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St. Hilarion Boarding School, 1989
Amin was ready to give up on the world.
He tried, he really did, but his body ached from the punches, his heart ached from the mean words flung his way, and his soul ached from the loneliness. He sniffs as he tries to heave himself upward, face throbbing from the pain and blood dripping from his nose. He feels his right eye begin to swell shut. He feels the dirt cake on his cheek and elbows. He feels his lungs heaving from the strain, feels the bile burn in his throat. It hurts, it hurts so bad, but he doesn’t let himself cry. Even though the bullies are already gone, carrying their laughter and insults with them, he doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction.
What a joke he was, having such hope as a little kid. A kid that had looked so forward to going to a boarding school, finally making some friends and having the time of his life. He should’ve known that he would not belong. That being different means to be looked down upon, that being different got you hurt.
But how could he have done any differently? There’s nothing he can do about his appearance or his heritage that he was once so proud of. His mum had always said to be proud of who you are, that he was a beautiful boy, that she loved him so much. But to be you is to be bullied, apparently, if you don’t fit the norm. That lesson, he learned quite quickly, because two weeks hadn’t even passed since he’d stepped foot in St. Hilarion Boarding School, full of spirit and curiosity, and he’d already been singled out. And they hadn’t stopped since.
Well… there was Charles of course. That stupidly brave boy from his year that probably didn’t even know his name, yet still defended him against his bullies. He saw the injustice that was being done to him, and he declared it loudly to the world, body and words acting as a shield. And for a moment, there had been a light in the darkness, a rest from the continuous hurting.
Amin never met someone so brave, someone so stupid, someone so kind before. And he was completely mesmerised.
But that boy has been missing for a few days now, and no one says anything. And Charles being missing means hurting again, hurting over and over and over again. Until he gives up.
He won’t give up, though, he will not grant those stupid boys the satisfaction of breaking him, even if the punches and harsh words and scratches pile up (day after day after day after–). He lets a sob escape, stumbling towards some place that would grant him even a sliver of safety, if that even exists anymore. The eyes and the bullies are everywhere, all of the time. And suddenly, with a stab in his chest, Amin realises that he misses him. Charles Rowland. He misses the only person that cared somewhat about him, that saw that he existed without being worthy of insult. But he’s gone, and no one says anything, and he’s alone.
God, he’s so tired.
Somehow, he reaches the attic of the West building, having completely zoned out on the way here. The pain in his head has dulled to a consistent throbbing, instead of the sharp stabs of pain previously shooting through it. His abdomen still hurts a lot, though, and the bruising on his torso renders every movement stiff and aching. He’s ready to just curl up and never come out again, when he suddenly sees it. One single lantern, glowing dimly in the dark attic. Which means someone is here. Which means he’s not completely safe (he’s never safe, why can’t he just rest– ).
Or maybe…
“Hello?” he quietly asks, taking a tentative step forward, closer towards the light. The furniture, trinkets and dust that seem to occupy every inch of the room swallow his voice. His foot creaks on the wooden floor. Still no one answers.
“Is someone there?” he tries again, his shaky voice betraying his nervousness. But still he pushes forward, strained step by strained step, a hand pressed against his abdomen. The blood has stopped flowing from his nose, yet he still tastes it, coppery on his lip.
No one answers. There’s no one there.
After a moment, he lets the adrenaline flow out of his body, and the hurt flood through him. Amin’s legs tremble and he has to hold himself up on the dusty cabinet next to him with the way he suddenly feels so tired. So he goes looking for somewhere a bit more comfortable, just to lay down for a bit, to hide himself away and dream about a world where he has the best friends, where happiness has a home inside his body and not just aching. Just for a little bit.
But well–
There is someone there.
It's a face he knows well. A face that he sometimes sees in his dreams, coming to rescue him from this awful word, though he would never, never admit that to anyone. Otherwise he’d be even more different, and he doesn’t want to admit that awful, awful truth slumbering in his heart to himself yet. It’s not true if he doesn’t think about it, and no one has to know. Ever.
But for a moment, one single small moment, he lets himself watch. There’s something so peaceful, so ethereal about the way Charles Rowland lay sleeping, cuddled in a blanket that’s practically falling apart. Completely at peace. Completely shut off from the world.
Amin wonders if the boy had come here for the same reason as him, to just have a little break. He did notice Charles’ friends becoming slightly more hostile towards him over the past few days.
The past few… days.
