Chapter Text
The room was quiet at 9:00 AM, the morning light filtering softly through the blinds. Sapnap shifted slightly, his arm instinctively reaching out across the mattress, expecting to feel the familiar, comforting warmth of Dream sandwiched between him and George.
Instead, his hand brushed against empty sheets.
Blinking open his eyes, Sapnap sat up. On the other side of the bed, George was already stirring, rubbing sleep from his eyes with a frown. Both of their gazes immediately landed on the figure sitting at the very edge of the mattress.
I feel it again, edge of the bed
Dream was hunched forward, his hands resting loosely on his knees, staring intently up at the ceiling.
A heavy, familiar dread settled in Sapnap’s stomach. For weeks, the warning signs had been creeping back into the house like an unwanted shadow. Dream’s usual bright energy had completely vanished, replaced by an exhausted, irritable shell. He’d been sleeping through half the day, snapping at small things, and wearing an overwhelming sadness that he couldn't quite mask.
Body and head protesting
George slipped out from under the comforter, crawling forward until he was right behind Dream. He placed a gentle, grounding hand on Dream's shoulder.
"Dream?" George asked softly, his voice thick with sleep. "Hey. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?"
Dream didn't look back, but his shoulders tense slightly. Sapnap moved closer too, sitting cross-legged next to George, his eyes full of quiet concern. "We're here, love. You've been carrying a lot lately. You can talk to us."
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner. Dream finally let out a ragged breath, his shoulders slumping. He looked incredibly small in that moment.
My stomach's in knots, I don't wanna talk
"I don't..." Dream swallowed hard, finally looking down from the ceiling but avoiding their eyes. "I don't really want to talk about it. Just... please don't make me talk about it right now."
He turned around slowly, his face pale and eyes shadowed with a profound fatigue. He looked at the space between Sapnap and George, a silent plea in his eyes. "Can we just lay together for a while? Just... stay like this?"
Sapnap and George exchanged a quick, understanding look. They had learned long ago that pushing him when he was in the thick of it only made him retreat further into his own head.
"Yeah, of course," Sapnap said softly, pulling the heavy comforter back.
"Come here, love," George murmured.
Let's just go to bed or something
Dream didn't hesitate. He climbed back into the center of the bed, sinking into the mattress as if all the bones in his body had suddenly turned to lead. He curled slightly on his side, burying his face into the crook of George's neck.
George immediately wrapped an arm around Dream’s torso, resting his chin on top of Dream’s messy blonde hair, while Sapnap shifted closer from behind, pressing his chest against Dream's back and throwing a heavy, protective arm over both of them.
They locked Dream securely between them, creating a tight, warm fortress against whatever was storming inside his mind.
Dream let out a long, shaky sigh, his body finally relaxing a fraction as he let his friends hold his weight. He didn't say thank you, and he didn't explain the dark cloud hanging over him, but he held onto George’s shirt tightly.
Sapnap stared at the back of Dream's head, his heart aching with a familiar, frustrating helplessness. He wished he could crack open Dream's mind and pull the sadness out by its roots. He wished there was something tangible he could do, a problem he could solve or an apology he could make to fix it.
But as George squeezed Dream a little tighter, and Sapnap smoothed down a stray lock of Dream's hair, they both silently accepted that right now, they couldn't fix it. All they could do was hold him, breathe with him, and make sure he knew that no matter how dark it got, he would never have to sit on the edge of the bed alone.
Dream let out a ragged breath, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a fraction at the familiar pet name. He leaned his face into George’s palm, letting his eyes close. "I just feel... completely empty," he whispered, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. "I'm sorry."
Maybe it'll fix itself tomorrow
"Don't apologize, baby," Sapnap said from behind him, his voice a low, steady rumble against Dream's back. He wrapped his arm tighter around Dream’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest to ground him. "You have nothing to be sorry for. We've got you."
George leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Dream's forehead. "Sap's right, sweetheart. Just breathe. We're not going anywhere."
