behind the streams | dnf

thirty one | remembrance

hihi I'm back and with another long chapter, read slowly, thanks for waitin :^)

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SAPNAP

It's a strangely picturesque sight. He sits at the countertop with his back faced to me, the overhead lights casting a soft gold throughout the kitchen.

Around this sole illuminated area of the house, nighttime consumes all else. It paints the pristine surfaces in silvery sheens, draping its dark shadows over furniture and everything in between. Through the ridiculously vast windows, it stretches across the sky, the closing of a day that brought forward a tension in both of them that I never want to relive.

From the moment of good mornings and I saw how far apart they sat themselves around the countertop. From whatever Dream was doing yesterday, to whatever happened the night after and then today. Today, filled with either avid refusal to acknowledge the other, or the strangest intensity in the few instances they did.

And all I could do was watch them, their biting remarks and cold shoulders. But now I have a reason to talk to Dream.

He's still purely a dark mass a few paces away. The overhead bulbs flicker slightly. I watch it for two seconds, give myself a pep talk in one, and my feet begin to move.

I walk towards the kitchen even as my stomach flips at what I've subjected myself to. My steps are quiet, enough so I can hear my pulse above it.

But I have to. I have to. I let myself off for an entire day already. And I can't imagine a better opportunity than this; he's alone, George is nowhere near.

He startles as I brush past him. "Hello," I greet, tone balanced.

Dream peers at me, giving me a flat smile. "Hey. I thought you were up already."

Humming quietly, I open a cupboard and carefully set a glass on the countertop. "Well, I was. I came down to get my phone."

"And... I wanted to talk about some things." Blunt, very blunt. My heart races from just saying the words, hoping that the perfected composure conceals how inwardly, I'm absolutely shaking.

I hear a short, stiff inhale. "What is it?"

Back faced to him, I watch the refrigerator dispenser fill up the glass until it tips dangerously close to the rim. Do it, bitch.

"I don't think," I begin. "It's hard to guess."

There's an exasperated laugh, breezy and short. "Tell me."

I step back just before it overflows. Turning around, I set the glass on the table but don't sit down. "What's, uh."

I try to sound as light-hearted as possible. "What's going on between you and George?"

He blinks.

Oh god. Okay. I'm doing this.

After a few moments he sets his phone down, mouth pressed into a line, features set in a way even I can't really interpret it. Looking at the countertop, then back to me and I force myself not to look away.

"What makes you ask that?" he finally asks.

Shoving down a sigh, I muster patience in otherworldly levels. "You know that... you two have been acting weird today. And everyday, actually, in one way or another." I lean my forearms on the marble, ignoring the chilly bite.

He lifts one elbow to prop up his head, looking elsewhere.

"Can I have water?" he mumbles.

The question catches me off-guard but I decide it's not really hurting anyone. Opening the cupboard again, I ignore my trembling fingers as they close around another glass. "Keep talking," I laugh hesitantly. "It's quiet."