Chapter Text
"There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm" - Willa Cather
When George wakes, it takes a moment for him to realize where he is. He’s not in the room he last remembers being in, and for a moment he’s confused. Then it all comes back to him in a wave, and suddenly he’s leaning over the side of the bed retching. There’s nothing to come out of his stomach, but the urge continues, and he dry heaves as waves of emotions pass through him.
Pain. So much pain.
It passes over him in waves, and there’s nothing he can do. Sadness. Guilt. Emptiness.
He’s so empty.
Unloved.
Useless.
Alone.
A failure.
He doesn’t hear anyone come in, but moments later there’s someone by his side holding his hand, their soothing scent filling his senses until he’s at last able to relax.
“That’s it, there you go.” The soft voice is coming from a female omega—a nurse—who has taken a seat on the edge of George’s bed. She’s rubbing his wrist and cooing softly at him. George realizes a moment later that she’s been light scenting him since she entered the room and that’s what finally calmed him down. He slowly ties and lies back against the bed, looking at her.
“Good job, George,” she says. Her wrist is still rubbing his, still calming him. She sees that he’s staring at their wrists and shrugs softly.
“I thought I’d try so we don’t have to sedate you again,” she says, as if it’s a totally normal thought. “The doctor wouldn’t like that, and he might make you stay longer if you have another outburst.”
Her words cause another memory to flash to mind. Screaming, crying, tearing at his hair. He hit himself. He hit a doctor. He doesn’t want to remember the words he said as he dug fingernails into his own skin, throwing himself at the locked door.
“Shh, George, it’s okay. You’re safe now.” He wonders how she knows what he was thinking and realizes a moment later that he’s attached to a heart rate monitor. He takes a deep breath and looks around the room as the beeping of the monitor slows.
He’s in a hospital room now. There are multiple monitors and an IV with several bags of fluids and medicines attached. The room is cold and sterile and not at all like the room he was in before. He looks to the large whiteboard on the wall where his patient details are written out. His name. His diagnosis. Post-estrus acute endocrine crisis. The top of the white board is labeled with the letters HBU. Hormonal Balance Unit.
The nurse is watching him as he looks around the room. “Do you know where you are, George?”
He nods and speaks, his voice scratchy from disuse, or maybe from overuse. He doesn’t remember. “The omega care center.”
“That’s right,” she says. She sounds overly cheery, and it feels false in George’s ears. It grates on him. “You came here to stay in our heat ward. Do you remember what happened?”
George closes his eyes and swallows. He doesn’t want to remember any of it. It’s coming at him in flashes now, tiny pieces of a puzzle, but he knows it’s all under the surface if he decides to dig deeper. He doesn’t want to.
“Heat drop,” he finally says. He doesn’t open his eyes again, because there are tears in the corners of them, and he doesn’t want her to see. He doesn’t want to be weak like this… like an omega.
“That’s right,” she says, voice so calm. He gets another burst of her soft lavender scent and wonders if they hired her just to keep patients calm. “But you’re doing so much better now. We had to sedate you at first while the doctors worked to restore your hormone levels, but they said you could wake up now, isn’t that nice? You must be feeling much better.”
George feels terrible, but he doesn’t want to let her know. He doesn’t want to talk to her at all.
“Still a little tired,” he finally mutters. He cracks his eyes open just a bit to look at her. She smiles sympathetically.
“Oh, I bet you are.” She nods and stands up. “The doctor says you need to stay at least the next 24 hours for observation while your hormonal levels stabilize. Why don’t you get some rest, and I’ll wake you up when it’s time for dinner. Does that sound good?”
“Yes,” George says through gritted teeth. He just wants to be alone.
“Good job, George,” she says, and it’s so condescending. George wonders if they speak to everyone like that here, or if it’s just special for him. “Just press the button if you need anything, okay?”
He nods and she lets herself out of his room. Alone, George curls to his side, hugging a pillow to his chest, and cries. He knows he’s under observation. He must be. He just doesn’t care.
~
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and it’s not fair. When he moved to America to live with his best friends, it was supposed to be the end of the loneliness and the pain. He and Dream had discussed it after one particularly bad heat when George was alone in London. Once he was in America, he would never have to spend his heats alone. They never committed to more than that, never discussed feelings or courtship or mating or anything else. But Dream was his best friend, and he was an alpha, and he wouldn’t leave George alone.
