𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕄𝕖 - Ⓓ Ⓝ Ⓕ

~2~

George woke up in pain, and lots of it.

He gasped, writhing where he was lying and letting his hands fall to his burning stomach. Oh gosh, he was dying. George was doing to die, but then he felt a hand in his hair, a soft mumble of a familiar voice, and suddenly the pain lessened as a third, cooler hand pressed against his stomach, helping calm the firing pain. George fluttered his eyes open, his eyes rolling back for a moment at the bright lighting in the room before he regained control over his senses, and finally managed to focus on the green eyes staring back.

George blinked back some moisture in his eyes, struggling to take a deep breath and pressing firmer into his stomach. Dream's hand stalled in his hair for a moment before leaving his head altogether, and he reached back, his hand disappearing out of sight. George closed his eyes again, not able to find any words, but Dream's other hand suddenly disappeared from his stomach, and he felt a shudder course through his body.

When George opened his eyes again, Dream was holding a green object over his face, which looked yellow to George. He stared quizzingly at the object, wracking his brain to put a name to it, but his exhaustion clogged brain couldn't think past the fact that he himself didn't truly know if it was green or yellow.

"Here, if you inhale through this, you won't be in as much pain." Dream explained, and he brought the whistle to George's lips, holding it for him as he took a few deep breaths. After a moment, the pain relief was almost immediate, and George couldn't help but close his eyes as Dream's hand returned to his hair. This was the most comfortable he had been in a while, and he was gonna ride on this brief moment of bliss until it ran out.

Dream was glad that George had finally regained consciousness, because it finally meant that he won't be in pain anymore. The green whistle seemed to be working, and George's hands weren't pushing harshly into his stomach anymore in an attempt to massage out the pain. Dream was quick to discover that pressing a hand to George's sore tummy seemed to help ease the older boy's anxiety slightly, so he tried to keep his own hand there, pressed close to the bump, but not enough for it to be painful.

In all honesty, Dream was terrified.

Witnessing George in so much distress was nothing he ever wanted to experience again, and Dream's fingertips burned whenever they breezed against the small lump on George's stomach. Dream was scared about what that lump meant, and what the lump itself was. It was abnormal, and the younger man just knew that it was the root of his friend's sudden sickness.

Dream didn't know how George didn't notice it before. Sure, George was a busy guy and won't exactly take the time out of his day to feel himself up, but the self-neglect that George had been demonstrating definitely didn't help his condition. Dream bit his lip, holding the Green Whistle to George's lips, and was glad that his eyes were closed. Dream didn't want George to see him like this, and Dream knew that the connection went both ways.

George made a small noise of discomfort, his brows frowning and his legs kicking out slightly. He opened his eyes and looked up at Dream, curiosity in his look but pain on his features. He moved a hand and clasped it over Dream's, moving the whistle away from his lips with a clumsy motion.

George took a deep breath, closing his eyes while inhaling, and then opening them when exhaling. He averted his eyes from Dream's, and instead stole a quick glance around the room, confused as to where they were.

"Where –," He paused, and cleared his throat. His voice was weak from the sobbing. "Where are we?"

Dream stroked an unsteady hand through George's hair and pressed the green object to his lips again. "We're at the hospital. We have to wait for a bed to free up, and the staff seem pretty occupied. They're experiencing shortages, with COVID and all."

George nodded at Dream's words, and moved the whistle away again. "How long will it take? I really don't feel well."

Dream pressed his lips together, and separated them with a soft pop. "I'm not sure how long; a nurse said that she would come back when they have a placement. It's been around half an hour, now."

"Oh," George inhaled through the whistle again and closed his eyes. Dream was confused when he suddenly let out a dreary giggle. "You have to try this. I feel so high."

Dream struggled to beat down a wheeze, but it still shot from his mouth. George half-opened his eyes and smiled, chuckling too, and suddenly Dream recognized potential content, and reached for his phone, not hesitating to hit record this time as George's tired but bright face flashed on his screen.

"Guys, George is so high right now," Dream chuckled, and George closed his eyes again with a soft smile. "I had to give him the Green Whistle when he woke up to help him with the pain, and so he's started to get all giggly and stuff."

At that, George giggled, proving the point, and looked up at Dream again, looking past the phone. Something changed in his dark eyes, and they became rounder – more soft – and he raised his right hand, the left still holding Dream's and the whistle, and placed it against Dream's cheek. The younger struggled to conceal his flustered face.

"You're so pretty, Dreamie," he mumbled,  eyes closing again. "Marry me."

This time Dream couldn't hide his wheeze, and laughed hysterically. "George! What the hell is wrong with you?"

The drowsy boy laughed along with Dream, his hand leaving his friend's cheek to press against his stomach again. The laughing was making the pain flare. Dream noticed the action and his laugh died out, letting go of the whistle for only George to hold and pressed his palm close to the bump, a frown replacing his smile.

George watched Dream, and whined when he saw his friend's face fall. "What happened? Why are you sad?"

Dream sniffed in response, and rubbed his hand across George's stomach. "I'm sad because I don't like seeing you in pain." His voice broke halfway, and the humour from earlier was gone.

"Why sad? Happy!" George quoted, and then winced. He inhaled through the whistle again, and this time kept his eyes closed, not opening them afterwards.

Dream's heart swelled at George's behaviour, and he let out a sigh. "Maybe I do need one of those Green Whistles."

George frowned, and opened his eyes to look at the object against his lips. "Oh, I thought it was yellow."

Dream wheezed, and the lighthearted humour was back. "Oh God, George. It's green."

George smirked, and let his eyes fall. "That's a shame, I was gonna call it the 'Piss Coloured Bliss Awakener', because damn this shit really works."

The taller chuckled again, and couldn't wrap his head around the fact that George was cracking jokes, when a mere hour ago he was collapsed on Dream's bedroom floor. He was so, so glad that George was happy – that he wasn't crying in pain anymore, and Dream felt like he was going to break down like a little baby, because George was acting as if he was okay, but he wasn't, and – 

Dream let his hand brush over the bump – he was praying that the lump wasn't what he thought it was. He inhaled shakily, the sound making George open his drug-affected eyes. "I love you, George."

The weaker man grinned, and his eyes slid shut. "Piss baby."

Dream stopped recording.

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