spring secrets | dnf

8- In What World?

george

I glance at Dream as we walk down the dimly lit street. He didn't look at me nor talk to me this entire time. He kept his eyes forward and left the talking to a minimal.

I wanted to know what was wrong. Why was he being like this when today went by so well? Did I do something?

I wanted to know. Maybe that's stepping a line. He doesn't want to talk about it, I know.

Before we reach his front door I stop walking and look down to the ground, "Dream?"

"Yes?"

"Can we at least talk about this? I don't want you ignoring me all night because I did something or there's something you won't talk about." I look up at him, he still didn't look at me.

That made me a little irked. I've always had his constant attention and I had pride in knowing that. I had pride in knowing he'd drop all plans if he even got a distant message from me. I had pride in knowing his attention was on me. Now it's not and I feel as if I'm craving it now.

I crave a lot of Dream. I crave his touch, his smile, his laugh, his attention. I crave him.

It's like an addiction you never want to try to get rid of.

"I don't want to talk about it, George." His tone was shaky and rude. It sounded short and unkind. He was a total opposite of the guy I know.

"Can you stop being short with me?"

"I'm not being short with you! I just don't want to talk about it." He finally looks at me once he yells, causing me to flinch a bit. It reminded me of my father. I didn't want that.

"I'm not going to yell at you, Dream." I cross my arms and grip at the sides of my shirt, bunching them in my hands.

"Yeah, well it seems like the only way you get what I'm trying to say." He sighs and sits on the front porch, the light illuminating his regretful expression. His head falls into his hands as I stand several feet in front of me.

I know that tone. He was annoyed. Dream wasn't mad or upset at me, he was just annoyed. I hadn't said anything. It was just my presence that annoyed him.

I gulp as I hold back the sob that was trying to crawl up. The tears were on hold, trying to get better on my composure over small arguments like this.

We were around each other every minute of every day. I knew that one day he'd want me away.

"I'm sorry." Dream mutters, "I'm just mad with myself. Not at you."

I gulp down another sob and decide to set the bag of things down next to him and walk backwards to the place I stood several feet in front of him. Why was I scared of him now? I feel as if I need to walk slowly, like a wild animal.

"George—"

"I'm going to check on my parents in that—" I shake, the tears threatening to come down. This is so pathetic. "in that shelter. I haven't seen them in a while and—"

"George." Dream repeats, standing up and making his way towards me. I was more afraid of his words than actions. I wasn't afraid he was going to hurt me physically, I was afraid I hurt him with my nerving words so it was only fair he was annoyed. I asked so many times if he was okay and every time he said he was fine. I should've left him alone. But what friend would that make me?

He grabs my shaky hand and pulls me towards him, wrapping his arms around my small torso. I let out a quiet sob after that, swallowed down hiccups finally erupting.

"I'm so sorry, George." He whispers, running his hand through my hair as he rested his chin on the top of my head. "I didn't mean to yell at you. You were just worried."

I grab onto his shirt and suck in a big breath to try and calm myself down.

"What's wrong?" I manage to whisper, allowing myself to calm down so I can hear him over my own cries. I wanted to know. Maybe I could fix it.

"I can't tell you."

I hold onto him tighter.

"Why not?"

"It involves you." He whispers against my head, causing goosebumps to crawl up my skin.

"What?" I look up at him and shake my head, the anxiety pressuring my chest again. "Did I do—"

"It isn't you, George."

"But you said—"

"It's me, George." He looks into my eyes and, for the split second, I allow myself to try and read him before he looks away. In that quick second, his eyes dropped down to my mouth before looking away.

Wait

"Dream?" I reach and try to have him face towards me but he takes ahold of my wrists and moves them off his jaw.

"Leave it, George." He chuckles, "it isn't good."

He tries to turn back around to the porch but I grab his hand and turn him around again.

"No, Dream—"

"No, George, I'm not going to tell you that I like you if it's—"

It falls silent. The crickets stop chirping, the wind stops moving, the distant town noises grow smaller; it's like the world truly stopped.

My hands fall down from his hand to my side. He looked so disappointed in himself, looking at me as if he just admitted the biggest sin of his life.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head and chuckling. I wasn't laughing at him ,or even the situation, I was laughing at the believability of it all. "You don't—"

"Don't tell me what to feel." He was quiet and short again. I decided that was enough said tonight or else we'll back to square one.

"Okay." We stand in that unmoving silence until he turns away and grabs the plastic bag, walking inside of the small penthouse.

I let out a shaky breath and bring a hand to my mouth as if I was about to hurl.

I needed to figure something out. I don't want to feel like this.

The more I think about it, the more I start to realize that I wasn't feeling terrible because the fact he liked me, no, I was stoked about that. I was happy about that, beyond happy, but maybe it wasn't good?

He's the only close friend I've got. What if it doesn't work out? What if I'm not close to worthy? What if I happen to do something wrong? Annoy him?

It was only a matter of time before I was going to lose him and if only being friends was a way to keep him around, I'll do it. I'll ignore the growing feeling

It sounds selfish, it is selfish but it's worth it right? Neither one of us will end up hurt.

In what world do things go the way I want them to? In what world would I actually be able to tell him:

"I like you too."