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Living is hard.
Unfathomably hard.
Dream has been spiraling for about a week. Each day the air feels slightly heavier as it fills his lungs. Today he woke up with concrete in his chest and couldn't find the strength to lift the extra weight and pull himself out of bed. So he didn’t.
He hasn’t moved in hours, days, he isn’t sure which. The warmth of his bed wraps around him and draws him in like a siren. All it takes is one tiny melody and he’s trapped. It snakes chains around his body and secures them as tightly as it can. It forces every ounce of air out of his being but that's okay because he’s held his breath for so long that he’s not sure this is any different.
He’s not sure how long he slept, all he knows is it wasn’t long enough. Maybe if he sleeps just a little bit longer the overwhelming tightening in his throat will release and he’ll be able to breathe again.
His stomach growls as the acid within it tries to burn a hole through his core in a desperate attempt to deliver its message. The message is read loud and clear but is promptly ignored. He can’t be bothered to fuel a body that does nothing but betray him. All it ever gave him is intrusive thoughts and mental illness, it deserves to suffer too. So he doesn’t eat, or drink, or move, for god knows how long. All he does is lay.
He allows himself to become drenched in his own sweat, not bothering to do much about it. His skin is tacky to the touch and his shirt is slightly attached to it. He can taste his breath and is utterly repulsed by it. He's repulsed by everything about himself. He isn’t even sure why. Nothing happened, he just woke up and wished he hadn’t. It's just another day but today existing is fucking unbearable.
Every breath is gasoline tossed into an already out-of-control fire. It fucking burns but his nerves are so overwhelmed he's just numb. He feels everything and nothing and wishes he had something, anything to make it stop.
He watches the sun set, allowing himself to be engulfed in darkness. His thoughts seem to amplify, echoing throughout the room. They reverberate back to him crashing into him full force and proceeding to echo within his hollow soul.
You’re nothing.
A waste of fucking space.
Useless.
Each one stabs into his gut, purposely missing vital organs because god fucking forbid he gets an escape. No, he has to sit in it. He fucking stabs himself and then all he can do is just bleed and sit. He closes his eyes as he feels yet another spiral coming and prays sleep will be merciful.
After a moment there's a quiet knock on his door. He didn’t have the energy to lock it earlier so unfortunately they shortly let themselves in. The door cautiously creaks open, the bright lights from the hallway seem to slice right through his retinas. He scrunches his eyes closed, slightly peaking one open to see who came in.
“Dream?” It's just barely above a whisper, cautious in case he was sleeping.
“Yeah?” Dream croaks, it's the first time he's spoken all day. His voice sounds foreign to him. He never wants to hear it again.
“Did you just wake up?” George still whispering as he creeps into the room slightly.
“No, I’ve been up for a while. What’s up?”
“I uh, bought you some food. I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten yet so I just figured I’d get you something while I was ordering.” George holds up a crinkled McDonalds bag.
“Oh, thank you.” The thought of food makes Dream’s stomach turn.
“Can I turn on your light?”
“Uh yeah.”
His light isn’t as harsh as the ones in the hallway so it's much less jarring when it reaches his eyes. George looks how he always does, wearing an absurdly wrinkled blue t-shirt and some grey joggers. The only difference is the concerned look plastered across his face as he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him.
“I haven’t seen you all day. Have you gotten out of bed at all today?”
Dream hesitates for a moment before deciding there's no use in lying, “No.”
“What? Why not?” George walks closer to the bed placing the food onto Dream’s bedside table.
“I dunno, couldn’t.”
“You couldn’t? What does that mean?”
“It’s hard to explain. Thanks for the food but I don’t really feel like talking right now George.” Dream rolls over and pulls his blanket towards his face.
“Ok, you don’t have to talk.” George sits on Dream's bed in the place Dream had just rolled from, “But you do have to eat.”
Dream peaks over his shoulder at George who shoots him a soft smile.
“I’ll eat it later George.”
“No, you’ll eat it now. Come on just a little bit.” His tone is somehow stern but warm.
“George-”
George cuts him off before he can argue, “What have you eaten today Dream?”
Dream is silent for quite a while. George already knows the answer, it's why he asked, he just wants to prove a point.
“Nothing,” Dream mumbles.
“Exactly, so come on, sit up.” George pulls the blanket away from Dream's face and gives his shoulder a tiny shove.
Dream sighs and rolls his eyes before shooting George an unamused look and sitting up. Why can’t he just leave him alone? He doesn’t want to eat, he wants to lay in his bed until his body gives out and he disintegrates into insignificant dust.
