Helium | DreamNotFound

Chapter 9: Regret

(11:52 AM) Bro

(11:53 AM) [Attachment: Image]

(11:53 AM) [Attachment: Image]

(11:53 AM) [Attachment: Image]

(11:54 AM) Waht the hell did I miss last night

(3:19 PM) sorry man, just finished my appointment and am getting food rn. back in ten

(3:20 PM) also delete those pls

(3:20 PM) idiot

(3:23 PM) Beef

(3:24 PM) ???

(3:24 PM) Beef burrito

Dream rolls his eyes. Between the restless bouncing of his knee against the steering wheel and afternoon sun glinting off of storefront windows, Sapnap also seems to be avoiding whatever it was he did or didn’t see when coming downstairs in the morning. The spammed photos of George sleeping with his face buried in Dream’s chest ensure he’s earned a rant of mixed emotions once he returns home.

Dream sighs. Bringing a warm barrier of food as a peace offering may not be the worst idea they’ve shared. His thumb hovers, considering writing out an apology, and more messages buzz in his palm:

(3:26 PM) Horchata too and I’ll love you forevsr

(3:26 PM) Dorever

(3:27 PM) Fuck

(3:28 PM) Forever*

(3:29 PM) k.

The nerves in Dream’s chest are dormant when hauling the steaming meals home, jostling bags in his grip threatening to spill, but he hesitates with a heel on his concrete doorstep. White arches loom over his head. The doorbell sits unrung beneath his suspended fingers.

He could press the button and make Sapnap open the entrance for him—they’d done the same when he returned from his appointment last week—yet his hand stalls. If he chooses to let the sound ring throughout the halls of his home, it could wake George if he’s still sleeping on the couch.

It hasn’t been that long since I left, Dream considers. His eyes trace over the weathered sheen on the door. I may not have to see him again so soon.

When his reminder to arrive at Dr. Lauren’s office on time interrupted him from their nap on the couch, it’d been surprisingly easy to leave George behind. An untangling of limbs, passing feelings of wanting to stay, then a breathable calm guiding Dream out the door.

He’s okay with the remnants of their night—the six hour call, their IHOP breakfast, George’s spine bumping his chest in the hallway, George’s ankles linked with his on the couch—but spent parts of his session worrying George won’t feel the same.

“You confuse worry with hope,” Dr. Lauren had said. “Replace the word. See how it feels.”

I hope he’s still sleeping, Dream thinks. I hope we’re okay.

I hope nothing big changes, I hope I don’t mess it up.

The handle turns with ease when he steps into the foyer. Weighing down in plastic straps against his palm, Sapnap’s burrito sways as he shuts the door behind him.

We’ll be fine for the week if we don’t mess it up.

A quiet meow sounds from the carpet below his feet. His eyes drop to see Patches curiously approaching the food in his hands, and her whiskers poke through the fabric on his ankles as he crouches down.

“Hey, you,” Dream says warmly. He frees a hand to pet her. “No, no, that’s not for you, silly. That’s people food.”

She pokes her head into a bag. He scoops her one-handed to his chest preventatively and smiles when she complains.