thirty-six hours with you | georgenotfound x reader

4. the set up

Saying yes to the idea of going to Florida is different than the actual act of going to Florida. For the past two days, I've been walking around like a madman. I got the car route figured out, I got the hotels figured out, I got the packing situation all figured out.

I am all ready to go.

I'm putting everything in the trunk of my car. It's a decent sized car for someone driving across the country. I close the trunk just as my phone rings.

"Hey Dream," I say when I answer.

"Hey guess what." His voice is lined with hesitant-excitement.

"What?"

"You know how you have a really long car ride coming up that I would just hate for you to have to do alone?" He wants something. I can sense he's about to ask for some sort of favor.

I try to wave it off. "I actually like driving alone."

"Well, not for thirty-six hours, right?"

"Um." I'm unsure how to respond to his question, so I laugh nervously. "What's going on?"

"I'm in Wisconsin!" Dream announces.

My jaw drops. "What? Since when?"

"Since last night," he says, "I didn't want you to drive alone for the whole trip, so I just booked a flight."

"How did you know where I live?" I ask. I don't think I actually care; curiosity just fills my brain.

"Uh, Quackity told me," he explains, "I, uh, booked a hotel near you."

"Well, crap." I turn in a circle searching for my keys before realizing they were in my hands. "Send me the address. I'll pick you up in an hour."

"Okay, I'll–" I don't know if he fades out in the middle of his own sentence, or if the phone was cutting in and out.

"See you soon," I tell him before hanging up.

"Yeah, totally."

O O O

I park outside Dream's hotel and text him that I'm here. I remember Quackity staying at the hotel in my town, so I was surprised to see Dream's was actually a town over. I had to drive a little further.

I glance out the window, waiting for Dream to walk out the door. After ten minutes, my eyes began to wander to the surrounding area.

This town is where old folks go to live out the rest of their days. In certain gated communities, there's actually an age-minimum to live there. I would think that, in kinder words, that would be placed on the hotel's website, and Dream would've been able to deduce that I didn't live here.

At least I would hope he didn't think I was a minimum of sixty years old.

I text him back once more, and he responds immediately saying to come to the lobby.

I huff. I'm wearing my comfortable road trip pants, and the last thing I want to do is walk inside somewhere that isn't a rest stop. Either way, I make my way into the hotel's lobby.

Dream isn't in here either. The only people I see are an old man, who I hope is just sleeping, slouched in the corner, a younger brunette man is on the phone in the corner and a concierge at the front desk.

I press the call button on my phone, but I'm sent straight to voicemail. What is going on?

I decide to just sit down and wait, thinking Dream might just be pampering himself for me. I cross the lobby floor to the couch. The brunette man stands across from me with his back turned.