behind the streams | dnf

twenty | fire

I truly wake up.

My typical stubborness and impulsiveness kick in and my senses keep my feet glued to the spot.

"George. Where the fuck are we going."

He doesn't respond. Silently he opens a drawer and rummages through it. "Where are your car keys?"

"George- what?"

He finds them and tosses them to me, my reflexes automatically catching it before it smashes into the floor, a small impact that would absolutely shatter the silence in Dream's abnormally echoey house.

I rub my thumb over the cool metal. I can feel the anger crawling up my throat, the burn in my face.

"Where are we going- George! Listen to me!" I'm whisper-shouting at him in the dark. He turns towards the front door and has placed his hand on the doorknob when he looks back and sees I haven't moved.

His face is apathetic. Eyes cold, mouth pressed into an emotionless line.

It might be my own mind or the dark room or the unnaturalness of the whole situation. The only light in the room comes from the moonlight emitting from Dream's downstairs windows, it illuminates his features poorly.

He sees my reluctance and I can see him soften.

I swallow as his gaze floats to the keys in my hand. "George, you have to tell me. You can't just drag me out into the night at-" I glance at my phone. "-3 am and expect me to follow you with no explanation."

I'm practically shaking after my defense. I fan the flames more, convincing myself that I have a right to be angry right now. Even though it feels so wrong to lash out at him, after the bond he's established with me. 

"I'm the one driving, George. You have to tell me where we're going-"

"I don't know where we're going."

His gaze snaps back up to me. I almost take a step back to steady myself.

The eye contact is fixating. It's terrifying.

My lips part and a word numbly slips through. "What?"

This time, the change in his features is so noticeable I know it's not my mind, not the lighting, not the situation.

His face softens. It falls. Something behind it crumbles, in slow motion.

"Please."

His words show it as well. The rasp of his whisper, an almost inaudible sound that's deafening enough to chill me to the bone. "Just drive somewhere."

"Somewhere," I repeat. My jaw is trembling.

"George, you act like I've been here before. I don't know where to drive, where do you even want to go?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere. That's not-" His arm limply gestures at the house.

"-here."

His voice wrenches and the syllable cracks.

A beam of moonlight faintly flickers over both of us.

Somewhere in my weary and overwhelmed body the dots manage to thread themselves together.

My feet move.

Quietly he opens the front door and I shuffle after him, shoes still half on.

It's raining.

Hard.

I don't know how I didn't realize the consistent patter on the windows earlier.

He pushes on and I quickly pull my shoes on all the way before stumbling after him.