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The only reason Dream decides to do a space that morning is to pass the time while he waits for George to wake up — a distraction if you will.
He quickly falls into the familiar rhythm of answering questions and telling stories, and before he knows it, almost two hours have passed.
A light knock on his door snaps him back to reality.
He glances up right as George pokes his head into his room, dressed in pajama shorts and one of Dream's hoodies. There's something dizzying about him like this; all soft and rumpled from sleep, and really, Dream can't think of a single reason to stay on Twitter for a moment longer.
"Alright bye! Love you guys, bye!" He says in a silly, high voice, and then he's on his feet before even pressing the 'end space' button.
His lips curve into a fond smile as he pads over to the boy in his doorway.
Dream wraps him in a hug as soon as he's close enough, feeling George melt against him like putty.
It makes Dream relax, too and he sighs into soft curls. "Hey, Georgie."
George's sleepy hum gets muffled in Dream's blue sweatshirt.
"Did you just wake up?" Dream asks, subtly, slipping a hand under what is technically his hoodie. His hoodie that he's pretty sure he left on the couch last night and that George is now wearing.
He can't help but smile as he presses his fingertips into the warm skin of George's lower back.
"Yeah, like five minutes ago," George mumbles, moving so his cheek is pressed to Dream's chest. "How was the space?"
"Good," Dream says honestly. "Nice to catch up. I just talked about whatever for a while."
Another soft hum.
"They asked about you," he muses, fully aware of how it kind of goes without saying. Of course, they asked about George.
George breathes out a sleepy laugh. "Wow, no way."
Dream grins, "I know right." He lets his eyes fall shut and nuzzles into mocha locks. Faintly, he can smell George's vanilla shampoo.
They sway a little in place and Dream laughs warmly when George leans all his weight onto him, pretending to fall asleep.
"George," he voices fondly, holding him up by his waist with his hands still halfway under his shirt.
"Mmm," George answers, his smile audible.
And the next thing Dream knows, gentle fingers are slipping past the hem of his own t-shirt; tracing up his sides and making him flush.
"George," he repeats, smiling carefully. "come on, let me make you some food. Breakfast. Anything you want."
Finally, George tips his head back and looks at him, resting his chin on Dream's chest. Their faces are so close it's impossible to ignore, but the Dream doesn't mention it, hoping to stay like this for as long as George will let him.
"You'll make me pancakes?" George asks.
"I'll make you pancakes," he confirms, only a little distracted by the hands touching his bare waist.
"And... you'll rewatch Breaking Bad with me while I eat?"
Dream raises his eyebrows, amused and flustered all at once. "Is that what you want?"
George smiles sleepily. "Yeah. that's what I want."
"Alright fine," Dream says, a soft laugh in his voice. They're being weird right now and they both know it. Maybe that's okay.
"Let's go then," he suggests, giving George's waist a light squeeze.
"Fine. Let's go," he shrugs, not moving an inch.
Dream shakes his head lovingly, regretfully pulling his hands away and taking a step back from their closeness. "Come on, idiot."
And George just laughs, letting himself be pulled out of the room by the hand.