Playing the Game (DNF)

18

After George gets up from resting, Dream briefly explains the situation he had questioned him about. He leaves out some details, making it seem less serious and like Drista was less involved in the whole thing. He almost feels embarrassed that he needed his sister to help him realize he wasn't completely straight.

The group spends the rest of the day together, counting down the hours until dinner time. At around 5 PM, they begin to get ready. George insists that Dream gives his opinion on his outfit.

He quickly scurries off into Dream's bathroom, carrying a bundle of clothes and leaving Dream waiting on his bed. Dream inspects his own outfit while he waits.

The door slowly opens, revealing a smiling George. He does a quick spin, showing off his outfit. Dream instinctively smiles.

"So, what do you think?"

Dream giggles and stands up to walk over to him. He reaches out for George's small hands, looking him up and down. He wore the pink button up they had gotten together. Dream gulps as he remembers that moment. It was the first time he let his real feelings take over. It all made sense now.

"You look great," Dream whispers with a beaming smile.

"So do you," George smiles up at Dream. Dream looks down at himself. "That green looks really good on you."

Dream wears a forest green formal shirt. He has it tucked into a nice pair of pants that look perfectly smooth. He had spent a long time ironing out every crease in them.

Dream blushes a light pink and crinkles his eyes.

"And while I love this," George traces his hands up and down Dream's arms, inspecting him closely," I can't say the same about this." He brings a cautious hand up to brush Dream's mop of hair to the side.

Dream crinkles his nose in disguise and confusion. His mouth forms a straight line.

"And?"

"Clay, it looks like an animal nested in there."

Dream huffs and runs his hands through it as well, avoiding the judging eyes of George.

"Well, if you care so much about it, maybe you should do something about it," Dream sarcastically shoots back.

"I'm not gonna-"

"Then why'd you bring it up?" Dream interrupts.

"I'm just saying, if it were my hair, I'd consider styling it," George points a flat hand at his chest.

"I know absolutely nothing about hair," Dream travels his eyes across the smaller man in front of him, "but, I do know of someone who does."

George curiously hums and smiles, a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

The tangled mess of bent, blonde waves lingers temptingly in front of George. He chews on the inside of his cheek. "I guess we do have some time before we have to leave."

Dream giggles softly as George pulls him into the bathroom. He rummages through a a few drawers, pulling out a comb and a styling gel. George positions Dream in front of the mirror. George's tiny frame struggles to reach the top of his head, resulting in a rough combing job. Dream winces and bends down so that George can reach.

"Sorry," George cringes quietly.

He brushes through every last knot, leaving Dream's hair a frizzy mess. Dream nervously peers at him, George reassures him that he knows what he is doing.

Eventually, George begins to run a wet brush through Dream's hair. The cold water drips down his back, sending an array of shivers and awkward spasms through him. George squeezes a generous dollop of the gel, spreading it across his hands. He applies it evenly through Dream's wet hair and then scrunches it upwards. Tiny waves and loose ringlets begin to form.