𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦?! | 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟐𝟓. 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐞𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚

After yesterday and its three failed confessions, you didn't think it could get worse.

It could always get worse. If yesterday's disaster was the confession letter, today's was Patches. You'd knocked over the coffee beans, and she'd swallowed a few, sending up a flurry of fan letters in a path of destruction to Clay's room. Thankfully, it all came up again, but all over his PC. He'd salvaged yesterday's footage, but lost his editing progress. It'd take longer to re-do and render on his laptop, so he'd locked himself up to make the tight deadline he'd set for himself.

You cast a glance at your suitcase, fully packed. Tomorrow, you'd fly home. You'd confess today, or die trying.

You stared at your door. It'd be so easy. You'd swing it open, step through, and cross the fifteen feet or so that separated your room from his. You'd knock, he'd answer, and you'd open your mouth and utter the series of sounds understood by the English-speaking population as a romantic confession.

You were physically capable of doing all those things separately, you knew. Yet, when you willed yourself to do it, your body wouldn't move. Your feet were glued to the ground, your arms glued to your sides, your breath a hostage in your lungs.

Today.

You couldn't do it.

Not yet.

You dialed another number.

"Hello, is this Drista?"

"Hello, did you tell him yet?"

"No, are you sure I have a chance?"

"You know the first thing I thought when I saw you two together?"

"He's way outta her league?"

"He really loves her."

Drista's answer crushed the breath out of your lungs.

"No... How?" You stopped in your tracks. You had been pacing around your bedroom floor, trying to consume your nervous energy before it consumed you. But those words stopped you in your tracks.

She sighed. "[Name], you're so dense. There's so much you don't notice." Taking your silence as confusion, she continued. "What on God's green Earth was that with Technoblade?"

You laughed. You hadn't understood that either.

"'He has a third as many subscribers, and I could've beaten him in that duel," Drista mimicked. "But he's cool. I guess.' But I'm cooler. Oh, [Name], when will you see? Please, love me!"

She thought that was proof? Clay was just too competitive. "So what? It means he's still sore about the duel. He was really invested in it, and his loss was highly publicized."

"Even his hoodie–!" Instinctively, you looked down. You were wearing it right now.

"You did spill juice on me."

"You agree that he's competitive. He likes his prizes. I bet he wanted to see it on you."

His prizes. Your cheeks warmed, and you burrowed deeper into your hoodie. His hoodie. "No way." It came out as a whisper.

"And why do you think he brought you home?!"

"Because he didn't want me to be lonely?"

"True." She sighed. "But his eyes find you every time you enter a room, and whenever you're gone... He's always looking out for you, you know that?"

You frowned. "He... laughs at me when I try to confess, and calls me an idiot."

Drista made a frustrated noise. "So, what? He's not just a simp, but a bad one. But he's clueless, so be nice to him, okay?"