Chapter Text
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Clay was twelve when he first realized he was in love with George.
It wasn’t a heavy revelation or a punch in the face.
It was an easy and simple acknowledgment of feelings that left him with a soft smile and a quickly beating heart.
He first understood what he felt for George the night the brunet had first stayed over at his house.
Seeing George, guarded and tough, show Clay his most vulnerable state felt intriguing and beguiling. Clay didn’t exactly mind the head-spinning effect George had on him. In fact, he was hypnotized by it.
Clay was twelve, and there was a boy laying his head on his chest.
Clay was twelve, and he loved George.
He loved George, and that was enough for him.
_________________
Clay was thirteen when George began regularly calling him Dream.
Quickly, he found himself preferring ‘Dream’ over his own name.
It wasn’t the word itself, rather, but how George said it. It was the soft way he’d pronounce the consonants, the small smile he’d adorn every time he consciously realized he was calling Clay - Dream - that.
Dream was thirteen when he first began calling himself Dream, as well.
He’d find himself accidentally writing “Dream,” under the name section of his assignments, embarrassedly crossing out the pencil marks representing George’s nickname for him.
Still, he repeated to himself, it was George’s name for him .
George was special to him, and thus so was “Dream.”
Sometimes, when he accidentally wrote “Dream,” on his assignments, he couldn’t find it in himself to cross it out.
_________________
Dream was fourteen when he first got a girlfriend.
“Why’d you say yes if you don’t even like her?” his friend, Sapnap, had asked him over lunch one day.
“Honestly,” Dream began, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “I don’t know. Maeve is my friend, so I guess I didn’t want to make it awkward between us and say no.”
“What, so you think pretending to like her is less awkward than letting her down easy?” Sapnap challenged light-heartedly between mouthfuls of cafeteria food.
Dream rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“How’s George taking the news?” Sapnap asked, fork sifting through his salad as his gaze was looking downwards.
Clay cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“The news of you having a girlfriend, I mean,” Sapnap said with a shrug. “He’s gonna be pissed he doesn’t have your attention 24/7 now,” he joked, laughter tracing his words.
Dream chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure he’s chill with it.”
George, apparently, was not chill with it.
Hearing he didn’t like Maeve, however, wasn’t exactly a disappointment to Dream. Instead, it gave Dream a valid reason to break up with her. Or, as valid of a reason as “I’m sorry, but I trust George’s instincts,” is.
The day Dream had broken up with Maeve, he had relayed the news to Sapnap.
“Why?” Sapnap had asked, brow furrowed and tone unreadable.
Dream shrugged. “I don’t know. George had told me he didn’t like her, and George knows me better than anyone. I figured, if he didn’t like her, she wasn’t for me.”
This answer, apparently, only confused Sapnap further. “Dude,” he began with an awkward laugh. “So, let me get this straight: George says offhandedly he doesn’t like Maeve, and suddenly you break up with her just like that?”
Dream nodded. “Just like that.”
This elicited a light-hearted scoff from Sapnap. “Dude, what is it with you two?”
Dream could only look at Sapnap with a confused expression in response. Sapnap apparently took this as an incentive to continue.
“First, George calls you ‘Dreamy’ or some shit while we were talking about you, and now suddenly you’re letting him decide who you date?” Sapnap exclaimed, voice borderline accusatory.
Dream sighed, low and melodramatic. He didn’t dare reply. He didn’t know what he would say if he did.
“Clay,” Sapnap started, tone softening. The chestnut-haired boy placed a supportive hand on Dream’s shoulder. “You can talk to me, dude. We’re best friends.”
Dream closed his eyes, relaxing into the touch of his friend.
“Okay, I’ll tell you the truth.”
Dream was fourteen when he first told someone about his feelings for George.
_________________
Dream was sixteen when George first got a girlfriend.
Needless to say, he wasn’t exactly fond of her.
