behind the streams | dnf

twenty five | winter

DREAM

"Twitter's going absolutely insane right now." 

Sapnap cups a hand over his mouth as he flicks his thumb across the phone screen. "Holy shit." 

I smile. "Do they still not believe it?"

"They're beginning to, I think. But that's why everyone's freaking out so much." He looks over at George sitting in the stool right next to him, and nudges him gently. "Because of that stupid picture you took." 

George grabs the edge of the countertop to prevent him from falling before shoving him back. He's eating some of the chips I got Sapnap on Christmas. 

I shut off my phone and yawn, reaching towards the bag. "You know," I say. "You guys should do a stream. From my computer. Facecam, and all." 

Sapnap makes a face. "What would we do?" 

I throw my hands up. "I don't know? Figure something out. But you have to do something over the trip."

"What will you be doing?" 

"I'll be... watching football." I smile and laugh when he rolls his eyes. He turns to George. "Well?" 

George puffs out his cheeks, head lolling to one side. "What did Karl and Alex do when they met up?"

Sapnap sits up and snaps his fingers. "Outlast." 

The absolute drain of color from George's face is priceless and I have to stifle a laugh. 

"No."  

Sapnap's grin grows as well. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah."

George's fist balls up and presses against his lips. "I'll be scared," he whines in a painfully exaggerated voice. 

"Poor Georgie," he coos before he drops the act. "Come on. It's just a game."

"It's a horror game." 

Eventually Sapnap resorts to compromises and with grudging agreement George gives in. I watch their back-and-forth under the low hanging light of the kitchen ceiling, the only source of brightness in the growing nighttime shadows. 

"We'll do it tomorrow," Sapnap breezes. "Get it over with," he adds. 

George lets out an unenthusiastic cheer, prompting a laugh from both of us. I reach towards the chip bag again, taking a handful for myself.

"Come on, the subs have been waiting for this one," I brisk. "A scary game? And both of you? Give them what they want." 

"Easy for you to say," George fires back light-heartedly. "You get out of this because it's not the new year's yet?" 

I wave him off. "Oh, I'm sure the three of us will do something eventually. But it's been long enough. We barely did anything today, anyways."

"Time is of the essence," Sapnap butts in, an exaggeratedly snide accent to his voice. I erupt into quiet giggles at the reference. 

"We're not even doing it at like, 3 am," he adds. "It's literally in broad daylight. In the morning."

"A lovely wake up call," I quip. 

George rolls his eyes at us before reaching back into the bag, only to come up empty handed. He groans as he balls it up noisily. 

Our conversation softens into quiet, brief topics that arise with little disturbance. The voices are calm and even, matching the fuzzy feeling of the isolated brightness as we sit in the only illuminated area of the house. Fond recalls of memories, an occasional outburst from any of us as we scroll lazily through social media, hardly any different from our group calls except without the technological barrier and the thousands of miles that separate us all.