ghosts of you and i // part i: dream within a dream
Summary (excerpt of Part I included below):
On a night turned to silver, George drowses in the arms of his lover.
Perhaps it is the low light, or the warm, dry air in the room, or the lethargy that tugs softly at his eyelids, but he senses that something has shifted, dimly, strangely. But Clay smiles as he always does, and he does not speak words that would break up the quiet, and he turns and goes, and just as the gentle tide of sleep rises, George thinks, He’d have told me.
When the grey morning dawns, he wakes alone and trembling, a name in his throat and heavy on the tip of his tongue. It is one he should know as intimately as his own, yet he cannot call it out.
He loves them dearly, the one to whom this name belongs, but his memories of them have evaporated like mist over water in the full, golden glory of the day.
Only in dreams, then, does he remember, but in waking, dreams are easily forgotten.
Status: 1/3 parts up; next part posted April 16
Pairings and characters: Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Genre and rating: romance, tragedy, angst (with a bittersweet ending)
CW: implied/referenced suicide
“Goodnight, George.” His words are a whisper, barely audible above the faint background hum of the heating. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Clay,” George returns sleepily, and Clay smiles.
Perhaps it is the low, silvery light filling the room; perhaps the lethargy tugging softly at his eyelids; perhaps the warm, dry air filling the space between them, but he senses that something is different. He does not know what. The expression of fondness on Clay’s face is true as always, the slight tilt of his head and the curve of his lips and the stray curl that falls over one eye all as familiar as the act of drawing breath itself.
Perhaps it is his brows, drawn ever so slightly together; perhaps his lips, parted just barely, as if there is something he needs to say; perhaps his smile, seeming to waver in the slanting light.
But in the next instant, his brow is smooth, untroubled. He does not speak words that would break up the quiet. He turns, and in the light issuing from the doorway, those curls the color of dark honey glint dully.
And then the door is closing, and his footsteps are growing ever more distant, and George’s eyelids are, at last, too heavy to keep open.
He’d have told me, is the last thought that filters in through the soft, slow descent of sleep.
A note: this was, in large part, inspired by this ongoing Korean webtoon, which was also adapted into a drama! The drama tells the complete story. Be careful if looking it up, because if you know either the webtoon or the drama, it will at at least somewhat spoil the plot of this fic.
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