With a shock that somehow makes the pain in his ribs worse, his mind swims once again with the knowledge that no one has seen Charles in over six days. No one had even properly looked. Had he been here the whole time? But then how did he–
A panic seizes through him, and he stumbles forwards, bile rising in his throat. Six says. No sight of him. Six says, alone, in the attic. It’s been six days and Charles is too quiet, his chest is too still.
“Charles,” he whispers, quite pathetically if he’s honest, but he doesn’t care. He lets himself fall to his knees next to the motionless boy, cocooned in a blanket, hidden away in a nook. The warm light of the lantern casts shadows on the boy’s peaceful face, but he’s too pale.
Amin reaches a hand out, fingers still stained with mud and dirt, but he just has to know. He has to know if he's–
The cold seeps into his fingertips.
He’s too pale, his cheeks are cold, it’s been six days.
And somehow, all too suddenly, the world sinks a bit deeper in the abyss.
Charles Rowland has been dead, for however long already, and no one looked for him. Charles Rowland died, alone and hurt and scared in the attic of a boarding school, and no one cared about him. The kindest person he knows, the only one that had even a sliver of care for him, is fucking dead and the world is so unfair.
Amin snatches his hand away from the cold cold boy and retches, overcome with grief and pain and everything feels too much. He heaves, nothing in his stomach anymore to cough out, and clutches the lantern next to him in his arms. It somehow feels like the only lifeline keeping him from sinking in complete despair. And for a moment, one awful excruciating moment, he lets himself sit next to the boy, leaning against the cabinet, too exhausted to do anything but grieve. And he just sobs, tears carving out angry paths down his cheeks and everything hurts so much more. Because the world is unfair. And to be different is to be hurt. And to be a nice fucking person is to be abandoned and to die.
Amin eventually lets his red-rimmed eyes fall back on Charles’ peaceful face, silenced sobs still wracking his body, and wonders if he could’ve helped him. He wonders if he could’ve found him in time, could’ve been that saviour for him, like Charles had been for Amin. If he’d just looked. If he’d just cared more.
Then maybe he wouldn’t be so alone again. Then maybe the world would be a tiny, little bit better.
But he’s a stupid, selfish coward, that doesn’t even dare to stick out his neck for the one maybe-friend that he’s made in all of the years he’s been in this hell of a school that calls itself St. Hilarion. He’d been too scared of the teachers, too scared to wander the halls alone, too scared to do anything but wonder and listen around for news about the kid that had suddenly gone missing. As usual, he’d placed all of his hope on Chalres Rowland, wishing he’d just come back and save him one more time. He didn’t even try to look.
He’s such a coward and he didn’t deserve someone as gentle and kind and selfless as Charles Rowland to defend him.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, voice hoarse from crying, hoping that wherever he is, Charles will somehow hear him. He hopes that he’ll forgive him, even if he cannot forgive himself.
(Days later, there’s a funeral. Amin cannot go.)
(Days later and the school keeps quiet. Still no one says anything.)
(A month later and everyone has forgotten about him already.)
Highgate Cemetery, Present-day
It’s been years since Chalres Rowland last saw his own grave.
It had been a year after his death, and that was also the very first time he’d ever laid eyes on the place where his body was buried in the ground, slowly getting gnawed on by insects and time. He’d heard about the funeral, of course, but had been too scared to go. Too scared of Death lingering there, waiting for the soul that escaped her grasp, ready to snatch him away from Edwin. But also, too scared to confirm whether anyone had shown up. Too scared to see his dad’s face again, scared shitless even in death, even if that man finally couldn’t hurt him anymore. What a pathetic boy he was.
And so he didn’t go, right up until the first anniversary of his death. His best mate Edwin had come with him, then, as a silent supporter. And Charles just looked. He looked at the strong letters, carefully carved into the dark stone, and at the single small cluster of flowers slowly rotting away, abandoned and completely soaked through by the rain.
After that, he’d just left, without saying anything. And he hasn't returned since.
Well, until now. Because someone thought it was about time certain ghost boys dealt with the trauma of their deaths properly. Since she’d started seeing a therapist of her own to deal with everything in her past, Crystal has been very adamant on getting Edwin and him to work through their supposed ‘ decades of repressed trauma’ as well. And looking at the place where your remains lie, is apparently the first step in a healthy recovery.
(Charles still suspects that Crystal just wants to see their graves out of curiosity).
