Scratches // DNF

Chapter 19

Over the next few months I found that I had to spend much more time outside of the apartment than previous. The whispers, the kisses, the catching up on lost time; it was suffocating. I was happy for them, of course I was. I just didn't need to always be watching.

Each time before returning to the flat, I'd press my ear to the door to avoid walking in on something which I would never be able to unsee. The dark marks covering pale skin, swollen lips, lovestruck eyes. I felt like a parent; I knew what happened being closed doors, yet I chose to live in oblivion.

Despite that which I chose to ignore, it was lovely seeing them so happy. They had never been two to stand being apart, yet this had somehow worsened since their shaky confessions. Neither were solitary or untouching for long, desperate to make up for the idiotic time they spent pining in secret.

Despite it never having been agreed or discussed, Dream's bedroom became their both. Through a hastened evolutionary process, George spent less and less nights sleeping alone and soon enough crawled into Dream's bed on instinct each night.

Their new lives with one another soon found an equilibrium after the first few weeks of finding their footing. Most of George's days consisted of him stooped in front of his laptop, studying and complaining about how much more difficult the third year at college was to the second.

When Dream would come home from work or busking or whatever, he'd wrap his arms around George's shoulders and whisper, mostly sarcastic, sympathy. Depending on George's level of stress, he'd kiss Dream's forearm or simply wave him away.

Contrarily, I think Dream never quite found a love for busking. He'd never complain incessantly, but would have brief bursts of moaning of how it was hard to be taken seriously as no one truly paid attention.

Luckily, after two months at most, he'd bursted through the apartment door randomly, his cheeks red and his breaths heavy and hoarse from frantic running.

"George!" He yelled, running into the living room where George sat, an eyebrow raised. Dream beamed, plucking the laptop from George's lap to circle his arms around George's waist to swing him around. George laughed, shocked, and clung onto Dream's shoulders for dear life.

"What's going on?" George said when he was placed back onto his own two feet.

"George!" Dream repeated in a sing-song voice. He dug into his pocket and fished out a crumpled card, pushing it into George's palms.

George ironed out the creases and scanned the brief details engraved into the business card.

"What is this?"

"It's a card!" Dream slung his guitar onto the ground and grabbed George's hands. "A label's card. A music label!" He leaned into each foot, switching constantly, unable to keep still. "Some lady came up to me and recognised me from the Lovejoy gig. I mean... how fucking lucky is that?"

"Wait," George began, a disbelieving smile cracking through his lips. "What does this mean?"

"I might get signed, George. Signed!"

George's animated face became a beacon as he pushed Dream's chest, exclaiming his thrill.

I'd never been more proud. Never has one deserved something so.

***

And so George studied. Dream's music was given a chance. They worked in spare time. They exhausted themselves daily and wrapped up each day in one another's arms. They were happy. I could finally say that with confidence. They were happy.

But of course, as my selfish soul would have it, their happiness only brought out the bitterness in me. Months past of them overjoyed in each other's company until the anniversary of my death was nearing like a dreaded tsunami. Almost a year had passed of watching them act like fools, watching their story unfold.