Chapter Text
The power went out, and it stayed out.
It was Dream who had suggested the weekend getaway—if one could even call it that.
You don’t look comfortable, George, Dream had told him, watching the way moisture collected at his hairline. They’d been sprawled out on the cold tiles of the kitchen like the three cats who were sprawled out with them. George had dragged out a fan he stole from Sapnap’s room—one big enough to where they all didn’t have to huddle around the blades—and it was helping, it was, but not fully like they’d hoped. It was hard for two homebodies to combat central Florida heat.
Make it cold, then, George had countered. They said on Twitter that global warming is literally your fault. Congrats.
George’s cheeks were pink beneath his overgrown beard. He hadn’t put a shirt back on since last night; the heat was easier to deal with in the dark. George wasted no time telling him as much.
And Dream wondered what it was about the heat that seemed to make all logic leave George’s brain. Well, yeah, because the sun wasn’t out yet, George. That’s why it was cooler last night. Obviously.
The only thing George said to that was, Obviously, I don’t care.
Dream sat up and looked down at George. He almost pouted at how miserable he looked. You just wanna complain, huh, he teased softly. He reached over to push the hair off of George’s forehead for what felt like the millionth time since the hurricane’s landfall. It was wet underneath his fingertips, but Dream didn’t mind.
The wind from the fan felt nice at first before all it started doing was push more hot air in their direction. Sheets of plywood still boarded up every window but sunlight streamed its way in through the cracks. It created eclipses all around them, patterns of moonbeam on the floor.
When George didn’t say anything else, an idea entered Dream’s brain. My mom has power. We could take the cats there.
Just the cats? George whined. What about us?
Well, Dream answered, raking his hand down the side of George’s face, we could check into a hotel somewhere. For the weekend. Just the two of us.
The look on George’s face told Dream that it was exactly what George wanted to hear.
-
They packed the essentials—laptops, chargers, and a few changes of clothes. While opening the garage where Dream’s Tesla was safely stored, they got their first real glimpses of the aftermath of the storm.
The first thing Dream noticed were the lack of leaves on the battered trees, reminding Dream of a more violent version of the pictures George used to send him of London winters. It was strange not hearing the usual chirping of the birds or the way the sky was a pale blue—still, as if strong winds were only myths; clear, as if nothing had even happened at all.
They stood at the edge of the garage before getting into the car, like it was a Netherportal and they were two noobs staring out into the Nether for the first time. Except this Nether was a wasteland—a wasteland of once was.
Eventually, Dream brought up his hand to shield George’s face from the sun’s unyielding rays. George looked over at him questioningly.
“The sun,” Dream explained. “I don’t want you to burn.”
George hummed, closing his eyes and turning his head to face forward again. He took a deep breath. “The breeze kinda feels nice.”
Dream took his other hand to gently pull George by his sleeve. “I bet the air conditioning at the hotel’s gonna feel a lot better. Come on, let’s go.”
His hand stayed protectively above George’s eyes until the shade of the garage covered him again.
-
George seemed to perk up during the drive, lethargy traded for interest, listening intently as Dream went on and on about hurricane facts. When he ran out of those, he started telling George stories of the hurricanes he went through when he was a child.
“One time an Alligator ended up in my friend’s pool.” Dream laughed. “They didn’t even notice until the next day when they were clearing the yard.”
“What if they just—didn’t notice until the next time they got into the pool?” George asked, throwing his arm out. “They would’ve been owned.”
“Well,” Dream reasoned. “They were more likely to die from the actual storm surge than the alligator.”
“Wait, what was a storm surge, again? Was it those videos we were watching?”
“Yeah.” Dream nodded. “Of the sea rising and like, causing those huge floods. People die from those, mostly. People don’t really die from alligators.”
George shrugged. “Well, we wouldn’t die at all. We’re too pro.”
Dream scoffed and shook his head.
George only continued. “But if we did die during the hurricane—”
“George.”
“Shut up! Listen! If we did die during the hurricane, where do you think our respawn points would be?”
Dream thought about it for a moment, as if the ridiculous question George had asked was one to even consider a serious answer for. “Well, mine would be Florida, obviously. But yours—I don’t know. Yours would probably be in England, right?”
George frowned. “No. It wouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Dream pushed. “You, like, spawned in England. It would only make sense, wouldn’t it?”
The senseless argument continued as they pulled into the hotel parking lot and took out their bags from the back. It continued as they walked in through the doors and as the hotel’s receptionist checked them in. The only time it stopped was when the receptionist looked between the two of them and Dream smiled to himself when he realized that the receptionist more than likely thought they were a couple. The one bed in the room they reserved probably was the main thing that made it obvious, but regardless, it still felt good to be seen as one after all these years.
It continued straight after that, though, inside the elevator as it took them to their floor. It continued, as they made their way down the long, monotonous hallways.
“Just stop, Dream.” George rolled his eyes as he laid back down onto the bed. He took a moment to stretch his limbs out before pulling out his phone and opening TikTok. “I’m right. You know I’m right.”
Dream joined George on the bed, taking his usual place—his head on George’s chest. “Spawn point is quite literally based on wherever you are when you first boot up Minecraft. That was you being born. In England.”
“Yes, but, you can click a bed and reset your spawn point. I did that when I got to Florida. So, my spawn point is here now. Not the UK.”
Dream couldn’t refute that, and instead accepted his defeat in the form of pressing his face into George’s neck. He pressed a kiss to the corner of George’s jaw, thinking of the purposeful act of resetting your spawn point to somewhere habitual, undoubting, safe. “Well, in that case, my spawn point is you.”
The blush spread on George’s cheeks like a wildfire, and Dream giggled as he took his time slowly kissing the color away.
“You know,” Dream continued, quieter than before, “I thought you were gonna say you wanted your spawn point to be LA or something. I think that’s why I was fighting you so hard.”
George didn’t turn to him. “I like LA.”
“I know.”
“But,” George sighed, bringing his phone closer, turning it off and speaking directly at Dream’s reflection in his now black screen in order to get the words out, “ultimately, I just want to be with you. Wherever you are.”
It was so brutally honest, the only thing Dream could do was look at him.
I just want to be where you are.
Even if it meant an unknown hotel room in the middle of nowhere important. As long as Dream was there, that’s where George most wanted to be.
When Dream’s stare didn’t waver, George’s face broke into a small smile—a fond, closed-lipped one where the corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes got all wrinkly at the ends. “Stop. Stop looking at me like that. I’ve already told you that before. Stop being dumb. You already knew that.”
And, yeah, maybe Dream did already know that, because when he took out his phone later to tweet an update, typing out I didn’t cross his mind. It was We’re safe and Our house and, of course, We’ll be okay.