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Love is difficult.
It isn't rational. It isn't smooth.
In a rare bout of insomnia, George confronts his feelings.
His mind plays over Dream kneeling before him as his knight, Dream's mouth on the back of his hand, his dirty blonde hair turned gold by the rays of sunlight coming through the window. His green eyes meet George's heterochromatic ones.
It's that moment, sure, where people think he doesn't love Dream. He didn't care as much, they pondered, as Dream does for him.
They miss the smaller moments.
Where Dream hands him his sword when he drops it in training, where he passes Dream back his whetstone, where they share a water bottle and sit on the roof of the community house sweat chilling against their backs.
It's when Dream tells him he's about to fall asleep and nudges him towards somewhere safe or George pressing his mouth to the nape of Dream's neck and blowing hot air on him to distract him when he sees Dream get lost in himself.
They haven't kissed, but George could have told anyone how Dream smelled, how Dream's hands felt after fighting compared to how they felt after cooking, how Dream sounded when he was excited versus sarcastic, and how Dream dressed himself.
He could explain intimately Dream's preference for material against his wrist. He liked when George played with his hair, but not Sapnap. Dream chewed with his mouth open sometimes. When Dream yawned, he almost always stretched. When Dream felt tired he'd lay his head down on one of them. The amount of times George felt drool soaking through his shirt: Dream snored with his mouth open. He slobbered.
When they all lived together they let boundaries mesh. They didn't flinch at each other's nudity or small habits. George only remembered Dream's nudity when they last departed.
He doesn't remember it with the love one associates with bare skin. He remembers it, because it was right before El Rapids or he supposed at the time, Mexican L'Manburg.
Right before he was dethroned. By Dream.
Dream had stayed by his bedside, citing a need to protect him.
Part way through the night George had shifted over in the large bed and patted the mattress. Dream had sighed softly and reverently and joined him.
They lay with only their arms touching on their backs. George turned on his side to stare at Dream, but Dream had turned away, his back facing George. George hadn't spoken. Hadn't asked. He just traced his spine with his eyes, studied each strand of hair and timed his breathing to match Dream's until he fell asleep.
When he awoke, Dream had been in front of the mirror, a bucket propped on a chair as he scrubbed himself down. His nudity hadn't been the first thing George noticed. It'd been the sullen expression; the hardness behind his eyes.
George studied his friend wordlessly. Dream's body was toned, but he didn't ever have the body of a builder or a god or a hulking muscular man. He was built for cardio, his biceps and forearms rang of strength for an axe as his weapon, as did the pronounced muscles across his back.
George liked in the winter when Dream would let himself slack and his stomach and arms softened a degree. When they hugged he felt warm and comfortable.
These days, he feels boney. It felt less like muscle and more like Dream was feeding parts of himself to his mission. His cheeks felt gaunt when he poked them, his eyes started to look darker and hollower.
There were things missing on Dream. The corded bracelets he'd made them all. His own one with green and white was gone. George had tied his bracelet around his ankle after it caught on his arrow too many times. Sapnap's was hanging from his sheathe. Dream had kept his bracelet on his wrist but it was gone.
So were the loops of leather he wound around his wrist to remember things. If he was worried he'd forget something he'd find stray leather and tie it around his wrist.
George's eyes swept to his legs and stomach. The thing with constantly wearing heavy armor was it caused enough friction you could rub patches of skin bald until the hair follicles healed. The straps on Dream's armor were too tight on his leggings, George could see bruises that weren't healing from it. The backs of his calves and the front of his thighs as well as his stomach were rubbed raw.
It'd help if he skipped wearing armor for a few days; he kept his leggings and chest plate on too much.
The water splashed in the bucket and Dream sighed. George closed his eyes and listened, not wanting Dream to catch his gaze. He peeked one eye open as heard the rustle of clothes. Dream was staring at himself as he dressed. His clothes were worn and George watched as Dream's secrets, the bare blemished skin with hints at his decline disappeared with each article of clothing. Briefs. Trousers. Long socks. George stared at his back, his eyes following Dream's hands as he ruffled his own hair, shaking out droplets of water before he donned a long sleeve shirt.
