Fic: Maybe I Could Be All You Ever Dreamed

In which Gavin dies and finds himself in an alternate universe, alone with only a diary and a pencil. Michael finds him and slowly they fall in love, the adventure of their life together told through Gavin’s diary. Follow Gavin as he learns what real love is while simultaneously learning what real heartbreak, all through his perspective. Based on ‘Dear diary, Today I waited for Michael.’ Supposed to be set in the Minecraft!verse. 

Pairings: Michael/Gavin, brief Ray/Gavin

Rating: PG-13

Friendly reminder that Gavin is British and therefore the dates are written as day/month/year.

I don’t know what was so endearing about his wet hair stuck to his forehead and his glasses clouded with water, about his right hand firmly on top of mine while he taught me how to properly cast a line, about the way he smiled at me when I finally caught a fish after standing out there for two hours.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell. 

Date Unknown

Dear diary, 

I seem to have fallen into a new world. I’m not sure where I am, or how to get out. I found this book of empty pages and decided to write down my thoughts, just in case. I don’t know what the just in case is. I would say if I died, but I thought I already did. I remember being so sick, and I remember Mum holding my hand. I remember seeing her face before I fell asleep; it was sad and tired. I didn’t want to go to sleep, but she told me it was okay. Is it weird of me to be writing this down? Is this where all people go when they die, in the middle of a damn forest, forced to start from square one? I have so many questions, but there’s no one to answer them. Maybe I’ll find someone soon. I don’t know how long I can take being out here on my own.

What if I die again?

Someone, anyone, please help me.


Dear diary,

It took two days, but someone found me. His name is Michael. I convinced him not to murder me with his sword. He’s just about as old as I was when I died, but he says I won’t age any more. It’s kind of like that weird Twilight series that my little sister was really into in my previous life. It’s strange to say previous life, but apparently this is my new life. Michael has been dead for about two months, but he won’t tell me what happened to him. 

"I made a lot of bad decisions in my past life, Gavin. It’s not important any more." 

That’s all I got out of him. Maybe he’ll tell me later. 

At least he had a calendar to tell me what day it was. Now these entries can be properly dated.

He also told me he doesn’t know why he came here after he died, but he got used to it. He said he realised that if he didn’t start taking care of himself in this new life, then he was surely going to die again. I don’t want to die again. That means I have to take care of myself, too. 

Michael told me he’d show me how to fish and hunt, how to farm and how to build. He also told me not to fear the monsters, but they only come out at night. I don’t want to go out at night. They thrive in the darkness, kind of like your own thoughts - they burn in the daylight and attack you in your most vulnerable state of being. 

Michael’s hair is really curly and he wears a pair of wire rimmed glasses.

He’s pretty, honestly.

What am I going to do?


Dear diary, 

I accidentally told Michael he was pretty today. I didn’t mean to. It slipped out. I hope anyone who finds this journal after I lose it (or whatever I end up doing to it) doesn’t mind reading about a one sided gay romance. Michael didn’t know I was gay; I never bothered to tell him because it never came up. How could I be so stupid? 

We were fishing. Who tells people they look pretty while they’re fishing? It’s smelly and gross and it was raining, but I still said it. My brain to mouth filter experienced a supreme lapse in judgement and my vocal cords took over from there. 

I don’t know what was so endearing about his wet hair stuck to his forehead and his glasses clouded with water, about his right hand firmly on top of mine while he taught me how to properly cast a line, about the way he smiled at me when I finally caught a fish after standing out there for two hours.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell. 

At first, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even let go of the fishing pole. He didn’t scream at me, even while my cheeks burned. I counted the seconds before he finally spoke up.

You know what he said?

I’ll tell you what he said.

"You’re pretty, too, Gavin." 


Dear diary,

This is bad. This is very, very bad. 

I’m falling for Michael Jones and I don’t know what do with myself.

How do people fall for someone after only knowing them for seventeen days? I feel like a fool. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop watching every movement of his hands, the way he blows his hair out of his face while he’s working hard,        the way he curls in on himself when he goes to sleep for the night. I’ve noticed it all, and he’s noticed me noticing, if that makes any sense. I feel like a teenage girl going nuts over the newest prepubescent teen singing sensation. And here I am, writing away in my little diary, waiting for him to notice me back.

Why am I even bothering with this stupid thing?


Dear diary,

I’ve decided to bother with this stupid thing again.

Michael kissed me today.  

There was barely any preamble. As cheesy as it was, we made a cake. I had never made a cake before, not even in my past life. We spent nearly all day collecting the milk and sugar; this pesky chicken took forever to drop an egg. We ate it outside, under the stars, even though I’m afraid of the night. But Michael said he’d protect me, even brought his sword outside with him.

"Beautiful night," I said, looking out at the night sky beyond us, the moon hanging low enough in the sky for me to reach out and touch it. The cake was sweet on my tongue, my fork clattered lightly against the glass as I reached for my water. 

