heart monitors-dreamnotfound

twenty-four

His head buzzes with things to say to George, quietly reciting how he's going to act. He couldn't act like himself, because Dream knows himself. He'd just rush to the brunette, hold him close, and cry. And knowing George, the brunette wouldn't do anything to stop Dream. He wouldn't push Dream away, he'd just let things be.

The answers would be lost.

Dream's heart hammered in his chest as he places one hand on the doorknob. The metal is cool against his skin as he rests his hand there, no intention in opening the door. He stands for so long that the doorknob becomes warm against his touch.

There's a moment where his breath hitches and he almost twists the doorknob, but he doesn't move. Time feels frozen as Dream stays as still as a statue. He feels all too hot and cold at the same time.

He exhales slowly, his hold on the doorknob faltering. The metal escapes his grasp, his hand falling limp by his side.

He can't do it.

The door seems to be taunting him, mocking him for being too weak. The distance seems to stretch between Dream and the door. It feels so far that the blonde has to forcefully blink to snap back into reality.

George is just behind the door. With answers.

Answers that Dream's so desperate for, but somehow can't muster the courage to seek them.

That's when it occurs to him.

He's not here for answers, he's here for George. George who was behind this very door. George who had wanted to take a break.

The brunette could be doing anything behind the door. He could be having the time of his life, he could be crying, he could be living freely and happily.

Here Dream was. Standing behind the door, wondering if he should just leave. Leaving would mean sticking to the promise of a break. Sticking to the promise of a break meant breaking the promise between the two.

The blonde sighs, shifting the weight from one foot to the other nervously. He digs into his backpack, snaps a single flower from the medium sized bouquet he bought for himself, and sets it parallel to the door.

As he tries to zip his backpack, his eyes fall on the sealed envelope that he had wrote when he was at the beach. It's untouched, and the blonde has tried forgetting about it. His fingers graze the smooth texture of the envelope as he takes it out and inspects it.

He lets his hands drop the piece of paper, watching it flutter and skim the ground. It stutters along the floor as it finally comes to a stop, resting just in front of the broken flower.

Dream looks at it with a sad expression. He wonders if George will see it. He probably wouldn't, but at least the blonde had the satisfaction of doing something other than wandering around like a ghost.

The blue petal stands out from the pearly tiled floor, and the blonde just watches it with sorrow eyes. He wants to step on it, he wants to feel the crunch of the flower beneath his shoe, but he doesn't have it in him to do it.

It'd be destroying something that used to be beautiful.

Dream's not like that.

—————

Dear George,

I've walked to the hospital too many times recently. My brain just turns off and drags me places until I'm standing at the entrance of the hospital again.

No one recognizes me. No one stops to say hi or wonders why I go there so many times and not go in. I wonder that too.

I'm still trying to find the answers to that, but I realized that some problems are better left unsolved.