October 1953
The morning is cold, the summer heat long gone, leaving behind clouds and freezing nights. Wind is rustling in the trees, causing the first yellow leaves to fall to the floor where they lay in puddles on the wet grass, still soaked from the never-ending rain of yesterday. Soft pinks and reds swirl in the sky, contrasting to the dark clouds that had been hanging over London for the past two weeks and bringing hope for better weather.
It feels kind of hypocritical. The way today is supposed to be the happiest day of his life. Yet, standing in front of the window and looking at his dark eyebags in the reflection, he feels nothing but dread. It settles deep into his bones, makes a home in his mind.
Dream is laying on the bed behind him, eyes still closed peacefully, and mouth parted to let out little puffs of breath. His eyelashes are framing his soft cheeks littered with freckles that continue to flow over the rest of the skin on his body.
He is beautiful, he thinks. Broad shoulders and big hands, green eyes that almost look yellow to George, dark blond hair that curls at the end and feels soft to the touch. He never wants to stop being able to touch him.
He never wants Dream to stop being able to touch him. He likes when he wraps his big hands around his. He likes being the big spoon and wrapping around Dreams back even though he is the smaller one. He likes everything where he can be close to him.
The blanket moves with every breath he takes, his fingers twitch from time to time as if he wants to grab something in his dream.
George has to avert his eyes. He feels the sting of oncoming tears wanting to be released from his eyes so that they can roll down his cheeks, his neck and leave wet streaks all over his face. He can't allow himself to cry. Not here. Not today.
He turns back around to the window, taking in a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, trying desperately to not let the tears fall.
When he deems it safe to look away, he does. He pulls the curtain closed so that it blocks out the little sunlight that has started to fill the room. Grabbing his boxers from the day before and a t-shirt out of Dreams closet, he makes his way to the kitchen. He pulls on the clothes and softly shuts the door to the bedroom, careful not to wake up Dream.
He wants to avoid speaking to Dream for as long as he can. Nothing will be the same after today and George isn't ready to face the man he knows he shouldn't have these feelings for. The man who made him fall for a guy. The man he wants to but can't love. Isn't allowed to love.
He hopes Dream will understand. Understand that this is the last time they'll be seeing each other. At least for a bit. Until George doesn't feel tears brimming at his eyes every time he thinks about him. Until it is believable, he loves her.
He isn't sure if that day would ever come if he were honest. It hurts. It makes him feel like his heart is being ripped to shreds, like a part of him is violently being taken from him.
He fills the kettle with water, takes out two mugs from the cupboard and fills them each with a teabag. His hands are shaky as he pours the water into the mugs, almost spilling the hot fluid on his skin. Maybe that would be a good distraction. He entertains the thought for a few seconds but doesn't do anything. He doesn't want to hurt himself; he is hurting enough and as good a distraction as it would be, it wouldn't help his weeping heart.
He mixes up the batter for pancakes, enjoying the mundane task taking his mind off for a bit.
That is, until Dream enters the kitchen, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. As fast as George had turned around to identify the noise, as fast does he turn back when he sees the cause.
He can't look at him. Dream is standing in the doorway, a big sweater hanging from his shoulders, loose shorts sitting low on his waist and letting a sliver of Dreams soft skin show when he stretches his arms over his head.
George closes his eyes; he feels Dream come up behind him. He slings his arms around his waist, chin digging into his shoulder for a second. He feels Dream's lips ghost over the back of his neck, making goosebumps appear on his skin. He kisses him, once, twice, and then his lips are gone, whispering, "Good morning."
The low rumble of Dreams morning voice makes him relax. It feels comforting. It reminds him of the many mornings spent together, laying in bed and watching the sunrise through Dreams window. He tries not to think about the fact that he doesn't know when he will hear it again after today. Maybe never.
He opens his eyes slowly and leans back into him.
"Mornin'." He mumbles.
"You're up early." It sounds more like a question than a statement.
George answers, "I wanted to make breakfast in bed for you."
Dream doesn't say anything for a bit. He squeezes his arms around George one more time before he lets his arms fall away and steppes back.
"I thought you were already gone." It comes out as a whisper, insecurity and sadness mixed together.
If George thought his heart couldn't break anymore, he was clearly mistaken. Hearing Dream sound so small and broken makes him upset. But the only one he can be upset about is himself. Because, truly, he was the cause, and he knew.
So, he doesn't say anything back, just continues finishing the last pancakes. When they are done, he moves everything to the table that Dream is already sitting at.
George looks up at Dream when he sets down their plates. Big mistake. Dream is sitting slouched in his chair, head hanging forward and hands wringing in his lap. He sits down on the chair next to him, sitting as close as possible.
They eat their first pancakes in silence, neither of them speaking.
