LOSING GAME ➳ dreamwastaken

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐫

Reverie skipped stones across the pond outside her work-in-progress cottage. Moonlight bathed her skin, giving her a faint silver glow. She watched as the reflections of the stars in the water rippled.

Tubbo was inside the cottage. He said he was going to get some sleep, but Reverie knew better. Neither of them were sleeping tonight, not after the evening's events. They had both been plunged neck-deep into emotional turmoil without any warning. Reverie knew that it was selfish of her to separate herself from Tubbo because she wanted to be alone with her thoughts; Tubbo didn't like to be alone. After Schlatt left, all those years ago, Tubbo developed quite a severe case of separation anxiety.

The devil's voice in the back of her mind told Reverie that she was being inconsiderate, that Tubbo needed her company now more than ever, and she knew that the voice was right. Yet she stayed outside, sat cross-legged on the dampened grass, aimlessly tossing stone after stone into the water.

At the bottom of the lake, something silver twinkled in the light of the moon. Reverie's stomach churned. Her sword—the iron sword that Dream had once gifted her shone from the depths of the pond, almost mocking her in a cynical way. First she lost Dream and now her father had slithered his way back into her life—it was all too much too fast.

"It's not looking good."

The sudden appearance of Wilbur's voice made Reverie flinch in fright, but once she recognised his familiar dulcet tones, her muscles relaxed. She did not turn her head or move in any way to indicate that she had heard Wilbur.

"I was just talking to Quackity," Wilbur was saying. "I offered him a coalition—if Schlatt or Fundy win the election, Quackity and I will pool our votes and create one big party, but he... Reverie?"

Reverie hummed dryly in response. Maybe she was being cold, but in the moment, the least of her worries was who won the election. L'Manberg could burn up and crumble to ash around her for all she cared—her mind was occupied with more personal matters.

Wilbur sighed deeply and put his head in his hands. After rubbing his face, he walked forwards and sat himself down on the grass next to Reverie, shivering as the coldness of the ground overwhelmed him.

"I'm sorry," Wilbur said gently, his voice full of sincerity. "I've been a terrible friend, haven't I? I'm so sorry, Rev—I've been so caught up with this stupid election, I've barely even taken time to check in on you."

Reverie shook her head, waving Wilbur down. She plucked some blades of grass from their bed of earth, refusing to look Wilbur in the eyes.

"It's okay, Will," she reassured him. "The election is important. You've had a lot on your plate."

Wilbur shot her argument down immediately.

"But I'm supposed to be your best friend. First Dream, and now your—your dad, I guess?" Wilbur finished unsurely.

It was true: Reverie had always told Wilbur that both of her parents died the day her mother was killed, and that was why she and Tubbo had been on their own since they were kids. Wilbur believed her without question, which Reverie always found to be odd because Wilbur was rather intelligent, but, she supposed, he was much too kind to invalidate someone's feelings and trauma. He himself didn't have the best family history—Wilbur and Tommy had not seen or spoken to their father or their brother in years.

"My dad," Reverie confirmed with a sigh.

Silence ensued, but it was neither tense nor awkward. Reverie was rarely ever uncomfortable around Wilbur. He was her best friend, after all, and he knew her better than anyone.

Except Dream, Reverie's thoughts betrayed her.

The piece of green fabric was still wrapped into Reverie's hair. Multiple times since the morning L'Manberg gained independence, Reverie had contemplated ripping the hoodie piece from her hair and tossing it into the pond with her sword, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to do it. It was much too important to her, and she still intended to keep the promise she made to herself about saving Dream. The only problems were how and when.