Chapter Text
He spends far too long staring at his phone, squinting at the brightness, unable to process who is calling. George's photo takes over his screen -- that same blurry image from years ago.
There's a small part of Dream that wants to deny the call. It would be so easy to ignore it -- to shut off his phone and just lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep once more.
It should be easy, Dream thinks. But it's not. Not in the way it should be.
He picks up the phone.
"Hey," Dream says. The line is quiet. After a few moments, Dream double checks his phone to make sure that he actually picked up George's call.
He had indeed picked up, but George was still silent. "Hello?" Dream asks.
"Hi," George says. He's quiet, to the point where Dream has to strain to hear him. Some part of George must be aware of this -- Dream hears him clear his throat before he speaks again.
"Hey Dream," George says. "I didn't think you would pick up."
I almost didn't, Dream thinks. That's what moving on feels like. The thoughts are bitter in a way that Dream knows is unfair to George.
That's not fair, Dream reasons. Hear him out. One last time.
"I'm sorry, I fell asleep," Dream says. He puts his hand on his chest, right over his heart, and he can feel it pounding. He does his best to keep his voice steady.
George doesn't respond. There is silence, for a bit, on the other side of the line, and for a moment Dream feels cruel. He remembers how last night, George had laid on this side of the bed. George had worn the shirt that Dream wore now. He feels a burning sensation of numbness in his chest.
His next words are as bitter as they are hollow. "Didn't sleep too well last night."
George doesn't verbally respond to this either. Dream is tempted to hang up. He feels an anger that he knows isn't fully justified.
You called me, Dream thinks. You couldn't speak to me when I was in front of you, and you still can't now.
Dream's thoughts are interrupted when he hears George sob. It's a choked sound, like he hadn't meant to make any noise, but it's obvious nonetheless. The hollow, burning sort of sad feeling nearly goes away, replaced with the kind of concern that Dream thought he had grown out of. He sits up.
"George?" Dream asks. He hears George try to take a breath, but it's shaky. "Are you crying?" he asks. His tone is far less gentle than he means for it to be, having been caught off guard, and part of him feels guilty for it.
"S-sorry," George says. His voice catches on the word, and Dream feels a physical ache in his chest.
"Give me a minute," George says. His voice nearly breaks. "Please don't leave."
Dream knows George. Dream knows him, no matter how hard he's tried to get rid of the memories of him.
He knows that when George is nervous, or thinking hard about something, he bites the inside of his cheek, and stares into the distance.
He knows that he has a sweet tooth, and his favorite cereal Cinnamon Toast Crunch. How he pretends to like his coffee black but is a sucker for a caramel macchiato.
He knows how he looks when he's asleep, curled in the bedsheets. How easy it is for George to let himself be held, how hard it is for George to let himself be loved.
What Dream knows, now, is that George is breaking. That this is too much. I know how that feels too, Georgie, he thinks. There's another sob, and it makes Dream ache.
"Hey," Dream says, and he sounds so soft. He actively tries to sound as comforting as possible. "It's okay."
"It's not," George says, almost immediately. "I'm sorry." His voice breaks. "I don't mean to be like this." The words tumble out quickly, desperately. Dream hears him sniffle. "Please don't leave. Please."
"Hey," Dream says. Dream's heart aches at the thought of George, alone, sobbing in his room. What makes it worse is that part of him knows that it's his fault that George is upset. For saying all of those things before dropping him off, for driving away, leaving George alone.
"I'm here," Dream says, and it tastes like a lie.
"You're not," George says, calling Dream's bluff. He sounds like he's hyperventilating. "You're not here."
"Hey," Dream says. He needs to stop panicking, he thinks. Needs to calm down a little before we can talk.
Usually, Dream would be the emotional one, whereas George was logical and collected. But this was different.
He doesn't need me to be emotional, Dream thinks. He needs me to be here. Pushing his emotions down, he speaks again.
"Deep breaths, Georgie," Dream says. He hears George try to take a few deep breaths, but they're panicky, shallow. After a moment, he hears George manage to take a deeper breath, though it is clear his breathing is still shaky.
"Where are you?" Dream asks. Ground him, Dream remembers. Make him feel less panicked.
"In my room," George answers.
"What does your room look like?" Dream asks. "I haven't seen it."
"There's crayon on the wall," George says. "I think the last person who lived here had kids. It's only on the lower half." Another shaky breath.
"What else?" Dream urges.
"I have stars on my ceiling," he says. "They glow."
