TW/CW: eating disorder/anorexia, anxiety/worry, mention of alcohol/drunkenness/being a lightweight, food/eating (not really but better safe than sorry)
Previously…
Plus he would lose more weight. He would be thinner, no more pudgy rolls or squishy thighs. He would have a sharper jawline and defined cheekbones, no more babyface.
What George didn't consider, however, was the negative surface effects. Duller, pale skin, dark eyebags, brittle nails, even hair loss… George completely overlooked these symptoms. All that mattered to him was the positive of what he was doing, as incomprehensible and messed up as it was. He was lost in the cycle, swept away so far that he would never be able to swim back to shore.
George couldn't see that. He was only focused on his deadly goal. He was far too lost.
3rd Person P.O.V.
Dream woke up to Patches meowing and pawing at his head. He huffed softly, smiling as he petted her head. Patches purred, leaning into his touch.
"You want breakfast?" He asked, sitting up. Patches leaped off the bed, trotting into the kitchen. Dream yawned, following her sleepily. Patches was sitting in front of her food dish, staring up at Dream with expectant eyes.
"Aww…" Dream smiled at Patches, grabbing her food dish and preparing her breakfast. He spoiled Patches rotten, giving her only the best. She was his queen.
"Here you go, pretty girl." Dream spoke in a baby voice, gently kissing the top of Patches' head before setting down her breakfast. He watched her for a moment, smiling aimlessly. He loved Patches with all his heart, anyone could tell. For a moment, all of his worries had washed away, Patches being the sole focus of his attention.
And then everything hit him all at once.
Dream stiffened, frowning. He needed to call George back. If he was being honest, the blond was very skeptical that George would even pick up the phone. It made him nervous– no. It scared him. He was scared for George, for whatever was going on that he wasn't aware of. He hated not knowing.
Dream sighed, going back to his bedroom to get his phone. He would call George, and hopefully he would actually get a response. Dream held his phone up to his ear, biting his lip as it rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Dream found himself listening to George's voicemail, frustration and fear coursing through his veins. What could possibly be going on?
George wasn't going to respond, that much was clear. But Dream was stubborn; he was persistent. He wouldn't stop until he knew George was okay.
Dream dialed again, but this time it wasn't George's number.
"Hello? Dream?"
"Wilbur," the blond sighed with relief. Wilbur was one of George's friends, a musician who lived not too far from London. "I really need to talk to you. It's about George."
"George?" Dream could hear the frown in Wilbur's voice. "What about him? We haven't really spoken recently," Wilbur explained.
"I'll take it he hasn't been answering you lately?"
"Yeah…?"
"Right. When was the last time you saw him?" Dream questioned, narrowing his eyes. Wilbur took a minute to answer, counting off the time since he and George hung out.
"Probably… two months ago?" The musician sighed, sounding tired. "I've been trying to get him to go out more, but it hasn't really been working. I think he's avoiding me."
"He's been acting really weird lately," Dream agreed. "I've called him like, a hundred times in the past few days. But he only picked up twice." The blond paused for a second, biting his lip anxiously. "I think somethings wrong."
"Dream…" Wilbur sighed. "I know you two are really close, but– and forgive me for this– maybe he just needs some space?" Wilbur suggested. "This isn't the first time he's gone quiet. George is… well, he's not exactly the most social person."
"No, no, I know, but…" Dream shook his head, despite the fact that Wilbur couldn't see him. "He was acting really strangely last night on call. At first I thought he was drunk, but George isn't much of a drinker…" He sighed. "I don't know."
"I mean, he could've been drinking. He's a total lightweight; a couple of drinks would knock him out," Wilbur chuckled softly. "But you're right, he doesn't really drink much."
"Yeah. I don't know, I'm not trying to worry you or anything, I just think something's not right." Dream hesitated. "I'm really worried about him. I actually almost bought a plane ticket to London…"
"Alright. How about I go check on him? It's about an hour and a half by train; I could probably get there by three if I leave soon," Wilbur offered.
"Oh, would you really?" Dream lit up, newfound hope blossoming in his chest.
"Yeah, it's no problem. I actually needed to get something from London anyway," Wilbur chuckled lightly.
"Wilbur, thank you so much. Seriously, you have no idea how much this means to me," Dream replied, real happiness and warmth in his voice. "I can't thank you enough."
"It's really no problem. I'm not busy today, and I haven't seen George in a while. It'll be nice to catch up with him, and you won't need to worry anymore," Wilbur mused. "But I do need to leave now if I want to catch the train."
"Right, right." Dream nodded. "Go catch that train. Thank you so much, and safe travels!"
"Thanks. Bye, Dream."
"Bye." Wilbur hung up, and Dream was left in the immediate silence of his home. Patches had long since finished her breakfast, and was now off somewhere doing who-knows-what. George wasn't answering, Wilbur was catching a train, and Sapnap would probably still be asleep, since it was only 7 am in Texas.
Sighing, Dream sat down at his computer, getting to work on a coding project for a customer. He needed to take his mind off of everything, plus it would be nice to get this done early so he wouldn't have to worry about it.
Still, George lingered in the back of his mind. When he finished his project, Dream couldn't help but worry over what Wilbur would find. He only hoped it would be okay.
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