Curtwen Fluffshots

Hey

Curt gripped the boquet nervously in his hands. He wasn't sure why he thought he could do this, but he was already here, so he would muddle through as best he could.

The gate creaked as he swung it open, revealing the path that Curt would take to see his best friend. Curt took a deep breath, and focused on the small sounds that echoed every time he took a step. He gained a little bit of confidence, but he still wasn't sure if he could do this.

In the end, Curt steeled himself and walked quicker to his destination. When he finally arrived, he took a deep breath and sat down right in front of the grave. He set roses down softly in front of it before retracting his hand.

"Hey Owen. I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here, since I'm the reason that you're, well, y'know." Curt whispered softly, staring at the engraving that read

Owen Carvour
1934 - 1961
He died serving his country.

Curt didn't like the engraving. Did they really think that Owen's life could be summed up by 'he died serving his country'?

Did they really not think about him hiding from his dad, or taking the blame from his sister? Does no one remember him learning how to take care of wounds from age 7? Did they really not think about the first time he shot a gun? Did they not know how much he regretted but didn't regret who he shot it at? Did they really not include the running away, the stellar disguising and acting that Owen had a natural talent for that kept him from the authorities for so long? Or his pardon once he accepted a job at M16? What about when he realized he liked men? Or his first mission with Curt? When he realized he was in love? Their first kiss? The nights they laid next to each other and just talked and kissed and loved each other?

Curt wiped the damn tears that had gathered in his eyes. Of course they didn't know. Of course they wouldn't care. Now his lover would only be defined as someone who had served this country when he was so much more.

"Anyway... I just wanted to put some flowers down here, since I know your mother and sister won't know you're here. I'm sure one day your sister will find you here. You'll probably enjoy her company more than mine." Curt slightly smiled, before reaching out and tracing the engraving, imagining that he was stroking Owen's face.

But the grave was as cold as Owen's face would be, and it gave little comfort to Curt. Tears pricked at his eyes again, but he quickly brushed them out of his eyes. He stood up. He had overstayed his welcome.

"Goo- No. See you later, Owen." He firmly stated before walking down the path that led out of the graveyard. For a second he was overcome with a powerful want to stay, to stay there forever, to never leave. He turned his head around to look at the grave, before tearing himself away to go sob in the private of his own home.

~~

"Stay, stay!" Owen cried out, but he knew Curt couldn't here. No one could here the dead. He wished Curt could hear him, so Owen could reassure him that he didn't blame Curt for anything, that he still loved Curt, that he would always love Curt.

But he was confined by the fact that he was dead, and he would be confined by that fact forever.

A/n
598 worrddss
Angst? In a Fluffshot book? It's more likely than you think
Sorry, school's got me in an ✨angsty✨ mood