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3//Shattered Mirror

<<As always, song is inspo.

Enjoy💖>>

Trigger warning: dissociation/depersonalization

"Dream?" George's high-pitched voice played through Dream's phone speakers, and Dream lost his voice.

"Hello??"

Dream shut his eyes tight, and managed to squeeze something out of his throat.

"Hi," Dream's voice sounded strained.

A pause that felt like it lasted a million years.

"Dream- Clay, I don't know what to say," George finally said, pronouncing each word like they were jigsaw pieces he was tapping into places they didn't fit. Dream felt his eyes starting to well up with tears, and quickly wiped them away.

"I thought you were just joking, and so I joked back, and I'm so sorry for messing with your feelings like that," George explained, and Dream felt his heart break in two. There was a long, painful moment of silence.

"I don't like you like that, but we can still be friends if you want?" George's voice ended in a question that just steam-rolled the remains of Clay's heart.

Another quiet moment.

This time, Clay didn't know what to say. He scoured his mind for words but all that came to mind was the moment it all went wrong.

"I guess that would be okay," he finally whispered, the sound of his words trying to cut the thick blanket of tension covering their phone call. He could practically hear George's strained smile through his words.

"Also, I don't care if you like guys or girls or non-binary space people. You're still my friend, and I'll always l-, care, about you," Clay's longest, and maybe last, love spoke in a comforting tone that couldn't make up for that little stutter. He knew that George was going to say love. It made his heart ache to think that he wouldn't ever hear those words from him again. Clay rubbed his eyes, noticing that no new tears had fallen. He guessed that his tear-ducts had just run dry with the amount he'd been crying recently.

"Thanks George, it means a lot to me," Clay's voice was a little more steady. The heavy weight of his secret feelings was gone, but it had been replaced with pieces of Clay's shattered heart.

They exchanged goodbyes, and Clay leaned back in the hard wooden chair.

Over the course of about 19 hours, he had confessed to his crush, got ignored by said crush, cried for two hours straight, passed out in his clothes, and got his heart broken.

Clay felt the corners of his eyes prick with tears. He struggled to hold them in, too tired to go through another crying spell even though he just woke up.

Clay needed a distraction.

Maybe watching some stupid meme compilation, or scrolling through fanart on twitter would lighten his mood.

He forced himself to get up and go back upstairs, dragging his lead legs up past the picture frames. Each step he took felt like gravity was trying to drag him deep, deep down into the earth and it was winning. Clay finally got to his room and went inside.

He gently pulled out the chair at his desk and sat down, placing his hand on his mouse. As soon as he clicked on Chrome, a terror-inducing crack came from beneath him. Clay went tumbling to the ground, his arms instinctively reaching out to grab onto something, anything. The dust settled, and revealed that one of the legs had snapped, leaving a jagged edge in it's place. Clay was laying on the ground amidst the broken pieces of the chair. His head hurt a little, but it was most likely from the panic of the fall.

He felt a trickle of blood go down his arm, and felt like laughing. Just his luck, right? Just his fucking luck that everything would just go wrong today. Clay wanted to blame some higher power for his misfortune. He wanted something, someone solid and real that he could punch and hit and kick until they felt the pain he did right now.

He did let out a laugh, but it turned to a shaky sob. His arm was still bleeding, little spots of red darkening his soft green hoodie. The cloth rubbed against the raw skin, and he winced through the tears. Clay curled up, a thunderstorm smothering all of his positive thoughts with dark rain, each droplet a dagger of self-hate and guilt.

The storm leaked through his eyes, a steady river of pent up infatuation and anger and shame. Clay hugged his arms close to his chest despite the sharp twinge of pain from his cuts. He shook, each sob that racked his chest a bolt of lightning striking his already flooded mind.

It took Clay a while to calm down, and even longer for him to get up and address his wound.

He went into the bathroom and rolled up his sleeves. He avoided meeting his reflection's eyes, too scared of what he would see. Clay turned his arm around in the mirror, looking at the jagged cut.

It didn't look deep, or too serious. It just ran down the length of his arm. He opened the medicine cabinet, and pulled out the gauze and Neosporin. Clay closed the mirror, and was met with someone he didn't recognize.

This person had tangled, messy dirty blond hair that fell into their eyes. Their eyes were a dull green, the area around them puffy and red. Their face was as red as the inside of a watermelon. Clay reached out to touch the mirror, and saw that person's hand reach out too.

Both sets of fingertips moved in sync towards the glass, and Clay's head spun. He noticed that the reflection had a cut on their arm as well, and he wondered what had happened to them. Were they trying to escape, or did they just bump into a sharp table corner?

Clay watched as a drop of blood fell onto both identical sinks, and he fell forwards onto his elbows. One of which still stung from hitting it earlier. He gasped, the impact of his consciousness being slammed back into his body giving him a splitting headache.

This was no stranger, the messed up, depressed person in the mirror was him. He closed his eyes, the space behind them seemingly filled with torn up cotton balls. Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong.

With a shaky hand Clay wrapped his arm in the gauze and stumbled out of the bathroom. His cat, Patches, came over and meowed. She rubbed against his leg mewling, frantically. It was like she knew something was wrong too. Clay walked into his room, using the walls as support.

His head throbbed, his eyes stinging with panicked tears. He sat down on his bed, and looked over at the chair pieces with blurred vision.

On the back of the chair, where he hit his head, a couple dark red splotches reflected the light of his lamp. Clay's face paled, and he slowly reached up to touch the back of his head.

His hand came away red.

Clay felt a stab of red-hot pain at the back of his head, panic drowning his thoughts. He reached for his phone on his desk, and typed in the first number he could think of. He felt nauseous, and fell back onto his bed.

It rang for a moment before he picked up.

"Dream? What's up?" George's confused voice came from the other end, and Dream tried his best to form a sentence before he lost consciousness.

"Hit head... There's blood... Send help.." Dream said, his voice slurring as his vision went dark. George's panicked questions and cries grew fainter and fainter as the young man's mind faded out of this world.