But yeah, Crystal’s very persistent, so to the cemetery it is, and ‘ Charles Rowland 1973-1989, Beloved son (what a joke ) and friend (fucking murdered by his own friends, that’s what)’ was apparently their first stop, since Edwin’s grave was located a bit deeper into the cemetery.
And so here they were, visiting a child buried into the ground years before either of his parents. How depressing.
“Uhm, Charles?” Crystal suddenly asks after a long way of silence, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
He looks up from the bundle of flowers in his hands he’d picked up on the road, stems a little bent in the middle from the force he’d begun to grip them with while they were making their way over towards his final resting place. It’s just nerve wracking, yeah? Like, being confronted with the grave of a 16-year-old boy that’s also actually just you yourself is not something that many people would be completely chill and not tremble-y about.
“What?” he eventually answers as he manages to get himself out of his head, brain not fully caught up yet but eyes trained on Crystal, standing still, suddenly, on his left. Edwin lingers a bit behind on his right. Somehow, he’s very aware of that.
“You said it’s the fifth one of the second row behind the trees, right?” she asks to confirm, hand a bit raised and pointing somewhere towards the row coming up where his grave should be.
He furrows his brow, not quite understanding why she sounds so uncertain. “I did, yeah.” He follows Crystal’s hand, trying to look behind the tree that’s obstructing his view. “What’s wrong?”
There are in fact not that many things that could be wrong concerning a gravestone. Believe it or not, cemeteries are usually quite tame on the crazy supernatural level spectrum. Which means that ‘something wrong’ probably relates to human business. And that somehow slightly terrifies him. Like, what if his grave has been robbed, what if… what if his parents suddenly decided, in the decades since he’d last seen his grave, that there was no need for payment anymore, that they didn’t care anymore and now his grave has already been cleared out for another person. For someone who people still gave a shit about about.
Okay, no, what the hell. That’s– That’s not a healthy train of thought. That’s proper weird, actually, and insane and his brain needs to shut up.
But still. If he’d had a heart, it'd probably be bursting out of his chest right now. He feels like his energy’s buzzing all funny throughout his ghostly body, and his hands start to shake a little, the flowers with them. One tumbles to the ground, but his eyes stay locked on his mate’s face.
Crystal just stares in the direction of Charles’ grave, mouth opening and closing, but not saying anything. He glances nervously behind him, towards where Edwin should stand as his beacon, hopefully able to grant him some wisdom about what the shit is wrong with his grave. But Edwin's just staring as well, and against his will, Charles feels a bit of that familiar anger bubbling up.
“Hello?” he asks indignantly, waving his hand in front of Crystal's face, his eyes jumping from one mate to the other. “Can somebody please elaborate, instead of just ominously staring into space. You're not helping me here.”
Crystal’s the one who shakes out of it first, while Edwin tentatively takes a few steps forward, his typical thinking frown on. She places her right hand hesitantly on Charles’ arm and turns towards him, eyes lingering a bit on the area where his grave lies.
“It's just–” She pauses, frowning. “There’s… There's already someone there.”
Just as he's about to call bullshit, because why would anyone be visiting his grave, Edwin calls out to him as well.
“Charles,” he inquires while looking over his shoulder. He's right next to the trees now, having stepped in front of him while Charles was having the ghost equivalent of a nervous breakdown. “Do you… have any living relatives?”
His eyes are soft and non-threatening, likely knowing now that his family’s something that's quite sensitive. They still haven’t really talked about everything yet.
“Well, ‘sides my parents, not really no,” he answers, hands in his pockets to hide the trembling that still hasn't stopped. The flowers hang pathetically out of the pocket. Some more petals tumble to the ground. “And before you ask,” he quickly adds, stepping forward to join Edwin on the tree line, “no mates either. Well, except if you count the ones that stoned me to death, but I honestly don't reckon they're gonna be weeping at my grave.”
Edwin looks a bit pained at how he framed his answer, but yeah, that's the gist of it. He never really checked up on them either, because a part of him still felt hurt about their betrayal, another part just didn’t want to see them thriving with their stupid rich families while he was fucking dead at sixteen. But yeah, he admits he is a bit curious and he definitely wants to see for himself who this mysterious person is, the threat of a potential robbed grave gone, probably. He finally comes up next to his best mate and manages to take an unobstructed look at his own grave.
There's a man standing in front of it, a tad on the older side from the looks of him. Around 50 probably, greying dark hair, a long black coat. He has no clue who that could be.
