behind the streams | dnf

twenty eight | you

DREAM

"I haven't done very much on it today," I admit, scrolling through the meager list of songs. "Just a little bit, when you guys were streaming." 

"How many songs do you have in there?" he asks, yawning slightly. 

An embarrassed smile grows on my face. "Seven, maybe." He scoffs and I try to stifle my laughter as well. 

I flick my thumb up and down the screen, watching the pitiful stack of songs hit its end. "I'll work on it," I offer. 

He cranes his neck to look at me. "It's been like, two days," he jokes. 

"I'm a fast worker," I promise.

"That's like, half the time we've been here." 

I'm literally in the process of responding when his words hit me, a double back, the second wave.

"Half?"

He looks at me, slightly concerned. "Yes. Half." 

My mouth feels dry. "That.... that doesn't sound right." 

"This is the fourth night, so it's pretty exact," he says cautiously. 

Dread seeps into my stomach. "This trip's almost halfway over," I say dully. 

His mouth presses into a line as his eyebrows furrow. "There's still another day until that," he strains. 

The room swims in my vision. What am I going to do? 

I look at him helplessly, expression frozen in unreasonable fear and dismay. 

What am I going to do, after he leaves? My face burns.

The silence, the silence, the emptiness, there's going to be no one there, I'm going to be alone-

"Hello?"

A hand flies to my forehead and holds tightly. "Fuck," I grit. "Why- why did I think of that?"

He sets his phone down, sitting up in worry. "Think of what?"

"6 more days, and then you're going to be gone." 

The look he gives me is indescribable. There's a stoic set to his mouth, but I can see the strain in his jaw, and I dare imagine there's emotion in his eyes but it's hooded and I can't see them very well. 

He doesn't say anything. I'm sure the conflict on his face matches my own. 

My hand slides up into my hair, gripping tightly as my eyes flutter shut. "Why did I think of that, why did I think of that, why did I think of that," I mutter. 

"What are you so afraid of?" he asks quietly. 

My fingers weave and tangle. "I think you know." 

There's no response except for a quiet sigh and the pounding of my heart, at a ridiculous pace for even more ridiculous worries. 

Otherwise, it's silent. I hate it. 

My eyes fly open and hotly I play the first playlist I see on the screen. It just happens to be hers and at the last moment I nearly retract my finger but the impulse is done. 

George shifts on the covers, leaning more on the headboard. "I'm here now." 

"I know." 

"Yeah?"

"So it's going to be worse when you're gone," I strain. 

He emits a faint breath that strangely resembles a quiet laugh. "You're so pessimistic," he points out. "Come on, there's still time."