Heat Waves By tbhyourelame

Plunge

"Yes." He hadn't intended to keep it from George, but for whatever reason, it feels terribly private. "That's why I was in Miami."

"But...you hate the beach."

"I—I do," he says carefully, "sort of. Lately I've just been...lost, I guess. That nightmare thing with you really shook me, and brought up a lot of stuff I didn't know I'd been holding on to."

"Oh," George's voices with concern. "Like what?"

Dream's hand slowly falls from the transparent door. He stares out into the yard, and watches the rain.

"Like my dad," he confesses, words coming from a deep hollow in his heart. "He...used to take my family there all the time, when I was little. He called it a 'lagoon of love,' or something like that—and it would make my mom laugh. I remember that so clearly. His hand on her shoulder, and her laughing." Tension rises in his jaw; around his temples. Thunder cracks in the sky outside. "When he left, she didn't laugh for a while. And—and we never went back."

He opens the door, and the sound of the drizzling shower doubles in his ears. Temperate air gently graces his frontside. It's the coldest he's felt in eons.

"Not too long after, I started having those nightmares. I guess it did something to me," Dream says, "tore me in half."

After a moment, George speaks. "How come you've never mentioned it?"

"I think I'm scared of getting too close to you," he says. I think I've recently figured out why.

The rain falls steadily.

"Me too," George says. His voice is latent with what sounds like relief. Part of Dream's anguish settles.

"Visit me," he offers again. "That's as close as we can get."

George huffs. "I can't tell if you're self destructive or just a really good friend."

He smiles, "what if I'm both?"

"Then my mum was right about you," George says, "you're trouble."

Dream's face grows unexpectedly warm. "You talk to your mom about me?"

"Yeah," George mumbles, "I talk to her about the important stuff."

His stomach flutters. "I'm important stuff?"

"You are."

Dream steps outside, protected by the overhang. Splashes of water lightly spritz his socks. "I really don't think anything will change if we meet in person, you know." He hopes, faintly, that he doesn't sound desperate. "Important stuff sticks around."

"How can you be so sure?"

His heart thumps. "Because I care about you a lot more than you think. Even if things somehow do change, I'm never going to stop wanting to talk to you."

"I don't get it," George breathes, "why you stay stuff like that to me, and not Sapnap, or anyone else."

"You're different," Dream murmurs. I don't dream about them. I don't obsess over them.

He extends a hand out beyond the awning. Between brief moments of humid air, cold raindrops land on his skin.

From the silence, he catches George softly saying, "I can hear the rain."

"Can you? Is it loud?"

"No, it's nice. I haven't had rain in a while." 

They both calm into quiet comfort, and listen. Dream peers up at the darkening grey clouds in concern of nearby power lines. Perhaps he should step inside, locate his flashlights and prepare Patches for her least favorite time of year.