We all need a Hero

Chapter seventeen

It was 7 AM, Wednesday. Wednesdays were chill, because it was the middle of the working week, it was that time where your brain felt it was allowed to disconnect. Breath in again. Even if just for a moment.

Right now George's brain was ever so slightly leaving the paradoxal sleeping phase. Meaning he'd wake up soon enough, head to work and live his normal Eveready life all over again. Today would just be more chill. Like any Wednesday.

Yet snore were cut short, as his cyclic sleeping rhythm was cut short from one single scream.

« FUCK. »

George's eyes immediately shot open in complete surprise. If his ears had perceived a loud unusual noise and pass on the information to the brain, his mind still had not fully processed it. Only knowing how to activate fight or flight response, waking itself up in preservation.
You know, just in case right?

Taking a second to recollect, he finally came to realise the situation :

He had just woke from a very loud profanity which definitely came from the mouth of his husband.

Fuck what time was it? Maybe that's why he was screaming. Because that was not a panic scream. And not a pain one either, that's a relief at least. - But really you never know, don't let your tired mind assume anything actually.

But, at the same time if he were late he wouldn't just take the risk to wake George up. Plus, if that's what he intended to do, he knew better than to try and pull such a stupid move.
In the fairytale nothing but a kiss awoke sleeping beauty...

So from the top : it is Wednesday, he has just been awakened by a panic scream from his husband and right now it was... 7:03 AM.

Now, believe it or not but all that happened took but five seconds to process in George's mind. Panic could rile you up and grant you real magic.

The next best thing George did is just hurriedly untangled himself from his sheets, and rush his way down the stairs of their two story house.

He's pretty sure the noise came from the living room. Guess he'll know soon enough.

Stumbling on his own two feet, and nearly falling down from the last step of the stairs, George made a big entrance into their living room.

There he found the tv turned on with his husband sweating cold sweat on the couch.
Immediately he reached for him, going to stand behind him, his hand resting on the couch rest by Dream's shoulders.

With worried filled eyes he took in Dream appearance, looking for any sign of any injury whatsoever.

Just like him, Dream in his pyjamas.
Pyjamas which consisted of some loose grey short-sleeved t-shirt, with equally as loose sweatpants as pyjamas pants. But this time in a different, somewhat darker, shade of grey.

Dream shoulder were tensed, his brows were furrowed in concentration, his whole body leaning forward, both hands on his knees for support.

Usually he looked that way during football Sundays, but those were not due before long.
Trust him on that, but George counted the day until then. It took a whole lot of mental preparation, he had to be ready to survive this.

Yet, still and although his husband ached to talk his ears off with ramble of incomprehensible words, George would listen. For there was no greater feeling than the one of seeing the passion in the eyes of those you loved.

Anyway, so far everything looked good. George allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief.

Now, since there's no way it was football - Or well George prayed it wasn't football - and Dream thankfully wasn't injured either, he started to get really worried about what was going on.