Work Text:
Cold wind nips at flushed cheeks as George pushes himself up concrete steps, lit only by the buzzing sign above him, and the light drifting from the lobby he steps into. The New York chill barely leaves his skin as he heads into the brightly lit lobby, and waves a greeting to the sleepy secretary sitting behind a too large desk, and trudges his way to a grumbling elevator.
It’s five am and he doesn’t want to be here.
But he had a meeting with executives at nine am, debuting some new coding project he could barely wrap his head around. But Dream would do well explaining it, talking about numbers and things he can’t recognize and won’t ever understand. Dream always did so well in meetings, keeping a captive audience and throwing him secret winks and exaggerated smiles.
George had hung out with the man one other time since Dream had picked him up from soaking in the rain. That night still hung heavy in his memory, the morning after a faint pang in his head and warm coffee slipped into his hands by a man with the worst case of bed head he’s ever seen.
Since then, George had felt his heart beat a little faster in meetings, found himself coming into work a few minutes earlier each day, to slip by Dream’s office and share a bit of conversation before the day had to start.
He was excited to come to work.
Now, however, he was alone as he stepped out of the elevator and into the dimmed lights of his offices. Empty desks were lined in a haphazard line, the occupants far away in dreamland while he trudges his way to his office, floor to ceiling glass walls encasing the sparsely decorated room, and the ornate desk.
He’s just about to enter it when he realizes, with the quick tap of keys and a soft curse, he is not alone.
George's gaze travels to Dream’s door, his office hidden behind closed blinds and white drywall. From the ajar door comes the barest hint of blue light. George takes a few steps before he sets his briefcase by his door and finishes his steps to nudge the door open slightly.
Dream’s desk is a mess of papers, some scattered on the carpeted floor beneath him. Two empty coffee mugs rest at the edge of the desk, and a third one is cradled in between inked fingers. Dream is hunched over his keyboard, the blue screen casting ghostly shadows across his face. His expression is annoyed, brows pinched together and eyes boring holes into the monitor. He doesn’t notice George, not until he clears his throat and he jerks his head up, blinking blearily.
“George?” Dream stops his typing to rub at his eyes, as though he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. “What’re you doing here so late?” George gives a little laugh, leaning on the doorway.
“What’re you talking about Dream? I’m here early- it’s five am.” With the way Dream’s eyes go wide, he apparently hadn’t been aware. A sudden ripple of concern goes through him, and George pitches forward to draw closer to the tired man. “Dream, did you go home last night?”
Dream almost looks ashamed, but he gestures weakly at the coding screen before him. “It’s.. it’s been giving me problems. I don’t know where the fucking problem is. But it won’t execute anything correctly, and I know we need it by… by nine. For the meeting.” Now that he’s talking more, George can hear the slur in his voice, his head bobbing almost dramatically. He can barely keep his voice straight. He’s exhausted.
“Dream..” George hums softly, brows knit with concern. He’s quiet for a long moment before he presses a gentle hand on the other man's shoulder (and ignores how he can feel tense muscles shift at his touch) and pushes him lightly, causing his chair to roll away from the desk. Dream whines a high pitched noise, and weakly tries to grab for the edge of his desk. “You’ve been here since… You got here at eight am yesterday. Have you gone home since then?”
“.. No.”
“So you’ve been here, at this office, for twenty-one hours?”
“Mhm.”
“Dream, get up.”
Dream blinks up at him, confusion muddling his green eyes. “Huh?”
“You’re going home. Meetings canceled.” Dream jerks back, his eyes going wide with panic.
“What? What happened? Did I-“
“Woah, Dream, calm down.” George shushes him quickly, and his jaw clicks shut at that. “You’re way too tired, Dream. We can’t do this meeting without you. I’ll make some calls and get it postponed. You take the day off, okay? You need your rest.”
A low whine comes from Dream, and he looks stubborn, like he’s going to argue. But the thick purple rings around his eyes give way to his exhaustion, and he finally nods. George pulls away to let Dream stand, but then a new problem presents itself.
Dream stands, but his feet are unstable and he sways some, righting himself with a fist on his desk. His shoulders sag and each blink grows a little longer.
“Dream, you can’t drive like that.” George murmurs softly, and Dream gives him a wave.
“I’ve driven worse. I’ll be fine.” Dream shuffles forward, but he doesn’t get more than a few feet before he looks around, face twisted. “If I can find my keys..”
