Chapter Text
The ocean was a lot louder than Dream had remembered. He knew the waves crashed and that seagulls called over the open waters; but against rocks and mixed with bitter winds, it was deafening.
Dream had taken the bus to the outskirts of England, he had been dressed for the cold, but even his long sleeves and jumper struggled to hold back the chill in the air.
It took him a train, one bus and a 20 minute walk along patchy roads to reach the seaside. No tourists would be out on such a miserable day, apart from him.
The winds were cutting, biting at his face and chest. His fingers were going white as he tried to use his palm to hold heat. He wished he could put them into his pockets, but held fast onto the suitcase he dragged behind him and the backpack on his back. The locals stared at him with suspicious glints.
Dream was darker skinned than the people on the coast. In London, it didn’t matter much the tone of your skin or the accent on your lips, if you earned your living you could just about make it by.
It was still slightly a problem, of course. Racist comments and underlying threats, but nothing ever violent or outrageous.
But the people of this little town were aged, born in an area who hadn’t seen anyone with a skin tone darker than snow. He didn’t mind too much, they kept to their business and he kept to his.
There were a few people walking their dogs along the beach, mostly the big ones, short hair and long snouts. The walkers had heavy black rain jackets that cut though the wind and held onto heat, they always kept their hands in their pockets, whistling every so often to catch their dog’s attention.
He didn’t walk on the sand, worried his suitcase would drag him down, so he kept on the uneven and rocky path, mixed with sand dunes and patchy pavement.
Dream was taking a shortcut to visit his aunt Eve. The beach cut straight through back into town, past the sand dunes and horses wrapped in their wind blocking coats.
Eventually, he met the main road and a few cars passed him, just before he crossed and took the wide and winding streets to his aunt’s bungalow.
The streets in the town were much larger than in London. In the main city, the cars had barely enough room to fit one either side. The countryside that surrounded London were even smaller, where only one car could fit on the uneven cemented roads.
The beaches were different. At the seaside, the houses were still held close, but the roads were longer and more spread apart.
There was more greenery here compared to the main city. Every road that Dream took at least someone’s bushes reached past their front gardens and onto the pavement.
It was the first time Dream was able to travel alone into the countryside. Normally, his twin brother would be with him, but this year was different.
His younger brother was a recluse, it seemed whenever he was around others (family or not), clouds would hang over him like a threat.
It hadn't mattered much at the time, but looking back at the memories that were missed, Dream sound himself twitching to hear his brother’s voice.
Nightmare killed himself not too long after his Uncle’s passing. That was the main reason Dream was here visiting his Aunt. It was a selfish escape from mother and her wallowing.
Nightmare was a cheerful person with Dream, mostly. Although sometimes his scowl wouldn’t lift and he’d be snappy all day. Even so, he would still let his twin be on his side of the bedroom.
It was embarrassing that Dream couldn’t see his scramble for help. It was even more humiliating to realise that Dream failed his brother.
They used to share the same room. Dream getting one side in front of the doorway and his brother getting the other, tucked under the window.
Their mother had been gracious enough to let them paint their side of the room their own respective colours. Nightmare had chosen a deep purple and Dream decided not to paint his at all, leaving the walls an off white colour.
They were 10 when they made the decision and at 12, Nightmare began to hate his walls ferociously. He hid them under posters of games and art from magazines, but they always peaked through.
Dream always picked the bluetac that held up the posters by their corners. He only took them in small increments, but because of the eventual lack of support, they fell in the night and his brother always stormed awake to pin them back up.
The bungalow his aunt owned had a small front garden which for years had grown all sorts of flowers, which now seemingly aren’t here anymore. The grass had stopped being cut after her husband passed that summer. He was a cheerful man, hardly ever complained about the pain, even when he was passing.
Perhaps Aunt Eve had stopped gardening after his Uncle’s passing.
The funeral that June was difficult. It was tucked in the middle of exams season and Dream had to juggle revising and keeping his mother from falling apart.
Nightmare stayed out of the house for as long as possible at the time, only coming home to hide in his room.
The eldest twin, wrapped in his studies and busy with cooking for everyone, wouldn’t ask him where he had been. He never questioned the heavy smell of weed that hung from his clothes, deciding his brother would tell him eventually.
Of course, he never did.
When the funeral happened, his aunt had invited him over, his brother too. Nightmare hardly noticed her gentle request and pleasant smile. Even the sticky warmth of the day seemed distant to him. He kept still and silent outside of the church and didn’t even blink when aunt Eve cried recounting her husband’s life.
