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The room is dark.
George is under the covers, curled up into a ball as his body shakes uncontrollably. His phone is chucked somewhere in the corner of his room, as far away from him as possible. His lungs hurt from all the heaving he went through, and the dried trails of tears clung to his cheeks. He licks his lips, which are cracked due to the lack of water intake for the past few hours. He feels sticky and unclean, but he doesn’t move from his spot.
A series of knocks echoes through the room. It’s his roommate, Sapnap, asking if he’s okay. George doesn’t answer, hugging his knees tighter.
Rain hits the window softly, the rhythmic patterns a failed attempt at calming George’s stormy heart down. The noise coming from the London traffic is muffled by the layer of glass, but George doesn’t notice the difference as the voices in his head yells at him. Both energy and fatigue coursing through his body at the same time, just like those days when he’d drank six cups of coffee to fuel him through a late night project. He feels tired, but he’s wide awake. His throat scratches at him, begging him for water, as he coughs.
He doesn't feel anything anymore. He wonders if it has been a day yet.
The fan hums, silently comforting him as soft wind blows down on him. His blanket acts as a shield, deflecting its pity. It creaks a little.
Another knock on his door, followed by words of concern. George covers his ears.
It’s not your fault, the voice whispers, Dream’s voice whispers, but George doesn’t trust him.
It’s all my fault, his own voice yells back, and the previous voice doesn’t respond as George pushes his thoughts back.
His grip on the sheets tighten. He’s biting on the insides of his cheeks, tasting copper. His tongue presses against the injury, licking it, an attempt to soothe and heal it.
He wishes that it was that easy to heal his heart too.
It’s not your fault, the voice echoes in his head again, but George presses his hands against his ears.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” George mumbles, and suddenly the blankets are too tight around him, constricting him with the little voices that have somehow found their way into his head after the breakup. He gasps for air, and in a state of panic, pushes against the cocoon that he has created for himself, the safe space now filled with brutal attacks by memories that he had cherished once with happiness and love.
He can’t breathe. He wants to get out.
He fights against the sheets, and a sob is lodged against his throat as he claws against the smooth surface of his cage, an accidental trap that he has set for himself. Panic bubbles in his stomach, rising, and George doesn’t think he can take it anymore.
Is this how Dream felt like? Bounded in a relationship, suffocated by the label that they had slapped onto themselves, announcing that they were boyfriends? George should’ve known.
He manages to break free, untangling the messy pile of sheets that had restricted his movements, panting as he gulps down fresh air as if he had been underwater for too long. He pushes the blankets away, free from the physical prison.
Not quite free from his inner demons yet, though.
Although he has claimed victory over the battle with his sheets, he has definitely lost in the battle with his own heart.
Have breakups ever been this painful before?
George subconsciously rubs the bracelet that Dream had given him when they were together, his fingers glossing over the smooth surface of steel before coming to an abrupt stop. Trembling, he lets his thumbs run over the words on the inside of the band that were carefully carved out by skilled hands. He lets out a shaky breath, his mind spelling out the letters of the words that he has memorised long ago.
D r e a m & G e o r g e
George wants to rip the bracelet from his wrist and throw it across the room, and as his fingers curl around the cold metal, something inside him stops him from doing so. Perhaps it’s the thin thread of hope that they might get back together again, or the thought that Dream maybe, maybe, still loves him.
He unwraps his fingers, letting them slide. Not today, he barters with himself. I’m not ready yet.
But when is he ever ready to let go?
George laughs a little as he feels his thoughts play tug-of-war against each other, feelings against rationale, logic against emotions as they crash into each other like angry waves, overlapping each other in order to gain George’s attention. Ignoring them, he lets himself glance at the box of items that he has stowed away the day after the breakup, sitting innocently in the corner of his room as if it had done nothing wrong.
Well, the box and the contents inside caused him no harm, really. It’s the memories that act like knives piercing through his heart, shredding them into ruthless pieces.
Usually, Dream would be the one to pick them up and mend them back together, but how can he do that now, when he’s the one that shattered it in the first place?
