Quinn had never lost someone. Their grandparents were all still alive, save for their mom's father, who had died even before Quinn had been born; everyone else was healthy and well. They'd thought about how it had to feel though, especially when their mom had told them about Jun when they were younger. Somehow, they'd always imagined loss to be a piercing sort of pain, something sharp and insistent that only grew duller after weeks, months, years.

The grief that they felt in the days after Imbolc wasn't that at all. It was mellow, and it came in waves. Some days, they would be so overwhelmed by it they could hardly concentrate in class; other times, they overheard something funny around campus and tried to remember it so they could tell Vincent about it later, only to remember that he wasn't there anymore.

"You've lost six people in one night," Valerie had told them when they'd sat on their bed the first day after Imbolc and their entire body had felt too heavy to get up, much less to go to class. "Be gentle with yourself. You can take it as slow as you need to."

Quinn had tried to listen to her advice. They spent a lot of time watching Gravity Falls in bed, sipping the herbal tea Rhia had brought them, for healing and perspective. They had dinner with Valerie and the Greenbrooks every night, losing themself in the warmth and the chatter and the comfort of being around people who didn't expect them to talk or make jokes or pretend as if nothing had happened. A few times, they drifted over to the art classroom—not because they thought they would find Vincent there, but because it was easier to remember him when they were sitting in the windowsill in the moonlight.

That was what they were the most afraid of: to forget the way he looked, the way his voice sounded, how he'd moved and laughed and frowned.

It was the reason they'd started to paint again. Night after night, they sat on their bedroom floor with the watercolors Valerie had gifted them, listening to the Ghost Jams playlist they had made on loop and using their sketches from the last few weeks as a reference to bring them back to life.

They painted Vincent and Hannah sitting in the windowsill, her head resting on his shoulder, his newsboy cap sitting askew atop her curls as he told her a story. Joy and Jun in the empty classroom, Joy's head lying in Jun's lap, her features so vulnerable as she gazed up at him while his hand toyed with the spikes on her collar. Vincent leaning down to speak into the spirit box in Luis's room, nervous but at the same time so relieved. Jun sitting on the couch in the café, blinking away tears while he looked at his sister. Caleb and Josie playing tag in the snow-covered courtyard in their pajamas, faces alight with glee. Joy giving Hannah a piggyback ride. Vincent dancing the Charleston, a stupid grin on his face as he sang along to the lyrics.

Finally, Quinn painted themself. It was the most difficult piece they'd ever done. For hours upon hours, they sat on the floor, gazing at themself in the little hand mirror they'd placed next to their sketchbook.

The finished painting looked like this: there were three versions of Quinn. The first was seen in side-profile, facing to the left. It was them around new year's; ghostly pale and with dark circles under their eyes, their hair-dye faded, their arms folded across their chest like they were trying to hold themself together. Their vacant stare was directed at the ground, their shoulders drawn up to their ears, as if they were trying to neither see nor hear what was going on around them.

The second was in side-profile as well, but facing to the right. It showed Quinn the way they had probably looked when they'd been with Vincent or Luis: their back was straight, their eyes bright as they looked up at one of them, crinkling at the corners with how big they were smiling. Their hair was blue again, and above their outstretched hand hovered a few drops of water.

The third version was the only one facing forward. It was them now. The sadness on this Quinn's face was the opposite of the Quinn on the left; it was there, etched into the lines around their mouth, but their eyes were clear and looking straight at what lay ahead, their chin raised even while their features were soft. It was an accepting sort of sadness, saturated not with loneliness and fear, but with the knowledge that this feeling would pass. Above their head was the Chinese character for Qiáo.

"Dude, that's so cool!" Quinn jumped when Valerie's voice suddenly sounded from right behind them. "Are you submitting it for the art contest?"

Pressing a hand to their heart like that would slow its racing, Quinn turned their head to find Valerie peeking over their shoulder. They were sitting in the Sugar & Spice with their sketchbook, a half-empty cup of tea in front of them. They'd spent the last few minutes putting some finishing touches to the piece with black fine liner—now, they set the pen down and leaned back to survey their work. "I think so, yeah. I... kind of made a promise."

"To Vincent?" Valerie asked, sinking down on the chair on the other side of the small table.

Quinn nodded.

"Well, I guess you have no choice but to do it then. Wouldn't want to anger the dead."

Smiling to themself, Quinn shook their head. "I don't think I could anger Vincent if I tried. He's in-angerable."

"What about your other boy?" Valerie asked, innocently taking a sip from Quinn's cup. "You know, the sun incarnate, digger of graves, bearer of the spirit box? I haven't seen him around lately."

"Are you talking about Luis?" Rhia's voice sounded.

Glancing up, Quinn found her hovering near their table, one hand resting on the back of Valerie's chair. "Yeah."

