Chapter Text
November 15, 1995
I think it was around September when I first met him, I remember the day clearly; Although the way we connected is stupid. I think we were about twelve at the time. It started off cute, I remember holding my mom's hand as we went to get ice cream. I know, it's embarrassing, right? Holding my mom's hand when I was twelve, can't believe that. Yeah no, as a kid I had really bad social anxiety, I forget how long it was really bad for. I have a poor memory, which may be why this meeting is so significant for me. Hey, look at that segway. Anyways, I was holding my mom's hand and was eating my vanilla cone. It was a very pretty day out. The leaves were a golden brownish orange with staggering red ones in between. When the wind would blow, a good portion would fly away. I recall as a kid, running to catch the leaves. It was like one of our school games, whoever caught the most wins. Either way, I was eating my cone and this kid walks near me with some weird googles on his head. I thought it was strange but cool, so I turned to my mom to tell her, but in the haze of my questioning, turns out I had accidentally knocked some of my ice cream into the boy's hair and all over his glasses.
Funnily enough, we've been friends since. It's been about six years and we still laugh when eating ice cream. To be honest, he's my world. The way his skin glows in the sun or how his hair lays on his face, his chocolate brown eyes that stare with such intensity. Okay, now I sound love sick. I swear I'm not! I don't even like men for that matter, that's...
The rest of this page seems to torn out...
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Dream rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, turning in his bed and covering himself more with the warmth of his blanket. Light filtered through the waves of his silk blue curtains, creating a streak of light across his bedroom floor. The cold of the air nipped at his nose. He scrunched it up in annoyance, not liking how it, contrasting with the heat of the rest of his body. He closed his eyes once more, hoping that dark blissfulness would overtake his mind once again, allowing him to rest more. It was darker here in his mind. He could let himself float, imagining anything and ignoring everything else. It came with a sense of peace, equally mixed with dread.
He begrudgingly opened his eyes again at the sound of a soft 'meow'. A soft figure jumped on top of his bed, nuzzling his hand and leaning in, as if demanding to be petted.
"Hey there, Patches." Clay mumbled tiredly, his voice scratchy from waking up. He needed a drink of water. Another 'meow' was made and the man chuckled, slowly sitting up in his bed and stretching. His hand once again rested against the head of the cat, smoothly moving his thumb behind her ear as she closed her eyes.
He rolled his shoulders back, hearing his bones let out a quiet crack at the motion. He lifted the blankets off of him, swinging his legs over the bed, taking a deep breath and boosting himself up. Dream's lips twisted into a smirk when Patches meowed once again, demanding her morning dish. At least, he thought it was morning. He couldn't quite tell from the slivers of light drifting through his window. The man shrugged to himself before sluggishly going downstairs to fill Her Highness’ food dish.
Low tones vibrated against his throat as he hummed a familiar tune he couldn't quite tell you the name of. He rolled his eyes as Patches kept curling up at his feet, almost tripping him when he walked. He thought he had just filled her bowl last night. It wasn't like it needed constant check up, it was one of those self dispensers. He must've forgotten to refill it. Speaking of forgetting things, when was the last time he took his meds?
He reached the kitchen entrance, his humming coming to a stop when he saw a figure standing over the stove, staring intensely at a box of something. Dream quirked an eyebrow at his roommate, who was mumbling to himself. Clay scoffed playfully, trying to peek at what the younger was holding without making too much noise. Eventually he gave up, deciding he wasn't going to be able to tell.
"Morning Sap, whatcha making?" Dream asked, laying his head on his friend's shoulder, peering over to see the blueberry muffin mix in his hands. Sapnap laughed briefly, turning his head a bit to look at the taller, seeing him out of the corner of his eyes.
"It's not morning Clay, it's like two in the afternoon." Dream watched as he shook his head at his antics. "I see Patches came to get you. Dream glanced down, seeing Patches still rubbing against his lower legs, demanding attention. He bent down, petting her again before looking in the cabinets for the cat food.
"I'm making muffins, wanna help?" The blondish man considered it, before shaking his head. "I've gotta shower." Sapnap shrugged, turning away from him and back to the oven. "That's lame."
