Chapter Text
George sets his hand across the clock face, slinging it into Dream's hands. It's been nearly a week of the same thing every day, maybe more, and this still causes momentary fear to cross his features. It flinches, then disperses, and gives the usual royal green eyes a lingering shade of dread. George likes Dream's eyes, very much. He chuckles when they widen. The clock sits in the dip of Dream's palm, quivering and collecting little drops of sweat.
'Want to do something tonight?' George says.
'God- you could've killed me. You could've killed me.' There's a grin underneath the dread-filled eyes, threatening, waiting. But not quite noticeable.
'I didn't though, so do you want to do something?'
They stare at each other. George is smiling; Dream really wants to.
After a long silence, Dream says 'How about a walk?'
'Sure,' But something hesitates in the back of his head. 'I'll grab my keys.'
Coats and socks and scarves fling themselves over the men in layers. George slides into a pair of boots fit for the finest lumberjack, Dream opts for trainers that are able to absorb water in a desert. The grunting and rustling subsides. The door is open. But Dream isn't quite ready yet.
'Ah- wait a sec.' Dream mutters. George looks up whilst tying his boots on the stairs.
'What do you need?' he seems interested, if not anxious to get out.
Dream returns with a slightly heavier pocket. George is already peering outside the front door, to cars covered in stubborn pneumonia and the determined street lights, flickering weakly in rebellion to a city-wide power outage. The sky is void of anything. No stars. No blackness. Nothing. Many in the city have never seen this kind of emptiness. They would be terrified.
At the sight, Dream and George run outside, forgetting to fully tie their laces, or to close their door. They squeal and jump around to warm their bodies. They start laughing, and George books it down the road, knowing Dream's skidding not far behind from the audible wonderment.
'WOO!'
The snow is bunched up in thick piles away from the road, but the TV warnings weren't wrong. Ice is glazed over the white and yellow lines, and bounces light from seemingly nowhere into their eyes. In the nothingness, it is brighter than you could imagine. George stops at a traffic light without any display, and waits for Dream. In a few seconds, the yelling closes in, and he feels the man grab a tuft of coat from behind to steady them both.
One looks into the other's eyes, then towards the houses around them, gaining their breath.
Dream feels for his weighted pocket, and pulls out a box. He offers it to George, and flicks it open.
George smiles. The best smile Dream has ever seen. The air is frigid. It turns the two lovers' words into cloudy, coffee-shop-in-November warmth that can be felt from every house on the street, and seen from a satellite in the dead Christmas sky.
'George?'
'Yeah?' he looks into the deep, green eyes. Filled with adoration. Adoration for him.
George grabs the band, and places it around his finger. Silently, save the sounds of heavy breathing and shoes clinging to wet tarmac, the couple make their way back home, and fall asleep on their rough sofa- forgetting for a moment that the Christmas snow ever existed.