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I knew you, dancing in your Levi’s.
Dream still remembered the first time he’d kissed George. How he’d looked at Karl’s party – the dark blue Levi’s hugging his legs so goddamn perfectly, the way he could look shy even as he talked to four people at once, his words tangling over each other in his drunken stupor – these were things Dream could never forget, never erase from his mind. They were locked away, protected and safe, impossible to taint.
Dream remembered the way Sapnap had looked at him, the teasing smile that was followed by the dare. “Come on now Dream, it's just a dare.” He’d prompted, raising his eyebrows as he clapped his shoulders. “Just kiss him.”
Across the room, George was moving around in a crowd. Dancing, but not really. He swayed to the beat, beer held tight in his hands as he tried to keep his balance. There’d be moments when he glanced around, and one of those led to his eyes landing on Dream, only to find him staring back. They kept their eyes trailed on each other as Dream sat up, hands shaking as he walked in the brunette’s direction.
Whispers of “I didn’t think he was actually going to do it” followed him, but he couldn’t focus anywhere else. George’s smile widened as Dream reached him, innocent happiness quickly turned to surprise as Dream’s hand went around his neck.
“Are you okay with this?” Dream’s voice was at a whisper, eyes trailing down to George’s lips, his hands still struggling to rest calmly, fingers drumming across George’s skin – As uncertain as he felt, the contact was the only thing grounding him in that moment. If he removed his hand, he was scared he’d slip away.
“Yeah, is this is a d-,” George began, but Dream’s impatience took over, and then his lips were on his.
It was meant to be a peck.
That’s when it started to go wrong. It was meant to be a peck. Dream didn’t mean to lean into George or allow him to wrap his hands around his waist. He didn’t mean to open his mouth when George bit down on his lips, or tug his hair when he let out a small groan. He didn’t mean to strengthen his hold till George was pressed entirely up against him, or to move his hips in a way that left George breathless.
He certainly didn’t mean to meet George at school again the next day or to kiss him senseless in the janitor’s closet. He didn't mean to continue doing that every day, till the janitor's close was no longer the only place the two met in, till he could hold George's hands as he walked through the hallways, till he could call him his boyfriend.
He didn’t mean to do any of those things, but God was he happy that they happened.
___
To kiss in cars and downtown bars
Was all we needed
Dream remembered the first time he gave himself to George completely.
They’d been coming home from a bar, both of them giggling like idiots, even though neither was drunk. They’d gone with the intention of getting drunk, of course, holding out their fake IDs like trophies, but then they got lost in observing everyone.
Well, George got lost in observing everyone – the lidded eyes, the outrageous laughter, the smell of different drinks. Dream just got lost in observing George – the tilt of his head, the crinkle of his eyes, the rasp in his whisper, the taste of his mouth, the softness of his touch.
George was a prayer, and as Dream had sat there looking at his boyfriend, he was ready to chant it over and over and over, till he could no longer speak. Then he’d write the prayer down, memorize each of George’s laughs and quips and looks so that the words were never lost and the memory became everlasting – put on a constant replay in his mind. George, George, George.
Then they left the bar and walked down the pavement to where Dream had parked the car. George would point out the lamest things to Dream – a rock, a leaf, a shape the stars seem to form – and Dream collapsed into hysterics, not needing alcohol to find the silliest things hilarious just because George did too.
And then they were in the car, and Dream was looking at George. Every word he wanted to say died in his throat, suffocating him, knocking the air out of his windpipe. Is this how it's supposed to feel like, Dream thought, that I’d die if I ever turned away?
And then he realized that yes, this is what it feels like. He still didn’t know what ‘it' was, just that it was mad and uncontrollable and dangerous in so many ways, but it seemed more dangerous to not act on it. So stumbled forward, cutting off George as he grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and kissed him.
At first, George had sat there, mouth open in surprise, his hands at his sides. Dream had almost pulled back, unsure, but then George’s hands were around him, and he was curling them at the back of his neck, pulling him closer, wanting to put them everywhere at once. It was messy – little jabs of Dream’s chin slowly taking something from George, his breath blowing hot on his cheeks when he parted for air.
And then they had driven home, and Dream had looked at George, and George had smiled at him – blinding him as they both got out and went aside, not taking their eyes off one another. George locked the door behind him, and Dream had a split second to look at him. His lips were the color of wine, his eyes brown and dark and wild and hazy, and then they both pulled each other in again, teeth and tongue and hands and hair.
This time, Dream had meant to do all of these things, and when he woke up the next morning to find a body caged under him, warmth glowing from it, he felt like he was holding the multiverse in his hand. It was all he needed.
