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“Weren’t you gonna put the collar around your thigh or something?” Quackity says as Sapnap lets out another squeak, the current jerking through his body.
“I’ll be your emotional support, just put it there,” Karl encourages in the background, clinking sounds accompanying his voice.
Where’s George? Dream’s mind supplies, when he doesn’t hear his favorite voice in the world say “Sapnap is scared.” (In his brain, George has just said it, and is teasing Sapnap now. Dream tries not to think of the George in his brain too much.)
It was becoming easy, too easy in fact, for him to pick up on George’s absence, to feel it all the way across the ocean when he exits a call.
If I had a Pavlov's reflex, Dream thinks, that'd be mine.
Maybe it was the fact that his body stops supplying some dopey chemicals to his brain when George leaves, but Dream knows the exact moment George silently excuses himself from the collar placement discourse.
He debates telling his friends before he leaves the call, ultimately deciding not to. All they’d do is provide fan service and tease him for leaving right after George because he misses him too much. (Would they be wrong though? A part of him asks. He tells it to shut up)
He clicks the ‘leave’ button, moving to a separate server, to check if George is still there, waiting for him. He finds no voice channels to be active, and sighs. George must’ve been really tired to leave without saying anything.
He knows it's true, in his mind. George had been streaming continuously for days, had made a trip to Wilbur’s place and back, and recorded a music video whilst there, streaming the chess tournament right after he was back home. He hadn’t taken a break, and God knows he deserved one. Dream had tried to tell him to do so, gatekeep him, as the fans would say, but George pushed back with the well-standing argument of hypocrisy. After all, how could Dream ask him to rest when the younger was constantly overworking himself?
Dream pushes himself up from the chair, walking around to find his phone, before realizing it was back at his desk. He runs a hand through his hair, the sleep deprivation now catching up to him, and picks up the device. His fingers move fast, pulling up George’s contact and calling him.
“Hello?” George picks up on the second ring.
Dream hears the ruffle of bedsheets. Oh, he thinks, he’s already in bed then. “Hey, you’re going to sleep?”
“Yes,” George slurs, exhaustion seeping into his words.
“Oh, I won’t keep you up then,” Dream hesitates, not knowing what the other wanted, “Goodnight.”
He knows they walk a very thin line, a line that constantly redefines itself to ensure neither’s boundaries are broken when things start to blur, to ensure that whatever this thing is between them, that renders them sleepless without the other’s voice and restless without the other’s presence, doesn’t ruin their long-standing friendship.
“You’re not,” George mumbles, “Keeping me up, I mean. I was waiting for you to call.”
This is why Dream is often scared of calling him when he’s sleepy. Handling bright and awake George is a problem in itself, with his flushed cheeks and bright eyes, but sleepy George is a whole other case. He doesn’t think before he speaks, doesn’t remember half of what he says, and makes Dream’s heart squeeze in the best way possible.
“You were?” Dream looks at the time, wondering if their friends have figured out their mutual disappearance, “Why?”
“I don’t know,” His voice is soft, too quiet, almost. Dream would complain, but his ability to tune out everything that doesn’t have to do with George helps him focus on the whispered words.
“I like your voice,” He’s still mumbling, “I think.”
“T-thanks,” The blonde stutters, heart slowly rising up to this throat and leaving a trail of shivers in its wake, “Puberty gave it to me.”
Laughter makes its way to Dream’s ears, his chest tightening further. George’s giggles are deep and drawn out, meant for Dream and Dream alone. (He wants George to be for him and him alone, but thin lines. Boundaries. Friendship. And a million reasons he has written down through sleep calls and soft smiles)
“You’re so stupid,” The older man says, at last, his tone giving away the fondness he withholds in direct conversation, “Who personifies puberty?”
“You’re one to talk,” Dream replies, “Who refers to figures of speech in normal talking?”
“Who uses refers in casual co-" A yawn cuts George off, reminding Dream of why he had called him in the first place. To make sure he sleeps, right.
He imagines George then, lying in his bed, four thousand miles away from where he wants him to be. Too far to touch, to hold close and never let go, but close enough to leave a searing burn right where his heart seems to bloom. He imagines him comfortable under the covers, his face peeking out with that smile that paints Dream's world in happiness, a hand clutching his phone and another resting casually. He imagines him warm in the cold London air, warm enough to heat him up. He imagines George, and he imagines them, together, finally, a tinted cheek pressed against a calloused palm.
"You should sleep," Dream says, his own voice sounding far away. To be fair, everything seems far away then, because George is far away, and George is everything.
Shit, Dream feels like hitting his head repeatedly against the door, remember the line, dumbass.
"And you should get better jokes, but you don't see me complaining."
George yawns again, lighter this time, moving his phone away to avoid breathing directly into Dream's ear. (And if Dream misses it, misses how it made him feel like George was right next to him, then he doesn't mention it)
"My jokes are amazing," Dream defends himself, sounding way too gentle for his own liking.
"Says who?"
"Says twitter."
George scoffs, restraining another yawn from slipping out, "Twitter also says you're hot, I'm yet to find the truth behind those words."
"Awww George, if you wanted a picture, you could've just said so."
Dream knows better than to imagine George blushing at his words. He does it anyway.
"Shut up and fuck off."
"Language George, what would Bad say?" Dream tries his best to sound offended. Nope, doesn't work. He's too tired. (or too fucking whipped. Either way, he's doomed)
"Bad would agree that you're stupid."
Another rustle, and a suppressed yawn. If he were there, he would've pulled George to his chest and made him sleep hours ago.
"Sleep."
He doesn't get an immediate response, and settles to check the stream. Its been almost ten minutes since he left, but he finds no acknowledgment of the same from his friends. The chat, however, is blazing past, having caught on Dream leaving right after George. He shakes his head, knowing they would move on soon.
"You'll stay on call?" George is almost hesitant in his question.
"I have to get back to Sapnap's stream," Dream reasons, knowing he needs to be there. It's about his best friend, after all, and it's a long-awaited stream. Sapnap's viewers are high, and he wants to be there to see him enjoy a successful stream that has come after months of anticipation.
"Ugh, stinky Sapnap," George pretends to be disgusted, but Dream only chuckles, knowing all too well the relationship the two had. One moment they'll be killing each other in minecraft, and the next George would be on call, helping Sapnap plan through a stressful day.
"You don't mean that." Dream pictures George's face pressed against the pillow, face squished into the material. (Lines, boundaries, a million reasons, his mind reminds him.)
"I don't," Another rustle through the call, this time it's the wind, "I feel bad for leaving, he had this stream planned for days."
"I'm sure he'll understand." George with his shirt scrunched up from all the moving, riding downwards, collarbones slowly shying out of the collars of his shirt. (Lines, boundaries, a million reasons, his mind screams.)
"Sleep," He presses again, "I'll join the call when stream ends."
"Okay."
"Goodnight, George, dream of me."
Dream expects him to laugh at the pun, to tell him that those will count as a nightmare, to say anything, anything that sharpens the line a little, that draws the boundaries closer, that clears a few thousand reasons further.
"I can do that," the brunette clears his throat, "I can dream of you."
Dream wants to erase all the reasons from his head.
____
"Put your little gogy wogy to sleep, Dreamie?" Quackity greets him when he rejoins, Sapnap too distracted by a slightly stronger jolt of electricity, and Karl too busy laughing at the scream that escapes him.
"Shut up," He replies, the others noticing his presence now, not caring to ask where he went.
His phone pings, and he looks down. A text from Sapnap.
Sapnap : he's asleep?
Dream : yeah