffee table where two handkerchiefs are carefully folded – one which he recognizes, his which was given to her in what feels like years ago, yet only a few weeks. The other, he's not quite sure. A black pocket square, one with frayed ends and a slight fade to its color. It leaves a strange feeling in his stomach of which he does not wish to linger on.
"I've been… busy." She bites down on her lower lip, embarrassment and disappointment filling the room but he doesn't want that. Doesn't want any of that, he's merely here to help. "You should go take a bath." He mumbles with what he hopes is a soft smile. A caring one, not one filled with pity or contempt.
"Okay…" her voice is low, still filled with shame as she slinks off towards her bathroom.
A heavy sigh, another painful glance around before he gently places the bundle of tea upon her countertop and gets to work. Gets to removing the empty cartons, carefully washing the dishes before placing them away, placing items back in their respective places which he can find. Gets to cleaning.
His raised eyebrow is in the middle of scrutinizing the nearly empty contents of her fridge when she returns from her bath. Looking a little less withered, changed into a pair of sweatpants and cotton sweatshirt, looks a little more like herself. Which places a tiny smile upon Levi's face as he calls over to her, "When's the last time you ate a real meal?"
Her sigh is heavy and gives the answer that he had suspected. A curt nod, he pulls out a box of pre-made pasta along with a jar of sauce.
"I thought you didn't cook." She softly laughs while coming to stand at his side. Reaching out for a pepper that hasn't yet gone bad.
"I'm confident in my ability to boil water." He deadpans while sneaking a peak at the instructions placed upon the cardboard box. Not entirely confident in his ability to boil water, but she doesn't need to know that.
"Go rest." He mumbles while taking the pepper from her hands. "I'll make tea."
"You didn't need to come…" her eyes lower, once again in shame.
What happened? He wants to ask. Wants to desperately know if it was all because of him, all because of that foolish trial which he wishes more than anything he hadn't dragged her to. "Do you wish for me to go?"
"No." She whispers while meeting his gaze. Silence fills the air for a few moments before she speaks again, "Levi…" a heavy gulp, her face looks pained. "Tomorrow… um – are you sure you don't need any help? With dinner?"
That's not what you were going to say. His brow furrows as he tells her to go lay down. Watching as she falls down onto her sofa, his mind endlessly attempting to sort out what she had been planning to say.
I'm such a fool. The only words floating around in my mind as I lie upon the sofa, watching as Levi slowly and meticulously cleans the rest of my kitchen while bringing the pasta water to a boil. A fool for allowing this time of year to still have quite so much hold over me. A fool for assuming this year would be any better, unlike the last five. I should have known.
Should have known how incessantly my eyes would flick over to that portrait of the two of us – the one in my ridiculous white dress, the one with love and hope sparkling throughout our eyes. The one where dreams of a long and lengthy future played before our eyes.
I'm such a fool.
We both were, I suppose. Dreams of having our happy ending, so painfully ripped away at this point I can hardly stand the irony. A glance over towards my kitchen and I find myself so disoriented, so confused for a mere moment I have fingers gripping deeply into the fabric of my sofa, unable to stop wondering if this moment would be repeating had he never died. Repeating yet with another man, with him – my husband. Would he be over there cooking us dinner? Over there with narrowed eyes, a small bead of sweat – yes, Levi… I can see your nervousness in making such a simple dish. No need, I'll love it.
Would he be over there humming some mind-numbingly catchy tune, that very one which would always then become stuck in my own head. Over there preparing dinner for us, or would it be the other way around? Perhaps both of us sharing the task, sharing time together. Because tomorrow… tomorrow is –
"Do you have any ground pepper?" Levi's voice pulls me from my thoughts. Pulls me from the sofa as I walk over to the kitchen, thankfully a little sobered from the tea, and pull a shaker from the top cupboard.
"Ground pepper for the chef." I force out a small smile, wishing to thank him for the company. For the cleaning, for all of it.
That earns a small chuckle from him as he nods before placing it before him on the counter. "Care to be my sous-chef?" He mumbles, "I have no idea how to slice a pepper."
"Yes." I laugh, yet suddenly find myself spilling a few unexpected tears down onto my cheeks. I thought I had already shed everything that was left; guess not.
