Just One Night // DNF

14 - Not A Good Day

A/N: 4000+ chapter <3 Sort of heavy? I dunno but find a comfy spot to settle in babes, it's long.

"Your fingers are cold."

"They're always cold.'

"I guess I never really notice before."

✧✧✧

Today did not feel like it was going to be a good one.

Whoever George hoped to last night did not answer. His sleep consisted of vivid dreams of Dream and closets and fingernails grazing waistbands and lips on bare skin and teeth on collarbones. All things George would rather have forgotten. Would rather have had it slip out of his mind and fizzle into the air. He would rather have it not exist, the memory of last night. But thus, we don't always get what we want.

It was about 9 am when he woke up, and there was an abnormally quiet commotion going on downstairs. The sounds of muffled arguing sounded lighthearted. George figured it was Nick and Alex, so he didn't rush to get out of bed.

Instead, he patted his hand around his bed, lazily looking for his phone. He found it shoved under his covers and grabbed it. It was thriving on 10 percent since he didn't plug it in last night and...

George squeezes his eyes shut.

"Just seven minutes"

He dragged his hands down his face,

"I really want to kiss you."

"I know."

Fuck.

George plugged his phone and ran his hands through the waves of his hair, tugging slightly at the ends out of frustration. Frustration at himself and at his impulsive tendencies. Frustration at the situation. Frustration at the fact that they had to sto-

George didn't even let the thought finish before throwing the covers off and getting out of bed. The sudden idea of laying in bed didn't seem too appealing anymore. Not with his head racing. Not with his heart racing. He felt like he was sweating but his body was so, so cold. He felt like he was going to be sick.

He stumbled over to his bathroom, shutting the door clumsily behind him and flicking on the light. He slid to the floor and bend over the toilet, hurling the contents of whatever was in his stomach (which was barely anything) into the toilet. he whipped his mouth with his arm, the bitter tang of stomach bile burning his mouth and throat.

He flushed the toilet and pulled himself up, stumbling slightly, and stared at himself in the mirror. Bag's under his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction, his skin unnaturally pale than usual. He took a steady breath, or tried to. His eyes traveled to his wrinkled shirt and to his relief there were no marks. As promised. Oh, God.

His hands gripped the side of the marble counter, his knuckles staining white. The bathroom light felt impossibly bright and hot. God, now he felt hot and cold and sweaty but riddled with goosebumps all over. His chest was racing, his lungs stuttered with each breath and George slid down the wall, panting.

He couldn't breathe, the pain of his fingernails digging into his forearms was barely there as he tried to breathe. Last night was a mistake. The whole party was a mistake. Truth or Dare was a mistake.

George could still feel Dream's lips on his neck, his finger's under his shirt, his body pressed against George's. George shuttered and a muffled sob escaped him and he bit his arm in an effort to be quiet. God, he hated himself.

He hated how he liked it, how he hoped that the others forget them in the closet so they could just be alone. George hated how he wished he could thread his fingers in Dream's hair more often. He hated how he wanted to feel the warmth of Dream on him. Geroge's fingers dug harsher into his arms, his knees pressed to his chest.