Chapter Text
George woke up slowly, groggily blinking against the harsh sunlight shining straight into his eyes. He quickly squint them shut, groaning in annoyance as he turned his face down and buried it deeper beneath blanket, hiding from the morning sunrays disturbing his sleep. Though as much as he would’ve loved to ignore everything and fall back into a deep slumber, all at once he was hit by just how completely miserable he was feeling.
His throat was dry and sore, even his near silent groan had left a trail of hurt in its wake. His eyelids and seemingly every single bone in his body felt like lead, weighing him down and making him feel extremely weary. His muscles ached and there was a dull headache throbbing in the back of his head.
On top of that he noticed that was vigorously trembling, though if anything his body felt like it was burning up, sweating buckets beneath his t-shirt and the thick blanket covering him. Which was a bit strange in and of itself, considering it was nearing the end of October. He remembers the room feeling freezing cold just last night before he went to bed, so when the fuck did it get so bloody hot in here?
Heaving in a shaky breath through his sore throat, George kicks off the blankets in hopes to cool off somewhat. Though he quickly regrets the action, watches as his vision spins when he opens his eyes again. The sudden dizziness catches him off guard, makes a nauseating feeling crawl though his stomach and he feels like he just might spill his guts out right then and there. Though he tries to take a few calming breaths, tells himself that surely he’s not going to vomit, he’s fine, just keep breathing, it’s fine, you’re fine-
Oh fuck, he really isn’t fine.
George immediately jumps out of his bed when the realization that he is in fact about to vomit, hits him. The sheets tangled around his ankles nearly make him crash to the ground as he rushes past Dream’s bed to the bathroom. He holds a hand firmly against his mouth and prays to every god out there that he can make it to the toilet in time, doesn’t want to clean up a mess on the floor this early in the morning when he’s barely even awake. Though he doesn’t know quite the exact time it is, the fact that Dream was still asleep, and the sun was still low enough to reach his bed, gave him a good estimate.
Luckily he reaches the bathroom soon enough, with only about a second to spare before his empty stomach is contracting harshly and he’s retching into the bowl as he falls onto his knees. The only thing spilling out of him is bile, it hurts his already sore throat and makes his eyes well up with tears as a weak whimper leaves him. His barely awake brain is having trouble catching up with what the fuck is happening. One minute he was in bed, the next he’s on his knees vomiting his guts out, shivering and shaking as his body seems to protest against even simply existing right now.
George manages to take a few shaky breaths before he gags around nothing again, feels like absolute shit as the tears spill over and wet his cheek. One of his hands comes around his stomach, trying to soothe the agonizing contractions of his stomach, while his other arm rests on the toilet seat. He burrows his head in the crook of his elbow, sniffs through his nose as he tries to keep from crying at just how utterly pathetic and ill he felt. His entire body just felt so weak and beaten down, heavily trembling from both throwing up and the shivers wracking his body.
He’s dizzy, his head hurts, his stomach hurts, his throat hurts, he doesn’t know left from right at this point, he feels like crumbling down onto the bathroom floor and just downright sobbing, until-
“George?”
A deep, sleep-filled voice at the doorway breaks him away from his little pity party. There’s obvious worry audible in Dream’s tone, and George tries to reassure him that he’s fine, feels guilty at having woken up his roommate and best friend over nothing, but the feverish haze that’s clouding his mind right now makes it difficult to do anything. He swallows the excessive saliva in his mouth so that he can answer Dream, but the action makes fire well up in his throat, and it throbs painfully in protest. The only thing leaving his mouth is a sad little whimper.
“Oh god- George, are you alright?”
There’s a large hand on his upper back suddenly, rubbing slow, soothing little circles and god, that feels nice. A soft sigh slips past his lips and he feels some of the tension leave his body at the calming motion. The touch grounds him, reminds him that he’s not alone to deal with his pain.
“Are you sick?” Dream asks in a low, gentle voice, as he continuous the movements of his hand. George tries to process the question, tries to think about it for a second but his brain feels too mushy to do much of anything right now. So he settles for a weak shrug, blinks through the tears as he opens his eyes to look at the man next to him, before burying his face in his arm again and grinding his teeth together when another wave of nausea hits him.
He honestly doesn’t know what had happened, just yesterday evening he was feeling perfectly fine. He didn’t eat anything bad, wasn’t hungover or anything, there was no reason for him to feel this way right now.
Maybe, if he thinks about it, he had been feeling quite exhausted and light headed throughout the evening, which had been of the reasons he went to bed early in the first place. But he had put the reasoning for it down to him staying up late to work on his essay, drinking too much coffee and not getting enough sleep. Turns out that that might’ve been the start symptoms of a fever working its way through him.
A few moments pass as George simply sits there on his knees, drawing in slow breaths to calm his queasy stomach. Dream was still right beside him, gently soothing him with soft whispers and the same, grounding motions of his hand. “You’re alright, George.. You’re okay.”
