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When the stream lights are turned off and all the wrappers have been swept into the bin, there’s a comfortable silence that settles in the apartment. George mindlessly walks in the kitchen as he puts back the trash under the sink and Sapnap lays sprawled on the couch, phone in hand.
The younger groans as George strides to his place on the couch, turning on his side and throwing an arm over his eyes in dramatic fashion. George scoffs, back settling against the cushion comfortably as he reaches across his own stomach.
“Dude, fuck Dream for coming up with that idea,” Sapnap scoffs, his chest deflating with a long exhale. “He was like, totally setting us up for stomach ache central.”
George nods in agreement, fingertips clutching the fabric sitting over his now-aching stomach. “He’s an idiot, and so are you.”
Quickly bringing a hand up to his chest, Sapnap has a look of downright offense painted on his features. Thick brows furrow and his mouth fills out to an ‘o’,
“Take it back, you asshole.” He mumbles out, features slowly morphing into a pout.
There’s a moment of hush before George quietly giggles, then bursts into a full-blown laugh as his restraint dissolves. Warmth floods his chest and trails through his limbs, body tingling pink. If it weren’t for the cramp his stomach bites back at him with, he would’ve gone on laughing without a doubt.
George tosses his head to the couch and grips his stomach. “Fine, fine, taking it back now.” Sapnap sat up from his spot, leaning on his elbows as he eyed George.
“You good?” His act has dropped, lip gently caught between his teeth as he shoots him a worried look.
The older nods, swallowing spit that’d since gathered in his mouth. “‘M fine, I told you I wasn’t good with sweets, though.”
“Aw, does poor Georgie need a belly rub to get rid of the pain?” Sapnap jokes, lips pulling into a smile.
George freezes. His shoulders raise the slightest amount as his elbows lock, fingers folding against smooth cotton. If he presses hard enough, he thinks he can feel his pulse that skyrockets.
It’s an innocent question, though George feels a ripple of fear trail his spine. It crosses the chapter in a book he’s not yet caught up on and sends a spike of worry through him that he’ll be spoiled. The words slip through his nerves and through his veins, coursing alongside his blood. In a last-ditch effort to wane the other’s suspicion from him, he stuffs his ideas to a far compartment of his brain and deflects Sapnap’s question.
“Um, no, that would be.. weird. It’s not like I’m dying or anything.” It’s hardly convincing, and he hopes the red he feels on his cheeks is only imaginary.
“The only weird one here is you, George. What’s with the look?” Sapnap inquires again, dragging himself closer to the other. Their legs touch, two layers of fabric separating the two, but still much closer than George would consider himself comfortable with.
“What look?” George gawks in defense.
“The look you’ve got goin’ on with your face. All.. weird-faced.”
“Nothing. There’s no look. You’re imagining things.” He argues with a laugh, shaking his head and upturning his nose. George thinks, if he pretends nothing happened in the first place, the situation will change itself to fit the narrative. “And stop saying my face is weird.”
Hands come to both sides of his head, palms facing George as if he were surrendering. His words do everything except raise a white flag in the older’s mind. “Okay, but I wouldn’t be objecting to it y’know.”
“What?”
“You seem like you’re in a rougher situation than I am. It’d just be one friend helping out another with something.” Sapnap, as good as he is, speaks with his heart. There’s a severe lack of mockery from his tone, as well as an indication that he was even joking in the first place. If there were, George thinks he would’ve missed it.
There are words that bubble in his throat, like ‘ Yes, please’ or ‘ Well come on then’ , yet George remains silent. He slowly snakes a hand to the pocket of his sweatpants, a ball of lint rolling between his pointer and thumb.
Sapnap waits another moment before unfolding his legs from under himself, slowly rising from the couch. Arms raise above his head, the flesh of his stomach coming into view as his hoodie drags up, up, up. The skin is unmarked, pale, and seems to keep trailing. George wants to do nothing more than tear his eyes away from the sight, but his mind is trapped in a glass box, distinctly separate from his body that persists in its stillness.
The thing he considers most embarrassing about his staring is when dark eyes land on a trail of hair. Sapnap’s belly button remains covered by the hem of his plain Adidas’ hoodie, but he can tell the trail thins past it as it moves farther up. If he were any less appalled at his poor behavior, the Brit would’ve let his eyes linger.
