Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some things in Dream’s life are confusing —others, so simple to understand they frighten him. There are a few he keeps on a list, buried deep on the bottom of his bedside drawer to inspect before he falls asleep. Sometimes. Sometimes during the day, too. He tries not to obsess too much over details beyond his control. But a few demand his attention like a sulking child. 

There is life and summer evenings and laughter echoing within the walls of their home—and then there’s George. There’s always George.

Their relationship—friendship, situationship?—is as confusing as it is simple. There are two versions…or maybe even more. Version one is what the fans and everyone around them sometimes see—version one is Sapnap rolling his eyes at them, exasperation at the tips of his fingertips and beyond, it’s their friends sharing unreadable looks he never gets to the bottom of. Version one is the fans making silly assumptions and losing their minds at details that aren’t even true. Version one is confusing but also familiar and safe. 

Then there’s version two. 

Version two is far more complicated—Dream draped on his bed, one hand on his phone and another one wrapped around George’s waist. Version two is struggling not to reach for George across every single room he walks into. Version two is kisses that never wander too close to each other’s mouth, hands that hold them in his own, pressure applied like sealing a letter around him. Version two is also familiar—or starting to be—but it’s frightening and thrilling and absolutely drives him to the very edge of insanity and back.

If there’s another version, that’s his own head’s doing. It’s George’s body not tensing when Dream touches him but relaxing instead—it’s smiles that make his cheeks hurt and the endless sensation of finally having him home. It’s overthinking every single glance and lingering touch. 

All of these though, he could’ve somewhat predicted. But months into George living with them brought along other things he never expected, as well. Other things to obsess over and roll around his hands like playdough, thoughts rushing to his head with every word the older says.

He knew George met up with some people back in England—not often, and definitely not as much for Dream to feel jealous. Usually George was too lazy to reach out to someone, even to hook up, and his standards were exceedingly high. Dream never judged him for that. After all, George is the most beautiful person he’s ever met and he definitely deserves the best. That being said, he never considered the idea that George would go out and hook up with people more frequently once he moved to Florida. Maybe he should have. Perhaps. He’s still unsure about that one.

Thankfully, George still doesn’t come to Dream for gossip or advice or anything related to those encounters he has—sometimes when his mind is throwing one of its usual tantrums, it starts contemplating the possibility that his avoidance around the subject means he knows about his feelings, the ones he’s been trying to conceal for the past five years, and is just trying to let him down easy. But Dream still knows . 

George might not mention it at all, might act like none of it ever happens but Dream still hears the door closing sometime around midnight and then opening again a couple hours later. His eyes still pause at some random mark on his neck every few weeks—bites only deep enough to last a day or two, just for Dream to witness and feel a bit of his will to live wither—or he might notice he’s wearing the same clothes from the previous day.

George never spends the night wherever he goes. It’s the only source of relief he has at this point. 

Sapnap knows too—because of course he does. Sometimes he texts him as soon as the door closes and asks him to watch a movie. He knows it’s for his own credit, but neither of them ever mentions it and sometimes they fall asleep together afterwards. Dream sleeps better then—until he has to wake up and remember and bury bury bury those feelings again, deep enough for no one to find them. Not even a glimpse. Not until he’s alone in bed again, in the safety of his own room, and can let all of those dirty demons out.

The problem is that he really, really thought George didn’t talk about these things with anyone. All things considered, he’s always been quite reserved when it came to private, intimate stuff like that. 

It’s not until one Sunday afternoon when he walks inside the kitchen to find George and Karl on the counter, engaged in conversation, that he overhears it.

“...none are really good at it. I swear, the other night the guy came in literally two minutes. I counted. ”

At first Dream thinks they’re talking about the delivery guy or something. He’s pouring himself a glass of water, unbothered by their conversation until—

“You counted ? George if you have time to count to two full minutes in the middle of sex, then that’s a shit fuck,” Karl laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. That’s when realization dawns upon him and he freezes, glass barely making it to his lips before he slowly lowers it back down. He’s relieved George’s back is to him so he can’t see his face right now, but Karl is facing him and when their eyes meet, he has one of those unreadable looks on. He seems amused.

“Oh hey Dream, didn’t see you there.”

“Hi.”

George turns then, and his gaze softens when it lands on him—or maybe he makes that up. His mind does like to lie to him, especially when he’s feeling down. It’s fine. It’s one of the few times it’s kind to him so he doesn’t mind it.

“You done editing?”

Dream takes a sip from his water before nodding. “Yeah. Kinda. I still have…some stuff to look into, but yeah.”

“Are you not gonna finish your story? I was engaged.”

George rolls his eyes at Karl, but he still faces him again and relents. Dream wishes they would take this somewhere else. He doesn’t want to know. Not knowing has been good to him. But then again he can’t move. A sick part of him wants to know…especially if George is complaining, not bragging. 

“Not much more to tell. They all suck in bed. I don’t know…maybe I should take a break from the whole hooking up with random strangers,” he shrugs. Dream wants to intervene, wants to take a seat right in the middle of them and nod, agree, get involved in the conversation. Yes, he should stop. That’s a fantastic idea.

Karl hums under his breath.

“Maybe you just haven’t found someone you’re compatible with. Like, sexually.”

“Well, they are extremely vanilla. That’s also kind of a turn off,” he says, just when Dream is taking another sip. He coughs as he chokes the second his brain registered what he just said. Karl laughs at his reaction, slapping the table as if this is the funniest thing he’s ever witnessed. Thankfully, George doesn’t seem to connect the dots as he turns on his seat, concern in his eyes.

“You okay?”

Dream nods, sending daggers Karl’s way.

“Yeah. Went down the wrong…way. I’m fine.”

George laughs then, calls him an idiot and returns to his conversation, unbothered.

He’s wearing one of Dream’s hoodies. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t fixate so much on things like these—details that most people would be able to ignore, but that make his own mind freeze mid-thought. It’s not something new, either. George has been stealing his clothes ever since he got here. He claims to find them around the house and be too lazy to wear his own. He believes him, considering it’s true he sometimes leaves his clothes discarded randomly—if he does it more often after finding this out, no one has to know.

“There are apps to find people who match your specific kinks,” Karl is saying then, bringing Dream out of his reverie. “But—considering everything…I get why you wouldn’t want that getting out. Just in case.”

“Yeah, exactly. Ugh,” George groans. “I hate this.”

Karl’s eyes lit up then, and as he starts talking, his eyes won’t leave Dream’s own. “Maybe you should find someone you know…someone you’re comfortable with. That’s usually the best sex.”

Dream is glad he isn’t drinking water now because he would definitely be choking again. He can’t believe Karl has the nerve to suggest that. He hopes George doesn’t realize what he’s implying. Who he’s implying he goes to for sex. It’s already hard enough to keep his brain from conjuring up images of what the older might be into—let alone if he adds himself in the equation as well.

George snorts.

“I don’t know anyone like that.”

Dream purses his lips. Right. He doesn’t. 

He swallows down the rest of the water, deciding he’s had enough of this. He should go back to editing. Keeping his mind busy is the most effective way to make it shut up, after all. 

He ignores the glance Karl sends his way as he walks out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. 

Just like he predicted, not knowing about any of this was way better than finding out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

When they used to talk on the phone, George always made comments that implied he didn’t enjoy physical displays of affection. Dream is a touchy person by nature, but ever since he moved here he’s tried not to overwhelm him. If it were up to him, he’d keep one hand on him at all times—but he doesn’t want to be clingy or actually upset him, so he doesn’t. And yet, George doesn’t seem to hate it when he does cave into his impulses. He only shrugs him off or acts annoyed when there are cameras on, which Dream has come to learn makes him feel observed and self-conscious. When it’s just the two of them though, it’s a completely different thing.

George comes inside his bedroom at random times, drapes himself on his bed and the distance between their bodies eventually disappears. 

It’s later that very same day that he comes in without knocking—as usual—and muffles a yawn before lying beside him. 

Dream locks his phone, turning to watch him. He’s fresh out of the shower, hair still a bit damp and skin smelling like soap. He looks soft in another one of his hoodies, this one so big on him he can barely see his fingers.

“What’s up? Where’s Karl?”

“He went to get food with Sap.”

“Why didn’t you go with?”

George rolls his eyes. “I’ve barely even seen you today.”

Dream’s heart skips a beat. It’s not the first time the older has implied he’s missed him, but it still warms him up so much he hopes he doesn’t notice the blush high on his cheeks. 

“Well I’m here now,” he says, and this time he gives in—because George looks so soft and fond and pretty, and he’s so close and he smells so good and he’s just said he stayed home just to be with him so maybe it’s okay, maybe he’s allowed. And he is. As soon as he tugs him closer, George goes, barely pretending to whine in complaint before he shuts up and curls by his side, as if he belonged right there in that spot. “Are you cold?”

“No, why?”

“You were trembling a bit,” he says, but George shakes his head. He can’t see his face as it’s buried in his chest, but he can still feel the movement against him. He wraps him even closer, his entire body relaxing now that he’s here. He’s never felt this comfortable around anyone else, even if they’ve technically only met in person months ago. 

“I just showered.”

Dream nods, eventually going back to his phone as George just lies there. 

He doesn’t want to bring it up. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He can pretend it’s not even a thing, that he didn’t overhear anything and life will continue on as usual—but he can barely think straight as it is and all he’s doing is pretending to scroll through Twitter without paying attention to anything he sees on the screen.

He doesn’t even realize he’s talking until he blurts out, “So you’re not hooking up with anyone again?”

George looks up at him, eyes wide before he frowns. “What?”

“I—I just meant like, what you were talking about today. With Karl. I was there so.”

“Yes Dream, I saw you there. We talked,” he laughs, and he nods, glancing back at his phone even though the screen is locked once again. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe? I still…I still want to have sex so probably will keep doing it even if it isn’t…optimal.”

“Optimal,” he snorts. 

“Yes, idiot. Whatever.”

Dream puts his phone down. His brain is going a mile a minute once again—it’s hard to keep up with it, sometimes. He’s used to it. Kind of. 

“I…why would you want to have bad sex? Isn’t it better to have no sex at all?” he asks, and maybe he’s wrong for saying these things, maybe it’s a bit selfish, but George doesn’t seem to genuinely be enjoying any of his hook ups. Why bother putting them both— himself , himself of course—through all of that misery? Isn’t it easier to just…not do it anymore? 

“Is that why you never get laid?”

Dream freezes.

“ What? ”

George sits up a bit at that, leaning on his elbows as he regards him with curious eyes. He shouldn’t look so naturally good. It’s unfair. He knew he was beautiful from the pictures but even the camera did him no justice. In person he looks better than he’s ever done before—and those eyes , the way he looks at him…he feels exposed, almost naked. And he loves it.

“I mean, is it because you’d rather have no sex than shitty sex?”

He coughs.

“I—I’ve never…I don’t do casual hook ups with random people,” he states, and it’s the truth. He’s never done that before. He’s sure it’d be uncomfortable and awkward. He needs to at least know the person on some level in order to trust them enough with…all that. Sex to him has always been intimate and a pretty big deal. He knows the grand majority of people his age don’t think the same. Sex is just sex to them, and judging by George’s actions, he must agree.

“When’s the last time you got laid, then?” George asks next, raising an eyebrow his way. “Your ex? That was years ago—”

“Yes, and ?” he snaps, coming off a little more aggressive than he intends to. He sighs. “I’m fine. I don’t care as much about it.”

He doesn’t. Even when he was in relationships, sex was…fine, sure. It is significantly better when you’re in love with the person, but by the end of his latest relationship, he was very aware of his feelings not being directed to her anymore. He can’t exactly remember the details of the times when he did have sex and enjoy it, but even then nothing was memorable enough. Orgasms are good, of course. He does jerk off every now and then. But it’s just that. Something he does when he’s bored or tense or a little bit horny—when thoughts of George keep coming up inside his head no matter how hard he tries to shake them off. He always feels a tiny bit guilty after, a part of him wondering if George would be disgusted if he found out.

“Are you sure? Helps with stress.”

He glances at him, finds George watching him amused, almost entertained by his reactions. He probably is. Dream can feel himself blushing like an idiot.

“I…I can’t—like I said, random people aren’t my thing,” he explains. George mumbles something out then, so low Dream doesn’t catch it, the older’s eyes darting around the room. “What?”

The dark irises return to him, focused and relentless before he says, “I said maybe you should try with people you already know, then.”

Dream scoffs. 

“Yeah I’m sure Sap would definitely want to hook up.”

George stares at him in disbelief, gaping before his face contorts into one of sudden anger. “ Sapnap ? What’s wrong with you?”

Dream stares back, confused as he watches the older suddenly stand up to leave the room. He wasn’t even being serious when he mentioned Sapnap. They’ve been best friends since he was a little kid, for fuck’s sakes. That’s like his brother. 

“What? George—wait. Where are you going?”

He’s about to open the door, his back still to him. 

“Nothing, forget it. I’m gonna sleep.”

“ George. Can you please just get back here and talk to me?” he pleads, and he isn’t sure what has him finally caving in—maybe the way Dream sounds a bit hopeless, voice soft and gentle in the way it only gets when it comes to him. He watches his shoulders drop, losing their tension as he turns back to face him.

“I just—” he crosses his arms over his chest, gazing at the floor. “I meant me. Not…not Sapnap. Why would you even want to have sex with him?”

Dream’s entire world stops at his words. I meant me I meant me I meant me I meant —

“W -What ? You? You want to…us? Sex?”

George looks at him then and laughs. He looks a bit mean still but at least he isn’t mad anymore. “Come on Dream, you can ask an actual question if you really try.”

He isn’t sure he’s capable of forming coherent sentences at this point. He clears his throat and utters out a weak, “Us?”

George exhales something heavy, sitting back down on the bed as his fingers play with the hem of his hoodie. Dream’s hoodie. “I was just thinking about what Karl said. Maybe someone I’m comfortable with could be better, you know?” he pauses. “But if you think it’s weird or—I mean, I didn’t even ask you if you were attracted to me so maybe that’s why you said Sapnap and that’s completely fine—”

He almost laughs at that. Maybe he would if he wasn’t freaking out. Didn’t George say that there wasn’t anyone like that when he was in the kitchen? What made him change his mind?

“I’m not attracted to Nick.”

“Then why did you…”

“I didn’t think you meant yourself. Wait then that means— you are into me?”

“Shut up, don’t act like you don’t know you’re hot,” George rolls his eyes. Dream blinks. He’s confident in his looks, sure, but it’s not something he’s actively thinking about—let alone imagining George thinking that. “Look, it just sounded like an okay idea. But maybe it’s not. Maybe I should just…keep trying with strangers until I find someone I like. Or, start actually going on dates first and get to know—”

“ No. I mean—” he clears his throat. “There’s no need. That sounds like a hassle.”

And also like one of the worst ideas he’s ever heard. It’s bad enough having to endure knowing George sleeps around with people who aren’t him—but dates? George hasn’t been in a relationship in years, not since Dream has come to terms with his own emotions. He’s always known it to be a possibility in the future, that eventually the older would probably be interested in finding someone, despite his many comments about finding relationships asphyxiating, but it’s always been so far off that—that he didn’t think…

He’s not ready for that. 

George must realize where that reply stems from…at the very least can hear the words laced with jealousy, because his eyes are smiling when he tilts his head and asks, “It does, doesn’t it?”

Dream wants to have him curled around him again. 

He takes a deep breath. A part of him, a small part that he ignores most of the time—let’s call it reason —knows this is a plan for disaster. Best friends aren’t supposed to sleep together, especially if one of them is in love. If George knew about his feelings, he probably would be going to someone else for this. He wouldn’t be comfortable with that, or want to use Dream and risk hurting him in any capacity. So not telling him is probably breaking some moral rule out there. But at the end of the day, if he’s only hurting himself and not George, he really doesn’t give a fuck.

And so reason is ignored yet again.

“I wouldn’t mind…trying.”

George smiles. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. But—we should…talk it through. First. Yeah,” he nods. 

He can’t believe George wants to have sex with him. How is he so calm about this? Has he thought about it before? Has he fantasized about being touched by him the way Dream has? Or has the idea really just came up to him the moment Karl suggested it? Did they talk about him when he left the kitchen? Does Karl know?

He blinks, trying to make his brain shut up. 

“Sure. What you wanna know?”

“Uh…when you said not vanilla—”

George quickly shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand around. “It’s fine. I can do vanilla, too. I can do anything.”

Dream nods, trying to think of a way to say the things he actually wants to say. He doesn’t want George to feel unsatisfied with him, too. He thinks that would actually kill him. What if he decides he also doesn’t meet his expectations and goes to find someone else who does? 

He clears his throat. “But—but maybe we’re into some of the same stuff?”

At this, George’s grin spreads. He looks so smug all of the sudden, so confident when he looks at him. Dream wants to both kiss him and wipe it all away—reduce him to nothing but needy whimpers and pleading sighs of pleasure. He’s pretty sure he’d be into anything George was, as long as it meant he enjoyed it. 

“Oh. Really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he frowns, a tiny bit offended. 

“You just don’t seem the type, that’s all,” he shrugs, but instead of elaborating on what he means by that, he lies on his back and looks up at him. When he talks next, he bats his long eyelashes at him as the words spill out of his red mouth, “Would you be into…being a little rough with me?”

He feels a magnetic pull towards him and resists the temptation—they have to talk first. Besides, they never talked about doing anything tonight. That’s probably off the table. Surely. These things have to be planned beforehand…they can’t just rush into it—

“Dream?”

George is still looking at him. He sits a bit closer to him, but still making sure to keep enough distance between their bodies to be safe. 

“S-sure, yeah? Why not?”

He giggles then, the sound so light and fluttery it makes something flare up inside Dream.

George slides a hand down his comforter and the younger stares at the pale fingers, the thin wrists—his hands are so small. He is so small. He could overpower him so easily, pin him to the bed and—

“Are you nervous? We don’t have to do anything right now.”

Dream averts his gaze, the heat now spreading down his neck, too. “We can do whatever you want. Whenever. I’m cool.”

George is grinning. He can see right through him. Even if they haven’t been living together for longer than a couple of months, he can read him so well. Especially his voice. He’s been hearing it for years. That’s one of the reasons Dream fears his feelings for him are a little too obvious now that he can actually see his face—but if George knew, he wouldn’t be suggesting this. He’s safe.

“You’re cool . Right,” he licks his lips. Dream has an inkling he knows exactly what he’s doing to him. He can already feel himself getting half hard in his pants, which is embarrassing considering he hasn’t even touched him yet. But George was right…it’s been so long since he’s been intimate with another person…. years. And he didn’t think it would matter, that it’d make much of a difference, but this is George. It’s them. 

“You’re just so…”

“So?”

“Pretty,” he breathes out.

George’s face gets so red then that Dream feels himself relax a little bit. Good. He isn’t the only one affected after all. The older is just better at hiding it than he is. 

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious—but yeah,” he nods to himself. “We can go slow. Try…things out. Do you uh—do you want to set some rules or something?”

George’s face contorts into confusion, a hint of annoyingness to the edge of his voice when he asks, “Rules? Like what?”

“Like—I don’t know. Anything you want off the table?”

“No,” he immediately answers, barely allowing Dream to get the question out. He starts sliding himself closer to him across the bed, making something inside him stir.

“No? N-nothing? You’re fine with…anything?”

“We can talk specifics later. But yes. You can do whatever you want to me, Dream,” he shrugs, like he didn’t just say enough words to make him so hard he’s now straining in his jeans. 

“ Oh .”

They stare at each other then—they’ve been this close before, but never for this long, and never maintaining such intense eye contact. He can smell the soap in his skin again, and a hint of toothpaste, too. He wonders how soft the skin between his thighs is, how he sounds when he’s too aroused to form words. He stares at his mouth, the red lips he’s imagined doing ungodly things to him more times than he can count. He’s irresistible. 

He realizes then that George is waiting for him to take the lead. He’s not going to do it himself. He’s such a little shit, even now. He should’ve guessed as much. He doesn’t mind it though, not now that he’s gotten full consent. He only hesitates for a couple more seconds before throwing the remnants of caution to the wind and crashing their mouths together. 

Everything in his brain goes quiet, thoughts freezing before melting down completely.

In an instant, the older is kissing him back just as eagerly—wrapping both arms around his neck to bring Dream down with him. He tastes minty and fresh and his lips are silky soft against his own. He can’t believe they’re kissing. He’s pictured this moment so many times in the past five years, but never truly allowed himself to believe it would actually happen. 

George is demanding—just like he expected—pressing warm fingers on his nape and asking for more as he parts his lips, inviting his tongue inside. Dream gives his lower lip a tug and presses in, swallowing down the whine he lets out and exploring his mouth. The kiss is so passionate it steals the breath right out of his lungs. It’s wet and a bit messy—both of them moving quickly, desperately, as if they couldn’t waste a second longer. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe the tension that’s been building between them hasn’t been just inside his head.

He wants to make this not only good but great for him. He wants George to never want to go back to anyone else—he wants him to remember Dream tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. He wants him to think of him every time he wraps his own fingers around his hard cock, to come to the thought of him, and only him. The possessive urge that runs down his body makes his skin burn hot to the touch. 

He uses one of his hands to hold onto George’s waist, his fingers not hesitating before wandering beneath the fabric of his hoodie—he’s not wearing a shirt underneath, and so when his hand meets soft skin he lets out a groan against his mouth. George trembles under him and kisses him a bit more fiercely. He’s holding Dream as if he was afraid he might slip away if he let go of a single inch of him. 

Dream slides his lips down his chin and jaw, evoking such a loud whine when his lips meet the side of his pale neck that he curses. He’s pretty sure he could come just from listening to George—his imagination never came close to the real thing. He’s so hard it physically hurts and they’ve only just kissed.

“ Dream —shit, touch me. Please .”

He bites George’s neck then, just a bit, not enough to leave a bruise—even though he wants to, so badly. Wants to mark him up, use his body like a blank canvas and watch the purples and reds and pinks burst to life every time he looks at him. Anything to make him remember this very night. 

Something untamed takes over as George buries his fingers in his hair and pulls. He doesn’t even realize what his hands are doing until he’s flipping them over in the bed and placing George on his lap—both thighs wrapped around a single one of his legs. He can see him so well from down here, see the way his body is flushing, the way his eyes are bright like stars as he stares at him with something very close to amazement.

“Take the hoodie off—come on,” he says, George nodding as he helps him slide the fabric out of his arms and throw it somewhere across the room. The sight of his chest is enough to have Dream’s mouth watering. He’s seen him shirtless, but never for too long and definitely never like this. He’s never been allowed to touch. 

You can do whatever you want to me, Dream.

He takes that to heart, deciding not to spare a second thought to his actions as he pulls him closer, hands on his lower back. 

“You can—touch there,” George says, and Dream knows what he means. He nods, sliding hands lower and lower, squeezing his supple ass in his big bands. “ Shit. Yeah, yeah. Just like that.”

Dream decides he won’t move his hands from that very spot anymore—his ass feels so good in his hands, so round and perfect that he never wants to stop. He leans his mouth closer to his chest and wraps both lips around one of his pink nipples next, George throwing his head back as a guttural moan abandons his mouth, hands coming down to Dream’s hair once again.

He’s so sensitive anywhere he touches—every patch of skin is like a nerve ending and George is so responsive. He laps at his nipple, making it wet under his tongue until it’s dripping, hard and warm against his mouth. He squeezes his ass once again, this time helping him move his hips forward until his erection brushes against Dream’s thigh. 

“ Ah , ah—”

“Think you can—shit, think you can come like that?”

“ Yes. Yes. I can.”

He leans back on one hand to watch his expression. He looks gone; blush high to his cheekbones, eyes watery, eyelids so heavy he can barely see them at all. 

“Yeah? Gonna ride my thigh until you come all over me?” he asks, and he isn’t sure how he manages to sound so calm and in control when inside, he’s losing his mind. 

George shuts his eyes completely then, nodding as his hips start moving a bit faster, following the aid from his hand. He’s a desperate little thing. 

“ Dream. Yes, yes. ”

“You look so good right now,” he mumbles out, half wishing he would’ve taken his pants off as well, but he can’t waste a second longer on that, not when George already looks so close to the edge. “So desperate, fuck. Go faster.”

The older nods, sweat clinging to his neck, the red spreading down his chest as he uses Dream’s shoulders for support, squeezing them until his knuckles go white. He imagines he would look just like this while riding him , and the thought is enough to have him groaning, the hand still on his ass rising to deliver a slap that has George choking on his loudest moan yet.

“Guys! We’re back!”

They both freeze at the sudden sound of Sapnap’s voice echoing down the hallway. He didn’t even hear the front door opening— 

“Are you fucking serious,” George mumbles under his breath, rushing to slide out of Dream’s lap, legs trembling as he makes it to the floor. 

“Go in there—” Dream says, pointing to his bathroom, the footsteps getting louder now. The older groans but does as he’s told, shutting the door after him. Dream takes a random pillow from his bed and quickly covers himself with it, pretending to be using his phone just as Sapnap opens the door. 

“Hey—where’s George? Thought I heard him.”

Fuck. 

“Uh, not here.”

Sapnap is about to speak when suddenly his eyes zero in on the pillow placed right above his groin. His eyes widen as he clears his throat. “Oh…were you…? Damn, sorry dude. Forgot to knock.”

He shakes his head, embarrassment clouding his sight. “I wasn’t—”

“Nah, all good. Uh. Just get downstairs when you’re done. We brought dinner.”

He nods, mortification running down his face before Sapnap sends another awkward glance at the pillow and shuts the door once more. Dream groans, screaming into his hands. He isn’t sure how he must look, but probably aroused enough to make it obvious he was in the middle of something. He’s sweaty and flushing and still so uncomfortably hard he wants to cry.

“Well, well. That was awkward for you,” George’s voice says then. He looks up, finding him now leaning against the wall as he stares at him, amused. He’s still shirtless and he can see a bruise blooming around the edges of his right nipple. Oh fuck. 

He wants to devour him whole, push him against the wall and have him right here and now—

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do. I hate fucking Sapnap . He just had to—whatever,” he rolls his eyes, picking the hoodie up from the floor and sliding it back on. Dream stares at him and realizes he isn’t hard any longer. He blushes.

“Wait. Did you…in there?”

George is smirking once he’s done. “Yeah.”

“Oh.”

He walks towards him then, like a predator approaching its prey, and leans down until the next words are whispered right against his ear, “It was easy. I was so close already, Dream.”

He shuts his eyes, a rush or arousal running down his spine. He shivers. 

“ George. ”

“Just join us when you are done, too. Think of me,” he finishes, giving the pillow covering his raging erection two little pats before walking out the door.

Dream stares at the shut door for a second longer before deciding he’s pathetic as he slides a desperate hand down his pants and wraps his fingers around his cock.

It doesn’t take too long at all.

Chapter Text

Dream doesn’t get much sleep that night—he thinks it’s pretty telling why.

As soon as he joined his friends, everything was the same as usual. George kept acting like he always did, no signs of anything having transpired between them only minutes earlier. But Dream was a different case altogether. For George this might have only been a fun thing between friends. For Dream, it meant the entire world. Not only because he has very strong feelings for him, but also because his brain works differently than most people. He overthinks and overreacts and often every single thing going on feels like the biggest thing while it’s happening—he’s been to therapy, he knows first-hand why and as used to it as it is, it’s still taxing. 

There are a few people who know how to handle Dream when he’s losing himself to his own thoughts; his mom, Sapnap and—albeit unknowingly—George. His mom because well, she raised him. She was there even when Dream didn’t know what was wrong with him. Sapnap because he’s known him the longest—and they’ve been living together for years.

But George doesn’t know much about his anxiety. He’s always tried to conceal it from him, never wishing to be a burden. He doesn’t know that some nights, when he was unable to sleep for even a couple of minutes, he would call him pretending to be bored and talking to him would gently lull him to the most peaceful of sleeps. George doesn’t know that he feels the safest when they’re sharing a room. He doesn’t know that his voice has become a source of pure happiness for him. 

Even when he first met him, Dream was so amazed by everything George did that he constantly tried to impress him. George probably found him cute—and annoying. But he could hardly help it. Dream was young, still in his senior year of high school and George was just starting university. He was the smartest and most interesting person he’d ever met. He was fun and hilarious and so clever and Dream was so enamored. 

He realizes now, seven years later—he never stood a chance. There was not a world in which Dream didn’t end up falling in love with him. George had shown such unwavering support to him, had believed in him before anyone else took him seriously. When Dream told him about his plans to be a youtuber, he didn’t laugh at him like he was a dumb kid. He asked him exactly what he wanted to do, and it motivated him enough to go after it and work as hard as he possibly could. He wanted to make George proud, show him he was smart too, that he was capable of anything.

In a way, he did show him.

And years later George just trusted him enough to want to move out of his country—to drop everything he’d ever known and go to him…without having even seen his face. He was ready to do all that. For him.

How could he ever not love him?

Not even in his wildest imaginations did he ever imagine George would be attracted to him the way that he showed in his bedroom. It’s what keeps him up that night—the dazed look in his eyes as he rode his thigh, his usual confidence wavering just enough for him to see that he wanted Dream, really wanted him.

Sure, he’s also…easy. George is lazy. Maybe the idea of having sex with Dream is appealing because he’s just there. The thought has something painful twisting in his stomach. And that’s the root of his anxiety—that despite how incredible what they did was, and how the last thing he ever wants is to say no to him…he’s well aware of how terrible it’s going to be for his heart. 

Having George in all ways but one is an awful ordeal. He shouldn’t be so greedy, but he is. He wants everything with him. He wants to be the only one, for him to feel such intense waves of desire and love for him that he gets the same physical tremors he does. But it’s a futile wish—even if George were to ever feel remotely in love with him, he’s so against relationships and actual commitments that he’d never say yes to dating him. 

And isn’t that sad? Isn’t it tragic? To love someone so against loving you back?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next morning, Sapnap is thankfully the first person he runs into in their kitchen. It’s too early for George to be awake.

“Damn dude, did you stay up editing or something?”

He’s well aware of how exhausted he looks, even though he tried to shower and wash his face enough times to make it look a bit alive.

“Yeah, I had to finish the video,” he lies. He finished it yesterday, but it’s a good excuse. One that won’t make him worry about him.

Sapnap whistles.

“Well, glad it’s over. You should sleep the rest of the day off, yeah? I’ll order something for lunch and take you some.”

Dream smiles. Even when he doesn’t need to take care of him, his best friend still tries. He really doesn’t know what he’d do without him. 

“Will try. Thanks.”

“No worries.”

What he should’ve expected, maybe, was for George to not let him sleep the day off. He isn’t like Sapnap, and as soon as he’s awake and has had breakfast, he’s walking inside his bedroom and throwing himself on the bed by his side. 

Dream is glad this hasn’t changed, that things aren’t awkward after what happened. He doesn’t even know if it will happen again. Maybe once was enough and George has already moved on from the idea, realized sex with strangers was far more interesting than sex with his best friend. 

An insane part of his brain wonders if he forgot about it—which he instantly dismisses because how could he forget about something that happened less than twenty-four hours ago?

“ Dream.”

He exhales. He got two hours of sleep but woke up when George and Sapnap started yelling about something fifteen minutes ago.

He turns now, blinking sleepily back at him. 

“What.”

He’s glad he’s too exhausted to be uncomfortable. George is wearing another one of Dream’s hoodies and the memory of what they did in this exact bed last night is too fresh for him to know how to act around him. 

“Why are you sleeping? It’s seven p.m.”

“I’m tired.”

George whines, making a face at him. 

“But I’m bored. ”

Dream rolls his eyes. It’s funny how he still acts the same way he did when they were an ocean away—demanding Dream’s attention and having him wrapped around his finger. He’s well aware of the power he holds over him, how he’d bend whichever way he asked. He naturally gravitates towards him like a magnet. Even strangers can see it. 

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

George reaches out and for a moment Dream thinks he’s going to caress the side of his face, but of course he doesn’t. Instead he takes one of Dream’s locks between his fingers and pulls until he’s glaring his way. “Not sleep, for starters.”

“I didn’t sleep at all last night, just—”

“Why?” 

He looks away. He didn’t mean to tell George that. It wouldn’t be all that new considering their sleep schedules are all fucked, but considering what transpired between them, he doesn’t want him getting any suspicions. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, if he’s at all worried or if it really didn’t mean all that much to him. He isn’t even sure it’s going to happen again—but he doesn’t want to squander any possibilities by showing George how affected he is by it.

“I uh, stayed up going over the video.”

The older frowns, getting even closer to him. Dream has to swallow down the urge to back off. 

“Didn’t you say you were finished with it?”

“The audio was fucked in a few clips,” he easily lies. The audio is usually one of the first things they go over, but thankfully George doesn’t seem to dwell on it.

“Oh, you need me to help?”

“Nah, I’m done now.”

George nods, and he doesn’t know what he sees in his face as he looks at him so intently—he seems to be looking for something, and it makes him want to hide under his hands. He doesn’t know if he finds it or not, but after a moment George runs a hand through his own hair and leaves the bed. Dream follows him with his eyes, glad that he isn’t leaving the room but just sitting by his desk instead.

“You look like you need some more sleep. I’ll stay here in the meantime,” he says.

Suddenly the distance between them is a little bit unbearable.

“Wait uh, you can…stay in bed, too. If you wanna.”

George smiles.

“I’m fine here. I can check your laptop and find all your secrets.”

Dream snorts. “Knock yourself out.”

None of the secrets he’s keeping from George can be found there, anyway. He’s never spilled his thoughts and feelings down onto paper or a screen. Putting it into actual words is so scary he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to. 

No, they’re definitely safer in the confines of his own head.

He tries to sleep after that, but the sounds of George on his keyboard are too distracting, and every time he blinks his eyes open he finds him there. It’s hard to want to remain asleep when George is only meters away, demanding his attention. 

He thinks he’s pretty safe from being caught staring—he can only see his back from here anyway, and a hint of his pale hands—but suddenly after a couple more minutes go by, George turns around on the chair with a smug expression as their eyes meet.

“Weren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“I’m not sleepy anymore.”

I miss you.

