Olympic Love || dnf

So Far, So Good

:D

TW: mildly graphic scene (no spoilers on what kind of graphic tho)

Previously...

Dream hated failure. He despised that he couldn't be perfect, that he couldn't be the very best. After all the work he'd put into swimming and becoming an Olympian, he wouldn't have the large array of medals he had always dreamed for. Sure, one bronze medal was no small feat, and Dream felt a swell of pride for his medal, but it just wasn't enough for him. He always wanted more.

He could never be satisfied.

{George}

3rd Person P.O.V.

A few days had passed, and George still hadn't heard from Dream. The only sign of life from the room across the hall were periodic food deliveries, which George kept an eye on.

The day Dream had retreated into his room, George hadn't known why he refused to answer the door. Eventually, he gave in and looked up the race Dream had attended that morning while he was at gymnastics training.

After watching the clip, and seeing the overall scoring, George understood why Dream had been upset. Even still, this was getting a little ridiculous, how long he was sulking.

George had his floor final in the morning. Before falling asleep, he decided he was going to do something about Dream's behavior... but maybe after getting some sleep.

~

George awoke to the sound of his alarm, grumbling and swiping the offending noise away. He did not feel ready for today.

Even after a quick shower and a light breakfast, George could still feel the uneasy churning of anxiety in his stomach. This was his big day, his floor routine final, and dammit, he wanted Dream to be there!

George marched over to Dream's room, looking as dark and gloomy as it had the past couple days. The brunette knocked on the door loudly, huffing and standing as tall as his short stature allowed him to.

Some time passed, and there was no answer. But George wasn't going to give in that easily. Eyebrows knitted together, he knocked again, waiting for only a few seconds before the door was opened.

"What?" Dream asked, tone slightly annoyed. He looked awful, a shade paler than normal with dark eye bags and an overall exhausted appearance.

"Dream," George sighed. "I was wondering if you wanted to-"

"No."

"Dream," George huffed, eyebrows furrowed in anger. "You can't just sit here and keep feeling sorry for yourself. You need to pull yourself together. I'm sorry, but you need to get over it." Dream's gaze was intense, staring at the red-cheeked boy. George let out a shaky breath, body slumping a little. "Um, look, I didn't mean-"

"No, George, you're right." George raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was right?

"I need to get over it. It was a failure, and that happens sometimes. I can't be perfect," Dream continued. George nodded, agreeing.

"Yeah. If it makes you feel any better, I still think you were good," George admitted shyly, looking down and shuffling his feet on the carpet. Dream smiled, his first genuine smile in days. It felt nice.

"Sorry I acted like that," he apologized, sighing. "Sometimes I get really mad at myself..."

"It's ok, Dream." George looked up at the blond, smiling weakly. "Hey, if you're up to it, I was wondering if maybe you would come to my floor final?"

"Is that what you came here to ask?" Dream wondered, a slight expression of guilt on his features. George nodded, swallowing nervously.

"I'm kinda nervous, this is a pretty big event for me," he admitted. "Maybe you could come watch? And maybe after we could do something?" George's tone was hopeful, and Dream wasn't about to say no.

"Of course, but you'll have to give me like, half an hour first," he chuckled awkwardly.

"I can meet you there?"

"Sure." George nodded, turning to head back to his room. "Oh, and George?"

"Hm?"

"Good luck. You got this." The smaller boy smiled, nodding. He went into his room, quickly getting changed into his leotard. George draped his Olympic jacket over his body, he wasn't cold but he wanted to cover up a bit while in public. He also pulled on some sweatpants before grabbing his bag and heading to the bus stop.

~

George was at the gymnastics center, on the ground stretching. He watched as other gymnasts did their floor routines, getting professional judgement on their performances.

His time slot was approaching quicker than expected. George was next in line. And still no sign of Dream.

George scanned the stands every few seconds, hoping to see the familiar mop of blond hair and that stupid grin that made his heart flutter. But still, he wasn't there.

It was his turn now. George stepped out onto the floor, taking a deep breath. Still no Dream.

But the show must go on. George threw his hands up, staring straight ahead at the large floor space. He broke out into a run, jumping and flipping mid air before landing it perfectly.

So far, so good.

George continued on with his routine, nailing every part. In fact, he was on track for earning a gold medal- or at least a silver.

George ran, jumping and flipping again, but this time, he didn't land the way he wanted to. He flipped too far, and was about to faceplant into the floor. Out of habit, George held out his arms, trying to break the fall and land in a somersault instead.

He almost did it, too. George hit the ground, arms nearly holding him. Unfortunately, he never made it to the somersault.

George's wrist made a loud crunching sound as it made contact with the floor. Unable to hold his own weight, George kept falling, landing flat on his stomach.

A loud gasp escaped the crowd. The only sound for a moment was the hushed murmurs from the stands, until a piercing scream filled their ears.

George had rolled over onto his back, staring at his arm. His left wrist was completely limp, bent all the way backwards with shattered bones poking out. It was a horrific sight, and after hearing George's panicked scream, the crowd began to stir.

George felt like he was drowning. His mind was fuzzy, all he knew was pain. His breaths came in short, sharp pants, chest aching with each shallow breath he took.

George couldn't even begin to comprehend the amount of pain he was in. Fleetingly, he wondered if this was what death felt like. It was excruciating, yet fuzzy and fading at the same time. He had only been laying there for a minute, at most, but to George, it felt like an eternity.

He felt hands on him, lifting him off the floor and onto a stretcher. As he was taken away, George could hear the fading sound of his floor routine music, which hadn't been paused amidst the panic.

Clenching his jaw, George squeezed his eyes shut. Really, truly, this felt like the end for him.

I told y'all there would be angst eventually

I think it was a nice build up to it tbh, it was nice having some fluff in the beginning of the book instead of the end yknow? Like a lil different than my usual