George would bring Clara to his football practices, her wide smile mocking Dream from across the football field while the couple sat in the stands.
Dream would instinctively play better when Clara was there; if George was preoccupied with his girlfriend, the least Dream could do was give him something more interesting and more impressive to pay attention to instead.
The inconvenience of Clara, however, seemed to be fairly short-lived.
Dream was at football practice, eerily aware of Clara’s presence in the stands.
Usually, he would just cope by playing a bit too over aggressively, but something about today pushed Dream over the edge.
He began scrimmaging with his team, trying his best to dodge and weave away from other players.
One of his teammates passed Dream the ball, and as he headed towards the end zone, his head clouded with the image of George and Clara together. This inadvertent thought forced Dream to let his guard down, creating an opening for a member of the opposing team to tackle him to the ground.
The fall wasn’t all that bad - Dream had suffered far worse - but it was painful enough that a searing twinge shot through his left leg.
He headed towards the locker room, and despite having just injured himself, the most prominent pain in his body was the buzzing ache in his head from seeing George with a girlfriend.
Dream turned towards the wall, trying and failing to stop faint salty tears from falling from his eyes. His face was burning, the culmination of years of feelings manifesting themselves in a current state of overbearing pain.
Dream almost jumped at the sound of the locker room door opening and closing.
“Dream! Are you okay?”
George.
Dream turned around without a thought, eternally grateful as George toppled into him in an embrace.
The two remained like that for a while, George muttering soft reminders he was here for Dream and Dream, in response, promising he was okay.
He wasn’t, and it was clear that George could see it, but Dream wasn’t in the mood to confess his love for the boy while crying in the boy’s locker room.
The comfort of being in George’s arms was abruptly interrupted by George’s girlfriend.
Dream’s head instinctively blocked her out, only hearing muffled yells directed at George. That alone made Dream clench his fists in aggression.
When she finally stormed off, Dream swallowed his pride and urged George to follow her.
Thankfully, George didn’t listen, simply reassuming his spot in embracing Dream.
Dream was sixteen when he let himself hope for a moment that George felt the same way.
When George was at Dream’s house and he got the call from Clara saying she was breaking up with him, it took everything in Dream to hold back a selfish smile.
Dream was still sixteen when he won his football game.
George was in the stands, and whenever he had the chance, Dream would steal a glance to grin at him. Luckily enough, the brunette always seemed to already be gazing back.
When the game eventually finished, Dream had opened his arms for George to jump into. Thankfully, George did.
He was light, most likely due to his smaller build, leaving Dream to almost pick George up in his victory embrace.
Dream wouldn’t outwardly say it, but God did he find it cute.
Dream eventually went to talk to his other friends, namely Quackity and Karl, who were already staring at the two with a look he couldn’t exactly place.
When Dream went to turn back to George, however, his face quickly morphed from a grin into something much darker.
His skin looked paler, and his eyes were wide with what Dream knew was fear.
Before Dream could ask him what was wrong, the brunette had already begun running away. Of course, Dream followed.
He called out George’s name as he followed him off of the field, but the brunette was, apparently, in the mood to be stubborn.
He wouldn’t turn away- wouldn’t stop .
Part of Dream wondered if he went too far.
Maybe, he made him uncomfortable.
Maybe, probably , he was incorrect about the feelings being reciprocative.
Dream was beginning to tire following George, the exhaustion from his game building up with the breathlessness he was quickly obtaining following the sprinting brunette. Luckily, George’s pace seemed to be slowing as well.
He stopped.
Dream caught up with him.
“George!” he exclaimed once again as he caught his breath, now a foot away from where the brunette was doing the same. “What the hell happened?”
George simply shook his head, chest practically heaving. “Please, don’t do this.”
Clay’s brow furrowed as a twinge of hurt struck his chest. “Do what?”
“Just, everything!” George practically shouted, almost as if it was louder than he meant it to be. “The stupid winks, the too-long hugs, the smiles! It’s all too much.”
