Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Whenever he's questioned on first seeing his best friend, George would always talk about the sun.

"It was shining behind him, like a halo." He would say, trying not to act like his heart was racing a million miles an hour just at the memory. "He looked like a God."

His hair shimmered like silk, his smile made of pearls. Emerald eyes- Amber, to George- and skin mapped out with a constellation of freckles.

It would make anyone weak in the knees, George tried to convince himself. It's not just a me thing.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of them, Dream would hang about George's shoulder like a guardian angel. Even more occasionally, he would drape his arms around George's middle, hold him all careful and quiet. It undid George like scissor to thread.

Dream was the sun as George was the moon. Tanned skin on pale, dark hair on light.

And on these rare occasions, where Dream decided it was just the time to bend over his shoulder in that familiar way, an eclipse occurred between them that neither could describe in words.

Every time, without fail, George remembered that moment, that first meeting in the sun- every second of it ingrained into his very soul. And when he looked down at the cautious touch around his middle, Dream was holding him with hands of gold.

Chapter Text

The breeze blustered his loose curls around his face, brushing about the high cheekbones and sharp jawline in bright wisps. Dream didn't seem much disturbed by this- just closed his eyes, the gentle smile from before fixed to his mouth.

George didn't think he'd ever seen anything more beautiful.

Dream always seemed most at peace in the depths of the natural world, and George was glad for it. He resembled an arresting painting of a seraph- it was quite a sight of which George had the honor to witness.

Dream had taken them out to an empty feild, a sea of grass and swaying fronds that spread out every direction. In the centre of the jade ocean, a greening willow tree surged up from the soil. Sheltered beneath the branches of this ancient tree, Dream and George sprawled out next to each other in near silence, enjoying the view of a clouded sky. The sun was nestled deep behind these billowing clouds, hiding her glowing face.

After a while, Dream picked up on the stare pressed curiously to his skin. His eyes fluttered open, and the brilliant green of his ireses glimmered in the dull light.

The two made eye contact for a second, silent and warm- before Dream flashed a charming grin that exposed his fang like canines, and made George want to curl up and cry.

Dream's beauty did that to him sometimes. He just wanted to sob, and sob, until he understood how one man could be so flawless. Unfortunately, he was still yet to discover the answer to that.

George shuffled back in mild surprise as Dream suddenly sprung to his feet, and the next thing George knew, the younger man was clawing his way up the ancient bark.

George laughed as he watched trainer slide on wood and large hands grapple with the maze of branches above.
Though he could only see the back of the iridescent head of curls, he could tell Dream was still grinning.

With one last heave, the climber hauled himself up onto a disproportionately small branch. He crouched precariously, poised like a cat, testing if it held his weight.

George wasn't laughing anymore, but his mirth had traced the ghost of a soft smile onto his lips. He gazed up at the man above him.

Dream turned to meet his peering eyes, when behind his head, a wispy cloud of mist and pure white finally shifted its weight from the sun. She blazed through the branches, framing Dream in a golden aureole.
It mirrored that sunlit scene of the first meeting, something that was conjoured into George's mind in a heartbeat. The same sort of rush to his head and adrenaline through his body accompanied this memory, rendering him speechless. His heart leapt somewhere in his throat.

Dream beamed down at him widely, and all George could do was let his breath vanish from his lungs and carry off in the wind.

Done for. Absolutely done for.

Chapter Text

They left the field laughing and bright. Dream still had a thin green leaf stuck to one of his curls- smile on his face, George chose not to mention this for now. It was sweet.

On the drive home, the sun followed at their heels, forever an obedient beast. It streamed through the windows, heating the dark leather seats and casting a glare across Dream's face as he drove.

George was surprised the other could see, but he looked rather content, eyes still in focus.

Eventually, the vibrant yellow melted to orange, and golden hour settled over them. The sun was inside the car with them, painting their skin and bathing the interior in light. Neither man seemed to mind. It was warm.

Some faint song was playing on the radio. The Beatles, or something George would class as vintage. It was tinny, and not to George's particular taste- but he tolderated It. It fit the atmosphere quite well.

The golden sundrops had caught Dreams eyelashes, the light bouncing off of them. He looked quite perfectly at home.

George was actually starting to quite like the song- it was defenitley The Beatles, he was sure!! He had a friend who used to play them all the time in middle school.

Dream shifted in his seat, sighing softly, and broke the trance. George realised how hard he had been staring.

He decided instead on peering out at the road, hard tarmac rolling endlessley underneath the wheels. He would be the first to admit it was far less fascinating than his best friend- but he wasn't getting caught out, not today.

He couldn't bear the way Dream grinned at him whenever he caught George staring- it would destroy him now, in the heat of the sun. He'd wither away. So.. Eyes on the road, the hot tarmac, the dullness of it all.

It didn't really matter. They'd be home soon anyway.

Dream pulled into the drive, and George loosened up and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The silence and forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road had made him unknowingly tense.

The song warbled to an end, and Dream turned the engine off.

"I liked that song." George commented, passively. The thing that he didn't say was that it had reminded him of Dream himself, the way it was airy and sunny, like happiness if it was a song. And Dream was happiness, if it was a person.

Dream brushed the leaf from his hair and opened the car door, cool air rushing in.

"Yeah, it's The Beatles most famous love song. 'All You Need Is Love'."

George sighed.

Their most famous love song.

Of course it had reminded him of Dream.

Chapter Text

George trailed in behind Dream, eyes fixated on him as they ambled up the drive.

His loping, confident gait. The slight swing of his broad shoulders as he walked. How the sun- still watching them with love overhead- hugged every angular, sharp corner of his frame.

George looked on shamelessly. There was no one but the watching sun to judge him.

When they got inside, his eyes fled to the floor, and he beelined for the stairs without another word to Dream.

He stopped at the foot of marble steps to let Patches weave between his ankles as a way of welcome, peering curiously up at him when a wild piece of grass from his jeans stuck to her whisker.

George smiled down at her, thinking of the leaf in Dream’s hair. Like father like daughter.

The smile only lasted for a moment.

He left Patches in her confusion the second he caught himself circling back to Dream. He cursed him self as he ascended to his bedroom- there wasn’t a waking moment where he didn’t think about his best friend, was there? He wanted one moment, one pure moment, that wasn’t sunbleached by the man in the back of his mind, with the loping gait and broad shoulders and sunny smile.

He huffed as he entered his room. That was all too much to ask.

He spend the next hour curled up in his bed, door shut to the world and desperate to distract himself.

Before this wasted hour, he had briefly consulted the small, handheld notebook he kept on his dresser.

Usually, it was used for George to write down all the little thoughts that he wanted to. Ideas, plans, important things. Things he wanted to remember.

He had been wanting to note down his favourite moments from the day out, hoping it would help break the cycle of hyper-fixated thoughts. At least, the ones about Dream.
He would have also liked to have scribbled down the name of that godforsaken Beatles song, if he hadn’t already forgotten it.

Yet… once he was confronted with the blank stare of the white, empty page, he found himself too pressured to write anything at all.

He abandoned it on the dresser, cursing himself again- and instead getting lost in the eternal, viciously addictive cycle of the internet. It was mind numbing, yes, but hopefully just enough so to distract him.

