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Dream and George sit inside of a lobby nervously, hands intertwined. George absentmindedly plays with Dream’s fingers while Dream bounces his leg up and down to alleviate some of their mutual anxiety. They await the arrival of George’s new psychiatrist, hoping to get some kind of explanation for George’s recent erratic behavior.
George has always been “moody”, as one might describe, possessing a large range of emotions that frequently change over seemingly nothing. Dream had gotten accustomed to it when the pair first moved in together (they now reside in a lovely Floridian condo), but wasn’t aware of its severity up until about a month ago.
Dream was used to the excessive amount of tears and the sudden shouting over simple things that would only annoy the average person, but when George chose to swing his fist into their bathroom mirror after being unable to style his hair the way he liked it, that’s when Dream knew he should start reaching out to professionals. He needed to find out what the hell was making George act like this.
Dream first brought the idea up while he was bandaging George’s bloodied hand, George resisting it completely, at first. He was very adamant on not wanting to “waste his time in some shrink’s office”. He tried making the argument that he was merely an overly-sensitive and emotionally-driven person, but Dream was having none of it. He held George’s bleeding hand up in front of his boyfriend's face until it finally registered in the brunette’s mind that, yeah—this behavior isn't normal, and likely needs the attention of a specialized doctor.
“George Elliot?”
The pair’s heads shoot up simultaneously at the name, looking in the direction of the distant voice. They lay their eyes on a friendly-looking, shorter woman, standing in the opening of her office door. George’s new psychiatrist.
Reluctantly, George stands up, fingers still entangled with Dream’s as the blonde follows suit. They walk over to her and Dream offers her a polite smile while George stares elsewhere, pretending she doesn’t exist.
“Hi, George,” the woman says kindly, trying to get the brunette’s attention. He shyly glances at her and shakily smiles, a stark contrast to the Cheshire Cat-grin plastered on his doctor’s face. She turns to Dream, having to crane her neck backwards quite a bit in order to meet his gaze because of his tall stature.
“And you are?” the psychiatrist asks politely. Dream clears his throat.
“I’m Dr—uh, Clay. I’m Clay, George’s boyfriend,” Dream chuckles awkwardly, almost having introduced himself with his Minecraft IGN. Sometimes it’s a bit hard adjusting from the world of streaming to actual real life interactions.
The woman beams up at him and the two shake hands formally, Dream having to use his right hand since his left one is still occupied by the brunette.
George observes the interaction and finally takes a good look at his new doctor. She has platinum-blonde hair that just reaches the tops of her shoulders. She’s about a couple inches shorter than George, something he secretly revels in. Her eyes are kind, their tone a shade of what George presumes to be green, similar to Dream’s but slightly darker than his. George decides she’s not too bad so far, no matter how opposed he previously was to meeting her.
Unfortunately, his boyfriend and his doctor’s little introduction is now over, their attention turning back to the brunette who wants nothing more than to shrivel up and crawl into a hole. Or, maybe, crawl into his boyfriend’s arms. Either one would do.
“I’m Dr. Shaw, but you can just call me Lydia,” the psychiatrist winks playfully at him. George forces himself to smile after being reminded by the small squeeze Dream gives his hand.
“H-hi, Lydia. Nice to meet you,” George mumbles, tearing his gaze away from the short woman and staring at a particularly interesting spot on the floor. Lydia and Dream share a look before she invites the two into her office.
The room is nice, albeit small, but is set up similarly to a living room. It’s furnished with a medium-sized, white couch, a grey loveseat that’s likely where Lydia sits, and a rustic-looking coffee table set in between the two pieces of furniture. To the right of her chair is a desk that is pushed up against the wall with piles of papers and binders stacked on top of it. A box of fidget toys and tissues are perched in the middle of the coffee table, the pair passing by them as they move to sit down on the empty couch. George is on the left side with Dream to his right, but their hands still haven’t left each others’ hold. Lydia notices this and a warm smile casts across her face.
“So, George,” Lydia begins once the three of them are all situated in their respective spots. George groans internally, immediately diverting his gaze to the carpeted floor. Here goes nothing.
“Your partner, Clay, reached out to me last week. He says some of your behavior has been a bit concerning to him.” Lydia reiterates what Dream had told her in the original email he sent during his hunt to find George a decent psychiatrist.
George hums, clearly uninterested in the currently one-sided conversation that’s going on.
“Would you agree with that? Do you think you’ve been acting a bit off?”
“Sure,” George says plainly. Dream nudges his boyfriend’s right shoulder softly and George turns to see the blonde with a pleading look in his eyes, one that says please, try giving this a chance.
George takes a deep breath and finally locks eyes with Lydia. She gives him yet another large grin. George can’t find the energy to return it this time.
