feel my hands. (dnf x gream)

Chapter Ten: Familiar Face

note: chapter rewritten, republished on monday.
tw: knives

"Dream, what did I tell you?"

Dream swallowed. "George, why are you here?"

"To get you." He tugged on the collar of Dream's shirt, forcing him out of the shop. "You know you hate storms, you're such an idiot." 

His heart hammered, throat aching. This was not good. The anxiety combined with the harsh emotions—he was going to do something so incredibly stupid.

Dream's hand shot out and grabbed onto the back of George's sweatshirt.

"Wait." He said softly. He tugged him in softly, bringing him to his chest. He was going to regret this. A hand wandered up to cup George's cheek, shaking, waiting for George to pull away and say no. He traced his jaw, watching the way George's eyes fluttered shut.

Tentatively, he lowered his face, so that his forehead was touching George's.

"Stay for a while."

"Dream." George's hands had found their way to his waist, breathing rhythmic. Dream shushed him, leaning impossibly closer. They stilled, wind brushing through their hair.

"I could kiss you right now." He whispered, knowing he was only inches away.

George huffed quietly. "You won't." Dream smiled. A challenge?

He tilted George's chin with unstable fingers, their breaths mingling. George's eyes flew open in alarm just to see Dream almost graze his lips with his own, so close, if only he'd leaned in more—

"You fucker." He breathed. Dream smiled wanly. George pushed him away, spinning on his heel and continuing down the road without him, eyes stormy.

A short laugh broke from Dream's lips in amusement at George's reddened face and angry steps. 

"That wasn't funny." George said stiffly.

Dream frowned a little, nervously tugging at his sleeves. "Oh, come on."

George sighed. "You're toying with me, how am I meant to find that funny?"

"George, you're not really mad, are you?"

He whipped around angrily. "Why? Do I disgust you? Is that why you can't...?"

"Are you even sure you want this?"

George glowered at him and fell silent, continuing down the pathwalk, only a little ahead of him. Dream felt like a stupid puppy trailing behind him, frustration and fear that he'd upset George for real this time clawing at his throat. 

A car passed, and when he turned his head to look at the shiny black, he saw a reflection of the raw fear that his siblings wore like permanent masks in a window. There was a guilty and twisted sort of relief that drowned in hatred.

God, why now? Shut up, he begged, shut up. Leave.

They faded out, and he suppressed a bad chill. He could block it out. It was okay; they were gone, so what if he hadn't seen them in years?

He focused his eyes on the back of George's favorite blue sweater. His heart was racing, his head pounding with a pain he could barely describe. He wanted it to be over.

He was going home. It was fine. There it was, his apartment, waiting for him. Here, he was safe with George.

Was he, though?

George. He made him feel safe. Dream took a hesitant step, nearly tripping with the momentum lost. George turned his head slightly before snapping it back to face the road.