Abruptly, Dream turned, flashing a smile at George that didn't reach his eyes. "Going to keep staring at me, George?" Damn Dream's experience being hunted; he'd know if he was being watched.
George blinked. He stretched in bed now that he could since the jig was up. "What? I just woke up," George lied.
He knew Dream would hear the lie. Telling it was only a formality. Dream snorted, "You're such an idiot." He reached for his leggings, fastening them over his trousers. "Were you checking me out, George?" Dream teased.
"No," George said. He sat up. He didn't play into the teasing, he didn't feel like it. He felt worried. "You're not acting normal."
"You got that from staring at my naked ass?" Dream questioned, but his voice didn't carry the usual light-heartedness. He sounded stressed. He held his chestplate in his hands, staring at the glimmering material.
"Sure," George said. He rubbed his eyes. "You really should have slept more. You look terrible. You have bruises and stuff from your armor," George said, yawning.
Dream's smile fell. "I think it would have been better if you were just staring at my ass, George."
"It's not that special," George quipped. "Do you really have to be armored this early?"
"People try to kill you. Kill me . I have to be ready," Dream said. "You could stand to be a little more cautious, George."
George thinks Dream was wrong; he'd only ever been too cautious. He wished he hadn't been.
Cautious.
Don't comment on politics. Don't defend Dream. Don't ask about him. Don't do anything he would do. Pretend he was clean of it all.
He wished he'd left bed that day when he woke.
He'd run his hands over Dream's muscles; his biceps would feel warm under his palms, his stressed shoulders would soften if he dug his fingers in. He'd press into the worried tension in Dream's back and whisper against his spine assurances. He'd loop his arms around Dream's waist and have told him it was okay. Yawned. Pulled his body against his own.
Maybe Dream wouldn't have changed his mind, but he'd have realized how George saw him.
George lay awake thinking about the past. With a sigh, he turns his face into his pillow and closes his eyes.
XD awaits him.
"George?"
"You can show me anything," George asks.
"Mhm," XD says. He reaches for George, his hands, unattached to a body cupping his face. "Did you want to see another memory?"
George thinks about saying yes, but there's things he still tries to keep to himself. He doesn't want the god to know he loves Dream. He doesn't know if harm would happen, but he worries feeding the god every drop of his and Dream's relationship will send George spiraling worse than he already is. He'll succumb to the temptation to stay asleep and live out his desires.
"I want to see Dream. Just show me how he's doing," George says quickly.
XD pauses in his attempted petting of George. Tilts his head. The god materializes more physically which isn't ever a good sign. He has wings today. Sometimes he tries to look human; today is not one of those days. He is Bad's height, an easy eight feet and his form is a mess of shadow and eerie glowing lights.
He wishes sometimes the god truly had skin. Nothing about the god is permanent or reflects a single experience it goes through.
"You don't want that, George," XD says, it's voice bouncing high pitched and warning.
"I do," George snaps.
The god's hands feel faintly charged with electricity as he drops them to George's shoulders, the three pairs holding him still.
"You'll get upset. You'll blame me," XD frets.
George huffs. "If you won't show me I'll wake up and see it myself," George threatens.
The god's hands feel like they're shocking George. But he doesn't pull away. The god cranes its head down to stare intensely into his face. "George..."
"XD," George sniffs, haughty and unbothered.
"I won't show you 'him'," XD says. George frowns and starts to protest, "But I can mimic his appearance. As it is. Right now," XD promises.
"Why not him directly?" George asks.
XD taps his shoulders. "George, you weren't nice today."
"I wasn't 'nice?'" George questions.
"I do want more friends besides you. Were you jealous?" The god asks, seeming more delighted than bothered. George for a moment is confused before it hits him the god is talking about him and Karl taking the book.
So, it was endorsed by XD. Really. It was. George thinks on it. He doesn't want to share the god's privileges and while he'd normally deny the accusation...
"Maybe," George says softly.
It works as intended.
The god seems overjoyed. The electricity hanging around him vanishes and it pulls George into what might be a hug. Crushing darkness and strange sounds of the void exist in place of its chest and the hands are too numerous, pressing him into the god with no regard for his comfort.
