Heatwaves Dreamnotfound (NOT MINE)

Chapter 4: Mirage

"Wh—," Dream coughs, smacking the vents sloppily, mind on fire, "what?"

"He said the other day that—"

The phone beeps twice.

"Sapnap? Sapnap?" Dream takes the phone from his sweaty face to stare at a black screen. Rapidly squeezing the home button, a dead battery signal faintly pops up.

He rests it on his thigh. Of course.

With the back of his hand, he wipes his forehead. He often forgets that Sapnap knows him too well.

He reaches for the cord and silently plugs in his phone. This is exactly why he'd avoided their conversation, knowing full well it would come around to him eventually. His heart races. Why should he believe him, anyway?

The hunger in his stomach prods at him politely. Glancing around the floor of his car, he realizes that when he'd manically left his house in the middle of the night, he hadn't cared to bring his wallet. Or his drivers license.

He cranks the gear shift into drive in preparation of a miserable ride home.

Eventually, when the air conditioning has cooled to a tolerable degree, he sees his phone flash to life. He quickly routes his way home, and sets it down as his music unknowingly begins to shuffle.

From his busted speakers, he hears a few words begin to crackle through.

Road shimmer, wiggling the vision, heat heat waves...

He glares at the watery mirage on the sunny street ahead of him, and slams on the gas.

-

Nearly four hours later, he's five slices deep in a large pepperoni pizza he'd desperately ordered half an hour away from his house. Patches is perched on the counter and waiting for the inevitable moment of weakness where he'll give her a snack.

He'd tried to not think too much about what Sapnap said on his drive. It was easy to ignore, anyway, with the sweat pooling by his armpits and angry tailgating locals. But once he'd rolled into his driveway and peeled himself from the leather seat, a complicated elation set in.

Maybe he wants you too.

What kind of statement was that to say to someone in his situation? He rips up a piece of crust angrily. As if it wasn't already bad enough.

His phone vibrates against his leg, and he sighs. Sapnap had texted him a few times but Dream isn't sure if it'll be a good idea to answer. Still, he wipes off the grease from one hand to check, dangling a piece of pizza in the other.

Hey, George sent, we haven't really talked in like, a day. Is everything okay? Did I do something?

He immediately drops the slice and frantically begins to type back. No no no, of course not, I've just been—

He pauses. How can he describe the last eighteen hours of his life?

—doing a lot of driving, so I haven't been on my phone. I actually just got home.

Oh sorry, ignore my other text then, George says, home from where?

Dream chews hesitantly. Miami.

How come?

His thumb hovers over the letters for a while until he responds. I don't know how to explain it. I just had to clear my head.

That's worrisome, George says.

Dream huffs. I have pizza now so it's ok.

That's good, George responds, how did you sleep?