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Dream’s parents always told him his eyes were green. Not that he would know. They argued about his hair color, whether it was blond, dirty blond, or even brunette, but the consensus on his eyes stayed the same. Shame he’s never seen them, and with how his life is going, won’t in the near future.
He’s never understood the hype around soulmates. Everyone and their mother seems to be obsessed with that moment where the world comes into tune, making eye contact with some stranger across a crowd. Dream resents the idea. How could you be destined for one person? Why waste your energy searching for someone who the universe has prescribed to you?
It’s not like he knew what he was missing. Colors are something he’s lived without just fine, and he’s happy to continue. There are more important things in the world, like his career, his fans, his family, his-
George.
The day of their first video call still sits fresh in his mind like an open wound. He had spent hours frantically searching for answers on whether seeing someone virtually was enough, if it counted, if it didn’t- but he came up with nothing. The moment his screen flickered to George’s webcam, his heart sunk to the floor, the features still shades of grey.
He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up; after all, it was puppy love. And, regrettably still is. Whether this made him believe in soulmates more or less, he’s not quite sure.
Dream’s thoughts travel to profound places while he stares out past the plane window. An aisle seat would have been more comfortable, but he wouldn’t trade the world for this view. Getting an invitation to the Watsons’ holiday party was a pleasant surprise, but if he’s honest he’s mostly glad for the plane ride. Especially since he’s going to have to see him.
George.
Having to face someone you aren’t willing to admit your feelings for? Difficult on its own. Having to face that during Christmas in someone else’s house with your closest friends watching? Those are his weekend plans, he supposes.
Munching away at airline pretzels he settles into his seat, putting his earphones in and letting Spotify take him on a journey. Thinking about soulmates always feels strangely greater-than-life, like he’s a cog in a grandfather clock resenting the ticking. Grandfather clocks reminds him of his grandparents house and summers of drinking lemonade on the porch. Lemonade reminds him of England, his destination, how it never sinks in that it’s an entire different country- who carbonates their lemonade?
Outside the window is nearly pitch black, the plane coasting over the ocean. The glass is ice, and it’ll probably be freezing when the plane lands. He could use the sobering cold about now.
After a few hours of drifting in and out of sleep with his few downloaded Christmas songs playing in the background, he’s awoken by light behind his eyelids. There’s a sigh of people gathering their things and sitting up in their chairs, the sound of dings and the captain’s voice over the intercom. Dream stretches out and grabs his carry-on, following the groggy line of passengers off the plane.
He watches the rotating conveyor of luggage, eyes heavy when he hears someone shout for his attention from behind.
“Hey, Dream, fancy seeing you here,” Wilbur calls out.
Whipping his head around, he sees Wilbur approaching, followed by his dad and brothers. Tommy has about the most shit-eating grin on his face, but he’s glad to see it, and Techno seems more jet-lagged than himself by the looks of his messy bun and askew glasses. Phil trails behind, not bothering to keep up with his kids who are jogging over excitedly.
“Hey, Wilbur. Techno. Child,” Dream chuckles.
“Oh, you dickhead. We didn’t invite you to our house to ridicule me all weekend,” Tommy complains.
“‘We?’ What, do you pay the bills or something?” Wilbur chuckles.
“I live there too, arsehole. And I make more than dad, I could pay the bills if I wanted to,” Tommy pouts. Phil shoots him a look and Tommy immediately shrinks up and murmurs a quiet, “Sorry Phil.”
“Well, it’s good to see all of you in person. I’m gonna be honest, I imagine you all to be way shorter,” Dream says.
“I mean we tower over everyone else in this airport- giant judging giants, you know?” Techno says.
“You’re about my height, Techno,” Dream says.
“Yeah, sure, whatever you say,” Techno replies, deadpan.
Dream laughs in response, but Techno stays unamused, just as jaded as he envisioned his face would be. Eventually, his suitcase makes its way onto the conveyor.
“Alright, let’s get you home then, mate,” Phil says.
The crisp air nips at his face when he steps outside, tiny flecks of snow blanketing his hair. Phil immediately offers his scarf when he starts to shiver, seemingly unbothered by the cold. Dream wraps the striped, knitted cloth around his nose, which has taken on a deep flush.
