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“I am so tired,” Dream’s voice comes through George’s headphones. George checks the footage from the gym camera and – sure enough – Dream is sprawled over the floor, looking like he’s trying to imitate a starfish. George suppresses a giggle.
“Well, well, well, how the turns have tabled, Dream. Remember how you called me a dramatic, whiny bitch yesterday?”
“Geoorge,” Dream whines again, throwing an arm over his eyes, wincing when that digs the VR-headset into his face. “Ouch.”
George – knowing fully well how much this can hurt from his experience of walking straight into a wall – for once doesn’t laugh but gets out of his chair and makes his way to the gym. Not for the first time he curses their gigantic mansion of a house for how long it takes him to reach his boyfriend. It is pouring outside so he sprints to their guest house, taking the back entrance that takes him directly into the gym.
Dream doesn’t seem to have moved in the last minutes and George is wondering whether he even noticed that George had abandoned him on Discord.
“Hi baby,” he says softly, when he kneels next to Dream’s head. He gently takes off the headset, making Dream blink at the sudden change in lighting. Dream smiles up at him with a dopey grin. If George didn’t know him better, he would think he was drunk, but his Dream-knowledge is vast enough to know that he is simply overtired. No wonder, they had started recording almost ten hours ago and George knows that Dream hadn’t slept a wink since they finished George’s video, focusing instead on fixing all the bugs.
Now that he is close to Dream, he can see the sweat stains on his shirt. George clicks his tongue, brushing a damp strand of hair from Dream’s forehead. “You smell like an old gym sock.” It’s a lie – an obvious one at that. Dream knows exactly how much George likes his smell, especially when he has worked out. But he needs to get Dream to move somehow.
Dream groans, burying his face in George’s thigh. “I can’t mooove,” he mumbles into the fabric of George’s sweatpants. “Just leave me here. I’ll become one with the floor. Call me Floor-Dream.”
George rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his endeared smile. “Floor-Dream is not sharing a bed with me tonight, that much is for sure. You’re coming with me, and we’re taking a shower before you even think about getting your sweat onto our bed.”
Dream cracks an eye open, fixing George with the most pitiful look he can muster. A look that he has mastered in the past two years. “But I’m too tired… I walked at least two miles today. Two miles, George!”
George doesn’t tell him that for most people, two miles is less than what they regularly walk a day – they are both highly aware that one glance at their average step count would send a doctor into a coma. He’s pretty sure that someday they will manage to get a negative one.
“Too bad,” George gets to his feet, grabbing Dream’s arm and trying to pull him up. Even though George has worked out lately, it feels like trying to move a sack of bricks. “Oh my god Dream, I need a tiny bit of effort from your side, if you wanna get some sleep soon.”
Dream whines again, but he grudgingly lets George haul him to his feet. He sways for a moment before slumping against George’s side, draping himself over George dramatically.
“Right,” George mutters, barely managing to keep them both upright. “If you fall asleep standing, I’m leaving you here.”
Dream mumbles something unintelligible, but George knows better than to let him stay still for too long. He is pretty sure, that once Dream’s head hits the pillow, he will sleep for at least 24 hours straight. But at least that might get him into a regular sleep schedule again, considering they recorded until 10am.
They slowly make their way to the main house, getting soaked in the process. George thanks every god – even if he doesn’t believe in one – that Dream’s room is on the bottom floor. He is certain that they both would die trying to get up the stairs right now.
Guiding him towards the ensuite bathroom, George drops Dream onto the toilet seat and turns the shower on. Immediately, he second guesses himself, turns off the water and heads towards the bath instead, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise, before plugging the drain. He digs through their bathroom cabinet, pulling out a vanilla scented bath bomb and two towels.
After throwing in the bath bomb, George kneels in front of Dream, who has slumped against the wall, his head lolling to the side as his eyes drift shut. Gently, George tugs at the hem of Dream’s shirt, trying to peel the damp fabric away from his skin.
“Arms up,” George instructs, his voice soft but firm, hoping for at least a little bit of cooperation from Dream’s side.
Dream groans but obeys, lifting his arms lazily as George pulls the shirt off and tosses it into the laundry basket. His shorts follow soon after, leaving Dream in only his boxers that are quick to be discarded. George takes a second to take off his own shirt, not wanting it to get soaked in water, before leaning in, brushing a knuckle against Dream’s check. “Hey, look at me,” he says, his tone gentle. “You with me?”
Dream cracks one eye open, a tiny, sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “Always with you,” he murmurs.
George huffs a laugh, his cheeks tinted pink. “Sappy idiot. Get in the bath.”
George manages to shuffle toward the tub with George’s help, the promise of warm water enough to get his legs moving again. George steadies him as he steps in, sinking into the steaming water with a sigh of relief. His head falls back against the edge of the tub, his eyes slipping shut as the tension melts from his shoulders.
George watches him for a moment, fondness blooming in his chest. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” he warns. “I’m not fishing you out if you start snoring.”
Dream cracks a smile, his voice thick with exhaustion. “You totally would. You love me.”
George rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he grabs a washcloth and kneels by the tub, wetting it before gently dragging it over Dream’s arms and chest. Dream hums in contentment.
“You’re spoiling me,” Dream mutters.
“Someone has to take care of you,” George replies, rinsing the cloth. “You deserve it.”
Dream blushes, having never quite got used to the love George expresses to him.
By the time George finishes washing his hair, Dream looks more alive, his skin flushed from the heat of the bath, his breathing slow and even. George drains the tub and wraps him in a fluffy towel, guiding him toward the bedroom.
Minutes later, they’re both bundled under the covers. Dream is curled into George’s side like a cat looking for warmth, his body pressed close, and his head tucked under George’s chin. His hair is still slightly damp, sticking to his forehead, but George doesn’t mind. He cards his fingers through the curls, gently combing them back.
“Comfy now?” George murmurs, his lips brushing against Dream’s temple.
“Mmhm,” Dream hums, already halfway to sleep. “Thanks, George. Love you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” George mutters, his voice soft. He presses a kiss to Dream’s hair, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against his own. “Get some sleep, you big baby. I already know you will go edit for two days straight once you wake up tomorrow.”
Dream doesn’t reply, his breathing already evening out as he falls asleep. George smiles to himself, pulling him closer as the rain patters softly against the window. It’s peaceful, and not for the first time since they started recording, George feels his own eyes growing heavy. This time, he doesn’t fight it anymore and gives in, the lullaby of Dream’s even breaths soothing him to sleep.