"Glow?" Dream says, echoing him. Easy questions, he thinks to himself. Let him ramble.
"They glow in the dark," George says. "The light is off right now."
Another shaky breath. "I have a fan," George says. "It has clouds painted on it."
"Clouds?" Dream echoes again, letting George respond.
"Yeah," George responds. He sniffles again, but Dream can tell he's much calmer. "Fluffy ones."
Dream imagines this room, with its crayon scribbles and glow in the dark stars. He imagines George's in his bed, curled around his phone, tear tracks on his cheeks. The image makes him feel tender.
Dream imagines being able to hold him. To keep him warm, to let George cry into his shirt until nothing hurt anymore. To let George fall asleep in his arms, let him know he was safe.
"I'm cold," George says, interrupting Dream's thoughts.
"Put on a sweater," Dream says. He hears some rustling over the phone, like George is moving around.
"I did," George says. Dream hums, running a hand through his hair, laying back down on his bed. "It's your old one," George remarks, seemingly without thinking.
Dream imagines George in that old, oversized green sweater. He thinks of when he first gave it to George, how the sleeves were too long, how it hung off of his shoulders, engulfing him. The image makes Dream feel warm. He's silent for a moment. George misinterprets this as some sort of disapproval.
Dream can hear the panic in George's voice when he speaks. "I'm sorry, is that okay?"
"Yeah," Dream says, softly. He thinks of George again, in his sweater.
How lovely it is, Dream thinks, to have something to miss this much.
"That's alright, Georgie," Dream says, when George doesn't respond.
"I'm sorry," George says. He's still panicking, Dream thinks. As if I don't want him to look like he's mine.
"I can take it off if you want," George continues, frantically. "I don't mean to-"
"George," Dream says. "It's okay, I promise." Dream takes a deep breath.
This is how to never stop loving: have a beautiful boy on the phone with you, and don't fight the urge to be honest.
"I like keeping you warm," Dream says. A quiet falls between them. It's George who breaks it.
"Did you mean it?" George asks. He speaks softly, but Dream hears the hurt in his tone.
"Mean what?" Dream asks.
"The things you said," George says. There's a beat. "In your car."
Dream thinks of dropping George off -- of telling him everything he'd been wanting to say. I couldn't look at you, Dream thinks. If I were braver, maybe I would have been able to.
He remembers gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white, the sound of George getting out of the car. He remembers driving away and not looking back.
Dream thinks of the words he said: I don't know how to love like that anymore. Recklessly. Like no one would ever get hurt.
The truth within them burns. He thinks of the burning sort of sadness -- the kind of sadness he only felt when thinking of George. Of thinking what they used to be, of what he wanted them to become. What they couldn't become.
"Yes," Dream says. "I did."
"That hurts," George says.
"George-"
"You said you loved me," George interrupts. "You said that it's always me. That it's always been me."
"I did," Dream says, uncertain.
He thinks, once more, of the words he said. I keep reaching. I keep hoping you'll come back to me. But you won't. "That's true," he says.
"But that you don't anymore," George says, and Dream feels his heart drop.
"That's not what I meant," Dream counters. Of course it's you, he thinks. It's always you.
"You said-" George takes a shaky breath, and Dream feels any lingering bitterness fade. "You said you didn't know how anymore. That love was reckless. That you didn't know how to trust me anymore."
"I didn't mean it like that," Dream says. Love isn't reckless, he thinks. Maybe I'm reckless. But loving you isn't reckless.
"Then how did you mean it?" George asks. He sounds confused, but beneath it all, hurt. Dream sighs. He tries to think of what to say, but no words seem to be adequate enough. I don't want to hurt you, he thinks. But I think I already have.
"Dream?" George asks.
"I love you," Dream says, settling on stating the obvious. "I love you so much."
"You left me," George says. The bitterness in his tone is clear, and for a moment, Dream feels resentful.
You left me, he thinks. Two years ago. You left me. Did you look back?
"You left me first," Dream says, not fully thinking about it. He flinches at how harsh the words sound. After a moment, he apologizes. "I'm sorry, that's not fair."
"It's okay," George says. "It wasn't fair of me either." At his sad tone, Dream feels guilty. The feeling crawls up his throat, and he tears up. He's not sure if it's from sadness, anger, or frustration. Maybe none of them. Maybe all of them at once.
"I wanted to be brave, but I was cruel," Dream says. He keeps his voice steady, though he feels like crying. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you like that. But I needed to say all of that."
"I know," George says. There's a beat. "You're the bravest person I know."