The day was muggy. An uncomfortably hot summer’s day with grey weather and the smell of rain in the air. Dream was wearing a black suit, customary for a funeral, but in the heavy warmth, he had to keep pulling at his collar to keep it from sticking to his skin.
“I’ll look at the schedule.” Dream replied softly, running his hands over the black jacket he had taken off at the end of the service.
“Still such a good boy.” She said with care, rubbing his back and holding a gentle smile that pinkend her tear streaked cheeks. She had a rich accent, it was heavy on the tongue and horribly scratchy because she still smoked.
“Terrible habit.” She always muttered, taking out the next cigarette from the box as she busied in the kitchen. Dream had soon followed in her footsteps; he always stuffed a packet of cigarettes in his jackets with a lighter.
They had known aunt Eve all their lives. She often came into the outskirts of London to the council property that they lived in to babysit them or they would visit her with their mother during the summer.
Dream knocked on the door to the bungalow, just as rain started to spit down. The door was white with a warped glass window in the middle. The main door hung besides the driveway and hid the entrance from the rest of the street. Dream had to stretch to peer around the house to the rest of the street.
The neighbours, Barry and Wendy, had moved out a little while ago. Dream still had memories of going under the garden hedge and finding his way to their back door. Only to be let in and fed chocolate Digestives with a cup of black tea. They always made sure to add two spoons of sugar and plenty of milk.
His mother came in like a storm, “Dear God!” She gasped, apologising profusely to Wendy who had let her in. Barry just laughed happily, patting Dream’s shoulders.
“You’re covered in dirt!”
“Leave the boy be, Nim.” Wendy waved her off and rubbed her hands on her apron. “A little adventure never hurt anyone.” Then she turned to Dream and winked, “Although, next time, it would be much nicer to use the front door.”
He did use the front door from then on, especially after his mother had held him by the ear and sent him to his room without supper. He was never dirty again either, God forbid he had a speck on him after what his mother saw.
He didn’t leave the bungalow often either way. Especially not without his brother, going anywhere without Nightmare was nerve racking. It didn’t help that his twin was always wary of others.
The white door opened and his aunt Eve greeted him with a soft smile. “Oh, look at you!” She pulled him into a hug which he returned happily. “You’ve grown.”
Dream smiled, going a little red “I have?” He was a late bloomer, his voice didn’t drop until he was 15 and he only really started to grow at 16. To say he was embarrassed by it was an understatement. “I hadn’t thought so.”
“Oh and still with the posh talk.” She pulled him by his arm. “Get inside! You must be freezing.”
The bungalow, although old, was warm and bathed under the warm lighting of the table light beside the front door. A land phone right by it.
Aunt Eve was a very merry old woman, kind but not exactly gentle. She hadn’t made it to her 70s yet, but her hair had already turned completely gray and she had heavy wrinkles on her hands. She was fair, her skin littered from small brown blemishes that aged her skin.
“Go sit down in the living room, I’ll make up a cuppa” she smiled, Dream nodded and took off his shoes, before then dragging his suitcase into the home.
He left it by the door, along with his backpack, then he walked into the living room. He sat on the sofa beside his Uncle’s chair and looked out the glass windows of the back door.
The garden was much smaller than he remembered and the apple tree out back shifted in the strong winds.
“It’s chilly out there.” Aunt Eve said, she placed down the coasters on the coffee table and then took a seat in her own chair.
“Very.” Nodded Dream. He wasn’t one for talking. When he was younger it was all he could do, but now, he hadn’t had much to speak of. The warm room stung at his freezing fingertips.
Rain started to connect with the windows and it echoed into the warm room. “How’s your mother?” Eve asked, watching the rain quietly.
The conversation about his mother was going to come eventually. Dream cleared his throat and corrected his posture. “She’s well.”
“Your brother?” Aunt Eve moved on easily and Dream felt his shoulders tighten. “You two were always attached at the hip.” She mentions, looking over to Dream. He forces his smile not to falter. No one knew yet about his brother’s lifeless corpse in the bathroom, his mother had requested no one to know yet.
Heavens know he wouldn’t disobey her requests.
When the twins were little, people always assumed he and Nightmare must have twin telepathy. In primary, kids believed blank faced lies, Dream and Nightmare convinced the playground they could hear each other's thoughts.