“You know, Techno made that scarf,” Phil says, which earns him a narrow-eyed glare.
“Aw, Techno,” Dream coos.
“Knitting is simple and formulaic, it makes sense to me. Gives something to do with my hands, you know?” Techo mumbles.
“I think it’s sweet,” Wilbur teases.
“You reckon you could knit me a girlfriend?” Tommy says.
They all laugh, bumping into each other and making merry while they trudge through the snow to the car. The itchy scarf around his neck, arms locked with friends, and the bustling of families excited for the prospect of cocoa and presents feels genuine and warm in a way he’s been missing. He settles into easy conversation with them like he's part of the family himself.
It’s a tight fit piling into the car, but he hardly minds. Tommy reaches for the aux cord, a sly look in his eye. At full volume, Your New Boyfriend blasts over the speakers and Wilbur swats Tommy’s phone out of his hands.
“No no no, I will have none of that, you little shit,” Wilbur says, Tommy yelling the lyrics at the top of lungs and cackling. “We’re playing Rockapella or we’re playing nothing.”
Tommy crosses his arms and pouts, humming the chorus in protest. Techno is chatting with Phil in the front about internet culture in a casual stream of conversation while Tommy and Wilbur nod their heads to the music in tandem. The car sails like a lone ship through a sea of fogged-over pavement, headlights on the right approaching like lighthouses off the shore. Dream goes back to his abstract train of thought- Florida beaches in the winter, foggy and humid, using a sandcastle mold to dump seawater on his sister’s towel.
His phone vibrates from his pocket.
“Sapnap texted, he took an uber there,” Dream says.
“Tubbo’s been at the house all week, Quackity and Karl flew in yesterday, and George is taking a train. It’s gonna be one full house,” Phil says.
“Yay, more people in my living room,” Techno drones out sarcastically.
“He’s just mad he won’t be able to watch The King’s Avatar on the family TV,” Wilbur chuckles.
They quip at each other back and forth until they pull into a path off the side of the road, the car gently rocking as it crosses the gravel. As the hedges part way, a cozy English cottage comes into view, the roof dusted like powdered sugar. Smoke billows out of the stone brick chimney and rises into a sky with more stars than Dream has ever seen. The scenery is Currier and Ives, the sense of family a Norman Rockwell; the kind of feeling is something captured only in inks and oils.
Outside they’re greeted by Tubbo, who is persistently shoveling snow from the driveway for their return. He drops his plow, running to meet Tommy who climbs out of his seat before the car has stopped.
The doorknob is adorned with bells that jingle as they enter, and every inch of the interior is decorated with garlands, pinecones, or candy canes. The classical Christmas instrumentals invite him into a wonderful aroma of roast turkey and the bustling of laughter.
Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap all cheer as he walks up, running to hug Dream and shower him with affection, leaving him unable to fight the dopey grin creeping over his face.
“Ay, baby, the Dream-man’s arrived! Good to see you, man!” Quackity says.
“God, about time we met, huh?” Sapnap grins.
“About time,” Dream replies.
“Wow, you’re almost as tall as me,” Karl says, standing on the tips of his toes.
“Almost, Karl, almost,” Dream chuckles.
There’s a warm spark forming in his chest seeing people whose company he’s cherished for this long from afar. Dream can easily say this is one of the most memorable moments of his life, all it’s missing is-
George.
His name is on Dream’s mind again. Quite honestly, he congratulates himself for making it this long.
“We were just going to play some Jackbox, you guys in?” Sapnap asks.
Techno makes a beeline for his room, shouting behind him, “call me when there’s food,” and closing the door.
“That sounds like fun, boys, but I need to make dinner. We don’t have much, the fridge is packed with food for tomorrow,” Phil says.
“What’s tomorrow?” Quackity asks. Everyone turns to look at him and chuckles. “...That wasn’t a joke.”
“You’re kidding, right? Tomorrow’s Christmas,” Tommy says.
“Wh- today’s Christmas Eve. Do you guys have Christmas dinner on Christmas?” Quackity asks.
“Motherfucker, it’s called ‘Christmas dinner,’” Dream.
“Okay, okay, sorry I’m not white enough to open presents at six am and eat at six pm,” Quackity says.