“Alright, I know you’re not the biggest fan of McDonalds but something is better than nothing.” George pulls out the contents from the bag, “I got you a burger and some fries, but they might be slightly cold now.”
Dream leans his back against the wall, now facing George who has his arms stretched out handing him the food. He rolls his eyes before taking them and setting them on his lap.
They stare at each other for a while in some sort of stand-off, each one waiting for the other to give in. George stands his ground not budging from his spot on Dreams bed.
“Appease me.”
Dream drops his head back against the wall before taking a couple of fries and plopping them into his mouth.
“Happy?” He asks around a fry that’s slightly sticking out of his mouth.
“Slightly.” George hums, “Have you drank anything today?”
Dream’s eyes drop to his lap, becoming embarrassed that George isn’t only perceiving him in the state he's in but fully reading the situation.
“No.” He mumbles again.
“Okay, let's grab you some water then.” He gets up from his spot to grab Dream a cold water bottle from his mini fridge and easily cracks it open before handing it to him.
He stares as Dream just holds it, before raising his eyebrows expectantly. Dream swears if he rolls his eyes any more they’ll detach from his skull. This time he refuses to give in, mockingly raising his eyebrows back at his friend.
“Dream I’m not leaving until you finish both your food and that water.” George crosses his arms over his chest matter of factly.
“Why?” Dream sighs.
“Because I care about you.”
“Why?” Dream snaps, letting his emotions pour out in his tone.
“Because you’re my best friend. You’re fucking insane if you think I traveled across the Atlantic ocean just to watch you destroy yourself. Now shut up, eat the fucking burger and drink the fucking water.” George snaps back, his frustration ever apparent.
Silence falls upon them and Dream's eyes drop back to his lap. After a moment he silently unwraps the burger and begins eating it. George just sits and watches him eat.
He has to admit the burger is so fucking good, probably only because he was fucking starving but still. It doesn’t take him long to finish it at all. He takes a sip of water and is caught off guard at how thirsty he actually is. The second the water touches his tongue his body screams for more. He’s probably extremely dehydrated. He finishes the fries and the water within minutes.
He looks up at George who hasn't moved a muscle and hands him the trash. George gladly takes it and puts it into the bag before placing it back on his table.
“Thank you. Alright, I’m gonna grab you another water bottle.” He makes his way back to the mini-fridge.
“You don't have to, I’m not thirsty anymore.”
“That’s ok, this ones for later. You can keep it on your table.” He opens the bottle and places it on the table beside Dream’s bed.
Dream doesn’t respond. He hasn’t moved from his spot against the wall, one leg extended and the other bent with his arm resting on it. He watches George as he silently gathers some trash and dirty laundry off his floor, putting them in their respective places. What the fuck even made him come in here in the first place? He makes a mental note to lock his door the next time he wants to die.
“Okay,” George says after a while, “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
“What?”
“Do you have to pee?”
“Uhh, Why?”
“Because I can go with you if you do.” His voice is extremely nonchalant as if this is a common topic of conversation.
“What the fuck?” Dream hisses, “I don’t need you to fucking go to the bathroom with me George, I’m not fucking five years old.”
“I didn’t mean it like that Dream.” George's voice softens significantly, “I meant that I would walk that way with you, because maybe if we both went that way it would be less daunting of a task.”
Dream’s lap is the safest place for his eyes to be as he feels his face burn with embarrassment. George can see right through him. He wants to melt into the drywall behind him to escape George's disgustingly soft stare. His face looks as though he’s staring at some lost puppy who’s been out in a storm alone. It makes the burger Dream just ate spin in his stomach and threaten to resurface.
“And besides,” George's voice cuts through Dreams thoughts, “I have to brush my teeth anyways, so I’m already heading that way.”
He reaches his hand out towards Dream, an invitation. Dream stares at it for a moment before taking it within his own and allowing George to help him pull himself out of bed.
It feels as though he hasn’t moved in days as every bone in his body creaks and cracks as he stands. He groans as all of his muscles feel like he's been run over twice. He soundlessly follows behind George towards the bathroom.
Like a lost puppy…
He's not gonna think about it.
He quickly uses the bathroom not realizing just how much he had to pee. He probably peed for at least a minute straight. He and George brush their teeth at the same time, giggling as they fought over who would spit into the sink when. Dream’s actually extremely happy he doesn't have to taste his nasty morning breath anymore because it was borderline unbearable.
