A life without you | DNF

life without you

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.