context ; this post from @wizardcorn3r
At the end of the day, Grian’s feet drags him to the mountains. They’re familiar. Tall, snowy, and the first place he discovered the universe was against him in denying him the one he wanted. He stands there, face pointed at his feet and chest hollow despite his heart beating with red life.
It’s a simple one, seeing as he can’t waste any resources. And — no, it wouldn’t be a waste. Not for him. — he doesn’t have the gift of time on his hands here to make anything better. Not in this world at least.
The grave is one built out of cobble. Though perhaps that’s what makes it perfect. His secret soulmate was always one for nostalgia after all. The cobble texture of the grave suited him well.
Grian holds bits of iron armor in his hands. He knows it’s not the original, everything has been pillaged by the others after all. But he hopes it’s enough.
He stares at his feet, guilt clawing it’s way up his throat. His fists clench tightly around the chest plate, so much so that they shake. His shoulders tremble. He bites back tears. He does not deserve to cry for this. Not when his soulmate’s demise was by his own hand.
Yet it does not lessen the need to cry. It only heightens it. Guilt works it’s way up his body in chills, like vines wrapping around his limbs one by one until they reach his throat. They squeeze tightly, and the only sound Grian can force himself to make a choked noise.
He does not trust himself to speak — not yet. So he takes out two signs. He writes on them.
Here lies BigB. The best Secret Soulmate. I am sorry.
The words feel empty at most, considering how proud of himself he had felt in the moment. He had successfully killed Ren and — he wasn’t even expecting it to work! But it did and oh how delighted he was by it. Until the realization set in that Ren wasn’t the only one he killed. Hot shame curdles in his gut.
It’s then that he places the armor down. He sets it over sand, and he refuses to acknowledge how the coarse grains feel so familiar to him. How this is not the first time something like this has happened to him because of an action he decided to make.
Kneeling over his secret soulmate’s grave, he speaks, “…I killed Ren. And I didn’t think hard enough about the consequences.” He laughs weakly, “I didn’t really expect it to work!” As if that’ll justify it. As if it’ll absolve him of guilt.
He drops his head, arms laying limply at his sides. “I’m sorry B. Please…” Forgive me. The words taste bitter on his tongue, ashy. They don’t leave his mouth, lodged firmly in his throat.
A breeze blows through the air, and for a moment it feels as if two arms are wrapped around him, tucking his face into solid warmth. And then it’s gone.
“I forgive you, Grian.” The wind whispers to him, but he does not hear it.
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