heart monitors-dreamnotfound

twelve

"Sorry if I'm a bit late," Dream grimaced with an apologetic smile. "My mom wanted to talk to me."

"Oh, I hope it isn't anything bad." The thought of Dream experiencing bad news felt almost disturbing.

"No, no, it was just about me being around the home and that type of stuff."

A small piece of guilt built up in George's chest. Did Dream have something more important to do?

Even if he did, it made George relieved that he was the option that Dream chose. It seemed selfish, and it probably was, but as for right now - he couldn't care less.

It was almost strange how different the atmosphere of the room was. It was almost tense in a way, and it was probably caused by George's shaking hand trying his best to cover the scattered papers on the tabletop.

Slight sounds came from the crevice of the window, noises of cars and busy people.

"What's that?" the blonde gestured to where George's hand was slowly stacking the sheets into a neat pile.

"Letters," the brunette quickly interjected, his voice sounding too rushed and nervous. "I think I'm going to throw them away," he murmured in a shaking voice.

"No, don't. Letters are so cool, you can always read them, even when you don't send it."

I never planned on sending them in the first place, the brunette mentally shouted. Why was he doing this to himself - this is torture.

"Yeah," George shrugged, planting his laptop onto the papers so it directly hid it from Dream. "Maybe."

"I do that sometimes," Dream said to the ceiling, head tilting up. "I like writing letters - but I never send them."

"I didn't know that you liked writing letters," George said with a smile. It was nice to know that he wasn't the only one who was obsessed with envelopes and sealing stickers.

Dream laughed, eyes looking down at the squeaky clean floor. "There's quite a lot that you don't know about me."

"Oh."

"Are you okay, George?"

"I'm fine," he replied, almost sounding snappy.

What was he supposed to reply to that?

"Okay..." the blonde answered with a narrowed tone. "You'll tell me if something's wrong, right?" he hesitated, "I don't want you to suffer all by yourself, that hurts."

"No, I'm fine," George quickly denied his hands still a bit trembly from being so nervous.

They paused for a second as Dream made himself comfortable on the spinny chair in front of the desk.

The desk contained the letters written by George.

"You hungry?" Dream asked as he threw a peppermint in front of George. It landed with a gentle thud. "That's, like, my therapy candy. Try it."

"Therapy candy," George chuckled, letting go of his protective grip on the drawer. "Never heard of it, but sounds good."

Dream smiled, relieved that George returned normal. The tension scared him, the last time something was this awkward was when they had first met - they were pretty far from that already.

"Remember when we first met?" the blonde interjected, sitting down on the corner of the bed.

George mockingly rolled his eyes, "How could I forget, I will forever be your dumb Squidward."

"You really will."

"I thought I hated you," the brunette added pointedly, taking a seat beside Dream.