"It really is," Michael replied, but he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking at me, and I could feel it. When I turned to look at him, he leaned down and kissed me. That’s all there was to it. It was so simple, short but felt like it lasted forever. I never felt butterflies in my stomach before today, and that’s how I know this is real. This is what falling in love feels like, and I’m so goddamn scared that I’m going to mess this up.

I don’t want to mess this up. Not ever, not at all.


Dear diary,

Today, Michael introduced me to his friend Ray. Ray has a slightly unhealthy obsession with roses, but uses it to decorate the field around his house, which looks absolutely stunning. Ray lives an uncomplicated life, but had been away on month long quest for his favourite flower on the other side of the world, where they were in full bloom. He was slightly delayed because he lost his footing and faced his demise at the bottom of a cliff. 

"Does it hurt to die?" I asked, graciously accepting the rose that Ray offered me. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome. And yeah, I won’t lie. It hurts a lot, but only for a minute. Then the world is blurry, like opening your eyes in a swimming pool," Ray answers, looking more than pleased when I press the rose up to my nose to sniff at it. The fragrance is just as I remembered it in my past life; the last time I smelled a rose was when they were at my bedside shortly before my death. My aunt brought them, because she had a belief that the rose is the only flower suitable for a person who is about to face death. The petals are the only ones acceptable for carrying the body into the afterlife, something like that. I never really understood her. 

"Is it still blurry now?" I question further, slipping the rose into my belt, securing  the stem tightly.

"Of course not," Ray smiles, then takes another rose and puts it on the other side of my belt, both of the flowers situated at my hips. I feel Michael glaring at me, the jealousy pouring off of him in waves. This is nothing, absolutely nothing, doesn’t he know that? "It goes away after a few hours. It’s a bitch, but it’s better than being dead." 

I’m glad this is the life I’ve been reborn into, if that’s even the right word for it. It’s full of endless possibilities and I’ve found better friends in my short time here than I did in my previous twenty four years of living. 

It’s starting to feel like home.


Dear diary,

I really should start to write in this more. It’s been over a month since I last did, but I don’t know what I should write about. It’s been pretty quiet with Michael and I. I definitely consider us as a couple, even though I’ve never been one for labels. You’d think I’d get tired of him since I only really see him and Ray, but I’m not. I’m not tired of him at all. I hope I don’t think differently in a few months, because that’d be a real shame.

I actually met a couple more of Michael’s friends since I’ve last written in this diary. I met Lindsay, who breeds multiple types of animals and even has a pink sheep. I’ve never seen a pink sheep before. She said it’s too complicated to explain how she did it, and I probably wouldn’t understand anyway, but she’s also successfully created purple, green and blue sheep. It’s funny to see a whole rainbow flock of sheep chase after her when she holds wheat. I was laughing so hard that Michael had to hold me up. 

I also met Geoff and Jack, who live in the same area a short distance from Lindsay’s house. They’re the builders; they’ve built all of the houses I’ve seen so far. They even built their individual respective houses, which stretch so tall that I can’t even see the tops of them. I want to build a house like that one day, and Geoff said he’d take me on his next job. I think Geoff and Jack are together, but I didn’t ask. I wonder if they’re not one for labels either, but they definitely were standing closer than I would consider friendly. 

Even with all of these new people, I’m still the friendliest with Ray. There’s something about him that just makes me want to relax and talk to him for hours. I’ve never seen him stressed out. I hope Michael doesn’t worry about me talking to him, because I honestly don’t see Ray as anything more than a friend. 

I don’t know how Ray sees me, though. 


Dear diary,

Holy shit.

Those are the only words I can use to accurately sum up last night.

I’m writing this in the morning, and the sun is coming in through the window and falling on Michael’s face while he’s still asleep. The sheet comes halfway up his waist; he’s snoring a little bit and doing that thing where he curls into himself, and I’m absolutely in love. I hate to say it like that, but there’s no other way to describe it.

I’m also naked.

That’s what happened last night. 


Dear diary,

I’ve never had this many feelings at once before. 

All I’m thinking about is the first time Michael and I kissed, the bright stars and the glowing moon as our only witnesses. The first time I made dinner for Michael, and almost burned down our house that we’ve built. This house with the leaky ceiling and broken fence, but we haven’t bothered to fix either of those things yet. The first time he took me into a cave to teach me about mining, and I spent the next week coughing up dust. The first time he took me to the side of the world where Ray went to pick his roses, which was full of rolling green hills and vast lakes. The first time I had to encounter a monster, an odd black creature that was moving around some dirt. Michael took my hand and told me not to look it the eye, and he made me feel safe. The smile Michael gives me when I’m sleepy and stumble out of bed to use the bathroom, the way Michael holds my hand when we walk through the forest, promising not to let any harm come my way. The time just last week when it was only the two of us wrapped around each other, twisted in our blankets well into the night. Michael, all I can think of is Michael; he consumes all of my thoughts and my inner being. 

