I Now Pronounce You Dream and George

chapter sixteen

a/n- forewarning, this one is mainly filler, definitely not my best work but next chapter soon, hopefully :) thanks for all the comments and reads, it's absolutely crazy that people actually like reading. my word vomit. also thanks for your patience ;-; anyways all feedback is appreciated, even if it's just a vote, and perhaps check out my twitter, @/profescryer
i love y'all sm
<3<3<3<3<3

The music blared from the living room as George finally finished sweeping the kitchen. George had to sweep, a chore he despised, because the motion wasn't possible for Dream. While he swept, Dream dusted- an easy task that wouldn't lead to further injury, hopefully. It wasn't so bad, because he let Dream pick the music, and Dream's quiet singing was calming enough to dilute his annoyance, even if the songs were upbeat and fast paced.

George moved to the bedroom- might as well sweep the whole apartment while he's at it, right? As George swept around the bed, he bumped Dream's nightstand, causing something to fall off. He peeks over the side, seeing a blue notebook wedged between the wall and the nightstand. He leans the broom against the wall and pulls the nightstand out a little so he can grab the notebook.

Once he's grabbed it, he flips through it curiously, expecting video ideas or something. Instead he finds pages and pages of Dream's messy scrawl, his name popping up every other line, attracting his eyes. Unable to stop himself, George flips to the front of the notebook. His brows draw together as he skims the page. He reaches the end of the page, and his hand turns to the next of its own accord. The sentences blur together as he reads- they all basically say the same thing- but one sticks out that seems to sum them all up: Goddamnit, George, I am irrevocably in love with you. As he read it, he could hear Dream saying it, in his mind. He can picture Dream smiling as he says it, and George is filled with the most intense longing he's ever felt. At that moment, he wanted nothing but Dream- more than food, more than water, more than air, he wanted Dream and only Dream.

He's just starting the last page of Dream's scribbled confessions when he hears the clicking of Dream's crutches coming down the hall. He quickly shuts the notebook and puts it back on top of the nightstand, then grabs the broom to resume sweeping.

"What's taking so long?" Dream asks, leaning against the doorway.

"I knocked over the laundry chair," George lies, nodding to the extra chair in the corner of the room with the mound of George's clothes that wouldn't fit in the closet or dresser. His mind is spinning, trying to make sense of the words he had read- Dream loves him. As more than a friend. It was written clear as day, in Dream's cramped, quick handwriting and rambling writing style, but George still had a hard time believing it. He knew he wouldn't be able to look at Dream, because those words kept tumbling in his head: Goddamn it, George, I am irrevocably in love with you- and he doesn't know if he'd be able to function with those words in his mind and that face in front of him.

"Oh, yikes," Dream answers. He doesn't point out that the pile is exactly the same as it was that morning. He studies George, trying to figure out what he's hiding. He knows George better than anyone, but the light flush across his cheekbones and the way he won't look at Dream has him stumped.

"What?" George says, feeling Dream's gaze on him but keeping his own eyes firmly on the sweeping he's doing.

"You're acting weird," Dream replies, narrowing his eyes.

"No I'm not," George laughs, but it's obviously forced.

Dream opens his mouth to reply, but a knock on the door interrupts. The government official has arrived.