Well, four more months passed.
Over a hundred days and a hundred nights of... nothing really.
And the internet did indeed forget.
...
It was mid-March,
2021.
Leaves had started falling one day and disappeared the next.
He had celebrated New Years' with his family
and then they went to sleep without him.
The flowers were blooming.
...
Two weeks after the peak, he released a response video.
He knew it was half-baked. He knew it was fine.
A few people believed the video, a few did not,
and nobody was surprised.
He deleted it later.
By March, it had been forgotten.
...
The same man leaned back
in the same chair
in the same basement
with the same yellow lights buzzing.
Fanfictions would never mention this
because who would want to read about a hundred days of emptiness,
let alone live it?
Clayton felt like someone had hit him over the head with a reality check.
The sensational "Dream" of 2020 was gone. No headline stories.
Are you bored, Clayton?
Yeah.
...
Clayton hadn't changed anything about himself.
He had still been staying up at night during the darkest and quietest hours.
He had still read the fanfictions in complete silence,
sinking into the cushions,
pausing when he read powerful things.
Same person.
So why is everything so dull now?
...
Clayton tried to clear his mind and glanced around.
It was a rainy day.
The kind of rain that was supposed to be comfortable, somehow.
Foggy enough that you couldn't see the sky or tell what time of day it was.
The world was all puddles and dark green grass.
Every few minutes, a car would drive by with a splash,
and the fog would be tinted red for a few seconds as the hum of engines faded in and out.
But Clayton did not hear any of that.
...
Now, what were those lyrics that I spent so much time on?
He cleared his throat and leaned into his microphone.
"Always bein' judged by a bunch of strange faces."
A little awkward. He didn't trust himself, didn't know whether the song was any good at all.
He stopped recording and released a tired breath.
Well, they'll fix it up for me like they always do.
Unexplainable sadness.
...
Probably because the past wasn't coming back.
Probably because some people grimaced when they thought of him,
as if he was a rotten egg.
Probably because of the contract he had signed with the voice in his head,
forcing him to lie to people.
A car drove by.
Pull yourself together, Clayton. Next song line.
"Scared to go outside, haven't seen the light in ages."
He felt that same tightness in his throat.
He stood up and looked around. He didn't know what to do.
Why are you so sad, kid?
...
So Clayton sat back down and tried to do something else,
anything else.
He had been trying to find something to do for the last hundred days.
His desk was messy.
He put his head in his hands.
...
A few minutes later, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Clayton spun his chair around with a smooth metallic sound.
Oh.
His little sister would come down to the basement every once in a while.
Most times, he would pretend to be talking to someone,
and make a little hand gesture,
and she would walk back up the stairs.
This time, there was nothing on his screen. "Hi".
And she also said "Hi".
...
"So, um... how was your school today?"
"Fine, fine. Anything up with you? No major scandals today?"
she joked, raising her eyebrow.
He didn't find it that funny, but forced a chuckle anyway.
"Nope, still just working on the song."
"Oh, okay, that's cool."
They talked for a few more minutes about something they both later forgot
and they laughed a little.
When it was done, there was a pause,
and they grinned at each other,
and then she turned around and walked upstairs.
...
He spun his chair around and turned his monitor back on.
Well, at least I'm still a good brother.
A little less sad.
And if it weren't for me, she wouldn't be famous.
How do you feel about that, Clayton?
He shrugged.
Fame is weird.
Technically, Dream is the famous one.
Nobody really knows who Clayton is,
or what I look like, or anything, really.
They wish, they wish. Millions of people.
He didn't understand what that number meant.
...
Clayton remembered the likable green-eyed blond-haired character from the fanfictions.
That's not me. They'll never know, though.
I'll just be a voice and they'll just be a number.
Always.
Isn't that what this song is about? The point of the mask and all?
...
Who am I talking to?
Another car drove by as he slowly shook his head.