George turns his gaze to the coffee table that sits stacked with coasters, cracked energy drinks, and half-empty cups of water. He momentarily regrets not cleaning it while he had the energy to. Sapnap yawns loudly, scratching at his jaw.
“It’s late, I’m tired, and you’re declining my offer,” He says in a voice much too confident for George’s ego to handle. “Goodnight, George.”
His throat is hoarse, and he feels like his tongue is suffering the after-effects of being stung by a bee. “Goodnight, Sapnap.”
He watches as Sapnap pads over to the guest room in his own time, arms swinging loosely by his sides. Sapnap grips the silver handle and steps into the dark, giving a final glance into the living room. George passes a tight-lipped smile back to him when the younger gives him a look, finally closing it with a subtle click.
The space is split in two with the action: one of George’s side, the other, Sapnap’s.
George resides on the couch for a duration he doesn’t track before he grows bored of listening to distant cars and crickets chirp. The surface of the coffee table remains cluttered with its various adornments as George unhappily moves from one part of the open area to another.
He presses his second knuckle with the pad of his thumb until it pops, socks shuffling against the carpet. George wants so desperately to press his ear against his guest’s door and listen for any indication that he still lies awake, but stops himself at the last moment, believing it’s much too invasive.
As if any of his other thoughts are any less invasive, he thinks.
Instead, he stands there. His chest rises and falls slowly, the shake of his limbs replaced by a twitching resistance. He stands in front of Sapnap’s door and thinks of what might’ve happened if he accepted his earlier offer, what might’ve spiraled further into unexplored territory. After his thoughts have looped back to the present reality for a second time, George decides he’s had enough.
Skipping the step of knocking, George enters the room with a confidence he didn't know he ever had. Sapnap faces the entrance in his bed, phone nestled between hands as his cheek is pressed to a pillow. His face flashes with the light of whatever video he’d been watching until he notices the disruption in his surroundings.
“George?”
Common sense George (who is witnessing the situation with an out-of-body experience) would think that the George standing in the doorway with a white-knuckled grip on the door is absolutely ridiculous. Frontal lobe George (the one being witnessed) would think this is all he’s wanted and more . He’s waited so goddamn long for someone to make land on his stranded island. He’s waited so desperately for someone, anyone, to look at him with an equal hunger burning behind their pupils. George might’ve been stupid to jump and assume the grey-green gaze meant one thing or another, but he might as well have exploded if he waited any longer.
Inhale, left foot, right foot; he’s at the edge of the bed. In the lack of words exchanged, the room is heavy.
Exhale, and he’s going down, down, down, crawling onto the queen with sheets that smell like laundry detergent and Sapnap’s cologne. His knee sinks into the soft surface, careful of where it lands. Sapnap turns on his back, hair sprawling out since there hadn't been a hat to contain it.
“George, what’re you do-” His words are hushed yet retain a frantic tone.
“Just tell me if you don’t want this.” He rushes out, too nervous to make eye contact in case he sees something.
Silence lingers. It rests on George’s back as a weight that’s incomparable to any blanket or jacket and becomes stuffy quick enough. There are no objections, and when he brings the burden of his gaze to Sapnap, he dives.
Skin hits skin, chapped lips acting as the water he breaches the surface of over and over again. The feeling is exhilarating – something can’t seem to get enough of. George’s knee drags against Sapnap’s thigh, pale arms caging the other.
Cold fingers trace over the scratchy stubble of his jaw, and George imagines he can feel Sapnap’s cheeks grow hot. He tilts his head, adjusting to the strong reception he’d received.
The phone that’d previously been present in his grasp had long been discarded as he became occupied in making contact with George, hands entangling themselves in shirt and flesh. They’re starkly warm against the prickled hairs of George’s side, snaking their way onto his ribs and feeling the freckles and moles that sit invisible to the rest of the world. The pressure persists for a period George would’ve preferred lasted forever, but they had to come up for air eventually.
Panting, gasping, their pupils swamp the color of their irises. Sapnap tries to plunge in the middle of a breath; George stops him with a splayed palm to his sternum. He feels a thundering heartbeat object and worries that it’ll jump out at any second.
“So, were you just too shy to accept my offer earlier?”
“Shut up, you’re such an idiot.”