behind the streams | dnf

thirty eight | Sapnap

Soon.

It's the word that overhangs me all morning. From the very moment I finally wake up from my absolutely fucked sleep schedule, it's there. Lingering at the back of my mind, before I can even try to figure out what, or why- why is it there?

Only in the weightiest moments, it begins to jump out.

When I had looked around the now-tidy guest room; bed sheets tucked with actual effort, luggage zipped and at my feet. How spotless it was, how undisturbed, making it difficult to believe that there had actually been an occupant for the past 10 days.

George's hand reaching to brush over the frame of Dream's front door, as we stepped out into the far-too-cold morning for his far-too-early flight. I follow suit, for reason almost unexplainable yet perfectly understandable.

Every last in today's morning- last breakfast, last car ride, last thoughts, last cuddles with Patches for as long as she would let us. Voice sweetened, Dream would direct her attention at us and pick up a paw to wave.

Like she was saying bye. 'You're gonna miss them', he had told her, to gentle grins and even more so laughs. 'But they'll be back, I promise.'

And it was just a bit, of course, meaningless and for chuckles. But the memory's snagged itself in my mind, with others, right there at the back of my brain.

The room, the doorframe, the lasts. All those moments we had been saying our goodbyes, and yet none of them really feel like one.

They really don't. Goodbyes have a finality, and these promise return.

So the word came to be- this thought that soon everything will circle back around, even if there's quite a distance between now and our next hello.

I wonder if the same speculations have occurred to both of them too. But as George stands in front of us; carry-on bag slung over shoulder, slightly sleep-deprived but with the smile as full as ever; I like to think it has.

His expression looks bittersweet. The word feels even more so.

The entire morning has been that way. Between the jokes and banter has been a slight twinge of disappointment, mainly the present complaint of why George's flight was arranged to be so early in the day.

But the 'promise' makes it easier, as unspoken as it is. It's the reason why there are still smiles and jokes and banter on a day that has always been dreaded.

Everything's said and done. He's let us each give him a hug, for probably the longest he'll ever allow. His shirt is still slightly creased from where the arms squeezed the absolute air out of him.

Nothing about it feels like a goodbye, not really. The lightness in the air, earnest in his expression, all suggest a see you soon.

Soon. A shared, gentle laugh and an easy-tossed joke later, we watch the brown fluff of hair mix in with strangers, until taller figures steal him away for good.

I look back to Dream. Indignation shifts my weight onto one side of my body as I scour his face. "You didn't cry."

Though his eyes are rounded and slightly glassy, expression tender, he's still quite a distance from tears. His gaze drifts to me, a smile cutting through the short-lived moment. "I told you."

"Aww. Fuck you."

"Pay up, bitch."

I fish through the pockets of my sweats, to his vivid amusement as the only things I come across are lint and days-old receipts. "... okay, later."