It had happened like that too. So many of the things George had expected when he came to America didn’t happen, but that much did. After three months of dancing around each other, getting used to new scents, learning how to share space with an alpha, George’s heat came the first week of January. When he’d felt the first signs of pre-heat at the end of December, he’d asked Dream what they would do, and Dream remembered his promise.
Unlike most omegas, George doesn’t usually remember anything about his heats. But he remembers how he felt waking up from the first one with with Dream. It was perfect. The most perfect heat he ever had. It was like his inner omega had finally found what it had been searching for and it was rewarding George after all those years of pain.
But after it was over, everything went back to normal. Not even normal, really. They went back to friends, and Dream started seeking out every omega he could. Everywhere they went he was on the prowl, and more often than not, he came home smelling of another omega. George didn’t understand where it had gone wrong.
When his next heat came, though, Dream was there. Just like before, as if nothing had changed, except that George knew now it didn’t mean anything. When Dream had his rut, he went to George, and it was George who helped him through it. It continued like that, cycle after cycle. Their bodies synced, they spent heats and ruts together, and George tried not to care that the rest of the time Dream belonged to other people.
If his inner omega didn’t get the message that they weren’t mates, that wasn’t George’s problem. He never much cared for that part of himself anyway.
It was all short-sighted, and it was destined to fall apart. When Dream finally told George the news—news that things had gotten serious with a nice omega girl, that he was spending a heat with her, that he couldn’t do heats with George anymore—it hit George like a ton of bricks. In retrospect, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it coming. But he didn’t.
When his own heat rolled around less than two months later, there was really only one option. He couldn’t go through heat at home. Not where Dream could smell him, where Dream could hear him. He imagined Dream’s girlfriend sitting there listening as George begged and pleaded for Dream to come fuck him. He couldn’t stand it. Instead, he took the only other safe option available to an omega without a mate. He checked himself into the Central Orlando Area Omega Care Center to spend his heat alone.
Now he’s here in the aftermath of it, barely able to hold himself together. He didn’t realize it would be so hard. He didn’t realize that after more than two years of Dream, his inner omega would see it as nothing less than abandonment. George may understand what happened with Dream, he may even accept it, but clearly his inner omega did not.
He hates it. Hates it. The thing that lives inside of him—his instincts, his omega nature, whatever people want to call it. George just knows that it’s not him. It controls his body with hormones and forces him to do and say the stupidest shit. It makes him weak, and he hates that it’s a part of him.
He knows how the world views omegas. Emotional. Needy. Helpless. George has fought so hard his entire life to be something more than that, and it was all for nothing. The second he hits a roadblock in his life, the second something doesn’t work out with an alpha, that thing takes over and tears him apart.
He wishes he were a beta, and not for the first time.
~
George spends the rest of the day and the evening trying to remain as placid as possible. He knows how things work at omega centers in America, especially in this part of the country. Now that he’s shown himself to be “erratic” and “unstable,” everything he does will be scrutinized. One misstep and they’ll refuse to release him. He turned over his phone and personal belongings when he arrived for safekeeping during his heat, and he knows he won’t get them back until he proves that he’s recovering.
So he behaves like a model omega in every way. When they bring him dinner, he’s quiet and doesn’t complain. He eats every bite of food even though he has no appetite. When the doctor comes to check him, he’s submissive and docile. He doesn’t ask questions or try to convince them to let him leave. He does exactly as they ask and no more or less. When they ask him questions, he gives them the answers he knows they want.
It works. The next morning the doctor who visits him to check his hormone levels tells George that he’s cleared for discharge.
“There’s just one thing to be aware of,” the doctor says when he’s finished giving George his instructions. “We’ve regulated your hormone levels synthetically, but you’re not cleared to go through a heat alone for at least two cycles. After that, we’ll check your hormone levels and make a decision.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” George asks slowly. He’s never heard of this before.
