Helium ~DreamNotFound~

Doorways

They settled on a low-ceilinged hoagie restaurant, small enough to not threaten them with being recognized, but large enough for Dream to easily stretch out in the warm booth. Their post-airport lunch is light and leisurely; warm foods, trivial chatter, recounting of inside jokes to blanket traces of subtle unease.

Certain pauses in conversation carry a half-given beat of awkwardness, of clumsiness, as they collectively learn how to exist in the same space together. Sapnap falls silent when soft chuckles die down, and Dream can tell he's nervous. George idly rearranges the napkin and utensils before him, and Dream guesses that means he's nervous, too.

A lot could weigh on this, they know. Yet with the way that George smiles when Sapnap teases Dream, or how they begin what could be a week-long fight over who has the rights to his car's passenger seat, Dream feels they'll fall into comfort in no time.

Maroon leather slides against his back as he reclines in his seat, dragging a napkin over his mouth. George picks at his fries from across the table. Despite 'not being hungry yet,' Sapnap snags a few stray seasoned wedges, his elbows nudging Dream on the retrieval.

"I'd say this meal is pretty American," George says.

"They are greasy," Dream agrees, staring down at the half-eaten lump of bread and meat on his plate. "Still good, though. Are there any foods here that you've thought about wanting to try?"

George shrugs.

"We could go to that one Mexi place," Sapnap says.

Dream tips his head at him in confusion, until Sapnap vaguely gestures with his hands a large, burrito shape. "Oh."

George's dark eyes lift from his meal to meet Dream's gaze. "Up to our host."

He smiles. "Up to our guest."

"Don't lie," George says, "I know you have some kind of itinerary. I can feel it."

"True," Sapnap inputs before Dream can argue against it.

"Not an itinerary." He leans forward, and spitefully steals fries from George's basket. "It's just like, a list we jotted down of stuff to do while you're here. If you want to, I mean. They're just suggestions."

George's eyebrows raise. "A list?"

Instead of only hearing the warm amusement lying beneath the surface of George's voice, Dream witnesses it happen. The way it shines in his eyes; curls his taut mouth together.

"A list," Dream repeats in confirmation. He nervously chews the fries, and raises a palm over his mouth as he muffles, "It's probably in Sapnap's room, somewhere."

George grins. "It's handwritten?"

"I dunno why you sound so surprised," Sapnap says. "Dream makes 'em all the time."

"I did not know that." George looks at him, head tilting in an unspoken question.

"It's a good way to pass the time," Dream answers. Hesitance trickles into the soft syllables of his reply, and he smooths his thumb over the folded creases he's made on the napkin in his lap.

George smiles, quizzically. "Why handwritten, though? I use my notes app for everything."

Dream glances at him. Tracing graphite over soft lines on paper gives his world order, and traps his words in safety. What he chooses to sink into the ringed notepad of his groceries or pages of his journal is controlled; secluded.

In short, 'accidents' are harder to send.

"Writing stuff down helps me organize my thoughts a bit more," he says, keeping his tone even to not bait anymore interrogation. When he sees that George seems satisfied with his explanation, he looks away.