It’s unfair, really, how the game of love played out. Laughable, even. Dream seemed to always have total control over George’s heart, even when they were friends, and George fucking hated it. Like a cat with a mouse, Dream toyed with it, testing his limits without a care in the world as George looked at him nervously, praying that he doesn’t accidentally drop it, because he’s fragile and easily hurt despite the cold and confident front that he puts up.
Of course, Dream nearly breaks it one day, that clumsy bastard, and George has had enough of the flirting and teasing, so he called up Dream and let the confession flow out of his mouth, a dam full of hidden feelings and years of silent pining finally bursting at its seams.
He prepared himself for Dream to return him his heart back, to apologise and never bring it up again. As the duo sits in awkward silence, George almost waved the heavy atmosphere away and hung up, forcefully ripping his heart back from Dream’s hands.
But Dream returned with a gift: his own heart, and handed it to George, his voice shaking a little as he admitted his own true feelings.
It had been the first time that George fell in love, and he was so blinded by the fact that maybe, just maybe, they were the perfect pair. The duo with perfect chemistry, the power couple that everyone dreams of.
He thought Dream was his soulmate.
George laughs bitterly, scoffing at his younger, naive self. Oh, how pure was he, thinking that love is all roses and chocolates? His heart used to soar when Dream laughed, and his stomach used to fill with butterflies when Dream gave him the gentle, loving gaze that he had swooned for so much.
Now, his heart merely falls into the endless void, and the butterflies turn into hornets as the sharp thorns of the roses prick George even further as he lets his thoughts wander to Dream.
The man who has stolen his heart, and never returned it. The man who plays dirty, stealthily; a thief. The man whom George has fallen for, and who has fallen for George, too.
George traces the wrinkles on his bedsheet, as his stomach complains about the lack of food in his system. He wonders where it has all changed, where the tipping point was. Was it when George refused to say ‘I love you’ back to Dream, no matter how hard he has tried? Or was it when George never flirted back? Or was it because of the shy and reserved side of George that made Dream stop loving him?
“It’s not your fault.”
The four words that Dream had uttered to him ever so softly, his eyes reflecting his sadness as they burned into George’s. The last act of romance, before their bonds had broken and disintegrated into ashes. The last conversation exchanged, before George blocked him on every platform that used to build up their relationship.
At least, that was his plan until his mouse hovered over Dream’s Discord icon, the arrow trembling due to his shaky hands. The dull yellow ‘block’ button was yelling in his face, but he couldn’t find it in himself to click on it, to finally cut the connection for good.
The past conversations in the background were taunting him, and he looked away as he clicked off of Discord.
Not today, he had said, collapsing onto the bed. I’m not ready yet.
George feels the mattress beside him dip a little, and snuggling against him is Baby, his usually unaffectionate cat. He purrs as he looks up at his owner, his wide green eyes meeting George’s teary ones. Sighing, he pets him.
His eyes catch a dim light at the corner of his room, and oh, that’s my phone. It stares back at him, a challenge to pick it up and read the notifications, but he refuses to comply. He lets out a shaky breath, feeling Baby’s small body pressed up against his right thigh. Falling back onto his bed, he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to not think of that photo, that fucking photo that sent him spiralling down the rabbithole of heartbreak.
Dream’s arms around a girl’s waist, smiling. They both looked so happy.
George is swimming in the sea of heartache, fighting against the strong currents of emotions and guilt.There is comfort whenever his fingers graze the smooth, silky sand, yet another tsunami of bitterness washes over him as he is pulled under the waters, further away from shore.
At first, he fought against it, determined not to give up, swearing that he would never let Dream crush him till the point he breaks. But as days passed, his energy dwindled, and soon he was exhausted to the core, his arms tired and sore as he watched another wave crash over him again.
He’s floating on the rough surface now, letting seawater flood his lungs. He’s sinking, and he’s given up. He lets the sea claim its victory, and bids farewell to freedom, a sickly sense of relief and calmness washing over him.
