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“Morning.”
He glanced up from his book to see a polite smile directed at him, which he found himself matching easily.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“I run quite warm. The water looks colder, are you going to surf today?”
“I was planning on it.”
“Good luck.”
“Thank you.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“What are you reading there?”
George turned the book around to glance at the cover. “It’s a non-fiction, on climate change.”
“Heavy reading for-“ the familiar man glanced at his smart-watch, “-six-thirty in the morning, isn’t it?”
“You’re exercising, I’m doing something similar.”
“Touché.”
“Morning.”
The blond man passed by his seat again, along the fence-line, in the backyard of his family home that adjoined their stretch of private beach. It wasn’t private, really, but it also wasn’t easily accessible, so people never really bothered going up there.
George’s lips curled up knowingly without raising his eyes. “Morning.”
“Another thick one. Why don’t I ever see you reading the same book as the day before?”
“Because I finish them.”
“In one day?”
“Usually.”
He looked up, noticing the other man had stopped. The man had never stopped before, while on his morning walk down to the public part of the beach where the waves were better for surfing. He usually kept walking as they spoke, wrapping their morning chats up by the time he passed George. But this time, he had stopped right in front of him.
George looked him up and down.
“Your wetsuit is different.”
It seemed to catch the other male off guard.
“Y-yeah, it’s my summer one. No sleeves. Surprised you noticed.”
And he had noticed. There was more skin showing.
“I like it.”
“Thank you. Good luck with the book.”
“Good luck with the surfing.”
Slightly longer than last time, George noted. He was making progress.
“Morning.”
“Morning, it’s been a while.”
“It’s been four days.”
“What happened?”
“Stood on a broken oyster shell and cut my foot up, I was supposed to stay off it for a week.”
“It’s been four days.”
“Felt like a week. I was starting to miss you.”
George flushed. “Shut up.”
The other man just grinned. “What’s the book?”
“The Odyssey.”
“Tell me how it ends tomorrow.”
“I will. Watch where you’re stepping.”
“I will.”
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“So, how did it end?”
“Odysseus went back home and took his throne again.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes, that’s good. How’s your foot?”
“Better. I think the sea salt helps.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
It was ending sooner than he wanted it to, so he took a risk to get more personal. “What’s your name?”
The other man stopped, just as he was about to pass him. He slowly smiled, offering a friendly and slightly-awkward outstretched hand over the white picket fence. “I’m Dream, it’s nice to meet you.”
George took it, and it was cold. Or maybe he was just warm. “George, likewise.”
“Morning, George.”
“Morning, Dream.”
“You’re reading the same book as yesterday.”
“War and Peace. I was trying to impress you, but I couldn’t read it fast enough.”
“I’m still impressed.”
He offered a shy smile. “Thank you.”
“You should come down to the beach some time, and I could impress you too.”
“I can see you from here.”
“Can you?” The blond turned around, looking down at the public beach which was in clear view. “And?”
“Can’t take my eyes away.”
He was possibly being too brave, but it was well received, as the other male let out a pitched laugh. “Is that so?”
George ignored the teasing and flirty tone to the best of his ability. “Go on,” he nodded towards the water, “I’m ready for the show.”
“Yes sir.” Is what he said, with that same dancing tone again.
The day after that, Dream found him with the same book for the third time in a row, mostly because he was too distracted in the mornings to read it.
“Morning, George.”
“Morning, Dream. Why do you walk up here by the houses, not down along the water?”
“I used to walk along the water, but then I came up here a couple times to admire the houses. Then it just became routine.”
“The houses?”
“Yeah, like your one. Huge, fancy, pretentious.”
George snorted, putting a thumb in his book to keep his page before shutting it on his lap. “Pretentious?”
Dream gave him an obvious look. “Your shrubs are shaped like lions and your pool is carved out of marble.”
“Hmm. I see your point.”
“Houses don’t look like that where I’m from.”
“Which is?”
Dream side-eyed him. “Stalker.”
George rolled his eyes. “Says you, at my back fence.”
“Touché. Were the lion-shrubs your idea?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Who can I blame, then?”
He sighed, “My parents. They’re never here though, so I don’t know why they even bother making the landscapers do it.”
“Where are they?”
“Right now? France, I think. That was the last postcard I got.”
“People still send postcards?”
“Just for the novelty of it. They still video-call me.”
George was worried he’d shown his lifestyle too transparently, and was awaiting the comments and questions, but they didn’t come. So he asked one instead.
“Why do I never see you carrying a surfboard around?”
The blond smiled, leaning a hand against the fence, holding on to one of the picket spikes. “It’s down in my car, by the surf-beach.”
“Your car?” George was confused. “Where are you coming from then?”
For a moment, he wondered if he and Dream were actually neighbours, which would probably explain why he was so well-spoken, and he’d been thinking that the man that he’d been getting to know was just an average guy. The fantasy of normality was being stripped, and he didn’t like it.
Dream’s calm voice cut through his spiralling thoughts. “I drive there, walk a loop to warm up, get a coffee, then hit the water.”
Oh. That made sense.
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“Yeah. No point in carrying my board around.”
“What if I wanted to see it up close?”
“Then you’d have to come down to the beach with me.”
“Shame.”
“Yeah, it is.” Dream pushed himself off the fence where he’d been leaning. “See you tomorrow, George.”
