George didn’t even look up from Twitter. “No.”
“Yes it is! That-” Dream wheezed. “That shirt’s way too big on you!”
“It’s mine!” George tried to act defensive, but he was barely holding back a grin.
“Wha-what did you do, go into my closet and steal my shirt?” Dream was practically cackling now, and Patches fearfully jumped off of George’s lap.
“No, it was in the laundry!” He smiled at Dream cheekily, and Dream lunged for him, both of them laughing wildly.
“No, it’s mine now, you can’t have it anymore!”
George danced out of Dream’s grasp, taunting him with a stupid face.
Dream chased his best friend around the living room, only barely missing George.
Then George tripped, falling backwards onto the couch. Dream landed on top of him, their faces inches apart.
They stared at each other, faces flushed wildly, breathing heavily.
Dream got up, dusting himself off. “You can keep it.”
“You can keep the shirt.” he said, walking back into the kitchen.
“Besides,” Dream added, tossing the words over his shoulder, “you have pretty privilege anyway.”