Flowers from 2020

Prologue

George never gave up. After the present Dream had died and his connection to the past Dream had been severed, he tried to move on. He really did. He knew what Dream did was out of love, for both of them. He was right, his heart couldn't be in 2020 when it was supposed to be in 1970.

"It was for the best." At least thats what George kept telling himself. As the days went by and turned into weeks, George found himself more and more miserable. By day he would stare at the photo of Dream on his nightstand, and by night he would cry himself to sleep.

He found himself waiting out of habit every night for Dream to call. A call he knew was never coming. He would stare at the old phone, sitting in the same place it had been when Dream had lived there. He would find himself holding the severed cord, as if touching it could somehow rekindle the rift through time somehow.

It never worked.

George would stare at the handprints on the wall, the ones he and Dream had made 50 years apart. On nights he found himself hopelessly miserable, he would sit by that place on the wall and put his hand over the print Dream had left. He'd even lean against it, yearning for some part of Dream to still be somehow ingrained within.

He would wake up in the morning slouched against the wall with a sore back, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He longed to hold his hand. He longed to be with Dream so badly it hurt.

When weeks turned to months, and reassurance from Wilbur's family no longer soothed him, George got to work. He was already pretty tech savvy, so all he had to do was get on his computer and search.

Search for an answer, not to why or even how he and Dream had been able to communicate through time, but for a way to recreate it. A way to be with Dream again.