Oh.
Oh.
Dream didn’t know what to say, words practically stammering. “I didn’t mean, I’m sorry, I thought-”
“I’m sick of all of this. Just leave it alone, Clay.”
Clay .
Dream was sixteen when he lost hope of George liking him.
_________________
Dream was seventeen.
For the first time since he was eight, George was no longer a constant in his life. In fact, he was barely even a part of it.
He’d sometimes see him in the halls, the brunette immediately averting his eyes if Dream even so much as glanced at him. Ever since the night on the football field, there had been practically radio silence between the two.
Dream took to hanging out more with Sapnap instead, and on occasion Quackity and Karl. The awkwardness of sharing mutual friends with George was not lost on him.
Overall, though, he began keeping to himself more. The only person he wanted to hang out with wasn’t an option, after all.
He took to talking to random girls to try to get his mind off of George. It never really worked. Nothing lasted, the feeling of George in Dream’s arms a searing memory that created unbeatable expectations for anyone else.
One Friday, during lunch, his friend came up with a proposition.
“Clay, come on, it’ll be fun!” Karl urged, pulling on the sleeve of Dream’s evergreen woolen sweater to heighten the effect.
Still, Dream shook his head. “I have shit to do tonight, Karl. I can’t sleep over with you, Q, and Sap.”
“Oh, really? What exactly is this stuff you have to do then?” Karl challenged, prompting an eye roll from the blonde.
“Football practice,” Clay offered, a blatant lie. Apparently, that wasn’t incredibly convincing.
Karl looked at him with an unamused glare. “Sapnap is literally on the football team and this was his idea, Dream. You’re not slick.”
Dream raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I still don’t get why you’re so adamant that I go, though.”
Karl’s face, for a moment, seemed to almost redden. He was clearly hiding something, but still, Dream listened attentively. “We just want to hang out with you, dude. It’s like you’ve been avoiding everyone since… well, you know.”
He did know. He was internally thanking Karl for not saying his name. Dream knew if he did, he would’ve started crying on the spot.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Dream conceded. “Why the hell not.”
“Let's go!” Karl exclaimed, jokingly pumping his fist up into the air. “Sapnap and Quackity are gonna be so stoked.”
Dream shook his head. “I doubt they cared that much that I’m going to this.”
Karl swatted him on the forehead light-heartedly. “Shut up. We miss you, dude, Sapnap most of all. He’s been practically moping around ever since you decided to become an introvert overnight.”
A twinge of guilt burst in Dream’s chest. “Shit, Karl, I didn’t know-”
Karl waved him off. “Don’t worry, it isn’t your fault. We don’t know exactly what happened with… that … but we could tell it hit you hard.”
“Hitting him hard” was an understatement.
Still, he was grateful for the forgiving nature of his friends all the same. “Thanks, dude.”
“‘Course.”
It was later that day when Dream pulled up into Karl’s driveway.
He rang the doorbell expectedly, Sapnap’s face greeting him with a grin as the door swung open.
“Clay, you made it!” he exclaimed, beaming.
“Karl was very persuasive,” Dream joked in return, entering through the threshold of the doorway.
Dream joined where the other three boys were now situated on Karl’s living room couch, him walking in on a heated conversation between Quackity and Karl about whether orange juice or apple juice is better.
“Orange juice tastes like ass , dude,” Quackity chided, Karl rolling his eyes.
“Admitting you like apple juice? You might as well admit you have-”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Quackity interrupted.
“Watch me.”
Dream joined their argument, eventually siding with Karl, when a rattling noise was audible from the hallway over. A voice spoke up, Dream’s eyes immediately darting to the sound.
“I was using the bathroom when I heard the doorbell. Who was it?”
The voice was all-too-familiar.
Dream turned to see who the voice belonged to, even though he was already well aware.
“George?” he exclaimed instinctively, the brunette’s gaze immediately jerking to where he was situated.