That's a lie, Dream thinks. If I were braver, maybe you'd be mine. If I were enough, maybe you'd be mine.
"How could you say that?" Dream asks. "I'm definitely not."
"You are to me," George says. There's something genuine in his tone. He speaks softly, in a tone that Dream hasn't heard him use with anyone else. "You're everything to me."
Dream feels the tears running down his cheeks as George speaks. It's not a panicky sort of crying -- but a resigned one. One that ached.
"You weren't answering," George says. "I didn't think you were ever going to again."
"It's hard," Dream says. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his eyes, catching the tears that have yet to fall. He thinks of driving home, ignoring George's calls. "I'm sorry. I didn't know if I wanted to hear what you had to say."
"You didn't open my text," George says. It's not accusatory, just a statement of fact.
"Sorry," Dream says. "I was upset. I can read it now." Dream puts George on speaker. He moves to navigate to their messages, but stops when he hears George take a breath.
"Wait," George says. "I want to say it to you. Read it to you." Dream doesn't speak, but takes George off of speaker and brings his phone to his ear once more.
George takes a breath before reading.
"I was in love with you," he reads, "and I could still be." His voice hitches, slightly, but he continues to read. "I would love you, still, if you would let me."
Dream is silent for what he knows is an uncomfortable amount of time, trying to process what George has just told him.
He loves me, Dream thinks. In that way. He feels his heart pounding in his chest. I'm yours, and maybe you want to be mine. No, not maybe. You said you were in love with me. George is in love with me. Still.
After a few minutes of silence, George speaks again.
"I'm in love with you," George says. "Will you let me be?"
Dream is silent for a few seconds more. He wants to be mine. I'm yours, George, and you want to be mine. Dream feels himself smiling, still processing George's confession.
"Dream?" George asks. He sounds so small, and so afraid. Dream never wants him to feel afraid again. You're mine, he thinks.
"Of course," Dream says, and it's breathy. He's still in somewhat of a disbelief. "Of course, Georgie."
"I loved you," George says, the relief in his voice apparent. "I love you so much. I can't handle the thought of you not being in my life." He laughs, and Dream thinks that there is no better sound in the world. "Sapnap told me he thinks that we could make it work, this time."
"He told me the same thing," Dream says. He's smiling. "That we've learned how to be alone, so now we can choose not to be."
"When did he get so smart?" George asks.
"When did we get so dumb?" It's not that funny, but George laughs anyways. Dream chuckles with him. His cheeks almost hurt from how much he is smiling.
A silence falls between them. George is the one who breaks it.
"Do you want to try?" George asks. His voice is anxious, and Dream can hear the vulnerability in it. "To make it work?"
You can be vulnerable with me, Dream thinks. I'll be here. I'll take care of you.
"It's hard," Dream says. He speaks slowly, hoping his words come across as genuine as he feels. As loving as he feels. "But you're worth it."
You're worth everything, Dream thinks. You are everything.
"What if it doesn't work?" George asks, his voice so quiet that Dream almost has to strain to hear him. Dream hears him take a shaky breath.
"It's you, and it's me," Dream says. "And I know you, and you know me better than anyone. We'll make it work."
If there's anyone I know, it's you, he thinks. You, always you.
"It's scary. I don't want to lose you completely," George says. Dream hears the way George's voice nearly breaks, and he wants nothing more but to hold him, to stroke his hair and make sure George knows that he is loved. "Sorry, can I have a minute?"
"Don't cry," Dream says. He speaks quietly, as if his words are something tangible. Something precious for them to keep. "I don't want you to cry when I'm not there to help."
If I were there, I'd hold you. You could cry all you want, but you'd know I was there. For you. All for you.
"I'm trying," George says. He hiccups, then lets out a sob. Dream can tell he's trying not to cry, and his heart aches. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I'm trying. I can stop, just give me a minute."
"Georgie," Dream says. I'm not there with you now, Dream thinks, but I'm here for you. No matter where I am. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay to cry. I didn't mean that you shouldn't."
George is quiet, but every few seconds Dream can make out a soft sniffle.
"You don't have to go," Dream says. "I'm not going anywhere."
This seems to calm George, who takes a few breaths, calming himself down.
"Can you talk to me? Just for a little," George asks. "I wanna hear your voice."
"Of course," Dream says. He hears something rustling, like George is curling up in his bed. He thinks of George, asleep in the moonlight. Less sad in its soft glow.
Beautiful, Dream thinks.
