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“What do you mean you’re sick?”
“I woke up with a 101 degree fever, a headache, and the urgent need to throw up. That’s what I mean by I’m sick.”
George groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. He glanced at the time, 10:38 AM glaring back at him from the screen of his phone. He was going to be so fucking late . “And you’re sure there’s no medicine? You checked the first aid kit and stuff?” He confirmed, much to Dream’s chagrin.
“Yes, George, I’m sure. Can you please just pick up some on your way back? And some, like, soup or something?” The blond pleaded, voice raspy and hoarse.
“Sapnap and Karl don’t have anything?” George asked, nervously bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Of course not! Karl would probably offer me one of his Monsters or something,” Dream joked, and George rolled his eyes.
“Fine, okay, I’ll pick up some food and medicine when I’m heading back. My lecture is supposed to be about two hours long though, will you be good for a while?” The brunet dragged a hand over his face, grimacing slightly.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. See you soon?” Dream answered, sounding like he was about to fall asleep at any second.
“Unfortunately,” George replied, though a smile tugged at his lips. The blond scoffed lightly, though raised his hand in a wave goodbye as the brunet pulled open the door and slipped outside into the late morning air.
George grinned at the feeling of a cool breeze against his face, a partly cloudy sky blessing him with moderate temperatures. He was sure it wouldn’t last long, but it would definitely hold until he got to class.
He unlocked his car and slid in, immediately grabbing the notepad and pen he always kept in his car. (Dream likes to tease him about it; George always defends that he’s just “being prepared”).
The Brit bit his lip with a hum, quickly scribbling “things to buy for Dream” on the top of the paper, knocking the back of the pen against it as he took a second to think.
After a bit, he had created a carefully curated list consisting of chicken noodle soup, shepherd’s pie, chamomile tea, and medicine.
George started the car, bracing himself for a tiring lecture and an irritating Dream. (He didn’t actually mind fussing over the blond. Would he ever admit that out loud? Absolutely not).
With a loud sigh, he pulled out of their driveway, and was off.
A couple of hours later, he was back home, proud of himself for managing to survive yet another coding lecture that kind of made him want to die. He had stopped by the grocery store, picking up everything he needed to deal with a sure to be annoying Dream.
With a deep breath, George pushed open the door, gently placing the grocery bags down by the door. He shut it, turning to survey the living room— there he was.
Dream was draped across the sofa, pillows propping up his head and fluffy hair spread out over the top of it. His body was scrunched up under a thin blanket, torso wrapped up in a yellow (George guessed it was supposed to be green) hoodie.
Despite himself, he felt a small smile creeping onto his lips at the sight of his best friend so sound asleep in front of him.
Best friend. For now, at least.
The sound of George entering caused the Floridian to stir, groaning quietly before pushing up to sit up properly.
He batted at his hair, moving the messy waves out of his eyes before turning slightly, a grin appearing at the sight of George standing in the doorway.
“How was your lecture?” was the first thing that came out of Dream’s mouth, and the brunet had to stop himself from melting at how thoughtful he was.
Instead, he pulled on a frown, hoping for an irritated look. Judging by the expression on the other’s face, he was succeeding.
“It was ass— the professor didn’t go over anything we need to know for the final and the T.A.’s are already so overworked I doubt we would have a discussion about this,” George complained, missing how Dream’s face softened with worry. “I got your medicine though, plus some other stuff.”
Dream smiled, standing and stretching with a noise of content.
(George tried to avert his eyes from the small patch of skin showing when his arms lifted. It didn’t work).
His eyes raked over the youngest’s face, taking in every detail. His messy hair, the bags under his eyes— George wouldn’t admit it, but it hurt a little to see. Instead, he declared decisively, “You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Dream snorted, shaking his head and flipping him off.
George grinned at him, grabbing the bags from the door and his way to the kitchen counter to pull out the products he bought.
“What’d you get?”
George jumped in alarm, surprised by the voice so close to him. Turning his head slightly, his heart rate picked up at the sight of Dream so close to him. The blond was practically touching his back, chin jutting over the older’s shoulder as he gazed at the table in front of him. He forced his attention back to the objects in front of him, subconsciously moving back against Dream’s front.
“Just some medicine and food for you,” the Brit hummed, slipping out of the blond’s grasp carefully with the soup in his hand, grabbing a pot from the cabinet.
“Food?” Dream asked, and George could practically feel the little head tilt he was sure the blond was doing right now.
“Food,” he confirmed. He turned slightly, confirming his suspicions with a smile. “Chicken noodle soup, and some frozen shepherd’s pie I’ll pop in the oven to warm up. It’s my favorite meal when I’m feeling under the weather,” he said softly, praying that his notes of affection didn’t seem through into his tone.