___
You drew stars around my scars
Dream still remembered the first time he felt complete.
“What about that one?” George said, pointing at a random star. Dream shook his head softly from where it lay on George’s shoulder, “Too small.”
They had been on a date, and then George had decided he wanted them to have a star, so they went back to his house to sit on the ceiling and choose from the cosmos.
George turned his head back to look at Dream, eyes curious and sparkly and just so absolutely beautiful that Dream was sure no art could capture their marvel. “You’re looking at me like that again,” George told him, his voice a soft murmur as his hands threaded themselves through blonde locks, gently smoothening the tangles of hair.
“Like what?” Dream grinned lazily, almost falling asleep as goosebumps went down his spine from the simple touch. He craned his neck to get a better look, and was satisfied to see the flush spreading across George’s cheeks, tinting them a deep red.
“Like that.” George’s tone was pointed, his attempt to sound annoyed falling through as he blushed even more.
“Like what?” Dream prompted, “How do I look at you George?” He pressed a kiss to the brunette’s shoulders, before turning so his cheeks dug into George’s shoulder blades, the soft skin a heavenly landing ground for his head.
“Like I’m,” George hesitated, a deep breath filling his lungs, “I don’t know....like I’m blinding you or something. They go so squeezy.”
“I don’t know if eyes can go squeezy, Georgie.” George flustered at the nickname, slightly pulling on Dream’s hair as the latter's laughs came in sharp intakes of hiccupy breaths. A few moments later, he added, “It's true though, you do blind me...At least I feel like you do.”
“Why would you look at someone if it blinds you?” George asked, clueless and genuinely curious, looking at the stars that reflected in Dream’s eyes.
“I don’t mind if you blind me, George,” Dream's words were like the soft notes of a piano as he reached to lightly cup his jaw, thumbs brushing George’s cheeks, “It's fine if it means you’re the last thing I get to see.”
George began to say something, then spluttered, because how was he supposed to say what he wanted when Dream was looking at him with such pure and unfiltered adoration?
He wanted to tell Dream so many things – how he blinded him too, how he was the beam of light strong enough to light up the whole universe as it stretched across the dark abyss of the sky, how he was a ball of plasma that shone in spite of himself. He wanted to say so much about Dream – the way he was so driven and dedicated to his goals that he stopped at no length, how his persistence and consistency were the kinds that people tell stories about. He loved seeing Dream get passionate about something because he gave it his all, his efforts were contagious.
If Dream were a book, George thought, he’d be the kind that you keep re-reading because you can never get enough of it, the kind whose hero can bend the universe to his will.
Sitting there, under the stars, with Dream’s head on his shoulder and his hands in Dream’s hair, George could actually imagine the future. He could imagine his tomorrow, the day after, weeks after, a year, two years, 100 years if they made it that far.
But he couldn’t form coherent words to express his thoughts with Dream looking at him like that, so he just smiled, a tear threatening to spill from his eyes. Dream reached and gently wiped it off, nodding at George to show he understood. He understood.
And as Dream leaned further into him, and his arms came up fully around them, George realized they didn’t need a star. Dream was his star, his sun, and he would slay the moon for him. So they lay there, George’s hands now tracing stars onto Dream’s shoulder as his smile made all the scars that old memories could inflict, fade.
___
I knew everything when I was young
Dream still remembered the first time they’d fought.
“George?”
They’d been arguing a lot in the past weeks – with the final year of high school coming to a close and Prom to think about. Dream wanted to go, George couldn’t because he had to be in England for the next two weeks to take care of some things. He was going back to the UK for college.
“I’m not saying you can’t go with someone else, Dream. It’s not cheating if it’s a platonic thing.” George said, exasperated.
“Yeah, but you don’t sound too sad about me going with someone else.”
George put his head in his hands. Clothes were still thrown across his bed, waiting to be packed. “Do you want me to cry just because I can’t go to Prom with you? C’mon Dream.”
“I don’t want you to cry, I just mean… Shouldn’t this be affecting you more?”
“I know Prom is a vital high school experience, and trust me, I’d love to be there with you. But I can’t, and that’s all there is to it.”
Dream knew he might be overreacting, he knew George was being right, reasonable even. But George had been like that for the past few weeks – closed off and entirely logical as if he’d turned off his emotions to make it easier for him to leave. Dream didn’t want that. He didn’t want George to turn off his emotions because he couldn’t deal with them, he wanted to help him deal with them.
