Heat Waves By tbhyourelame

Plunge

Summary:

Dream is visited by strange weather, yet somehow, the heat keeps rising.

"Would you want to come to Florida?" Dream asks.

It's not as though they've never spoken of it before, because they had—in slow-moving voice calls when no one else was awake, mid-game when Dream's adrenaline was coursing strong, hard nights when he offered George a place of refuge from certain familial problems.

It's existed as a fallback, an inevitable accumulation of their years of friendship. Yet it remained, still, devoid of follow through. Dream hopes George takes him seriously.

"...To Florida?" George echoes in timid surprise. "Like, visit you?"

"Yeah," Dream responds, "we've always talked about it. Why not do it soon?"

"O-oh. Well, of course I want to, it's just," George hesitates. "A lot to consider."

A frown tugs at the corners of Dream's mouth. He didn't expect that answer. "It doesn't have to be soon, if that helps...I have spare bedrooms and plenty of space. Or you could stay in a hotel, I don't know."

George's voice is quiet. "Thank you for the offer, Dream. I'll think about it."

His heart sinks. Chills breakout across his skin, and he draws his knees towards his chest.

He remembers sitting in the same spot on his bathroom floor days before, wet droplets slipping down his neck while the haunting song reverberated in his skull. In some way, he feels just as barren and vulnerable in George's silence as he had when wrapped in only his cotton towel.

He's cried here before, laying on the cold ground with silent tears and balled up toilet paper. He's celebrated, too, when he'd first moved into the house and needed a moment away from his visiting mother and sister.

Being confined by the white walls and grey cabinets brings out raw emotions that he either loves, or destroys.

"I'm not trying to overstep, it seems like you're uncomfortable right now," Dream begins slowly, "but I have to know. In the past, you've been excited about coming to see me. Is...is there a reason you aren't now?"

The lights overhead dim momentarily, then brighten again. Dream pinches his brows together in confusion.

"Why did you have to ask that," George says in one breath, but it's mostly to himself. Dream's lips part in rebuttal, and George continues, "it's not personal, Dream. Please drop it."

Sour pinpricks collect in his stomach. He knows George's voice too well. "Are you lying to me?"

"I'm not."

He feels sick. "George."

"I don't know if I have enough money, or what my family plans look like—it's not about you," George nearly pleads.  

"Is that really true?" Dream asks.

George's presence is stifled by sharp silence.

Dream's words are small. "Why don't you want to see me?"

"I want to," George assures fervently, "that's the problem. I want to see you so much that I'm..." his voice dwindles, "...scared what will happen when I do."

The wind outside roars past his window, and the air is taken from Dream's lungs. Into the stuffy room wafts the faint smell of storm.

"Scared," Dream reiterates in gentle disbelief, "of what?"

"I don't know how to explain it," George mutters.

Dream wraps an arm around his knees. "Try. Please."