Gentle Sprinkling [Dreamnotfound]

Five

George stopped approaching the bus to stop and gaze at Dream. He always seemed to be slouched with his hands on his face. To top that off, the rain made him look even more miserable. George sympathized him as he watched his friend from afar. That man had probably been mourning, someone which George presumed to be a good friend of Dream, who had died years ago, with nobody there to be with him to help. George suddenly wanted to be that person to help. He thought about this for a while before walking closer to his friend.

"Hey," George greeted with a smile and placed his hand on the green man's shoulder.

"Hey," Dream replied, doing that signature head tilt.

George brushed off the flush that attempted to rise up his face and sat next to Dream. "You know, whenever I get here, I always see you sulking,"

Dream scoffed. "Sulking?" His tone was higher than usual, tainted with disbelief. "I'm- I'm not sulking."

"Sure," George dragged the word out. "Come on, you've always been slumped on this bench doing nothing in the rain even before I started talking to you," George huffed. "I... I'm here for you. You know that, right?" George rubbed the side of his neck, and his eyes darting elsewhere of embarrassment. He was not one to say things like this, but he could tell that Dream needed it, or would at least appreciate it.

"I guess I haven't been really open with you, haven't I?" Dream played with his hands.

George thought his words out before replying. "Like I said before, you don't have to if you don't want to." He then added, "But from what you said a while back, you didn't have anyone to speak to before I got here, and you should at least let whatever you're feeling out,"

Dream took a deep breath. "It's... It's just so complicated. I don't know how to explain this without scaring you off,"

George hummed questioningly. "Scaring me off? Dream, if you're some kind of drug lord, or- or- a murderer or some sort, I still wouldn't leave you. Probably."

Dream let out something between a scoff and a chuckle. "What the hell is wrong with you? I'm not that messed up,"

"I mean, who knows? I don't," George feigned a mocking shocked face, shrugging for dramatic effect. "Either way, I'll still be your friend, okay?"

Dream chuckled weakly for a while before letting silence and the sound of rain pattering on the ground fog up the atmosphere once again. Looking away, propping his chin on his hand, he mumbled, "I don't really want to talk about it. Not now," and let out a quivery breath.

George moved closer to Dream and rubbed his back in an attempt to comfort him. The brunette noticed how this gesture had become casual between them recently. He saw Dream's shoulders relax as he did, and that alone had also given George a small sense of comfort.

"Today's their 7th death anniversary," Dream admitted out f nowhere. Every sudden noise seemed to be amplified when everything else was silent, as Dream's voice was loud, despite him only mumbling. "Time's a bitch,"

"'Their?'" George blurted out, not meaning to.

"Yeah... Their, they're, they, them." Dream listed. "A lot of people died,"

"Oh," George thought he meant something else.

So, 7 years. This man has been suffering for 7 years.

This man has been suffering for 7 years?!

George felt a pit form in his stomach. He felt bad for his friend more than ever. 7 years of pain. George knew that when you lost someone, you'd never get over them, never move on.