Ship: Dwight Houston/Ethan Brightman (Dwighthan, married)
Warnings: Character death.
Word Count: 1,203 words
Dwight smiled to himself, pulling his tie through the final loop and tugging on the end, straightning it. He ran a comb through his hair, desperately trying to flatten it down, growling in response when it didn’t. Sighing, he stood up, pushing his phone into his pocket and pulling his jacket off the back of his chair. It was their anniversary, he had to make sure he looked good.
Walking down the stairs, he mumbled to himself a list of the things he needed to bring. “Roses!” he exclaimed aloud, “have to pick up some roses. Yes,” he nodded, with a satisfied smile, picking up the keys as they clattered against each other in his hand.
Ten years they had been married and neither one had ever strayed. It had never been a problem for Dwight. Every girl who even fluttered an eyelash at him, he would wave his wedding ring and walk away. For Ethan though. Dwight always thought Ethan was way out of his league. His hair and eyes, so perfect for such a perfect face. His body, always so perfect. And yet, no matter who threw themselves at him, he would shake his head polietly, never regretting the ring that rested on his finger.
Dwight bit his lip at the flower store, almost about to point to the roses when something caught his eye. A bunch of flowers, the type was irrelevant, with almost the perfect blue to match Ethan’s eyes. Piercing yet telling a story. He’d never seen such a flower before and he knew in that moment they were perfect. Ethan would love them.
He smiled cheerfully at the people he passed. The place really was beautiful. They couldn’t of chosen a better place to meet. The grass was a beautiful lush green and flowers peeked through as though they were about to say hello but they weren’t quite there yet. He spotted Ethan beneath a tree. The gorgeous oak tree he’d come to love. The way it shaded them when they sat there, letting the sun only get a glimpse at them.
Walking over to him, he set the flowers down next to him, fiddling with his wedding band, “hey Ethan. I’m sorry I’m late.” When he didn’t respond Dwight knelt down, his hand resting on the cold cement of the headstone, “I’m still so sorry I was late, I’m so so sorry.” He collapsed beside him, his forehead pressed against the stone.
"Dwight!" Ethan chuckled, pressing his phone to his shoulder to hold it in place as he closed the umbrella to step into car, "really?"
"It’s raining Ethan," he replied stubbornly, and Ethan could almost see Dwight jutting out his jaw indignatly."
"So?" he teased lightly in response giggling at Dwight’s exasperated sigh.
"I know we agreed to meet up at the restaurant since we haven’t had dinner together in a week but I’m trapped. I don’t want to get wet- stop snickering! - could you pretty please pick me up?" he paused before adding an afterthought seductivly, "I’ll make it up to you…before we leave."
"Be right there! See you soon!" he hung up in a haste, throwing the phone down on the chair next to him, pulling out into the traffic.
Dwight blinked, about to tell Ethan he loved him when the phone hung up. Chuckling he shook his head. Ethan had been working late the past week and they hadn’t had the chance to had dinner together let alone- well, that. He wasn’t surprised he was rushing.
Dwight wiped a tear away from his cheek and smiled a watery smile, “why did I have to be running late? If I hadn’t of, we would of met at the restaurant and I would of got to say I love you again and again. I’m so sorry.” He traced Ethan’s name with his finger tip, Ethan Houston-Brightman, “why did you hang up before I could tell you I loved- love- you? I love you so much,” he choked back a sob, wrapping his arms around the headstone.
"Why did you leave me?" he whispered, his fingers tracing the words still, 1993-2020, “you were so young. Twenty seven years old. We’d been married nine years. The nine best years of my life. You put me back together again Ethan.” Loving husband, brother and son, “I know it’s been nine months but sometimes I still wake up and turn over to see if you’re there. To hold you and press kisses to your neck like you loved. And then I wake up and realise I can’t do that anymore.
"Evan’s ok," Dwight laughed softly, "your brother is a tough one you know that. He and Wes visited the other day. Is it weird when I look at him I don’t see you? Everyone else does. Evan even said your mother called him Ethan once. She felt horrible. But he’s never you. You’ve always been different. You were always the special one Ethan Houston-Brightman. And I’ll never see you when I look at him."
He sighed softly, his fingers tracing over the last line, I am still painting flowers for you, “I brought you flowers. They’re blue, like your eyes. I didn’t paint them though, I’m not creative like you. I also brought you something to read. Do you mind if I read to you? It’s Wuthering Heights. Do you remember you read that to me one time I was sick?” He smiled, flicking to the first page and settling himself down next to the grave, beginning to read.
He read the first three chapters, pausing to instinctivly look for Ethan’s reaction; a tear rolling down his cheek everytime he didn’t get one. He closed the book and leaned against the headstone, his cheek resting against the cold stone. His eyes fluttered shut and he drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Dwight’s sleeps had changed so dramatically over the past year. At first they were full of denial, and then the burning hatred for the person who hit him. He’d dreamt about killing the bastard who’d done them. Then they’d turned to depression, days where he wouldn’t eat anything, his dreams creating a small black hole in his life.
But now he dreamt of peace. He dreamt of one day being reunited with Ethan. It was a happy and light dream. The sunlight slowly faded but the faint smile on Dwight’s thin lips remained. It never disappeared that smile. Not until they found him the next morning, his corpse cold. Poison, was the given reason for death. A slow killing poison. Dwight had known when he was going to die. He died by his husband’s side.
It’s ironic really, that he didn’t take his life for nine months. He didn’t commit the act when he was anger, or empty. Nor when he was depressed or lonely. He committed the act when he’d come to terms with his death. When he was finally peaceful.
Somewhere inside he knew that Ethan would of wanted Dwight to move on. And he did move on. He moved on from this world to the next, to be with Ethan. Because for Dwight there was no one else.
There was never anyone else.