The waves pull him down. He doesn’t fight back.
He knew he asked for this when he had demanded Sapnap for the photo, after catching wind of Dream being in another relationship. At first, Sapnap had refused, insisting that it was better if George didn’t see it. However, he gave in in the end when George had threatened him about it, and sent him the photo.
His smile. It’s the same smile that caused George’s heart to flutter and his words to stutter. It’s the same fucking smile that George adores so much.
George feels the familiar wave of nausea wash over him. His legs almost buckle underneath him as he scrambles down the bed, but he manages to catch himself as he stumbles to the bathroom. He supports himself as his guts empty out air, causing him to choke, a string of saliva dangling from his mouth. He wipes it away, and slumps down onto the floor. His throat is burning.
What has he done to deserve this?
“You fell in love, you fucking idiot,” he mumbles, the words scratching its way out of his throat. He winces at the pain, and his brain pushes at him to get some water, but his body is so, so tired and he just wants to stay here, let himself rot.
Maybe that’ll take the pain away.
Dream used to take his pain away, used to make him feel better, make him feel safe.
Was that the reason why Dream left? Because George didn’t give back as much? Because all George did was take, take, take from the relationship?
They were polar opposites: Dream was loud, while George was more reserved; Dream was impulsive, George played safe; Dream dared to express his love, while George preferred to keep it in his heart.
Is that why they failed? Because George didn’t try hard enough, while Dream tried too hard? It takes two to tango, so was it because George didn’t dare to step out of his comfort zone, while Dream reached out too far?
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Dream had said on that particular night, when everything had gone to shit. “I feel like… I don’t know, I’m just so tired.”
“Dream?”
"Tell me, George. Did you really love me?"
It’s not your fault.
But what if it is?
“Stop,” George begs, to no one in particular, as his thoughts start to run circles in his mind, and his head spins. He tries to ground himself by pressing his palms against the cold, hard tiles, but he spirals further as his demons take over.
It’s your fault, they chant, a ritual that George is used to after the breakup. He covers his ears, curling onto himself, shaking his head. It’s not his fault, Dream said it himself, didn’t he?
He’s lying.
No, he isn’t.
He hates you. He has never loved you.
“Please, stop,” he cries, and his hands are clenched into fists as they bash against his own skull, as if that will stop the screams in his head, the guilt in his heart.
You’re fucking pathetic, wasting Dream’s time like that. He could’ve done so much more better than you.
“Stop!” he screams, the word tearing through his throat, shredding his vocal chords. The voices dissipate briefly at the scream before returning, so he screams again, pulling on his hair in distress as tears run down his cheek.
A pair of hands land on him, and he flinches, pushing them away as he scrambles back, his back hitting the edge of the toilet. He hisses a little at the pain, whimpering.
But it doesn’t amount to the level of pain his heart is going through.
His wrists are restrained, and he panics, thrashing around. He feels the fingers shift, grounding him a little, and he blinks as he snaps back to reality.
Dream is the first person that comes to his mind, but Sapnap appears instead, shattering the illusion that George has for a second. Both boys are breathing hard from the ordeal, and George sees the worry in Sapnap’s eyes as he releases him, keeping a distance between him and George.
“I- I’m sorry, George. I heard you scream, so I had to… I’m sorry,” Sapnap sits down, the tension in his shoulders disappearing when he sees that George is okay. “I didn’t mean to grab you, I'm sorry.”
George whimpers, shaking. He hugs himself, looking away, ashamed for Sapnap to find him in this state. He opens his mouth, but only a weak groan makes its way out as fire burns in his throat.
“Wait, I’m gonna bring you water,” Sapnap proceeds to stand up, but George reaches out on instinct, wrapping his fingers around Sapnap’s wrist, hoping that Sapnap will get his message.
Please, don’t go.
“You need water, George,” Sapnap protests, but he makes no move to remove George’s grip, instead sighing and sitting down again, hazel eyes reflecting concern and a sort of softness. It pains Sapnap to see George in such a state, when he knows he could be doing so much more better.
