feel my hands. (dnf x gream)

Chapter Fourteen: Loving You

He pulled around to the side, descending down carefully into a parking area. They came to a payment booth and Dream slid the man a $20 bill, before finding a spot to leave his car.

"20 minutes. That should be enough, your flight is at 3:30." He muttered.

George tilted his phone open. "Exactly 20 minutes, then."

--

The first thing George realized when he stepped in was that the airport was cold. He was blasted with a breath of cold air as he stepped in, and palm trees (were they fake?) decorated the sides of small coffee tables. People were bustling around, rushing to their gates. He looked back to his blue suitcase, trying to remember if he'd forgotten anything.

Dream dragged him through the process, snapping his fingers when he scrambled for his passport.

"Come on, you're going to be late."

He clasped George's wrist, pulling him down the corridors and past vendors. Scathing rays glistened through the intricate patterns of glass on the ceiling, blinding George everytime he took a second step.

They arrived at his gate and sat themselves down on blue chairs, avoiding gazes. Dream set to texting someone, fingers rapidly tapping across the screen. George sensed his discontent, a barely concealed grumble giving itself away as evidence.

I'm annoyed too, he wanted to hiss. I'm frustrated that we never communicated properly. Now we're going to face the repercussions, how lovely is that?

He felt the outline of his phone in his pocket, but kept his eyes on the clock at the side of the gate entrance.

Ten minutes turned to five, five turned to three, and by then, George was on the brink of losing it. He could sense Dream was, too. His white-knuckled grip on the seat was telling.

His futile anger disintegrated. Sorrowful reconsideration broke in, an unwelcome guest. This was it.

This was their entire story, reduced to a sliver of pathetic and skinny love. All because they were scared, dancing around the fire, too timid to get close to the flames, afraid to feel the rush of a burn. Love required a vulnerability none of them were ready for.

George wished it had been something grander; he wished that he could've been more, and though a tiny part of him hoped that maybe it could work, could have worked, he knew it wouldn't. Dream would always retreat behind screens and calls for as long as he could hide.

He saw Dream's phone flicker open, seconds after the blond had set it down in an act of restlessness. He watched with modest interest as Dream scrambled to read the text, eyes raking over in anguish.

"What did they say?" He blurted. That reaction couldn't have been normal.

"Gate C-15. Calling gate C-15." The speakers interrupted. Dream whipped around, and George swore he saw something splinter in those irises.

George stood up as they called for his gate again, flashing Dream a semi-rueful look. Are you going to tell me now?

Dream rose and staggered to his side in some daze, eyes trained on George in newfound realization, as if he'd realized that this was for real. That he was leaving, and he wouldn't be coming back for a while. They stood wordlessly in the line, hearts lurching into their throats. George couldn't bring himself to speak

Finally, it was his turn. He handed the passport to the lady.

We'll still have a chance, someday.

He tugged his luggage along, turning one last time. "Don't look so sad, I'll be back."

"George?"