Flowers from 1970// reuploaded

chapter 5: suppression

The reason George bought the house he lived in was because he was young and did not have money for a newer, furnished house.

The fact that it was never repainted or even cleaned showed that Dream or any of his family were the people that lived in the house last. Most of the furniture was taken except for an old sofa, some junk in the attic, and, of course, the telephone held in his hand, waiting for a call.

---

Dream was crouching against the wall, his hands digging into his hair. Drunk.

He did not normally drink, but tonight was an exception. He clutched a bottle in his hand, and the phone in the other, contemplating whether to call George despite his faltering mental state, or not to call, leaving George lonely for the night.

Sapnap had been at his house earlier, doing his best to send words of comfort. Dream had put on a brave face to assure him, then broke down as soon as Sapnap closed the door behind him.

Alcohol was never a problem for him, it was more of a problem for his father. He had promised never to go down that same path but here he was, bottle in hand and mental state out of control.

He knew who he wanted and needed to talk to, but he was terrified. The situation would induce anxiety in everyone, talking to somebody from the future.

But when he spoke to George, it was easy to ignore the absurdity of it all. He loved to hear him talk about things almost as though he had never been asked about them before.

He loved to hear his voice in general.

And so, he put the bottle down on the drawer next to the wall with such a force that it shattered, splattering the few of the contents inside onto the floor and walls, leaving only the telephone in his hands as he dialed a number.

---

George sat on his floor holding the phone and scrolling through his Twitter news feed, looking at what was trending when he sighed and put the phone down.

He glanced for a second at the wall, which housed an unfamiliar stain. It was dark and absolutely stood out against the vintage, flowery wallpaper.

It was definitely made by Dream.

His initial thought was that it was blood, which scared him. He wanted so badly to ask Dream if he was okay but dialing from his end never worked. Only Dream had the power to call George.

Right on time, the phone rang and he answered in an instant.

"Dream, are you alright?" He asked frantically.

"Yes, why do you ask?" Dream's words slurred a bit but he still had the confident straight speech he usually had.

George ran his hands on the wallpaper, "The wall stained, I thought you'd gotten hurt or something."

Dream looked at the wall and broken glass scattered around the desk and floor and understood, "I spilled my drink."

"On the walls?" George asked skeptically.

"I can be clumsy." Dream laughed slowly, "Oh, I can be quite clumsy." He let out a bigger laugh. "Dream," George raised a brow, "are you drunk? Was the drink alcoholic?" Dream sighed in surrender, "Yeah."

"But you told me you don't drink."

"I don't." Dream said truthfully, "It's just-"

"Just?" George crossed his legs and waited for a response.

"I've just had a bad day." Dream sounded defeated, "I have better ways of dealing with bad days but I wanted to see what it felt like to suppress it with a drink like my father did. If it worked."

George had never heard Dream talk about his father. He had gone on and on about his mother and sisters but George had never bothered to ask about his father, as he took the hint not to from Dream's refusal to speak about him.

"Maybe it does," George told him, "but you sober up and you start feeling it again. The most it does it numbs you. I don't drink so I can't speak from experience, and I'm not against drinking, but if you can't use it to solve your problems."

"I know." Dream said, and he did know. He had seen the lasting effect it had on his family when his father took another bottle from the fridge.

"It's like putting a band aid on a wound that needs stitches." George hit him truthfully. "There's better ways that work long term."

"Like?"

"Like talking to someone. You said you have your friend Sapnap. You can write a diary, let it all out, or you can talk to-"

"You."

George let out a breath, "Me."

"I'm sorry I don't really feel ready to talk about it yet, but I know I have you, and that soothes me." Dream did not mean to say that much, but his drunken self didn't know better.

"You should get some sleep, Dream." George said in a comforting way.

"George?" Dream whispered.

"Yes, Dream?"

"I-" Dream began but he sighed, he was sober enough to fight off anything impulsive he wanted to say.

"You..?"

"I- should get some sleep. You're right." Dream saved himself.

"Goodnight, old man." George chuckled.

"Goodnight, wrong number." Dream whispered so close to the phone George swore he felt a breath tickle his ear. He waited a while before putting the phone down.