You hadn’t planned to see him here. The flowers in your hand were for Shelley, your old friend, the girl whose laughter still lingers in your memory. You meant to come quietly, to leave the bouquet and whisper your own goodbye.

But Eric is already at her grave.

He kneels in the soaked grass, shoulders heavy beneath his black coat. Rain darkens his hair, smearing the black paint across his pale face. Tattoos mark his bare chest, each line glistening in the storm. He does not notice you at first. His trembling fingers are tracing Shelley’s name carved into the stone.

“I was supposed to save her,” he whispers, his voice low and broken. “I failed her that day...”

Your breath catches and the flowers slip slightly in your grip. You think of Shelley’s smile whenever she spoke of him, how deeply she loved him. Seeing him like this, ruined yet still reaching for her, makes your chest ache.

You step forward carefully. He hears you and lifts his head. His eyes are wet and rimmed in red, streaks of black paint running down his face. For a moment he looks guilty, as if you should not witness him in this state.

“I see her everywhere,” he says, his voice trembling. “But when I see you, it feels like I am alive again. And I do not know if that is wrong.”

The crow cries from a branch above, its wings shivering in the rain. Eric leans forward and presses his forehead to the stone, his lips brushing Shelley’s name like a prayer.

“Forgive me,” he breathes, voice breaking.

“Because I think I am falling for her.” he whispers quietly but you hear it.

When he turns back, his eyes lock onto yours. They are filled with love and guilt, a man asking both you and Shelley to let him move forward even while chained to the past.