Restful Remembrance

Have you ever taken breathing for granted? Sure – that sounds extreme, as though there is an impending evangelical lecture that will have you questioning your entire existence. That’s what’s happening to George though, without the whole evangelical bit (god bless us all), as oxygen seems to struggle its way through the otherwise easy passage through his nostrils. His nose is blocked. It seems as though there was a wall guarded by gladiators determined to prevent air from getting in, all within his perfectly sculpted nose. George was irritated, evidently. Coupled with the humid Floridian heat, George, in his grandiose dramaticism, whines and groans in agony as he struggles with the infamous flu.

It was hard to say that this was unexpected because it is anything but when it comes to George. Every time he leaves the comfort of his quaint apartment in London to hang out for any more than a week, his body tends to rebut in defiance, screaming at him to “Go back home, idiot”. Dream would say it was due to George’s bad immune system (as though he was any different), and blaming it all on George’s habit of getting McDonald’s (not sponsored) for lunch or dinner (or both), way too often. George would never admit that Dream was right (because of course Dream was right), so instead, he would complain and call for Dream to “do something” even when they were 4000 miles apart.

This time, they were about 40 metres apart. His room is tucked away at the end of the long hallway on the second floor of the Dream Team House. Dim green LED lights illuminated through the gaps under and around his closed door, forming a sort of heavenly halo. Of course, it looked ethereal in the eyes of the sick brunette, who for the past hour, has been trying to blow out his nose and tear the stupid gladiator door down in his nose. He blew his nose so hard it made him lightheaded, and as expected, everything was starting to hurt. George staggers toward the green halo with his socked feet. However, before he got too close to Dream’s door, he stops. Hesitation and nervousness washed over him all at once, sending a buzz of numbness to his fingertips. He doesn’t know if he was ready to let Dream see him like this.

It’s ironic, really, and George knows it all too well. All those years of George shamelessly sending pictures of his poop, threatening to piss and stain on Sapnap’s belongings (you know what I mean) and snorting and chewing loudly through the speakers would make anyone think of George as someone who is indifferent toward being seen as reckless or wild. Especially to his best friends, who have seen him in his lowest and highest. Starting off as strangers on the internet and quickly becoming inseparable soulmates (warning: comes in a bundle), there was nothing between them that they could hide from each other. In fact, George trusted them enough to turn his entire life around – moving across the continent to be with them and leaving a lifetime's worth of comfort and familiarity. Now why the hell is George outside Dream’s door, breathing through his mouth to get enough oxygen so he doesn’t pass out, and a clenched fist that seems to weigh a thousand pounds – preventing him from knocking on Dream’s door to properly ask for help?

He uses all his might to raise his knuckles on the polished wooden door. It's as though he’s using all that strength to tear down his stupidly large ego, until the door jerks open from the inside.

“George?” Dream halted at the entrance of his own room, trying not to crash onto George who's an unexpected sight but a welcoming one nonetheless.

Dream’s voice reverberated through the stifling air. There was a slight echo - his voice coming out raspy, probably from misuse, but it was clear and toned inquisitively.

A beat of silence goes by. George is wide-eyed and frozen in time while Dream rakes his gaze from George’s fluffy head to his padded toes, in all his stupor.

“You good?” Inquisition turned amusement. Dream’s face slowly melts into that stupid grin that never fails to twist the nodes in George’s gut (and quite frankly all of his fans' guts too).

It was as though the grin pulled him back to reality. All of George’s tensed muscles and awkward stiffness dissipate into the air between them. He visibly relaxed and began drawing out a whine. Something along the lines of “Drreeeaamm, I’m DYING” or something just as adorable (at least to Dream).

His head falls first into Dream’s chest, like a trust-fall but forwards, as his body leaned as diagonally as the tower of Pisa.The only point of contact between them was George’s soft brown locks on Dream’s hard chest. Dream was still, fortunately, standing vertical, only letting out a satin-like chuckle that could only be described as the embodiment of affection. Dream then puts both of his hands on either side of George’s shoulders in an attempt to stabilise them both and tries to push George slightly back so that he could look down and make proper eye contact with the man in front of him.

“What’s wrong with you, idiot” No malice, only light-hearted love. (Platonic though, right?)