The older nods, tapping his chin with his finger as he relaxes against the back of the chair. Dream feels extremely awake at the sight of him. Sometimes he has to rub his eyes to convince himself George isn’t a figment of his imagination—that he’s actually here, in the flesh. That he can touch him if he wants to…that he has. 

He’s had nightmares of him still living back in England, of George calling him out of nowhere one day and saying he doesn’t want to move in after all. 

For the first couple of weeks, he was so nervous about him not liking Florida or regretting his decision that Sapnap had to sit him down and tell him he needed to relax. George noticed too, of course. His words were the ones that finally reassured him.

“I’m never going to leave. You know that, right?”

He meant it. He saw it in his eyes. He wasn’t playing around. 

Dream hugged him then, and George called him an idiot but still hugged him back.

And he’s remained here ever since, six months later and counting. Dream doesn’t think he’s going to leave anymore. Not anytime soon, at least. 

“You know what I’ve been told I’m really good at?” George suddenly asks him.

“Mm?”

“Giving head.”

Dream freezes. 

“ What? ”

George is the perfect picture of innocence, just sitting on his desk chair as if he didn’t just drop a bomb on him. 

“I said—”

“No, I-I heard you,” he cuts him off. The last thing he needs is to hear that again. He’s pretty sure he could get hard just from listening to him say these lewd things and he’d never be able to live that down. “I just—jesus, George you can’t just say shit like that.”

The older scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. Dream is well aware he probably sounds like some sort of puritan or an idiot about to lose his mind by a few words, but he isn’t used to this change in their dynamic just yet. He’s barely getting used to him being here in the first place.

“It was a segway. Whatever, next time I’ll just drop to my knees then.”

“A segway ? What—”

George rolls his eyes, annoyed. “Don’t you want me to suck you off?”

He blinks. This is not how he expected his afternoon to go. At all.

“I mean. Sure. Yes, definitely.”

He grins at that, a smug gesture that has him wanting both to look away and take a picture. “Damn, Dream. You sound kinda eager. Have you thought about it before?”

Yes, he has. Several times. More times than your best friend is probably supposed to. For a moment he wonders if George knows that Dream is into him, has been for so long he can barely put it into words—but then again, he must mean if has he thought about it since like, yesterday when they started hooking up. Or he’s just joking. Or—

“I-I mean,” he coughs, blinking again as he feels his entire face heat up, blood rushing to his head. 

“You’re cute.”

His heart almost stops at the words George utters out, a fondness laced to his voice that he most definitely isn’t used to coming from him. 

“What?” he repeats. 

George is the one who freezes now.

“What.”

Dream grins as he sits up, focusing all of his attention on George. It’s rare to see him act shy and the crimson hue to his skin is hypnotizing. 

“Did you just call me cute?”

“Ew, no. Why would I ever say that?” he grimaces, as if the idea of him giving Dream a compliment is absurd. He’s about to keep teasing him when George stands up and suddenly says, “Anyway should I start then?”

The grin is quickly wiped from his face.

“ Now ?”

“Yes, idiot . Does it always take you this long to have sex? Do people just walk away after waiting around for your brain to process—”

He rushes out of bed and meets him halfway—the kiss he presses against George’s mouth is bruising and has him gasping out in surprise. For a moment he’s scared he’s fucked up. Maybe they weren’t supposed to kiss. Didn’t George just offer to suck him off? Are kisses too romantic? But he also said he didn’t want to add any rules—his worries are quickly dismissed as George kisses him back, eagerly wrapping both arms around Dream’s neck and leaning his entire body his way. 

The way he’s kissing him makes him think he’s been wanting to do that for far too long. He’s desperate, aggressive in such way that has Dream pulling on his dark hair, swallowing the moan he lets out in response. The same force that took him under the first time they did this, takes over him right now. He presses George against the desk, caging him between his arms. He’s so small, fits so perfectly against him it’s almost unreal.

“What were you saying?”

“Shut—shut up,” he says, and instantly drops to his knees right then and there. The sight of him below him, looking up with those dark eyes, lips so red and swollen from all the kissing they just did, has him thanking any deities above. Jesus christ. “Do I have to do everything around here?” he asks, rolling his eyes as he unzips his jeans.

“Yes. Go on. Let’s see if you’re that good.”

There’s a challenge in his eyes at that, a glint that Dream recognizes but has never seen outside of innocent teasing. George likes being good at things the same way he does. He’s glad he said what he did, because the way he wants to prove himself is so blatantly obvious and hot that Dream knows he’ll have no problem getting hard. He’s already halfway there when George slides his pants down alongside his underwear.

“You’re—” he clears his throat. “I’ve seen bigger.”

“Oh fuck off, you haven’t,” he says, but he isn’t entirely sure that’s true. He can tell George is lying, but then again maybe he has seen bigger dicks. He’s slept around and Dream might be a bit bigger than average, but he’s not about to break any records. “It’s not even—” he hisses as George wraps a hand around him. “Not even fully hard yet.”

“It’s not?” he stares at it, at the vein running down his girth. “I…fine,” he shrugs and then he’s sucking on the head and Dream decides he’s finally losing the rest of his sanity today.

George looks like sex itself—thick red lips wrapped around him, dark eyes staring up at him, eyelashes so thick and long they go on forever. He knows he won’t last, not with the way he’s already itching to come down his throat. But cutting this short when he doesn’t know if it will ever happen again, is not something he’s ready to do. He holds it in, burying one of his hands in the older’s thick hair and pushing him closer until his mouth is swallowing down a bit more.

George groans around him, eagerly sucking him off. It’s so wet and sloppy that he can see drops of saliva spilling down the sides of his mouth, his own hands coming to hold him around the base. 

He was right. He is good at giving head; good at studying Dream’s reactions and repeating the exact movements and strokes of his tongue that have him seeing stars. Good at opening his mouth as wide as it’ll get and not once grazing him with his teeth. 

He remembers what he told him— ”Would you be into…being a little rough with me?” He grabs a fistful of his hair, pulls as he allows his hips to slam deeper inside his mouth.

“Go on—fuck, take more of it. Show me how good you are,” he says, watching the way it has George’s knees shaking, a beautiful blush painting his face. He wishes he was naked so he could see the color reach all over his body. George preens at the challenge, batting his eyelashes and sucking with even more fervor than before, one of his hands stroking his balls and making him curse at the ceiling. 

Something sadistic overtakes him at the sight of tears making George’s eyes glisten beneath him the harder he thrusts inside his wet mouth. He wants to take him apart, ruin him for everyone else. He pushes deeper inside, until the head of his cock reaches the back of his throat and George is choking around him. He doesn’t stop sucking him off even then, rubbing the part that doesn’t fit inside his mouth with warm fingers. He’s so close to climaxing, can feel the heat pooling on his lower stomach—

“I’m— shit. I’m fucking close.”

He isn’t sure how long it’s been, probably just a couple of minutes, not long enough to brag about but not short enough to be too embarrassed. 

He can’t keep it in even if he tries—not with George clearly intending him to come as he goes faster, swirling his tongue over his head the moment he slowly slides his cock out of his mouth, only to push it back in seconds later. He tries to commit the details of his face to memory; he never wants to forget his wet eyelashes, his intensely focused gaze or the way he looks on his knees. 

No one has enjoyed sucking his cock as much as he is enjoying it. The way he keeps moaning around him, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine—George himself seems to be getting off to this. Fuck.

“ George. I’m, I’m coming—” he warns him one last time, but he doesn’t make a move to stop, and so Dream gives another harsh pull to his dark hair and comes with one last thrust inside. 

It’s the strongest orgasm he’s had in his twenty-three years of life. He feels as if he were coming for ages, the bliss making his body feel both heavy and light at the same time. George swallows it all down as if it were water and he was incredibly thirsty. He continues sucking him until Dream is so spent that he gently lets go of his hair, glancing down at him and finding his best friend wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dream winces at the oversensitivity before pulling his pants back up.

He catches a stray tear on George’s right cheek with his hand, and for a moment he leans into the touch and the seconds seem to drag around them, the intimacy making him want to do something stupid and careless like kissing the wet spot on his cheek—but then it’s over too soon and he’s standing back up.

“Was that your best?” he asks with a tilt of his head that screams he knows exactly what the answer to that question is. His voice sounds a bit fucked in the best of ways and Dream wants to never ever, ever unhear this. 

Before he gets to come with a verbal reply though, he realizes George is visibly hard under his pants and reaches his way.

“Oh, you want me to help?”

“Well, yeah. Do I have to do all the work every time?” he huffs. “My hookups were shit but at least they made me come —”

Dream sees red the minute he mentions the other people he’s slept with. He knows he has no right to be mad about that, but to be compared to those idiots when they couldn’t even satisfy him at all makes his blood boil. 

He pulls him close by the waist, eyeing his mouth when he whispers out, “You’re such a little shit. Go lie down.”

George doesn’t seem to take him seriously, raising a skeptical eyebrow in return. He leans his back against his hand like a sunflower seeking sunlight, though. It’s addicting.

“I will if I want to.”

“George. I’m serious. Go fucking lie down right now,” he repeats, and this time either his commanding voice or the way he’s looking at him like he wants to eat him whole seems to do the trick, because the older gulps before nodding and immediately rushing to the bed.

He wants to prove to him just how good he is, how much better than all those selfish assholes he can be. If there’s anyone out there who knows George like the back of his hand, is him. 

And now he’ll get to know even the tiny bits he was missing—the ones he wasn’t allowed to have before, when he was all the way in England and Dream had to fill the empty space inside his chest with just his voice. He’s aware he won’t be able to go back to what they used to be, not after this. What used to feel like enough will only leave him aching with thirst now—a churning, all-encompassing feeling in his lower stomach that he’ll have to learn to live with for the rest of his life.

George’s eyes are wide when he approaches him, as if he’s never seen this side of him before—and in a way, he hasn’t. Dream rarely gets to see it himself. His girlfriend might have, at one point, maybe at the very start of the relationship when everything was new and exciting and feeling loved was so addicting it drove him a bit insane. But even back then, he knew it would eventually end, like all good things do. He knows this with George won’t last either, but the dreadful thoughts are far from him now when all his eyes can see is him draped across his bed like ripe fruit.

He slides his hands around him as soon as he joins him, sliding his pants down and groaning when he finds he isn’t wearing any underwear.

“You planned this, didn’t you?”

George lets out a chuckle but he can see the slight tremble of his body when Dream’s hands touch his exposed skin. 

“Maybe.”

“Fuck,” he curses the second his hands come in contact with his ass. He only touched him here last night, but even then there were clothes between them. Now he gets to feel full, supple skin—he squeezes, relishing in the moan George lets out. He’s so beautiful. He never wants to stop touching him.

His cock is just as pretty—a bit smaller than his own, but thicker and curving against his navel as he writhes beneath him. They make eye contact and something inside Dream comes apart. He isn’t supposed to be the one feeling ruined by this.

He spits down on his hand and wraps it around him, eliciting the deepest of groans. He fears he might get hard again if he keeps it up. 

He wants to fuck him, but he knows that’d be a tad bit too fast, even if technically it’s bound to happen eventually. He doesn’t want to risk rushing things—although George seems just as eager as he rises his hips to fuck his fist, head thrown back in the same blissful expression he wore the night before. But now he’ll get to watch him come. 

He squeezes his ass once again, burying his face on the older’s neck to suck a bruise or two on his neck. He forgets that he probably shouldn’t be marking him—that they still got to talk more about this, but words fail him and George did say there were no rules. He doesn’t seem to dislike it as he twists his neck to the left and exposes more pale skin for him to mark. Dream tightens his hold around his cock, using his pre cum and saliva to make the slide easier.

“Dream—oh my god, please . Don’t stop—”

“I got you, come on. Come for me,” he whispers, licking the freshly bruised skin and pressing rushed kisses up his jaw until their mouths meet in a wet, desperate kiss. He swallows down every sound George makes, runs his thumb against his slit and presses down until George is breaking the kiss to moan out his name and comes, stripes of cum falling down his chest and Dream’s fingers.

It’s the most hypnotic sight he’s ever seen. He’s sure he’ll see this filthy image on repeat every time he shuts his eyes. George looks spent and flushed and so pretty that Dream can’t help but want to kiss him again—but he doesn’t, because even if there are no rules, he doesn’t think kissing after having sex is probably something George does with all his hook-ups. It’s too intimate and romantic and he has to ignore the urge to wrap both arms around him and caress the side of his face, too.

Instead he sits up and heads to his bathroom to wash his hands, getting a wet towel and throwing it his way as soon as he’s back in the room. 

“Wow, thanks,” the older snorts, but he still wipes himself up lazily before muffling a yawn against the back of his hand and immediately pulling his pants back up. “Well, that was nice. I’ll let you get back to sleeping then, loser.”

Dream lets out a sound between a laugh and a sob but he’s pretty sure it comes off like a whine because George sends him a confused glance before laughing.

“Are you always this weird after sex?”

“Shut up. I’m tired.”

“I’m supposed to be the old one,” he snickers but he still grabs his phone from his desk and walks off to the door. “Bye idiot.”

And then he’s gone—like they didn’t just make each other come and kissed as if their own lives depended on it, like Dream’s heart isn’t breaking while he stares at the shut door and buries his face in his pillow, ignoring the faint scent of George’s shampoo. 

It’s just sex, he tells himself. You can be normal about this. But he can’t—sex is a big deal to him, and it’s an even much bigger deal when it’s sex with George, the person he’s convinced is the potential love of his life. 

Clearly though, the feeling isn’t mutual and it hurts so badly he has to force himself not to tear up like an idiot. He’s always been sensitive, or at least sensitive for a guy, which is a stupid concept altogether but one he’s been hearing his entire life. 

Now that the blissful pleasure has left his body, his mind is clear and awake and more than ready to torture him once again. This thing with George still isn’t enough, but it’s better than nothing, he knows that. And yet it will end—he will want to fuck other people again, once he gets tired of the novelty of Dream’s touch. He’ll just shrug one afternoon, look at him and say I have a date tomorrow. And that’ll be it, because why wouldn’t it?

Dream is just convenient and easy and he’s accepted this as it is. 

But it hurts so badly that he wonders what he will really do once he’s not allowed to kiss him anymore.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“...but I don’t know, maybe it’s a shit idea. Is it shit? I need you to tell me if it’s shit dude ‘cause I’m not about to waste my time if you think it’s shit,” Sapnap says, rambling off as he lies down on the couch. “ Dream. Are you even listening?”

He isn’t, has been inside his head for the past few minutes, or perhaps even longer. 

“What?”

“Bro you’ve been spacing out for so long…which is fine but just let me know and I’ll shut the hell up.”

He shakes his head, this time sitting facing his friend so he doesn’t allow his mind to wander anywhere else. 

“No, sorry. I didn’t mean to. What were you saying?”

He purses his lips, eyeing him up and down. He feels transparent when it comes to him, who knows him so well he can probably tell everything that’s going on inside his head. “Doesn’t matter, what’s up with you? Is it about the video you posted today? I thought it did quite well—”

“No, it’s not…” he exhales. He can’t talk to him about this. Not to anyone, really. “It's nothing, sorry. Didn’t get much sleep.”

Sapnap is quiet for a moment before he sends him a look .

“Again?”

And he knows this look so well that he groans, running a hand through his hair. He’s a shit liar but he hates venting to other people—it makes him feel weak, even if he would never feel that way about a friend of his venting to him. Besides, he knows what Sapnap would say if he were to find out about this. He wouldn’t like it, not knowing Dream’s feelings. Would he technically be right? Yeah, but that doesn’t matter. 

“I’m fine. ”

Sapnap purses his lips. “I know you’re keeping something from me.”

“I—maybe but it’s not a big deal,” he insists, and that’s a lie in itself because this is a huge deal. A deal of disproportionate dimensions.

“You always say that! You could be dying for all I know and would say I’m fine Nick , not a big deal. ”

“To be fair—”

He sends him a glare. 

“No, shut up. Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but if things start to get bad and you—”

He shuts his eyes. He knows what he’s referring to, the last time the anxiety got so bad that he didn’t sleep for four full days and forgot to eat for two of them. But that was years ago and things are different now. 

“Things won’t get bad again. I promise,” he assures him. 

Sapnap’s face turns sad and his voice gentler. “You can’t promise that, Dream.”

And he’s right, maybe. But Dream won’t let it get there, doesn’t think anything with George could ever get that bad. 

“I won’t let it, okay?”

The younger nods, indulging him. “Just…I’m here, always, if you wanna talk or whatever. You’re not alone—you won’t be ever again.”

Dream ignores the sting in his eyes at that and leans over to wrap an arm around him. Sapnap immediately hugs him back, squeezing him between his arms. He didn’t realize he needed a hug so badly until now. 

That’s how George finds them seconds later, wrapped around each other in a tight embrace. 

“What the hell is this?”

“George is so fucked up that he’ll see us hugging and say what the hell is this? It’s a hug , you freak,” Sapnap says, letting go of Dream to turn his way. 

“Well get a room, losers.”

“ You get a room, what are those hickeys man? Keep getting bigger every day.”

Dream coughs at that, looking away and staring at the tv instead—it’s not even on. 

He’s only seen George during lunch today and it wasn’t long enough for him to admire his own work still lingering on his skin. Did he really mark him that much? He didn’t even notice.

George snorts, nonplussed.

“Yeah, the guy I slept with last night was kinda eager.”

Eager. He was the one moaning his name under him, what is he playing at?

“Huh,” Sanap muses, confused. “I didn’t notice you even left the house last night.”

Dream flushes, internally cursing George for the slip up. Why did he have to say anything at all?

The older pauses. “Well—I did. You were probably busy playing Valorant or some shit.”

“I wasn’t, actually. That’s why it’s weird that I didn’t hear the door—”

“Should we order dinner?” he suddenly asks, turning to his friends in hopes of distracting Sapnap. When his eyes zero in on George’s neck though, he’s a bit of a goner himself. He definitely did do a number on him. There are two big bruises down the side of his neck, colored a dark maroon. He knows they’ll turn purple and then yellow before eventually fading, but he doesn’t want to see them go. He looks like he belongs to him. He did that to him—it was all Dream. 

The sudden impulse to kiss the marks has him flushing down to the tip of his ears. 

George’s expression is half smug, half tempted himself the moment their eyes meet. And Dream forgets, he stupidly forgets for a moment that Sapnap is still right fucking there , watching this whole thing transpiring between them—and by the time he remembers, it’s too fucking late.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispers from his side. 

Thankfully George remains ignorant to Sapnap’s realization, his eyes lingering on Dream before he says, “I want pizza.”

“Uh—um, why don’t you order it?”

He exhales. “ Fine but I get to choose the toppings,” he announces and as soon as Dream nods and Sapnap is too distracted to object, he disappears down the hallway once again. 

The moment he faces his best friend, he knows what’s coming.

“Nick—”

“No, shut up. Are you serious? You two are sleeping together? Dream. What the hell are you even—” he looks confused and angry and worried , which might be the worst one. He doesn’t want to worry him, doesn’t want anyone to be worried about this entire thing but himself. George isn’t worried, so why should Sapnap be?

“Stop. I know what you think but it’s fine, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is. Not for him maybe, but for you. Does he even know how serious you’re about sex? About him ?” 

It’s funny, in a way. He’s never actually told Sapnap about his feelings for George. He never really had to. He just knew , because of course he did. His mom knew, too. Even his friends and the people on the internet know because Dream is so unsubtle, so obvious with his feelings that they pour out of him in a steady stream and never seem to stop.

It’s fine, he’s never cared about them knowing, not the people he loves and trusts—as long as George himself doesn’t know, none of it really matters.

“Why on earth would I tell him any of that?”

“Because it’s the healthy , right thing to do? But you never do those, right,” he sighs, leaning forward and lowering his voice after sending one glance at the hallway. “Fuck, Dream—I know you love him but this isn’t…this isn’t how you’re supposed to go about this.”

“He asked me for help and I said yes, okay?” he bites his lip and can taste the faint taste of blood still remaining on the thin skin from biting it too much. Sapnap notices but doesn’t mention it. “I’m not—it’s fine. I know it’s just sex for him and I’m okay with it.”

“But you’re—” he takes a deep breath. “You’re in love with him. He wouldn’t be okay with it if he knew.”

“Well he won’t know, now will he?” he snaps, starting to lose the last thread of patience he has left. He’s exhausted and annoyed and frankly a bit pent up with this entire conversation. He never meant for him to find out, not like this, let alone two days into it. 

Sapnap looks like he’s been slapped at the implication, wincing before he shakes his head. “Of course I won’t tell him. I’m not a fucking snitch, but that’s not the point.”

“It is, because if you won’t tell then he won’t know and that’s that.”

“That’s hardly that, Dream,” he says and then adds in a mumble he isn’t sure it’s even for him to hear, “No wonder you’re not sleeping.”

He gulps.

“Nick, just. Drop it. Okay?”

He’s silent for a moment then, long enough for Dream to fool himself into believing he really will drop it, but just as he’s about to go look after George he says, “I’m still gonna be here for you because I love you, but you’re being a huge idiot right now.”

Dream exhales as he stands up. 

“Love you, too.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“What was up with Sap? He looked so weird,” is the first thing George mentions when Dream walks inside his bedroom. 

He snorts. “Nothing, we were just talking.”

He rolls his eyes. 

“Fine, whatever. Don’t care.”

Dream grins, amused. Only George can cheer him up this quickly.

“Why are you like, offended?”

“I don’t like feeling left out.”

Dream laughs as he sits by his side and wraps an arm around him. He is wearing his own clothes for a change, and even though it’s the pink shirt he thinks he looks extremely cute on, he kind of wishes he was wearing something of his.

“You’re never left out.”

George grins, confident once again as he leans his head on his shoulder. “I know, I’m like the glue.”

He frowns.

“I feel like I’d be the glue.”

“Well that’s not what the glue would say.”

“But you just said it—”

“Shut up,” he dismisses. He’s quiet then, too quiet for George who never stops talking, and when Dream glances at him he can’t read his expression. That’s the problem with him—Dream is great at reading people, he’s incredibly emotionally aware. But George is so closed off that not even he can ever really tell what’s going on inside his head. “Do you think he suspects?”

He freezes. He wasn’t exactly planning on telling him about their conversation—for obvious reasons.

“What? Who?”

“Sapnap. About us fucking.”

“Uh…why?” he clears his throat. “You don’t want him to know?”

“Of course not. He wouldn’t get it. He’d think we’re dating or something,” he scrunches up his nose at that, as if the idea made no sense to him at all. It probably doesn’t. Dream pretends it doesn’t hurt him at all.

Instead he mumbles out, “He knows you wouldn’t date anyone.”

“Yeah but still. Easier than having to explain,” he shrugs. He must see something on his face, which makes sense considering he doesn’t have enough time to school his features into something normal. “You don’t…agree?”

He almost scoffs.

“I don’t care, it’s whatever.”

“Mm. You looked kinda…upset,” he pauses. “Oh wait, is this about the pizza? Don’t worry, I ordered those disgusting olives for you.”

Sometimes Dream wonders if George is really this oblivious, or if he’s simply a great actor trying to escape an uncomfortable situation. 

“Good,” he smiles.

And this is the problem, isn’t it? George is the perfect picture of ease—he jokes and teases and leans against him on relaxed limbs because he is relaxed. Dream just looks at him and wonders how he does it. Maybe he should try to detach himself from his own feelings until they become white noise, too. But it seems nearly impossible when only one look from George has him almost caving in and kissing him—beneath the bright light coming from above, with no desire of taking it any further than a simple kiss. 

Chapter Text

George is chewing gum—it shouldn’t be as mind blowing as it is. It’s just gum. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him do this before. Not in person…or ever, really. He’d remember it, surely. Since when does George even like gum? Has he ever mentioned it before? No, he’d remember that, too…wouldn’t he?

And yet he’s chewing it now, has been for the past ten minutes. He’s just scrolling down his phone, lying down on the couch and chewing gum and looking so good while doing all of it that Dream’s knuckles have long turned white where they wrap into a tight fist on his lap. Sapnap is just in the kitchen though—he can’t exactly do anything about it. Like, tackle him down and kiss every inch of his face, for one. Well, to be fair he probably wouldn’t do that even if they were alone.

He doesn’t think he’s even doing it on purpose. George is just hot doing whatever—but the moment the older’s gaze slowly slides away from his screen until it meets his own, he knows he’s known all along. It’s in the smug tilt of his head, in the way he chews his gum a little bit slower and watches him with hooded, all-knowing eyes. 

He can see the golden chain around his neck, glistening under the light coming from the window. He’s a sight for sore eyes. If he tries hard enough, he might even catch a glimpse of the pink gum in his mouth. He wishes he could get a taste, too. 

“You know, I think you should edit my video.”

Dream looks up from his lips, frowning.

“What?”

George laughs. Chews some more gum. 

“I said you should edit my video.”

He scoffs. “Why, why would I do that?”

“I never said you would get nothing out of it,” he shrugs. Dream’s eyes burn at the implication. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t blink twice at that sentence alone—his mind isn’t constantly in the gutter. But when it’s spilling out of George’s sinful mouth, combined with a sultry look of his, he knows exactly what he means by that.

“Like…like what?” he whispers, sending a glance to the kitchen in case Sapnap can hear them, but he seems too distracted by whatever is about to burn on the stove. He can already smell it from here.

A raised eyebrow. 

“Interested?”

“Just tell me what you’re offering.”

George pauses, lets his imagination run wild, allows Dream’s eyes to jump from his neck to the edge of his jaw to his lips to his thighs. Why is he always wearing shorts, even when it’s not warm at all?

And then he says it—

“If you edit my video, you can do whatever you want to me.”

Oh. 

“Like—like whatever?” he mumbles out. George’s smirk grows as if he knew exactly the kind of filthy thoughts that often run through his mind.

“Yup. Anything.”

No amount of freedom would’ve allowed his imagination to run this wild. They haven’t even done that much yet—they’ve been fooling around for less than two weeks and they have yet to go all the way. Dream might want to completely devour him, but he could live off of this alone, he thinks. 

As stupid as it may sound, what he wants the most isn’t exactly physical. But he doesn’t think George is including that in his offer…of course not. 

Anything I want? Be my boyfriend.

Yeah, he would probably end up editing his own videos for the rest of his career if he said that.

Apart from that though, there is something else he wants, something he’s been thinking of ever since he realized he was attracted to George. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to put it into words, let alone tell him what he wants. It’s embarrassing, even if he’s technically offering. What if it’s too much? What if he isn’t into it?

“Okay,” he says anyway.

“That was easy, wow.”

“Shut up.”

George's smile might bring him to his knees. Someday. Not today, though. 

Today it just comes really, really close.

Thankfully Sapnap returns to the living room then, complaining about the oven not working properly and burning his food. George immediately takes the opportunity to roast him and they start bickering in loud voices—Dream rolls his eyes. Their voices turn into white noise when Patches suddenly jumps to his lap and he coos at her, gently rubbing the back of her head and smiling when she starts purring against his hand. He’s glad they’ve been traveling less these past two months. He always misses her when he has to leave. He isn’t used to being away from her.

He doesn’t even realize Sapnap has left until a couple of minutes later, when he notices there are no voices around him anymore. When he looks up though, he finds George staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. He ignores the slight blush that threatens to spill down his cheeks as he chuckles.

“What are you looking at?”

George clears his throat, suddenly looking mildly embarrassed before he lets out a scoff. “Your dumb face. And Patches, obviously. She’s a sight to behold.” Dream frowns in confusion but laughs it off, agreeing. “Anyway. I’m leaving.”

“Okay?”

“Start editing today and you can get your reward tonight,” is the last thing he says, a knowing glint to his eyes before he walks up the stairs. 

Dream watches him go, eyes sliding down his lithe frame. Patches soon misses his attention and tries to bite his finger. He laughs, looking back down at her and her big eyes.

“Sorry, princess. He’s very pretty, too,” he apologizes, and she seems to understand as she starts purring again. 

He always knew George would get along with her. Anyone who knows him for longer than two seconds likes him—he just pulls people into his orbit. Dream is no exception to the rule…and clearly, neither is his cat.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He needs to be able to at least say the words out loud.

If he can’t say them, how is he supposed to ask George? But jesus—it’s not exactly easy to tell your best friend you want to eat him out. No amount of trust can have him saying that without stuttering or feeling his face getting stupidly hot. He swears he’s normally more collected and confident than this—but he hasn’t been with that many people in his life, and he’s never done casual sex before and it’s George . Everything feels bigger and more ground-breaking when it comes to him.

A part of him wishes he had someone to vent to about this, but then again would he even want to tell Nick this? He’d probably call him disgusting and tell him to never mention anything sexual involving George again—which okay, kinda makes sense. 

He stupidly goes on reddit and reads a few posts about people and sex and relationships. But that opens a whole different can of worms because he is yet again reminded that hey Dream, you’re not in a relationship! Communication is still important in friendships sure, (or whatever situationship they are in) but he doesn’t relate to any of the posts talking about their partner and ends up getting pissed about it and closing all the tabs. 

He gets nowhere at all. The hours tick by and the sun hides and the sky turns dark and he has yet to say the words at all. He keeps himself busy—not that hard when he usually is, anyway—and when the clock reads ten p.m, George walks inside his bedroom as if he was waiting for that specific time.

He’s fresh out of the shower, hair wet and still dripping down his neck. Dream doesn’t mean to stare—he never does, but he always ends up unable to look away from him. He’s so effortlessly attractive, wearing just an oversized shirt that Dream can’t even remember if it’s his own or George’s. He can’t think of anything at all but those long pale legs and those thighs and the smell of fresh soap and the cologne he sprays on his skin after showering and jesus christ—

“You know, I expected you to be a little bit more eager.”

“W-what?”

“You didn’t even come find me yourself,” he explains, locking the door as he slowly approaches him on the bed.

“Oh. I—I expected you to come, that’s all,” he lies. Maybe if he wasn’t such a coward he would’ve taken the matter in his own hands. 

George chuckles, shaking his head in amusement even though Dream isn’t entirely sure he’s in on the joke. He doesn’t ask. He can mock him all he wants if he’s going to look so hot doing it.

“So, are you gonna tell me what you chose?” he asks, but before Dream can even manage to utter a single word, he straddles his hips and he loses the last thin thread of reason he had left. Up close he smells even better than he expected. He wants to lick his entire body, taste his skin and his lips and the spot between his legs. “What are you going to do to me?”

Everything , he almost says, but his hands speak louder than he does as they trail up his thighs and squeeze the soft skin there. George parts his legs even wider at the touch, eyeing him curiously from above.

“Dream?”

“I…I wanna,” he clears his throat.

George grins. “Yes?”

Fuck it.

“I wanna eat you out.”

He didn’t expect him to look so surprised—after all, that’s the only thing they haven’t done apart from actual sex. Maybe he expected him to ask for that . But isn’t that a given, eventually? 

He fears he might say no, that he might think it’s too much and leave his room entirely—but that’s not at all what happens.

George’s face colors a bit, eyes filled with a deep desire as his teeth chew on his lower lip until it turns a dark shade of red.

“Okay.”

Dream lets out a tiny sigh of relief. He can’t believe this is happening, but he allows his hands to continue trailing upwards until they reach the hem of his underwear.

“Want you to sit on my face, George,” he blurts out. 

“Fuck. Okay—yes. Yes. ”

“Yeah? You want that, too?”

George scoffs. “You’re an actual idiot if you thought I’d say no.”

Dream smiles before leaning back down against his pillow. A surge of confidence runs down his spine at seeing how much the older wants him. It’s in his eyes, in the way he looks at him as if ready to do whatever he wants. It’s in his lips as he speaks, in his hands as they fight to hide the tiny tremor that spreads down his body. Dream wonders if he realizes how much he can see without needing him to say a single word—how well he knows him, even more so than the back of his hand.

“Go on, then.”

George is the one who looks almost shy now, looking away as he nods. He watches him rise and slide his underwear off with eager hands. Dream licks his lips, eyes trained on all the skin he can see now. He keeps his shirt on, but he doesn’t mind it—not when he will have exactly what he wants exactly where he wants it.

“Hope you enjoy your reward, Dream,” he says, and suddenly he’s straddling his face and he thinks this is what heaven must feel like. George’s skin smells of soap and fresh water. He’s paler here, his asscheeks so full that Dream can’t wait a second longer and immediately cups them in his big hands, squeezing the flesh until George lets out a broken whimper.

“Wanted to taste you for so long,” he whispers. It’s easier to speak now that their eyes aren’t meeting.

“Mm, how long?”

Instead of replying, he gives his cheeks one more harsh squeeze before spreading them and revealing his pink rim. He hasn’t seen this part of him before, and the sight has his mouth watering. He’s shaved and all he can see is soft, snow white skin. How can every single part of him be this pretty? 

He doesn’t give him a warning before surging in and licking a long stripe over his entrance. George instantly squeezes his thighs around his head, grounding himself as he holds his body in place.

“Oh—”

Dream has never done this to anyone before—he has eaten girls out, but this is different. It feels filthy hot and intense and intimate in a way that has his heart speeding up. He knows George has slept with many men before him, and probably has had more experienced guys eat him out before, but judging by how he reacts to every single lap of his tongue, you’d think this is his first time, too. 

He kisses his rim once, twice, three times—rubbing the tip of his tongue around it, hands digging his fingers over his cheeks as he keeps him spread wide open over his mouth, hold harsh enough to leave marks. He tastes like a fresh shower and also a thing so inherently George that he can feel himself going rock hard inside his pants. 

There’s something especially arousing about him being fully clothed while George begins rocking against his face.

“You taste so fucking good.”

“Dream—please. K-keep going, more.”

He gives him as much as he can, spitting over his hole before using his tongue to push his saliva past his tight rim. It’s sloppy and wet and the hottest fucking thing he’s ever done. George lets out a wanton moan at the gesture, cursing under his breath as he starts losing control too, his movements turning a bit erratic the deeper he thrusts against his face.

His hands go from his cheeks to his thighs, trying to pull him closer even though there’s not a single inch between their bodies. He’s desperate to make him come, desperate to feel his body giving in under his lips. The wet sounds coming from his mouth passionately kissing his entrance combined with George’s loud moans are almost enough to send him over the edge.

