Read the full story on AO3!!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/43594330
The brunette clings to Dream like he'll disappear if he lets go, unconsciously threading his fingers through soft dirty blonde locks. At times like these, the time nearing four in the morning, sick as a dog and nowhere near his right mind, George is sure of one thing; he is so grateful for Dream. He keeps him as close as he can physically get him, knees squeezing his hips, feet tucked around the backs of his legs, arms wrapped around his middle and hands balling his hoodie in his fists, forehead pressed against the side of his neck. He wishes so badly to lean down and plant tiny kisses along the collarbone that's a mere inch away from his lips, but even right now, George can muster enough self-control to hold himself back. Instead, he nudges Dream's jaw with the bridge of his nose, relishing in the moment when Dream leans into it.
"Tired?" the blonde asks eventually, sounding it himself. George nods, then shivers.
"Cold?"
"Mhm," he answers. "Th' fan's hitting my clothes-- they're still wet from the sweat."
"Let's go get you changed and warmed up, then."
YOU ARE READING
We're At Arm's Length, So I'll Reach
FanfictionSapnap has a mishap with the blender and George envies the treatment that he's getting from Dream. Unironically, he becomes sick with a nasty virus a week later. He's never been too great with asking for help, but Dream lets him know that it's okay...
