polaroid angel - dreamnotfound

˖⋆࿐໋₊ 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦

i run my fingers through dream's silky locks, a concerned look present on my face. he's laying in bed, head propped up with pillows to lessen the blood flow. tissues are sticking out of both his nostrils. his eyes are blank and unfocused, arms crossed over his chest.

"do you want me to go get you some water?" i ask softly.
"no, i'm good."

he hasn't said much for the past few minutes. whenever i speak, he responds with something short and unspecific. it only fuels my already burning worry. i stroke his cheek with the back of my hand. he leans into the loving touch, shutting his eyes to relax.

now's my chance. i have to bring this up. i need answers, for real. i'm tired of keeping this uncertainty to myself, tired of overthinking even the smallest things at night.

"why do you get so many nosebleeds, dream?"

no reaction.

"you should see a doctor if you don't know why."

still nothing.

"actually, i can schedule a visit for you right-"
"no," he interrupts, "no. it's fine. i just get them a lot. it's different for everyone."
"so you're telling me everything's normal?" i huff, shooting him a doubting glance.
"yeah."

it hurts my heart, the fact that he refuses to share whatever's wrong. because something is wrong, i know that for sure. and i've got my suspicions, but only he can confirm them.

"dream, please.. talk to me. tell me what's actually going on."

he turns his head away.

"i deserve to know. i care about you."
"i already told you nothing's wrong. i'm fine," he hisses, avoiding eye contact.

"i'm not dumb, dream," i sigh, "i've seen the things you leave around this place. that mirror in the bathroom. random bills everywhere. you can't hide it from me forever."

he bites his lip, still staring out into the distance.

"and that drug test. you were lying. i know you were. it wasn't just weed."
"okay, yeah, it wasn't just weed, are you happy now?"
"i want to hear it," i demand, "what were you taking that you didn't want showing up on the test?"

our eyes finally meet, but only for a fraction of a second. he appears calm and controlled, but i know he's freaking out inside.

"george, i'm not an addict, okay?" he points out, "so please don't worry about that. i just- i... i do coke, recreationally. but only at parties and stuff, sometimes. or on weekends. it's not a big deal. i'm doing fine."

i frown at his confession.

"are you sure?"
"i promise."

i lift the sheets, crawling into bed with him. my arms wrap around his body, holding him tight like he's my six foot three baby.

"you need to quit."
"i know."
"i could call a rehab center if-"
"i'm not an addict, george."
"then prove it to me."

he hugs me back, nuzzling his face into my chest.

"i will."
"once you're in it's so hard to get out, okay? i don't wanna lose you."

a lump has formed in my throat. what if i lose him? i don't wanna lose him. he means too much to me. i can't lose him.

"i know," he sighs, "and i swear i won't do it again."
"good. i'll be here for you whenever you need me. you can tell me everything, and i'm not gonna judge you."

i leave featherlight kisses on his forehead. they make him giggle. it's adorable.

"thank you baby."
"no problem. you mean the world to me.."

we stay like that for a little while, just enjoying each other. his body offers me warmth and tranquility. i'm surprisingly calm considering the circumstances. my boyfriend just told me he does cocaine sometimes, and i'm not even panicking. maybe it's the relief of finally knowing what's been going on with him for weeks now.

or maybe it's the knowledge that he's not straight up abusing it. as long as i stay with him and make sure he keeps his promises, it'll all work out. he'll stop using it as a party drug, and things will go back to normal. it'll be like nothing ever happened. in a few years we can look back at this and smile, smile at his accomplishment and willpower to not spiral further.

it took a lot of convincing, but at least he did admit to it. and that alone makes me proud. it's a huge step in the right direction. now i can tailor the way i act and handle things to help him as much as possible. that, if anything, is relieving.

"let's go get these things out of your nose," i chuckle, grabbing his hand to pull him up with me.

he follows me out of the bedroom and into the brighter bathroom. i throw the soaked tissues in the trash, turning on the tap to clean off the rest of the stained blood on his skin.

"you know i can do this myself, right?" he mutters.
"oh come on, let me baby you for once."

i wet a clean tissue, wiping parts of his face with it. the frail paper tears a little because of the near-invisible stubble on his upper lip. i don't understand how it can grow out overnight like that. i have to shave too, but like once or twice a week. not every single morning. to be honest though, a little facial hair only makes dream more attractive. if him being any more attractive is even possible.

once i've dried him off i get up on my tippy toes, planting a little kiss on his pink lips. it makes him smile. a big, genuine smile. my heart flutters when he's happy like this. i love making him happy.

"i think we should stay in today," i suggest, "rest up and cuddle."
"sounds fucking great," he agrees, cupping my cheek.
"we can watch a movie tonight, i'll make popcorn, and get snacks.."
"i thought we were supposed to be spontaneous?"

his hands find their way down to my waist, and to the knot that's keeping my robe closed.

"oh? and what does spontaneity entail?" i question, blushing.
"making you scream."