“Why are you talking to me like that” George bites back, impatient and clearly unhappy that his source of comfort (Dream’s chest) has been stripped away from him. “You’re like talking to Patches or something”. Furrowed eyebrows threaten Dream’s gaze.

“You did not…” He chuckles again, making a disapproving noise that could only point to him concealing his embarrassment, of getting caught red-handed in his affection.

How can anyone blame him? How can anyone expect Dream to hide his emotions behind anything anymore when George is right in front of him? Living, breathing, existing, finally after all these years? It’s hard to hide behind walls of ones and zeros anymore when George is the kind of housemate who thrives off sharing personal space? Sapnap is no stranger to that too. With all three of them together, nothing else really matters. It’s home, it’s shared destiny, and it’s a manifestation of hope.

“You sound like a donkey, Gogy. See, it rhymes too,” Sapnap’s voice tears Dream and George’s eyes away from each other and onto their best friend (or should we say, brother)

Sapnap was wearing his Balenciaga hat – the one Punz got for him when they were hanging out. No one dares to ask him why he wears hats indoors, it’s just cute that he's quite a sentimental person behind his playful and boisterous demeanour. Sapnap would never miss a chance to make fun of George, especially when George's voice had become all nasally from all the congestion and phlegm that George is a hostage to. Of course, Sapnap’s comment is never one of malice, just fun. Anyone could pick up on the underlying concern in his voice, seeping through the chuckle that followed it.

“I think I’m sick. Guess it finally caught up to me. Surprised it only came now after two months of being here with you two idiots” George rolls his eyes, in light-hearted annoyance at his predicament. His voice was evidently strained from the soreness and tightness in his throat, just another symptom that will go away eventually (right?). He coughs dryly.

“Oh no, guess I can’t help you. Payback for when you left me stranded in London.” Sapnap responds with an attempt at a British accent, mocking his sick friend.

“What the hell”, George drawls. His “what” still sounds like “whot” in the most endearing way possible. George shifts his eyes back to Dream, his eyes watery from the growing allergy-like irritation and heat engulfing his face from the flu. Dream can’t help but be protective and determined to ease his discomfort.

“Let’s… go get you something, alright?” Dream suggests before he grabs a hold of George’s wrist and leads him down the stairs and into the kitchen, assertive and caring as expected. When George looks down to the point of contact between their hands, he ignores the pang in his chest and dismisses it to the fact that this was purely temporary. He chooses to relish in the moment of being cared for and guided by Dream, assuming this was going to be a one-off thing anyway (though something in his gut yearns for more).

They walk in comfortable silence into the kitchen, with Dream slowing down his pace to accommodate George’s sluggish movements. There was no way he could keep up with Dream’s long strides, especially when he was growing paler by the second.

“Sit here, don’t pass out on me just yet” Dream taps the kitchen counter, signalling for George to wait and sit on the empty space between their large, shared fridge and the stovetops. Dream hands George a paper towel before George could notice that his left nostril had started to leak with clear mucus. George attempts to hide his embarrassed smile as he wipes it away.

He watches Dream move in the kitchen space – opening cabinets to take out a mug, honey, lemon, and a teapot to boil some water. Dream was going to make him some hot honey lemon drink that his mother used to make. It always helps to soothe the sharp pricks in his throat whenever he felt under the weather, or even after recording manhunts where he used to scream in joy over his win, to the point where his voice gives up. He figured it would help George until the medicine kicks in. Speaking of which, he attempted to scurry into the bathroom to obtain the medicine while the water was boiling. Before he could get far, his movements were stalled by George.

“No, where are you going?” He rushed, panic bubbles in his gut as he reaches out to grab Dream’s forearm before he was out of reach.

George was surprised by his own display of attachment so he immediately lets go when Dream’s attention was fully on him. He guessed his sickness had made his mind all fuzzy and he was unable to contain his clinginess. Perhaps he subconsciously knew that deep down, Dream is the only one that could bring him comfort like no other, even just with his presence. Dream seems to be whatever he needed him to be – a friend, a business partner, a motivator, a voice of reason, a source of love. (Shit)

George averts his eyes to the swing of his legs as he dangles them over the kitchen counter from where he sat. A shy tint of pink dusted his cheeks, blending with the rosiness of his complexion from where his sickness shines through.

