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Nothing had been the same since George was able to grab and physically embrace Dream in his arms, laughing like a child on Christmas into the taller ghost's chest. Dream smiled, feeling tears dripping down his cheeks that vanished before they touched George's hair. His arms held the small male tightly, almost cradling him, as if terrified to let go. The story of 'how' was over. The rest of their lives ahead, and for once, that meant something.
"Dream?" George had spoken up softly a few days after it was assured they were spending the remainder of their days tethered together.
"Yes, my dear?" Dream asked, hovering behind George was he picked away the overpaint on an older canvas.
"Does this mean that... you have a sense of mortality again?"
Dream was baffled by the question, and he let out a soft, confused chuckle. "Pardon?"
"I mean, like... if you're tethered to me," George said slowly, "and I'm mortal... that means... when I go, so do you. It's like... death all over again. Does that... scare you?"
Dream gave a thoughtful hum, resting his hands on George's shoulders. He'd found he always needed to be touching George, as if to assure himself that he still could. That none of this was a sick joke. "No, I don't think so," he stated, voice still rather cheerily lilted. "I guess I was afraid of death back when I was still alive..." Dream's head tilted. "But then when it actually happened, I... came back anyway, in some way or another." He shrugged. "Death really doesn't have any meaning to me. Especially if... when you pass on," Dream's face relaxed to a smile as he sat beside George, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin atop his shoulder, "we'll still be together for eternity."
-
And that's all it had been.
Every day was a domestic adventure; Dream helping George with colors that were still hued just beyond his capabilities, George teaching Dream about the realm of painting conservation, Dream teaching himself and willing himself to be able to hold a pen again. It wasn't anything like the art he was used to producing, but he began to teach himself to sketch. He'd draw every little thing he saw interesting; George's cat, for example (who was a story all of herself, lest he tell you!), or a potted plant, or... George himself. George was his favorite subject. He was just so photogenic. George's candid expression as he poured over his work, one of soft concentration yet such confidence. George wasn't a confident man, Dream had noticed. But when it came to this, he went into autopilot. He knew exactly what to do, like no one could do it better.
Dream was convinced no one could.
What came with being able to hold a pen and draw, came with being able to hold a pen and write. Dream's hand writing was just about as elegant as his appearance; cursive loops and tidy, straight lines. It was pretty, very distinct, and clearly recognizable. It was a little difficult to explain to Sapnap all the handwritten notes that kept appearing amongst his studio in a handwriting that clearly wasn't his, and clearly wasn't printed. Neither of them cared enough to begin to explain themselves. It had became almost a game.
"What'll he find today?" Dream grinned, hovering only inches behind Sapnap, who began experimentally trailing along the apartment, clearly looking for something. Dream stayed glued to his heels like a duckling, peering over his shoulders.
George tried to stifle a laugh at the sight, but broke when Sapnap asked, "is there a draft in here?"
-
"Have you tried to eat food since passing?" George asked one night as he had been making dinner for himself, realizing that he'd never bothered to ask Dream if he got hungry. Hungry wasn't the right word, more... food-craving. Logically, he knew Dream couldn't quite feel anything. But he was curious nonetheless.
"I don't think I've ever tried, no," Dream's hands were clasped behind his back as he leaned down to sniff what George was cooking with an approving hum. "Though, if I had to, it'd definitely be one of your home-cooked meals. They always smell delicious, Georgie. Reminds me of Elizabeth's cooking, she always took such pride in it... it was..." Dream let out a soft laugh, moving a hand to cup the side of his mouth, as if spilling a secret. "Best not speak ill of the dead."
George chuckled. "Do you want to try some?" He offered a spoonful. "Even if it doesn't work, it can't hurt to try."
Dream, with great concentration, managed to take the handle of the spoon and raise to his lips. His lips parted and the spoon slipped through, but when he closed his mouth around it and slid it out of his mouth, the food slid off the spoon and made a resounding splat against the tiled floor of his apartment.
At least they'd had something to giggle about for the rest of the night.
-
"So... does it scare you that I won't grow old with you?" Dream had asked one night, turning his head to look at George as they both lay in bed.
"What do you mean?" George crinkled his brow. "You will."
"I mean physically, George... I don't age like you will. And I won't be able to... to take care of you, like I would if I were really..." Dream trailed off, finding such ache in his words, that George cut him off.
"That doesn't scare me, Dream. I couldn't care less about anything, as long as you're by my side. Nothing else matters," George reassured, reaching out and taking his hand. He lifted it, pressing a delicate kiss to his knuckles.
Dream smiled gently, allowing his eyes to close as he cuddled closer to his boyfriend. "...you're right."
-
"What're you doing?" Dream laughed, floating alongside him hastily as George rushed through the wooded path.
"I haven't been here since I was a kid!" George excitedly yelled over his shoulder as he squeaked, nearly tripping over a twig.
"Careful!" Dream called after him, grinning as he rushed at his side. "What're we looking for?"
"It's a park, I had to leave it when I left my parents, but since we're in town for the holidays... it should be..."
