Flash Photography Whore

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George wanted to hide. He wanted to run away from this so bad—though he knew that would only make things look strange and impenetrably terrible.

Because obviously, Dream knew what he was doing—knew that he was a camboy and knew that people watched him. If George acted too weird then he'd know, and somehow, George would have to deal with that. Sure, he had the excuse that he hadn't known at the time, but that was barely passable when the fact that it was Dream only made him more desperate to watch him.

theboyofyourdreams. In hindsight, it made a sick amount of sense. George wanted to kick himself.

"We'll have to wait for your bags," Dream said it so casually, because he didn't know, "it shouldn't take too long."

George swallowed thickly, neck straining where he stood too close and looked up too far. But he nodded his head, tried not to stare too obviously or stumble over his words like an idiot.

"Yeah," he answered meekly, "okay."

Dream's eyebrows knitted together, the hands left sitting on George's shoulders falling away. The look of confusion on his face wasn't as familiar as the grin, but the twist of his brows still managed to remind George of something else.

"You alright?"

Fuck. Maybe he'd been a little too obvious in his saucer-wide eyes and the pink on his cheeks. George could feel the heat under his skin, and he silently loathed the way he flushed so easily.

"Yeah, just tired." And it wasn't a lie, per se, but it certainly wasn't honest. "Sorry."

Dream smiled, and the glint of his teeth behind pink lips was far too endearing for what George was used to. He wasn't sure if he quite hated the way he already knew his best friend's face, but he wasn't really complaining—Dream was hot.

"No, no, I get it," Dream reassured with that persistent radiant grin. "Long flight."

George nodded, but only just barely. The echo that fell past his lips felt just as distant as the look in his dark eyes.

"Long flight."

The smile on Dream's face shifted closer to concern, eyes flicking away to find the baggage carousel behind them. It was still unmoving, still crowded by tired strangers all waiting for their things just as George was.

"Why don't you go sit down?" Dream offered, pointing vaguely to the benches off to the side.

George followed the movement of his hand, nodding once again with just as minuscule a movement as always.

"Uh-huh," he said absently, somehow feeling like he might just fall over.

Dream touched his shoulder again, and George hoped that the halt in his swaying hadn't been too obvious. There were a hundred thousand meanings lying beneath those hands.

"What does your bag look like?" Dream asked suddenly, words startling George out of the move he was starting to make toward a bench.

"Dark blue," he answered, gesturing at nothing without direction. "My name's on the tag."

The hand on his shoulder tapped gently before drawing back, another brand new face spreading across Dream's features; a lazy smile, too lax and too comforting for the way George's heart was pounding through his ears right then.

"Okay," Dream started to back away toward the carousel, "you can go sit down, George, I'll get it."

George nodded minutely again, retreating off to a seat just as the alarm sounded for the carousel. In his strained state of mind, he could barely remember that meaning the belt was about to start moving, but he could see the way it made every bystander perk up just slightly.