“It means that you are required to spend your next heat with an appropriate alpha. If you can provide one of your own, that’s completely acceptable. Make sure they call to confirm so it can be noted on your chart. Otherwise, we can assign you an Alpha Caregiver for the duration of your heat.”
George feels nauseous. He’s heard of Alpha Caregivers before. People always speak of them reverently. These generous alphas who devote their lives to making sure that sad, unloved omegas don’t have to suffer through heat alone. It’s disgusting. George doesn’t want to spend his heat with a stranger.
“No,” George says. He knows immediately from the way the doctor’s expression changes that it’s a mistake, but he can’t help himself. “I don’t want to spend my heat with someone I don’t know.”
“I’m afraid there’s no other option,” the doctor says. “It’s medically ordered, and one will be appointed to you.” He glances George up and down in a dismissive manner. “Once your heat begins, you’ll be grateful to have someone with you.”
George opens his mouth to protest, but the nurse from the day before steps forward from the end of his bed. She grabs his hand and squeezes it gently. A warning. He glances at her, and her eyes are wide, clearly trying to send him a message without words.
“I know it’s a little scary to think of being alone with someone you don’t know when you’re so vulnerable,” she says gently. She squeezes his hand again, harder. “But the Alpha Caregivers are so good, George. They’re hand-picked and well-trained to make sure you’re taken care of. I… I used them a few times before I was mated, and it was always so much better than being alone.” Her cheeks pinken at the admission, and George wonders if she really feels that way, or if it’s something they make her say.
Either way, the message is received. He needs to be careful what he says. Defiance in an omega is clearly a sign something is wrong with their hormone levels.
He puts on his most submissive expression and nods just a little. He turns to look at the doctor, trying to make himself seem small.
“I’m sorry,” he says, nearly choking on the words. “I just got a little nervous, you know? I’ve never spent a heat with a Caregiver. I’m sure it will be fine.”
The doctor considers him for a second and then nods. He must not think much of omegas.
“Very well. A natural response for an omega, I’m sure.” He glances at the nurse and tells her George is cleared for discharge before walking out of the room.
Finally, it’s over. George’s belongings are returned and he texts Sapnap to pick him up. He dresses and picks up the week-long course of synthetic hormones he has to take to keep himself stable. He receives his discharge instructions and a pamphlet detailing the Alpha Caregiver program. Then he’s free.
~
“Bro, what the fuck happened in there?” Sapnap asks when George slides into his passenger seat. “You were gone for so fucking long, and we didn’t have any way to get in touch with you. Dream was freaking the fuck out. Stunk the whole house up.”
George sighs. He’s tired, and he still feels miserable. He’s not locked inside the omega center anymore, but now he has to deal with the real problems in his life. He shakes his head as Sapnap pulls away from the building.
“It was nothing. Heats just take longer when you spend them alone. I’d forgotten that.”
Sapnap shakes his head. “I’m not an idiot, bro. My stepmom and one of my sisters are omegas. I know what a heat looks like. That lasted way longer and you don’t even smell like yourself anymore.”
George hadn’t noticed it, but as soon as Sapnap says it, he realizes it’s true. In the omega center, they were using scent filters to deal with the rancid smell of heat drop, so he didn’t notice. Here in the car he finally realizes his scent has changed. His normal warm vanilla scent is gone, replaced by a blank, sterile scent that only has the faintest tinges of vanilla on the edges. It’s horrible, and George immediately hates it.
“Synthetic hormones,” he says, finally realizing what’s dampening his scent. “They gave me synthetic hormones. I forgot. They always mess with your scent. I only have to take them for a week, though.”
Sapnap glances over at George, and an unreadable expression passes over his face. He pulls off the road and turns into a parking lot.
“What?” George asks, looking around as Sapnap turns the car off. It’s not a restaurant or a shop. Just the back end of a grocery store parking lot. “Why are we stopping?”
“George, what happened?” Sapnap asks. His voice is softer than usual, none of the brash tones or bravado he’s always putting on. None of the teasing or poking either. He sounds… genuinely worried.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sapnap doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t start the car again. He just sits and waits, like he’s willing to stay there as long as it takes to wait out George’s stubbornness.
