Work Text:
He was a diamond. There was no other way to describe him than the most precious gem, a diamond. A rare stone he was. A unique person. Very and especially rare but how did he let that gem go? Let that diamond leave? Let the jewel shatter. Why did he let a valuable diamond go? Why, why, why. If he values it, he should love the gem, take care of the gem, and keep the gem. That gem with slender, pale arms. That gem with brown coffee eyes. That gem with angel-like giggles and laughs.
He loves the gem, the jewel, the diamond. The gem was and is beautiful, pretty, kind, lovely, and everything. But especially and primarily those eyes. Those coffee-colored eyes stained him, stains. Those eyes that spilled all over his used body, used by him. Played by him. Loved by him. He loves it. The way the pair of eyes left stains all over him- marked him. To neck and arms and leg and thighs and head and eyes and nose and every part of his body. Those eyes stains like how those lips do. Like when he looks at him, him, Dream, him, and just him, he leaves marks, he leaves it like it was his territory. Like lips that are glossed by red-stained lipstick, they leave marks, leaves territory. He enjoys it. He loves it. But although he enjoys it, he also hates and despises it. The way it stains is the way where it couldn't leave, disappear. The way it didn't leave him, the way he could still feel the stains, the eyes, the eyes that stain him, the eyes that roam. The eyes that wander from top to bottom of the body, his body. Why him? Because he owns him. He owns Dream. He owns the person. Why? Because if he wasn't his, who was? If he didn't belong to him, who does? Dream was his and only his.
He hates that he loves it. He loved that he belonged to someone. He belonged to him. He loves and hates the way those pale slender hands leave marks on his body. The whisper voices of his giggles and laugh repeated, over and over again. Those voices jump from wall to wall of his apartment. The way everything, every place of his apartment left marks of him. To crystals and pillows and hoodies and boxes and scraps and trash and even love. The love roams and floats through the tight space of the apartment. And weeks after weeks, the air was calm suddenly. The love and laughs and giggles were gone. Everything and him was gone but the stains weren't. Everything and every love left but the stains didn't. The stain dares not to leave. The stains are his fingertips, his mark, his glances, his hands that wander, his eyes that meander.
Dream is breaking and it is painfully fast. It felt like coffee burns. Burns in a temperature of ghost pepper, hot and it is burning his skin fast. Everything hurts. His skin hurts. It hurts and hurts because it hurts, hurts, hurts, oh, it is painful. It will never stop hurting. The skin that belongs to him. This skin, hurts. Why? Because he owns this skin. He owns his skin. No one but him. He owns him. That's why he hates the feeling of unfamiliar lips latching onto the neck that does not belong to them. Just him. He damn hates the feeling of hands roaming that is not his, those slender, pale hands. He fucking damn hates the sounds of unfamiliar voices. He hates it but he can't stop. Then if he stops everything comes back. The pain, the love, the marks, the stain.
George was his everything. His whole, his air, his blood, his heart. He made him live, made him breathe, made his heart thump, made his blood run through his veins, through his heart, throughout all his body. George was a soul, a life, an angel. He brought him back to life, show him what life is, show him happiness and show him sadness and pain. He shows him pain. How it felt like when the heart wrenches, twist, break. How it leaves black, painfully hot marks, how it burns. How it feels like when that coffee eyes look at him, burn him with those dark, hot, deep coffee-colored eyes.
And that was it. That was how Dream feels. Dream.
Those vibrant leave-like eyes, those green pairs of eyes, those eyes that look and feel like nature. They felt like the surroundings. The green feels peaceful, safe, beautiful, and blooming. Those eyes belong to no other than the one that owns his heart. His heart. Was it ever his when his eyes caught a view of an angel, the most beautiful, most natural, most precious soul. The way the green glistens when they meet elements that are remarkable, beautiful, and pretty. It's ugly when a fresh, natural leaf meets a bitter, dark coffee. Not a match but somehow it works. It works like cats and dogs being friendly towards each other. It works like a human taming a lion. Somehow these things are hard to have, hard to achieve, hard to get but not impossible.
These are only his eyes. The eyes that made him soft, made him feel love. That's only the eyes.
The lips are way more astonishing. Way more fascinating. The way the tongue holds wise compliments, the way the lips spread out to the cheeks when smiling. The way joyful voices came out, the way it could make someone calm. Make him calm. These bits and parts of him need to be appreciated, need to be known, need to be loved. Need, need by him. Him and him and George and just George. They are not just lips and eyes. They are his, him, George’s lips and eyes. They belong to George, are owned by George, and dare he says, to be only loved by George.
Matters because he is greedy. Exceptionally greedy.
-
Love hurts. It hurts so much that you are willing to let it sting, let it swell. It hurts in a good way though, it's like eating candy-flavored chili. Sweet but spicy. It swells the tongue, leaving you panting and gasping for water. Love though, it leaves you shattered and broken for more. More because it's not enough. It's not enough because you realized that love is water. The water so you could catch a breath, the water so you wouldn't be in pain.
George is water to Dream and Dream is water to George. They are both fire and water. One burst and one drizzle on the bursting. They didn't break up because the other cheated or for another unreasonable explanation. They broke up because of an absurd accusation that separate them. It starts when-
“ You- what?! “ George’s shout echoed through the whole house. His hands gripping the counter tightly, holding it as tight in case his leg decided to give up. He was sick that day, the weather decided to not take his side and be gloomy bringing his mood down. His whole body was shaking, the whole house filled with tension. The tension thickens as the blond freezes on the spot he's standing on. The room was quiet, except for the conditioner lightly blowing, filling the warm room. Dream closed his mouth, lips barely able to form words as his whole body decided to not operate with him. “ Speak! “ George outcries, his whole body tensing as he stomps towards the frozen boy. His body was aching, his head hurts and his heart was breaking. “ What did you do today? “ His voice was sharp, shaking, and hoarse. Pointing his finger to the frozen boy’s chest. The chest he uses as comfort, as a pillow that soon will no longer be.
