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George had never considered himself as being a lucky person. In fact, he’d label himself quite the opposite. But then he’d also argue that ‘unlucky’ doesn’t necessarily mean 'bad’ . Being colourblind may be unlucky, but it’s not inherently bad— and it’s the same way for his dominant hand being the left, because he can still write and do stuff; his luck just made him more unique. Sometimes that was a good thing, sometimes it was an inconvenience, but overall it’s a way to stand out from the others (if someone looks hard enough at you, that is).
But when George blinks awake on a rainy Saturday morning, he blames his cricked neck on bad luck, and definitely not on the position he fell asleep in the evening before. Or the fact that he had fallen asleep on the couch in front of a film, and had to be carried into the bedroom.
Yeah, it was definitely bad luck.
George lets out a grunt, stretching his arms above his head - effectively whacking them against the wooden headboard - and shaking out his legs with a monstrous yawn, before dropping his right arm down on the bed beside him to find that the sheets were cold and he was alone.
He sits up, and immediately cringes when a shock of pain shoots down his neck. Reaching up a hand, he soothes the twinged muscles with a light massage and swings his legs off the side of the bed, feet burying into soft cream carpet. George grabs a crumpled top from the floor and pulls it on, making his way out of the bedroom and following his nose into the kitchen.
There, in front of the stove and a couple of pans, stood his shirtless boyfriend.
Yummy.
“G’mornin’ sexy,” George mumbles, voice still thick with sleep, and wraps his arms around Dream’s waist to peer over his shoulder at a couple of eggs in a frying pan. He smiles.
Dream hums and puts down the spatula. “How d’you like your eggs in the morning?” He sings with a smile, thumbs rubbing the backs of George’s hands.
“I like ‘em with a kiss,” George sings back, terribly out of tune, and leans forward enough so that Dream could crane his neck back to meet his lips for a quick kiss. George then smiles and unwraps his arms from Dream’s waist, stepping back to take a stool at the island. “Why’re you up so early?”
Dream picks up the spatula again and gives the sizzling eggs a cautious poke, jumping back slightly when one spits some oil at him. George swallows back a chuckle and Dream sends him a quick frown.
“Can’t sleep with the assessment on my mind.”
George sighs, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “You have nothing to worry about, Dream,” he assures, tone comforting. “Trust me. You’re a fantastic teacher, and the kids love you. I’m sure the board sees that.”
A plate with two sunny-side up eggs is placed before George.
Dream smiles. “Sun up. Just how you like ‘em.” He goes to move away from the table, but George catches his wrist and gently tugs him back to face him. “George, I’m fine—”
“I know you’re fine, idiot,” George says, sending him a knowing look. “But you still worry.”
“George—”
He pulls Dream onto the stool next to him and pushes the plate of eggs towards him. Dream looks at the plate, and then at George, one eyebrow raised.
“Have you had any breakfast? I bet you haven’t,” George rolls his eyes at points at the plate, a small smile trying to creep onto his face. “Eat.”
Dream huffs, but picks up the fork and stabs the egg, all the while staring at George.
“Do you really need to do that?” George asks incredulously, placing his feet back onto the wooden floor to move away from the table and to the kitchen sink— almost tripping over Patches and muttering a quiet apology before moving on to grab the cat food from a high cupboard.
A forkful of egg white and yolk is shoved into Dream’s mouth. George knows this, even with his back turned, because Dream responds, mouthul; “Can you stop caring about me, for like, ten minutes?”
This pulls out a snort from George. “You won’t last that long without my attention.”
Patches jumps onto the counter and digs her head into his side with a purr, eagerly awaiting her own breakfast. “Alright, gimmie a sec, baby,” George mutters, grabbing a pair of scissors to open the wet food.
After shoving a last forkful of egg into his mouth, Dream rises from the table. “I would last longer than ten minutes,” he scoffs, turning on the sink tap to rinse off the suds.
George raises an eyebrow and places down Patches’ breakfast, her head quickly disappearing into the bowl. They both knew that Dream would come crawling back, begging for a hug, after four minutes. Tops. He’s clingier than George, and that’s a surprising feat to beat.
“Well, I’d hope so,” George replies smoothly.
The plate Dream was holding almost clatters to the floor. “What are you doing? ”
George shrugs. “Keeping your mind off the teaching assessment—” Dream frowns, “—it was working.”
“I’m sure there’s better ways to do that.”
“Sure,” George replies, grabbing a tea towel to dry the plate handed to him. “You could’ve stayed in bed this morning. We could be snuggled up right now, trying to match each other’s breathing patterns like the adorable couple that we are.”
Dream raises an eyebrow as he drains the sink. “Who said we’re adorable?”
