Chapter Text
The first time it happens in front of George, Dream is thoroughly embarrassed.
They’re gathered around Dream’s dining table, and it’s a rather quiet dinner. George talks his voice tired, and Sapnap encourages him with short comments and friendly eyes, but Dream is completely silent, distant across the table as he forces a bite of a taco assembled with shaking hands.
Sapnap is being especially attentive, Dream knows, and he tries desperately to calm down so that his friend can relax, but every crunch takes him closer to his breaking point. Sapnap says nothing, mindful of George’s blissful rambling, but there’s panic in each of his stolen glances.
The night continues this way for a while. Dream takes a desperate pause. He hates himself, a little, for always doing this. For not being able to step out of his stress long enough to share a meal with friends. For letting it consume him, every time. At some point, a story of George’s is interesting enough for Sapnap to actually let it steal his attention, and Dream revels in the privacy of his suffering for a short moment. That is, until he gambles another bite of his taco, oblivious to time passed, and is met with cold meat and the suddenly overwhelming flavor of tomato on his tongue.
Between breathless laughs, George notices. “Yeah, we shou– Dream? Are you okay?”
Dream forces himself to look up from the shell breaking apart in his hands. He swallows hard. He’s fucked. Instead of meeting syrupy eyes, Dream chases the steely concern in Sapnap’s, who pales in sympathy.
“You gonna puke?”
Dream nods, and before Sapnap can finish asking "Bathroom or sink?" he’s bolting towards the hall, dining chair toppled in his wake. In his peripheral vision, he notices George flinch, but the sight is quickly overshadowed by Sapnap stepping between them, hand on Dream’s back as he helps him along.
“You’re okay, man,” Sapnap comforts as he nudges Dream over the threshold of the nearest bathroom door.
As if to spite the sentiment, Dream crashes to his knees with ragged gags. Sapnap lowers gently, already having shut the door, and Dream reaches for him in a silent ‘thank you.’ Sapnap squeezes his hand.
“You should’ve said something,” he softly chastices, but Dream can barely hear him over the blood in his ears. He unproductively heaves, the tightness in his chest reaching a sharp peak as the toilet water stares threateningly at him.
“Sorry,” Dream chokes. “Stressed.”
The admission is all it takes for their carefully cooked dinner to come barreling violently out of him, drowning out Sapnap’s unbearably kind repetition of “I know, I know.”
Sapnap does all the right things, a seasoned pro by now. He keeps his hands to himself, save for the fingers Dream himself had taken a hold of, but offers constant words of encouragement, reaching up to flush the toilet every-so-often so as not to upset Dream further. He doesn’t ask about what’s got Dream so worked up. Tomorrow morning, probably, he’ll wander into Dream’s room with a meal and offer to help with whatever project pushed him to his breaking point this time. For tonight though, he’s just here, an easy presence as Dream’s body and mind go to war with each other again and again.
When they both think he’s finished, Sapnap helps him find the wall, encouraging him to rest when he immediately screws his eyes shut in humiliation and residual pain.
“George,” he groans when he can manage words, and he doesn’t have to explain. Sapnap sighs with him.
“It happens, dude. You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to.”
And it’s not that he doesn’t – George already knows him better than almost anyone – but it sucks, Dream realises, for him to have to really witness it. The worry on his face, rather than just in his voice… It’s a lot. With Sapnap, it’s different. They’re brothers. They’ve been through worse. George, however, is like a gift, with layers of trust and comfort that Dream has had to carefully unravel, backtracking in their progress multiple times by pushing him too far, and sure, they’ve been through worse too, but something about these habits of his, about the way he really reacts to the ups and downs of his job and his life – like, he doesn’t even know, like he’s fragile – feels dizzyingly intimate. Even for them.
“Dream?”
“Hm, sorry.”
Sapnap waves the apology away with a shake of his head. “You alright, bro?”
Dream nods slowly. “Y-Yeah, I think I’m gonna lay down. Can you, uh, make sure George isn’t freaking out too much?”
Sapnap agrees with an easy smile. “Sure. What do you want me to tell him?”
Dream shrugs noncommittally. “Whatever,” he says, like it doesn’t matter. Maybe Sapnap gets to do the hard part and Dream can do what he does best: pretend it didn’t happen.
Sapnap releases the hand Dream forgot he’d intertwined, giving him the look he always does, the one that says I know you, and I still love you (and maybe, George does too), and Dream feels himself relax a little into the wall as Sapnap rises on his feet.
“Text me if you need anything, or if you wanna talk about it, okay?”
Dream lets himself look fond. “Will do. Thanks, Sap.”
“Anytime,” Sapnap promises, and they both mean so much more than they say.