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Over the months they had known each other, George hadn’t been graced with the full image of Dream’s face. He had had glimpses-- glimpses of his soft lips, which were revealed when he needed to eat food, or press a kiss onto the smaller boy’s forehead. Glimpses of full cheeks when he readjusted the mask after a fight. Glimpses that, frankly, left George starving and desperate for more.
However, he had accepted the barren feeling in his stomach. Dream kept his mask on for a reason, and whether that was because he was too handsome it’d be like staring into the sun, or if the people hunting him used facial recognition systems, it didn’t matter. (Still, why couldn’t he take his mask off when it was just the two of them, alone, in their dark tent? Why could Dream hold George, his arm snaked around his waist, his fingertips burning his pale skin, but while robbing him of eye contact?)
George had accepted it. It didn’t matter. Dream was still Dream, his Dream, his best friend , whether he had a face or not.
It started off as a mundane day. They had just relocated their camp the night before, and George had woken up first. His head was resting on Dream’s chest, his heartbeat the only sound in the world. His leg was sprawled over the younger man’s, with their one blanket on top of them. They had to use each other’s body heat for warmth, or else they would freeze. George learned this the first night he joined Dream on his expedition to free the end.
He snuggled into the taller boy tightly before deciding it was time to get up. George moved as to not wake Dream, moving to the edge of the tent near the door. Grabbing his bag, he started to look through his things. Pros of deciding to run away with the masked man: his life finally had adventure, and meaning, and he was with someone he knew would protect him above everything else. Cons? George had decided to join and once he did was whisked away instantly. He only had the clothes on his back, plus one change of clothes Dream had stolen from a villager. Constantly, George stole some of Dream’s shirts, which were far too big on him, which was easily ignorable. For pants, though? Now that was a problem.
George had a system, though. Every time they relocated camp, he’d find a running stream and washed one pair of clothes, and when that dried, he’d then wash the other pair. It didn’t always work, because sometimes they wouldn’t stay in one place long enough to even set up their tent properly, but nothing about this journey was perfect.
Quickly, George pulled on his own pair of pants and then laced his shoes. He hooked his arms through his bag and moved to dart out of the tent, but not before sneaking a look at Dream. The smiling mask bared into George’s soul. He sighed, and then stepped into the open world.
There was a river just five minutes from their camp, he remembered from yesterday. They had to pass through it, and cheekily, Dream offered to carry George across it. “You can get on my back,” he had said. “You’re so pretty, I wouldn’t want you to melt.”
“What does that even mean ?” George had recoiled. His friend had a habit of reciting dumb flirty lines, which he didn’t mind in the slightest. Well, when they were good he didn’t mind.
“Well, you’re like sugar, Georgie. Or sweets. Those sugar treats that are beautifully decorated. And sugar dissolves in water, right?” Dream had his hand extended outwards, an invitation to grab it.
“And I’m one of those beautiful sugar treats?”
“You’re the most beautiful of them all.” Now, that line had made George blush. He had grabbed Dream’s hand, who then swooped him off his feet, literally carrying him across the river bridal style.
Even just recalling this memory, he felt his cheeks glowing red.
George approached the river bed and sank to the ground. He brought his clothes out first, placing them next to him in a folded stack, and then brought out soap from his bag. It wasn’t exactly meant to be used on clothes, but it had to work. They’d been given this specific bar a month ago after saving a village from a horde of zombies, among other presents. Most of them were given to Dream, though, and for good reason-- Dream did most of the heavy lifting. He had slashed through the group without becoming exasperated, becoming the hero of the lonely town.
He cursed himself. Why did everything have to go back to Dream? It was like a parasite in George’s brain. For the rest of his life, he’d associate everything with the masked man. Dandelions, smiley faces, the color yellow, axes and swords. He was an infestation, and George was just letting him live in his mind.
Whatever. He needed to focus on this so he could get back to their camp before Dream woke up. George started working on the pants, dipping them into water and watched as the loose fabric moved with the current. He pulled the pants out and dragged the bar of soap across them absent-mindlessly, then crumpled them up and squeezed until there was a soapy mess. Then, he dunked them back in, and repeated this process until he was satisfied.
It was the best he could do.
He wondered if he should ask Dream for tips. Fuck , even in George’s head that sounded lame.
Suddenly, there was a disruption in the current. The splashing sounds of water were louder, more clear than before. George looked up slightly, and saw two pairs of boots standing in front of him ominously. He didn’t need to look up to know that they were pointing a crossbow and sword at him.
His only thoughts about how Dream didn’t know where he was. And he had forgotten his axe in the tent. George was fucked.