"George!" XD says happily. "You're my favorite! I also don't want to share you." George wasn't sure why, but that seemed ominous. "I was worried for a moment you forgot about our friendship." George had forgotten he promised XD a version of Foolish's contract already. The gods voice dropped, "And that you didn't sign it because you don't consider me your friend, George."
No. Totally not. "You're my friend," George assures the god, wrapping his arms around the mass of darkness the best he can.
"Hm," the god crooned. "You still are in trouble for that, George."
Despite what the god says, he's happily petting George's hair. George sighs. He isn't sure what XD's logic is, but he doubts the god will hurt him.
"Uh huh," George says. "Now, can you show me Dream or show me his appearance?"
"Mhm," XD says. He lets go of George and shrinks in size, his form compressing. The darkness and glowing lights floating around and within him solidify into opaque features and the god's form blinks, flashing black then white.
Then, it's Dream.
Dirty blonde hair hangs to his shoulders, greasy and ratty. His face is covered by XD's mask, but everything that isn't...bloody. Scars and wounds criss-cross bare arms. The prison jumpsuit is tattered, the orange jacket wrapped around his waist and the white tank top beneath stained with sweat and blood. There's bruises along his exposed collarbone and throat. Fading bruises of a hand—or too big for a hand. They're paw prints around his throat.
George feels himself sway with nausea. Dream looks awful. George runs his hand along the outside of Dream's arm until he reaches his fingers. There's one missing on each hand.
His ring fingers.
George's gut tightens. Who would do that? Dream's frame is even more skeletal. His wrists feel thin. George's hands pull away back to himself. He looks at Dream's legs and sees a gash on his calf. It hasn't scabbed over and looks sickly. The skin around it is purple and streaks of red stretch from it. It looked to have been cauterized once, but reopened.
"Take off the mask," George demands.
XD does. He isn't as good at micking Dream's face; it tends to glitch and waver, but George sees a mimicry of a familiar scar, like someone repeated it with a knife on a new face; it looks similar to Quackity's pickaxe scar. Dream is missing teeth. His right eye has been cut. It's blind now, unseeing.
Why? Who would do this?
XD's form wavers out and back to its inhuman godly form. "You're upset."
"What happened to him?"
"I don't know," XD sing-songs. He clearly does. "George, I can make you happy. I can't do anything about Dream."
"That's a lie," George snaps. He feels worry and fear curling in his gut. "You're a god. Fix him. Get whatever's doing it to stop. Why are you being so annoying?" George knows he's stepping over the thin line of his and XD's friendship, but what XD showed him shook him.
Despite his outburst, XD doesn't grow upset. XD's spirit dims, the lights and darkness becoming more transparent. "I shouldn't have shown you. George..."
"Fix this," George begs. "Dream..." he feels weak. The scars, the blood—they weren't even the real thing yet he can smell blood and pus now, and he feels his stomach twist and convulse. George's legs are trembling. He feels faint.
XD changes back to a form that mimics how Dream once looked. Back when he hunted. His hair was short, but messy. His hoodie is a darker green. He pulls George against his chest and pets his hair.
"George, please, take a deep breath. Let me show you something happier, please," XD pleads. "You wanted a pool party in Kinoko but it keeps raining. We can have one. They can all be there."
George presses his face into XD's shoulder. He smells like Dream. He smells like the woods. "Let me wake up. I have to go, XD."
"George, I want to help you," XD begs. It loses its form. The suffocating darkness begins to wrap around George. "I can't interfere. You're the only one I can effect. Stay."
And George pushes away. It feels like he's fighting rough waters but when he feels the darkness release him he's suddenly awake, sitting up in bed.
George stares at his hands. He closes them once, stares at the unblemished flesh and then pinches himself.
When he feels nothing, he lays back down and stares upward.
"XD?" George asks.
"You can't save him, George," XD whispers.
George wipes at his face, tears welling up. "...show me the pool party in Kinoko, please."
"Would you like to forget what I've shown you?"
George's breath falters. He thinks of Dream in all the states he's seen him. He closes his eyes tight and covers his ears, so he can't hear his own answer.
"Yes."