MCYT Oneshots

... and Tumbling Down (DreamNotFound)

George wakes up.

Sequel to 'Rising High'. Pure angst, no comfort, no fluff.

Tw: panic attack

600 words

George opened his eyes and was staring at his bedroom ceiling. Dream had left, had taken the plane back home, after they had made memories together George could never forget. He had left pain, because how could it not hurt if your boyfriend was hours worth of travelling away from you?

But there was something else, too, something that he couldn't quite grasp, a feeling he couldn't comprehend. It felt almost like disappointment, like being heartbroken beyond what were the side effects of long distance relationships. He didn't understand, so he pushed it away, tried not to think about it, even though it made him feel sick and dizzy.

Instead, he picked up his phone from the nightstand, deciding to write Dream a message.

5:38 pm, the clock said, which was probably a weird time to wake up, but since his sleeping schedule had slowly adjusted to the American time zone, he wasn't too surprised.

Still half asleep, he opened WhatsApp, pulled up the chat with Dream... and froze.

Everything stopped for a minute, the clock behind him that he couldn't see but only hear stopped ticking, the noises coming through his opened window went dead silent, and his heart skipped a beat.

Then it all came crashing down on him. His heart picked up speed until it was racing too fast to be healthy. The sounds surrounding were suddenly too loud, too much, screaming in his head and ringing in his ears. George covered them with his hands, dropped his phone in the process, buried his head between his knees that were pressed tightly against his chest, and screamed in agony. He didn't care about what his neighbours would think, didn't care about his throat going sore, didn't care or even think at all, just screamed his lungs out.

When he picked up his phone again, everything around him had gone white, his hands were shaking so much that he feared dropping his phone immediately again, and his breathing was too fast and too shaky, and honestly, he just wanted it all to stop.

He glanced at the chat again.

George

Good Morning. How are you?

Sent a week ago, Never even read. It was the message George had sent before Dream confessed to him, before he asked for a relationship. There was no confession, and George didn't tell him his whole story, didn't ask him to make it up to him. It had never happened. Nothing of it had ever happened, and he was such a fool. Such a damn fool for believing it was true.

It hadn't been a Dream. How could he ever Dream about something like his, about love so real he could feel it tingling on his skin and filling him up entirely?

No, this was not something his unconscious mind would be able to come up with. But his conscious mind on the other hand, had always had the ability, he had always had a vivid imagination.

No, it hadn't been a Dream, but a Daydream, made up by himself, by the supposedly rational part that his brain was. It was something he himself had controlled, he had fooled himself, because it was oh so sweet, and now he had to pay the price.

How could he ever think it had gotten better? How could he ever think he could let go, he could move on? Not when he was just so perfect, making his heart speed up, his cheeks flush, and his world turn colorful. Even after falling over and over again, the wounds not being able to heal, still Dream took him every time, raised him higher and higher, only to once again, tumble to the ground like a rotten branch.

Okay, so this was a bit less happy than the other two. This and the first part of this are the first things I ever wrote based on feelings rather than ideas, and honestly, it is a lot more efficient. You don't need to find the motivation, when it's just your way of letting it out.

Of course, thank you for reading! Please leave some feedback!

~J