“Touché,” Sapnap replies.
“If we’re playing Party Pack, I say we try Fakin’ It. I’ve always wanted to do an in-person game,” Wilbur says.
Dream had never played Jackbox like this, on a television in a living room full of friends, the way it’s supposed to be played. They pile onto the couch while Tommy brings out his laptop. Everyone's laughs are infectious, pulling Dream into a full-body wheeze that has his eyes tearing up. The game is surprisingly fun, but he makes a mental note to get better at lying to people’s faces.
“Wait wait wait, what expression did you just make?” Quackity laughs.
“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Dream asks.
The prompt comes up on the TV.
Make the face you’d make if you pooped your pants.
Maybe biting his lip was a risky play.
“He’s so faking, he’s one hundred percent the faker,” Sapnap says.
“Hey, to be fair, I have peed the bed, and it’s always good to broaden your horizons,” Dream says, figuring he should just roll with it.
“I feel like it’s fifty-fifty Dream or Sapnap,” Tubbo says.
“Nah, Sapnap’s face is just naturally dumb-looking,” Tommy replies.
“You just called Sapnap dumb you just called Sapnap dumb you just called Sapnap dumb-” Karl begins saying.
“I’m voting Dream simply because I’m going to forever be haunted by the image of him biting his lip while shitting his pants,” Wilbur says.
“Oh, come on, you’re kidding me,” Dream says. He’s lost at this point, but he’ll lose with dignity and keep up the lie.
Once he’s voted out, his name pops up and confirms him as the faker, and everyone rejoices.
Sapnap leans in with a shit-eating grin.
“Damn, you play so much Among Us, I thought you’d be good at this.”
In his defense, he hasn’t had to worry about people watching his body language during Among Us, so his ego stays intact. They continue on through the rounds, Dream enjoying himself more than he has in a long time. The only thing that could make this better would be-
A ringing noise sounds from the front door, almost as if the gods heard his call.
“Can one of you boys get the door? I believe George is here,” Phil shouts from the kitchen.
“On it,” Dream says before anyone else can. It’s as if the eager bundle of nerves forming in his chest is carrying him forward, barely in control of himself as he walks up to the entrance.
He unlocks the deadbolt and turns the knob, excited to see his friend for the first time. Every second until now feels like it was leading up to this moment, aligned in the stars by some celestial providence. Then, standing there in an ugly sweater with snow-dusted hair, George looks up and meets his eyes.
And the world stops spinning.
Like everything he ever knew had just shifted on his axis, Dream’s vision starts to blur at the edges, something strange happening to George’s face in his peripherals. Everything takes on a different dimension, warm and cold and vibrant in a way he had never seen before, a way he didn’t have the words to describe. It comes in waves of startling depth, George’s sweater stark against the dusky scenery.
“Dream,” he says, his voice like honey, eyes like a hearth, warm and entrancing, making him never want to look away.
“George,” Dream replies, heart carrying his words like a choir of adoration he doesn’t even try to silence.
Dream thinks back to everything he’d ever been told about color, the power it has to drive you to emotion, move you in ways you never predicted. He never believed them. He supposes George has the unique ability to make him believe anything at all. Just like that, everything has come into view, and he’s finally begun to see .
“I- I brought presents,” George stammers.
He notices the hues in the tissue paper poking out of the bag. Instinctively, he knows their names like they’ve always been on his tongue, waiting for the right moment to be sought. Red and green and white- they’re new and exciting, colors drawing him into a world he didn’t know existed. And George, there with his pink-flushed nose from the cold and porcelain skin like fine china; it makes Dream wonder how he ever lived, unable to see him in this light.
“Right,” Dream gulps. “Come in.”
Inside, the group has moved on to different festivities, most snacking or singing along to Pentatonix covers. Dream can tell the moment George is hit by the overwhelming sense of home and warmth, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap, who are moving to the beat, pull him into join them.
“George! Come here, man,” Sapnap says, attacking him with the biggest bear hug.
“Okay, you’re gonna squeeze me to death,” George chuckles.
“Gogmeister, joining the party!” Karl says. “Show us your moves, guvna.”
“No, no, I don’t dance,” George says.
“Aw, Gogy, don’t be shy,” Quackity replies.