Thirty minutes in to the endless scrolling, he was interrupted by the creak of his door being prised open.

He looked up from his phone with interest, wondering if Patches had came to visit him again- or better, Dream- but was met by the tired face of his other housemate.

Sapnap leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at his bleary eyes. The distinct, comforting smell of weed carried with him, leaking into the confined space.

“You were smoking while we were out?”

“Yyuh.”

“You said you wanted to stop.”

“I was bored. Where did you go?”

George sat up, too exhausted and irritable to be bothered with small talk. He sighed, in a fed up manner- but Sapnap didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t know. Dream drove.” George answered shortly.

“Took you somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

There was silence. George closed his phone, placing it on top of the notebook beside him. When he looked back up, Sap seemed in deep concentration, and was giving George a funny, unintelligible look.

Eventually, all he burst out in was a useless comment.

“You and Dream are always going places together.”

George nodded. Sapnap frowned.

Then he left, the pot scent lingering- and peace was restored.

Chapter Text

A few hours later, when George's head hurt too much to remain on his phone, he hauled himself out of bed and crept from his room.

He blinked hurriedly as he walked down the stairs, trying to adjust to the exterior light. He hadn't realised what a dark pit his bedroom had been.

The idea of interaction with the others had not felt much appealing, but the muffled sound of the voices he was so used to beckoned him like a warm fireplace.

George stepped through the house on light tiptoes, absentmindedly scanning for the cat he had left earlier on this floor of the house. He eventually found her in the same room where he discovered his housemates- nestled in the corner of a cushy sofa in their large but cosy living room.

Sapnap, who seemed to have sobered up since their last meeting, was the first to notice George’s appearance- briefly glancing up from the large flat screen TV that was rolling a high quality picture of some gritty-looking action film.

The cap-cladded man mumbled a greeting, and George didn’t feel the need to respond. He ambled over to the sofa, to where Patches was situatied.

Dream just happened to be located on that same piece of furniture.

George had felt the Floridian’s eyes jump up to observe him only a few heartbeats after Sapnap’s had, but George hadn’t had the confidence- nor will- to meet the searching stare.

He didn’t even turn to acknowledge Dream as he ensconced himself beside his blonde counterpart- but Dreams eyes refused to shift, locked on George unfailingly.

George let out a slow exhale, and reached out to pat the feline laying on his other side. She raised her small head into the palm of his hand, and the feeling somewhat calmed him.

After a few seconds of his hand gliding over Patches’ fur, Dream’s intent seemed to ebb away, stare departing.

George finally relaxed, sinking into the spongy material of the sofa- only for all his muscles to become instantaneously rigid at a low, whispering voice sounding in his ear.

“Where have you been?” The breathy, accented voice queried.

George glanced at Dream, wide eyed, and found the other far closer than he’d expected.

He could see the mark of every ephelidic freckle light across his nose bridge, every twisted strand of flaxen hair that fell astray. Every dark blonde eyelash and reflection of flashy blue from the TV screen in the depths of his green (colourblind corrupted yellow, of course) irises.

George swore he stopped breathing for a second, swore the entire world halted and paused for breath in that moment, too. Just for Dream, always for Dream. The world would always stop for him.

“My bedroom.” George replied.

He had to strain to keep his voice stable, a crack or shake threatening to break free from his tight throat. Dream leaned back, supposedly satisfied.

Their other housemate seemed to not have noticed, purposefully watching the movie and completely oblivious to the pair on the sofa.

When Dream’s eyes joined Sapnap in observing the screen, George closed his eyes in both relief and despair.

It was the littlest things. The littlest things that tore him apart only to put him back together. The littlest things, that reshaped his mind, that robbed him of thought. That unwound him, released him, left him vulnerable and aching with pieces missing but a promise of undying love.

Dream did only the littlest things. What misfortune they, without fail, were all-consuming to George.

The closing of his eyes must have, at some point, cast him to the hungered clutches of sleep.

He only awoke a while later, when he felt a shoulder carefully bump against his.

Drowsy, vision blurred, he only managed catch sight of a leg, bouncing up and down habitually- a tanned arm, near to his body, close enough to wrap his hand around- before exhaustion dragged him back under; and only the subconscious knowledge a safe, warm presence impossibly near kept him resting.

When roused for the final time, the living room was cast in darkness. Patches was no longer curled beside him, and the television screen was a sheet of black. He wondered, groggily, what in this dismal emptiness could’ve woken him- when he became aware of a voice gradually becoming clear to him, sounding like noise meeting ears after breaking the surface of water when prior submerged.

He heard his own name, incanted encouragingly, coaxing him out from his cocoon of sleep.

George’s eyes adjusted to the darkness the precise moment Dream’s voice registered in his brain.

He blinked up dumbfoundedly at the man standing before him, uttering his name softly and filling the silence of the darkly overlayed room.

“…George. You awake?”

George sat up, realising he was incredibly slumped against the cushy sofa.

“Mm- mhm.”

“C’mon, up you get… can’t sleep here.”

Dream’s heavy but gentle hand cupped his shoulder, helping him rise from his comfortable arrangement on the couch.

George stumbled forwards, weary and still a little unstable on his feet- yet Dream caught him effortlessly, two hands holding him up with firm reliability.

George gaped up at the docile blond, and Dream looked back down with an unfaltering stare and unreadable expression.

It was a different sort of unreadable to how Sapnap’s had been- this one more complex, soft around the edges and mellow around the eyes- a slight curve at the corner of his mouth that could be a stolen smile or simply the way his lips rested- either appealing as always.

George was too woozy to comprehend any measure of surprise when those firm hands and strong arms were suddenly slipped around his back, pulling him chest-to-chest into a silent, tight embrace.

As aforementioned- Dream just… had these moments. Had these moments of pure eclipse and gold hands.

George reached up, feeling comparatively fragile, placing his own hands gingerly on Dream’s sides.

The men held each other, comfortable in the absence of noise for a while.

They both kept their breathing minimal and quiet, each afraid he’d be the first to break the perfect silence.

Dream’s golden skin felt as though it could burn through George’s shirt, leaving the imprint of his angel touch on George’s integument.

He let it happen.

This close to Dream’s demure breath, he could pick up on the hint of sugar and sickly-sweetness, something that fit the moment comedically well.

There it was, another little thing immediately ingrained into his memory, which would bite at his heels like a forever disobedient pet and pull him to Dreams’ arms again and again until the end of time, never to be removed.

Always the littlest things.

The sweetness played on his mind even when he was trying to fall unconscious in his own bed- so much so that he went back to confront that empty, taunting page in his little notebook.

By the end of the consultation, the page was hardly deterred, being still almost entirely blank; though now, there lay a tiny, scrawled sentence enclosed by inches of untouched white space.

But the words, no matter how small,  meant more to George than anything he had ever written down.

Only for his eyes, his mind. His cure for the low night.

In his notebook, George wrote:

I bet he tastes like honey.

Chapter Text

George slept deeply, floating through the dreamless night in what felt like seconds.

He was awoken by a sudden appearance in his room, opening the door so a thin bar of light stretched from the entrance to George's pillow.

