Chapter Text
// selective mutism (george) he is seeing dream’s face for the first time :)
The two stared, silent words of appreciation being passed through to the other, trying to convey a message that contained words more powerful than either of them could decipher in that moment. The air was stiff but beautiful.
George tilted his head, eyes never breaking from Dream as they roamed across the expanse of his face. He was truly gorgeous. Tanned skin from a life lived under the burning southern sun, freckles that came with that exposure but slowly faded over the years. Those dangerously bright emerald eyes. Eyes filled with love, joy —and with his compassion came every bit of Dream’s unique personality somehow crammed into the tiny green puddles that were his eyes. And he was gorgeous.
George reached his hand up, delicate finger tips connecting with skin. It was unsuspected on Dream’s end, but he didn’t dare move. He’d rather die than disrupt a moment this rare and this divine.
The brunette’s fingers danced across his cheeks, tracing over every freckle, every indent, every scar, every mark that Dream had accumulated through the life he lived, and George looked absolutely enthralled by it all. Like there wasn’t anything more enticing than the creation that was Dream.
A soft honey brown eye partnered with an icy blue one, dripping with captivity, flickering between every inch of skin he could see. His fingertips never ceased in their movements, tracing across his forehead and cascading down the slope of Dream’s nose. He cupped the boy’s cheeks, thumbs ghosting against his temples before pressing a feather light touch to the dark circles that pooled below Dream’s bottom lashes.
His thumbs came down to Dream’s cheek bones, rubbing back and forth, feeling the prominence they held in contrast to his other features. George could feel the sharpness to his jawline against his palms, the way his fingers brushed against the soft hair that reached the nape of his neck.
George brought one hand up, threading his digits through the dirty blonde waves, and pressing his fingers gently into his scalp as they carded their way around. Dream’s eyelashes fluttered at the sensation.
George brought his other thumb to Dream’s mouth, running it across his slightly chapped lips which remained pressed together in silence. George pulled down on his bottom lip ever so slightly, watching as they parted and a barely audible breath drifted past them.
Oh how kissable they looked.
George finally looked up, baring eye contact with Dream who had already been staring at him intently with cheeks dusted pink. He smiled, thumb still resting on the boy’s lips, hand still fiddling with Dream’s hair. Dream watched him, switching between blue and brown eyes that held no shame. He had traced across every inch of Dream’s face with his own fingers, had examined him so deeply and so intimately, had burned holes through his skin and seen the real, raw humanity that lied beneath, yet he sat there and stared into Dream’s eyes with not a lick of unease in his own. It was intoxicatingly wonderful.
In a world where George couldn’t communicate his feelings through words, touch was his language. Though, he only spoke it to those he loved. Sapnap, and now Dream, were the exceptions. In every brush of contact George established lied an unspoken meaning; you matter to me. You are important to me. You are so incredibly special.
And here they were, sat on a couch that had seen better days, sunlight pouring in through glass windows and peeking through curtains that danced in the breeze —whose rays found their way to the two of them, lighting up their eyes and their faces with a warmth that only emphasized what their hearts couldn’t; and they were beautiful.
If in this moment they could pause time, they would. If Dream had known, as he sat in his car driving himself to the airport, that in fifteen hours he’d be sat staring with a completely lovesick smile at his best friend, he would have cursed himself for not coming sooner. If he had known meeting his friend who led an unspoken life would result in a burst of genuine love that he hadn’t noticed before, he would have come sooner.
Though he supposed the way it had worked out was just as good, and he supposed that George’s muteness complimented his boisterous personality perfectly; because in this moment they sat with such contradictory lives, yet it simply made perfect sense. That’s all there was to it; perfect and complete sense.
As Dream stared into the boy’s eyes, and as his hands itched to hold George’s within his own, he felt at peace. He had loved how endearingly George had touched him, how delicate and caring his movements were, how he had been so enraptured in Dream that he had forgotten that they existed.
They were soulmates, whether it be platonic or romantic, but that's what they were. Souls that were destined for one another, souls that could love the other so fully and so unconditionally that nothing else mattered to them. Dream was so sure of it, and George knew it to be true.
Nothing in this godforsaken world could tear them apart.