Chapter Text
Dream has really not been looking forward to this. It had been a while now, maybe a week or two? But it’s still hard, even for him. He sighs, hand hovering by George’s door. He doesn’t want to knock. Is knocking weird? Is ringing the doorbell weird? Which one is less formal? He scoffs, knocking in a rhythm George would recognise. It used to be their door, just a little bit ago. But it’s George’s door now, and that’s okay. He hears the door creak open, and.. fuck . This was harder than he thought.
“Hi.” George’s eyes are red, his nose the same colour. Was he..was he crying? Dream looks away, shuffling his feet.
“Hey,” he thought they were both over the whole..raw, fresh pain. It had been a week or two now, was George still..Dream can’t really say shit. He still cries every time he turns over in bed and George isn’t there, snoring like he’s about to die. “I, um..I’m here for my things. I texted you.”
“Yeah,” George breathes in, turning away. “Just..come in.” So Dream does, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looks around. The living room is filled with ghosts of who they were, even if those ghosts aren’t very old. He remembers accidentally breaking their coffee table when he flopped on the couch, slamming his feet up on the old thing a little too hard. George didn’t stop laughing until he almost passed out and turned purple, which made Dream start to wheeze, and he almost passed out.
“Um,” Dream clears his throat. “I..I just have some stuff in the bedroom. And a few things in the kitchen, I think. And that..that should be it.”
“Okay.” Is all George says, and Dream doesn’t know what else he expects. Breakups are hard. They’re so, so hard. Dream thinks that he knew, he thinks he knew that the relationship wouldn’t last. That it was going downhill before it even started to show signs. He thought that once he got a grip on whatever it was that was going downhill, maybe he’d be able to change it. But just because he was in control of making it go downhill didn’t mean he could stop it. He lets George stay in the living room, not like he has much of a choice, and starts up the stairs to their room. To George’s room.
“You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you! Just..fuck you, George. What the hell?”
“Oh, fuck you,” George had sneered. “You think that you can just..you know what, fuck you. Get out.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you here! I hate you.”
“George, you..you don’t mean that.”
“I do. I hate you. Get out.”
Dream blinks, shaking his head at the memory. He had been the one to start the argument. It had been his fault. He got annoyed with some stupid, snarky, off-handed comment George made about not needing him anymore, and he just..snapped. He had ended his stream without saying anything and then told his then-boyfriend to do the same, and he did. And then they fought. A lot. God, it was a lot of yelling. He shakes his head, opening the bedroom door. Tissues are thrown around the room, Dream’s clothes scattered on the bed. He closes his eyes, guilt seeping into his chest.
“I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.”
“Is it still what you want?” George had been crying then. “Do you still want this?”
“I don’t know.”
They never made up after that fight. It got worse, and they didn’t talk to each other about it other than that one time, but it didn’t even matter, because nothing came of that, anyways. Dream didn’t want to break up. He didn’t. He wanted to stay with George, he thought that they were..soulmates, or whatever. He doesn’t believe in that shit, but George made him feel like that. Dream knows that George didn’t want to end it either, but it’s easier than talking about it, right? God, they’ve always been so shit at talking to each other. He spots his suitcase by the bed, moves over to grab it. Dream starts to shove his clothes in there, pulling them from his side of the closet. He spots his favourite jacket, that stupid green one, laying on George’s bed. He pauses, shifting on his feet before he leaves the room without it. Maybe George’ll burn it, or something. Maybe it’ll help both of them move on.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Why are we fighting all the time, then?”
“Can we just..not bring this up right now? I’m busy.”
“Whatever.”
Dream trails down the stairs. Most of his shit in the room were just..clothes. He doesn’t care that much about anything else, actually. He just wants his clothes so he can have something else to wear for once. George can keep his stupid figurines, or his Yootooz, or whatever, it doesn’t matter . Maybe George’ll burn those, too. He spots George on their - his - couch, scrolling through his phone. Dream pauses, wondering if he should take his part of the kitchen. For the most part, he did the cooking. For the most part, he cooked things and made sure George didn’t constantly DoorDash shit every day. He shakes his head, deciding to just leave it. He wants George to take care of himself, and if he doesn’t even have spoons, how the hell is he gonna manage?
“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ve got everything.”
“Everything?” George stares at him. “You didn’t even..you weren’t here for very long.” Dream winces, squaring his shoulders.
“I..I didn’t want to be here too long,” fuck , wrong thing. This time George winces, turning away from him. He opens his mouth to try to make it right, to take it back, but..what does it matter? They aren’t together anymore. “I, um, I guess I’ll be going.”
“Yeah,” George agrees. “Bye.”
“Bye,” he breathes out, having a hard time making his body function. “George.”
“What?”
Dream turns back to look at him, a look of pleading in his eyes. “Please take care of yourself.” George’s eyes soften, and Dream can see his lip tremble, his hands shaking.
Neither of them wanted this.
Neither of them wanted to break up.
He waits for George to tell him that, to tell him he’s still in love with him, that they can make this work, but he doesn’t. “Yeah,” is all he says. “You too.” Dream..he isn’t going to be the one who crawls back on his knees and begs for forgiveness. He wants to. He should, he thinks. Maybe if he does it soon enough, there’s a chance they’ll be okay. Maybe if he can fix this..
He opens the door. Shuffles out of it, shrugs his suitcase over his shoulder like a backpack.
Dream closes the door. He waits for a second, to see if George comes running out, slamming it back open, crying and telling Dream that they can fix it. But it’s not like the movies, Dream thinks. Life is more real, and that doesn’t happen in real life. So he walks, and he doesn’t turn back, no matter how much his head, and heart, are screaming at him. Life isn’t like the movies, people don’t just get back together because they decide that they’re sorry. Maybe have makeup sex and then they get married and go live in the fucking suburbs and have kids. That’s not how it works.
But even as he walks, Dream wishes that it did work like that. He wishes he had George back.