He opened his eyes unbearably slowly, the lambent sunbeam falling right across his face.

He would've groaned, and rolled over, had it been anyone else- but even in his dreary waking state, he recognised the heavy footsteps, trying to be quiet as they padded into his room.

George shuffled up in his bed, using one hand to try flatten his hair for worry it was bed-rumpled; and the other to pull the sheets higher over him, just so the visitor didn't see his stupid white-and-blue pyjamas.

"Dream?"

The blond intruder seemed to be releived at the fact George was awake, and he no longer had to sneak around- although his sneaking was very poor regardless.

Dream waltzed around the room, inspecting various objects and scrutinizing George's belongings.

"Morning!" He said, affectionately.

George would like to read into the way he had spoken the greeting, but knew better. It was just within Dream's nature to sound loving and caring at all times.

He hated him for that, God knows he did.

"Mm."

George rested against the headboard, watching worredly as Dream made a full circle of his room, inspecting every item within arms reach. He glanced furtively at his bedside table, and held back a sigh of relief to see his notebook closed and covered with his phone.

George had not even yet questioned what his fairhaired housemate was doing in his bedroom, nor even what hour of the morning it was.

"Dream."

He said, a bit more abruptly. The other finally stopped at this, looking over at George in a frozen position, clutching a pile of colored post-it notes.

"Yuh-huh?"

"What're you doing in my room? What... What time is it, even?"

Dream set the post-it notes down, ambling over to George's bed as his eyes lighting up. Spacially unaware as always, he sat promptly on the bed end, looking at George with that expression that meant he was trying not to beam.

"The garden! Clovers. In the garden."

"Wh... What-?"

George's mind still felt foggy. And he was slightly irritated he couldn't move his sheets up anymore, now there was an excitable weight sitting on the end.

"A bunch of clover plants are in bloom! In the garden."

"And?"

Despite the slight sharpness to George's voice, Dream's smile did not once falter. In fact, he looked ever the more excited, swinging his long legs back and forth.

"Come find a four-leaf one with me! A lucky one. I wanna make a wish."

"Never... Never thought you were superstitios, Dr'm."

"No, but lucky charms aren't, like, superstitious. I didn't ever really find any as a kid. I want to now- I have some wishes to make! C'mon, get dressed fast, then come find me outside."

George didn't even get to ask why he didn't pester Sapnap for this task- Dream was already out the door, loud, childlike footsteps retreating towards the stairs.

George shook his head to himself, dropping the grip on his sheets.

Dream couldn't waltz in and demand something at God knows what time in the morning! He shouldn't have to go along with Dream's every foolish whim and obscure goal. He didn't have to be around the Floridian so constantly. It was ridiculous!

Only an idiot would actually go and hunt for four-leaf-clovers with Dream now. Only someone really lovesick.

George sighed.

Looked like he was going four-leaf-clover hunting.

About fifteen minutes later, George was standing in front of his bathroom mirror vehemently adjusting the useless strands of hair that need not be brushed anyway.

He just had a sudden.. Highetened sense of paranoia at how Dream had specifically invited him to go and hang out- no matter how stupid the actual hanging out intentions were.

He'd been doing that a lot latley- getting George to drive places with him, to join him in his room, to come and see something that didn't really need Georges' presence to be validated.

Nevertheless, George wasn't complaining.

Just stressed.

He raised his hand to shield his poor, doeish eyes from the glaring sun, who was just as bright as when she'd woken him this morning.

The dew still clung to the clipped short grass, and wetted his ankles as he walked through the garden in thin soled sandals.

Dream was sitting cross legged in denim shorts and a white T-shirt. George had to avoid the urge he had to just stop in his tracks, and stare in awe at the way Dream managed to look utterly ethereal even in the most bland of outfits.

Somehow managing to make it over to Dream without suffering from heart palpitations, George spoke a greeting as he lowered himself onto the grass by his friend's side.

Dream had that same, elated expression from earlier on his face, but this time couldn't hold back his glowing smile.

"Haven't found one yet. Here- have a look.."

Dream reached out, and took George's singular wrist in his big hand. He pulled George's arm to an outstretched position with his one hand, to which George did nothing but choke down a flush.

Dream proceeded to place George's hand on top of a thick sheet of clovers, that spanned out in front of them like a big puddle of vegetation. His pale hand sunk into the blooming patch of clovers, and Dream let go.

The blond was already back to sifting through the little plants, eyes determined but face set in a smile. He was clearly very, very happy in getting to drag George out here.

George would like to say he'd been as hell-bent as Dream on finding a four leaf, but that would be a lie. He was far more relaxed, much preferring to indulge in the habit of letting his eyes dance over to Dream's tanned skin, bare arms, careful hands poring over ever little shoot of green.

Clumsily, distractedly, George's own hands fumbled through, haphazardly enough to bump against Dreams', causing the other to chuckle softly whenever George blubbered yet another shaky apology.

The conversation was minimal, but whenever there was any, the tones they spoke in were soft and warm. There was no real need to talk, they were comfortable enough just existing next to eachother, basking in the safety of their summer silence.

That was, until George heard a gasp at his shoulder, making him twist his face with squinting eyes to look up at Dream. The sun hovered just above him, watching over the both of them and obscuring his vision.

George had started to know the Floridian sun as a friend- he felt comforted in the knowledge that no matter how cold the nights became, the sun would rise from the ground and leap into the sky with a fresh vengeance.

And, that no matter which way the sun shined, Dream would still be his same iridescent wonder with her light on his back.

"What is it?" He asked, smiling gently at the perfect glassy glow in the other's face as his own smile grew wide.

"I found one!"

Delicately, outstretched his hand towards George- and pinched carefully between his fingers was a small, jungle green clover, with four untainted, dew-sodden leaves.

George laughed enthusiastically.

"Hey, that's lucky! Let's go- what wish are you going to make?"

Dream looked at the clover, then looked back up at George. For a moment, his smile faltered, and George swore he saw his cheeks become a bit more pink.

But the grin returned in seconds, and the sun smiled with him.

"No, telling you would ruin the wish," he giggled. "And trust me, George– I really want it to come true."

Chapter Text

Much like the last, when George went to sleep last night it began dreamlessly. He floated through a black void of no presence and no thought, existing one dimensionally in the liminal space.

Until, as dreams do, the darkness vanished to be replaced by a familiar scene- one, in fact, from only earlier that day.

George sat in the garden, clover patch looking the same as only hours before. There was no sun in the sky, but the surrounding was still brightly lit, as if she was present but simply hiding out of view.

The edges of everything were slightly blurred. Hazy, like looking through a slightly dirty window.

The first thing George noticed is that this time, Dream was not by his side. Nor, come to think of it, was any sort of life- the world seemed silent.

Presenceless- bar George.

But no sooner had that thought crossed his mind, he became overwhelmingly aware of an arrival.

It was like a flashbang, a wave of earthshattering noise that left his ears ringing.

He cried out, and couldn't even hear himself.

The noise settled quickly, and George felt almost forced to looked up, eyes wide and hands trembling.

The arrival stood above him.

