Chapter Text
It was a Saturday when Dream woke up to a few specks of blood dotting his white pillowcase. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, squinting in the early afternoon sun at the red spots, and brought a hand to rest on his throat. It hurt to swallow, his morning voice more scratchy than usual - but Dream had an editing deadline to meet today, so he stripped his pillow, dropped the case into his laundry basket, and went down for a late breakfast without a second thought.
A few minutes later, Dream joined TeamSpeak with a full bite of blueberry muffin still in his mouth.
“Look who’s finally awake,” George said.
Dream rolls his eyes. “You can’t even talk, idiot. It’s like 6 pm for you, of course you’d be awake.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised he is,” Sapnap piped up. “George keeps screwing up both of our sleep schedules with how random his is.”
A noise of indignation left George’s mouth. “Oh come on, it’s not like I’m forcing you to stay up.”
Dream chokes on his muffin while Sapnap bursts out laughing. The food lodges in his throat as he attempts to swallow, his two best friends making fun of him in the background - “Oh come on, George, don’t make fun of him,” “Oh come on Sapnap, the entirety of Dream Team Tiktok is obsessed so don’t target me” - and he tries to chuckle around it but can only produce a slight wheeze.
“Oh come on, now, George. That’s not fair,” Dream manages after a large gulp of water. George only laughs in response, his voice forming the characteristic high pitched giggle Dream was used to, nudging a soft smile onto his face. I’ll never get tired of that laugh, he thinks, and immediately wipes from his mind.
The three streamers settle into a comfortable silence, George coding a new plug-in, Sapnap typing an essay for school, and Dream editing the latest manhunt. He can hear the clicks of their keys as he scrolls through the recording, cutting and piecing together parts that he thinks the viewers will like the most, but he pauses when he comes across a certain clip. The hunters are mining for diamonds and iron as Dream trades with piglins in the nether. Bad is singing his ‘mining away’ song and Sapnap is poking fun at him for it, but George is quiet - until Dream catches a soft hum under his breath. He startles - I don’t remember hearing George sing - and focuses on the snippets of melody he can pick up. George doesn’t sing. But he was, and Dream wondered if he should tease him about it.
He opened his mouth, ready to accuse George of hiding this secret talent, but stops halfway through the first syllable of his name. Knowing him, he would become self-conscious and never do it again. Dream wasn’t ready to forget the lilt of his voice this soon, he realizes - and falters as his face flushes pink and an uncomfortable feeling churns in his stomach.
“Dream?”
“Yeah, George?”
“You started saying my name and stopped. Did you need something?”
He can hear Sapnap’s fingers slow to a stop, curious to the ongoing exchange.
“I-“ A sudden cough wracked his lungs. The feeling in his stomach migrated to his throat, threatening to expel itself as Dream tried not to heave over his keyboard.
“Give me a sec,” he gasps, and takes off his headset to run for the bathroom. Dream isn't a doctor - far from it. But when he hacks up a single carnation petal over his bathroom sink, the pale yellow hue stained with blood, he realizes something might be wrong. He picks up the petal to examine it, his coughing fit suddenly over, and feels the delicate flower with disbelief. It was undeniably real, a completely normal flower petal, albeit crumpled from its journey. Dream doesn’t know what to make of it but figures it was harmless, so he tosses it into the bin and makes a mental note to google it later.
When he sits back in his chair George and Sapnap had moved on to talking about their streaming schedule for the week.
“I’m thinking about speedrunning next Friday,” Sapnap said. “I think I can get sub thirty if I try hard enough. Might have to up the dono limit to help me focus though.”
“Okay Mr. Popular,” George said. Dream tilts back and the chair creaks. “Dream! You’re back! What were you trying to tell me?”
He hesitates. It didn’t feel right, anymore, to ask what song he was singing in a random 30 second segment of the recording or to explain that he was coughing up flowers all of a sudden.
“Was just gonna ask you how coding was going. Do you think you could finish by tomorrow so we have time to film?” George groans.
“Didn’t we literally just film last night?” he complained. “Why do you want to record a new video so early?”
“Not everyone takes two months to edit, George. I’m gonna be done with the manhunt by tonight, so we might as well record early. Right, Sapnap?”
“Hey, don’t bring me into your lover’s argument.”
Dream laughed. “You’re such an idiot. George, just work on it, okay? I’ll help after I finish this video.”
“Or what, Dream? What are you gonna do, make me?”
“You can just say you’re a bottom, George.”
“...Why would you say that?”
There was a short silence before the three of them dissolved into laughter.
Later that day, as the sun began casting warm orange shadows onto Dream’s bedroom walls, he clicked save on the final manhunt video and sighed in relief. It was oddly quiet in his house - Patches was sleeping soundly at his feet and Sapnap had left the TeamSpeak a couple hours ago to take a nap. It was silent on George’s end too. As Dream came out of his editing headspace and tuned back into his surroundings, he realized that George had stopped typing a while ago and was breathing softly into his headset instead. He cleared his throat and called out George’s name, trying to get his attention. There was a slight ruffling of clothes as George mumbled incoherently and turned onto his side, but no response, so Dream tried again, a little louder, and George murmured sleepily.
“Dream? I’m here.”
The sunlight was fading quickly, the window blinds projecting strips of warm gold onto the carpet, dust swirling gently in the air and flitting in and out of visibility. It was warm in Dream’s room, but a shiver ran down his spine as he quieted at George’s unconscious words. He could see autumn leaves piling up outside, an artist’s palette of vibrant reds and earthy browns, and he wondered how long it had been since he felt at home. Twilight fell and the dust settled. George was fast asleep on the other side of the ocean, his steady presence a heavy weight on Dream's eyes, and all thoughts of yellow carnations and light singing faded into an uneasy slumber.