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Dream hasn’t heard from George all day.
Which is very atypical for a Tuesday. Usually George would be at work bright and early, perhaps with some breakfast or coffee to share with him before the two had to do meetings or finish their respective projects. But his office is empty when Dream enters, phone silent as the hours tick by with no sign of his boss. It’s nearly two in the afternoon when Dream finally gets a free moment, and he’s sliding his door shut and pulling up George’s contact before the lock catches.
It nearly goes to voicemail, nearly making him panic as Dream wonders for his next course of action, before the line clicks.
“..Hello?” George’s voice is strained and groggy, and concern immediately strikes Dream heavily.
“Hey, George.” Dream speaks softly, pacing through his office. “Did I wake you?”
“Mm.” Is the only response he gets. Dream’s not sure how to take that, brows furrowing.
“What’s wrong? No one’s been able to get in contact with you, and all the meetings for today were canceled. You don’t sound good.” A rough cough makes Dream wince, tilting the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Are you sick?”
“Yeah.” George sighs after a moment, clearing his throat. “I’ve just been sleeping, sorry.”
Dream frowns. He should’ve guessed it was something like that. The last few days George had been far less energetic, a pallor to his skin that was unusual even for the pale man. Even yesterday he’d seemed more tired than usual, leaving work early by a few hours.
“Aw, George, I’m sorry. You taking any meds?” George must be tilting the phone away, as the sharp coughing grows muffled in the background before his weary voice filters through the phone once more.
“No. I haven’t been able to get up to buy any. Most that I have is ibuprofen.”
Oh, that’s not going to stand. Dream turns from his pacing along the wall, and grabs for his wallet and keys.
“Can you buzz me in?” George hums, confused. “Into your apartment. I’m bringing you medicine.”
“Oh, no, Dream.” George sniffs. “You don’t have to, you have a lot of work-”
“Ah! No, don’t do that. Don’t try to be my boss, not now.” George falls silent on the other end of the line. “I’ll be there in about half an hour, okay?”
“.. Alright. Just to bring me medicine. The code for the elevator is 2467, just text me before you come in. I'll leave it unlocked.” If George wasn’t so sick, Dream would feel a sense of delight with the other trusting him with such information. But now, all his focus is on George and getting him feeling better.
“Like I said, I’ll be there in thirty. See ya soon, George.” With that he’s hanging up, and booking it out of the office.
He makes it to his car in record time, throwing himself into the front seat and leaving behind tire marks as he drifts out onto the streets. Dream makes a few stops, at the drugstore for the medicine, grocery store for some essentials, and a nearby deli for the best medicine. It’s just barely thirty minutes later when he’s juggling three bags, tapping the code into the keypad of the elevator and stepping inside it’s mirrored box.
The elevator dings and releases him to George’s door a few agonizing moments later, and he’s relieved to find it unlocked, knocking it open with his hip as he steps inside. And George, stupid, stubborn George, is slumped on a chair at the bar of the kitchen, baby blue blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, hunched over on the cool marble counter. He lifts his head when Dream nudges the door shut behind him, and Dream can’t help his little gasp.
Alabaster cheeks are flushed a feverish red, spread across his cheeks and radiating down his neck. Baby hairs are slicked to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes are bloodshot and puffy where they blink blearily at him before recognition lights behind them.
“Oh, George..” Dream whines as he moves to set the bags down on the counter, and drifts to his friend's side. “You look awful.” George grunts as Dream presses the back of his hand to his forehead, and he immediately flinches back at the pulsating heat he’s met with. “Christ, you're hot.”
“Thanks.” George mumbles, and Dream huffs air through his nose.
“No, seriously, you’re burning up dude. Why’re you out here, and not in bed?” Dream’s immediately moving back to pull things out of the bags he’d accumulated, pulling out an ice pack and throwing it into the freezer to get it completely frozen again.
“I wanted to wait for you.” George mumbles, sliding out of chair and shuffling on bare feet to Dream’s side. “I thought you said you were just getting medicine.”
