“come on, orla. you've got to eat something.” hughie sighs, scrubbing a hand over his tired face.

orla babbles in response, still not forming full sentences. the most she can say is mama, dada, her own name, and ‘moon‘ and your name.

“i know.” hughie nods like he understands what orla’s saying. “but you have to eat something. for uncle hughie.”

orla scrunches up her face and her chin wobbles, and hughie instantly drops his head into his hands. “oh, no, orla, don't cry. please don't cry.”

safe to say, raising your dead best friend and dead sister's child is not an easy task.

easier with you, though, one of his closest friends, his flatmate. you grew up together, and you was claire and gibsie’s best friend, as well as hughie’s. you were both orla’s godparents, so it was a natural decision to raise orla together. as nothing more than friends, though.

according to both of you, that's too complicated.

you're both full of grief and betrayal and anger. no one can blame you, really.

he hears the familiar jingle of your keys, and unlocking of the door, then your soft, melodic voice. “i'm home!”

orla starts to wail.

“fuck.” hughie sighs before he can stop himself, picking orla up out of her chair and taking her into her arms. he looks at you with a weary smile, the bags under his eyes dark. “hi.” he says over the cries of the baby in his arms.