Empty Boxes

Chapter Ten

When George woke up the next morning, he was...exceptionally warm. He groaned softly and shifted a bit, stretching his arms up as high as he could before opening his eyes, blinking blearily. He glanced to his left.

There lay Dream, his arm thrown over George's chest and his legs tangled around George's, his blonde hair flopped out all around the pillow he was using. The sun from the window shone right along his cheek, illuminating the little bit of drool that had escaped his mouth as he snored.

Pretty.

George frowned and shook his head. "What the hell?" He muttered, slowly twisting away from Clay's grasp and getting out of bed.

Where did that come from?

CW: body image, sh, panic attack and mentions of vomit.

He walked into the bathroom and, as he turned the shower on and began to undress, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A gasp escaped his lips.

He was even thinner than he had been the last time he had looked, really looked, at himself. He had to have weighed around 120 pounds by now. He was a skeleton.

The scars on his arms and legs were prominent against his pale skin, becoming more and more difficult to hide. They practically shone under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. He felt tears welling in his throat.

What had he become? He looked disgusting.

But that didn't stop him from laying a towel out on the bathroom floor and opening the bottom drawer under the sink. The blade seemed heavier than usually, and as he carved into his skin George felt guilt weighing heavy on his chest. It pressed right where his heart was, making it hard for him to breathe. He took in a few shaky, gasping breaths, trying to calm his racing heart before this turned into a full-blown panic attack.

Too late.

A knock sounded at the door, and Clay's voice drifted through the wood. "Georgie? You in there?"

Georgie heaved, vomit rising in his mouth as the scent of copper and his struggle to breathe mixed together. He hurriedly crawled over to the toilet and gagged into it. Clay knocked again.

"Georgie? You okay?"

George gagged again into the toilet before managing to speak. "I'm fine, Clay," he called weakly. "Go away."

So of course Dream opened the bathroom door and walked in, disregarding the fact that George had said no.

"What the-" Dream's yellow eyes grew large, taking in the blood smeared across the bathroom floor from when George had crawled over to the toilet. His eyes landed on George, who was still throwing up into the toilet and trying to find the energy to breathe properly.

"Whoa, whoa whoa, Georgie," Dream said, his words rushed as he shut the bathroom door behind him and hurried to kneel beside him. "It's okay, you're fine, just breath."

George shoved at him weakly, his stomach clenching tightly. "Get out of here," he rasped. His watery eyes were making it hard for him to see the blonde man, but he attempted a glare nonetheless.

Dream shook his head and rubbed circles into his back. "I'm not going anywhere. Just take a deep breathe in for me alright? Like this-" 

Dream inhaled slowly through his nose, looking at George to prompt him into doing the same. George followed his lead, keeping an eye on Dream's breathing patterns by following the rise and fall of his chest. Dream gently grabbed George by the waist and moved him a bit so that he was leaning against the wall beside the toilet before sitting next to him and gently picking up his hand. George's heart squeezed tightly at the small gesture, his heart rate finally slowing down a bit as he continued to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth.