#anyway though. i'm dying. sobbing into my pillow tonight

[bloodxhound]

REYNOLDS.​

Her funeral had been a small one. At least that was what Calum remembers from that period of time- his memories of that day are foggy although that can also extend to the months that followed. He’s just glad to be out of those months- time heals all wounds, they say and maybe he is being desperate, but he sincerely hopes that will be true for Erza. Erza who now shares one of the worst commonalities with their father: an absentee mother.  

He hasn’t talked about it with them. About their mother, yes, but not about the months that followed, and especially not about the incident that ( fortunately ) snapped Calum back into reality. It’ll have to happen sooner or later, Calum knows, but the farther away he drifts from that time, the more difficult bringing it up gets. Where is he even supposed to begin? Does Erza even want to talk about it? And what is Calum even supposed to say?

Maybe he’ll do it when her death anniversary comes around, which is thankfully not today. 

He’s on his lunch break when he decides to drop by her grave. She wouldn’t want this, he knows, wouldn’t want him visiting her when there are people who need him more. But for today, he’s being SELFISH and even brings along a cup of homemade jello for her to eat. Hopefully, she’ll take it as a compromise.

But when he reaches her grave ( that lonely spot- it’s not fair, she had so much ahead of her, was so full of life, but this is what she has been reduced ), he realizes he won’t be alone for this time- someone else is here, with flowers.

Someone else, being, wait he recognizes that jacket-

“Detective?” He blinks, unsure how to approach; it seems like Detective Barlowe was having a private moment with…Mana? There can’t any other reason- why else would Detective Barlowe be holding a bouquet with her favorite flowers by her grave. No one visits a grave on a whim, after all. 

He can’t remember ever seeing the two of them together- it’s strange, really. The farther from her death he gets, the more he seems to learn about her. 

He averts his gaze as the grip around the jello cup tightens. “Um…I’m sorry. I must be interrupting something; I just wanted to, uh-“ The words fall away. He bites the inside of his cheek- there aren’t any words he can give here, can he? He approaches the grave and kneeling down, sets the jello cup down.

“I thought…I thought she would be hungry so I made her favorite.”

        Grief has lowered his guard, enough for him to dismiss the figure that draws near on the periphery of his vision. Though his voice lowers as consequence of the encroaching footsteps, the gush of words doesn’t cease, like a river finally broken free of the dam that was to hold it. And why stop now? To this other visitor, he will be no more than a stranger, talking to a slab of stone, inscribed with an unheard-of name. 

          His assumption doesn’t survive long, crushed underneath the weight of his title, piled onto him by a voice he has hoped to not ever hear in this place. Discomfort creeps along his spine, coiling like a snake in his gut. Blanching at the intrusion, he turns his head, stern gaze flicking towards its source.  “Shouldn’t you be at work.”  He doesn’t mean to be unkind, recognizes Reynolds is undeserving of churlish remarks, but hound that he is knows no better than to raise his hackles and growl when caught in such a vulnerable state. With a sigh, he reins himself in, curbing his ill-mannered demeanor before it grows teeth.  “No, it’s me who’s sorry. S’pose we had the same idea.”  To trade their breakrooms for this graveyard, to flee the presence of co-workers in favor of silence. It’s a bit ironic, really, and just his luck: this squandered opportunity to speak his farewell without someone else present. Like a wounded animal dragging itself inside a cave, he has come here to howl his lament on his lonesome, unexpecting company.

          "Coconut flavor,”  he states simply with a nod as he rises to his full height, divulging the shared burden of familiarity.  “If there’s an afterlife, I hope she gets to feast on all the things she wasn’t able to before.”  A mirthless chuckle sounds, ringing hollow inside his chest.  “No offense to your jello cups. I know she loved ‘em.”  He shuffles on his feet; for once unsure on how to proceed. In place of explanations, silence ensues, filled with observations. There’s not a speck of dust or dirt, no wilted flowers — Mana’s grave is in a meticulous state. It’s a testament to the fact that, even in death, she is well and truly loved. At least he can draw some comfort from that. Not only comfort, but also the will to be a little more forthright.  “I don’t know if she ever mentioned me, but she talked ‘bout you at times. She seemed at peace with you. That’s all I ever wanted for her.”