“Well… you know him.” He muttered, looking down at his shirt and sliding his fingers over the small stitches at its rim. “He was reading this book.” He recounts, lies on the top of his tongue, tangled with truths.
“A book?” Aunt Eve’s smile fell a little. “I had hoped he’d grow up a little. Meet a girl of some sorts to budge him into line.”
Dream nodded out of respect, although, Nightmare had never even once mentioned a girl when they spoke. His gaze never so much as lingered on one. His books were his life, the idea of taking such valued items without care was enough to make him shift once more in his seat.
Before his thoughts slipped into one’s of minor upsets his aunt Eve began speaking again. “What about you, Dreary?” He blinked at the nickname and looked over to his Aunt, who had a face alike to eager anticipation. “Do you have a girlfriend yet?”
The twin rolled his shoulders and pressed his fingers to the back of his scalp, playing with his short hair. His mother hated it long and had called him a ‘girl’ countless times over it. Even when it was just slightly past the tips of his ears. He got a haircut at the barbers for only 5 quid.
George, his usual barber, wasn’t in and so he was moved to someone else, Arthur. He had cut his hair all too short, to the point his already weak curls couldn’t be seen anymore. Dream missed his longer hair, it was fashionable than ever now.
He didn't know why, but wasn't a fan of the idea of a girlfriend. When he was still long and gangly, a girl named Lisa had been his girlfriend. She was nice and had some strong feminist opinions. Dream had definitely liked her, but he never felt that ‘burning’ sensation that his mother always spoke about when mentioning his dad.
“I hadn’t been looking.” Dream shrugged, watching his aunt frown. She stood up and went to the kitchen to fetch the tea.
“No matter, you will soon.” She said adamantly, shuffling back into the living room with a rich black tea in hand and Rich Tea Biscuits. “Sugar?”
“No thank you.”
The two of them spoke with simplicity for a while, where Dream quietly nodded along and his aunt made the small talk.
Soon enough, the subject shifted to the neighbours house. After Barry and Wendy had moved out, the street was quiet. They had their own son, and then grandchildren, who visited them both often. But now, the elderly in the area had no young people around to bother them.
“It’s a shame really.” His aunt sighed, nursing her tea and holding it in her hands and leaching its warmth. “Their grandkids were so sweet.”
She yawned and looked over to her husband's chair. “It’s odd, the person who moved in-“ she paused. “He’s clearly young, in his early thirties and with a kid about your age! No wife in sight...” she shook her head.
“His kid is strange as well. He has such an… interesting haircut, covered in paint.” She frowns “he’s sweet, although clearly a handful.” She tutted and shook her head again. Finally she drank some tea.
“I’m not surprised,” she continued as silence stretched, “the kid has no mother, no one to set him straight.”
The conversation continued with Eve speaking for a while, jumping topics with ease and only encouraged by Dream’s nodding. Eventually, the travelling caught up to him and he soon excused himself to his bedroom.
He dragged his suitcase into the small box where he would be staying and his backpack leaning against his suitcase.
This room was different from the council property back at home. For one, his bed was tucked under the window and he had carpeted floors.
He had a long mirror next to a brown desk pressed against the wall. Above the desk was a little shelf holding a few study books from when Dream was here last.
He saw his dull raincoat he had left a year ago, still hanging on the peg of his door. There was another bed under his own and he’d pull it out every night so Nightmare could sleep there.
Dream found himself missing his brother more than he should. He died and left Dream to pick up the prices. They were twins, expected to go against the world together and as Dream got into bed, he found himself staring down at where his brother would have slept.
That morning, Dream made scrambled eggs at 7am. His aunt Eve had yet to wake up and the twin had places to be. The sun had risen and most of the clouds cleared.
He had turned on the radio, listening to the soft droning of people talking as he plated up his food. The eggs were light and fluffy.
Feeling proud of himself, he put two turns of pepper over them and treated himself to toast. He hovered by the toaster, listening to a guest who had been added to the radio, speak about the lastest ‘Top of the Pops’ episode.
Dream had plans to go to the beach for his first day on the 3 month long holiday he had. At the end of the summer he would leave the seaside for university, packing everything up and taking a medical degree in Oxford.
When his toast finally popped, he moved to the sofa, plate in hand.
The eggs were alright, there was nothing amazing about them. Dream wasn’t the best chef, that was Nightmare. On the rare occasion his brother cooked, the kitchen would be filled with spice and mealtime would taste heavenly.
The radio started to drone on for a little too long and when Dream finished his toast, he turned it off and decided to put on his swimming trunks.