“I did. This is all medicine.” Dream insists, pulling out a warm to-go bowl, and placing it in the microwave above him to keep warm. “What have you taken so far? Just the ibuprofen?” George is silent, blinking at him slowly. “Oh, George.”
“Shut up.” George whimpers, and he leans forward to press his slick forehead against Dream's arm. Dream pauses his unpacking, looking down at the other before he sighs and shifts around some, drawing his arms up gently around George’s shoulders. He’s burning up, but Dream can feel him shivering against his chest, shuffling closer to his warmth.
“C’mon, let’s get you to bed. I’ll bring you everything, alright?” George nods against his chest, hot breath warming his neck as Dream shifts him, and Dream forces himself to ignore the way it makes him shudder. Carefully, Dream leads George down the hallway and back to his room. The bed is, for once, not neatly made, covers thrown about and blankets accumulated on one side of the bed. Dream lets George collapse onto his side, gently bundling him up with the other covers.
“I’ll be right back.” Dream murmurs, waiting for George to nod from beneath the blankets before he disappears back to the kitchen. Quickly he gathers the appropriate medicine, grabbing a water bottle and balancing warm soup and a cold ice pack wrapped in a tea towel in his arms as he makes the trek back to George. The other hasn’t moved, though his eyes are closed now as Dream sets everything on the nightstand.
“George.” It’s enough to make the other open one eye with a quiet groan. “Gotta sit up, just for a moment.” George whimpers, but he twists in the sheets until he’s sitting up some, sweat drenching his skin. “Good boy.” Dream murmurs without even thinking, sitting down in front of him and holding out a handful of pills, waiting for George to take them in his own before he hands him the water.
Dream watches as he takes one, two, three pills, feeling a sick pit of pity as the other doubles over into a coughing fit after the third pill. Carefully he rubs at his back, comforting the other as the coughs rack his body. When the spell ends George sits up once more, tears shining on his cheeks.
“I brought you some chicken soup.” Dream murmurs, and George glances at the nightstand, nodding.
“’M not hungry. Not now.” Dream nods slowly, taking a breath.
“That’s fine, you can always reheat it. There’s an ice pack if you’re too hot,” George shakes his head violently. “Or whenever you feel hot.” He quickly tacks on.
“Thank you.” George mumbles, taking another sip of the water. Dream watches him, brows furrowed and teeth worrying at his lips. He doesn’t want to leave him, but he’d said just a quick visit. George had insisted on it, and even beneath all of the clammy sickness, he was still his boss.
“Well, I should-” And he’s not even finished his words before a cold hand slides into his, and grips his fingers with surprising strength.
“
Please
.” George’s voice is a broken whisper, and Dream lifts his head to meet watery brown eyes, tears caught on wispy lashes. “Please stay, Dream. I’m so cold.”
Dream wonders if he’s dreaming, if he’s hearing everything right. The hand clutching his own is trembling with such a force Dream’s worried the other might collapse, and he quickly slides his other hand over George’s, giving his clammy hand a light squeeze.
“Yeah, yeah. Of course, George. I’ll stay.” Dream says softly. “I can.. I can grab a chair-”
“No. Stay here, in bed.”
Okay, now Dream’s sure he’s dreaming.
Is George being serious? He must be, with the way he stares at him pleadingly, face red and feverish. A heavy ache constricts around his chest, his heart fluttering as George squeezes his hands once more. Why is his mouth so dry?
“Yeah.” Dream manages out. “Yeah, that’s fine. Let me,” Dream pauses to kick his shoes off, and he gives George’s hand a final squeeze before he lets him go, in favor of climbing onto the other side of the bed, and settling down. George wastes no time following him, and Dream feels his breath catch in his throat and his heart stop as George settles against his side, head resting on his chest and hand curling at his stomach. For a moment Dream sits there awkwardly, stock still with one arm raised and hesitant. And then George shivers, and something breaks in Dream.
