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Dream is in love with his best friend. Has been, for quite a while, even if he was a bit slow to realize it. And now, after months of waiting to meet, more months spent adjusting to being in person, and a late-night confession, he’s still hopelessly in love with his best friend, who is also his boyfriend.
He has a love-hate relationship with that word, boyfriend. When he’d just been on the verge of figuring himself out, it had scared him. Too many hours of sleepless nights of playing out scenarios in his head, realities where his romantic partner wasn’t a girl like he’d always been told they would be, always a dark-haired figure taking the place of the imagined male partner.
And when acceptance had come, there had only been one person he wanted to talk to about it. And when a teasing British voice had said the word over a never-ending Discord call, it had been freeing. Easy acceptance, no change in their dynamic.
And on the night of their confession, an earnest conversation following a kiss that had been the slowly built product of a lifetime of tension, the word hadn’t seemed enough.
George had been his partner for years. They were a team in many ways, filling in where the other fell short, always lending an ear or offering just the right words. And to Dream, romance was a natural extension of that. It was so them, to be partners in every possible way.
So when George asked what they were, Dream had hesitated. Did their label need to change? Was what they were something that anyone but them could understand? He didn’t know, but he knew who he could talk to about it.
“What do you think we are?” he whispers, not wanting to break the calm of the night as he parrots George’s question back to him. They’re both laying in Dream’s bed, facing each other and close enough that their breaths collide above the pillows.
George smiles softly and Dream wants to touch the crinkles that form at the corners of his eyes. “I asked you first, idiot,” he teases. “But if you have to know, I guess we could be boyfriends.”
The word. Dream’s not sure how he reacts, but judging by the way George’s mouth quirks, he must be making a face. “You think?” he asks, careful. He’s wary of the feelings twisting his stomach, unsure of their true origins.
“Well,” George starts, eyes meeting Dream’s and holding the contact, “You like me, and I guess you’re alright so, what else would we be?”
Dream rolls his eyes at George’s ridiculousness, even as a warm fondness chases away his prior worries. “Boyfriends,” he says, tasting the word on his tongue. It fizzes, like a strange candy, and he can’t say he hates it. “You’re my boyfriend. George is my boyfriend, Dream is George’s boyfriend.”
“Mine,” George mutters, and there is a brightness in his eyes that Dream isn’t used to that’s absolutely intoxicating.
And it hits Dream with another realization. “Are we going to… Tell people?” he asks.
“Do you want to? And you aren’t allowed to ask for my answer.”
“I- no, I don’t think we should.” Dream sighs. “I mean- obviously we tell like, Sapnap and Bad, but not-”
George cuts him off, “Only the people who need to know. And everyone who doesn’t can fuck off.”
“Well I wouldn’t say it like that, but-” and he’s cut off again, this time by George moving forward.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow Dreamie,” and his proximity combined with the pet name are enough to completely remove any thoughts that aren’t just the name of the man whose lips are brushing against his as they both lean in.
And they do talk about it more, after that. They take their time, telling people carefully and explaining that they aren’t exactly telling everyone, so keep it quiet.
Sapnap is unreasonably happy, then tries to give both of them the shovel talk in defense of the other. It ends with the three of them cuddled on the couch, Sapnap insisting on being in the middle since he’s sure the two of them are getting enough time together.
Bad cries, and then comes to visit a few days later so he can cry some more and hug them both. Dream cries too, and he doesn’t miss how George ducks his head to hide his own misty eyes.
There are more people after that, but soon enough everyone who deserves or needs to know does, and then Dream has to deal with the hard part, which is holding himself back from bragging to everyone he meets that he’s dating the most beautiful, funny, and ridiculous man in existence.
It becomes a problem when he finds himself wanting to lead every conversation down the route of bragging about George, complimenting him to every stranger he sparks up a conversation with. His sister tells him to get a diary when he comes to her one to many times, so he opens a note on his phone just to store every George-related thought he has.
