heart monitors-dreamnotfound

eighteen

wrote this with two hours of sleep, caffeine, and nicki minaj. lurv u guys (also: i'm publishing without any edits, u know the drill, tell me if there's anything bad)

"Score!" Ranboo cheers as the air hockey machine makes a ringing sound. "You're off your game today, what's wrong?"

They're in Ranboo's apartment. It's empty because his parents are still in the beach house, making the game room free for late-night air hockey games.

Ranboo's an only child, so the spare rooms in his apartment went to good use. No one goes there except for the two, so it's their own space at this point.

Dream rolls his eyes, "It's 3 in the morning, what do you expect?"

"3 am is the prime time for air hockey," he shoots back as he takes the hockey puck and slides it onto the table.

The puck glides smoothly on the surface,

"Just playing shitty so you have a chance," Dream responds with a shrug.

They keep playing for about 5 minutes before Ranboo wins again.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Ranboo asks, putting one finger on the hockey puck, making it stay still. "Your mind's obviously somewhere else, and you look disturbed."

"I'm not-" Dream says, shaking his head and leaning his wrists on the table. "Let's just keep playing, it's fine."

There's a slight raise in Ranboo's eyebrows, wearing  look that practically screamed 'I know that you're lying.'

Dream didn't feel alright. He was fine when he had ended the call with George. The uneasy feeling only came after he made it to his bedroom.

He was sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling with a blank expression. After he recieved a text from Ranboo telling him to meet up in the game room, he didn't even hesitate before sneaking out.

He'd normally think before he made these decisions.

Life was great, Dream liked it. No- he loved it.

Life couldn't be better.

"Dre-am," Ranboo said, a frustrated tone in his voice. "It's me you're talking to, it's fine."

With a swift movement, he turns off the air hockey table, red and blue lights flickering off. "Take a seat," Ranboo points at a navy blue bean bag. "It's time for therapist Ranboo."

Dream wrinkles his nose bridge. "I hate therapist Ranboo," he complains, taking a seat anyways.

"Don't we all."

Ranboo takes a seat on a brightly colored beanbag across from Dream, folding his arms across his chest.

"Talk," Ranboo instructs.

Dream's dumbfounded at this point. What was he supposed to say? He himself didn't know what was wrong, the possibility of collecting his thoughts into words were out of the question.

But it was Ranboo, out of all people.

The friend he had ever since childhood. The friend who'd push each other into pools, the friend who would skip class with him, even when Dream knew that Ranboo was strict about his academics.

"It's George," Dream says reluctantly.

He watches Ranboo carefully, but there's no significant reaction.

Dream expects something more. Maybe a little headshake or frown. Maybe even an exasperated: "Again?"

But Ranboo doesn't show any surprise. He just nods, smiling a little.