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Dream sits easily, mindlessly weaving his fingers through the grass. Everything about this area is familiar, welcoming, nearly comforting. If he closed his eyes and forgot where he was, he would argue that he would be content - happy, even. If he was able to forget, it would be nice.
"Hi, George. I brought you roses."
He closes his eyes, desperately waiting for a response that never comes. The wind ghosts over his face, ruffling his hair. No response comes, per usual. Dream sighs, setting the flowers on George's headstone.
"It should have been me," he murmurs, running his hand down the side of George's headstone. It's a simple gesture, but it's all he can do. He can't hold George's hand or kiss his forehead anymore. He can't listen to George breathe against the side of his neck, murmuring sleep-deprived words that meant nothing and everything at the same time. All he has is a headstone, that's all that's left of his soon-to-be husband. "You were always stronger than me, you..you could have done this. I'm losing my mind, George. I don't know what to do."
Dream rolls his fingers over the stem of one of the roses, not bothering to avoid the thorns. His fingers are pricked with every wrong movement, and he watches as little droplets of blood stain the blades of grass below. He feels completely numb, and the thorns do nothing to alleviate that. All they do is remind him that he can still bleed, that he can still be bled dry. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, maybe it would be worth it. Dream closes his eyes, setting the rose down on the mound of dirt that covers George's coffin.
It's stained oak with bright, almost neon, blue shapes and patterns.
Before, Dream would have laughed at George's request. The coffin looks weird and out of place, like it came out of a comedic horror film.
Now, Dream would never. His coffin is out of place, but it's stunning and eye-catching, so blindingly impossible to not look at. Not like anyone ever sees it anymore. Dream was the last person whose hands touched that coffin, he was the last person who touched George.
He watched his fiance die, then he put him in a suit anyways, dolled him up so his friends wouldn't be uncomfortable seeing a dead body.
Because, at that point, that was all George was. A body. Just another person who had died, just another person. George had never just been another person. He was so special, he was always so, so special. He was filled with light and joy, his laughter made Dream's heart turn into liquid. He made Dream melt into nothingness, and it was the best feeling Dream could have ever asked for. George was the best person he could have ever asked for, and he's gone.
Dream has stopped talking as much as he used to. George won't hear him, he won't respond. Dream used to like to pretend that he would, but that grew tiring. He would listen in on the wind, as if it were George's voice, whispering soft words into his ear. Dream had to stop pretending before it started to become reality, before he eventually started to believe that the dead were communicating with him.
"Tomorrow, I'll bring daisies," Dream stands, careful to not disturb any of the fauna around George's grave. "I love you, George."
The wind howls at his back as he turns and leaves, chilling his bones with regret and grief.
Dream brings chrysanthemums when it rains.
He sits in front of George's grave, tilting his head up. He feels rain hit his face, gently wetting his hair, soaking his shirt already. It's almost a comfort. George always liked the rain. Dream remembers being dragged by his then-boyfriend out into the middle of the streets, rain cascading from the sky. George had had the biggest grin on his face, his eyes sparkling in the dim morning light. He had put his hands on Dream's hips and shoulders and they danced the morning away, laughing and giggling and sharing the entire world with just each other.
Dream fell in love with the rain after that night.
He stares at the unfamiliar poppies by Dream's roses, assuming that those were placed by Sapnap. They never come to visit together. They tried to do that once. It ended in silence and awkward hatred, and they quietly agreed to never try again.
Dream looks down at the flowers, smiling at the raindrops that linger on their petals and leaves. He sets the bundle of flowers on top of George's headstone, watching as rain slides off of the faux stone. Dream can't help but feel more comfortable in the rain. It reminds him so much of George, and while that would normally tear him to pieces, this doesn't. The rain is a gentle reminder of what he had, who he used to have.
Minutes or hours or days pass, and Dream is eventually released from his lull. He pushes himself off of the ground, reaching out to squeeze George's headstone.
"Tomorrow, I'll bring lilies," he murmurs, watching as a raindrop falls down the face of George's grave. "I love you."
The rain batters his back when he leaves, softly calling for him to go back to when they were just teenagers in love.
When the leaves turn orange and gold, Dream brings peonies.
He sits in front of George's headstone, awkwardly holding his guitar in his arms. Dream used to take lessons from Wilbur a few years ago. He wanted to be able to do something special for George, he wanted to be able make something just for him, just like how Wilbur did. Dream never had the songwriting ability that his friend had, but he was so certain that he had time to learn.
He was wrong. God, he was so wrong.
Dream breathes out, shifting ever so slightly. "You know it takes.." he closes his eyes, a breathless laugh escaping him.
"You're putting your fingers on the wrong strings."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are, dumbass. You want Gogy to kiss you? Pay attention, you fucking.." Wilbur grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "You're a fucking wanker, a bloody wanker. A complete wanker."
"That sounds eerily familiar, Wilbur," Dream leaned forwards. "Are you trying to serenade me?"
Wilbur's hand flew to his heart. "Dream! Me, trying to steal you? Never," he grinned. "Gogy, on the other hand.."
Dream breathes in, shaking his head. "Maybe not today," he murmurs, standing back up. He leaves the flowers on the foot of George's headstone. "Tomorrow, I'll bring orchids," Dream turns away, feeling his shoulders slouch. "I love you."
Leaves swirl around him as he walks away, gently crunching under his feet, reminding him of a time where he hadn't pushed everyone away.
Dream brings him dahlias when he can't sleep.
He trudges through the snow, shivering as he sits in front of George's headstone. He watches his breath puff out in front of him, disappearing a second later. The warmth from his car slowly radiates off of him, leaving him defenceless against the cold.
He reaches out, wiping off the snow from the top of George's headstone, wishing that he had gloves. "Sometimes," Dream murmurs, "sometimes, I think that I'm going insane. Sometimes, I think that, maybe, I've lost my mind. Without you, I don't know the point in living. I know that you told me to wait a long time until I joined you, but I.." Dream ducks his head, feeling his cheeks start to go numb. "I'm struggling."
There's no response.
There is never a response.
"I'm tired," Dream continues, leaning back on his heels, careful to not fall on his ass. "I'm tired in the way that I can't sleep or eat. I.." he shakes his head, feeling his ears go numb. "Tomorrow," he stands up, feeling his legs wobble. "T- Tomorrow, I'll bring you..I.." he swallows back tears, feeling his chest tighten.
"Tomorrow," he starts again, "tomorrow, daffodils."
Sapnap sighs, setting a pile of roses on George's grave.
He puts the daffodils on Dream's.
"You guys really left me out of everything, huh?" He smiles, feeling his eyes well up. "No fair," he jokes, wishing that his heart stopped hurting. "No fucking fair."
Sapnap turns away, shoving his hands in his pockets. Their graves are the equivalent of a mini garden. They really don't need more flowers.
"Bye, lovebirds."