Inside the church, the ceremony felt rushed, almost mechanical. Dennis's body lay wrapped in a plain blanket, set in a corner of the chapel. No coffin, no grand speeches. Just the brevity of a farewell thrown at the world, like casting off a final worn-out garment.
Only Emma was there, her face pale but her features firm, hands clenched around those of the two nuns who had watched over the boy since his arrival. Victor stood beside her, silent, throat tight. Emma gently slid her hand into his — an instinctive, almost fragile gesture.
Victor had never been a man of faith. He had never found comfort in prayers or psalms. Yet in the icy silence of the chapel, he felt something stir inside him — a whisper of light in the dark. He clasped his hands briefly, more out of mimicry than belief, a breath of a prayer for a boy he barely knew, but who had changed his life.
The ceremony ended without flourish. Emma slowly pulled her hand away from Victor's, eyes red, as the earth-covered blanket sealed Dennis's final sleep.
They walked out together, the world still turning, indifferent to the disappearance of a child.
Victor said nothing. He had followed Emma back to her home, still haunted by the day's images. She pushed the door open, met his eyes, and nodded him in. Then she closed it behind them. Inside, the air was warmer, but laced with a strange quiet — not empty, just suspended.
She knelt beside an old chest, opened it, rummaged without hurry. Her hands found a dark, dusty bottle.
"Robin stashed it here," she said, holding the cork between her fingers. "Said it was for bad days. If today doesn't count… then I don't know when it would."
Victor nodded slowly. He watched her pour the amber liquid into two dented wooden cups. They drank without a word. The rough wood pressed against his lips. The alcohol burned a little going down, but the warmth was welcome. Emma didn't flinch. Her face stayed unreadable, just a flicker at the corner of her mouth.
"You drink that like it's water," Victor murmured, half-smiling.
Emma raised an eyebrow, almost daring.
"You think this is my first bad day?"
She sat down on the floor, legs crossed, her back to a cabinet. He joined her. The first few sips went down slowly. The silence was heavy at first. But not awkward. Just… full.
"He followed me everywhere, you know," she said after a while. "Dennis. Even when I wanted to be alone. Especially then."
Victor looked down at his cup. "That's what little brothers do."
Emma nodded, a sad half-smile on her lips. "Always wanted to help. Even when it meant trying to split firewood twice his size. Or fixing a basket when he couldn't tie three knots."
Victor raised his cup. "To Dennis, then. Stubborn little brother."
They drank again. The alcohol slid down easier now. The fire of the bottle settled somewhere between chest and belly, warm and a bit blurry.
Emma leaned back, resting her head against the furniture, eyes lost in space.
"One time he fought a goose," she said. Then looked at Victor. "He lost. Came back with a feather in his teeth. Like some war hero."
Victor burst into a surprised laugh. She laughed too, softer. Something opened in that moment. A crack of light. Their shoulders eased.
"I didn't know you could lose a fight to a goose," he said.
"You didn't know that goose. Vicious beast. That's why we started fishing at the river instead of the pond."
They laughed again. The tension slipped away in waves, each sip washing a little grief. Their legs had drawn closer without them noticing. The cups were nearly empty.
Emma leaned toward the bottle, got back on her knees to pour. The loose collar of her shirt shifted, revealing the pale line of her collarbone. Victor looked away briefly, not quite sure why.
She sat again, a bit closer. The bottle sat forgotten between them.
"You always wear your hair tied back?" she asked suddenly.
He raised a brow, then noticed the leather cord he used had slipped.
"Most of the time. Why?"
"I don't know. You look… less sad like that."
He shrugged, running a hand through his dark hair. "Less noble too, probably."
"It suits you better," she said plainly.
The silence returned, but it had changed. Softer. Charged with something unspoken. Emma looked at him. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, her eyes shining. She nibbled her lower lip, almost absently.
Victor felt his heartbeat slow. Or maybe quicken. He couldn't tell anymore.
"I think I forgot what this felt like," he murmured. "Just… talking to someone without it being heavy."
"Me too," she whispered.
They had drawn closer without deciding to. Their faces were just inches apart. He could see the texture of her skin, the freckles, the slight fog in her eyes. She saw the hesitation in his, the wanting, and that strange calm he carried despite it all.
Their breath brushed.
One beat.
Another.
But Emma pulled back just a little, still looking into his eyes. She didn't need words. The moment wasn't denied — just postponed.
Victor didn't move either. He looked at her a second longer, then let out something like a laugh. He didn't feel rejected.
Emma gave a tiny shrug, as if to say not now. She glanced down, then back up at him, slightly teasing.
"We must look like a sight."
He chuckled, low.
"No doubt. Two wrecks in shirts, red cheeks, swollen eyes."
"A fine portrait."
They smiled. And that smile — it was almost worth a kiss.
Emma let herself fall onto her back, arms spread, eyes on the ceiling. She exhaled.
"If we kissed now, it'd be to forget."
Victor lay down beside her, hands behind his head.
"And that would be a shame. I don't want to kiss you to escape."
A silence fell, gentle.
"You're not afraid it'd get… weird after?" she asked, not worried really, more dreamily.
He turned his head toward her. "No. With you, I don't think it could."
She turned hers too. Their eyes met again. But this time, they both knew exactly where they stood. It was clear.
She murmured, "I'm glad you're here."
He answered without hesitation. "Me too."
They stayed there for a while, the alcohol still warm in their bellies, the night calm around them. Grief still lingered somewhere — quiet now, not alone in the room.
Not tonight.