“See you tomorrow, Dream.”
“Morning, George.”
“You were with someone else yesterday.”
Dream blinked. “On the water?”
“Yeah, you talked a lot.”
“You jealous?”
Yes, he was. “No, I’m not.”
Dream grinned knowingly, but didn’t push it. “That’s Nick, he’s my friend that’s down from Texas.”
“He’s bad at surfing.”
“There’s not many beaches in Austin.”
George laughed, his jealousy slowly dissipating at the word ‘friend’. “Touché.”
“He’s down there again today, you can see him sitting with my coffee.”
George leaned forward, catching a glimpse at a dark-haired male sitting on a bench where the sand met a concrete path. “So he is.”
“Do you like coffee?”
“No.”
“Shame, I was gonna invite you down.”
“Shame.”
Curiosity glinted in the other man’s eyes. “See you tomorrow, George.”
“See you tomorrow, Dream.”
“You look terrible.”
“Good morning to you too, Dream,” he managed to croak.
“I was starting to worry, but this,” he gestured to George’s small figure huddled up in his chair, looking a little worse for wear, “explains why I haven’t seen you in four days.”
“Aww, you were worried?” he tried to say it condescendingly, but it came out sounding a bit genuine.
“You threw me out of my routine. I started saying ‘good morning’ to the lion-shrubs.”
“Well, I’m back.”
“Barely. What do you have?”
“I had the flu. And a throat infection, at the same time.”
“In the middle of summer? How did you manage that?”
“With great skill and talent.”
“Your voice is deeper, I kind of like it.”
George flushed. “Well, enjoy it while you can.”
The blond winked. “I will.”
George picked at the skin around his thumb, eyes not taking in any of the words that he was reading. It had been two full weeks.
Two weeks since Dream had passed the fence at the back of his house, two weeks since the playful banter and teasing remarks they shared, two weeks since he looked out at the surf beach and saw the blond bobbing in the water early in the morning, waiting for waves.
Was he injured again? Sick, like George had been?
He hadn’t realised how much he’d begun to rely on the familiarity of their interactions. He hadn’t noticed the simmering in his stomach when he woke up and chose a book, or the thoughts he had in the back of his mind, replaying the conversations in his head for the rest of the day. He hadn’t noticed that whenever he looked at the water now, he was actually looking for someone. He noticed all of that now though, now that it was gone.
“Morning, George.”
George’s head whipped up in a millisecond.
“Dream, what the hell.”
He wasn’t expecting the sad smile he got in return. “Yeah, I know.”
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. How are you doing?”
“Doesn’t matter. Tell me why I haven’t seen you in a month.”
Dream laughed, but it was a sad laugh. “Um, I moved.”
George’s stomach sank. Of course he’d moved. I mean, he barely knew anything about Dream’s life - maybe he still lived with his parents, maybe he was in college, maybe he was just passing through Florida on the way to somewhere else. It’s not like he’d base his life decisions around regularly seeing George or anything.
He didn’t really know what to say. “Why?”
“Couldn’t afford the rent here anymore.”
“What?”
The blond looked a little irritated, but maybe it was misdirected anger at the situation. “It’s Miami, don’t act surprised. All the rich people moved here and it put the prices up, they wanted to demolish my apartment building to make way for a condo. It’s just how things are out here. I’m renting a place in Jacksonville now.”
“Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just put a deposit on a house, instead of renting?”
That annoyed look was back. “I haven’t quite got the budget for marble-carved pools.”
Guilt simmered in his chest. George was fully aware that he was disconnected from the struggles of the average person. Maybe that’s why he longed to connect with Dream so much, as an attempt to understand it.
“Jacksonville has a beach, right?”
“Yeah, I go to Ponte Vedra. Quieter than the main one.”
“How- how is it?”
His voice was less clipped when he answered, maybe because they were moving away from the topic of money. “The waves are alright, and there are houses just as pretentious to walk past.”
George snorted, but the gears in his mind were turning. “Interesting.”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you come back?”
“To see you one more time.”
“Oh.” George flushed. Here he was, thinking he was insignificant in the familiar man’s life, that he didn’t have any influence on his decisions. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
“So am I.”
He’d been wanting to move out anyways.
It was modest, the house that sat along Ponte Vedra Beach. Perhaps not modest by the average person’s standards - but there was no marble-carved pool, no shrubs in the shape of lions. Just a freshly clipped lawn at the back of a four-bedroom residence, no fence between his land and the sand. He breathed in a lungful of fresh salty air, tucking his feet under him in his chair, book balanced in his lap. He wasn’t reading, though, too busy keeping an eye out for someone.
And that someone did arrive, right on six-thirty. Some things didn’t change.
“Good morning, Dream.”
The blond stopped in his tracks, eyes snapping up at him while an incredulous smile grew quickly on his lips. “George?”
He revelled in the feeling of those eyes tracing over him, over his book, his house. “It’s been four weeks.”
“Y-yes, it has.” The man was gaining his composure, but it was obvious that he was vibrating with excitement.
George himself was trying to hold it together, but he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. “How does this beach compare?”
“There’s no coffee shop.”
“Perhaps you could come inside then, I’ve got a coffee machine.”
“You don’t like coffee.”
“I don’t.” It had been another purchase he’d made that month with a certain blond male in mind.
That warm smile again, same as the first day he’d met him. “Perhaps I could, then.”