skittles

who did this to you?

George knocks on the door to Dream's bedroom softly. He wonders if Dream is already asleep. After a moment with no response, George starts to turn around when the door creaks open slowly. Dream is standing just inside, hair ruffled and eyelids heavy. George peeks behind him and sees that Dream's sheets are a tangled mess on his bed.

"George?" Dream mutters blearily. "It's late, what are you..." he trails off, taking in George's pained expression. "Are you okay?"

"Do you think you could, um, take a look at my shoulder? It hurts."

Dream blinks, looking more awake by the second. "It hurts? What happened?" His brows are knit together in concern.

George shrugs, then winces from pain. "I'm not sure, I can't see it well enough myself so I needed someone to look at it."

"Okay, um, come in," Dream says, opening the door wider. George steps inside slowly, eyes fixed on the floor. Dream shuts the door softly and turns to face him. George watches as he opens his mouth and hesitates. "Should you, um..."

Right. "Um, okay." George debates for a moment whether he should ask Dream to turn away, but no, that's silly. "I'm just gonna, um." George reaches his good arm behind his head and pulls off his T-shirt, exposing his pale chest and arms.

George stares down at his own shoes, fighting a deep blush. He can feel Dream's eyes on him and he can't decide how to feel about it. He feels exposed, vulnerable. After taking a deep breath, George glances upward to see that Dream hasn't moved.

"Um, Dream? My shoulder?"

Dream startles, then shakes his head quickly. "Right, um, sorry. Let me see." Dream takes a few hesitant steps towards George.

"It's more towards the back that it hurts," George mutters quietly, turning away from Dream to let him see.

Dream takes in a sharp breath. "George," he whispers.

"That bad?" George jokes lightly.

From the corner of his eye, George sees Dream raise a hand hesitantly. "Can I..." Dream murmurs.

"Yeah, it's fine," George answers, throat feeling strangely tight.

Dream hesitates before lightly touching his fingertips to George's shoulder. The touch sends a shiver through his body and he prays Dream didn't notice.

Dream runs his fingertips across the injury and George forgets all about the pain. He's having trouble keeping his breathing steady.

"George," Dream whispers from behind him, and George feels his breath brush across the bare skin of his neck. "Who did this to you?"

"That doesn't matter," George mutters.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Dream's hand falls from his shoulder and George turns to face him.

"It was an accident, alright? They didn't mean to," George whispers.

Dream shakes his head, jaw clenched. "Tell me who did this."

George's eyes sting. "I said it doesn't matter, Dream!" He blinks quickly and looks down.

Dream takes George's jaw in his head and tilts his head upward, forcing George to meet his eyes. "Tell me," he commands, voice a low rumble.

Their faces are close, noses nearly touching. George stares into Dream's eyes, refusing to let his gaze skip down to his lips.

Dream's gaze darkens, and he presses their foreheads together. "George, please," he whispers, breath fanning across George's mouth, and for a moment George can't remember what he was asking.

"I—alright, fine." George closes his eyes. "It was—it was Skittles."