It was human- or.. Something human like. It had the rough shape of a person. Someone strong, and tall. So tall.

But it had no features. No real body, even.

It was a thing of pure light, a candescent being so excruciatingly radiant it began to dizzy the human at its feet.

It leaned down to George's height. Or, for want of a better description, it seemed to... Sink into the grass. Grow downwards, melt into the earth.

Then it spoke.

Its 'voice' was a distorted, warped sound that processed as if coming from the other side of a building. It spoke George's name.

George himself was trembling violently now.

Around them, the lawn had been replaced by a rippling sheet of clovers. Every single one, four leafed.

The entity reached out, the echoes of its voice still bouncing around Georges empty feeling cranium.

It grasped his face, and with lips that did not exist, kissed him.

George tried to scream, not out of surprise, but out of pain .

It was not how a kiss was meant to feel. What it did feel like was someone pressing a white-hot poker to his skin, someone destroying him from the inside out. It was a kiss, George knew that much- yet all that it did was burn.

The torturous feeling hardly released his body when the figure of light suddenly flashed back into a standing position, if such a mortal thing as standing applied to this creature.

George frantically tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, but came back with a handful of pearls.

Shattered whole, George tried to raise his voice. Tried to beg a question.

"What are you?!" George wailed.

The entity replied:

"Not real."

Chapter Text

When George woke up, everything was silent, and he didn't exist.

He sat up in his bed, limbs aching in such a way he could tell he must've been tossing and turning vigorously in his sleep.

Cold sweat coated his forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, eyes screwed shut.

He exhaled, tremor in his breath, throat tight.

He wanted to read into it, to try and make sense of the gut-wrenching nightmare that had just plagued his sleep.

But he did what he was best at- forgetting, ignoring, and pretending it hadn't happened.
Just like he did with everything else.

It took a while until the initial panic ceased, and when he was calm enough to just begin to reach out to grab his phone, it became apparent that there was something subtle, practically inaudible, breaking the silence.

A hushed tune, filtering thinly through an open crack in his doorway. It was some song that he didn't recognise, coming from somewhere he couldn't pinpoint.

It really wasn't all that interesting, but it grabbed Georges attention so much that it drew him from his bed- maybe more out of the desperation to be rid of the sheets he'd had that nightmare in than anything.

He shook his head and tried to remove it from his thoughts.
Just like he did with everything else.

George tread softly out into the corridor, following the noise that travelled light as air, a rhythm that was so quiet he felt very nearly deluded he was hearing anything at all.

But it turned out the sound was very real, and led him somewhere that made his stomach sink the second he arrived.

George shuffled his feet, heart in his throat for a reason too complicated to be tangible.

He'd been in Dream's room thousands of times! He shouldn't be put to nerves by this.

Even if it was an unknown hour of daybreak, and mysterious, muffled music was playing.

No. Not nerve-wracking at all.

After a few beats of standing aimlessly outside, twiddling his thumbs, he cursed himself noiselessly for his idiotic behavior, and decided to rap  his knuckles gently on the hardwood.

George hadn’t really expected response. A shuffle of sheets, maybe. A grumble or swear, warding him off.

By this point he'd managed to make up a whole narrative in his head, where Dream was deep asleep, and the music had just been left on overnight.

But he was mistaken, and the voice he was met with was one of a man that had been awake for a considerate time, no trace of a morning tone lingering- which for some reason happened to somewhat disappoint George.

"Come inn.."

George's heart returned from his throat to his chest, but it was racing like a wild animal about to be sprung upon.

He opened the door.

Dream lay on his bed. He was clothed in a creased grey T-shirt, of which had ridden up his side to expose an area of warmly tanned skin. He had maroon, plaid pyjama bottoms, slightly bed ruffled hair, and a sleepy smile on his face.

Oh, god, he's perfect, George thought. I want to cry.

George shut the door behind him out of habit, but his eyes remained on Dream. Individual beams of light covered his body, streaming through the slatted blinds over the window by his bed.

His lamp was turned on at his bedside table, casting a vivid orange circle over his dull black phone.

And from the phone, played some unrecognisable song, with the voice of a hypnagogic, childlike singer serenading over tinny acoustic guitar.

The whole scene had George feeling like he was interfering or crossing a line. This was Dream's personal space, personal time, too personal for George to be witness to, surely. George had convinced himself of this.

But alas. Forever alas. Dream wanted him there.

The other sat up, curls springing from his pillow as he maneuvered himself to a sitting position. They were frizzy, slightly static, and it made him look like an overly blowdried puppy after a wash.

With that welcoming, sickeningly sweet smile threatening to bloom into a trademark grin, Dream beckoned George over.

The standing man half stumbled to the others’ bedside, feeling more bashful than usual, tripping over his own feet and suffering waves of embarrassment.

It was something about the pure domestic feel to seeing Dream like this that had him so... unbound.

Not even sharing a greeting or other word, Dream shuffled over to the side of the bed below the window, leaving a small and conveniently George-shaped space beside him. George managed to do the guesswork by himself, sitting down in the gap Dream had provided him.

He pulled his legs up onto the bed and rested against the headboard. It still felt weird, to be sitting beside Dream, in his bed, at this early hour of the morning- but he was still his best friend, and he’d known Dream for a very long time, so he didn’t find it all that hard to adjust to the environment and settle in just about immediately.

Or at least, to seem as if he was settled. As if his stomach wasn’t sore and only getting sorer as it rolled into tight coils, ready to spring and ensue panic at the slightest wrong move from the drowsy blonde nearby.

George was the first to break the silence.

“What’s playing?”

Dream ran a hand through his thick fringe, doing the same as George and leaning himself against the headboard.

He seemed so liquid. Movements so fluid and mild. You could tell this was his space- he was completely comfortable.

It was a comforting sight, to see Dream so at home, but it gave George a inkling something was impending despite the mundanity of the fact. He always felt that on edge way when Dream acted abnormally, even if only slightly. This time was no different.

“I don’t know,” Dream responded. It was good to hear his voice, so rich and clear, after such a jarring experience of last night.

It still made him almost wince, thinking of the ‘voice’ of that.. thing . It had been so revolting. So painful to listen to.

“-I put on one of those Spotify radio things, I’ve never heard of this song before.” Dream finished his sentence, snapping George promptly out of his daze.

He made a noise of understanding, closing his eyes. The music was so calming, Dream’s mattress was so comfy, and the sun was so warm, and his presence was so consoling, that it was definitely enough to help him forget the nightmare. And also almost enough to send George right back to sleep.

Except, he realised in an instant that closing his eyes and dropping his guard had been the exact wrong thing to do… at least for his poor stomach.

Vision still shrouded in self induced darkness, George’s senses were terribly heightened when he felt the gentle, searching touch find his middle.

His eyes fluttered open, and he stared wordlessly at the gold-skinned arm outstretching over his body, easily long enough to reach the other side of him, to slide a hand dappled with sun kissed freckles into place on his side.

Dream had moved his body to lie down so his head rested on his pillow again, but he had rolled over onto his side to face George.

When the brunette looked down at his friend, Dream was already gazing up at him; eyes glinting in the light that shone through his window, flecks of brighter green vibrant in the sunshine. They seemed pleading, somehow. Needy.

