Manburg Underground

Numb

Dream yawned and stretched, sitting up in the chair he'd fallen asleep in. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he moved past the occupied hospital bed and into the bathroom, brushing his teeth vigorously. His hair was a mess and he tried his best to flick water in it, eager to look somewhat presentable that day.

"Hello, Clay." The nurse, Maia, greeted. She was followed by two med students, hinting to Dream that she was making rounds.

"Mornin," he said, ignoring the students. He picked up his phone off of George's bedside tray and returned to his chair.

"Alright," Maia said, addressing her students. "This patient is George Davidson, nineteen years old, and was admitted to the trauma bay two weeks ago." She smiled a fake smile at them. "He has several lacerations, along with second degree burns..."

Her words drowned out as Dream filled his mind with the buzz of social media. After having to give an anonymous statement to the police, his words were considered public record. Thus meant, several news agencies were allowed to report on George's hospital stay.

Twitter was going insane. He scrolled through a couple of tweets concerning George, and almost every single one was sympathetic for George.

"Clay?" He looked up. "I need to get by," Maia said, motioning for him to lower the foot rest of the chair. He did so and watched as she messed around with a couple of buttons on the heart rate monitor, the med students gone on to a different room. "His oxygen stats are up from yesterday," she said, smiling.

Dream nodded, still frowning. "Do you believe he's going to be okay?"

"I can't tell for sure, but he's definitely fighting. He's strong," she said. "How long have you two been together?"

Dream coughed and felt his face turn red. "Um...we aren't. Just friends and roommates."

"Hm." Maia said as if she didn't believe a word Clay had just said. "He's a fighter, Clay."

She turned towards George and unbuttoned the top of his hospital gown, exposing the scars and burns on his front. "Those have healed nicely," Dream said, looking over Maia's shoulder.

She smiled and finished dressing the wounds before exiting the room to her next patient. Dream was now left, almost completely alone in the room. Quietly, he moved closer to the bed, the chair now close to the right side of George's head. Dream bounced his knee, unable to control it.

"I was in your place," Dream whispered, "only a few months ago. It feels like it's been forever. Maybe it has, I can't keep track anymore. I don't know why I'm saying this. It's not like you can hear anything. Maybe it's because I know you can't hear anything. Maybe it's because you make me say things like that. It's as if I try to control myself around you and I can't. You make me feel things, George.

"Yesterday, I sat here and held your hand for two hours instead of going to Manburg, like I have been doing. Lately, I've been more open to....these things. Maybe it's because I know you can't judge me and tell me I'm wrong. Maybe it's because I don't have to fear rejection."

Dream sighed and took George's hand in his. It lifted as if weightless, but when he squeezed it, there was no returning squeeze. He frowned and felt a tear roll down his cheek. It wasn't often that Dream cried. In fact, he'd cried more in the past two months than he had for years before. George made him feel alive. He forced Dream to feel more human than he had in his entire life.

Dream squeezed George's hand tighter, no longer able to form a coherent thought in the wave of hysteria that had fallen over him. "I hate this, George." He said, his voice getting more cold and edged. "I hate that I feel things towards you. I hate that no matter what I say, you sit there, peacefully sleeping, while I'm out here struggling to move forward. I hate that every thought in my mind is about you.

"Every fucking time I sit down in this chair, you're next to me. Taunting me. Screaming at me that I can't have you. I fucking hate you, George. I hate how I'm helplessly in love I am with you." His voice cracked at the last sentence and he sobbed into George's arm, unable to form any more words.

When a hand fell softly into his hair, he melted into the touch.