And god, does George so genuinely appreciate the comfort in this moment. He absolutely detests the feeling of throwing up, always has. Hates the way his stomach contracts, and the way everything just forces its way past his throat, the very little control he has over it. But whatever Dream’s doing seems to be working, and both his mind and his stomach are feeling a lot better than they were.
He seems to be done with throwing his guts out, for now at least. Though he’s still shivering quite a bit, and it’s a lot more noticeable now that his stomach is starting to settle. The combination of his sweat-soaked t-shirt sticking to him uncomfortably, and the cold, hard tiles beneath his bare knees make him feel chilled down to the bone. It’s a big contrast from the way he was burning up earlier, makes his head spin with the sudden whiplash of temperature changes.
He knows a shower would help, and even though the idea of a warm spray covering him sounds heavenly, he’s so fucking exhausted that even the mere thought of having to stand up for so long is already too much. The only thing he wants at the moment is to crawl back into his bed, and he plans to do exactly that as he slowly sits up a little straighter, grabs some toilet paper to wipe his mouth and flushes. He also rubs at his tear-stained cheeks to dry them, sniffs his nose and looks at the floor in embarrassment at his friend having to see him in such a weak position.
“I think-“ George starts now that he feels a bit less disoriented, clears his throat when he notices how wrecked his voice sounds before continuing. “Think I might have the flu, or something.. I feel like shit.” He chuckles weakly when he sees the soft, compassionate look Dream is giving him, sniffs again and rubs his nose before making a move to get himself up off the floor. But the everything spins and black spots appear in his vision, his legs feel like they’re about to give out just as Dream comes to his side to support him, one hand firmly on his arm and the other on his lower back.
“-Hey! Don’t rush getting up, idiot. You’re gonna fall.”
George takes a second to recover, squints his eyes shut as he bites through the sudden sharp pain firing through his brain, and takes a deep breath in to push down the nausea trying to rise up again. Deep breaths George, you’re fine, you can do this.
He feels a tiny hint of a smile tug at his lips, can’t ignore making a fun little comment when he spots the opportunity. He looks at Dream once he feels like he isn’t dying on the spot anymore, a cheeky glint in his eyes.
“Well… I’ve got you to catch me, don’t I, Dream?”
His joke probably loses a bit of its lightheartedness through the roughness in his voice, but Dream still laughs heartily, however, so George counts it as a win.
“You are so stupid… How can you say something like that when you just spent your morning throwing your guts up, and then nearly crashing to the floor!” Dream laughs, wants to whack his friend over the back of his head but refrains from doing so, knowing how poorly George is actually feeling. It might be all fun and games, but he’s really concerned over his friend, doesn’t like seeing him in such pain.
George starts slowly shuffling back to their shared bedroom, Dream right behind him to guide him and stabilize him if he were to stumble. He doesn’t make any sudden or big movements, worried in case he’ll have to vomit again. Though the nausea hasn’t left him completely, it’s not as pressing or disturbing as it was before, so he thinks he’ll manage.
His headache has only gotten worse tough, by the time he’s arrived at his bed, pushing himself up on it before he crawls underneath the blanket. He squints his eyes shut at the dull, painful throbbing of his head, that only seems to be getting louder and louder with every minute that passes. It feels so all-encompassing, almost like there’s a big wall of an angry red haze clouding his mind and tearing him apart from the inside out. He genuinely hasn’t felt this bad in a long time, he hates it hates it hates it. He feels so frustrated and upset, feels the corners of his eyes prickle with unshed, pained and angry tears that he does his best to push back. It all feels like it’s too much to handle for him right now. He just wants the pain to go away.
Before he knows it, there’s something soft and cold pressed against his forehead, and it helps soothe his headache tremendously. He can’t stop the soft grunt spilling past his lips at the relieving feeling. When he slowly blinks his eyes open again, he sees that it’s Dream’s hand.
“Oh you are definitely running a fever, George. I’ll go get you some water and painkillers, alright? Don’t move.”
As much as he wants to make a snarky comment about barely being able to move in the first place, all George manages is a tiny nod. He immediately misses the coolness of Dream’s palm against his heated forehead when it leaves him, feels a needy little noise build up in his throat that he quickly pushes down. It’s nice to have someone to take care of him like this, he’ll admit it. Not having to worry about getting your own water, or painkillers. Someone to rub your back while you’re puking your guts out. It’s very nice.
He’s reminded by how grateful he is for his friends, how appreciative he is to have them in his life. Sapnap and Dream are always there for him, always there to help him, and support him, no matter what. They know how to make him feel better, know exactly how to take care of him when he feels like shit.
Dream enters the room again, a cold bottle of water and a painkiller in his hand. He hands the pill to George, who pops it into his mouth as Dream unscrews the water bottle.
