Work Text:
There is a lot about Florida that George doesn’t like, though he doesn’t often voice his grievances. The first time George had braved the heat for more than a walk to or from the car, he’d made no efforts to smother his complaints.
“Dream,” he’d said, dragging out the vowels on a parched tongue. “Dream, I’m thirsty; I sweat out all my liquids, Dreeeeaaaaammmm!!” And Dream had laughed, and bought him a $10 Dasani water bottle from a slimy streetside vendor, and complained the exact right amount when George wiped his sweaty forehead against the shoulder of Dream’s t-shirt.
But later that night, in a house George thought felt a few degrees colder than they’d left it, Dream had said, “it wasn’t too bad, was it? I mean, it gets hot in England, and you guys don’t even have air conditioning.” And he’d sounded scared, almost, desperate for George to forgive Florida. So, George had.
“It wasn’t that bad,” George confirmed. “I’m kinda cold, actually.”
“Oh, you should’ve said something,” Dream said, reaching for his phone to adjust the temperature, but George nudged him further away from the offending device.
“Move over,” George said, an explanation, and Dream bit back a grin.
“Better?” he asked as George nestled himself into Dream’s pillow, bicep flush to Dream’s.
“Mhmm.”