Who: Leon and Sharon What: Sharon comes by to help Leon mourn his butterfly When: Janruary 22nd, the day after this. Where: Leon's apartment Rating/Warning: Leon's pet butterfly dies and he has a sad, but otherwise lowe/none. Status: Complete
Leon was glad that Sharon had agreed to come over. He’d taken the night before to himself. He’d turned off his phone, though if work had tried to call him he’d no doubt get an earful for it, and had spent the night reminiscing about his winged friend. But when morning came, he knew he needed to do something to honor his butterfly. Having a funeral and getting a butterfly sized coffin seemed like overkill, but Sharon would no doubt be able to give him some kind of idea of what exactly he should do.
“Thanks for coming over,” he said tiredly, admitting her into his small apartment.
Sharon nodded. She stepped into the apartment and put down her purse, then turned around to give Leon a long, tight hug. She knew Bart, of course. And, unconventional as it may be, Sharon understood that the butterfly was Leon’s beloved pet. His feelings were real. She respected that.
“You okay?” Sharon asked, hugging him tightly whether he wanted it or not.
Leon returned the hug, his heart leaping into his throat at the show of sympathy. He wasn’t about to cry about it now, though it was harder to choke it down now. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, his voice hoarse, and released Sharon. “Weird that a bug dying can suck this much.”
Sharon pulled back, a soft and carin expression on her face. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes slightly squinted. She pursed her lips as she considered for a moment how to say what she wanted to say. “Bart was your bug, though. He was your friend. Of course it’s going to suck. I’d be a little worried if it didn’t.” She gave his hand a squeeze then released him completely. “You wanna have a beer? In his honor?”
“I always want to have a beer,” Leon said, shooting her an almost convincing smile. He went into his fridge and pulled out two cans of the stuff, and held one out to her. “Guess we should come up with some kinda toast, huh?”
“We should.” Sharon popped the top on her beer, watching him. “You want me to say something?” She asked, already trying to put together words that would pay tribute to her friend’s good friend.
Leon nodded. “I think he’d like that,” Leon said. He had a couple of words himself to say about his brightly coloured friend, and he held up his can of beer for a cheers. “To Bart, the best six legged animal to ever step foot in this apartment,” he said.
It was… really funny. And sad. Of course sad. Sharon kept her face neutral, her expression caring and concerned. She lifted her own beer. “We mourn the loss of a good friend,” she mused, “but we remember all the good times. And we’ll cherish those memories forever.” Then she clinked her can against his, and drew it in for a sip.
Leon was blind to the humour of his statement, but he raised the can to his lips. Instead of taking a sip like Sharon, he chugged back the contents of the can, crushed it in his hand, and casually tossed it in the general direction of his sink before going to the fridge for another beer. “Thanks for coming,” he said, popping open the new can and taking a much smaller gulp. “I didn’t really want to do this alone.”
“Of course.” Sharon gulped again from the can, then set it aside. Losing a loved one was something she hoped no one would ever have to go through alone. It wasn’t important what kind of loved one it was, what was important was how Leon felt. Sharon glanced around, wondering what happened to Bart’s remains. How to find a tactful way to ask? “Have you decided what your next step is?”
“I was thinking we could bury him,” Leon said hesitantly, half waiting for the laughter even though he knew Sharon well enough to know it wouldn't come. “Maybe next to where we put Gattolotto.”
Saying the statement he felt doubly foolish. Who the hell buried a dead plant and a dead bug? People who were losing their minds, that’s who. “I uh, already put him in this,” he said, going to his coffee table. After digging around under some stuff, dumping his newspaper onto the floor, he presented a small but beautiful Chinese style jewelry box.
Sharon picked up the beer and gulped from it again on the way to the coffee table. She settled down on the sofa, set her beer aside, and accepted the jewelry box with both hands. There was a reverence in the way she was acting. A respect. She held the box very carefully, inspecting it without opening it. Then she stood once more and nodded, still holding it with both hands. “This is beautiful, Leon. I can’t think of a better way to send him off.”
Leon took the box back from Sharon with an embarrassed smile and placed it in his pocket. “You think?” he asked sheepishly. “Well then, I guess we should get this thing over with.”
“Yep.” Sharon slipped her own hands back into her pockets. “Let’s go put Bart to rest.”