“What the hell?” he yelled in response. “Why are you here?” George quickly turned to Karl. “Why is he here?”
Dream turned to Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap for an answer, but the boys remained silent.
“I wasn’t told you were going to be here,” Dream pointed out.
“ That much is mutual.” George’s tone sounded almost fearful, and his arms were crossed in a similar fashion.
George scoffed. “Can someone explain this, please?”
Clay turned to Sapnap as the boy cleared his throat. “You two just, like, stopped fucking talking out of the blue!”
“We thought maybe we could somehow have some sort of intervention between you two,” Quackity added.
“I don’t need some fucking exposure therapy to fix what happened between us two,” George retorted almost solemnly, more towards Dream than towards anyone else.
“Nothing even ‘happened between us two’,” Dream chided, words feeling like venom on his tongue and even more poisonous once he spoke them. “George just decided one day he fucking hated me.”
“You know that is a fucking lie,” George challenged.
“Oh, yeah? Because it sure as hell seems like the truth.”
Dream turned to the other three, whose faces all showed the same expression of concern and surprise.
“I think we’ll leave you two to talk,” Quackity muttered, ushering the other two to follow him into another room.
Sapnap and Karl followed suit, leaving Dream and George alone with paralleled disinterested looks.
“Eight years,” Dream began.
“We were friends for eight years, and one day you just decided to fucking drop me with no warning?”
George shook his head from across the room. “Fuck you if you think that’s what happened.”
“Then what happened, George? I would love to fucking know.”
Honestly, Dream was angry .
Angry at himself in part.
Angry at Sapnap, Quackity, and Karl as well.
But mostly, angry at George. George ruined him, and just as he left Dream with a sliver of hope, he ripped it away and left Dream with nothing but fucked-up expectations.
George cleared his throat. “You’ll hate me.”
Dream was close to yelling now. “Nothing can get worse between us than now, anyways.”
“I don’t know how to say it!” George responded, the same volume.
“Then please, George, try!”
“I fucking fell for you, okay! Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Oh.
Oh .
“What?” he responded, his volume decreasing tenfold, as if he must’ve heard George incorrectly.
“Don’t joke with me, Clay, not right now. I lost control, and I wish I never fucking did. Maybe if I could’ve learned to suppress shit, we would’ve stayed friends.”
Dream instinctively groaned, face in hands. “My God, you are such an idiot.”
George scoffed. “An idiot ? For shit I can’t control ? Glad to know you think so highly of me.”
Dream inadvertently walked closer to George. “No, you actual dumbass .”
“Then, what!” George spat.
“There’s nothing to suppress, George,” Dream stated, as if it was obvious.
“I don’t follow,” George responded, although his tone had lost some of its previous aggression.
“George, do you really think that, after eight fucking years of friendship, I would hate you for liking me?” Dream’s voice was almost strained as he continued talking.
George shrugged in what looked like chagrin. “I don’t know . How else would you have even responded?”
Dream rolled his eyes. It was as if George was trying not to understand. So, Dream decided to lay it all out on the line. There was no way it could get worse .
“George,” Dream said with a sigh. “I have been in love with you since we were fucking twelve years old.”
Dream watched as George’s eyes snapped open, and in a matter of seconds, water began pooling in them.
“Don’t fucking say that,” George said, tone sounding almost disappointed.
“What?” Dream questioned, brow furrowed.
“Don’t tell me that. Don’t,” the brunette practically pleaded.
“Why?” Dream queried again, continuing to be confused by the brunette’s vague responses.
“Because,” George choked out, voice broken, “then it’ll be my fault that things are fucking ruined between us.”
Dream shook his head.
The last time he had seen George this vulnerable was the night on the field.
Before that, it was when George had shown him his scar.
And, before that, was when George had fallen off of the climbing wall.
It seemed like the ground under George was constantly being ripped away from under him.
