George has overcome the riches and the tight kept tendencies of his family finding a rag tag team of street racers. After learning the ins and outs of Las Nevadas, he's come to decide that joyriding is a newfound freedom. But with all the aftermath...
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"And you'll leave him, you're loyal to me." Moth to a flame (with the weekend) Swedish House Maña, The Weekend
"He was sick on the terrace!"
"Why was he even up there?"
"Wouldn't tell me! I just found him!"
"He's barely coherent!"
It was all a warm embrace. Arms and kisses and touches morphed into a soft imprint of hazy memories. The gently heated touch that carried him this way and that was much compared to the rough sway of a boat-like ride. Eventually, the warmth of the air turned cold, and a solid but comfortable surface pressed onto his thighs beneath him. It smelled of home, George sunk into it. He sunk and sunk into the black unconsciousness until a degrading voice tore through the peace.
"George." Dream's voice filtered in and out with the same drop frequency of a water tunnel. He tapped George's cheek lightly, "There you are. Keep your eyes open. You need to drink this."
"No." George languidly draped his head over the solid surface behind him. He was resting against a bed he figured, something gently but firm. Although his eyes were covered in an unfamiliar haze he traced a stitched seam of a grey blanket. "Sleep."
"If you sleep, I will take you to the hospital." Dream all but snapped, sitting him up again, "You're nearly a sip away from alcohol poisoning. Do you want your system flushed out?"
A bottle of water came up to his dry lips and tipped into an unwilling mouth. He swallowed instinctively pushing the hand away. "No. Home."
Dream gripped George's chin not unkindly and muttered, "George, you are home. Wake up."
Almost petulant he said again, "No. Home."
"Home," Dream shook his head. "You are home, dumbass. Now drink the water."
George complied and snagged the bottle from his boyfriend's hands. Holding it in his own he watched the plastic tremble within his grasp, water dripping over his wrist bone. The condensation grounded him more than he initially thought it might.
As he sipped cold shocking drips of water he sighed seeing the tension release from Dream's terse brows. His mask was on the floor beside him, hands hovering gently over George's knees. Taking liberty, George tucked Dream's fingers between his own and watched his expression deepen.
Dream circled his wrist and fell silent as he counted something. A small huff, "You are going to be the death of me I swear."
Draping his head over again, George gave Dream a tired glower, "Because I do not belong here. With cars. N' racing. N' schemes. With you. I'm a glass figurine."
The racer was already shaking his head.
Standing up from the floor, Dream opened their shared closet and started rummaging through a bag George had never seen before. He pulled out three items and spread them over the floor by George's thigh. A bottle of black pills, a bottle of red pills, and a stethoscope.
