.•°¤* ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ *¤°•.

~18~

// tw // mentions of homophobia

“Your.. parents, George?"

The fact that he repeated what I said made everything a million times worse. Every passing thought that ran by me in less than a millisecond told me that there was a possibility he didn’t hear me or I never said anything at all. But with his worried voice echoing the very words I involuntarily spat out with such a bitterness I didn’t even know I was capable of, it brought the reality back to me like a tsunami. This was the last thing I wanted to happen, the last thing I wanted to talk about. It would be beneficial to get it off my chest but I couldn’t just lay everything on him. Only now that I had mentioned it, I was obligated to explain myself which ignited a burning hatred for my suddenly over conscious sense of morality. 

“I-I didn’t mean to say that-” 

“I can tell, but it’s okay. You don’t.. you don’t have to talk about it..”

I heavily considered his offer, genuinely I did. There had always been something holding me back from talking about and coming to terms with that situation in my life. Nothing really compelled me to be open about it but I was weak with Dream, I was so pathetic when it came to him. He had the power to burn holes into the concrete walls I put around myself by just the bat of an eye. Somehow that urge was overtaken by the epiphany that this was probably the first time since that Christmas that anyone had actually bothered to know what happened. To know what I had been through.

I never felt like I had a choice to speak. Never had a reason to. People were either too uncomfortable to hear what I had to say or just didn’t want to deal with it. I had shut myself off from the world because I adopted this notion that no one truly cared for me enough to listen. All this time I spent wallowing in my own sorrows and making myself believe that it would be better if I just stayed quiet, I never even gave myself a chance to listen to me. I had gotten to a point of emotionless turmoil where I had forgotten about the yearning I experienced for someone to come into my life and just listen to me. I hated the idea of someone “saving” me but it was something I loathed for. It was something I hadn’t bothered to acknowledge until someone actually came and all I did was push them away. Someone being something more than just that, someone being Dream. 

“I want to. I should. I just-”

Already, I was trailing off, unfinished sentences struggling to push back the outrageous thoughts with weak barriers. If only he could read minds. It wasn’t until this moment I realised just how ready I was to talk about it, and being with Dream further encouraged me to do it. I had been denying myself this opportunity for so long and now that it was happening I wasn’t sure what to say at all.

“You don’t know how to start?” Dream finished in a voice that implied a rhetorical question. So maybe he can read minds.

“I guess you could say that.” 

Then we both fell short of words again. Oh, I hated this. I hated not saying anything. I hated the silence that fell between us even if it was technically bearable. It was because of me. It was my turn to speak and take the spotlight. I wanted to but I was getting stage fright and I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I thought I was free from the irrational panic that surged through me whenever we lapsed into wordless conversation, sitting and waiting patiently for the other to speak. There needed to be noise somewhere, not just the white noise and birds and cars, I needed him to be talking.. just not me.

“I’m listening, whenever you’re ready. You have all my attention, and more. Full and undivided. Should I keep going or do you understand that I’m gonna stay here with you and hear you out?” Dream nudged my shoulder, and to my surprise, I giggled at his stupidity. It was shaky and almost unsure, but nonetheless a laugh that made him visibly relax. We both seemed to sink back into the bench, like we were mentally preparing ourselves for what was going to happen next. Or maybe that was just me and he was leaning back on the bench to get comfortable, but it wasn’t like I could tell all that well. His face was almost expressionless but I could see just how worried he was based off the way he pulled at the loose strings of his jeans and kept scratching the same place under his chin.