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George wondered what atrocities he committed in a past life to end up in this situation. What blood had been spilled across what he assumed to be innocent hands to deserve the moral dilemma he was in?
Because as he stood, the metal handle of a revolver clutched shakily in his hand, looking down at the boy crumpled to his knees in front of him, he begged for an explanation– screamed into the infinite sky, prayed for redemption.
Green eyes glossed with tears as the blond’s bottom lip wobbled, caught in his teeth as he bit into it. The lips that George had grown far too accustomed to– fitting so well with his own that they felt like his, a part of him that he didn’t know he was missing until he met them during these hellish games– destroyed as the paper-thin skin was pulled away by ivory teeth, ripping them to bloody mess.
What had he done, what hell had he put others through to deserve the love of his life splayed out on his knees in front of him, fleetingly looking into his soul with a nauseating mix of unadulterated fear and hope? Hope that George will be able to win the prize money and live the life he always wanted.
But that meant proceeding through this round. And the thought of what he was going to have to do made him turn the barrel on himself.
It was supposed to be fun. He thought bitterly, reminiscing about when he joined the games with a clear mind and hope in his heart, thinking the money was his– practically having his messy signature on it.
But the bleeding of dark ink into the green paper soon turned into a vibrant ichor that sprayed an arc across the shiny white walls.
He figured he would be content with the macabre setting, the violent murders that left the walls and floors slicked with an endless supply of gore- because he didn’t know these people. They were just numbers. All of them.
All but player 186; Dream.
When they met, it was like the whole world became shaded by a pink lens, everything lightening with a golden aura and hazed around the edges as they fell deeper into each other, as he fell deeper into his seemingly instant connection with the pretty blond. They had chose beds next to each other and stayed up for hours talking, collaborating and planning.
They began to scheme their way through the games and outplay the others by a mile. Watching as the bodies piled up, each one a grisly crimson mark to their names, a spot on their souls forever marred. But nothing mattered, nothing could touch George. Not when he merely had to look to his left and see Dream there, shining in all his optimism and refined dexterity.
They used to sneak around in the bedrooms, find empty bathrooms to kiss in, to explore each combination of their lips and spread maroon across each other’s necks in little bites. They used to embrace any chance they got, slotting their bodies together and basking in each other’s warmth, drinking in the soothing aroma of the other when it all got too much.
Somewhere between then and now they became Dream and George.
But none of the early days mattered anymore, because Dream was knelt, eyes squeezed shut, the weight of a pistol sat heavy between them.
“George…” Dream’s voice was small. Smaller than George had ever heard, smaller than he should have ever sounded because this was Dream. Dream who simmered with so much raw skill that nothing could ever touch him. But here he was, crumbled, shrivelling in on himself as he began to wilt away.
George had once known him with the familiarity of the oxygen in the air, light and easy in the way his presence filled the brunet with freedom and life. It was easy to know him, to breathe him in greedily for all he was.
But looking at the boy in front of him now, the one that was frazzled with uncertainty– George thought he was carbon monoxide. Poisoned with fear, and wholly unrecognisable. Looking at Dream now threatened to asphyxiate him, ripping chunks of flesh from his flimsy throat with preemptive guilt that pressed on his temples like a vice, making his head spin as the lack of wit from Dream killed him silently.
George wanted to hurl his guts up onto the grimy floor.
The blond reached a hand up to George’s shaking wrist, turning the gun gently back to face himself as he uttered: “George- You have to- You have to do it.” The shorter hated how the boy sounded so unsure, he was uneasy, not fully in terms with what this meant for him.
He had thrown himself down with no hesitation when the game was announced, when they were told that one was required to kill the other. No way out.
George always used to insist that if it came down to this, they would both eat the poisoned berry, let its fatal chemicals circulate their bloodstreams and slowly kill them, so that they may die hand in hand.
Except here, there were no berries. Only a pellet of metal inside an otherwise empty chamber. A lone bullet that begged for bloodshed, and Dream insisted he would let it rip into his cortex. There wasn’t even an accompanying bullet so George could shoot himself afterwards and free himself from the shackled misery of the capitalistic games.
He was destined to die alone, survivor’s guilt weighing him down like the world on Atlas’ shoulders.