He can feel his legs shaking, George’s own hands coming to tangle around his hair as he pulls, rocking his hips in tandem with his tongue, letting him fuck his hole with his mouth.

“ Dream . Your…fuck, your beard—“ he cries in a needy whine. ”You’re so good—so good to me.“

“Wanna fuck you— god, baby,“ he groans, not entirely conscious of the petname that has just slipped out of his lips. If George notices though, he doesn’t seem to mind—if anything, it seems to turn him even more desperate, fingers pulling his hair hard enough for his scalp to burn.

Dream is so hard at this point that he’s sure he would come instantly if his cock got some attention. But he doesn’t care, not when George himself has yet to come.

He bites the tender skin of his cheeks, sucks a bruise so close to his rim that it has George letting out a sound he’s never heard coming from his mouth before.

“Dream—Dream yes, yes, right there,” he gasps. “God, you love it, don’t you? Love eating my ass…s-so good.”

He tries to reply, but his tongue is too busy to form any coherent words. 

He wants to cover him in bruises, leave him red and aching between his legs. He wishes he could see his face, how lost he’s getting on himself the longer he chases his orgasm.

He wants—no, needs to be better than all his past flings, and he thinks he’s achieving it as George whispers down his breath how close he is, throwing so many praises his way that Dream will leave this bedroom thinking he’s the best thing that has ever happened to him.

He wishes he could eat him out for hours, until his tongue goes numb and his hands begin aching from holding him, until his breath is stolen right out of his lungs.

Dream knows he’s close, can almost taste George’s orgasm in his own mouth, can feel his thighs tighten around his head. He wraps his lips around his rim, sucking on the tender flesh and feeling the bed rattle with George’s movements. When he deems his rim as wet as it’ll get, the pink beautiful thing slowly opening for his tongue, he presses the tip of his finger right down the middle and watches in awe as it wraps around it, swallowing down his digit and driving George down the very edge of sanity.

“ Dream , Dream—hhhgn.”

He presses his finger even deeper, down to the knuckle, and twists until he touches something that has George’s body immediately spamming into climax.

“George yes, yes—come for me, baby.”

He comes with a string of moans and sobs bursting out of his mouth, Dream’s name spilling out with enough whines and moans to turn it almost unintelligible.

He’s desperate to see his face, and so when he helps him back down to the bed, he wipes the back of his mouth and watches him lie down completely spent; his face and neck are red, tears turning his cheeks damp, eyes bright and a little bit gone. He’s never looked more enticing and beautiful than he does now. 

When his own eyes slide down his thighs though, he realizes they look red and a little bit irritated.

“Did I hurt you—”

George smiles. He looks so satisfied and dizzy it’s hypnotizing.

“Your beard. God, it felt so good,” he exhales. “I’ve never—I’ve never come untouched before.”

Dream’s eyes widen, realization dawning upon him. He didn’t touch his cock at all, but he figured George was touching himself all along.

“Oh.”

“Was that really your f-first time eating a guy out?”

He nods. 

“Yeah.”

“Figures…you’re good at everything,” he mumbles out, but Dream isn’t sure he realizes what he’s saying anymore. He sounds half-asleep. He’s never seen him this way after coming…he looks as if he were high. “How did you even find it…”

“What?” he asks, but gets no verbal reply, just another lazy smile thrown his way. He leans close to him, wiping the fresh tears away from his cheeks. “Do you always cry after sex?” he whispers.

George giggles, dopey.

“No, only when it’s…this good,” he answers, and Dream thinks he’ll go insane if he keeps talking. He runs the back of his hand down the side of his face, wondering if he imagines it when he watches George lean into his touch. “Give me a sec. I’ll take care of you once I recover.”

“You don’t have to—”

George scoffs, eyes a little bit wider when he looks at him. “You just gave me the best orgasm of my life. Shut up .”

Dream parts his lips to retort but no words come out. His friend laughs before pulling him down and crushing their mouths together. 

He’s so in love he could cry.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next morning the sun seems to shine a little bit brighter when he wakes up. It’s the first time he hasn’t woken up miserable after finding the other side of the bed empty. Last night was so good that he can’t even be sad about wishing they had more—maybe Dream was wrong, maybe this can be enough.

His elation is short-lasting though, because as soon as he walks down the stairs and starts preparing some breakfast, Sapnap walks inside and immediately glares at him.

“Hey—you okay?”

Instead of replying, his friend approaches him and pushes a piece of paper his way. Dream takes it, frowning when he sees what it is.

“What’s this? A…map of the house?”

“Yeah! And look, I circled in bright red the rooms that are soundproofed,” he explains, using an overly chirpy tone of voice that doesn’t match his expression. “So, next time you want to have loud sex with my other best friend, maybe try doing it in one of those instead.”

Dream freezes as realization dawns upon him.

“Oh. Oh god, I’m so sorry—”

Sapnap cuts him off as he leans against the counter, eyes casted downwards. “At first I thought, surely they will stop soon. I mean…how long can they take? But when I finally thought it was over, it was suddenly Dream’s turn!”

He covers his face with his hands, two seconds away from screaming into them. He’s not even exaggerating, they were definitely loud, but the thought of him listening didn’t even cross his mind. His room is literally on the opposite wing of the house.

He recalls George moaning out his name louder than ever before as he ate him out, and then Dream coming down his throat in an embarrassing short amount of time.

“Nick, please—”

“I’m happy you’re getting laid with the love of your life but please, a warning next time. I could’ve left .”

“Maybe you should have,” he snorts, but Sapnap doesn’t laugh and so Dream schools his features back to seriousness. “I’m sorry, seriously. I didn’t think he’d be— we’d be that loud.”

“Shut up. It was the first time I heard any of it, to be fair. But let’s make it the last,” he warns him. Dream immediately nods. He doesn’t want him to eavesdrop as much as he doesn’t want to eavesdrop on them. He’s glad he can’t remember half of the things they said while having sex but he’s pretty sure it was all equal parts mortifying.

“I promise.”

“I’m still mad this is happening. But —I’m happy you’re…happy,” he says after a pause. “You are, right?”

Dream smiles. He thinks of George leaning into his touch and smiling at him as if he was the most incredible wonder he’s ever come across. 

“Yes, I am.”

But then he thinks of how it only happened because they had sex beforehand. How it never happens otherwise. 

It’s an odd version of happy—one that has him sad every time George gets up and leaves. One that leaves him with an aching, open void inside his chest that threatens to eat him alive. One that finds him perpetually unsatisfied, hungry for more, desperate for an intimacy he’s rarely allowed to have.

But he doesn’t say that. It was a good night. It’s a good morning. He just smiles—because he is happy, still. How could he not be, when he still gets to kiss the love of his life, when he gets to hold him and wrap him in his arms and even if just for a little while, pretend George feels the same way he does?

“I’m sure you two will figure it out eventually.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” he says, leaving no space for a rebuttal. “He doesn’t feel that way about me—and even if he did, you know how George feels about relationships…he’d never want that.”

Sapnap’s frown grows in size and Dream realizes he probably should’ve just gone along with his friend’s delusion. 

“How are you even so sure he doesn’t like you that way?”

Dream shrugs, shakes his head. It’s way too early for this. His sweet morning is slowly beginning to sour.

“I think I’d know.”

The younger snorts. “Like hell you would. I mean—you do at least know George is different with you, right?”

Different. A part of him wants to ask; different how? Because his mind betrays him, sometimes, not often enough to amount to anything—but sometimes his eyes catch details that confuse him, like George leaning against his body a little more than with other people, George looking for him everywhere around the house and sliding inside his bed as if it were his own, George watching him with unreadable, beautiful eyes.

George moving across an entire ocean just to be with him. George living in Florida—a city he’s well aware he doesn’t like—just because Dream is here, too. He can see it in his eyes, the way they shine whenever they leave the house and head to L.A, even if just for a few days. He feared for a while that he would like it so much he’d want to move there. But George only suggested it once, to him— we should move here . We , leaving no room for a world in which one of them would live in a different city than the other. 

And yet, he doesn’t ask Sapnap what he means, because despite all of these little things he might notice during hope-filled days—the truth remains the same. 

His feelings remain unrequited. 

“We’re just close," he dismisses instead.

Sapnap parts his lips, but he seems to think better of it and simply shuts his mouth.

Dream doesn’t need hope—he doesn’t want it. Because if George liked him…if he loved him the same way he does, or even close, then maybe he could convince him about dating. Perhaps they could just not use a title…he’d be okay with that. It’s just a word, after all. They could talk it out, come to a mutual agreement that includes everything they have until now and a little bit more. Just enough freedom for Dream to quit holding back every time they touch and he fears his skin might call him out. 

He doesn’t need hope.

“Fine, fine. Whatever you say. Just—” he glances at his hand. “Keep the map.”

Dream laughs. 

“I know where the soundproofed rooms are, Nick. I picked them out.”

“Yeah well. You seem to forget ,” he says with an eye roll, giving him a pat in the back before walking out of the kitchen. 

He exhales, staring at the red circles and shaking his head. 

Good lord. If George only knew.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Dream has built a thick skin ever since he became famous. He likes to think he cares less about what other people think of him than the average person. But sometimes he’ll read something, something that will trigger his mind into a state of confusion and worry and distress. Something that will have him spiraling and rethinking his entire life because even if it doesn’t matter, even if these people are strangers to him—sometimes the things they say about him, as if they knew him, the ideas they’ve built inside their heads are so twisted and strange and terrifying that it makes his head throb.

It’s not often. Maybe once or twice a year. At most. Usually Nick will take his phone away or distract him with a movie or something. Usually it works—temporarily, but it does. Enough for him to calm down and think rationally later on. 

But today Nick isn’t here and Dream is inside his bedroom, alone, and he doesn’t want to depend on anyone—doesn’t want to ask for help right now because it feels so stupid and small and insignificant. 

He doesn’t want to let it get to his head. It was just a random tweet he saw and that means nothing to him. It has to mean nothing. But his mind spirals and suddenly it’s not just a tweet but every single decision he’s made to this point. Sometimes he fears all he can see are regrets—he shuts his eyes, tries to do a breathing technique his old therapist had recommended him. He draws a square on the palm of his hand with his finger, taking a deep breath for four seconds while he draws the first and second line, then letting it out as he draws the third and fourth.

It helps for a few moments. It regulates his breathing and has him focus on something else other than his own thoughts. He still doesn’t feel like leaving his bedroom for the day, which is rare considering he’s always up and about early in the morning, wanting to be as productive as possible. He has things to do. He has to edit George’s video and one of his own. He thinks he has a meeting today but can’t remember the time nor who it was with—was it a company? Was it his company? He doesn’t check his phone, but he knows it’d be there displayed on his calendar, and Ken has probably sent him a message reminding him about it, too.

But he doesn’t grab his phone again—knows what he’ll do if he does. Instead he lets it charge on his nightstand and takes a nap, suddenly exhausted. He isn’t sure what time it is, but he thinks he hears the front door open and shut at one point and his friend’s voices coming from downstairs.

He should’ve known George would barge in eventually, but he wasn’t thinking about it, wasn’t thinking about anything but the anxiety surging down his body. That’s why he’s surprised when he walks inside hours later. 

“What are you doing down, loser? Didn’t you have that thing today?” he asks. His back is to the door and he considers pretending he’s asleep—but George is relentless and he groans as he sits by the edge of his bed. “After yesterday I thought you’d at least edit some of my video today. Wasn’t that enough motivation?”

He remains silent, even if part of him wants to turn around and wrap his arms around George until all his worry seeps out of him entirely.

Silence.

“Dream. Why is it so dark in here? I know you’re not sleeping.”

He pauses and then he must hear him take a deep breath because he gets under the covers and reaches towards him with a soft hand.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, voice suddenly turning gentle and careful. Dream doesn’t want to face him but feels bad ignoring him when he sounds genuinely worried so he slowly shifts until they’re facing. He has the urge to hide his face somewhere; against his pillow case, right over George’s collarbones. He stays put.

“Nothing.”

“There’s something wrong. You look sad,” he says, and he’s probably right—he feels sad, after all. He simply didn’t expect him to notice or comment on it. But maybe things are different now. They taste different. 

“You can barely see me.”

“I can see enough,” he huffs. Dream can see enough too; enough to know he’s wearing his clothes again, an old oversized hoodie he even forgot he owned. He wonders how long George has been keeping it. 

“It’s nothing. Really.”

He can tell his words don’t bring any sort of reassurance to him. He still looks concerned as his eyes fly all over his face. 

“Okay. Well, we can either talk about it or do something else. What do you wanna do?” he asks, and it’s a simple question, but it weakens a thing within him. He melts.

Maybe his standards are low, but he hasn’t met many good people in his life. Apart from Nick and his immediate family, no one has ever been this patient with him. Not even his past relationships. But George is here, at arm's reach—has been here for so long, and maybe if he would just let him in…

“You’re so good to me.”

George makes a sound that is half whine, half groan. He can’t see him too well, but the sound of his voice is so close he can feel his warm breath against his cheeks.

“Dream—I’m not even doing anything. I feel useless.”

He shakes his head, leaning closerclosercloser, enough for his words to be mumbled right against his forehead, “You’re not useless. Never useless.” He presses a tender kiss there, a gesture that would normally have George calling him names and pushing him away. 

But things taste different now.

He doesn’t move a single inch. Instead, he lets out a tiny sigh and stays.

“We can just lie here if you want.”

He almost smiles. “Sounds like a great plan.”

“I hate seeing you sad,” George whispers, reaching forward until his hand catches Dream’s cheek. “It makes me sad.”

Even if he can’t see him, the slight tremor to George’s voice is enough for his heart to melt inside him. This is one of the reasons he conceals his feelings under thick layers of indifference—but one thing was hiding them when there was an ocean between them and a completely different one is doing it when George is stuck to him like glue.

“No, don’t be sad.”

“Then you don’t be sad.”

“But I was sad first.”

George lets out a giggle at that and Dream thinks all the sad in the world wouldn’t be able to stick around at the sound.

“Is there anything I can do to help? At all?”

Dream exhales.

“You already are doing more than enough.”

“But I’m just lying here.”

He smiles. “Exactly.”

Maybe he should be trying to conceal these feelings a little better, but god is it hard. His heart gets confused time and time again—especially when George is here, looking at him through the darkness of his bedroom and feeling sad simply because he is. 

“You’re so corny.”

“God forbid you allow yourself to feel any emotion at all.”

“I have a lot of emotions. I just told you I’m sad ,” George repeats, and he knows he means it, can hear it in his voice—and this entire thing might be his undoing, he realizes.

“No, please. Seriously. Don’t be sad because of me. I’m better already. Promise.”

“I’m not convinced.”

And Dream doesn’t know if he’s allowed to steal kisses when there’s no sex involved. But George has never rejected any of his advances and he’s right here, a breath away, leaning into his space as if trying to make it disappear.

It’s like a drug—being in love with someone who gives you almost everything you need. Almost.

“Want me to convince you?” he asks, leaning the slightest inch his way, giving the older enough warning to back off if he wants to. But he doesn’t. 

George smiles and squeezes his cheek. 

“Mm, let’s see it.”

The kiss he presses against his mouth isn’t harsh or desperate—but tender and a bit eager instead. It’s easy to forget about his anxiety and his worries when he’s kissing the person he’s in love with, and when George is kissing back with as much eagerness, as if he’s been waiting to kiss him for an absurd amount of time. 

He needs someone to explain to him in simple, understandable terms, whatever magic transpires between them. What sort of spell is he under, that George is able to heal all his wounds, kick each of his demons away as if they weren’t there to begin with? And how come he’s been surviving twenty-three years without this? This right here—being held and kissed and taken care of so carefully, by someone he adores so deeply?

“How is you kissing me any proof of you feeling better, though?” he asks against his mouth. He’s still smiling, they both are.

“Well. I wouldn’t kiss you if I was sad?”

George snorts. “You would. You love kissing.”

You. I love kissing you.

“To be fair—”

“Idiot.”

Dream grins. “It doesn’t even sound like an insult anymore.”

George pauses before asking in such a low, soft voice that he briefly wonders if he imagined it. “Who says it was ever supposed to be one?”

He freezes—because this might be a version of George he hasn’t had the luck of knowing, not to such lengths. He never thought he would. He isn’t sure how to react, how to mask the way his heart threatens to burst out of him with the dangerous pace it’s taken on. He wants to turn on the lights and watch his expression, try to memorize the look he has in his eyes and decipher it until he can tell every single emotion he’s feeling right now. 

Before he gets to say anything at all though, the light does turn on—but it’s Sapnap who is waiting by the door, staring at them while wearing a bored expression on his face.

“You two are disgusting.”

George shuts his eyes at the sudden light, covering his face. Dream barely catches a glimpse at all and it’s definitely not long enough to keep it in mind for later analysis. He curses under his breath.

“Why the fuck would you turn the light on?”

“Because we had plans today, remember?”

Dream frowns. "We had?"

"Dream doesn't wanna do anything. Leave ," George butts in before Sapnap gets to reply, finally opening his eyes to glare at him. 

"Since when do you speak for him, loser?" 

“Since we—”

“Mm?”

George scoffs, looking away. Dream would coo at him if he didn’t think he’d bite his head off.

“Give us five, Nick.”

“Fine, but you two better be out and about in five minutes or I’m joining the cuddling sesh,” he says before shutting the door behind him. 

George snorts once he’s gone. “I’m not cuddling him.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“You feel better?”

Dream leans down and kisses the tip of his nose. The gesture is entirely too intimate and soft, but George only looks a tiny bit taken aback by it. He masks it well. Probably for his own sake—wants to spare his feelings when he’s sad. Of course. But this entire exchange messed with his head even more. He has to remind himself that the only reason George was vulnerable and tender was because he’s his best friend and he was sad. That’s all there was to it.

He pulls away. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Well, let’s go then…I don’t know what plans he was talking about but if you don’t wanna join, I can think of an excuse.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Might be nice to get my head out of the gutter for a few hours,” he says. He doesn’t actually feel like going out, but if the alternative is lying in bed with a gentle George that will further mess with his head—then this might be for the best, even if it doesn’t sound like it to his heart.

“Cool.”

As they walk out to meet Sapnap though, he wonders if maybe he should’ve taken on the opportunity. What if he never gets to see him that way again? 

He takes a deep breath as he draws a square on the palm of his hand and keeps walking. 

Chapter Text

Leaving home is never easy. He still hasn’t gotten used to having the freedom to go anywhere he wants. It’s exciting and always ends up being for the very best, but it doesn’t make it any less overwhelming—from having to pack to taking a plane to leaving Patches and the home he’s built for so long.

And yet, he thinks it’s never been as hard as it is now. After over three weeks of sleeping with each other, Dream has gotten so used to having George close enough to touch, to being allowed the immeasurable power of pressing his mouth to every single inch of his body—that the idea of willingly abandoning that, even if for a few days, seems insane.

A part of him thinks it could be for the best. After all, a break from George’s intoxicating cologne and those dark eyes that make him do whatever he wants to him, might actually be good for him. 

But it doesn’t feel good at all. He tries to come up with a different plan, maybe postponing the trip or making it shorter…but it’s impossible. He has responsibilities, and a single look from his manager is enough to make him snap out of it at the slight suggestion. He’s always been a workaholic—prioritizing other areas of his life isn’t like him.

George isn’t that happy with it either.

“You said you were leaving for three days. Now it’s seven?”

“I told you, I tried to make it three but—” he shrugs as he rummages through his closet. “To do that I’d have to squeeze in like six different meetings in a single day.”

“Then do it.”

Dream turns to face him and gives him a look.

“That would be a nightmare. And extremely unprofessional. Also, I wouldn’t even have time to work at the studio.”

George stares at him from the bed. He looks upset, frowning with his thin arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing all of Dream’s clothes—shirt and sweatpants and even socks. It’s incredibly distracting, enough so that he feels a deep urge to lock them both inside his bedroom and ignore the rest of the world until everyone else ceases to matter. 

And that’s the sole reason why this trip is going to be good for his mental health.

“Well I don’t care .”

“I do.”

He’s quiet for a while as Dream continues picking different outfits to pack away. He feels his eyes on him, burning the side of his face until he asks, “What if instead of a week you end up leaving for like two or, three?”

Dream exhales as he turns to face him.

“George, I’m not just gonna disappear without telling you two, you know that right?”

The older rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, I know that. I just—I’m worried about…” he clears his throat, averts his gaze. “The plane.”

“What?”

“What if it crashes? You’re flying too often.”

Dream snorts. “You literally fly more often than me.”

George looks almost offended by that statement, even though it’s completely true. Dream might be turning busier as time goes by and his music career starts taking shape, but he isn’t the one flying out to North Carolina for his podcast every month. 

“I haven’t left this house in weeks.”

Dream rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, but you have another flight scheduled soon.”

The older’s fingers get tangled on the edge of his comforter and for a moment he looks younger—way younger than Dream himself. Sometimes he forgets they are not the same age.

“Are you coming with us then?”

“Uh…I don’t know—”

George’s nostrils flare, a glare working its way to his face as he snaps his gaze back up.

“ Seriously ?”

Dream wishes he could wrap his head around the situation. He isn’t sure what he’s saying that is aggravating George this much, but clearly none of what’s coming out of his mouth is doing any good. 

They had a nice, normal morning. He woke up to an empty bed, as usual, but found George waiting for him for breakfast and they ate pancakes together while watching tiktoks on his phone. Then Dream complained about having to pack and—okay, maybe George seemed a bit down at the prospect but he thought he was just lazy and didn’t want to help. 

And yet he followed him all the way to his bedroom, sour face and thinned lips, and sat on his bed and waited until he was finished—everything went downhill when he asked how long he’d be gone for, but surely that can’t be the only reason he’s upset? They’ve been apart for like two weeks a few months ago.

“Why are you so mad?”

George’s eyes narrow his way. “Why do you think ? Fine, whatever. I guess I can find someone else to hook up with in North Carolina.”

Dream feels his stomach sink all the way to the ground. He forgets about his trip, about the suitcase he has yet to finish packing, about the possibility of Sapnap hearing their conversation as it rises in volume. It’s fine, it’s not like he doesn’t know what they’ve been doing all along. 

“Is that— what ? Is that why you’re upset? Because you won’t get your dick wet for like a week?”

George takes a deep breath, the fight abandoning him as quick as it came over him. When their eyes meet, he can tell he’s keeping something from him, but as usual he blinks and all that is left is deep brown eyes he’s way too familiar with.

“Some of us like having sex.”

“We haven’t even—” he runs a hand through his hair, exhausted. “Forget it.”

“We haven’t even what? Say it.”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

George is relentless, as usual. He won’t let this go, he knows it. When he keeps pushing, he isn’t surprised, but he is irritated. 

“We haven’t what.”

“We haven’t even had actual sex!”

The older of course knew exactly what he was implying before, face unfazed by the revelation. He leans on the back of his hands, tilts his head his way with that unwavering confidence Dream wishes was contagious. 

“And you think that’s because…?”

He shrugs, ignoring the heat on his face. “I don’t know? It hasn’t happened.”

“And you want to?”

Dream scoffs. 

“Why would I not—I literally ate you out,” he blurts out.

George blushes as he averts his gaze. “Then why didn’t you just say you wanted to have sex?” he asks, as if it were that easy, as if any of this between them was easy at all. “By the way, where’s my video? You better not leave without editing it.”

Dream blinks, unsure as to what to reply to first. He chooses the easier way out as he picks another shirt and throws it inside his suitcase. He isn’t even sure what he’s packing at this point. 

“I’m gonna finish it on the way to L.A.”

“No, we made a deal. You can’t leave the house until it’s done.”

He sighs, turning once again to grant him his undivided attention. “George, come on. What’s going on with you?”

Is it really just sex you’ll miss? He can’t shake the feeling he’s too replaceable—George didn’t hesitate much before suggesting finding someone else on his trip. Is Dream really just a warm body to pass the time? Were all those tender moments between them nothing but a figment of his hopeful imagination? It wouldn’t be the first time his mind has conjured up enough fictional details to keep him happy. Of course George cares about him, but he’s never really missed him when he had to go on trips before—and this is why. All he’s going to miss is the sex. And that’s—fine. That makes sense. That’s what they agreed on.

It’s not like Dream yearns for George in unspeakable ways whenever he as much as walks out of a room.

“Let’s have sex before you leave,” George says then, and the anguish nestled inside his chest both lessens and worsens. He knew it was bound to happen. It’s their deal, after all. But why now? 

He clears his throat, turns his back on him to make it easier to process.

“...okay? Sure.”

He leaves tomorrow morning. That means—okay. He’s definitely going to pack all the wrong clothes for L.A now, but he doesn’t really care.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He doesn’t think of anything else during the rest of the day—he can’t possibly be blamed. George stays with him in his room as he finishes packing, makes conversation as if they hadn’t pretty much scheduled sex for later today. They have dinner together and George is normal. Of course he is normal. He’s had meaningless sex so many times before he probably has forgotten what it even means to keep count. 

Sapnap can immediately tell there’s something on his mind, though. After dinner George announces he’s going to shower and Dream almost chokes on his water like a complete idiot. The minute he’s out of earshot though, Sapnap is staring at him like a hawk from across the table.

“So. How have things been going with you two?”

“Uh. Fine?”

His friend raises a skeptical eyebrow his way. “Define fine.”

Dream exhales.

“Do you even want to know?”

“I do. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. Besides, you’re leaving for a full week. I’d like an update, it’s not like I can ask George.”

Dream flinches. “Yeah, please don’t. He’d kill me if he knew I told you.”

“You technically didn’t tell me, but don’t worry—I’d rather not ask George anything,” he says, scrunching up his nose in disgust at the idea. Serious conversations aren’t really their thing.

“We’re fine. The usual. I’m fine.”

“You look stressed as fuck.”

He doesn’t deny it. He’s pretty transparent when it comes to his emotions. The only reason George can’t tell is because he’s the most oblivious person on earth.

He clears his throat, tugs at the collar of his shirt. “The trip will be good for me. I think.”

Sapnap hums.

“Got enough lyrics in mind to work on?”

Dream scoffs. He’s been writing relentlessly on his journal and although it doesn’t sound half bad, he’s positive he hasn’t written these many love songs in his entire life. They’re all stupidly dramatic, too. About yearning and longing and the paralyzing fear of losing something so precious that you wrap your hands around it like claws. He prays George continues being oblivious if he ever pays any attention to his music. He doesn’t think he could survive the embarrassment of professing his love and getting not only his feelings, but also his music rejected.

“Yeah. I’d say I do.”

The younger smiles. 

“Can’t wait to listen, then.”

Dream bids him goodnight soon after, half dreading and half looking forward to the rest of his night. He’s scared shitless and nervous beyond belief. It’s stupid. They’ve pretty much done everything apart from actual penetration—surely this is not bound to suck. But George sounded so disappointed with his past hookups when he said they didn’t last too long or weren’t good enough in bed. Dream has been good so far, but what if George isn’t satisfied tonight? What if he decides he isn’t worth his time and as soon as he walks out of the house, he does exactly what he mentioned earlier today and finds someone else to feed his cravings?

He doesn’t want another man touching him. He doesn’t want anyone else getting to hear the lovely sounds that cascade down his lips, to watch him turn red with vulnerability, to get lost in his dark eyes and the desire swirling through him like a steady wave. 

George isn’t his by any means, but sometimes Dream turns into a hopeful fool and lets his mind cheat its way into happiness.

The pressure and tension on his body must be noticeable from leagues away. He can even see it in the bathroom mirror after he’s done showering. He does his breathing exercises, tries to nearly no avail to mute the rushing thoughts inside his head. 

He debates whether to wear clothes or not, but decides to put on a shirt and some sweatpants either way. George might’ve changed his mind. Maybe he’s still in his room and won’t come all the way to his bed tonight. Maybe he forgot all about what he asked for this morning. 

And yet, when Dream leaves his bathroom, he finds George lying in his bed on his back. He’s watching tiktoks on his phone, and the image is so familiar for a moment that he feels a weird sense of deja vu travel down his spine. 

He imagines a life where he’s allowed to have more than this, and he hates that he even feels remotely sad about the limits in their relationship—he should be happy with being able to touch him freely, even if their touches are limited to closed doors and warm sheets. It’s enough, it has to be.

George looks up and finds him watching him. He smiles, and it’s easy and soft and for a moment Dream thinks of reaching for him, of getting to taste his smile and keeping it with him across the states. 

He doesn’t.

“I was wondering where you were,” George says, locking his phone and placing it on the nightstand. “Took you long enough. Thought you’d be more eager.”

He swallows.

“I—Nick wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“Nothing serious, just stuff,” he shrugs, realizing he should’ve just lied from the start. He doesn’t want George suspecting they were talking about him. About them. He can’t even entertain how he’d react if he found out someone else knows.

But George seems uninterested about their conversation, rolling his eyes and licking his lips at him instead. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

Despite the nerves eating at his brain, he doesn’t. He gets on the bed, ignoring the urge to caress the side of George’s face and tell him how much he adores him. He kisses him, and it’s just as simple and as breathtaking as it’s always been. He tastes like toothpaste, something minty and fruity that has his tongue drinking up as much as it can. 

The older wraps his arms around him, pulling him over and parting his lips for him again and again. He could spend so many hours kissing him that he’d probably miss his flight.

“I’m already prepped,” he whispers against his mouth and Dream freezes.

“Oh—okay.”

He tries not to sound too disappointed, but he did his research. He wanted to be the one to open him up with his fingers, watch him come undone the way he did when he had his mouth on him last time. Maybe they’ll have other opportunities to do that, though. Or perhaps George didn’t like it that much when he tried last time—

“Hey, you okay?”

He feels a warm hand on his face and realizes George has been staring at him with worry in his eyes for the last few seconds.

“Sorry. I spaced out.”

“Is it because I did it myself? You can do it next time, I was just—” he sighs, a pretty blush adorning his cheeks. “I couldn’t wait, okay?”

Oh. Dream nods, immediately sliding his shirt off and helping George out with his own clothes. He really should’ve just walked out naked in the first place. There are way too many layers between them and he needs him close.

It’s a rush of desperate hands and hungry mouths. He’s never seen George this eager before, and it’s doing wonders to his ego. All the nerves of not being good enough evaporate, no thoughts allowed inside his head except for how much he wants to devour the man beneath him. George’s mouth is red by the time he’s done chewing on his lips, slicked with spit and shining under the light above.

“How do you wanna do this?” he asks him as his mouth trails more kisses down his neck. He knows he shouldn’t leave marks, but it’s so hard to contain himself when every suck of his mouth has George shivering with need, little whimpers sounding like the finest music to his ears.

“I—however you want. I don’t care,” he sighs. “Just—need you.”

He could’ve never once imagined in his wildest dreams that George would be this gone from just a few kisses, but he’s a lithe, insatiable thing as he pulls Dream closer, tugs at his hair and wraps both legs around his waist. They’re both hard by now, clothes discarded all over the floor around the bed.

He doesn’t want this to be fast—a tiny part of him betrays the calm confidence that has overcome him after hearing the sounds he’s able to evoke from the older—in case it’s the first and last time he gets to have him. It’ll definitely be the last time for a full week, at least. 

But George’s nails scratch down his back and his mouth seeks his own as if he were famished for him.

“Easy, fuck. Calm down,” he whispers against his skin, pressing his hips down with a single hand. He’s so small he’s sure if anyone were to talk in on them right now, all they’d see are his pale legs around Dream’s broad back.

“I’ve been waiting for so long. I’ve been patient—” he says, and Dream isn’t sure what he means, because doesn’t he know he could’ve had him from day one? From before he even moved to Florida?

I’ve been yours for years. I’ve been yours from the very first moment you believed in me when no one else did.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he reassures him, kissing his lips one last time before pressing two fingers inside him.

“I’m—ah, Dream. I’m ready. I told you—”

“I’m just making sure, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he tells him, and also he wants to feel him so desperately he can’t help it. George doesn’t complain much longer, all his words losing meaning as he slams his head against the pillows and lets Dream have him. His lips find his nipples and he sucks on the pink buds until they harden, pushing his fingers inside a bit deeper. He crooks them until he finds the spot that by now knows will drive George insane, eyes rolling to the back of his head in bliss.

“I’m gonna come—stop, Dream. Fuck me. Fuck me now, please .”

He nods, rushing to get a condom around his cock as it hardens under his touch.

He will remember all of this. He knows that now. His brain is already committing each detail to memory, eyes drinking him in like an oil painting hanging from the Louvre. George’s eyes are shut tight, lost in his own pleasure, ignorant to the void he’s created inside of him. A void that will never be filled again, not until he has George just like this—on his bed, vulnerable and naked and exposed and ready for him to take.

He’ll take all of this on his trip—the tremble in George’s fingers, ivory teeth sinking on plump lips, endless eyelashes shaking with every rushed breath that escapes him. He’ll take the pliant shape of his waist and how his hands seem to fit there like puzzle pieces. He’ll take the sounds he makes, the desperate ushers of Dream’s name like hopeless prayers, the salt he tastes on his cheeks the moment he finally gives him what he’s been asking for all along.

He’s never felt this way before, not all the times he’s had sex, not even when he was so confident he was in love. Nothing in his life will come close to wrapping his entire body around George and burying himself inside him, being able to feel him all over, crossing the last line that remained between them.

“Move, please—”

“I got you, baby. I got you,” he promises, cold sweat clinging to their skin as Dream begins thrusting inside. George doesn’t open his eyes long enough for their gazes to meet, and when he does his eyes are so clouded by pleasure he isn’t even sure he’s fully conscious of what he sees or hears.

Dream loses himself, as well. He loses his inhibitions, the walls he’s put around him to protect himself. He loses his fears and his worries, until all he’s left with is the sight and feel of the man beneath him.

When their mouths meet in a deep kiss, he caresses his cheeks with both hands as he fucks him, runs thumbs up and down his jaw, kisses him with as much love and affection as he’s able to convey. He isn’t sure George feels it, but he still kisses him back, raising his hips to meet him with every thrust.

The pleasure is blinding, but he doesn’t want this to end, can’t even imagine willingly putting an end to this magnetic thing between them. He feels infinite as George moans out his name, again and again and again, until it’s all he can and will hear for the rest of the night—an echo of this longing that runs deeply in both of their chests.

