Scratches // DNF

Chapter 2

I thought Dream's routine was chaotic before, but sleep soon became a rare thing for my deranged friend.

His day would be as normal. He would eat dinner with George and usually follow this with TV. George would laugh at how easily Dream would nod off on the sofa and often coat him with a blanket, tucking the corners underneath his sides whilst making sure not to wake him. He'd then leave Dream to rest and move to his own bed, first muting whatever they had switched on the screen.

Little did he know that Dream's alarm would wake him just before midnight, the blaring siren shooting daggers into his eardrums. He'd fight the sleep glueing his eyes shut and somehow haul himself out of the door and to the offices. Even I, a being with no need for sleep, would sometimes be too tired to follow him.

But when I could find the energy to tag along, he would dust, hoover and disinfect until each room glistened. I did however notice his movements and efficiency slow over time with sleep deprivation finally catching up to him.

When he'd sneak back into the apartment in the early morning, he'd often collapse on the sofa with his shoes still on, unable to carry himself the brief couple of steps to his bedroom. If he was lucky, he'd catch an hour or two of sleep before whisking himself off to his shift at the grocery store when the sun began peeking through the blinds.

He was mad. He was so desperate to not stress George or lose the flat, he was acting mad.

Meanwhile, George was finding even more normality by this point. He was becoming antsy sitting around the apartment each day, twiddling his thumbs. Rare job interviews were sadly the most excitement he would face. They were an excuse to change out of his joggers and alter the job-hunting routine.

He'd bombard Dream when he'd come back from his bar gig, suggesting board or video games for the both of them to play. Dream would nod his head noncommittally and lug himself to the dinner George would prepare for the both of them each night.

The first time he'd cooked, Dream expressed his clear bewilderment and almost amusement since George's past kitchen disasters had made it clear he wasn't a natural chef. George had ignored the mildly insulting insinuation and instead remarked at how he was due to pay Dream back eventually for the many meals he'd made for him during his depression.

The boredom had clearly built up one night. George was grilling Dream about details of his day over food and then begged Dream to do something with him. I saw the battle on Dream's face of craving the necessity of sleep, but also wanting to satisfy George's antsy tugging at his sleeve, like a child.

"Like what?" he'd asked apprehensively.

"Like anything. We don't do anything and I'm getting so damn bored," George said. "Let's just leave the apartment, please." He tugged harder at Dream's sleeve, spinning him around to face the door. "You seem so low-energy recently. It'll wake you up."

Dream raised an eyebrow and managed to grab his arm back, shaking out the creases George's clasp had indented in the cloth.

"You want to leave the apartment?" he half-laughed. "I've been, like, begging you to come to the bar and watch me sing, and each time you don't want to go."

George shrugged unapologetically, biting back a smile. "Yeah well, don't take it personal."

He dove down to grab his and Dream's trainers, forcefully shoving Dream's pair into his unconsenting hands.

Dream paused, glancing down at the scuffed shoes in his grasp. "I wasn't taking it personally. But now you've said that..."

George smirked and fondly hit Dream on the arm.