George recognised that familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach, the one as all the coils became undone, as the butterflies filled the empty space and he was nothing but a mess of clustered thoughts and cluttered feelings.

It happened all at once, and through his sudden rush of feeling, he blurted a question of which any observer could have automatically known the answer to.

But in his fluster, his mindless desperation that told him he was terrified of it but needed more- he asked the question  anyway.

“Do- do you want me to stay here? With you?”

Dream kept gazing at him with those big doe eyes.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

The moment Dream was sure George was comfortable with his advances, he didn’t waste a second.

George let himself be moved, limbs feeling porcelain when this godlike individual handled him.

He rolled gently onto his side, featherweight, back to Dream.

He could feel the warm chest press gently to the curve of his spine, the secure arms slip around him, a silent promise of safety.

Now, George thought he really was going to cry.

No nightmares or malicious beings could reach him here.

Dream was comfort, and wholeness, and home.

He wanted to conceal this moment in stone, to fossilise here in Dream’s arms.

Dream didn’t know he was causing a single one of these earth shattering emotions. All he thought he was doing was being touchy, cuddling his best friend.

Which, in fairness to him, was all he was doing on surface level.

Dawn began to bleed away into the horizon as a definite morning sky took shape, and George glowed like the reds and the oranges and the yellows of the changing sky beyond the window.

He could sense it in his soul, and he knew that this was what wholeness felt like.

The song that had been playing slowed to a stop in the background. As the new music filled the room, it did nothing to alter the atmosphere: this new melody was just as calming as the last, making George feel fuzzy when he closed his eyes.

Dream had not said anything else, and seemed to simply be laying in silence. George could feel the ringlets of his fringe brush the nape of his own neck, his head inclined downwards.

Childishly, he wondered if Dream had noticed the song change- and if he felt fuzzy about it too.

The first few lyrics passed over George's head, but he soon found himself listening to them the more they melted into the corners of the sunlit room.

What seemed so blue in the sunlight By the night was a pale green...

The singer's voice was light and infused with whimsy, it made a home in any empty space it discovered. George could feel it in his every breath.

Dream moved his leg, and it brushed against George's calf. He expected Dream to move it, but the song must've been making him feel as drowsy as it was making George feel, because he left it where it lay, not caring enough to move it- pressed against George, gentle and ever so careless.

George wished he knew if Dream was.. aware of himself. If he knew how he lit up rooms and lit up lives and lit up George's heart without even trying. 

Dream was incredibly intelligent. He had made this life of fame and prosperity that he was living almost on his own, building up from nothing, creating everything he had now with his own two hands. But despite all his smarts, he never stopped doing what he did to George. He never second thought anything. He never saw George, intoxicated on the every little thing that Dream did and thought, maybe I should stop .

George's eyelids flickered. He could feel Dreams gentle breathing on the collar of his t-shirt.

There's really no way of winning...

George once again became aware of the song, which had moved on a couple verses or so.

He wondered how close Dream's lips were to his neck, he could feel the warm breath on his skin. Hm.

If in their eyes...

It was a nice song. It really was.

Fuck.

Despite all his tribulation over the actions of his friend, and cursing his own name, George felt a pull deep inside of him, forcing him against his own will to act on an impulse. A yearning.

He opened his eyes, looked once again at the arm around him, adorning him, and moved his own hand with caution.

Closer. Closer. Closer..

..Touching.

Twitching, tempted, slow fingers tracing over the veins of Dream's hand, over the knuckles and single silver ring that he must've have forgotten to remove before going bed.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss every freckle on that skin, the universes magnum opus. Semper fedelis.

As if his thoughts were read, he could hear Dream stifle a chuckle light as air.

In his head, George sighed;

The verse finished,

...You'll always be a dumb blonde.

Chapter Text

George spent the rest of the day beating back solitude, hanging about Dream like an infatuated shadow.

Dream not once complained, in fact he seemed rather pleased that George was willingly spending so much time with him.

The touchiness didn't seem to ebb, even as the morning faded and the sun buried itself behind mountains of cloud, Dream continued to be affectionate.

George found them lingering by windows in their pair, gazing out at the sky and the sheet of blue that became duller as the day rolled past.

"Is it going to rain?" George asked.

"I don't know." Dream responded, despite not even looking out the window at all, and only at his company- with that hazy, distant expression on his face.

Around mid afternoon, almost dusk, George realised that the greying sky carried much more than rain alone.

They were laying on George's bed, window open, finding themselves there after collapsing in a fit of giggles as they often did, over something George could now not even recall.

Dream heard it first.

They had been sitting in a brief silence, Dream taking up the space at the end of the bed closest to the window. All of a sudden, he sat up- alert, eyes searching.

George blinked confusedly up at the sunrise, unawares.

The sunrise in question didn’t return the glance, instead getting up to stand by the open window, surveying the outside curiously.

Then George heard it.

A thunderous clap, a guttural rumble from what felt like miles above them. George sat up.

Having lived in England the most of his life, these sounds were all too familiar to him.. though dredging up a memory.

He hadn’t thought about storms for a while.

Dream, on the other hand, seemed alienated to this dark weather’s greeting. While most would draw the window closed, shying away from this seasonal and often unwelcome visitor, Dream only pushed it open wider.

He gasped with childlike wonder when the lightning crackled again.

He breathed the obvious out in a whisper, as if he was the only person on earth to know it.

“A thunderstorm .”

Dream gradually extended his arm from the aperture, offering himself to the downpour outside. The rain had started as a trickle, yet as if by magic turned to a sheet of wet flecks the second Dreams skin made home among the droplets.

“The first of the season.” He uttered, voice still holding a breathless quality.

George felt somewhat awkward, just sitting there unresponsive; so he, too, rose from the bed and found his designated spot at Dream’s side.

The rain was heavy now, and some stray raindrops were getting blown into the room by excitable wind.

“Dream. You’re gonna get cold.”

George’s voice seemed to snap the enthralled blond out of his trance, and Dream locked eyes with his companion, expression one of earnest surprise, as if taken aback by George’s presence.

Still, though wordlessly, he withdrew his arm from the casement- eyes still on George, all the while.

George himself was beginning to feel there was hardly a moment when those eyes weren’t on him.

Tearing his gaze away, rose blooming on his cheeks, George turned to the window and pulled it shut again.

The glass hushed the storm, but the scent of salt and soil filled the space between Dream and George: residual.

And still…

And yet…

Something else was in the air between them.

Something thin as a sheet, draped gently, almost unnoticeable.

But George could feel it, thrumming behind his ribcage. He could feel it when he looked at Dream, and was met with pools of deep green, not once moved from whence they rested.

He could feel it, like a storm breaking on the horizon. Out of sight, almost out of mind, but there. Right there.

“I haven’t seen a storm in a while.”

“Me neither.”

Out of sight, out of mind, out of sight, out of mind…

Dream glanced away. George hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath.

The younger man pressed timid fingertips to the pane, staring down the outside, like the weather had something to answer for. He inhaled sharply through his teeth, air rushing round his sharp canines and catching under his blunted tongue.