“ George —god, you feel so good.”

“Dream…please, I’m so close.”

He remembers George’s words earlier today, the threat of finding other people who will get to have him just like this. Who will fool themselves into believing they’re special.

“Mine,” he whispers, unable to help himself, holding his waist so tightly that he knows he’ll be leaving marks behind. “Mine, say you’re mine.”

George nods, turning his head until their mouths are brushing when he says, “Yours.”

He comes soon after, spilling inside the condom to a dozen whispers of his name. George comes just as quickly the second Dream as much as wraps a single hand around him, his cum landing on both their chests. It’s so hot it almost makes him hard again.

It takes him a moment to collect himself from the intensity of it all, his breathing coming out in jaded gasps as he slowly pulls out of him. George’s chest rises and falls, eyes still closed as a tiny exhale leaves his lips. Dream leans down to kiss his forehead before snapping out of it and shaking his head, walking his way back to his bathroom to grab a towel instead.

And suddenly, the spell is broken.

Suddenly, like always, he remembers what they are. And what they are not.

He cleans both of them up, George barely stirring with the movement. He looks sleepier than usual, but by the time Dream has put his underwear back on, his eyes are open and he’s watching him.

“You good?” he asks, trying to act nonchalant and not like he’s just had the most intense, overwhelming orgasm of his life. He wants to hug him, to hold him as they fall asleep together. He wants to kiss his cheeks and his nose and call him pretty names. 

He blushes as he remembers what he said before he came, and what George said back. 

Did he mean it? Of course not. He’s being stupid. People say all kinds of things during sex, don’t they? 

George yawns.

“Yes. Tired.”

“I should get some sleep, too. Have to leave for the airport early tomorrow,” he says, sitting by the edge of the bed.

The older’s face falls a bit at that, but he quickly pulls on a lazy smile.

“Right. The airport. Big trip.”

Dream purses his lips, remembering their conversation during the morning. “It’s just a week, George.”

“You’ll text, right?”

Dream snorts in disbelief. “Are you really gonna miss me that much?”

George frowns. “Of course not. I was kidding. Don’t text, I don’t care,” he shrugs, already sitting up and sliding his own underwear on after Dream reaches for it on the floor.

It’s crazy how quickly he’s capable of building his walls back up. It’s like he’s allergic to being vulnerable. What is he so scared of? 

“Don’t be like that, come on,” he says, watching him get ready to leave his room.

“Be like what? You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot you’re going to miss,” he teases with a grin. He can’t help the rush of dopamine that goes straight to his head at the idea, even if he’s probably going to be missing him a lot more. 

“I’m leaving.”

“Wait—” he says, and the question sits at the tip of his tongue— did you mean it? Are you mine? —before he swallows it back down at the sight of George’s eyes looking at him. He can’t ask it. George would just laugh it off and call him an idiot again. He wouldn’t even take him seriously. “Uh, don’t forget your shirt.”

George presses his lips together. “Yeah, of course.”

By the time he’s gone, Dream buries his face on the pillow he was just lying on and sighs. It still smells like his shampoo.

It’s going to be a very long trip, isn’t it?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

George is asleep by the time he has to leave for the airport, and he can’t even think of waking him up only to say goodbye. It’s just for a week and it’s eight a.m. He thinks he would actually throw something at his face if he tried to wake him. So he doesn’t—and also maybe because goodbyes aren’t his thing and seven days without him after they had intense sex the night before seems already dreadful enough.

“You’re gonna be okay, right?” Sapnap asks him when it’s time for him to leave his car.

He rolls his eyes.

“Yes. It’s a week. In L.A. Making music and working. I’m sure it’s gonna be okay.”

“Just making sure. You can call me if anything, okay? And don’t worry about George. He’ll be fine, too,” he says, already knowing Dream well enough to know the things he doesn’t even get to say out loud. He nods and leans over to hug him. It’s a bit uncomfortable and awkward over the console, but he’s clingy and it helps make him feel a bit better by the time he’s about to board the plane. 

They haven’t even fully boarded when George texts him.

George

u already left???

Dream

yeah told u I had to leave early
about to fly now

George

why didn’t u wake me up?

Dream freezes, confused by the question. George expected him to wake him up? What for? He’s never made a big deal of goodbyes before when they’d had to part. Dream is usually the one even pushing for hugs and ending up feeling like a sensitive idiot. 

Dream

it was early? idk dw about it

Read  09:22 a.m.

It’s not weird for George to leave him on read, but the word appeared so quickly on his screen that he knows he still had his chat open. And yet, he doesn’t reply. Not even by the time the plane takes off and he has to turn off his data. Maybe he fell back asleep or wasn’t sure what to say, he thinks to himself, but he isn't sure that’s true. Surely he isn’t mad at him? Perhaps he wanted to grab breakfast with Sapnap and is upset he left by himself. Yeah. Maybe. 

Dream isn’t sure, but he tries his very best not to dwell on it during the rest of his flight.

He kinda fails.

He sends a picture of the car that picks him up in L.A to test the waters later that day, and when George replies with a meme making fun of him, he sighs in relief. They’re good. It’s all good.

He just has to get his mind off George for a while. It’ll be good. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It’s equal parts easy and hard to think about other things when your mind is preoccupied with other things.

Music takes its time and as soon as he gets inside the studio, he kind of gets lost in all the words he has to say. The journal he uses for lyrics is filled to the brim in only two days, and he gets about six hours of sleep in both days combined. It’s worth it. The producer he talks to during those days helps him a lot—he’s only a couple years older than him but has worked with such famous singers that Dream feels intimidated just by sharing a room with him.

It’s crazy sometimes to think that this is his life.

“These are good, dude. Honestly. I can tell you have a thing for writing.”

He feels giddy and is positive anyone could tell from looking at him. He loves compliments and this sort of validation is even more monumental coming from someone who actually knows what he’s talking about.

“Really? Thanks. I know song lyrics are…different from what I’m used to writing. But I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

“I can tell. These are better than a lot of songs that have been released this past year,” he says, and the relief Dream feels washing down his body makes him feel as light as a feather. “But, I do have to mention something I noticed,” he adds. “All of these are love songs.”

Dream shrinks on his seat, clearing his throat. 

“Uh, well—” he scratches the back of his neck. It’s true. They’re all dramatic, depressing, desperate love songs. And that’s the hard part. As much as he hasn’t been actively thinking about George these past two days, he’s been writing about them since he got his hands on his journal.

“Don’t get me wrong, love sells. A ton. But I’m sure someone like you has more to say than this, right? Like, I don’t know you that well just yet but I’ve seen some stuff online. Sounds like you could use this medium to spill some juicy truths about the industry or something, you know?” he suggests, leaning back on his chair as he regards him with kind, patient eyes.

Dream nods.

“Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t even realize—yeah. I do have other things to say.”

“We are definitely gonna be using some of these, though. It’s an album, after all. Bound to have a few love songs thrown in the mix here and there, but keep in mind expanding to other themes, too.”

“I will. Definitely. Thank you, seriously,” he says. He’s a bit embarrassed but still glad that Jake found his songs good enough to mention. He can talk about other things with as much passion, surely—writing about what he’s feeling at the moment is just…easier. 

“Don’t sweat it, that’s what I’m here for. Now, should we get some food? And then some sleep. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Dream laughs. “That’s because I haven’t. Let’s go.”

George

what r u up to
can we call tonight?

loser stop ignoring me

Dream

sorry, was out with Jake
i’m super tired, think i’m gonna head off to sleep soon
raincheck?

George

who’s jake? the producer?

Dream

yeah! he’s a cool dude
he’s been helping me out with the lyrics too

George

wasn’t that woman Angela helping with the writing?

Dream

she couldn’t make it to the studio this week
so jake is helping instead
it’s all good tbh he’s worked with like
taylor swift and lady gaga 

George

he sounds great

can’t we at least call for like a few minutes?

Dream sighs, pressing the dark screen against the side of his face. He should say no. He’s been doing well ignoring the random urges to text and call George during the day. Being busy is good. Talking to other people is good. Breathing a different air than him is good. But George asking him to call even for a few minutes has his heart racing with need. There’s only so much he can do to ignore all the love he has for him.

A few minutes can’t hurt.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he’s calling him and fighting the sleep as he gets more comfortable on the hotel bed. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey.”

“Hi. I really can’t talk for long, I’m super tired,” he says, adding a yawn for good measure.

“It’s fine. I was just bored and Sapnap has been streaming for like eight hours.”

He snorts.

“That long?”

“Yeah he had an event, I don’t know. So how’s it been? You’ve been busy.”

Dream smiles. Hearing his voice is already making him feel calmer. 

“Yes, but it’s been so much fun. I love writing. I love making music. It’s seriously so good. Like, I know I’m not an expert or anything but Jake said my lyrics are good. Like, he’s worked with—”

“Swift and Gaga.”

“Yes! Isn’t that insane? I never thought I’d get someone that professional to work with,” he says, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “I don’t know, I’m so excited. It feels like I can finally combine all of my passions together. It’s crazy. I know I still have so much to learn too, but that’s what has been motivating me even more. I’ve been reading books on—” he clears his throat, realizes George hasn’t said a single word in a while. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Huh? Yeah, that’s why I called. Keep going,” he says, voice gentle and soft. He sounds a bit sleepy himself. It must be the middle of the night in Florida. 

Dream’s hold on his phone tightens as he shuts his eyes. 

This isn’t helping, he wants to tell him. It doesn’t help how easy it is to talk to him, how good George has always been at listening, at caring about every single thing he’s ever done. Even back before they were both famous, George would share his excitement about anything he was into at the moment. He never made him feel weird or misunderstood, even when he had no idea what he was talking about. He always listened and asked the right questions. 

The urge to kiss him is overwhelming and the distance is earth-shattering.

“I should sleep, really. I have to be back in the studio early tomorrow,” he says. 

George pauses. “Oh. Okay. Well, call if you’re free.”

“I will,” he replies. But he won’t. Or he’ll make sure he isn’t free so he won’t even be tempted.

He tells George good night and turns off the lights. 

Jake doesn’t tell him off when he writes more depressing, unrequited love songs the next day, but the look he gives him is laced with sympathy. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask any further questions.

Chapter Text

“George said you haven’t been texting him back. Wanna tell me what’s that about?”

Dream flinches at the harsh tone in Sapnap’s voice. It’s his fifth day in L.A and he’s pretty sure they’ll be postponing his flight back a few days more. He doesn’t want to have to tell George that, so he hasn’t even told Sapnap. 

“Uh. I haven’t been checking my phone,” he lies. Well, it’s half a lie. He’s been incredibly busy between meetings and music and honestly he doesn’t have much time on his hands. It’s been a crazy few days, but he’ll admit he’s seen George’s texts—he’s read the questions to call becoming more and more spaced out. He knows he’s handling this like a child. He has his reasons, though. 

If George knew he was devastatingly in love with him, maybe he’d understand. Surely he’d stop texting. 

Maybe even do something worse.

“And yet you have been replying to me,” he says, and Dream has nothing to say back to that. Sapnap sighs. “Don’t worry, I told him you haven’t. Figured it was intentional.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in the middle—”

“Don’t, it’s fine. Just make sure not to be too obvious, whatever you’re trying to do. George can be a handful but I can tell he genuinely misses you,” he finishes, and it’s enough to pierce something within him. 

He’s such an idiot. He never meant to upset or hurt George, but of course he did it either way. He doesn’t want George to miss him—hell, he doesn’t even think he misses him nearly as much as Dream misses him. Of course it sends something warm down his stomach, of course he’s in a sick way relieved that he yearns for him, at least a little bit. But it’s not the same. George misses his body—maybe, potentially, his friend. He doesn’t miss a lover. 

“I’ll call him tonight,” he promises, and soon after they end their call. 

Jake finds him in the studio later that day, ink staining his fingers as papers and pages from his journal fill the desk. He snorts when he reads a random line in one, which immediately makes Dream exhale.

“I’m trying .”

“Hey, these are good. Don’t be harsh on yourself, yeah? I’m just sorry you’re going through so much.”

“I’m fine. It’s all made up,” he lies. He wishes none of this was real.

Jake hums under his breath, unconvinced. “If that’s true then you should become a novelist. That kind of creativity and imagination is rare in lyricists.”

He doesn’t say anything at that. What can he say? It’s obvious all of it is real. He can see the bleeding of his own hands on the papers, smeared across ink and heartbreaking poetry. 

“I like this one,” Jake adds, pushing a page his way. Dream reaches for it and frowns.

Because I’m paranoid

of things I can’t avoid,

just like me needing you,

so can you fill the void?

“I’m not even entirely sure when I wrote that one,” he frowns. It’s been a rough couple of days. He’s exhausted beyond measure, stressed and anxious and unsure of pretty much every single thing he’s written so far. “Maybe last night?”

Jake laughs.

“Well, work on it. I think it has potential.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He musters up enough courage to call George that very same night, the guilt eating away at the dread of falling even deeper into his own hole. He picks up on the second ring, and Dream’s shoulders sag against his pillows, all remnants of tension leaving him at the sound of his voice.

“Hey. You called.”

“Yes, sorry. I’ve really been super busy. Didn’t mean to ignore you,” he lies. He’s been doing a lot of that lately.

He hears some sounds coming from the other end, as if he was walking up the stairs. He can see him vividly inside his head; it’s late there in Florida, late enough that he’s probably wearing his pajamas and heading to his bedroom. 

“Yeah, I know. Just—you said you’d call. And text. Before you left,” he reminds him. 

Dream shuts his eyes. He knows what he said. 

“I really didn’t expect this much work.”

“It’s fine. You’ll be here on Friday anyway,” he says, opening a door and exhaling a word that sounds a lot like patches. 

His eyes open and he clears his throat. “Oh—uh, about that.”

“Wait. She’s in my bed again. Patchy, can you move so I can lie down? Baby come on,” he says, and it’s so soft and gentle that Dream melts. He knew Patches would fall in love with George too, but truthfully he never expected them to be as close as they are. More often than not he’s found her waiting outside George’s room, scratching at the door until she’s let inside. “There we go. What were you saying?”

“Ken changed my flight to Tuesday,” he blurts out.

“ What? Why?”

He sighs. “There’s just so much to work on. I’ve finished the first single but I’m working with Jake on a new song and we want to finish writing it this weekend, then maybe record a sample on Monday—”

“Can I go?”

He freezes.

“What?”

“I wanna go. To L.A.”

Dream rubs the side of his neck so harshly he’s bound to leave the skin there red. 

It’s not completely uncalled for, his friends have been here with him before but that was different. Usually they had their own schedule and they hardly ever visited the studio with him. 

That was also when he wasn’t literally working on a love song about George.

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

He hears a scoff coming from the older.

“You don’t want to see me at all?”

“ George , come on. It’s not about that. I always want to see you, you know that.”

“Then—I won’t be annoying, I promise. I’ll let you work. I’ll just hang around and watch.”

He exhales. Fuck. He wants that. He wants George in the studio, wants to watch him watch him. He wants to kiss him and touch him and hug him—he’s been having recurring dreams about him, too. Getting him out of his mind is easier when he’s awake and in control and busy, but his brain always comes back to the safety of him. 

“Okay. I’ll ask Jake.”

“Why do you need to ask him?” he asks, voice laced with irritation. “He works for you.”

“Yeah but you know, I don’t wanna impose. It’s not my studio. I’m sure he’ll say yes, though. He’s cool,” he explains. A tiny part of him wants to gatekeep George from that side of his life a bit longer—afraid Jake will take a look at the way Dream looks at him and realize whom all those songs were about, after all. He really doesn’t need that.

“Mm, so you’ve said.”

Dream pouts. He knows George isn’t actually mad at him, but he still sounds pretty annoyed at him and that’s enough to make him whine into the phone. “Come on, don’t be upset with me. I miss you.”

George is quiet for a moment before clarifying, “I’m not upset. I’m horny, that’s all.”

Dream’s hold on his phone tightens as well as his jaw. 

Is George serious? He knows he’s emotionally constipated most of the time, but he’s the one who’s been texting him non-stop to just talk on the phone. They aren’t even sexting. He hasn’t even implied he was seeking anything remotely sexual from their brief interactions.

Why is it so hard to admit he misses more than just the sex? He knows he doesn't have any romantic feelings for him, but they’re still best friends. He deserves more than this.

He crosses his arm over his chest.

“Oh yeah? What if I tell you we won’t have sex here, then? Will you still come?”

George pauses.

“Why wouldn’t we have sex? Aren’t you staying at a hotel? Or is Jake there, too?”

“What? Jake lives here. He has his own place. Why would he—” he shakes his head, annoyed. “Doesn’t matter, answer me.”

“Answer what?” he repeats, and Dream is getting a bit pent up already.

“If we wouldn’t have sex, would you still come?”

“ Yes . Whatever. Yes, I’d still go. Why does it matter?” he asks, sounding just as annoyed as Dream. “You still want to have sex with me, right?”

He sighs, relieved. He really shouldn’t have to squeeze these tiny things out of him, but he’s sad to admit he’s kind of used to this dynamic between them. Dream may wear his heart on his sleeve, might tell each of his friends that he loves them and is thankful for everything they’ve done for him, but George is quite different, always has been—he isn’t touchy with anyone but his closest friends, and even then it’s usually reserved to closed doors and turned off cameras. He doesn’t say compliments too easily or throws I love you’s around like spare change. 

He’s careful with words and actions and it drives Dream a bit insane most of the time.

“Of course I do. And we will. I was just—we’re friends, too. I don’t want us to lose that,” he adds, voice dropping a bit quieter as it gets laced around by his insecurities.

George’s voice is gentle too when he says, “Dream. Don’t be dumb. We’ll never lose that.”

What if we already have?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

George arrives by himself the next day. Sapnap texts him to let him know he wanted to tag along but had an NRG event he couldn’t miss out on. He promises to call, and wishes him good luck with the music. Dream wishes he would’ve come, too. The prospect of spending time with George by himself is both something to look forward to and something to openly dread. 

Any progress he might’ve made by trying to move on will be completely wiped out the second he sees him. A part of him wants to laugh at that— what progress? —he’s probably made no progress at all. It’s only been a week, and by the time George texts him his plane has landed, his mind is already focused solely on the idea of seeing him again.

He can’t pick him up from the airport himself, but George doesn’t seem too bothered when he tells him he’ll send him a car. He sounds almost excited, and he knows he loves L.A, so any concerns about this being a terrible idea disappear as the butterflies swarm his stomach. Jake can tell he’s in a better mood that day, letting him leave the studio early to join his friend —he thankfully doesn’t ask any questions, but he can read the knowing glint in his eye and tells him to fuck off. He doesn’t need any more people finding out about his feelings, even though he trusts Jake wouldn’t tell a soul.

George

i’m in the lobby
what room was it?

Dream

mine is 509
I can just meet u at urs tho

George

u got me my own room???
why

Dream

?? I didn’t know u wanted to share
u always whine about sharing a room

George

yes with sapnap
not u stupid
what’s the point of having separate rooms
if I came here to see u

ugh forget it
just come to mine loser

Dream locks his phone, confused and giddy all at once as he stands to leave his room. He really didn’t think twice before getting George his own suite—even if they might have sex, they never sleep together after. Is George suddenly okay with staying the night? What has changed? Has he always been okay with that? 

All the questions flood his overworking mind and by the time he’s knocking on George’s door seven minutes later, his breath abandons his lungs the moment he sees him. His hair is a bit longer, which is a dumb thought to have considering he’s seen him a week ago, but he has it anyway, as well as the sudden urge to run his hands through it and engulf him in his arms. Before he gets to do any of that though, George is pulling him inside the room and shutting the door.

“Hey—” the next words are silenced as the older presses a rushing kiss to his mouth, his own body melting at the sudden touch. They’ve only ever kissed without the premise of sex when Dream was sad and wrapped in blankets on his bed. But this kiss tastes like longing and desperation, this kiss tastes like I missed you so much , as George wraps both arms around him and parts his lips for him. “Wow, that was—hello,” he says when they part. George is flushed so beautifully that he lets himself steal another kiss, cupping the side of his face and closing his eyes until everything else falls away.

He can’t believe he willingly forbid himself from having this for a week.

“And to think you didn’t want me to come here.”

“I never said that.”

George raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re an idiot. ”

“Yes, you’re probably right. Come here,” he says, ignoring the smirk in George’s expression after admitting to the insult. It’s easy when it means they end up laying together in the perfectly made, silky bed. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Against his better judgment, George ends up meeting Jake the next morning. Only a couple of I wanna see the studio are enough to convince Dream. He tries to tell George that it’ll be boring, that going there is only exciting if you’re recording songs yourself and that otherwise it’s a lot of waiting around and hearing a bunch of music talk that he won’t be entertained by—all attempts are fruitless. George is determined that he wants to see where the magic happens , and it’s right after breakfast that they head there together.

He’s never actually mentioned George to Jake before—he knows of him, the same way anyone who knows who he is knows him, but they’ve never actually talked about him. For a reason. For this reason. 

That’s why Jake is all polite smiles and firm handshakes when he first meets him, probably only vaguely recalling his emphasis on the word friend the previous day. But Dream has been told something before—many, many times and by different people. First it was Nick, back when he was barely nineteen ‘ dude do you like…like George?’ Back then he wasn’t even sure he liked guys, and laughed it off calling him an idiot. But eventually, after a lot of thinking and contemplating, he went to him again and asked him why he’d asked him that before. ‘ Just the way you talk to him. You get all…soft and shit.’

Later it was his mom. He was around twenty-one at the time, telling her about the plans they were making to get George to move to Florida. She smiled at him and asked, ‘ do you love him, sweetie?’ 

It was that simple.

Somehow the most important people in his life could easily tell—even his fans.

“George is just gonna watch,” he tells Jake now.

“Obviously, I wasn’t about to start singing,” his friend rolls his eyes, but even as he’s making fun of him for over-explaining, watching him get comfortable on the usually deserted leather couch is enough to make him smile like a fool.

“Dream, do you wanna work on that song you were writing the other day—”

“ No. ”

Jake sends him a look then, hand frozen over the controllers. He looks at George out of the corner of his eye, but sighs in relief when he finds him on his phone. 

“Let’s just go over the main single, yeah?” he suggests. Jake gets the memo, but he catches the way he sends a curious look at George on the back and he can tell he knows the song is about him. Great. So much for being subtle.

Jake must sense his discomfort because the smile he sends him is comforting. He nods, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. I got you.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

George clears his throat then, and Dream rises his head to find him watching the interaction with a blank expression on his face. He approaches him until he’s kneeling in front of him so their eyes can meet and pats his knee with gentle fingers. 

“Hey, I told you it might be boring, sorry but—”

George’s face instantly melts into something softer as he shakes his head. “It’s not boring. I’m interested. I wanna learn, you do your thing,” he says, his left hand coming to his knee to quickly run a thumb over his knuckles. The gesture is so fast and fleeting that Dream wonders if he imagined it. But judging by the look Jake sends him once he returns to the booth, he knows it happened.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

They stay in the studio until lunch—usually they would just order some food in and continue working, but after around six hesitant glances he sends George’s way, Jake exhales and laughs it off.

“Dream, if you wanna go have lunch with him just go.”

He’s glad George can’t hear what they’re talking about right now, but he still flushes in embarrassment at being so obvious.

“Sorry, I just don’t want him to be hungry—”

“It’s actually disgustingly cute how much you care about your friend. ”

The heat on his face only worsens at his teasing.

“Shut up.”

“Go, you can come back later. I’ll be here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You deserve it,” he adds, patting him on the back, and it’s a small gesture but he realizes then that Jake has been such a great support and friend, going way overboard of what a producer is supposed to do, that he can’t help but give him a quick hug. He’s touchy with a lot of people, loves showing how much he appreciates the few that have been kind to him with no ulterior motives. Jake laughs but hugs him back. “You don’t need to be so grateful I’m letting you eat. You’re making me think I’m usually awful.”

Dream laughs as they break apart. “You’re great, really. Thank you.”

“Go, I hate being emotional.”

As soon as he reaches George outside the booth, the older is standing up, sour face back on.

“Hey, sorry for the delay. You wanna get lunch?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They eat at Mcdonald’s simply because it’s George’s favorite and Dream is an idiot that can hardly ever say no to him. George acts like normal as they eat, but he should’ve noticed the underlined tension to his words, the slight concerned frown he tried to hide with dumb jokes. He brushed it off at him being tired, but Dream should’ve noticed it was all pretend, that there was something else bothering the older—because as soon as they’re back in their hotel, he doesn’t wait too long until asking him,

“Are you fucking other people?”

Dream freezes as he shuts the door behind him, confused by the sudden confrontation. “What? Are you serious? Who would I even fuck—I’ve been here for less than a week. ”

The accusation makes something bitter threaten to rise up his throat. Dream barely has any time to breathe, let alone think about having sex with anyone who isn’t George. There hasn’t been anyone for him in years. He can’t look at people the same way he looks at him, because they aren’t him. He can’t even talk to other people the same way. Their friendship is on an entirely different playing field.

George rolls his eyes after Dream snaps at him, shrinking a bit. “I was just asking.”

Realization dawns upon him as his muscles refuse to move a single inch. 

“Why? Are you ?”

“No.”

He exhales. He believes him. Why would George lie, anyway? 

It’s been a week. If he had really gone and hooked up with someone else the minute he was out of the house, Dream doesn’t think he’d be able to keep going with this thing.

He nods to himself, only slightly satisfied. This entire conversation is about to give him a headache and it has barely started. He can feel the tension building between them, could feel it all the way through the phone since he began avoiding George. He might’ve been able to excuse himself out of that one, but maybe the older wasn’t that convinced after all.

“Okay. Neither of us have been. Great.”

Silence.

“Do you want to?”

“George, ” he says, and he isn’t sure he can even put any of this into proper words. He still tries. If anything to lessen the clear strain in his best friend’s body. “Sex isn’t—it’s a big deal to me. I told you I don’t just have sex with anyone like you do.”

He immediately knows that came out the wrong way, and it’s only confirmed by the glare George throws his way. It’s a bit of a problem how attractive he is—because even now, even with all of this unspeakable everything between them, he still can’t help but notice how good his hair looks, how pretty his cheeks are when they flush and how hot that angry expression is. Jesus.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not judging you! But you’ve admittedly slept around with strangers,” he clarifies. ”I can’t…do that, okay?”

George blinks. “Oh. You’re actually demisexual?”

Dream shrugs, awkwardly fiddling with the control remote on the table by the tv, hands needing something to distract them. 

“I guess, if you want to put a label on it.”

A nod.

“Sorry. I was just—I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do. So no, I haven’t been having sex with anyone and I won’t anytime soon. Unless I date around and fall in love,” he adds with a snort, not really meaning it. A love like the one he has for him is rare and unique and so special that he doesn’t think he’ll ever find it again. That’s why he’s convinced George is the love of his life. He knows he’s barely twenty-three, but sometimes you just know .

“That’s even worse,” George mumbles out, too low for him to fully understand. 

He tilts his head. “What?”

The older clears his throat, their eyes meeting when he spits out, “I said that’s gross.”

Dream lets out a laugh at that. He can’t be serious. He knows George is very…cynical and against relationships. He’s openly talked about it in the past, but briefly. They’ve never actually discussed it in depth. There’s only so much Dream wanted to know when he used to think he didn’t even have a chance anyway.

“What? Love isn’t gross , George.”

“It kind of is.”

Dream feels his chest deflate. He doesn’t want to ask but he has to. He might not get a chance and this is the perfect segway into learning more about his thought process without being too obvious about his real intentions.

“Are you really that opposed to the idea of dating?”

George’s expression is probably one of the most open, genuine ones he has ever gotten from him—but he wishes he was putting up a front instead. He looks almost sad . 

“When does it ever work out, Dream?” he asks him, voice calm. 

“So many people have successfully dated, come on—”

“Who? And don’t name someone you don’t actually know. Who in your life ?” he insists, almost as if he wanted Dream to prove him wrong. 

He wants to. So badly. 

But all he does is swallow around his dry throat and stare at the floor. 

Both of their parents are separated and George is aware of that. He thinks of his aunts and uncles, most divorced or never married. He has an aunt on his mother’s side who is definitely married but they’re so unhappy he doesn’t think it counts. George doesn’t know that. He considers lying but doesn’t think that’d be fair.

He thinks of his sister—she started dating a guy a couple months ago, but Dream hasn’t even met him in person to judge. 

He thinks of his own relationships, none of them lasting long at all, same as Nick’s.

“My grandparents were together before they died,” he settles for after a moment.

“Old people don’t count, divorce was like a sin back then,” he rolls his eyes. 

Dream rises both arms, exasperated as he stares back at him.

“Then what would count, George?”

He approaches him, eyes shining as he gazes up at him. His face is flushed from anger, or maybe it’s irritation, maybe it’s the result of having a conversation with someone you know so well and finding no common ground to stand on.

“Any relationship you know first hand hasn’t ended and in which they both seem happy, content—I don’t know. Not a new one. At least three years.”

Dream isn’t sure if he wants to scream out in frustration or cry. “That’s so specific. I can’t think on the spot but you can’t seriously think those don’t exist, George.”

The older’s next words are merely a whisper, but they sound like a yell inside the quiet bedroom. “They do, but they’re rare. That’s my point.” 

He’s fighting a losing battle. He knows that. George knows that. Can he tell he’s talking about them? Can he tell he’s breaking Dream’s heart?

He doesn’t know why he keeps trying, why he insists on prolonging a conversation that is only hurting him the longer it continues. George has always been stubborn, and he can see in his eyes that this is something he’s convinced himself of. He’s been this way since they met, and Dream hasn’t changed his mind in the slightest. 

“What if you and your partner are one of those rare cases?” He feels his throat ache with the lump building there. George looks away.

“I doubt it. I don’t wanna risk it. The chances are so low, why bother?”

Why bother?

His hands turn to fists at his sides, skin pulled tight beneath his nails. “You don’t think it’d be worth it, even if you did break up?”

George’s eyes meet his and his expression is so sad that he wants to kiss all of the anguish away.

“No, I think I’d rather never know than to have it and lose it.”

Dream nods, quiet. He can’t keep having this conversation. He can’t convince George to see things his way. Not too long ago he used to think he could—that maybe he could cheat him into believing they weren’t official, could give him everything but the title if that was what frightened him. But it’s not just that, not the word itself. George is opposed to the entire concept of dating and Dream is a hopeless romantic. In a world where George loves him back, they never break up. They’d be together for the rest of their lives, get married, have a life together so full and happy it would make people around them feel disgusted. 

But in George’s eyes, they’d break up.

In his eyes, the relationship wouldn’t even be worth trying.

How can you fight against that?

How can you want to?

“I think—I think Jake’s waiting for me,” he says then, and it’s not exactly subtle—the tremor he tries to hide in his voice. But he can’t stay here. He can’t spend a second longer in this cramped room with the person he’s convinced is the love of his life, telling him he’s convinced they aren’t meant to be.

“Can I join?”

“Later. I’ll text you,” he tells him, but he isn’t sure he’ll want to. He turns to the door, locating his phone and keys. 

“Dream…”

“I’m just a bit jet-lagged still, yeah? Sorry. For this entire…discussion,” he says, unsure as if he even should be apologizing. His hand is on the doorknob when he adds, “It’s none of my business and frankly doesn’t change anything so don’t uh, worry about it.”

George is quiet for long enough that he thinks that will be it and he opens the door. Right before he walks out though, he hears him ask, “Can we have dinner together?”

He shuts his eyes. 

“Yeah. I think so. I’ll text you, keep your phone on.”

His friend’s quiet ‘okay’ is lost somewhere across the hallway as he makes his way to the elevator and forces himself to hold back his tears.

He’ll cry in the studio. He’ll cry in his songs. It’ll be fine. 

That’s what the album is for anyway, isn’t it?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I’m all for pouring your feelings out through music but…I think your fans will be worried if you release this."

Jake's input is extremely important to him, after all he's been in the industry for many years and knows its insides and outs way better than he does. This time though, his comment has his eyes rolling all the way to the back of his head.

“I’m not going to release this one. I just wanted to write," he explains. 

Jake sends him a look he isn't keen on—it reeks of sympathy. 

“Are you okay, man?”

He clears his throat. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know—I will be, though. Not a great day, that’s all.”

“You looked so happy today…” he trails off, and he knows what he means. He looked so happy when George got here, when he could finally witness his smile in person and get acquainted once again with the cologne clinging to his skin. 

He remembers his words, his expression, the things they said to each other. How unsubtle he was with his implication. The way he left the room with a half-assed promise of seeing him later. 

“Yeah well. Happiness never lasts.”

Jake lets out a laugh. “Dude, damn. You wanna go out? I feel so bad watching you work like this.”

Dream glances down at his journal. 

“Go where? Shouldn’t we finish this?”

“Not when you’re mopping. Let’s go get a drink, come on. We can start back again early tomorrow.” 

He winces, unsure. They have a deadline for the album and he’s already been slacking since George got here. “I don’t know—”

“I know I’m your producer, but I like to think we’re friends too. I’m here for you, man.”

He smiles at that. Jake's been really supportive and he hates worrying other people, so it's with a quick exhale that he accepts defeat, dropping his pen and ignoring the fat ink stain growing on the far corner of the page.

“Okay, okay. Fine. But just one drink.”

Jake winks at him. 

“Yes, sir. Let’s go. I know just the spot.”

George

i’m bored
are u done soon?

i’ll order room service
or leave u and go out
by myself

okay i probably won’t
the lady in the lobby scares me
i think she ahtes me

Time kind of slips out of his hands, but it's still barely 9 p.m when he makes it back to his room. Jake was right and going out to get some fresh air in L.A helps calm his nerves and his otherwise rushing mind. They don’t talk about George or what happened between them—Jake doesn’t ask and Dream doesn’t tell. It’s easier this way, even if a part of him wishes he could get someone’s input on his entire life. 

He gets to distract himself, laugh about stupid things that have nothing to do with his heartbreak. 

He doesn't expect to find George in his room, perched on the sofa with his phone. He's talking to someone, but all he hears is a "It's not that easy, Karl," before he sees him and rushes to hang up with the promise of calling again tomorrow. 

