Comfort (Dream X GeorgeNotFound)

Heading Home

Clay woke up just as the sun had peaked in the sky. Between the soft whirring of the air conditioner, George's soft breath against his body and the slow rise and fall of his chest, he felt oddly content.

To say he was in a weird situation would be an understatement - everything from the manhunt he went on to find George, his behavior the night before, to what position they were in right now.

Clay contemplated pulling away not to make him feel weird when he woke up, but George looked so peaceful he couldn't bring himself to move. Besides, it was kind of pleasant.

George had his fingers threaded in Clay's hair, his face against his chest. He looked pretty calm, despite his appearance - pale skin, sunken eyes, unkempt face... Clay's heart ached at the thought of what he must have gone through the past couple of months.

He couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away from his best friend's face. George looked so... beautiful when he was sleeping. When he didn't have his expression haunted by troubles unknown to Clay.

Suddenly, George stirred in his sleep. He shifted, then slowly opened his eyes. After taking some time for his eyes to adjust, he spoke:

"I think you should leave now."

Clay was dumbstruck. Had he done something to offend him? He should've known to pull away before George woke up.

"What? Why?" Clay pulled his arms away from George's waist and sat up to lean against the headboard, "I just found you! I can't leave now..."

Then, after George's expression didn't change, he added, "I... missed you so much, man."

He felt the bed shift as George stood up and got out of the bed, turning to him.

"Cut it out with the voice!" He looked down at Clay, half shouting, "It's freaking me out."

Clay seemed genuinely confused by the request. "My voice has always sounded like this, George..."

George's brows furrowed, his head tilting sideways, muttering, "I don't even know you, dude." He turned around, eyeing the room. "I'd ask you to leave, but this isn't my apartment."

"Yeah, I brought you to my hotel room. But listen..." Clay got up to his knees, moving to the side of the bed George had been a few moments ago, "Can't you recognize my voice, George? It's me, Clay."

Upon hearing this, George's expression changed into that of bewilderment, tilting his head back and letting out a hearty laugh.

"Pffft. Yeah, right." He seemed to find what he had been looking for, grabbing his pants and putting them on.

An idea popped into Clay's head. Some kind of proof, to make George believe him. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, opening up his Discord app. Tapping on George's icon, he wrote:

________

Dream

its really me george

________

George's phone buzzed.

"Check your phone, George." Clay slid off the bed, making his way towards the other side of the bed.

George looked offended. "Um. Thanks, but I don't need a stranger to remind me that I got a notification."

With that, he picked up his phone and headed to the door, not even noticing the new hoodie he was wearing instead of his old shirt.

If Clay let him go, all of this would've been for nothing. Him flying out here, going through meeting his mom, tracking him in the new city, finally finding him... So he reached out and shouted, desperation apparent in his voice as it cracked, "George! Please. Check your phone."

With a last weird look, George pulled the phone out of his pocket. "Sheesh, if it means that much to you..." He tapped on his screen and then stopped. For a few moments, it seemed as if he was frozen in place. Not moving, not making a sound, not even breathing. Then, he slowly turned around, facing Clay.

"...Dream?" He took a couple steps towards the bed where his friend was standing, "Oh my god."

The confirmation that George really knew it was him was all Clay needed to hear. With that, he closed the distance between them in a few long strides and took him in his embrace. He felt a few tears pooling in his eyes, and he let them fall.

"It's really me, George. It's really me." His voice was quivering, more tears rolling down his face, "God, I missed you so much."

George seemed to be in the same state, judging from the sniffling Clay heard. He felt tugging at his shirt as he was pulled closer, arms being circled tight around his waist. He rested his chin on top of George's head, rubbing small circles on his back.

After a while, George pulled away, looking up at his best friend with tears rolling down his cheeks. He spoke in quietly, in between choked sobs. "Clay... I-I'm so sorry." He planted his face back into Clay's chest, muttering the same words over and over again, the fabric muffling his voice. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Clay."

All Clay could do was shush him and soothingly run his hand up and down George's back.

"Don't apologize, George. You've been through so much."

Once the muffled whines died down, Clay took George's shoulders in his hands to look him in the eye.

"Hey," he said softly, "wanna go somewhere else?"

All he got for a response was a small nod and a tug towards the door. Smiling, Clay picked up the rest of the stuff he had in his room, grabbed his suitcase and followed George out of the hotel room, down the stairs. Once they were at the exit, George pulled up his hood, Clay assumed to hide his red eyes, a giveaway that he'd been crying.

The apartment wasn't a long walk from the hotel, so they arrived at the building after a few minutes of rushed walking. They made their way up the stairs and stopped in front of a door on the 3rd floor.

George seemed to hesitate. He turned around to face Clay, his cheeks red from embarrassment.

"My place is... kind of a mess."

Clay placed a reassuring hand on top of George's shoulder.

"George... I don't care. You know I'm not gonna judge you, right?"

With a weak smile, George turned back to the door, pushing the handle down. He had apparently left it unlocked the night before. Out of carelessness or forgetfulness, Clay wasn't sure.

The apartment had definitely seen better days. Clothes and empty takeout containers were carelessly thrown around all over the place, surfaces were collecting dust and it smelled like old food.

Clay pretended not to notice. George had a lot on his plate already, and he didn't want to add to that by remarking on what was already obvious.

George turned around, features already more relaxed.

"So. Welcome to my home, I guess."