Love Bites

Chapter 12: Heart On His Sleeve

Soft, white bedding, cool air, yellow light beams and singing birds welcome George as he wakes.

For the first time in what must've been years, his morning isn't fret with things to do, anxieties that could never really be resolved, or frantic half-asleep movements to grab his weapons and get out the door, as if sleep was a burden. This time, it's just... quiet. And dare he say...

Happy.

George doesn't even know the last time he could think about using that word. Not for himself, anyways.

The blur of events yesterday all muddled into one, and it hardly feels like he'd lived through any of that at all. It might take a while to fully process everything.

And honestly, he doesn't really feel like trying to process it right now. So he doesn't make an effort to. His chilled pillowcase is much more interesting anyways.

He lays there for however long, minutes, maybe an hour. It felt so good to just stop doing everything. The sweet feeling of Dream's arms around him still lingered on his skin where they'd touched, and if he tried hard enough, he could pretend that he was here. Holding him like he did before, and George could know for a fact, that it was because he wanted to.

The feeling dissipates as he sits up, mindlessly stretching his sore arms and legs. Judging from its position in the sky, it's a late morning, but still not as bad as it was before yesterday.

He brushes and changes into a fresh vest and coat, in an attempt to pull himself together. I need to clean this house.

He finds himself wondering when Dream would stop by his house, as he's making breakfast. Or would Dream not be able to, since it was day out?

George blinks down at the sizzling pan. I was really oblivious, wasn't I? He only ever came by at night, how the hell did I not put the pieces together?

The toast sizzles. Maybe it's because I didn't want to even consider the possibility.

Plating the toast, he sits by the window and looks out into the morning sun, swaying trees looming over his house in the distance.

It's a quiet, nice day. Especially for a day right after experiencing something that most people would consider traumatic. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, death was nothing new to George. It was a chosen job.

Is that bad? George wonders, taking another bite out of the crispy bread, chewing thoughtfully. Is it bad that I feel more scared of what Dream could do to me than watching that other vampire be killed in front of my eyes? Is it bad that I'm more scared of how this is going to affect Dream, and not me?

Dream must have seen worse all the time, right? He's a vampire... he's used to killing things.

George's heart skips in realization. Just like me.

When George refocuses into the present, his plate is empty. The room feels quieter.

The thought circles him like a predator. Am I just as bad as them?

Standing abruptly, he sets his plate into the sink, letting it clink against the metal with the sloppy way he discards it.

No. It's different.

He pauses in his hallway, and looks down at the couch, still muddled with random comforters and quilts. Memories of tears, recollection of sweet mornings with a double meaning. George tenses his hands into fists. It's different.

George flinches at the sudden sound of a knock at his door. And, of course, his mind jumps to one thought. Dream?

But of course, it's the middle of the day. Finding a way to travel in the sun like this would be miserable, borderline impossible. It's probably the mail. Or Sapnap. God, Sapnap. George winces. There's gonna be a lot to explain to him.