Dream arches an eyebrow at the suspicious behavior, but lets it slide. It's just Karl after all and he isn't exactly curious about whatever they were gossipping about—if anything, he likes to pretend Karl probably doesn't know about them and their little…arrangement, but he knows George tells him everything. It's hard to tell where that line is drawn. 

“You went out?”

He nods. “Just for a beer. It’s still early enough to grab dinner, isn’t it?” 

He read George’s texts, but it’s easier to pretend he didn’t considering he didn’t bother replying to any of them. 

The older lets out a scoff.

“I already ate.”

“Ah. Well,” he nods. He’s relieved. He wasn’t even planning on seeing him again tonight but apparently the world is against him today. “Uh, how did you get in here?”

"Your guard."

"Oh." He walks to the sofa and sits on the empty corner to the left. His guard knows his friends so he isn't exactly upset he let him in without asking—but what if he wanted to be alone or have someone else over? He should have a chat with him later.

"Who were you out with?"

Dream stretches, muffling a yawn with the back of his hand. He's tired and talking to George isn't helping with his whole plan of pretending nothing happened between them.

"Jake."

"Just you two?"

"Yeah, why? He's cool. I like him."

He watches as George's hands tighten around the pillow he has on his stomach. "I see."

They’re quiet in a way that isn’t entirely like them. He kind of wants to scream. 

He can’t bring himself to regret everything they’ve done so far, because that would mean regretting one of the most incredible things that has ever happened to him. But maybe they rushed into it. Maybe he should’ve thought about it better, considered the danger he was putting not only his own heart in, but also their entire friendship. Perhaps Sapnap was right and this was all a terrible idea.

"Look, I'm kinda tired so maybe we should just go to sleep—"

George frowns at him. Sometimes he fears he might be able to read his mind, but then again he probably wouldn’t be sharing a room with him right now if he really knew how he feels about him.

“Is this about what we talked about today? Why is it so important what I think?”

Why does he ask questions they both know he doesn’t want to know the answer to? 

He was hoping—praying—that George wouldn’t bring it up again. The older hates serious conversations, hates talking about his feelings and being openly vulnerable. 

Dream lies, and it’s scarily easy. “It’s not. I’ve just been thinking a lot. For my songs.”

George looks visibly taken aback. 

“Your… songs?”

Dream clears his throat. Jesus, he really just walked right into that one.

“Yeah, I’m working on a love song and wanted to—get other people’s opinions. I also asked Nick," he lies, praying George doesn't bring it up with him. The last thing he needs is prompting yet another uncomfortable conversation that will expose too much of his own feelings. 

George regards him with a look. His shirt is wrinkled and his hair is messy and he’s still the prettiest person he’s ever seen. Maybe he’s biased— he doesn’t think he is.

“Oh. I—okay," he pauses. "A love song?”

Dream rolls his eyes. 

“Yes. Love. I know you think it’s disgusting but it sells.”

And I’m so desperately in love with you that I had to tell someone. Maybe Nick wasn’t enough. Maybe I need the whole world to know.

George runs a hand down the side of his face. He looks frustrated but Dream isn't sure why. It's not like that isn't pretty much what he said only hours ago. “I never said it’s…forget it. Can I listen?”

Fuck. 

“It’s not finished yet," he rushes out.

Is there any way George will listen to it and maybe, perhaps, not realize it's about him? He is pretty oblivious, after all. 

But whom else would it be about? He knows he hasn’t dated in years, and even then the only song he wrote about her wasn’t even about her . 

“Well, whenever it’s ready. I want to listen.”

“Of course. I’ll show you guys.”

George nods, and then he’s quiet again in the way he only gets when he’s thinking too hard about something. Dream recognizes the expression—he himself has it during most days. But he doesn’t ask or push him to spit it out. Instead he stands up and walks all the way to the bathroom, washing his face and staring at the reflection in the mirror. He looks exhausted but at least his hair isn’t too messy today, despite the many tugs it has suffered throughout the day. 

He thinks about showering, thinks about ordering something to eat even though he isn’t hungry. 

He doesn’t get to make any decision because suddenly George is leaning against the threshold, eyes watchful in the mirror as they meet his own.

“I want us to be exclusive,” he says. Dream is glad he isn’t drinking water because he’s positive he’d choked on it by now. Exclusiveexclusiveexclusive, the word turns into a mantra and then an endless echo inside his head, slamming from the inside out as he tries to make sense of its meaning. They’ve never discussed anything like this, but it shouldn’t be this shocking considered it was mostly implied…wasn’t it? And yet, hearing George saying it makes him want to cup his face between his hands and whisper love above his lips. “...is that okay with you?”

He realizes he’s been silent for way too long and blushes. “Yes. Yes . Of course. I—I told you, I’m not into having casual sex with anyone,” he says, clearing his throat before adding, “I mean, anyone else.”

George’s smile reaches a part of him that has remained untouched for a very, very long time.

“Good.”

And then he’s approaching him, slow but confident, until both his arms cage him against the sink. His eyes follow a trail until they reach his mouth, determined.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dream doesn’t dignify that question with a verbal answer—since when has George ever asked for anything instead of going for it? Is there any part of him that entertains the idea of Dream saying no? 

Instead he allows his hands to do what they so hopelessly want and pulls him close until their mouths crush together. George is gentle as he wraps both arms around his neck and gets on his tiptoes to properly reach him. 

Dream thinks he falls in love all over again.

He really is an idiot.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“So you aren’t dating. But you’re exclusively having sex and still remain best friends.”

Dream frowns, going over the information he just repeated to him before nodding. “Yeah.”

“That’s…okay.”

“We don’t sleep in the same bed. It’s really just sex for him,” he clarifies, because he can hear the doubt in Sapnap’s voice. 

He knows calling him to tell him everything that happened last night was probably not in his best interest, but he needed to tell someone. He fears he might be addicted to George in a way he never dared to imagine before—how could he go from tiptoeing the idea of ending things and regretting the entire deal they had, to getting kissed against his sink and tasting an i love you on the tip of his tongue every time George’s smile tickled his own?

And why does George even want to deepen their relationship after hearing what Dream so obviously implied he wanted? Did he really not realize he was talking about them? Does he not care that Dream is in love when he himself isn’t ? George isn’t cruel, but how can he be okay with prolonging this when it’s just sex for him? He has to know by now that he’s in love with him. He has to.

“Maybe that’s all he’s letting himself have.”

“Since when does George not let himself have anything?” he mutters out, amused, but he knows his friend is serious so he adds, “He’s not in love with me. I would know.”

Sapnap snorts. “Would you?”

“ Yes. I know him better than anyone. I think I’d be able to tell if one of my best friends was in love.”

“Dream, I love you but if you think George has zero feelings for you, if you truly believe that—then you’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

He exhales. This is impossible.

“Sapnap—”

“No, hear me out. I’m confident he feels the same way about you. But I’m not even sure he knows he’s in love,” he explains. 

Dream is the one who snorts now. He tries to think of a way to explain what he means. He’s always been good with words, after all.

“Have you ever been in love, Nick?” 

His friend pauses, thoughtful. “No, I mean…not really.”

“ Well if you were, you’d know. Believe me. It’s impossible to ignore.”

If he can ignore and push away his feelings for me then he doesn’t love me at all. Not like that.

“George is impossible. And stubborn and dumb.”

Dream laughs. 

“Be nice.”

His friend sighs. He can almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “The future will prove me right. You’ll see.”

He doesn’t believe that for a second, but he indulges him. 

He didn’t tell him about the details in their fight—about how Dream kept desperately trying to convince George that relationships can last, that they are worth it even if they don’t, that they could be so much more than what they are right now. About how George is never going to want more, not from him or anyone else. About how Dream’s heart broke, and only hours later he accepted being exclusive because god forbid he makes a good decision in his life, ever. 

Maybe George will meet someone someday that will make him change his mind. But that’s not Dream. If he were, then things would’ve changed by now.

They meet to have breakfast together again in the morning, and George looks so happy and relaxed that Dream lets himself have this—the rushed kiss they share behind the shut door before he leaves for the studio, the promise of more once he’s back, the teasing texting and the incandescent realization that this might be it, but he’ll delude himself into believing it’s enough. 

Chapter Text

George is holding his hand—he’s blurry around the edges, like a figure mid movement, flashing too quickly for him to catch. He feels it in glimpses. He feels the warmth of their intertwined fingers. He hears his laughter, a giggle getting lost in the air. The room is full of light and he isn’t sure it’s only coming from the window. It’s emanating from George’s expression. He’s looking at him with so much tenderness it threatens to break Dream. He feels him use his free hand to play with his hair, and he thinks, briefly, that his own head must be resting on George’s lap. It’s like touching heaven with his bare hands. 

Dream. He says his name and he isn’t sure he replies, he isn’t sure he’s capable of anything but nuzzling further into him. His tongue feels too heavy to form any words. He’s too peaceful to worry about the numbness in his body. He never wants him to let go. He’s safe and warm and—

“Dream. Wake up, loser.”

He blinks and the vision disappears. Suddenly the light warming up his face is the sun hitting him front and center. It’s not warm but hot and has him muffling a whine against his pillow. 

He’s in his hotel. He’s in L.A. And George was not holding his hand and playing with his hair.

Right.

He looks at him again, realizing that despite having been dreaming, George is indeed in his room. 

“W…what are you doing here?”

He snorts. He’s watching something out the window now, but he makes no move to shut the curtains, a wicked smile drawn on his face when he notices Dream trying to cover his eyes from the sun. He glares at him.

“I came to wake you up. Obviously.” 

It must be extremely late if George is awake before he is.

“Why does my guard keep letting you in?” he mutters out. 

“What?”

He exhales, deciding to lie back down. He doesn’t want to wake up. He kind of hates George for having woken him up in the middle of such a beautiful dream. They’re rare. He usually has nightmares or silly things not worth remembering. He wishes he’d had more time inside his head to enjoy the tenderness of his hand on his own.

“Five more minutes.”

“It’s two p.m. Your friend Jake called.”

Dream thinks he’s going to pass out. He’s exhausted even though he’s probably been asleep for half a day.

“What day is it?”

“Did you get drunk or something last night?”

He shakes his head. He kind of wishes he had, but he can’t exactly trust himself under the influence. Especially with George, out of all people, right by his side. His filter would go from  loose to non-existent.

“No. Did you?” he jokes. 

“Just get dressed so we can go get some breakfast. I’m hungry.”

Dream kind of wants to ask him why he has to wait for him in the first place. He could just go and get food by himself. He’s rich and he knows his way around L.A by now. But he bites his tongue—he also wants to have breakfast with him, after all.

He stretches as he sits up. It takes more effort than he expected.

“Fine…are you just gonna stay there?” he stands up, watching George leaning against the wall by the window. 

“Why, can’t I watch?”

Dream stops, confused.

“You want to watch me… get dressed ?” 

George shrugs and says, “I’m bored,” as if that made perfect sense. Maybe it does, to him.

Dream is used to not understanding him so he simply muffles a yawn with the back of his hand and lets it happen. He’s too tired to care or even overthink this exchange. Instead he moves to get some fresh clothes from his bag. 

George doesn’t make comments or even cracks jokes, but he thinks a part of him would prefer it if he did. There’s something intimate about being watched doing something so ordinary—there’s no sexual intent behind sliding on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, after all.

As usual, George remains stoic, his expression unreadable. Dream thinks his body, in some way, understands. It flushes all over as he clears his throat and claims to go brush his teeth. 

George watches him do even that, his face glued to the mirror in the bathroom, eyes focused and attentive throughout. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It only takes a couple of minutes after they slide inside a booth for Dream to want to go back to the safety of their hotel.

The waiter smiles at George with a glint to his eye when he gets them their menus and he immediately knows—he wants him. He barely pays Dream any attention, leaning against George’s side of the booth instead. He’s not subtle. 

It’s not the first time someone has flirted with him in front of him. It’s happened at parties. It’s happened at clubs. It’s even happened at other restaurants before. George is attractive and it makes sense he’d be approached by many people. But it’s the first time it’s happened since they started…whatever they’re doing. Especially since becoming exclusive.

Of course, George can flirt back if he wants to. They only agreed to not sleep with other people, but his best friend is flirty by nature and he knows he loves the attention he gets. Dream can’t really do anything about it but watch. 

He feels his jaw tighten, half wanting to pull George to his own chest and have this waiter—his tag reads Mike and Dream thinks it’s the most absurd name he’s ever heard. George can’t possibly date someone named Mike —get the hint. But he doesn’t. He stares at the menu and feels the laminated plastic press against his fingers.

George doesn’t flirt back, though. He simply orders his lemonade and his fries—he calls them chips and Dream knows he’s too far gone considering he finds the term adorable—and then he turns back his way, doesn’t even comment on the obvious hints Mike kept sending his way. 

He frowns. Did he really not notice?

“Is the flight tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow night.”

Jake told him he could return in a couple of weeks to finish recording his ep. He felt kind of bad leaving without finishing the entire project, but these things take time and Jake could tell he wasn’t in the right mindset anyway. Besides, he still got to work on two different songs that his producer considered good enough to keep. Try to relax back home, Dream. And quit writing all those angsty songs. He would if he could.

George hums. “I think our flight to Karl’s is in three days.”

Dream freezes. He doesn’t want to upset him but he feels like he should make something clear. 

“I never—I haven’t yet agreed to go.”

The older’s glare isn’t too harsh, but his voice is determined when he speaks.

“You’re coming, Dream.”

He scoffs.

“I have other stuff to do, I can’t just go wherever—”

The older leans over the table then, reaching until his hand grabs his own and he squeezes. It’s not the gentle intertwining in his dream, but it’s close enough. Dream stares. 

“I’m asking you to come. I want you there. Can you just shut up and say yes?”

He would do anything he wanted. He knows that. He doesn’t take too much convincing at all.

“Yes. Fine .”

“Good.”

And then his hand is gone and he realizes it was only a quick gesture made to prove a point. It wasn’t the emotional intimacy he so desperately seeks.

George isn’t cruel—but little things like these now have him second-guessing. Is he taking advantage of knowing Dream is in love with him? Is he toying with his emotions? Is he manipulating him to do his bidding for nothing more than sex? 

He instantly feels a wave of guilt hit him. George isn’t a bad person. He’d never do something like that to him. He’d never knowingly hurt him. 

But then again, he’s still having sex with him while knowing how Dream feels. He has to know after that entire discussion they had. He knows. And he still asked him to be exclusive—did he know he’d say yes, because he loves him? Does he care at all that he’s breaking his heart?

When the waiter sets the huge plate of fries in front of George, Dream is too preoccupied with his own inner turmoil to remember to glare at Mike.

He is quick to remember though, as the waiter lingers by George’s side before clearing his throat, “Uh, I was gonna ask—if I could maybe, have your number? I don’t mean to assume but maybe—”

George barely spares him a glance, shaking his head.

“Sorry, I’m taken.”

Dream freezes. Mike freezes. George pops a fry inside his mouth.

“Oh…you guys. Oh god, sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he glances between them. Dream wonders what he sees. They’re on opposite sides of the booth and their hands are back to being too far for comfort. And yet he still assumes he’s taken by him. “Sorry, I’ll just go.”

George doesn't correct him—he doesn’t tell him, no, this is just my idiot friend whom I’m definitely not dating. He simply watches him go before taking a sip from his lemonade and sighing. 

“They used real lemons here, not like in Florida .”

He blinks. There’s a fat drop of water falling from the side of his glass. His own glass of orange juice looks lukewarm in comparison, but he doesn’t even reach for it to make sure.

Dream wishes he could skip this entire conversation. He wishes he was like George, unbothered, unfazed. He’s not. If he doesn’t ask, he’ll overthink this tiny exchange during the rest of the day. Maybe even tomorrow. He’ll think about the words George said, the tone he said them in, to the point of reconsidering his own insanity.

He stares at his own hand on the table, fingers tapping nervously against the wood.

“You—why did you tell him you were taken?”

George doesn’t seem surprised by his question. He does look slightly bored out of his mind at the prospect of having this conversation, though.

“Because I don’t wanna go out with him?”

“I mean, if you want to. You can. I know we said we wouldn’t but—”

The older glares at him over the rim of his glass. Dream closes his mouth. 

“I asked for us to be exclusive. I clearly don’t want to date a stranger. Now shut up.”

He nods. His fingers continue tapping away following a rhythm he doesn’t entirely recognize. He watches as George eats another fry, red lips wrapping around it and chewing away as he scrolls past a tik tok on his phone. 

“So you’re taken.”

George groans, his head hitting the table. “ Dream . Can we not make it a thing?”

“Make what a thing?”

He looks up at him, frowning. “This. That. Not everything has to be… a thing .”

He shuts his eyes. He’s well aware of how far they are from being a thing. But how is he supposed to just sit there and hear George claim he’s taken just a day after asking him to only have sex with him? It’s confusing. All of this is confusing. Nick was right. Of course he was. What kind of best friends who live together agree to have exclusive sex with each other, for an undetermined amount of time?

“I know. Just. Wondering the semantics.”

George must see the anxiety in his face because his gaze softens as he exhales, pulling himself back up. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting him to say, but it definitely isn’t what ends up coming out of his mouth.

“My body is yours, yes.”

“Your body.”

What about everything else?

“Yes, my body, ” he clarifies. Dream knows it kind of breaks his heart to only have that, but it’s still enough to send a shrill down his spine; to have George give him something like that, something so precious and worthy of worship. To give it to him , and no one else. To say it out loud, confidently, in the middle of a diner for anyone to hear.

“Fuck. That’s…hot.”

George snorts. “Try not to get hard in public.”

“Shu up,” he grunts out. He’s not nearly close to being hard, he’s not that pathetic. Besides, he’s still too worked up about the waiter. “Did you think he was cute, though?” 

George looks at him. “Are you asking me if the waiter was cute?”

“Yeah?”

He shrugs.

“He was fine. Not my type.”

He can’t stop now. “What’s your type?”

George raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed as he relaxes his back against the booth. “Want a mirror, Dream? God, you’re such a leo.”

“ What? ” he sputters. He wasn’t fishing for compliments. He didn’t expect him to say that he—that Dream is…“I—I didn’t.”

He knows George is attracted to him, sure. Why else would he have come to him for help in the first place? He can see it in his eyes whenever they have sex—that fire ignited only by lust—, while he watches Dream take off his clothes and drape his body over his own. But it’s one thing for him to find him attractive, and a whole different one for him to say he’s exactly his type. 

Has he always been his type? Has his type evolved with time, shifted until it adapted to him? Has Dream always had a chance? When did George begin to take him seriously? It certainly wasn’t back when they first met and he was just an idiot kid. Was it when George was in college, when he would come back to his dorm and talk to him for hours at a time? Or was it later, when Dream promised him fame and money and success?

Or was it just after seeing him in person, their bodies no longer unjustly separated by thousands of miles?

“Don’t act like you don’t know you’re good looking. No one likes that type.”

Dream laughs at that. Despite his surprise and confusion, this entire exchange is so George that he can’t help but love every single second of it. He’s so glad he came here, that he didn’t miss out on watching him from across a booth, eating greasy fries with his fingers and throwing enough sassy remarks his way until he shuts up and admits defeat. 

Instead of admitting that though, he says, “Jesus. You’re very high-maintenance.”

George widens his eyes. 

“And you’re learning that just now?”

“You’re just worse in person.”

The older smiles, something confident and smug that has Dream getting hot beneath his clothes. 

Like everything else George does—it’s unexpected. He’s taken aback for the third time in the span of ten minutes as the older licks his lips and shrugs, “Then put me in my place.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so fast at asking for a check before. When Mike comes back, he no longer remembers the jealousy burning inside him. All the burning in his body is now George’s own doing as his eyes watch his every move, as he studies the way he pays for both their food, no questions asked. George doesn’t even hint at grabbing his own wallet, and Dream is kinda glad for that, too. He likes taking care of him. He likes the way his eyes shine as he leaves a generous tip and makes a comment about making it up to Mike under his breath, George laughing and calling him an idiot all the way back to the hotel.

The walk through the lobby is endless, and so is the ride on the elevator. Dream thinks of love songs—of the ones he’s been working on, of the dozens piling up across his journal; of the tune he comes up with in his head as George walks ahead of him and waits by his door.

He doesn’t even get to shut it properly before he’s wrapping his arms around him. It’s eager, it’s desperate, it’s everything he’s ever wanted and more. George tastes like lemonade and salt and laughs against his mouth when Dream tells him at least let me set the key down. 

“Weren’t you about to put me in my place?”

And Dream does. He slams him against the bed and hovers above his body until George is begging for his mouth, arching his back, brushing their lips together in a silent plea for more. Dream smirks something a bit cruel, teasing a kiss he forbids the older as he sits up and takes his shirt off. George watches, eyes filled with lust and anticipation and a hint of something more that he can never fully decipher.

This time when he’s pressing his hips down with his own body and pushing George’s wrists above his head, he doesn’t feel self-conscious as he whispers against his neck, “You’re mine.” 

George only lets out a whine in return, twisting his neck and shivering every time Dream bites at the exposed skin above his shirt. He pushes his leg between his own, applies enough pressure until he feels his cock stir beneath his thigh.

“Say it.”

He can’t see his face but he can hear the slight amusement in his voice when he plays dumb. 

“Say what?”

“Say you’re mine.”

Say it’s only me you want. Say I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Say you don’t care about anyone else. 

Say you love me. 

“Or what?”

Dream licks over the bruise he just bit, mesmerized at the sight of the bright red skin shaped as his mouth. He can’t wait until it changes colors. 

He presses his finger there, hard enough for George to gasp out and scratch at his back. 

“Or I’m leaving you like this.”

“You won’t.”

Dream definitely doesn’t want to. He’s hard inside his jeans and wants nothing more than to fuck George until he’s coming with nothing but his name bursting out of him—but if he will deny him even this, even something he admitted himself only half an hour ago…then so be it. He won’t let him win every single time. 

He scoffs, sitting back up and looking for his shirt on the floor. He pointedly avoids looking at George. He knows he’ll cave in if he watches him look half gone with only a few touches.

“Dream. Get back here.”

“No, I think I’m gonna go actually.”

“ Dream. Don’t be a jerk.”

“I told you what you had to do,” he shrugs, picking his shirt up. “Not that hard, is it?”

A pause. 

“Are you serious?”

Instead of replying he stands to slide the shirt back on, but George groans as he rushes to his side to prevent that. Dream lets him, smiling when he finds his furious face—red cheeks, bright eyes, messy hair. 

“You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“Fuck off. I can’t believe you were about to—you’re the worst. Get back in bed or I swear I’m going to—”

Dream laughs, and he can’t quite help himself when he cups his face and kisses him. 

He’s so in love he could cry. It’s devastating.

“Going to what, mm?”

George sighs, all fight leaving him after a single press of their mouths. 

“Maybe bite your dick off,” he says, but it has no real bite to it and it’s so low Dream almost misses it. He still laughs, allowing George to lead him back to bed.

“Are you going to say it now?”

The older takes off his own shirt instead of replying, throwing a glare at him as soon as their eyes meet. 

“Shut up,” he says, but as soon as Dream is kissing him once more and covering his entire waist with his two hands, he’s gone enough to become compliant. 

“Say it,” he whispers against the corner of his mouth, and this time George obeys.

“ Yours . All yours.”

It’s once they’re done that Dream comes back down from his high. It’s like a rollercoaster—an exhilarating ride that has him gasping for air, lungs returning back to their place and heart resuming its normal beating once it’s over, but leaving him with a thick wave of nostalgia as he crushes back to earth. 

“What is the song you’re working on called?” George asks after a moment. He can’t hear anything in his voice—no hint of any emotion but sheer curiosity. Maybe that’s all there is to his question. But surely by now he knows that it’s about him. That every single word he could ever write about being in love would be based on the turmoil of everything he erupts within him.

Dream exhales. 

“Kind of love.”

George doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t react in any visible way—they both just stare at the ceiling in silence and Dream wonders what he’s thinking about. Is he making the connection inside his own head? Is he wondering what it means? It’s pretty self-explanatory. What they have. 

Not quite enough but close enough.

“It’s a nice name.”

Dream watches him sit up to gather his clothes from the floor. 

He doesn’t say thank you. He isn’t sure he’d mean it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The flight back home is uneventful—George sleeps most of the way and Dream pretends to pay attention to a movie playing on his screen. 

This short trip was supposed to get his mind off George. It was supposed to clear his head. It was supposed to help his sad, tragic case of unrequited love. Instead he’s coming back home with an even more confusing arrangement. An exclusive friends with benefits deal that has all the carnal benefits and none of the emotional baggage. Some people would be grateful. Some would even be relieved. Amazing sex with your best friend? Great chemistry, groundbreaking orgasms? No drama, no fights, no commitment? But god—that’s all he wants. He wants to hold his hand and take him out on dates and whisper corny lines against his skin and cuddle him before they go to sleep. 

He wants to stop holding back in fears of George realizing—well…he technically, surely, already knows. But if he doesn’t hold back, he’ll want to end it, won’t he? He’s made it clear that he has no interest in an actual relationship, that the entire thing isn’t worth the risk.

But so far George hasn’t said no to anything he’s offered. He’s welcomed everything, even kissing without sexual intent. He only draws a line at sleeping together.

So maybe—perhaps…

How much is too much? Can he ask?

God. He’s spiraling again. He needs to stop thinking. Maybe if his brain could go on vacation for a while—but no. That’s not how it works.

He watches his profile as George continues sleeping, peaceful and undeterred. He wishes he was as careless as he is.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Patches is the first thing his eyes catch when he walks through the door, and he doesn’t hesitate to drop his bag in order to scoop her up in his arms, nuzzling her fur as she complains of being picked up. 

“Hi, baby,” he whispers. “I missed you.”

“You were gone for like a week,” George snorts as he shuts the door behind him.

“You literally missed me enough to catch a plane to me, shut up.”

“That literally didn’t happen.”

Before Dream gets to roll his eyes, Sapnap comes walking down the stairs at the sound of their voices. Patches jumps away from him, running off to the kitchen. 

“Well, well. You two better have dinner with you.”

“We don’t. Order your own food,” George says, throwing his bag in the middle of the living room and walking down the hallway to his own room. Sapnap arches an eyebrow at his retreating figure. 

“Why is he so pissy?”

Dream shrugs. “He always gets cranky when I wake him up.”

“Right. You’d know.”

“Don’t,” he sighs. “I’m gonna have a headache. I swear I haven’t done this much overthinking since I was like, fifteen.”

His friend pats him in the back. “Get some rest. We can talk in the morning.”

“God. I’d rather not,” he says under his breath, but Sapnap is already walking away and judging by his lack of response, he didn’t get to hear him. 

He exhales, staring at the Christmas decorations still hanging from their living room. Patches comes back running down the hallway, and this time she stares at him before rubbing herself between his legs. It’s almost as if she could sense his anxiety. Maybe she can.

He smiles.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. We should get some rest.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He sleeps for half a day and doesn’t see George until much later. He thinks it’s for the best. He needed some sort of mental and physical break after everything that went down in L.A. He’s at least grateful he didn’t come up with some sort of illness from the trip. It’s happened more times than he can count.

His mom promises to call and asks to visit later this week. She says she misses them—not just her own son, but his friends as well. It’s not unlike her. She’s known Nick since he was a little kid, and found a soft spot for George even before meeting him in person. Of course it grew after finding out Dream fell in love with him. She doesn’t say it, but he knows that deep down she’s rooting for them to end up together. He wonders what she’d think if she knew what he’s been doing—how he’s been treating his feelings. 

He finds George on the couch as soon as he leaves his bedroom, his hunger for food diminishing as he stops on his tracks. 

He’s on his phone, watching a youtube video there instead of turning on the tv right in front of him. Dream finds the remote with his eyes, on the other side of the room, and puts two and two together. 

He watches him for a moment, wondering if he should give him some more space—but he hasn’t been around him in almost fifteen hours and it seems insane to forbid himself something which is at hand’s reach. He looks so cozy and comfy. He’s wearing a sweater two sizes too big on him, hair a bit messy, eyes still softened by sleep.

He gives into temptation, as he usually does, and sits on the other side of the couch, a safe distance away. George looks up, and there’s something to the way his gaze tenderizes when it lands on him that makes him both fall apart and come together as one. He smiles.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

He wants to kiss him. He thinks of blurry lines drawn on wet sand. He thinks of sunlight catching in George’s smile and blinding him. He thinks of himself—thirsty and hungry and foolish. He thinks of the boy he spent so long dreaming of, the one trapped an ocean away for years, now sitting on the other side of the couch with a red mouth Dream has been told belongs to him. For how long, he isn’t sure. Details remain unclear. But he’d be an even bigger fool if he didn’t take what is his while he has it.

He knows Sapnap is asleep in his bedroom—a conversation still owed between the two of them, one he’s grateful his friend hasn’t claimed from him just yet. He still looks around them for good measure, George no longer watching the video on his screen but him instead. Waiting. Dream leans close to him, slowly, letting him push him away if that’s what he wants. But he doesn’t. He watches him and Dream taps two fingers under his chin and pulls him closecloseclose—until their breaths are mingling and warmth meets warmth and he kisses him.

It’s soft. It’s by far the softest kiss they’ve shared, and he half expects George to bite his lip or try to get on his lap, to turn the kiss heated because that’s what they’re used to. But he doesn’t. He lets him take the lead, he parts his lips in silence and Dream takes, thumb gently running down his jaw as he traces the lines of his face—in case he forgets how he feels under his touch. In case he won’t let him do this again. 

Maybe his brain will capture this moment and push it inside a tiny box for keepsake. Maybe it will conjure it up before falling asleep, granting him more dreams in which the sun shines from other places apart from his window.

For a flickering moment he wonders if George is letting him do this out of pity. If knowing the feelings he has for him and still having sex with him means he’ll indulge Dream in this hopeless love story he tells himself. But no. George wouldn’t let him do something he wasn’t comfortable with. He’s always been open about his boundaries—if there have been any between them, that is. He can’t remember the last line drawn. They all seem to fade when they’re together. Enough for him to tell himself a different tale. One in which George is his boyfriend, and this kiss isn’t special or unique in its nature, but a common occurrence instead. 

A tale in which they wake up on the same bed and find each other just like this. One in which George isn’t terrified of commitment and Dream isn’t willingly putting his heart in danger. 

But that’s all there is to it—fantasy.

Soon enough George is pulling away from him, a funny look to his eyes. Like surprise but deeper. Like confusion but sadder.

“Sorry, I just—” he tries to say, unsure as to where he’s going with that sentence but relieved when he cuts him off. 

“And you made fun of me for missing you after a couple of days? Get a grip,” George says, an easy grin to his face. 

How can he change demeanor so quickly? What else is he hiding from him?

Dream winces as he pulls back, too. He still remains close enough for their shoulders to brush.

“Shut up.”

“Come on, don’t actually look sad,” George whispers, and Dream isn’t sure what expression he had on but it’s enough to have the older scoot even closer, George’s head landing on his shoulder as he pulls his phone back up for both of them to watch. 

God. It’s unfair how something so small makes him feel. He’s sure he’s blushing, but thankfully George is too focused on his video to tell.

He isn’t sure what they’re watching—he thinks it’s Minecraft, but he can hardly concentrate, too busy staring at George’s free hand on his lap. It’s almost calling for him. But he shouldn’t push too much. The fact that he let him kiss him good morning so gently doesn’t mean he’ll allow much more. 

But what if…that’s exactly what it means? Maybe this isn’t intimate to him. Perhaps this is allowed, too.

He braces himself before throwing caution to the wind—a tiny voice inside his head wondering, when will you stop throwing it around so easily, but as usual he chooses to ignore it. He reaches for it and finally holds his hand, capturing his smaller fingers between his own. It’s much different compared to the quick squeeze he granted him back at the diner. This is him holding his hand with the only purpose of holding it. There is no point to prove. It’s just love and nostalgia and a yearning so deep he isn’t sure where it takes root.

George freezes and stares at their fingers. Dream pointedly looks away. He can’t face the rejection if he wants to let go of him. It’s an invitation. He can say no, but Dream would rather feel his warm hand leave his own than to actually see his expression while he’s doing it.

He counts ten seconds inside his head and nothing changes. George doesn’t move away. Dream steals a quick glance at their hands—intertwined. He’s no longer frozen in place but back to watching his video.

The world didn’t end. George didn’t glare at him or push him away in disgust.

Dream exhales. It’s a bit better than his dream. It’s realer, but just as warm. He won’t be able to let go now, will he?

“Can I listen to your song?”

He startles. “What? Which—which song?”

“Kind of love,” George mumbles out. He still sounds a bit sleepy, but he isn’t cranky. If anything, he’s pliant. 

“Oh uh…it’s not like, entirely finished yet.”

George shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

Dream shakes his head. He remembers the lyrics and feels his entire face heat up. It’s too intimate. It’s too obvious. There’s no subtlety to look through, no hidden message to decipher. It’s raw and open and a bit sad.

“I can show you another one.”

George squeezes his hand, acknowledging the gesture between them.

“I want that one.”

Why? He knows it is about him. He has to know. Does he want to hear him wax poetry about them, about him, about what they have, about what he wants them to have? 

Dream feels his heart hurt.

He lets go of his hand. “Maybe another day.”

George stares at his now empty fingers and pauses the video. 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?”

Dream thinks no, of course you didn’t. He thinks, since when has holding hands been on the table? He thinks, if I’d known I was allowed I would’ve never let go of you. 

George is confusing, but judging by his own actions, he must be just as enigmatic to him. “No. Just…I’m kinda self-conscious about that song. That’s all.”

“Why? Because it’s romantic? You said it sells,” he reminds him. He knows the lies he said. He knows he also mentioned asking other people about their opinions on love. 

He clears his throat.

“It’s more personal than that.”

George tilts his head, frowning. His phone is now on his lap, forgotten. Dream thinks it’ll fall to the ground any second now. “How come? Is it about your ex?”

He lets out a bitter laugh. His ex? He hasn’t thought about her that way in years. He doesn’t want to. He hasn’t missed her—not ever. How can he even think he’d write a love song about her now? Is he taking the piss, trying to get Dream to admit it? Why?

