behind the streams | dnf

eighteen | colors

DREAM

The hour hand on the clock lodges itself directly between the 7 and the 8, while the minute hand just barely grazes the top of the 6.

Excitement turns the edges up my lips up into a smile. 24 hours. Tomorrow, around this time, I'll be with Sapnap and George.

I'm sitting in the kitchen, on the same stool I always use, leaning on the marble countertop. I shovel the last forkful of salad into my mouth and dump the plastic container in the nearby trash. 

The quiet hiss of the trashcan as it opens and shuts becomes the loudest sound I've hear in the past half hour, except my own chewing. Carefully I look over my shoulder at the areas outside the light range of the kitchen. 

They're all shrouded in darkness. The sun sets super early these days. Through the windows I see the stars. 

The furniture stares idly back at me. Several chairs and tables that I will never need, vast gaps between each section, house plants only to fill the lonely corners. 

Big empty house. Big empty rooms.

My footsteps echo on the wooden stairs even though I try to walk as quietly as I can. 

My room isn't much better. The monitors are off, the windows are shut, and only a few beams of moonlight manage to illuminate the otherwise dimness. Blindly I stumble to my chair and power on my computers. 

The screen suddenly lights up, and I flinch away from the harsh brightness. Eventually I open Chrome and check Twitch. 

There's a red dot next to Quackity's channel. Underneath, in all capital letters, reads JACKBOX.

I click on the stream and in the left bottom corner reads a roster of names, each with a zero or a one besides it, like they're keeping a score of some sort.

Karl, Quackity, Georgenotfound, Sapnap, Badboyhalo, Awesamdude, Fundy, Slimecicle.

A sinking feeling begins in my stomach. 

When- how- what?

I open up the Discord window and scroll though a plethora of messages and conversations I usually would have ignored.

My hand weaves into my scalp and clutches my hair as I find it. 

One text.

Buried practically under several hours and hours of matters that don't concern me. 

My gaze drifts back to the screen, where the opening slide for Patently Stupid is displayed.

Quackity's laughing so uncontrollably hard at something I can't even comprehend, clearly from a recent event in the stream. Faintly I hear the humorous glee from some of the others.

Karl. Sapnap. George. 

They all sound so happy.

I stare at the screen, face stoic and unblinking.

Aggravated, I turn the sound all the way down, despite subjecting myself to the placid silence again. 

I reach for my phone, briefly seeing a few notifiations from Twitter and Discord before the face identification takes me to my home screen. Opening iMessages, I'm looking at a grand total of zero new texts from anyone currently in the stream. 

Annoyance pricks at me for no good reason. One hand rubs my eyes. They're not obliged to invite you. You're the one who missed the alert.

I move my hand to half-heartedly glance at the stack of contacts. Scrolling down once, a name jumps out at me.