Helium | dreamnotfound

Firefly

"Yes. Because you made it your responsibility, when you sent me that text."

Dream's body leans away from George before he's aware of its movement; bated breath locked in his chest, the sole of his shoe dragging backwards on linoleum, lips parting in a wordless recoil. His face is hot with shame.

The text.

George said it as if he wouldn't remember, as if they hadn't picked it apart piece by piece over the phone, and Dream hadn't apologized enough times, or spent weeks trying to make up for it.

It's harsh to bring it up now. He knows George knows it, as his cold expression changes to a fresh face of regret for his own words. George's mouth opens, the words sink, and Dream sees it again; the strange, softened look of an apology that writes itself across his face. It's not nearly enough to make him forget the accusation lingering in the air.

Neither of them reach to take it back, and it strikes Dream again in a wound half-healed.

You can't unwrite it, Clay. His chest aches in recollection. Do you want to be stuck in the past, or do you want to move forward?

"That—" George's voice wavers. "That came out wrong."

Dream stares at him, and utters, "Did it."

"Hey Dream," Sapnap's loud greeting tears into their aisle without warning, "have we tried this kind—"

Their attention races to see him as he halts, several feet away, with a carton of juice in his hands and eyes growing wide. Dream swears he is best friends with an over-observant sponge of a man, because Sapnap seems to soak up the high-strung discomfort in the air immediately.

"Oh." He clears his throat. "Sorry. I was just—sorry."

He sways the carton in his hands awkwardly, eyes jumping between Dream and George. The juice sloshes against the paperboard.

For a moment, no one speaks. Dream has to remind himself they're here, in the grocery store, not in a place for reactions and impulsivity.

"Again with the orange juice," he observes stiffly. "Why do you keep buying that if you don't drink it?"

Sapnap frowns. "I do drink it."

"No you don't. I drink it."

"I'll drink some of it," George offers. He's still speaking quietly.

Sapnap gestures dramatically to him, and crosses between them to place it in the cart. "This is definitely the last thing we needed."

He seems to be the only one moving, when he pulls his phone from his pocket to check the time. George is averting Dream's eyes; Dream is still reeling from the emotional upchuck they'd thrown in each other's faces.

"...We can go now," Sapnap clarifies slowly.

"Fine by me," George mutters. His voice sounds empty, any trace of irritation having vanished entirely by the time he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets.

My responsibility, Dream thinks, as he rearranges the juice and glances over their food one last time. My text. My destruction. My fault.

He mumbles an agreement to finally check out.

When they move to the register, Sapnap tosses a quick, concerned look his way—all pinched brows and not-so-subtle glancing towards George—and he can only shake his head dismissively in return. His thoughts are still buzzing between their unexpected outburst and the fluorescent lights.

It's not all mine, though. Right? He side-eyes George, who is entirely rapt in whatever magazine Sapnap is making him look at, and frowns. I know that. He has to know that.