Downhill || 𝘥𝘯𝘧

XLI

-

"I'm sorry, Dream," George blurted into the silence between them, interrupting Dream's train of thought. The tube air was stale and musty, cold seats hard and unforgiving. The train cart rumbled quietly and screeched every so often when they rounded a corner or changed speed. The walls were dark underground, the only light coming from the dim bulbs positioned along the ceiling.

There were few people around them, and the ones that were there were a good distance away. Dream was confident that he and George could speak normally without anyone overhearing or eavesdropping.

Up until this moment, not many words had been spoken between the two of them that morning. George got dressed, they ordered breakfast, ate in silence, and then set out for the hospital for his mom's daily visit. Dream just didn't know what to say, or how to talk to him. He just seemed... cold. Sad.

That was until now. After a big coffee and some food to get his body going, George seemed a little more relaxed. And now, he was even apologizing.

"What for?" Dream asked, caught off guard by the sudden outburst.

"I'm just sorry," George repeated, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

To his surprise, George's voice was thick with sincerity. Dream lowered his eyes to look at him. Was he being serious? What's going on? Dream thought to himself, scanning George's face in an attempt to decipher what he was thinking. "George, what's wrong? Why are you apologizing?" Dream asked quietly.

George's face was calm, eyebrows knit together with intensity. Hands wrung restlessly in his lap while his knee was bouncing nervously under his elbow. Through this elusive display of tranquility, Dream could detect emotion hidden in the aspects of his expression; regret and uncertainty; mixed together and showcased by the mistiness of his eyes and the slight tremor of his lip.

"I..." George began, but despite the way his mouth was moving as if he were speaking, words refused to come out. It was like some unseen force was keeping him from vocalizing what he wanted to say. He gulped, and Dream was no less than shocked to see a tear roll down George's cheek. "I'm..." He tried to speak again, but he was getting choked up.

"What is it?" Dream urged gently. Whatever it was, George needed to get it out.

"You don't deserve this," George mustered after a moment, eyes trained on some point far-off in the distance. He sniffed.

"What?" Dream blinked, bewildered. He tried to scan George's expression, but he was facing the other way, refusing eye contact. "Please just tell me what's going on."

"I- I've been treating you like shit, and all you do is... is try to help. It's making me feel even worse, because I can't control it, the words just come out, and I can't stop myself, and I just feel so sad all the time, and you are there to help me, but I keep pushing you away—"

"Hey, hey," Dream hushed, finally realizing what George was on about. He reached over and pulled him into a light embrace, unsure at first of how he would react. When George leaned into him, he tucked the brunet's head under his chin and wrapped a firm arm around his tense shoulders. Muffled snivels and whimpers were heard coming from Dream's collar. Dream allowed him to cry, rubbing circles in his forearm with his thumb in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

George's hair was nice - soft, freshly washed, and smelling of his simple shampoo. His thin frame trembled under Dream's embrace. He silently gave his comfort, glad that George finally seemed to feel able to talk to him. Glad that he was finally accepting anything other than a pat on the back or the occasional shallow conversation.