Archive of Our Own

All Dream knows is pain.

He wakes to the late morning light shining directly in his face, blinding him for a few precious moments as he turns, groaning as his muscles ache and his head pulsates. He feels dead, like he’s been taken apart and rearranged, then put back together with a few missing screws.

What the fuck happened last night?

Dream opens his eyes, sleep crusting on his lashes as he lifts a hand to rub at them, and then pushes himself into a sitting position, sheets ruffling around his waist. For a moment he sits, looking around before his brow furrows. He’s home.

How the fuck did he get home?

Dream glances at his phone, and it suddenly rushes back with such a force it nearly makes him keel over, nausea rising from his belly.

“Oh, fuck.”

Dream fucked up.

In an instant he’s fumbling with his phone, grateful for the small moment his drunken self had plugged it up to charge, and blinks as the phone light washes over him. Missed calls, unanswered texts, from Sapnap, from his sister, from-

Dream closes his eyes as a wave of nausea crashes over him. God, he hates himself.

Quickly he opens his phone, ignores any of the morning texts in favor of thumbing through his contacts, and hovering over ‘George :)’. A hesitant moment later and he’s got a ringing phone pressed to his ear.

Ring. Ring.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of-”

Dream ends the call.

For a moment he sits, hunched over on his bed and fighting back tears as pain wracks through his body. Finally, and slowly, he pulls himself from his bed, padding into his bathroom to check himself out in the mirror. His hair is a tangled mess, just long enough to begin brushing against his neck, just long enough to grab and yank and-

“Damnit.” Dream tilts his head, hissing softly as his fingers graze ugly red and purple hickeys. They trail from his jaw down his neck, placed beneath the edge of his collar bone. They don’t ache, but he almost wishes that pain would accompany the hickeys, some sort of physical reminder of his idiotic decision. He rubs at them, hoping this is some sick joke, that maybe it’s just makeup and Sapnap has played the ultimate prank on him in his sleep.

They remain.

Dream rests his hands on the cool counter, hanging over the sink as the world very suddenly spins and he’s reminded of the throbbing ache in his head, the sick twist in his stomach that threatens to dehydrate him more. He needs a shower, he feels sick, gross, sticky with sweat and alcohol and still in his jeans and shirt from the night before.

Dream draws a shower, lets the searing heat burn tan skin as he washes away the events of last night, wipes clean lingering imprints and lets soap sting at a bite mark along his ribs. It’s noon by the time he exits his room, in clean clothes and a towel hung around his neck. Sapnap is on the couch watching a show while scrolling through his phone, but he twists around when Dream enters the room.

“Oh, hey man-” He pauses, and Dream knows what he’s looking at. “Oh.”

Dream grimaces, turning for the kitchen and trying to find a cup and something to make his head stop hurting.

“I know, I know.” Sapnap knows, knows every damn thing about him, so it’s clear what happened last night. Or, part of what happened. Sapnap is thankfully silent, watching as he downs a few ibuprofen and comes to drop onto the couch, leaning his head back.

“..You okay?” He asks, and Dream takes a shaky breath.

“No.” Dream mumbles. “No, I am not okay.”

Sapnap nods along. “You wanna talk about it?”

Dream is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t want to talk about his lapse in judgement, about how easily he falls back into harmful habits and believes honey coated words. He doesn’t want to talk about broken glass and a familiar routine, and he doesn’t want to talk about George.

“I fucked up, big time.” Dream tilts his head some, so he can see Sapnap. “I called George to pick me up.” Sapnap blinks, then furrows his brows some.

“Yeah, I’m sorry man. My phone-”

“No, no. That’s not- it’s fine.” Dream waves the apology off quickly. “I was drunk, really drunk. And I was upset, and George came and..” Dream pauses. Because George had picked up within three rings, had thrown himself out of bed and tore the streets up to get to him in record time, asking to make sure he was okay, that he was safe, and what the fuck did he do? He told him to fuck off.