“That one's a living one, right Crystal?” he asks her, without taking his eyes off the mysterious man.
Instead of replying to his very important question, Crystal just utters, disbelievingly: “I'm sorry, can we back up for a second?” She’s come up to the two of them now, shaking her head a bit. “Did you just say stoned to death ?”
Charles rips his eyes away from the man standing at his grave, frowning at her in confusion.“I did tell you how I died, didn't I?”
“You said you died of hypothermia in some attic while Edwin kept you company,” she accuses, but that is actually right, so he doesn’t know why she’s acting so weird about it.
“Oh well, yeah, I thought you knew the hypothermia was because of my mates throwing me into the lake for defending some kid.”
“Yeah, I knew that part,” Crystal interrupts quickly, a bit of indignancy in her voice. “You never mentioned something about being stoned, though.”
Charles just shrugs, trying to appear indifferent about the fact that they were talking about his death again. He feels on edge (okay, yeah maybe they do have to finally deal with all that, but oh well. They’re doing it now, right?).
“Well, dead’s dead, right? Doesn’t really matter anymore if it was just hypothermia or also internal bleeding. I honestly thought I already told you.”
Well now Crystal’s just staring at him, expectantly. She shakes her head a little, eyebrows raised and clearly expecting more of him. He doesn’t really like being put on the spot, especially not by Crystal, who’s stare can admittedly be very intimidating.
He sighs, conceding. “Well, they threw me in the lake. It was dark, it was cold, they hurled rocks and me and it fucking hurt.” He quickly pushes the words out, trying to seem completely unbothered and uninterested. And then he grins, somehow trying to make light of the situation, because honestly, he just wants this completely unnecessary conversation to be over. “But thanks to my incredible swimming skills, I managed to escape them without drowning or bleeding out by a particularly well aimed rock.” His grin falters a bit. “Better bleeding in than bleeding out, right?”
Crystal just continues to stare.
Okay, tough crowd. ‘Dying’ jokes are apparently not appreciated.
“Okay, what the fuck,” is what eventually bursts out of her mouth. She crosses her arms in front of her, which Charles has learned is a clear sign that some kind of confrontation is ready to happen.
“What d’you mean?”
“That's so much worse than you made it seem. And it was already fucking grim.”
Charles bristles a bit, unnerved by the way the conversation is heading. Edwin is suspiciously silent next to him and somehow, he doesn’t really dare to look at him.
“Okay well, at least I wasn't alone and got my soul sucked straight to hell while my body got obliterated at the same time.” And okay, maybe that was a bit too far, no need to drag his mate’s traumas into this. Good job, Charles. Just brills.
Crystal just stares incredulously at Edwin now. Charles turns his head to the right to take a look at him, an apology in his eyes, but Edwin just has his hands behind his back, clearly tuned into their conversation the whole time, yet evading his look. He seems a little unnerved about the topic as well, but doesn’t seem to hold any anger at Charles’ slip-up. Which– admittedly is a relief because the situation is already tense and he didn’t really mean to aggravate both of his mates.
“What?” Edwin asks accusingly, answering Crystal’s challenging stare with one of his own. “You already know I was killed in a ritual sacrifice. Why are you reacting like that?”
She throws her hands in the air, clearly done with their inability to properly communicate and talk about their trauma’s. “You didn’t mention that you don’t even have a body, though!”
“Why’s that important?”
“ Why is that – Okay, no. This is clearly a conversation for another time. We’re all on edge, we’re all nervous.” She takes a deep breath, calming herself. “ Some day, we’re gonna talk about this properly, and then you severely trauma-repressed dead boys are going to work through,” she waves her hand to both of them, “all of that.”
Charles shares a glance with Edwin, both clearly a bit uncertain about the situation.
“Okay, great!” Clapping her hands, Crystal tries to reset the conversation. “We still have an unknown individual lingering at Charles’ grave. So… what’s up with that?”
“Is he–”
“ Yes, Charles, he’s a living person,” she interrupts.
They’re quiet for a moment, all three of them staring at the man before Charles’ grave. It looks like he’s talking, but they can’t be sure without getting closer. Charles is the one who breaks the pensive silence first.
“Okay, I was gonna say that narrows it down, but that’s actually not true.”
“Are you absolutely sure there’s no one in the living world that would visit you?” Crystal asks him, very annoyingly so, mind him, because he already answered that like five minutes ago.
