𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦?! | 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟐𝟒. 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

The visa came in by Priority Mail, alongside a plane ticket departing three days from now. You had been on the way back to Clay's apartment when you had gotten her text: "Mailed the visa. Since you no longer need to stay in America, I've given you a few days to get home." Then you'd powered off your phone, threw it on your bed, resolved to cross that bridge when you got there, and tried to forget about it for the rest of the day.

Now at the metaphorical bridge, your only thought was, didn't you tell her explicitly that you could book your own plane ticket?

You glared at the date on your phone, as if enough ill will could erase or at least push it back by a few days.

"[Name], something wrong?" Clay looked at you, concerned, from the other side of a mountain of fan mail.
"Passport came. Visa expires this week. Can you send me to the airport?"
He frowned. "Of course. But–"
"If I don't go, ICE will be after me."

Thursday, December 3, 2020. Did it really have to be so soon? She had really given you as little time as possible. And as much as you wanted you stay with him, you wouldn't break the law and risk a travel ban. And even if you wanted to take the risk, harboring illegal aliens was a felony, and there was no way you'd put that on Clay. She knew that, didn't she? You sighed. Your mother had really outmaneuvered you this time.

Now you had as little time with Clay as possible—as little time to confess. You sighed. This was all happening too quickly—just a few days ago, you'd come to terms with your feelings. And now, you had only today and tomorrow to scrape up the courage to tell him. Then, you'd hop on a plane to the other side of the world until who-knows-when, and hopefully he wouldn't forget all about you. Your heart squeezed. At least if it all went wrong, you'd have only a day or two to endure the consequences.

"I'll miss you," you added, testing the waters. Drista had been confident, but you weren't.
Clay's response was immediate. His face brightened, and he said, "Aww. I'll miss you more! And we can still message. And play manhunts. And you should send me all your writing."
You took a breath, bracing yourself. "Clay, I–"
He cut you off, wheezing. It filled the room, the labored hiss of air through lungs, stretching on for an agonizing duration.
"[Name]! [Name], look at this!"
Confession forgotten, you peered over his shoulder. It was the most scuffed letter you'd ever seen.
Torn out of a spiral-bound notebook with the frilly edges still dangling at the sides, a page-long note was addressed to him in blood-red ink. It was folded into thirds, but that description was generous: more like a half, a third, and a sixth. Worse, the folds weren't even parallel to each other–they intersected–giving the whole letter an unbearably slanted look. The edges were decorated with smiley faces, and... hearts.

Squinting through the handwriting:

"clay dreamwastaken,

i love your voice (even youre wheeze) and i love your skilled and hot personality. on dream smp, you are so misunderstood and you deserved both of the discs. i would never misunderstand you, even though you are a pissbaby. nobody knows you like i do, and nobody knows me like you do. im sorry to steal you from george not found, but clay, i love you. please write back. i hope he will be not jealous, because i would make you happier than he can.

love,
2012crystal_rosexoxo"

You admired their initiative, but even you knew that wasn't how to make a confession.
"'I'm sorry to steal you from George Not Found, but Clay, I love you?'" He slammed the table, laughing. "It has to be a troll."
You frowned. "The beginning sounded genuine."
The two of you pondered it in silence.
"Hey, Clay?"
"[Name]?"
You sucked in a breath. "What if... I tried to confess to you?"
His grin froze on his face. Then turned away, collapsing with terrible laughter and pounding the table harder than before. As he was overtaken by another bout of wheezes, your heart fell.
"Yeah, right. I'm sure you'd 'never misunderstand me, even though I'm a–a pissbaby!'"
He wiped his eyes. "[Name], did you write this? Is this your way of saying you want to... steal me from George Not Found?"
You sighed. "You're an idiot." And so were you. How could you expect him to take you seriously with that in front of him? "Of course I didn't write it–I know how to use the right your."
"And you know that I know. Obviously, it was a bluff."
You laid your head on the table, marinating in your failure.
"Seriously, though, do you think it's a troll? How about, 'nobody knows you like I do, and nobody knows me like you do?' I've never even spoken to them!"
"Love makes you crazy." The surface was cool against your forehead.
"Wow." He frowned. "If it's serious, I hope they're okay."
"What are you going to do?" What were you going to do?
"Troll or not, they're a fan who sent me something. I have to write back. 'Dear Crystal....'"
While he occupied himself with that unenviable task, you sat back to gather your thoughts. He would miss you too. You almost had it. But a gloom had settled over you. There was no way you were confessing after that.
But if not now, when? You opened your mouth to speak.
This was it.
Did you know what to say?
You would.
"Cl–"
"[Name]?"
"Yeah?"
"You probably have to pack, right?" Two days.
Your heart sank. "Yeah."
"Cool. I gotta record with George, Sapnap, and Bad, but let me know if you need anything."
He left you there to contemplate your solitude.

