The Wedding //dnf

16

Dream felt restless. It was five in the morning and his eyes were glued to his phone screen as he scrolled through Twitter and old text messages. He should be dead asleep like George was next to him, snoring away.

He should be resting before he goes to see Drista.

But anxiety had enveloped him like a shroud, making him amped up. His chest ached and a few tears slid down his face as he took in a shaky breath, careful to not wake George up. 

It had been hard enough worrying about Drista, but also worrying about George felt like too much to handle. Realistically, Dream knew they were both fine. That George just needed to sleep off his fever and that Drista was getting great care and would recover from the asthma attack.

But that didn't stop his heart rate from spiking and head from throbbing.

It was stupid, but Dream found himself glancing at George every few seconds. Making sure his chest was rising and falling as he breathed, double checking that his fever hadn't spiked again.

It was all Dream could do to not text his mom, begging her for help or to give an update on Drista. As soon as they'd landed he'd asked to see Drista, but visiting hours weren't until eight. Besides, she'd reminded him, George needs your immediate care.

And Dream had instantly felt guilty. He'd made sure to focus on helping George instead. One thing at a time...

George shivered in his sleep, gathering the blankets around him tighter as he shuffled around in the bed. His limbs were a tangled mess in the sheets.

Dream frowned and then popped in his airpods to watch a movie.

Everything around him felt like background static as he eased back, laying down over the covers. Soft sounds of the movie playing lulled him, but not enough to fall asleep. It was a false sense of security. A ruse.

At 6:45 a.m., Dream rolled out of bed and headed towards the shower. He let the steam wrap around him as he stood in the heat, enjoying the way small beads of water clung to his skin.

One fluffy towel later and Dream was downstairs, cooking breakfast. He figured George would want to eat something once he woke up, and Dream was ravenous. Bacon and eggs sounded perfect, and it would be ten times better than hospital food.

Dream hummed softly to himself, flipping the eggs easily as he listened to the sizzles of the bacon frying. The delicious smell floated through the air, and now that the sun was up, it felt a lot lighter in the kitchen.

Like a weight was off his back even though he was still dead on his feet. I really should have slept when I got the chance.

Dream plated his breakfast and was about to dig in when he heard the soft patter of footsteps drifting towards him. He glanced up to see George looking completely disheveled. 

His hair in a rat's nest, pajamas clinging loosely to his skin. Eyes bloodshot as he desperately clutched the blanket he had wrapped around himself.

Dream blinked.

"Hey," George croaked, glancing down at his blue fuzzy socks.

"What are you doing down here?" Dream chided, feeling suddenly a lot like his mother. "You've only been sleeping for a couple hours and you're sick. Go back to bed."

George shuffled his feet forwards before sitting down carefully at the table.

"You left," he whispered finally, still not meeting Dream's eyes.

Dream instantly felt awful. George was clearly in need of someone to look after him. Dream shouldn't have left him by himself to wake up alone in an unfamiliar state in an unfamiliar house.