6 ; skating, but it isn't in the 90's

                                    

                                          
hello!!! 
                          
♤
                          
George had woken up on his own terms that morning, having set an alarm for almost an hour before anyone else woke up. It wasn't pleasant, waking up at 7 am, but he did enjoy not being yelled at by Sapnap or pushed around by Dream. 
                          
What he hadn't expected was for Bad to be asleep. He guessed that he would be awake first, he'd always boasted his early mornings being around 5 am. George pushed it off on jetlag and found his way to the kitchen. He'd been there for only a few days, and already he knew he entire layout of the house. 
                          
George poured a cup of water into the kettle, and flipped the on switch. He poured a generous amount of brown sugar into a cup and placed a tea bag inside. Vanilla-Chamomile always reminded him of home, or, the good parts of it. 
                          
He'd been thinking a lot about home recently, and it had begun to take it's toll on his mental health. His parents, which he always remembered in an almost god-like light: untouchable, all knowing, in control of him, had started to seem less and less like good parents and more like the overprotective, emotionally abusive people they really were. 
                          
Pushing those thoughts to the deepest corners of his mind, George poured boiling water into his cup and started stirring it with a plastic spoon left on the counter from last night's coffee. 
                          
He sat down on the couch in the living room, pulled his legs up, and held his cup on his stomach. The room was dark, with the smallest amount of highlights coming from the thin curtained windows around him. 
                          
George stayed there in peaceful aloneness for almost two hours, until someone came down the stairs. He already knew it was Dream, by the way his footsteps sounded when he walked. 
                          
"Morning," George said as Dream emerged from the hallway, stretching his arms above his head. 
                          
"Who...." He turned to look, and then smiled tiredly. "George."
                          
"I'm the only person with a british accent," He laughed, setting his cup on the table. 
                          
"Why're you..." Dream paused and dropped onto the couch next to him, his voice laced with sleep. "Sitting in the dark?"
                          
"It's nice," George shrugged. "Also, everyone's asleep, so I didn't want to bother with lights."
                          
"Nick is awake," Dream said, in a tone as if George would've somehow known that. 
                          
He didn't say anything, instead, George stared at his hands, tapping his index and thumb together, having picked it up from Dream. And then he felt his hand encased by another hand, someone else's. 
                          
"Stop," Dream said, and they met eyes. "It's a bad habit."
                          
"Why is it bad?" George asked, making a brave face and not immediately looking away like he always did. 
                          
"Because, it's a nervous thing," Dream said. "I do it too."
                          
"Mine isn't a nervous thing," He countered. 
                          
"Then what is it?" Dream narrowed his eyes. 
                          
The strange air that had been suffocating them was suddenly pulled from the room when Sapnap came down the stairs. Dream let go of George's hand, giving a small smile to Sap. 
                          
"I'm taking a piss, the upstairs bathroom is occupied," He explained, walking towards the hallway where Bad's temporary room was.
                          
"Wa- Who's in there?" George asked. 
                          
"Patches was sitting on the toilet lid," He poked his head around the corner. "I didn't want to move her."
                          
Dream snorted, and then laughed, loud enough that George thought Bad might wake up. Or Dream might run out of oxygen, whichever came first.