They were blue. He hadn’t been exactly opposed to them when he first got them, however to say he was delighted would be an exaggeration and giving his mother too much credit.
Dream was brushing his teeth when his aunt woke up, “Leaving already?” She hummed, observing his appearance “it’s only 8 o clock, boys at your age should be sleeping in.”
“Thanks for concern Aunty, but I want to see the sea before people crowd the beach.” He smiled.
Smiling back at him, his aunt nodded and tutted “Well alright, but be back before tea and don’t forget your keys!”
As Dream left the bungalow with a jumper over his T-shirt. It was warmer than yesterday, with the sun out and almost completely blue sky, the bitter winds were almost unnoticeable.
He walked his way down the pebbled driveway but paused when he noticed two sandled feet stop in front of him.
“I didn’t realise there was anyone my age here.” He said bluntly and Dream looked up to find someone his Aunt had described. A skinny boy, with the fairest skin he had ever seen and a streak of black ink rubbed across his chin.
His eyes were gray and his hair was styled into a relatively long mullet, spiked up in an odd pattern of mousy brown hair. He looked otherworldly in many ways- or like a punk in those magazines. His smile was wide and proud, his sharp canines and smile pleasant.
He wore a jacket and beach shorts decorated with all funky patterns. He held a camera in his hand, the strap wrapped around his neck.
“My name is Ink.” Fitting. Ink held a hand out in front of him with intention for a handshake. Hesitantly, Dream complied.
“Dream.” He muttered, watching the other boy almost buzz with delight.
“I’m off to the beach, you?” Ink smiled, shifting from foot to foot, like he wanted to start moving. He kept hold of Dream’s hand, they were gentle and soft, much like a girl’s. The only difference being the fact they were covered in dried paint.
Lisa, his old girlfriend, had similar hands: small and soft. He and Lisa didn’t hold hands often. Dream was never interested and it never occurred to him. His girlfriend complained about it incessantly, always wanting to hold him more. There was another reason they broke up.
“Same.” Dream nodded, eyeing the smaller with caution and finally was able to retract his hand so he corrected his jumper. He had reason to be wary of people, Nightmare had always been cautious with the overly positive ones. “ They always want something .” And “ you can’t tell what’s on their mind. ”
His aunt's words echoed in his mind, “ the kid has no mother ” and he sighed inwardly. It couldn’t hurt to get to know the boy, it wasn’t like he’d be staying by the coast for long.
“Are you wanting someone to walk with?” He asked, stuffing his hand into his pockets and rubbing at the packet of cigarettes he had brought from home.
He hid them from his mum and his aunt. They both had this idea about Dream: never smoking or drinking. The perfect child. He hadn’t got the heart to tell them or the confidence to let them know that he does smoke or that he chugged alcohol on new years when he broke up with Lisa.
That wasn’t the first time either.
Ink only smiled and straightened his back. Suddenly Dream felt self conscious of his own posture. He was always keeping his back straight, a behaviour drilled into him by his mother. The boys at his school used to always tease him about it, their words were colourful, but also repetitive.
“That'd be lovely.” Ink began to walk along the pavement and Dream walked next to him, their footsteps falling into unison.
Ink’s sandals were frayed at the stitching and slightly too big; they looked old and worn. His camera was new though, brand-spanking new, with the slightest touch of green paint at the picture button.
“So, Dream .” Ink began, cutting into the silence with a grin, “When did you move to this lovely side of the world?”
“I’m currently visiting my aunt.” Dream said, looking ahead at the uneven pavement and listening to the seagulls above them.
“Oh really?” Ink prompted and the shutter of his camera went off at the sight of a seagull that had landed on a rooftop.
Dream frowned, getting the impression he wanted more. ‘This side of the world’, as if he was born far away. “Yes. I was born in London.”
“Oh, I was born here.”
The taller boy raised an eyebrow. Sure, he hadn’t visited his aunt for a year, but he often made friends with the kids on the streets. Ink doesn’t see his lifted eyebrow and is staring through the viewfinder of his camera.
“I’m surprised I didn’t get to know you sooner.”
Ink shrugged, “I get sick a lot.” He doesn’t expand at all and instead turns his head back to look at Dream with another grin. “What’s your opinion on birds?”
Perhaps Ink had a particular interest in birds, he knew a little too much on the way they flew or the different species. He was showing Dream all the different birds on his camera, which he had encountered since moving into Barry and Wendy’s.