“Hello, George,” a deep voice spoke. Sapnap. The hunter George had been acquainted with quite well over the past few weeks after all their run-ins.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands still in the water. Fear pumped into his blood. What was he going to do? He couldn’t run back to camp, not when Dream was completely vulnerable in his sleepish state. And just as Dream would do anything to protect George, George would do anything to save Dream from the hunters’ quest.
“Hello,” he responded. He brought the pants out of the water and rang them tightly, still refusing to look at the two men. “What brings you to these parts of the woods?”
“Oh, you know why we’re here,” Sapnap responded. George finally looked up to find that he was right; the youngest had a loaded crossbow aimed at him, and Bad, his co-hunter, had his sword fully extended. The two might not have been very threatening to Dream, as he had even called them laughable once, but George didn’t agree. Looking at them now, he wondered how Dream could act so nonchalantly about them.
“We don’t want to hurt you, George,” Bad said. His voice sounded sincere. George believed him. “If you show us where Dream is, we’ll even help you find your way home. I bet your family misses you.”
Home . Home without Dream . It sounded wrong, viciously, viciously wrong. “I have everything I could ever need right now, thank you very much.”
“George,” Sapnap sounded like he pitied him, “How long have you known him? Two, three months? We’ve been doing this for close to a year . He isn’t someone you want to be close with, because he will drop you the moment you’re more of a burden than a companion. Trust me.”
“You’re wrong.” He knew he was wrong. George knew it the way he knew the sun would set every day and the way he knew Dream’s jacket was green, despite not seeing the color for himself. “Dream wouldn’t do that to me.”
He glared at the hunter. The hunter just stared back, his arm beginning to shake from the strain. “It doesn’t matter. Even if he doesn’t leave you, the two of us are going to beat him, and you won’t see him for a long, long time, anyways.”
“We’re just trying to help,” Bad chimed in. “We’ll bring you home where people truly care about you.”
“Dream cares about me!” George shouted in frustration. He did! He cared! George knew he cared. Every stupid cheesy line proved it. The way Dream would run into caves first to clear them so George wouldn’t have to worry proved it. Every touch, every late night talk, every time their bodies were pressed up against each other proved it . Dream cared about him. Dream loved him.
Dream loved him?
Bad gasped. He lowered his weapon and touched Sapnap, signaling him to do the same. Then, he squatted so he could be on George’s level, not seeming to mind that he was still in the water. His voice was hushed when he said, “How much do you care about him, George?”
“I don’t--”
“Would you sacrifice your life for him?” Sapnap questioned. This was starting to feel like an interrogation, and he felt utterly trapped.
“Of course.”
The two exchanged glances. It was like they were having a conversation, with Sapnap’s eyes squinting and his head jerking towards George, and Bad shaking his head no. ‘ You’re being weak ,’ Sapnap mouthed. At least, that’s what George thought.
Bad grumbled and turned back to face the brunette. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do--”
An arrow whizzed through the air and impaled a tree on the other side of a river. The three men flinched, but George soon was flooded with relief. Dream is saving me . “Step away from him,” the needed voice commanded.
“Or what?” Sapnap responded. His crossbow was aimed at George once more.
“Or I kill you . If you even touch a hair on his head, I will stop at nothing to force the both of you six feet into the fucking ground.” The threats sent shivers down his spine, a mixture of pure fear and unadulterated joy. He cares, he cares, he cares .
Bad rose to his feet, his grip tight on his sword. He didn’t speak, though, waiting for Dream or Sapnap to make the first move.
“Or, we kill you,” Sapnap threatened. The crossbow now pointed directly at Dream, and George immediately scrambled back so he was behind his friend. The hunters paid him no mind-- he was just bait, after all.
Dream, his head never moving off of the youngest, helped George to his feet. Protectively, harshly, his hand gripped onto his waist like Dream was afraid he’d lose him. “Go take down the tent as quickly as possible and go north for an hour. I’ll catch up with you. I promise.”
“Dr--”
He didn’t wait to hear George’s complaints. “So? What are you waiting for? Kill me.” Dream gave George a starting push, never looking back at him, and his arms spread open. He was taunting them.
Sapnap shot the first arrow, which Dream expertly dodged. George found himself in awe of how graceful the man could move; he was 6’3 and strongly built, and in fights he could move like a figure skater. He was elegant, the way he never lost his footing as he dodged another arrow, ran at the shooter, and swung his axe, all in a few split seconds. The axe was deflected by Sapnap’s shield, and Dream took that moment to push against the wooden object to buy himself time.
