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“i dont know how long this will sit in – in your unread messages, but i think it’s something you need to hear.”
its been three years. three long, excruciating years since dream has gone home. three years since he’s seen his sister, three years since he’s seen his friends, and three years since he’s seen his boyfriend, yet he doesn’t have plans on returning.
he had run. run from his problems at breakneck speed, leaving without a single goodbye and without packing a bag, leaving all of his belongings in a room long forgotten. he couldn’t handle staying there any longer. the memories he had made with the others, the maps he had charted, the kisses he had shared; no matter how many times he’d block it all out, they’d resurface, and he’d feel the longing and yearning for him to leave the very thing keeping him sane — the photographs of him . the person he had tried so goddamn hard to forget after he left.
“we – we miss you. it’s... it’s been years, dream. your sister hasn’t heard from you since before the incident, and i think it’s getting to her. i think she needs you here.”
the papers he had seen only months after his departure haunted him — the flyers for a tournament, hosted by a relative of his, no less, with his boyfriend as a prize. a literal being with their own emotions, ideals, and dreams, as a prize to be won as if he were a toy.
he hadn’t attended. the fleeing hope that he was alive had died long ago, and he never wanted to reawaken the feeling of loss. of heartbreak.
“s... he’s back. we saved him a few months after it all went down. we were all worried wilbur got to you before we could, and that’s why we never saw you there,” a pause, then a whisper, “we know about how you’re related. we don’t care, dream. we love you regardless.”
the feeling of hatred and anger that had coursed through him just seconds after. the feeling of selfishness and turmoil that he knew drista would lecture him for. how he shouldn’t wish that his death never happened. how she shouldn’t wish it was him instead.
it didn’t matter now, anyway. they all grew up over time, managing to take down more and more rebels every damn year. he heard about schlatt and wilbur; how they were still the saviors. how he was virtually forgotten, save for a comment from one of his students - ( “are you dream?” “i was.” )
he had found a place to live and a job with stable income. a small apartment in the land of hermitcraft, a history teacher position at the local highschool — he had found a home for himself here. he had he had a new group of friends, a nice therapist, and a possible relationship with one of the other teachers. he liked it here.
“we hope you found somewhere to stay. we... we’re really hoping that last postcard wasn’t a faux. that this number is real, too. karl thinks you’re dead. drista lost hope. i – i don’t know what to think. i don’t want to think. sapnap doesn’t, either.”
dream knew he shouldn’t have sent the postcard. he was drunk, sad, and lonely, just a few weeks into his new job. the others hadn’t warmed up to him yet, and the students thought he was weird. he would talk to himself sometimes, and the student body thought that was gross. he learned not to think about what the latest school drama was, or how to access it. it didn’t matter, and he’d only end up crying afterwards.
the phone number was the one connected to his landline. he had hoped — convinced himself — that it’d go through when he was at work, leaving it unread for months on end, and that’s exactly what happened. it was nearly a year after the initial voicemail, he discovered. he had left it for better days, and it seemed he had very little of those.
“do you think of us often? we talk about you over dinner, sometimes. drista never speaks, and it’s mostly just the rest of us whispering. drista jokes that it’s like speaking at a funeral service, haha, but it’s – it’s something, right? we really miss you.”
dream couldn’t help but choke on a sob, closing his eyes tentatively, opening them after he wiped his tears away. he wouldn’t let himself get melancholic.
“we leave the doors unlocked, y’know? just for you. we started doing it hoping you just got – got drunk and forgot to come home. we had so much hope. now... now we just keep it open as a reminder. a reminder that you exist out there somewhere.”
dream looked in the mirror above the lone landline, allowing himself a moment of self-awareness. he didn’t want to think about how big of an impact he had on anyone. he wasn’t worth a second thought back then. his therapist had been big on telling him he was worth the world and more, but... he separated the two lives. he had reinvented himself. only this version of him was worth anything in his mind, but he wasn’t about to say anything. he was mentally healthy right now.
“god, this message has been all over the place. just... we have the doors unlocked for you. come home whenever you’re ready. we... we,” a quiet sob was heard on the other line, “we really fucking miss you, dream. we love you.”
the line went dead.