George
We have to walk to town. Walk. If I'd of known that I'd never of agreed to go in the first place.
It takes us an entire thirty minutes. Thirty minutes walking! I think I might of drove poor Dream insane with complaints, but if I did, he never let on.
Considering its pretty cold out today, I'm glad I at least thought to bring a jacket. The wind is snappy, and the dark clouds overhead made me feel sure it was going to rain at some point during our walk, but somehow it held off.
We do as I'd said, wandering around until someone remembered something that caught their interest.
Quackity and Sapnap get lead off pretty quickly once they remember needing new 'cleats' among other things.
Dream and I are left walking up along the mainstreet, nowhere special in mind in terms of where to go. I have my black beanie on again.
I never actually thought I'd wear it, and frankly I thought it was ridiculous when mum insisted I'd pack it, but now I'm glad she did. Its cold enough that I'd wear anything offered to me.
"Do you have anywhere you want to go?" Dream asks me, breaking what I hadn't noticed, but must of been a long silence.
A car whips down the road, leaving a long sound trail behind it. "No, no I haven't" I answer.
"Would you mind if I dragged you off to a bookstore?" he asks, suddenly looking shy, like he doesn't want to be a burden. "I'll only be a minute, I promise."
I smile over at his pink cheeks.
"Lead the way" I say.
He does. Its not that far a walk, which I'm grateful for, since I can really begin to feel my feet going numb at this rate.
I wonder how long it would take for Dream to find the nearest bookstore if you placed him in a totally unknown area, or a desert, or in the middle of the woods.
Not long, at all.
Its nice to slip in out of the cold for a minute. Once we're inside, I can feel a little of the heat rushing back into my face.
Dream wastes no time grabbing what he needs. He seems to know his way around, and by the way he chats regularily for a minute with the cashier tells me he for sure stops by here a lot.
He finds me again once he's finished. I never go far. I wait for him by a long row of books.
"Do you mind if we make one more stop?" he asks suddenly, before I can ask him anything about what he bought. "Then we can go get food."
I grin. "Depends, how much walking am I going to have to do?"
He rolls his eyes pointedly, turning and walking from the store with one final wave to the cashier. I smile over at her before following him out the door.
"Does that mean a lot of walking?" I shout after him, wondering how and why he walks so godamn fast.
He pauses a few yards in front of me, waiting for me to catch up. Once I do, he looks up and down the street, then grabbing my hand.
"You are such a whine" he laughs, walking me alongside him. "Are you really that cold? Or is it all an act?"
I scoff pretentiously, acting offended. "I'm freezing" I say, telling him the truth.
His hand leaves mine, his arm now wrapping around my shoulders instead to curl me in that little bit closer to him.
"When we're back home I'll get you a hot chocolate, if you want, or coffee" he offers.
"Oh, coffee sounds so good right about now" I mumble, leaning my head towards him.
He talks to me so continuously that not once do I wonder about where we're trailing off to.
We leave the town after a few minutes, instead now being surrounded by more fields for another few minutes until we reach a bridge, and then, a house.
We pause on the bridge. I look around, and then down at the very small little house before us.
"Where are we?" I ask curiously, still smiling nonetheless, because I'm with him.
"Look, alright, you can totally wait out here if you want" he starts to ramble, despite not having answered my question, "but I just don't know when I'm going to see him again once classes start back up, and we never really come into town until right before our trip to Boston and I just can't pass up a chance to see h-"
"Slow it down" I interrupt, still looking curiously over at the house. "Explain to me whats going on here first, where are we? Who lives here?"
Theres a short pause of him catching his breath, and a mist of air floating from his mouth as he exhales slowly.
"My dad" he says finally.
"Your dad lives here?!" I ask, shocked. "Like, this close?! And not once have you told me this?"
"Is this a good or bad reaction?" he wonders, peering at me.
"Can I meet him? Will you let me?" I ramble, not even answering his last question.
"I mean, do you want to?" he asks.
'I mean, do you want to?' I mimick, "yes, Dream! Of course I want to."
He continues to stare, his look feeling like uncertainty at first, but then quickly seeming to switch to some warm kind of glower.
