Work Text:
Dream has heard of love.
He’s heard them from the stories of the elders as they share their last breaths together. He’s heard it from the tales of young ladies as they spin tales of family and bliss. Heard it from the gut wrenching sobs of a broken hearted man. From the numbing silent cries of a rejected other.
He’s heard it from many afar, and wonders what it feels.
To love and to be loved? He ponders as fables and stories and fantasies are sung from one’s mouth to another. He wonders, as he recalls, trying to remember a time he loved.
He wonders.
Dream feels loved.
He felt loved the first time as he crashes into a body after long days of traveling alone and gazes into the eyes of a child younger than he. He sees and feels the burning gaze of lava filled iris while gold specks glitters and shines. The color, a contrast to the lush green of the forest they’ve crashed into. He feels, curious to the feeling, and takes the hand of the stranger as they chatter and explore the forest within.
‘Sapnap’ , he learns the name as he is led through the lush and into a village where a cottage with his family was waiting with open arms, accepting Dream as their own. He learns of Bad, the kind hearted father who bakes muffins after every adventure. He learns of Sapnap’s tendency to arson, to fuel the burning fire of his soul, reflected by bright orange eyes that seem to burn him if he stares too long. Of the lingering warmth as they hug in a pile during winter and embrace each other through the cold. He learns, and he feels.
(Cries filled the air and fire raged through the night, burning and blackening their once peaceful village. The inferno, merciless as it rains ashes and burns all it touches, turns it gray and crumbling to dust.
Dream runs.
He runs as fast, as far as he can as tears run down his face, separated and abandoned and once again alone. Seeds of longing constrict his lungs and clenches his heart as yearns to feel love again.)
Dream feels love
He feels it as he walks the earth and travels the land, growing from the child he was to the teen of now. Through brown locks and azure blue eyes, blocked by goggles as the light of the sun shine brightly on their figure, casting him in an ethereal glow. Presence like such of the sea, a deep blue calm.
“George” , the other greets and their friendship blooms from there.
Dream who banters, and flirts and flusters while the other rolls his eyes in mirth at his nature. They spend days, then months, then years together. Fresh green to a calm blue, iconic duo that they were.
Soon the careless banter turns and feels too real and Dream figures, oh, he has fallen in love with the boy in blue like the tales so carefully crafted by young and old and new. He proclaims his love for the boy, in jokes and in banters, and although he means it, was too cowardly to say it straightforwardly. He notices not of the distancing, the silence and tense and the cold gazes from who he yearns as more than friends.
“Hey George~ just tell me you love me-”
“God damnit Dream! I'm so sick of this fucking flirting cant you see?!? I hate you and will never love you nor reciprocate your feelings can't you tell?”
“Wait- George-”
“Stop it! Leave me the fuck alone understood? I don't and will never love you so just FUCK OFF!”
He learns of heartache as he curls into the pavement, back against the wall. Chest heaving, constricting and suddenly he can't breathe as the seed grows and twists and turns. He cries and heaves, sputters blood on the ground as a petal of blue forces out his throat. A cornflower he idles as he shakes and sobs and breaks his heart the first time. A love, unreciprocated and his heart withers a bit.
He learns about Hanahaki disease that day.
Third times a charm, or so they said and Dream feels the stems and thorns curl around and take his breath. He feels it- a steady small pain from his first heartbreak. Small and still insignificant, as he lets part of the past go in acceptance.
He meets a young musician as he travels through villages. The now young adult lost in the game of love as he is asked out by the charming young siren of song.
Wilbur takes him out after one too many locking gazes and lingering presence after songs. A sheepish question answered by a flirty response, and both came to meet regularly and became a recurrence of humming tunes and learning the guitar.
Soft voices filled the air as the young duo sat side by side, neither tempting to break the silence that the night had blessed them with. A symphony, a tune, one that rings softly in Dreams ears as he stares into chocolate brown eyes. A kiss shared underneath the moon and lingers for a while. A whisper of a promise, and a tear falls as goodbye
“I'm sorry I must leave love.”
