On Thin Ice ☰ Dreamnotfound

☰ᴛᴇɴ - ᴏʀɴᴀᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ☰

Needless to say, when George came back home over an hour later he was met with a pissed off Cara and an awkwardly-dispositioned Dream.

The second he walked through his front door, he hoped that he could manage to slip into his room discreetly and somehow act like he had been there the whole time. This proved to be wishful thinking, as he felt something hard smack the back of his head. With a stifled yelp and an abrupt turn, George stood face to face with Cara.

With a swift look to her right hand which was still raised up by her shoulder, and George could see the offender—a plastic spatula. The brunet groaned and reached out to smack his sister back, but she pulled away and crossed her arms across her chest. George knew where this was going.

"Why the hell did you leave Dream here alone while I was out? You know you can't slip away that easily!" Oh yeah, Dream. In all honesty, George had decided to forget about what had previously happened between them—whatever that may be (he still wasn't quite sure what it had been himself). Dream, however, by the looks of his unsure smile—different from the normally cheerful one that he wore all of the time (the one that George had grown to know and love)—and off-centered posture, did not.

"I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to be gone for that long I just—" He looked at Dream again, this time catching his golden-flecked eyes. "I'm sorry." George sighed, and faced the oldest in the room as he leaned forward to lightly push her shoulder. "I'll make it up to you, alright? Don't tell me you frosted them already."

Cara perked up, rolling her eyes and moving to smack George with the cooking utensil again. The younger raised his hand, blocking the blow at the last second, and laughed. It was light and forgiving, and the others couldn't help but join in (though one seemed to be more hesitant than the other).

While they didn't meet all of Cara's baking criteria's, they managed to cross off most of the key parts from her mental checklist. As the night went on, the tense atmosphere dwindled down, and eased into a more carefree one. The music had resumed and following it came wooden spoons being used as microphones, aprons mimicking a skirt as they would courtesy after each of their "performances", and phones being whipped out to take videos, footage shaky from how much they were laughing.

The day might have had a rocky start, but it was as if there was a mutual agreement to just not mention anything that happened before George made his abrupt exit. While this wasn't the most adequate decision—they never really resolved the tension, merely swept it under a metaphorical rug in hopes that it would go away itself—the night proved to be much more enjoyable.

And so, at quarter past midnight, when Dream turned on his phone and squinted at the bright light for a few seconds he gasped as the realization set in.

"It's Christmas Eve!"

And as if by some sort of sibling-level-telepathy, both George and Cara shot up at the same time, yelling in sync,

"Mum and Dad are coming over today!"

<<<->>>

Dream was practically jumping up and down in anticipation of George's parents coming over. There was just half an hour to go. They would be here in half an hour.

It was two o'clock at night, and the infamous trio was sitting together on the couch, going through boxes and boxes full of ornaments that had accumulated in the depths of George's closets over the years. Dream didn't notice his leg was bouncing until he felt a warmth press against his knee. His eyes whipped downward and away from the glass candy cane he was previously observing in his grasp, instead locking onto the hand that was pressed against his skin. He took note of how it was slowly, and ever so softly, rubbing reassuring circles into the pant fabric.