"Is it because of me?" Levi's eyes look frantic as he quietly whispers over, catching me entirely off guard as I stutter, "W-what?"
"The trial." His eyes lower down to the ground. "I shouldn't have pushed it on you. I'm… sorry, Lilette."
Oh. Heavens, no… "Levi," throwing my face into my palms I shake my head. "No – it's not because of the trial. I – I'm sorry if that's what you've been thinking. Tomorrow is…" a gulp. "Tomorrow would have been my wedding anniversary."
A round of silence fills the air, but there – I've said it. Said the very word which holds so much power over my head: anniversary. That debilitating day which hits me every year like a ton of bricks.
"Shit." Levi breathes out after a little while, sorrow filling his eyes.
"Wish you hadn't found me in such a mess." I force an embarrassed smile. "No one really ever gets to see this… I usually hide for a few days until it passes."
"Don't hide." He furrows his brow. "And you're not a mess."
"Aren't I?" The question is rhetorical, of course. For I'm currently in the process of wiping snot on the back of my sleeve. We both know: I am a mess.
"Do you want to be left alone tomorrow?" he asks, instead.
Hmm. Do I? "I want to visit the cemetery." Not necessarily an answer to his question.
He nods. Eyes slowly moved back to the task of pouring pasta into water as he carefully asks, "Would you like me to go with you?" My eyes widen and so he quickly clarifies, "To visit… to do my own thing. I could just – be there."
"Oh." I'm a little surprised at how lovely that sounds. A little surprised at just how much I would like that. And so I nod my head, placing a soft touch on his arm as a quiet thank you. A quiet nod returned: you're welcome. Sometimes, my favorite thing about this man is how unnecessary words appear to be between us. How they merely add to the conversation, yet never initiate it. Never ending it.
"Tell me something as a distraction." I look over at him as we both sit down at my small table to begin eating the mediocre pasta we've managed to scrape together. Just because I cook regularly doesn't mean I'm any good at it…
"What would you like to know?" He stares over at me.
"Hmm…" I hum in thought. This feels like a rare moment, one I wish not to waste because I get the feeling he's not often freely offering personal information on his life. "A fond memory." I finally decide. "A random fond memory that you have of…"
"Of my time on Paradis?" His lips curl into a half-smirk. I got you – he seems to be smiling. Knows just how much I've been secretly attempting to sort that out.
"Yes." I softly chuckle back, no use hiding it. "But I'd like it to be pleasant, please." I like thinking about you being happy. It doesn't even need to be personal or important, but a fond time. That's all I'm really looking for.
Only the sound of utensils clanging against china fills the air while I wait patiently for his response. Watching as his face tenses in frustration, likely sorting through old memories to determine one which feels appropriate for sharing. Just as I am about to suggest we table this conversation for another day, he clears his throat with a tiny look of amusement on his face.
"This will sound ridiculous." He shifts in his seat, apparently feeling a little self-conscious with the chosen memory.
"I won't laugh." I offer a genuine smile, though he merely shakes his head and mumbles how it's fine for me to find this a little laugh worthy.
"How ignorant we were back then." His fingers toy with the wine glass before finally looking up at me to clear his throat and begin. "Keep in mind," he softly chuckles to himself, "none of us had any idea about the sea."
Instantly, a smile forms upon my face. Instantly lost in imagining just how very adorable that must have been: watching Levi's grumpy face from all of the sand and stickiness of the salt water; because just in this short time we've met, I know this man far too well to expect a joyous story about his discovery of the new thing called the sea. Specifically, the new thing called sand.
"The sand." His lips curl into a displeased frown, sending me into a soft chuckle as I relish in the fact that I was right. "It stuck – everywhere."
"Yes," I smile. "It does that."
"Indescribably frustrating." He grumbles for a moment before resuming his story. "Those brats – the junior Scouts, soldiers – immediately ripped off their boots and went rushing into the water. Which we thought would clean the dirt, so we all took our boots off to rinse them."
"Oh no!" I burst out laughing, knowing all too well where this is heading.
"The sand stuck even worse after that." His face is so crumbled at this point, I'm merely focusing on breathing. "I told those damn brats they weren't returning until every last grain of sand was removed from their person and clothing."