Dream didn't say anything else, but the tension finally began to drain from his shoulders. He buried his face deeper into the crook of George’s neck, his fingers tightening in the fabric of George's shirt, while his other hand reached back to blindly find Sapnap's arm, gripping his wrist.
They lay like that as the morning ticked away, a quiet tangle of limbs and soft reassurances. Sapnap slowly rubbed soothing circles into Dream’s back, while George carded his fingers through his messy hair, occasionally murmuring quiet, affectionate nonsense whenever Dream shifted restlessly.
But I've been saying that like every night
The heavy, dark cloud hadn't lifted - they knew it wouldn't disappear in a single morning - but wrapped securely between the two of them, Dream didn't have to carry the weight of it entirely on his own.
Later that afternoon, the heavy, suffocating silence from the morning had transitioned into something a bit more productive, though no less fragile.
The three of them were scattered across the living room, the low hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic clicking of keyboards filling the space. George was slouched on the sofa, thoroughly focused on editing a video, while Sapnap was curled up in an armchair, working through some settings on his own laptop. Between them, Dream sat with his laptop resting on his knees, staring intently at a screen filled with lines of code.
For a couple of hours, the comfortable silence held. But as the clock ticked on, Dream’s typing grew progressively sharper, louder, and more erratic.
He hit the backspace key with a harsh clack. He had been running into the same stubborn error for the past forty-five minutes, his exhausted, foggy brain completely refusing to process the logic of the syntax. Every failed compilation felt like a personal indictment, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest.
With a sudden, sharp exhale, Dream abruptly shoved his laptop onto the coffee table, the metal clicking loudly against the wood. Without a word, he stood up and walked straight toward the kitchen, his posture rigid with tension.
George and Sapnap both looked up instantly, exchanging a quick, worried glance across the room. Through the open archway, they heard the sound of the sink running as Dream filled a glass of water, trying to take deep, stabilizing breaths to calm the rising heat in his chest. They silently agreed to let him do his thing in peace, knowing that hovering right now might only make him snap.
A minute later, Dream walked back into the living room. His face was tightly blank, his jaw set. He sat back down, pulled the laptop back onto his knees, and stared at the screen.
He tried to fix it. He really did. He changed a variable, reran the script, and watched the console immediately spit back the exact same red error message.
Something inside him just broke.
It wasn’t just about the code; it was the weeks of exhaustion, the hollow ache of the depression, and the sheer, overwhelming frustration of feeling utterly useless. A hot, stinging tear slipped down his cheek, followed immediately by another.
Dream let out a choked, shaky breath, his hands trembling over the keyboard. The moment he realized he was crying, an intense wave of embarrassment flooded over him. He felt exposed, pathetic, and desperate to hide.
Before Sapnap or George could even speak, Dream slammed his laptop shut, scrambled off the couch, and practically bolted toward the back of the house, trying to isolate himself.
"Dream, wait-" Sapnap called out, instantly setting his own laptop aside and jumping up.
“Hey, love, hold on,” George said, his voice laced with urgent concern as he followed right behind Sapnap.
They caught up to him just as he reached the kitchen, put up a fight, and tried to intercept him before he could retreat. Sapnap reached out, gently grabbing Dream’s forearm to stop him, while George stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
"Talk to us, baby. Please," Sapnap pleaded softly, his grip warm and steady. "Look at me. It's just an error, it's okay-"
You say you can't stand to watch me cry a minute more
"It's not the code, Sapnap!" Dream choked out, his voice cracking horribly as tears streamed down his face. He pulled his arm back, his eyes wild with shame and frustration. "Just leave me alone. Please. I can't do this right now."
"Sweetheart, let us help you," George begged, reaching out to cup Dream's face, his heart breaking at the sight of the tears. "We're right here. You don't have to hide from us."
So you do the noble thing and open up the door
But their gentle words and open arms just made him feel worse.