"You know... I have a book for him here that arrived just a few hours ago. I think he was going to pick it up tomorrow, but... maybe you can swing by and bring it to him?"

Quinn considered it for a few seconds, fidgeting with their pencil when they noticed the way both of them were studying them expectantly. Finally, they nodded. "Okay."

Beaming, Rhia spun around and went to fetch it.

She returned only a moment later and handed Quinn a thin novel. They fully expected it to be something along the lines of The Encyclopaedia Of North-European Cryptids or Ghost Hunting For Dummies.

Instead, it was called Taking It Day by Day: A Gentle Guide to Embracing Grief.

Quinn blinked down at it, dumbfounded. "Are... are you sure Luis ordered this?"

"Yep. Tristan told me he asked about a bunch of books on the topic and eventually decided on this one."

"Oh God," Quinn murmured. "I should really go see him. Uhm—thanks for giving me this. How much for the tea?"

"It's on the house. Go, go!"

Quinn didn't need to be told twice, only stopping to press a quick kiss to Rhia's cheek and to give Valerie a hug before they rushed out into the street. As they walked, they shrugged on their jacket—the one Luis had gifted them. It was big enough that they had to cuff the sleeves several times, and it still smelled like him. The scent of wood and white lilies on it was more comforting than Quinn cared to admit.

Now that winter was beginning to fade into spring, they had taken to wearing it pretty much every time they left their room. Since then, they'd been stopped several times by other students—who they'd before then never exchanged more than two words with—who complimented their jacket or asked where they got it from. It was... strangely nice.

That day was another one in the series of unexpectedly sunny days. As Quinn wound their way through the narrow alleyways, past Obscura and the place where Vincent's house had once been, past the Greenbrook's garden gate and the library, they couldn't help but smile. The sun was so warm on their face, and the crisp air carried the perfume of spring.

This time, they took the shorter route and walked through the cemetery, stopping in their tracks for a moment when they reached Joy's grave. They could still picture her sitting on her headstone, Jun's head resting against her knee, the two so different but always gravitating towards each other. The memory came with a small pang of longing, but it was overshadowed by the sheer fondness Quinn felt thinking of them. They liked to believe that it was a step towards healing and that the sight would already hurt less the next time they passed through here, and the time after, and the time after that.

A moment later, they reached the small gate that led into the street. Against the blue sky, Luis's house looked far less intimidating than it had all the other times. It also helped that there was no crow ominously cawing at them and that the door to the shop for once stood wide open.

Quinn ran a hand through their hair and shook out their arms before they walked up the front steps and peered inside.

They'd almost expected Luis to be lying in one of the coffins again, but instead he was sat behind the counter, a look of utter concentration on his face as his hand flew across a page in his sketchbook. Leaning in the doorway, Quinn studied him, taking in his tousled hair and the way his tongue poked out ever so slightly in a way that should have looked stupid but instead was hopelessly endearing.

Finally, they gave a small knock to the open door.

"How can I help—Oh." Luis broke off when he looked up and locked eyes with them. Noticing what jacket they were wearing, the concerned furrow between his brows morphed into a small smile. "Hey."

"Hey." Quinn shifted a little on their feet. "Uhm—can I come in or is right now a bad time?"

"No! No, it's a perfect time. Always," Luis immediately said. He glanced down for a second before he added, "I would get up, but Victoria Everglot is lying in my lap and if I set her down now she'll spend at least two weeks holding a grudge, so..."

Smiling, Quinn pushed away from the door and crossed the room. Leaning onto the counter, they peered down at the cat purring audibly while one of Luis's hands absentmindedly scratched between her ears. The other was still loosely holding onto a ballpen.

"What are you working on?" Quinn asked, trying to peek at the part of the page that wasn't covered by Luis's arm.

"Oh, uhm... I started working on my portfolio."

It took a few seconds before the meaning of his words registered. "Oh my God. Are you actually applying for the art program?" Quinn gasped when they understood.

"Probably." Luis scratched at his neck. "I had a conversation about it with Mrs. Conti a few days ago, and she said I have a chance of getting in—maybe even with a scholarship."

"And—and your dad?"

"I talked to him, too. It went... better than expected, honestly. He was a bit angry at first, but I think that was mostly just because it caught him so off-guard. The next day, he came up to the attic and I showed him some of the things I've been working on, and I think my mom had a word with him too. He understands, now. Just like Vincent said he would." Even as he said it, Quinn could clearly hear the relief in his voice. "He already found someone to take my place, and he agreed that it'll probably be better for our whole father-son relationship as well." He snorted. "I mean, hell, we didn't have a single fight this week. That must be some kind of record."

"Luis, that's amazing," Quinn said, unable to stop themself from beaming. "I'm so proud of you. And I mean... just look at your work. You'll definitely get in."

Luis chuckled sheepishly before his gaze drifted down to the book Quinn was holding and his eyes went wide. "Oh no. Did Rhiannon give you that?"