For a fleeting moment the Brit wondered if they could align themselves in such a way that would allow the bullet to kill them both. But he knew rationally that it wouldn’t be plausible in any universe, it wouldn’t be able to cut through two skulls with the flimsy firepower.
“Dream no I’m not- I’m not going to kill you don’t you even suggest that. We can- I’m sure we can find a way around this, like we always do!” George blathered, voice raising an octave as he convinced himself that they could do this, together. He put the revolver down, the metal contact on his skin seering him, burning the delicate flesh there with the guilt and paranoia he was faced with. He reached for Dream’s shoulders, smiling with what he prayed looked like hope, because maybe he could convince the taller of this, maybe they could pull out of this and leave this damned building. George gripped at them, trying to squeeze some energy into the blond’s slack-looking body and empty eyes.
He didn’t like how much it looked like he was already dead.
He shook the other’s shoulders harder, “Dream, come on I know you can come up with someth–”
“No, George.” Those two words sliced through the brunet’s desperate rambling, abruptly cutting off his vocal chords as they were forced to face the harrowing silence.
The cocking of a nearby guard’s gun caught their attention, panic rising in George’s chest, hating that he ever thought he would be able to play these games scape-free. He had been too careless, far too naive, and way too innocent.
No one got out of these games the same as they came in– most didn’t even get to go home.
“George, listen to me. We’re out of time, if you don’t shoot, they’re going to take us away.” Dream paused to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “We both know that whatever they would do there would make this look like heaven.”
“Dream–” George’s eyes flicked frantically around Dream’s face, taking in his deep green eyes, the way the faintest glimmer still remained– a glimmer that called to George to resume his legacy- his furrowed eyebrows, and the minuscule beads of sweat that formed on his forehead and neck. It was as if he was trying to commit all of the blond to memory, because he was heavily in denial. “I can’t fucking kill you that’s fucked on so many levels, I refuse–”
“You don’t have a choice. I don’t want them to get you, Geo,” Dream whispered as he cupped George’s smooth cheek in his hand, his palm radiating heat that seeped into his skin. It warmed the Brit, even if just a bit. Dream gently wiped away tears that had begun to swell in the other’s eyes. The blond gave a small smile, never breaking eye contact even when the brunet began to wail and tears that matched his partners started to blur his vision.
“Shh, shh.” The blond kept his voice low, dropping into the comforting lull that he used to speak in after George had one of his nightmares that he was constantly plagued by. He hoped with all of his heart and soul that this was just that, and that his boyfriend’s voice was here to pull him out of it, to save him from the inevitable black abyss.
“Dream I–” The minute George tried to use his larynx, the muscles seized up and he was reduced to exhausting sobs. By this point he had slumped into Dream, gripping the greenish fabric of his jumpsuit like a scared child as he wailed, burying his face in the taller’s chest to try and suffocate himself in his all too-familiar redwood scent.
“You’re–” George shakily exhaled as he locked contact with those mesmerizing viridescent eyes. The very same ones that rooted him to Dream in the first place, the splashes of grass and moss reminding him of a much simpler, freer time in George’s life. Dream felt like childhood- and that feeling still swept through his veins now “–you’re my everything, sueño. I can’t lose you.”
“Love, I can’t lose you either. But we don’t have a choice, I’m sorry. If I could. I’d get us out of here, I’d kill the guards and get you to safety, because I hate seeing you like this. I know you’re scared and– and I am too but I want you to win this. I want you to get the money and live a long, happy life. You would do it better than I ever could.”
“But there’s no point in me living if you’re not there with me!” George snapped, hyperventilating as he shook his head. “I don’t want to live if you’re not there, you’re the only good thing in my life right now please–” He gripped at Dream’s shirt, pulling him closer in his frantic trepidation. George felt far from his body, his actions- like he was powerless, sat at the back of his mind, watching helplessly as his body contorted to actions he didn’t intend. He cringed at the bite of the words he hissed at Dream, shrivelling in on himself in his introspection.
All players, you have one minute to make your elimination before your time is up. Please proceed by the rules– or face the consequences. Thank you.
The robotic voice ripped through the atmosphere, breaking both boys out of their trances filled only by each other. They slowly looked to the guards around them, seeing they had closed in as they were arguing. George felt sick to his stomach- like they were helpless prey amongst a heap of starving predators.
