Can I Call You Tonight?

Can I Call You Tonight? - Dayglow

George has seen the sunrise too many times in his life. It's always beautiful, the colors he can't see still blending warmly in the sky, but he's seen it more times than he can count and he's beginning to wonder if that's a good amount.

It's not a good thing, considering he only sees it to avoid nightmares. Staying up all night and napping through the day is the only way he can handle seeing that face stuck in the center of every thought he's ever had. He hates (no he doesn't) that he's gone through with this dumb plan they've made.

It's 6 am on a monday, there's birds awake, and there's another metaphorical checkmark on the metaphorical chalkboard. George has begun counting the nights he stayed up past dawn, for what reason he'll never know. Possibly bragging rights but that's not the best thing to brag about.

His borrowed jacket shifts on his shoulders and the wind blows in through the open window. He's beginning to wish he hadn't gone with impulse on this one. He's still got (what is it now?) 5 more days in this stupid, hot state where the air is soggy for some reason and his crush is two doors down.

(Their best friend is in between them, the poor bastard.)

George sighs into the orange, or so he guesses, sky and shuts off his phone. He has no notifications, which is odd considering most of his UK friends are up by now. He doesn't question it much and pads gently out of his borrowed room and into the kitchen. Patches swirls between his steps as he walks.

The sunlight dripping thickly through the sliding glass door is welcoming and all George wants to do is sit in it and fall asleep. He knows he can't, or else he'd dream that sickening dream again. The one where he's not allowed to remember because if he did, the fire in his heart would burn 10x brighter than ever and he'd cry until the tears could put it out.

There's a man in a green, or so George guesses, hoodie just a quick walk away that makes his heart speed too fast for his body. There's no explanation (there is, he doesn't want to accept it, not yet) and it makes him insane. Why should he ever want to hold anyone that gently, or kiss them that hard? There's no reason, it's just a terrible dream.

The glass of water George has grabbed does nothing to calm the utterly confusing thoughts swirling through his mind currently. Patches paws at his pants and he tugs at his borrowed hoodie again. The green he can't see resting upon a heart he can barely feel twist his head more than he wants. He takes another sip of water.

He hear footsteps too late to hide from them and soon there's a tired, blond Floridian standing at the entrance to the kitchen. He's bathed in the golden morning, freckles becoming honey-soaked. George really wants to kiss the calm constellations that rest upon his face.

There's a pair of eyes trained on George's chest as his own eyes get lost in the stars that sit in front of him. Dream walks closer, hair a mess and stubble painfully visible. The air is thick, though it hugs George kindly. It feels like a warm shower after being soaked in rain.

Dream has his own cup of water before he looks at George again, (it's terrifying how fast he got that) eyes riddled with sleep. They're supposedly green, though George wouldn't know. He forgot his glasses at his house, and also apparently any bravery he's ever had.

Dream rests against the counter across from George, smiley face mug in his hand. It's Dream's favorite, George has learned that by now. He can almost hear his thoughts over his heart as he takes another sip of water. His eyes are heavy in the morning light.

George doesn't realize it until after he finishes his water (in 2 sips, he didn't realize how long he'd been in the kitchen) that he's genuinely tired. He thinks that maybe he should sleep now, and the birds outside respond with a resounding yes.

George places his cup in the sink, Dream following suit, before a gentle yawn escapes his mouth. Dream latches onto one of his arms and he barely recognizes as he's tugged back down the hallways and past his own bedroom door. He puts up no fight when he notices who's door they stop at.

Dream leads George into his bed, the blankets fluffing up slightly from the body landing on them. Dream lays next to George, arms wrapping around him softly, as he pulls up blankets to drape over the two of them. George loops his arms around Dream's neck, and in a moment of sleep deprivation, he places a gentle kiss to the blond's forehead.

Dream pauses for a moment, blanket falling onto their legs instead of their shoulders, before placing his own kiss upon George's forehead. The brunet giggles softly, laughter laced with sleepiness, before he raises a hand to connect the freckles on Dream's face. Dream smiles as he tucks his face into George's shoulder.

(They fall asleep moments later and when George finally stirs, he's being softly cradled by the man of his dreams. His hands are tangled in the hair on said mans nape, legs tangled as well. Their best friend finds them an hour later, faces red and eyes dripping with affection. He shuts the door.)