Two Halves (Dreamnotfound)

Chapter Five

George groaned, the bright light stinging his eyes. Rubbing them, he sat up and looked around, dazed. He had come back from Dreams house and started painting, but had fallen asleep early.

Drowsily, he stood up and trudged into the kitchen. He stopped abruptly, seeing a body knocked out cold on the couch.

For fucks sake, she's back early. Hopefully, it's only for today.

A sinking feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach as he quietly crept into the kitchen. He knew she wouldn't care if Alice was out, she never did.

He quickly poured himself a bowl of cereal and snuck back into his room. As he settled into the pillows, his thoughts drifted to the day before. The moment he had stepped into Dream's house, he felt welcomed. When they were on the swing, George felt something he hadn't in a long time; he felt at home.

So when Dream hugged him, why did he panic?

Normally he didn't mind hugs, considering he hardly ever got any. When Dream hugged him though, something felt different; he just couldn't figure out what.

He jumped as the door slammed open. Scrambling to grab his bowl, his eyes met the stone cold ones of his mother.

"There's money on the counter, don't waste it. That's all I came here to do, but make yourself useful and clean the house while I'm gone," She slurred.

George shakily nodded and set his bowl on the nightstand.

"Where's the brat?" She asked, a hint of anger behind her words.

George took a small breath, "At her friend's house for the weekend."

His mother smiled, though it was devoid of any friendliness, "Good. It's better without her around anyway."

George's arm twitched, but he held his tongue and chose his next words carefully.

"Anything else you need before you return?"

The sickening smell of alcohol strengthened as she leaned closer. "Do something with your life; painting will get you nowhere, especially if you have no talent."

She then stumbled out of the room, and George heard the front door slam moments later. He laid back in bed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He'd heard those cruel words countless times, yet they still stabbed at him, tearing into his heart.

He angrily wiped his eyes and stood, grabbing his bowl. He dumped it in the sink, staring across the street at Dream's house. They hadn't discussed when they were going to meet up; hopefully, Dream would let him know somehow.

Connecting his speaker, he hit play and began blasting music while spraying the counters with Lysol.

They call me the kid with the cardboard face,

George smiled, instantly thinking of Dream.

Pencil a smile or frown, then erase.

He could tell when Dream was smiling by his eyes, even if he couldn't see it.

Make me a monster with paper mache

He wondered why Dream wore the mask, maybe he was insecure?

I'm the kid with the cardboard face

A knock at the door startled George. He jumped to pause his music, rushing to open the door.

There, stood Dream, who was holding a small bag. "Hi. Your voice is pretty," He commented.

"T-Thanks," George stuttered, averting his gaze and stepping aside for the taller to come in.