“Don’t leave” he mumbles, silently hoping Dream couldn’t hear it, as he chews on his own bottom lip to shoo away the creeping vines of guilt, shame and nervousness. But of course, Dream hears it and sees right through him.

“I’ll be right back, I promise. I need you to keep a lookout on the teapot while I run to get some flu meds from the bathroom cabinet okay? The one you need is only available in my room’s bathroom unfortunately BUT I’ll make it quick.” Dream, once again, reassures in a way that safeguards George’s entire being. His tone so soft that it melts away all the tension in the air and in the tendons of George’s muscles. He swears he could feel better without all the meds – he just needs Dream.

Dream could practically hear the cogwheels turning in George’s head as his reassurance still awaits George’s acknowledgement. Dream takes it as a sign that he disapproves. A part of him is relishing in the thought that George values his presence as much as he does with George. One of requited yearning, a walking safe space, and one of foreverness. With that, he changes his game plan – not wanting George to worry about anything more than the flu that gnaws at his flesh.

“I guess we’ll enjoy our honey lemon first – without the meds…” Dream trails off, playing it off as though he was indifferent to whatever happened earlier.

It was worth it though, because he’s met with George’s eyes as he shoots his head up and a dopey grin spread across his soft complexion. He could practically feel George’s relief knowing that they will continue to be attached at the hip for a little while longer.

Dream continues to prepare their drink, he decided he’ll have one too, might as well. It’s just like any other habit they share. It’s always better when they do everything together. George is handed the mug containing the steaming drink a moment later – a wedge of lemon still floating in it. He holds the mug with two hands, making sure it doesn’t spill everywhere, especially with his well-known trait of being clumsy. He inhales the steam that wafts through the air, welcoming the much-needed relief to his congested nostrils. He’s careful with his sips too – and the warm drink washes away the pricks in his throat and massages it from inside out. He feels a bit better already!

All the while, Dream continues to watch George's every move. Now that they’re eye to eye with George propped up on the counter, Dream can stare into George’s dark brown eyes without much effort. The lack of obscurity would normally make one cringe at the sheer intensity of it all, but Dream was soaking in it, unashamed that his eyes were conveying all that needed to be said.

“Thanks, Dream”, George manages to get out between sips of his drink. The pink tint in his cheeks resurfaces again, peeking out from the outlines of the cup as he meets Dream’s gaze.

“Feel better already?” Dream prods, stepping closer to George and reaching out for a pack of Oreos from the cabinet behind him. “This is for later since you can’t have your meds on an empty stomach”, he explains.

George nods, not in the mood to respond with anything sarcastic or snarky about how Oreos are unhealthy or whatever. “I want to take a snoozy, my head’s kinda wonky at the moment.”

Did you just say snoozy? You’re such an –“

“Idiot, yeah, yeah we get it. Now hurry before I pass out on the kitchen floor and you’ll have to carry me up to your room” George was getting his mojo back, his liveliness clawing its way back into him despite all the congestion in his respiratory system.

Dream was stunned. George’s quiet giggles weren’t met with his own because Dream realised that George had said a bunch of things that needed to be unpacked.

"Alright, first of all, I don’t mind carrying you up, because you practically weigh nothing. And… it’s not the first time so whatever. Second of all, ‘my room’? Aww, George, you want to rest in my room? You sure?” Dream tries and fails to contain the excitement laced in his voice.

He’s glad, really, that George wants to be around him during a moment of weakness and vulnerability. He loves it when they hang out in his room. Sure, they do that once in a while, when they stream, watch shows on Netflix, go through Tiktok… Point is, Dream always assumed that the only time George was in there was because he needed something to stimulate his brain or do mindless things. George always leaves to go back to his room when they decide to sleep through the night. This was a first.

“I mean, yeah, your room has a bathroom… and, uhm, the meds are there, right?” George attempts to justify his slip up. He was stammering, stuttering like he was balancing glass plates on his fingertips.

“Right…” Dream narrows his eyes; he smiles wide and proud. One of his eyebrows quirked up in a silent protest to George’s excuses. “You know I don’t mind if you sleep with me George,” Dream teases.