“I don’t mind it.” He admitted, almost a whisper.

Yeah, George thought.

Me neither.

Chapter Text

Dream was.. Different, that night. He kept sparing George these fleeting, measuring glances.

Not that George minded.

When it was too late to have an excuse for listening to the storm together, and they had to say goodnight, the glances seemed to become even more prevalent- and Dream more reluctant to part than ever.

So much so, that just before the words 'goodnight' left his mouth, Dream pulled him into a hug again, burying George in thick folds of hoodie and desperate, almost clutching arms.

Dream let him go.

"Sleep well."

"Um.. Um. Yeah... Bye."

~

George slept well that night.

He dreamt of gold, and honey, and clovers and storms.

He dreamt of sun, of sun, of sun, of sun.

He dreamt of green he couldn’t see and chills he couldn’t feel.

He slept well that night.

He slept whole.

Chapter Text

The rain had passed and dried come the morning, but George felt like he had slept outside- as if cold raindrops had seeped into his skin, making his limbs ache and his joints tight when he awoke.

Trying to stretch, George drew himself from the comfort of those heavy sheets. He had forgotten to roll down his blind the night before, but the morning sun wasn’t yet there to bother him. God knows what time it was.

George moved with leaden steps, on the brink of lifelessness. Despite his wanting to rush back to bed, he knew he wouldn’t be able to return to the peaceful sleep his body was already screaming for.

He was awake, now, and stuck like that- with no sun and no energy.

Something unpleasant and uncomfy thrummed behind his rib age. Sitting. Buried in bone. Something was off, and it soured his mood instantly.

He couldn’t shake the impending feeling. It was like the lurching experience you get deep in your stomach at the climax of a rollercoaster: but you’re frozen in time, the drop never coming.

As he got dressed, as he walked downstairs, as he sat at the table and forced himself to shovel down damp cereal as if he had any appetite. The feeling clung.

This incurable ache eventually caused him to lay his head on the table, irritated, drained. He pushed his bowl away from him with careless hands and an obnoxious screech of ceramic on granite.

The air smelt of rain but the rain had gone. The sky needed sun but the sun hadn’t arrived. George sat and hurt.

He let himself be miserable in a way he hadn’t been in a while. He let it set in and chill him further. He let his consciousness get under his skin, forcing him to curl ever tighter in his seat, practically folding in on himself.

Depraved, exhausted. A match unlit.

Till the hands of a pure igniter pushed against his back.

“You normally don’t get up this early, huh?”

Misery thawed in seconds, melting into the corners of his mind for another sullen morning.

Light, instantly pressed into his body, a warmth unmatched, a new breath taken.

George raised his head from the table, and in the window opposite, he could see both the reflection of two waiting souls, and the very first traces of sun.

“Morning, Dream.”

~

Dream knew like no one else knew.

He didn’t even have to ask, and he could tell that something in George was dislodged.

Without more than a second passing, he was acting as if it was his only life goal to restore George’s missing piece.

He, too, had noticed the bright beams of sunlight, winking through the glass at them. He was at once in motion: his animated, sunny self at work.

“Ooh, George, the sun’s rising- have you seen a sunrise here yet? In Florida? Oh my god-! You gotta, c’mon-“

Despite his firm hold and and large, freckle-flecked hands, the tug on George’s arm was ever so gentle. A beckoning pull. George, hazy as ever, met this encouragement with the most simple response of letting himself be guided.

He rose from the chair, limbs finally unfolding, and was led effortlessly by a warm hand that found itself settled easily on George’s lower back.

Through the kitchen, along the corridor, out the door- the hand never left its place, but the calefaction it brung spread through George like wildfire, so much so that the slightly cooler air outside almost came as a shock.

You would expect that then, the garden would be the best place to watch a dawn sun crest over freshly stormed treetops and wisps of translucent cloud.

But oh, no. This is Dream we’re talking about! And so here was the question that fell promptly from such rosy lips:

“George, how good are you with heights?”

~

The roof was unnerving, and George had lost count of how many times his stomach had flipped.

Dream, of course, took the ascent with ease- edging along the slanted tiles to a safe, flat section of roof, around the disused chimney.

He glanced back periodically, to check George wasn’t becoming overly unsteady– but the older man’s eyes were locked tight on the pair of shoes ahead of him, and was surprisingly keeping his balance well.

It was only when they made it to the point of refuge that George unglued his gaze, legs trembling and stomach writhing more than he’d like to admit. Dream sat down, and George followed suit.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, almost leaning on one another. They had no choice, crammed on the narrow platform- besides, if either man had any room to make some space between them, he wasn’t piping up about it.

George looked at his shivering legs, then at his clasped hands, and then at Dream.

The wind was knocked out of his lungs. Just like that.

Dream had a heavenly smile on his face. It was an expression of bliss that made George forget about his shaking in a heartbeat.

His heart fluttered in his chest, eyes dancing over every freckle that looked to be expertly painted onto golden, tan skin.

And then George blinked, and Dream really did turn golden.

His awed stare turned, away from the nonpareil and across a stretch of grass and woods and the expanse of a never ending sky… a golden film was applied. Everything the light touched became a resplendent yellow, each with its own essence of a beauty only the eyes of the most hopeful could truly admire.

And despite it, when George looked back in excitement, to express the feeling of utter joy that had welled in him at the sight; Dream’s eyes were already on him.

George couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He watched petal red lips move, but the sound of his name that was spoken echoed around his head emptily. He was stuck fast in the moment, eyes locked with the face of a paradise on earth.

A second became eternal.

And then eternity became a memory.

Lost to the clutches of time, the sun rose so high that the magic sunk away, engrained in the heart of every fibre it had illuminated- the gold gone, but the feeling lasting like no other.

George choked down a gasp when the other man spoke, because it was so low, and soft, and close that he could hardly bear the dizziness it instilled.

“How d’you like the sunrise, George?”

He blinked once, twice. Three times, throat dry of words. Eventually, while still utterly entranced, he could only force one word from his rapturous being:

“..beautiful.”

Dream laughed, and he laughed like birdsong and wind chimes and waves.

“Beautiful.” Dream repeated, giggling.

Oh, George reflected;

If only you knew what I thought was beautiful.

If only.

~

For a while more, they talked on the roof- about the storm and the sunrise. George sincerely never wanted to get down.

But after a bit of laughing about what a scolding Sapnap would give them if he found them up on the rooftop, there was a joint decision to descend.

George went first, tiptoeing back along the roof edge.

He became distant in thought, and this time his legs didn’t shake as he walked.

He was grasping at the pieces of the memory like a puzzle. Piecing together why Dream’s eyes had just been… on him. George. Instead of the most gorgeous sunset he’d ever been witness to.

And…

Why had it robbed him of breath? How could it have whisked his thoughts completely away, leaving him empty and whole at the same time? And how had it only lasted for a moment? He had just been..

Lost..

In those eyes, in that split second, in…

Dream.

Dream.

DREAM—

A yell.

A familiar yell. And that’s all it took for his blood to run cold.

Then a silence, and George was trapped where he stood. A mile above ground, above concrete.

And when the yell returned, it gutted him from the inside out.