“George. Don’t be— don’t, okay?” he shuts his eyes.

“Don’t be what?”

He stands up. He should’ve just gone to the kitchen instead. Everything is so messy and confusing and he’s ruining all of it by taking two steps forward and five steps back—every single time.

“Forget it. I’m gonna take a nap,” he says, despite having just woken up.

“Dream, wait . I don’t understand.”

He looks back at him. He’s still on the couch, but has by now moved enough that his phone has indeed fallen to the ground. He hasn’t even noticed.

Dream purses his lips, fakes a tiny smile. 

George used to be an ocean away but at times he felt closer than he does now. They’ve kissed and had sex and shared more intimacy than he’s shared with another person in years. But there are still walls; thick, unreadable, towering walls between them that get harder and harder to look over every day. 

Sometimes it feels like they speak an entirely different language.

For an instant he considers telling him the truth—that he’s sick of running in circles around him. That walking on eggshells gets exhausting. That this little deal between them has been driving him insane. 

That he loves him and it’s killing him.

But in every scenario, George walks away. Out of fear or anger or disgust or confusion. He simply walks away and he loses him completely.

“It’s nothing, okay? Just drop it.”

George’s face falls, the sadness giving away to anger instead. 

“Fine, don’t show me. I don’t care.”

Dream wants to fix this between them, but he only gives a curt nod and walks away. They’ll be okay tomorrow. He knows that. George will forget about the entire thing and Dream will pretend he’s okay with this and the cycle will continue. Until one of them breaks. 

Until Dream breaks.

Chapter Text

The flight to North Carolina isn’t too long, but George still manages to spend the two and a half hour long trip sleeping on his shoulder. Dream doesn’t complain, but he does ignore Sapnap’s unsubtle raised eyebrow from the window seat. 

He considered not coming, he really did. It would’ve been a great excuse to get some space. He would’ve gotten the house to himself, spent some proper time editing and doing the work he’d been putting off. He could’ve even turned off his phone and pretended a part of his heart wasn’t a few states away. But that’s all lies—he couldn’t. Not after George explicitly asked him and said he wanted him here. 

“George, wake up. We’ve landed,” he whispers, gently stirring him awake, but George barely scrunches up his nose, whining under his breath as he scoots even closer to Dream. He could melt from the sight alone.

“Jesus dude, wake up,” Sapnap grunts out, shoving his shoulder. It’s a sharp contrast to his own way of handling the older.

“Nick, don’t do that,” Dream chastises him, but George is finally awake nonetheless. He blinks dizzily back at him, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. “Hey, we’ve landed, we gotta get off.”

George yawns, so sleepy that he sags against Dream, some instinctual part of him seeking him out. He lights up at the gesture. He hardly ever gets to witness him waking up and it’s so adorable that he’s reminded once more of the line drawn between them, the one thing he has yet to have—George lying right next to him in the early morning, occupying the empty side of his bed, the one that has had his name sewn through the threads for years. 

“Jesus christ, get a room. I’m getting the aisle seat back home,” Sapnap says, standing up and urging them to move. Dream rolls his eyes, but he does help George up and gets their bags from the ground.

“Ugh. I hate planes,” he hears him groan as they walk out, trailing after a rushing Sapnap. Dream smiles at his usual cranky mood after napping. This one he’s definitely familiar with.

"You can sleep in the uber to Karl's," he reminds him, wrapping his free arm around him. George lets him, even leaning his weight on his body for support. He wants to kiss his sleepy face until he's fully awake. He wants to kiss his anger away until he's nothing but soft giggles and words whispered so low they're just for him. 

"Why is Sapnap in such a hurry?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's eager to see Karl?"

"Gross."

Dream refrains from pointing out how if that's gross, then what the hell does that make them? They must look like a couple to anyone who passes them by around the airport. Not only that, but George insisted he came here. He took a flight out to L.A himself so they would spend the least amount of time away from each other. 

How would you call this anything but love? 

People don't do this with friends. People don't yearn and miss their friends as soon as they walk out of a room. They don't plan their entire lives around an online friend they met when they were eighteen. People don't hold hands with them or kiss each other's mouths or feel  their breath belong to them entirely as it leaves their lungs, time and time again—people don’t do that. 

But they do. 

“We’re just different, ” he remembers explaining to his mom once when he was younger. She had known way before he had, that none of this was normal. That spending eight, ten, twelve hours on the phone with someone across an ocean—not even actively talking but refusing to hang up, refusing to close the only door their hands could decide to reach out and open—meant more than just friendship . That George’s blind trust in someone he had never seen even in pictures, had to mean more. All of this had to mean more. “We’re just friends, mom. He — he gets me. He makes me better. I don’t know. Have you never had a friend like that?” His mom had tilted her head and looked at him with so much fondness and pity that it gave him whiplash. “Yes, darling. I married that friend.”

They take the uber to Karl's and Dream lets George sleep against his shoulder again. It’s a simple decision neither of them really questions. George’s hands rest on his lap, fingers spread as if waiting. Dream knows better than to hold his hand, though. He doesn’t think George would exactly push him away, he didn’t last time, but there’s Nick sitting on his left and a stranger driving them down the road. 

He plays with his hair just a little bit instead, to keep his hands otherwise occupied in another part of him—or so he tells himself. Just enough to feel the soft raven locks he's obsessed with, cascade down his fingers. Sapnap doesn't make any comments or send him any more looks, but he knows he’s probably well aware of the gestures.

The ride only takes twenty minutes and as soon as they get there, the younger is paying the driver and opening his own door.

"You wake him up, then. I'm walking in."

Dream nods. The driver is talking to someone on the phone now and he deems it safe enough to kiss the top of George's head.

"Hey, ba—" he clears his throat. He hasn't called him that outside of sex before. It seems too intimate. No, it definitely is. "Georgie. Wake up." Another kiss, this one on his forehead. He would kiss both his cheeks and his nose and his lips if he could. He thinks he catches sight of a smile on his face, but it's gone as soon as he opens his eyes and realizes where they are. 

George rushes to unglue himself from Dream, eyeing him with wide eyes. He looks a bit nervous. Dream self-consciously scoots back too, reaching forward to slide out the door Sapnap left open.

They walk out and the driver is quick to drive off, barely sparing them an extra glance. Their bags land on the side of the street and he sends a look at George. He seems a bit preoccupied, face still lingering with sleep. He sighs.

"He didn't see anything, don't worry."

George doesn’t look at him but nods. "I know. Let's just go inside."

Karl is as energetic as usual the moment he rushes over to welcome them from the living room. He offers to give them a tour of the house even though Dream is the only one who hasn't been here before. It's big but much smaller than their own mansion, which makes it seem more like a house. It's homey and well lived in. Sapnap claims one of the bigger empty bedrooms as his own, which apparently he always stays in. 

“You two can sleep in the bedroom down the hallway, to the right,” Karl says.

George stops on his tracks in front of them. He looks smaller than usual on his thin white shirt. It’s wrinkled and his hair is a bit messy and Dream wants to hug him.

“ Karl .”

“What?”

The silence is tense even though he has no idea what's going on. 

“A word?” George asks, and judging from his tone and the ice in his eyes, this isn't going to be a pleasant conversation. Karl doesn’t seem to mind though, rolling his eyes as he follows suit. They walk off to a random door down the hall and Dream turns to Nick as soon as the door shuts behind them.

“What was that about?”

Sapnap shrugs but he doesn't look nearly as surprised or curious as Dream is. “No idea.”

He frowns. 

“You think…Karl knows about us?”

“How would I know?”

“Maybe he—wait,” he says, eyeing his friend up and down. Nick is avoiding meeting his gaze, keeps staring down the stairs instead, a funny little expression on his face. Dream gasps as he points at him. “You know . You’re shit at lying.”

Sapnap is quick to give up, their eyes meeting. 

“Look, it’s nice! I needed someone to help me live through this insanity.”

“What?” he sends a glance over his shoulder at the shut door, wondering if they can hear them. He lowers his voice, “You told him?”

“No, what the hell? I would never betray your trust, asshole. ”

He freezes. 

“Then…then George did?”

Before Sapnap gets to reply, George and Karl walk back out into the hallway—the latter looking amused while the former is still fuming and a little bit flushed. If Dream didn’t know any better he’d think they were just fooling around.

“Sorry. Karl needed to show me something,” he explains, even though he was the one who asked Karl to speak to him. Dream doesn’t point it out, his mind too busy rolling the idea Sapnap just put inside his head. 

George told Karl about them. George willingly went and told Karl about them?

“That sounds so gay.”

“Well—” Karl grins. 

“Shut up, that’s not true. Nothing happened,” George clarifies, looking at Dream when he says it. He nods, even though he wasn’t actually thinking something would happen between them and he’s pretty sure their friends were just messing around. It’s not subtle or missed on the other two, though. Karl lets out a loud snort while Sapnap gags in the back. George only spares Karl a glare.

“Hey, let’s get our bags from downstairs," Dream suggests. He really doesn't want to be in this hallway anymore. 

He wonders just how much Karl knows. What did George tell him? That they have sex? Did he give him any details? Were they talking about him when he walked in on George on the phone that one night in L.A? What was it that he overheard? Fuck. His memory is shit.

He knew Karl and he were close, after all he’s overheard them talking about their sexual experiences around their house way too many times. It was basically what started all this. But sharing secrets George keeps away from Dream himself is…a lot. He isn’t jealous, he has Nick to confide in, himself—he’s just surprised and insanely curious as to what was so important he had to talk to him in private out of nowhere.

George is silent as they make their way down the stairs to get their bags. He still looks pretty worried and Dream can't bring himself to even guess as to why.

“Why are you cranky?” he asks him.

“I’m not cranky.”

“Mm, really?”

The older parts his lips to talk back at him, but he must see something in his eyes because he shuts his mouth and watches him instead, almost expectantly. Dream wraps his arms around him, the way he’s wanted to do ever since he first woke up. George exhales, wrapping his own arms around him, too.

“Why are you hugging me?”

“Don’t act like you aren’t hugging me back,” he whispers before pressing a quick kiss down his neck—the spot that meets his clavicles, the one that always has him whimpering beneath him. This time he only lets out a tiny breath before relaxing further against him.

A thought crosses his mind then. What if George is uncomfortable that he’ll be sharing a room with Dream? Is that it? Is that why the moment Karl announced the arrangement he got upset? The thought makes his stomach stir into a bunch of knots. 

He can’t believe he didn’t put two and two together before.

“I can sleep on the floor if you want,” he suggests. It’s not exactly the ideal plan. He doesn’t look forward to sleeping on a hard surface, especially considering he’s here only because George asked him to come. He expects him to say it’s not necessary, that of course they can share a bed, at least for the duration of the trip. 

Apparently, it’s not a necessary offer.

“The room has two beds.”

Dream blinks. 

“Oh. Okay.”

He wonders if that’s all that their discussion was about. Did George go out of his way to ask Karl for a room with two beds, or was that the plan in the first place? How can that be the thickest line he’s drawn between them?

He lets go of him then. He needs to remember they’re not a couple. His heart forgets so often that he knows its eventual breaking will be earth shattering. But it’s not a simple thing to do—not when George urges him to get the bags upstairs, not when he looks so cozy and more at ease after hugging him and smells like Dream the moment they get close enough.

He smiles back. He’s here for his friends. He can push his feelings down long enough to pretend for a few days. No one has to know.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

They leave to film their podcast that same afternoon. George tells him he can tag along if he wants to , in a way that sounds more like he wants him to , but Dream lies and says he has a meeting and it’ll be nice to have some time to prepare for it. His calendar sits empty for the week —he cleared it for the trip. But George doesn’t need to know that. 

He spends the five hours they’re gone half on his phone and half napping on his bed. Their room is pretty big for two people, but the beds sit pretty close to each other. There’s George’s bag by his bed, unzipped since he had to take three different shirts to film several episodes at once. They’re supposed to return to Florida by the end of the week, but Dream considers returning a bit earlier by himself. It feels a lot like a waste of time just laying around on his ass—definitely not something he’s used to. 

He should be in L.A. or back home. He has an album to put out and two songs that still need to be finished. Jake isn’t pressuring him, but maybe he should be. Someone should be. Love is addicting but it’s also a distraction. It keeps his mind off everything else. Thoughts of George flood his mind and blind anything else in sight. If he could have anything he wanted, if things would go his own way, he would just spend most days laying in bed with him and forgetting about the world outside the four walls that surround them. But life isn’t that simple and no amount of fame or money can give him what he truly wants.

The moment they are back he hears their loud voices carry from downstairs. Karl is telling them to shut up and Sapnap is laughing at something George just said. He shuts his eyes and counts down the seconds—thirty-three until George is opening the door to their room and sliding inside. He’s wearing a different shirt, a black one with a colorful print in the front that he’s seen him wear a lot around the house.

He doesn’t even hesitate before throwing himself by Dream’s side. As if the empty space to his right belonged to him. 

He locks his phone, gives him his undivided attention like he knows George wants. Like they both want. Five hours and he’s missed him desperately.

“Hi. How was filming?”

“Exhausting. Remind me why I agreed to join.”

Dream laughs. “Because you enjoy it?”

“Meh. I enjoy being here more,” he says. Dream wonders what here means—a bed? with him? by his side?

“Me too,” he replies either way. Judging by the way George looks at him, it was the right thing to say. He smiles, worry long gone from his face as he beckons him closer and their mouths finally meet again. Dream parts his lips almost instantly, watching and feeling George melt under his body. “Have you had dinner?”

“Mm, yeah. You?”

“Yes,” he says, and then they’re kissing again. It’s ten p.m. He’s already showered and would’ve gone to sleep sometime soon if it wasn’t for the way George is grabbing him with needy hands, tongues meeting in a dance they know too well. 

It doesn’t take long for clothes to be discarded. Dream briefly wonders if George has locked the door, if their friends could walk in without knocking any minute then—he doesn’t waste a single kiss in asking, though. The idea ignites something inside him, a little bit. The risk of being caught, even if they both know what’s going on behind doors. Everyone knows.

Dream presses kisses down his neck, bites bruises on pale thighs and watches George tremble the moment he wraps his lips around him. He comes undone so easily every time—one, two, three touches and he’s whimpering, reduced to nothing but sounds and different versions of Dream’s name. His skin tastes the same way it always does, something so uniquely his own that it drives him insane with want. 

“ Dream —Dream. You’re so good, fuck,” a gasp. “I’m close, so close,” he exhales, body painted red. His own very white canvas. He sucks him harder, until there’s saliva dripping down the sides of his mouth and one of his hands comes to grip George’s own. Their fingers intertwine as he comes, hips pushing upwards as the orgasm takes over his body and Dream swallows every last drop.

They don’t let go of each other. Not even when it gets a bit uncomfortable as George pushes him down instead and decides to ride him. He doesn’t even use his words, doesn’t need to. They’re so connected that a single glance is enough to know what he wants. 

He holds his hand even then, holds him as he pushes his free fingers inside him, holds him as he parts his legs open and swallows Dream’s cock at once, head thrown back exposing his beautiful neck. He sits up to reach him, wanting to touch more of him even though their bodies are becoming one. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this close and vulnerable while they had sex before; breaths mingling, mouths parting in stolen kisses, fingers gripping each other so harshly they’re bound to leave marks behind. He wants his hand to remember him. He wants his mouth to lose itself in yearning. He wants his body to long for Dream’s until it only makes sense into existence when they’re close enough to touch.

George bounces against him, their skin meeting in so much radiating warmth that Dream swears the sun must be trapped between their bodies. 

This right here, he thinks. This moment right here, this boy right here, this.

“George, baby—gonna come again? Come for me?” he mumbles against his cheek. George nods, skin sweaty to the touch, thighs tightening around him. He’s beautiful. He’s all his.

“Yes. For you —yes, please.”

“All mine. So perfect,” he says, George eating each compliment up like he’s starved for them. They kiss, and it’s so desperate and wet that it brings them both close to the edge. He wraps his free hand around the older, and it takes only two quick strokes for him to come yet again. Dream follows right after, forcing his eyes not to close in ecstasy to watch George’s flushed face instead, to commit to memory every single stolen breath and patch of shivering skin. 

Their chests rise and fall as George sags against him, suddenly looking much smaller than before. He runs a hand down his spine, kisses the top of his head. He hears him giggle something against his chest.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m tired.”

“Mm. We need to shower, though.”

George groans at that, shaking his head. He always fights him against showering. 

“We’re gross—”

He looks up at him. “And?”

Dream watches him in silence for a moment, their eyes getting lost in each other. It’s too dark in the room for him to see him properly anymore—but he can see his glinting dark eyes, his endless eyelashes. He can see enough to know he’s looking back. He leans down, kisses his face the way he wanted to back in the plane, back in the car, back everywhere. 

George laughs. He sounds half asleep. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like, idiot?” he asks, ignoring the slight pang of fear at the possibility of being rejected. But George doesn’t push him away. He simply shuts his eyes, letting him kiss the apple of his cheeks and his forehead. His nose and the corner of his mouth and that mole on his neck. He lets him imprint his lips against him simply because he wants to—simply because he can and he loves him so much that he needs to.

It doesn’t take too long for him to fall asleep under his lips, nor for Dream to fall asleep right after.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

When he wakes up for a moment he thinks he’s still dreaming. He thinks his mind has once again conjured up enough vivid images of George for him to seem real—flesh and bones by the side of his bed instead of a figment of his own imagination. But when he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, he can immediately tell it’s real. George is lying by his side, face peaceful with sleep, little breaths leaving his puckered lips. He’s pretty even without trying. Dream’s heart stops mid-beat as he realizes that George has finally stayed the night. He didn’t run away. He didn’t seek his own bed but chose to share Dream’s instead.

He wants to wake up like this every morning, wants to open his eyes to the sight of him and wrap his arms around him until he wakes up.

Does George finally want the same thing as he does?

He wouldn’t have stayed if he didn’t. He knows about Dream’s feelings. Is there a possibility—as wildly difficult to entertain as it may be—that he loves him back? That Dream is no longer alone in this? That they share the same…well maybe not the same , but a similar level of affection for each other? 

He thinks of the previous night, of the way George kissed him back as he pressed him down against the mattress, how he arched his back so their mouths would meet and let him whisper all those sweet nothings against his skin like secrets, how he laughed against his chest and let himself fall asleep right there. 

After a passionate, intimate night like that—he chose to stay. He chose them. It took a couple of months but they’re finally there.

He reaches forward and runs a gentle knuckle down his cheek, his skin soft and warm under his touch. George stirs a little bit, expression morphing into a light frown. Dream chuckles, caressing him with more intent until the older lets out a small whine of complaint. His eyes remain closed, though.

“Good morning, baby,” he whispers out, unable to help himself. It’s such a precious moment—and it’s only theirs. They’ll have so many of these now. Countless little moments Dream will cherish forever. He’ll never take them for granted, not after waiting for so long. 

George’s eyes do open at that, and for a moment he looks so startled and shocked that Dream drops his hand. 

“What?”

He clears his throat, unsure. “I said—good morning.” 

George sits up, looking around him with wide eyes. He stares at the sheets pooled around his waist and then back at Dream. He doesn’t look happy or relaxed or smitten like Dream hoped he would. He looks almost terrified.

“Did I—did I fall asleep here?”

Oh.

Dream blinks at him. Then at his bed, at the non-existent distance between them. It takes him a couple of seconds to understand that once again, he was wrong. So very, foolishly wrong.

And suddenly his heart breaks once again. But no. This time it’s different. This time the breaking doesn’t seem to stop—it’s not another bruise to his wounded heart, it’s the hit that it would take to shatter it completely, the one he’s been waiting for ever since he agreed to blindly place it in George’s hands. 

He can barely find his own voice when he repeats, “What?”

George must realize the gravity of his mistake. Of course—it’s not like he’s been making sure not to fall asleep with him for months now. It’s not something they can laugh off. What would be a small, tiny detail to somebody else, means a whole lot more to them.

“Oh. It was…an accident. I didn’t mean—shit.”

Dream can’t even look at him, but he knows he’s left the bed by now. He knows he’s looking for his clothes as if rushing to get out of here, even if it’s technically his room, too. It’s like he can’t stand to stay here any longer.

He grips the sheets around him. He needs something to hold onto. He feels as if he were about to fall, even though that’s impossible considering he’s literally sitting down. 

“You…you accidentally fell asleep?”

“Yes.”

He nods, a pathetically sarcastic snort coming out of his mouth. “Ah. Of course. I should’ve known.”

George stops moving, turning to face him before letting out a sigh. “Dream—”

He buries his face in his hands. He wants to scream or kick at the floor. He wants to throw a tantrum and burst into tears. He can’t do this. He can’t. It hurts too much. It’s unfair. He deserves better and it hurts to admit that. It hurts to live in a reality in which George , someone as perfect for him as he thought he was, is able to make him ache this deeply.

“God. This is so fucked up.”

“What are you…”

He drops his hands, and wills enough courage within himself to look at him. He purses his lips, tells himself to appreciate the way he looks wearing one of his shirts, because this might as well be the last time he witnesses it. The last time he’ll let his eyes explore out of their own volition, free of any restraints. 

“I can’t…I can’t do this anymore, George.”

He swallows. He looks smaller and more defenseless than he’s ever seen him before. 

“Do what?”

“This. You. Us. It’s just—fuck, do you realize what it’s doing to me?” 

George frowns. He looks scared, which is enough to tell Dream he probably does know, at least to some extent. He knows and that’s why he’s running away. 

“No. What are you even…what?”

“I know you’re not a bad person, George,” he says. He doesn’t want to cry in front of him. he already feels pathetic enough. But there’s a lump building down the base of his throat and talking around it almost hurts. “But—but doing this shit when you know I’m…in love with you…it’s not right, okay?”

George freezes, his eyes wider than before, staring back at Dream as if he’d just told him the most ridiculous thing in the entire world. 

“You’re—you’re what?”

Dream is gripping the sheets so tightly he knows they will leave an imprint in his palms.

“Why are you acting surprised? I told you.”

He takes a step back, shaking his head. His hands are shaking, too. “No , no. You’ve never—you’ve never said that to me before. I would remember. I would know, I wouldn’t have—”

Dream feels a muscle in his jaw tighten. “You wouldn’t have what? Slept with me in the first place?”

Another step back. He’s getting so close to the door that his back will hit it any minute now.

“You-you've been in love with me this whole time?”

I don’t even remember ever not being in love with you.

“George. You— yes ? What? You didn’t know?”

“When…when did you…how long have you—”

He looks away. 

George didn’t know? This entire time? How? Dream wasn’t even trying to hide it, not anymore. After that entire discussion—how can he be so blind? How could he not see it? Did he really think that song was about his ex? He wasn't lying then? Is he lying now? No. He can tell when George is lying or hiding things from him. For the first time in a very long time, all his emotions are exposed and naked to his eyes. He thought he knew all versions of George by now, but he’s never seen these many emotions through his gaze before. 

“Why does it matter? I know you don’t feel the same way,” he says. The last thing he needs is for George to know how many years he’s been in love with him. This is embarrassing enough. It’s mortifying. It’s exactly what he was trying to avoid. If he’d known George didn’t know, he would’ve never said any of it in the first place.

“You know I don’t do relationships. I told you. From the beginning,” he insists, as if this was all Dream’s fault. He looks so upset and mad that Dream really has to force the tears back down. He can’t cry in front of him. He can’t cry right now. “Why did you tell me? Why couldn’t you just pretend—”

He blinks.

“Are you serious?”

“ Yes .”

Dream stands up. He really needs to leave this room. He can’t even look at George right now. 

“How selfish can you be? You’re mad because I told you I love you? Because now we won’t fuck anymore?”

George shakes his head, the redness in his face spreading down to his neck. “That’s not—that’s not just it, you—by telling me you ruined everything we had.”

Dream takes a step back now. He’s never been this hurt before—not by him. For so long he’s connected his best friend to only positive emotions, even while acknowledging his unrequited feelings. It had been okay, because George was kind and soft and good and supportive. He was his favorite person, unable to consciously cause him any harm. But now he’s the reason for the tears welling up on his eyes. Now he’s flushed and harsh and upset at the prospect of Dream, of all people, loving him.

This wasn’t what he’d pictured when he considered coming clean about his feelings. He imagined a lot of things, all of them heartbreaking scenarios, yes but—never this. He didn’t think he’d be mad.  

He didn’t think being told he loved him would make him look this distressed. 

As if Dream’s love was nothing but an inconvenience. 

George would’ve preferred he hide his feelings and let them bottle up inside him? He would’ve preferred he continued loving him in silence, measuring his words, being careful with his actions? 

You held my hand, he wants to yell. You let me kiss you and hold you and make love to you. You made me think we were a couple in everything but name. 

“I think—I’m gonna go,” he mumbles out, all fight leaving him. There’s no point in this. Not anymore.

“Dream, wait. I’m sorry, I just can’t,” he says, and he looks so scared, so frightened by Dream and the words he’s just confessed to him, that for a moment he has the sudden urge to hug him. To console him. To be there for him in the ways he wishes George would be there for him. But he doesn’t. Touching him would break him for good. “I can’t, I told you.”

He nods. He thinks all he can really hear is the sound of his heart breaking into pieces over and over again. 

“Yeah, George. You’re right. You did,” he whispers before walking out of the room. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Dream doesn’t cry. Not yet. He swallows down his tears, as he makes it down the stairs. He finds Karl making breakfast while humming a song under his breath. He tries to walk away unnoticed but Karl sees him and calls his name before he gets any far at all.

“You want some—hey, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t know what he looks like right now, but judging by the worry in his friend’s eyes, probably like shit. He shakes his head, not wanting to get into it, especially with someone who knows more about this probably than he does himself. But Karl is too nice, and he doesn’t ask any questions but hugs him instead. The hug immediately brings tears to his eyes, the ones he’s been fighting against so harshly. He swallows the sobs down. He can’t break right now. He can’t break in front of people.

“It’s okay, Dream. You’re okay.”

“Hey yo—what happened?” Sapnap’s voice comes from his left. “Dream, you okay? Is he okay?”

He thinks he overhears Karl whisper something to Sapnap. He only gets the words, George and yelling but it’s enough for his best friend to put two and two together and exhale.

“You go then, I’ll take care of him.”

Karl gently lets go of Dream, sending him one last pat on the shoulder before walking up the stairs. To George. As if he needed any comfort at all. He’s probably already watching tiktoks in bed. 

He gulps. That’s not true, he knows he’s being bitter—George looked at the verge of tears himself when he walked out.

“Hey, it’s me. Wanna go out for a bit? I’ll buy you breakfast.”

He shakes his head. His stomach is still in knots. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Let’s go anyway. Come on. Let’s not stay here.”

“I’m going back to Florida,” he says instead. He can’t even contemplate staying another night here. Even if he were to switch rooms with one of his other friends, George would still be here. They’d still see each other. The idea already makes him want to cry again. He doesn’t even know how to talk to him anymore. George is right. He ruined everything.

Sapnap must realize he’s serious because he doesn’t even try to convince him otherwise. “Okay. We can do that. We can get a flight tomorrow—”

Dream looks up then. “No. Not tomorrow. Today.”

The younger’s eyes widen as he looks at him. He still has one arm wrapped around him, voice gentle when he asks, “Dream…what happened?”

He shuts his eyes. He doesn’t want to relive it already. It’s been what, ten minutes? George is upstairs right now, hasn’t even left their room. He can’t talk about it in detail, not yet. Maybe not ever. 

“I told him,” is all he says.

Nick’s arm tightens around him. “And? What the hell did he say to you?”

“Don’t—he…he doesn’t feel the same way. I knew that. It’s over.”

And he did know, didn’t he? He knew George was against relationships way before even admitting to himself his feelings for the older. Why did he expect him to change for him? He knew the possibilities of him even being remotely interested in pursuing something with him were slim to none. 

But last night. He thought something shifted. He could’ve sworn—

“God, this is exactly what I was scared would happen—I told you,” Sapnap starts, but he must realize that was the wrong reaction because Dream instantly takes a step back. 

“Seriously? I know, okay? I know you told me, I know I’m an idiot, I regret having said yes. I regret having known what it felt like t-to be loved like that by him. I know it wasn’t real,” he shudders, as memories of the previous night and all the other months that came before flood his mind. It’s so painful he thinks he’s going to lose it. “I know I’m an idiot for thinking something that good could ever happen to me,” he whispers, his voice breaking at the end. 

Sapnap’s arms are warm as they immediately wrap back around him. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. I’m here, Dreamie. I’m here for you,” he repeats. “You’re not an idiot. I love you.”

He lets himself cry, feeling safe right where he is, knowing his best friend won’t hurt him. He can cry. 

He can let it all out and pray it’ll be better after.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sapnap takes care of the flight, of picking his bag from their bedroom, of making sure Dream gets to wait in his room with no risk of anyone coming in. He makes sure he has lunch and drinks water even if those are the least of his concerns right now. George doesn’t try to talk to him, though. Or at least he doesn’t text or call. He’s half glad, half in even more pain. He shouldn’t expect an apology, isn’t even entirely sure he deserves one. He wasn’t forced to love him back. But when he said that to Sapnap, his friend didn’t take it too well.

“He isn’t supposed to be a jerk to you, either. You tell him you’re in love with him after months of having sex and he says you ruined everything? Man. He’ll get a piece of my mind when I see him.”

Dream makes him promise he won’t hurt him. He knows Sapnap wouldn’t do anything too drastic, he still loves George as a brother even if he’s mad on his behalf. But he also knows he’s incredibly protective over the people he loves, and he’s capable of throwing enough insults George’s way. He doesn’t want that either. 

His flight is supposed to leave in two hours, and Nick said he’d go with him to the airport, but he has yet to return to his room. He doesn’t want to walk out and risk bumping into George, but waiting here not knowing what’s going on is also driving him a bit insane. He wonders what George told Karl. What his own version of the story was. Is he mad at him still? Does he feel bad for Dream? Does he really think even their friendship is ruined beyond repair? He likes to think that’s impossible, but he also knows it won’t be the same as it used to be, even with time healing his broken heart. 

He won’t be able to hug him without reason. George won’t be comfortable just sliding under his sheets because he’s bored or demanding his attention. The air around them will go from light to tense. Everything is going to change—it already has—and there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

Love is not always enough. He was a fool for thinking it could be. 

He finally throws all caution to the wind after twenty more minutes of waiting around and getting no reply from Sapnap on his phone. He carefully makes his way down the hallway, but is quick to assess there’s no one around. He can hear voices coming from downstairs and immediately recognizes his two best friends. They’re in the kitchen. He tries to soundlessly walk down the stairs, leaning by the side of the door to hear them. Karl doesn’t seem to be around. 

“You’re being a jerk right now,” Sapnap is saying. Dream flinches. He hates that this is getting in between the three of them, not just them. He wishes Sapnap didn’t feel like taking sides. He realizes then that this won’t only affect his own friendship with George. It’ll affect their entire dynamic. It’ll become an obstacle on their path, it’ll even disrupt their work environment. 

And it’s all his fault.

“What do you want me to do? I didn’t even know—”

“He’s been in love with you for years! ”

He freezes. 

He doesn’t want to hear anymore, but he can’t walk away.

There’s silence, thick enough to make him wonder if George has somehow walked out of the other door leading to the backyard.

But then he finally talks.

“Years? What—what do you mean years? When?” he asks, voice tight with emotion. He tries to shut his eyes and imagine his expression right now. He sounds sad, but does he look sad, too? Has he been crying? Are his eyes rimmed with red and shiny under the light? 

He prays he won’t answer. He prays he’ll tell him he doesn’t know or that it’s none of his business or anything but the truth. He doesn’t want George to feel sorry for him or even worse, to reconsider their entire friendship because Dream has been having more than friendly feelings for him during most of it. 

Sapnap is quiet for a moment, and Dream thinks he might not tell him after all, but then—“Always. He’s always loved you.”

Dream shuts his eyes, bracing for his answer.

“But…h-he’s dated other people—”

“Yes, but he never loved them. Not like he loved you.”

He shakes his head, walking away before he gets to hear any more. He can’t hear a second longer of that. It’s too much. He didn’t want George to know. He’s tired of his love being a burden for him. Confessions are supposed to be something good—even if you reject the other person, who doesn’t want to be told they’re loved? 

Apparently, George. Dream’s love is the last thing he wants.

He gets his bag and calls an uber, texting Sapnap that he was about to be late and didn’t want to risk missing his flight. He tells him he loves him and thanks him for everything. He texts Karl he’s sorry he kinda ruined the trip and he hopes to hang out again soon.

He scrolls past George’s name on his screen. The last message he sent him was from last night, before he returned from filming.

George

i’m so tired i’m gonna pass out

Dream

don’t

no one wants to watch u sleep

George

bet u would

creep

Dream

shut up

when r u guys coming back?

George

soon

wait up for me?

Dream

ofc<3

As soon as he makes it on the plane, he falls apart.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t get easier. Dream is pretty sure not many things in his life have ever hurt this bad. He broke his ankle when he was eight and thought the pain would follow him during the rest of his life—in a way, it has. He still remembers the tears and the sobs that broke havoc past his mouth and the yell his mom let out the moment she found him lying on the ground. 

But this is worse than that. It’s worse than getting his wisdom teeth out, worse than his ex cheating on him, worse than that girl when he was fifteen who rejected him in front of the entire class. It’s worse than even waiting for George’s visa to be approved—worse than the anguish-ridden conversations they held across an entire ocean. Worse than when it got rejected and they had to wait even longer, the prospect of never looming over their heads. Worse than birthdays missing him, Christmas wishing he was here, new year’s praying with shut eyes and balled fists for this year to be the one.

No matter what he does, he thinks of him. He blinks and George’s bitter words are replayed inside his mind. you ruined everything we had. Dream thinks he understands what he meant by that, now. He ruined not only the sex but the hand-holding. Not just orgasms but the tender kisses and the whispered nothings and the casual touches. They will never get any of them back. A part of him regrets having opened his mouth—he could’ve just settled for what they had. It should’ve been enough. They were exclusive. They were together. They were fine. But Dream had to be greedy and want more and mess it all up.

