Llewellyn's eyes were red and puffy. So much so that it was noticeable even in the dark.
I supposed it was a good thing that his family members could all be buried next to each other, but... the sight of Llewellyn sitting alone on a bench facing their graves was overwhelming.
My chest went tight.
I walked over to the bench and sat down next to him, bumping his shoulder.
Llewellyn turned to look at me in surprise. He had a concealment artifact on, but whether it was because I knew he was there or because he'd added an exception for me, the effect didn't work on me.
I hesitated for a moment, then took a box out of my inventory and put it on his lap. Penguin chirped in encouragement, too.
Llewellyn's gaze moved to the box, and his surprise turned into… uh… shock, it seemed. His head snapped up and he looked at me again.
For a moment, he just stared.
"How did you know?"
Ah, that.
This was embarrassing. "Does it matter?"
Llewellyn kept staring.
I sighed, scratching my head in embarrassment. "You said it in an interview once."
"I haven't talked about it in years."
That was true. It was one of the very first interviews he'd ever given.
"Don't read too much into it," I said. My neck had gone hot. "I was working in the area at the time, so when you mentioned the place I just knew which one it was. That's why I remember it."
It wasn't even a lie. Llewellyn wasn't that famous at the time, so even though I had been interested in his exploits from early on, I really only registered the information because I had been working close to the place at the time.
Though I did only go and check it out because he'd mentioned it, so there was that.
I looked up at him and—
…Wait.
Ah, shoot.
This was such a small thing—why did he look so moved?!
When someone in Innishae died, loved ones usually zeroed in on one specific thing that person had loved in life, to remember them by. It was a small ritual of sorts.
Many still brought flowers, but—almost everyone preferred this instead.
For example, my mom had had a favorite perfume, so whenever I went to visit her grave, I brought it with me and sprayed it in the air. Things like that.
I didn't know much about Llewellyn's family, except that his grandparents had owned a popular eatery famous for its signature boxty pancakes. Llewellyn's mom, a calligraphy artist, had never intended to keep the place, but she didn't want to see it closed or changed completely either. When his grandmother became too old to work there, his mom had helped her sell it, adding several clauses, including one to make sure that, whatever else they changed, the new owners kept the original boxty recipe on the menu—no alterations allowed.
So a place still existed in the world where boxty pancakes tasted just like his grandmother used to make.
I'd bought some before coming here.
Llewellyn opened the paper box and offered a pancake to me.
I hesitated, then took one.
Llewellyn broke off a small portion of his own pancake for Penguin before he started munching on it, too.
His eyes went red again.
"..."
A better person would know what to say here, but unfortunately I was me.
I bumped my shoulder against his again and we just sat there, eating the pancakes.
There was nothing else for it.
Sometimes when I visited Mom's grave, I'd imagined someone being there with me—but there was never anyone. I hadn't visited her grave in a long time.
I suppose this was different.
Mom had never really wanted children, and one like me at that. I knew she loved me, but—well. I don't think she ever liked me. After Dad had died, she'd definitely felt trapped with me, and because I was only three at the time, there wasn't much she could do about it, except for leaving me at Gran's place a lot. I barely remembered Dad at all.
Llewellyn was likely very loved.
Ah, I hoped the boxty had been a good idea and I hadn't made things worse for him. He looked— I couldn't tell if he was more in pain because of them, or if they'd helped.
We sat in silence, finishing the pancakes. The cemetery was empty except for us, the evening settling in properly now. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear traffic, but here it was quiet.
"I used to come here every day," Llewellyn said. "Then every week. Then every month. Then just on the anniversary."
"Nothing wrong with that," I said. My chest had gone tight again.
"I know." Llewellyn said. He went quiet. After a while he added, "When I'm here, it's like it's the first week after the accident again—except that my grandparents are buried here too now, and I'm the only one left. There should have been at least— My sister was only five."
His voice went rough at the end and he stopped talking.
Shit.
I had no idea what to say to this. Nothing felt right.
I bumped my shoulder against his again, settling there, then when I felt Penguin struggle in my pocket, I scooped him out and put him onto Llewellyn's lap.
Llewellyn looked down. His hand settled on Penguin's little back, and Penguin chirped and nuzzled into his touch, cooing and fussing over Llewellyn as if trying to console him.
I looked ahead and swallowed. This felt a bit— I wasn't good with words, but I'd regret not saying anything.
"Hey," I managed. I kept my eyes ahead. "You're not alone. We aren't going anywhere."
Llewellyn's breath left him in a slow exhale. His shoulders slumped next to me, and I really wished I could—
I swallowed again.
I wasn't sure if it was fine for me to reach out. No healing bonus or proximity notification had popped up, either.
Penguin's chirping had quieted down by now, and he was just nuzzling against him, affectionate.
Good. At least someone here knew what to do.
"They would have liked you," Llewellyn said after a while.
I stiffened. "What?"
"My family." He kept looking at the graves. "They would have liked you."
Huh. Um.
Suddenly, I wanted to cry too.
We stayed there until the cold became too much and Llewellyn suggested grabbing a tea somewhere.
"Lead the way," I said.