won't you say goodnight, so i can say goodbye

two

Mornings are hard as it is, especially waking up and having nothing to look forward to. Sometimes, waking up feels like a punishment from the universe, reminding you that you have nothing nice to do today and that today will be equally as hard as yesterday. You feel weighed down by the covers of your own bed, almost like they're pulling you back in, wanting you to succumb to sleep once more.

Standing in front of his mirror in the morning, deciding what to wear, is one of those times Dream realises how much the world hates him. The blonde simply wants to break down at the sight of his own body, cuts and bruises littered everywhere visible. His dad used to be careful to not leave marks where they were visible, but he's gotten lazier over the years. And because of this, Dream has to suffer more.

Dream rubs his eyes, hoping to anyone above that he imagines it, but he's not. When they reopen, his heart sinks as his body stays the same. It's almost like there was a shred of hope wishing that he miraculously healed in the two seconds he closed his eyes. Even if it's not physically possible, the feeling of disappointment still makes itself known in his chest.

The blonde carefully traces a rather large and defined bruise on his arm, slowly adding pressure. The shape of it is that of a fist, something that would spark questions; questions he doesn't want. Dream winces but doesn't stop pressing, enjoying a second of control. His nails join in the action, no doubt going to leave small crescent moons in the bruise.

It's a habit he picked up a while ago after needing that sense of control back. As he pushes his fingers harder into the bruises, he's in control of his pain for once. His eyes unfocus; the only thoughts that come through his mind are related to the actions, telling him to push harder, deeper, longer.

Dream blinks.

He shakes his head, pulling his hand away and wiping it on his pyjamas as if he'd just stuck his hand in something gross. Another half glance at the mirror before he heads over to his wardrobe. Because of his physical appearance at the current moment, it means he can't wear a short sleeve shirt or shorts today. He opens the cupboard door, sifting through the different sections, waiting for something to catch his eye.

From here, he pulls out a grey hoodie and some black trackies, throwing them on. They were both pretty thin articles of clothing, but he was still hot already. He returns to the mirror, smiling slightly when everything unwanted is covered. But after not even 5 minutes of wearing his outfit, he already feels too overheated. His face is flushed, and his hands already feel sweaty, and he hasn't even left yet.

The weather for today is supposed to be 104 ° F; meaning, it's an unbearable temperature for covering clothing.

But, there's literally nothing the blonde can do aside from finishing his morning routine and walk down the stairs (slowly) before beginning to make breakfast for himself and his siblings. His body ached with every movement, but Dream knows it'll loosen up a bit soon. It usually does.

Standing in front of the stove as the eggs and bacon cook is awful, and he has to keep his habit from pulling up his sleeves to relieve some heat at bay. The blonde doesn't know how he'll survive the day if he can't even cope with this.

Still, he serves up breakfast, managing to avoid any questions from his brothers about his heated cheeks and sweaty forehead. They simply sit at the table, lost deep in some conversation that the blonde doesn't care enough to pay attention to.

The morning proceeds in its usual chaotic manner before the family sets off to school.

* * *

The second Dream walks through the school gates; he's greeted by none other than Karl, as chatty and bright as ever. He's fiddling with the bottom of his t-shirt as he speaks to him, and the blonde is acutely aware of the different outfits between them. He can't help the way his eyes run up the other's arms, admiring the clear skin he hasn't known in forever.