George sighs, moving forward and gently taking Dream by the elbow. It causes the taller man to look down, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“C’mon. I’ll drive you home Dream. No, don’t-“ Dream has opened his mouth to protest, and George shuts that down quickly. “You helped me out. Let me help you.” The sentiment is there, and it’s enough to make Dream close his mouth, eyes heavy as he gives a numb nod, collecting his wallet and downing the last of his coffee; like it’ll help much. He lets Dream follow behind him with shuffling feet, glancing behind him and making sure the man isn’t about to fall over.
They traverse the offices, through a groaning elevator, past a new bright-eyed secretary that watches their departure with a curious glint, and out into the chilly streets of New York. Dream shudders, and George quickens their steps to get to his warm SUV, black and shiny underneath parking garage lights.
Dream slides into the front, buckling his seatbelt and then slumping his head back, eyes closing. George is quiet once more as he climbs into the driver's seat, starting the car and exiting the garage. Soft music filters through the car, some British guy singing about taunts and being insecure. George drives onto the main road, pulling to a red light and turning to Dream.
“Which way-“ And he stops. Because Dream is snoozing, lips parted slightly and face far more peaceful than the one he’d seen casted in mechanical lights. George pauses, pursing his lips as he struggles to remember the way to Dreams, that one time a month ago he’d gone. He can’t, can’t recall the ghostly streets they’d drifted down as sheets of rain turned to a cloudy mist.
Well. Time to really repay him.
George takes more familiar streets, devoid of the usual traffic at this hour, and then turns into an apartment building's parking garage. He finds his spot, F-13, and cuts the car off just as some guy starts singing about ‘one day’.
Dream is still asleep. George feels bad, but they gotta go inside. Gently, he reaches out and runs his hand up his upper arm, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Dream. Wake up.”
The man wakes with a not so gentle jolt, sniffing and looking around in confusion until he sees George. To his surprise, Dream’s face softens incredibly so, a small smile coming to his lips as he reaches out and awkwardly pats George's shoulder. “Hey.”
George blinks, and he can feel heat rising to his cheeks. “Hi.” He clears his throat, unbuckling himself. “We’re uh.. here.” Dream seems far less affected than George, withdrawing his arm and looking around sleepily.
“Where? Where am I?” Even as he asks this he unbuckles himself, wrenching the car door open. George hurries to get out and meet him on the other side, concerned he may fall over in his exhausted state. Thankfully he stays stable on his feet, and George gently closes his door behind him.
“My apartment building. I didn’t know where you lived, and you seem a little too tired to remember.” Dream gives a quiet hum, not arguing at all as he follows George to a well lit elevator, drawn along by a string as they step inside. The gentle elevator music seems to be doing the job of lulling Dream to sleep, as the large man leans against the cool metal wall, leaving behind a foggy imprint. George feels a sharp ache in his chest at the sight. The man was ready to run himself into the ground just to get the coding finished in time for this meeting. It was… well. It brought a strange influx of emotions, more so than a boss should have for their employee. Friend? Is Dream his friend? George hopes he is.
The elevator deposits them straight to his doorway, and George gently nudges Dream to get him moving, swiping a little fob at his door until he hears the click and pushes it open.
The floor plan is open and modern, leading directly into the living room to their left, and the kitchen to their right. Floor to ceiling windows line one wall, showing off a gorgeous view of the city, and the steadily brightening sky outside. There’s the light he’d left on in his kitchen, the k-cup of coffee he’d forgotten to throw away, evidence of him living alone. At least she’d never tried to move in- that would’ve made the space even more depressing now.
George kicks his shoes off, and Dream follows to do the same. George suppresses a chuckle at the mismatched socks his coworker sports, instead opting to gently take him by the elbow to lead him through this unfamiliar space. The guest bedroom wasn’t made up, a myriad of random shit he had no specific spot for, so he opts to lead him into his bedroom. The lights are off, and he flicks the overhead on and feels a tinge of regret for the action when Dream squints and whimpers.
“You can sleep in here, I don’t mind.” He could get some work done on his laptop, fix the schedule and set the meeting for another day. George leaves Dream’s side to head for his drawers, and pulls out a familiar fleece lined hoodie. “Here.” Dream had insisted he head home in the hoodie, saying he could return it another time. George had forgotten; definitely forgotten. He absolutely did not wear it to bed until the scent of water lilies and coconut body wash was replaced with his own scent of cinnamon and chamomile. That’s not a thing that happened.
