Chapter Text
8:30am
His watch shone a luminous greenish light onto his face as he stared at it. He knew he should go to school. He knew he should. But there was a feeling inside of him that if he wasn’t there, then nothing would happen. Perhaps this was his issues with object permanence kicking in, spurring on his desire to snuggle into the oblivion of his duvet and hide from the world. But, there was always the terror that if he wasn’t there, George would disappear completely. Permanently. And that was a much more feasible construct. Also, in school, all being well, there was the very real possibility of more kisses shared with George.
That was probably what inspired him up from between his bed sheets into his school clothes, in complete honesty. Though the time with George yesterday had remained short lived and laced with a foul odour of paranoia, it was still the happiest Dream could report being in years. The warmth of another pressed against your body was a sensation he felt sure would live on in his memory, no matter the consequences.
The walk to school seemed eternal, today, with his car still in holding, being deemed a ‘Risk To Himself And Others,’ which essentially translated down to the assumption that he was a madman. He supposed their discretion wasn’t entirely uncalled for, though, he had exhibited numerous PTSD symptoms and a sociopathic nature which had proven to disconcert many different officials.
Once he stepped through the gates, he immediately noticed George, stood huddling with his usual clique. There were notably more eyes on him than usual, although that could have been because he had been in police custody for the last six months. George turned to see Dream, the biggest grin creeping across his features, breaking the usually serious look he wore. They ran to each other, like characters in a movie, uncaring towards the incredulous looks from classmates aplenty. George leaped into Dreams arms, clinging like a koala around his shoulders.
It was wonderful.
The watchful eyes of the surrounding populus only seemed to make the moment sweeter, Dream was what some may fondly call an attention whore, which I doubt many people are surprised by. He grinned, setting George gently on the concrete ground, lightly taking his hand. ‘Shall we?’ He asked, gesticulating toward the main door. That sounds like a euphemism. I promise it wasn’t. Anyway, they walked together into the main school building, followed by 75 percent of those who were waiting outside. It was somewhat of a novelty, I guess, two gay boys one of whom was almost arrested for allegedly trying to murder the other.
Their first classroom went completely and utterly silent as they entered together, much to Dream’s delight and amusement. George looked at the floor, cheeks taking on a delicate fuschia shade. Sapnap smiled toothily at them when they entered, sat with Niki and Minx. It was an unusual combination of people, but they all looked happy, ever more glad to see the two of them walking through the doorway.
‘Hey,’ breathed George. He still hadn’t looked up from his shoes, so Dream leaned forwards and placed his forefinger on the underside of his chin, lifting his eyes to look at him.
‘Hey,’ Dream said back, admiring the boy, so perfect that he looked like he’d been carved from marble.
Sapnap grinned and poked Niki, who in turn nudged Minx. It was fairly obvious that they had been the topic of conversation while they were still embracing in the courtyard.
Having friends was still a concept that Dream was unfamiliar with, having distanced and set himself apart from those his age wherever he could. There was a warm feeling in his soul, which could only be likened to the sensation of eating hot soup on a cold day after a decade long snowball fight. They settled into their seats eventually for homeroom, though he kept his hand linked with George’s across the gap between the tables. Every now and again he would feel a little squeeze on his hand, the pressure sending signals to his brian to release a burst of dopamine through his body. George was his own special formula of antidepressant, minus the ten pages of negative side effects.
Wilbur arrived to homeroom late, presumably informed of Dream’s presence and trying to avoid him as best he could. Even though it was futile, of course. Dream, though a wholeheartedly good and positive person as much as possible, was not the biggest fan of Will at present, to put it politely.
He was not a fan in such a way that he would probably take any opportunity to drop an anvil directly on top of his head and leave him in prison to rot. That being said, he did try to go into this with an open mindset. Maybe it was all some giant misunderstanding. Maybe it wasn’t, but should that prove to be the truth, he had numerous methods in mind of how he was going to deal with that outcome.
Wilbur sat down in one of the farthest seats from Dream, not even bothering to open his satchel and retrieve his pens. He kept his head down, floppy hair obscuring any facial implication of embarrassment. Nobody else seemed to register the tension that followed Will into the room, continuing with their conversations without a care in the world. Homeroom ended uneventfully, neither Wilbur nor Dream being in a suitable position to say anything to the other. Their next two lessons were apart, which perhaps was something to be grateful for, however, Dream liked to watch him squirm.
Lunchtime was the first time in the day that Wilbur would be unable to escape Dream, the crowded cafeteria being the place they both ate. Dream arrived there first, and settled down at his usual table, except this time accompanied by half the football team on top of his usual friends. Wilbur slunk into the hall about five minutes later, staring at his shoelaces like there was something intently interesting about them. He sat across from Dream at the table, politely ignoring the frosty reception he was met with. ‘Afternoon, Wilbur,’ said Dream, surprising the entire table.
It was incomprehensible whether Dream was genuinely attempting civil conversation or being passive aggressive, his expression remaining empty, the only inclination of emotion was his hand tightening around George’s forearm, protectively. ‘Hi,’ squeaked Will in response. It was an effort for Dream’s mouth to keep from curling upward into a malevolent smile at the abundant discomfort decorating Will’s every motion. George’s hand gently curled over his, as if to silently say, ‘be nice.’