A dark, twisted part of his mind immediately distorted their kindness, turning it into pity. His brain was playing cruel tricks on him, whispering that he was a burden, that he was ruining their afternoon, that he was broken. Even as he fought the urge to sink into their touch, the overwhelming noise in his head told him he didn't deserve it.
He knew it wasn't their fault. Deep down, he knew how badly he wanted his boys to just hold him like they had this morning, to tell him he was okay. He wanted their comfort more than anything.
But the darkness wouldn't let him. It built a wall he couldn't climb over.
"I can't," Dream whispered, his voice incredibly small, thick with tears. "I just... I need to be by myself."
If loving me means letting go and wishing me the best
Before they could stop him again, he ducked past George and hurried down the hallway off the back of the kitchen, where their offices were located. He ducked into his own office, shutting the heavy door firmly behind him, the click of the lock echoing with a definitive, heartbreaking finality.
Back in the kitchen, Sapnap and George stood in the quiet hallway. They looked down the corridor toward the closed office door, then back toward the living room and the stairs where Dream's bedroom sat empty. The house felt entirely too big, and the silence they were left with was no longer comfortable at all.
-
The click of the lock felt like a self-inflicted wound.
Then I guess
Dream slid down the back of the heavy office door, his knees giving out as he sank onto the hardwood floor. He pulled his legs tight against his chest, burying his face in his knees as the tears finally came full force, unchecked and agonizingly quiet.
His chest ached with an immediate, suffocating wave of regret. The phantom warmth of Sapnap’s hand on his arm and the memory of George’s heartbroken, pleading eyes flashed behind his eyelids. He had just pushed away the only two people in the world who could anchor him. He had looked right at his boys - the boys who called him love, baby, sweetheart with so much effortless devotion - and he had shut them out.
Go back out there, a desperate voice in his chest begged. Open the door. Let them hold you.
But the darkness in his mind was louder, a heavy, paralyzing weight that anchored him to the floor. It twisted his thoughts, whispering cruel, systematic lies: ‘You’re a mess. Look at you. You’re just going to drag them down into this hollow feeling with you. If you go back out there, you’re just forcing them to fix a broken machine.’
His brain begged for isolation, demanding that he stay locked away until tomorrow. It convinced him that hiding was an act of mercy for Sapnap and George, a way to shield them from the miserable, empty shell he felt like today. ‘Just get through the night alone,’ his mind hissed. ‘Wrap yourself in the dark until morning, and maybe tomorrow you can pretend to be human again.’
Dream choked on a sob, pressing the palms of his hands hard against his eyes. The terrifying part wasn't just the sadness; it was the vivid awareness of his own mind playing tricks on him. He knew it was a lie. He knew Sapnap and George didn't see him as a burden. He knew they would sit on this hardwood floor with him for hours without a single complaint.
He wanted them so badly. His whole body physically yearned for the safety of the living room, for the grounding weight of Sapnap pressing against his back and the soft scent of George’s sweater.
But the door stayed locked.
I wish, I wish, I wish
Slowly, Dream dragged himself up from the floor, his limbs feeling like lead. The office was dim, the shadows lengthening as the afternoon sun began to dip. He didn't turn on the lights. Instead, he crawled onto the small daybed in the corner of the room, pulling a discarded throw blanket over his shoulders.
He curled into a tight ball, staring blankly at the dark wood of his desk. He could hear the faint, distant sounds of the house through the walls - a muffled footstep in the kitchen, the low murmur of their voices. They were still out there. They were worried.
you loved me less
Dream squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the blanket up to his chin, completely trapped in the prison of his own head, waiting for tomorrow to come.
The morning brought no relief, only a shift in the nature of the quiet.
Dream hadn't left his office once. He had spent the night drifting in and out of a restless, shallow sleep on the daybed, waking up to the same heavy ache in his chest. When the clock neared the time of their scheduled recording, he didn't walk out to the kitchen for food, and he didn't head down the stairs to his bedroom to change. He simply sat up, pulled his rolling chair over to his desk, and stared at his monitors in the dim room.
