George groaned, the bright light stinging his eyes. Rubbing them, he sat up and looked around, dazed. He had come back from Dreams house and started painting, but had fallen asleep early.
Drowsily, he stood up and trudged into the kitchen. He stopped abruptly, seeing a body knocked out cold on the couch.
For fucks sake, she's back early. Hopefully, it's only for today.
A sinking feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach as he quietly crept into the kitchen. He knew she wouldn't care if Alice was out, she never did.
He quickly poured himself a bowl of cereal and snuck back into his room. As he settled into the pillows, his thoughts drifted to the day before. The moment he had stepped into Dream's house, he felt welcomed. When they were on the swing, George felt something he hadn't in a long time; he felt at home.
So when Dream hugged him, why did he panic?
Normally he didn't mind hugs, considering he hardly ever got any. When Dream hugged him though, something felt different; he just couldn't figure out what.
He jumped as the door slammed open. Scrambling to grab his bowl, his eyes met the stone cold ones of his mother.
"There's money on the counter, don't waste it. That's all I came here to do, but make yourself useful and clean the house while I'm gone," She slurred.
George shakily nodded and set his bowl on the nightstand.
"Where's the brat?" She asked, a hint of anger behind her words.
George took a small breath, "At her friend's house for the weekend."
His mother smiled, though it was devoid of any friendliness, "Good. It's better without her around anyway."
George's arm twitched, but he held his tongue and chose his next words carefully.
"Anything else you need before you return?"
The sickening smell of alcohol strengthened as she leaned closer. "Do something with your life; painting will get you nowhere, especially if you have no talent."
She then stumbled out of the room, and George heard the front door slam moments later. He laid back in bed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He'd heard those cruel words countless times, yet they still stabbed at him, tearing into his heart.
He angrily wiped his eyes and stood, grabbing his bowl. He dumped it in the sink, staring across the street at Dream's house. They hadn't discussed when they were going to meet up; hopefully, Dream would let him know somehow.
Connecting his speaker, he hit play and began blasting music while spraying the counters with Lysol.
They call me the kid with the cardboard face,
George smiled, instantly thinking of Dream.
Pencil a smile or frown, then erase.
He could tell when Dream was smiling by his eyes, even if he couldn't see it.
Make me a monster with paper mache
He wondered why Dream wore the mask, maybe he was insecure?
I'm the kid with the cardboard face
A knock at the door startled George. He jumped to pause his music, rushing to open the door.
There, stood Dream, who was holding a small bag. "Hi. Your voice is pretty," He commented.
"T-Thanks," George stuttered, averting his gaze and stepping aside for the taller to come in.
Dream held the bag out to him, "I wanted to apologize for last night. I noticed you tense up during the hug and felt bad after you left."
George smiled softly, "It's fine Dream, you don't have to apologize."
Dream shook his head, holding the bag out further. George, not wanting to be rude, took the bag from his small hands, and peered inside. There was something wrapped in clear plastic.
He unwrapped the items, and upon discovering chocolate cookies, he squealed. "How did you know I like chocolate chip?!"
Dream shrugged, "Lucky guess?"
George hugged the cookies to his chest, "You didn't have to do that you know?"
"I know but as I said, I wanted to make it up to you."
The brunette examined the cookies, "Thank you, I haven't had one of these in a while."
Any trace of George's sour mood was gone as he bit into the cookie. Dream snickered as he mumbled a few incoherent words of praise.
"What was that?"
George held up a finger, trying to finish his bite. "I said, this tastes amazing! Did you make these yourself?"
"Yeah, I made them this morning. I've been up since like 7."
George devoured the rest of the cookie, then wrapped the rest back up and put them in the bag. "So are we working on the project any, or did you just want to hang out?"
Dream shrugged again, "I actually came to drop off the cookies since I didn't know if you wanted me around right now."
George's gaze dropped to the ground, "Oh. You're welcome to stay if you'd like, I'd love to have you over." He cringed internally, He enjoyed the other's company, but love? Really?
"I'll stay then, as long as you're fine with it."
George nodded, motioning for Dream to follow him as he walked to his room. Dream tossed himself onto George's bed, his eyes catching the painting from before. His eyes widened, he recognized who the person in the front was.