“I don’t think anything else from my closet would fit, sorry-” George turned back around, and he paused, eyes going wide. Dream has taken his shirt off preemptively, discarding it onto the floor and begun undoing his belt with sloppy, slow moving fingers. And George is staring at swathes of tan skin, ink etched into toned muscles. He was right, the tattoos went up and around his shoulders, dipping over the front of his chest and stopping just before a smooth stomach that dips far too perfectly into pants that are maybe just a tad bit too tight.
And he quickly realises Dream is staring at him, unaware of the thoughts turning over in his mind, too sleep deprived to notice anything out of the ordinary. George clears his throat, ignoring the way his face burns as he glances away and hands the sweatshirt to him. “Here, sorry.” He manages out through the dry lump in his throat. Dream takes the sweatshirt, silent as he tugs it over his head. George turns back to the door when he hears the belt hit the ground, his chest aching as his heart threatens to hammer out of his skin.
“Come find me when you wake up. Ah, goodnight.” George's voice trembles slightly, listening to the squeak of his bed as a heavier body drops into it, a muffled ‘goodnight’ floating from the bed. He turns the light off, exiting his room and out into the quiet hallway.
His heartbeat roars in his ears, and he feels dizzy as the image of rippling bronzed skin and fingers tugging off his belt replay over and over before his eyes. A buzz in his pocket breaks through the imagery, finally, and he finds relief as he pulls his phone out and unlocks it with numb fingers.
That’s right, the meeting. He has work to do.
________________
The TV plays on the news channel, but George isn’t particularly paying attention. He’s stood above his stove, idly stirring a pot of pasta as some vegetables simmered in a sauce next to the pot. It’s six in the evening, long after he’d gotten Dream ushered into his bed and squared away. He’d stepped into the room a few times to check in on the man, making sure he was still breathing beneath the down sheets. He is, thankfully, just beyond exhausted. George is happy to let him sleep, preparing an extra sandwich for him for lunch in case he’d show up, and preparing two servings of pasta in case he wakes up.
And it’s a good thing he does, because he hears the click of his door down the hall, and the quiet shuffle of feet. He turns in time to see Dream appear, blinking blearily and concealing a yawn behind an inked palm. He’s wearing the sweatshirt still, but he’s tugged his jeans back over his body. George doesn’t think he’d be able to take seeing him without pants on.
Wait… why?
“George?” Dream’s voice is low, a rumble in his throat that makes George forget all about pale thighs and flexing calf muscles. He sets the spoon down, carefully turning the heat down to a low boil before he crosses the kitchen, and leans against the breakfast bar with a smile.
“Morning, Dream. Or, evening.” Dream blinks at him, confusion evident in sleep crusted eyes. “You remember anything?” Dream swallows once, then nods.
“Yeah, I was.. I was at the office.” He reaches a hand up and rubs at his eyes, stifling another yawn. “Working on the coding. And you came in and told me to go home. And..” He pauses, looking around. “I guess I’m at your place.” George nods, pushing off of the counter to head back for the stove.
“Yeah. You fell asleep in the car, so I just brought you back here.” Dream takes a few steps closer, and George is suddenly aware of a warmth at his back, Dream hovering over his shoulder and looking down at the food being prepped.
“It’s a little early for pasta.” Dream mumbles. George turns his head and wow, he’s close. Dream doesn’t seem to notice or care, so he doesn’t say anything about it, just gives a breathy laugh.
“It’s six o’clock, Dream.” And that makes the man jerk, his eyes widening as he searches for a clock to confirm this.
“What?! At night? I thought- the meeting-” Panic creeps into Dream’s voice, and George abandons dinner once more, carefully laying an arm on Dream’s shoulder.
“Hey, hey! It’s fine. It’s been rescheduled for Wednesday. You’ve got plenty of time to figure everything out.” Dream doesn’t look convinced. “It’s not a big deal, I promise.”
“Are you sure? Can you do that; reschedule, I mean.” Dream looks nervous, but George can’t help but laugh.
“I’m the CEO, Dream. I can do just about anything.” That seems to ease some of his worries, and George feels good enough to turn back to the pasta and make sure it wasn’t overcooking. “You’ll stay for dinner, right?” George asks over his shoulder. Dream has moved to be more in his field of vision, leaning on the counter next to George and the stove. He gives a nod barely seen, watching the other cook.