In an instant he’s got his arms around him, pulling the sickly man to his chest. George gives a content whine, shuffling closer as Dream pulls covers over the both of them, and it’s insanely fucking hot, but it’s worth it to see the pain ease out of George’s face.
This is just to comfort him, Dream tells himself. George is sick, George has done so much for him and he’s
sick
and needs someone, and Dream is happy to be that person.
Nothing more.
The silence stretches on for so long, Dream is fairly certain George has fallen asleep, and despite the heat he feels himself starting to doze too.
“What’s your tattoos mean?”
Dream blinks his eyes open, shifting to look down at George. The other is staring at his hands, at the ink twisting over his fingers and disappearing up the cuffs of his sleeves. Dream smiles some, and shifts the arm not currently wrapped over warm shoulders, stretching his fingers and flexing his hand.
“Eh. Some mean something, some I just saw photos of and thought were cool.” George hums, and squirms a hand out from underneath himself, and he traces a finger across a tattoo on the back of his hand, a pair of foam dice.
“Cool, or hidden meaning?” Dream hums with a smile.
“Both, kind of. I think the foam dice trend is cool, but also my first car I bought myself came with a pair. They were a funky pair, one of them only had the number two on it on each side. Defective. See?” Dream waggles the tattoo a bit. “Same on the tattoo.”
“Cool.” George mumbles. “What about this one?” He presses his finger to a smiley face tattoo on the inside of his thumb, and Dream laughs softly.
“Just cool. I actually have five smiley face tattoos. I think they’re cool fillers.” George shifts some, just enough to look up at him through the curtain of his hair.
“Can I see them?” Dream nods.
“One day, but not right now.” George looks disappointed, but he doesn’t argue. They carry on like this, Dream eventually tugging his sleeves up to allow George to see more tattoos, and to allow George to trail his hand farther up his skin, each pass of feverish fingers enough to send a cold shock through his body.
Each question grows quieter, the drag of his fingers less and less accurate, until Dream is in the middle of explaining a small ship on the curve of his wrist before he realizes George is snoozing, his hand curled slightly at his wrist.
Dream falls silent, looking down at the mop of curls on his chest, and he feels a sense of relief when he notes how the other feels cooler to the touch, face more of a light shade of pink than the ugly red he’d been met with. Dream takes the moment to study him, up close and peaceful like this. George has long lashes, longer than he’d noticed before, dark against his pale eyelids. There’s soft freckles stretched across his cheeks, melding into the fever induced blush that stains his cheeks. His hair shines in the low light, and smells faintly of vanilla and bergamot.
Gently, Dream lowers his head, and places a chaste kiss to the top of the curls. George shifts some, but doesn’t wake, and Dream feels a sense of relief as George relaxes into his arms. Finally the worry leaves his chest, and Dream relaxes fully into the mattress, letting his head loll back onto the cushiony pillows beneath them, and allowing his mind to drift to sleep.
_______________
When Dream wakes, the spot beside him is empty. He sits up in the unfamiliar bed, blinking sleepily and trying to figure out where he is.
The sound of retching quickly reminds him.
In an instant he’s flown out of bed, crossed the room to steady himself in the bathroom doorway. His heart aches as he sees George situated over the toilet, knuckles white from where he clutches the porcelain.
“George..” Dream hums softly, and George lifts his head up some, tears welling in his eyes and snot dripping from his nose. He looks pitiful. Dream sighs and moves closer, kneeling beside the man and gently rubbing his back. “Feel any better?” He asks, grabbing some toilet paper to clean his face up.
“Mhm.” George closes his eyes as Dream wipes at his face, tossing the used tissue into the toilet and promptly flushing everything. “Sorry I woke you.”
Dream pauses, looking confused as George shuffles on his knees to lean against his side. “George, it’s fine. I’d rather be awake.” He wraps one arm gently around the man, rubbing smooth circles into his shoulder. “You should take a shower. It’ll make you feel better.” George whines loudly, scrunching his nose up.
