whisper (dnf)

6

- tw / explicit self harm , suicide .

The only way he could describe it was bitter, numbing bitter silence plaguing the apartment.
George hated it, every moment of it, it was cold and it ached and he couldn't stand it.

It made him feel sick he didn't have any family, no friends left just himself.

The blade pressed deeper into his thigh, deep red trickling down porcelain skin and seeping into the clear water of the bath.

Fully clothed, shorts and a baggy black t-shirt, red-pink ice cold water. It stung at first, atleast he felt something.

It'd been three weeks since Dream passed over. The house felt as if it was collecting dust, no friends, no family, just George.

Sapnap had mailed George a letter, inside a thank you note and two printed photos of Dream. Smiling, happy. He kept them pinned on a cork board by his desk. He didn't like looking at them, it hurt in a weird way. Was it weird to feel such a way to someone he barely knew? someone who was dead, dead and gone and never coming back.

God, he'd never felt this aching in his entire life. Sure he'd been through hell, but he always found a way through yet now he was hitting brick walls. Why couldn't Dream have just waited a little longer to move on, why didn't he stay. George needed him, he'd never of said it to his face but he needed him. Because Dream was right, he was hurting the same way Dream had been.

There was no reason for him to live, he pushed every last person in his life away when he dropped everything and moved to America, he'd never strive to meet anyone, he quit his job and he was quickly falling behind in rent. Wasn't long before he'd be homeless, just another reason not to live.

He choked on a sob, draining the bath and wiping down his fresh cuts with a towel hissing slightly at the feeling. He made his way to his bedroom, towel around his waist, skin free of a shirt.

He sat on the edge of his bed, "Alexa play something from my spotify" He spoke, the device making a sound to show it had acknowledged him before beginning to play music.

Life support by sam smith began, he had always like their music. Weirdly it reminded him of home, he remembered sitting in the passenger seat of wilbur car when they were 19, a song by sam smith playing through the car. It must've been around three am as they drove down the m25 with no real destination.

Sick of always waking up in darkness.

George laid back on his bed taking in a deep breath, a breeze pushing through the window hitting his skin causing him to shiver. The sweet crisp smell of night air falling through.

George had never experienced lonely ness like this, even when wilbur left he still managed to cope. With dream it felt different, a numb longing for someone he barely knew.
Another song began, one that made him shiver.

what a strange being you are, god knows where i would be if you hadn't found me sitting all alone in the dark.

Maybe that was it, Dream was what he needed after such pitiful pain. Moments with him felt so- so perfect. It was like the sense of home he needed. Yet now that was gone. He sat, eyes grazing over the cork board propping up pictures of Dream.

cause i'm sick of losing soulmates.

It felt like a plague that followed George, death. From his best friend to an ex girlfriend of his. And then meeting a ghost he got painfully attached to, who how was also gone.

Maybe that was his destiny.
death.

He pulled a pair of boxers and sweats on and walked to the medicine cabinet, pulling out whatever he could see, he pulled them from their packaging and began taking them without a care, shaking his head slightly at the taste as a few broke up on his tongue every so often. He dropped the packets onto the floor, walking back to his bedroom.

It didn't take long for things to feel fuzzy, his ears ringing a dull sound, his hands and fingers trembling and his heart racing. He couldn't even make it to the bed before his legs gave out, stumbling onto the carpet, he just about managed to pull himself to the wall, leaning against it, it hurt a lot, his stomach felt as if it was ripping its self out

"Oh, George." a voice sighed, sounding broken. A hand running through his hair, George kept his tear filled eyes closed as his head felt heavier "You're a fucking idiot." the voice chocked out wrapping his arms around George and pulling him into his chest.
George choked out a sob, the voice hushed him. "it won't hurt soon, promise, shhh, it's okay." The hand continued to thread through his hair.

George barely managed to open his eyes, looking up to the person who held him, head feeling heavy and dropping. "Dream?" his voice croaked

"Don't talk honey, it'll hurt more, just a little longer." The hand brushed over his back continued to hush. Before long George fell limp.

Everything stopped, silence, yet it was airy, gentle wind feeling as if it fell through his skin. George's eyes fluttered open, Someone was holding him, he looked up.

"Hey, you're awake." He smiled.

"Dream?" George raised a brow, reaching out and hesitantly letting his fingers brush over Dreams face.
"Where- where are we." George looked around, pulling himself out of Dreams arms and looking around, fields of dandelions and forget me nots, bindweed travelling up oak trees. Whilst the sky filled with colours George had never witness before.

"You're home George."