“I can tell Clay cares about you a ton. Do you love him?” Lydia asks innocently. George perks up a little bit at the mention of his boyfriend’s name, scoffing slightly at the question. He meets Dream’s gaze again, staring directly into his yellow eyes, though George knows they’re a light green.
“More than anything in the world,” George says breathlessly, and Dream’s previously worried face breaks out into a huge smile, his cheeks now lightly dusted pink. He presses a chaste kiss to George’s forehead before the two return their attention back to Lydia, who’s still smiling widely. How does this woman’s face not hurt?
“I can tell,” she replies. “Just remember that he just wants you to feel better. Clay clearly loves you too much to let himself sit back and watch you suffer. That’s why he brought you to me, even if you’re not too inclined to be here.”
“You have a point,” George admits quietly. Dream hums in agreement with the doctor.
Lydia leans over to her right and reaches out to grab a few papers off her desk. She hands one to George, one to Dream, and clips the last one to her clipboard that she also grabs, along with a black pen.
“I want both you, George, and Clay to answer these questions to the best of your ability. Be honest. The more truthful you are, the easier it is for me to get a picture of what’s been going on. I’ll be right back—I need to quickly make a couple copies.”
With that, Lydia slips out of the room, leaving the pair to silently fill out their respective questionnaires. George sneaks a glance at what’s on Dream’s paper, seeing the questions are worded so that Dream is checking off what he observes in regards to his boyfriend, while George is answering about his own self.
George finally makes it through the nearly fifty questions, slightly raising his eyebrows at ones that he surprisingly could relate to and scrunching his nose up at others that he didn’t know people even experienced. Dream and George finish around the same time, Lydia returning to her office just a couple minutes later.
“All set?” she asks as she plops back down on her chair. The two boyfriends nod and each hand over their papers. Lydia skims through them, humming at certain parts. She jots down a few things before turning her attention to Dream.
“You previously mentioned in one of our emails that George often goes through periods where he’s extremely hyper; speaking non-stop and seemingly very happy, though he often will make rash decisions. Is that correct?”
Dream nods affirmatively. “Yes, and then he—”
“—he ‘crashes’, as you put it, suddenly bed-ridden, crying often, and is very irritable,” Lydia finishes for the blonde. Dream nods again.
Lydia asks George if he experiences any thoughts or instances of harming himself while in these emotional periods, and he hesitantly shakes his head “yes”. Dream tries to ignore the feeling of his heart dropping to his stomach. How did he not know George was dealing with that?
Lydia writes another thing down. “When you’re in your ‘happier’ periods, how do you feel?”
George pauses for a moment before answering. “I feel great, honestly, like I’m on top of the world. I get a lot of stuff done for my job with Clay. I guess you could say I make some ‘rash decisions’, or whatever Clay said. But I feel good when I’m in the moment, so I don’t really care about what I do. Sorry if that doesn’t make sense.”
“No need to apologize, George. You’re good.”
Dream begins gently rubbing George’s knee to comfort the brunette as he speaks to Lydia, which George takes notice of. He lays his free hand on top of Dream's, enjoying the natural warmth that radiates from his boyfriend. He sees Dream smile fondly in his peripheral vision.
“Any family history of mental illness?” Lydia questions. George shrugs.
“I’m not too close with them anymore, because—uh, well,” George slightly tilts his head to motion towards Dream. Lydia understands what he’s trying to imply.
“I’m pretty sure there’s something off with my mother, though,” George recalls. “One time she stole my credit card—which, coincidentally—is something I did, but to Clay. Anyway, she stole it and bought all brand new furniture for our living room, but when it finally came, Mum was suddenly too depressed to put it together. She stayed in bed for about 5 days before my father somehow coaxed her out. Long story short, the furniture was returned,” George chuckles sadly.
“Another memory I have was when she left my younger sister and I in the middle of an amusement park near where I used to live. Some scammer told her she could ‘make a thousand dollars’ by doing something for his likely-fake business he told her about. Mum ended up leaving with him, and my sister and I sat on a bench for around four hours until we decided to just walk home. That alone took us a couple hours, and it was, like, two in the morning when we finally returned. Our dad was pretty pissed at my mother for abandoning us.”
George fidgets nervously with the hem of his shirt. Dream gives his right hand a sympathetic squeeze, knowing how difficult it is for the brunette to speak about his past.
Lydia purses her lips while she writes a few notes down. “Have you done anything that you believe is similar to the behavior of your mother? You mentioned you stole Clay’s credit card.”
George hangs his head guiltily. Dream is quick to whisper reassurances to him, knowing the older boy still feels bad about his previous antics. “Yeah, uh, I did. I wanted to shop but I didn’t, um, have enough money to buy everything I wanted.”
“Does spending make you feel good?”
