feel my hands. (dnf x gream)

Chapter Fourteen: Loving You

Light peered through the cracks of the windows. Cars sped by like a colorful procession, accompanied by the occasional palm tree. George felt like he could live here one day.

A frown tugged at his lips. This wasn't how he'd wanted it to go. The crackling fire that had erupted into a wildfire just days ago was reduced to a single flame. It was unforgiving, how they'd split each other up and forgotten how to sew the wounds back together.

He wanted to say something, he truly did, but his words were forced back down his throat. We belong together. Do we? Did we?

They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms, as they always did. He didn't miss how Dream held him a little tighter that night, said his name a little more tenderly. By the time he'd woken up, the blond had been reduced to a shadow of himself, ghosting by the walls as if it were his own morgue.

His forbearing attitude had washed the rest of George's grogginess away. Now the airport was rapidly approaching, and the dread bubbling in his chest was desperately trying to reel time back.

George sighed, catching the quick glance Dream sent him.

"Nervous?"

George made a sound of agreement.

"Why?"

I don't want to close my eyes. "I just hate flying. It's... weird."

He chuckled. "C'mon, George. Don't worry. It won't be as bad as the flight here." He nodded appreciatively, heart racing at the distance in Dream's voice. No, not yet. I'm not losing you yet.

The easy thought knocked him into breathless realization. He was scared, and now he was going to pay for it. He braced himself, gripping the sides of his seat, regret reverberating like an obscure mimic in his mind.

"George, you okay?" Breath tore at his throat from the inside. Dream almost looked concerned at his eyes drowning in distraught madness.

"I remember a few... a few months ago." He stared down at his hands. "And it's clear in my mind—the image. I was alone, playing Minecraft offline and—" he swallowed, "I was building."

Dream gripped the steering wheel. "Yes?" He pushed softly.

"I was killing mobs. They were making the house look bad." Dream laughed endearingly. "Yeah, you do that."

"I—I do. And I—And I remember there were two skeletons—" he coughed, "there were two skeletons and they stood on both sides of the stairwell I built. I watched the sky turn to day and they lit on fire."

"What are you trying to say, George?"

"They stayed there. They stayed, facing each other, on fire. Skeletons don't do that. They usually run under some sort of structure, a tree, hell, under the stairs. No. They burned to death."

He laughed again. "George, what kind of a story is—"

"Don't let that be us. I don't want to burn."

Dream tensed. "That's dumb."

George slumped into his hand, exhaling loudly. He settled for watching greenery pass, humid air slithering in through the back and curling around his neck. He missed the icy weather back at home at certain times, especially when he had to fight to peel a sweat-soaked shirt off for a shower.

He'd been on the brink of sleep when Dream nudged him with an arm. George looked up at the structure stretched across, tips of plane wings spying out from the side of the irregular building. The airport back in London looked much less... flat.