Dream calmly offers his arm, palm up in front of George expectantly.
“Can I have this dance?” Dream asks.
George rolls his eyes and takes his hand.
“You’re so stupid,” he says, blush betraying his words.
They kick off their shoes and take to the carpet just as Wham! comes over the speakers. So that’s how he finds himself with George, his soulmate, dancing to Last Christmas like no one is watching. Dream has never seen him this unfiltered, it’s a sight he imagines he’ll daydream about for the rest of his life.
After a while, Wilbur turns down the music and brings out his guitar, everyone dropping what they’re doing to gather around.
“Quackity, open invitation to join in as well,” Wilbur says.
“Oh-hoh, yeah baby, good thing I brought this bad boy,” Alex says excitedly.
The pair takes a few minutes to tune their instruments, brainstorming how to duet different songs until they settle on Winter Wonderland, improvising the chords as they go. Phil comes by and hands each of them a cup of hot chocolate, smiling fondly at the group as they sing.
“Hey Karl, come here for a sec,” Sapnap says.
He leads him to where the living room opens up, standing patiently in one spot.
“What?” Karl asks.
Sapnap points up at a bundle of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.
“Oh,” Karl adds. He laughs. “Is this the part where you kiss me?”
“What!?” Quackity calls from the couch. He immediately drops his guitar mid-song. “Are you guys kissing without me?!”
“Oh no, wouldn’t dream of it, Alex,” Karl assures him.
Quackity chases after them, the three in a giggling fit as they run through the house like children. Dream sighs, letting his mug sit warm against his chest. That kind of young-at-heart joy is something he envies in his friends, something he wishes he could have beyond the extent of middle-school humor.
George seems to be eyeing the mistletoe, blinking at it from across the room like he’s expecting it to do something. Dream has been noticing things about him and committing them to memory- how he chews on the inside of his cheek in thought, how he has the slightest hint of a five o’clock shadow that doesn’t show in pictures, his subtle way of smiling with his eyes.
There’s also the colors, how could he forget about the colors? He supposes it feels so natural now, so fitting that he hardly notices something’s changed. The way the different tinctures of the string lights are casted onto George’s face feels like kismet. Here, he looks almost heaven-sent. Something deep within Dream is giving confirmation that he was meant to reach this point, and now he is complete.
“Wh- what are you- why are you staring at me?” George asks.
Shit.
“Just interested, is all. Seeing you in person,” Dream replies.
“Interested, hm?” George asks.
Batting his eyelashes teasingly? Now that’s just unfair. Dream knows he can see what he’s seeing, but he’s fine riding out this game of chicken and unacknowledgement. That’s better than having to deal with the implications of George being his soulmate.
“Do you guys want any gingerbread?” Tommy yells from the kitchen.
The pair freeze, settling back into their seats. They both become hyper-aware of how mindlessly they were leaning in towards each other.
“Yeah, uh, I could take some gingerbread,” Dream says.
“Too late, we’re using it,” Tubbo says.
“Oh- wait, what do you mean ‘using?’” George asks.
Tommy and Tubbo come into the living room with a tray of gingerbread men, all decorated with angry expressions and candy cane weapons. They appear to be mid-battle, with gingerbread debris and strawberry jelly littering the plate.
“This is Lieutenant Gumdrop, the toughest cookie in the lot of them,” Tommy says proudly, brandishing a gingerbread man with a frosting battle scar.
“And Commander Mallow, he has a bit of a condition,” Tubbo mumbles around a candy cane. Commander Mallow’s head seems to be replaced with another leg, stuck on by copious amounts of vanilla icing. “But he’s still a tougher cookie than you’ll ever be!”
“I reckon we settle this on the battleground,” Tommy says.
“May the best man win,” Tubbo salutes.
They pelt each other with M&Ms while the others laugh at their shenanigans. Tubbo pulls the candy cane out of his mouth, which has been sharpened at the end, and skewers Lieutenant Gumdrop.
“No! He was too young, too pure for this world!” Tommy gasps dramatically. “You’ll pay for this!”
He pulls the make-shift head off of Commander Mallow, taking a bite out of the cookie.
“No! His condition!”
The two are interrupted by Phil, who walks in to set down a bowl of mashed potatoes.
