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Dream took off his headphones and slumped against his chair, exhaustion and lack of sleep wearing him down. He ran a hand over his face, a sigh escaping his mouth.
"Dream? You there?" A voice came from one of his screens. He heard rustling on the other side and the soft purring of a cat. "I think he fell asleep on call again, Cat."
That brought Dream back from his state of mid-drowsiness, chuckling as he rubbed his eyes and dimmed down the brightness of his screens. "You could've named her anything, George, anything and you chose Cat."
You're such an idiot, he found himself thinking.
It wasn't the first time Dream had jabbed at George for his naming skills, but the huff he got in return spoke of just as much annoyance as it had the first time.
"I thought you fell asleep," George said, a yawn slipping past his lips. They'd both been awake for several hours, and the frazzle was hitting them now.
"I almost did." Dream couldn't help yawning either.
If you yawn...
He shook his head to get rid of what George had told him. George's yawn theory, as Dream had named it.
"You sound tired. Should've slept earlier, doofus." George spoke slowly as if he was trying to lull Dream to sleep. He sounded tired and dry, like he needed to clear his throat. It was ominously lovely to Dream's ears.
"And leave your stream?"
Truth be told, Dream had almost fallen asleep multiple times as the stream had progressed. But just as he was about to fall completely, each time George's excited voice brought him back and made him fall down a completely different spiral, into a feeling he wasn't ready to put a name to - a rush of blood as George laughed when Akinator guessed correctly, a warmth over his cheeks when the older man let out a frustrated groan at being unable to remember Harry Potter characters, an itch in his hands as they reached for something unreachable whenever his best friend as much as breathed and a blinding light shining across his eyes as he admired George, thinking how absolutely unfair God was to give George that face while also thanking God for George and his stupid, stupid face.
"I could've ended the stream Dream."
"For me?" Dream hoped he didn't sound as silly as he felt.
"No, for Patches." George giggled softly, "Of course, for you, idiot."
But how could have Dream asked him to end when he was so obviously trying to find ways to keep the stream going, to keep them playing, talking, to keep them together?
"I didn't want you to." Dream replied, glancing at his discord screen.
He couldn't see George's face now, and desperately wanted them both to move out of the call so he could facetime him. The voice channel had been active for almost twenty hours, and Dream felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards as he thought of how they'd been listening to each other laugh and smile and sleep and breath, listening to each other just be, for almost an entire day.
A shiver of realization ran down his body as he admitted to himself in the privacy of his mind that he wouldn't mind if all his days passed by like that.
"Well, sleep now." George said, the sound of footsteps letting Dream know that he was leaving his desk. He heard the creak of wood pressing down, letting him know that George had found his bed.
Dream switched to discord on his phone, before shutting off his screens and walking to his own bed, falling effortlessly on the soft mattress.
"Only if you do."
He knew George could hear the smile in his voice, and mentally facepalmed himself for being such a- wait, what is it that I am being? He found himself wondering, but when George's chuckle reached his ears, he eagerly left the question unanswered to turn his attention back to his friend.
"I am. Going to sleep, I mean." Dream nodded at that, before realizing George couldn't see him.
"Me too, then." Dream said, then paused, "Do you wanna stay on call?"
No reply came immediately, and Dream was sure that George was going to tease him about being clingy. "You don't have to if-", Dream began.
George interrupted him. "No, no. I just nodded then remembered you can't see me." Dream laughed at the familiarity of George's actions, having done the same thing seconds ago.
"Of course I wanna stay on call." George said after a beat, his tone featherlight and drowsy. Dream could feel his eyes shutting at how silvery George sounded, even in his state of lack of proper rest.
"Sing me to sleep then, Georgie." Dream nudged playfully, bringing his phone closer to him so he could lower his voice, tempted to ask George to turn his camera on so he could watch him sleep.
He didn't mean it in a creepy, Edward Cullen-ish way. Rather, Dream wants to settle down to admire the sight of how all the tensions in George's face relax, as his forehead creases disappear - the same creases the blonde so badly wants to unwind with his own hands - and the way slight puffs of air bellow past his lips as he drifts off to sleep.
Okay, Dream admitted, maybe wanting to watch your best friend sleep as you massaged his forehead was a little bit creepy, but he didn't care for it at that moment.
"You're the one who released a whole song, Dreamie. Why don't you sing me to sleep?" Dream could hear George's grin and felt his heart constrict, thumping inside his ribcage.
Stop it, he told himself, glad that George couldn't see the crimson hues spreading over his cheeks.
"My voice is hoarse." It was true, Dream's throat was raspy, rough.
"Drink some water, Dream." George's words felt like a whisper.
Dream reached over to his bedside table, uncapping one of his glass bottles. As the water trickled down his throat, he felt the coarseness in his neck relax slightly. He went back and lay down, half expecting George to have left the call, but he was still there, and it made an unknown emotion reverberate through his chest.
"You good?" George asked.
"Yeah, still can't sing though. I sound like a scratchy record player." They both laughed.
At any other time, George would've agreed with Dream, even told him how bad he sounded, mocked his voice, or pretended to be hurt by the sound of it. He would've done anything to annoy Dream.
But he didn't do any of those things - maybe it was the tiredness, maybe it was the fact that they had both been talking for hours and had practically memorized each other's voice patterns or maybe it was the energy George lacked to say anything except the words he truly meant.
"You sound beautiful, Dream."
Words said that slowly, through a curved smile, aren't meant to be heard. They certainly aren't meant to be acknowledged. And so Dream tried, he tried to pretend he hadn't heard George.
He tried, and he failed.
"So do you, George." He hoped his voice hadn't faltered.
He heard George laugh, and could imagine his eyes softening. Making George laugh always managed to fill Dream with a different kind of pleasure, knowing that he got to be his personal cheerleader. He felt his throat tighten and cleared it way too loudly.
George yawned again. Dream mimicked him, the Yawn Theory in the back of his mind.
"You know what they say about yawns." George started, way too light and happy for a sleep-deprived person.
"You mean what you say about yawns, idiot." Dream said fondly, his eyes closing of their own accord.
"Doesn't matter, it's true. You love me." George muttered, self-satisfied as he turned on his pillow.
"Yeah, I do. At least I can say it, unlike someone else." His voice had a teasing edge, but George was probably too tired to pick up on it.
"Whatever, go to sleep," George mumbled, his own eyes half-shut.
"Goodnight." Dream said.
"It's afternoon."
"Just go to sleep, George."
And with that, both friends separated by the ocean, thousands of miles apart, went to sleep together, counting each other's breaths to provide them some sense of knowing that the other was there, that the other was real.