"An impossible task!" I laugh, wondering just how high he was in rank. Not truly having thought of it before; though clearly, he was a superior officer with subordinates. Subordinates which he called 'brats'. I blush a little, that's so cute. I can hardly handle not to comment on it.
"Impossible? I suppose it was." His eyes flick off into the distance, mind pulled back to the very moment. "Though it was amusing to watch their panicked faces attempting to carry the order out."
"Levi!" I gasp and grin, "That's horrible."
He exhales a chuckle while shrugging his shoulders. "Sometimes those little shits deserved it."
He cared so greatly for them. I can tell from the look upon his face. "Do you… stay in contact with many of them?" I decide to test my luck.
Levi's eyes move back down to his plate of food before mumbling over, "You asked for pleasant memories."
Ah. I nod in understanding. He does not.
"Well," I'm desperate to bring the conversation back to laughs and teasing grins. "I'm curious – how did you manage to get your boots sand-free? That's sort of impossible to do once they get wet on the beach."
He clears his throat and gives me sheepish little smirk. "That was more of a 'do as I say not as I do' situation."
Another laugh spills out from me before I can contain it, though he hardly looks offended. More so looks pleased, I dare say. Happy to have brought something other than drunken and depressed stupor onto my face – for which I greatly appreciate. "Thank you," I dab at my eyes after a few more moments of giggling. "I love that story."
"It wasn't all bad." He says the words, almost as if equally attempting to remind himself as much convince me. I watch as his throat tenses from a gulp before lightly nodding his head, "There were a few good times."
"There always are." I sigh, leaning back in my chair to become a little lost in my own memories. "Things are never entirely shit, I guess."
He hums in agreement and we're silent for a few moments before I kick his foot underneath the table to capture his attention. "Like tonight. Thank you – for all of this. A nice memory."
A curt nod given in return before we both finish the rest of our meal in silence. A few moments of happiness mixed in with the all-consuming weight of tomorrow, a few more smiles placed upon my face tonight than I had ever imagined possible.
It is hard to imagine something remotely resembling a smile making an appearance the following morning as I open the door to find Levi, punctual as always and exactly on the determined time we agreed to meet. My fingers nervously tapping against the steering wheel the entire drive, of which I am entirely sure he notices yet remains silent. Knowing I need a little more mercy than usual today. A little less teasing.
It's a cold and windy day, one which seemingly mimics the range of emotions swirling around inside of my mind. A little too terrified to consider how my husband would react to all of this: showing up to mourn his grave on the day of our anniversary with another man…
No. Firmly, I cut myself off. We're simply arriving together, not here together. He has his own fallen ones to mourn.
"I don't think we should walk over together." I blurt out as soon as we arrive, unable to glance over to see his face. "Sorry… but –"
"I understand." He nudges my arm, thankfully stopping one of my many spirals before it began. "No need to explain, Lilette. Take all the time you need, I'll meet you back at the car."
"Thank you…" My voice manages to whisper over before grabbing my hat from the backseat and beginning the long and familiar journey through the soggy grass, hand tightly grasping the familiar bouquet of water lilies as I curse myself once again for wearing mascara. The familiar heaviness which settles upon my shoulders, the loneliness which pours out around the air to cause what feels like a barrier to the rest of the world as I stand here before the tiny tombstone.
The familiar words which I whisper out – the ones once filled with joy and love. Now filled with a sadness which leaves all words incompetent, unable to describe.
Happy anniversary, love…
A quick glance over at Levi as he begins to make his way in the opposite direction causes a pang of guilt to rush through me. Though quickly chased off as I catch him doing what appears to be an attempted stealth glance over at me. Our eyes meet, realizing that we've both been caught and a forceful giggle breaks free.
A smile.
A sneaky little unexpected smile, it made an appearance today.
Today.
I hardly know how to process such a thing and so I quickly clear my throat and bring eyes back to the stone. "I'm so sorry," a horse whisper as I place the flowers upon his tomb. Not entirely sure what I'm doing with that man over there, but… entirely sure it's a little more than I should be. Entirely sure I've come to care for him a little more than I thought possible. A little more than what should be possible after such a loss. Maybe? Perhaps. I don't know…
A deep breath in.
Please forgive me. I feel like I'm doing something wrong.
