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George hated thunderstorms.
He hated the booming sounds and the brilliant lights. He hated the roaring noises that sounded like the end of the world. And, he hated when the power went out because of the stupid storm surrounding him.
He wasn’t scared, of course, but it was still awful to think about and experience.
In England, there were storms pretty often, but only a couple maybe once or twice a year were actually big enough to do any damage. Now, in Florida, there were fucking monsoons. All. The. Time. It was annoying, since they lived in Orlando, a.k.a. the middle of the state, and yet George’s vexation of the storms never seemed to make them go away.
Usually, he called Dream whenever a storm was near him in London. He wouldn’t tell the blonde it was a storm though, and would instead have his friend distract him through mindless rants and rambles about the most random topics. He didn’t care about what, though. It was Dream, and Dream always comforted him.
Now, when he was actually here, in Florida, rooms away from his favorite American, he had no idea how to just randomly strike up a call. In the past, it was easy to call for no reason other than simply wanting to talk from across the ocean. Now, it was different in a way. They’d still strike up conversation all the time, but there was usually something needed beforehand. George could ask Dream to edit his video, and they’d sit there for hours and talk instead of even putting a finger on the computer. That would work, except for the fact that all of George’s videos had been edited (by Dream) and were simply being waited on to post. He had no other ideas.
Patches was with him, though.
A small pile of warmth right on his stomach.
She didn’t care when he flinched every time thunder stuck, and she completely ignored the brunette for anything besides pets. Patches was a nice anchor to have during his little storm freak out, but George wished he could have been with someone more emotionally comforting. Specifically, a 6’3 blonde Floridian that went by the name of Dream.
But, George had no idea how to tell his best friend that he was scared of a dumb monsoon or whatever it was, so he just stayed in his bed in silence, listening to the storm and shaking every time he thought about it getting closer.
He stayed there for a while, and eventually, Patches moved from his stomach into the crook of his neck, purring softly as George breathed shakily.
He hadn’t checked his phone, and he didn’t want to. There were probably a million and one weather channel alerts about the storm and how he should take cover, and right now all he needed was a good sleep. It was nearing 3 AM and he was exhausted.
Soon, though, came a knock sounded from outside his bedroom door. It was soft, and faint, and George could already tell who was outside his door just from the way they knocked. It was almost funny how much he knew about all of Dream’s weird habits, even knocking.
“Come in,” he said quietly, not bothering to leave his covered place of hiding. His blinds were open, but just barely, and when Dream stepped in a shock of lighting ignited outside, lighting up Dream’s entire face in the process. It was unfair, George thought, that Dream got to look that good even in a storm.
“Hey,” the blonde says, interrupting the Brit’s inner monologue. “You okay?”
George bit his upper lip before answering. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Dream nodded, “Okay. I was just worried since you didn’t answer the group chat. Karl was making plans for a meetup next week.”
George smiled, genuinely. “Cool!” He paused, petting Patches behind her ear again to calm his own nerves. “Sorry, I’ve just been hanging out with Patches. You know, protecting her from the storm and stuff.”
The blonde furrowed a brow in suspicion and started to move toward the door as if he was heading out. He turned around to say a goodbye perhaps, but as he did a booming sound erupted from outside. George very visibly flinched and when he looked back at Dream, the American was smiling.
“George,” he drawled out. “Are you scared of storms?”
The brunette scoffed, bringing Patches into his arms as he did. “No, I told you I’m making Patches feel better about it. I’m fine.”
Lighting struck again and George’s face lit up in pure fear.
Dream moved closer to the bed.
“I think Patches is the only cat on Earth that doesn’t get scared of storms.” He paused, letting out a small laugh as he smiled back up at the Brit. “Of anything, George, you’re the cat in this situation!”
“Fuck off,” George groaned. “I’m fine.”
Yet, another rumble of thunder caused the brunette to lose his cool again. He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself anywhere but here, in the middle of a goddamn monsoon.
Seconds later, however, he felt a warm pair of arms wrap around his shoulders. His left side felt warmer suddenly and he was now being pulled back so his head was resting on someone’s hard-ish chest.
Upon opening his eyes, to his shock, George was met with Dream. In his bed. With his arms around him.
“What are you doing?” He asked skeptically, trying not to blush at the notion of Dream in his bed.
The blonde scoffed and started trailing his hands down George’s arms, tracing comforting patterns in his wake. “You’re like a cat, George,” he said, voice hushed and teasing. “You need to be comforted during a storm, or else you’ll just end up hiding away forever.”