“Well, he’s definitely too young to be my dad, and I’ve never seen that man in my life, so yeah I’m pretty sure.”
And then she just starts to walk forward, a strong, fast pace right towards the man they’d just been pondering about. The boys have to scramble to keep up with her sudden departure.
“Crystal!” Edwin whisper-shouts after her, briskly walking to reach her before she can get any closer. “What are you doing?”
She turns around to face them, still walking but backwards this time. “Well, we’re not gonna figure out who he is just standing there, right?”
“So we’re just gonna, like, talk to him?” Charles counters, uncertain and hurrying towards her.
“ You're not doing anything. Chances are he doesn’t even see you two, because he doesn't really look like the type to have had a near-death experience.” She trips over a tree root and both Edwin and him reach out for her at the same time, trying to steady her. With a grateful smile, she pats them both on their arms. “So that's why you boys will stand on the sidelines and I'm going to talk to our mysterious guest.”
Edwin looks a bit on edge, drawing his arm away from Crystal’s hand. “Right, of course. Just… do be careful, Crystal.” His eyes get drawn to the man in the next row over again. “We do not know what his intentions are. Doesn’t matter he's human, he could still be harmful.”
Crystal smiles at him. They've come a long way already. “Don't worry, I got this.” She steps further away and looks at them both again. “And I have you guys next to me, right? So you can just… I don't know, poof him unconscious or hit him with your cricket bat if he turns out to be evil.”
“I don't think that would work on–”
“I don't care, we're going now. You guys have my back, right?” she interrupts, eyebrows raised in question.
“Actually,” Charles interjects, a thought springing in his mind, “can’t you just, like read him from all the way over here?”
“It's a graveyard, Charles. There are too many highly emotional people around, and also quite a few lingering soul fragments.” She looks around her for a bit, then closes her eyes to try and reach out. “There's just too much information and unless I get really close to him, I won't be able to focus.”
He lets out a deep breath. So much for that ingenious plan. “Okay, talking it is then. He doesn't seem all that threatening”
“Well Charles, appearances can–”
“–Be deceiving, yes I know. I was there for the case you were probably just about to reference, wasn't I?” He smiles at his mate and Edwin scoffs. Still, there's a little smile on his lips. Charles somehow immediately feels better.
They resume their walking, all three facing forwards this time, all quiet in anticipation, yet his ears buzz from the nerves. They're right at the row before the one where Charles’ grave is located, when Crystal suddenly stops them.
“What is it now, Crystal? I thought you–”
“Shh,” she hisses, interrupting Edwin's commentary. “Just… be quiet and listen.”
And so they just stand there, quietly, just a few metres away from their target, who is… talking ? Yeah, now that Crystal has pointed it out, they can clearly hear what the man is saying from where they’re standing. Charles admittedly feels a bit weird, listening in on what’s probably a very private one-sided conversation, but better this than outright confronting someone they don’t know anything about, right?
“–probably not interested in what's happening in my life”, is what he catches at first, the tail-end of what’s probably a long story the man just told to his grave. “But somehow, you're honestly really easy to talk to. So sorry for, like talking your ear off about stupid things.” He laughs a bit, a deep voice who has clearly seen some years, but still strong and soothing. “You probably wouldn’t even remember me.”
Charles will gladly admit that he’s very confused. His mate next to him clearly has no clue yet as well, judging by the deep frown he’s sporting.
“Charles?” Edwin just asks, slowly and curiously. Charles shakes his head lightly in confusion, eyes drawn again to the man’s back who apparently somehow knew him when he was alive. Or he’s just blind and standing at the wrong grave. Could also be possible.
The man continues, and the three of them fall back into silence again. “It's been quite some time, hasn't it?” he says softly, an apology in his voice. “Sorry I didn't come to visit for such a long time. I still didn't really feel it was my place to mourn you.” The man inhales deeply, gathering himself. “But I'm here now, and I haven't forgotten you, even after all these years.”
Some weird stabbing feeling worms his way into Charles’ chest upon hearing those words. (He didn’t think anyone apart from his parents would ever… remember him, from when he was alive. He didn’t think he’d made a mark on anyone’s life.)
“I haven't forgotten what you did for me.”
And oh.
Oh.
Charles sucks in a breath, suddenly struck with a realisation. Both of his mates’ heads turn towards him at the same time, questioning gazes trained on him, but he can’t seem to rip his eyes away from–
“Even if–” The man pauses. His voice cracks a bit. “Even if it probably cost your life. God, I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve that.”
