It seemed fitting somehow that in the end he'd return here.
He had been everywhere. He had traveled the far corners of the world, gazed upon monuments, discovered wellsprings of knowledge and so many different people. He found lives that were just beginning, lives on the rise, lives that were crumbling, lives that had ended ages ago.
He found the world, but none of it was his.
So he searched and searched, and before he knew it though the buildings were unfamiliar and the faces just as alien, there were people who recognized him. He found a life he'd forgotten, a sobbing family that had been missing him for years, a sister who still cried for him sometimes and a job that had left him stabbed in the back. He found a name and an apartment and a cat that had supposedly gone on to his grandparents and everything that counted as a life.
But it wasn't right because it wasn't his anymore.
He had searched the world and found nothing, and as his search ended he found his feet had lead him again to that familiar town. Before he knew it he found himself passing familiar buildings and stepping through familiar streets, found his eyes gazing at the empty lot where a certain apartment complex used to be. He found so many things that felt strangely right even though they were no longer his, and it was this thought that brought him to the graveyard once again.
So he stands there in the sun, coat hunched up over his shoulders and fedora pulled low and he can almost imagine the voice telling him he looks like a detective. That almost makes him smile as he stands there with his hands shoved in his pockets, gazing down at the name carved in stone. After a few minutes of watching he finally kneels down before the grave, gloved fingers brushing across that name.
He doesn't know what to say. He still wants to apologize and of course he knows that's stupid because it's not his fault and Hanna would say so. He wants so badly to tell Hanna all about everything he found, to tell him and perhaps get the redhead to understand how incredibly lost he feels now because he truly has nowhere to go. He wants to say so many things but he knows it's silly because of course Hanna can't talk back.
In spite of this, however, he does take a deep, shuddering breath that he doesn't need so he can begin. "Hanna--"
The undead man's shoulders stiffen at the sound of that voice, his eyes widening. It couldn't be!
"Ghallahad, oh my God, it is you!"
He stands and turns just in time to be struck with something that was roughly the equivalent of a sack of feathers, wiry arms closing around him so tightly he thought for sure he'd snap. that voice is in his ears, babbling excitedly, and he still can't believe it and what is going on!?
"Hanna?" He finally sputters as he pushes the redhead away.
The man in question beams up at him, still looking no older than twelve with those same bright eyes and wide grin. "The one and only!"
"....You're dead," Ghallahad points out, half-thinking that he is clearly dreaming even though he hasn't slept since his own death. No, he has to be dreaming, and surely by mentioning this fact the spell would be broken.
But no, the redhead doesn't vanish, he merely stands there and beams. "Yeah, I know, isn't it great?" He asks, gesturing down at himself. It's then that it clicks for the zombie that that thin chest isn't rising and falling and more importantly, Hanna's skin has a green tint to it that clashes with his hair rather horrendously and gives him the appearance of some sort of reverse oompa-loompa.
Ghallahad just sort of stares and blinks, which only seems to spur Hanna on. "I mean, seriously, I never realized how lucky you were! I don't get tired anymore, no more sweating and seriously sweating is gross anyway and yeah I guess the dry rot is kinda gross but I have this worm who lives in my galbladder now and I named him Phil and he's really pretty nice and--"
"...Why?" Hanna's friend finally interrupts him, still gaping.
Hanna's face fell slightly. "What? Is there a problem?"
"I... no... I just...." Ghallahad shook his head violently, then blinked. "You're dead." He repeats, wincing as if he expects the second proclamation to send Hanna way.
But Hanna is still there and he's smiling gently up at his zombie friend. "Oh Ghallahad, I thought for sure you would have figured it out by now!" With those words his small, now green hand reaches out to grasp the older zombie's tie and pull him down to his level. Ghallahad had no time to really react, his gasp of shock cut off by the redhead planting a soft kiss on his dead lips.
After a moment the two parted, breathless (though really, that was standard for the undead), Hanna gazing up into his friend's eyes. "I know you love me, Ghallahad. Don't try to deny it, I've always known. Why else would you have protected me in that theater from that ghost and carried me princess style after only knowing me for a few days if you didn't clearly love me?"
"I..." Ghallhad trailed off, blinking. Did he love Hanna that way? He'd always seen himself as just being protective of Hanna because Hanna was his best friend, and really his only friend. However, he supposed the more he considered it, the more he realized the desire had clearly always been lurking, hidden within his long dead heart. Except dead wasn't the right word, because Hanna had jumpstarted his heart as if he were some sort of redhaired defibrillator and now he swore his heart was figuratively beating.
Beating with love.
"Yes Hanna... I've always loved you," The zombie murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest as he reached out tentatively to twine long green fingers through red curls. "But how could I have said anything? I am dead, and you are alive... so our love was forbidden."
Hanna beamed as he leaned in closer. "I know, Ghallahad. I've always known. And I've always loved you too. I thought for sure with all the random stripping and the crane flirting thing would have made you understand, but..." He bit his lip and shook his head. "Alas, it was never meant to be. But no more!" At these words he reached out and grabbed at the back of his zombie partner's (and oh how much more meaning that word held now!) shirt, gazing up into those glowing orange eyes with obviously longing.
"Indeed," There was a smile on the zombie's face. "Our love is no longer forbidden."
Hanna let out a gasp of delight. "Kiss me, my zombie boyfriend!"
Ghallahad, never one to deny Hanna of anything, swept the redhead off of his tiny, sneakered girly feet and the two made out passionately. Their long dead tongues clashed in an epic battle of saliva and pure passion, Hanna's small hands gripping violently at fistfuls of Ghallhad's shirt as his zombie boyfriend held him close.
And so they two lived (or rather, unlived), happily ever after. Granted, there was still the maggot problem, but they don't like to talk about that.