The scream was a noise that deafened all others. The guttural cry that ripped through George mercilessly.

The pain of every nerve in his heart shattering, fragmenting impossibly and infinitely. A knife that dismembered him down to his spirit, tearing it, too, clean in half.

When the icy clutches of overcoming fright released him, it was too late- he turned on his heel, and George was on the roof-

alone.

And the scream was still devastating,

still terror itself,

still going

and joined by his own.

Chapter Text

George practically flung himself from the ladder on his descent, vision a watercolour blur as he sprinted wildly towards the slumped figure, hurled like a rag doll on the ground.

George blinked away his tears as he got closer, collapsing to his knees beside Dream with a violent slam.

Dream’s screaming had not quietened.

The noise of it made George feel he was made of thread, and someone was yanking at that thread again, and again, and again- unravelling until there was nothing left of him.

It was a sound George had never been witness to. It was a primal, ungodly amalgamation of horror, fear and pure pain- and it flipped George’s world on its head.

George, however, had grown far, far quieter- speaking under his breath, muttering Dream’s name like a prayer. It almost was.

The commotion was enough to alert the most absent of the housemates- and despite his usual late waking, Sapnap appeared from  around the corner in a heartbeat.

Though, George didn’t notice until the other began to approach rapidly- his vision was once again obscured, eyes brimming with vengeful tears.

“What the fu- Wh- oh my GOD ?! What- what the fuck happened? George? I-“

George’s breath stuttered in his throat as he thrust his chin up to stare at the newcomer.

“Ambulance, ambulance- you need to call- you nneed t-to-“

“What?! George, you need to tell me what the fuck’s happened, what’s wrong with Dre-“

Sapnap’s voice was cracking all over the place, doused in a gasoline of panic and his own cowering fright.

Though George was in a state infinitely worse- and didn’t mind holding a lit match to that gasoline.

“CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE, SAPNAP!” he cried, louder than Dream’s torturous noises.

Yet, those were not difficult to speak over, now. The screams had died, and now Dream lay quivering, whimpering thinly. Still, the noise hurt just as badly, destroying George atom by atom.

Dream’s eyes were fluttering at great speed, and George could recognise the glazed over look in shellshocked green eyes that was the definite threat of a blackout.

George slipped a hand under Dream’s head, separating him from the concrete- not minding when his fingers became deeply entangled in the frizz of loose curls.

He was relived to his core to feel no blood on the back of Dream’s head- it seemed he had landed with all his weight on his right leg- which was twisted awkwardly, at an uncanny angle, a dark patch of blood was begging to exude through trouser leg.

Ichor seemed to seep ceaselessly from Dream, a flowing stream of hidden gold.

George wanted nothing more than to haul Dreams pain from his shaking form, set him free from this agony that was gradually forcing him into an adrenaline-induced state of shock.

“Um- um- I’m not sure, he, uh- he looks all- he’s on the ground, on concrete, I’m not sure-“

Sapnap’s voice broke through George’s haze, becoming apparent as he loudly fumbled for words to explain Dream’s ailment to 911.

“His leg.” George choked out.

“Uh- He’s- he’s injured his l-leg- I think-“

There was some muffled talking on the other end, and a silence from Sapnap- who soon stuttered out their address.

His eyes were glued (seemingly petrified) to Dream as he talked, and it took him a while to respond with a:

“Yes, um, tthank you.” Before putting the phone down.

His eyes flicked to George, and they stared at eachother for a moment, taking it all in. The space between the sunrise and the moment they were suspended in, another sun had came crashing down. Sunsets on concrete– it wasn’t right. It felt so wrong it was sickening.

George looked a wreck. Eyes red, swollen; tear tracks run down his cheeks, clutching at Dream, cradling his head like a most cherished possession.

Sapnap just looked frazzled, and very, very frightened.

The standing man cleared his throat awkwardly, casting his eyes to the cruel concrete.

“An ambulance is coming.”

George took a deep breath.

Dream gave a pained whine, quiet and thinner than paper.

“Ok.”

Chapter Text

The waiting room was a chemical-scented purgatory.

George didn't know how long he'd been sat there for, but the stain on the floor between his trainers had seemed to go fuzzy the longer he stared at it.

No one but he and Sapnap were in the confined space, given it was some unknown and ridiculous early hour of daybreak.

As for conversing, that wasn't an option- Sapnap had given up on comforting George what felt like hours ago, as the older, ever shaking man remained almost completley unresponsive.

His head was still swimming. The considerate ambulance operators had asked over and over and over if he was okay, if he was dizzy, if he was in shock.

George just gave a nod or shake of the head, in stoic silence, seemingly on a different plain of being entirely.

To everyone else, he was more detached then ever.

To George, he was anything but.

Aware of every breath he took. How it rattled in his throat. The deafening noise of Sap's sneakers squeaking on the off-white sheet vinyl of the floor. The fluorescent flicker of half dying lights.

And always thinking about Dream. Desperate for him to just be okay.

They were just running general tests, they said. Checking for breaks, checking his head, checking how long they could rip him from George's arms for.

Being so acutely aware of everything didn't take his mind of the image of his best friend. Couldn't purge the echoing yell from his brain.

Just let him be okay. Just let him be fine.

Just let me see him.

And despite being so deep in thought, all it took was one sentence for George to spring alive again.

"You can go in now, if you'd like."

Both the informative nurse and Sapnap almost jumped out of their skin when George leapt to his feet, gone storming down the hall in an instant.

Sapnap tried to catch up in a flustered hurry, but almost had the door slammed into his face as George flung it open.

George had a one-track mind and wasn't stopping, still animatedly quivering as he took in the scene of Dream's hospital room.

Beside an unfittingly small bed stood a deeply tired looking doctor, who was talking to Dream quietly, and glanced up with mild surprise as Dream's housemates clattered in to the pristine, box-like room.

The doctor's exhaustion paled in comparison to how Dream looked.

His eyes, too, wandered to George and Sapnap as they entered.

Usually, Dream's face was a natural light source, a beaming fractal of sunlight making a whole room shimmer in a way that George was so used to his stomach flipping for. Now he looked... Drained.

There was no other word for it. His eyes had a dazed, far away look about them, and his face had no colour to it- a matte, pale canvas of skin that painted him gaunt and melancholy.

George hurried to him and the doctor was fast to remove themself, reservedly shuffling away to gape hollowly at a computer in the corner of the depressing casket of a room.

Sapnap waited at the doorway, looking just as out of place as their hospitalised friend did.

"Dream."

This was the word that tumbled from George's lips as he reached out, and for subconscious reasons unbeknownst to him, threaded his fingers into Dreams curls in a way almost identical to how he'd previously held the distressed blond.

There was no protest to the affection- on the contrary, Dream leaned his head further into George's hand as he laughed, weakly- muttering George's name back to him in response.

"Are you okay?" George whispered, biting back more tears of relief at the fact Dream found himself able to laugh in this state.

"'M fine, 'm fine, George.."

"Does it still hurt?"

"Um... My back, kinda. They said it's really bruised. But I'm okay. I blacked out for a little while, and they- kinda- sorted everything out while I was asleep."