He starts towards the house, walking down the other side of the bridge. I grin again, purely out of hapiness now. Dreams dad.
I watch as he knocks on the door, waiting for some sort of response from inside. I follow down the other side of the bridge, pausing just a stride or two from the door.
"I've got someone else here, too" Dream says, the door open now, him already halfway inside.
"Is it Sapnap?" a voice, who I suppose is his father, calls from someplace inside. "Or is it Quackity? Its got to be one or the other."
"Neither, actually" Dream chuckles back, now beckoning for me to come inside.
I do as asked, slipping inside the door, standing myself beside Dream.
It looks small from the outside, like a cottage, but the inside is like something I never even could've dreamed up.
The walls are cluttered with all sorts of things. Paintings, some book pages, war photographs from times I couldn't name, pictures of what I think is a younger Dream and diagrams of all sorts.
The living room and kitchen have no wall inbetween them, but only a change in wooden flooring, the kitchen floors wood being lighter then the living room.
The kitchen is like a kitchen, nothing special, nothing unique, though the living room is another story.
The room has no televisions, or any sort of technology at all as far as I can tell. But books, oh lord the books. They fill the room, seeming to be spilling from every corner of the cosy room.
Theres a deep red wine couch that would seat two, and a green singular armchair diagonal to them. Thats where his dad is sat.
He has a table in front of him, littered with paper and ink pens, and books, and a mug of what I think is tea.
He looks like a respectable, knowledgable man, who I immediately feel inferior to once I study him a little better.
He has spectactles sitting low on his nose, with little chains on either side so that if he were to take them off they'd hang down his chest.
He has a beard, a grey one, grey like his hair. His eyes are a striking green, even more so then Dreams.
Dream got his fathers eyes.
The chair looks comfy, and he looks comfy in it. He has jeans on, but they look like suit jeans, but they aren't suit jeans. I don't know what you would call them.
He has a sweater on too, thats loose around the neck, exposing an even looser white collared shirt hanging from his neck lazily.
Theres a fire, too, just inbetween where the wine red couch and green armchair are. Its lit, and its a blazing, fiery orange.
I can also see a small hallway past the kitchen, which I suppose is where whatever bedrooms are here are.
"Well, this is a very pleasant surprise" his dad smiles. "You've brought somebody new."
His smile is warm, like his sons.
I hadn't thought they looked alike until now.
Its all in the smile.
"Its lovely to meet you" I cough suddenly, walking over to where his dad is sat to hold out my hand.
He takes it, his smile growing again. He waves to the deep red couch, asking me to sit. I do just that.
I can hear Dream somewhere behind me in the kitchen, doing god knows what. I can't look around though, I don't want his dad to think I'm uncomfortable.
"And what might your name be, young man?" his dad asks, still not having gone back to his book, or pages, or whatever he was doing before we came in.
"I'm George" I answer, "I'm George Davidson, Mr-"
"Oh, please, do call me Richard" he insists. "Its a pleasure, George."
"We can't stay very long" Dream calls from just behind me, "I just wanted to check in, see how you were, let you know I'm home."
"Home you are" his dad nods, his attention shifting from me to his son. "And how were the beautiful sights of Rome?"
"I don't even know where to begin" Dream chuckles, the sound of cups clinking and water pouring following his actions.
"That sounds like Rome alright" his father confirms.
I watch as he turns back to me. "I lectured there, you know" he tells me.
"In Rome?" I ask.
"In Rome" he nods.
"What did you teach? If you don't mind me asking" I ask him, settling back into my chair.
"I don't mind at all, young George. I taught Latin, and English Literature" he answers. "Those were very well some of the best years of my life."
"Do you still teach?" I ask, though I think I know the answer.
"Goodness, not now, no. Outgrown it, I'd say" he nods.
Dream hands his dad a fresh mug of tea to replace the practically empty one, and then asks me if I'd like one. I accept, smiling at him gratefully.
"What's brought you here, then, George?" his dad asks me suddenly. "I know a Londoners accent when I hear one."
"Nothing, really" I answer honestly. "School, thats all."
"And why school here, of all places?" he ponders.
