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The air in Orlando is pitifully humid.
That being said, it is not to be underestimated the effects of the sun and heat on the skin. Places where people once lacked in any color at all are easily replaced with sunburned patches and peeling shoulders.
Dream had warned George, several months before he moved, and in the weeks leading up to his flight, and the day he landed, and every day subsequently that they even so much as looked at the sun, that if he was outside, he would burn.
Clearly George has always listened well.
His original excuse was that even on the hottest days in London, he had never so much as turned pink. Despite Sapnap’s confusion, “You can’t even see the color pink, how do you know?”, and Dream’s insistence, “I’ve lived here my whole life, George, please just listen to me.”, he’d never burned.
Until now.
A single day at the beach for a group in their twenties is not the most adventurous thing they could muster, but insistent that they didn’t get recognized while out, Dream didn’t want to risk anything.
They were only there for a few hours before Sapnap was whining about going home and Dream was apathetic. George was, unknowingly, burnt.
It doesn’t take very long in the direct sun, in Florida, in the late summer, on the beach, to burn, especially for someone as pale as George is. By the time they’re almost back to the house, which is only 45 minutes away from the beach they were at, he’s already shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Every once in a while, when they’re stopped at a red light or on a particularly empty stretch of highway, Dream glances over at him. He’s driving, of course, so he has to be careful, but George, who is in the passenger seat, kind of looks like he’s either seizing or has bees in his shirt, so he has to pay a bit of attention.
“Is there something wrong?” he asks, eventually so confused he breaks the silence. Sapnap has fallen asleep in the backseat, which is half the reason they were being quiet in the first place.
George pulls his arms from under the brightly colored beach towel he’s had resting in his lap. His arms are soft pink. “I don’t know, I’m just itchy,” he reaches to scratch at his right forearm with his left hand and gets slapped away by Dream. With an insulted look, he adds: “My arms kind of burn.”
If he weren’t driving a car full of his closest friends down a highway, Dream would have slammed on the brakes and slapped George in the face.
Lovingly, of course, but slapped him all the same. “George,” he sighs, taking one hand off the wheel, upturning his palm and presenting it to George. He gets a confused look, but George takes his hand anyway.
“You know I love you, right?” Dream starts, glancing to the side quickly to make eye contact for just a second.
George glares like he knows a scolding is about to ensue. He nods, suspicion evident.
“Tell me,” Dream sighs, “how many times did you put sunblock on while we were at the beach?”
George’s face pales as much as someone’s who just got sunburned can. “Shit.”
Dream nearly misses a turn trying not to stress. He exhales heavily as he accelerates around the corner, entering their neighborhood.
“You’ll be fine,” he tries to calm them both. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but you’ll be fine. I think I have some stuff that’ll make it better, if not, I’ll ask my mom to get some from the store.”
“Is it really gonna be that bad?” George looks like he’s about to cry.
Dream laughs nervously, “Having a sunburn fucking sucks, George. I warned you so many times.” He turns up their street. “I’m not going to blame you, because that’s not going to help anyone, but you’re not going to make the same mistake again, that’s for sure.”
Shifting again, George whines. “Should I wake Sapnap up?” He looks to the back of the car, where Sapnap, as he still calls him despite living together for several months now, is asleep.
“Probably,” the panic is evident in Dream’s voice and it stresses George out. “You can’t leave dogs in cars in the summer because it gets too hot,” he trails off.
George finishes for him, unbuckling early and reaching behind the seat, “So you can’t leave Sapnaps in cars in the summer.”
Dream rolls his eyes and tries to laugh it off. “No leaving your Sapnaps unattended,” he confirms, “unless we put the Tesla on dog mode.”
“But we didn’t take the Tesla,” George points out.
“I know that, that’s why you’re waking him up.”
George is reminded of the task at hand, and sticks his tongue out as he reaches over the center console just a bit further to hit Sapnap in the knee.
“Ow!” Sapnap yells, sitting up quickly. “What the hell?”
George giggles and turns back around to face forward as Dream pulls into their driveway. “I woke him up.”
Dream nods. “Thank you, George, I didn’t notice the yelling.”
“You should get your ears checked,” George deadpans, “he’s pretty annoying.”
“George, your arms are red.” Sapnap’s observations are quite astute.
“Thank you Sapnap,” George replies as sarcastically as one could physically muster. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“No need to bite each other’s heads off,” Dream puts the car in park and turns the engine off. The music cuts out and as Dream’s head is turned around, stepping out the door, George sticks his tongue out at Sapnap.
“I saw that.”
“What?” George cringes as he peels himself from the leather seat. Who picked leather seats? “You were looking the other direction!”
“Eyes on the back of my head, baby, you know that.”
“Never talk to me like that again.”
“Nick?” Dream yells, “Are you coming?”
Hopping out of the car, with a trail of white sand following him, Sapnap grumbles incomprehensibly. “Good,” Dream nods, “at least he’s accounted for.”
When everything they wore at the beach is put in the washer, and all the food they brought is either thrown out, because Dream’s inner mom is screaming about food safety and bacteria growth, or put back in the pantry, George flops miserably on the couch.
“Feeling it yet?” Dream asks. The words are teasing, but the tone is not. He’s gentle with the way he speaks, and he’s comforting in a way George hasn’t felt since he was a child. He knew that Dream was supposed to be the mom friend, but it’s so nice to feel cared for sometimes.
“Yes,” George pouts into the cushions. “Everything hurts.”
