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Dream had always been in touch with his emotions. That, and along with his work ethic, loyalty, and all around success, was something he prided himself in. He could cry in private and not feel ashamed of himself. Sometimes, it even felt good. He’d cry when everything became too much-- too much attention, too much hate, too much happiness. When everything was overwhelming, Dream could lock himself in his room, blast his favorite songs, cuddle with Patches, and just cry. He’d even tell his best friends about it the next day, as if it was no big deal.
Sapnap was the same way, just to a lesser extent. He wasn’t as emotionally charged as Dream was, but he still expressed his feelings when he thought it was important. Dream knew he cried while watching sad movies and when the people he loved most hit huge milestones in life, because Sapnap loved with his entire heart. It was comforting to know that.
Then, on the other hand, there was George. George, who waited six months after they met to tell Dream he had a sister. George, who wouldn’t share his cat’s name with him for an unexplained reason. George, who struggled to say the words, “I love you.” He was a complete enigma. Emotionally reserved and private beyond reason, Dream used to constantly find him frustrating. With Sapnap, it was easy to tell what he was thinking and when he hit a nerve; with George, he never knew. If he thought he had upset him, his friend would respond with, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Every time.
Dream eventually learned George’s habits. His love was expressed through an abundance of quality time, which meant eight hour discord calls on days they were both free. At times, they wouldn’t say a word for almost thirty minutes. It used to make Dream feel uneasy, like George was mad at him, but then he’d hear George’s giggles as he sent him a video. Dream, also, came to realize that if he truly did upset George, it was better to give him space. Pressuring him into talking only made things worse.
Which is why Dream was startled when he picked up the Discord call at four in the morning and heard George sniffling on the other end.
“George?” he whispered, his whole body frozen. So this is what it’s like to be on the receiving end of these calls , Dream thought to himself. Surprisingly, George was very good at making him feel better. Dream, in his fits of sorrow, would always ring him, and within an hour, he was laughing.
George was his person. It was weird to admit that, but it was true. Despite the frustration and the emotional uncapatability, Dream didn’t feel the same way about anyone else. (And he didn’t feel the need to dissect that. It was just something he knew.)
“Did I wake you?” George managed to say as his voice wavered. It was nine in the morning for him, but Dream knew he hadn’t gone to bed yet.
“No, no,” he quickly assured. “I-- I was editing a video. Is… is something wrong?” He winced, recalling the counteless times this question had made George drawback and isolate himself.
Everything was quiet for a moment. Then, his friend let out a muffled sob on the other end. “ God , I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so stupid. I don’t even know why I called you.”
Dream tried his best to ignore that comment, but his heart still dropped. “You can always talk to me, George. Always. C’mon, you know that,” he said, feigning a lighthearted tone. “Remember-- remember that time in university when you had that super important English paper and you called me the night it was due because you hadn’t even started it? We got it done together, right?”
“I’d rather not remember that,” George mumbled. Nevertheless, he let out a small chuckle. “I still turned it in late.”
“Still. I was there for you then. I’m still here, George.”
George hesitated, his sniffling and exasperated breathing ringing through Dream’s head. He could picture it: George’s porcelain smooth skin now red and blotchy near his puffy eyes, the cuffs of his sweatshirt wet from trying to get rid of the tears. It was painful to think about. Dream just wanted to be able to reach out and hold him close, and the coldness of his arms started a tingling sensation across his body.
“It’s-- It’s just-- You’re going to think it’s dumb,” George started. “I can’t figure out how to code this stupid fucking plug-in. And I’ve been working on it for days and-- and I haven’t posted anything on Youtube in a month and I haven’t streamed because I wanted to finish this code and all I see when I log into Twitter is people begging me to do something--”
“George.”
“And it’s like… it’s like four million pairs of eyes on me at all times. Do you know how many people that is? That’s 192 Madison Sqaure Gardens. It’s just--” he let out a sob; Dream’s heart chipped. “I don’t know how you handle it.”
“Calm down, George. Take a deep breath with me, okay?” He waited like he could actually see George nodding. “In--” he inhaled, “--and out,” exhaled, and heard his friend’s shaky breathing on the other end. They repeated that together twice. Then Dream said, “I’ll code it for you, or we can do it together, like we used to do. Does that sound good?”