"Well, its a good school, I suppose" I answer again.
"That, it is" he agrees, nodding at me again, his spectactles drooping even further down his nose.
Dream gets back, handing me a mug of coffee instead of tea, which he must of dug out. I could kiss him.
"What did George have to do to get in your good books then?" his dad chuckles, watching as Dream settles in on the couch beside me.
"I'm still asking myself the same question" Dream grins back, "Sapnap took a liking to him."
"Oh of course he did" his dad smiles, "when does he not?"
"And he's Quackitys roomate" Dream tells him, "he started here in November."
"Well, he seems like a very nice young man" his dad smiles at me.
"Thank you, si- Richard" I correct, quickly.
Dream and his dad chat to each other, about all sorts of things. Its now that I can really begin to see where he gets his love for books, and for languages, and all of the greek things or whatever it is that is.
He discovers his dad is actually translating papers from his younger years, some sort of thing he used to teach, and Dream quickly grows eager to help him.
Dream stands from the couch, and pulls up a small stool like table from somewhere behind his dads chair.
He begins to read through the papers.
The fire crackles, and I shift awkwardly.
"Do you mind if I use the bathroom?" I ask quickly, before he can get too deep into the reading.
"Not at all" his dad says.
"Do you want me to show you where it is?" Dream asks, "its just down that hall, the very last door, you literally can't miss it."
"No, no its okay" I assure him, standing up and moving to the door. "I'll be back in a minute."
"Alright" Dream nods, his eyes watching me leave.
I leave, heading through where Dream told me to go, then shutting the door behind me.
The hallway is short, and only has three doors. One on the left as soon as you walk through the door, one on the right towards the back of the hall, and at the very end is the door to what I assume is the bathroom.
Its wrong to poke around, I know that, I really really do, and I almost slip right by and just head to the bathroom, but then I catch myself.
I know his room is the one closest to the bathroom, something in me just knows it is.
Only for a second, I'll only look for just a second and I won't even snoop, I just want to see what it looks like.
I take one last look over my shoulder, making sure he hasn't made any attempts to follow me, before I open the bedroom door.
All I can think when I open the door is how Dream-ish this bedroom is. It just radiates his personality in general, like it seriously has his name written all over it.
The rooms are again, a deep wine red. Theres a single bed, a desk, bookshelves upon bookshelves, but thats when my eyes land on something that really catches my attention.
Dream never speaks about his mother. He's spoken about his dad before, though its been scarce information, I still knew a little about him.
But his mum? Nothing.
Not a sliver of talk about her.
I do wonder. Has she passed? Did she leave? Maybe its a touchy subject, and for that reason, I never brought it up. I've never wanted to upset him.
On his desk, beside the bookshelf and sitting next to a half ran through chess game, is a little pale picture frame.
I stare at it, still stood in the doorway, before I move throughout the room to get a better look at it.
Its in the woods somewhere, by the looks of it, beside some sort of log cabin. Theres three people in the photo.
Dream looks young, though not too young. Maybe eleven or twelve? Maybe a little older even. His dad is on his left, and isn't even looking at the camera.
Dream is inbetween the two people, grinning over at the camera, his hair short, his face fresh, his shorts and muddy knees telling me this must've been taken sometime around the Summer.
The woman, on Dreams right, is the person who I'm guessing is his mother.
She's smiling, a big wide smile, one of her arms wrapped securely around Dreams shoulders, just reaching out enough to touch off her husbands arm.
She's in jeans, which are also rough and muddied at the knees, like Dreams.
Her hair, which is now making it clearer as to where Dream got his hair from, is a bright volumed blonde.
Its short, practically shoulder length, but its the most noticeable thing about her, her hair. Its beautiful. She's very beautiful.
I think her eyes are brown, but I can't see that well. Shes bending down slightly, so she can push her face closer to Dreams, clearly looking to try to annoy him, but he really doesn't seem to care.
For a second my fingers reach out, ready to carefully pick up the frame, just to study it closer, when-
"Her name was Alice" Dream says from the doorway.
I nearly jump, but I catch myself at the last second, just turning around to face him, my hand moving away from the photo.