Dream felt himself place his hand on George’s shoulder instinctively. George seemed to tense at the touch, but he didn’t move away.
“Things don’t have to be ruined between us, George,” Dream said softly.
“I fucked it all up,” George responded, not meeting Dream’s gaze.
“I don’t care,” Dream countered, and honestly, it was the truth.
“I said so many fucked up things,” George chided, eyes still landing anywhere but on Dream’s.
“Who gives a shit, George,” Dream said, now taking his unoccupied hand to lightly hold George’s chin and move it up slightly so he was meeting Dream’s gaze.
“I’m so sorry, Dream,” he said softly, brown eyes watery and shining.
Dream. Not Clay.
“Can I hug you?” Dream whispered in response, voice almost cracking.
George merely nodded before Dream collapsed into him.
He settled his face into George’s hair as George’s face sat comfortably on his chest.
“I missed this so much,” Dream said into George’s hair, slightly muffled.
“I’m so sorry,” George almost sobbed into Dream’s chest, sniffling audibly. “I left you for a year . A year , with no explanation.”
“We can deal with all that later, George,” Dream responded. “Let’s just enjoy this for a second.”
George nuzzled further into Dream’s grasp, and they stood there in silence for a long while.
“Should we wake them up?”
“Shut up, Karl. This is the closest they’ve been in like ten months.”
Dream’s eyes fluttered open at the muffled sounds of his friends’ bickering.
Upon drifting more into consciousness, Dream realized he had somehow ended up on the couch.
George, apparently, had too.
The brunette’s head was lying comfortably on Dream’s chest, the blonde’s arm draped over his waist as the smaller of the two was practically on top of him.
“What time is it?” Dream whispered to the three, not loud enough to wake the boy sleeping peacefully on top of him.
“It’s literally only ten PM. You guys have been asleep on the couch for like an hour,” Karl responded, not having the same care to speak quietly. At Karl’s loud response, George soon began stirring under Dream’s grasp.
“George,” Dream whispered to the brunette, “wake up.”
George began shifting, sitting up slightly. Dream internally missed the warmth of the boy.
It looked as if George had finally grasped the position he and Dream were in when a boyish grin found itself onto the brunette’s face. “I missed this,” George said softly.
“Same, idiot,” Dream responded, picking his hand up to rustle the brunette’s hair.
Dream turned at the sound of the noise as Sapnap awkwardly cleared his throat. “As much as I enjoy having the opportunity to third-wheel after a year, we kinda had some things we wanted to do tonight.”
“Namely, truth or dare,” Quackity interjected.
Dream chuckled as he and George began untangling themselves from the couch. “Let the games begin.”
Dream was seventeen when George’s scar had finally faded.
“George, truth or dare?” Dream asked, grinning mischievously at the boy.
George looked to the side, stroking his chin in feigned contemplation. “Hmm, how about dare?”
Dream thought for a moment, trying to decide on a substantial dare that would be meaningful after almost a year of reticence between the two.
“I dare you,” Dream began, trying to sound as sly as possible while staring at George’s face to gauge his expression, “to show me your craziest scar.”
At this, George’s face softened from a curious grin to a soft smile.
Vaguely, Dream could make out Quackity asking Karl and Sapnap, “is this question an inside joke or something, or…”
Dream watched as George shifted towards him more, pulling up the side of his shirt.
The long and thin scar that had once been there from the rock wall had gone.
Dream instinctively ran his finger over the exposed skin where the scar used to subsist.
“It’s gone,” the blonde whispered softly, not bothering to move his hand.
“Yeah,” George said with a nod and a slight giggle. “Took long enough.”
Dream now ran his thumb over the skin, George visibly relaxing under the touch.
“I missed this,” Dream muttered, mostly to himself.
“I missed you,” George said matter-of-factly.
A loud clearing of a throat startled Dream out of his situation. “Alright,” Quackity interrupted, “as cute as this symbolic bullshit is, I personally would like to continue playing truth or dare.”