“Yeah,” was all George responded with.
“And if I could take that burden off your shoulders, I would.” Dream would carry the world for George if he asked. He really would. “And right now, I’ll do whatever you want to make you feel better. But, George, I can’t fix this for you. All I know is that these people are asking you to do something because they love you, and they miss you.”
“But they don’t even know me,” George breathed out.
Dream physically shrugged. “I don’t think that matters. They’ve watched hours and hours of content including you and admire you. And even if they don’t know you, I do, and I love you, and I miss you when you’re not around. I miss you a lot, actually.” It all just rolled off his tongue so nonchalantly.
It wasn’t a big deal, right? Dream said those three words to Sapnap and George all the time when the three of them were on a call together; he just couldn’t remember the last time he said it to him when it was just the two of them.
George mumbled something he didn’t catch, too wrapped up in his own head. He sniffled again before announcing, “I think I just wanna go to bed now.”
“Oh.” He had messed up, somewhere, and George was retreating. Dream shouldn’t have said the thing about missing him, even if it was true that his heart ached when the Discord call didn’t go through.
“Can we-- can you stay on call?”
Oh . Dream smiled, way, way too big. “Of course I will. Let me just switch to my phone, okay?”
He opened Discord on his phone before shutting his computer down, and made the five step journey from his desk to his bed. His head connected with his pillow and Dream pulled his comforter over his body and tight with his neck as his knees curled into his chest. “Still there, George?” he asked. They’d done this before, just never so intentional . One of them would accidentally fall asleep and the other just wouldn’t have the heart to hang up.
“Mhm,” George hummed in response.
Compared to their other sleep calls, silence had never felt so vulnerable before. It rang through his ears like it was the loudest thing in the world, and he felt like if he breathed too loud, the man on the other end would just break. Dream closed his eyes to try and concentrate: how would George act if it was the other way around?
Make him laugh. Dream couldn’t do that, he was too caught up in his own head to think of anything funny. So, for better or for worse, he just started talking.
“Y’know, I think you’re really smart, George,” he said in a hushed whisper. “You’re probably better at coding than I am, and we all hit these coding walls we can’t get around. And, you’re really good at Minecraft. I don’t care what anybody else says about, ‘ Oh, the hunters get worse every time ,’ because that’s not true.” He was just rambling at this point. “And you’re funny, George, and I love talking to you. You’re like this light in my life.”
Too far. Dream grimaced, waiting to hear a flustered response fill out of the other’s mouth and the subsequent disconnect noise. Nothing came, though. “George?” he said. Nothing. He must’ve passed out.
It broke Dream’s heart knowing he technically cried himself to sleep. And he had so many more things to say, all of them piling up, begging to be released. However, he knew that once he started talking, he’d never stop. Asleep or not, George would eventually hear Dream’s unfiltered thoughts.
He willed his eyes closed. “I love you, George,” he whispered, aware he was talking to no one. It felt good to say. Great , even.
In the morning, Dream was all alone. His friend had disconnected from the call an hour before and had left the message, “ thanks :] ,” in the chat. It wasn’t much, but in George's world it was the equivalent of a heartfelt paragraph.
They never talked about it. Beyond Dream asking him if he still needed help coding, it was almost like that night never happened. He sometimes thought he dreamt it-- or, had a nightmare, would be the better term. George’s emotional capacity might’ve been something Dream was curious about, but to be confronted about it like that stung . Like an entire bee hive was hunting him, and all he could do was wait in agony until the attack was over.
Sometimes, Dream thought he wouldn’t mind poking at the hive. Those were the late nights, the delirious nights, when an outsider would’ve mistaken them for drinking. He had a look at the crack through George’s thick walls and desperately wanted it to be a big, obnoxious hole. Each time he tried, though, George shut off again. That, or Dream couldn’t adequately speak.
All hope was lost.
Until, it wasn’t.
Seven months later, they had just surpassed their one month anniversary of living together. It was an idea they had been talking about for a while-- well, mostly Dream listing countless pros and George saying maybe, I’ll think about it --until one day, he finally said yes. Yes, he’d live with Dream in Flordia.