Depending on his level of intoxication, and the amount of time he’s been physically away from the man in question, the notes get more and more nonsensical. Some of them are so dirty he deletes them instantly, or sends them to George to laugh about. Some are sickeningly sweet, even for him, and he also sends those to George just to giggle at the mix of swooning and disgusted emojis he gets in response.
In the end, he forgoes the idea of the notes and just sends everything straight to George. It’s fun for both of them, and it keeps Dream from exposing their relationship to the masses.
And for a while, he doesn’t even think to consider that George has a similar problem. He knows George, adores him for all the ways he shows his love, but still he misses all the signs.
When they’re apart, whether it be on opposite coasts or just in different rooms, George will always make a joke when they reunite. Some variation of what he’d said on that first day they’d met, ‘Wow, Dream, you look like a god with your unedited video and three energy drink cans behind you,’ or simply holding up his phone to show a timer he’d started the moment they separated, and a number of other absurd little George-isms that Dream cherishes.
It only comes to a head when they’re in a jewelry shop, admiring the gold and silver on display in glass cases.
Dream trails a finger over the chain around his neck, something nice he had bought for himself just before the face reveal. He’s looking at a different chain, with George hovering behind his shoulder.
“Do you think I should get a new one? Cause honestly, I didn’t know much about jewelry when I bought this one, and I don’t think I like it as much as I like some of these,” Dream muses, pinching the chain between his fingers as he talks.
George hums, and Dream tries to get the attention of the girl behind the counter as he waits for a response. “I mean, it’s not like you couldn’t afford it.”
Dream laughs, “But that’s not why I wouldn’t get it- it just feels, I don’t know, wasteful to replace a chain that’s not even broken. Like there’s nothing wrong with it-”
“You could give it to me,” George says, speaking fast, then shrugging.
“You want my old chain?” Dream asks, a little breathless. George wearing his jewelry, wearing something that was his, is a breathtaking image.
“It would be like,” George hesitates, taking a breath, “having a part of you when we’re apart. And it’s like- like a ring, sort of.”
Dream turns to face him, and resisting the urge to pull him into a searing kiss takes every ounce of self-control he has. “Yes, yes you can have it.” He’s breathing hard, and he quickly turns away to focus entirely on waving someone over to get the chain he wants out of the case so him and George can get out of there as soon as possible.
They could have charged him any price for the new chain and Dream wouldn’t have noticed, too caught up in the euphoria of George’s request. As soon as they’re in the car, he’s reaching for the chain around his neck, fingers fumbling as his hands shake with giddiness.
“Oh my god- just let me do it, idiot,” George says after letting him struggle for a few moments. His hands are cold as they push Dream’s aside and brush against his neck, deftly unhooking the clasp.
He moves the chain towards his own neck, and Dream quickly hooks a finger through the dangling metal, stopping him. “Let me,” he asks, pleading with his eyes when they meet George’s.
George blushes. “How are you going to put it on me if you couldn’t even get it off?” he teases, even as he turns in the car seat, pulling his hair away from his neck.
Luckily, Dream’s shakiness seems to have dispersed with the newfound sense of purpose, and he’s deliberate with his movements as maneuvers the chain to loop around the front of George’s neck so he can clasp it in the back. He feels the way George exhales when Dream’s hand brushes against the stubble on his chin, and watches as his shoulders relax when the chain falls into place.
It looks good, and Dream curses himself for not thinking of it sooner.
George turns back around, reaching for the bag in Dream’s lap. “Now let me do yours,” and it's not a question as much as it's a promise, so Dream lets him.
And when they get home later, Dream delights in watching as George pulls his shirt off and the chain sparkles in the low light of his bedroom, falling against bare pale skin. It looks like it was meant to be there, nestled over his collarbones.
Dream takes his own shirt off, and George’s gaze burns against his skin, along his neck, and knows he feels the same.
When George leans over him, the chain dangles directly over Dream’s eyes, and he’s sure he must be a sight with the way his mouth opens in awe, the way his eyes are wide with wonder.
It’s a wonderful thing, to know George is his. And it’s near incomprehensible to know that George feels the same, that same possessive need to have a dedication to their partnership for the whole world to see.