“You two better not be eating that before dinner. M&Ms on the carpet? Both of you ought to clean that up and set the table,” he scolds.
“Yes Phil,” they mumble in unison.
“It’s not much with the fridge packed for tomorrow, but I hope you lot enjoy.”
As if summoned, Techno comes out of his room and wordlessly takes his seat. The rest of them follow suit, patiently waiting while Tommy and Tubbo place plates and forks.
The comfort of sitting around and eating something homemade with those closest to you- it’s a feeling Dream forgot he missed this much. Save for the few times his family visits, he’d gotten used to long nights of takeout at his desk, still deep into his latest project. He observes the colors, never having imagined apples to be so vividly red, or ham to be such a bright pink.
The whitenoise of chatter is comforting, Dream almost forgets he wasn’t always here.
“Hey, can you pass me that bowl?” he asks.
“Oh, here,” Wilbur says.
“No, the blue one.”
The entire table goes silent.
“What?” Dream asks.
“Did- did you just say the blue one?” Wilbur asks.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Tommy’s the first to break the silence.
“Oh, this must be so embarrassing for you, big ma- hey! What was that for?” he asks, Techno elbowing him in the side.
“So, Dream,” Sapnap asks.
“I didn’t know you talked to women,” Tommy says.
“I don’t,” Dream says under his breath.
“Everyone lay off, it’s not our business, alright?” Phil says.
The chatter quiets, leaving him in an awkward position, chewing in the heavy silence. Everyone slowly returns to a normal volume, but Dream is left feeling tense, stealing glances at George from across the table. He receives a knowing look, which eases his nerves.
Stuffed and content, Tommy and Tubbo take the dishes to the sink while the group indulge in sweets and coffee. It’s refreshing to have a group of people you can talk to about work without taking half the conversation to explain the details.
“As much as it sucks not streaming, it’s been working out pretty well. I’m learning to appreciate taking a break every once in a while, as difficult as it is for me,” Dream sighs.
“You deserve it,” George says, smiling gently. “I’ve never known someone who works as hard as you do.”
“Don’t stroke his ego too much, he’s still a tryhard dumbass,” Sapnap teases.
“It’s getting pretty late, any of you up for some Christmas movies?” Wilbur asks.
“Nope. See you all when we open presents,” Techno says. He grabs a handful of chocolates before returning to his room.
“Yeah, I’m going to bed early. Big man needs a big rest” Tommy says.
“Sleep is basically time travel, so I’m gonna time travel to opening presents,” Tubbo adds.
“Well, any of the rest of you up for Christmas movies?” Wilbur asks again.
“Only if we watch the claymation ones first,” Karl says.
The couch is crowded, half of them leaning on each other and pushed off the edge. It reminds him of pillow forts, all his siblings toppled onto a couch cushion under a tent of blankets. A pair of feet digging into his side, George’s head in his lap, Sapnap leaning against his shoulder, one leg sitting on Quackity- it’s the epitome of controlled chaos.
“Wow, I do not remember Frosty the Snowman being only twenty minutes long,” Sapnap says to Dream.
“Eh, I think my attention span only worsened with age.”
“I was more of a Nightmare Before Christmas kid,” Karl says.
“That’s a Halloween movie,” Quackity says.
“It has Christmas in the title!” Karl replies.
“I think that’s a versatile movie, you can definitely watch it twice a year,” Wilbur says.
“See! It’s too good to only watch once,” Karl says.
“Hey, if we’re talking best movie, it’s Polar Express, that’s not up for debate,” Dream says. He idly runs fingers through George’s hair, only now aware he’s been doing it. George looks up at him.
“It’s the best, but not by a landslide or anything,” George says.
“No no no, I’m right and you all know it,” Dream says.
“You have to admit, Klaus is pretty strong,” Karl says.
“And we’re excluding the live action ones- Elf? The Santa Clause? The live action Grinch?” Sapnap asks.
“You just invalidated your own opinion. ‘The live action Grinch,’ get out of here,” Quackity says.
“Of course Sapnap likes the trash Jim Carrey Grinch,” George laughs.
“Well, this has been an enlightening conversation, but I’m going to bed. And by going to bed I mean editing until I pass out,” Wilbur says.
