Chapter Text
Trevor laid down on the couch and got comfortable. It was very mushy, very nice, and it occurred to him he could close close his eyes. Maybe take a nap. And as he felt the drugs take a hold of his veins, and the hypnotic voice of Davie Bowie counting backwards before launch, the mushiness of the couch began to engulf him. Trevor wasn’t scared; it was an oddly pleasant feeling. So he allowed it. He allowed the couch to swallow him whole. But he was no longer being swallowed, rather, he was falling, slowly, sinking deep…
He opened his eyes and he was underwater, right in the middle of an ocean, but he wasn’t drowning, he wasn’t afraid—it felt like floating, like what fish must feel when swimming in the vastness of the ocean.
Trevor looked around him but couldn’t see other life forms except for him as he continued to sink, the light on the surface barely visible as darkness began creeping around him: it was very peaceful. It occurred to him he could…let go. Close his eyes, allow himself to sink ever deeper. Never resurface again. Huh, well wasn’t that an interesting thought? He could stay a fish forever. He’d been human all his life, it would be interesting to be a fish. Maybe everything would feel…less.
Just as Trevor had decided it would suit him very well to be a fish, he felt someone watching him: it was Mikey. Or rather, Michael’s disembodied head, reflecting on the surface of the water, where there was light enough to make his eyes shine even bluer than Trevor could remember.
“Michael?” Trevor asked.
Michael stared at him, a stern and disapproving look on his eyes.
“I’m sorry you’re dead, Mickey,” Trevor confessed, his eyes suddenly filling with tears.
Michael closed his eyes. He was punishing him. Trevor was no longer worthy of looking at his beautiful blue eyes.
“I tried to save you, I would’ve saved you, but…you told me to run!” Trevor said between tears, “And I ran, I ran…I ran!!”
Michael opened his eyes and Trevor could see he was furious. Trevor deserved his fury.
“It should’ve been me! It should’ve been me!” Trevor yelled at Michael, his tears falling freely down his cheeks.
“Oh, GOD! Mickey, I…I love you so much,” Trevor confessed. He’d never told him, had he? He couldn’t remember.
Then Michael’s disembodied head morphed and in its stead there was an image of a city, a city Trevor had never been in, but felt that he knew like the palm of his hand. The sun was shining brightly from behind it’s tall buildings and Trevor knew, he knew he had to go there.
“A place where dreams come true, huh? I’ll never understand what you saw in that shit hole,” Trevor said, but deep inside he knew he had to go there. Maybe not in Los Santos exactly, but somewhere near, somewhere close to him.