behind the streams | dnf

forty | Dream

I shift my arm, and his grip momentarily falters but I pause for it to regain. "Has it been that long?"

"Apparently. According to Sapnap," George adds. "You're not helping. So he wanted me to get you."

I grin. "No. Come on, you guys can do this one recipe by yourselves. I'm literally making all the other ones."

"He says the, er, 'circumstances are unsuitable for him to work under.'"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It's not his kitchen," he begins, and then immediately takes on an imitation of Sapnap's overdramatics. "and 'oh, no, I don't know where the bowls are, why does Dream keep everything in weird places, I can't even reach those cupboards-'"

"Did he just admit to being short?"

"He's right though," George admits, sheepishness tinging the edges of his voice. "They're really high up."

The grin cuts across my face. "Sure. But anyways, I only keep the fancy bowls 'n stuff in there. Everything you need, I already showed you. You two are literally deep-frying stuff, it doesn't take much, I don't want to hear it."

He doesn't respond, and his wordless disapproval almost makes me laugh again. His silence alone is comical, and the fact that it's broken by Sapnap's ear-splitting screech for George, just tops it off.

I nudge him off me gently. "Come on. Go help him make something yummy."

"You," he huffs, jostled away, "are not helpful."

"I will be, promise. And," my eyes leave the top of his head, to look out to the street again, "they're gonna be here soon, so I have to wait."

His gaze pulls me back to him, round and dark, with a strange sort of smile that starts at his lips without ever finding its way to his eyes. "Of course, you would wait out here for 30 minutes."

I hover slightly over him, the subtle weight of the words lingering in the air. I wonder, briefly, if I'm just growing easier, or if he's just getting better, or if I'm just simply imagining it all.

He shifts us out of our pause, hands clasping together as he rocks back and forth, from heels to toes. The expression tips into a sure grin. "Can't wait to meet them."

As brisk as everything else, he scampers away. I watch the slight skip in his step, somewhat lost but not in an annoyed way- it could never be.

My fingers feel for my pocketed phone, flipping it face-up to check the time. Almost.

I linger there, shifting between eyes open and closed, feeling the autumn air on my face even if it leaves some parts just a bit numb. The trees still sway. The leaves still tumble. I miss his face pressing against my shoulder. The doorframe on my other side still feels cold.

And finally the distant rumble of a car fills the air.

My eyes fly open, craning my neck to peer at what part of the street I can. Excitement grows in earnest as the sleek model slowly draws nearer, and I catch their faces grinning at me through the windows before the car's even remotely in line with my house.

I finally lean off the frame, stepping out into the afternoon air that's a thousand times more powerful now. The icy weather sweeps across the back of my neck where the hem doesn't cover, at my hands when I remove them from my pockets. It nips its way under the sleeves of my sweater, sending goosebumps up my arms but it's all forgotten because Camila's there, piling out of the passenger seat with a loud greeting and an even more so grin. She practically launches herself at me, squeezing the absolute air out of my lungs and god, I literally just saw you last week but who am I to question the sentiment.