One shots (mostly platonic tbh)

stagedduo :)

It's been a while since Dream got out. His wounds have healed (well, most of them) and he's eating (sometimes). He's okay. That's what he quietly tells himself in the mornings, sunken dull eyes staring back at him in the mirror, collar bones and ribs almost poking through the skin, the skin around his right eye swollen and red. He can see some blood (he hasn't bothered to keep it clean to let it heal).

Punz knocks on the door, gently.
"Dream? There's breakfast. I made grilled cheese"

Dream doesn't answer. Punz doesn't expect him to.

Dream sighs, tearing his eyes away from the miserable sight before him. He turns the tap, letting the water caress his hands, before bringing them to his face. It stings. He revels in the feeling. It's controlled. He can make it stop whenever he wants. He doesn't. Not until the water runs clear.

He doesn't bother drying. He doesn't wrap it either, even though Punz keeps reprimanding him. "It won't heal that way, Dream" "It'll get dirty, Dream" "You're being dumb now, Dream". He's right. But Dream doesn't bother.

He does put in the little effort to comb his fingers through his hair, moving it to cover the right side of his face. That way Punz won't have to see it, won't have to worry.

Dream reaches for the door handle but hesitates. The scars littering his arms are still so very obvious, anyone could see them, even from a distance.

The sight wouldn't be anything new to Punz, as they'd been the one to dress the wounds until Dream was able to do it himself, but Dream can't bear the pained guilty looks Punz fails to hide every time they see those jagged lines.

Dream knows Punz blames themself for what happened. It's not right. He did this, not Punz, never Punz. He did this so others wouldn't suffer, why didn't it work? Why does Punz keep whispering sorry's when he thinks Dream can't hear?

A hoodie has been hung to dry. Dream yanks it off the drying rack and puts it on, strings of pain shooting up his arms as the fabric runs across the few still open wounds.

It's one of Purpled's old hoodies, Punz has told Dream. He left quite a few things when he moved out.

Dream tugs at the sleeves, making sure his entire arms are covered.

Now, time for breakfast.

The thought leaves Dream feeling sick. He can't remember the last time he looked forward to breakfast. He can't remember the last time he enjoyed a meal.

But he does it for Punz. Always for Punz.

Dream swallows, trying to force the nausea to go away. It doesn't work.

He opens the door and is met with the smell of freshly made food.

For Punz, he tells himself, like a mantra. For Punz.