between life and death

high highs, low lows

"Peace, love, and music, baby!" The man beside him cheers.

"What's your name again?" George shouts over the deafening wind, even though he already knows. He's sitting in the back of a pickup truck, hitchhiking through upstate New York with the boy that he's loved for all his life.

"Dream! Call me Dream!" Dream smiles dopily and George wonders if he's high.

"I'm George." He replies. His heart swells with fondness. Because this is his Dream. But still, it's underscored with the bitter flavor of all the loss and shame from the past seven centuries.

"That's awesome. You're Australian, right?"

"British." George wrinkles his nose.

"Whatever." Dream waves his hand dismissively. "Do you smoke?"

"Not really."

"Fair enough." Dream grins and leans back. He's easygoing and mild-mannered, just like all the others were. "I'm not big on weed either. I'll smoke, but I like better shit than that."

"Like what?"

"Psychedelics." Dream laughs, as brightly as he always has. "Way of the future, I tell you."

"You're nuts." George scoffs.

"Maybe." Dream snorts. "Part of my charm, yeah?"

"You wish." George glances toward the cabin of the vehicle. "Your buddy is sober, right?"

"What act are you most excited for?" Dream ignores him. George tries not to think about getting in a car accident.

"Grateful Dead." George answers.

"Fuck yeah. I'm more of a The Who guy myself but I respect that."

"Yeah— shit." George is launched several inches when the back wheel hits a particularly deep pothole.

"Relax, you're fine." Dream wraps a tanned arm around George's shoulders and pulls him against his side. "I got you, just ride the wave."

"Do you surf or are you just a dumbass?"

"I skate, it's all the same. Some bitch stole my board at the last festival I went to though."

"Fuck them."

"Hell yeah." Dream glances toward George. "You know what, I like you."

"Uh, thanks?"

"I mean it, I wasn't sure about you when we picked you up down in Newark, but you're cool, George."

"You want to get married or something?" George replies, somewhat incredulously.

"I mean, sure, why not."

"I was joking." George deadpans.

"If you change your mind, I'm not going anywhere." Dream pulls him closer and presses a kiss to his scalp.

It's endearing, even if Dream is too high and too loud.

—

"I'm immortal, Dream." George tells him in the middle of Sweetwater's set. The music drowns him out, but it feels good just to say it. It's the first time he's ever told anyone, it's the first time he's told Dream. Though he gets the feeling that maybe he's always known. That maybe Dream has known since the day George first left out his scraps for that cat which had Dream's eyes.

Dream pulls him in for a kiss, just because he can. It means more to George than it should, because he's spent too many lifetimes with his boy. He carries so many memories, moments which both delight and torment him. The colors between life and death that he'll cherish until the devil finally lets him in her doors. These are memories that this Dream knows nothing of, a slate wiped clean every time he appears in George's life.

"I love you." George whispers against his lips while he still can. Part of him already knows that this Dream is not his to keep. Maybe Dream was never meant for him from the start.

"Yeah?" Dream breathes, pupils blown wide with intoxication and lust.

George links their pinkies together and presses his thumb to Dream's. For a moment Dream is still but then he's pressing back and smiling sweetly. He doesn't remember George, but his soul still knows this familiar comfort.

—

They smell like shit and wasted youth by the end of the festival. Dream is covered in mud but wears daisies in his hair. It's the most free George has ever seen him.

"It was nice meeting you, George." Dream pulls him in for a tight hug and George has to force himself not to hold on too long. "If you're ever in the San Francisco area, stop by Golden Gate Grains. It's a speakeasy I take some shifts at."

"Alright. You better not forget me." George says as a final reach. Just to see if Dream will stay, if George can keep him.

"Never." Dream promises with a wink and hops into the back of the truck. "See you later!"

George watches as the car peels off down the dirt road, nausea turning in his stomach. He wonders if Dream will make it home. A strange feeling of loss nests itself between his ribs, one which he hasn't felt since the first time Dream died. It feels like the last.