George is the son to parents that own a multi-million dollar eco friendly car company. Cars have never been George's favorite subject. He knows which are the most expensive on the market because of his father but he's never understood the hype.
Aft...
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"This is a place where I feel at home." To Build a Home The Cinematic Orchestra
George fell in and out of sleep several times. Unrestful dreams were littered with horrors and gifts uneasy to decipher from each other. Cars and green eyes, raw skin and caress, harsh tones and sweet lullabies.
When he finally opened his eyes for longer than moments, George was met with the early morning light. Easy rays drifted in through the hospital room blinds and created soft luminescent dust to float in the air. George's mind was far more clear this time than his drug-driven conversion with Karl. It was vague then and all he remembered was the feeling of relief before falling back into his drug-induced sleep.
The room was empty besides one chair. Pulled up next to his bedside Dream sat unceremoniously still. Legs laid out in defeat with a languid hand mixing what George figured was coffee in a tiny styrofoam cup. His heart clenched within his chest. Dream was fine, he sat there with that familiar thinking frown and the nervous shake of his leg. George took comfort in his presence. Not just for the way he looked, because god was he eye candy, but because he was simply Dream. George had too many daunting feelings for him to let surface right off the bat.
"Hey." It was raspy and gruff but it snagged Dream attention easily. Those lost green eyes found home within George's, and the latter let his lips upturn.
"Hey." Dream's voice dripped like honey into his damaged ears. "How are you feeling?"
Dream was keeping his distance, George could see it. He could feel it. This was the one time wished Dream wasn't so careful about boundaries. George wanted haste and reconciliation. A grand gesture of love because fuck he'd been shot, malnourished, and kidnapped, and made it out alive. All he wanted was a god damn kiss quite literally anywhere on his upper body, preferably his lips.
"Like I was shot in the shoulder," George couldn't help but tease. Dream's expression slowly closed down. He didn't have his mask on and George only vaguely remembered it falling off his lover's face at the race. "Your head okay?"
Dream absentmindedly touched a small bandage covering his right brow, "I'm alright. Just a concussion and a few stitches. Unlike you."
George caught on to Dream's anger and looked away a second later. The brows were pulled taut and his lip was unforgiving, the brunette suddenly felt inferior. This was his fault after all. George was too attached to Dream so they fought about it, he was the leverage that drove Dream to race, he was the reason they were both injured.
"You had to go into surgery to remove the bullet to the shoulder. It fucked up several muscles and a tendon and when they brought you in here you were extremely dehydrated as well as extremely underweight." Dream shook his head George felt like he was getting a lecture from his parents. "What were you thinking."
"I apologize," George whispered. "I did not mean to cause worry to anyone."
"Right?" Dream frowned, "so you just decided to leave and get married, show up as a near ghost at Las Nevadas, and run in front of a gun? That wasn't worrying at all, George."