George sighs. He’s too tired for this, and his hormones are still fucked. Even thinking about telling Sapnap makes him want to crumble, and he doesn’t know why. He can tell from the look on Sapnap’s face that it’s not going to be optional. He sinks down in his seat and turns to stare out the window, watching people drive by, living their own lives, oblivious to how badly George’s life has been fucked up.
“I dropped,” he finally says. He won’t look at Sapnap, but he can feel Sapnap staring at him.
“The fuck?” Sapnap whispers. Then, “I’ll kill him.”
George winces. He has a headache, and he realizes a second later that he’s crying. He doesn’t even know when it started. Stupid fake hormones. Stupid real hormones. Whatever.
“Stop it,” he whispers.
Sapnap reaches across the center console and pulls George into a tight hug. It makes George cry harder. He wishes Sapnap would just bully him or something so he can feel normal again.
“Fuck, George,” Sapnap says, squeezing George as tightly as he can. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
George clings to him for just a few minutes and lets himself cry. He hates that his biology makes him like this, that his hormones make him so soft. He hates feeling weak.
When George starts to feel better, he pulls back and settles in his seat, wiping his eyes. He wants to pretend like this never happened. Luckily, Sapnap is usually okay with that. George glances at him out of the corner of his eyes and sees Sapnap watching him, a hard expression on his face.
“I’m okay, Sapnap,” he says. He’s not.
“I’m so sick of watching him hurt you.” It’s a song they’ve sung a dozen times before at least. Sapnap may have started as Dream’s best friend, but he’s just as much George’s friend now—his family. When it comes to things between Dream and George, Sapnap is always the one there to make George feel better.
“He didn’t do this to me,” George says. “It’s just my stupid body. Dream didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”
“It looks pretty wrong to me,” Sapnap says under his breath.
“I know,” George says, trying to soothe him a little. He’s grateful for Sapnap’s protective nature, but not when it comes to Dream. Sapnap doesn’t understand, he’s not able to. George tells him as much. “I know it looks bad to you, but it’s not. You just can’t understand what it’s like. It’s—”
“Because I’m a beta?” Sapnap interrupts, tone harsh. “I can’t understand because I’m a beta? Or is it because I’ve never liked your DNF alpha/omega bullshit? Or because I told you the first time it was a bad idea and that you would end up hurt? Tell me what I don’t understand, George. Because I’m the one who’s been sitting here on the sidelines of this fucked up show for almost three years now.
“I’m the one who was there the first time he went off and fucked someone else. I saw what that did to you. Do you think I didn’t understand then? Do you think I didn’t understand when I watched you bend over backwards for him for two years, only for him to drop you for someone else? I understand a whole fucking lot.”
George cringes. It’s awful hearing his life laid out like that, how pathetic he seems for loving someone who never loved him back. For a moment he’s glad of the artificial blankness of his scent so that Sapnap can’t smell just how distressed he is.
“It’s not his fault he doesn’t love me,” George says. “You can’t blame him for that, and that’s what causes everything else. I… I should have just let him go a long time ago.”
“I can blame him for hurting you.”
“I don’t,” George says softly. He doesn’t say the rest, that he thinks that Dream tried to love him, but there’s just something wrong with him. It’s too pathetic to say, even for him.
“George,” Sapnap says sadly. George turns to look at Sapnap, expression serious. He needs to make sure this conversation stays in the car.
“I don’t want him to know, Sapnap,” George says. “You can’t tell him what happened.’
Sapnap frowns. “He should know what he did to you.”
George grits his teeth together. “That doesn’t matter. I don’t want him to know. It’s not his business. You understand that, right?”
Sapnap stares at George for a long moment and then finally, reluctantly nods.
“I won’t tell him, but I’m not letting him anywhere near you.”
George matches his nod. “Fine by me.” He sighs. “Can we go home now? I’m tired.”
Sapnap gives him one last long look before starting the car back up and pulling onto the road.
~
Once they’re home, all George can think about is his nest. He can’t smell himself anymore at all, but at least his nest will still have his scent. He trudges through the garage door into the kitchen and is almost to the stairs when Dream appears from his bedroom across the hall. When he cracks the door open, George can smell her—Kylie, Dream’s girlfriend—almost immediately. Of course she’s here.