"What? Self hygiene?"
"Yeah, especially when its something as important as this."
"You're so dumb."
"You're so dumb." Sapnap mimicked, sticking his tongue out playfully at Clay, who in return, also stuck his tongue out and gave the younger double birdies.
He set the cat food back in the cabinet once he was done filling the bowl. Sapnap tossed him a granola bar on his way back up the stairs, noticing how he had forgotten to grab himself something to eat. Dream did a mini salute in the other's direction before slipping back into his room.
He plopped himself back onto his bed, sighing as he sank into the soft texture of his sheets. After having unwrapped it, he took a bite of the granola bar, contemplating on what to do. He had to take a shower, take his meds, and later he had a call planned with George so...
George. Dream sat up sighing, he chewed another bit of granola, half angrily. Not necessarily at anyone, just the part of his brain that conjuring up dreams. Haha, get it? Dream and dreams?
He’s always had weird dreams, even as a kid. More often than not, it was him and this little boy. He never got the name of the kid, but as a child, he was his imaginary friend that he just called Friend. More recently however, it had been of him and George, occasionally Sapnap and the rest of the Feral Boys crew. Though, for the most part, it was always green and blue. But there was a difference. Dream shook his head. It was just a dream. Something funky goin on with his REM process making him remember his dreams more vividly. He shrugged, finishing the last of his granola bar, grabbing his towel and a washcloth.
Thinking about dreams was a weird concept for Dream, because it wasn't as if the dreams he had were blurry or vaguely put together by the time he woke up, as he'd heard others complain about. For him, it was a constant nagging of being able to fully see each picture, as if he was watching a 1080p Youtube video. Eventually the events of the dream would fade, but he would hold onto some like they were actual memories of sorts. Occasionally, he'd even mistaken a dream for a memory, or vice versa. It was kind of weird, but useful when he was having a dream he particularly liked. He blamed his over-detailed memory of them on his occasional lucid dreams.
He turned the nobs to the shower on and stripped off his clothes. He wrapped his arms around his stomach in order to try keeping his body warm. Once the water was a nice temperature, he stepped in, steam from the hot water encasing his body in warmth immediately. He dropped his hands in comfort, leaning his head back and allowing water to pour down his head.
When he was younger, his mom was concerned for him because of his dreams, despite Dream himself not minding them much. Not in the sense of her being an over-protective mother, although sometimes she was overbearing, though Clay still loved her dearly. He remembered his mom going with him to his first therapy visit as a child, but coming out of it being told nothing was wrong, he just had a strong imagination. Throughout his school years, this helped, but also hindered him. He did great in English, his mind mixed with his ADHD providing a strong imagination for essays and theories, but he despised almost everything else. School sucked and he sucked at it. The sitting still in lectures that went on for hours never did any good for him.
But one thing never left his head. His imagination always held the boy, who seemingly grew up with him. Friend. His one friend when he couldn't seem to hold onto any others, the one who was always there when he was sad. Or when he slept and his mind drifted off, he was there, waiting to play tag or Dream's favourite video game. He knows it sounds weird, having an imaginary friend all the way through to the near end of middle school. For many other kids, it would’ve been strange, but it's always been his normal. It wasn't like he could have conversations with the boy either. He'd never really believed Friend was entirely real, though his tendency to mix dreams and memories sometimes still fooled him. Now that George was in his dreams somehow, it was becoming harder to separate his imagination from his reality sometimes, especially when some sense of nostalgia eats at him every time George says something so similar to what he had imagined while sleeping.
He paused his thoughts, rinsing off the remaining suds of soap on his body, before stepping out of the shower and drying himself off. He followed up with throwing on some clothes and brushing his hair half heartedly. He checked the time on his phone and decided he had enough time before George would call and complain about him being flirty again. His cheek tinted pink at that. George was cute with the way he held himself and made snarky remarks back to his sarcastic ones. How the brunette rolled his eyes at Clay's dumb jokes. He shook his head, snapping out of his giddy haze, and settling down in his computer chair.
He opened his discord, turning his mic on and putting his headphones on his head. He joined the group call while he pulled out his coding software for his next video. He waited a few minutes before the sound of someone joining filtered through his ears. He chucked as the sound of ruffling could be heard. He waited while presumably George had situated himself.
