Inception {Dreamnotfound}

8 | Pieces | 8

-George's POV-

"Good morning, sunshine."

I blink the sleep from my eyes in blind panic, trying to focus my vision on the owner of that voice. His face is only inches from mine, watching me with childlike amusement as I blush yet again at the pet name. He boops my nose gently, and I watch his freckles merge as he wheezes, the sweet yet husky sound evident he woke up barely minutes before.

"Good morning, idiot," I mutter, scowling when the insult only makes him laugh harder. Clay smirks at my irritation, mumbling a signature 'oh c'mon' under his breath.

"What's with all this stuff?" I ask, noticing pale clumps of yellow dusting him. I reach a tired hand into his hair, brushing away the pollen and silently begging the rest of the bedsheets aren't as covered in it as he is.

"You look like a fucking flower."

"Is that a compliment?" he asks in mock innocence, and I shrug, not really knowing the intention of the phrase myself. "More of a statement to describe how much of it there is."

Clay grins evilly, suddenly shaking his head like a dog and creating a powdery cloud of pollen. "Hey! Stop that!" I yell, throwing my hands up in hopes of shielding my eyes. A mischievous laugh fills the room, and I open my eyes again unsurely.

"That wasn't funny," I scowl, pushing my hands against Clay's chest in the hope it'll knock his balance. Which it does, thankfully, sending him crashing back into his blankets beside me.

"I thought you liked flowers, Georgie!" he splutters, and I shoot him a glare, knowing he's only doing this to irritate me. "Do not call me Georgie," I snap, not quite meaning it.

"Oh, but you like being called sunshine?"

"Sunshine is special, you know that."

I think back to when Clay used the phrase a few minutes ago, realising it's identical to the very first thing he said to me. "The look on your face tells me you only just got the joke," Clay smirks, and I throw the blankets over his head to shut him up.

"Whatever," I mutter quietly, pretending I didn't appreciate the little reference. At least this time the name makes sense, and I can appreciate the meaning behind it. It's enough to make me blush just thinking about, which is embarrassingly sappy.

"I'm going to check on Tubbo," I tell my still laughing boyfriend by means of goodbye, leaving him to sort out the mess he's created in our room.

Clay was the one who suggested we stay in this camp instead of the ones we used the last time we were out here, and I was surprised to find he wasn't exaggerating about how big it was.

From the ground it didn't look like much, but once inside the camp itself, I couldn't believe so much space could be hidden in a tree so well. It's perfect for the six of us to stay in.

Maybe forever...

The thought of having somewhere like this is comforting after so long of uncertainly. Of spending months not knowing if our current home will still be there for us tomorrow, or if our supplies will last.

The risk of being attacked is still present out here, but it's far less likely. Nobody would get anywhere near before being spotted by at least one of us, which makes me feel more at ease. Not quite safe, but as safe as I think I could ever be anymore.

But what I see when I enter Tommy and Tubbo's the complete opposite.

The older of the two is curled up on the far side of the room, hands clasped over his ears like he's trying to block out noise. His legs are tightly curled into his chest, quivering with every shaky breath he manages to gasp out.