Time to take a ✨oneshot✨

(not crime au) sadshit :D

They'd all come to the unanimous decision. An open casket. Nobody could bear not seeing his face one last time, no matter how painful they knew it would be.

It didn't seem right (and why would it?). Not right at all. Where was the warmth? The crinkles, the lines near his eyes? The light in those eyes. Where had it gone?

It couldn't just disappear-

Lights that bright, people loved and cared for so much didn't just. Leave.

Inside, Jon was screaming. A black suit and tie. Was that all he had to say? A black suit and tie? What kind of bullshit was that? For Lin's funeral? Really?

A black suit and tie. That was it. And they dressed Lin in that beautiful grey sweatshirt he always wore. Of course. And he was beautiful, he was comfortable.

And he was lifeless. That was it. He was there. Right there but he wasn't. That wasn't him. Not anymore.

When it was Jon's turn to walk by the casket they told him he could touch him. It was only fair but no it wasn't fucking fair. That wasn't him. Not anymore, his spirit was gone, somewhere else and this would get Jon nowhere.

But nowhere was all he had so he stood. He stood and he reached out a hand to touch his, still so fucking soft, rough with callouses from writing so much. He brought those slender fingers to his lips, kissing his knuckles like Lin had done to him all those times before.

That was one memory. He wouldn't let anymore slip in but that was one.

The hand kisses. The way he'd keep eye contact, loving, smitten eyes. He looked at you like you were his world. That combined with the gesture, the silly flirtation that was somehow overbearingly heartbreaking, never failed to make his stomach flutter and his world a little brighter.

That light. He didn't see it anymore. Sometimes it would be dimmed. He knew how to brighten it. But now it was just. Gone.

Suddenly this little hand kiss felt. Worthless. Was that all he had for him? A black suit and tie and a hand kiss? Was that all he, himself, Jon was worth?

He rested his hand down to his side and there was no laugh. No little smile, no pink tinted cheeks to gawk over. No nervous little grin.

He brought a hand up to his mouth, stifling a silent sob. V turned around to comfort him, tears in her own eyes but he shook his head, nudging her on. He swallowed down his tears. At least for now. He needed to forget. If he wanted to survive.

He knew Lin would tell him it was okay. Okay to let it out. But it wasn't okay right now. It would never be okay again. And he would wait to cry. If the tears ever came back. He had to be strong for him.

He knew he would have to speak for Lin. And his words were minimal, performative at best. That's what he did. Perform. That was literally his job. Even in that arena he was failing.

He knew most couldn't see it but he could. How his fingers clutched the mic stand so tight. God, it trembled with him. Every little movement. He felt as if he was being watched, really. And he was. But that wasn't it, it wasn't the audience, somehow, that bothered him. Something else was there. A small wind along his back when all the doors and windows were shut. If some ghost was over his shoulder he'd talk to them when he let himself cry.

All in all, this wasn't enough. It would never be because, really, the world was too small for Lin. Lin never saw it that way (the world was huge through those dreamy eyes) but Groff sure did. Lin was too good for this world, too good to be true. Maybe that's all it was, all it would ever be again.

He sang a song to honor him. If you asked him now what song it was, he couldn't tell you. All he knew was it reminded him of Lin but everything did nowadays. Words brought to song in beautiful harmonies. Lin. Just Lin.