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george’s legs are curled up to his chest, bare feet on the worn leather of his desk chair, eyelids heavy with sleep. smiling, happy; outside, the rain washes against the window and the cars splash through the pools of water on the roadways.
a miniature audio wave lights up in the corner of the screen, teamspeak chiming with dream’s voice. “protection 4 leggings,” he muses. closes the chest, keeps running. george yawns and watches him bound through a meadow. light cows on fire and kill them.
“awwh, george. you tired?” dream asks. a donation lights up and the automated computer voice reads it out. dream responds: “hi to tiara and rachel. thank you so much for the dono, love you guys too!”
“i am tired,” george says. clock reads 3:48. “it’s raining here.”
/weather rain , dream says, and the skies darken, the rectangular little raindrops falling in front of his screen.
george is quiet. makes it all feel closer. pretend they’re under the same umbrella, protected from the same rainstorm.
.
“i don’t like horror,” dream says, tentative and quiet.
voice sleep-warm. for george, the gold setting of the sun slants across his walls, brightness dark. he lifts the enchroma glasses from his nightstand and the world becomes a little fuller.
“why is that?” george wants to poke fun. “you a pussy, dream? can’t take the gore?”
“shut up,” and he is smiling, george can hear it in the corners of his words. “just makes me paranoid, i guess. i don’t know -- i have this weird thing where if i’m watching a horror movie or playing a horror game, i have to have my back against something.”
“so nothing can sneak up on you from behind?”
“literally! yes!”
it's just george’s tinny laptop speakers. but he closes his eyes and dream is sitting next to him, dressed in green, bright, illuminated.
“i feel like it’s just some primal instinct. watch your back, you know?”
george nods and grins. “coward.” in his mind’s eye, dream has dimples and his eyes crease, sparkling.
“george, you’re bullying me,” dream says. “stop being mean.”
“so it’s a no to a spooky halloween stream then?” george asks.
“it can be minecraft spooky,” dream says. “OOH! maybe i’ll change my skin to that new spooky smile that’s on the new sweatshirt.”
“minecraft, but dream’s skin is different.” george opens his eyes. the sun is gone from his room, and dream has only just woken up. “is it sunny there?”
“uh,” dream says. “yes. why?”
george walks to his window, carrying his laptop with him. he’s wrong; the sun hasn’t set. through the dark silhouettes of the trees, he can see an orange glimmer.
“it hasn’t set yet here,” he says.
dream is quiet for a while. george watches the sun sink.
“i wish i could visit you.”
he imagines he can hear dream’s soft breathing next to him.
“me too.”
.
standing this close to george, drinking in the sight of him, the knowledge that for the first time, he can actually reach out and touch, and he doesn’t. he can grip the sleeve of his hoodie, hold his arm, hold him in his arms, and the sheer ability weighs on him, a feeling rising in his throat like the tide, stifling his breath. a list of things he never knew: george has a little bit of an overbite. george isn’t as short as he thought he would be. george has beautiful eyelashes. doe-eyed, his wide smile, the all-encompassing brightness of him. dream knows he’s staring, and george is staring too, and he doesn’t care. if he never touched george, if he got to spend the rest of his life standing a foot away from him and breathing the same air as he did, he would be happy.
“i didn’t know you wore glasses,” george says, and dream doesn’t have to imagine anymore. everything he ever wanted is right here.
“not often,” dream says, finding his voice somewhere. it’s so natural, speaking to george. easier than breathing. “usually i wear contacts, but i didn’t want to sleep in contacts on the plane. so, glasses.”
george is smiling, and he reaches out and touches the gold frame of dream’s glasses. the heat of his hand. warmth in his eyes. “i like them.”
dream catches george’s hand before he knows what he’s doing. soft. “george,” he says. their fingers thread together and dream’s rough nails catch on the side of george’s hand. unreal, and still the most present he’s ever been in his life.
.
dream wakes up on george’s couch, his head pillowed on something warm. circles tracing on his arm, soft murmurs from above him, george speaking to someone. his hand on dream’s shoulder, his thumb moving back and forth.
“... just crashed after his flight.”
george is breathing above him, his chest rising and falling evenly under dream's cheek. “yeah, he got all his bags and stuff. british airways never treats me that well.”
a laugh in his chest. dream has always liked the honesty of george’s laugh. “maybe he is.”
dream shifts slightly, to let george know he’s awake, and opens his eyes. “what time is it?”
“five,” george says. he hits something on his phone and the speaker crackles. “say hi to sapnap, dream.”
“hi to sapnap,” dream says.
“how was your flight?” sapnap asks.
“boring,” dream says. his glasses are lying on the coffee table and he puts them on, moving so he’s lying on his back, his head on george’s leg. heart stutter. george smiles at him and just runs his fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. “someone was setting off fireworks at the beginning of the flight and i had a window seat so i got to see them from the sky, though. so that was cool.”
“i once had a flight on the fourth of july,” sapnap says. “it was like a field of flowers.”
“what’s that holiday again? the fourth of what?” george asks, and sapnap laughs, and dream looks up at george’s smile.
“i’m hungry,” dream says.
“hey -- hey sapnap,” george says, looking towards his phone.
“george. pay attention to your man. dream is hungry , bro.”
“i -- !! i am! i was going to ask you what kind of food you think we should get.”