With a numb hand, he clicked onto Discord and joined their private voice channel.
An immediate silence fell over the call, replacing the soft murmurs of Sapnap and George talking to each other from their respective offices down the hall.
"Hey," Dream said, his voice rough and quiet, lacking its usual pre-recording energy.
"Hey, love," George answered instantly. His tone was gentle, cautious, and incredibly warm - completely devoid of any anger or resentment about the locked door from the night before.
"Hey," Sapnap chimed in, a soft keyboard click echoing from his mic. "We're all set up on the server whenever you're ready, baby."
Dream swallowed hard, his throat tight. He had braced himself for awkwardness, or worse, the suffocating weight of them asking if he was okay. But they didn't pester him. They didn't push for an apology, and they didn't demand to know why he had shut them out. They just met him exactly where he was, offering a seamless, protective shield of normalcy.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready," Dream murmured, loading into the Minecraft server. His avatar spawned into the world, standing right next to George and Sapnap's characters.
"Alright," George said, his voice shifting smoothly into his professional, upbeat recording persona, though there was still an underlying softness meant just for Dream. "We'll do the intro on three. Sap, you good?"
"Born ready," Sapnap said, though he privately moved his in-game character just a fraction closer to Dream's, a silent gesture of solidarity through the screen. "Let's do it."
Dream took a deep breath, resting his fingers on his WASD keys, trying to force his mind to focus on the game as George started the countdown.
-
The heavy silence of the night before had morphed into a fragile, carefully orchestrated normalcy. On the surface, the recording was going smoothly - the game was running fine, the challenges were being met, and the commentary flowed without any major awkward pauses.
But beneath the professional veneer, the vibe was entirely hollow.
We tried to recreate our favorite date
It was supposed to be a high-stakes, fast-paced "Minecraft, but..." video, the kind that usually had the three of them screaming, laughing until they couldn't breathe, and trading sharp, rapid-fire banter. Instead, the energy in the Discord call felt like it was dragging itself through molasses.
When George made a joke, Sapnap’s laugh came a beat too late, lacking its usual full, boisterous warmth. When Sapnap made a risky play, Dream’s response was a quiet, subdued chuckle rather than his signature wheeze. The banter wasn't crisp; it was soft, hesitant, and laced with an unspoken, careful gentleness.
But we didn't laugh much this time
George and Sapnap were actively pulling their punches, subconsciously toning down their usual loud antics so they wouldn't overwhelm Dream. And Dream, trapped behind his microphone in the dim light of his office, was exhausting every single ounce of his remaining energy just to sound present. Every enthusiastic shout he forced out felt like lifting weights.
To a casual viewer watching the edited video weeks from now, it would probably just look like a slightly more laid-back episode. The edits would hide the heavy spaces between the words. But to the three of them, the shift was glaringly obvious. Every muted laugh and softened jab was a quiet admission that things weren't okay.
"Alright, I've got the eyes of ender," George said, his character running toward the stronghold portal frame. His voice had the right words for the video, but the cadence was tired. "Let's just finish this, love."
The pet name slipped out naturally, a soft fracture in their professional recording armor. They could edit it out.
"Yeah," Dream murmured, his avatar standing right beside George's. "Let's do it, baby."
Sapnap cleared his throat, jumping into the frame to place the final eye. "On three. Let's go."
They leaped into the End portal together, the high-stakes finale looming ahead, all three of them quietly pushing through the motions, just trying to get to the end of the recording so they could drop the act and figure out how to heal the distance between them.
-
The final "three, two, one" echoed in the call, followed by the definitive click of the recording software cutting off.
An immediate, suffocating silence fell over the voice channel. No one logged off. No one took off their headset. The heavy, thick tension from the recording lingered in the air, pressing down on all three of them in their separate offices down the hall.
Dream stared blankly at his minecraft avatar standing idle on the screen. The mask of his recording persona slipped away instantly, leaving him feeling more hollow and drained than before. The darkness in his mind was swirling, loud and demanding, whispering that he needed to get out, that he needed to disappear before he suffocated them all.