"Yeah." Quinn handed it to him. "It's why I wanted to come by. I'm... okay. I mean, I will be okay. You don't have to worry about me or anything."

"I'm not worried about you," Luis murmured. "It's just that—I don't really know how to handle situations like this when they happen to people I know, which is ironic considering my profession—"

"Luis," Quinn interrupted his babbling. "You don't have to handle anything. I'm still the same person. You don't have to treat me like I'm made of china all of a sudden."

"No, I know. I just... I want to be there. Whatever it is you're feeling, I want to help."

"You're already helping me right now," Quinn told him.

It was the truth. In a way, they felt just like the first time they'd stumbled upon Ortíz and Son, frightened and exhausted, only to find this strange boy who napped in coffins making them genuinely laugh for the first time in weeks. They hadn't exaggerated when they'd compared Luis to the sun. He barely had to do more than be in the same room as Quinn and all they could feel was warmth and an easy sort of comfort that came so close to happiness it was almost the same thing.

Luis studied them, so heartachingly earnest, before he asked, "Have you reached out to Vincent yet?"

"No." Quinn's fingers unconsciously closed around the pocket watch they carried everywhere with them. "I think I need to focus on myself for a bit. I don't want to use this as a crutch to put off actually confronting what I'm feeling, you know?"

Luis nodded. "That's... really mature."

"Well, yeah. Growing through trauma and all that," Quinn joked before adding, "Maybe we can talk to him together sometime."

He immediately perked up at that. "Oh, like a séance!"

"What? No, we'll basically just call him—"

"Yeah," Luis pointedly said. "So like a séance."

"Fine, yeah," Quinn conceded, warmth flooding their chest when their mind flashed to Hannah. "We can call it a séance if you want to be dramatic about it."

Luis's satisfied nod made his cross earrings swing back and forth. "I do."

There was a short beat of silence between them, only interrupted by Victoria Everglott's purring and the sound of a car passing down the cobblestoned street. Finally, Quinn took a deep breath and said, their eyes trained on one of the candles flickering on the counter, "Uhm. I was wondering... Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?"

"What," Luis said, "Did digging up a grave not count?"

Rocking back and forth on their feet, they said, "Not if we don't apply the Mary Shelley standard for once."

"What's wrong with the Mary Shelley standard?"

"Luis," Quinn said.

"Quinn," he responded in the same tone before one of his hands reached across the counter to cup their cheek. Quinn raised their gaze to find him looking at them with a smile that was so soft it made their breath catch in their throat, the warm flicker of the candles in front of him reflected in his eyes. "Of course I'll go on a date with you."

Quinn let out the breath they'd been holding. "Why didn't you just say that right away?"

"I didn't think you'd still have to ask," Luis said. He was still looking at them with that expression—hazy and open and so, so fond.

One, two, three seconds passed and neither of them said anything. Then, he suddenly tore his gaze away from Quinn's and reached down, lifting an angrily protesting cat from his lap. "Sorry, Miss, I—Ouch, stop scratching me! I can't keep petting you right now, you are actively cockblocking me—Okay, please leave."

He paused for a second, slightly out of breath, and watched as she stalked outside, calling another "Sorry!" after her.

"She'll never forgive you for that."

"Worth it." With a grin, Luis shut the door and locked it.

Then, he finally came to a halt in front of them. There was no hesitation this time. He just looked at them, his eyes warm warm warm, and took their face in both hands as if he'd done it a million times before.

The kiss he pulled them into was filled with a certainty that was enough to make Quinn's legs go a little weak. Taking a small step back so that they were leaning against the counter, they looped their arms around his neck and kissed him like they'd been aching to ever since the night in the lake; as hungry as the Murmuring River, as deep as the Pacific Ocean.

It was then, standing on their tiptoes with Luis's hand cradling the back of their neck, that images of the future flashed through their mind, each bolder than the other, and all farther than they'd ever dared to think before.

The two of them studying on the same campus, sketching under the tall trees in the courtyard and having coffee breaks at the Sugar & Spice with Valerie and Rhia. Traveling to other towns together to find ghosts and send them to the other side, Luis equipped with his spirit box and Quinn with the new sense of purpose that the word Qiáo had planted in them. Maybe even going to Nanjing one day and meeting their family to learn even more, to form a bridge between the two worlds they came from as well.

With Luis grinning against their lips, everything seemed possible—even the ideas that were so bright they hurt a little to look at.

"So," Luis murmured when he leaned back, carefully brushing a stray curl behind their ear. "What should that date look like, then?"

Quinn thought about it for a moment before they asked, "What do you think of a day trip to Point Pleasant?"

"I think," Luis said, his tone teasing even while his voice was so tender, "That I might be in love with you."

And fuck, Quinn thought as they laughed a breathless "Me too" against his lips, if that wasn't the brightest idea out of all of them.

The End