"Is that me?" He asked, pointing to the boy kneeling.
George's face heated up, realizing he wasn't prepared for a guest. It was fine yesterday because it was barely distinguishable, but he'd made progress since then.
"Yes?" George squeaked, sounding more like a question than a response.
Dream smiled, "I like it, you're really talented."
George's face was on fire, "Thanks."
"Where'd you learn how to paint?"
"I taught myself. It took a long time and a lot of mistakes, but I finally learned a way or two." He began picking up scattered paint bottles.
Dream picked some up as well, following George's lead of stacking them on a shelf.
"So, I have a question."
George's mind raced, "Yes?"
"Are you comfortable with hugs?"
He sucked in a harsh breath, trying to figure out what he was going to say. He couldn't tell Dream that when he hugged him, he felt a spark; that'd be weird.
"Sometimes, it depends on how I'm feeling."
"I see."
They fell into silence, continuing to stack bottles. When they were done, Dream fell back onto George's bed again.
"I'd love to be able to paint. I've tried before, but it didn't turn out."
After a moment of consideration, George said, "I could let you use my stuff."
The taller sat up, bouncing slightly, "You'd do that?!"
George chuckled, "Yeah I...trust you." He hesitated at the last few words.
Dream made a noise of excitement as George dragged the easel to the bed. Setting a fresh canvas on it, he handed Dream a pencil.
"It'll make it easier if you sketch first," He explained.
George stepped back and observed as Dream began outlining lightly. He guided Dream when needed, and an hour later, he was sat on the stained marble watching Dream mix colors.
He giggles quietly, seeing Dream's eyes squint as he concentrated. George was willing to bet his tongue was sticking out as well.
His throat was dry from talking, so he went to get a drink. He poured an extra glass of apple juice and grabbed a couple of cookies.
He returned as Dream stood up to stretch. He noticed Dream's shirt ride up to his side a little, but quickly moved his gaze to the floor and handed him the cup.
"Thanks." Dream quickly downed the glass, setting it beside him.
George held out a cookie, but Dream nudged his hand away. George insisted though, and he eventually gave it, taking the cookie.
"These don't taste too bad, considering I didn't have any before bringing them over," Dream confessed, being careful not to spill crumbs everywhere.
"So you wouldn't have known if they tasted horrible, yet you offered them to me anyway?" George joked, settling back down on the floor.
"Yep. Wait, hey!"
George laughed hysterically as Dream pouted, "I'm not that bad at cooking!"
"I know, I know," George giggled.
"I had my grandmother taste one first, so I knew they weren't total shit."
He scoffed, "Whatever, how's the painting going?"
Dream tilted his head slightly, scanning the easel. "I think I'm almost done, how's it look to you?"
George glanced over, his jaw nearly dropping, "You're so good! When was the last time you painted?"
Dream rubbed his neck nervously, "Before the other day, I'd say around a year ago."
He shook his head in disbelief, staring at the painting. It had Dream underneath the tree in his yard, legs crossed, and a notebook in hand. The open sky behind him was painted soft shades of purple, pink, and hints of blue swirled in.
Dream set his brush down, "I'm going to take a break, my hand hurts."
"Want to go outside for some fresh air?" George offered.
Dream nodded and walked down the hall. George followed, watching Dream cross the street. Confused, he jogged to catch up.
"What are you doing?"
Dream turned, "I'm going to grab my wallet, I figured we could go uptown for a while."
George grinned, "Sounds good. I need a new hoodie anyway, I've had this one for years."
He ran back to his house, grabbing his own wallet, before meeting Dream outside.
As the two passed an open field, George noticed seven crows in a row on the power line. They all seemed to follow him, their beady black eyes tracking his every move. He found this strange, but said nothing and continued listening to Dream, who was softly humming.
"Where should we go first?" Dream asked as they approached the line of shops.
George's stomach rumbled. "I think I'm hungry," He giggled.
"To the bakery, we go!" Dream exclaimed, unconsciously grabbing George's hand. "His hand is warm," George thought, his face warming up.
Dream realized what he'd done and went to pull away, but George gripped tighter. "It's fine, Nick and I do it all the time," He explained.
It doesn't feel like this though.
