Georgia

The wind is cold, cutting at their skin as they walk through a small graveyard outside a small town he'd never been to before. She leads the way, her hair blowing from beneath her cap, her arms pulling her jacket closer to her body. He watches her, his mind becoming oblivious to the world around them. He's sure now.
It's him and her.
Her and him.
That's the only way it could be.

He doesn't understand how it would make any sense any other way.

"Okay." Her voice pulls him back, stopping him in his tracks before he runs into her. He follows her gaze to the ground, his eyes scanning the headstone. "This is it," she says simply.
"What is it?" he notices the last name, and assumes it must be someone in her family, though he doesn't bother to make any connections.
"The reason for us meeting."
"I don't understand."
"This is my brother," her voice is quiet now, and he strains to hear her over the wind. "He shot himself last year in his bedroom. He went crazy and he shot himself. And I was right across the hall." She leans against him, his arms wrapping around her. "And I found him. And then we moved here because my parents wanted to get away. They knew it was their fault."
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"Their fault that he did it. Their fault that they didn't bother to have a relationship with him."
"Oh."
She begins to feel as though she's shared to much. And she doesn't speak the rest of the time they're there.