“You’re gonna have to sit up a bit, Georgie.”
George acknowledges him with a soft grunt as he pushes himself up slowly. Dream’s by his side, one hand holding the bottle near him, the other gently cupping his arm, steadying him as he starts bringing the bottle to George’s lips.
“Careful.”
“I’m not 5…” George manages to whisper with an annoyed little huff, with the pill still in his mouth. He cups his own hand over Dream’s, the one that’s holding the bottle, to help guide it to his lips, and starts greedily gulping from the drink when he gets his mouth wrapped around the opening. The cold water feels incredibly soothing on his heated throat, though it makes chills erupt over his body, and goosebumps appear on his skin.
When he’s had enough, he leans back and crawls underneath his blanket once more, until its covering him all the way up till his chin. The room now feels just as cold as it did last night, maybe even colder. He tries to hug the corners of the blanket against himself to keep in as much of the warmth as possible, as his body shakes heavily to help warm him up.
And that just might be the worst thing about fevers, or George thinks so, at least. The constant fight between being too hot, and then too cold. Either sweating because you’re overheated, or shivering cause you’re freezing cold- or both at the same time! It’s agonizing, it’s exhausting, and all he wants to do is sleep and hopefully feel better once he wakes up.
He starts closing his eyes, prepares for a nice, long and hopefully somewhat peaceful nap. He wonders for a second if Dream’s going back to bed as well, but that reminds him… “Didn’t you have a class this morning?”
“I’m not going.”
George’s eyes snap open, and he starts pushing up on his elbows to stare at Dream incredulously.
“What? Why not? Did you miss it?” Oh god, did Dream have to miss it because he was busy looking after George? He remembers Dream specifically going to bed early for this class, it’s probably of some importance.. He’d hate to be the reason for Dream to miss his classes.
“No, no. It’s in like, I don’t know..” Dream pauses as he takes his phone from his bed to look at the time. “30ish minutes. I’m not going though. You’re sick, dummy.”
“Dream, what? What does that have to do with anything? Go, get ready!”
“Who’s going to look after you then? It’s one class, I can afford to miss it. I’m not going to leave you by yourself, George, you’re sick!”
“Dream that is actually ridiculous. I don’t need you to look after me, I’m not a toddler! Look, I’m probably just going to be sleeping the whole day anyways! You’ll be gone for what, only 2 hours-“
“3 hours. It’s a 3 hour class.”
“-Even so! 3 hours is nothing, please just go. I don’t want you to miss class because of me, you idiot. I’m fine, I’ll be asleep!”
“George-“
“Dream. I’ll be seriously angry with you.”
Dream finally shuts his mouth, sighs in frustration at his stubborn roommate, and contemplates the idea of still making it to class as he looks at the time again. This is ridiculous, he can’t leave George alone for 3 whole fucking hours when he’s feeling so miserable. What if he needs something? What if his fever gets worse? What if his pain gets worse? What if he’s hungry, he hasn’t even eaten anything yet!
“Dream, please. I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m just going to take a nap, I will probably even be still asleep when you get back. Don’t worry about it.”
After a quiet second longer, Dream finally gives in with a long groan and a roll of his eyes and starts grabbing his stuff, and putting on clothes to get ready. “Fine. But you don’t leave your bed unless you really need something, and if you start feeling any worse you call me. Deal?”
“You’re joking-“
“George.”
“Alright, alright, mother. God, I forgot how doting you become when someone gets ill. It’s even worse now that I’m actually living with you.” George snorts, immediately regrets it as pain flares up in his throat and his brain again. He feels the dizziness return with vengeance at having sat up and talked too much, so he starts slowly lying back down. He’s already so much looking forward to just sleeping, not having to talk or do anything, and being blissfully unaware of the pain his body is in.
“To be fair, you always get very sick when you get the flu. If it weren’t for your weak immune system, I didn’t have to worry as much.” Dream chuckles as he’s putting on his shoes and grabbing his backpack. George simply responds with a roll of his eyes and turns his back to dream, tucking his blankets close to himself and closes his eyes again.
“Yeah yeah, don’t you forget to think about me, in our room, all alone and dying, while you’re sitting in class then.”
Dream’s quiet for a solid moment, and George worries he might’ve taken the joke too far. But then he feels a large hand gently combing through the locks of his hair, and his eyes flicker open as his heart skips a beat at the sudden warm, intimate touch. If his cheeks weren’t already flushed because of his fever, he knows his face would be burning up right now.
“You focus on not dying then, dumbass.” Dream says softly, leans down to place a quick kiss on top of George’s head. Which leaves him just absolutely gobsmacked. Dream’s out the door before his brain can catch up to what the fuck just happened, and he’s left sitting there in silence as his heart races through his chest, and the sound of the outside door closing echoes through their apartment.