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He’s running.
From what? He’s not quite sure, but Dream nearly trips over a branch just as that thought nags at his brain. The blonde’s vision is...fuzzy, blurry. It’s as if somebody just breathed on a cold window and he’s being forced to look through it. He’s just getting slower and slower, even if he’s sprinting as quick as he can. As he actually trips over a rock, he feels almost no pain, leading the young man to realize it’s a nightmare.
But it’s not like that helps. He tells himself, ‘wake up, wake up’ but he just can’t. It’s even worse when he gets caught .
Tears build up at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill as he’s shoved to the ground. He feels no actual pain, but only phantom clawing at his skin, he twitches as whatever- no, it was a person he was running from, catches up with him, phantom hands running all over him, clawing at his skin as what sounded like familiar whispers ringed out from behind him, right into his ear.
Dream jolts awake, sweat running down his back and tears running down his freckled cheeks as his hands go up to tug at his hair, slender fingers tangling in the blonde locks and gripping them tight, his knuckles turning white as he winced at the sensation. He feels something stirring next to him and flinches, backing up and hitting his head against the wall.
The loud thud of Dream’s head just so gracefully hitting the wall was what did it for the British man who’d been sleeping peacefully next to his boyfriend. George jumped awake, being greeted by the horrified look on the younger man’s face, emerald green eyes puffy and red from crying.
“Dr-Dream, are you alri-?” George starts a sentence, words laced with concern that seems to overflow and drip from his tongue, but gets cut off by a terrorised shout from said man.
“STOP IT, STOP IT, GET AWAY-!” Dream’s eyes shut tightly. He doesn’t seem to realize it’s George in front of him, not someone else.
George is hurt by those words, who wouldn’t be, but he doesn’t let it bother him. Dream is obviously distressed. He bites his tongue and backs up a bit, holding his hands up as if to show he’s not gonna do anything to him.
“Clay, look at me, please.”
At the mention of his actual name, Dream slightly opens his left eye, glancing at George, who’s of course, given him some space. He hiccups, muffled sobs coming from behind his arms. He’d hidden his face behind his arms, the sleeves of his sweater dropping down a bit to reveal red marks on his arms. Scratches. He must’ve done that in his sleep, it wouldn’t be the first time.
A minute passes with Dream staring at George, Paris green eyes staring right at the others warm, chocolate brown irises. George seemed worried, and that did more than just tug at the blonde’s heartstrings. It straight up shattered him.
After a high pitched sob came out of Dream’s throat, he slowly inched closer. George put a hand on his shoulder. The younger man flinched, which made George start to take his hand off the other, but he simply grabbed George’s hand and held it there.
“Don’t go.”
He sounded broken, desperate. As if he was robbed of everything he was, left a shell of his former self. George pulled Dream into a hug as the other sobbed into his shirt, staining the baby blue fabric with salty tears.
It took a few seconds until Dream returned the hug, wrapping his arms around the brunette’s shoulders, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as if he’s afraid he’s going to disappear. He’s begging George to not let go, to not leave him alone. And George doesn’t, he stays with him, letting the blonde cling to him like he’s his only reason to keep living.
“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go-“ Dream repeats over and over again, hiccuping in the middle of his words and sniffling.
“I’m not going anywhere.” George reassured him, rubbing circles on Dream’s back, the friction heating up the green, wool sweater he’s wearing. He’d forgotten to change before going to sleep, mostly because both of them passed out while talking to each other.
Dream’s head hurts, he hears a ringing in his ear, high pitched and painful . He buried his head into the crook of George’s neck, as of trying to hide from it.
What feels like hours passes, even if it was probably a few minutes. George is still there. He’s still holding onto Dream, he won’t let go unless the other wants him to, and he’s okay with that. As long as Dream needs him, he’s there.
Dream’s breathing eventually slows down, evening out as he stops crying, wiping tears from his face and blinking to get rid of the tears still in his eyes. He pulls away a bit, smiling in a somber way and looking George in the eyes as he pecked his lips, making a pink shade rise on the Brit’s cheeks as he gave him a short chuckle.
“George?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”