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“D-Dream. Please w-wake up,” George’s coarse voice cracked off, he was practically cringing at the pitiful sound. It had to have been hours now that he was laying in bed desperately searching for some form of relief from what had to be a stomach bug.
It had started the day before, just a feeling of vague weakness and a lack of appetite. As the day wore on, the symptoms grew in severity, leaving him where he was now, hopelessly trying to alleviate the churning of his stomach.
“D-Dream, please…” George tried again, shaking the younger boy’s shoulders this time. He hoped that Dream wouldn’t be upset at him for waking him up in the middle of the night.
“Huh? Georgie?” Dream hummed and it made George feel a deep pit of guilt for waking him up. He was a grown man, he shouldn't need his boyfriend every time he had a stomach ache. He was older than Dream. “George? What’s wrong?”
“I-I feel… sick,” George explained, trying his hardest to hold back the tears that were building in his eyes. He felt so helpless, he despised it. His stomach would not stop turning, he felt like he was on a rollercoaster.
Dream rubbed his freckled face and sat up, suddenly alert. He didn’t fail to notice how George’s voice sounded close to tears.
“What’s wrong?” Dream asked softly, inviting George into his arms. George tentatively laid against the other’s chest despite his abdomen gurgling with anger.
“I feel n-nauseous. I feel like I need to throw up… I don’t want to…” the British boy’s voice quivered as he drove his dizzy head into the warm fabric of his boyfriend’s shirt. Dream always smelled like home. George just didn’t know what home smelled like until he ran into his arms at the airport.
“Oh, honey. We should go to the bathroom then. C’mon Georgie,” Dream cooed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and turned on the dim lamp.
The light well illuminated George’s miserable face. In the light Dream could clearly see how pale and green George looked, and his heart stung with sympathy.
“I don’t want to move,” George muttered as he pulled Dream back down towards the bed again, frantically searching for comfort. He was covered in a cold sweat, he could feel the searing hot vomit creeping up his throat.
“A-Actually…” George choked out before his cheeks swelled with a gag, his hand slapped over his lips. There was a look of pure agony on his face as he struggled to get out of bed.
“George, c’mon, you idiot.” Dream urged with a tender sigh. George was unsteady on his feet and relied on Dream’s steady hands on his shoulders to guide him to the toilet. He felt pitiful and pathetic.
The second George’s eyes located the closed toilet he ran for it, hurling up the lid. His body folded over the bowl and his stomach forced all of its contents up his throat.
The scent of the vomit made George gag again, quickly being thrown through the brutal cycle of sickness. Dream’s heart ached for him. He grimaced, rubbing his back in soothing circles as George coughed up mouthfuls of undigested food and stomach acid. George clamped his eyes shut, attempting to keep himself from sobbing from the utter discomfort.
“You’re okay, George. You’re gonna be okay,” Dream tried to comfort the uneasy, anxious mess that was his boyfriend. George was attempting to breathe when he had the chance, panting frantic breaths over his regurgitated dinner. The ear grating heaving lasted close to five minutes, every time George would lift his face from the toilet his stomach would disagree and he’d be sent right back, puking his guts out again.
“I’m s-sorry,” George whined, feeling gross, pathetic, and exposed. He eventually leaned back now that his stomach was entirely empty, or at least close to it. He didn’t think there was anything left inside of his sore stomach.
“Hey, don’t be sorry, come here,” Dream cleaned the boy’s chin with a wad of toilet paper. George still looked a mess, but Dream was happy to be taking care of him. “You gonna be okay, Georgie?”
The brunette nodded slowly, taking notice of how his whole body was trembling. He really hated being sick. He coughed wetly into his elbow, triggering another gag. A tiny amount of bile spilled into his mouth and he sputtered it into the toilet. The crisp porcelain felt angelic on his feverish skin. Dream placed his palm over George’s hot neck and cheek, feeling the boy start to lean into it. He was obviously exhausted, so Dream took the hint and let the sick boy lean on him.
“Do you want to move back to bed? Can I get you some tea?” Dream suggested, running his fingers through George’s hair fondly.
“T-Tea sounds fine…”
“Tea it is, let me go start some water. I’ll come back in a second, okay?” Dream gave him a warm smile and slipped out the bathroom door. The sudden loneliness crushed George like a bug. He felt his anxiety fluttering up his body, causing him to shake more than he would’ve liked to admit. The taste on his tongue was foul, yet weirdly nostalgic. It had been years and years since George had gotten this sick. He glimpsed into the toilet for a split second before hastily flushing away all the remnants of his dinner.
He pulled himself up to a standing position, his legs feeling like jelly under him. Using his hand as a cup he gurgled some water around in his mouth to attempt to take away the grossness.
“Hey,” Dream came up behind the man, helping lead him back to their bed. George sat down nimbly as Dream went into their bathroom and pulled out the waste bin from under the sink, just in case he felt unwell again. He didn’t want his love to be scrambling for the toilet again.
“Thank you, Clay,” George whispered, pulling the sheets over his chin to feel more protected. The American boy smiled at the mention of his name, his heart leaping in his throat.
“Of course. I need to grab the tea, one sec.” Dream padded back to their kitchen, pouring the boiling water into a crudely hand-painted mug.
Dream was the one who had proposed pottery painting. It was an activity that he always enjoyed when he was younger with his mom, and George liked the idea for their anniversary. The mug he had selected from the shelf was the one he painted for George. The design was a few poorly painted Minecraft animals. The memory of their date made Clay’s heart swell.
He dropped in a tea bag that George had brought back with him from the U.K. insisting that ‘Americans just don’t know how to make good tea’.
Dream wanted to think after watching George meticulously make a cup every morning for the past year that he could do a decent job.
As the blond boy shuffled back into their bedroom his eyes locked onto his companion. George was sitting up against the headboard, his laptop laid open on his lap. The British boy giggled when he noticed the mug, a gracious and easy grin spread on his face. Dream liked to think he was the only one that got to see that expression on George’s lovely face.
“Thank you,” he said softly, reaching out for the warm ceramic cup. His hands were still unsteady, so Dream made sure that he was completely supporting it before he let go.
“Of course, what are we watching?” Dream walked around the side of the bed and slipped in, his heart fluttering as George curled into his chest.
“Don’t care,” he replied simply. Dream ended up checking twitch by accident, an impulse he got every time he touched a computer. He noticed that a few of their friends were streaming, so they resigned themselves to being great and supportive friends and watching the stream and sipping tea.
The hot ceramic was burning against George’s hands but he didn’t mind, he liked the way it felt. The heavy hot weight was really grounding to the British boy. Anxiety was still pumping through his body, the aching sensation not leaving his chest. He knew how to deal with it though.
George placed the mug of tea on the bedside stand and wrapped his arms further around Dream, pressing the side of his face into the other’s neck. Dream sighed fondly and brought his fingers through the fluffy dark hair.
The atmosphere in the room was warm, soft, and tender.
They fell asleep, curled up together, to the scent of freshly brewed tea and genuine love for one another.