He took a look at George, at his tired eyes and messy hair, and suddenly there was only one thing he wanted to say. He knew it wasn’t the most optimum time, hell George might not even say it back. He knew he was taking a risk. He knew it all, and he also knew that he didn’t care.
“I’m in love with you.”
Dream’s eyes were shining, his hands trembling as he hugged himself, his grasp getting tighter by the second. It was almost as if he were preparing to support himself, like this confession had taken so much energy from him that he was about to fall.
Or maybe he is scared of my answer, George thought. That fool, he couldn’t possibly think I’d not return his feelings, that I’m not totally hopeless when it comes to him.
No, it's not that either, George’s thoughts kept coming. He knows I love him, am in love with him. He has to know; he knows me so well.
As they looked at each other, they both knew George wouldn’t say it back, because if he did, there’d be no turning back for them. It=t was understandable if Dream was preparing himself for the fall, George was doing the same.
But when Dream left the room and George landed in the UK feeling alone and incomplete, they found their preparations weren’t enough to defy gravity. They knew everything, and they knew they had hit the ground.
___
Now I’m bleeding
Dream still remembered the last time they’d fought, the last time they’d talked.
He knew it was his fault. He’d allowed himself to go to the party, to let the guy whose name he couldn’t even remember dance with him, to let the dancing progress into something more, until he found himself waking up naked in an unknown bed.
And then George had returned from England, and he’d seen the string of messages Dream sent him – panicked explanations of what had happened and how he didn’t want to go one second without telling George the truth. He’d seen it, and not replied.
And now Dream was standing on his doorstep as a party went on in his backyard. He stood there, unmoving. His hair seemed darker, dirtier, flopping in every direction as if it’d been a long time since he washed it.
George stepped forward. “Why are you here?” Why did you show up? Why can’t you leave me alone? Why did you do that to me, to us? The unspoken questions that hung in the air made it a little harder to breathe.
“I saw your face.”
George laughed humorlessly. “You’re hallucinating now?”
Dream kept looking at the ground, trying to ignore the hollowness in his chest as George’s laugh suddenly lost the private embrace it had always held for him.
“I’m being serious. I saw your face, when I was with him. Please George, I-"
All emotion left George’s countenance. His stance hardened, his eyebrows edging closer as if he was concentrating really hard on regaining composure.
“You saw my face when you were with him? And it wasn’t enough for you to stop? If not out of what you felt for me, then out of respect for him? You cheated, Dream. Don’t you understand that?”
“I didn’t-"
“Didn’t what? Didn’t think? That’s very unlikely Dream, we both know that.” George said, “You’re an overthinker, you never do something without thinking.” In that moment, George hated himself for knowing Dream so well.
They both stood there, their friends inside, enjoying the party that was supposed to celebrate the end of their final year, the start of them as a long-term idea and not just a high school fantasy.
“Leave.” George’s words cut through the air, piercing through Dream’s heart.
“What?” Dream choked out.
“Leave, I think it's best if we stay away from each other.”
“For how long?” Dream hated how desperate he sounded.
He took a step forward, hand reaching out, but George moved away. His bubble was popped, his boundaries were established and his walls were built, and the secret password Dream used to have to let himself in was no longer working.
Dream looked at him the same way he always had, like he was looking at him and nothing else because he really was looking at him and nothing else. Everything was just a background scene, a background sound.
So he looked at him, beseeching and regretful and desperate. His voice cracked, eyes red from all the hours unslept. “For how long, George?”
George turned away under the force of his gaze. “I don’t know.”
“I need to know!” Dream pressed, knowing full well he wasn’t in a position to demand anything. But he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t gonna let George go without a fight.
“So do I! Maybe when you tell me why you cheated on me, I’ll tell you why I don’t want to see you!” George’s voice was barely a semitone higher, but it made all the difference. He seemed to realize he’d raised his voice and immediately recoiled. What he said next was almost a mumble, but Dream would be damned if he missed hearing it.
“All I know is I can’t look at you without hating that I still love you.”
“Then love me.” Dream was begging. He didn’t care.
“I can’t.”
“Why?” Dream was frantic. He didn’t care.
“Because I don’t trust you anymore.”
Dream was silent, because he did care about this.
“Dream, just go. I can’t do this. We’re done here.”
As George turned and walked away, hands fisted to the point that his nails hurt as they dug into his palm, all Dream knew was that he was in love and George was in love, and then suddenly he fucked up.
___
We were something don’t you think so?
Dream still remembered everything that had to do with George.
He could do nothing but keep all these memories locked away. Of course they were something, they had been everything, and then they had been ruined. Now they were something Dream would always long for but never allow himself to have.