George snapped his head back to Dream with such ferocity that the bones of his neck cracked, panic wide in his eyes as he shook like a leaf, frozen in realisation that this was their last minute.
A measly 60 seconds to make a decision that carried far too much moral weight for two foolish young adults.
Dream flicked his eyes down to the ground, taking a deep breath before guiding his hands around George, squeezing the boy and rubbing his hand up and down his back. The taller relished in the contact, feeling his partner’s body heat against him. He pressed a delicate kiss to brown hair, and for that fleeting moment– it felt like the rest of the world dissolved away, the impending manslaughter, the ticking clock, the bloodthirsty guards.
And then Dream pulled away, and the distance made George’s body freeze up, reacting before his fogged mind could process it, knowing that their codependency was to be severed.
The blond pried George’s hands from around him, guiding his grip back over the handle, squeezing it in affirmation, “Everything I ever did was for you, you know that right?” he whispered with a small smile, his voice tremulous as his eyes crinkled at the corners.
30 seconds left.
The timer rendered George completely slack as Dream moved his malleable body to push the gun to the taller’s forehead. He remained gentle the whole time, when really, they should’ve been fighting, screaming about who should live, demanding for an exit. The older never ceased his tears, and they increased tenfold at the position they found themselves in.
Dream exhaled shakily, closing his eyes.
“Geo. I love you.” George forced his eyes shut and threw his head back, tears running freely down his cheeks, the salt burning both his eyes and the smooth skin as if it were boiling sulphuric acid. It kept him rooted, grounded. Even though all he wanted to do was float away and pretend this was never going to happen. He mauled at his lips, ripping away skin not dissimilar to the way Dream had been earlier, back when the universe provided them with heaps of precious time.
Time that had been wasted by George’s insolence.
“Baby please, look at me. Just one last time c’mon, let me see those pretty eyes,” Dream begged, desperation breaking through his tightly weaved calm facade.
George felt acid rise up, clawing at his oesophagus.
“I want you to be the last thing I ever see, Geo.” The Brit pried his eyes open, bringing his head back to eye level with his lover. Dream cracked a blinding grin at the contact– a grin so bright that it was cruel to be displayed on the same face that wept endlessly, eyes fearful. “There we go. You’re so handsome, you know?”
The blonde’s other hand reached to brush a strand of the brunet’s hair from out of his face, the piece having fallen right over his straight nose as George muttered brokenly: “I love you so much darling, I’m so blessed to have–” a choked sob cut him off “–to have met you.”
“My beautiful boy.” Dream rasped in lieu of a proper response, his throat sounding wrecked.
“I’ll meet you on the other side, just you wait for me okay? And I’ll bring the stupid money.” They both snickered at that, at the thought that the sole reason they had ended up here was from the promise of a cash prize.
A reward that would never amount to the feeling George got when he was with Dream, when he had first met him and felt his body pushed to his own.
“No time soon though, you have to promise me you’ll go on,” Dream quaked in the stillness of the room, assertive in his tone.
George saw no future without Dream, but if he commanded him to prosper, to go on, then that paved his future with certainty.
10 seconds.
“I’ll never forget you.” The taller’s eyes were glassy with tears as he clinged to the brunet’s hand with fervour.
George’s lips quirked at that, shaking his head slightly. “And I’ll never forget you, sunshine.”
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me.” Dream leaned forwards to press his lips to George’s one final time, the kiss felt like an exchange of life forces, like the blond was trying to stain the other with his DNA, blend their souls together so neither truly had to die.
Dream was going to live on, the reminder of him painted all over George’s slim body– tattooed with the hands of a frantic lover.
five,
The universe could grant them that, at least.
four,
Dream pulled away, kissing a away tear on George’s left cheek, the soft contact making the latter’s stomach flip.
three,
George flicked the safety off, locking eyes with his love one final time and grinning at him.
“I’ll go and buy the apartment we always wanted when I win.”
Dream beamed at the promise.
two–
The loud bang of the silver bullet leaving the gun reverberated throughout the small room, George’s eyes squeezed shut as the sickening crack of bone being decimated reached his ears. Dream’s cranium had been split open, destroyed by the brute force of the metallic shard and the brunet was sure that if he opened his eyes, he would see splatters of brain matter across the floor, the flesh that contained so many memories, so much love and former vitality still a lively pink.
