Helium | dreamnotfound

Eggshells

"I won't make a smoothie," Dream says softly, glancing down at the kitchen floor. "I promise."

Large, green eyes peer up at him with curiosity, and Patches meows in what he hopes is forgiveness. Even the implication of him pulling the blender onto the counter sends her running into the next room in fear of the noisy machine. During their morning routines, he patiently waits for her to finish breakfast and depart doors down, before pouring frozen fruits into the mixer.

His nerves drove him out of bed particularly early today, after responding to George's aimless text in the late-night. When he let Patches out of Sapnap's room, the lilac morning had barely begun to descend from the hall skylight. They've been happily existing in each other's company as sun creeps into the kitchen, making breakfast and having their usual one-sided conversations.

Having abandoned her half-eaten bowl of kibble, Patches bats at his ankles again in a ploy for attention. He smiles.

"You wanna see what I'm cookin'?" he asks, hands leaving the skillet to scoop her from the ground.

Her small frame and soft fur meld with ease into his palms, and he holds her to his chest as they both survey the eggs frying in the pan. He watches her smell the steam rising from the yellowed blobs, and lightly scratches her head.

"What do you say, little lady—" He props her up on his shoulder as he reaches to turn off the dial on the stovetop. "Should I put in more salt?"

She mewls almost inaudibly at being spoken to, and he nods in feigned agreement. His hand returns to cup her thin back, humming idly as he pets down her spine. Her tail flicks against his arm.

"I could give you some eggies," he muses sweetly, swaying them to and fro as she nudges his face. "But I don't wanna upset your tummy."

He's about to reach for the skillet and slide the eggs onto a nearby plate when he feels her freeze in his arms. Her small limbs tense, paws shoving into his chest without warning. After a moment of juggling the wriggly cat, he leans her away from his shoulder to study her wide eyes.

He frowns, fingers soothing the fluff below her ears. "What's wrong, baby?" he murmurs.

"I think she's scared of me," a voice says from behind them, and Dream jumps at the sound.

He frantically cups Patches to his chest, and turns around as they both relax from the sudden tightening of his grasp. He's as wide-eyed as she when they both see George has joined them, hovering in the doorway across the wide expanse of Dream's marbled counter.

"Oh!" Dream greets, steadying the sudden spike in his heart rate. "Hi, George."

His hair is soft and combed, his pajamas are loose-fitting and dark. Though his jet lag is slightly visible under his eyes when he blinks heavy, his voice is warm. "Hi, Dream."

Patches' claws lightly sink into the white fabric on his chest. He knows what George's voice sounds like, in the morning, after years of early calls and sleepy mumbling. To see the slight flush on his cheeks, the vague bleariness in his wandering eyes—Dream can't believe how long he's been robbed of such a beautifully mundane sight.

"You're awake and in my kitchen," he says.

George gives him a smile. "I am both of those things."

Dream glances back at the stove. "I didn't know when you'd be up, so I was just cooking for myself." His eyes return to George in an instant. "I can make you something though, if you'd like."

George shakes his head, moving closer to the counter. "I'm not all that hungry just yet, but thanks."

"Are you sure?" he pushes, "I can easily—"