"You know, you're really cute when you sleep," Dream starts with. "You look so sad, sometimes, and I don't think you mean to." He thinks of George, lying on his chest, refusing to meet his gaze.
"It's like, you get a faraway look in your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek," Dream explains.
"When you're sleeping, you look so calm," Dream says. He thinks of George, asleep on his chest, breaths even. How he clings to Dream like he never wants to let go. "You curl into me, and I get to hold you, and it's warm. I like keeping you warm," he continues. "You're wearing my hoodie now, and that's keeping you warm."
George honest-to-god giggles, and it makes Dream feel warm. "You're cheesy," he says.
"I don't think that's the right word," Dream responds. There's something teasing in his tone. "I'm protective, I think. I want to hold you so close that no one can take you away." His words are gentle and honest at the same time.
I've wanted to tell you this for so long, Dream thinks. I've wanted you for so long.
"The next time I see you, I'm going to do that. You can wear one of my hoodies, a newer one. We can order sushi and watch a movie. You can fall asleep on me, I'll keep you warm and be there when you wake up."
"You don't like sushi," George points out.
"No, but you do," Dream says. "I'll pick what we eat the time after," he says.
"How do you do that?" George asks. His tone is soft.
"Do what?" he asks.
"Say things like that so easily," he says. "You're always so good at making me feel warm inside."
"Well, I've thought about this a lot before," Dream says. "I think about you a lot."
"Keep talking," George says. "I like your voice." Dream feels his heart swell at how sweet George sounds. He hums, trying to think of what to say next.
His thoughts are interrupted when George speaks again. "Sapnap told me you were selling the house?" he asks.
"Yeah," Dream says. "I am."
He feels a strange sense of guilt at the question. No, he didn't need George's permission to sell the house, or Sapnap's for that matter, but it always felt like their house. The Dream Team house. Where things started, and where things ended.
"Sorry," Dream says. "I should have told you." He thinks of the day that they moved in, and the day that George moved out. I've been here, alone, and it's terribly lonely, sometimes, Dream thinks.
"It's just too big -- I can't justify staying here. One person with so many empty rooms is kind of depressing," Dream explains.
"It's alright," George says. "You don't need my permission." There's a beat, before Dream continues.
"Sapnap's moving back to Texas," Dream says.
"Yeah," George says.
"I'm planning on letting him take some of the furniture from here. It's good timing, there's a lot of stuff here that I don't need." Dream remembers making the same offer to George when he had moved out. George had denied him.
Remembering this didn't make Dream feel bitter, as it once had. Resigned, maybe. Time to grow up, he thinks.
"He says that when he's fully moved in, we should go visit him," Dream says.
"If we do, you're going to have to drive," George says. "I'll feed you snacks." Dream smiles.
"You should get your license Georgie," he says. "That way, you could visit me."
"Maybe," he says. "You'll always come if I ask you too, though." Dream laughs at this, and he hears George let out a giggle.
"I'm taking a break from YouTube as well," Dream says. George hums. "As soon as our video is posted, I'm going to make an announcement."
"How long?" he asks.
"I'm not too sure yet," Dream says. "I'm not giving myself a set time. As long as I need. I haven't taken time off in a really long time."
"Are you going back to it?" George asks.
"I'm not quitting. I'm setting it aside. I'll come back to it," Dream says. He ponders for a moment, then smiles. "When you love something, you come back to it."
"Yeah," George says. "I know what you mean."
"It's going to be tough," Dream says. He sighs. He's not looking forward to the next few weeks, sure to be full of all the stress that comes with selling a home and looking for a new one. "I need to figure out buyers and stuff, but also go house hunting. I don't even really have a set idea of where I want to be."
I need to make a list of things I want in a new house, Dream thinks. I don't even know fully what I need.
"That sounds like a lot," George says.
"Yeah," Dream says. He runs his hand through his hair, stressed. "It's a lot at once."
George is silent for a while, and Dream tries to sort through what he needs to do, get a rough mental list of tasks for the next few days.
"Hey Dream?" George asks. He sounds apprehensive, and it makes Dream feel nervous.
"Yeah?" Dream responds.
He hears George take a deep breath. "Do you want to move in with me?"
Dream feels his brain malfunction at the question. It takes him a minute to process what George has just asked. He knows the answer almost immediately. Of course, George, he thinks. I would love nothing more. But before he can vocalize this, George speaks again.
"I mean, it's not much, but it's mine," George says. His words are rapid, like he's second-guessing himself. "Well, I mean it's not mine, I still rent, and it's a bit of a mess-"
"George," Dream says, smiling at his rambling.
