Chapter Text
It was weeks before they spoke again. Feyd saw Paul, more than once, standing in front of his father’s grave, but he could not bring himself to interrupt Paul’s reveries. Feyd had few memories of his mother, but he remembered the pain of losing her, how he barely spoke to anyone in the aftermath, how desperately he wanted to be left alone. He didn’t know if the same was true for Paul, with the loss of his father, but he wouldn’t risk disturbing his peace.
Feyd saw Paul, but he made sure Paul never saw him—until Paul saw him first.
Feyd was sitting on one of the benches by the stream that cut through the cemetery, legs splayed out in front of him, head tipped back to watch the clouds pass by. It was a sunny day, but white, puffy clouds were scattered across the sky, and Feyd was just trying to decide whether one of them was shaped like a whale when he heard someone clear their throat. He looked to his left, and there Paul stood, a half-smile on his face. Feyd straightened immediately, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart.
“Hello again,” Paul said. “Do you mind if I…?” He gestured towards the bench.
Feyd shook his head, and Paul took a seat next to him.
They were quiet for a few moments. Paul seemed relaxed, but Feyd felt taut as a wire. He couldn’t think of anything to say. What could he possibly say to someone he met at a funeral? For their father?
Fortunately, Paul spoke first.
“Are you working today?” he asked.
Feyd shook his head. “Day off.”
Paul nodded.
“It’s nice out,” Feyd added. “Figured I’d come here, and…”
When he didn’t continue, Paul prompted: “And…?”
Feyd swallowed. He waved a hand towards the graves surrounding them. “Keep them company, I guess.” He shrugged, feeling self-conscious. No one liked talking about death, in his experience. They’d rather live in denial. “People don’t come here that often. At first they do, but after it’s been a while since the funeral, they… stop. Not sure why.” He bit his lip. “They get busy with their lives, probably. Don’t think about the dead as often. But…” he trailed off with another shrug, already regretting speaking.
“But?” Paul prompted again, voice soft.
Feyd looked at him. Paul’s expression was one of interest, his posture open and his body turned towards Feyd. He seemed genuinely curious about Feyd’s thoughts.
Feyd let out a shaky breath. He shrugged again. Stop fucking shrugging, he scolded himself. “They deserve company. If it were me… I wouldn’t want to be left alone. I’m not saying I think they know they’re being left alone, but…” he paused before continuing, thinking again of his mother. “But maybe they do, y’know? There’s a chance, isn’t there? And if they can tell… well. They might appreciate knowing somebody is thinking of them, remembering them. Even if it’s some random asshole they never met.”
He cut himself off, then, raising a hand to his mouth to bite at a hangnail, refusing to look at Paul. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said so many words in a row. People didn’t talk to Feyd, so he didn’t talk to them. That was the way life was, and he didn’t know what Paul was doing to him, to get that to change so dramatically. He dropped his hand back into his lap and held his breath as he waited for Paul to respond.
“I talk to him,” Paul said quietly.
Feyd looked over at him. Paul’s eyes were glistening, though he didn’t cry.
“My dad, I mean,” Paul clarified, unnecessarily; they’d met at Leto’s funeral, after all. “When I come here, I talk to him. I don’t know if I think he can hear me, but… he believed in Heaven, and I can’t imagine there being a Heaven he isn’t in. So… if that’s all true, if he was right… I want him to know I’m thinking of him, what’s happened since he passed, how my mom is…”
At this, a few tears did fall. Feyd looked away, not wanting Paul to feel too exposed, not wanting Paul to leave for the sake of being able to cry in private.
They sat in silence, until Paul spoke again.
“I came over here to ask… have you been avoiding me?”
“What?” Feyd startled. “No—why would I be avoiding you?” He turned to face Paul once more, hoping the heat rushing to his cheeks wasn’t visible.
The tears were gone, but Paul’s face remained grim, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“I don’t know,” Paul said. “But I’ve seen you here a few times, and you’re always gone by the time I look again.”
Now Feyd knew his blush was visible. “I just figured you’d want time alone with your dad,” he said. “I didn’t want to… intrude.”
“Oh,” Paul said, eyes widening. “Oh. Well… thank you. I appreciate that. But… I did want to see you again. I liked talking to you, that day. I’ve liked talking to you today, too. I like hearing what you have to say.”
Feyd’s mouth opened but no sound came out. No one had ever said such a thing to him before. Not since he was a child and his mother was still alive, at least. “Oh,” was all he managed to get out at first, before realizing he should reciprocate. “I like talking to you, too.”
Paul smiled. “Do you want to… I don’t know, get coffee sometime? It doesn’t have to be right now, obviously, I’ve taken up enough of your time already, but—”
“Coffee’s good,” Feyd interrupted, even though it wasn’t true. He hated coffee. But more time with Paul? That was irresistible. “Whenever you want.” Too eager, Feyd, he chastised himself.
But Paul was grinning, now. “I mean. I actually am free now, if you wanted…?”
“Yes,” Feyd said immediately. “Yes, let’s go.” He was standing before he’d even realized he’d moved, and by the sound of Paul’s laughter his enthusiasm was not going unnoticed. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care.