“I think I’m turning in too, y'all. My superior movie tastes aren't appreciated," Sapnap jokes.
"If Sapnap's leaving, I am too. I wanna go cuddle," Karl giggles.
"Same here. I'm not about to be left out from you two," Quackity says.
"Alex, you had an entire day with him, I need my Karl time," Sapnap says.
The three bicker with each other as they make for the spare bedroom. Dream and George are left on the couch alone.
“Your fingers are in my hair,” George says.
When Dream pulls his hand away, George leans up into his touch.
“I didn’t- I was just… observing,” he says.
“Oh.”
Dream delicately rests his hand back down, continuing the motion. George closes his eyes, humming too softly to hear but enough to feel the vibration.
“One more movie?” Dream asks.
“Best for last? How about Polar Express?” George asks.
“Man after my own heart,” Dream croons.
He can quote the movie by heart, but when the opening title comes on, it’s like he’s watching it for the first time. The characters feel more alive then they ever did in black and white. Dream figures it’s mostly the feeling of George here, though, and the mesmerizing sight of his chest rising and falling.
“I get so nostalgic watching this movie,” Dream says, looping his finger around the same strand of hair.
“Me too. Something about the snow hits close to home. In London we used to have more white Christmases,” George murmurs.
“Oh yeah? What was Christmas in London like?” Dream asks.
“Lights, so many lights. All the main streets were like magic. I remember being a kid making snow angels on the front porch. My mom used to scold me for never putting my gloves on, telling me I’d freeze to death. I liked the way the snow melted in my hand, made me feel like… I don’t know, some kind of wizard or something. I’m surprised I didn’t get frostbitten,” George says. His words are starting to slur from sleepiness, eyes lazing to stay open.
“We always used to take road trips in the winter, and my parents would like, write an excuse so I could skip school and get an extra day of break,” Dream laughs. George is staring up at him like he’s hearing the most interesting thing in the world. “My favorite thing was that moment where my mom woke me up, right as we pulled into the McDonald’s drive thru. When she let me get a McFlurry late at night, I felt like the luckiest kid on the planet.”
“God, what if we had met before? In person?” George asks dreamily.
“I… don’t know. As sappy as it is, I’m glad things happened the way they did. I wouldn’t want to risk not being friends with you,” Dream says.
“Wow, you’re right. That was sappy,” George says. “Besides, I’d get sick of you if I had to see you in person every day, especially as a teenager. Football-playing Florida man? I’d be dead within the hour.”
“Hey, flag football, and I wasn’t that bad as a teenager. I probably would have done things differently,” Dream says.
“Oh really? Like what,” George asks, alarmingly awake all of a sudden.
“For starters, I definitely would have made a move on you,” Dream says. The words tumble out of his mouth, but he strangely doesn’t regret it.
“Really? Tell me more,” George prods.
“No no no, no,” Dream laughs. That’s more than enough.
“What? You should have made a move on me already, dumbass.”
Oh.
George is looking at him expectantly, while all Dream can do is watch in wonder. His chest feels as if it’s being tugged on by a phantom thread, one connected to the other’s heart. The smarmy expression on George’s face slowly fades as his eyes rake over Dream’s face, and the moment becomes weighted.
“You told me… your parents said your eyes were green,” George says, breaking the heavy silence.
“Yeah?” Dream asks.
“So,” George says, sitting up while keeping his gaze steady on Dream’s. “That's what green looks like.”
Dream breaks out into a wheezing fit, George laughing alongside him until they’re holding onto each other for support, both howling so much it hurts.
“Why are we laughing?” George gets out between breaths.
“Because I wanna kiss you!” Dream says, wiping away a tear.
Their laughs slow to a stop, catching their breaths as they both take in his words. George’s eyes reflecting the neon colors of fairy lights are almost kaleidoscope-like. The only word that comes to mind is enchanting .
Dream’s hand drifts to his cheek, holding his face like he’s a precious thing. His nerves are getting the better of him, so he doesn’t make an advance, simply staring at his lips in waiting. That’s how they sit for a while, the only noise being the distant whistling breeze.
“Is-” Dream stutters, “is this- can I- is it okay if-”
“Are you going to kiss me, you idiot?” George asks.