"I think I'm going to go to LA," Dream said suddenly. His voice was flat, completely devoid of inflection, cutting through the silence like ice. "In hopes that a change of scenery will change my mood. I'll book a flight for tonight."
Our trip to Big Sur only confirmed
On the other end of the line, Sapnap and George froze.
It was exactly what the darkness wanted. Space. Distance. Isolation masquerading as a vacation.
"Dream..." George started, his voice laced with immediate hesitation. He took off his headset, pushing back from his desk and walking out into the hallway, matching Sapnap who had done the exact same thing. They met outside Dream’s locked office door, their expressions tight with worry. "Love, I don't know if that's a good idea right now."
"Yeah," Sapnap chimed in, his voice muffled slightly through the heavy wood of the door as he spoke out loud. "We're really unsure about you being out there by yourself. Let us just stay here with you. You don't have to face this alone, baby."
This isn't what it should feel like
Inside the room, Dream didn't move from his chair. He looked at the closed door, hearing their voices, but the twisted narrative in his head was already rewriting their care into a trap.
"You guys are overthinking it," Dream lied, his voice sounding tight through the door. "It's just a change of scenery. It'll be good for me. I just need some fresh air."
And maybe I'm a stubborn overthinker
But they knew him too well. They had spent years decoding his habits, his defense mechanisms, and the specific way he retreated when things got too heavy. This wasn't a man looking for a relaxing trip; this was Dream running away. This was his mind building a fortress of distance because it was too dark to trust itself around the people who loved him. They knew that letting him go to an empty house in LA while he was in the depths of a depressive episode was dangerous.
But I've been thinking over this a lot
George leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door, closing his eyes. He wanted to scream at Dream to open the door. He wanted to demand that he stay.
"Are you sure, sweetheart?" George whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "Please."
Dream swallowed back a lump in his throat, his chest aching at the pain in George's voice, but the isolation was a magnetic pull he couldn't fight. "I'm sure. I need to do this."
Sapnap put a hand on George’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. They exchanged a long, heartbreaking look in the dim hallway. They desperately wanted to put up a fight, to block the front door, to delete his flight apps - anything to keep their third safe between them.
But they also knew Dream. If they forced him to stay, he would only retreat further into the locked room of his own mind. If he genuinely believed that getting on a plane was the only thing that would help him breathe, they couldn't stand in his way. They loved him too much to become his jailers, even if letting him go felt like watching a ship sail straight into a storm.
"Okay," Sapnap said softly, his voice thick with a heavy, defeating resignation. "Okay, love. If you think it'll help... we won't stop you. Just... promise you'll answer our calls?"
"I will," Dream murmured, though the darkness in his mind was already planning the radio silence. "Thanks."
The hallway fell silent again as Sapnap and George stood outside the locked door, listening to the faint sound of Dream shuffling around inside, packing a bag to run away from the only two people who could save him.
The humid morning air of Los Angeles hit Dream the moment he stepped out of the sliding glass doors of Tom Bradley International Terminal. LAX was a chaotic blur of shifting crowds, shouting traffic controllers, and the persistent roar of jet engines, but Dream felt entirely insulated from the noise, wrapped in a cold, heavy fog.
He dragged his suitcase over to the designated rideshare pickup island, his body aching from the stiff airplane seat and a total lack of real sleep. Pulling out his phone to check on his Uber, a small notification badge caught his eye.
Voicemail (2).
They had been left just a few hours ago, while he was somewhere over the American Southwest. Dream swallowed hard, his thumb hovering over the screen. A part of him wanted to delete them, to keep building the wall of distance his mind had demanded. But his heart ached too fiercely. He clicked the first one. It was from Sapnap.
The static whistled for a second before Sapnap’s voice came through. It wasn't his loud, confident stream voice, or even his casual, teasing tone. It was incredibly quiet, rough, and thick with a fragile, wet edge.