“George,” Dream says, rushing across the room to where George is standing at the bottom of the stairs. His fresh petrichor scent hits George like a punch to the gut. Sapnap was right. It smells a little bitter, a little rotten, like Dream hasn’t been himself. But to George it really just smells like the alpha that used to take care of him, who used to pretend like George was his, and it’s more than he can handle right now.
Luckily, Sapnap intervenes, getting between Dream and George like a guard dog. Sapnap gently shoves George up the stairs while turning to face Dream.
“No,” he says, voice fierce and protective. A little piece of George is warmed by it, by the knowledge that at least Sapnap cares, even if the whole display is a little over the top. “You need to leave him alone, Dream.”
Dream stops in place at Sapnap’s words and stares at him, confused. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
George climbs the stairs, one step at a time, while listening. He can hear the worry in Dream’s voice, but he doesn’t believe it.
“He’s fine,” Sapnap says. “He’s just tired, and he definitely doesn’t need you sniffing around.”
It’s the wrong choice of words, because Dream involuntarily takes a deep breath through his nose in response, searching for George’s scent and coming up with nothing. George is at the top of the stairs now, and he glances back long enough to see Dream’s expression change. First confusion, then concern. He stares up at George, eyes wide.
“Georgie? What happened… why can’t I smell you?”
Dream starts to push past Sapnap, but Sapnap shoves him back.
“Leave him alone for once in your fucking life, Dream.”
Dream looks up at George again, as if George will contradict Sapnap or invite Dream up. George just turns away. He’s too tired to deal with this, and he thinks that not even the synthetic hormones they pumped him full of before he left the omega center are strong enough to keep him steady if he has to face Dream. Instead, he turns and walks into his room, shutting the door behind him as hard as he can. Hopefully that gets the message across.
He walks through his bathroom, discarding the clothes he wore home from the omega center, and then steps into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it will go. He doesn’t smell like himself, but he doesn’t want to smell like that place either. He lets the water run down his body, scalding his skin, before grabbing a loofah and scrubbing. He needs to feel clean of that place.
After he’s scrubbed himself as clean as he can, he steps out of the shower and dries off. He goes to his medicine cabinet and rummages around until he finds the bottle he’s looking for. It’s old and probably expired, but when he takes the cap off it still smells the same.
All those years ago, when he was alone in London dreaming of someday being in Florida, he would spray clothes with artificial alpha pheromones and pretend it was Dream’s scent. It seems so silly in retrospect—it turned out that Dream smells nothing like the strong musk the bottle produces. But at the time, during those lonely days and nights when he was just waiting to come home to his family, it was his lifeline. It was the thing that kept him sane while he waited for the chance to be with Dream.
Now, it’s almost comforting. It may not smell like Dream, but it smells like who he thought Dream was. It smells like the idea of Dream that lived in his mind, the one that loved him.
George walks into his room and rummages through his drawers, pulling out two t-shirts. One he slips over his head to sleep in. The other he sprays liberally with the pheromones. He knows that after more than a week away, his nest will smell stale. He also knows there hasn’t been an alpha scent in it for a while, since Dream made him give back all the clothes George had lined his nest with.
Kylie doesn’t like it. She says it’s not normal for another omega to sleep with her boyfriend’s scent, and I guess that’s kind of true.
George is feeling tender and weak and scared. A scentless nest won’t help at all.
Once the shirt is fully doused and holds the familiar alpha scent, he tucks it into his nest. He rearranges a few other things, fluffs the blankets and pillows, and then climbs in. His body immediately relaxes, stress melting away. It’s not ideal, but it works. He can smell himself deep in the pillows, scent old but still present, and the alpha pheromone spray does the job he needs it to do, making his inner omega feel safe and protected for the first time in a while. It will work.
~
He sleeps for hours, only waking up to eat the food Sapnap delivers and to piss. Then he’s back in his nest, curled in the blankets, safe and warm. It reminds him a little of those nights in London. It’s not the most reassuring comparison… he certainly wasn’t happy back then, but it’s better than what he’s had over the past week.
He falls back into another deep and dreamless sleep. Dream-less. He’s only pulled out of it by the sound of Dream’s voice. His body responds immediately, before George has had a chance to fully wake up. He turns in his nest and moves towards the sound of the voice, the scent of his alpha.