George nods his head fervently. “I love it, especially when I’m already in a good mood. I get to feel, like, I don’t know. Like I’m in control of something.”
Lydia hums, yet again jotting scribbles across the paper attached to her clipboard. She finishes the last word with a dramatic flare of her pen, then looks between the two men on the couch.
“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Lydia starts, George taking a shaky breath in. He subconsciously leans a little closer to Dream.
“Based on how you both answered the questionnaires I handed out, plus the description of George’s symptoms and his mother’s behavior, I wanna say this could be a case of Bipolar Disorder, type two.”
George’s breath hitches and he feels Dream’s grip tighten around his hand. Bipolar Disorder? Is she insane?
“While it’s normal to experience periods of highs and lows, yours appear to be on the more extreme end of things. And coupling that with the impulsiveness, self-harm, and rapid shift of emotions you deal with, I think it’s safe to say you have bipolar, George.”
“No,” tumbles out of George’s mouth before he can even stop himself. Both Lydia and Dream turn to face him, searching the brunette’s face for an explanation.
“I don’t have—I’m, I’m not bipolar,” George spits out, his disbelief morphing into anger. How dare some random woman he just met tell him such things?
“George—” Dream tries, but is immediately cut off by his boyfriend.
“No, Clay! She’s a liar, I—I bet the government sent her so they can take me away. Oh, God. Shit! They’re after me, Clay! They’re gonna come here, no no no—”
Dream rubs his hand up and down George’s back in an effort to comfort the suddenly-frantic boy, watching helplessly as his boyfriend spirals further and further. Dream looks at Lydia who just observes the scene intently, an unreadable look on her face.
“What’s happening to him?” Dream tentatively asks, his voice wavering slightly. Lydia dismisses his question with a wave of her hand.
“George, tell me five things you can see,” she finally says, interrupting George’s rambling. He barely acknowledges her but Dream sees his eyes flit around the room, landing on the blonde.
“I see C-Clay, um,” George looks elsewhere.
“Your d-desk, th-the coffee table, um, you, a-and your c-clipboard.”
Lydia hums, satisfied with the brunette’s answers. “Great job, now tell me four things you can feel.”
Lydia continues to work with George, following her previous statements by asking him to recite three things he can hear, two things he can smell, and one thing he can taste. George cheekily wants to answer with “Clay” for the last request but settles on saying his chapstick, instead.
Dream stays right next to his boyfriend the whole time, gently shushing him and lightly tracing patterns over the fabric of his shirt while George responds to Lydia.
The brunette is eventually able to come down from his panic attack, his breathing almost fully regulated. Lydia waits a couple minutes for George to compose himself before asking her next question.
“George, is it alright if I only speak to Clay for a bit? Will you be safe if you wait in the lobby?”
George looks at her with wide eyes, not liking the sound of this. If he can’t be in the room, things must be really bad. The shorter boy gulps before he reluctantly nods, wordlessly leaving the comforting touch of his boyfriend and taking a seat outside of Lydia’s office.
Dream talks to Lydia for what George guesses is about ten minutes. The taller male finally walks out of the office with her, now holding a small slip of paper in his right hand. He goes over to George and smiles softly before reaching out and intertwining their fingers once again. Dream pulls George up out of his chair and the blonde thanks Lydia as they leave the building.
The car ride is silent until Dream pulls into the parking lot of a pharmacy, leaving George extremely confused.
“Why are we here?” George asks suspiciously. Dream rubs the nape of his neck nervously.
“Lydia prescribed you some medication called Lithium until she sees you at your next appointment. That’s mostly what we talked about after you left.”
Medication? Next appointment?
George slinks down a bit in the passenger seat. “I’m not taking some mystery pills and I’m sure as hell not going back there,” he says coldly. Dream sighs.
“George, baby, I’m not gonna argue with you about this. You need help, and Lydia is a professional. She knows what she’s doing. She isn’t out to get you, or anything like that.”
George grumbles and mutters something incoherent as Dream leaves the car and heads into the store. It takes him no longer than five minutes to return.
George gives Dream the silent treatment the entire trip back to the house. Once the car is parked, the brunette hurriedly gets out and enters their condo, taking his shoes off and petting Patches briefly before retreating to the couch. George bundles himself in a fuzzy blanket and lays down, curling up on his left side, pouting.
Dream comes in shortly after, putting George's new pills on their kitchen counter. He kicks off his shoes before walking over to join George. Dream quietly coos at his boyfriend’s adorable state, even though he knows George is upset. Dream sits in the small space between the left edge of the couch and where the brunette’s head lays. The blonde lets silence envelop them for a couple minutes before speaking.
“I know this is hard, hun,” Dream says softly, running his hand gently through the thick locks of hair near George’s ear. “Accepting a diagnosis surely can’t be easy. I’m sorry for expecting you to not have any qualms about this whole thing.”