The Dream Team was in high demand today.
"George!" You yelled into your phone at your love rival. You'd meant to ask for their advice on confessions, but then you got sidetracked by a certain letter. "If I stole Clay away from you, you wouldn't be jealous, but wish for our shared happiness, right?"
"I would be infinitely jealous," he deadpanned. "I would wish for your unbearable suffering, forcing Clay to return to me, and me alone."
"You don't mess with DreamNotFound." Sapnap admonished.
"But [Name], it sounded like you wanted to talk about something serious."
"I did." You sucked in a breath. "Guys, don't panic. Please don't tell him. I think–I think I like Clay."
There. You'd said it. You'd dropped the truth-bomb, and silence rose out of the fallout.
You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for impact. Your stomach churned. They'd have questions. They'd probably be supportive. But what if they didn't think you were good enough for him? What if they thought you were using him for his fame? Or–
"We know."
"Obviously."
"Yep."
"You... know?" You stared at the phone display for a few moments.
"Yeah. You should tell him."
You didn't understand.
"[Name], it's been obvious for months. Think back to the charity stream."
"When he accidentally doxxed me 5 minutes in?"
"When he said he wasn't going to meet the love of his life in quarantine, and you got mad about it."
"I did not get mad."
"Did too. You were fuming."
"Did n–!"
"–And you really wanted to know why he wasn't looking for a relationship."
"But I don't get it! This is the first time I've told anyone. How could you know already?"
"Oh, oh, and–how could we forget? That time, we were talking about Clay, and then you said something like, I'm not looking for a relationship, either."
"That's right! Where could that come from, if not you... imagining a relationship with him?"
"There's no way I said that." Even then, you remembered. That Discord call after the charity stream–you had said exactly that.
The four of you sat in the silence for a few moments. Then, Sapnap:
"Tell. him."
"How?"
Your thoughts had taken another turn. It was true. You were willing to admit it–you liked him. Who wouldn't? But the fact remained that you had tried to say something to him twice, failing both times. You needed a plan, and courage to execute it with.

Even though that entire letter and its contents were unsettling and ridiculous, you did wonder if it would be better to communicate through writing–it's what you were good at! You could pick your words, and through the comfort of ink, there would be no way for you to stumble, stutter, or lose your nerve...

Or would that be too impersonal? He liked music–how about a Spotify playlist? Or–should it involve Patches? Your anxiety mounted. You were seriously considering presenting him a cake with a confession letter baked into the batter when George's voice lifted you from your reverie.

"[Name], you're thinking too loudly. The solution is obvious: just write a letter and train Patches to deliver it to him."

"It's true–it shows all of your good qualities: good with animals, thinks outside of the box, can do the impossible..."

"Guys!" They were going on one of their tangents again. Usually, it was funny, but did they really have to laugh at your pain?

"[Name], don't overthink it." Bad, bless his heart, stepped in as the voice of reason. "Just tell him. No matter how, if he wants to be with you, he'll say yes."
"If you never try, you'll never know."
"Shoot your shot! What are you waiting for? [Name], go!"

Before you could say anything more, Discord's logging-off sound rang thrice in rapid succession as your so-called friends abandoned you to your fate.

(1628)

A/N: you really hate to see it. think you'll pull it off?

scuffed formatting bc i'm writing on a phone

discord link here: https://discord.gg/YSVx836r

thinking of gaming together, like on an smp or minecraft manhunts—lmk what sounds interesting!