Dream dragged him into the bakery. A boy wearing a dark blue beanie and a cobalt blue tracksuit greeted them.
"Hey, how can I help you guys?" He smirked.
"I'll have a strawberry pastry, George?"
"Um, a chocolate doughnut please," He said, barely audible.
"Okay, one moment." He disappeared into the back room.
George leaned against the counter, "So, where to next?"
Dream thought for a moment, "The clothes shop is a couple of doors down, you can get your hoodie, and I can look for another sweater."
The boy came back, "Sorry, my boss needed me. Anyway, that'll be $5.50 please."
He handed Dream the bag of sweets. "You two are cute together, by the way," He said, gesturing towards their intertwined hands.
"N-No, we're not-" George cut himself off, snatching his hand back and cradling it against his chest.
"Oh, my bad. Have a nice day," He waved as they left.
An awkward silence hung over the atmosphere around them. Although George's reaction stung a bit, Dream understood why he wouldn't want people to think they were together. He wouldn't either, right?
He panicked slightly, finding himself unable to confirm this. Instead, he turned to George and handed him the doughnut.
"So," He cleared his throat, "What type of hoodie were you wanting?"
George chewed on his lip, "Whatever I can find that isn't expensive, I'm a broke bitch." He giggled, taking a bite out of his doughnut.
Dream still felt a little awkward but found himself relaxing at the sound of George's laugh. "Good luck with that."
He followed George into the small store, his eyes traveling in between the selection of sweaters. A soft-looking turquoise caught his eye, so he went to feel the fabric. He liked it but wanted to see what others there were.
As he browsed, he noticed George clinging to a small, maroon hoodie. He suppressed a giggle, watching the smaller it try it on. It went well past his hips, but he was grinning.
He spun in a circle, the fabric floating around his small figure. When he checked the tag though, he frowned and put it back on the rack. George sighed, wandering off to another part of the store.
Dream crept over and checked the hoodie price. He cringed a little but decided that he didn't need a sweater anyway. He grabbed it, quickly paying while George was distracted. After waiting patiently, George eventually finished looking around. He inquired about what was in the bag, but Dream refused to show him.
After a few more stops, they both agreed it was time to go home. As Dream gazed at the sun, which was sinking below the clouds, he got an idea.
"Race ya."
"Huh?"
Before George could process what he said, Dream took off. George quickly gave chase, Dream giggling maniacally as he tried his best to stay ahead. The bag hit his leg each time his foot thudded against the ground, but it didn't slow him down.
George almost caught up, but Dream pretended to jump in front of him, causing him to skid and almost fall.
Dream wheezed as George shouted, "No fair!" from behind him. He arrived at the house first, gasping for air as George collapsed onto the grass.
"You're such an idiot," George breathed out, his chest quickly rising and falling as he tried to refill his lungs.
"Not my fault your short legs slow you down," He chuckled, resting beside George. The soft grass tickled his fingers as he held himself up.
"Keep talking like that, my short legs and I will curb-stomp your ass," George glared.
"Whatever you say." Dream glanced up, noticing his grandmother waving him over from the front porch.
"I have to go. One more thing though." He pulled the hoodie from the bag, presenting it to George.
"I saw how happy you looked in it earlier and thought you needed a new one more than I did."
George was speechless. His eyes glistened as he carefully took the hoodie. Slipping it on, he giggled happily and stood up, spinning around once more.
"Thank you so much!" He said, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Hey, no need to cry, it's fine!" Dream reached over to wipe a tear trickling down his cheek as George sat back down.
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, "I'm sorry, it's just, no one has given me anything in years. I don't buy anything for myself either, since Alice is my number one priority."
Dream smiled softly, scooting closer. "I'm glad you like it, it looks good on you."
He stood up, extending a hand to the smaller. Pulling him up, he waved before walking home.
George buried his face into the sleeves, the warmth returning as he hugged himself tightly. He'd have to find a way to pay Dream back for the day, but for now, he allowed himself to snuggle into the hoodie. The warmth that engulfed his body drowned out everything but happiness.
He pulled the hood up and turned towards his house. As he reconnected his phone to the speaker and blasted his favorite song, he felt as though he were on top of the world.
-2566 words