“You’re an idiot,” said George, a gargantuan smile on his lips.
Dream smiled back. “It’s 3 am, idiot, go to sleep.”
“How am I meant to sleep like this?”
“I’m sorry, George,” The blonde said dryly. “Am I uncomfortable for you?”
George didn’t even answer at that. Instead, he twisted his body around so he was facing the blonde, and proceeded to wrap his arms under Dream’s shoulders. His head was quickly moved against Dream’s chest, and he looked up with innocent eyes as he said, “Who’s comfy now?”
The blonde sighed in contentment and placed his arms over George’s shoulders, hands running through brunette locks. “Anything else I can do for you, your Royal Highness?”
Dream’s hand brushed behind George’s ear, and the brunette almost purred with contentment. He really was acting like a cat.
Dream just felt so warm around him and all his insides were bubbly and George completely forgot about the storm when there was a stupid American idiot laying under him. “Well,” he replied teasingly. “A kiss would be nice.”
Dream’s lips parted at that, eyes wide, cheeks turning pink. He recovered quickly though, mumbling an “idiot” as he menacingly messed up George’s hair.
Before George could rebuttal, Patches was moving away from her previous crook and just above the top of Dream’s head. She patted down on Dream’s golden waves and settled down right above his scalp.
It was endearing, George thought. The tiny cat head poking out above Dream’s forehead made him laugh, and before he knew it, he was face down against Dream’s chest, planting a kiss so small he was unsure if the blonde even noticed.
He did, though. “George,” he reprimanded quietly.
“Hmm?” The Brit responded, almost laughing again at the sight of cat and man in front of him.
“It’s 3 am. You’re tired. It’s storming.”
“So?”
“So,” Dream sighed. “You just kissed my chest.”
George grinned, leaned down, and kissed Dream’s t-shirt again. The blonde was overdramatic. It was barely a kiss, and there was a layer of clothing that didn’t allow George to even come close to touching his lips against Dream’s skin.
He was so caught up in everything that was simply Dream that George forgot about the storm outside. Instead of booming or clattering, all he heard now was Dream’s soft breath right above his ear. It was calming, tranquil.
“George,” Dream tried again. “You’re gonna regret this in the morning. I know you hate being all touchy and whatnot.”
The Brit smiled again, half asleep and completely exhausted from enduring the storm for hours before. “I’m fine when it’s with you.”
The blonde gasped. He leaned down quickly, holding George’s head in his hands, as he pressed a kiss against the brunette’s forehead. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”
“Yeah,” George grinned, looking up at the blonde with faux innocent eyes. “Not my fault you just, like, grabbed me and forced me to cuddle with you.”
An eye roll. “Yeah, right. I was trying to comfort you while you were scared. Which worked, by the way.”
George looked away from the blonde for the first time in minutes and snuck a glance at his window. It was still storming out, and yet, he hadn’t thought about it, or flinched, in minutes. Because of Dream.
“Wow,” George replied nonchalantly. “Congrats Dream, you distracted me.” He paused, smirking embarrassingly at the blond in front of him. “I know some other ways in which you can distract my frightened mind.”
Dream rolled his eyes again but he was blushing. George could see it even in the dim lighting of his room.
“You’re an idiot,” Dream replied.
“Well, you’re dumb.”
They moved closer.
“You’re dumber.”
“And you’re a bigger idiot.”
And closer.
“The idiot-est.”
“The dumbe-“
And then they were kissing. It was delicate, light, and everything you’d expect from a kiss at three in the morning.
George’s hands cupped Dream's jaw gently as he rubbed the tiniest of circles into the blonde’s jawline. Dream’s hand flipped around George’s hair, playing with the stray pieces and making them stand up in the wildest of places.
Their lips moved softly. It wasn’t aggressive or suggestive of more, and was instead filled with a soft and intricate passion, saying everything they wanted to say at such a late hour.
Dream pulled away first. A mumbled, “Go to sleep idiot” as he tilted his head back against the pillow. “We can talk in the morning.”
George wasn’t done yet, however. He had about .5 seconds before his social battery went out for good. “Or,” he suggested, “maybe this was all a dream. Ha! Dream’s dreaming…”
He drifted off after that, listening to Dream’s stupid laugh and even dumber breaths as he fell asleep for the night, completely forgetting about the storm that had brought them there in the first place.