"Hey sexy." He greeted his friend, getting a scoff in return.
"Hey," A pause fell while George thought of what to say. "Ugly."
"I'm wounded, absolutely destroyed." He chuckled through his mic, earning a soft laugh from the other.
George started speaking, But Dream tuned out the now one sided conversation. Something so familiar, yet foreign to this setting. Not exactly his physical one, but his mental place. It was like a dreamscape feeling. This experience wasn't new for Clay. In fact, he found himself liking when it happened. It allowed him to feel more free; less like he was being pressured by some force outside of himself. Less like he was forgetting something...
Something like his meds. He rolled his eyes at himself.
"Hey Gogy, I'll be back, I gotta go get something." He heard a sound of affirmation while he was slipping from his desk and making his way downstairs. Once down, he opened a cabinet in the kitchen that held the medicine. As he reached for the prescribed bottle, though, he felt a feeling of wrongness flow through him. He paused, retracting his hand. Why did this feel wrong? They're just his ADHD meds, it wasn't like he's not supposed to take them. Nothing should have felt amiss. Maybe he's already took them today? He shrugged; he didn't think he has.
He glanced at the green 4:31 lighting up on his kitchen stove. That was why probably, he had another few hours before he had to take them. He closed the cabinet, filling up a bottle of water instead. He had been losing track of time more and more recently. It just mean he needed a higher dose, but they seemed to be working perfectly fine for everything else, so he didn't see a reason to ask for one. The door clicked shut behind him as he walked back to his computer. He put his headphones back on, letting his friend know he was there.
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After the recording and goodbyes, he walked back to his bed. Usually he and George would stay up later, but George needed to be places tomorrow, and it was already late where he was. Dream went through his nightly routine, washing his face, brushing his teeth, using the restroom, refilling his drink, and changing into something more comfortable. He laid down on his bed, putting on some music that quietly played from his phone. For a few minutes, he scrolled through Instagram and Tiktok, before deciding he was tired. He plugged his phone in, but continued to use it for a bit, not recognizing the warning signs of his eyelids drooping without his permission, or how his phone seemed too heavy to keep up on his own. Dream felt his eyes slip shut and his phone drop onto the sheets next to him as darkness and sleep consumed him, relaxing his body.
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It was dark. He could hear his footsteps echo underneath him as he walked. It was seemingly empty, nothing to fill his surroundings but void. Dream should have felt afraid, but something in his gut tugged, and he knew instinctively what to do. He kept walking in the abyss until he bumped into something. He looked around, finding nothing around him but further blackness. He felt in front of him, his hands drifting over something hard. He pulled it open, seemingly knowing how to open it. As it opened, light shined through, making the dark void behind him disappear as he stepped into the space.
There, suddenly, he was at a park. It looked run down and no longer used, mold and over grown plants covered the playset, vines wrapped themselves around the jungle gym and the merry-go-round. Rust seemed to be plaguing the metal slide. The sandbox was filled with greenery instead of sand, although some patches of the substance still could be seen. The only thing that couldn't be seen with anything bothering it, was the two person swing set.
As he neared the swings, he could see some rust on the chains and poles that supported it, but it looked ordinary and like it had been kept in high mateneince compared to everything else in the area. Outside of the playground, there was more black void, but it wasn't as threatening as before. The playground, although it would seem scary, gave him a sense of piece. Then, he noticed, there was a figure sitting on one of the seats of the swings. Getting closer, he gathered the person's features.
The man, he took note of, looked strikingly similar to him, with some less than obvious differences. His hair was a dirty blonde and freckles littered his face. He was dressed in what looked to be a light green collared shirt, with a white throw over on top of it, which he noticed, also had a collared look to it. His pants looked like khakis but in a cargo pant type form. To finish it all off, he wore red and green converse. They looked old and made of different fabrics than they are made with normally. Taking a closer look, he saw that there were brown sewed patches, like the shoe had ripped, but instead of buying new ones, the man had patched it up. Then again, the shoe didn't exactly look new. Dream wasn't judging, he just thought the brown splotches and texture of the show was odd.