(It didn’t really work).
George heard the soft pads of Dream walking away from him, the scraping sound of a chair sliding out accompanying it.
“Take the medicine, Dream,” George reminded gently, and he heard a soft “yeah” coming from the blond.
He quietly finished making the meal, cutting a slice of the baked pie and plating the soup. He relished in the familiar clinks of ladles against pots, singing along to the quiet music he had queued on his phone.
He turned with a smile, holding the plates of food in his hands, heart clenching at the sight of Dream.
The blond was grinning up at him, a sort of adoration in his eyes as he gazed upon the Brit.
“Do I have something on my face?” George asked teasingly, cocking his head as he reciprocated the gaze.
“No, I just— it’s nothing,” Dream stumbled over his words slightly, cheeks flushed with surprise at being caught. The brunet gave a questioning hum, but let it slide as he placed the food in front of him. He gently slid a steaming mug of chamomile tea over to him, explaining that it “would help with de-stressing and sleeping”.
(To be honest, Dream didn’t care as long as he could stay by George).
“Eat up,” George giggled lightly, pulling out the chair next to the blond and grabbing his laptop. He placed it on the table, quickly settling in to get some work done.
They fell into an easy, comfortable silence, only broken on occasion by George’s typing and the soft sounds Dream’s spoon made against the ceramic bowl and plate.
Before he knew it, Dream was finished with his meal and was happily watching George code. His brow furrowed at the frustrated groan the Brit let out, slightly concerned that he was going to legitimately smash the device in anger.
“Why won’t this stupid code work!” He exclaimed in annoyance, glaring at the red code that seemed to live on his screen at that point.
Dream hummed, asking, “What’s the error?”
George highlighted the code, shaking his head. “It’s the inheritance line here— see, it’s extending the time interface from this like it’s supposed to, but it’s not implementing this method in the way I need it to,” he explained, chewing on his lip anxiously. He waited as Dream took in the information, squinting at the white text scrawling down the screen.
“Fix your super method here.” Dream was quiet behind him, hands pensively reaching forward to take control of the keyboard. George sat back, watching as he clicked around a bit before running the program— it worked.
George could practically cry with tears of relief at the sight of a proper output on his screen. “I could kiss you right now,” he breathed out mindlessly, grinning wide.
Wait.
Wait.
Oh fuck , what did George just say?
“Uh- I mean- well I obviously wouldn’t kiss you right now because you’re, like, sick —,”
“George,” Dream interrupted, a knowing smile on his face that the Brit pointedly ignored, “it’s fine, I get it. Just chill dude.”
The brunet nodded, cheeks still cherry red. “Yeah, okay, That sounds good.”
Dream tipped his head back and laughed, and wow George had to stop himself from falling in love because oh dear heavens, his best friend was too perfect.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, Dream retiring to the sofa to watch some movie and George finishing up the dishes and doing some housework both of them had been putting off.
“There’s some more tea in the kettle and the honey’s in the cabinet, sounds good? I’ve got to get some more work done, I’ll be in my room,” George called from the hallway, hearing a muffled response that sounded vaguely like an “okay!” coming from the living room.
If you were to ask how exactly the brunet ended up passing the fuck out the moment he sat down? George wouldn’t be able to answer. One second he was powering on his laptop to get started on a paper due the next week, the next he was waking up to a significantly darker room, his laptop screen black and the papers in front of him slightly scattered about.
George wasn’t quite sure why he woke up in the first place— that is, until he heard the gentle coughing behind him.
He turned, spotting a sad looking Dream standing in the doorway, the hallway light illuminating his figure.
“George?” He asked quietly, tone hesitant.
“Yeah, Dream?” The brunet responded, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounded after a few hours of no use.
“I threw up,” the younger whispered, and George couldn’t help but let out a snort that immediately broke the timid atmosphere.
“I’m like— you’re acting like I’m your mum or something, Dream,” George giggled teasingly. “‘ Mum, I threw up ’,” he mimicked in a high pitch tone, laughing at his own joke.
“Shut up,” Dream’s face flushed in embarrassment, quickly looking to the side.
George’s giggles subsided, and he stood with an exaggerated sigh. “So, do you need any water or anything? Some more food?”
The blond shook his head, raising it to make eye contact. “No, I’m just really nauseous,” he murmured, and the Brit’s expression softened.
He made his way to the door, slipping past Dream and into the hall. “Come on, then,” George whispered, grabbing the other’s hand and gently pulling him towards the kitchen.
(He desperately tried to ignore his heart rate speeding up at the feeling of Dream’s skin coming in contact with his own).