He turned his head to George. “I said, GO !” he yelled. Sapnap jerked the shield away, forcing Dream to stumble to his knees into the water. George saw Bad circling the pair, and all of his instincts were telling him to help. He took a step forward, but with no weapon, and no experience in hand-to-sword combat, he’d only put them in more danger.
So, he ran.
Like a coward, he delved into the forest, running as fast as he ever had before. George reached the tent before he knew it, and carelessly threw everything that was inside out-- their one pillow, their blanket, Dream’s bag, his axe. Then, just as hastily, took down the tent. He shoved the pieces into Dream’s bag as well as he could and wasn’t bothered by the fact that it didn’t zip all the way. His axe fell into the holder on the bag, and he scooped the blanket and pillow into his arms and launched into action once more.
The whole time, George’s mind was on Dream. He had faith that the man was demolishing them, as he had so many times before, but worry was blossoming in his chest. This was different, somehow. Had the hunters not known before, they definitely do now: George was his weakness. Even admitting it to himself felt wrong, but he knew it was true. The way Dream acted made it obvious. And if they found some way to exploit that…
No . It was Dream, for god’s sake. The best combatant in the overworld. Dream was powerful, strong, stable, alone. He was alone.
George almost turned back several times. He didn’t, though, and walked the whole hour, just like Dream said. Eventually, he stumbled upon a mushroom forest, and decided it was perfect to set the tent up underneath one of the trees.
When everything was settled, George laid down. He took his first breath in what felt like forever-- he had kept up his part of their deal, and now all he had to do was wait. Any minute now, Dream would waltz in, confidence oozing from his aura. George would roll his eyes, but would still smile because the man was safe.
It took a little longer than he had expected. Maybe hiding the tent under the tree was a bad idea? The forest floor hardly held any light, and maybe Dream was having a hard time finding it. Maybe he didn’t go far enough, or in the right direction. George was listing out possibilities as time droned on, anything besides the very obvious one. No, no, that one didn’t even deserve to be acknowledged. It was Dream, and Dream always found his way out of these things.
George squeezed his eyes shut, and brought the blanket up to cover his face. It smells like him , he thought. He let out a shaky breath, the detachment from his best friend overwhelming. If Dream died, it’d be George’s fault, wouldn’t it?
Another hour passed. He was starting to get worried, and even though he’d only been awake for two and a half hours, George tried to fall back asleep. If he fell asleep, he’d wake back up in Dream’s arms, right back where he was supposed to be.
The first night they had spent together, it was painfully awkward. George flinched when Dream reached out for him the first time, but wouldn’t stop squirming when he was enveloped in his arms. Neither one fell asleep for hours, but now, George wasn’t sure if he could sleep without Dream.
If possible, he hugged the blanket closer to him. It would be enough to soothe him until Dream got back.
He woke up to loud rustling outside. George jolted up, quickly grabbing his axe and held it up with both hands. He could hear low groaning, like a zombie could smell him through the thin walls. So, he readied himself to exit the tent and exterminate it, when the zipper started to move on it’s own.
Not a zombie.
“Dream?” George hopefully gasped. The axe was discarded into the corner and he lept towards the entryway, helping to uncover it, and then launched into the man’s arms.
“Hey, Georgie,” he said with a wince, but never asked George to loosen his grip. “Sorry I took so long.” Dream’s hand found his way into his hair and started to brush his fingers through the brown locks.
George didn’t speak, instead just basked in the arms of the person he loved the most. He felt Dream’s lips connect with the top of his head, and he was reminded of something Sapnap and Bad had promised him: We can bring you home . He knew that, in this moment, they had very different definitions of home. They thought home was George’s village, the one he’d left on purpose. George knew his home was in Dream’s arms.
He pulled back to look at him and almost choked. “You-- your mask,” he blurted. Dream had George’s shirt he’d left at the river covering the lower half of his face, so all he could see was his eyes. His eyes were this intense green that bore into George’s soul; they were enticing, addicting, and beautiful, and George felt an inability to tear away from them.
“Uh, yeah,” Dream coughed. His usually confident demeanor was gone as he moved them inside the structure. “Sapnap, that sneaky bastard, landed a shot in the perfect spot, and poof -- it broke in half.” He fished the two pieces out of his back pocket before sitting on the ground. “So now they know my face, which is great.”
“Oh,” George let out, his jealousy incredibly obvious. He tried covering it up by saying, “So you let them live?”
He wasn’t used to seeing Dream’s eyes bouncing across his face. Were they always so analytical? “Well, yeah. I don’t really think I could ever-- you know. Besides, it’s kinda fun, don’t you think? Being on the run.”
