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The faintest glows of light that slipped through stubborn blinds grazed his forehead, leaving a thick patch of glowing silver radiating in its burn. In spite of the hoodie that enveloped him in thick wool, his hands were veiled in ice. George swivels in his chair to stumble towards his bed.
He was energetic weeks ago, when him and Dream were loitering around malls and treading through parks. As of now, he was exhausted; eyes unable to focus on the project on his computer screen. He yawns. Drowsiness coils tightly around his sore head, tight enough for purple to paint across his skin.
Eyelids shut themselves beyond his control. A faint memory of Dream saying that he was going to work on his video echoes in his mind. George’s hand feels around his mattress seeking warm skin rather than wrinkled sheets, silky hair rather than skewed blankets. A longing for Dream boils in his heart; a peaceful night is never complete without him.
He pushed himself to amble towards Dream’s bedroom door, and he knocked. One bang on the door; there was no response. Two bangs on the door; only silence greeted him. Three, four, five; Dream didn’t show up. He stopped moving away when he heard the words, “I’m coming!”
The door clicked, revealing Dream; eyes strained and unable to keep them open for more than a couple of seconds. Despite having errands and work since morning, he had managed to hold himself upright.
“Sorry for not responding earlier, my headphones were on,” Dream explained.
Something in George awakened at the sight of Dream, and in the next second he found his arms wrapped around Dream’s waist, head buried in a valley of hot cotton. Faint scents of strawberry and sweat waft past his nose.
“I missed you, idiot,” he blurted out.
A snicker fell from Dream’s mouth. “George? You called me for a hug and to tell me you missed me?” Warmth flowed through his hair, and he stopped squinting.
He nods, bumping against Dream’s chest, before he looks up to observe an arm move when the hand on his head moves. “I want you.”
“I thought I was the clingy one in this friendship,” Dream chuckled. “The video isn’t finished, and I have to release it in a few days. You can stay with me while I work on it if you want.”
George agrees; he could sit through long hours of editing whenever Dream was around, and he doubted he needed to assist him in anything.
He wobbles, arms tighter around Dream, as they walk towards his office. As the door creaked open, cold gusts of wind pushed his hair backwards.
“The bed is there.” He points towards the bed in the corner, blanket spread across the mattress, pillows arranged in neat rows. “I’ll be here,” he sits on his chair and George’s arms lose their grip, “You’re going to have to yell to get my attention, though; I’ll be wearing my headphones.”
He taps on Dream’s shoulder.
“Yes?”
Words scrambled at the back of his head to mash into a sentence. The way Dream’s gaze questions George threatens to rip his insides apart. “Can I sit here?” His finger pointed to ruffled pants.
“I need this chair; where else would I sit?”
“Not the chair, your…” The word was caught on his tongue.
Dream’s eyes widened, and George wished his feeble body was swathed in blankets instead; curling up in loneliness was much more bearable than having Dream decipher his sentences. “You want to sit on my lap?”
George gave a slight nod.
“Holy–” he cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m okay with that. Come here.”
Wordlessly, he positioned himself on Dream’s lap, their heads only inches from each other.
“Is this too much?” George asks.
Dream shook his head. “How could this be too much when we had the night before?”
A memory replays in his head. How he whined to him about being lonely in bed, how he clinged onto his body until sunrise, how he was searching the room for him while he was taking a shower. He remembers how his finger traced his stubble, Dream always softly giggling whenever he did.
“Maybe this is more than cuddling in bed to you.”
“This is the exact same to me.”
His breathy laugh rebounded after hitting soft skin. George’s arms crawled around Dream’s neck.
“George, I have to continue with my video.”
His forehead knocks into his collarbone as the keyboard clicks slice the silence. George would occasionally trail his fingers into a forest of dirty blonde, would trace invisible swirls on him, until the mouse clicks stopped.
“What do you actually want, George? Do you want me to edit your video?”
“No,” his voice wavered. “I just want you.”
“Is there something going on?”
His heart plunges into a pit of darkness. Dream was someone who cared for him dearly, and he didn’t want him to get worried over nothing.
“No, there isn’t, I promise.”
Softness enveloped his hand.
“Then?”
“I have already said it,” George looked up at Dream. Sparkles flicker in his eyes. He then glanced at his hand; Dream holding firmly onto it. “I just want you.”
“You have never been this clingy. Are you sure nothing is wrong?”
“Dream,” he cupped his cheek with the palm that wasn’t clasped in Dream’s hand. “If there was something wrong, I would tell you. I just want you now.”
“Well,” his thumb swipes across George’s palm. “How badly do you want me?”
“Kiss me,” the phrase flew from George’s mouth without a thought. He immediately takes his hand from Dream’s face and shields his mouth to prevent any more unfiltered words from leaking.
“You… want to kiss me?”
George knew that if he were to say no, he would be lying, and Dream would know given his immediate reaction to the two words that came out from his mouth; raw and wrapped in his own desire.
He removes his hand from his lips, and mutters, articulating clearly, “Yes, I do.”
Dream’s fingers hold his chin as he leans in. His eyes flutter shut as he feels Dream’s lips, cautious and gentle, brush against his. George moves their hands so their fingers interlace.
Dream slouches back into his chair. “Was that alright?”
George nodded. “I thought you were going to kiss me more.”
Almost instantly, as if a switch had just been flipped, Dream jerks back in for another kiss; forceful but still wary. George’s hand grips the back of Dream’s head. The kiss turns into another, and another. When they pulled away, he took in heated puffs of breaths, unable to alleviate his racing heart.
“I want your attention,” George breathes. “Your love, your kisses, you.”
“Then have it.”
Dream carries George towards his bed, and lays him on the mattress. He hovers above him, and dives into soft lips once more; deeper, impatient, as if his urges had been waiting as long as George had. Eventually, the kisses turned slow, longer, more passionate.
“You mean so much to me,” George disclosed, his mind melted into a mess of adoration and excitement. He swallows.
Dream connects their foreheads, hot breaths brushing onto the tip of his nose. He burns his wrists into George’s waist. “I had always loved you, George.”
“I know you have.”
George meets his lips again when he can't speak, hands finding their way to rest on Dream’s shoulders.
“You’re so precious to me,” Dream says. “You always have been.”
He collapses on top of George.
“Dream, you’re suffocating me.” George chokes out. “Get off, idiot.”
“You cuddled me first, now I’ll do the same.” Dream buries his head into the crook of George’s neck, sprinkling soft pecks onto his skin. George softly giggles before he lets his arms drape over Dream’s back. They sleep until noon.