"Sorry" I breathe, "I didn't mean to intrud-"
"Don't be silly" Dream smiles, striding over to the desk where I'm stood.
He drags out the chair under his desk, a little wooden one, and sits himself down comfortably, before outstretching a hand (very simply,) and gently tugging me down to sit on his knee.
Then he leans around me, and picks up the photo frame, holding it in my lap. I can feel his face against my arm, so he can look down at the photo.
"What happened to her?" I ask him, unable to contain my curiousity any longer.
I know now that he doesn't mind. Otherwise he wouldn't of done, well, this.
"She got sick" he shrugs simply. "Bad pneaumonia, the doctors said. We found out late. One day she was here, the next she wasn't. It was just a few months after that photo was taken, actually. The Winter of 1980. I was twelve."
I turn my head a little, so that I can see him. He's not crying, or anything like that, in fact, he looks relatively okay for someone talking about his dead mother, but his eyes have gone a little dull.
"I'm so sorry, Dream" I say quietly, now feeling bad for having instigated this.
"Don't be" he responds, holding the photo up in one hand. "She'd of liked you" he smiles.
"You think?" I ask, looking back at her photo again.
"I know" he answers. "You two would've gotten along well. Both mischievous, and bold."
I laugh a little, and he does, too. His other hand rubs the lower of my back, like he's trying to comfort me. Or maybe its just an instinctive thing. I don't know.
"She was beautiful" I whisper, my eyes landing on her again.
"Wasn't she?" he agrees. I nod at him.
"Do you miss her a lot?" I ask him.
I've done the math. It was only five years ago. Thats not very long at all.
He nods at me. "Every day."
I watch him as he watches the photograph, a strong, strong feeling suddenly overwhelming me. It runs down my back, seeping through my spine, feeling like ice and warmth all at the same time.
I have the sudden urge to hold him, kiss him, console him. I want to wrap my arms around him, to cling to him, to keep him closer than whats even possible.
Everything about him seems so pure, so whole hearted, so kind, even though he would never admit up to any of it.
I don't know how I'd survive if I lost my mother. I don't know how he did it.
My gut twists, my stomach suddenly feeling smaller the longer I look at him. I feel frozen, still, unable to move.
"Dream!" his dad shouts, which quickly mixes to a loud knocking on the front door.
"I bet thats Sap and Q" Dream tells me, pressing a quick kiss to my temple before he lifts me from his knee. "You can look around in here if you like, I don't mind."
He rushes to grab the front door, leaving me still stood dumbfounded in his bedroom.
It is Sap and Q. I know from the loud 'Richard! How are you, my old man' that erupts from Sapnap, and the same kind of friendly greeting that comes from Dreams dad.
I give myself another minute, trying to regain composure after whatever the fuck just happened to me.
Once my stomach settles, and I feel like I can move again without nearly collapsing, I quickly go to the bathroom, because despite everything, I actually do need to piss.
Then I head back out to the living room.
***
11 years into the future
The front door slams, making me realize once again that I haven't moved in about an hour.
Or maybe its been more.
I think its been more, much more.
My paperwork sits unfinished in front of me, the fires gone dim, and the room has grown cold.
Theres rustling from all throughout the house as Quinn flits around, settling back in now that shes home. I think she went shopping, I can hear shopping bags.
"George?" she calls out loudly, waiting for my response.
But I can't respond. I'm afraid if I speak, then everything will fall apart. That I'll go and book a flight, or cry, or start shouting.
"George!" her voice rings out again, more cheerily this time, as she comes closer to my office. "Alaina read whatever book you kept bugging her to read, and she said she's never taking book recommendations from you ever a-"
She pushes open the door to my office, the creak coming louder then I think I've ever heard it.
"-again" she finishes slowly, her eyes scanning over me, and then the room.
"Whats the matter?" she asks, setting down the bags shes holding.
I go to open my mouth, but no words come out. I just sit with my mouth open like I'm a fucking idiot. I feel like an idiot.
"George?" she repeats, "did your dad stop by? Is that whats w-"
"Yeah" I rush, finally coming to some of my senses. "He just- you know how I get around him."