“and you’re not going to ask me?” dream pouts. eyes smile, mouth open in hurt. he grins up at george’s expression. “george. come on.”
george is blushing and dream can reach out and touch, so he does.
“pizza,” sapnap says, unaware, over the phone, of how george looks right now. that dream has george’s eyes all to himself. all on him.
“pizza sounds good, right, dream?” george says.
dream nods. george’s thumb grazes across his forehead, and dream’s hand is still cupping his face. heart stutter. “sure. whatever you want.”
.
dream, asleep in george’s bed, and the nighttime surrounds him like a lover. george is awake, dehydrated, and dream is next to him, drooling on his pillow. his pillow. george smiles for no one to see. his pillow.
when he returns with his glass of water, dream has shifted, his arm stretched out to george’s side. his eyebrows are scrunched together. george takes a sip of water. it has that taste that only a three-A.M. glass of water can have, the taste of the brita filter in the thick glass cup. he sits on the bed and dream’s expression straightens out, relaxes.
his name forms on george’s lips. he takes another drink of water.
george climbs back in and pulls the covers up. the wind whistling outside, his hardwood floors, cold. under the covers, next to dream, warm. he has to move dream’s hand to lie down and he awkwardly places it next to his head. dream moves it back and it flops, dead weight, across george’s chest.
oh, no. whatever will he do? what a conundrum.
george laces their fingers together like in the airport and lies down on his side, facing dream. his name bubbles out of george’s mouth, unbidden. clay.
dream doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, but his name hangs in the air between them, precariously balanced, as if swinging from the arm of a mobile.
he does respond. his fingers tighten on george’s.
george falls asleep like that, intertwined.
.
diner food, bell rings, sizzling and steam, and a gum-chewing waitress. a booth, and outside the window next to them, cloudy and drizzly.
dream is bright in comparison, and george is wearing the enchroma glasses. the green of his hoodie is dull, but green all the same.
“if you’re going to actually wear the glasses in real life, you should get better frames,” dream says, apropos of nothing. “those are too chunky for your face.”
“so you’re mr. glasses expert, then?” george asks
“more expert than you,” dream says. “do you think they make colorblind contacts?”
“they’d have to be like, red contacts though,” george says. “i’d look like a fucking demon.”
“okay but that would be, like, kinda hot, not gonna lie,” dream says, and their server arrives with their food.
“are your glasses green?” george asks.
“no. not everything i own is the same color as my minecraft skin, george.”
george gestures at the green hoodie.
“it’s the wrong shade of green, you colorblind idiot,” dream snickers.
“rude,” george says.
“how are your pancakes?” dream asks.
they are fluffy and drenched in maple syrup and everything george likes about pancakes. when he opens his mouth to say it, he is struck dumb. the way dream looks, his hair ruffled, his eyes glittering just like george thought they would, the softness around his cheekbones. for a second, george can’t breathe.
“they’re good,” he says. “how’s your fish and chips?”
“i’ve never tried fish and chips before,” dream says, and he looks at his plate, the enormous piece of breaded fried fish and the mound of chips. “it’s greasy.”
“it’s diner food,” george says, “and you got fish and chips. it should be mostly grease.”
“it serves its purpose!” dream holds up his milkshake. “cheers, george.”
george clinks his milkshake to dream’s. “to -- to us.” it stutters out of his mouth before he can stop it.
the look in dream’s eyes is almost unbearable. “to us.”
.
the day is slow, the minutes slower. the rain, the soft lamplight mingling with the blue light from the window, george’s breath mixing with his, all held safely in his heart.
george kisses him again, honey-sweet, fingers feathery against his cheeks. clay’s nose bumps against his and he feels raw.
george says his name and leans their foreheads together. fingers tangle. soft breaths, a laugh that’s more like a gasp.
george , clay whispers.
.
dream wakes up to the sun streaming through his window.
“morning, dream,” sapnap says over teamspeak. “how goes it?”
good. “good,” dream says, booting up minecraft and tapping his desk. “how’s your day going?”
“pretty well, actually,” sapnap says. “i just went grocery shopping yesterday. made myself some fucking EGGS.”
“scrambled?”
“you know it,” sapnap says. “i added cajun to them and -- holy hell, it rocked. i might have to start doing that more often.”
“cajun seasoning on your eggs that early in the morning?” dream asks. “i don’t know if i could do spicy that early.”
“pussy,” sapnap says. “i’m an unrecognized genius in the kitchen.”
dream opens up a new seed and starts running. “i don’t think i’m gonna stream today.”
“sure, dude. any particular reason why, or you just don’t feel like it?”
“i just don’t feel like it,” dream says. he smiles. “i don’t have to if i don’t want to.”
“sure as fuck you don’t!”
a sound: georgenotfound has joined your call , and dream looks over. heart stutter.
.
clay wakes up to the sun streaming through his window.
george’s hair is messy on his pillow, his long eyelashes fluttering in the slow moving air from the ceiling fan. he’s curled up next to clay in that way that he sleeps, in a tiny little ball with his knees tucked up to his chest.
clay kisses the corner of his eye, so gently, so gently, don’t wake him up. george makes a little noise in his sleep and might say something incoherent. clay can’t tell.
“what was that?” he asks, lowering himself back down.
“mm… lov u,” george mumbles, and one of his hands lifts uselessly, fingers moving in a tired grabby motion.
“i love you too,” clay says, and lets himself be pulled in.