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Dream hadn’t experienced a cold since getting bitten by that spider. Never ran a fever, caught the flu, experienced any infection of any kind.
So when he woke up with a burning temperature and a painful pressure in his head, his first thought was that he was dying.
Everything hurt. The lamp on his bedside table was too bright, the cars on the streets below were too loud and the scent of coffee that George brewed that morning made his head throb.
Well, at least Dream knew his enhanced senses weren’t affected by his fever. If anything, they seemed to work against him, making everything hurt so much more.
Under the covers it was too hot. Dream struggled against the blanket, whining as he strained his sore muscles without successfully pulling it off.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, coming to a stop outside the bedroom door. “Dream? Are you okay?”
Dream tried to reply but could only muster another whine.
George opened the door carefully, somehow already sensing that Dream’s senses were more sensitive. “Hey love,” he whispered, “are you feeling alright.”
“Feel like m’ dying,” Dream mumbled through his pillow.
George sat on the edge of the bed, pushing Dreams' hair up with the back of his hand and resting it on his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“M’ body and head hurts.”
“You’ve probably got a fever from overworking yourself,” George sighed, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’ll get you some panadol and water.”
“Thank you,” the blonde murmured, shuffling into his pillow.
The brunette's presence quickly dissipated as Dream pulled the covers over his body, deciding that he was too cold now. When he tried to pull his hand up to cover his eyes, the blanket pulled with him. Great, of course being sick meant losing his “sticky hand control,” as George lovingly called it when Dream had tried to describe it to him.
“George,” he tried to yell, wincing at the volume and croakiness of his voice.
Seconds later George was at the door, worry etched into his face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“M’ fucking stuck to my blanket,” Dream pouted as he thrashed on the bed slightly.
“You’re an idiot,” George smiled fondly, walking over to the bed and adjusting the blanket so it covered up to the blonde's neck. “I’m making a cup of tea for you as well, just to make your throat hurt less. I won’t be long.”
And he was gone again, noise from the kitchen filling the apartment until he returned with a makeshift tray (a chopping board), a glass of water, Dreams favourite mug, and two aspirin balanced carefully on top. “Do you need anything else?”
“Can we cuddle?”
“Of course.” George walked over to the empty side of the bed. “Can you sit up?”
Dream sat himself up with George’s assistance, grabbing the medicine and a swig of water before relaxing into the brunette's shoulder.
“I can tell somethings on your mind,” George whispered into his hair, “what’s up?”
“Just feel like I’m putting everyone at risk.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve been patrolling almost every day this month because of that new villain, and I can’t today because I’m sick.” Dream shuffled closer to George’s chest, humming when delicate fingers started running through his hair. “What if they pop up today and cause damage just because I’m not out there?”
George rested his chin on Dream's head. “I think you’re stressing yourself out. Yes, they may show up at any moment, but I don’t think that missing a day of patrol will trigger it. Honestly, I’m glad you’re taking time off, because they’re probably the reason you are sick. You’ve never been this stressed about patrols and it’s taking its toll on you.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Dream sighed.
George placed a soft kiss on the crown of his head . “I always am. I was gonna make some chicken soup, are you okay with me getting up?”
“I’ll live,” Dream moped for a second before smiling. “I’m probably gonna nap so don’t worry about making it straight away.”
“Of course. I’ll wake you up when it’s ready,” he gave Dream another kiss before shuffling off of the bed.
Dream barely noticed the door closing before falling asleep.
———
When he woke next it was dark in the room, the only illumination coming from the gap in the door and the lights from the streets below.
The pressure in his head had subsided heavily, and the flare in his muscles had disappeared. Dream pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and tentatively placing his weight onto his feet.
He walked slowly to the kitchen, smiling when he saw George dancing to whatever song was playing in his AirPods.
“Hey,” Dream smiled, wrapping his arms around George’s waist as the brunette jumped slightly.
“Piss off, I nearly knocked over your dinner,” George laughed. “Good timing though, I was just about to come wake you up.”
“I must have sensed it was done. I’m feeling a lot better now, so it would kinda make sense.”
“Dream.” George turned in his arms and grabbed his face in his hands, “I mean this in the most loving way possible, nothing about you makes sense.”
“Yet you love me.”
“C’mon, let’s eat. I can’t let you out on patrol tomorrow if you don’t feel better,” George grinned, moving to dish up the soup. “I had the news on earlier and nothing happened, the reporters didn’t even acknowledge your disappearance.
If it meant getting to experience this level of domesticity, Dream would be sick every day. George would take care of him, and that means more than anything in the world.