Gatsby never thought he would wind up in a place like. It had always been about getting to the East Coast, to the place where Daisy lounged in her beautiful prison. (Or at least that's what he had once thought it was.) Now he was all the way on the other side of the country, taking up residence in California.
Nick had refused to let them settle in Hollywood, insisting that they needed a break from that kind of lifestyle. And Gatsby found himself quite willing to carter to the man who had ensured his safety, purchasing a private house on the beach instead.
He loved the warmth that permeated the whole place. It made him feel like he was wrapped up in some sort of comfortable cocoon. Nick was more inclined to lounge on the sand, turning his skin a lovely golden brown. Gatsby would steal away his book or pen from time to time so that he could drag the other man into the water. Nick would always protest, but Gatsby had yet to fail in making him laugh or coming in with him.
Nick had already shown him that he would do anything to protect Gatsby and it meant he surely deserved the same treatment.
He really did get involved in businesses now with Nick proving to be an incredibly capable partner. He wasn't building a world for Nick, like he had with Daisy, even though a part of him still longed to. He knew that Nick wouldn't like it if he did, would insist on asking how he would like things.
And then, one day, Gatsby found himself being slipped a letter that bore a familiar, flowing script, each page still lingering with light, airy perfume.
"My dear, dear Gatsby! You disappeared so quickly! I feared I would never…"
Gatsby looked over the shoulder from where he sat on the bed, able to hear the shower running behind the bathroom door. The corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile when he heard Nick singing, always just a touch off key, despite how hard he tried.
He looked back down at the letter only once more before rising to his feet and heading out onto the beach. It was there that he tore the letter up into little pieces before opening his hands and letting the wind toss the pieces into the clear blue waters, unconsciously mimicking what Daisy had once down with his own letter.
He had a new dream to build now. And it was one placed firmly in the now.