George let go of his hand when they were in the kitchen, moving to fix up some tea.
Dream pulled himself up onto the countertop, hands holding the edge of the cold marble and heels gently knocking the wood beneath him.
The brunet could feel his friend’s gaze on him, and he felt like he was being pulled apart and left for Dream to see every emotion inside of him.
He ignored the intense burning sensation, placing the kettle on the stove and turning up the heat.
George turned with a deep breath, leaning back against the stone and crossing his arms.
The two inspected each other for a while, as if a daunting test to see who knew each other the best. The atmosphere wasn’t… awkward , per say— more tense, as if waiting for someone to break first.
Spoiler alert: it was both of them. At the same time.
“Can we talk?”
“I need to tell you something.”
The pair stared at each other in surprise, mouths parted and frozen mid-speech.
“You go first,” Dream prompted, gesturing towards the other.
George groaned, covering his face with his hands. He lifted his head, dragging his hands down his face until they were covering his flushed cheeks. He looked up at Dream, bracing himself.
“This is— this is not how I expected it to go, for the record,” he joked, though it was more self deprecating than anything else. Dream stayed quiet for a moment, maintaining eye contact with the brunet.
“Not how you expected what to go, Georgie?” The blond murmured, tone seemingly collected but fiddling hands giving away his nervousness.
George took a deep breath. It was now or never.
“Me confessing my feelings for you,” he admitted, and for once, he couldn’t look at Dream.
It was much too quiet for far too long.
And then, an astounded, “ what? ”.
George looked back at the blond, only to be met with a confused smile and something ( hope , George’s mind helpfully supplied) sparkling in his eyes.
“I like you, Dream,” he started hesitantly. “I’ve liked you since the day I met you in high school, and I’ve been scared out of my mind because of it. I’ve—,” George paused, steeling himself. “I’m in love with you.”
Even more of that awful, gut wrenching silence.
The oldest blinked and looked away, feeling tears begin to form. “I understand that you don’t like me back, and I’m so sorry that I dumped this on you—,”.
And suddenly he was being pushed back against the countertop, lips pressed gently to his own, a stark contrast to the pair of hands holding his hips with a nearly bruising grip.
George let himself indulge for a second, eyes closing and leaning into the kiss, before promptly realizing what was happening and moving away so quickly that he hit his head on the cupboards behind him.
He looked up in astonishment at the man in front of him— who, for the record, was wearing the cockiest smile he had ever seen.
“I’m in love with you too,” Dream whispered, and it was George’s turn to be awestruck.
He let the blond capture his lips with his own once more, the pure adoration from him seeping into it. He grinned in happiness.
“Dream,” he murmured, breaking the kiss and gently pushing against the younger’s chest. Dream moved away immediately, eyes alight with panic and concern.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asked immediately, and George practically melted at the amount of worry in his tone.
“No, no, I promise you’re good,” the brunet giggled. “It’s just— well, you’re kinda… sick?” He stammered, and watched as the remembrance dawned on Dream’s features.
“That’s— yeah, okay, that makes sense,” he laughed, eyes crinkling with amusement and lips turned into a sweet smile.
That was also subsequently when the tea kettle decided to start boiling over, eliciting a screech from George (who furiously denied any sort of sound being produced from him when teased about it later on), and a loud thud from Dream jumping and hitting his head on the same cupboard George had earlier.
After a beat of shock, Dream laughed, teasingly poking George’s side, “I think the tea’s done.” The Brit groaned, looking at the mess of liquid on the stovetop.
He grabbed a mug nonetheless, pouring what was left of the drink into it and handing the cup to Dream.
When Dream just blankly stared at him, he snorted. “I went through all this hassle to make a drink for you, and you won’t even take it now? I’m breaking up with you,” he joked, before immediately realizing what he had just said. “I mean— if we’re even dating, if we aren’t then it was just a silly joke, I’m sorry—.”
A laugh cut him off, and he looked up from his fiddling fingers to see Dream wheezing in laughter.
“Yes, George, we’re dating,” Dream answered when he calmed down, wiping at his eyes. He grinned at the brunet, and he grinned back, and the pure love George had in his heart for this man was something that he would never be able to describe.
Together, they cleaned up the spill and finished the dishes, hands barely brushing the whole time and bodies just a little too close.
The rest of the night passed in a blur— Dream made George take medicine too, arguing that it was “just in case” he contracted anything from the kisses.
And when they fell asleep next to each other on the sofa, George’s head tucked under Dream’s chin and limbs tangled up, no one could say they were surprised at the outcome.
Because with Dream, George believed in soulmates. And he knew he had just found his.