Chapter Text
The day was drawing to a close, clouds hanging heavy and low on the horizon. The blinking cursor on his screen sat taunting him as his mind remained stubbornly blank. He closed the lid of his laptop with a sharp click, refusing to do the machine even the courtesy of shutting down in favor of shoving it aside as he got to his feet. It was time for a break. Long overdue, in fact.
Dream left his room and descended the stairs, absently noting that his sister was home. The sound of her laughter reached his ears and he paused, debating on going over and joining her. In the end, he decided against it and continued on his way.
The living room was empty as he made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. He stared at the couch for a good three minutes, debating if it would be worth it to sift through a handful of streaming sites on the off chance that something caught his eye, but eventually vetoed the idea. He took a moment to grab his hoodie, making sure his headphones, watch, and keys were still in the pocket before he left the house, heading for the park.
The weather was getting colder but he didn't mind. He found a spot under a tree and sat down, taking a sip of water before setting the bottle aside. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He tried to clear his mind, to focus on the blank page in front of him in his mind's eye, but it was no use. The words refused to come.
He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. The clouds were darker now, a storm brewing, the sky mirroring his mood in a way that was almost poetic. He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, getting to his feet. He had been sitting there for over an hour and he was getting cold. He paused a moment to pop in his headphones, scrolling through his phone until he found the playlist he had in mind.
He started walking, the music blaring in his ears as he ran his fingers over the smooth metal in his pocket. He let it wash over him, the lyrics and beat transporting him away. He didn't notice when he started singing along, his voice a low rumble in his chest.
He was so lost in the music that he didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late. He turned, coming face to face with a familiar figure and promptly careening into them, the force of it causing both parties to stumble slightly.
"Woah, easy there." The voice was familiar too and he looked up, coming face to face with a grinning brown-eyed boy.
"Wilbur." He muttered, trying to step back but finding that he was already too close.
"What's up, mate?" the man asked, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and something that he couldn't quite place.
Dream tried to shrug it off, tried to act like he was fine, but he could see the way Will's eyes narrowed slightly. "You feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," he said, even though it was a blatant lie and not a very good one at that.
"You don't look it," Will said, his voice gentle.
Dream shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek to stop from saying anything.
"It's been a long day and I'm knackered," Will sighed, as if he could read his mind. "Come on, I'll buy you a cuppa."
"Maybe another time, I'm really not in the mood." He said, trying to step back but finding that Will was still blocking his way.
"C'mon, one of these days you're gonna have to give up and agree." The other man said, his voice soft.
Dream shook his head, "One day I will."
He tried to step around Wilbur but the other man stepped in front of him, effectively blocking his path. "A stroll then?"
There was something in the other man's voice that made him hesitate and he met Will's caramel coloured irises. There was a sincerity there, a warmth that was hard to resist.
"Okay." He conceded, as Will grinned widely.
They walked in comfortable silence, the other man's presence strangely calming. They turned a corner and Dream paused, looking up at the sign.
"Nik of Time" Will read, smirking. "My favorite place."
Dream met his eyes and the other man must have seen the unspoken question there, because he nodded. "Yeah, I know the owner. She's a good friend of mine."
They walked into the coffee shop, the smell of dark roast and baked goods assaulting their senses. Dream paused, his eyes widening as he took in the sight before him. The shop was small, cozy, with a few tables and a couple of couches.
The owner was behind the counter, a smile on her face as she greeted them. "Hey, Wilbur. Long time no see."
"Hey, Nikki." Will grinned, as the woman came around the counter to give him a hug.
Dream watched them, the easy familiarity between them making something twist in his chest. He had never had that, never had the chance to form that kind of bond with someone.
"This is Dream, my...friend," Will said, as the woman turned to look at him.
"Nice to meet you, Dream," Nikki greeted, her voice warm and slightly accented.
"Likewise," he muttered, as Will steered him towards the counter.