Shit. Grimacing upon being caught staring, Levi shuffles over towards the opposite end of the cemetery and curses himself for taking that final look. Though, she had been staring at him… so perhaps it's not entirely as awful as he's imagining. A little unsure of how to give her space, he doesn't wish to intrude. Doesn't wish to make her feel uncomfortable in being here, merely wishing to make sure that she's okay.
Wishing to stop that depressing version of herself the other night from making an appearance. Even with her dried eyes and shaky hands this morning from an evening of tears, it's still so much more preferrable to the hopelessness and the despair. So, yes – he's entirely here to ensure that she is okay. Not really visiting anyone, he decides to take a stroll around the property to place as much distance between them as possible, still able to keep an eye on her.
He wonders what that would feel like to lose a spouse. A partner. Wonders why she appears to have such little anger towards anyone from Paradis. Wonders why she didn't act strange or surprised upon finding out he was in their military, though she doesn't know how much he was in the military. Doesn't know who he was, only who he is now.
That's another thing he's found himself to have grown so fond of: with her, he's not Captain Levi Ackerman of the Survey Corps. He's merely a man, merely a man who owns a shop which sells tea. Now a man who can semi-successfully cook pasta. Pasta with peppers – even. A soft chuckle, how unaware she is of her influence upon him.
Then he wonders just how much truth there is to all of that bullshit of loved ones are always watching. After a few moments of pondering the likelihood, he determines just how very unlikely it would be for his loved ones to be watching him. Four Eyes would find his life far too boring, he chuckles. Erwin would be wanting to kick his ass for being so indirect with Lilette…
Would want to – Levi quietly chuckles again. Because they both knew him to be incapable of such a thing, much as he may try to argue against it.
Slowly, his mind wonders to Lilette's loved ones. Or, specifically: loved one. He'd most certainly be watching her. What would he think about Levi? A gulp. Quite the strange thing to consider: how another man would feel about him developing feelings for his wife. Widow, wife – it sort of feels like they're still married. He doesn't entirely get the feeling that she's willing or wanting anything of the sort again.
Then he's left wondering when he started wanting something of the sort.
Speaking of… how is she doing? Stealing another glance, his eyes widen a bit upon watching a large gust of wind swoop up her hat, blowing it farther down the field to where he stands. The woman is quite literally always losing her hats, he almost chuckles – but is quickly distracted by the sight of her slumped forward shoulders, by the sight of her tiny trembles which are visible from over here. Her face thrown into her palms, hair fallen down to hide her features but he knows: she's crying.
Hasn't even noticed the wind picking up her hat. Hasn't noticed or doesn't care, all the same. He shuffles over to where the small hat has fallen, carefully picking it up to dust off the dirt which clings to its suede material and considers what he should do. Should he walk over to return it? Hold onto it until later? He'd easily do that, but for the rain which has started to fall down from the gloomy clouds overhead.
Frozen, he doesn't know which is worse. Allowing her hair to become drenched or interrupting a private moment, not meant for him?
But then she suddenly lifts her face; lifts her eyes up to shift over and make contact with his own. A little look of surprise on her face, confusion in wondering why he's holding a woman's hat but then fingers run through her hair and realize the wind must have stolen hers.
How similar this all feels. The way they met; the very place, even. Eyes locked, suddenly he just knows.
Starts shuffling over, cursing the horrible combination of his cane and the soggy grass but she's worth it. Watching as a tiny, sad smile slips over her lips as he walks over to meet her. Hand reaching out to pass back the hat, he'll turn and leave immediately. This is her moment and he wishes not to intrude, but then her hand lingers. Fingers lightly touching, eyes still locked and staring. She lingers.
Wishing for him to linger. He can tell.
His face is twisted upon recognizing how much pain is in hers. Wishing to do something, anything to make her feel a little less broken and so he lifts the hat to place it gently upon her head, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
Before he can fully comprehend her movement, she's stepped forward to wrap arms around his waist, to place her head resting against his chest while tears begin to slip down her cheeks once more. "Can you please stay?" she whispers into the crook of his neck with her heart beating wildly, he can feel it through her jacket and dress, the poor thing. Beating furiously against his chest until he wraps his arms around her waist and whispers back, "Of course."
Bringing his eyes down to stare at the stone which bears her husband's name, he lets out a silent whisper – just in case. Just in case they have a loved one listening in,
I'll take care of her.