“Ok Quackity,” Dream challenged with a smirk, “truth or dare?”
“Dare, obviously,” the boy replied.
“I dare you to give me your mom’s number, idiot,” Karl chimed in, hand outstretched holding his phone and a chorus of laughter following.
“Absolutely not.”
“You have to,” Dream added, a finger pointed in protest. “It’s the rules, after all.”
“Fine,” Quackity groaned, rolling his eyes and typing out his mother’s number into Karl’s phone.
“I will be abusing this, by the way,” Karl stated, giggling.
“Absolutely not, fucker.”
“Alright,” Sapnap interrupted, “Dream, truth or dare?”
“Truth, I guess,” Dream said with a shrug, Quackity yelling “pussy!” following shortly.
“Okay, truth,” Sapnap began. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Way to be corny, Sapnap, Jesus,” Quackity joked.
At the question, however, Dream’s gaze instinctively shifted to look at George.
“I don’t think you can necessarily ‘fall in love’ just by looking at someone,” Dream answered, definitely not shifting closer to George inadvertently while speaking, “but I think you can see them and just know . Like, you can see them and realize, ‘one day, I might love this person.’”
“Is that how you feel about me?” Sapnap yelled jokingly, Dream flicking him in the forehead in response.
Dream, however, could hear George faintly muttering “good to know,” under his breath after Dream answered.
It was a day later when Dream asked George to come over to his house for the first time in almost a year.
George, thankfully, said yes.
The two were now seated hip-to-hip on Dream’s bed, George’s head resting on Dream’s shoulder comfortably.
“Can I ask you something?” Dream asked George quietly, not wanting to overstep.
“Go ahead,” the boy responded immediately, clearly knowing where this conversation was headed.
“I still just don’t get why you thought completely ignoring me was better than just telling me the truth, George. You know I wouldn’t have cared.”
“I know,” George agreed defeatedly, “but I just couldn’t .”
“Why?” Dream asked, placing his hand on George’s thigh supportively.
“I don’t know,” George began, placing his hand next to where Dream’s was situated. “I think it stems from when I was a kid. Everyone fucking taunted me, as if I was their personal plaything to toy with. They always just made me feel so, I don’t know, insignificant.”
Dream let his pinkie finger graze over George’s, linking the two. “George, you know I never would’ve made fun of you for something like that. I never want to make you feel small like they did.”
“I know,” George said with a sigh. “That’s the thing, you don't make me feel small. You never have. You respect me and treat me more like an equal than anyone else ever has. I was afraid I’d lose that- afraid I’d lose you.”
“Oh, George,” Dream cooed, linking their fingers fully now, “you’ll never lose me.”
“I know that now,” George responded with a soft smile. “I can’t get rid of you.”
“Why, did you want to? You’re stuck with me know.” Dream joked, George giggling lightly.
“I mean, you did say you fell in love with me at first sight,” the brunet teased.
“Not what I said, dickhead,” Dream retorted, hand still intertwined with George’s.
Dream was seventeen when he first kissed George.
_________________
Dream was eighteen when he got a boyfriend.
“You are so cheesy, oh my God,” George groaned, but his wide smile revealed his true feelings.
“No, George, I’m serious!” Dream said between laughs. “I really, really like you, George. You’re kind, and funny, and really fucking cute-”
“-So I’ve been told,” George interjected, laughing.
“Shut up, George!” Dream continued, not able to hold back his laughter as well. “I wanted to know if you wanted me to be your boyfriend- or if you wanted to be my boyfriend, I guess.”
George’s laughter quickly ceased. “Holy shit. Actually?”
“No, I’m kidding ,” Dream responded, rolling his eyes sarcastically. “Of course ‘actually’.”
“Then,” George began, “ Actually yes.”
Dream was eighteen, and he loved George.
Not much had changed since he was twelve.