Another part of him rejects the idea—all he should be regretting is having said yes to that deal in the first place. But he can’t. He’d do it all again if it meant getting a taste of having George in ways he’d never imagined before. The pain has to be worth it, and yet it hurts so deeply it has him second guessing. 

Sapnap checks in on him often. He texts and he calls and even Karl makes sure he’s eating and drinking and getting proper sleep. 

Not a single word from George, though. It’s three long days spent hauled up inside his office, getting little to no sleep and ordering food he barely touches. He still forces himself to edit videos and distract himself in whichever ways are available to him. His mom also calls. She obviously remains unaware of whatever has been going on between them, but she can sense there’s something wrong with him all the way from across town—or maybe she could just hear the way his voice shook when she asked about him.

“Everything okay with you two?” 

It was day two. Dream still had a lump stuck in his throat. He said yes. She wished him a good night and to call if you need anything, anything at all, okay? Dream promised he would, even when he knew he wouldn’t. He thinks she did, too.

On day three, Sapnap texts again.

Sapnap

we’re coming back tomorrow

u okay for that?

Dream

what? thought u guys were staying like 2 weeks

Sapnap

filming has been…difficult lmao

besides I feel bad staying here

karl feels bad too

we can always film later

Dream

wym difficult?

don’t cut ur trip short cause of me

im fine, promise

Sapnap

that’s bs but whatever

dw

we’ll be there tomorrow 

afternoon

He doesn’t expand on what difficult even means. He kind of wants to ask—about him, how he’s doing, if he’s fine at all. He knows George’s heart isn’t torn to pieces like his own, but he also knows he probably feels a bit shit about the entire thing. And Dream is an idiot who still loves him so much, even after all the pain he’s caused him. He can never stop worrying. He can never stop loving him. 

That’s what he fears the most—being stuck here forever.

Surely he was wrong. Surely George isn’t the love of his life after all. 

Surely the universe wouldn’t be so cruel.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

They get back home at four p.m and Dream hears the door open and close. No words, no yelling, no funny jokes. Nothing like the usual ruckus they make. He feels something in his stomach stir—at being under the same roof as George again, knowing he will have to face him sooner than he expected, and realizing that this has affected George and Nick’s friendship, too. In a way, he should’ve seen that one coming. He just didn’t want to take on an even heavier burden. How many things did he ruin?

The minute Sapnap walks up the stairs, only a couple minutes later, he watches his friend’s face fall when he sees him.

He shuts the door, sitting on the edge of the bed and sending him a look that reeks sympathy. 

“Hey, buddy.”

Dream groans as he sits up.

“God, I’m fine .”

The younger raises an eyebrow. “You look like shit.”

“I haven’t been getting much sleep. But it’s fine—well, yeah it’s not fine. It’s shit. But it will be. I will be. I pro—”

“Stop promising stuff. It’s fine if you’re not fine, Dream. It’s kind of a big deal.”

He shuts his eyes. Although being told it’s a big deal helps validate his emotions right now, he really doesn’t want it to be a big deal. It might be a little too late for that now, though. 

“Please don’t be mad at him.”

“Well, he was a jerk to you.”

“I know but…I shouldn’t have told you the details. It wasn’t fair. You guys are friends, too. I don’t want you to be in the middle,” he explains. Sapnap doesn’t look mad though, if anything he seems a bit exhausted—which is understandable all things considered. Dream isn’t even sure how bad he looks himself. He hasn’t exactly been paying attention to his own reflection.

“I’m both of you idiot’s best friends. I’m kinda in the middle by proxy. Don’t worry about it, I still love that bitch.”

Dream lets out a snort. 

“Okay. Thank you.”

“He should still start paying rent or something,” he suggests. Dream rolls his eyes, but this is the first time he’s smiled in days and he’s grateful for it. “Really though, don’t make him force you to talk until you’re ready. Take your time.”

He blinks. 

“He wants to talk?”

His friend looks like he just said something he wasn’t supposed to, averting his gaze somewhere around his room instead of meeting his eyes. “Uh. Yeah?”

Dream frowns. He stupidly checks his phone, even though he knows for a fact that George hasn’t tried to reach out, and he clearly won’t be texting him now that he’s back home. 

“But—but he hasn’t even texted or…anything.”

“Karl and I told him to give you some space,” he admits.

“What? Why?”

He looks at him again, crossing his arms over his chest as he regards him with knowing eyes. Sometimes he forgets he’s younger than him—even if it’s not a big difference. He can often even be the most mature out of them.

“What do you mean why? You were a mess, dude. I didn’t want him stirring up more problems. Besides, it’s something to talk about in person, don’t you think?”

He exhales. Even though he is right he wishes he had at least known George wanted to talk—even if he dreads whatever conversation can come out of the last time they saw each other. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt so miserable. 

“What does he want to say?” he whispers, although he isn’t even sure he’s asking his friend or himself. 

Sapnap looks like he has a lot to say in that regard but chooses to keep the words locked inside. Dream wants to know what they talked about while he was gone, but he lets it go. George deserves to have his own friends as confidants, too.

“God knows what. He’s an idiot,” the younger settles before cracking a smile. 

It lightens the heaviness on his chest. Dream smiles back, even if it doesn’t reach his eyes.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

George does not try to talk to him. He catches only a glimpse of him once in the next two days—just the back of his shirt as he walks up the stairs and disappears down the hallway. That’s it. He stays inside his bedroom all day, doesn’t even eat with them. Which fine, it’s not like they always used to have all of their meals together, but he’s definitely doing it on purpose. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was still back in North Carolina.

It pisses him off. He doesn’t expect things to go back to normal, doesn’t even want that right now. But how is George acting like this? It’s childish and annoying and honestly a bit fucked up considering how he broke his heart. He could at least apologize for being cruel when he confessed his feelings—he could let him down easy, like a good friend would. But he doesn’t, and as the days go by the single sliver of sympathy he held for George starts fading away, only to be replaced by anger and despair instead. 

Doesn’t Dream deserve better than this? 

He does. He knows as much. So why doesn’t George seem to agree? Does he mean that little to him? Haven’t they been best friends for years now? He wants to shake him by the shoulders and force him to man up and face him—but he doesn’t.

By the time they do see each other, Dream is fuming. 

It happens in the kitchen, of all places. 

It’s two a.m and he’s just getting some water—which is rare, because he always keeps his mini fridge stocked up to avoid this but he’s been slacking on pretty much everything lately. Even something as small as that.

George is perched on the countertop on his phone, a tall glass of juice by his side. He doesn’t notice him there at first, and so Dream takes advantage of having the upperhand for once and lets his eyes roam freely. He has bags under his eyes and his hair is a bit messy, but he otherwise looks the same way he usually does. 

He’s even wearing what he usually wears—Dream’s shirt. 

He has to take a deep breath to calm himself and not snap at the sight of it. He kind of wants to ask him why he’s wearing his clothes, where does he even find the nerve to do that when he still refuses to apologize? But again, he doesn’t. Perhaps he’s a bit of a coward, too.

He feels a muscle in his jaw tighten and looks away, walking towards the fridge without sparing him a second glance. Of course it’s then that George seems to finally hear his footsteps and glance his way.

“ Dream. ”

He opens the fridge, pretends the sound of his voice doesn’t do things to him—it does. He hasn’t heard his voice in almost a week . He doesn’t even know how he’s been surviving without it. Have they ever gone this long without speaking? No. He’d remember. He’d know. This is a nightmare.

He takes one of the water bottles inside with eager hands. He intends on walking back to his room. He intends on not stalling and especially not talking to him, but his resolve crumbles to pieces when he shuts the fridge and realizes George has stood up—not only that, but he is now standing only a few meters away, watching him as if he were a ghost.

The moment their eyes meet, Dream is faced with two very contradictory urges; to yell at him, and to kiss him. The latter is sadly slightly stronger. He does neither.

“I—I didn’t know you were there,” George says.

“I live here.”

He looks away. He seems almost nervous, which is odd considering Dream is the one who admitted being in love with him last time they saw each other.

“Right, yeah. How…” he starts, but as much as he wanted to talk to him, he realizes now that he hates everything about this interaction. He hates how awkward it is, how George is walking on eggshells, how badly he wants to scream that this is all wrong and that he just wants him to apologize. He shouldn’t even have to ask for it. 

He feels the sadness come back to him full force, every single emotion he’s been trying so desperately to bury far enough to ignore comes blooming to the surface, impossible to ignore any longer. 

“I’m kinda really tired,” he says, already walking away. Each step he takes away from George makes the pain inside his chest throb even louder. 

“Oh. Yeah. It’s late. That’s fine.”

Dream nods, sending him one last look before walking up the stairs—he almost doesn’t make it. George’s expression is so disappointed that it stirs awake the most instinctual of impulses. His body craves to comfort him, to take care of him, to kiss him and reassure any worries he might have about them. His heart has learnt that George should never suffer, not if he can help it, and ignoring it is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

The minute he makes it to his bedroom, he feels the lump in his throat come back and has to cover his face in order to breathe. The knots inside him unravel and all he feels is the twinkling broken parts of his heart demanding his attention. 

He sleeps for the next fifteen hours, and all he dreams of is George.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Next time they talk, it’s only a day and a half later. Sapnap is gone for the day and it’s just the two of them in the house. He’s grateful for how big it is, how easy it is to avoid someone when you have a variety of rooms to choose to hide in—he isn’t sure he even needs to go to such lengths considering George hasn’t seemed eager to find him either, but after their middle of the night encounter he knows he can’t risk it—. He’s particularly thankful his office and bedroom are on the opposite wings of the house. He’s never craved the distance more than he does now, even if his body still yearns for him. 

The kitchen and the living room are the only two common areas where he’s at risk, and so he avoids staying in either of them for too long. 

Still, he knew his plan would eventually fail and isn’t entirely surprised when he’s looking for Patches and finds the traitor cuddling with George on the couch. This time there’s no way to escape though, not when George immediately notices him and sits up, making Patches whine as she jumps away and runs off to the kitchen.

Dream makes a step to go after her, but he stops him before he can move a single muscle.

“Hey, I—I was thinking,” he starts. Dream kind of hates how unsure and scared he looks. As if Dream was the one who was dangerous here. As if he was the one who had broken his heart and not the other way around. “Do you want me to go back to England?”

He feels himself freeze. 

“ What ?”

George purses his lips. He can tell he’s been thinking about suggesting this for a while now. Was that what he was thinking about, when they saw each other in the kitchen, in the middle of the night? While Dream was wishing he could kiss him, was George weighing the pros and cons of staying under the same roof as him? 

“I’m just—putting it out there. It’s an option.”

Dream is glad he’s cried too much these past few days, because he thinks he’d be sobbing at that question if he hadn’t. 

When they planned George moving here, there was never in mind a possibility of his stay being cut short. Forever has always been warming at the tip of their tongues. Dream wasn’t gullible; he knew either of them could want something different in the future—most likely George—but he didn’t really think it would be cut this short. It hasn’t even been a full year.

He clears his throat, tries to compose himself before replying and is grateful his voice doesn’t shake when he asks, “Do you want to go back?”

To his relief, George instantly shakes his head. 

“ No . But—it’s your house. It’s your…state.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Florida isn’t mine, George.”

Silence. 

“I can still move out. Get my own place?”

“How would that help?”

George’s face hardens in what looks to be both frustration and confusion. “I don’t know. I’m trying, Dream.”

“Trying what ?”

“To work things out between us. I know it was a mistake. I never should’ve asked you to help—”

Dream takes a deep breath, ignores the sting in his chest. There’s little to nothing at all George can say anymore that he hasn’t already heard. Or that it can possibly hurt more than what he’s already said. 

But this comes close.

“Yeah. A mistake,” he echoes. 

George exhales as he sags against the couch.

“See? I keep—I keep saying the wrong thing. I keep hurting you, I don’t want that.”

The wrong thing. If that’s the way he feels, how is it wrong?

Dream shuts his eyes. He doesn’t want to see that look on his face. He doesn’t want George to actually look sad . This is all a mess. 

“Why instead of—instead of saying all this, why don’t you just say you’re sorry?”

George blinks. “I didn’t? I didn’t say it? Of course I’m sorry. You thought I wasn’t?”

“How would I think—” he pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t do this. He thought he could by now, that talking would be for the best. He’s always talked things through, even when it brought a lot of pain. But this. This might be the most heartbreaking thing he’s ever had to talk about.  “George. It’ll take some time for me to move on, but I promise I’ll do it. You don’t need to—it’s fine. It’ll be okay. Just…just give me some space for a little longer and…” he shrugs. “Yeah.”

The older nods. “Okay. Yes, of course. I can do that.”

Dream stares at him, at the bright black eyes and endless eyelashes, the rosy cheeks and soft dark hair. He looks away. 

“Great. I’m gonna go look for Patches.”

This time, George doesn’t stop him. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It’s a bit ironic, if you think about it. When Dream wanted nothing more than for George to chase him, he stayed back. When he verbally asks for space, it’s like George is suddenly everywhere . He’s in the kitchen when he wants to get some breakfast, he’s in the living room when Dream is leaving the house, he’s even in the backyard —a place he’s probably visited three times since moving in with them—when he wants to go for a swim. Every single time, they make eye contact and pretend it’s not extremely uncomfortable to be sharing a room. And every time Dream makes his escape as soon as he possibly can. 

He knows he can’t do this forever. Sapnap isn’t rushing him either, after all he was the one who told him to take his time and not feel forced to talk before he’s ready, but he can tell he hates the tension in the house and that’s one of the reasons he’s been finding excuses to leave more often.

He only feels truly safe when he’s in his own bedroom or office, but even that gets disrupted when George decides to knock on his door one night. 

At first he’s convinced it must be Nick, but by the time the words ‘come in’ leave his mouth, he remembers the younger is at a friend’s house. 

It’s just George didn’t use to knock before. He’d just barge in like he owned the place. 

The sight of him on the threshold looking small in a big hoodie makes his entire body warm up. Trying to stay away from someone you love so deeply has to be one of the worst tortures in existence.

“Hey—I…sorry, are you too busy?”

He debates on saying that he is, but he can’t bring himself to when George already looks like he expects to be shunned away. He turns around on his chair, tries to keep his eyes on his face and focuses on the words his mouth says.

“It’s fine. What’s up?”

“Just,” he starts. He rubs a spot on his elbow, awkward. “Dream, just—can we like, go back to how we used to be? I mean…not the sex, just our friendship and—”

Dream bites the inside of his cheek. If George had wanted to talk about it more, he might’ve let him, despite the dread that has been curling in his lower stomach for days. But wanting to go back to how they were seems so impossible right now—how can they go back to acting like nothing has happened, still refusing to admit everything that did ?

“George. It’s been like five days since we last talked. I’m still not—I need more time than that.”

The older looks wounded, hurt flashing through his eyes. Is it guilt? He knows George doesn’t miss him the way he does. Sure, this entire situation is the first time in years since they haven’t talked to each other in longer than a day. But Dream is so heartbroken that he can barely think straight. Even just seeing him so often around their house—even this, is almost too much. 

He considered taking a flight to L.A, but knew better than to run away like that. This might be a little worse, though; living in the same house and still trying to escape. 

“I know exactly how long it’s been,” he whispers out, but Dream doesn’t read into his tone. Why overanalyze someone who isn’t hiding anything? George doesn’t love him. There’s nothing else to overthink. In a way, it’s almost freeing. He can move on now. Well, not now. It’ll take months. Maybe even longer—god. “But. How long will we…not talk?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can barely look at him. He knows he’ll probably cry if he does, which is pathetic to say the least. 

“We’re talking now.”

“You know what I mean,” George bites back.

“What do you even want to talk about?” he asks, looking at him. 

Say it. Acknowledge it.

George doesn’t, though. Instead he chews on his lower lip and stares up at the ceiling as if he never expected to get this far.

“Uh—what have you been up to?”

Dream sighs. “I’m just editing. I’ll go find you when I’m done or whatever,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it, and he can tell George knows that, too.

“Okay,” he says, but he still won’t leave. He continues lingering by the door and Dream contemplates simply getting back to work, but after realizing he can’t possibly go back to editing knowing he’s there, he glances up once more. George stares back at him before asking, “Was…that song about me?”

Dream scoffs. He can’t believe he’s asking him that. 

“Whom else would it be about?” he spits out, more harshly than he intended to. He doesn’t want to be mean to him. He exhales. George might’ve treated him poorly but this isn’t how Dream usually is. He doesn't hurt people out of spite, let alone someone he loves so much. And so he forces himself to add, “Don’t worry, I’ve told Jake we’re not releasing it. It’s gone.”

George’s eyes widen. “But—”

“I really need to get this done,” he lies. He doesn’t have a deadline, not ever. But working has always helped him get his mind out of things he doesn’t want to think about and right now it’s no exception. He wants to bury his sadness in work until it disappears. Until next time he’s forced to look at it in the face, it has become smaller and easier to handle. Until it’s bearable.

“Right. Sorry. I’ll let you be,” he says, finally walking out and shutting the door. 

He buries his face in his hands the second he’s gone. How can he miss someone so desperately? How do people move on? George will continue to live under the same roof as him. Their house is big, but not big enough to escape him. They’re still a team. They work together. They’re family. Their lives are intertwined in ways he can’t—and refuses to—undo. He needs to get his shit together and be able to at least have a civil conversation with him without breaking. He doesn’t want to lose George as a friend too, or make this situation more unbearable than it has to be for Nick.

He’ll give himself one more day.

And after that, he’ll pretend if he has to.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He can’t remember the last time he knocked on George’s door. Or a time in which he felt as nervous as he does now. He isn’t sure he’s ready—he probably would’ve continued to hide inside his office if it wasn’t for the older coming to him last night looking so dejected. Being aware of the pain he’s inflicting on him by prolonging this torture is what propels him to put his pain aside and do this. Their friendship deserves better. George deserves better, too. 

When he’s let inside though, he realizes how much he’s even missed being here.The room smells of his cologne and there are clothes thrown around everywhere. It’s messier than the last time he was here, the bed half unmade with George laying in the middle still wearing his pajamas. It’s three p.m but Dream doesn’t mention it. 

He looks shocked to find him there after he shuts the door. 

“Can I sit?”

George nods, sitting up and placing his phone on his bedside. Dream isn’t sure where to start. There’s no beginning and for days all he has been able to see is an impending end. He tries to blink all of that misery away, setting his own pride and self-pity aside to say, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For how I’ve been…treating you.”

George frowns, confused. “You don’t have to—”

“No, I do. I shouldn’t punish you for not feeling the same way. Even if—I wish you had reacted differently,” he admits, averting his gaze. “You didn’t know and I know how you feel about stuff like that. It was probably…a lot to deal with.”

“Stuff like what?” he asks, sounding more confused the longer Dream tries to explain. 

He scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable. He didn’t expect George to ask so many questions. He thought this would be quick and painless—well, maybe not exactly painless.

“Like, feelings and shit,” he says. George opens his mouth but before he gets to say anything else, Dream keeps going, “Anyway, we can go back to…talking. I missed talking to you and being friends. I can’t…not be your friend.”

The older’s face softens. “I missed you, too. A lot.”

Dream realizes he’ll have to relearn not to look for things to obsess over. Not to hope for George to mean the things he says the same way he does. He’ll have to learn to be his friend, with no hope of ever being anything more. It’ll take a while.

“Well, I’m here now. I promise, I’ll move on from all this,” he repeats, laying more comfortably on George’s bed. Last time he was here they were sitting much closer to each other and seconds away from kissing. He pushes the thought away and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “I think I need to find someone who feels the same way I do about relationships, anyway.”

George looks like he’s just swallowed something sour. 

“You—you already want to find someone else?”

He doesn’t but he still shrugs. “Not right now but yeah, we’ll see. I don’t know.”

He’s not hopeful in ever finding someone he loves the way he loves George. Let alone someone he’s this compatible with. But he has to, eventually. He doesn’t want to die alone and miserable. 

“Sapnap said—he said you’ve been,” he pauses. “In love with me for years?”

Dream chuckles, although he isn’t amused at all. Why is George so adamant about this? He really didn’t expect him to want to talk about this thing even more. Rummaging through his feelings isn’t exactly ideal. 

He winces. “Do we really have to get into it?”

“No, sorry—”

“He wasn’t lying,” he sighs, defeated. What’s the point in dancing around it, anyway? They will only talk about it once, right now. They can pretend after. 

George scoots a bit closer on the bed. Dream doesn’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, so he pointedly tells himself to ignore it. 

“How long?”

“Uh…” he stares at the ceiling. Why does he want to know? Is it an ego thing? “Since I was like…twenty? I mean, that’s when I realized it, at least.”

George’s eyes widen. He gulps.

“T-twenty?” he looks so scared that suddenly Dream regrets ever having entertained this conversation. If George is really asking just out of fear, then revealing more truths to him is probably the last thing he should be doing. 

“Please don’t like, rethink our entire friendship. I don’t want you to feel creeped out or some shit,” he tries to laugh it off like a joke, but judging by the way George’s face falls at his words, he thinks the older can see right through him.

“What? Dream, I don’t…” he sighs, adding in a soft mumble, “Sometimes you read me so wrong.”

He doesn’t think that’s possible, not with how well he knows George and how much time he’s spent analyzing all of his expressions. Years of staring at his face on his screen, editing hours of footage of him, hearing him talk and studying the rises and falls of his voice—when has he ever read him wrong?

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, it’s…it doesn’t matter. I’m just,” he looks at him again, eyes full of wonder. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

He does laugh at that.

“Yeah, no one can.”

“Wait, who? Who knows? Apart from Sapnap.”

He bites his lip. 

“I mean not…not a lot of people. My mom. My sister. Well, Karl probably,” he shrugs. “I didn’t tell him but…I feel like everyone kinda knew.”

The whole fucking internet did. All those eyes watching them for years.

“No, Karl didn’t know,” he shakes his head, confident. Dream doesn’t know how he knows that for sure, but he doesn’t ask. “He would’ve—he didn’t know.”

He nods, unsure where that sentence was even going. He still seems to be thinking very deeply about something judging by the prominent lines on his forehead and the way his eyes are staring at a random spot on the wall. Is he thinking about all the jokes Dream made throughout the years? Is he wondering what he thought when they first met in real life, if he hugged him too tightly, if he meant any of the flirting from so long ago? 

“George, I want to move on from this but you—you have to move on, too. I feel like you’re thinking about it too hard. It’s not important,” he says, gentle. 

He wants to wrap his arms around him. Will that urge ever leave, the one that keeps him up at night, missing him? Sometimes he tortures himself on purpose, allowing the fresh memories of what he used to be allowed to do, to come back to him. He thinks of how he could hold his hand, kiss the corner of his lips, bruise up his neck and hold him. All those things he will never, ever have again. He’s still mourning—a part of him fears he will always be mourning; both for what they used to be and for what they could have been.

“How can it not be important?” George asks then.

“You don’t think you can move on from it?”

He looks like a deer caught in deadlights. Dream can’t wrap his head around as to why.

“From w-what? You?”

He frowns. He doesn’t even know what George is talking about right now.

“What? I mean from knowing how I feel. Felt.”

“Felt?”

“Like, all those years. I still feel that way, obviously,” he clears his throat, hoping the blush on his cheeks isn’t terribly obvious. “But I won’t , I promise. So don’t be…don’t be scared.”

George doesn’t look the slightest bit relieved by this. If anything, he looks absolutely miserable. Dream thinks he’s missing half of the conversation they’ve been having but he doesn’t dare to ask—doesn’t even know what he’d ask. 

“Right. Yeah. Thank you.”

He nods, deeming the conversation thankfully over now. The silence that stretches between them isn’t something he’s used to, though. But he accepts it now. It’s progress. It’s better than the deafening silence from the previous days. He just has to work his way through it.

“So, what have you been up to?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He snorts. “Surely something—”

“No, really. Nothing. I haven’t..,” he looks away, almost ashamed. “Been sleeping well.”

“Yeah, me neither,” he admits. Both of them hate fighting with each other. The worst fight they ever had was before he even moved to Florida, and it took less than two days for them to be back to talking non-stop like usual. This has certainly taken a toll on both of them. 

But one of the ways George used to relieve stress was…

He flinches.

“Look, if you want to…go back to sleeping around and bringing guys over, you can do that. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in your own house.”

“I’m not—I don’t want to. And I wouldn’t do that to you,” he adds, looking slightly offended at the implication that he would.

“George, it’s fine. You have to live your own life eventually. We both do.”

He can tell he has something he wants to say, so he waits, but the older ends up shaking his head. He knows that what he settles for saying isn’t what was just simmering in his mind. 

 “Well. Whatever. I’m not—I’m not interested.”

Dream nods. He’s relieved. He’d probably die if he saw that any time soon. 

“Nick actually wanted to set me up with some guy from NRG,” he says, trying to fill in the silence. “I told him it’s too soon—”

“Sapnap—he said that to you?”

“Yeah, why?” he raises an eyebrow. George looks two seconds away from screaming. Dream thinks he’s missing something. Again. He’s starting to feel really fucking stupid. “Is there anything wrong—”

“No, not you. Just. Thought he’d—doesn’t matter,” he exhales, running a hand through his hair before meeting his eyes. “But you said no?”

“Not yet. Also I’m not even sure I want to date someone Nick recommends,” he laughs. 

“Yeah, he sucks,” George cracks a smile at that and Dream thinks a part of him comes back to life. 

“We’re okay. Right?” he mumbles out, voice soft.

He nods, eyes suddenly nervous. “Yes. I…can I…can we hug? Just for a little bit. I mean, if you want—” 

Dream doesn’t let him finish his rambling, wrapping his arms around him and feeling his entire body melt in quick relief. George’s body feels smaller than ever before as he wraps his own arms around whatever he can reach. He kind of never wants to let go. They fit so perfectly well together and George’s hair smells of his shampoo. He shuts his eyes. How will he ever move on from him? 

He doesn’t even realize George is crying until his body starts shaking. He immediately looks down, taking enough distance without moving his arms to look at him. 

“ George , what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry—I’m just very…” he shudders, shaking his head. He looks devastated. Dream doesn’t even know how to fix it, what is there to fix. Is it guilt? Is it feeling bad for Dream that is making him this sad? 

“Bab—” he clears his throat, catching himself just in time before the pet name slips past his lips. George still notices, he can tell from the way he freezes and blinks those bright, teary eyes up at him. He doesn’t say anything. He just cries a little more. “Georgie, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I just really missed you,” he says, but Dream isn’t sure that’s entirely true. Still, he reaches with his free hand and wipes the tears away from his rosy cheeks. 

“I’m here. I’m not leaving, okay?” he reassures him. “You will always be my best friend. I’m sorry if I made you think that was ever in question.”

George nods but doesn’t say anything back, instead burying his face back in the crevice of his neck. 

Dream holds him tight against him. 

He doesn’t let go until he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Things don’t get easier. Dream feels naive, believing they ever would. Despite trying to pretend he’s okay, things between them remain tense—it’s not either of their fault, he doesn’t think. George is just as secretive as usual, but even more so now that there are invisible walls built up between them. Before, he could at least catch some glimpses of the truth lying beneath, like light pouring from a crack through the bricks. 

Maybe the walls were always just as tall, it’s just Dream can feel them now, everywhere he goes. Every time they share a room, or whenever their eyes meet. Sometimes George opens his mouth to say something and Dream waits at the edge of his seat—for what, he isn’t sure—but the words escape him, and he always shuts his mouth and Dream is always left waiting.

Moving on isn’t easy. He’s aware it will take more than a few days, weeks…even months. A part of him is frightened he might never be able to move on at all. Maybe if George was still in England, maybe if he’d never seen his face and their lives weren’t so impossibly intertwined. But with them under the same roof, it seems so unattainable it takes everything within him not to give up. It’s even worse after his confession—George doesn’t ask any more questions about it, but he spends more time around Dream than he ever has before, despite the obvious tension.

It’s both torture and blessing. He doesn’t really think George is doing it on purpose. He’s just there everywhere he goes—laying on his bed while Dream’s on his computer, waiting by the counter while he makes them breakfast or even on the couch when he’s watching a match on tv. George used to roll his eyes and walk away the moment Dream would suggest watching one, but now he stays. Of course, he doesn’t tend to watch himself. Usually he's on his phone or playing with Patches, but sometimes he even asks questions and Dream finds himself endeared by his attempts at understanding something he's into. 

“You don’t need to stay, you know,” he told him the first time, but George seemed so offended by his words that he glared at him.

“I know, I want to stay. Clearly.”

And so Dream never again suggested otherwise. He obviously loves having him by his side. But he’s well aware of how every second they spend together, it’s a second longer it’ll take him to move on. It’s especially torturous not being able to kiss him or hold him or touch him anymore. He tries to be mindful whenever they touch at all, even if he knows George doesn’t mind. 

They haven’t hugged since that day on his bed. Dream wants to hug him all the time, but he doesn’t ask. Every move he makes now seems overshadowed by the notion that George knows he’s in love with him. 

He might act like nothing has happened but Dream knows he knows and he can't help but feel invasive, even when the touches he would allow himself would be purely platonic. 

Before, the line between them would often blur or change width, but now he can't see it at all. And yet, surely it has to be thicker and more present than ever before. It’s a constant contradiction—to have a wall permanently keeping him out of George’s most vulnerable emotions, but to otherwise be allowed everything else in between.

So he tiptoes around George, walks on so many invisible eggshells that he often wants to scream.

Sapnap notices it all, but he's enough of a good friend to turn a blind eye. Dream is surprised he hasn't confronted him yet—even though there's nothing he can do. He's trying his best, he thinks. 

Sometimes though, he does comment on their odd behavior; he walks in on them watching football together one evening and snorts.

"What do you want?" George asks with an eye roll, immediately defensive. Dream isn't sure why he sounds so annoyed considering minutes ago he was asking him in a soft voice which player was the one wearing bright orange sneakers.

"Since when do you like football, George?" 

"Since I started fucking your mom."

Sapnap's face visibly sours as he laughs. "That makes no sense. Come on, spill. What is it that you enjoy?" 

"Drop it."

"Share with us, Georgie—"

He shakes his head, taking his phone from the table and sending one last glare his way before leaving the couch. 

"You're an ass ."

As he storms off, Sapnap has at least the decency to look a little bit guilty. He shares a look with Dream, wincing slightly at the harsh sound of a door slamming shut upstairs. 

"Did I go too far?"

Dream stares at the now vacant spot by his side and frowns. "I don't even know what you two were fighting about."

"Just George being a lil idiot. Like, I'm obviously trying to help him."

He glances back at the younger, confusion only growing with each word that comes out of his mouth. 

"What?"

"Forget it, you're even dumber than he is."

Dream is aware there’s a lot of context he’s missing. George and Nick have definitely talked about him behind his back—part of which he was witness to back in Karl’s house. How much they talked after he was gone, he isn’t sure. Clearly way more than he expected. He hates feeling left out, even though it makes sense he’d be the last to know. 

He knows he can’t ask, so instead he asks the next best thing he’s been wondering about.

“Why did George seem upset that you tried setting me up with someone? Does he know the guy?”

“I don’t know Dream, why do you think?” he asks, eyeing him intently. When he fails to come up with a reply though, he exhales. “He’s an idiot. He already texted yelling at me," he says but he's laughing in a way that makes Dream think that was his intention all along.

He frowns again. At this point he’s going to get wrinkles before he turns thirty. 

“What? Why?”

“Fuck him, man. He thinks I’m gonna wait around forever for his ass to—whatever. You want me to say yes to Charlie then?”

He feels his eyebrows rise. 

“Wait for what ? Also no, I told you I don’t wanna date right now.”

“Fine. Be my guest. Charlie is an amazing guy,” he adds, as if that would make any difference. 

He can’t even imagine being with someone else, let alone going on a date so soon after what happened with George. 

“Sounds like you wanna date him.”

Sapnap laughs at that as he walks away. 

“Not my type.”

Dream can’t even focus on the match after all that, eyes wandering back up the stairs every few seconds, debating whether to go after him or not. 

He doesn’t, but he thinks his heart rushes after all the same.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The problem with writing his own songs is that there’s little he finds himself able to write about apart from George. He has so many unreleased songs in the pages of his journal—most of which will never see the light of day. Some are hopeful, from back when he started this thing with him and the freedom of kissing and holding and keeping him closer than ever before was almost intoxicating. 

Most are devastating. 

His ep is set to release within the next month and he’s already talked to his producer about an upcoming tour. He should be excited, and he is . The problem isn’t that. The problem is how he can’t think about anything else but the deep yearning, this insatiable hunger that claws its way past all of his defenses. 

He’s locked himself in his room—well, not literally, but he has yet to crack open his door at all—with no intentions of coming out any time soon. He’s thrown himself into his work, the same way he does whenever his brain is too loud and there’s nothing else to shut it up. He can’t walk out and risk running into George, whose bright eyes will have his willingness on its knees in an instant.

He should’ve known better than to try and escape someone who is so set on being around him, though. George barges inside by four p.m. The image of him walking in Dream's clothes is one so familiar that for a moment, he forgets anything has changed at all. For a moment his hands—awful betrayers of his brain—turn into perfect followers of his aching heart, and almost scramble across the distance between their bodies to seek pale, soft skin.

George notices the hesitance as soon as Dream turns in his chair, he watches his eyes move faster than lightning as they follow the slight movement, but the moment he realizes Dream is not moving a single inch from his desk, he looks away.

“Hey. What are you up to?”

“Just. Working on some music. Writing, mostly.”

A pair of curious eyes train on him.

“Anything I can listen to…or read?”

Dream bites the inside of his cheek, glances at the journal still open and reads the words freshly written in midnight blue ink.

“Uh.”

“Sorry, it’s fine if you don’t—want to show me,” he says, but despite the tension between them he’s quick to throw himself across his bed as if he belonged there. Dream thinks he still does. He’s aware of how crazy it sounds to think something like an object can miss a person, but he’s positive his sheets yearn for George.

“It’s not that. Just, you know…I don’t think you wanna read this stuff,” he chuckles, but it’s an uncomfortable sound and he curses at himself for blurting that out. He should’ve just let it go the same way George has. He’s probably put two and two together and realized he doesn’t want to keep reading Dream’s disgusting love songs.

