7 Minutes in Heaven, But it's 7 Days in Florida (DNF)

Day 4: Battling a Painful Conundrum Often Leads to Clarity

A/N: Please refrain from making sexual /NSFW comments

They were back at the airport, George holding his luggage in his right hand and Dream wearing the same clothes he was wearing when he first arrived. Dream was smiling at him, eyes full of fondness, brimming with happiness and something else, something he couldn't name. George could feel himself smiling too.

It wasn't until Dream was slowly walked up to him that George noticed they were the only ones in the airport. But he could still hear voices, incoherent voices sounded like blood rushing in his ears.

George blinked and suddenly Dream was only inches away from him. Hyperaware, George both felt and watched as Dream slowly cupped his face with both of his hands, and George felt his luggage drop from his hand as they both leaned forward, and Dream kissed him, an unquantifiable amount of pure euphoria blooming from his chest and into his stomach-

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George woke up, eyes shooting open and he violently sat up in bed. Thankfully, Dream wasn't holding onto him, he had rolled over and was sleeping on his other side, And George faintly registered the time as just past four in the morning as he slid out of the bed. He prayed Dream stayed asleep as George sped-walked from his room and crept into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a very soft and gentle click.

George stared at himself in the mirror as a violent wave of guilt ran from the back of his neck to the soles of his feet, and leaned against the small sink, trying not to sob.

Why did he think he had a chance? It was obvious Dream just saw him as a friend, so why did his brain and heart make him think and imagine all these stupid things?

He was an idiot, an absolute idiot. He shouldn't have come. He should've stayed in London, he should've said he was busy, because then he wouldn't have met Dream in person.

He wouldn't have finally felt just how great Dream's arms wrapping around his body would feel like; He wouldn't have realized just how beautiful he is, and that it was always hard to look away from him.

His lopsided, faintly dimpled smile. His eyes that sparkled in the sun and looked almost magical with the way they shone a grayish-yellow, with streaks of brown making tiny pops of accents that George could just get lost in. His expressive eyebrows that played hide-and-seek behind hid naturally unkempt and handsome hair.

At that moment, George wished he'd seen none of it. Wish he'd said no, wish he'd turn down the invitation, wish he'd didn't allow himself to fall so hard for a man he had no chance with, a man that made his life so much better, a man he'd be devastated to lose.

His stomach sank like a ship with a hole in it. Guilt, fear, and longing circulated through his body, a kaleidoscope of emotions.

George picked his head back up and stared into his eyes again, his expression screaming that he yearned, that he wanted something, or better yet, someone.

And George was ashamed of it. He had no right to be in love with his best friend, someone that only loved him platonically. He had no right to think and imagine things that he knew weren't returned. He had no right.

George swept his hand through his hair in an attempt to comfort himself as he tried his hardest to muffle the sob that had crawled its way up his throat and out of his mouth. Slowly, his form crumpled to the bathroom floor, and George curled up against the cabinet under the sink, hands pressed against his mouth to silence himself. He silently sobbed against the cabinet until he no longer felt anything anymore, and then he sat still, legs pulled to his chest and face buried between his knees.