Chapter Text
My hand squeezed the hard handle of the umbrella held over my head. The pouring rain sounded heavy against all the rock tombstones scattered about the cemetery. The soft, suppressed cries of the people around me, barely audible, kept me grounded.
My face was numb. The tears that had been rolling down my face for days on end seemed to disappear in this moment. Why him? I know we didn’t agree on much, and our debates were fierce, but I know we both felt that fast bumping in our chests, and the anxious butterflies in our stomachs when near each other
“Charlie…” I whispered, my voice shaking as I stepped up to the cold stone in front of me to say my final goodbyes, “I promise I won’t let your memory fade… I’ll yell at anyone and everyone who says this was for the better.”
My matted hair, the color of an old broom, fell in front of my eyes as I blew the stone a gentle kiss. I couldn’t let the others see, no, his memory must go on in pride, not being what he despised the most. His wife turned her head to look at me, and I could almost sense a sort of hatred in her eyes. Was it that she knew? Or did she detest me for my beliefs? Either way didn’t matter now. He’s still gone, there is nothing I can do about that now.
As I lie in my bed now, the funeral having been over for hours, I turn my head on my pillow. My vision was blurry, tears threatening to come down like a waterfall. Memories flooded into my mind like a bullet to my neck. The smell of roses, daisies, and sunflowers…
…
“Y’know, they say sunflowers will always face the sun,” (Omori?) I remark, turning to face the brown-haired man, “That reminds me of us… You’re like the sun to me.”
I saw his cheeks slowly turn a faint shade of pink, similar to the roses and other flowers found in the field we’re sitting in. My cheeks began to heat up as well. He was as pretty as the summer sky during sunset.
“Dean.” Charlie began to speak, his eyes darting away from me. He turned his head to look straight at the ground. I frown, my cheeks cooling down now.
“Yes, Charlie?” I reply, my frown only deepening at the look that spread across his face.
“We can’t do this, Dean… My wife, my reputation…I-” He stops, his voice cracking. Dean's frown goes deeper, his muscles in his face aching, similar to how his heart felt.
“Charlie…” I whisper, my tone soft and delicate. I gently took his hand in mine. It took me a minute to form the right words in my head. It felt as if saying the wrong thing would cause the very concept of time to shatter. This relationship was shaky, founded on fragile secrets and unspoken promises. “We’re going to find a way to pull through… We can do this, Charlie, I promise.”
Charlie’s eyes widen, the round shape indicating the surprise he is feeling. Rather than pulling away, Charlie leans into my touch like it is a lifeline for him. He leans in, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace. I feel his quick heartbeat against my chest, my own heartbeat mimicking the speed of his.
“Dean–” He croaks out, his voice trembling now. “Thank you.. You– this makes me feel so much better.” He spoke softly into my shoulder. The fabric of my shirt rumpled up slightly under the touch. I don’t mind, I never mind when it comes to Charlie.
He pulled away, and I felt colder, missing the heat that radiated from his body even if he was still right next to me.
The flowers danced softly in the wind, mimicking the way our hair gently blew in our faces. The man next to me looked ethereal. The way his hair looked against his complexion. His beauty was enough for my heart to skip ten beats.
“Dean, you’re staring.” Charlie giggles softly. His smile is always so pretty.
I turn my head to the side, a shade of red coming over my face. The hot feeling in my cheeks from before began to come back, spreading through my face and down to my heart.
If I’m being honest, I never want this moment to end. The way I’m sitting here with Charlie, this moment, so beautiful, I want it to stretch on forever. It’s so– beep, beep, beep.
…
I sat up quickly, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling sweat on my forehead. My gaze falls on my phone. The time is 3:09 in the morning. Why is my alarm going off?
I don’t think about it too much. My gaze breaks away from the dimly lit screen and onto the mattress in front of me.
“It’s just a dream…” I mutter slowly, the words stinging when spoken aloud. The feeling contrasts the warmth I once felt when he would whisper my name so tenderly. The words feel less like fact and more like I’m trying to convince myself they are true.
A new question arises in my head–when had I fallen asleep? Not that it matters to me. Time has blurred together in my head ever since Charlie was killed. Minutes felt like days, Days felt like minutes. My sense of time was wrapping all too much that it feels like I’m going insane. My grip on reality was slipping.
My head feels heavy, my mind like a cage I’ve built around myself that I now lost the key to. All I want to do is sleep, to fall back into the memories of Charlie, to elude the grief and sadness altogether.
What I can’t elude, however, is the sudden dryness in my throat. I haven’t drank a lot in the past few days, and now I’m incredibly thirsty.
I stand up, my legs wobbly as I support my weight. The throbbing in my head was insanely painful, but I’m sure a nice glass of water will help.
I stride out of my bedroom and into my kitchen. The counters are nice and clean, my hands feel cold against the top as I rest one on it and use the other to open one of the cabinets above and grab a glass. The glass was also cool, a nice feeling.
I walk over to my fridge, the ice dispenser humming softly, waiting to be used. I push the glass up against it, causing a loud clunk to sound from inside. Nice ice cubes dropped out after a few seconds. Feeling satisfied with the amount of ice, I pull the cup away. My fingers pressed the water button next, and I slid the cup back under the dispenser.
As I watch the water stream out and into the cup, I feel the dryness stretching at my throat, the feeling amplified by the sight of the liquid. I pull the glass away from the fridge and quickly take a long, refreshing sip.
A cool feeling settled into the back of my throat, relieving the scratching pain from before.
As I walk back to my bedroom, the throbbing in my head continues. I want him back so, so, so bad. I feelh like an idiot, and I probably look like one to. I can’t keep living like this, but oh, how I want to. The sadness was almost comforting, and I don’t want to move on from it, not from him.
Moving on from him would be like dying, and I don’t want that.