Dream thought that first month was the best of his entire life. George, his best friend, his person, was no more than a hallway away from him at all times. He woke up everyday fucking elated ; he could walk into the living room and see George wearing a sweatshirt two times too big, cuddling with Patches on their couch while scrolling on his phone. Truly, it was a sight Dream could look at forever.
For him, everything was perfect. For him, almost nothing had changed, the only difference being the constant, welcomed company of his best friend. Dream was so used to that company that when he was alone, or when George was streaming, he felt so lonely and empty and so cold. It was always warm when George was next to him.
Caught up in his own bliss, Dream never even considered that his now-roommate wasn’t as happy as he was. He looked happy and said he was, so why bother thinking otherwise?
Of course, Dream should’ve taken a step back and remembered who George really was.
It was two a.m., and out of the whole day, the only time he saw George was at lunch. For the rest of the time, the man was locked inside his own room. They had never gone a whole day without constantly being at the others side, so Dream spent his solitude with nagging thoughts telling him he had done something wrong. And if that hadn’t caught his attention, their interaction outside of the bathroom would have.
George’s eyes were all bloodshot and weary, his hair was disheveled, and he wore a sweatshirt that engulfed his frame (one of Dream’s, actually. Out of his own selfish desire and curiosity, he told the older man to take whatever he wanted from his closet, and he didn’t miss a beat before talking the green sweatshirt). He looked-- well, just sad . Not cheerful like usual in the slightest.
He had opened the door and Dream was on the other side, as if in line. “Geor--” he let out, startled by the sight in front of him. George tried to brush him off and run into his room, but Dream caught his hand. He was tugged into submission, not moving any further, but not any closer, either. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” George choked out. He cleared his throat. “ Nothing . I’m just-- just tired.”
Dream pulled his friend’s hand again; George rolled his eyes and turned to face him. “C’mon, George,” he said, linking their fingers together. They weren’t very touchy with each other, as he was afraid of an internal dam breaking, but when they were, his insides felt like they were burning.
The shorter man’s eyes fluttered and looked down. Now, along with sorrow, blush spread across his face, as well. “I--” George brought his free hand to cover his eyes. And then, he did something Dream never would have expected: he crashed into the taller man, his arms closely holding the small of Dream’s waist, his head resting on his chest.
He stumbled backwards. They had hugged before, obviously, but this was filled with desperation. George was desperate in his touches, constantly readjusting to get the perfect grip. Once Dream hugged back, he could feel him melt into his touch. One hand was across his shoulder blades, and the other found itself in George’s hair. His hand moved through his hair, almost like a petting motion. It was something his mother used to do when he was upset.
“I’m here, George,” Dream whispered. He felt George choke back a cry, and so he decided to do something else his mother used to do. Dream pulled back, slightly, and moved his hand down to meet George’s jaw. His thumb and index finger held his chin, and he brought the man’s head to his lips. It was soft. Like a butterfly landing on your hand.
This seemingly brought George to his breaking point. He started to openly cry, unlike the Discord call seven months ago when he tried to hide it. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, and his sobs were deafening in Dream’s ears. “I-- I don’t-- know--” he tried to say. “--what’s-- wrong with-- me, Dream.”
“Nothing is wrong with you, George.” He’d fight anyone who told him any different. “You’re perfect. P-perfectly human.” His hand was resting on the back of his roommate’s neck, and his head was resting on top of his. Dream’s eyes were closed, and he tried to sway them in a soothing pattern.
They stood there for a long time.
Dream didn’t mind at all-- the close, intimate contact was something he was losing himself in. He wanted George closer. (He wanted to feel all of him.) He wanted to make him know he was loved, and safe, and completely adored. And the longer they stood there, the closer Dream was so achieving his goal. He genuinely would’ve stood there for an hour if he needed to, despite the pain in his neck from bending over.
Eventually, George had regained his speech. His breaths were shaky as he took them in, and his words wavered. “I’m go-going to lay down,” he said. He didn’t give Dream a second to be disappointed before adding, “Do you w--”
“Of course,” he blurted in response, not even letting him finish talking.
They shuffled into George’s dark bedroom. He laid down first, and there was an awkward moment when Dream realized he was going to bed in the spot next to him. There were times he imagined this exact scenario, but none of it included tears.
