Work Text:
Dream has been sick with a bad cold for three whole days; 72 hours spent all alone in the spare bedroom, coughing up a storm with a growing pile of tissues by his side. His ears hurt from blowing his nose so much, and his lips are chapped from him breathing solely through his mouth due to his congestion.
Plus, his diet has consisted of crackers and only crackers since George relegated him to a separate bed to keep himself cold-free (much to Dream’s protest).
In sum: everything is wrong.
The morning of the fourth day, Dream decides that he cannot bear another minute, let alone a whole day , cooped up in solitude. So, he ventures out into the apartment to find and persuade his boyfriend to let him rest in the living room instead.
George works from home and, from the couch, Dream would have a perfect view of his little workstation at the dining table in their open-plan kitchen.
He checks their bedroom first, finding it empty, then he continues into the ensuite bathroom, nudging open the door. The brunet is dressed for the day and drying his hair with a towel in front of the mirror.
“George,” Dream mutters with the little he has left of a voice.
The sound of his name makes him whip around to face the door. His expression softens the second he sees Dream standing there, wrapped in his duvet looking utterly miserable. He lowers the towel from his hair, “Why are you out of bed?”
Dream pouts and George has to fight back a smile. “Is there something you need, love?” He asks softly.
“I wanna sleep on the couch today,” the blond confesses, adding “I miss you,” to hopefully convince his boyfriend even more. George sighs and smiles at him, lolling his head to one side.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea-” he hesitates, “you’re sick, remember?”
Dream looks at him with the most pitiful expression he can muster. “Please?” He asks quietly, “I promise I’ll feel better there!”
George weighs the pros and cons as his gaze flickers between his boyfriend’s pleading olive eyes. “Fine,” he relents.
—
Dream settles on the couch and gets comfy under the soft duvet, head resting on a pillow George brought him from his bed. A glass of water, a box of tissues, and a few tablets of Paracetamol are set out on the coffee table so they are in reach, and he gets a sweet kiss on the forehead before George heads over to the kitchen to start his workday.
Dream quickly finds that staying awake is difficult when his mind is in a constant feverish haze, preventing any single thought from sticking around long enough to make sense of. He lets himself drift off, knowing that George is just meters away with no door between them.
The first time he wakes is around midday. The room is bright from the white February sky reflecting in through the windows. In the corner of his vision, George is sitting by their little round dining table, typing away on his laptop. A mug of something steaming hot sits beside him, and Dream focuses on the swirling damp until sleep envelops him once again.
Next, the room is empty and all the lights are dimmed. Soft music is playing from the kitchen and the dishwasher is tumbling quietly. Too tired to think, he closes his eyes again and listens to the faint hum of the radio.
A click of the front door opening wakes him soon after. He watches faintly as George walks in, face hidden behind two brown paper bags. Groceries, Dream notes far back in his mind. The door clicks again and the brunet makes his way to the kitchen island to set down the bags. His nose and cheeks are pink, probably from the cold; he drifts away once more.
It must be hours later because it is completely dark outside the windows now. Under the streetlight across the road, there is snow falling slowly, illuminated by the artificial glow.
George is sitting on the floor in front of the bookshelf with his back turned to the sofa. He looks to be sorting through the books that line the bottom shelf. Dream can tell that the rest of the shelves above look much neater than before.
“George.” His voice is barely there, so hoarse it comes out as a whisper.
The boy turns around and looks at him with kind eyes. Brown and warm and kind.
“You’re awake,” he says, dropping the books in his hands and crawling across the fluffy carpet over to where Dream is laying. George puts his face close to his, resting his head in his arms on the edge of the sofa pillow. “Are you feeling okay?”
He nods. “My throat is sore.” George giggles at the low sound of his voice.
“I can tell. Let me get you some water.” He lifts a hand to brush through blond curls, thumb smoothing over his warm cheek. Dream doesn’t want him to leave.
“Later,” he tries. “Water later.”
George looks at him again. “What do you want then?”
Dream wraps a weak hand around Georg’s wrist to pull him closer, his clinginess making the brunet smile and roll his eyes. “Fine, I guess I’ll cuddle with you.” He lets himself be pulled on top of the blond, warm arms wrapping around him.
“Only because you’re sick!” He adds, his voice muffled in Dream’s chest.
The blond holds him tight, resting his chin in soft brown hair. “Not just because I’m sick,” he whispers. George reaches a hand up to his hair again, fingers carding through it gently. “No,” he sighs. “Because I love you.”
Dream smiles and presses a kiss on the top of his head.
“But also because you’re clingy and needy an-“ His list gets cut off by Dream placing a hand over his mouth to shut him up. George licks his palm to try and get him off, but his hand stays put nonetheless.
“I licked you and you didn’t even care!” George exclaims in disbelief, pulling the hand off his face. “Gross, Dream,” he laughs.
Dream scoffs, “ You’re the one who decided to lick me, idiot.”
George smiles and grabs ahold of his hand, uncaring of the wet patch in the palm — it is his own spit, after all. “Tell me you love me,” he demands playfully.
“I love you,” Dream admits. “Even after you licked my hand,” he adds hoarsely, making the boy in his arms laugh aloud, nuzzling into his neck with feigned embarrassment.
Dream scoffs, “You’re being all soft now, but I’ve not been allowed to sleep next to you for like four days. Care to explain, baby ?”
George responds by peppering kisses all over the blond’s face, ending with a long kiss on his smiling lips. “My cuddles will cure your coughs,” he explains. “Maybe I’ll trademark it as the leading remedy for colds.”
“As long as you only use it on me,” Dream rolls them over so George is trapped beneath him, snuggling into the brunet’s neck just like he did to him earlier. “No one else gets to cuddle with you.”