nowhere to run

replacing the dent in his heart

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊

☁️

dream pauses the repetitive swing of his fists as his phone ringing echoes in the room around him. he sighs, holding his hand out to sturdy the boxing bag before turning around and heading over to the weight bench to pick up his phone.

he picks it up, answering and holding the mobile to his phone with a slightly breathless, "hey."

"hi dream," he hears in response, the younger girl's familiar voice sounding bright and chirpy.

"what's up?" dream asks, not exactly sure why she'd called so out of the blue. "everything alright?"

"yeah, i'm all good," she answers, sighing dramatically, "i'm bored."

"and i'm trying to work out," he shoots back, looking back at his now-stilled punch bag.

"since when do you work out?" drista questions.

"i'm boxing," he says, rather than actually answering her question.

"okay," drista longs out, humming. "since when do you box?" she asks.

"since my therapist told me to," dream answers, sitting down on the weight bench with a heavy exhale. it's almost been an hour and a half now, and dream is sure he'll be stuck on this call for a while, so he gives up on the idea of boxing. he puts the phone on speaker, discarding it onto the bench as he unwraps his hands.

"why would your therapist encourage you to be violent?" drista wonders, "isn't your anger literally the whole reason you go, that's so stupid."

dream ignores the way her words hurt him, excusing her straight-forwardness under the premise that she's still young and doesn't understand stuff like this. "it's meant to be an outlet for my anger," he complains. "like, getting it all out in a healthy way."

she hums thoughtfully. "interesting," she replies, "well, that's probably a good idea then, might help you to stop being so pissy all the time," she jokes.

dream doesn't laugh, not finding it humours in the slightest. he ignores the comment, asking, "how's mom?"

"good!" drista chirps. "she's cooking her special sauce right now."

dream rolls the used wrap in a ball, getting up and taking his phone with him as he makes his way out of the garage. "you know, it's torture for you to talk about her sauce when i can't come home and have some," he complains.

"maybe she could drop some over for you?"

"dris, that's a long journey to take to drop off some sauce," he laughs, walking down the driveway.

"true."

dream pulls the lid off their trash, dropping in the old wrap before turning to head inside.

"how are sapnap and george?" drista asks casually.

dream rolls his eyes in response, shaking his head. "drista," he speaks, unamused, "you know i don't talk to them anymore."