George grunts in lieu of a response and shifts so he’s sitting upward, still not looking at his boyfriend. Dream’s hand falls to George’s lower back, once again tracing shapes into it.
“I don’t wanna be like my mother,” George finally replies. “She treated my dad terribly. I can’t do that to you.”
Dream tuts and grabs a hold of George’s waist with both hands, dragging the smaller boy onto his lap. George maneuvers his legs so he’s straddling the blonde, pressing his forehead into the crook of Dream’s neck.
“Well, the difference between you and her,” Dream says slowly, “is you were willing to get help. You let me take you to a doctor, babe. That’s a huge step, and I’m so proud of you.”
Dream tilts George’s head away from his shoulder and peppers featherlight kisses all over the brunette’s face, the aforementioned giggling at his boyfriend’s affection. George smiles fondly and kisses the corner of Dream’s mouth with such gentleness that it makes the blonde shiver slightly. George sees his body’s reaction and giggles again, pressing a full kiss onto Dream’s lips. Dream sighs into it, tightening his grip on George’s waist and pulling the two impossibly closer as the kiss deepens.
George tangles his hands in the blonde’s silky hair, letting the blanket fall slack around his shoulders. The boys’ lips move against each other passionately, both of them relishing in the familiar feeling. Dream eventually swipes his tongue across the older boy’s bottom lip, George squirming slightly with anticipation. He happily obliges, parting his plump lips and allowing Dream to easily slip his tongue into the brunette's mouth. Their tongues immediately connect, gracefully dancing around one another with an equal amount of enamor and desire.
Dream moves his tongue meticulously throughout his boyfriend's mouth, using such a gentleness that makes George practically melt. Dream's hand moves to cup George's jaw, lightly pressing his thumb into the brunette's defined cheekbone. For once, George willingly lets Dream take complete control. The shorter boy wants to focus solely on kissing his boyfriend as slowly and sensually as possible, making sure he conveys all of his love and affection into the simple action.
After a few moments, Dream pulls away, causing an unsatisfied whine to come from his boyfriend. Dream laughs softly before pressing gentle kisses along George’s jaw, traveling down to his neck. When he reaches the brunette’s collarbone, he pulls George’s shirt back slightly, moving the fabric to expose his pale, unmarked skin. A blank canvas, in Dream's eyes.
The blonde kisses and laps at a bare spot before sucking gently on the skin of his boyfriend. George lets out a soft, satisfied moan at the incredible feeling—his collarbones have always been a sensitive area for him—and careens his head further to the side in order to give Dream more access. He tightly holds onto dirty blonde locks, the taller boy accidentally groaning when George tugs on them out of sheer pleasure.
George resists the urge to instinctively rut his hips against Dream’s, wanting to keep this moment relatively innocent given the circumstances. Dream notices his boyfriend’s sudden hesitance and understands what he’s thinking, immediately detaching his lips from the crimson-red spot that now resides on the brunette’s collarbone, opting to plant tender kisses up George’s neck, instead. The blonde finally pulls back in order to look at his beautiful soulmate, also admiring the new works of art he created just seconds prior.
The two share one last kiss, one that's filled with the endless amounts of love they hold for each other. George smiles gratefully and presses his and Dream’s foreheads together, nuzzling their noses.
“Thank you for making me feel human,” George whispers through lidded eyes. “Sometimes I feel crazy, like I’m not even myself anymore.”
Dream brushes back George’s fringe and kisses his now-exposed forehead. He then tucks George under his chin, pulling the blanket up and wrapping it around the two.
“You’re not crazy, I promise,” Dream mumbles into George’s soft curls. “Nothing you do because of your disorder will cause me to leave. I understand you have a hard time reigning in your emotions, and I’m gonna do everything I can to help you with that. I love you, always.”
Dream hears George sniffle softly below him and the blonde lifts George’s chin up to look at his boyfriend’s face.
“Oh, angel, don’t cry,” Dream coos, wiping George’s tear-stained cheeks. George suddenly throws himself back into Dream’s chest, squeezing him as tightly as possible.
“I love you so much,” George murmurs into Dream’s sweatshirt, and Dream can’t help but beam like an idiot, his boyfriend’s words being especially meaningful since he knows George doesn’t like saying the full phrase often. Dream squeezes the smaller boy back equally as tight, carding his hand through George’s slightly tousled hair and humming a soft tune.
"I love you more, sweetheart."
The two lovers end up falling asleep in that exact position, both boys basking in the other’s warmth and feeling a little bit more prepared in dealing with George’s newly diagnosed Bipolar Disorder. They know everything will work out in the end, comforted by the fact that—as long as they have one another—nothing can ever get in the way of the love they share.