Nice. Fat fucking chance.
‘So, then,’ said Dream, his gooey tone dripping with sugar and lemon, reminiscent of a kindergarten teacher reciting the alphabet. ‘How were you, while I was rotting away in prison before the trial? We didn’t keep in touch.’ Dream’s eyes were like jewels flavoured with malice, the deep stare they omitted both mesmerising and terrifying. The few tables surrounding their own had quietened now, too, clearly eavesdropping on what promised to be a very interesting conversation.
‘I’m sorry, the way I handled that was- discourteous.’
‘Discourteous?’ Dream responded. ‘Sorry, let me exercise some courtesy real quick, by not sending my friends to prison under false allegations.’ There were numerous gasps and ‘oohs’ following that bombshell, drawing ever more attention to the group.
‘That was a mistake, Dream. And I’m sorry. Really.’ Wilbur’s eyes looked genuinely remorseful, for a moment. Dream knew he shouldn’t keep pushing at it. There was always an impenetrable fire in his waiting to blaze into a mass of destruction, and when Will was nearby it was ever more dangerous.
‘George.’ He said quietly. ‘We should leave now before I kill him.’
He felt like there was a negative charge inside his soul repelling every electron from his body, forcing him in and out of consciousness as he fought the feeling. He noted that they were yet again sat underneath the bleachers in the sports field, with George in his lap gently caressing the tears he didn’t realise were trickling down his face.
‘Help me,’ he mumbled.
He knew he couldn’t be helped. But he still wanted to be normal. To be happy. For George more than anyone else. There was something in him, festering and infecting every good thing and experience he could ever remember. The sky darkened and George was gone. It felt like a split second change, although his subconscious was aware that more than six hours must have passed while he was trapped inside his own mind. He just wanted to escape it. All of it. Will, his father, his mother, and he wanted George to move on. God knows that boy was the best thing to ever happen to him, but he knew he was probably the worst thing that was ever going to happen to George.
Of course, that wasn’t the case. In reality, he was the best thing George had ever learned how to love. But, I couldn’t tell him that when the police came and claimed his body from the soaking ground that night, in the rain. George’s face when he received the phone call is something I would never want to see again, no matter how frequently it arrives in my dreamscape. I recovered the diary of Dream during the investigation, and with weeks of talking to his friends and enemies, I’ve managed to collate this account of what happened for you all. Dream’s story ended so abruptly because he was sick. His mind tortured him because of the trauma of his childhood and adolescence, but he still enjoyed the time he had and made some friends whose memories will preserve with him into the afterlife.
I give you the story of the life of Dream, because even as a work of fiction it holds some elements of truth which need to be heard. In real life, you can be happy sometimes and have loved ones and still be trapped inside yourself. I know I am. Dream’s case was an extreme one, with years of unrelenting childhood trauma to reinforce the sadness he felt within himself. But he’s in a better place now.
George never recovered, sadly. He dropped out of highschool, and never dated anyone else, keeping anyone else he ever felt fondness towards strictly as a companion because he could never love anyone as strongly as he loved Dream. Wilbur bore the guilt of what he did to Dream, eventually marrying and having children, yet he could never escape what he’d done. He was a kind father, and became a good man, learning to be kind to people, and that human life was a blessing, though he knew he could never repent the actions he had taken, all those years ago. Niki went to his grave once a year, every year, and laid down calendulas on his grave. She always knew that they were his favourites.
Tommy found a woman, in the end. He kept in touch with Wilbur, though I doubt he ever entirely forgave him for what happened to Dream. Sapnap led a normal life, aside from looking after George. Every single day, he would go over to his house, and play a song he’d found the lyrics for in Dream’s old leather notepad. That was the only times he ever really saw the light shine behind his eyes.
The school they went to was decorated with these signs:
If you’re ever in need, please call someone. Don’t struggle alone. We need you here.
The Samaritans Tel (UK): 116 123
American National Suicide Prevention helpline: 1-800-273-8255
Stay safe, my friends.
Rumours spread that George had made these signs, yet nobody was ever quite sure. Nobody ever quite forgot Dream, his life was one full of emotion, whether that was joy, or pain.
Dream’s father never really changed, travelling through different prisons for the rest of his life. His mother and sister lead long lives, eventually dying of old age, however the sadness never truly left their eyes.
17th of June, 2054.
George Davidson was old, now. He went to visit the grave of a lover he lost a long, long time ago. He hadn’t been, before. The place held too many memories. He walked with another old person. Niki, her name was. They paced slowly, arm in arm. Niki held a bunch of calendulas, and George an old cd player with only one song. Any passers by would not understand the significance of these items, each of them holding personal connotations with the loved one they had lost. They crouched together, next to Dream’s headstone, as best as their legs would let them. The rock was entwined with long fronds of ivy and moss, a small robin perched at the top. It was made of a marble sort of stone, engraved with a phrase special to the long lost couple only. ‘Sometimes, people get lost. But none of that matters, when I remember who I found. I’m still obsessed with you, my dearest, even when I’m here and you’re there. I miss you.’ Niki wrapped her arms around George’s shoulders as he wept, his sadness mingling with gratitude that he ever had someone who loved him enough to write that. ‘I miss you too,’ he sobbed.
‘I miss you so much.’