"It would probably be less stressful if you had somewhere to go," George continues.
"George-"
"I know that you didn't want to come with me last time, but I want to make this work," George says. Dream smiles at this, at the implications of those words.
I want to make this work too, George.
"George, I'd love to," Dream says.
"Really?" George asks. His tone is breathy, like he doesn't dare to believe it.
"Of course," Dream says. "I'd love to." George laughs, and Dream thinks he falls in love again.
"I'm sorry, it's not a good place to be for filming," George remarks. "It's a one bedroom, and the walls are kind of thin."
"Then I can stay, while we find a new place," Dream says. He's smiling, and he's sure that George can tell. "I think that's a good enough reason for a really long break."
"We?" George asks.
"We," Dream affirms. He's suddenly so certain of what comes next. He hasn't felt this sure of anything in a while, honestly. "We could look for someplace to buy together. It won't be as big as the last place, but we could make it work. A forever home."
He pauses, for a moment, hesitating at George's silence. "If you want that, of course."
"Yeah," George says, and he sounds breathless. "I'd like that."
"Okay," Dream says. "Then that's what we will do."
A forever home, Dream thinks. Me and you, Georgie. Just you and me.
"Dream," George says. He sounds apprehensive, afraid. "Do you want to be mine?"
"I am. You have me," Dream says. He doesn't fully process what George is asking, more focused on reassuring him. "All of me."
"I mean," George stutters, for a moment, and Dream is confused. "Like, do you want to like, be my-" he struggles to find the words.
Suddenly, what George is trying to ask him clicks, and Dream can't stop himself from laughing.
"Dream, don't make fun of me," George says, fully embarrassed.
Dream laughs harder. After all this, and you're having trouble asking me out?
"You're so cute," Dream says, his tone teasing. "Are you blushing right now?"
"Shut up," George whines. "This is embarrassing." Dream can picture him now, cheeks red, flustered. Adorable.
"You slept in my arms last night, and the night before. You wore my clothes, and you're wearing my hoodie right now," Dream says, listing everything. You really think we're going to be just friends after all this?
"You offered to let me move in with you, and I just said that I wanted to buy a house with you -- I literally said forever home." Dream laughs again. "And you're blushing over the thought of asking me to be your boyfriend?"
"Stop it," George says, but Dream hears him laugh. "Stop teasing me."
"Oh baby," Dream says. "You're so cute when I tease you."
"You didn't even answer," George says, trying to divert the conversation.
"You didn't finish the question," Dream teases.
"Dream," George whines. "Don't tease."
"Of course I'll be yours," Dream says. As if I was ever anything else. He laughs. "You're so cute when you blush."
"You can't even see me," George says.
"I don't have to," Dream responds. He can picture George in his bed, smiling, but flustered nonetheless. "I can hear it in your voice."
"Stop teasing," George says, his smile clear in his voice.
For a moment, Dream feels cheeky.
"You can tease me as much as you want when I ask you to marry me," Dream says, biting back his laughter.
"What was that?" George asks, seemingly taken aback. Dream nearly bursts into laughter, but manages to refrain.
"Nothing," Dream says, grinning like a maniac. "Nothing at all."
"You're an idiot," George says, but he sounds so soft.
"Your idiot," Dream says. He smiles. George yawns.
"It's getting late, and I have work tomorrow," George says. Dream glances at the time. It is getting quite late. "I shouldn't miss it, I took Monday off last week."
"That's alright Georgie," Dream says. "Call me after work?"
"Yeah," George says, "I will." Dream smiles, the promise of speaking to George again so soon making him feel happier than he'd been in a while. "When can I see you again?"
"Next weekend, I'll drive down and pick you up," Dream says. "And every weekend after that."
"That's a lot of gas money," George points out.
"I don't care," Dream says.
"Dream-"
"If you want to split the cost, we can alternate weekends," Dream says. "It will be for two months, three months, at most. Then I move to you, and then we look for a new place."
A new place, Dream thinks. His heart swells. Our place. Forever home.
"Sapnap will be there too," Dream says, already excited about seeing George next week. "Until we both move."
"Alright," George agrees. "I'll see you then."
"I'll see you then," Dream echoes. He smiles. "Goodnight George," he says. "I love you."
"I love you too," George says. "Sleep well." He hangs up, leaving Dream in his bed.
Dream stares at his ceiling for a few moments after, processing. He smiles, then turns over, pressing his face into the pillow, laughing. It's the happiest he's felt in a very long time.