“I don’t wanna move.” Dream chuckles softly, nodding.
“Yeah, I know. But you’re sweaty, and you just threw up. Getting clean will make you feel better.” George shifts, and lifts his head to look at him. A sense of relief washes over him at the smile George manages.
“You saying I’m smelly?” Dream laughs, nodding his head.
“If it’ll get you to shower, then yes. You’re very, very smelly.” George gives him a playful grimace, before he’s moving back and shakily standing. Dream is there to help him up each step of the way, letting him clutch the marble counters to steady himself.
“I’ll grab you some clothes.” George nods, and Dream moves out to look through dresser drawers for comfy clothing as the water starts rushing in the other room. He returns with a nice selection, laying them on an empty spot on the bathroom counter. George is testing the spray of water, waiting for it to heat up.
Dream realizes how awfully domestic this all is, with a pang in his chest. And even worse, he realizes, is that he loves it, loves every single second of holding George close, soothing him and helping him where it’s needed.
All he wants to do is make George feel better.
“Dream?”
Oh, whoops.
“Hm?” Dream blinks, and George is staring at him with a smile.
“I asked if you were gonna go, or if you wanted to join.” There’s a teasing lilt to his tone that makes Dream breath a laugh, and nod.
“Yeah, sorry. Just thought you might need some help, old man.” George scoffs at him, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m three years older than you, man. Not cool.” Dream shrugs, moving back to the bedroom, to let the door close.
“Whatever you say, old man!”
Dream laughs as the door clicks shut on George’s yell. And then he’s left in the quiet room, leaving him alone with his running thoughts.
No, no. That won’t do.
So Dream busies himself, looking through cabinets for clean linens, stripping the sweat soaked bed and replacing the covers with clean cotton smelling fabric. He finds the washer and tosses the dirty sheets and covers in, searches for detergent and tosses that in as well. Whilst in the laundry room, Dream finds an old shirt of his he’d left behind during a late night, soft and white and with the words ‘LVJY’ on the front, and he happily switches from his dress shirt into that.
Smells like cinnamon.
George is still showering, so he collects the melted ice pack and cold soup, taking them to the kitchen and setting the soup in the microwave once more for later, and replacing the ice pack into the freezer. When he returns to the bedroom the water has stopped and George is dressed in clean clothes, running a towel over damp curls. He pauses in the doorway, looking over the room in confusion before he looks to Dream.
“Did you change my sheets?” Dream nods, clearing his throat as a nervousness settles over him.
“Yeah, heh. Thought you probably wouldn’t want to get back in a gross bed after your shower.” George’s face softens, a fond smile coming to his lips that makes Dream feel like he’s falling through the air, light headed and dizzy.
“Thank you, Dream. For everything, really. You didn’t even have to bring me medicine.” George trails closer. “I’ve never had anyone do that for me, actually.” He adds on the last part softer.
And who wouldn’t want to help George? Not when he flashes those doe eyes at him, not when his voice is scratchy and tears press into the wrinkles at the corner of his eye. Dreams slowly realizing he’d do anything to make those tears go away, to brush away the tenseness in his shoulders or the shadows beneath his lashes.
“Aw, George.” Dream smiles. “You’re being sappy.” George turns red in a way the fever doesn’t bring, and pushes at Dream’s chest.
“Shut up. I’m not sappy.” Dream laughs as George moves away for the bed, dropping his towel on the floor as he crawls underneath the cool covers.
“You still want me to stay?” Dream asks as he follows partially, and George peeks at him from over the covers.
“.. I mean, you don’t have to. I’m just gonna be sleeping.” George shrugs some, but doesn’t give a direct answer. “I know you have work to do, but.. if you wanna use my laptop..”
Dream smiles, moving around the bed to drop into the spot next to George, settling in.
“Yeah, sounds fine with me. Rather stay and make sure you don’t die on me.” George smiles up at him, resting wet curls against a clean pillow.
“… thanks, Dream.”
“No problem, man.”