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Sapnap knew when Tommy didn’t reply the first time, Dream had changed.
He knew when he told George that Dream didn’t love them anymore, Dream had changed.
He knew when he was leading the group that would later imprison Dream, Dream had changed.
If you were to ask Sapnap why he stayed when he knew he was being used, he couldn’t answer. He didn’t know himself. Maybe he was subconsciously holding onto a false hope. Maybe he really thought he could fix it with Dream. He didn’t know. He didn’t know, so please stop asking him about it.
He hates their disappointed stares.
He hates the pity in their eyes.
He hates the way they frown, the way their eyebrows furrow, trying to understand his thought process. “I don’t know if you should keep being friends with him,” they’d say.
Maybe he shouldn’t.
Who cares?
He’ll die one day, knowing he gave his all to a person. Knowing he was the loyal. That’d satisfy him enough.
Sapnap rubbed his temples, sighing loudly.
Meeting Dream in prison was a disaster. He tried to desperately to talk to him, for him to understand, yet all he really seemed to care about was burning clocks and Ranboo. It wasn’t fair. He wouldn’t fucking listen, though it’s not like he ever had. Sapnap didn’t know why he let it get to him anymore.
'...Like he ever had.' It got him thinking about how Dream used to be. He was charismatic and fun, chaotic in his own unique way that just clicked with Sapnap. They were bro’s, they were homies, they were a duo, and know all they are is a pile of ashes. Once a full bloom, now just rustling leaves through a winter breeze.
Sapnap trembled, gripping his sleeve and digging his fingernails into his arm.
He missed his Dream.