Novelette {Oneshots}

Two Week Returns ✧ 𝙶𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎

The next few of these are all prompts from followers of mine because I decided to take some for once-

𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

𝚃𝚆𝚜: Extremely vague and brief mention of a car crash (I don't know why that's my default scenario, just know that George is very dead from it in this).

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌: @/72000birdsonamazon said: 'I request a ghost George dnf story with a side of fluff'.

Believe it or not from the beginning, this was the nicer option of the 2 ideas I came up with for this prompt.
Bear with me, the fluff is definitely a side...
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It took two weeks for him to even acknowledge my room again after that day.

Two weeks of watching the sullen husk of my boyfriend stumble his way around our supposedly emptier house, leave me wondering if he's the ghost instead. Two weeks of what have always been beautifully green eyes stung red, unknowing to the fact that I really never left.

I wish I could tell him. Give a sign that as soon as I could, I found my way back to him. It didn't take long to either, considering I barely made it ten minutes in that shitty Cadillac before the incident that left it in flames.

The incident that seems to have done more damage to him, than me, evident in the grieving mess it's resulted in, the one I was forced to leave behind.

Like now, when I'm left watching the way the largest hoodie of mine still clings tightly to his figure. It's probably kind of ironic considering I'm sure half of his hoodies smell more strongly of me than my own, but the sentimental value of the iconic pale blue fabric and red supreme box on the front seems to make up for it.

It'd probably be more ironic for him to wear his own merch currently, considering I haven't seen a smile of his in days.

The last time was a result of what started as a panic attack, an overflowing brain in desperate need of a distraction. One so chaotic the end result was digging through the living room's drawers, half of which I didn't know he still actually had the keys to.

In one of the top drawers, he found my camera. I remember the way his eyes cast a horrified look over the cracked screen, evident that any pictures kept on the ancient device definitely weren't salvageable anymore. Though the screen still flashed to life for a few merciful seconds when Dream pressed the button, allowing a long enough moment of hope for a shaky smile to briefly tug at his lips.

That was the last time he'd looked through any of my things, though today, he seems to have plucked up the courage to venture back into my room, which I'm pretty sure looking back on, I spent less time in than his.

It took only a matter of days after we initially moved in for us to confess, when the routine awkwardness became unbearable and it became very quickly apparent to both of us that feelings become significantly harder to hide when you're forced to look your crush of several years in the eyes everyday.

As the clingy person Dream is but would never admit to, he insisted that becoming his boyfriend meant I was just as entitled to sleep in his room as he was. And as the clingy person I can be sometimes but would also never admit to, I took him up on this offer more nights than I didn't.

So as he paces the no-so lonely corridor, ridiculing himself for 'being weak enough to leave it this long' before even approaching the door, o can't help thinking this probably isn't the first time my door had been left closed long enough to collect dust.

When he eventually finds the strength to enter, I'm almost heartbroken by the sight.

I knew there was a short period of time between my death and me finding my way back here, and I wondered if Dream would've spent that time in here. Though apparently I was wrong, as nothing has moved even an inch since the morning I left it two weeks ago.