"Dream," the brunette boy danced at the periphery of his vision, giggling. "Dream, kiss me!" George reached out, making grabby hands at the blonde boy. He looked so happy at that moment, it hurt Dream. If only, he thought. But he smiled weakly, stepping closer to the British boy, leaning down to kiss him. His hazelnut and cerulean eyes were a flame, and Dream was a moth drawn to him. No matter how desperately he tried to pull away, he'd always come back for more. Always George. But as warm lips met his lips, he felt a cold streak run down his cheek. The familiar smell of strawberries and cigarette stubs hit his senses, sending a pang of longing down his spine.

He leaned into the kiss hungrily, devouring the British boy's lips, as he felt warm hands circling his waist, pulling him closer. Before moving down and moving under. His skin grew flush under George's expert touch, and Dream lost himself for a moment. It was like dancing with fools. Fear nibbled at the back of his mind, but all he wanted to do now was drown. Drown under his warmth, under his touch. He wanted to satisfy his sinuses, craving more of his fluttery touches, pleasure flooding through his senses. I want, he thought. I want George. I want more. So he caved in, letting his hands run along the familiar ridges of George's back, pulling him close enough that their bodies pressed against each other. He slipped his tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as fairy-like touches ran all over him, a hand idly brushing through his messy hair. Hands that moved dangerously near his neck, tipping his head down.

For a split second, Dream opened his eyes. He wanted to encapture this scene, to embed it into his memory again. Green eyes met with crystalline brown and blue ones. They were filled with love, with joy and nothing but adoration. He looks so blissful. They were so blissful.

But joy barely lasts.

Anyone who skipped to the end would know.

Soon enough, he was pulled out of his reverie by the voice of another, along with loud shouts. "Dream! Wake up!"

He could feel himself being roughly shaken awake. Whatever he'd been hugging wrenched away from him. George... In his hazy state, he could barely see before him. The only thing sure was that George wasn't here. George wasn't with him. "George?" he asked wearily, suddenly aware of the moisture welling up at his eyes.

"He's not here, Clay." Nick's unnaturally quiet voice boomed across the room. Dream could barely gather the energy to raise his head and look towards him. Sapnap's face was pale and drawn, nothing like the usual flushed expression he wore. Dream couldn't imagine he looked much better, given how wasted he felt. His skin felt like sandpaper, and he couldn't feel anything. His heart screamed in pain, for the other half he would never be able to find. Not again. Sobs wracked his body again, staining the already wet sheets. It hurt so much. I want George, he wanted to say. But the words couldn't claw beyond his hoarse throat, no doubt from the screams he'd had earlier.

Only when fingers ran through his hair softly did he realise the one who woke him up was Karl. "Dream, it's going to be okay." Karl soothed, trying to settle the distraught boy. He shared a look with Sapnap, and Dream hated it.

He knew they meant well, but their tired faces only reminded him of one thing. George. Was. Dead. Even in his mind, the last word was whispered with disbelief. George, sweet, beautiful, George couldn't be dead. He'd just held him in his arms, pressed kisses to his lips. He couldn't be dead. This was a joke. It had to be a joke.

But even in his disbelief, Dream knew. The brevity of it barely hit him earlier, but the miserable looks on their faces gave everything away. He's truly gone. Dazedly, Dream held out his hand, the same one that had been enveloped with warmth just a while ago. He could almost feel George's presence beside him. "George?" he called out brokenly, in shattered hopes of hearing the familiar British burr.

Karl and Sapnap could only stare at him sullenly, not daring to speak.

Screams ran through the house again, and Dream wouldn't be okay again, not for a very long time.

—----------

Ten years was a long time. And if Dream Davidson was in any mood to lie, he would have told you time flashed by in the blink of an eye.

It didn't. At least, not for Dream. The ten years passed at a snail's pace, even as he rebuilt his life again. His career had reached its prime a long time ago, with money trickling in like waterfalls. George would be proud of me, he thought. Even as old friends clouded his vision, sitting across him, all Dream could think about was George. His golden hair had long since faded, his green eyes no longer held the same spark that drew George to him. That wasn't to say he didn't have any suitors, but the silver ring remained on his finger, engraved in looping cursive G.W.T. He would have been proud. Live, he remembered George saying. Live for us. He'd always been cheerful, even up until his last days.

Absent-mindedly, Dream tossed a strawberry into his mouth,chewing distractedly before lighting a cigarette.

"Dream, why do you always eat strawberries before smoking?" A random voice drew Dream out of his reverie. He grew even more aware of the cigarette in his mouth, the familiar taste of nicotine wasting away in his mouth. He turned his head in the direction of the voice. Tommy. He smiled sadly, looking across the table to see Sapnap staring back at him in concern. You don't have to tell if you don't want to, his eyes seemed to say.

It's fine, Dream shrugged. It's about time they knew anyway. The loss of his lover hit him numbly now. His heart still beats faster thinking of him, but also thudded with pain. He gestured for them to lean closer. "It's for George," his low voice send shivers down their spines, fracturing their spines the same way it did his heart, "It reminds me of him."

The moment the words left his mouth, the group fell silent. No one knew what to say to Dream, not when they knew how much George meant to him. Sapnap could only offer him a comforting look, but Dream could see the pain lining his eyes. He gulped thickly, wishing there was something else he could say or do to comfort him, or to ease his own pain. But George always made a lasting impression, and everyone knew that. Awkward conversations and teasing ensued, but it was as if the life had been sucked out of the small group.

Needless to say, the meeting didn't last very long.

By the time the rest finished waving their goodbyes, Dream was back in his car. Exhausted, he turned the ammunition on, along with the radio. Music flooded his ears, bringing tears to his face.

Long nights, daydreams
Sugar and smoke rings, I've been a fool
But strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you
Headlights, on me
Racing to 60, I've been a fool
But strawberries and cigarettes always taste like
Blue eyes, black jeans
Lighters and candy, I've been a fool
But strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you.