“Dream?” he asks, blinking his eyes open sleepily. He’s surprised to find Dream in his bedroom, sitting on the floor near the door. Dream doesn’t really come into his room, so it’s a shock. Before George knows what he’s doing, he breathes deeply, relishing the scent coming off of Dream. It’s comforting in the way nothing else has been. It’s comforting in a way that it really shouldn’t be anymore.
The realization is enough to snap him out of whatever dazed stupor he’s in. He pulls a blanket tightly around himself and scoots to sit up in bed.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks.
“Sorry,” Dream says, voice low. “I know it’s not okay for me… I mean… I know I’m not supposed to be in here. But… I was so worried about you, and Sapnap won’t say a fucking word to me, and I don’t know what’s going on.” He puts his head in his hands and runs his fingers through his hair before lifting his head back up to look at George.
George can see that Dream is genuinely distressed, and a part of him feels a little responsible. But only a small part. After sleeping in his own nest for a few hours, he’s managed to come back to himself, and the tiny voice inside him that sees Dream and says alpha has been shoved back into the background where it belongs.
“Fuck, George,” Dream says when George remains silent. “I was so worried. You were gone for so long and… I already felt bad enough about everything, and then I was worried about you the entire time. We didn’t hear anything for days, and then when you come home, you look like a zombie and you smell like…” Dream trails off and makes a face. “You smell like nothing. How is that possible?”
George wonders what he can say here to reassure Dream, what lie he can tell to keep him from learning the truth about what happened when he was at the omega center. He doesn’t want Dream to know. It feels too pathetic and miserable. He doesn’t need to know that George was so in love with him that he literally couldn’t make it a single heat alone. It makes him feel gross and clingy and awful. He doesn’t want Dream to know any more about that part of himself than he already does.
George is about to say something—come up with some kind of excuse—when a powerful thought occurs to him. He doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to explain himself or soothe Dream’s feelings. He doesn’t need to tell Dream what he’s thinking or how he’s feeling. Those parts of himself don’t belong to Dream anymore, if they ever did.
“It’s none of your business,” he says after a long moment of silence. He’s almost surprised at himself, except the answer has been bubbling inside for a while now. Dream isn’t expecting it, though, and he looks like George slapped him.
“What?” Dream says, confused.
George pulls the blankets tighter around his body, as if donning a piece of armor. “It’s not your business,” he repeats. “You don’t get to know about that part of my life anymore. I’m not… I mean you’re not…” He shakes his head. His bravado is slipping, and if he goes too far down this road he knows he’ll crumble. He needs Dream gone. He looks over at Dream with a hard expression and says the truth. “You decided you didn’t want to be part of that anymore, so you don’t get to ask questions about it.”
Dream winces, surprised by George’s words. “George,” he says softly, a tinge of pleading in his voice.
“You should leave, Dream. You don’t belong in here. This is my private space.”
“I’m just worried about you,” Dream says. “You’re still my best friend. I still need to know you’re okay and what I can do to make you better.”
George sighs. “I’m fine, Dream. There’s nothing you can do. That’s all you need to know. Now please leave.”
He’s half expecting Dream to double down. Dream can be so stubborn when he’s not getting what he wants. George has seen it time and time again. Instead, Dream nods and stands up, slowly backing through the door. It’s another reminder that George isn’t what Dream wants anymore. Why fight for it?
“Let me know if there’s anything you need, okay?”
George gives Dream a small nod. He won’t, but Dream doesn’t need to know that. The things George needs from Dream he can’t have anymore anyway.
Dream leaves, and George is alone. It feels like an omen for the future.
~
The days slip by, one after another, without George even noticing them. After the first day home he tries to re-adapt to a schedule. He sleeps late, eats a few bites of food, moves to his office to try to work, naps, eats food, and then sleeps. If Dream or Sapnap need him for a recording or a stream, he shows up. Otherwise, it feels like there’s no reason to try. He just wants to sleep and ignore the world.
He knows the words for what he’s feeling. Post-drop depression. It’s common. Every portrayal of omegas on TV or in movies features it at some point. George always laughed at those depictions. Of course omegas are nothing more than their hormones. Of course that’s how people would see them. And now George is just another stereotype.