The camera was top-of-the-line, with a slightly blurry screen in the middle. It was almost jaw dropping, Dream had to squint a few times to even begin imagining how it worked.
Ink, obviously, was an artist. How good of an artist? Dream couldn’t tell as he wasn’t one for arts. He always found museums boring and expensive. History and geography was more his pace, despite how often he was teased for liking geography.
When they made it to the beach, the bitter winds had finally found their way past Dream’s jumper. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it with a hand covering the lighter’s flame. Ink was now going quiet, looking at the gray waves with awe.
“I still can’t never get over it.” He breathed and Dream looked at the smaller. For someone who apparently grew up by the beach, it was strange that Ink was in awe at the sight of the waves.
Letting out the smoke from the cigarette, Dream prompted Ink to continue. “Do you not come to the beach often?” Ink laughs brightly.
“Sure, but-“ he snaps a picture of the waves meeting the skyline. “It’s still so fascinating.”
The two of them continue to walk down the beach, keeping to the rocky, broken path and sand dunes.
Ink walked slowly and Dream was in no rush, so matched his pace. They walked in sync, as Ink kept his eyes to the walk around them.
“How old are you anyway?” Dream asked, wanting the painter to continue his yammering. For as much as Dream liked silence, he dreaded the idea of an awkward silence.
Ink hummed, like he had to think about it. “19.” he nodded, “I’m turning 20 in a month.”
Dream had to blink, the fair-skinned painter, being older than he? It felt strange, like it wasn’t the case at all.
“You look 20.” Dream’s thoughts were interrupted by Ink again, who has finally turned his gaze to Dream.
“I just turned 19.” The two of them took a path towards the sea, breaking away from the rocky path and onto sand.
“Really?” Ink brightened with surprise, blinking widely. “I thought you was my age.” The smaller had a patchy way of speaking, his sentences only partially formed or with the wrong use of tenses.
“Sorry to disappoint.” Dream smiled, sitting down on the driest point he could find and tugged his jumper closer, breathing out another air of smoke.
“Not disappointed at all.” Ink assured him, like he couldn’t quite grasp the idea of Dream’s sarcastic response. He sat down a little less gracefully than the taller. “It’s just, you look older than you are. Like- with your muscles and the hair-”
Dream had to hold back a grimace at the mention of his short hair. “Thanks…” he muttered, turning his gaze away from the former, back towards his cigarette.
“No! No! I didn’t mean-” Ink is waving his hands around desperately before sitting back with a sigh. Sand has already somehow made its way into his hair, making it glisten in the sun. “I didn’t mean it like a bad thing.” He muttered, “I meant, like, you look cool as shit.”
Dream had to pause, he’s never been complimented before, at least not by anyone other than his brother, to the point he has no clue what to do. “Uh- thank- thanks?” He blinked and Ink nodded proudly.
“You're welcome.” He said pointedly. “How long are you staying?”
“Sorry?” Dream had to blink from the quick change in topic. He’s hardly had time to recover from the compliment. He looked back to Ink’s eager expression and silently acknowledged the fact he shifted nervously.
“How long you visiting your aunt for?” He reiterated, fiddling with his camera, more shyly now and was sharing shifty glances back over to Dream every few moments.
“A month, not long.” He shrugged, drawing tabaco into his lungs from his fag as he observed the other.
“Ah okay.” Ink nodded thoughtfully and went silent for a moment. The silence between them was filled with the crashing waves and the sound of seagulls fighting the winds. Dream was about to interrupt the silence with a new question, but isn’t able to as Ink gets over whatever worry he was feeling and finally asks. “Would you like to come to see a band with me?”
Dream had never been to a concert of any sorts, not even the small festivals held around London. He had intentions to, when his mother stopped being… his mother.
“A band?” He inquired, trying to prove his interest by he turning his head.
“They have this field every summer where unknown artists and tribute bands play.” Of course, the taller one knew this, but he’d never been able to see them. He could always hear the music from his bungalow as he and his brother were put down for bed.
“Uh…” He wasn’t sure how his aunt would find it, she was rather conservative with when he could go out or see people. “I’d have to check.”
“No worries, I understand-“ he had said it a little stiffly, like he had expected to be turned down and Dream was nothing but a people pleaser. Ink’s downcast eyes and stiffend posture only makes him feel guilty for even alluding to a no. “It’s um… next- next week? If I remember correctly. We could go!” He grinned, pushing away any doubts he previously had.
