Inhale [DNF]

- 10 -

I think the sad part about being an exchange student is that you know that once you start falling for the people there, you'll have to leave anyways.

I thought about this when I woke up approximately two weeks after I broke up with Peyton. No matter how hard I wanted it to work out—even though subconsciously I didn't want it to work—I knew it wouldn't. I told her that straight up.

But then I started to think about Sapnap and his friends. These were the kinds of people that you remember after you're gone, the kinds of people that you can message when you're a thousand miles away and they'll be glad to talk to you. That's what I really liked about them.

And then there was Dream. He was something different. The type of boy that looked like he could sit on clouds and take over the world and keep every single daisy pure while at the same time destroying everything else he touches. He's the kind of boy that climbs to the top of the tree and yells that he's the king of the world but is too afraid to come down, so he sits and watches the sunset for hours.

I took my guitar to Central Park and found a tree far away from anyone just passing by. The guitar reminded me of the way that I used to run through the city as a kid, my feet slapping against the pavement. The guitar reminded me of the lonely nights when my parents argued, when the fighting would cease and the house was silent but the air still felt dense with harsh words and phrases I didn't understand.

And the guitar reminded me of the way that Dream swayed back and forth on the stage, not caring about the people, not caring about the hair that got in his face, but fixating only on me as I watched them play.

I didn't have class. It was Thanksgiving break, and a lot of students had gone home for the holiday. I was alone in the apartment; Sapnap was off with Bad's family for the week. I had finished my last bit of PoliSci homework and had nothing else to do, so I went to the park and played.

Wilbur used to do that too. He was a bit older than me, and I saw him as a brother. He taught me to play guitar, although I paid for lessons too. He and I would sit on the bridge and he would correct my fingers, pressing them into the strings and letting me strum out a chord I didn't know I could play. The look on his face when I learned Come As You Are was priceless.

"You play really well," A voice from behind me said, making jump. "When did you learn?"

I turned, and there was Dream. He leant against the tree, his arms crossed against a bright green sweater.

"I got this guitar when I was thirteen. So almost nine years ago." I grinned up to him. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Pretty long. I was out getting lunch when I saw you. So uh...now that we're both here, you want to grab some food with me?"

"Yeah, sure. I could eat." I zipped my guitar into its case and swung it over my shoulder, following my friend out of the park.

"So...Dream. How long have you lived in the city?"

He thought for a moment as we walked.

"Well, I used to live in Florida but I got accepted into NYU a few years ago. So I moved in to an apartment off campus and I've lived here ever since. I just have a year left. I figure, once I'm done I'll head off to somewhere that nobody knows my name and I'll be something." He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Why would you want that? Nobody will know you, nobody will know who you are. You're just gonna keep your face to yourself?" I asked, intrigued.

"Yeah. I think...if I ever be something big, I want people to like me for who I am, not what I look like. I've always wanted to make music. That's why we have the band. I love writing songs and all that shit. And I want to keep doing that."

We arrived at a small diner and walked inside. Dream stood and ordered take out, something he could reheat.

"Are you ever going to show me your face?"

"Maybe," he replied thoughtfully, waiting for our food to come out. "Or maybe I'll just keep you waiting."

"That's cruel,"

"You love me," Dream teased. I said nothing and adjusted the strap on my guitar case.

I thought we were going to sit and eat, but instead Dream and I kept walking. Eventually, we came to an old stone bridge that overlooked an overrun railroad. He sat on the edge, his legs dangling off, and I sat next to him.

"What about you?" He said out of nowhere. I was pulled from my thoughts and back to reality. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know." I admitted. "I don't have a plan."

"What about journalism?"

"It's kinda boring. Everyday it's the same thing at the Village Sun. I wish I had more excitement in my life, like you."

Dream scoffed and glanced over to me.

"My life isn't that exciting. I mean, if it was exciting I'd probably be in LA making millions right now."

"Well, you created a music group. That's exciting. You met me," I point out, half joking. The half is his fave that I can see flushed a dark red. "I'd like to say meeting me was pretty exciting."

"Mm. Maybe."

I laughed and bit into my sandwich.

We sat in silence for a little while longer.

"Come with me," Dream finally said, standing and brushing himself off. I did the same, following him, confused.

We started to run over the other side of the bridge, getting further and further away from the bustling city. On the outskirts of Manhattan Dream stopped and caught his breath. I'd never really run before, so I collapsed at the side of the road.

Then, he started to go up. I watched from the grass as he climbed into an old treehouse that I hadn't noticed before. I wondered how he had found this spot in the first place.

When I got to the top, Dream grabbed my guitar and helped me up. We felt so out of place in there—Dream, with his dyed hair and his tattoos, and me, with my guitar and my uneasiness.

"Found this place my first year here," Dream said. "Sapnap and I actually met here. He was in here when I crawled up and scared the shit out of both of us. It seems silly, to be eighteen and chilling in a treehouse, but hey, shit happens."

I nodded.

So we sat and we talked in the treehouse. Two twenty-one year old guys, sitting in an old rickety treehouse, inhaling the cool autumnal air and laughing about stupid things.

I rested my head on his shoulder at one point, inhaling the scent of apples and dry cologne. He stiffened, but I fell asleep that way.