George gently took his hand back from Dream's hair. He could break down crying with relief.

What an experience, to physically feel the pace of your heart return to normal, and the tremble in your body fade, and a little piece of your heart fall back into place from whence it had shattered.

Dream was okay. He was safe.

That's all that mattered.

"'Nd they say I can come home tonight if I'm careful." Dream muttered carelessly.

George blinked.

It was bad enough staying overnight had been a possibility ?

"What.. What have you actually- done?"

Dream inhaled sharply through his teeth, looking up at a curious Sapnap who had joined George by the bedside.

"Um, my leg, it's, uh..."

Sheepish expression on his face, he leaned down and shifted the flimsy dull blue sheet that covered his lower half, eyes flitting away from the concerned faces of his friends.

One more deep breath.

"..Broken. Broken in two."

Chapter Text

By the time they got home, Dream didn't look any less tired.

Sapnap wasn't helping- fervently asking questions back to back, trying to piece together the events leading up to Dream's current state.

The blond man himself answered each of these drearily, looking at his own hands and nowhere else.

In a futile attempt to lighten the mood, the three had settled in the living room and put on some shitty western of Sapnap's choice- not that anyone was actually watching it.

As if it came as any surprised, George's eyes were locked on Dream.

However, he wasn't taking in the usual details he so devotedly admired. Instead, his gaze traced over the CAM boot caging Dream's right leg, and the pair of crutches leaning against his left.

It was so, so painfully out of place.

Dream was a creature of natural perfection, of effortless grace and independence. Seeing him with any sort of mandatory.. assistance, felt- jarring.

Despite how hard he was staring, George’s eyes were quick to dart up when he felt a stare fall hot on his skin like dripping wax.

Dream caught his eye, eyebrows furrowed.

Sapnap was still talking- well, at him , but Dream’s already fragmented attention was almost completely stripped from Sapnap as his stare lingered for longer than could be passive or accidental.

He was met with an expression that made his heart drop. Dream looked confused. Slightly hurt. Still wholly tired, which didn’t help the saddened feel of his articulation.

The guilt scalded George more than the blush on his cheeks did.

And he just kept staring. Staring as if to say,

‘Why are you looking at me so differently?’

To which George couldn’t reply, nonverbally or otherwise.

They just kept their eyes on eachother.

~

Dream went to bed early.

Uncharacteristically stubborn, he wouldn't let anyone help him up the stairs- insisting he could use the crutches himself- with a bitter tone sparking off his tongue.

George wanted to beg him to stay, or wander off to his bedroom with him- but he let the man go.

Soon after, the two remaining housemates also retreated to their rooms in low spirits, the box-office failure left to play loudly to an abandoned room.

George tried to sleep.

He really tried.

But it was near impossible, when painfully aware of Dream only a corridor away, lying miserable in his bed, alone, probably not sleeping either.

George wanted to hurl himself to Dream's side and comfort him, but he knew all too well that that would just end in tears for both parties. The emotions were still too raw to meddle with.

Ideally, the house would be moodily silent as he tried to sleep- would float away into the starless night.

But a noise bugged him, travelled through the walls or under a plaguy crack under the door.

At first, George assumed Sapnap was talking to himself, in some odd endeavor to rationalise his disjointed and unanswered queries.

However, after it became practically unfeasible to tune the voice out, another, muffled voice became clear- talking back.

The more he listened, the more confused George became.

It was clear Sapnap was on the phone, having a lengthy conversation with someone- but.. He never talked like this . On the phone or otherwise.

He was speaking..  softly, which was a word that was never even associated with Sapnap.

Sometimes a fit of giggles would break up the sentences, bubbly and affectionate- like a girly teenager talking to a crush. George would laugh if not for his puzzlement.

Gradually, the voices grew quieter and quieter- until the gentle affections came to an end, the crackle of the phone-voice passed from earshot.

The sound of Sapnap chuckling to himself long after the call had ended washed over George, echoing around his skull as sleep claimed him.

Who?

Who was the new voice,

the hushed star,

glinting in this silent night sky?

Chapter Text

George opened his eyes, and at first, was not alarmed.

Why should he be? He was safe in his own head.

The location of the dream wasn't unsettling, either.

On the contrary- George stood in a peaceful pool, wide but not deep, filled with translucent water that touched in ripples at his navel.

One quick glance around gave the impression he was in a forest clearing, fenced in by age old trees and bright green grass.

It was tranquil. Strangely... Silent. But tranquil.

George couldn't even hear the sound of his own breath as he looked down at his arms, which were tattooed in gold.

A sleeve of images wrapping both limbs- such intricate sketches, that in waking,  his aphantasic mind could never create.

Couldn't even hear the movement of water lapping around the edges of the pool as he tried to move through it, quickly finding he was only able to proceed a few inches at best, as if forcing his way through quicksand.

Strange.

Strange...

And just like that, blood running cold, he noticed.

That... smudged look, of everything around him.

The silence that mutated into a low hum the second of his realisation.

The absence of a sun, despite the perfectly lit environment.

This wasn't a sweet dream.

This was the nightmare.

Taking place in a different location, yet without a doubt, the nightmare. The one with with the beast made of light.

The one that hurt .

In his initial panic; he thrashed about in the thick-feeling water, body not budging.

The hum in his ears grew more frantic, more loud, mirroring a racing heart.

It became clear he wasn't going anywhere. George trembled where he stood.

He knew it- whatever it was- was coming.

The twisted nefilim, blindingly bright in its affrighting.

He closed his eyes in defeat, willing himself to wake up, desperately attempting to ignore the now apparent sound of pearls plopping into the water as they rolled endlessly from his tear ducts.

There was no waking up now.

Not as his eyelids were peeled back by something beyond his control.

Not as his eyes locked with the embodiment of all things light and sharp.

The figure drew closer, sinking into the water. The pearls just kept falling, and falling, and falling.

A voice boomed across the wavelets, so deafening George felt dizzy in a heartbeat.

The being's voice came more clearly than the last dream, but was still.. Significantly distorted.

"Your...fate....."

It echoed. George knew better than to question the cynical opening of whatever sick thing it had to say.

"...it......is written.."

The ripples turned to waves, lashing against George's skin and hurling spray into his wide, tearful eyes.

"but...."

A scream built in his throat. The creature loomed ever closer.

Would it be another fatal kiss? Or worse?

God, it was so loud. It was so loud.

Just stop, please, just stop .

George's vision spun out of control. He couldn't make out anything through the blur, through his despair- nothing but the voice, striking like a fork of lightning and burning his eardrums to nothingness.

Nothing but the wretched glow, finishing it's sentence.

".....who has the pen?"

Chapter Text

Hello everyone. 

My account is now empty. Following the recent allegations around GeorgeNotFound and his disgusting conduct I am no longer having any ties to him, regardless of if they are disproved or not. 

I'm sorry if you enjoyed this. I enjoyed it too, for a time. I might write more in the future- but not about him or the people he associates with.

Keep an eye on this account, I might upload again in the future. I have appreciated the people that have stuck around, from the bottom of my heart. It motivated me and kept me afloat and I love you all. I will be orphaning this fic tommorow. 

Thank you so much

- sgafap