Dreamnotfound oneshots

Is what I'll do

Dream felt, frankly, disgusting when he woke up. His breath tasted stale and vaguely of last nights pizza; he could feel where sweat had dried over the days, adhering his clothes to his body and his greasy hair to his forehead. He hadn't noticed it as it happened.

But it was all worthwhile because George had stayed. George was there, peacefully asleep, right where Dream had left him the evening before. He looked something like a dream that Dream had had many a time in the nights before this. Hazy in the morning light, lines blurred and features warmed with restfulness. George's lashes feathered kindly over the swell of his cheeks; they were long, dark and wonderfully curled. How Dream hadn't noticed them more before, he wasn't certain.

His lips were softly pouted open from where his cheek was pressed tight to Dream's pillow, a dusty pink in colour and vaguely chapped from where he'd been breathing huffed little breaths through his mouth. His hair was nothing short of a bird's nest atop his head, mussed and sprouting in every which way. He had the ghost of lines pressed into his skin from the folds of fabric beneath but Dream found he rather liked the way the long-sleep lines looked. 

George looked nothing short of painfully handsome, as much as Dream desperately pushed such a thought to the base of his heart. To think like that would be to risk all that he had with George.

But, as George slowly and, frankly, gracelessly came to wakefulness, Dream wondered whether George would ever have it in mind and heart to have those thoughts about him. Whether George had ever taken a moment, in the short time they'd been together in England or even possibly in the many video calls that followed, to simply take in Dream for all that he was. Whether George ever watched and wondered whether, if he were to take Dream's cheek into hand, he'd be able to feel the way it flushed beneath his fingers.

Dream felt the shadow of self hatred shroud those thought's entirely, assuring him that George could never and would never see him in such a light. Especially not after the pitiful state in which he'd seen Dream fall involuntarily into shortly after he'd arrived.

"Good morning." George spoke as soon as the words reached him, stretching out long before curling back close to where Dream had had him before. He rather liked the warmth that radiated from Dream's sun-kissed skin.

"Morning." Dream managed, voice hoarse and wobbling. It was in that moment that he realised the way his head ached and eyes itched. 

George was slow to open his eyes, perfectly content to stay in that bed for days because at least then he new that Dream was alive. He knew, however, that he really ought to make the effort to pull Dream from this room, even if it was just far enough and just long enough to get him clean.

"How are you feeling?" He began, reaching stiff fingers to rub the bleary sleep from his eyes. Either he didn't notice or simply didn't care that his hand almost brushed the tip of Dream's nose in the process.

"Disgusting." Dream answered honestly and it was all George could do to smile.

"I'll go run a bath." He yawned, sitting up. It took Dream a long second to realise what he'd said.

"Wait, George," And then Dream's hand was around George's wrist. It was a soft, gentle grip and easily escapable, just enough pressure for George to stop and look back. "You don't have to, I can do it myself."

George smiled, carefully prying himself free just enough to to place his hand in Dream's instead. He squeezed it once, soft and gentle. "I know."