The Rain That Falls (DNF Minecraft Manhunt IRL)

The Phone Call

 "You have to do everything I say, okay," Dream's words reverberated through George's mind. "No hesitation. Are you ready?"

"Okay." George's own voice said hesitantly.

"Alright, take your hat off. Now just totally mess up all of your hair."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

George paused for a second.

"What if I get it wet, and then it just goes all crazy?"

"Will it?"

Silence pierced the air.

"Wait. Where is this going?"

"I...I can't tell you, I'll tell you after."

A few minutes later, chat was flying by and George could hear the disbelief in Dream's voice.

"What? Holy cow. Wait, WHAAAAT? I've NEVER seen your hair like that." George could practically hear Dream smiling. "Now that's a good Instagram photo."

"George? Why are you just staring into the camera like that?" Dream laughed. His voice was loud, and George's kitchen lights suddenly seemed to blind him.

"What? Nothing. Alright guys," George said, brought back to the present. He clapped his hands together. "I think we're going to end stream now. Thank you all so much for watching! This cooking stream was... a bit of a disaster, but it's fine. Wait. We gained like 8k... no 10k subs this stream. That's actually insane."

"That's a crazy amount of subs," Dream agreed.

"Anyways, thank you guys! For the subs, for the donations. For everything. Goodbye! Bye guys! Byee!"

"Byyyyeee," Dream said in a high pitched tone. "Bye guys!"

He ran a hand through his chocolate hair, which was still slightly damp, and smiled until the stream ended and the camera stopped recording.

"Bye, George. Your hair still looks good, by the way."

George scoffed. "What? No it doesn't. Shut up."

Dream disconnected from the call a moment later, and he was alone.

He sighed, glancing around his kitchen. It was a mess; spatulas, frying pans, packaging, and spices littered the counters around him. The pungent scent of oil stung his nose. It felt empty, somehow. Like always.

Pulling his headphones off, George walked out of the room, stepping over spilt flower and paprika, leaving his mess behind.

"I can clean that up later," he murmured to himself.

As of late, George's motivation levels had been fluctuating like crazy. One day, he'd get a full week's worth of work done, and would have a whole video ready to post. And then other times, the months slowly passed by, his days blurring together, and he would spend his days in his dark room as the graying numbness seeped in again. He wasn't sure what his deal was. Content creation used to be thrilling, but it was painful when hours seemed like days and minutes seemed like hours. Nothing was exciting anymore.

He hummed to himself as he passed his living room, the empty walls of the corridor, and the nerf gun bullets scattered on the floor, until he finally pushed the door to his room open.

Upon crossing the threshold, George couldn't help but think back to his frozen face on stream, when he had replayed his conversation with Dream. That had been embarrassing. What even happened? It wasn't like him to zone out while thousands of people were watching. Usually he was extremely self conscious, and despite what his friends thought–which was that he was cocky and overconfident–he overanalyzed every turn of his head and expression on his lips. He would have to force himself to do better next time. His viewers didn't deserve that.