Michael has to leave; there are other people like me who are going hungry and thirsty in the woods because they don’t know where the hell they are. He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, but it’s his job and he hasn’t done it since he found me. I understand, I really do, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

I don’t want him to go, but he has to. He leaves tomorrow.

I hope he doesn’t forget about me.


Dear diary,

He left. 

He held me, told me not to cry, that he’d be back soon and that I shouldn’t worry. But I cried anyway, I cried for the first time since I was thirteen. I cried all of the tears that I couldn’t cry for my mother while I was on my deathbed, because I didn’t have the strength. I don’t know how else to handle letting go of someone you so deeply feel for, even after such a short time of knowing them.

Everyone I love always leaves, or I have to leave them. It’s not fair, and it never will be. 


Dear diary,

I waited for Michael today. 

I woke up and found his side of the bed empty, so I waited for him to come in with breakfast like he always does. But then breakfast came and went, so I waited for him to come inside from getting the water. But he never came with the water, so I waited for him to bring in lunch. But lunch time was soon past, and so was dinner and dusk, and I waited for him to come back to the bed I never moved from this entire day.

I waited and waited, ignoring the fact he wasn’t going to come, until I fell back into a restless sleep.


Dear diary, 

I haven’t found the energy to write in this diary, not after looking at all my previous entries. I shouldn’t do this to myself. I really, really shouldn’t.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Ray, who enjoys the company. At least, I think he enjoys my company. He’s lonely, and I’m lonely, so we make a good pair. He’s shown me how to garden correctly, and even gave me some roses to plant in front of the house that should bloom by the time Michael comes back. 

I’ve tried to ignore it, but whenever I say Michael’s name around Ray, he turns a bit cold and tries to change the subject. So I try not to bring it up, even on the days where wishing so badly that when I return to my house that Michael will be there waiting for me. 

I like spending my days with Ray. I talk to him and I know he understands me, and it goes both ways. When he talks to me, there’s something about him that just makes me want to stop and listen. 

I like that he never lets me say goodbye.

"Why not?" I asked the first time he reprimanded me for doing so.

"Because saying goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting," Ray replied, giving me the same smile he gave me the first day we met. "Peter Pan was my favourite movie as a kid." 

"I like that," I said, leaning forward to hug Ray just as I always do when I’m ready to leave his house. "No more goodbyes. See you later, Ray."

"See you later," Ray responded, and I could tell by his voice that he was satisfied. 

I’m glad I have Ray. I don’t know what I’d do without him.


Dear diary,

I don’t know how I let this happen.

I don’t know how I didn’t see this coming.

I don’t know how I could be so blind. 

Today, Ray kissed me, and I let him. I let him, and I liked it. I liked how his slightly chapped lips felt against mine, I liked how he tasted sweet and sinful all at the same time. I didn’t let it go farther than a kiss, but I didn’t try to stop it. 

I’m so ashamed of myself.

I need Michael to come home.


Dear diary, 

Today, I waited for Michael.

I did not see Ray.

I did not eat any food.

I did not get out of bed.

I waited.


Dear diary,

Today, I waited for Michael.

I still did not see Ray.

I still did not eat any food.

I still did not get out of bed.

I still waited.


Dear diary,

You know the drill.


Dear diary,

For the last five days, I did everything the same. I waited for Michael. I did not see Ray. I did not eat any food. I did not get out of bed. But today, on day six, my routine did not go as planned. Today, Lindsay came by and let herself in, since I could not get out of bed. She sat on the bed and didn’t say anything for a long, long time.

"Can I lay down with you?" Lindsay asked after what had to have been an hour. I let her lay down next to me, and turned over to look her dead in the eyes. Her expression softened, and with a gentleness that reminded me of my mother, she pushed my dirty hair out of my face. The touch set me off, and like a child I cried in her arms until the sun disappeared. 


Dear diary,

Today, I did not stay in bed all day. I did eat. And most importantly, I did see Ray, for the first time in nine days. 

"I’m sorry," Ray said as soon as he opened his door. He looks tired and disheveled, like he’s slept as well as I have, which isn’t very well at all. I opened my mouth to respond, but he didn’t let me. "What I did was wrong. I know you have Michael. You are his, and he is yours. I took advantage of you in a fragile state, and I’m an absolute douche for doing so. But I couldn’t resist, I just couldn’t, and I…" He trailed off, running his hand through his hair in utter frustration. I laid my own hand lightly on his arm.

"I know, I understand. I don’t want to tell him. Can it be our secret, Ray? No one has to know," I said, holding out my pinkie. It was an old tradition, but a tradition nonetheless. He looks down at my hand, visibly contemplated his option, before linking his pinkie in mine. 

"Deal," Ray replied, shaking our hands up and down in agreement. "I also promise not to ever do something stupid like that again."

"Good. I’ve missed you," I said, and I could tell by his eyes that he’s missed me too. We spent the entire day together, doing a whole lot of nothing, but it’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time.

I feel free, and I will let nothing bring me down.


Dear diary,

Today, I waited for Michael.

Today, Michael came home.

1 year ago on April 29th | J | 150 notes