Never Alone

2 : 3 6 | P M

Elliot = Bold

Vaughn = Bold, Underlined

Vaughn leaned back against the headstone with his face turned up towards the sky. The grave was smooth and uncomfortable against his back, causing him to sit in a slumped position as he considered how the grass he was sitting on could really do with a cut.

Everything was quiet and peaceful, the only movement being the slight shift of grass as it was pushed by the wind, blown in the clockwise direction of the clouds overhead as they continued on their silent journey around the world. And, if Vaughn closed his eyes, he could see himself as water vapour, silent and fleeting as he looked down on all that lay below him.

He'd always found it ironic, how dead souls were said to float up to heaven when their bodies were so far underground. He also found it incredibly ironic how people left flowers at graves, only to have them rot away like the body beneath the same soil that the plant had been ripped from. It was a cruel, sadistic sense of irony. But, for some reason, it made him smile. Probably because it reminded him of how idiotic humanity could be. Which was a probability he liked to consider often, particularly as it had been the faults of his own humanity that had allowed his cousin to slip right through his fingers and into the ground that he now sat on top of. 

Not that he could use any of his hilariously ironic analogies, of course, because his dead cousin had been cremated, burned to ashes as she went out of the world with the same kind of flame that she had come in with. 

The soft crunch of footsteps against leaves alerted him of a newcomer in the graveyard, so he wasn't too surprised to have someone call his name. Despite having his eyes closed.

"Vaughn?"

He opened each eye slowly, not quite ready to leave the world of reminiscence as he took in the scene in front of him. And, despite his anticipation of an interruption to his solitude, he was taken aback by the script that played before his eyes. He had been expecting one of the locals, he came to the graveyard so often that he practically knew everyone who came, or maybe a graveyard worker. But, what he had not expected, was Elliot Davis, a boy he knew to be one of the strongest people he knew, red-eyed and shaking as he was wrapped up in the arms of a tall ball of sunshine.

Vaughn immediately stood up, wincing at the horrible sound his spine made as he stretched out his cramped limbs. "Hey Elliot," he gave the boy a small smile, curiosity peaking at his interest but knowing better than to voice it, "Isabella." He nodded at the girl who smiled back at him. And he sort of smiled back. Not knowing quite what to do. It was one thing to cry himself, it was a whole other thing to witness someone else in the same hole that he had been attempting to claw his way out of since what felt like the dawn of time.

He never had been great at comforting people. It was usually a mess of stutters as he tried to look on the bright side. Which was difficult for Vaughn because had a habit of being pessimistic. That and he didn't see the point in telling someone it was going to be okay when it obviously wasn't going to be. What was the point in lying? It would only be a bigger let down when everything disintegrated more than it already had. 

"What are you...uh...what are you doing here?" He managed to get out, cursing at himself in a colourful array of language as he realized what a dumb question that was. It's a goddamned graveyard Vaughn, what the hell do you think they're doing, going out on a bloody picnic?

But, to his surprise, it was Elliot who answered. "I...I...I'm visiting Grace."

Vaughn raised his eyebrows in surprise. Grace Davis was not a topic that her family brought up lightly. As far as he could tell, the family had barely mentioned her name since her sudden death. Or, at least, that's what Noah had told him. Which was as sad as it was sensible, really. He still had trouble mentioning his dead cousin without tearing up. And tearing up wasn't something that was particularly easy to do. Especially when it made him feel like a complete idiot for crying in the first place. Because he should have been over this by now. He should have moved on. And, yet, somehow, he hadn't. Couldn't.

"Do you...do you come here often?" 

Vaughn looked down at his shoes, watching how the blades of grass clawed at the darkening colour of his sneakers. He debated on a truthful answer, considering whether it would be better to keep the emotion separate from his words. But then he thought of Elliot's tear-stained face and felt a surge of respect. He knew how much courage it took to cry. Especially about things that really mattered. And if Elliot had had the courage to let everything out, then he could surely open up a bit.

"Yeah...yeah. I...it's my cousin, Cleo. She...uh...she died a while ago," he kept it his gaze on the grass, pinching the bridge of his nose in a sort of exasperation at himself as he forced himself to make eye contact. "It was...it was leukaemia. Cancer. She...it was sudden and I...I don't know...I...I just keep coming back here, I guess. Maybe I...it makes me feel a little closer to her."

Vaughn met Elliot's gaze.

"Does it...does it get better?"

Was there really any point in lying? "No...not at first but I...I guess we just have to adjust. To...to find some sort of way to keep them living without them breathing in a way that isn't painful and...to...to find that peaceful place between moving on and letting go."