𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕄𝕖 - Ⓓ Ⓝ Ⓕ

~5~

George was back in his bed in his hospital room, grasping Dream's hand tightly as a doctor took a sample of his blood. They had spent the last thirty minutes with the doctor discussing George's treatment, and had set the surgery date for three days from then. George was glad when he was told that he would be able to go back home to Dream's house that afternoon, because he was exhausted from crying and having his body touched in ways he never wanted. Dream sat beside George, recording George getting his blood works done. George was glad that Dream had agreed to document the experience, even if it was horrible.

It was early in the morning, and both Dream and George felt as if they hadn't slept in a week. George leaned into Dream's shoulder once the doctor finally walked away with his blood, terrified of what the results of his blood test would hold. He was daunted with the idea that the cyst could be cancerous, and was unsure of how he would live his life if he actually had cancer in his cells.

He turned to look at Dream, tightening his grip on his friend's hand. "I don't want to have cancer, Dream. I just can't."

Dream ran his hand up and down George's arm, trying his best to comfort him. "We just have to take it in strides. If it happens, it happens, and I'll be with you every step of the way. We all will be."

George felt himself tearing up at Dream's words, and rubbed the moisture from his eyes. "I'm really scared. I hate this. I hate this so much."

Dream engulfed George in a hug, and George grasped onto him, clinging to the only familiar thing in this hospital. He reached up and removed his oxygen mask, opting to bury his face in Dream's shoulder, and sobbed. Dream leaned back, taking George with him, and lied down on the bed. George rested across Dream's chest, balling his hands in Dream's sweater, and feeling secure in the way Dream wrapped his arms around George's waist. His abdomen was throbbing, but he needed this. He needed this moment with Dream. He needed to be grounded again.

"It's okay, George," Dream muttered into his hair, his hands rubbing George's back in circular motions. "I love you, it's okay."

I love you too.

George sniffed, his lungs feeling strained after suddenly removing the oxygen mask, but he could still breathe, even if there was an uncomfortable pressure in his chest. In any other circumstance, George wouldn't be this affectionate with Dream. He wasn't one to need touch in order to be comforted as Karl does, and usually expresses his feelings through foreshadowed words – never truly giving up all the pieces to the puzzle in his brain for everyone to see. All this time, he's been worried about the rest of the world, about his fans, his friends, and especially Dream. From the looks of Twitter, none of his friends had streamed since Karl ended his, probably not wanting to be asked questions about George that they can't answer. Ranboo was supposed to stream a cooking stream a few hours ago, but he ended up cancelling it. He didn't give any excuse, didn't explain why he suddenly didn't want to stream, but then again, no one asked.

No one asked, because everyone knew already.

How can you stream and have fun, when you know that something bad happened to one of your friends?

George inhaled sharply, feeling more strained than usual, and pressed his forehead further into Dream's chest. Dream both felt and heard George's movements and sat up in the bed, shuffling backwards so he could lean propped up against the pillows and back of the bed. George slid from Dream's chest, falling towards his waist and across his legs. Dream manhandled George and pulled him up, letting the older rest against his shoulder and pulling him upright in his lap. He heard George's breaths get consciously more laboured, and reached for where the oxygen mask was discarded against the bed. He held the plastic against George's face, holding it in place for him since he couldn't wrap the elastic around his head with his other arm supporting George's shoulders.