And I could try convincing you they're just intrusive thoughts
"Hey... love," Sapnap breathed, a shaky exhale stuttering into the microphone. "I know you're probably still in the air. I just... I hate this. I hate that you're on a plane right now. The house is entirely too quiet and it just feels wrong. Please, baby, if you get this before you leave the airport... just book a flight back. Come home. We'll fix the code, we'll do whatever you want, just... please don't do this alone. I love you."
The voicemail cut off with a soft click. Dream’s breath hitched, a sharp, physical pain blooming in his chest. Before he could stop himself, he tapped the second message. George.
George’s voicemail was even worse. He sounded completely defeated, his voice small and trembling so hard it was barely a whisper.
But you've seen me truly happy, so you know right now I'm not
"Dream... please," George choked out, a faint, stifled sniffle breaking through the audio. "We're so worried about you, sweetheart. I'm sorry if we crowded you yesterday, I'm sorry we couldn't fix it. Just... please call us when you land. Or just come back. Please, just come home to us..." George’s voice broke entirely on the last word, the line going dead as he hung up to hide a sob.
Standing on the curb at LAX, surrounded by hundreds of strangers, Dream broke.
If loving me means crying on the curb at LAX
Hot, stinging tears flooded his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, blurring the harsh morning sun. He pressed the back of his hand over his mouth, trying to hold back the ragged, sobbing breath that wanted to tear out of his throat.
He did that.
The thought slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. He was the one who made his boys sad. They were in Orlando right now, hurting, damn near in tears, because of him. He had taken their warmth, their safety, and their unconditional love, and he had thrown it back in their faces so he could run away to an empty house across the country.
Well, then I guess
‘It’s all my fault,’ he thought, the dark, twisted narrative of his depression wrapping its suffocating vines tightly around his throat. ‘It always is. My piss-poor mood just drags them down into the dirt with me. Every single time.’
He looked down at his phone, his vision swimming. And in that miserable, agonizing moment on the sidewalk, a dark, dangerous thought slipped into his mind.
I wish, I wish, I wish
‘I wish they loved me less.’
He wished, just for a small, fleeting second, that Sapnap and George would just stop trying. He wished they would care less, that they would get fed up with his pulling away, that they would give up on him. Because if they stopped loving him so fiercely, he wouldn't be able to hurt them like this. If they just let him drift away, he wouldn't have to carry the crushing guilt of breaking their hearts.
The moment the thought solidified, Dream felt a wave of profound shame wash over him. He shook his head violently, wiping at his wet face with his sleeve. No. No, don't think like that. It was a terrible, awful thing to wish for. He loved them more than life itself. They were his entire world, his anchors, the only good things he felt he had left sometimes. He didn't want them to stop loving him. He was terrified of it.
you loved me less
But as a white sedan pulled up to the curb, the license plate matching his app, Dream unlocked the trunk and tossed his suitcase inside. He climbed into the backseat, staring out the window at the blurred palm trees of Westchester as the driver pulled out into the airport traffic.
He wanted the dark thoughts to stop. He wanted to be the version of Dream that made his boys laugh, the one who belonged between them in that bed in Florida. But as he rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window, the tears still silently tracking down his face, he realized the terrifying truth: no matter how many miles he put between himself and Orlando, he couldn't seem to shake his depression. It had flown across the country right alongside him, locked inside his own head.
The empty Master bedroom of the DTeam LA house felt completely desolate. The blinds were drawn tight against the city lights, casting the room in a cold, unfamiliar dark. Dream lay on his side in the middle of the massive bed, staring blankly at the glowing screen of his phone.
It was late. Past midnight in LA, which meant it was already past 3:00 AM back home in Orlando.
Dream swallowed past the heavy, permanent lump in his throat. He knew exactly where they would be. Whenever he was gone, or whenever things felt too fractured, Sapnap and George always ended up gravitating toward his bedroom downstairs. It was the largest bed, the one that smelled the most like all three of them, and the place where they felt closest.
