On Thin Ice ☰ Dreamnotfound

☰ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ- ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀɴ ɪᴅɪᴏᴛ☰

Three days.

That's how long they had until the (quite naggingly awaited) skating competition.

Dream and George had arrived home from the party in the late depths of night, giddy and light and still clad in the tiny dresses they had been dared to wear yet ended up loving. Dream relished in the way the fabric hugged George's figure, and George not-so-discreetly did the same thing right back.

Nobody had been awake when they stumbled in through the front door, laughing over George's inability to fit the key into the lock on the porch. Neither had much to drink—only a couple of beers and maybe a shot or two—but the little amount of alcohol mixed with the lighthearted atmosphere that came with being around the rest of the group filled both with a drunken feeling of liveliness that made up for any lack of intoxication in their veins.

Hastily locking the door behind them, both men rushed up the stairs to George's room, pushing and shoving each other as if it were some sort of race. When they were secured in the confinements of the familiar place, the door firmly shut after they had entered, Dream tossed the bag that he had been holding—George's bag to be exact—onto the floor and jumped onto the bed. George laughed out, cringing slightly at the shallow groan that came from Dream due to the outfit restricting him from making any sharp movements.

"C'mon Dream, you can't seriously be thinking about sleeping in that," George tried to reason, bending over with much more care for his costume than Dream had. Dream groaned once again. George took the clothes that they had previously been wearing from his skating bag and transferred them to the small dirty laundry bin kept in the corner of his room.

"Tired, just come here and sleep with me already." George laughed, rolling his eyes at his friend but walking over to the edge of the bed nonetheless. Dream had shifted his positioning so that he was no longer sprawled out on top of the sheets, rather curled on his side of the mattress with the covers open as he waited expectantly for George to join him.

"Dream, I'm not going to wear a dress to bed and neither should you. We have to change." Dream wrinkled his nose and sat up, staring George down warily.

"Why? You look good in it, though?"

George scoffed, biting at his bottom lift as he threw his weight back and forth from leg to leg. "It's not about caring for what I look like—I've been wearing this for hours, I think that ship sailed a while ago—it's about being comfortable."

"Still think you look cute in it, though. Pretty even?" Dream yawned and turned to the side, dismissing any further conversation while he tried to get comfortable. George stiffened.

Maybe Dream was more affected by the alcohol than George thought.

Yet as walked over to his dresser and pulled out a sweatshirt and pair of low-hanging shorts, got dressed, and then slipped into bed next to Dream, he registered how faint the actual smell of booze was. Add on the fact that he knew the amount of drinks Dream had and how, like himself, he was not a lightweight, and George couldn't help but be a little bit confused.

Surely he was just tired, right?

Dream rolled back over on his side and tossed the covers over both of them, so close that George could almost feel the scratchiness of the speckled glitter against his skin.

Yeah, tired. We just need to turn it in for the night. That's all.

<<<->>>

"Are you sure you're alright to come with me? You know if you want to you can stay here for a couple of hours—use my PC, hang with Cara, binge Netflix." Dream groaned and shook his head for what felt like the thousandth time.