"You just - close your eyes."

I did as he said, inhaling warm air that chilled me. This was when we were young, and when I believed him. I believed whatever he wanted to be real.

"And then, you see… Everything," he breathed, so convincingly, so close to me, so dear to me -

He -

He taught me how to dream.

x

x

I clutched at my scarf tighter, winding it more securely around my neck. Such a beautiful February, truly, but the weather was not to my liking. The winter this time kept an unyielding grip over the coming of spring.

This was when I was much younger, but not so much I was a child.

A child perhaps, in mind.

I could not remember, for the life of me, very well of the reasons I used to venture out in the melting snow. It was cold, and it was unpleasant. The sidewalks were uncharacteristically slippery - unkind to a man with a height such as mine. Still I trudged on to find something worth of note.

I had no idea of what to look for.

"Hey, 'scuse me."

The voice - presumably male - stopped me in my tracks, and I turned my head. "Yes?"

"Any idea where's Number 168, Harter Street?" the young man - well, around my age, to be perfectly honest - asked, but not as politely as I've heard from other strangers. "I'm new here; kinda lost."

I frowned suspiciously. "Yes, I have an idea. It is where I live."

"Oh. Great!" The man pushed his blond bangs away, and I could see how bright those blue eyes were. "My name's Alfred Jones, I heard that you were looking for a roommate…"

x

x

Alfred Jones was a curious man.

He has always been a bit different from all others I've met, before and after falling in love with him. This much, I still know. He counters my unfriendly demeanor with an enviable amount of optimism I would usually find insincere in others - but it suits him.

I have seen him brooding at times, but he is almost always cheerful. The rare bouts of silence gives him so much character, and a mysterious depth, though he never fails to accompany it afterwards with his infectious friendliness.

"Hey, buddy. You wanna take a walk?"

"I am hardly enjoyable company," I confess, and he simply laughs, though not unkindly.

"We don't have to talk. I asked if you wanted to walk instead. Come on!"

And gradually, I find him gratifying to be around with. Infinitely preferable, even, to my own friends.

I suppose it was inevitable it would develop into something more.

x

x

When we kissed for the first time, it reminded me of a slow, slow burn. The second was sharp, but so very sweet.

Those kisses became more than two, then more than three - over a week, a month, a year, and longer. Our eyes always met. Our hands started to never stray far from each other. Our bodies moulded to one another.

We were young.

x

x

"You are beautiful," I said, sincerely, and he laughed. His only reply was to place his head on my shoulder, but I am content. "And so strong, Alfred."

I have never seen him cry. Perhaps only brief expressions of pain, but not actual tears.

I never want to see him cry.

x

x

I am still amazed at how such a man would fall deeply in love with someone like me.

Because of this, when I glance at him during breakfast - or lunch -

while walking -

while breathing -

dinner;

in bed

everywhere

calling my name

- my heart tightens.

He has such a hold over me without realizing it, and I have to admit that for a while, I was absolutely terrified.

x

x

x

x

"I'll teach you how to dream," he told me sincerely, and I believed him.

For a time… It was perfect.

x

x

x

x

That day, we saw the Doctor together. I do not remember if it was an August, or even September's beginning, but it was in between. The leaves outside were turning orange instead of yellowing into the colour I so adored.

I noticed, because I was scared to face the kindly face in front of me.

The Doctor looked carefully at the papers he held, and turned to Alfred, the kind smile gradually disappearing from his face before he even spoke.

His hold on my hand tightened, but the hurt I felt there was nothing compared to what I felt inside.

x

x

This was when I saw him break.

x

x

I have never seen him cry.

"I l-love you, so much," he whispered - then he pursed his lips, closed his eyes so tight - breathed so, so harshly through his nose. He exhaled with a stuttering breath, but a high, keening cry escaped.

I have never seen it, until now.

"Alfred," I murmured, unsure of what to say. What do you say? You simply grieve, you hurt, you cry. You place your arms around the man you now dare to call the love of your life, as he places his arms around you, and you both comfort each other until the morning light comes.

The news of the terminal disease hung like a miasma around the both of us.

It broke him.

It broke me.

"I love you. Why - w-why is it -"

I knew his question, but never the answer.

Why is it so unfair...?

x

x

"Had a bad dream."

I smiled, tired, but Alfred needed me.

"It was bad. I-I didn't see you anywhere, and I couldn't - couldn't find you."

"It'll be all-"

"It won't be okay! D-Damn it, I-Ivan, it's -" He dropped his gaze as he broke off, throat tightening. "I'm not that strong…" His hands shook, and I reached out to hold them, to hold him. "I'm not - strong enough."

"You are," I insisted, and his whole body started to shake. "Please. For -"

I closed my eyes.

"For me."

He muffled a sob, nodding furiously.

We were then, so old.

x

x

"I'll take you to a place, so far away from here. That place - it'll have dreams. And those dreams are wishes and those wishes - those - that would be reality. We'll become our own kings, Ivan. We do what we want, and say what we want - we'll always be together."

"We already are together," I replied gently, and his smile was equally soft.

"You're… Everything to me."

I never replied, but he knew that I would say the same.

x

x

And I asked myself, how much longer must this go on?

But I wished that my dreams were wishes, and that they came true.

So I closed my eyes. Because he told me, if I closed them then - I would see - everything.

x

x

It was the evening, when the sun rays spilled onto the floor - long and languid, yellow and all sorts of warm instead of scorching hot - where I found him.

He looked very beautiful.

"Hey." His voice cracked, so much from the effort, and it must have been hard for him to breathe.

I know this, because it is hard for me as well.

I couldn't even speak.

"It's a beautiful day… Not even raining," he mumbled weakly, and I reached out for his hand. He grasped it gently, and brought it to his cheek, still trying to smile.

It hurt.

He was so thin.

My lips were parted, and I wanted so badly to - to -

T-To tell him -

"No, please, no…" he murmured helplessly, face twisted in pain. "Don't cry, Ivan… Please - Ivan, please no no no…"

i squeezed his hand as hard as I could, because I wanted so badly to tell him, that it would be alright

that it would be okay

"I love you, Ivan."

this is all just a dream -

that I love him more than anything -

"I love you too," I mouthed, throat so tight, vision so blur, and he finally smiled.

I mirrored that smile.

than anything

x

x

x

x

He appreciated the gestures, the condolences, the brief touches on his shoulder. He stayed so long in front of the gravestone, that when he was alone, the sun was close to disappearing, making way for night.

And it was only when he was alone, when Alfred covered his face with his hands - and cried.

x

x

"We are old souls…"

He shook his head at my sentence, curving his lips into a small smile.

"We can be young." His fingers found their place in the spaces between mine, and his warmth made me whole again. "We still are."

I love him. I love him.

I'll love him forever.

x

so,

dream...

x

x

x

A/N: Hopefully, this was sad enough for some poor soul to bawl their eyes out. If not, then thanks for actually reading! This is a result of Time from the Inception OST, and also Dream by Michael Buble; in addition to watching sad Thai Insurance ad videos.

It's also a kind of response to those fics which have Alfred gone first and Ivan picking up the pieces after. Not to mention I just wanted to try out a fic in Ivan's point of view. So, here's the result. I seriously hope it's not bad or anything aaa. By the way, how many of you thought Alfred had the disease? Just curious if I wrote vaguely enough.