zoe 卌

DREAM BOY

thank you so much to my fren for giving me this absolutely fucking incredible idea. Basicallt Awsten is living in YOUR subconscious and gets jealous and yeah just read. This is a half joke. Literally no warnings. This is the best thing i have ever made in my entire life

things only started getting weird after you stopped taking your meds. at first it was subtle, like your brain whispering instead of yelling. little glitches. little cracks in the wallpaper of reality.

then it escalated.

you started dreaming about celebrities showing up at your old elementary school like it was completely normal. one night, michael clifford—green hair, stupid grin, you know the one—was chasing you around a kiddie pool with a broken hose like it was a goddamn horror movie filmed on an iphone 4. you woke up breathless, hair stuck to your cheek, the echo of his laugh still rattling around your skull.

everything was bizarre, off-kilter, dream logic leaking into the cracks of your daytime thoughts. you knew it. you could feel the wrongness clinging to you like humidity.

but the one constant in all of it—the one presence that kept slipping into every dream, every half-lucid thought—was awsten fucking knight.

he wasn’t just there; he was everywhere.

leaning against your childhood locker. standing on the lawn like he’d been waiting for you to show up. walking through the hallways of your subconscious in some ugly sweater, looking at you like he knew something you didn’t.

there was always this impossible feeling that he was watching your mind fall apart with this stupid half-smile, like your unraveling was the funniest, most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

no matter how weird things got—no matter how many celebrities chased you, laughed at you, or tried to hand you weird dream homework—you always found him somewhere in the background. bright hair, quick grin, eyes that cut through the fog.

awsten wasn’t just a constant.

he was the anchor.

or the hallucination.

or the warning sign.

you could never really tell.

but then things started getting… different. the dreams about awsten didn’t stop, not exactly—they just faded into the background like a annoying song you can still hear even after you turn the volume down.

less awsten showing up in skinny jeans in your old school hallways, less awsten skateboarding past the lockers of your subconscious. and for a second, you thought maybe your brain was finally calming down. maybe things were going back to normal.

but no.

the weirdest shit started happening instead.

like dream boy would come on shuffle—completely unprompted, by the way—and something off would always follow. lights flickering. a door you swore you closed swinging open. your phone glitching just enough to make your stomach drop, for seemingly no reason.

and then the opposite. whenever you listened to literally anything but waterparks, something strange would still happen. your room would get that heavy, static-y feeling, like the air was waiting for something. like your brain was being tapped on from the inside.

it was almost like he was living rent-free in your subconscious, some sort of ghost you never invited into your life but somehow, ended up having a key anyway.

you’d be walking home, earbuds in, listening to another band—just some random playlist—when suddenly everything around you would feel tilted. like you’d stepped sideways into a different version of the street you knew too well.

and the second you switched to a waterparks song?

everything snapped back.

like he was saying, pay attention to me.

it stopped feeling like coincidence.

started feeling like he was threading himself through your reality in these stupid, subtle ways.

like even when he wasn’t haunting your dreams, he was haunting everything else. as if awsten knight—as stupid as it sounds—had burrowed so deep into your mind that the world itself glitched a little when you tried to ignore him.

and unfortunately, the universe wasted no time proving you right.

you were in bed, tucked under your blankets like a warm burrito, listening to twenty one pilots. tyler joseph’s voice was soft and warm in your ears, a comforting mix of sultry and sad that always hit you right in the chest. it was comforting. grounding.

and apparently, it pissed awsten off.

because even if he wasn’t showing up in your dreams as often anymore, he was still in your head. lurking. listening. judging.

and jealous. god, he was jealous.

jealous of tyler joseph.

like, imagine hallucinating a bright-haired dick-face man who gets offended when you fangirl for another musician. unbelievable.

awsten was your boy.

your subconscious boy, sure, but still.

he did not like you swooning over “this… tyler joseph guy,” as he always called him, like he wasn’t an actual human with millions of fans.

you could practically feel awsten’s energy shift. not angry, just genuinely irritated in the dramatic, petty way he would be.

so when you reached over to plug your charger into the wall, half-distracted, mouthing along to “saturday,” the universe—or awsten, apparently—decided to send you a little message.

the entire charger block exploded.

like, genuinely exploded. a popping sound, a burst of light, a shock through your finger and then everything went dark except for the faint ring in your ears and the panic crawling up your spine.

the fuse blew out.

not just your room.

the entire upstairs of your house.

and you just sat there on your bed, staring at the smoking outlet like it had personally betrayed you.

the song in your headphones cut to dead silence.

the air was still.

and in that thick, humming quiet, you could swear you heard a voice—light, teasing, smug—somewhere right behind your thoughts.

“that’s what you get for cheating.”

your heart dropped.

your hands shook.

and you whispered to the dark,

“what. the fuck?”

no answer.

just this feeling—warm and electric—curling around your ribs, like he was laughing to himself.