“Where must you go?”
“Home my dear, for I am but a traveling musician and must one day return back.”
“A chance for us, I will pursue if we ever meet again.”
Dream waits, and waits, and waits. He travels near and far longing for the embrace of the man who serenaded his poor fragile heart. Longing to hear the musician’s music as it rings his ears. Instead he breaks and cracks as he sees the man once again but now with a kid laughing on his back as they strode through town. He smiles, tears running down his face as the vines pierced and tore his lungs, the blue of the past mixing with brown as his chest constricted and took away his breath. An unfinished symphony ringing in his ears.
He looks away only to find his first friend and first love, side by side walking together and sees how they both hold hands with their own significant other. Happy and laughing. And Dream cries.
He cries as he leaves the town behind with his love and past. Numb and hollow as tears run down his face once again only this time burning and sounding of twinkling stars.
He catches a tear and is pitied by a passing stranger who simply tells him he cries of stars for it was never meant to be. His love for the other, a tragic tale. Then and there, he learns of the Star- tear disease in one of the books in the next town’s library.
Dream feels love, and decides to not.
He meets a warrior clad in an outfit made for a king. Regal and all that he is, a half-piglin. They meet in the middle clashing swords. As sparks fly and crowds cheer for their battle, Dream stares into crimson ruby eyes and breathes out a silent gasp at their shine as it stares into his own olive greens from the mask that hides both their identities.
The blood god Technoblade wins the duel and the crowd deafens in cheers.
They meet up plenty of times after, often clashing swords in friendly spars. And more often than not ends up with them wrestling each other in the lush grass beneath them as the sun and moon bear witness to the two. Entangling their limbs together as they catch their breath and simply enjoy being in each other's presence.
His heart breaks in the revelation that Techno feels naught the same as he. The longing of his heart for a love that was never destined to be his. He peers into the sad gaze of the man in front of him, guilt and sympathy held and shown towards the masked rival.
“ I’m sorry.”
Dream can only accept the hug he was offered by the other, basking in the embrace of warmth for one last time.
“I know.”
And he does indeed, for he has already expected this outcome from the moment his heart betrayed him once again and fell for another man when he swore never again.
Pulling away, he gripped his mask and dropped it to stare one last time into the beauty and grace of the man in his hold as the abundant color of passionate red and sakura pink desaturate into a milky mix of grays and whites.
He smiles as tears run down his face as he cherishes the last moments of seeing the color of his rival’s eyes and would forever remember red to be associated with him and all his glory And green luscious eyes turned dull.
Stars fell, dwindling in light.
Dream stares into the bright sky as breathes in the cold air surrounding him. A blanket of comfort codling him as the soft plush grass caresses his skin, basking in the light of the sun.
He looks down to his faded green hoodie and watches as black ink spreads through the fabric, a reminder of the crimson he’s lost.
Dreams looks back up and hears the birds chirping and singing as bells ring and an orchestra plays, a symphony played to ease his slowing heart. Flickers of the sun’s rays filter through the clouds above him like sparks of fire from a candle light and he hears the splashing of water as the river beside him waves.
He smiles as tears line his eyes and a multitude of flowers surround his fallen form. A splash of color in the sea of green. They curl up his body and encase his lungs, embracing a soft squeeze to coax him to sleep, to rest.
Dream smiles as the world loses its colour and everything starts to fade around him. The sounds of his name past the lips of those he loved drifted off with the wind. Dream sleeps.
(They gather together and surround the body peacefully on the ground as tears fall down their face. Grieving for the loss of a life so close to them. Guilt in the faces of all Dream had loved for they knew, it was their fault. For he had loved them, but they did not for him.
Soft flowers and falling stars entangled each other in destiny to give rest to the man who in his journey to love, feel love, to be loved, in the end, could no longer love himself.)