He shook off the thought and slowly lowered himself into the bed. They laid so that they were face to face, close enough to feel the other’s breath, and were making persistent eye contact. It wasn’t unnerving at all; George’s eyes were kind and warm. He reached out so he could fiddle with the fabric of Dream’s shirt. “I miss my family,” he confessed.
“George,” Dream said softly. He hoped the other took comfort in hearing his name as much as he did by saying it.
“It’s so much harder than I thought it would be. I can’t even call them most days because our sleep schedule is so messed up.” Dream wanted to reach out and hold him. “I miss my mom’s voice and her cooking, and I miss my dad’s stupid jokes and his dumb stories. And I miss knowing--” His voice cut off harshly.
“What, George? Knowing what?”
He took a deep breath in. “I miss knowing--” Dream’s shirt bunched up as George twirled it around his finger. “That someone near me is always going to care about me, no matter what.”
Dream’s hand now rested on the back of George’s neck, and the touch made the older man’s eyes look into Dream’s. “I’m always going to care about you.” How could George ever think otherwise? “I’ll shout it from the rooftops, George. I care about you, today, and tomorrow and--”
“Stop it.”
“No! No, George. What’s it going to take for you to understand that I love you?”
His fingers stopped twirling Dream’s shirt, and his eyes closed. Don’t pull away , Dream thought , not again . “What if-- what if I do something that makes you change your mind?”
“That’s impossible. If you wanted to rob a bank, I’d be there next to you. If you were involved in a murder, I’d help you hide the body. If you--”
“Dream, I get it!” George let out a string of small laughs. Music to Dream’s ears, he swore. “And… y’know… I… I feel the same way.”
“I know.” He smiled at the admission. It wasn’t the whole nine yards, but it was more than what Dream needed to hear. “What if we set an alarm for noon, and even if we’re sleeping we wake up and call your parents?”
“We?” George asked. Dream just nodded. “That’d be nice. I think they’d really like you.”
He dug his phone out of his pocket and set the alarm, and then subsequently placed it under the pillow. His hand, now cold from the absence of George’s skin, made its way onto the man’s waist. “Now what?”
George didn’t seem to notice. “Now, I close my eyes.”
Dream did the same, and not ten seconds later, he felt George snuggle into his chest. Before snaking his arm around him to pull him flush with his body, Dream, once more, grazed George’s cheek, and pressed one more kiss to his friend’s forehead. “Thank you,” he heard, “for being here.”
“Always.”
He woke up about an hour later. George was still in his arms, but now Dream was on his back instead of his side. His friend was using him as a pillow, and had it not been for the massive weight on his bladder, Dream would’ve savored the sensation.
Attempting to sneak out from underneath him, he moved too hastily. George’s grip around his waist tightened, “Don’t go,” he pleaded.
“I won’t even be gone for thirty seconds, I promise.” Dream tried to pry his arm off, but his friend resisted. “ George ,” he whined.
“Thrity seconds is all you get.” George let go, but as he went to stand up, he pulled on his shirt. Clearing his throat, he gave Dream a faint smile. “I wanted to say thank you again. I kinda drooled all over you and you didn’t have to hold-- you know. And if you want to spend the night in your own bed, you can.”
“I don’t,” Dream rushed out. He was embarrassing himself. “And you never have to thank me for something like this. I’d be in here every night if it meant you woke up happy.”
“Really?” It was a whisper. George’s eyes trailed his face, and Dream thought he was searching for a lie.
Dream brushed a few strands of hair into place. “Every night,” he repeated, his fingers caressing George’s warm skin.
It happened quickly; the older man had pushed himself onto his elbows, the younger had leaned down, and their lips met. Soft and quick-- like a butterfly landing on your hand.
Dream was in love with the way it felt to kiss George. It was absolutely intoxicating, sending vibrations through his head and down his spine. When they pulled away, his body demanded more.
He began to say something, maybe an apology for he might’ve misread something--even though he wasn’t sure who really initiated it--but George interrupted him. He started to chuckle, and pushed Dream’s head with his hand. “Go. Go to the bathroom. I wanna go back to bed.”
Dream practically speedran-- every second he wasn’t in that bed with George was another second wasted.