Work Text:
"'Little light…
'Can you not see that little light up there?'
'Where?'
'There!'
'Where?'
'Over here…'
'You still in bed?!'
'Wake up, sleepy head!'"
– Waking The Witch, Kate Bush
“Baby.”
The voice filters through George’s subconscious, tugs at the threads of his state of dreaming. He shifts, pushes his cheek into soft comfort and silk; it’s cool on his skin.
“George.” That voice again. “Honey, wake up.”
He’s pulled out of dreaming, tugged up through the clouds and surfaces. He blinks blearily into a room that’s dim and, thankfully, not at all lit up. His eyelids are weighed down with sleep, heavy as iron.
“There you are,” Dream murmurs. “Time to wake up, sweetheart.”
George lets his eyes close again. Gives into the drowsy need trying to pull him back under. The one begging him to just let sleep close in and let him float away. It would be so easy …
He feels a hand touch his forehead, ever the softest, pushing his fringe off his forehead. It’s warm skin gracing his own. It’s gentle fingers carding through his thick hair. It’s so, so familiar.
And George is familiar with the feeling of gentle words and touches pulling him out of his head.
A soft chuckle. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
George flutters his eyes open again, despite the ache resting behind them. He swallows against his dry throat, always so parched in the morning, and softly smacks his lips. His eyes meet Dream’s. “Mmh—hi.”
“Hi,” Dream says. He’s smiling—always so smiley—and bright—always so bright. He’s the epitome of sunshine in their Los Angeles bedroom, despite the curtains being completely closed. “Tired?”
George closes his eyes again. Sighs through his nose. But he’s awake this time. “Mm,” he says, “always.” He blinks back up at Dream, resting on his elbow and hovering just slightly over George’s side. “‘M always so fucking tired,” George mumbles, “‘nd then there you are, wide awake, when I’m not.”
Dream’s smile grows. He chuckles, breathy and quiet in what George considers to be morning (almost midday). “Two halves of a perfect whole.”
George has to roll his eyes. “Two halves of a whole idiot,” he mutters. Then blinks. “Wait—”
Dream giggles and falls back into the pillows. “You’re so sleepy,” he says, turning his head to meet George’s gaze. “So cute.”
And George is simply too tired to deal with any teasing and just throws an elbow over his eyes. “Fuck of’,” he grumbles, accent sneaking through stronger than usual—a remnants of Past-George. “I wanna go back t’sleep.”
Dream hums. George feels fingers trace over his hip bone, bare from shirt having must’ve ridden up in the night—too big on him and typically belonging to Dream. “Well,” Dream says, “you can’t, baby. We gotta get up. Bella’s stream is in a few hours.”
George just grunts. The need to stretch ripples up his spine and he pushes his arms high above his head, reaching for the wall behind their bed and letting out a long whine at the satisfaction of relieving his achy muscles after hours of being curled up against Dream’s side. “Gah,” he says, “my fuckin’ back, bro.”
Dream snorts. “‘Bro’,” he mimics. “Don’t fucking ‘bro’ me while we’re laying in bed together. Naked. And I’m pretty you left scratches down my back last night, if I remember rightly.”
George scoffs. He digs fists into his eyes and makes stars dance behind his eyelids. “I’ll do whatever I want,” he says. Then he curls up back into Dream’s side anyway.
Dream’s fingers find themselves in George’s hair and he scratches at his scalp. George hums happily. “My Georgie,” Dream murmurs, “you’re such a little cat.”
George can hear Dream’s smile. He buries his own dopey grin into Dream’s chest. “If ’m such a cat, then you should le’me sleep all day.”
Dream chuckles and wraps his arm around George. Tucks him closer into his side. “Mm, can’t,” he says. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t sleep your whole life away.”
George sighs, heavy and drawn out. “I guess,” he says. “I’d like to sleep all day, though.”
Dream hums. “I’m sure you would.” He passes a palm over George’s back, scratching along the path of his spine with his nails. “Alright—”
George groans instantly. “No,” he says, “please, Dr’m, c’mon—”
Dream laughs softly, sitting up and pulling George with him. “Baby,” he says, hands travelling to sit on George’s waist, “you need to shower. We both do. And we need to eat breakfast before Mike comes to pick us up.”
“Big Mike,” George mumbles, words folding into a yawn. “Bink Mike.” He rubs a fist into one eye and blinks tiredly.
Dream chuckles, watching him amusedly. “You got it,” he says. “Now, shower time.”
George pouts and drops his hands to rest on Dream’s thighs. He fiddles with the hem of Dream’s boxers, knowing he’s lost the fight. Knowing they’ve made a commitment that they can’t go back on because they really do have to get to Bella’s show since people are expecting them. The internet. Their fans.
George sighs. The life of a streamer. He really shouldn’t complain. “Fine,” he says.
Dream smiles and presses a kiss to George’s forehead before slipping off the bed.
George is still sleepy when they get into the car. He shuffles into the backseat, Dream’s palm resting reassuringly on his spine as he follows, and they both settle into the seats beside each door. George gives Mike a tired smile and quiet hello, before letting Dream take over the conversation. Then, not long after, George is nodding off, chin tipping slowly downward as his thoughts muddle together and quieten.
He wakes up with a slight start when he hears Dreams breathy laugh, and he looks over and blinks, taking a second to process his boyfriend grinning fondly at him and pointing his phone in George’s direction. Dream giggles again and George can’t help the sleepy smile that he gives him before looking away.
Distantly, half asleep, he knows that Dream is recording and he knows that he shouldn’t post it; George’s smile was too fond, eyes too soft, and he can never contain his ‘Dream smile’, as his friends call it, when he’s tired and unconsciously seeking any warmth from the man he loves. He should tell Dream it’s too much, that he’s way too obvious, emotions surely written in the blush warming his cheeks, but George can’t find it in his tired heart to care.
So he lets Dream post it.