It seems Dream has had enough of it though," We could go to Italy."
George has to strain his ears to understand him. It was an idea, a quiet confession to not do this.
He looks at him and Dream is already looking back. His eyes are full of hope and want. He grabs Georges hands, pulls them to his chest.
"Or we could go to Sweden, or Belgium or the Netherlands, these are close by we wouldn't be that far away if you wanted to meet you family or..." George looks down and Dream stops his rambling.
George knows they have these options. He knows they can go somewhere else and live freely, or at least live without having to fear of being arrested. It feels cowardly though, running away like that. Not to mention that it's already too late. The wedding has been planned and paid for; his whole family has been invited. He couldn't not do it. It would bring up questions. Questions he was not ready to answer.
"Dream," he sighs and slips his hands from Dreams, "You know we can't... I can't." He whispers the last part.
"No, I'm not going without you." He scoots his chair even closer, their knees knocking together. George is going to miss this. Random touches throughout the day that still make him feel breathless like on the first.
"Dream, you could go there and start a new life. You could find someone new and live happily with them. You could be free." Every word feels like a punch in the gut. Imagining Dream with some other guy makes jealousy rise in him. But even if it hurts, he wants Dream to be happy. Even if that's without him.
"I'm not leaving you, George." He says, cradling his cheek in his hand and slowly turning his face towards him, "Please look at me."
George does. He looks at him and it destroys him. Dream, his Dream, sitting in front of him and looking as beautiful as ever. And George is going to lose that. His eyes flutter closed. It's too much. It's entirely too much.
Dreams thumb brushes over his cheek, creeping closer and closer to his parted lips. He swipes it over his lips and when he stays there for a second, George presses a tiny kiss against Dreams thumb. Dream lets his head roll forward so that their foreheads are pressing together.
"I love you." Dream whispers.
"I'm sorry." He whispers back. He can't bring himself to say it. In less than an hour he'll have left Dreams apartment, in a few more hours he'll have married his wife and after that, there'll be no more Dream and George. What they have will be in the past.
Dream kisses him them, soft and slow, like he knows it's going to be their last, although George hasn't told him he's going to move away and they're probably not going to see each other again for a long time. George kisses back just as deliberately, trying to pour all his love he has for the man into one kiss. Trying to show him what he couldn't say.
After, they eat the rest of their breakfast while talking nonsense as if it was another ordinary morning. They clean the dishes and when they've put everything away, George goes back to Dreams bedroom, pulling on his clothes that lay scattered on the floor. Dream follows him, standing next to his dresser and watching George dress himself.
At the entrance, he slips on his shoes and jacket. He goes to open the door, but his hand lingers over the doorknob. He doesn't want to leave. Once he does, this is over. So, he turns back around, wrapping his arms around Dreams middle and hugging him for a last time. The hug is too short for his liking, and he wishes he could stay wrapped in Dreams arms forever.
They pull back, Dreams hands on his cheeks and Georges arms on his waist. He looks defeated but still has that underlying spark of hope in his eyes that makes George feel nothing but guilty.
He takes a deep breath and turns back to the door, this time pushing down on the handle and opening it. He walks outside without looking back, closing the door behind him.
This is it.
The start of his new life if he wants it or not.
The drive back to his place is a blur, thoughts of white dresses, flowers, and family he hasn't seen in years filling his mind.
He showers, gets in his suit, and then drives to the location where his mother already waits for him. She looks happy, he notes. He doesn't remember the last time she looked so happy while being in his vicinity. Probably when he told her he was marrying the woman he had been seeing for the past months.
He is nervous at the start, but as more and more people trickle in, he slowly grows numb to it. It's the same every time; smile, shake hands and make small talk until the next guests arrive.
It doesn't take long, and he is standing at the altar, waiting for her to arrive.
The doors open and at first, he can't even see her because of the light streaming in behind her figure. After a few steps into the room though, the doors close. She's wearing a tea length dress with lace detailing. A neat satin sash and bow sit at the waist.
It's pretty. Although he'd prefer a taller person with broad shoulders and dark blonde hair to wear it. He dismisses the thought as soon as it comes. He can't think of him when he is supposed to be starstruck by her right now.
Her dad leaves to his seat when she is standing next to him, looking at him with a bright smile.
He hates her smile. It repulses him. It's too big, seeming like it would split her face in two and not in a good way. He hates how her big, brown eyes stare at him, full of wonder and expectations. Expectations he can't fulfill.
He is never going to love her. Not like he loves him. His perfect boy, too good and naive for this world.
He adored it at the start. How Dream had been so friendly to everyone he met even if they looked at him with disgust or hatred. How he always tries to see the good in everyone, help everyone, make as many people happy as he possibly can.