“Yeah.. okay.” Dream nods, “sounds good.”
They fall into silence again. That awkward silence when you first meet someone and you don’t know what to say. Dream cleared his throat and wracked his mind for a moment, shifting his sleeves.
“What band is it?” And Ink straightened, grinning from ear-to-ear this time.
He went on a long rant about the different bands and styles that would be playing. Dream, despite the cold, found himself relaxing and replying in gentle agreements or encouragements every so often.
The bands playing were mostly tribute bands, all with different artists, but one Dream knew were for Duran Duran and The Cure.
“I like The Cure.” He nodded when there was finally a pause in Ink’s chattering.
“Really?! Same!” He cheered, “call me basic, but I love- uh, what’s it called- ‘Lovecats’! I heard it on the radio and I was instantly hooked.”
Dream frowned quietly, “I haven’t listened to that one.” He hadn’t had time to. He was always busy revising and working. He hadn’t had time to even think about music, considering he was working towards being a medical student.
Ink let his jaw drop, looking surprised and then eager all at once. “Oh this’ll be so exciting!” He buzzed for a moment, his smile faltering ever so slightly as he took a few deep breaths and cleared his throat.
Dream felt his own smile fall minutely and he went still, eyebrows knitting with confusion and sudden worry as he looked over Ink’s form.
Seemingly mellowed, the smaller smiles weakly this time. “Sorry, ran out of air.” He chuckled
“Do you have asthma?” Dream asked, he stubbed out his cigarette into the sand and watched as Ink shook his head calmly and smiled.
“Nah, it’s my heart.” He licked his lips for a moment and screwed up his face at the taste of sand. “We should go, it’s way too windy out.”
Dream would press Ink further on what he was going through, but, he faintly remembers how Nightmare would only go further into his shell the more you pried.
Ink was also a stranger. Who knows how he could react. The countless possibilities didn’t bode well in Dream’s mind and the idea that Ink could be exactly like the boys at his school put him off from asking completely.
So, while nodding, he stood up and offered a hand to the artist. They were smaller than his and cold because of the weather, but soft.
They walked along the beach until they reached the groyne stretching into the water and they turned towards the back path that led straight into town.
“I’m surprised you know this route.” Ink said, slightly behind as they walked single file past bramble bushes and trees.
“I used to come down here with some old friends.” Dream explained, memories of him following an older group down the beach flooding to his mind. “They took me along this path as it was attached to one of their back gardens.”
“Oh I see.” Ink said, his tone slightly distracted. “It’s cool, a little rocky though.” He said in a mild complaint. “You can’t see the sky, the sun’s all hidden behind trees.”
Dream doesn’t respond, wanting to let Ink talk. It wasn’t half bad, it was nice to let someone else rear the conversation. Better yet, just be able to listen to someone else. However, Ink goes quiet and his footsteps slow.
Following suit, Dream slows down and pauses, looking back at the slightly exhausted expression of the smaller who takes relief in the break. “Sorry, I know I talk a lot,” he said quietly, “I don’t mean to, you can tell me to shut up.”
“It’s fine.” Dream shook his head “I don’t mind at all.” He lets Ink catch his breath, but the artist doesn’t let himself, still talking.
“Really? Oh good. Everyone always complains that I ramble- honestly though, you can tell me to stop talking.”
“Ink, I like others talking, it keeps me from having to speak.”
“Oh.” Then he grinned again, that unabashedly and half wild grin. “Great!” He seems to find a spark of energy from that and they pass through the little back-route they had taken and out to a mainroad.
It was a little street that stretched towards a bus stop and around the street stood just about 12 shops and a library. There were mostly places to eat fish and chips, held together by newspaper. A few pubs were dotted around and a couple charity shops, there were butchers and greengrocers, but they were closed for the day.
Rather peckish at this point, Dream finds himself gravitating towards a pub called ‘Dog and Bull’. “I haven’t been in a pub before.” Ink mentioned as they stood outside, looking up at the rather daunting sign.
“Never?” Dream prompted.
“No, my dad was always scared I’d have alcohol.” He mentioned and the taller one couldn't help but relate.
“My mum is the same.”
“Really?” Ink looked relieved, his shoulders sagging as he stopped walking only leading Dream to pause a little ways closer to the pub than he was.
A few old men glaring at Dream from their beers.
“Yeah.” The taller nods and frowns at Ink’s apparent hesitation, before he slowly strides back towards Ink. The artist, already grinning, straightens and places his hands into his pocket- standing exactly like Dream was.