"What can I get for you two?" she asked, taking a notepad from the apron round her waist.
"I'll have a black coffee, and Dream will have the...?"
"Chai tea, thanks." he said, as Nikki nodded and went to make their drinks.
He turned to look at Will, the other man studying him intently. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good," he insisted, as their drinks were set down in front of them.
Wilbur took them gratefully, thanking the owner as he paid for their drinks before inclining his head in an indication for Dream to follow, leading him to a table by the large windows that faced the street.
They took a seat at one of the tables, and Dream took a sip of his drink, letting the warmth settle in his chest. He still wasn't sure what was going on with him, but he felt better than he had in a while whenever he was with the musician.
"So what've you been up to?" he asked, before the question could be turned on him.
"Just been making noise wherever I can, trying to get my music out there." Wilbur said, as he sipped his coffee.
Dream met his eyes so that he could see the passion there, the love for what the other man did, still he had to ask, "Did you make any money this time?"
"Not as much as I'd like to have," Wilbur sighed with a wheezing sort of laugh, "But I've been getting a few gigs, and I'm booked for a few more in the next few weeks."
"That's good," Dream said, even though he knew that the other man made very little money from his music. It was only the fact that Will hadn't hesitated in paying for their drinks that allowed him to relax a bit.
"I think so, yeah. I'm just trying to keep busy and not think about the fact that I'm not really doing anything."
"That's the key, just keep busy." That’s what he was doing right now. Keeping busy.
"You know how it is though," Will said, waving away any concern that might have shown on the other's face.
Dream both did and did not "know how it is" in regard to living as the idealized starving artist. Dream had landed himself a promising career right in the middle of his college career writing plots for a videogame company, cooking up elaborate and branching storylines for the modern gamer. He understood code, knew the limits of the media he worked with and it worked in his favor a majority of the time. But his current profession had never been his goal.
He wanted to be a novelist, to sell stories for print instead of handing off his ideas to be tweaked and cherry picked into something palatable, marketable. He had the beginnings of something great too, or so his professors had said; but that had been a year ago, just before he dropped out of classes and moved back into his mother's guest room to take some time for himself.
She didn't mind. She had missed him when he initially moved halfway across the country and his sister would be doing the same soon, off on her own educational pilgrimage. It still made him feel like a child though, putting a fairly lucrative career on hold in favor of following an idealistic goal.
But he couldn’t say all that. Not really. Or at least, not without jeopardizing the friendship he and Will had tentatively established.
Dream couldn’t clearly remember the first time he realized that existing with Wilbur meant existing in a different time. It wasn’t exactly the first thing that came to mind when noticing something was amiss and it didn’t happen all at once. Instead, it was a multitude of small things. Different street names, and old-fashioned cars along the roads. Sometimes it was an outdated turn of phrase or confusion over topics Dream found to be mondain.
What had really done it was the first time he had heard the other’s name. He had accompanied the man to one of his gigs after a few days of knowing one another and had been immediately taken off guard. He took it for a costume party at first, perhaps a theme night.
The place was full of cheap liquor, sharply dressed man and women in drop waist dresses and cloche hats and patched coat creatives that called his new associate “Soot”.
It was only after Wilbur had introduced himself to the crowd in the small, raised corner that acted as a stage that Dream realize that this was his true moniker. It was an odd feeling, realizing that this life- Dream’s life in that moment- was not the present but the past. Because the man who had, up until this time only ever referred to himself as "Will" and on a rare, half remembered occasion "Wilbur" was in fact the owner of the same name Dream had scrawled on his hand several weeks prior as a note to look up later. A century old musician with a flair for the dramatic and a handful of songs copied from vintage records to be uploaded for the enjoyment on the worldwide web.
It was both unsettling and intriguing. Dream had always been interested in history, in the way that things used to be. But it was one thing to read about it in a book or watch it in a movie and quite another to experience it firsthand. To be able to walk the same streets and see the same landmarks as those who had lived decades before he had been born.
