Under the Weather - Dreamnotfound Oneshots

what once was

in which George and Dream reminisce of one of their favourite memories before the bombs.

(they're reminiscing about a past life y'all) (yes I know I'm hilarious no need to tell me)

some wasteland fluff for y'all, because in the fic you didn't see too much of their lives beyond memories :] tons of cuddles n stuff, you know me 

i highly recommend reading wasteland before this!! there are !!!spoilers!!!, and it helps to give you context :]

Enjoy!<3 

They were only sixteen, then— Young, and naive, and stupid, but strong. 

Clay had gotten his driver's license a few weeks ago, and of course George hadn't— He was sure he'd never live it down, either, because the teasing from his best friend was endless.

It wasn't his fault he couldn't see green or red, was what he would've told Clay, if the idiot would actually listen.

Today, they lounged at Clay's house, pressed together on his couch and bored out of their minds. 

Clay was still, one arm tossed lazily over George's hips and draped over the edge of the sofa. George traces shapes into his other hand, facing him. 

George turns to gaze out the window, barely aware of the sweet breeze outside, the trees dancing with the sunset chill. A smile ghosted across his lips as he glanced at the flowers. Bright with colour, and newly bloomed.

But instead of waiting, instead of appreciating them, he huffs and turns back to the blonde next to him. "Clay."

"Mm?" Clay hums, voice raspy— Knowing him, the weirdo had probably been napping, or something. George pokes him, and he swats the brunet's hand away with a huff, propping himself up on his elbows. "What?"

"I want to do something." George mumbles into his hoodie. Clay looks at him irritably, green eyes half lidded. 

"Well you're laying here, so that's technically doing something." Clay deadpans before plopping back down, this time practically on top of the shorter.

That was his first mistake.

See, George wasn't a weak person, he prided himself on that fact. And it was usually Clay who made him practice said strength.

Which meant he was an expert at pushing people off of couches.

Clay lets out an oof as he hits the ground, groaning out a "What the hell, George?" As he looks up to see the boy in question glaring down at him from the sofa. 

George sticks his tongue out childishly at his best friend, who is very close to smacking the smug grin off his face with a pillow. 

"You're going to pay for that." Clay growls, relishing in the way George laughs giddily, standing up. 

"Not from down there, I don't think." He shoots back. 

Clay grins brightly, scrambling up and snatching a pillow from the couch. George shrieks, jumping over the back and sliding on his socks. He ducks into a hall, pressing a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. 

Things are quiet in the house for a long few moments, tense, as each boy steps softly around, searching for their opponent.

George knows how similar that had been to hiding from monsters, yet how different it had been.

Clay finds his first. 

George gasps in shock as warm arms wrap around his shoulders, the blonde's laughter making him roll his eyes fondly.