And yet, surprise colors the older’s face as he leans up on his elbows. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s,” he flinches, begging he doesn’t make him spit it out. “You know.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s about you.”

An expression of deep sorrow passes over George’s face. The silence that comes after makes him want to crawl beneath his bed and stay there. Maybe he should’ve locked his door after all.

He kind of expects him to walk away or at the very least, change the subject. But he doesn’t.

“Can I…could I maybe read? A bit?”

“Are you—George, these are uh,” he coughs, awkwardly. “You know what these are about. Why would you wanna—”

“I like your writing.”

Dream blinks and nods, dizzy by the compliment and unable to say no to him. 

He takes the journal and he sits by George’s side, offering probably the most intimate part of him and silently asking him to be gentle.

It’s unnerving, watching him take it and read. The current pages that are open aren’t that bad, all things considered. He’s written worse back when George was in London…or at least he thinks it’d be much worse for him to read things he felt when he wasn’t even aware of his feelings. George knows now and he said he wanted to read. He can’t get mad at Dream for agreeing, even if the things he reads might be too much for him to handle.

He’s quiet for a while, and Dream isn’t sure if it’s a good kind of silence or a bad one. 

After a long moment he asks in a soft voice, “Why did you say yes?”

Dream tilts his head, confused. 

“What?”

He shuts the journal and looks at him. There’s a blush to his cheeks and neck. Dream wants to taste the color until his own lips turn crimson.

“When I asked you to…help me. With uh, the sex.”

He scoffs at that.

“Why do you think, George?”

“No, like—I know why, it’s just…wasn’t it horrible?” he asks, a frown to his face that Dream finds too adorable for the conversation they’re having. He can tell he’s been thinking about this for a while. He wishes he could let it go. He really does. “Having sex with someone you h-have feelings for, and then have them put all these, these stupid boundaries—”

“Your boundaries aren’t stupid,” he cuts him off. George rolls his eyes, but he can tell he doesn’t agree. “Besides, there weren’t even that many. It was fine. It wasn’t—I mean it wasn’t what I wanted. That’s why I told you how I felt. But it was fine, it was good.”

“It was good,” he repeats, slow as if tasting the words inside his mouth. 

He purses his lips. He tries to forget, too. But this isn’t easy—not the proximity to the boy he loves, not the questions he asks him about the feelings he’s trying to bury. 

“Yeah, it was.”

George must see it in his face, because he exhales and rushes to apologize. “I’m sorry. Do you hate it when I ask about that stuff?”

Dream doesn’t think he could use the words hate and George in the same sentence, ever. He doesn’t tell him that, though. 

“I mean, I expected you to not want to talk about it ever again.”

“I don’t want to forget it,” he says, softly, like a confession. Dream thinks there’s something there. There’s something here, in this moment, that doesn’t feel like all the other ones that came before it. There’s something about the way George is looking at him—bright wide eyes, as if silently pleading him to understand him, to read between the words, to translate what he’s saying into his own language, to fill in the gaps—

“Why not?” he whispers, words gentle as if the moment itself was so fragile it could break by the faintest of sounds.

George shrugs, looks away. “I don’t know. You—you mean a lot to me. I feel like…”

Dream gets closer, tries to taste the air around him, thinks he could kiss him and might not get pushed away. 

“Like what?”

And then, the door opens and the moment breaks right in front of him. He watches it shatter and turns to face Nick, who stares between them like a deer caught in deadlights.

“Hey guys—oh. Am I uh, interrupting something?”

George shakes his head and immediately scoots away from Dream, almost shocked by the lack of distance between them. “No. I was about to leave,” he says, but it’s a complete lie and they all know it. He still watches him leave, not sparing him another glance. Dream groans the second he’s out the door and glares at his friend.

“ Dude .”

“What? Maybe lock the door, the hell?” he suggests, which is absurd. Dream wasn’t about to lock the door when he didn’t even expect anything to happen. He still isn’t sure anything was. “Anyway, what happened? What was that about? Did George say anything to you?”

He runs a hand through his hair. There was something there, wasn’t there? George was going to say something important. He didn’t imagine it. He knows he didn’t.

“You’re so noisy. And no, he didn’t because you walked in—also, why do you sound like you know something,” he looks back at him, suddenly scared. “Wait, is it bad?”

The younger is quick to shake his head, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“I don’t know jackshit. Shut up. I’m leaving.”

“Why did you even come—” Dream starts, but Sapnap has already walked away. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sapnap

there’s a party 2nite

can u two come ??

George

where?

Sapnap

idk punz said it’s close 

George

who’s even gonna be there?

sounds lame

idk

Sapnap

how tf is it lame if u dont even know anything about it??

George

well u r going

its lame

Dream

I might tag along

Sapnap

fuck yeah

fuck u george

i’m gonna get u laid 2nite bro

Dream

what? me?

George

im going too

what time is it at

Sapnap

oh now u are coming??

nah sorry bro

not enough space in the car

party too lame

stay home alone 

George

stfu im going

Dream

ofc u can come :)

George

:]

Sapnap

jesus christ

Hope is an annoying little thing. Dream doesn’t want to feed into it. He’s done it before, to no avail. But he feels stupid if he doesn’t at least acknowledge his suspicions. 

Sapnap knows something. And George has been acting…well, he definitely hasn’t been acting like someone who is disgusted by Dream’s feelings for him. Which, fine maybe he’s not disgusted but he still doesn’t want to have anything to do with him—but then he thinks of the way he almost leaned to kiss him back in his bed. He thinks of him asking a million questions and wanting to read his love songs. He thinks of George spending an insane amount of time with him, crying when Dream confessed his feelings, crying when he held him on his bed.

The way his resolve seems to almost crumble every time they share a room.

He knows sometimes people aren’t ready at the same time for the same things, whether they want them or not. Dream has had enough time to get used to and process his own feelings for George. He’s had years. He’s been ready to be with him for so long that he barely remembers a time in which his heart didn’t belong to him completely. But George hasn’t had that time. George hasn’t even dated anyone like that before. He’s terrified.

What if—what if Dream has had it all wrong?

What if George, at least a part of him, does love him?

He stares at the groupchat and runs a hand down the side of his face. Is that what Nick is on about? Has he been that stupid? 

No, there’s no way. He knows George. He would’ve known. Right? He would know if his best friend is in love. He would.

But then he thinks of George getting upset at the prospect of him dating someone else. Was he jealous? Is that why he got mad at Sapnap? Has he been jealous before, and he hasn’t noticed? He has no idea where to even go from here. Even if he’s right, there’s a reason George hasn’t acted on his feelings, despite knowing Dream feels the same way. He still doesn’t want to be with him, does he? So does it matter if he loves him? Does it matter at all?

Truthfully, he’s too stressed and anxious about this whole thing to even think of enjoying a party. But he doesn’t want to leave Sapnap hanging when he’s been nothing but supportive to the both of them. Besides, it might be good to get a break. Maybe. 

The shower he takes before they leave helps him relax a little bit, but it’s over too soon when the moment he walks out of his bathroom in only a towel, he finds George sitting on his bed. For a moment he almost covers himself up before realizing how stupid that would be.

George’s eyes aren’t subtle when they stare down his chest though, and his gaze warms him up from the inside. He kind of wants to prove his theory right and kiss him against the mattress until he’s reduced to nothing but Dream’s name. But that would be insane and as impulsive as he is, he can’t ruin this. Not again. If he’s right, then George will have to be the one to take the next step. He’s the one who needs to be ready. 

Dream has never been very patient but for him, he’d try anything.

“Hey uh, what’s up?”

George finally meets his eyes. The color on his face is just as beautiful as always. 

“I was just gonna—borrow some clothes for tonight.”

Dream frowns as he turns to open his closet. 

“Mine? Since when do you borrow my clothes to actually go out? You usually steal from Nick,” he points out. Their style and size is much similar to begin with. George usually just steals his hoodies and shirts to be around the house or sleep in. He knows he still has at least three shirts of his but he refuses to ask for them back.

“Yeah well. I’ve already worn all his clothes before.”

He kind of wants to remind him he never seemed to mind before but he doesn’t. If George wants to wear his clothes for everyone to see, he’s not going to stop him.

It just doesn’t entirely help not feed into his theory.

“Well, pick anything you’d like,” he shrugs, taking a pair of dark pants and a grey hoodie for himself. 

“You’re gonna change in the bathroom?”

He freezes mid-step and turns to face George again. “Uh, yeah? Why, you wanna see?” he jokes, but judging by the way he scoffs and rolls his eyes, he probably does. 

Dream knows it’s a dangerous game to play, but this isn’t too bad, is it?

“Fine then.”

“Wait—” he says but Dream drops the towel anyway, laughing when George’s flushing face twists into confusion the moment he realizes he’s wearing underwear. “Why are you…wearing…what?”

“Wow, George if I didn’t know any better I’d think you wanted to see me naked.”

“I—shut up. That’s just so dumb, you were gonna change in the bathroom when you were already wearing underwear ? What were you even hiding, your knees?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, but it’s all worth it to see his reaction. 

George ends up wearing one of his favorite Sooners shirt and Dream really thought he was used to his two favorite things interacting with each other after all those matches they watched together—and yet he wants to scream when the older asks him how he looks and does a little spin in front of him. 

You look like you belong to me.

“You look like you’re a huge Sooners fan,” he says instead.

George laughs at that, face still a bit crimson from earlier.

“Well, I have been watching lots of matches, haven’t I?”

Dream nods, unable to break the smile on his face. He wonders how George can’t see how perfect they’re for each other. How well they match. How this thing between them is so rare and precious that they may never find it again.

Not in this lifetime. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The party ends up being kinda lame after all. It’s no one’s fault—it’s just too crowded and they barely know anyone. Sapnap gets them shots as soon as they walk in and Dream stares at the tiny glass, albeit hesitantly. He hasn’t been drunk that many times before. It’s not the worst feeling in the world, there’s a reason why people drink in the first place. But you lose control. Your tongue gets too loose. Your mind turns soft and your walls fall down. You become…well, defenseless.

But George drinks the shot at once with Nick and Dream doesn’t want to be left behind, so he follows suit, face souring at the sharp sting of alcohol falling down his throat.

“That was disgusting.”

“I think it’s already hitting me,” George immediately says. 

“That’s impossible. Don’t start,” Sapnap groans, but Dream can already tell he will. 

George clings to his arm as he leans back against his chest. Yup, already happening.

“You shut up and get me another shot.”

“Fine . Just because maybe you need it,” he says, eyeing the lack of space between them with a smile.

Dream frowns as Sapnap walks off in the direction of the bar. 

The music is loud and he doesn’t know half the songs they’re playing. Most people don’t seem too bothered by that though, as they dance around and scream and drink and make out. George keeps looking up at him, craning his neck back to catch his eyes. Dream tries not to oblige, because he knows he won’t be able to look away and they’re standing too close. He wonders what people think when they see them. Do they look like a couple? Do they look like they belong to each other, like their limbs have only found sense in the comfort of one another?

“Pay attention to me,” he hears then, and he’s distracted enough to immediately look at the person whining from under his arm. George grins when their eyes finally meet. 

Sapnap pushes another shot their way, but Dream refuses to drink another single drip of alcohol. One of them should stay sober, especially if George will be looking at him this way. 

“I’ll take Dream’s,” he announces, and the youngest doesn’t even try to stop him as he cheers him on. 

“Nick, come on.”

“He’s even older than us, stop babysitting him.”

“Yes, Dream. Stop babysitting me,” George repeats, but his eyes are shining and he’s batting his eyelashes in a way that screams the opposite. 

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else when George orders a Cosmopolitan. He’s at least glad he seems done with the tequila shots. He knows he is a lightweight though, so even a cocktail won’t help his already very tipsy case. 

Nick doesn’t stick around them for too long—he disappears after finding Punz and some other guy he knows. By then though, George is already most definitely drunk and Dream is way too sober to enjoy himself in the middle of a loud, crowded and sweaty party. 

“I want another one,” George says as he pushes the now empty glass his way. They’re standing by a corner of the bar, secluded enough that Dream doesn’t feel too paranoid about being recognized. He takes the glass and leaves it on the counter, shaking his head resolutely back at him.

“No, you’re done for tonight."

It should be illegal to look this pretty beneath neon lights, but the way the light reflects against George's pale complexion has Dream believing in a greater God responsible for it all. He's wearing one of his shirts and every time he moves his neck he gets another whiff from the perfume he splashed there before they left. 

You're wearing my clothes and my cologne and you've never felt more mine than you do now.

“What are you, my dad?” George asks, but he’s giggling too much for him to take him seriously. Dream exhales instead of replying, which instantly has the older's smile melting into a pout. “Don’t be mad at me, please?”

He chuckles. He wishes he didn’t find him so cute when he’s drunk. He’s still clinging to his side, no shame in the way he holds onto him. 

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I promise,” he says, squeezing his waist closer to his side to prove his point. George sags against him, happy. 

Dream wants and loves and desires so much at once that he thinks he will blow up into smithereens. He isn’t even sure how he’s managed to hold himself back from kissing his face. 

He’s about to suggest they head home for the night when suddenly George is saying he wants them to sit down somewhere. My legs hurt, he whines out, even though they’ve only been standing for like an hour.

Dream is a weak man though, and so he immediately holds his hand and leads them to an empty table he finds at the back. It’s close to the exit, so that’s good. That way George can rest for a little bit and then they can finally leave. He doesn’t think Sapnap will care that much considering he hasn’t even texted. He probably thinks he’s helping them figure things out by leaving them alone—there’s no fixing things while one of them is drunk, though.

As soon as he sits down, George sits on his lap instead of one of the empty seats beside him.

He stares with wide eyes, frozen in place.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting?”

“On my lap ?”

“I just wanna be close,” he shrugs, words almost shy. Dream can’t believe the world is being this cruel to him. He nods, but makes sure to keep his hands to himself. Even holding him seems wrong in this position. It reminds him too much of George on his lap in a much different context. “Tell me something.”

“What?”

He faces him then, his eyes dark and revealing more than he probably wants to. It’s unfair how effortlessly he tears down all of his walls, when it’s taken him so long to even come close to tearing George’s down. 

“I wanna hear you talk. I like your voice…it used to be all I had, back then.”

He’s looking at his mouth while he speaks. Dream hasn’t kissed him in weeks. Almost a full month. He wishes he didn’t remember the last kiss they shared so well. 

He wishes he didn’t have to live off of memories. 

“George—” he stares at his lips himself, so tempting and so close that he almost fails to fight his most carnal impulses. Almost. “We shouldn’t.”

He blinks dizzily back at him, almost confused by the rejection before understanding dawns upon him.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. I—I forgot.”

Dream exhales as he caresses his cheek with the back of his hand. He’s as warm as the sun and as soft as a flower. It’s unfair. 

He can’t let go of him. This is cruel. 

“What did you forget?”

“That you don’t want me anymore,” he says, leaning against his hand as if he were touch-starved.

He shuts his eyes. Looking at him hurts. Everything in him aches. 

“Ba—George, you know that’s not it.”

George chews on his lower lip. He looks like he’s been punched and Dream can’t do anything to fix it. He can’t do anything but stare at this thing between them—still alive, still breathing, but so tender to the touch that he’s terrified of coming too close and stealing its last breath.

“I know, you’re right. I’m sorry…I’m just drunk. I shouldn't have had so much." 

He nods. Maybe this party really wasn’t a great idea after all. But how can he regret coming here when they feel closer than they have in weeks?

“It’s okay.”

“You were—you were about to call me baby just now, weren’t you?” he asks, voice such a soft thing that Dream is surprised it doesn’t get lost somewhere in the air around them.

The tiny smile he cracks is tight and fleeting. “Force of habit,” he mumbles out. 

“I used to love it when you called me that,” he blurts out, and Dream watches him get shocked by his own mouth. “Shit. I need to shut up. I’m gonna go…pee. Then we can go home.”

He sends a glance over George’s shoulders, concerned by the thick crowd of people around them. Everyone else is just as drunk, if not more. 

“Do you want me to come with—”

“No. Please, stay here. I’ll be right back," he says, suddenly sounding more sober than before. 

He stays rooted in place, eyes following George across the dance floor. He watches him disappear through the crowd and curses under his breath.

His theory was right, wasn’t it? 

He should be happy knowing he’s loved back, but what good does it make when George still doesn’t want them to be together? How can he possibly convince him that this thing might be scary, but it’s good enough to ignore any fear?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

They don’t talk about it. Dream isn’t even sure George remembers any of it at all—eyes and mouth and his entire body betraying him after one too many shots. They haven’t been drunk that many times for him to know. George always gets clingy when he’s drunk, but that’s a thing that happens with all of his friends. And yet, it was Dream he stuck to, it was him he tried to kiss and him whom he said all of those things to.

It’s not easy—being in love with someone so terrified of being loved. 

But hope, hope, hope . It’s impossible to ignore, now that he’s sure George has feelings for him, too. 

In a way, it doesn’t change anything, not between them or in the way they interact. In other ways, it shifts Dream’s entire world on its axis. 

He writes a song called Paranoid the morning after the party and his producer is so ecstatic that they immediately schedule a date for him to fly over to L.A and record it. 

He doesn’t tell anyone about it. It seems like way too much to show George. Maybe once he’s done recording it. Maybe when it's released and he has no other choice.

He does mention it to Sylvee, a couple of days later when she asks him to hang out to talk some video ideas over with him. It’s not often that his friends seek him for advice, but he’s always more than happy to help and even proud that they look up to him enough to even ask. 

He isn’t entirely sure how the topic of George comes up in conversation, but when she asks him how he’s doing with a glint to her eye, he narrows his eyes.

“What do you know?”

“Nothing…I mean, no more than Hannah.”

He raises his eyebrows. “ Hannah knows something?”

“George and Hannah are close, you know. They text a lot.”

He frowns. He hates not knowing stuff about George, even though he knows he has a right to keep things to himself. He’s just selfish like that sometimes.

“I mean I knew that, but I didn’t know he went to her for…” he shrugs. “Serious stuff.”

“Not a lot. But he trusts her.”

He hums before adding with a laugh, “Maybe he shouldn’t considering you know now, too.”

“Sapnap and Karl know, too!”

He groans, burying his face in his hands. He wonders if they have some sort of discord group chat to talk about them. He wouldn’t put it past them. Was the party even an actual thing Sapnap wanted them to go to or was that too part of some agenda of theirs? 

He gets it, though. If they all know they both feel the same way but are still dancing circles around each other like idiots then, yeah. He gets it.

“All of you are a bunch of gossips. I can’t believe this.”

“Relax, we all just want you two to be happy.”

He smiles at that. He wants that, too. He isn’t sure why he tells her about the song. Maybe just to put it out there, to feed the information into a world in which he isn’t the only hopeful one. He feels less lonely, less crazy now that he knows other people know, and that they’re all rooting for them, as well. 

“I wrote a song about him the other day.”

Sylvee’s smile is so genuine that it reaches her entire face. 

“Really?”

“It’s not the first one but, yeah. I’ll send it to you once I’m done recording it.”

“I’d love that,” she grins, almost bashful. “Thank you, Dream.”

As soon as he’s back home, three hours later, he finds George on the couch. He sits up the moment he hears the door, eyes trained on him like a lost puppy.

Dream drops the keys and picks Patches up from the floor, cooing at her as he kisses the top of her head. She lets him have it for ten seconds before jumping off and rushing out of the room.

“Where—uh, where have you been?”

“I was out with a friend. The rain almost caught up to me,” he exhales, hearing thunder clap loudly from outside.

“Which friend? Sapnap’s?” he asks, and Dream can’t help but laugh. Despite everything, it feels good that George seems to be jealous. How didn’t he notice the signs earlier? Why did it make so much sense to wallow in his own misery for so long?

“No, not Sapnap’s. Sylvee.”

George visibly relaxes at that, and with a curt nod goes back to his phone. He watches him hold a pillow to his chest with his free arm, looking so cozy on the couch that he can hardly contain himself from tackling him under his arms. 

Instead he waits until the older sends him a questioning glance and asks,

“Can I hug you?”

George’s eyes widen. “What? Uh—yes, why?”

He doesn’t explain but goes over to wrap him in his arms instead. It should be criminal how easy it is, how well they fit together. He misses him so much that even getting to smell his cologne is making him dizzy with want. 

“It’s okay, George. I’ll wait," he whispers. 

“You'll what?”

“I’ll wait. However long.”

“What are you—what are you saying?” he whispers out, but Dream can hear the fear in his voice. He doesn’t want to push him. He writes the words on his back instead, hoping they’re enough to get the message across— I love you.

It isn't new. There's no novelty to this confession, but he wants him to know it's there. That it will probably always be there. 

George trembles in his hold and squeezes him back even tighter. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Dream knows he knows.

“Want some food?” he asks him once he pulls away. He looks slightly disoriented.

“Uh um, sure?”

“What should we order?”

“I…uh, chick-fil-a?”

“Okay then, let’s see,” he says, sitting by his side and unlocking his phone to place an order. He can feel his eyes on him, probably wondering where all that just came from. “Apparently it’s closed for the day?”

“What? Since when do they close?”

“Renovations.”

“Oh…well, isn’t there another one nearby?”

“Not one that makes deliveries back here.”

George sighs, visibly annoyed.

“I just really wanted chick-fil-a. Whatever. Just order anything," he shrugs, but Dream can tell he's actually upset. He hasn't been himself lately and maybe this is something small in the big scheme of things, but if it could help, even a little bit…well, it'd be worth it. To him, at least.

He just wants to see him smile.

He exhales as he gets up. “Fine, fine."

“Fine what?”

He slips his jacket back on. 

“I’m gonna go get you your food, idiot.”

“What? But—it’s raining .”

“And? I can drive."

“I know but…the car’s outside,” he says, eyeing the window as lightning lights up the entire room. “You’ll get wet.”

“I have an umbrella. Relax," he chuckles, eyes locating his keys and wallet where he just left them on the counter. "Just pick a movie for when I’m back and text me your order, yeah?”

And George stares at him, so confused that for a moment Dream wonders what he thinks is going on. His eyes are wide, and he’s watching him as if Dream has just told him he wants to start selling houses for a living. 

“But—it’s not that necessary. I’m being like…unreasonable,” he says, which makes him crack a smile.

He decides to indulge him and explain, if anything to wipe away the concern in his eyes. He leans closer to him on the couch, looks him straight in the eye when he says, “I want you to be happy, is it that hard to understand? Now let me leave and shut up.” 

If they were dating, he would kiss him now. 

But they are not, so he doesn’t. 

He barely catches himself in time as his eyes betray him and glance down at George’s mouth for a moment. He forces himself to step back, sparing the older another smile before walking towards the door. 

It’s raining so much that he has to open his umbrella as soon as he’s out. He sighs, knowing it’ll be a bitch to drive in this weather but it’s fine. That probably means less people in the driveway, anyway. 

He wishes he had texted George earlier and saved himself the extra trip but, oh well. He doesn't hate the rain. 

He’s just about to get his keys from his jacket when suddenly he hears the front door slam shut and turns to find George running towards him. 

His eyes widen at the sight. He doesn’t have an umbrella with him and the rain hits him straight in the face, his hair falling in wet strands over his face. His white shirt sticks to his chest, droplets falling down his neck in a steady flow. 

"I was wrong,” he says as soon as he makes it under Dream’s umbrella. He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. 

He doesn't want the food after all?

"George, it's pouring! What are you doing out here? You'll get sick—get back inside.”

“ No , listen to me—”

“We can talk after I’m back, come on. You’re freezing,” he says, hands cold where they land on his arms, but George is relentless and he isn’t listening. He looks like he’s been crying, but that’s impossible. He was just there and he wasn’t—he didn't look like this. 

“Dream, stop," he shakes his arms off him. "I need to say this now or, or maybe I won’t because I’m an idiot and I’m so tired of being an idiot.”

He frowns, glancing back at the house. “Fine, fine but let’s go talk inside where it’s warm—”

"I want maybe with you."

Dream’s heart stops beating inside him. He feels it, the way it freezes mid-beat and threatens to jump out of his body. 

He tilts his head back his way. 

"W-what?"

"I want maybe. It doesn't have to be for sure. It might not last but—it might . Maybe. I want that. Can I have that?” he asks, voice breaking. His eyes are full of rain and tears and sadness. Dream wants to wipe all of it away until there’s nothing but joy within him. “Please? Is it too l-late?” he whispers at Dream’s silence, looking so terrified it breaks his heart.

He blinks and water gets in his own eyes. He’s holding onto the umbrella for dear life, so tightly he’s bound to leave a mark on his palm. He hopes he does. He hopes he gets to remember every single second of this; the thunder clapping loudly above their heads, the faint lights coming from inside their house, George’s red lips and red eyes and red cheeks, his beautiful wet hair, his own broken heart climbing its way out his throat. 

The way his love for this boy is so big it becomes unbearable to hold by himself.

He cups George’s cold, wet face and watches in awe as he leans into his touch, relieved. 

He smiles, still unsure if he’s allowed to have this. He knows it isn't a dream but a tiny, terrified part of him wonders if he's misunderstanding this. If there's a possibility he's getting it all wrong again. But George is looking at him with so much love that it erases any remaining doubt. 

"It's not maybe. It's never maybe with us,” he tells him. George does cry at that, eyes shutting as a sob breaks through his body and Dream rushes to wrap both arms around his frame, umbrella falling discarded to their side.

The rain catches in both their heads now, but he does no longer care.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He never let himself believe he could get everything he wanted—not fully, not like this; George curled up against him, kissing him back with as much yearning and love and fervor. Dream playing with his hair, kissing his forehead and his cheeks and his lips so many times his face starts to hurt. 

They can’t stop kissing. Dream never went to get their food after all. George was quick to make him forget about everything else as he held onto him so desperately. I’m not going anywhere, Dream told him at one point, but George didn’t lessen his hold. 

Walking up the stairs like that was a struggle, but it was worth it to get them here; wrapped up in each other on George's bed. 

The world feels infinitely smaller than it was before. It's just the two of them. It's just George hiding his blushing face in his hands and Dream peppering so many kisses down his face and neck that it becomes unbearable to imagine a world in which they don't have this right here.

"I was supposed to get you your food."

"I don't care. We can order somewhere else."

"But you wanted it."

George rolls his eyes, leaning until their noses brush. "I just want you right now," he whispers, a confession so tender it barely caresses his ears. 

"Mm…say it again."

"Are you going to keep making me repeat things all night?"

"Maybe. I've waited too long, let me have this."

George kisses his lips, short and sweet. It tastes like an apology. 

"Me too, you know." 

"What?"

"I think I've also always felt this way. I just...didn't realize it. Or maybe I did. I don't know," he sighs. He looks so tired, like he hasn't gotten proper sleep in days. "I kept pretending it wasn't there...but then we started sleeping together."

Dream twirls a strand of black hair between his fingers. 

"I never imagined you'd feel the same way."

George lets out a scoff.

"How could I not?" he says, laying on his back, eyes lost somewhere in the ceiling. It's so low that Dream isn't sure he was even meant to hear it. "You know, I used to hate that everyone wanted you so much before. How much they loved your attention and kept demanding it."

"What? Who?"

"People. Before...but then," he frowns. "Now I hate it even more. How wrong some of them are. How they can't see what I see."

Dream grins. 

"And what do you see?"

He doesn't expect George to indulge him. He thinks he will roll his eyes and call him an idiot. He's taken aback when instead he turns on his side again and says,

"How perfect you are."

Dream swallows. He isn't used to this. He doesn't think he ever truly will be. 

How is this real? 

"George...come on, I'm not perfect."

"You are to me. You're my favorite person like, ever," he shrugs. "God that's embarrassing. I feel like now I started talking I can't shut up. Shut me up."

He laughs, kissing the top of his head. It's crazy to think he's allowed that now. He is allowed so many things he doesn't know where to start . His body almost shakes with so much pent up energy.

"As tempting as that offer is, I'm kind of loving this. I'm getting to know new things about my own favorite person."

"I am?"

"I thought the fact I've been in love with you since I was pretty much a teenager would've given it away," he snorts.

George doesn't share the amusement, face contorting in pain instead. 

“I can’t believe it took me this long. Sapnap was right. I hate when he's right."

He pulls him close, squeezing him the moment George wraps his arms around his waist.

“We’re still young. We have our entire lives ahead of us. And I know you think it might not last but—”

“It’s not because of you," he clarifies. "It’s me. It’s…this is terrifying to me. I’ve never—I’ve never done this before and I might fuck it up.”

“You won’t. I won’t let you.”

“Dream, I might . I already made things so complicated between us," he says, and he sounds so sure, so terrified that it breaks his heart.

He looks down at him, cups his cheek in his hand. He wishes he could pick up his fear and place it somewhere so far away from George that he could never feel it again. 

“Baby. I love you. I don’t care if you mess up sometimes. I will mess up, too. I’ve only had two relationships and they were both…pretty terrible," he admits.

He often tries to forget about his exes. He knows there were good things, but overall not much. He believes from the bottom of his heart he was always meant to be led to this moment right here, right now. 

“How come you still believe in love so much? How do you—how aren’t you scared?”

It's a loaded question, but the answer is simple.

“Because it’s us. It’s you. I…I can’t imagine the universe would make either of us ruin this. I honestly think you’re the love of my life and—” the words get lost somewhere in the room as George presses a rushed kiss against his mouth. 

“Love of your life?" he asks, almost in awe, lips pulled up into a smile. " God. You’re so corny.”

Dream is smiling so much himself that he doesn't think it should be humanly possible to be this happy. 

“I’m not even lying.”

"You’re it for me too," George mumbles against his lips.

“Good. Glad to know you’re getting it.”

Their next kiss has his heart reaching through his throat and almost bursting all the way past his lips. George pulls him close from the back of his head, and Dream's entire body turns lax as it follows his lead. 

“Sleep here tonight, please."

Dream blinks. He knows it's not a big deal considering everything they've just said to each other, but it still surprises him. It'll be the first time they will both willingly sleep in the same bed.

"Of course," he says. "Can I ask you something?" the moment George nods, he does. "Why did you never want to sleep in the same bed as me?”

He sighs. 

“I don’t know. My brain needed a limit. In my head, I kept telling myself if we didn’t do certain things then it’d be fine,” he explains. “We could have sex and kiss, but we weren’t supposed to be all…coupley. I kept messing up, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I…kinda loved the coupley things,” he scrunches up his nose, embarrassed. “I was just so scared of what it meant. The bed was the only thing that we hadn’t done yet. I know it’s ridiculous. Compared to some other stuff—it didn’t mean much. But  I've never spent the night with any hook-ups before either…it was the only thing keeping me from letting it all go.”

Dream nods.

“Letting us go, you mean?”

“Yes. If we—if we went too far and I got too scared, I was going to end it. But you ended it before it ever got that far," he says, face turning sour. Dream holds his hand and kisses it. He doesn't want to remember that day either.

It feels crazy to think that they went from that to this; to George laying in bed with him and talking so openly about his feelings. A part of him is afraid he'll regret it the moment morning comes. 

“I really don’t want to… scare you," he says.

“It’s not you, Dream. It’s me. It’s me and my…complete lack of faith in love,” he chuckles. “But you—I can’t lose you. I just can’t .”

“We can go slow though, you know? We don’t have to even be—”

“No, I told you. I’m all in. I promise. I’ll be fine.”

Dream purses his lips, unsure. He believes him, he believes George believes that, too. But what if he's wrong? What if he telling him he'd wait made him feel pressured not to?  

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I mean don’t—don’t propose or anything,” he lets out, face blushing as his voice gets a nervous edge to it.

“Damn, now I need to return that ring," he sighs. He's obviously joking, but he would definitely marry him tomorrow if he asked. He won't be admitting that out loud, though. One step at a time.

George must sense that though, because he adds, “I do want that. Someday.”

“Really? Isn’t it…a lot?”

“Yes. It’s a lot ,” he nods. His hands are trembling but Dream kisses over his fingers again and George’s entire body relaxes against him. “But I want…a lot with you, does that make sense? Just you. We’re like, the exception.”

Dream grins at that. “All couples will fail but us.”

“Yes. And if…even if we fail—”

“George…”

“No, let me finish. Even if we fail, I will never not love you or want to have you in my life. I can do all the scary things if it means I will never lose you.”

“Never,” he tightens his hold around his waist. 

He doesn’t need George to find the certainty that he has. He knows it will take some time for him to realize this thing they have is forever. But Dream knows it in his bones. There’s no doubt in his mind that the universe put them in each other’s lives. There was not a single random moment, no coincidences. All of it was faith, all of it was supposed to lead to this.

“I want to communicate more. Better. I know…I know I’m not good at it. And I feel like you’ve been getting confused. By my actions and…lack of—words,” he explains.

Dream nods but says, "It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been so stupid and…I don’t want to hurt you ever again. I’m terrified but I don’t want to hurt you, Dream," he visibly shudders, shaking his head as he squeezes their intertwined hands. "Not you. Never you. You deserve so much—”

He squeezes his hand too, letting out a chuckle before kissing his forehead. “Baby, come on. You’re fine, we’re fine.”

George hugs him, burying his face on his chest. He still hears his next words as clear as day.

“I love you.”

He realizes then that he hadn't said those three words yet. Not like that. 

“Oh.”

George immediately sits up. 

“What do you mean, oh ? Fucking say it back, what’s wrong with you?” he says, looking so offended it brings a cackle out of him.

He takes him back in his arms, hovering above him and caging him in. He's so small in comparison that his body covers more than his entire length. 

“Georgie. I love you so much. So , so much.”

His blush reaches past his neck as he averts his gaze. 

“Okay, fine. I get it.”

Dream kisses both his cheeks, whispers against his skin, “So much.” 

George squirms but he stays pliant as he kisses his nose and forehead and even chin. He laughs at the last one. 

“You’re so corny.”

“You literally almost broke up with me because I didn’t react in time.”

George shakes his head. “I’d never.”

“Good. You’re not allowed to break up with me, like ever.”

His next words are nothing but a whisper, but Dream still catches them as he leans down to steal another kiss from him, 

"I'm never letting you go again."

The End