Graffiti Hearts

7.

Nick sat on his bed, huddled in the covers. He heard the front door open, signaling Dream was home from work. Footsteps slunked toward Nick's room. Two knocks sounded on Nick's door. "Sap?" The raven stayed silent, staring out the window tiredly. He didn't sleep the whole night. His thoughts wouldn't settle. Not like it made much of a difference. He hasn't been sleeping properly this week, surviving on low sleep. "I'm coming in." Nick pulled the blanket over himself, covering his whole body except his face. His eyelids felt heavy, but sleep was yet to come. Dream opened the door, his face softening as he saw Nick. His eyes moved to take in the sight of his room. He sighed with disappointment.

Clothes were thrown on the floor, sprawled everywhere. Soda bottles and cans were everywhere, even filling up the trash bin. Everything was not in the place it should be. Even Nick's prized pc setup looked horrible. Overall, the atmosphere in the room was depressing and gloomy. Dream shook his head, heading over to Nick.

Dream leaned down to Nick's eye level. He tilted Nick's face to the side, his eyes scanning the bruise. "It's starting to disappear." Dream grabbed Nick's hands, unwrapping the white bandages. The cuts were healing and it wasn't swollen anymore. "Hopefully that won't leave a scar," the blonde mumbled to himself. He took a good look at Nick. "Did you eat today?" Nick shook his head no, lowering his gaze from Dream's. "You need to eat. I'll go make you something."

"I'll eat later, you can relax. I know you just got back from work," Nick spoke, feeling guilty for making Dream do this.

"I know you, Nick. You're not going to eat. Nothing is going to stop me from taking care of you." Dream smiled softly.

"I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself," Nick muttered.

"I don't want to hear it," Dream asserted, his tone serious. He left the depressed room, the door shutting gently behind him.

Nick stared at the bedroom door, his mood diving deeper into the dumps. He didn't deserve to eat. There was no good reason why he should eat. He felt like crying again. He took in deep breaths, his eyes scrunched close. He didn't want to cry. It felt horrible when he cried. If he cried, it would mean he was a crybaby.

Nick shoved the blanket off of him, standing up from the bed. His legs felt weak, so he grabbed the corner of the nightstand to balance himself. He felt horrible. He felt nauseous, his insides wanting to come out. Nick slowly changed his clothes into something more comfortable, feeling sick the whole time.

He lied to Dream. He hasn't eaten in two days. He could only stomach liquids, so he would binge on sodas. And he didn't want to eat. His emotions felt out of control. It felt like his heart was going to burst, releasing everything. Nick has always kept his emotions in a tightly sealed bottle, only allowing bits to release. Though, because of this traumatic situation, it felt like that bottle was cracking, holding too much.

Nick looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked slightly red and watery. Black bags were under his eyes. His hair was obnoxious, all over the place. He fixed his hair, deciding on it looking halfway decent. He knew he should shower, but he couldn't care less.

He stepped out of the room, yawning. He could smell something delicious brewing in the kitchen. He saw Dream making alfredo and chicken. Just looking at it and smelling it made his stomach growl. Just one meal would be fine. Nick walked over, peeking over Dream's shoulder at the food cooking. The blonde eyed Nick at the corner of his eye. "Going to the hideout?"

"Mhm," Nick hummed.

"You're not going till you've eaten."

"I know." Nick licked his lips hungrily, staring at the food. "You would be a good wife y'know."