Perhaps Sapnap is blaming himself a little, too, for breaking George down into shambles. He has a part to play in this, but Sapnap shakes away the negativity that clouds in his mind.
George needs him right now, and he’s not going to let himself be in the way.
They both sit in silence for a while, George’s loud and ragged breathing contrasting Sapnap’s smooth and shallow ones. George feels Sapnap’s gaze burning on him, and he’s thrown back to the days when Dream would sit in the bathroom with him, calming him down with a quiet voice.
“What did I do wrong?” George whispers yet again, his fingers trembling as they ran along the gaps between the tiles. “Why does this hurt so much?”
“Because you love him, George,” Sapnap answers, keeping his volume low, his voice soft and gentle, as if he’s coaxing a baby to sleep. “You love him too much.”
“Do I really, though?” A crack in his voice, and George’s throat hurts, but he pushes forward, asking questions that only he himself can answer. A scoff finds its way out of his mouth. “If I did, he wouldn’t have left, would he?”
Sapnap sighs. “George, you keep thinking it’s your fault, but-”
“But it isn’t, right?” That’s what he said, too. “He deserves better.”
“George…”
George looks up from his lap, and makes eye contact with Sapnap. He feels guilty for dragging Sapnap into the mess that he has made, “Don’t you have school tomorrow? You should go and focus on your studies or something. I’m fine.”
“You’re such a fucking liar,” Sapnap says, “Stop putting others before yourself, damn it! Let others take care of you, let me take care of you.”
“Sap… please, tell me what I did wrong,” his voice wobbles, a telltale sign that he’s going to cry soon. “I don’t-”
He crumbles mid sentence, tears running down his cheeks, and he doubles over, hiding his face in his hands as he starts sobbing. He mentally screams at himself for breaking down again, for being this pathetic. Firm but gentle hands are on his shoulders, and for a moment, George feels the ghost of Dream’s fingertips graze along his arm, but he looks into Sapnap’s eyes instead, and the illusion is shattered once again.
“Is it okay if I hug you?”
George falls into Sapnap’s arms, a silent consent. George closes his eyes, his body shaking, and he feels Sapnap’s hands on his back, rubbing circles in an attempt to soothe him, to tell him I’ve got you, it’s okay, you’re allowed to be sad around me.
For a moment, George feels safe.
He lets out all of his internal anger and pain in the form of tears and choked words, clenching Sapnap’s hoodie in his fists. Sapnap holds him tighter, a silent message: I’m here for you.
Moments pass, and they sit in each other’s arms. George is the first to pull back, and Sapnap tilts his head to the side, checking up on him.
“Thanks, Sap. I- I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, hoping it sounds sincere enough through his cracked and tired voice. Sapnap chuckles.
“Anything for you, buddy. So, what do you want for dinner? Does spaghetti sound good?”
Spaghetti. His favourite food. “You don’t have to do this for me…”
“I insist,” Sapnap says, but his face holds a smile as George looks at him. “You haven’t eaten, I gotta make sure you get food in your stomach.”
George smiles back, and he feels fatigue crash over him. “I’m… I’m tired…”
“We’ll go to bed, okay? Can you stand up?” Sapnap asks, slowly lifting himself and George up. After struggling for a moment, George weakly supports himself with Sapnap’s help as they make their way to George’s messy bedroom.
Sapnap lets George down, and as soon as he makes contact with the soft surface, his eyes drift shut as he subconsciously wraps his legs around a bolster. He feels his blanket cover him, Sapnap’s humming lulling him to sleep.
“Goodnight, Georgie.”
George swears he hears Dream’s soft words, but he is too tired to process anything. A door clicks shut, and everything is still except for his beating heart.
He snuggles further into his pillow as he feels the hurt from just now lifting a little. He turns around, sighing.
His mind thanks him for getting some rest as his heart slowly glues itself together, and as he drifts off into dreamland, he hears his tired soul whisper to his mending heart.
Please, never fall in love again.