Dream’s heart thumped and beat rapidly as the boy tried to gain brain cells to think wise of his words. “ I was- “ Dream spoke but shortly stop after hands meet his cheek. “ You were with your ex?! “ George’s defensive posture fell as sobs came out of his pale lips. “ You told me you were buying medicine for me, not meet your ex! “ He screams in irritation, heartache. Tears fall from the eyes of nature, the sting on his cheek no longer important as his thoughts swarm to his first instinct to wrap his arms around the fragile, vulnerable, sick, and pale boy. He lifted his shaky arms, willing to take any hit just to hold the boy.
“ Why did you meet her? “ George’s voice weakens, sobs suffocating him. His head falling, arms covering himself in an act of insecurity. Dream heart ached, dearly needing the misery boy in his arms and comfort. “ I told you not to meet her. “ He chokes back a sob, looking up at the boy with those dark, coffee eyes that are now red, filled with tears, tears that are formed by him. It's his fault. All of this was his fault. “ She hurt you Dream. You know that! “ George cried out, breaking at the end as his voice gave up. “ I told you not to meet her so she wouldn't give a shit on you, she wouldn't make you sad again, she wouldn't take that smile of yours away. “ George whispered, hands-on his heart in an act to make the suffering go away. The feeling of wishing to pull his heart out so it wouldn't hurt anymore. It stings. It burns.
“ She wanted closure... “ Dream spoke softly, afraid of his voice giving out. George's knees gave up, falling onto the floor, instinctively pulling his knees up to his chest. “ Then make out with her for half an hour?! “ George cries, hitting the blond’s leg. He pulled away, stroking his chest, trying to calm himself down. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat. Dream kneeled. Tears streaming down, hitting the floorboard. He took the frail boy to his arm, letting the boy hit him. He deserves the hit, deserves the bruise. The boy in his arms doesn't deserve this pain. Doesn't deserve to feel it, doesn't deserve him. It took an hour for the boy to pass out, screaming I hate you to the boy who silently sob, hating that he agreed with his ex to meet up. Hating himself for it.
His ex wanted closure, if not she would stalk him, hurt his lover, and ruin their relationship. But is it worth it then because now, no matter meeting up or not, it ruined them. He shouldn't have let the woman take advantage of him. He wouldn't have given the woman a so-called last kiss. He shouldn't have agreed on it. He didn't want his lover to get hurt but no matter what, it will happen. It was a choice between mentally and physically. Of course, with no trust in him protecting his lover, he decided to meet with her. It was a bad idea, the worst idea, the worst choice. He hated that he choose to hurt his lover. He hated that he was not strong enough, not putting trust in himself, being weak. He hated himself but the mistake has been done.
The brunette packed his bag, shoving all his stuff while silently sobbing, holding it back although it failed. It hurts. It hurts that he's leaving, it hurts that he's leaving the love of his life, it hurts that things didn't end up with kisses of forgiveness, hugs of mercy. He hates that it ends up with them sleeping in separate rooms instead of sharing a bed. He hated that he was packing and that he was leaving. He hates everything that was happening. He hates it. His heart swells, it stings, it hurts. Wiping the tears he called useless away, he zips the bag.
His body freezes after turning around. The view of the blond with red eyes and tears flowing down his cheeks, hands fidgeting. “ Is this it? “ the words fall on his lips making George sob again, breaking down. The way his voice cracks saying that, the way his voice is hoarse from the screams last night. He sat down on the mattress, hands covering his wet eyes. The room was silent, except for the sob coming out of Georges's mouth. Hands covering the blond's mouth, sobbing, looking at his lover in such pain that he causes. It hurts. This hurts. Everything hurts. George took a deep breath, wiped his cheeks, and stood up. He strolled to the blond, bag on his shoulder.
He held his hand arms up, bringing to boy's head to his, forehead touching. “ I just need time okay? “ George closes his eyes, biting his lips to cover his sob. “ I am so sorry my love. “ His voice broke, the room filled with the loud sob coming out of the blond's mouth. “ I am very sorry. “ He mutters, hands on top of the other. George bit his lip, tightly closing his eyes trying to avoid the tears from falling. His heart burns. It Burns like a hot coffee. It stains black on his heart like coffee.
“ Please don't be in pain love. “ Dream breaks out, hands shaking along with his body. “ I am very sorry. “ he keeps muttering. Muttering the four words that bring more pain to his heart. The pain felt like lightning struck. George let go, stepping back, looking at the boy who now is covering his face. “ I will come back, just give me time okay? “ George mutters, no tears fall. His tear no longer dares to fall. “ I love you. “ George smiled. The smile that gives out pain, the smile that gives out suffering, gives out distress. , “ I love you too. “
It hurts more when the boy steps out of their house. Theirs. It hurts more when he closes the door. It hurts when he fell, it hurts when his sob gets louder, it hurts when he screamed, it hurts when he pulls his hair. It hurts. It hurts like his bones are breaking, hurts like his ribcage is suffocating him, hurts like something is covering his windpipe. Hurts like he can't breathe, hurts like he's choking.
His head falls to the wheel. He parked at a random park, tears blurred his view. He hit the window, the door, the wheel. He kicked the door and kicked the floor. He screamed out, screamed until his voice gave up, screamed until he can't speak, can't make a sound. Why did he leave? Why? Nothing beats the pain of a heartbreaking. Nothing hurts than the heart getting stabbed. It hurts and he can't describe it.
The author, too can't describe the pain as they have never been in a relationship and all these feelings came from their imagination.