Work Text:
"You'll hate me," the blonde muttered into the still air.
"Dream," The heterochromic man tsked, taking his companion’s cold hand within his own cold hand, "I won't."
Hesitation lingered in his heart. Dream was scared of potentially ruining how George saw him; even his endless assurance wasn't enough confirmation. The face was something he protected dearly.
Dream’s head tilted up, meeting George's keen eyes. "Promise?"
"Promise."
Dream is about to unmask himself, letting the warmth George created with their hands pressed together fade as his friend slips his hand from his own. Seconds away from revealing his only sigil for anonymity, to a man he has barely known (a year or two is a relatively small time to know someone if you’ve lived as long as he has). And George is about to witness it. The boy is trying to contain his excitement (truly, he is), but this was huge to not just him. But for their friendship, too.
Dream was always a man who loved his secrets, George learned, despite having an easy, relaxed persona. He kept them as viciously guarded and fiercely protected as the brunette did his own. Every time George would ask about how things worked in his world, Dream merely gave him a half-truth or ignored him in favor of doing chores. George learned early on not to push it, for Dream never did that to him.
The elder boy starts to feel the chill of the cold Elodon night (and the promise of seeing a new side of his friend/ housemate) start to set in as the fire starts to die. Sputtering little embers that turned from gold to a withered black ashy mess. George curses as he rubs his hands together and faces his palms toward the fire in a last attempt to keep the warmth from disintegrating. It is Dream who slices a nugget of sensibility and rational amidst George's panic.
"I can go gather some more umber. I shouldn't be long." George is about to protest, but instead moves from his kneeling stance by the dying flames and grips Dream's sleeve. Handing him his trusty ax, silently telling him to be safe with a squeeze on his hand. Dream squeezes back as if to say I'll be back. Don't you know it. And George knows he will return. But George won't be around to see him.
"Hey," George calls to Dream, softly as to not disturb the creatures of the night. Loud enough to make the faceless man's head turn, tilting in waiting. George licks his lips, choosing his last words carefully, "Be safe out there. Come home to me, yeah?"
To which Dream smiles (or, at least, sounds like he is. It's hard to tell due to the shadows obscuring his visage) and replies with "Only if you promise to be here when I return." To which George is grateful Dream has already turned to walk into the thick shadowy woods. Glad that George didn't have to lie to Dream. Promising things like that were a form of deceit. And George has already spun his web of lies.
He only regrets that Dream must get stuck in it. That is the price tangling the threads of love.
Grabbing his map, food, and other items, George looks at the fire. Debating on whether or not to extinguish it, but in the end decides to leave it. Dream would need it more than him.
George slips into the cool night, his breath turning to ice shards and twinkling on the frozen dirt. He takes one look, leaving his envelope with his final words in weeks old ink. And sets off on his journey, not once looking back. Fearing he may go back if he did.
⚞🎕⚟
Dream knocks at the door, begging George to let him in. Getting cold and weary, he decides to press against the door, noticing it pushed open with little effort.
"George? Are you there?" He sets his collection of sticks in the wood-basket as he eyes the fire still burning, nearly extinguished completely. Dream snaps a few of the tiniest twigs and throws the pieces in the fire, successfully feeding it as it grows brighter than before.
Good enough , Dream thinks as he searches the house, looking everywhere for his friend. "George? George? Where are you, man? You left the fire on!" Dream chuckles anxiously at the silence, hoping that the heterochromic man would reveal himself. Yet, still, there is only silence. Dream fidgets with his fingers pacing in front of the fireplace.
"Damn it George! Where did you go?" Dream searches more frantically now, triple-checking spots he's already checked, still no sign of his friend. "This isn't funny.."
The blonde is searching in the kitchen when he finds it. An envelope with one word written in George's half-looped scrawl: Dream . Gingerly he takes it (and pockets the Gapple, as they called the Golden Delicious here, it was propped against), and proceeds to read the letter:
Dream,
First things first: I'm sorry. I am a liar. I lied to you. If you're reading this, you are seeing the remnants of my lies falling into place, coming together one final time to tell you the truth I could never tell you myself.
I' ve had dreams recently. Beautiful dreams of a well and a field with trees of green. I can see all the colors in my dreams. How do you handle it so well, the brightness of them? The intensity? Is it due to the fact that you were born in it, or is it because you are the persona of intensity itself? I may never know that answer. I think I was never meant to know that answer.
Just as I was never meant to know you. But I'm glad I did.
But we're getting off track. The short version is that I fell in love. I love someone who I think I was never meant to meet. But, in that same token, I am also in love with you. Yet, I knew I was never meant to stay with you. I hope you understand. I need you to understand. But, if you don't (or even want to), I won't blame you. I will never blame you. I love you too much to do that.
I have to save him. He's stuck. No one will help him, so I must save him selfishly. Like I did with you.
I only hope in time you will remember me to oblivion or forget about me like a game of Telephone, due to only have this whisper of us for only a moment until your memories get jumbled and you forget who I, you, we, us really are.
I wish I could tell this to you in person, but I love you, Dream. I always will. We'll never see each other again. I know that much. But, damned it be that I do. You are so much more than just a whisper to me. You're the very definition of infinity.
Love, George.
Dream rereads the words over and over, searing them into his mind like a hot brand. Squeezing the paper so hard in his grip, creases were formed. Creating faults in the paper that dipped and ebbed with the storm of the immortal's emotions. He throws the paper down on the counter, hot tears burning his eyes as his thoughts race like thoroughbreds. Dream goes outside at last, not wanting the words to hurt him anymore, and not wanting to admit that they do.
Dream takes in a breath and screams. Hurls hate into the air, his ragged breaths and spit turning into shards of cold hatred with every word that scratches off his tongue, burning his lungs with every inhale of frozen air. Turning his heart into a tundra and creating a blizzard of fury to encapsulate his loneliness and hurt.
He collapses to the ground, the frozen dirt providing a shoulder to cry on when no one else couldn't. Dream cries, feeling the tears freeze halfway down his cheeks, feeling so tired and weary from equal parts the cold and the fact he lost his entire world all at once.
"I told you that you would hate me." Dream laughs bitterly. Tiredly. No one confirms or denies this. The immortal didn't expect anyone to.
⚞🎕⚟