"Do you think they would’ve liked me?"
It’ll take Darcy a second to register the words coming out of Lizzie’s mouth. He’ll be so focused on the graves of his parents that the question will suddenly throw him back into reality and catch him off guard. He’s never cried by looking at the graves - he simply couldn’t the first time because he had to be strong while Gigi shed enough tears for everyone there - yet he can’t help but feel numb all over. So much so that he can barely feel the way Lizzie’s hand squeezes his tighter when they place the flowers over the dirt.
He’ll wrap an arm around her, kiss her temple and then rest his forehead there, squeezing his eyes shut. This is the first time he’s taken her here, and she agreed to go the moment he asked for her company. Darcy knows this is another barrier she’s knocked down. The closer they become the more entangled their lives are, and Darcy wonders for a split second if maybe his parents could only die one way: together.
"Lizzie," Darcy would say earnestly, trying to figure out what to say, because he still has trouble explaining things well. Of course they would’ve liked her. Who wouldn’t? They would’ve adored her, because she made him happy. Because she was special. Because she was the first person who made Darcy want to be the best version of himself possible.
He won’t notice he’s crying until Lizzie brushes a tear away with the back of her hand. He’ll open his eyes and smile a little, unsure how to explain how he’s feeling, but certain he has the correct answer to her question: “They would’ve loved you from the second they saw you.”