Loser Love (A DreamHusband Angst)

Loser Love

Dream tries to believe him, he really tries.

He pretends not to notice, but it's hard. Laying in bed, his body tangled in sheets, mixed with his and Corpse's scent, he notices the silhouette sliding on his pants.

"Corpse ...?" Dream whispers, Corpse roughly tightens his belt, not giving a single glance towards Dream,

"What."

"Are you ... Going to work again?" Dream says, his voice heavy with fatigue and sleep.

"Yeah." Dream wasn't pleased with the answer.

"This early?"

Corpse sighed, already frustrated, "Major project to work on, taking early shifts so I can get it done quicker." He says.

He sounded apathetic, no truths laid in his tone.

The sun was bright, the sky was red, fading into blue, Dream stared at Corpse, speechless. He had nothing to say, but he wished he had something to spew.

"Okay ... I'm sorry." Dream says, his eyelids faltering, covered by the loose sheets on top of him.

-

"You know ... You're a terrible person." Rae says, Corpse held back his contorted structure, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands, stained with hickeys.

"I know ... I wish I could do something."

"You know what you can do? Break up with Dream." She says, hushed, the two sat on the bench, the afternoon had dawned on them.

"It's not that easy ..." Corpse says,

"Easy...? Easy? You're the one who started this, you're going to be the one to end it." Rae was angry, as much as she loved Corpse, she hated him. Corpse didn't answer,

He knows he's wrong. He's just a coward.

Weeks drive through, Dream hated the silence, he was always alone. Corpse would only come home at 12, drunk. Though, some nights he's home early, Dream would heat up leftovers, conversations were dry. Only 'Hi's and 'How are you's.

Love was seeping through the cracks, they were tired of each other.

Bored.

Dream tells himself it's not like they have nothing to say, they just have too much on their minds. Dream despises that. Oh, how badly he wants Corpse to admit his faults, broken plates and cold dinner sit on the floor, watching the two yell at each other, vomiting out their lies and anger.

"Corpse?" Dream calls, "Why do you always come home late?"

Corpse went silent, staring at his food,

"Traffic."

Liar. Dream thinks.

"Mkay, nevermind."

Corpse looked up, "Are you angry ... ?"

"No, why would I be?" Dream arches his eyebrows, smiling, "Unless you're hiding a lie from me."

Corpse awkwardly chuckles, massaging his stubble, "... I would never. You know me."

No.

He doesn't know.

He wished he did.

Dream fantasizes for an apology, he wants Corpse to tug on his shoelaces, blubbering his faults, admitting his mistake, he wants Corpse to know how he's ruined Dream, but he's not sorry. Corpse is never sorry. When they kiss, there is no connection between them, his eyes are empty, he doesn't love Dream anymore.

Dream hates the feeling of Corpse sleeping next to him.

Corpse doesn't try anymore.

He always showers, his hair muggy, fluffing up as it dries, his arms would be slung around Dream, his skin smooth.

It felt nostalgic, cozy.

Corpse doesn't do that anymore. He's gotten lazier, he knows Dream's always awake now, he doesn't shower so thoroughly, Dream could still smell the sickly cologne clogging his nose, he wants to puke up the cigar like toxins, but he can't, he loves Corpse, he's so addicted to him.

He doesn't know how to stop.

-

"George?"

"Yes, Dream?"

"I think Corpse doesn't love me anymore."

They stared at each other,

"Are -- Are you joking ... ?" George says, Dream shakes his head, rubbing his shoulder. "Dream ..."

His eyes become glassy, Dream tries to hold back his tears.

"Every time he comes home ... He smells like perfume, a mix of his cologne, I can see the hickeys and lipstick marks, George. He's cheating on me... He's given up." Dream says, his voice cracks, he's exhausted, George bites his fingernails, awkwardly patting Dream on the back.

"Are you going to talk to him about it?" George asks.

"I want to, but ... I don't want to break up with him. I still love him..." Dream says, he glances at George, hugging his stomach slightly.

He feels oddly sick.

"You still love him? Even after all this?"

"It's complicated, George." Dream says, his voice slowly became robotic, he can't bring himself to let Corpse go. Corpse is comfortable, Dream is comfortable, he doesn't want anything to change, he's afraid of change. He still wants Corpse's kisses, he still wants the hugs, his laughs. The comfort of them cuddling on the couch during late night Christmas, ranting about their future, sharing a warm cup of coffee, cooling as they forget it on the side table.

"I don't care how much he hurts me, I still love him."

"... That's depressing."

"I'm aware."

-

Dream attempts to imagine their faces, maybe they'd have fuller lips, a nicer body, maybe their eyelashes are longer, or maybe Corpse is just bored.

It pisses him off. He always wonders if Corpse ever thinks of him, or remembers him, his phone vibrating on the old, molded carpet, intruding the strong stench of sex filling the hotel room.

Maybe Corpse ignores him, maybe he tries to forget that Dream even exists.

Maybe he knows, he just doesn't care.

-

"I'm cheating on you."

It was silent, Dream stared, "I know."

He wants to puke, his head hurts, he feels dizzy.

"I'm ... Really sorry." Corpse admits. Dream chuckles.

"No. You're not, liar."

Corpse panics slightly, feeling guilty, "Why didn't you say something, you knew. You could've just broken up with me on the spot."

Dream places down the fork, looking down at the leftover Chinese food.

"Because ... I love you."

"But I don't."

I know, I just don't care.