George rolled his eyes, leaving that as his response. Instead, he brought up something else. “Dream, I’m really sorry. I never should have gone to the river without telling you, and--”
“George.”
“--and I definitely should’ve brought a weapon, and now they know what you look like because of me.”
He had more to say, but Dream had grabbed his hands. They always needed to be touching the other, it seemed. “They would’ve found us anyways, George. They were heading in our direction, and if not for you being there, they would’ve taken us capture before we were even conscious.” Dream cupped the older man’s face, who leaned into the touch. “You never have anything to apologize for.”
George was hesitant. There was still that feeling in his stomach that he had doomed them, and then ran away like a weakling. “I didn’t help,” he choked out.
Dream stroked the back of George’s hands with his thumbs.”I told you to run. And if this ever happens again, I’ll do it again. Anything to keep you safe.”
“But… but your face.”
The man in front of him let out a long sigh, as if he was annoyed at George’s pestering rather than what had actually happened. “The mask saved me, did it not? It’s just a precaution, George. It’s my armor. And we can fix it and make it brand new together.”
Maybe he should’ve found comfort in those words, but all George heard was that Dream had never felt safe enough around him to be unprotected. That wasn’t fair. George was unprotected all the time: his facial expressions were always on display, he had no constant shield. Dream saw all of him, and now George was the only person who hadn’t seen the other at all.
It was a selfish thought. Incredibly selfish. He had no room to do this after the stunt he had already pulled, but George wondered if Dream would stop him from uncovering his face.
“So… can I--” George reached up to pull the fabric off of his face, but Dream caught his wrists before he did. The carefree glint in his eyes was gone. “If it’s just a precaution, then why bother with me? I couldn’t even hurt you if I tried,” he forced a laugh.
Again, Dream scoured George’s face. “It’s different, George. You know that.”
“What do you mean?” His wrists were still being held up by Dream’s cheeks, but he knew that if he really wanted to, he could do what he desired and not be stopped.
“You make me weak when I have the mask on. I can’t imagine what you’ll do when you can see all of me.” Their words were breathy now, the moment more intimate than George had expected.
“You’re ridiculous.”
It’s only fair , George said to himself, and so his fingers settled on the fabric. He waited for Dream to say no, to pull back, to yell, but it never happened. And then, he gently and slowly pulled the shirt down.
The first thing he noticed was that Dream had freckles. Lots of them, sprawled across his cheeks like stars in the night’s sky. He had a roman esque nose that George found endearingly handsome, and although his mouth was something he had already seen, he thought Dream’s lips were the most perfect thing in the world. He was perfect, and it took George’s breath away.
Without thinking he brought his hands up, held Dream’s jaw in his hands. His thumb brushed the younger man’s chin, his cheeks, danced across the bridge of his nose, touching the stars on his skin. It elicited a chuckle from his friend, despite the fact he was previously nervous. Dream let George drag his fingers over his skin like the pair were a sculptor and his masterpiece. It was intimate, and private, a closeness that the two hadn’t particularly shared before.
Dream looked at him tenderly. “What are you doing, George?”
Honestly, he didn’t know. It was just instinct. Something he needed to do out of being starved for so long. “We’re fixing your mask, right? I’m memorizing you, so I never forget how perfect you are.”
Dream’s face turned red--George never even thought he was capable of blushing. “I’m supposed to be the one with the cheesy lines,” he jokingly frowned.
“I’ve learned from the best,” George smiled. With minimal force, he pulled Dream so they were laying down, as it gave him a better angle. If they were the same height, he could take in all of him.
George now had stolen Dream’s signature position of his hand in the other’s hair. Dream didn’t complain, and his eyes never broke eye contact. “You’re perfect, George.”
“Stop it. I’m supposed to be complimenting you.”
“I don’t really care. You’re perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Perfect eyes, perfect personality, perfect bod--”
“You’re really wearing the word out, Dream.”
Dream just shrugged. “I love you, George, you know that?”
He did. Like the sun set everyday and the stars glistened at night, George knew that. “I do. And you know the feeling is mutual?”
The man smiled. George took note of how he smiled with his entire body, like a beam of light incarnated into a human. “I do.”
Dream didn’t waste any time, and pulled George into a kiss. This was new, but was something he had often thought about before. It was gentle, loving, warm-- everything he had expected and wanted. They should’ve done this so long ago, but it took the worst near death experience of their time together to push them.
Dream pulled George to be flush with his chest, his arms wrapped around the smaller tightly. His cheek rested atop his head as he muttered once more, “I love you.”
Soft, gentle, warm-- home. George wasn’t even tired anymore, but he still closed his eyes, wanting to soak all of Dream in. “You, too, Dreamie.”