feel my hands. (dnf x gream)

Chapter Eight: Dug Your Own Grave

The lamp came to a soft glow with a click and light stretched across his table. Dream looked back again, George still peacefully snoozing away. He set his laptop down gently and pulled the chair back. The quiet scraping was enough to stir George.

It had been a long day. Recording, editing, repeat. They had filmed a new manhunt, and Dream was worn out. Five hunters was nearly enough to push him to the limit, and he had spent much longer than he would have expected, fighting and trying to trap all five of them. George, Sapnap, Bad, Ant, and their newest addition: Karl. After the manhunt, all three of them haven't spoken a word to each other, besides when Dream had asked what they wanted for takeout. They had gone straight to editing.

He cast a fleeting look at the time, and back at George. 1 AM. His eyes felt heavy with exhaustion, and his head was muddled. Yet he still had at least two hours more of footage to edit.

No, he couldn't sleep. He needed to finish this by tomorrow, so he could finish the music quickly. Plus, George and Sapnap were here. He wasn't planning to make their stay boring.

The bed did look tempting, and George did look comfortable. He grit his teeth and dragged his head away, collapsing into the felt chair and pulling his screen open. His macbook jumped to life, raw footage smiling angrily back at him.

So he began his work. Minutes passed, and everything was going great until, well, it wasn't.

Until he'd somehow managed to simultaneously delete all the footage and close the tab.

He stared blankly at his laptop, the keys glinting tauntingly back at him, denial running a marathon through his brain.

"Oh my god." He muttered a little too loudly, resisting the urge to slap a hand over his mouth when George stirred again. He cursed under his breath, digging the heels of his palms into his sunken eyes.

He leaned back in his chair. "I deleted it."

"Dream, what are you doing?" A groggy voice snapped.

"I deleted it." He repeated and chuckled a little incredulously. "Wow, George, I just may be the biggest fucking idiot to grace the earth."

"Spot on." When Dream didn't reply, George sat up. "What'd you delete, Dream?"

"The footage." He groaned. "The motherfucking footage."

Maybe it was because of how muddled his head felt, but he began to laugh. He slammed a hand down on the table, doubling over with laughter that ripped through his body.

George frowned. "Dream, calm down. You're being annoying."

The laughter died in his throat. "Oh my god, George. What the hell am I gonna do?"

"Come on, you're just being dramatic. I'll fix it."

"George. You don't understand, I closed the tab."

"I'll fix it." He rolled his eyes, getting out of the blankets. He reopened the tab and raked through a few controls. In no time, the deleted recording was restored. He leaned back, satisfied.

"What'd I tell you?"

Dream's eyes widened. "Wait, how'd you do that? No, show me." George scoffed in half-annoyance, half-pride. It wasn't often that Dream needed help from him.

"Go to the file. There's a drop down list for previous versions. Sort through the most recent ones, here." The cursor danced in circles around a frame.

"Wow, George. You are—you are the coolest." Dream laughed loudly again, and grinned deliriously under the finger George had pressed to his lips.

"Sh, Sapnap's asleep. You need to sleep. You look like you're on drugs." He pulled his hand back, leaning onto the desk.