Order 73 ~DNF~

𝟚𝟛

tw: assault

//

𝒢𝑒𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒 𝒫𝒪𝒱

Dream sags into the soft material next to me, blinking tiredly. I lose my footing as it sinks, tumbling into him with a surprised shriek. He wheezes and I push myself up off his chest, rolling my eyes. "Idiot." I mutter.

"Hey, hey. Quit stealing the blanket." He grumbles, grasping air as I yank it back.

"What?" I ask cluelessly. He grabs my wrist, pulling me closer and I yelp, trying to sit up. "What're you doing?"

"Relax, I don't have a knife in my back pocket." He yawns, stretching his arm out on the back of the sofa. Dream yanks the blanket off my right side so I scoot a little closer, resting my face on the hook of his shoulder comfortably.

He watches me carefully as I pick up the remote again, scrolling past the horror and thriller sections that he was going through before. I don't really feel like wetting my pants.

"So who let you search through my movies? It sure as hell wasn't me." He quips, shifting.

"Your avocado socks." I inform him distractedly.

"Very mature." Dream shoots back, shifting again. He folds his legs to the side, burrowing his fluffy-socked toes into the crease of the leather sofa self-consciously. I snort, lifting myself up so he can comfortably place his chin on the top of my head, my eyebrows furrowing as I sift through the countless options.

"You know, I'd never guess you were the touchy feely type." He breaks the silence, watching me land on Modern Family.

"Feely no. Touchy? I wasn't. But Wilbur tends to rub off on you." I hum. Wilbur was very physically affectionate, with friends and family alike. He got me to cave very quickly, and it wasn't like Quackity helped matters much. The idiot was always jumping on anyone and everyone.

He hums, turning my attention to the episode that was playing the opening credits. The episodes were quite short and we flew through the first three, mostly trying not to fall asleep as we chuckled once in a while. Both of us wanted popcorn, but neither wanted to get up and make some, so we sat there in peaceful silence staring at the screen.

Due to the number of night shifts I've dropped, I've had a much better sleep schedule. But I still find it interesting that it's Dream who seems to be falling asleep faster than me. He keeps rearranging his freakishly long limbs on the sofa, slowly sliding down to rest on my shoulder, eyes staring blearily at the screen. Peppermint hugged his soft damp curls, reminding me of the coming season of winter themed lattes and sugar-striped candy canes.

Of course, Florida doesn't have much of a winter. But I like to pretend.

"God, you squirm so much." I complain under my breath. The blanket shifts off me as I move myself to lean against the arm of the sofa. Dream follows the blanket, finally being able to stretch out, finding my stomach to be an adequate pillow. I'm about to complain but I stop, narrowing my eyes as I examine his face, noticing a cut on his cheek with blue and black blossoming underneath it. "Dream, dream."

"What's your problem," He mumbles, his eyes flickering open.

"What happened to your face?"

He pulls his hand out from under him, unconsciously reaching up to touch it. "Daniel. I yelled at him and he lost his shit." He says simply.

"What?" I snap, and he frowns, opening his eyes again. "What do you mean lost his shit? He hit you?"

"He got his ass handed to him by yours truly. It's fine." He yawns again, his nose poking into my abdomen. I murmur a quiet okay as he shrugs, breathing out contently.