At least after the first week he’s finished with the synthetic hormones. He knows his hormones aren’t fully recalibrated—he feels delicate and on edge and prone to freak out at any moment—but at least he can smell himself again. He rubs his scent all over his nest, happy to have a place that smells like home.
Beyond that, nothing much changes. The first time he goes downstairs with his normal scent in tact, he sees Dream’s eyes light up. It’s another punch in the gut, though, because Dream doesn’t want George’s scent. He’s probably just glad he doesn’t have to deal with a moody omega.
“You smell better, George,” Kylie says from the living room, where she’s curled up with Dream watching a movie. George wants to remind them that they have a TV in Dream’s bedroom and an entire separate room dedicated to movies. He doesn’t have the right to, though. It’s Dream’s house, and Kylie is Dream’s omega. She can sit anywhere, leave her scent on anything. George doesn’t have a say in it.
“Do you want to join me and Clay?” she asks. “The movie just started.”
George gets a glass of apple juice and a packet of peanut butter crackers. It’s all he can stomach after smelling the two of them together. He doesn’t bother responding. Kylie knows he’s not going to stay—she’s just trying to play the benevolent girlfriend who accepts that her boyfriend has an omega best friend. She knows about everything that happened between Dream and George. This is just her way of reminding George that she won. She’s the one Dream picked.
Dream doesn’t seem to notice when George slips back up the stairs. George stares at his bedroom door and realizes he can’t possibly go in there again. He’s barely left the room in over a week. Instead, he turns and walks into Sapnap’s office.
“Whoa, little bro’s alive,” Sapnap says when George walks in. “I kinda thought you were never coming back out again.”
“My scent came back,” George says by way of explanation. That’s not the whole story, but it’s good enough. He just knows if he stayed locked away any longer he was going to spiral deeper and deeper into that pit, and he isn’t sure he’d find his way back out.
“I can tell,” Sapnap says, crinkling his nose. “Gross.”
George laughs. “Shut up, Stinknap,” he says. “You’re the one that smells like farts.”
“Better than smelling like an air freshener from the ’80s.”
George takes a seat on the couch in Sapnap’s office and begins munching on his snack.
“Are you feeling better at least?” Sapnap asks, quitting his game and turning around to face George.
George shrugs. “Not really. Fine, I guess.”
“You know I’m worried about you,” Sapnap says. “So is D—”
“Don’t say it,” George snaps, cutting him off. He doesn’t want to hear how Dream is worried about him when Dream looked perfectly cozy downstairs five minutes ago with Kylie in his arms. George sighs and shakes his head.
“I think I need to get out of here for a while. Go somewhere else until my hormones stabilize. Or… I don’t know.”
“What are you thinking?” Sapnap asks. He gets up from his office chair and takes a seat next to George on the couch, snuggling up against him. George almost protests, but Sapnap’s presence is soothing in its own way. He leans his head on Sapnap’s shoulder and offers him a peanut butter cracker.
“I talked to Larray earlier. I told him… everything, you know? He said I should come stay with him for a while in L.A.” George sighs softly. “It’s hard. I just hate being here so much right now.”
George hates feeling like this. He hates that he can’t just shake it off and move on. But maybe if he goes somewhere new, somewhere he doesn’t have to smell Dream all the time. Maybe that will help.
It has to be better than sitting here miserable.
“I think you should go,” Sapnap says after a long silence. “I think the break would be good. I can come with you if you want?”
George doesn’t want to ask that, but the truth is that he really wants it. “Would you? Just for a couple of days?”
“Yeah, why not?” Sapnap says.
“You’re being too nice.”
“Shut up, pussy.”
“That’s better,” George says with a smile.
“You’re paying for my flight,” Sapnap adds.
“I changed my mind,” George deadpans. “You can just stay here.”
Twenty minutes and endless bickering later, George has booked two seats on a flight to L.A. that leaves the next day. He gets up to go pack and get everything ready, but pauses in the doorway.
“Will you tell Dream?”
“Yeah, I got you.”
George chews on his bottom lip. “Thanks, Sapnap.”