Sequel to "When You're Gone." I recommend reading it before this one to understand any minor references. I also decided to mark this as inspired by BoJack Horseman s02; e03: "Still Broken" on Ao3, just to kill two birds with one stone.
It's hard to believe how much time had passed.
Some days, Ivan felt as though things were getting better. Most days it still hurt like hell.
He took in a deep breath of the firey July heat that Kansas brewed. The auroma of the sunflowers that surrounded him filled his nose, wafting past him in the breeze that made his bangs tickle against his forehead. It moved as fluid usually does, one place to another without a goal. There, and wonderful while its there, until it packs up its thinks and leaves again, into the unknown.
Perhaps that was just life.
It had been two years.
His memories had dulled, changing over time as they faded away. He was guilty for that, but without his Alfred here to make new ones with he was almost lost. So he made new ones with other people who weren't Alfred.
People say that the hardest part of healing was starting, but Ivan would argue that it all seems like the hardest part. None of this was easy, but there was nowhere left to go but forward.
Dwelling on the past wouldn't bring him back. He had to accept that.
He wondered, distantly, if he had chosen a selfish spot to spread his ashes. A sunflower field, Kansas, on near his birthday. Sunflowers fit his lover perfectly, but they were Ivan's favorite flower.
He felt his hand taken by soft, deft ones. Not as soft as they once were, as she was getting older—they all were—but still just as lovely. Katya smiled when he met her gaze.
Her eyes were blue, like Alfred's. Unlike his lover's, however, they were soft, tired. There was no passionate fire buring inside them, no liveliness, but still overflowing with love the same.
She was here for him.
And she had brought Alfred's ashes for him. He wouldn't have been able to bring them himself, would have broken down, but she says that its okay.
When he voiced his self-proclaimed selfishness, she laughed. "Ivan, this place if perfect. He would love it here."
He wasn't sure if he believed her though.
He leaned over, cupping one of the larger sunflowers in his large, calloused palms to press his face into the flower. The brown middle was soft against the rough, unshaved stubble of his cheek. He closed his eyes, and saw Alfred before him, bright as eager and happy, smiling. Never again would he smile at Ivan so beautifully, and Ivan would never wish for anyone to ever catch his attention the way Alfred had. Tears slipped down his face, caught in his pale eyelashes.
He told Katya stories, sometimes. Nowadays, despite the pain, he liked to share little things about Alfred. Maybe his favorite board game, or something he said often that he found funny that had usually left Ivan exasperated. Maybe it was a comment here or there that held a semblance of Alfred that Ivan had said himself. Sometimes it was stories in the places Alfred had loved to go, dates, fights that had been previously forgot and never truly settled. He still kept their pricate, intimate moments to himself. That Alfred was only for Ivan, but at least he wasn't alone.
Natalia came, too, although he knew she wasn't here for Alfred. He still appreciated it.
He took a deep breath from the flower in his face, savoring the smell.
He hated Alfred's cologne, it was too strong, but sometimes he couldn't help but stop by Alfred's usual body shop to grab the spray on type. When times got tough he would spray it over everything he owned and think of his passed lvoer while he spooned a pillow, just to create something Alfred-like.
He hadn't been sure on where to begin, that messy apartment. It had been full to the brim wih Alfred, pictures and food stains collectable action figures. It had been difficult, but everything eventually made its way into a cardboard box in the back of Ivan's closet—the closet they had shared together, still full of Alfred's clothes and shoes.
He just couldn't get rid of it, even if it made him some kind of a hoarder. Letting go of those everyday things that made Alfred, well, Alfred would be a crime.
"Ivan? Come on, we have to get back in time to get ready for Toris's wedding."
He nodded, face still pressed into the sunflower. He made no action to move.
"Ivan," his sister sang softly, and he heard Natalia grunt something offhandedly in the distance.
He sighed, lifting his head, opening his eyes. The world was bright around him, sunny. Warm. Sure of itself.
"I miss him."
Her head was on his shoulder once more, arms draped around his neck in an affectionate manner, "I know. But we just have to imagine that he's happier now, where ever he is."
"He was happy with me . Besides, what if he didn't go anywhere . What if he's just-?" Gone. What if he's just gone?
She hummed a gentle song. "We all believe in something when we pass. It doesn't matter if you don't now." She swayed him back and forth, gently playing with his hair.
"Come on," Natalia said, "let's get this over with." Ivan sighed again. Okay, let's get this over with.
They spread his ashes there, in the warm summer sun of Kansas.
The skies were clear, not a cloud to be seen. Alfred could be at peace somewhere now. He was at peace.
He was still broken, but he was healing.