George decides that was the end of their conversation, or else he would implode. So he plops down the kitchen counter and marches toward the stairs, with the mug still in his hand. With that, Dream scrambles to pick up his phone from where he left it on the counter to look at the measurements for the drink earlier, picks up his own mug and the Oreo packet, before striding to catch up with George who was already halfway up the stairs. When he approaches George’s side, he pockets his phone and his right hand is now holding both the mug and the Oreo packet (thank god his hands are big). With his now-free left hand, he grabs George by his wrist again and leads him up the rest of the steps and straight to his room.

He hasn’t stopped smiling as he puts down the items and arranges the bed such that it was neater for George to lay down on. As for George, there was no hesitation. He slips under the covers after getting the last few sips of his drink. He brings the blanket all up to cover the lower half of his face as he curls up and inhales Dream’s scent from the pillows and sheets. He’s never felt this comfortable in something other than his own bed. He hates that he wants this to be part of his nightly routine rather than a one-off instance. He wants to be taken care of like this every day. Little did he know, Dream was silently wishing the same while he disappeared to fetch the meds from his bathroom cabinet. When he approaches George on his bed, kneeling down on the bedside floor to meet George’s eyes and feed him his meds, all he could feel was love and familiarity. He’d do this all over again, without question.

When George was done taking his meds, Dream sits down in a proper criss-cross on the floor beside his bed – not wanting to get into bed in case George needed his space. He rests both of his arms on the bedside, one crossed over the other, on the mattress inches away from George’s face, creating a comfortable enough cushion for him to put his own head on and be eye to eye with George. As for George, He hasn’t taken his gaze away from the blonde. Dream tilts his head, his cheek now squished against his forearm as they stare at each other. It was undoubtedly intimate, but they weren't planning to shy away from it yet.

George blinks slow, signs of fatigue seeping through in the comfort of Dream’s bed. They haven’t said a word to each other, just basking in comfortable silence where everything that needs to be said can be heard. Dream glances at the bedside clock, seeing that it’s approaching two in the morning and the moon shines bright through the curtains of his room. Dream sighs in tiredness too.

“You can come to lay with me you know? Your legs will hurt if you sleep on the floor sitting up like this” George mutters, quiet like the night.

Dream can’t help but swoon at the thought of George caring for him despite him going through shit himself. He honestly didn’t mind how he slept, as long as George was comfortable. However, he knows that George’s words were a request more than a suggestion, and he was more than happy to comply.

Dream crawls into his bed and made himself comfortable, subconsciously leaving a gap between them. George turns over to face Dream again. He scoots forward in protest, closing the gap that Dream had created. He proceeded to mindlessly reach for Dream’s hand, content when he feels Dream wrap his fingers around his own dainty ones. More comfort, he thinks.

Several moments go by, and George’s breaths even out first. Sleep had taken over him. Dream was grateful his nose allowed him to breathe comfortably enough to fall asleep. Unfortunately, Dream's fate wasn't the same – not because he was uncomfortable, but because he was still processing the last few hours that transpired between them. He wants, so bad, to have George like this for longer. He needs, so urgently, to tell George that he would do anything for him, to make him feel better, to make him happy. He feels, so much, for the man in his bed.
George was someone too good to be true in his opinion. The moon illuminated his features as though it was giving back to him for being a light in so many people’s lives, especially Dream’s. Dream moves in closer, tucking George’s head under his chin and pressing a featherlight kiss on the top of his wavy locks. His hand runs through them, hoping to soothe any form of discomfort in George’s head (as though it works that way but he doesn’t care right now). His chest tightens and tears well in his eyes when notices George leaning into the touch and snuggling closer to him in his sleep. He loves George, he thinks. He had been in love with him, and he knows it’ll only grow more. He loves Sapnap too, but the nature of his love is different. He figures he’ll sort it out someday. But right now, he’s content.

He knows they all love each other at the root of it all, in an unexplainable, soulmate-type coincidence. Dream’s sure of it, when he receives a text from Sapnap the next morning, saying that he’s ordered extra food for both him and George, because “George is sick and needs to get better so that I don’t have to deal with his shit”. Dream's sure of it, when he woke up with George still plastered to his side, still deep in a peaceful slumber. When they eventually all head down to the kitchen for breakfast (at noon), George was sharing his fries with Sapnap and they were all talking about visiting Sapnap’s family in Texas once George feels better. “It’ll all work out” Dream knows.