George froze in place, skidding to a stop as he finally burst into the clearing. It was perfect, exactly like he remembered. Age had treated it poorly, the swings that once used to be so bright and inviting were rusted and dull. George couldn't care less as he spun around in the open field, eyes lingering on Dream's semi-transparent form. "Isn't it pretty?"
"I wonder, George... if this were a painting, if you'd be able to restore its former glory," Dream had idly said, and it had gotten George's brain spinning.
It wasn't even a month later before he had paid for the entire park to be refurbished in full.
-
And it wasn't even a year after that that the duo returned.
"Look how much prettier it is now," George beamed as he walked down the clean path towards the park that was now lively and bright again. The swings were replaced with brighter, better ones, the slides were polished, the playground wooden climbing houses were rebuilt, everything was beautiful. Exactly the way it had been when George was a kid.
It was just another example of the most meaningful lesson that George had ever learned: that the best things typically live in the past. But that doesn't mean they can't bleed into the present.
"Dream?" George turned to the ghost at his side, who was radiating pride.
"Mm?" Dream hummed, smiling down at him, before realizing he had to look down further than usual.
George didn't give a shit how stupid this looked to onlookers. He didn't care that Dream would never be able to wear the ring. He didn't care that there would never be a ceremony. He didn't care if it would never be legally recognized as a 'real' marriage.
It meant something to him. And that was enough.
"Will you marry me, Dream?"
-
"You're home early," Dream mused as the door closed behind George. "Something go wrong?"
"No," George shook his head. "I, uh... retired today."
Dream blinked a few times in surprise. "You retired? As in..."
"I'm never going back to work," George nodded. "It... also means that I'm getting older. Y'know? My time's... nearing."
"Don't say that, you're still a spring chicken!" Dream grinned as he hopped up. "Just because you're physically aging doesn't mean your soul has to! Dance with me, Georgie," Dream extended a hand, tugging George into his arms.
After all these years, the nickname had stuck.
After all these years, it never failed to make George's heart skip a beat in his chest.
Only this time, his heart didn't stop skipping beats. He froze up in Dream's arms, eyes going wide. A hand flew up to clutch at his chest.
-
"This might be it," George rasped from the hospital bed, giving a loving, sad smile to the ghost that had never left his side. Dream clutched one of George's hands in his own, giving him a small nod of confirmation.
"I always told you not to work yourself so hard," Dream chided very lightly.
They had discovered George had a heart problem. One that was sure to cut years off his life. They'd fought it best they could, but...
There is an end to everything.
"If I do... go," George murmured, eyes drifting up to lock on Dream's. "Your promise stands? You won't leave me, right?"
"No. No, no, no... never," Dream pressed a kiss to George's hand. "I'm here until we both turn to dust."
"Figuratively?"
"I mean, I hope so..." Dream gave a little smile, "I'm not entirely sure what happens when you die twice."
-
"Georgie? What's this machine do?" Dream had asked one day, standing in front of the heart rate monitor. "Does it ever shut up?"
"Well, I hope not," George let out a weak little chuckle. "If it does, that means I flatlined."
"Pardon?"
"That means I died, Dream. If that machine stops beeping, my heart stops beating."
Dream hummed, and it had gone silent for a few moments, before Dream took a step forward and grinned a bit. "...so, it tracks your heart rate?"
"Yeah, something like that, I'm not a doctor. ...why?" George squinted.
Dream grinned, before moving down and pressing a kiss to his lips. "I love you, Georgie. Forever in this life, and even more in the next."
The monitor went wild, beeping quickly, in perfect sync with the red blush that snaked from George's neck, up his face, and to the tips of his ears.
Both Dream and George laughed.
-
He felt weak. He couldn't keep his eyes open wider than a slit, couldn't lift his arms or legs. Every breath was a strain. Dream could tell the toll it was taking on his husband, and it hurt his heart to see him so...devoid of life. Never once, though, did he leave his side.
Not even when the repetition of the beep from the machine tracking George's heart began to slow, and slow, and slow, to a...
Dream's eyes darted to the flatline, before darting back to George. George's body lay still on the table, but, hovering above it...
"Georgie?" Dream whispered.
The ghost's head turned to Dream, and his eyes widened. "Dream!"
Dream's smile doubled, and he hopped up. The two rushed towards each other, flinging against each other. Tears welled in both of their eyes as they laughed, holding onto each other tightly, for the first time, it felt... real. Every single feature of Dream was so crystal clear to George, and he couldn't stop running his fingertips over every inch of him, while never easing up on the hug.
Just like neither of them payed any mind to the doctors that came rushing into the room to try to revive George, neither of them payed any attention to the golden dust that began to rise from their knees, floating into the air.
Neither of them cared as they dissolved, because no matter what, they were confident they'd find each other again. When you meet a soulmate, one life is not nearly enough.
"Dream?" George had said with a wide smile, tears leaking down his cheeks.
Dream raised a flaking hand to wipe the tears off his cheeks. "Yes, my love?"
"I'll see you on the other side."