He doesn’t wait for a response, closing the gap so quickly that Dream’s eyes flutter shut. The restless sparks in his chest slow to a simmer, lips against his grounding and warm beyond what he thought possible. Dream is utterly and hopelessly melted to his core, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Once George pulls away for a breath, he takes one glance at Dream’s face and ends up laughing again.
“You look so stupefied. What, am I that hot or something?” George chuckles.
“No, I- I mean, yes, you are, but- fuck, why can’t I talk? How- how are you the one being cocky and I’m a speechless mess?” Dream says.
“You’re all talk, Dream,” George teases.
Dream leans against his shoulder, drawn to the feeling of where they meet. Polar Express is still playing long-forgotten in the background, and George is all that’s captured his attention.
“You know something I always wanted to see?” Dream asks. He continues the conversation as if nothing changed, and in a way, nothing has. “I’ve always wanted to see a rainbow.”
“Oh, we can look at one together,” George says.
He pulls out his phone and goes to google images, pulling up a picture of a rainbow. They sit together and look for a while.
“Wow,” is all Dream can say.
“I know,” George says. “I didn’t expect this. There’s at least three different colors here.”
What?
“What did you say?” Dream asks.
His heart being to sink, spiralling into a terrifying train of thought. What if George is lying? What if he noticed Dream acting strangely, but the soulmate bond was one-sided, and now he’s trying to preserve his feelings? What is he’s terribly mistaken, and this is all one big nightmare?
“Yeah, there’s the yellow here, the blue, the… green? I think? Or is that more yellow? Nobody told me they’d be so similar,” George says.
Oh, Dream thinks, I’m a fucking idiot.
“George- are you colorblind?” he asks.
“Wh- are you seeing something different?” George asks in response.
A weight is lifted off Dream’s chest. Absolute dumbass.
“Go to a color blindness test, right now. I want to see something,” he says.
Doing as he says, George goes to enchroma and squints at his phone while the images flash. Dream giggles to himself the entire way, George discerning certain numbers but being completely baffled by others.
“Protan, huh? I didn’t know this was… a thing” George says. Dream pats him on the shoulder reassuringly.
“To be fair, there’s not much information about soulmates online anyway,” Dream says.
“God, tell me about it. I feel kind of embarrassed saying this, but… During our first video call, I was heartbroken. When I looked online and found nothing? It was devastating. So when I saw you in the doorway, I- I don’t know, it was shock, and hope, and so many things at once,” George says.
“Do you know how many forums and subreddits I combed through, hoping it was you?”
“It was always you.”
Dream takes pause, soaking in the serene fidelity of his words- not words, declaration. Truth. If he worked his hardest, every day, for the rest of his life, he wouldn’t come within a mile of deserving this. Deserving him.
George.
“You know what the first color I saw was? The blue of your dress shirt. I think it’s my favorite color,” George says.
“If only you could be this poetic on camera,” Dream chuckles.
“Only for you,” George hums.
“I love you too,” Dream says.
George blinks at him.
“I didn’t say-”
“You didn’t need to,” Dream says.
“You didn’t give me the chance. I want to,” George says. He takes a deep inhale. “I love you, Dream.”
“Wow, okay, cringe,” Dream jokes. He gets elbowed in the side.
“I’m exhausted. You tired me out with your simping,” George says.
“I don’t want to move. Can we sleep here?” Dream asks.
“Our clothes will be wrinkled stiff in the morning. I kind of like it that way, though,” George replies. He peppers a few sleepy kisses on Dream’s forehead and cheek, having to tilt his head up to reach. As he lays back onto the couch, George follows him down, shifting until they can fit comfortably.
“Just wait until Twitter finds out you’re the big spoon. They wouldn’t believe me,” Dream teases.
“Bold thing to say when I have a camera on my phone. Who knows what I’ll post whilst you’re asleep,” George murmurs into the crook of Dream’s neck. It’s these simple pleasures that he lives for, the comfort he takes for granted. Maybe the spell will break on Christmas morning, and they’ll have to return to their lives, but Dream will treasure this forever.
“Guess we’ll just have to… time travel to tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow, love.”
George is on the verge of sleep, so Dream doesn’t know if it was a conscious word choice. It touches his heart all the same.
“See you tomorrow... love.”