“Yeah. It smells good.” He says, looking at him after a beat. “I didn’t know you were a cook.” George hums, shrugging lightly.
“My mom’s a really good cook. She taught me a lot” Dream nods idly watching as George moves through the kitchen, dumping the pasta from the water and placing it into the white sauce and vegetables to finish cooking.
“You need help with anything?” George realizes the other has been standing awkwardly, just watching him, and he pauses, humming.
“Um.. yeah. You want some wine? You can pour some for us.” Dream seems to brighten at that and nods, reaching for the open faced cabinet holding the alcohol- far less than he had at his own place- and begins the search for wine glasses. He finds them after the second cabinet, and pulls down two glasses for both of them as George turns the stove off and pulls two deep plates from another cabinet.
The two settle at the breakfast bar with their plates of pasta and wine, the bottle never too far from them.
“Thanks, by the way.” Dream says as George takes his first bite, relishing briefly in another good dinner made before he focuses on what Dream is saying. “For everything. The meeting, getting me out of the office, letting me crash in your bed. For, Christ, so long.” Dream laughs, and George notices the nervous tilt to his voice, how he keeps his gaze fixated on the wine glass, and he wonders if this was how he acted, if their roles had been reversed. George musters up a smile, and nudges his leg with his foot.
“Aw, it’s not a problem. You’re our best coder, Dream. The meeting would have been a disaster if you hadn’t been able to make it. And you would’ve run yourself dead to get everything finished in time. I couldn’t stand by and let you do that.” Because I care about you. That’s the part he doesn’t say, one he’s not even totally aware of. Not yet, at least. He doesn’t understand the warmth in his chest, or the way his heart flutters when he sees Dream try his pasta, and the way his eyes brighten and a smile comes to sauce-covered lips. And he definitely doesn’t understand the shudder that goes through him when a pink tongue licks away the sauce coating the side of his lips.
He’ll realise it later, don’t worry.
They eat in a comfortable silence, the drone of the TV a quiet murmur in the background. George doesn’t have much to say, and Dream seems too much of a mix of hungry and tired to try and make small talk.
It’s a nice silence. The kind you’d have with an old friend, warm in the way the summer sun is.
The buzz of a phone breaks the warm silence that had hung over them, and Dream quickly fishes for his phone, tugging it out.
“Oh shit, Sapnap.” Dream laughs. “He’s worried about me. I forgot to even text him when I woke up.” George laughs softly as well, standing to collect their empty plates as Dream texts his roommate back. He turns when the other coughs, noticing the redness of his cheeks and the way he taps something back quickly. Whatever it is, he doesn’t choose to share.
George’s loading the plates in the dishwasher when Dream stands, clearing his throat to catch his attention.
“Hey, Sapnap’s got my car and said he’d come grab me, if that’s.. If that’s okay.” Dream shuffles awkwardly a bit, and George straightens and offers up a kind smile.
“Yeah, of course! It’s not a problem.” Dream bobs his head in a nod, smiling back.
“Thank you again, George. Especially for dinner. It was really good.” George brightens at that, feeling the tickle in his throat and the flutter in his chest once more.
“No problem! I haven’t had to cook for anyone else in the last few weeks, so it was nice.” The two stand on opposite sides of the kitchen, looking at each other for a moment before Dream coughs, and moves for the door to slip his shoes back on.
He pauses at the door, tapping one foot on the ground before he turns back around.
“Hey, so. I was gonna have a movie.. party thing on Saturday. Was wondering if you’d wanna come. It’s nothing big, just some friends coming over. It’d be over at my place.” George looks at him, surprised somewhat. Dream was inviting him, his boss, to his place, drink, and hang out? Dream catches onto his hesitance, and for once the boisterous man is reduced to a squirming bundle of nerves.
“If you don’t want to, that's totally fine. Y’know. Being my boss and all-”
“I’d love to, Dream. Just send me the address and time. I’ll bring something too.” George interrupts him, and Dream stares at him with an open mouth before he breaks out into a grin, rocking onto the balls of his feet.
“Awesome! Okay, cool. I’ll- yeah. I’ll send it. Thank you, again. See you later, boss.” And with that, Dream retreated out of the high rise apartment, the door clicking shut gently. George is left in the kitchen, the drone of the news now being the only sound other than the faint drip drip of his sink.
And then George giggles giddily, and he feels his chest warm and heart going aflutter as he collects the wine glasses, and is suddenly looking forward to Saturday.