The man had yet to notice him; he was looking at the dirt underneath him as his swing screeched slightly when he swayed. Dream took a seat next to him, getting his attention. The stranger looked at him.
They held eye contact, taking in each others features. The person chuckled.
"You look strange."
Dream frowned. "But we look the same. "
"No, the way you're dressed." He noted how the man's voice sounded raspy, like he had just been screaming at the top of his lungs.
"What? A hood and some sweatpants?" That earned a smug smile from the other.
"Yeah, not very formal for meeting someone new. What's your name?"
"Clay" Dream responded, making the other man look confused, but at the same time.
"Odd, that's my name aswell. I guess since you've got that name you're pretty cool." The man said and Dream let out a grin. "I suppose your right."
They let silence fall between them, letting the breeze ruffle their hair like how the leaves ruffle on the trees. Other Clay let out a sigh, resting his face on the chains of the swing.
"So what do you do for a living?" Dream paused at the question, not sure how to answer. He shrugged. "I'm a Youtuber, along with some of my friends." Dream looked up to his the other's face looking puzzled.
"What the hell is a Youtuber? I've never heard of it before." The two went quiet as Dream paused, trying to figure out what kind of rock the guy had been living under, and how to explain his profession.The other Clay was silent and still, awaiting a response. "Well, it's like playing games but you do it for other people. And you get paid." The white hooded man nodded in semi understanding. "Well, I do something similar, I guess. I wire computers. I've always found an interest in technology, have you?" Dream nodded.
"That's cool. I know how to code, but I mainly do it for a hobby or for videos." Dream started to move a bit on the swings, swaying back and forth. The rusty chains created shrieks and hums of protest, disturbing the silence. Him and the somewhat stranger talked a bit more. Some about favourite meals, clothing, games, and how the man used to play at this park as a kid. After a while though, quiet seemed to fall over them, the lack of topics stealing their ability to keep the conversation going.
Dream stood, back cracking, though he didn't feel it. He started walking to the old jungle gym. It had vines and rust growing over it, but he didn't care. He climbed onto it, looking up at the faux sky above him.
"George was very dear to me, y'know." Dream snapped his head down at the other man, eyes widening a bit. "What do you mean?" He asked, watching other Clay chuckle at his response.
"George Davidson. We were close." Clay quirked his eyebrow. George had never told him about this. He shrugged. He knew his friends could have their secrets and privacy, and he respected that, but he just thought his longtime friend would tell him something as weird as this. It wasn't too weird he supposed, but still, friends with two guys named Clay? It was ironic enough to catch Dream’s interest, at least.
"What do you mean by were?" Dream asked cautiously, watching the other Clay's face turn into a frown, casting his eyes towards the ground. "Well, he had died." The man pointed off to the right, and Dream turned, expecting more void. Instead there was a faintly familiar urban area, similar to the one he was living in. "Right over there, where that hospital is."
Dream studied the area, seeing a tall, white multi-story building peering over apartments. This structure too, had a gauge sense of deja vu, and if it was his home, it would've been a retirement center, right next to the new daycare that had just opened up. But this wasn't his town, this wasn't real. It was a dream.
"I was sitting by his bedside. I'm sure you know the rest." The other Clay looked away from him, apparently seeing that as enough of an explanation. Dream glanced away from him, and looked towards the building again. He knew the rest?
He tried searching his memory, but nothing came up. He looked over to the man again, but he wasn't at the swing set. He stood near the entrance of the park gesturing for Dream to follow him.
It was a short walk, but one that held nostalgic and awkward energy. The air was tense and filled with dread, like he had been down this road before. He wondered if this is what the man meant by knowing. Maybe this dream was a memory - only it was the Clay's memories he was reliving.
They stopped in front of the hospital entrance. There now seemed to be fog blocking the building, making it unclear and blurred, but still obviously there. Dream felt and odd sense of trepidation as he stared up at the looking silhouette of the building.
"In there." The man looked at Dream, placing his hand on his shoulder, "Clay, please-" The man's voice fell silent as the spell of the delusion faded and the cold of the morning air was nipping at his nose once again.