that little feeling

darling

Little George has a nightmare and goes to Dream for comfort.

—

George wakes up alone and he hates it.

The air of his room feels thick with uneasy sleep and his body is tangled in sweaty sheets that stick to his skin uncomfortably. And it's dark in here. Too dark. Even the sky outside his uncovered window is pitch black, with not even a single star on it to give the slightest of light.

On top of it all, faint scenes from his nightmare twist around nauseatingly in his mind, of loud and angry voices from vague, unfamiliar shadows. He hates it.

Getting increasingly upset, he attempts unraveling himself from his too-hot duvet, but it just won't come off! Tears quickly begin forming in his eyes as his panic only continues to grow.

He squeezes his eyes shut to block everything out, making the tears stream down his cheeks. Where is Dream? His little mind wonders desperately, attempting to swallow the painful lump that has formed in his throat. Has he left? What if he never comes back?

Finally, he manages to escape from the suffocating blankets, landing miserably on the hardwood floor. Sniffling, he stands up on wobbly legs and toddles his way through the doorway and into the quiet hallway. There are nightlights fixed to the sockets lining the walls, creating a dimly lit path for George to follow down to the safety of Dream's room.

His door is open ajar, and George pads cautiously through the small opening straight over to the blond's bed. Dream's chest rises and falls slowly where he lies on his back with an arm above his head on his pillow.

George begins crying even more when he doesn't wake up immediately, reaching a timid hand out to poke his cheek. Dream stirs, breath hitching and eyes cracking open. He blinks into the dark for a moment before noticing the crying boy by his bedside, and suddenly he's completely awake.

"George?" He asks worriedly, reaching for him and pulling him into his grip. George all but sinks into his arms, letting out a sob into his hoodie-covered chest. "What's going on? Are you okay?" Dream frowns, pulling the covers over both of them, and rubbing warm hands across the brunet's back in an attempt to ground him.

His best guess is that the boy must have had a nightmare and woken up in distress which made him slip into his headspace — big George would never cry like this in front of Dream.

Soft, tired sobs continue to escape George's throat even as Dream whispers soothing words in his ear. "You're okay, baby," he consoles repeatedly, concern seeping in through his tone. "Everything will be okay."

And eventually, George calms down, sinking impossibly further into Dream's chest and finally falling into a gentle, untroubled sleep.

—

Slowly, comfortably, Dream gets pulled out of his easy dreams and back to his bed. His bed with George in it. In fact, he is sure he can feel the brunet's soft breathing on the bridge of his nose. And sure enough, the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is George's face merely an inch from his own, and brown eyes looking at him curiously.

Dream smiles tiredly, "What are you looking at?"

George giggles and inches forward on their now-shared pillow so their noses touch. Dream doesn't move away, instead circling his arms around the boy's waist and pulling him on top of himself. "Lookin' at you," the brunet mumbles in reply.

"At me?" He feigns shock, smoothing his hands up and down the boy's sides making him squeal and squirm around. Dream chuckles and settles on holding him close to his chest, having to bite his tongue not to audibly coo when George nuzzles into his neck.

They can stay like this for a while, he decides.

—

The morning passes easily like this, with George lying quietly on Dream's chest while he answers emails on his phone with one hand and rubs slow circles into the boy's back with the other. George slips in and out of sleep, letting out sweet hums around his pacifier whenever he is awake enough to do so.

Their sweet peace is disturbed once George catches sight of the rain that is pouring outside the window. "Papa, look!" He sits up with a jolt and looks back at Dream as he points excitedly across the room.

The blond beams back at him, opening his mouth in an impressed 'oh' shape. "Wow! It's raining pretty hard out there," he acknowledges solemnly.

"Raining," George echoes, his eyes still fixed on the water drops trickling down the glass pane. Dream sits up criss-cross so the boy is perched between his legs and wraps strong arms around his small waist.

He places his chin on the other's shoulder and places a quick kiss on his cheek before talking again. "Good thing we're in here, right?" His voice is soft in George's ear.

Not that George even notices that he's there, as he looks to be in a complete daze from looking at the rain. All he does is just mumble a quiet, "Yeah," in response.

Dream chuckles quietly at the sight. "How old are you right now, Georgie? Can you show papa fingers?"

Without averting his gaze, the boy in his lap sticks up four fingers out from the blankets.

"Good job, angel," Dream praises, followed by a kiss on his temple. It feels deeply relieving to see George be so calm now, considering how upset he was when he bumbled in at like 4 am.

Dream decides to, very delicately, ask him about it. "Did you have a bad dream last night? Is that why you came in here crying?" He holds his breath, expecting the boy to burst into tears as soon as he was reminded of it. But instead, he barely gains a reaction from the brunet by mentioning the incident. George just nods his head in response, seeming indifferent about the whole thing which he was sobbing about just hours prior.

"I'm sorry, darling," Dream mumbles and hugs him a little tighter. George may not care anymore, but Dream definitely does. The pet name makes the brunet smile and wiggle around in the other's lap, so much so that the mattress starts shaking from his movement.

"I think it's time to get ready for the day now, yeah?" Dream laughs.

George settles down and twists around to look up at him with his cloudy eyes. "Carry?"

Dream pretends to consider it for a moment before giving in with a dramatic sigh, "Alright, come here." He scoops George up and walks him carefully into the ensuite, setting him down on the counter next to the sink where he immediately starts swinging his legs back and forth.

A soft flannel gets brought up to the boy's face. "Is this okay?"

George nods and closes his eyes. Dream wipes the warm cloth across his face, gently cleaning off frowns and dried tears from the night before. Lovingly, he taps the brunet's nose with the dry end of the towel making him open his eyes, lips tugging into a sheepish smile.

"Aw," Dream smiles. "Don't be embarrassed, baby."

The boy leans forward and hides his face in the blond's hoodie in a hurry, stuffing his hands in the soft pocket at the front of it. Dream laughs and wraps him in a big hug, swaying them softly from side to side.

Moments like these are what make him most grateful that George is here; finally within reach after all those years of waiting. The thought of George having a nightmare and waking up without anybody there to hold him close hurts more than he dares to admit.

But George is safe now, in Dream's arms, with a fresh face, and a warm hoodie to hide his hands in. Dream reaches into his pocket and takes ahold of one of George's hands, pulling it out and intertwining their fingers securely.

Gently, he leans down and kisses his cheek. "Do you want some breakfast, baby?"

—

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