On their way back down the hall instead of diverting into his own room as Dream expected, George follows him back to his. They enter the room and again George closes the door behind him. Dream stands in the middle of the floor and stares heavily confused.
“Can I hug you?”
Dream's body locks up, he hasn’t hugged anyone in so long. The last time he hugged anyone was when George first got to Florida and that was months ago. He's not even sure he remembers what a hug feels like but something about the idea of physical touch makes his skin crawl.
“Do you have to?”
“Please.” His voice is tiny, smaller than Dream’s ever heard it, and he thinks he’d rather cut off his own leg with a butter knife than deny George anything when he sounds that small.
“Okay George.” Dream replies softly and outstretches his arms.
George crashes into him. It catches Dream off guard and he freezes with his arms out as George squeezes his ribs tightly.
After a moment his brain catches up to what's happening and his heart swells. He melts into the hug, slowly wrapping his arms around George's shoulders. He leans down to bury his face in the crook of George's neck. The hug is tight and warm and safe. It’s everything he never knew he needed but needed so desperately.
They hug in silence, nothing needs to be said. He feels his throat start to swell as tears threaten to drop onto George’s neck. He desperately tries to suppress them by taking a deep breath but his whole chest shakes as he inhales.
“It's okay Dream, I’ve got you. I promise.” George whispers.
It shatters the dam within him and Dream exhales a broken sob before melting even further into George’s embrace. George tightens his grip around him and begins soothingly rubbing his back as Dream shakes with each sob that wracks through his body. He sobs unabashedly letting every thought he's had all day come silently pouring out.
“You’re safe, it’s okay.” George continuously whispers soothing remarks as Dream sobs into his neck.
He has a death grip on George's shirt, wrinkling the fabric even more. All he can do is cry. He can’t think or move, he can barely even breathe, having to desperately gasp for air every couple of seconds. Every sob feels like it's torn from the depths of his gut as if someone sliced him open and started ripping them out. It fucking hurts and he can’t fucking stop.
The hug is warm and safe and perfect, yet every second is fucking agony in his chest. They stay like that for god knows how long. Neither moving, the only sounds being George’s soft whispers of reassurance.
Dream’s the first to pull away, mortified at the gigantic wet spot on George’s shirt. George easily lets him and instantly takes a slight step back to allow Dream some space.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Dream wipes his tear-stained cheeks.
“You’re fine, don't worry about it,” George quickly reassures. “Did you wanna talk about it?”
Dream’s chuckle is nothing short of self-deprecating, “Which part?”
“All of it. What happened?” George asks, his voice still unbelievably soft.
“I don’t even know. Just woke up feeling heavy and couldn’t shake it, spiraled from there.” Dream shrugs.
“You know you can always talk to me right?”
“Yeah, but it's hard to be like ‘Hey George I wish I never existed!’” Dream sniffles as he tries to get his voice back to normal.
“But it isn’t. You can say just that and I'll be right here to help the best I can. I’ll always be right here.” He shoots him a warm smile and Dream feels as though his heart couldn’t be any more full.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all he can think of to say.
George doesn’t miss a beat, “Don’t be.”
Dream smiles at him and George softly smiles back. The lost puppy look is still present in his eyes but Dream decides maybe he doesn’t mind being a lost puppy as long as George is the one to find him.
“It’s late,” George interrupts his thoughts again, “You should get some sleep.”
“Can you stay here tonight?” The words leave his mouth before he ever has a second to process them. His face flushes red as he realizes what he just said.
George's face gets impossibly more soft.
“Of course,” He replies before Dream has the chance to take it back.
“Wait really?”
“Of course I will. Like I said, I’ll always be right here.” George makes his way over to Dreams bed, easily sliding in before tapping the empty space beside him and holding out his arms.
Dream slowly climbs in beside him, settling into George's open arms. He rests his head on the other's chest and listens to his heartbeat as George wraps his arms tightly around Dream's shoulders. He feels one hand slowly make its way to his hair and George starts gently running his fingers through it. Dream melts into the touch, instantly feeling his eyelids become heavy.
Life is disgustingly hard. Sometimes every second is vicious vermilion vile branding his esophagus within its acidic trail. It burns with every fucking breath, but still, he breathes deeply. He allows the air into his lungs as he sinks deeper into the safety of George’s embrace. Existing is beet red blisters on the soles of his feet, but with George by his side he feels he could walk for miles. He’d walk beside him just to bask in the warmth of being alive at the same time as George.
“Thank you.” He breathes as he finally allows sleep to overcome him.
“Always.”