“Ouch.” It’s only then does Dream realizes he’s spoken his thoughts aloud, and Sapnap is wincing beside him. Dream nods.

“I was such an asshole, dude. I am an asshole. I was just so.. I don’t know. Embarrassed? I felt weird and gross, and it was George. ” Dream runs a hand over his face. “And I tried calling him when I woke up. Almost immediately got voicemail.” Sapnap gives him a sympathetic look, shifting some to face him more.

“Yeah, uh.. George called me earlier.” Dream jerks forward so harshly he nearly gets whiplash, turning and looking at him. “He wanted to make sure you were safe. That’s all he asked me.”

Guilt rises so suddenly that Dream feels like falling over, his head spinning. He lifts the edge of the towel, pressing the damp fabric to his face.

“Oh man. Oh man, I’m awful.” Dream groans, and he feels Sapnap reach over and gently, albeit a little awkwardly, pat his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Everyone gets in arguments. Just give him some time. He can’t avoid you forever; he’s your boss.”

Dream sighs.

“Don’t remind me.”

__________________

George does, in fact, ignore him.

The next day there is no greeting at his office door, no surprise coffee with double milk and one creamer. Dream tries to catch George at his office, but George waltzes right by him and lets the door slam in his face. He tries to talk to him in the break room, but George abandons his lunch in the trash. Dream tries to chase him out of the office, but the elevator doors close on him.

And through it all, George ignores his calls.

The next day isn’t any better. This meeting is tense, as George stares anywhere but Dream whilst he talks. Dream's leg bounces anxiously, and he’s barely paying attention to the words being spoken. It’s a general meeting, so it doesn’t really matter, but…

Dream wishes George would look at him. He desperately misses that umber gaze, the flash of white surrounded by supple pink of his lips, he misses his addicting laugh like he misses the sun on a cloudy day.

He fucking misses George. And he’s slowly starting to realize he misses him more than he would Sapnap.

But, those are thoughts for another day.

For now, Dream just needs to talk to George.

So, he leaves early, finds the familiar black SUV and stations himself by it. And he waits.

Five minutes after four and he spots George, like clockwork. He waits, waits for him to get close enough so he can’t run back to the safety of the offices, so that he can’t escape him again.

“George.” Dream calls, just when the other is about to open his car. And George?

George shrieks . 

Dream winces as the man spins on his heels, his eyes wide and frazzled as he presses his back to the car door. And yeah, oops, maybe he had been kind of standing in the shadows. George stares at him, a hand over his heart and sighs.

“Fuck, man.” And George laughs, nervously, and Dream clings onto the sound of it like a broken man. “You scared the shit out of me.” Dream shrugs some, mustering up a tentative smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” George nods his head, but then something flashes in coffee brown eyes and he narrows them, starting to turn away. “Wait, no, George-“ Dream’s surging forward, and he tries to squeeze himself between George and the car. “Please.”

George grimaces, and moves back from the car. “Get out of my way, Dream.”

“George, please. Just give me five minutes.” George huffs, and for a moment he just stares at Dream as the man stands there pleadingly, and then he lets loose a long sigh.

“Five minutes.”

Dream could cry with relief. He nods, numbly, and moves aside so George can climb into the driver's seat. He circles the car quickly before George can change his mind and speed off, and climbs into the passenger seat.

A tense silence settles between them briefly. Precious seconds slip by as Dream tries to say something, opening his mouth then closing it again and again.

“You look like a fish.” George comments after a moment. Dream blinks at him, before he chuckles some. George smiles at that, just a bit, but it’s gone in a too quick flash. It’s just enough to give him the confidence he needs, however.

“I’m sorry, George.” He starts. “I was.. well, you probably knew I was really drunk. And I’d just..” he pauses, and decides to start from the beginning.

“That night my ex was texting me. And he ended up showing up at the apartment and asking for me to come over. I’d been drinking some already, so.. I ended up going over to his place. Or wherever he’s staying right now, I don’t know. But we drank some more, and I hooked up with him. Which was a really bad decision, obviously. And then we got in a fight, like we always do, and I left. And that’s when I called you.”

