"You read what?!" Dream wheezed as George shushed him, his head in his arms, his face covered with a blanket of embarrassment. They had been talking a lot now, pleasant weeks passing them by like the children that ran out of his library after a long day, and George couldn't be more happier.

At first, it was things like books and his favourite reading spots (in which he shared them happily with Dream) but then it morphed into bigger things, like George's favourite places, colours, things, in-which George shared.

Though he didn't think it would ever come to opening up about his embarrassing middle school years as a dumb, weakling that kept his nose in a book at all times.

"I was in middle school okay! Shh, stop! Their giving us weird looks!" George glanced at the old men and women roaming around his library, glancing at them, grunting and muttering curses under their breaths as Dream tried to keep the damn that help back his laughter in.

"You read a series about a bunch of kitty cats, hanging out in little teeny-weeny tents?" He suddenly burst and George uttered at him, mouth in a wide 'o' shape at the thought of disrespecting his beloved Yellowfang. "It was about cats, wild cats, living in a bunch of clans! Oh, you-" He bit his tongue as Dream snickered into his white shirt.

George picked up the closest book next to him, that just so happened to be 'little prince' and hit the hard cover onto Dream's shoulder, making him hold both hands to his mouth to try and stop laughing harder. George, with a small huff, finally gave up and let Dream have his way.

The blond man stopped laughing after a while, to which George replied with, "Are you done?"

"Yeah, sorry." And yet he still chuckled here and there.

"Well, if your so proud and too good for such a book series then everyone wouldn't mind me taking your cockiness down a peg. Read the first book, and if you don't come surprised, I've been talking to an imposter the entire time." He spoke, his tone strong and fluent as he got up and strode all the way to the fantasy section.

Dream took a moment to follow him, and then he went quiet, drilling his gaze into the back of George's head. The brunette started to grow worried under his stare, until Dream chuckled and said, "I don't cry. I'm a big boy."

Tell me that after you've read Yellowfang's death, he thought, but slipped the words deep within his mind for he would have to use them once Dream returned with teary eyes and a heavy heart.

So instead he said, "Yes, a very big boy." And left it at that, hoping Dream didn't think anything weird of it. And he didn't. He went on like no man's business.

When they reached the fantasy section, George was met with a draining factor of his that he would never come to accept: His height. The books were on a higher shelf then he was, he could only just grasp them but pulling them out? That would be a challenge.

"Need help?" George glanced at Dream's cocky smirk and turned to the books in a fury. He was not short, he was average height. It wasn't his fault that his folks were skyrocketing in the rave of being taller then others before them.

And yet he couldn't grab the book. It was right before him, taunting him, and when he reached up to grab them, only then did they decide to move away, to mock him for his place.

Dream suddenly reached up, and grabbed the book without much struggle, gazing down at the page with a small grin. He turned to George with another cocky smirk, one that he could read perfectly.

In a fit of fury and a flushed face, George stormed out of there without another word and went to the front, where Dream followed smugly, grinning wickedly.

"Shortie." He sang in a small, sickly voice that George would've fallen for any other day of the week. But not today. "Giraffe." He spat back and Dream couldn't for the life of him keep in his wheezes.

"Giraffes are cool, I'll take that as a compliment." He replied and George took the book from his hands, scanning it before handing it back.

"We'll see who'll be made fun of next week, shall we?" He smiled shyly, and pushed up his glasses, making Dream grip the book with a determined demeanour.

"Your on!"

-

George couldn't keep his laughter in.

Dream had walked into his library, head down, book pressed against his chest. He didn't say a single word of remark when George asked how the book was.

Feeling accomplished, he let out a chuckle. "I was right then, yeah?"

Dream nodded.

"And now I get to make fun of you?"

He nodded again.

George didn't know where to begin. Making fun of someone was a sport, plaid by the wildest folk with the widest mouths, and he himself was very good at it.

Well, not as good as Will, but-

"Before you start," Dream began, his voice small and his tone soft. "I'm deeply upset by this. How dare you bring this upon me." He suddenly looked up. "5 fucking characters died, and you read this in middle school?!"

George couldn't keep it in, but oh he tried. And when he was done he was gripping his mouth, snickers escaping his tongue with wicked grins that made his insides squash and stretch until it turned to nothingness. The butterflies had died long ago, and only now would they return.

"Your just soft, even I wasn't this upset." He grinned.

"What?!" Dream yelled in response, 'causing George to shush him, and in a fit of whispers he tried to explain himself, but to no avail, for George kept laughing at him.

After a while, when their stomachs were sore and their cheeks hurt, George asked. "Do you want to get the next book?"

"There's more?!"