George has overcome the riches and the tight kept tendencies of his family finding a rag tag team of street racers. After learning the ins and outs of Las Nevadas, he's come to decide that joyriding is a newfound freedom. But with all the aftermath...
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"I will let you down, let me go." Flames R3HAB, Zayn, Jungleboi
⚠️Warning near drowning. Car situations⚠️
"George, I'm fine."
With a soft towel George cleaned up the blood from Dream's lip and the little beneath his eye. His jawline would bruise more than it already started to show with a gentle purple over sun kissed skin. Ignoring Dream entirely he slowly cleaned over every scratch and every bruise the fighting ring brought on. Thumbs caressing over the tight spot on his neck where Dream was choked.
The more he looked the more he started to panic beneath a lackluster expression. Like he was so trained to do every emotion ran beneath his heart instead of his features. All of these bruises were his fault. The jawline, the neck, the ones on his arms. Dream was put in danger because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. His parents would be so disappointed, honestly, he was disappointed in himself for them. It was a simple task, to not speak. Keep things cordial. Yet there he was like some kind of idiot looking to start a fight he couldn't win. Not to mention whatever race he was about to endure.
"George." Softer this time, Dream gripped his hand and kissed the knuckles. "I'm alright."
He blinked back into the present as best he could and nodded. Making to pack up the tiny first aid kit one by one, Dream simply observed him like a fish in a tank. George would race in a few hours with Dream's car. It was the only one he'd driven other than his own and that one was still in the garage back at the house hours away. He didn't think he'd make it out of this race. And maybe that wasn't an optimistic outlook, but somehow he could feel it. Everything felt wrong. And off. And nothing would shut his head up. It kept going. And going. Until nothing but the raze sound of ringing held his eardrums captive and seized his breath.
"George," Dream pulled him into an embrace, stopping the escalation in its tracks. "We're fine. I'm breathing, you're breathing, okay? Feel?"
Bringing a shaking hand up, Dream pulled him the rest of the way to his heart. With the torn fabric of his shirt, George could feel skin and the gentle thump of his loverboy's heart. Steady despite everything. He sighed and didn't let go.
"I'm not living through this race."
Dream's lips found home in the fluffy parts of George's ruffled hair. Unmoving like this was a reassurance.
"The Sea wall is a difficult race to win," he admitted, "but you won't die from it. If the car goes into the water you break a window and swim out. There's a knife in my center console."
George shuttered at the thought, "The wall will only fit one car."
"One and a half," tender fingers grazed over his ear, "if you can keep two tires on the wall the car will coast, coast for too long and the car rolls into the water... upside down. How do you get out of a sinking car?"