“Me. And by that, I mean one of us is adorable,” George smiles innocently, “which is also me.” He places the plate back into the cupboard and walks towards the living room.
“Who says that?” Dream laughs, shutting the cupboard door that George had forgotten to close.
George spins. “You—” he pauses, “—Also me.”
Dream follows and grabs George’s waist before he turns back to the front room, towering over him with a grin. “Oh really?” He hums gently, “how conceited of you.”
“That’s how I roll, baby,” George winks, lightly patting Dream’s cheek before wiggling out of his hold. He strolls into the front room and picks up the TV remote. “Mario Kart?” He calls over his shoulder, fixing up the TV so that the old dusty Wii could connect.
“Is this you still trying to distract me? Does that thing even work anymore?”
“Yes, and yes,” George sighs, desperately clicking random buttons in the hopes that the Wii would actually boot up.
Truth is, he wasn’t sure if it still works. But knowing his luck, it was unlikely. The thing had been collecting dust for the past three years anyway. Honestly, George wasn’t even sure why they had a Wii in the first place. He was certain that they were at least ten years old (he remembers his sister forcing him to play Just Dance 3 when he was thirteen).
After a silent minute of George frantically pressing remote buttons with no positive result, a pair of warm calloused hands envelop his, and the press of a body against his back makes him stop.
“Hey,” Dream whispers softly, prying the remote from his grasp and setting it down on the coffee table beside them. “I appreciate you trying, love, but that thing ran out of juice last year after Sapnap came round for the weekend. Remember?”
George curses as the memory hits him, and tilts his head back to rest it on Dream’s shoulder. “M’sorry.”
“Don’t be. We can just chill on the couch and watch random shit,” Dream offers, wrapping his arms around George’s waist and leaning his head against George’s.
George chuckles. “Yeah, alright. Would’ve beaten you at Mario Kart anyways.”
“You wouldn’t even let me win to make me feel better?” Dream pouts, pulling away from George and making his way to the ‘movie cupboard’.
“Of course I wouldn’t,” George yawns out, picking the remote back up and turning the TV to the DVD setting, before collapsing onto the couch with a deep sigh. “I’m not that nice.”
Dream sends him a sad look before leaning over to pop open the DVD insert tray and placing in a blue and green disc, with a hint of pink on it. George smiles. Although George couldn’t really tell, because he’s, you know, colourblind, he was fairly confident on what movie it was.
“Tangled?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. “Again?”
Dream picks himself off the carpet and pads over to George, motioning at him to scoot up so he could lay in between George’s legs. George complies and pushes himself up so that his back rests against the arm rest, and swings his left leg up so that Dream could settle in front of him. Dream’s head comes to rest against George’s stomach, and he turns so that he could wrap his arms around the top of George’s back.
“Flynn’s hot. Can’t blame me, George,” he mumbles into George’s shirt, pushing his face further in with a content sigh.
George scoffs, but lifts a hand to card his fingers through dirty tufts of hair, running circles into Dream’s scalp. “That’s because Flynn looks an awful lot like me.”
“Hardly,” Dream retorts tiredly, already affected by George’s work on his head. “Just play the damn movie.”
George picks up the remote but hesitates.
“Dream, I’m so—”
“I swear to fuck, if you start spewing shit about apologising for the damn Wii not working because you wanted to make me feel better, I will leave right now.”
George halts, and peers down at Dream, who hadn't even moved his head from inhaling the cotton in his shirt. “But—”
Dream’s head lifts up and his gentle eyes meet George’s.
“George,” he starts, bringing a hand from behind George to run across his cheek, “doing anything with you is a better distraction than anything else. I don’t give a crap about what we do, as long as you’re doing it with me.” His hand returns to its original position behind George’s back, and his head drops back to his stomach. “Now can we please watch the movie? I want to see my baby Flynn Rider.”
George’s dazed smile immediately disappears. “What the fuck?”
“I’m joking, ” Dream drawls out in a way that suggests he certainly was not joking, and snatches the remote from George to turn the movie on himself with a huff.
Sure, George considers himself unlucky; he gets all the narrow parking spots and misprinted receipts from the grocery store, as well somehow dropping his phone onto the pavement every other week. But here, gazing down at the dumb-scruffy-blond-mess head of hair laying against his stomach, George reckons his luck was all spent already. He’s one hell of a lucky guy to have a man like Dream in his life— even if he leaves drool marks on his shirt and misses every single scene where Flynn Rider appears (which, by the way, is pretty much the whole movie?).
Patches makes an appearance with a quiet meow, and leaps up onto the couch to join the two of them, curling up at Dream’s feet. George buries his fingers into the curly locks of Dream’s hair and allows himself to smile.