“Oh good, so we’re not drinking. Let’s go to the chippy.” He says now staring at a fish and chip shop. He threads his hand into his hair and ruffles out sand from it. “I had one yesterday, but it feels like years since my last.”
Frowning, Dream wanted to shake his head and laugh, like anyone would want to avoid a pub. He remembers his first time jostling into one after school. His friends at the time, much older than he was, ordered him a beer.
Dream was 14, skinny and hadn’t grown taller than a weed when he had alcohol for the first time. His friends chanted him on, getting him through the bitter and unpleasant taste. He had memories of throwing up for, what felt like, hours.
His brother sat with him, rolling his eyes at Dream’s gagging. He hadn't been at the pub, much too preoccupied by a book even at 14. He had mentioned that he didn’t like Dream’s friends, but he never said anything more about it.
Other than that, Nightmare did drink. In fact, he was hardly ever sober when it was just the two of them, whether it was drinking or mushrooms.
He used to come out with the funniest things and it somehow always led to an odd wardrobe collection.
In the end, Dream hadn’t known someone who didn’t want to not get drunk when they could. It was odd that Ink, in his punk-like attire and messy hair and his fraying sandals, didn't want to drink. Or start a riot.
Then, Dream supposes, Ink didn’t seem to fit any particular norm or box. For example, although he seemed ‘punk’ he was hardly just that.
Ink’s eyes shifted from a light gray to a light blue with the change in lighting as he kept his attention on the fish and chip parlour. Nodding with agreement, Dream turns and gestures of the smaller to lead the way.
Despite how unpredictable people may be, Ink seemed to be rather simple. For the looks of things, he was an optimistic artist who clearly was into alternative fashion.
He must like following rules, to some degree at least, if he wanted to follow what his dad told him. Dream couldn’t blame the artist though, this was Ink’s own town, of course he was under the impression he had to be ‘good’.
The fish and chip parlour smelt delicious. There was nothing like vinegar and salt over greasy-battered cod. Especially as it was mixed with the heavy scent of the sea on a chilly day.
The moment they could order, Ink was speaking, or rather, yammering to the cashier unapologetically. It was almost courageous. Almost.
Luckily, she didn’t seem too bothered, nodding and finding it rather amusing. Dream forced himself to relax, had no plan on staying at the seaside long and so, he might as well enjoy Ink’s talking; even despite the rising heat of embarrassment fluttering over his cheeks. He rubs the packet of cigarettes in his pocket, yearning for a smoke.
He looked away, paying attention to Ink’s voice. It wasn’t raspy like his aunt’s or scratchy like Nightmare’s. The artist’s voice was more gentle and excitable, with a mishmash of tones that snuffed out any sense of boredom.
Ink was somehow able to order the one saveloy for himself and a small fish for Dream. The taller had to interrupt Ink sure they put small chips to go as well.
When he was younger, he remembered buying a large bag of chips for his aunt, mother and Nightmare. Despite how confident they were to finish it all, the supply of chips was never ending and they had to put it into the fridge.
Medium had no difference to large. Both are practically the same size. The grease from the vinegar always ended up leaking out the newspaper and Dream would always end up having to wipe down the tables with a wet tablecloth.
They both stood to the side for a moment in silence, listening to the sizzle of good food. “I spoke too much…” Ink muttered, mostly to himself.
If Dream was in London and this was one of his friends, he would be spilling reassuring words from his lips. But he’s not in the main city. Dream isn’t too worried that Ink could beat him up.
Although, out of the kindness of his heart, he gently nudged the smaller with the tip of his elbow. He wasn’t a queer and wasn’t about to go use his entire hand.
Either way, Ink appreciated the gesture and smiled at him.
When they got the fish and Dream went to pay, hand already riding through his pockets. But before he could even speak about the lack of money on him, Ink waved him off. “Don’t worry, it’s on me” he said with a grin.
That was a first. No one had ever paid for him. He was in slight awe with the smaller, watching as he took the food from the counter. Dream followed in a daze as they sat to eat outside on a bench. They took a good while before they spotted a good place that wasn’t crowded by already sitting elderly.
“You didn’t need to do that.” The taller insisted, sure he had no money on him, but now he was feeling all the more guilt settle over his gut. “I’ll pay you back.”
“Please.” Ink scoffed. “Take it as a thank you.” With that same proud and confident grin again, he took a seat on a bench. They never did have chairs inside fish and chip shops, let alone good chairs in the general area.
