Work Text:
Dream stares at numbers displaying the time on the bottom left corner of his laptop and groans. It’s half past one in the morning, and one might say that it isn’t that late; four years ago, Dream would even consider it too early to go to sleep. But Dream isn’t an ignorant teenager anymore--he’s a busy economics major at college, and this is far past his usual bedtime.
He physically feels like so much shit. It was not a wise decision for him to start studying a mere few days before midterms, but he had to help out his sister the whole week preceding exams. His older sister, Em, was starting a bakery with her girlfriend-turned-fiancé, Olive, and he had offered to help out with decorating and furnishing the place. He hadn’t minded so much until now.
Does Dream regret assisting them at all? Absolutely not, he’s incredibly happy for them. He just wishes that it was better timed.
With an exhausted sigh, Dream gets back to revising. He straightens his back, resisting any urge to slouch, and flips to a new page in his notebook. His notes aren’t as neat as they usually are, but who can blame him? He’s tired, and at least they’re legible--even if Dream isn’t putting as much effort as he typically does into making the lettering look nice. His room is silent, excluding the natural sounds of city nightlife coming from outside his window, along with his laptop’s cooling fans and the gentle piano music playing from its speakers.
After a few minutes, he can feel vibrations on the wooden-tile floor. His flatmate, George, is awake; he can hear him yawn through the door as he exits his room and walks down the hallway. A few seconds later, he can hear his own door creak open.
Dream turns to look as George peers inside. His hair is fluffed up and messy, and he’s wearing an oversized, pink strawberry milk themed shirt (which makes him look even more endearing than usual) along with white pyjama pants. Chocolate brown eyes blink twice, and he rubs at them.
“Dre,” The brunet standing at his doorway says, voice gravelly and deeper than normal. His accent is much stronger when he’s tired or sleepy. “What’re you doing?”
Dream gives him a small smile as he gestures towards his laptop. “Studying for midterms. I have exams in four days and I am not prepared at all,”
“Oh.” George tilts his head to the side. “Aren’t you tired? You’re usually asleep by ten,”
“I mean, yeah. But I have to revise,” Dream says with a shrug. George’s eyes widen, whispering a soft, “huh,” as he walks away, the door closing with a gentle thump . The smile on Dream’s face stays on his face as he turns to face his workbook. It falters just slightly at the sight of the question he has to answer, but it doesn’t fall completely.
It’s been a bit, and George still hasn’t gone to sleep yet. He hasn’t heard the other’s room close since he last saw him, so he assumes that George has gone to the kitchen. Maybe he’s eating. It’s normal for both of them to run and eat a quick snack in the middle of the night--Dream has run into George on multiple occasions, and vice versa.
Dream doesn’t expect George to come back into his room again , this time, holding a large-ish mug filled with coffee and a plate of biscuits. He shuffles over to Dream’s desk quietly, his feet slipped into soft, baby blue slippers, and places the food and drink on the table.
Dream can feel his face heating up. Is that for me?
“You said you were tired, so I brought you coffee. I’m not the best at brewing it, so it might be a bit bitter, but the biscuits are kind of sweet so they go together quite well,” George says slowly, voice soft. Dream wants nothing more but to cup the other man’s cheeks and give him a kiss, he can feel his insides turn to jelly, melting at how thoughtful George was.
There’s one problem though--he absolutely despises coffee. Dream doesn’t mind caffeine itself, in the form of energy drinks, tea, and cola: he just dislikes the taste of coffee. Yet he can’t find it in him to decline George’s kind gesture. I mean--how can anyone, when he does something like this? He’s so sweet, bringing Dream a cup of joe and biscuits to help keep him awake when revising.
Dream accepts it wholeheartedly, beaming so brightly with his heart bursting in his chest. There’s mirth dripping from his words when he speaks. “Thank you,” He says tenderly. “I really appreciate it.”
The brunet smiles at him sleepily, upturned in a lopsided smile. Dream can’t help but lovingly stare.
George hums quietly, stifling a yawn as he turns towards the door. “No problem! I’m gonna go back to sleep now, g’night. Have fun revising,”
“Sleep well,” Dream says with a wave as George walks out, shutting the door behind him. He waits until he can hear the door to George’s room close, knowing that the other man has hit the sheets.
And then, he takes a sip of coffee, immediately grimacing at the taste. It’s bitter, acidic on his tongue, but he can’t help the grin that slips onto his face. He tries the biscuits, and George is right--they’re sweet, and it pairs together nicely with the drink.
His flatmate brings him coffee and biscuits the rest of the week, and Dream’s starting to think he minds the taste less, now. He has George to thank for helping him get through the long nights he spends studying, and also for helping him get an A on his midterm exams.
(George tells him he didn’t do much, only bring him coffee, and stay by his side during some nights. But Dream doesn’t tell George how much of a motivator his cute flatmate is to him.)