It's Called: Freefall

|Called To The Devil|

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It had been two days and neither George nor Dream had spoken about what had happened. George had retreated to his room for the rest of the night and most of the next day. Dream fixed up the apartment the best he could, but couldn't get the marks off the walls in the hallway.

Finally, three days later, George trudged into the kitchen with a blanket wrapped around his head. Dream said nothing, but shoved some toast with butter on a paper plate over to him. "Thanks," he said quietly.

There's another long pause, before Dream finally says something. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" asks the other sarcastically.

"I'm serious.

"You've been my roommate for three fucking weeks, Dream." He slams his hands on the counter, then drops to his elbows, covering his eyes with his hands. "That's all! I barely know you. And suddenly somebody is in my home threatening to kill you, and— and me." He gestures vaguely to the both of them without looking up.

"I'm sorry. That kind of thing doesn't normally happen," he says flatly.

George just shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Dream frowned, wishing he could force himself to feel guilty about the whole thing. Clearly George was more effected by it than he'd thought. Dream cursed himself silently. "Look, that guy knew me from... a long time ago. I saw him again recently and I didn't know it was humanly possible to hold a grudge that long," he lied lamely.

"Right." He takes a deep breath. "I don't care what you do, okay? You pay your portion of rent and you do dishes and don't normally make messes like that, so it's not my business. But just... please don't let that happen again," he said seriously.

"It won't. One time thing, I swear."

"Good. Thank you." George stood up straight, with his brows furrowed and a thoughtful look on his face. "What did happen to him? The guy who broke in? First thing he was going to kill you at the front door and then... what? He just disappears?"

"This is why I don't mix work and home. But he's gone."

George's eyes go wide for only a second, then nods in understanding. "Right. I'm just... Thanks for the food." He lifts the paper plate and walks out of the room, clearly a bit upset still.

"Yeah," Dream mutters, long after George has left.

***

George finished his breakfast, leaving the paper plate on his bedside table and grabbing his laptop. It was his day off, but he scrolled through his email, half-wishing somebody would ask him if he could come into his office for a meeting or something.

He wanted to get out of the house, but had no excuse to. He had friends, about two months ago before everything had gone to shit and he lost his place to stay. But now, with nearly nobody to spend his time around, he found he didn't really want to do anything or go anywhere.

And Dream was out of the question.

Because, God, that was a whole other can of worms George didn't want to open. George hadn't been that terrified since... Fuck, he didn't want to even think about it.

Eventually, he closed his computer, accepting that he'd drive himself crazy if he couldn't take his mind off of everything. George rolled over, scrolling through his phone which had been returned to him by Dream.

And, again, there he was. Lead right back to the nagging questions at the back of his mind. How had Dream gotten the guy out that fast? He had to have killed him, right?

If he had, George couldn't decide if he would be thankful or horrified. He decided it would probably be a mixture of the two. It would explain, after all, why Dream would disappear for awhile and didn't seem to have a job even though he was able to sustain himself.

George groaned in frustration, tossing his phone across the room.

***

Dream hated the way George glanced at him nervously on his way out of the kitchen. He hated how off George had seemed since everything. He hated a lot about his situation right now.

He wanted to make amends with George, but how was he supposed to do that without giving away all his secrets. Dream didn't feel bad about what he did. That man would've killed him and George. Dream fucked up and he fixed his mistake. It wouldn't happen again.

Until it did. Just in a... much less threatening fashion.

Oh, also this time it wasn't his fault that random people showed up at his home uninvited and angry. It was George's.

***

A little backstory may be necessary.

After George continued tossing and turning around all day, pacing around and wishing for a reason to go out somewhere fun, he made a stupid decision.

He retrieved his phone from the opposite side of his room and scrolled through the contacts, hovering his thumb over the "call" button on a particular person's number.

He stayed standing in his room, debating if he should be doing this. Then, he quickly pressed the button, and the phone began to ring. He nearly threw it across the room in surprise of his own actions. No backing down now. George was calling his ex-roommate. George wasn't quite sure how to explain what they'd had outside of that.

"George?" asked a familiar voice through the tinny phone speaker.

"Karl?"

"Hey."

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