Your Ghost • Sequel to Text Back

7+×Rain×+7

<<no inspo song because i wrote most of this in silence

enjoy💖>>

George sighed, looking out the window. It was raining.

It had rained a lot lately.

Dream said it had been sunny all week.

George moved to float on his back, his head tilted back so his hair was reaching for the floor and his eyes locked onto Dream.

"Dream."

"Yes my love?"

"Dream. Dream. Dream," George liked the way his name tasted in his mouth.

It felt like apple slices. It smelled like home.

Dream turned in the direction George's voice came from, raising an eyebrow.

"What's up George?"

"I'm tired."

"I know."

"Dream."

The room settled under a blanket of silence.

George didn't like silence. It made him feel hollow. Like a corpse getting an autopsy. He wondered if he got an autopsy, or if those were only for people who were murdered.

George wondered if his death had counted as murder. He had looked up some things about his death on the computer Dream set up for him. It didn't really say much, just that he was a big youtuber and the world wouldn't be the same without him.

His local newspaper said that someone driving under the influence had t-boned him. They had ran a red light. The article was worded like an anti-drinking ad. Ending the paragraph about his death were the words "Drive safe, and leave the drinks at home." It made George feel weird.

He also found a lot of fanfiction that he died in. Even one where he died in a car crash on his way to visit Dream. It was written a few months before his death. Surreal.

Tip tap. Dream was typing something. George floated over to see what it was.

"What're you doing?" his accent smushed the words together, like pb and j.

Dream jumped slightly, seemingly frightened by George.

"Jeez George, don't sneak up on me like that please-" he dramatically grasped at his chest, his pale blue shirt folding in his grip.

"Oh, sorry," George replied, floating back a little. He was sitting in the air, his legs crossed. Floating was fun. He missed the feeling of floor beneath his feet though. He could sense the temperature, like the cold concrete of his safe space in the basement, but not the texture of small rocks scrapping against his socks.

The outfit he had manifested in, if you could call it that, was strange to him. He died in a blue hospital gown and bare feet.

Certainly not the blue jeans, white shirt, and plain socks he had worn for the past few months.

Maybe this was the outfit he had been wearing when he crashed.

"I'm just texting Nick, do you wanna do something?"

George looked up, having forgotten that he asked a question.

Dream tilted his head slightly, hitting enter on his keyboard before exiting the window. He spun his chair to face George.

Ideas sprung through George's head of things he could do.

"Movie?" he decided, wincing slightly at how scratchy his voice sounded. Dream smiled. George liked it when he smiled.

"Sure!"

They ended up watching some random horror movie Dream found on Netflix. It was alright. Something about a mom and her kids being hunted by a serial killer. George really just remembered the poisoned cupcake.

He really just focused on Dream the whole time. Something about the way the red light reflected across his face irked George. It made him feel... Off.

That night, the cold of the basement welcomed him.

He began his normal route of pacing, thinking about the light, and Dream, and the whole weird feeling of something being wrong.

He thought about it hard, trailing his fingertips along the dusty walls.

Click.

His mind snapped the thoughts together like a puzzle,

> The light looked like blood.

> Dream had been smiling.

but when George stepped away to take in the whole picture, it was unfinished.

George's attention was brought away from his puzzling realisation by the book lighting up again. He wanted to touch it.

He needed to touch it.

George floated towards it, his hand outstretched when he heard Dream calling for him.

The glow dimmed like the light in the roof of a car after the doors have been open for a long time.

George sighed and floated back to Dream.

"George!" His voice was loud. It stung.

"I'm here," the ghost croaked out, gaining a smile from his lover.

Is it considered necrophilia to be dating a ghost? What would the other side of that be called? Biophilia?

George pondered these things until they faded away. They were pointless in the first place.

"I just felt alone," Dream reached out for George from his bed, making grabby hands like a small child towards the deceased.

George's lips turned up in a smile.

The sheets were cold, but Dream was warm. It was nice. George hadn't laid next to Dream in a long time. He missed it.

He almost forgot why he started going to the basement each night.

Then Dream did the thing. As soon as he fell asleep, he began mumbling. Strange things. Scary things.

George didn't want to hear them.

"George... I missed you... I had this bad nightmare where you died.."

Just a whisper.

Dream didn't like this version of George.

Was George even George anymore?

He didn't really feel like himself.

Was that even himself?

Who was he, if not George?

Whoever he was, Dream wanted George. Alive George.

Not buried-in-the-Rosehill-cemetery-in-a-steel-coffin-George.

Not him.

Maybe his Nightmare was right.

Maybe Dream didn't love him after all.

"I'm so glad you're back.. Ghost.. was weird... Sapnap helped..."

George buried his face in Dream's chest.

At least he was warm.