It was a strange but wonderful feeling, to be a part of something that was bigger than himself. To be able to glimpse into a life that was no longer accessible to the living. Dream never tired of it, even though the initial shock had faded. It was a feeling of belonging, of being a part of something special and unique.
"Dream?"
Dream startled, shocked back to the present moment as Wilbur waved a hand in front of his face with a mocking smile. "Have I lost you, old sport?"
Dream shook his head, taking a drink. His tea had grown cold. "Just woolgathering. It's nice out tonight, isn't it?"
"I 'spose it is." Wilbur agreed, taking a sip of his own drink. "Spring is in the air. Not so bloody cold all the time."
That was wrong, but only slightly. It was summer when Dream left his house, the trees heavy with foliage and flowers in full bloom, but Wilbur was right. There was still a crispness to the air outside that hung on the coattails of winter frost instead of inching steadily towards autumn.
Dream smiled. "It is."
They fell silent then, and Dream took the time to look the musician over, taking in his tussled curls and the dark circles under his eyes that no amount of coffee could chase away. A small hunch in his shoulders as he stared resolutely down the street past the windowpane as if waiting for someone to appear.
"You know Wilbur, I sometimes wonder if you're really happy." His music certainly wasn’t.
"What do you mean?" His head tilted to the side, smile tilting along with it.
"I mean, you don't really seem to enjoy life very much."
"I do enjoy life."
"Do you?"
"Of course,” Wilbur chuckled.
"Then why do you spend so much time alone?"
"I don't spend a lot of time alone."
"No, but when you're not playing music or out at a gig, you're usually by yourself."
"I like my own company."
"Do you?"
"Yes, I do."
Dream wondered what that might be like. To enjoy being alone with yourself. With only your own thoughts for company. "Why?"
"I don't know,” he shrugged, “I just do."
Dream contented himself with staring into the swirling cup he held. Staring at the way the light bounced of the tea and the crushed leaves that had settled at the bottom.
"Sometimes I think you're afraid to be happy."
Dream’s eyes shot up to meet the musicians, hands tightening on porcelain minutely. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're always so serious, like you're not sure you're allowed to be happy."
Dream frowned and then instantly tried to suppress the expression in a somewhat natural manner. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
"It's just…” he waved his hand, gesturing to him in a half-hearted manner. “I think you're afraid to let yourself be happy."
"I'm not afraid to be happy."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Okay." He didn’t sound convinced.
“Okay.”
Wilbur grinned at him then, "You should come out with me. There's a new jazz club that just opened up, very modern. I could use the company." His voice was teasing then but not entirely unkind.
Dream considered it for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Why not?"
"I don't really like jazz."
"You don't have to like jazz, you could just come and listen to me play."
Dream didn’t answer, biting his tongue on an immediate agreement, casting his gaze downward again. It felt dangerous to go out on the town with a ghost. More so to voice his affection for the man’s music in a way that could easily be misinterpreted.
Wilbur's smile faded a little, but he didn't push the issue. "Suit yourself."
Dream watched Wilbur stand up to leave, feeling a little guilty. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, he did. But it had been a long day and he still wasn't sure how much he could interact with Will's world before his own started to change. A butterfly wing in a rainforest and all that. Maybe Wilbur would understand if Dream explained it to him.
But then again, maybe he wouldn't. Wilbur was a realist in spite of his creativity and could be a little inflexible at times. It still felt, at times, like he was walking a thin line between being the one person the musician relied upon most and the man's sole victim of a spiteful act. Tempting but dangerous.
Dream sighed and finished his tea, setting the cup down on the worn wooden table with its hand smoothed edges. It was getting late, and he should probably get back to his own time, to his own bed. Tomorrow was a new day, and he would have to face it head on.
But for tonight, he was content to wander the streets, basking in the glow of the lamplight and watching the world go by with Wilbur at his side. "How about that stroll you mentioned?"