Order 73 ~DNF~

𝟙𝟠

𝒢𝑒𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒 𝒫𝒪𝒱

The elevator lights ache. Bastards keep them at full brightness even at night. My solution to that was pressing my face against the mirrored wall, laughing at how funny my nose looked. The woman who got in the lift with us was staring at me with the most interesting expression and I shoot her a cheeky wink.

"Is he okay?" I suppose that was too high-pitched to be Dream's voice. Must be her.

"Dunno. Have no clue who he is." Dream hums, clicking through his phone absentmindedly. I laugh, lifting my hands off the glass and slumping onto his shoulder.

"Dweam don't lie to the woman. We're best friends." I giggle and he shoots me an annoyed glance, waving sarcastically at the woman who gets off at her floor, looking comically confused.

Somehow we end up in the middle of his flat with a ding of the lift and Dream pulls me by the elbow toward the kitchen. I go to say something, and he clamps a hand over my mouth, shushing me.

"Sapnap's here you idiot. I'd rather not wake him up and answer his five hundred and twenty two questions." He hisses, whipping his hand away when I give his hand a huge lick. "Ah, you fucking idiot! Gross!"

"Who's being loud now?" I snort, laughing quietly as he wipes his hand on his jeans, glaring at me.

"Ugh, remind me to give you a huge pile of shit for this tomorrow." He mutters under his breath, grabbing a glass from his cabinet and reaching for the gatorade in his fridge and pouring it in. "Here,"

Who pours gatorade in a glass? Rich people, I remind myself. However, I take it silently, too tired to toss the insult at him. At least it's the blue one, so it doesn't look like I'm drinking piss. He stares at me while I gulp it down, probably wondering what he's going to do with me.

He doesn't seem to like what he decides, sighing as he takes the glass out of my hand. He murmurs to follow him and I do, focusing on my feet so I don't stumble over Sapnap's stuff all over the floor. We walk into a huge room and Dream closes the double doors, turning to me.

"Is this the guest?" I ask, looking around not really registering the dimly lit room.

"Sure," He exhales tiredly, rubbing at his eyes. I hum, still not fully getting it. Instead of trying to figure it out, I let out a quiet whine. Wilbur's belt was digging into my skin and it wasn't very much fun.

I hike up my shirt, pulling out the belt and looking up to see Dream standing there dumbly. "You want a show?" I ask, unbuttoning my jeans. He yelps and turns around, walking swiftly away from me as I laugh.

"You don't even have anything to change into." He protests from the other side of the room. I stop my movements. That's a good point. The top I'm wearing is a little warm but it's fine. It's the jeans that are the problem. The material sticks to my skin with no mercy and the waistband is still digging agonizingly into my flesh even without the belt.

And then a pair of soft pajama pants and a cotton t-shirt is thrown my way, and they stay on my face for a second before I think to pull them off. Dream slides the mahogany door of his closet closed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I-it's fine," I stutter, flushing in humiliation. "I can sleep in my clothes."

"George, I saved you from bleeding out on a cafe floor and stayed with you in a crappy hospital room for two days. I think we're past the normal pleasantries."

"You stayed for both nights?" I ask quietly. He looks up, staring for a second before giving a tentative nod.

"Put the goddamn clothes on." He threads a hand through his disheveled hair, grabbing his own set of night clothes and heading to the bathroom before I can say anything else.