He might have still adored it if it wasn't for the fact that it made him tired. He isn't a pessimistic person but Dreams constant naïve positivity started to wear him out quite some time ago. They couldn't do anything to help themself when the whole system was against them. It's simply too much.
So, when he recites his vow to his future wife, he tries to mirror her smile; bright and happy, crinkles forming under their eyes.
After the ceremony is done, everyone comes up to congratulate them, hugging her tight and shaking his hand. They eat and drink and at the end of the night, when she is asleep in their bed, he finally lets it all crash down on him.
He's in their bathroom, the flimsy ceiling light flickering and buzzing, glowing in a disgustingly yellowish tone. For once he is glad that the living room separates the bedroom from the bathroom, too afraid she could wake up and hear him gasping for breath in between shuddering sobs.
It's the first time he's let himself cry and he hates it. Hot tears sliding down his face, soaking into his shirt and making him freeze when they cool down on his skin. The cold tile floor is making his ass hurt from sitting too long in the same position. His body is screaming at him to get up and lay down onto the soft mattress of their bed, but he can't get himself to move.
His heart is racing and getting in enough air gets harder with every breath he manages to take.
He doesn't know how long he sits there. He falls asleep in the bathroom that night and when he wakes up the next morning, sore and tired, he quickly washes his face and goes to their bed, so it looks like he slept in there instead.
His thoughts have quieted down now. He can make it through this if he just blocks out everything that happened before he married his wife.
———————
April 2012
The days are getting warmer. Green leaves start to adorn the trees again and flowers break through the ground to bloom in all their brightest colors.
George is sitting on his couch, a warm cup of tea cradled in his hands. He's waiting for his family to arrive to their bi-weekly dinner together. It's nice to have them visit him so regularly. That way he can see his grandkids growing up without weird spurts of growth or sudden huge changes in interest. It makes it easier to keep up with them and their lives.
It's also how he felt close and comfortable enough to ask his granddaughter if she could search for someone on her phone. After all, you could find everyone on there, right? It's what she said at least.
She called him a few days ago and said she's found something. Today is the day she's going to tell him about her finds.
The doorbell rings and he lets them inside. They quickly settle into the kitchen and he's just about to follow when his granddaughter clears her throat. He looks at her and she points to the living room.
Walking over to the couch he was just sitting on mere minutes ago, she waits until he has settled down beside her before she speaks, "So, you asked me to search up this Dream guy, Clay was his name, right? I think I actually found something."
His eyes widen and before he can say anything she pulls out her phone, tapping the screen here and there until she holds it out for him. He shakily takes the device out of her hands and then looks at the screen.
It feels like the breath he lets out is punched out of him. There, black on white, stand the words 'Clay (Dream) Wastaken' and 'Account managed by the best grandson'. The little icon at the top shows a Dream in his late 50s, smiling into the camera while holding a baby in his arms.
George almost can't believe his eyes. He scrolls down further to see the pictures posted. The latest is Dream sitting at a table, looking up from what seems to be a game of monopoly. The picture was clearly taken without preparation as Dreams head is slightly blurry and his eyes unknowing. The caption says, 'Has 60 years on me and still loses every game'.
George smiles at that. Dream was never good at any board games, preferring outdoor activities that use the body instead of the mind.
The next few pictures are similar, taken in the moment and underlined with a silly sentence in the caption.
Dream giving a cat a treat while it sits on his lap, Dream reading a book, Dream pointing at something in the distance that George can't make out on the small screen and so on.
The last picture though, is what George falters at. Dream is sitting on a couch, a woman with brown hair that's already half grey beside him. He has his arm around her shoulder while her head is laying in the crook of his neck. Both are smiling softly at the camera. The caption reads 'Best Grandparents'.
That must be his wife then and George doesn't know how to feel at the revelation that there was someone new in Dreams life after him. Technically he knows that was going to happen. George left him so suddenly and never came back. The letters Dream wrote him at the beginning left unanswered in a box. The box that still lays at the back of his closet. Sometimes, he likes to sit down and read them, think about how he would answer them now.
Dream deserved to find someone else, to keep living his life. Still, the knowledge that he moved on stings.
"Do you want me to get in contact with them?" His granddaughter interrupts his thoughts.
He doesn't need to think too long about it, "No, but thank you for showing me this."
Her eyes search his face, and he is sure she knows something is not quite right but she puts her phone away and doesn't comment on it.
Instead, she stands up and reaches her hand out, "Alright, let's go eat dinner then." She smiles at him when he takes her hand and lets her pull him to the kitchen.
That night, when he lays in bed, the moon shining through the half-closed blinds, he thinks back to the picture of Dream and his wife and George hopes he is happy.