“For what?” Dream had pinched his eyebrows together as he watched Ink unwrap his saveloy from its newspaper. Then, with care, he took time breaking it apart and eating it in small increments.
“Hanging out with me today.” He said simply, mouth still full and Dream had to hide his grimace at the sight. He turned away to his own food, a horrid sick feeling climbed up his throat, stopping him from speaking. This had to be a trick.
He, more than anyone, knows that nothing comes for free and this was no difference. So in hopes to clean up his mistake of not bringing money with him, he racks his mind for something to say or do.
They sit in silence for a while, with Ink’s occasional crunching of chips and the sound of seagulls up ahead. For someone so skinny, Ink sure knew how to pack away his food. He had eaten the saveloy and was now already starting to finish his chips. Yet, Dream had hardly even touched his food.
The taller spends his time worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before finally speaking. “When did you say the bands were playing?”
Ink was silent for a moment, then realised what he said and beamed, sitting up and turning to Dream. His eyes were a light hazel in the sun. “Wait, you want to go?”
“Sure.” Dream nodded.
“You know the field by-“ He gestures his hand around the general direction of the area. “That horse patch near the beach.”
“Sea’s Edge?” He offers, but Ink looks indifferent to the name. Dream only knew Sea’s edge from when he was little when he used to play on his bike through the small streets and alleyways.
A few friends of his at the time, Papyrus and his little brother, used to bike across the ‘Wall of Death’. Although, the little brother was much too scared to go onto it. Dream, feeling daring at that age, followed Papyrus over the almost 2 metre drop.
What was Nightmare doing that day…? Right, he was grounded. Something about eating an apple. Although, the memory is blurry and slips from his mind like sand.
“If that’s what it’s called.” Ink shrugged indifferently.
Dream nodded and unwrapped the newspaper holding his fish, picking away at the batter. “Well… when you know the date, let me know.”
Most of the chips had already been eaten and Ink was beginning to pick at the batter Dream was leaving behind.
The food warmed the stomach and for the briefest moment, Dream found himself thinking back to his brother. His face when Dream was being particularly picky. The younger twin would shove him and take the food from his plate before their mother saw.
When the meal ended, Dream finally decided it was time to head home. So he stood and offered his hand to Ink.
“We should head back.” He supplied and in response, Ink licked his lips and frowned.
“I suppose.” He nodded, taking Dream’s hand gratefully. “Wanna hang out again tomorrow?”
Dream blinked and relaxed his shoulders. He owed Ink at least another chat. He smiled at the artist, “Yeah, that would be nice.” He agreed, letting go of the artist’s hand despite how soft they were.
It felt oddly rewarding whenever Ink smiled. It was unapologetic and kind, but what was strange about it was that it made Dream’s heart flutter.
Maybe he caught whatever Ink has with his heart.
The way back was easy over the uneven roads and people were walking about. They were mostly all tourists you could tell by the way the kids were loudly complaining about this or that.
Ink went on a ramble about birds again after spotting a swallow. They had blue tipped wings and a small body, at least the males did. The artist took a picture of it, his shutter going off loudly and getting a few stares from onlookers.
Dream cleared his throat quietly, ignoring the glances. “I’m going to paint all of them.” Ink stated, looking down at the camera as he flicked through somehow extremely well made images. “It’s my first time actually using a camera, you know?”
That got the attention of the taller, who immediately looked over at the other with surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah, my dad got the camera. He says it’ll help me go for walks. I mean, I guess it helped, but only ‘cause you're here- I never really did go out for long by just me.”
“Help you for walks?” Dream encouraged, watching Ink avoid his gaze and shift his camera in his hands.
“I need to go for walks ‘cause I keep getting sick, apparently.” He hummed, shrugging indifferently.
“How often do you get sick?”
Ink shrugged once more, closing an eye to look through the camera, “I’ve always been sick.” He said simply.
“I see.” Dream said quietly and nodded, shifting his shirt minutely. Questions surfaced into his mind like bubbles from a coke bottle. What was Ink sick with? Being the most notable.
Then Ink looked over and smiled, “I’m getting better now though.”
“What are you sick?-“
Ink spoke over him, staring through the viewfinder of his camera up into the gray clouds, trying to catch the next bird. “Did you know, swifts were called the ‘devil's bird’ because they’re almost impossible to catch.” He used his signature grin that spread from ear to ear.