With trembling fingers, he tapped Sapnap’s contact and hit call. He didn't want to use FaceTime; he couldn't bear the thought of them seeing his puffy, bloodshot eyes and the hollow look in his face.
It didn’t even ring twice.
The line clicked open, and the heavy, ambient quiet of his Florida bedroom flooded through the speaker. A rustle of sheets echoed, followed by a soft, hurried breath.
"Clay?" Sapnap’s voice was rough with sleep, but completely alert, filled with an instant, desperate hope.
In the background, Dream heard a sharp shift in movement, a soft gasp, and then George’s frantic whisper: "Is that him? Put it on speaker."
A faint beep echoed as Sapnap switched the call. "Love? Are you there? Are you okay?" George’s voice was right at the microphone now, breathless and thick with the remnants of the tears from his voicemail.
Hearing them together, hearing how desperately they had been waiting for the phone to light up, brought a fresh wave of stinging tears to Dream's eyes. He bit his lip hard to keep from letting out a sob.
"Hey," Dream whispered, his voice cracking slightly despite his best efforts. "Yeah. I'm here."
A collective, shuddering sigh of relief came through the phone.
"Oh thank god," Sapnap breathed. Dream could practically picture it - Sapnap sitting up against the headboard, running a hand through his hair, while George curled tightly against his side, both of them staring at the glowing screen between them on his mattress. "We've been sick to our stomachs all day, baby. Did you get our messages?"
"I did," Dream said softly, staring up at the dark LA ceiling. The guilt twisted sharply in his gut. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you guys cry. I didn't... I didn't mean to do that to you."
"Don't do that, sweetheart," George interrupted gently, his voice incredibly tender. "Please don't apologize for being sad. We aren't mad at you. We just miss you. We hate that you're all the way out there by yourself when you feel like this."
"Come home, love," Sapnap pleaded softly. "There's a flight at 8:00 AM. We'll come pick you up at the airport. You can just lock yourself in the office here, we won't bug you, we just want you under the same roof."
If loving me means saying,
Dream closed his eyes, a tear escaping and slipping down into his hair. Every fiber of his being wanted to say yes. He wanted to pack his bag right now, Uber back to LAX, and fly straight into their arms. But the dark, heavy fog in his brain was still fiercely protective of its isolation. It was still telling him that he needed to fix himself before he could be around them again.
"I can't yet," Dream whispered, the words tasting like ash. "I... I think I need to stay here for a week."
Babe, I think this is the end
The silence that followed was agonizing. He could hear the quiet heartbreak radiating across the thousands of miles separating them.
"A week?" George repeated, his voice dropping to a tiny, fragile whisper.
"Just a week," Dream promised quickly, desperate to soothe the ache he was causing them. "Just to see if the change of scenery helps. To see if I can get my head straight. I promise I'll answer your calls this time. I won't disappear. I just... I need a few days."
I guess
On the other end, Sapnap reached out and pulled George a little closer, both of them tangled in Dream's empty sheets. They hated it. Every instinct told them to fight him on it, to tell him that a week alone with his own thoughts was the worst thing for his depression. But they also knew the fragile line they were walking. If they pushed too hard, he might retreat even further.
"Okay," Sapnap said, his voice thick with a heavy, forced acceptance. "A week, baby. But you call us every single night. Even if it's just to sit on the phone in silence while we sleep. Deal?"
"Deal," Dream murmured, a tiny, watery smile tugging at the corner of his mouth for the absolute first time in days. "I love you guys. So much."
I wish, I wish, I wish
"We love you more, sweetheart," George whispered. "Get some sleep, okay? We're right here."
you loved me less
They didn't hang up. Dream set the phone face down on the mattress beside his pillow, the quiet line remaining open. Listening to the distant, familiar sound of his boys breathing together in his bed back home, Dream pulled the heavy LA comforter up to his chin. The depression hadn't left him, but as he closed his eyes, the heavy wall of isolation felt just a fraction less impenetrable.