The Wedding //dnf

19

George hated waiting. 

He glanced at his phone for the fifteenth time since he'd woken up, checking the time impatiently. Dream was supposed to have arrived home from the airport a half an hour ago, but the tall dirty blonde was nowhere to be seen.

It was frustrating just sitting under a pile of blankets staring at a phone screen for hours on end with nothing to do. When George woke up he realized he was feeling slightly better than the day before, and when he checked his temperature it had gone down to almost normal.

Because Dream had left so early, George had grumbled all the way down to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. When did I become so codependent on Dream and his cooking? Ever since Vidcon, George had passed off all responsibility on Dream. He hadn't paid for his food, cooked anything, cleaned anything- heck, he hadn't even washed his clothes. Dream had insisted on washing the dirty laundry the second George had begun to feel ill.

And he'd taken it for granted. George suddenly felt bad about chastising Dream for his overprotective nature, even though Dream deleting Twitter off his phone was still really really wrong.

But would it be so bad for Dream to come back and made him breakfast? Was it really so wrong for George to relax while Dream did all the work? I am sick after all.

And now, belly full but mind restlessly empty, George lay in bed. Listening. Waiting.

And after another few minutes of mindless torture he could barely hear the telltale sign of the door scraping against the floor and Patches jumping off the counter, rushing to greet her owner. George slowly made his way out of his room, pausing at the top of the stairs when he heard Dream speak.

"Shhh," Dream hushed from the front room. "George is sleeping Patches."

Patches meowed loudly in response, and it took everything in George not to giggle loudly, revealing his presence.

"Aw Patchy-boo how are you?" Sapnap cooed and George rolled his eyes. "I've missed you so much kitty yes I have!"

Disgusting.

"Sapnap, seriously shut up. George is still sleeping off his fever."

George imagined Dream shaking his head, like 'what am I going to do with you?'

"There's no way he can hear me from upstairs," Sapnap said in response. "Besides, you know George. He sleeps like the dead."

George rolled his eyes. It was true, he was a heavy sleeper. But George hadn't always been that way, he accredited it to his odd sleep schedule caused by his friends who lived halfway across the world.

"Can't you even try to be considerate?"

Sapnap suddenly barked out a laugh, as if noticing something. "Look what we have here..." his voice trailed off. "A plate with breakfast crumbs. Smells like... eggs and sausage. Wonder who that could have been?"

"Well, maybe he went back to sleep?"

"Or maybe he's a lazy ass who can't bother to clean up after himself because you're his bitch!"

"Fuck you."

Sapnap chuckled snidely in response. "You say that because I'm right." Silence fell for a moment. "GEORGE! GET YOUR LAZY ASS OUT OF BED AND GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

"Sapnap, shut up!" Dream hissed.

"GEORGE IF YOU DON'T COME DOWN I'M COMING UP THERE AND YOU WON'T LIKE WHAT I'M GOING TO DO! I'M GOING TO COUNT TO THREE!"

George shifted anxiously on his feet, debating on what to do. He didn't want to be caught snooping, so he started sneakily making his way back upstairs towards his room.