All the Reasons

Reason 1

It was a late summer night near the middle of August when George called Dream. The moon outside of his apartment's window glared into his room, threatening the purpose of the lamp that sat closely nearby. Was he ready? He had asked himself this question many, many times. Of course, it's not every day you realize you want to be more than friends with a person you've known for years.

George was very comfortable with his sexuality, never seeing a need to declare nor hide it from any of his friends. Dream, Sapnap, Bad, and nearly everyone else he had streamed or made videos with knew that he was gay, and as far as he knew, no one had a problem with it. This led him to believe that confessing his love for Dream was logical and would yield no negative effects on their friendship. He soon realized, though, that this notion was wrong, as the ringing from discord began as the call went out to his best friend.

He sat there, hands in his lap, fiddling idly with the hem of his shirt until he heard the gentle, yet always affirmative, "Hey, what's up?" from the other side. George exhaled deeply, his nerves starting to have a hold on him, despite his desperate protests.

"Hey, Clay," George started. Somehow, George could sense the other man tense up, as he would never refer to him by his real name unless he was in trouble. The effect is the same as a parent using the full name of the child when they discover their misbehavior: it insights fear.

"I have something I really, really need to tell you." George attempted to keep his heart from beating out of his chest, but the shaking in his voice and legs made it evident that it would be easier said than done. He swallowed deeply and looked towards the icon of the white little blob that was inhabiting his screen. "I really like you, Clay," George said, staring into Dream's soul from beyond the screen.

The silence that ensued was painful and seemed to last for years, but was, in reality, about ten seconds. "George, I-" Dream stuttered, "I don't think it could work. Between us, I mean!" George's heart dropped. The adrenaline that was coursing through his veins just seconds prior continued, leaving a broken and empty feeling in his chest. His throat constricted and he blinked back tears that threatened to spill.

Dream sighed, and continued, "It's not you, not at all. I'm just not sure that us being in any sort of relationship, beyond friendship, would be a good idea". Those final words felt like a shot to George's heart.

"I-I see..." George uttered, barely audibly. His throat tightened so immensely that he was worried he'd soon lose the ability to breathe. Did he even want to breathe? He gripped his mouse tightly, trying to hold onto something that could ground his rising panic. "I'm sorry, Dream," he said as he moved his mouse shakily towards the end call button. Just click it. Get out of this call so you can rip yourself to shreds as to why you thought that this was going to be a good idea.

Right before George lifted his index finger from the click, he heard Dream speak, "George, please don't beat yourself up over this. I know you. Just...talk to me tomorrow, alright?"

George gave a small hum of approval, and when Dream realized he was not going to get more than that as an answer, he was the one to hang up the call. George leaned back into his chair, cupping his face in his hands.

"Goddammit..." he groaned, wishing to be anywhere else than there. How could he be so naive? To believe that Dream could remotely share the feelings that George harbored for him was pathetic. How could George, a British man with no social skills or looks, ever imagine that Dream, a beautiful, tan Floridian man, would love him back?

Despite knowing that the chances of the outcome he hoped for were nearly impossible, his chest still ached and he still cried. Where had he gone wrong? Perhaps it was meeting Dream in the first place, or maybe it was letting himself get closer to the man. Either way, he had dug himself so deep into a hole, that he had almost forgotten what led him to start digging in the first place.