On Thin Ice ☰ Dreamnotfound

☰ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ - ɪ ᴅᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ...☰

//Very light consumption of alcohol, everything is still very fluffy, dw :)

The twenty-sixth of December.

Everybody knows it as a day full of remorse. The child-like wonder and joy that comes from gathering with people you love, and just being able to branch out for a singular twenty-four hour period officially comes to a close. For a majority the world, the festivities are over and it's time to start welcoming in the new year.

Not for George.

For George, it's still a day of large-scale celebration. The twenty-sixth has always—always—been a traditional hang out day for him and his rink mates. Usually the night would start off at Riley's house, then a few hours (or rather, a few drinks) later, they would migrate over to the rink due to the close walking distance the trip offered.

Last year had left Davis and George taking shots side-by-side, trying to see who could go on the longest and still be able to skate upright. Needless to say, both tumbled the second they tried to glide across the ice, leaving all of the others in shambles from their shaky laughter.

The year before that, Xander and Riley got the great idea to play chicken on the ice... while tipsy and unbalanced. Of course Sheya and Rayyan were up for the challenge, which left George and Davis trying to weave around the pairs, helping Sheya and Riley mount their partners, and praying to whoever's up there that nobody would get hurt.

The praying part didn't work, seeing the fact that only a minute in, Riley was sprawled out on the ground, Xander somehow on top of her.

So maybe, playing chicken on the ice wasn't the smartest idea they had ever had, but they could just blame that on the drinks and not their own stupidity—all except for Sheya, who doesn't drink. The group pokes fun of her for it constantly, but then again, there are loads of things that they have against everyone, making a pool-game-gone-wrong nowhere near the top of the list.

And they all knew that list was far from complete.

So of course, today would be no exception from the years prior for George. It was noon—the party being later that night—and while his family was eating lunch together in the kitchen, he and Dream were tangled up together on the living room couch, a game of Minecraft being played on the television screen in front of them.

"Dream, you stand literally no chance," George boasted, jabbing his shoulder into his friend's side playfully, and letting it rest there after. Both were curled up underneath a shared, fluffy blanket, one of George's legs over both of Dream's, Xbox controllers in hand as they had a mini manhunt, Dream hunting.

"I highly doubt that, George!" He stole a glance at the right side of the screen, gasping as he watched Dream equip an iron chest plate, leggings following closely after. "You're already done for, and it's only been twenty minutes!"

George huffed, steering his character around in a zoomed out perspective while running through a desert biome. He had only gathered enough iron for an axe, a pickaxe, a bucket, and a flint and steel, leaving Dream with the upper hand. He was, however, notably farther ahead due to the minimum mining he had done, so if he could just find a...

"Lava pool! Yes!" George called out, laughing at the frustrated grunt Dream let out. He sat up as the latter shrank down, mumbling something under his breath while he exited the cave system he was stuck in.

George continued blabbering on about the nether—how the spawn would be right by a fortress and he'd be in and out before Dream even caught up—while slowly but surely building up a portal. As he focused on gathering up lava in his bucket and placing the blocks just right (in an upside down L, of course) he took no notice of how a certain someone stopped talking entirely, making his character crouch as he inched along the blocks in-game.