4,336 miles. The distance between London and Orlando. George has never been so aware of it until now, helplessly listening to the white noise coming from Dream's mic. Dread pools in his stomach as his fingers stumble over the phone's keyboard, searching for a contact he hasn't thought about in months. It seems to take ages for the call to connect, but eventually George hears the groggy "hello" he's been waiting for. He takes a deep breath. "I think there's something wrong with Dream."

When Dream feels his heart rate speed up at the end of George's Livestream, he knows he's too far gone. "This feels so wrong," George says and repeats. Dream clicks off the stream, the sounds of labored breathing filling the room as he tried to stem the panic he was feeling. The next day, after he had just barely dragged himself away from the edge of oblivion and heartache he would never return from, he felt the first tickle at the back of his throat. He coughed roughly, it sounded like he had fluid in his lungs or something. Pneumonia, maybe? But instead of coughing up mucus or phlegm, his eyes widened in shock at the taste of blood in is mouth. || Gream // DreamNotFound Hanahaki Story. There will be angst, slow burn, blood, vomiting, contemplation of suicide, anxiety attacks, and more. Do not read if this bothers you. You have been warned. ||