Dream’s hand fell from George’s own, the warmth sapped away from him in an instant as his heavy body hit the floor with a thud. The tendinous chords in George’s heart snapped in an instant, barely contained horror rushing forward in an instant as the blood pooled in his frantic heart.
Player 186, eliminated.
George screamed.
The sound was bloodcurdling, the sound brimming with despair and agony, guilt from his actions as he threw the gun as far across the room as possible, wanting it out. It hit a wall somewhere with a distinct clang.
He dived forwards to his lover’s lifeless body.
He wrapped his arms around him, clutching the blond close to his chest as his still-hot blood pooled on the floor and onto George’s person, precious life force wasting away. He recoiled at the blinding reality of it all– certain it would stain his suit a grim brown colour, and his skin was covered with it– but he didn’t care. He needed a memento of Dream, needed to see evidence that he was there, had been there. Because George never wanted to let go, not of the one that had shown him the joy of living. The special side to nature, and how people could bond in even the most inhumane scenarios.
The blood was still a vivid crimson, serving a nauseating reminder that it had only just been shed. George buried his face in the other’s torso, desperately listening for a heartbeat in hope that maybe Dream had devised a way to live, to escape– maybe this was all part of his plan.
But it was futile, the boy had been dead before he had even hit the floor, and the hole in his skull was enough to prove that. It was obvious, empirical evidence lying right in George’s hands– but he refused to believe it.
Dream was gone.
He screamed and wailed uglily, pounding his fists into the floor, uncaring of the risk it held to breaking his bones and blemishing his skin with burst capillaries. It would be less bloodshed than the arteries that had been burst in Dream’s head a mere few seconds ago.
George wanted to rip off his own skin, tear the meat from bone in his blinding melancholia. He wanted to rid his lover of his quickly greyening skin, it didn’t suit his complexion, it looked wrong on him. The blood seeped into his blond curls, coagulating into lumps and matting, staining it a grotesque maroon. He wasn’t shining the way he was just a few moments ago when he was praising George, kissing his hair, embracing him.
Now he lay slack in George’s arms, body rapidly cooling and covering the scene with the very crimson liquid the brunet used to praise for keeping Dream alive. It trickled out of his head faster than George could cope with, an endless bloody stream as his vessels emptied. He struggled against the blond’s dead weight as he sagged down, resisting George’s rapidly failing hold as the earth begged for the boy to be reunited with the soil. For his elemental construct to return to where it belonged, recycled to something new– a plant maybe.
George thought a sunflower would suit Dream.
But he didn’t want nature to claim his boy, he didn’t want to lose all reconciliation of the precious life lost.
And this was all George’s fault. He had done this, he had rendered the love of his life deceased.
It made George’s body itch, like a thousand different bugs had invaded just under the surface of his skin, the delicate organ riddled with constant reminders of his guilt, his immoral nature and pure lack of humanity.
He had killed Dream.
There were no mesmerising green eyes to look to for confirmation, no enveloping hold to keep him safe, no soothing words to guide him to sleep, to tell him he had done the right thing and that he was proud of the elder.
He pressed a kiss to the right centre of Dream’s chest, over his dormant heart. The organ nothing more than a blood bag now. George prayed that the feeling would activate his nervous system and jolt him right back to life like nothing had happened.
But there was a gaping hole in the centre of his forehead, and chunks of neuronal matter spilling from the back of it. He wasn’t coming back.
Ever.
A group of guards attempted to shove George out of the way as they brought a big turquoise tarp. The Brit realised too soon that they were going to throw it over the boy, take Dream away from him, likely to burn his corpse and throw the ashes in a bin.
As if having him murder the younger wasn’t enough.
George fought against them for a few moments, keeping a tight hold on Dream’s stone cold body as they tried to pry it out of his grip. The whole time, the Brit wondered why he let the younger sacrifice himself like that– he had better friends, more family, was an incredibly optimistic person that was loved by hundreds. While George was a loner, his only excitement sourced from Dream.
He didn’t even care about the money anymore, he just wanted Dream. And he had realised that three minutes too late.
The elder choked on his tears, throat seizing up as he asked for a moment with the corpse which the guards begrudgingly agreed too, telling him to hurry it up. Once he was alone he pressed a kiss to the body's forehead, above the gruesome cavity as he whispered upon deaf ears.
“Goodnight, mi sueño.”