George has been silent the entire time, calmly watching him as Dream squirms at his retelling of the night.

“I was a huge asshole to you. I was drunk, and I felt embarrassed at you seeing me like that, and I felt gross over everything, and I took it out on you. And I shouldn’t have done that.” Dream feels his throat clog up, tears coming unbidden to press at blonde lashes. He doesn’t wipe them away, just turns slightly to try and hide the sight of them.

“You’re my friend, George. I think of you as a close friend, and I shouldn’t have said those things when you were pushing yourself to come help me. You’ve done a lot for me these past few months, and I’m forever grateful. And I’m really sorry.”

Dream glances at the clock. Five minutes have passed. He waits, trembling in his seat, for George to remind him of the metaphorical timer, to open the door for him and usher him out so he can return to a lonely high rise apartment. But George doesn’t do that. He just sits there calmly, taking in his words and letting the silence drag on for a few awful seconds.

And then Dream jolts as a cool hand presses against his, slim fingers wrapping around his own and giving his palm a squeeze. Dream blinks and some tears fall as he turns and looks at George. George is smiling, George is smiling , and in that instant he looks more beautiful than any creature he’s seen.

“I’m sorry, Dream.” Why is he apologizing? “I didn’t.. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have been ignoring you.” Dream shakes his head wildly.

“No, no you had every right to. I know I hurt your feelings.” And George doesn’t argue with that and it somehow makes him feel worse to know that that’s the truth. George just takes a breath, nodding.

“Yeah. Well, it’s okay now. We’re all good.” George hums, and Dream can’t help the smile that comes to his lips as he nods. They sit in the warm silence for another moment, before George’s smile falls into something more serious.

“Your ex is really shitty, huh?” Dream sighs heavily, scrunching his eyes shut with a nod.

“Yeah. And I’m an idiot for going back, again.” Dream grunts. “If only I could follow my own advice, y’know?” He chuckles some, and George smiles some in response. Dream’s quiet for a moment, gaze dropping to focus on the hand holding his, a gentle and grounding pressure.

“He used to say this thing. Made me feel like no one was actually there for me. He would tell me he only loved and cared about me because he was obligated to. Like being my boyfriend was a title he had to deal with.” Dream shifts some, foot tapping against the floorboard anxiously. “I kind of projected that on you, I guess. I’m sorry, again.” George squeezes his hand lightly, a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest.

Dream spares George another glance, and George is studying him with such an intense gaze, eyes droopy and sad.

“You should talk to someone about that.” Dream blinks, straightening some with a confused look.

“What?” He gives a vague laugh. “No, no, it wasn’t- it wasn’t that bad, I mean. I don’t need to see someone because my ex was a little mean to me.”

“But it’s traumatized you.” George continues, tilting his head like a cat. “Do you believe that? That people around you only care for you because they’re obligated?”

“No.” Dream answers instantly. It feels wrong leaving his mouth. And George can sense that, apparently, raising one brow. “I mean- no. I don’t know.” Dream shrugs, forcing himself to look away from George. He can still see him from the corner of his eye, thin lips and worry dancing in too shiny eyes.

“I think some part of you does. Even still, talking to someone might help, and it might help you, y’know. From going back to him. Help you move on.” Dream feels a pang in his chest, and his hand involuntarily squeezes around George’s fingers. He doesn’t want to see someone, he doesn’t really think he needs it, but..

George looks so concerned. And he’ll never forget that look on his face as he spat venom at him on his doorstep, dark eyes impossibly wide and the worst expression stretched across delicate features, like a plate of china thrown to the floor.

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll look into it.” Dream shrugs, but it seems to be enough for George as the other man smiles, squeezes his hand once more, and then pulls it away. Instead George starts the car, slipping his seat belt over his shoulders.

“Wanna grab some food?” Dream relaxes some, reaching behind him for his seatbelt.

“Hell yeah.”