Next to him, Edwin seems to begin to realise the situation as well.
“Is he…?” he asks hesitantly, stopping himself.
“Yeah,” is what Charles just answers. He doesn’t think he could manage to get more out, voice oddly filled with emotion, leaving him with a weird lump in his throat.
“Guys, you’re keeping me out of the loop here,” Crystal interjects, a little indignant. “Do we or do we not know–”
“Shhh,” both Edwin and him interrupt her at the same time. Crystal puts her hands up in surrender, probably feeling a bit attacked. Oh well, they’ll just tell her later. But for now…
The man continues, voice quieting down a bit so the three of them have to strain themselves to hear what he’s saying. “I tried to be brave, you know.” He laughs, a hint of self-deprecation to be spotted, as if it was an inside joke that the body in the grave should be aware of. “Tried to solve it, your death. Got beat up a bunch of course, and I almost gave up again. But I found out who did it.”
There’s a heavy pause. A choked sob breaks the silence.
“They were your mates, Charles. God, you must've felt so betrayed.”
And then, finally, a light bulb goes off in Crystal's head. A breathy “oh” escapes her, her hand finding Charles’ arm in support.
“I went to tell them, the principal and all that. I wanted some justice to be served because it was just so unfair.” He laughs cruelly, hurt and anger swimming in his deep voice. “Turns out they already knew. They knew and they did nothing about it.” They see his fists clenching at his side, flowers in his left hand getting crushed from the force. The flowers in Charles’ pocket suddenly feel heavy. “And I was just so angry. At the school, at the world, at everything. I was so angry, for so long. But you were always so… full of life. And when I thought about that…”
He falters. Charles’ eyes become a bit blurry and his chest aches weirdly. His hand finds Edwin’s and he claspes it tight, seeking comfort, reaching for someone to keep him from going under. Edwin squeezes his hand in support.
“I hope, wherever you are, that you’re happy. I’m… I’m happy too. I’m glad I didn’t give up. And I’m so grateful you were that one purpose that dragged me through boarding school. Turns out that even after death you weren’t done saving me, huh?” He laughs a bit, softly. “Rest well, Charles. Thank you for saving me. And, like last time, I hope you forgive me for not looking enough.”
As a final act, a final goodbye, the man softly lays the crooked flowers on the grave, as one tear manages to escape Chalres’ eyes. It burns on his cheek. His mates’ hands ground him.
(They are the same flowers that had been plastered on his grave one year after his death. He'd thought they’d been from his mother, but they had been from… Why can’t he remember his name ?)
“Amin?” a soft male voice calls out. A middle-aged man comes out from the left, probably in his fifties as well, but age did him wonders. He walks towards the man standing before Charles’ grave, reaching out a hand and helping him upward again, having crouched down to lay down the flowers. He looks kind. “Amin, darling, you ready?” He lays his hand on the lower back of his… partner?
Their mysterious man, Amin now, (oh god, he remembers ), looks up and smiles kindly. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Hand in hand, leaning on each other for support, the two men leave. They make eye contact with Crystal. Amin smiles kindly. His eyes don’t find Charles’. And so they just watch them leave.
Overcome with emotion, eyes lingering on the one he’d chosen to save all those years ago, his final act of kindness before he died, he tries to force his voice to work through the lump in his throat. “I didn’t think…” he begins hesitantly, looking down towards the ground as the pair disappear from view. “I didn’t think I’d made such an impact. I just… helped him one time, because it was so unfair what they were doing to him.”
Edwin smiles at him as he squeezes his hand again. “I told you. You are a good person, Charles. You did so much good in the world, and you still do.”
Charles nods his head, taking a deep breath. “I’m glad he’s doing well. And I’m…” His eyes flicker from one mate to another. God, he’s so lucky to have met them. “I don’t regret saving him. I never will, even if that set off my mates to murder me.” He laughs a bit, filled with emotions he cannot name.
( I am a good person, he thinks to himself. And maybe he’ll start believing it, soon.)
–
A few hours later, after his visit to his old schoolmate’s grave, Amin finds a bundle of flowers on his dinner table. There’s no note. He picks them up, a bit confused, as his husband doesn’t know where they’d come from either. They’re daffodils, a flower Amin knows usually stands for rebirth, new beginnings, honesty and… and forgiveness. He smiles.
The stems are a bit crooked and a few of the petals are missing, but they're beautiful either way.