warmth [dreamnotfound] | ✓

chapter twenty one. laughter lines.

quick tw because this chapter goes into a bit more detail than past ones have: child abuse (never explicitly shown but referenced and mentioned several times), a brief mention of an alcoholic parent, and vague references to child neglect.

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Dream stepped out of his window with his MP3 player clutched to his chest, dropping onto the grass of his backyard with a light thud that made him cringe. He squinted his eyes shut as he closed the window behind himself. His gaze darted along the wall of the little house to where he could see into the living room. His mother and her new husband shared the couch as they watched something on TV that played far too loud. He frowned at the sight of his mother's dainty arm wrapped around the muscular man and darted away from the house, pushing his pair of sunglasses onto his nose. They were a bit too big for the child.

As the young boy sprinted down the rough sidewalk, he plugged his headphones into the music player and pressed the play button. The songs shuffled and landed on one of his favorites, one his mother used to love. He jogged to the beat as the chorus kicked in again, turning to check behind himself in case his mother noticed that he left and tried to follow. Deep down, he knew that she never would but thought that it wouldn't hurt to double check.

The lyrics filled his brain and he grinned despite their dark undertones. Something about human desires. Power. Control. He didn't focus on the words anyway. He just liked the beat. The heavy synths and guitars buzzed in and out of his brain like a bee and Dream continued to smile as he arrived at his final destination.

-

George laid on the couch in his living room and wiped his nose with a tissue, sweeping it under his eyes as well. However, his vision remained trained on the television. He'd seen the movie countless times and could quote it line for line, but found himself tearing up all the same.

Upbeat music came out of the high-class speakers that protruded from the walls as the characters on-screen, the happy couple who had finally gotten their dance despite spending the whole movie crushing on each other, smiled in pure glee. The boy, at only age eleven, found himself watching a romance film meant for people twice his age and sobbing about it all the same. Except that every time he'd watched it with other people, they never cried. They would wonder why he did, but they never cried with him.

As the credits rolled, the boy's bright eyes darted to the clock on the wall and noted the time. It took him a minute to read the long hands and roman numerals but once he understood, he gasped and turned off the TV. "Shoot!" he shouted and slid on his tennis shoes, sprinting out of the empty house. He left the back door open for himself.

George arrived at the park shortly after his best friend, Dream. He saw the boy sitting atop a slide and waved, shaking his hand in the air and running to the bottom. Despite the distance between them, George could still see the dark marks amongst his friend's fair skin. The blond boy grinned like he was having the best day ever, but the finger-shaped bruises blooming along his bare arm told a different story.

"Hey George!!" Dream cheered as he slid down the slide, landing near his best friend at the bottom and stumbling onto the ground. He made a strangled noise as he stepped onto the wood chips and leaned down, rubbing his legs slightly.

"Hey man, what's up with you?" George pretended he didn't see anything wrong with his friend. You could get good at anything when given a long period of time to practice and that was exactly what he had done.

"Nothing much. Just the same old stuff," Dream shrugged. "How's the sitter?"

"Skipped again today."