Dream takes a seat next to him. “I’m sorry,” he frowns. “I would have pestered more but I didn’t want to be annoying about it.” He reaches to put a hand on George’s back but hesitates. “You had a shirt on at the beach, didn’t you?”
George’s reply is muffled. “Part of the time,” he says, “Sapnap told me I had to take it off to go in the water and to play volleyball.”
“That’s gonna hurt,” Dream winces in sympathy. “Did you take anything yet?”
“I didn’t know what to take.”
“Benadryl, probably,” Dream gets up slowly. “I should have some in the kitchen. Come with me, this isn’t doing you any good.”
George groans, but he listens anyway. Dream gets two small, pink benadryl pills from the bottle he keeps in the kitchen. “Do you have a bottle of water somewhere?” he asks softly, like all of George’s skin will peel off, on the spot, if he speaks too loud.
George gestures vaguely to the living room, but opts to lead Dream to it himself. The black metal bottle he’s carried around for a year or two now is as good as any. Dream hands him the pills.
“Take these,” he instructs. “They might make you sleepy, but that’s fine, we don’t have anything to do today.” George pops the pills in his mouth and swallows with a drink of water. “Ready for the actual magic?” Dream asks, smiling politely.
George nods curiously. Dream leads him to the bathroom, where he pulls out a bottle of green goo with yellow labeling.
“Do you have loose shorts?”
“How loose?”
“You don’t want them to touch your legs almost at all.”
George makes a rough face. “Probably not.”
“That’s fine,” Dream shrugs. “I have some you can borrow. I’ll just give you a shirt too, it’ll be easier. Come in here.”
George is in pain, and moreover, in no position to argue with someone who clearly knows what he’s doing. He was right about the sunscreen in the first place.
Following him into his bedroom, George is blasted by cold air. Against his burnt skin, it’s not unpleasant, it’s just a stark contrast from his room, which he can never manage to keep cool.
Dream pulls out a large OU shirt and gray shorts George has never seen before. They’re much shorter than basketball shorts, closer to the style of running shorts, but he can’t imagine Dream in them regardless.
Dream notices the curiosity. “They’re from high school track,” he winces, putting an arm behind his head. “I had to run in the football offseason,” he shakes his hair, blushing. “That’s irrelevant, sorry. I don’t know why I still have them, but they should fit you and it’ll hurt less.”
George smiles and moves to the bathroom to change. Before he gets to the door, Dream stops him.
“Actually, uh, just change into the shorts,”
He corrects, reaching for the shirt without force. “I can take the shirt for now. You can tell me no, you can totally manage it by yourself, it’s just easier with help.”
George looks around, confused. “What exactly are we doing?” he whispers.
Dream laughs, squeaking. “It’s aloe,” he explains, “I don’t know how it works but it feels amazing on sunburns. It’ll basically be like a massage, but your back is burnt, so if you leave your shirt off, it’ll be easier for me to rub it in.”
“Oh,” George sighs, “I was really confused for a minute.” He hands the shirt back to Dream. “Yeah okay, I’m just gonna,” he gestures to the bathroom, “put these on and I’ll be right back.”
When he’s back, he doesn’t have a shirt on. It’s fine, just an adjustment Dream has to make, mentally, to get used to it.
“It’s worse than I thought,” George whines. He’s normally one to complain in himself, but he’s clearly not playing anything up. He has one of the worst sunburns Dream has seen in a long time.
“It’s really bad,” Dream tells him honestly, “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” George lies on the bed. “Is here good?”
“Perfect,” Dream says, crawling over to him. “It’s going to be cold, just so you know.”
The warning is not enough. As Dream coaxes the cold gel out of the plastic bottle, the temperature practically stuns George. “Ahh,” he whines into one of Dream’s pillows.
“I told you,” Dream whispers, “sorry.” He reaches down towards his back. “I’m gonna spread it now, it might hurt a little bit, but I promise it’ll make it better.”
With a gentle touch, Dream is careful to spread the aloe everywhere on George’s back. His shoulders, which were pink when they were in the car, are a bright and angry red.
He’s careful, with the amount of pressure, and with making sure George is comfortable. He’s not a professional, but he’s doing the best he can.
The process, at least for his back, is relatively quick and painless. His stomach is partially burned, not as bad, but George lets him carefully put aloe there, too.
He slips on the large shirt, and Dream practically coos. After some help spreading aloe on his legs, George sits up against Dream’s pillows and whines pathetically.
“Tired yet?” Dream asks. He gently presses a bit more gel onto George’s cheeks, his nose, and his chin. “You got burned bad, I feel sorry for you.”
If death could talk, George would be a good mascot. “Don’t be, I should have listened.”
“I’m always right,” Dream shrugs.
“As if,” George laughs, wincing. Dream leans back next to him.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” George whispers, turning his head to face Dream.
“I love to take care of you.”
George reaches up, pulling Dream’s face close to his. “Then don’t stop.”
He presses forward gently, kissing Dream with as much abandon as he can. It hurts just a bit, his burnt cheeks straining as he smiles into Dream’s mouth, but he can’t bring himself to care.
As they pull away just slightly, Dream’s face is as pink as George’s burns. Dream initiates the second kiss, careful not to touch anywhere on George’s body that he knows is burnt.
“You look good in my shirt,” he whispers, pulling away again, cool air blowing against the aloe on George’s nose.
“Maybe you should share more often then.”