She looks at me pityingly, like she has over all the years we've lived together now. I've grown used to that look, the same old sad, sad look.
"I'm sorry" she sighs, "what did he want?"
"The, papers" I ramble, talking to fast for it to seem like the truth. "He wants my paperwork by tomorrow, instead of by Sunday."
I lift the paperwork up off my desk, waggling it about in the air with a roll of my eyes. She stares at me.
"I might stop by at the office to get it done now, actually" I tell her, just spewing out whatever first comes to mind.
"Now?" she repeats skeptically, "George, its nearly one in the morning, why don't you just do it tomo-"
"No" I interrupt, gathering the papers, and my mug up in my hands before I walk right by her and to the kitchen, "no, I'll just finish them off tonight and then we can go do something nice this weeke-"
I wash out my mug, the paperwork still under my arms, and place it beside the sink. Quinn stands dumbfounded in the kitchen.
"I know you're upset, George, I can tell" she interrupts. "What happened? Did your dad really call?"
I don't answer her, I walk right past her again, this time towards the empty hallway to root for my jacket in our cupboard under the stairs.
"George" she repeats, still following after me. "Your dad didn't call, did he? Whats upsetting you?"
"Leave it alone" I spit harshly, my words coming out rougher then I'd expected.
My fingers clasp around my jacket. I pull it from the cupboard, and shrug it on around my shoulders.
"Don't you speak to me like that" she spits back, "What am I supposed to do? Let you walk out in this state? You can barely speak, and you won't even tell me whats happened!"
She follows me right up to the front door, though right as I pull it halfway open, her hand reaches out and tries to pull on my arm.
"Where are you going, George?" she asks quietly. "Just tell me and I'll let you go, I'm going to worry about you otherwise, just tell me where you're going, or when you'll be back, so I know when to start worr-"
"I don't know" I answer, breathless. "I don't know where I'm going, love, and I don't know when I'll be back. I don't know anything. I know nothing."
The warm Italian nights breeze is running throughout the house now, due to the door being left half opened for so long.
The breeze smells like fruit, and grass, and everything I've grown to love about our villa.
Quinns hand slowly loosens around my arm, but her gaze never leaves mine once I let my eyes connect with hers.
"One of them wrote" she whispers, her hand dropping, "or called, they found you."
It isn't a question, or something she's asking. Its a statement. She knows.
I shut the door, and begin to walk.
Until walking isn't enough, and everything I've repressed for years begins to grow and threatens to spill, and before I know it, I'm running.
I'm running and I'm running and my feet cant stop. I've dropped my papers somewhere behind me, and my hair is whipping around in a sudden gust of wind but not one part of my body is sore, or aching, and I'm not out of breath.
I feel everything.
I rip off my jacket at some stage, and then off comes whatever sweater I have on, until I'm left in nothing but my white work shirt and suit trousers.
I continue to run, and run, and run, the secluded streets of where we hid our villa being empty at this time of night.
I do not know where I'm running to. Or why I'm running. I just know I can't continue on like this, I can't, I can't, I can't.
Though I'll think this now whilst I'm running to nowhere and everywhere I know that later on I'll deny having thought it at all.
I will go back to how I've lived for the past eleven years. I will continue to lie to myself.
Just like I will continue to run now.
To nowhere and everywhere.
I run for as long as my legs allow me to, until I eventually roll to a stop in some deserted alley, my back pressed up against some houses wall, my throat feeling like ice due to the sudden rushed breaths I'm taking.
My mind doesn't seem to want to stop running though.
Where to now? What next?
Do I show up at his house and demand an explanation as to why after all these years, after all this time, did he not once send me a letter? Demand to know why he never called?
After all those promises, after all those times he swore and he swore and he swore...
Or do I call back Q, and tell him that he can come see me just fine, but he better keep that liar far far away?
I don't know what to do.
I don't know anything, I know nothing.
Or at least thats how it feels right now, though I can't figure out if I want to know.
Or if I'd rather just stay in the dark forever, forever not knowing, forever living lying to myself.
Forever living exactly how all of this started all those years ago.
Lying to myself.