What I Meant By Forever

Mafia

1964, 33989 days later
"Please," begged the CEO, "I'm desperate. I'll do anything."
The tall, intimidating Mafia boss considered this for a moment.
"How much for him?" the taller of the two enquired, nodding at a small five year old in the corner of the room.
"Wha- my son? I'm not going to sell you my son!" the businessman argued.
"I have a boy about his age," the boss explained, "and he needs someone to play with. He's been awfully lonely since his mother died. I think maybe, if he had someone to talk to, he would be happier."
Mr Davidson considered this.
"He will be well looked after. He can't make my son happy if he's dead," he added.
The father sighed, and handed over his son.
"Treat him well," he pleaded.
"I will."

Almost fifteen years later, and the two boys still got along like a house on fire, despite the strange circumstances.
"Come on Dream, we have to be home for 9," George complained, dragging the taller boy by his arm.
"Okay, but I don't want to be home for 9, I want to have fun," Dream groaned, refusing to move.
"We can have fun when we get back, maybe your dad'll finally let us watch an interrogation!" George argued, acting hopeful to try and persuade Dream to listen to him.
Dream sighed but gave in.

They got back to their house on the coast and sat down in the kitchen as Dream's dad was getting ready to leave.
"I've got to go get some milk," he told the boys, his code for letting them know he was getting information from someone and would be back late.
"I can come with you to the shop if you'd like?" Dream replied hopefully.
"No, it's only milk. I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't stay up too late," he snapped before leaving.
Dream sulked as he drove away.
"Don't get too upset, we can do whatever we want now that your dad's left," George grinned, sliding over to Dream and putting his chin on his shoulder. The blond seemed not to notice, instead glaring at the wall in front of him.
"He thinks he's so much better than me," he grumbled, biting his lip in frustration. George didn't know what to say to that, so he got up and got himself a drink. Dream stood up and walked over to where he was, leaning on him while he took a sip of his lemonade.
"We should go to the warehouse," Dream decided. George spun around on his heel, his brow furrowed.
"Hold on, what?" He protested, following the blond, who had moved to put his shoes on.
"I said we should go to the warehouse, prove to him that I'm not a kid anymore," he repeated, tying his lace.
"We are not going to the warehouse, that's so unsafe!" George scolded.
"Then I'm going and you can stay home like some bimbo housewife instead of being a man!" Dream yelled. It scared George how much he sounded like his father, but he shook his head defiantly.
"I'm not letting you go alone," he said, and began putting his shoes on as if to prove a point.
"Good, then we're agreed," Dream snapped.
"Not at all."