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—1—
The first time Dream watches George sleep, it’s through a webcam. It isn’t even an intentional thing — they were on one of their infamous ‘sleep calls’ and George rolled over. Dream isn’t sure how it happened, but he switched on the webcam of his computer.
And then he’s there in front of him — curled up in a large hoodie with his hand cuddled under his head. His face is soft and relaxed; there’s something vulnerable there when he’s not paying attention.
Dream doesn’t realize that his breath has caught in his chest until he has to gasp for air. He feels lightheaded , and he isn’t sure if it was because of that…
Or because of George.
With the soft light of the screen illuminating his features, he can feel his palm itch to reach through the glass, through space and distance, and brush dark strands of hair off of his forehead. Something inside of him aches, because looking at his face through the webcam, he can inherently feel how wrong it is.
There shouldn’t be space.
There shouldn’t be distance.
George should be asleep in his house right now. If the world hadn’t gone to hell, he would have been with him already.
So instead, he lays silently in his bed and watches through the screen of his phone as George’s chest rises and falls, as the corner of his lips lilt into a smile from some dream that he’s having.
As he murmurs gently in his sleep, “You don’t mean it.”
Dream doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he speaks anyway. Soft, a whisper to not disturb him while he sleeps.
“But I do.”
—2—
The second time he watches George sleep, it’s a little less of an accident. They’ve been working on editing and filming for hours — it’s late for him and early for George, or maybe the other way around. It doesn’t really matter; their sleep schedules circle and change and shift constantly to match each other.
They try to stay in sync. It’s why they talk even when they’re both exhausted, and it is why George is curled up in his chair with a blanket wrapped around him, and the time between his eyes closing and opening for blinks slowly lengthens.
Dream pretends he isn’t counting the seconds that those lashes are fluttered shut… but he is, unconsciously.
Close. One, two, three, four. Open.
“You’re yawning, go to bed.” George’s voice is soft and sweet, and Dream’s eyes focus for a moment on his lips and how they curve into a gentle smile as he talks. When he’s tired, George’s usual teasing tone sometimes shifts to a fondness that makes his chest warm.
Close. One, two, three, four, five, six. Open.
“Oh, come on. You’re the one who’s falling asleep in your chair.”
“I am not, I’m just… comfortable.”
Close. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Open.
“If you say so…” He wants to go to bed, but he’s afraid if he suggests it the call will end. His fascination with the time between George’s lids opening and closing keeps him glued to his seat; he should probably question why it matters so much, but he pushes the thought aside for now.
Close. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Open.
“Dream?” George’s voice seems small. Softly, slowly fading. He barely manages to open his eyes this time, and the brown color is so clear in the glowing light of the screen.
“Hm?”
Close. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten...
“George?” He whispers his name softly, and George smiles again… but his lids don’t lift. His lashes are half-crescent moons against his cheeks… and Dream can do nothing but settle back into his chair and feel his heart try to travel over oceans through a screen.
—3—
The third time, George says that he can’t sleep. Dream can’t, either. The anxiety of what the next day will bring is too much for him, for both of them.
It’s finally happening. It’s finally happening. George has printed out his tickets to fly to Flordia. Dream makes him show him three times to check that they're correct, so he can stare at the time that his flight is scheduled to land. So he can look past them to the nervous, anxious, warm, and jittery smile painted on George’s face.
His fingers shake only slightly when he holds them.
They’re both aware of the fact that this is something — as much as they’ve denied it, things are going to change. They’ve been dancing around their feelings for one another in a careful waltz, because the real test will be when they’re together. The real moment to see if the something between them is everything is when they’re together.
In person.
It’s something that they’ve talked around, hinted at, denied, discussed… circled repeatedly without actually clarifying the point that meeting is going to change everything. Decide everything.
So, of course, they’re both anxious. George barely slept the night before.
Dream didn’t sleep at all.
And now they both look exhausted and exhilarated… and George holds his phone close to his face so that Dream’s vision fills with the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that let him know George is smiling... because when George smiles, he does it with his entire face.
George goes to sleep after another twenty minutes of them speaking in hushed tones to one another; Dream actually hums softly, his voice a melody to erase some of the excited energy that’s keeping his friend awake.
Because in his heart he knows that even though things might change, nothing is ever going to tear them apart. Nothing has been able to tear them apart, and things have certainly tried.
And the last thing that’s going to ruin it is them finally meeting.
Finally touching.
The last thing that could ruin it is Dream being able to finally reach out and brush dark hair from George’s face while his breathing deepens and he peacefully sleeps.
—4—
The fourth time is something completely different; it’s an experience that he never thought he could have, even though he’s tried to imagine it more times than he can count.
George didn’t sleep on the plane ride over -- the entire twelve-hour flight. He’s exhausted when they meet up; they livestream it — they break Twitch live streaming it. Dream has to send a car to pick George up and bring him to a hotel where they can meet; the last thing that he wants is someone accidentally getting his address, after all. So the airport that they picked is one further away, but better for privacy. It just means that they have a long drive back home. Together.
Sapnap is there, and he has a particularly damning video of Dream and George hugging for the first time.
He has a particularly damning video of the tears that trickled down his cheeks when he finally, finally got to wrap his arms around the smaller frame and hug him close.
The hardest thing that he’s ever done in his life is letting George go; something inside of him instinctively wants to make sure that he doesn’t go away. He’s been with him for exactly 129 seconds, and he feels like his world will completely fly apart if he’s not there and with him.
He doesn’t realize how touch starved he is until George wraps his arms around his waist and lays his head on his chest, tucked perfectly under his chin — until they’re slowly splitting apart and his long fingers trail for just a moment along George’s soft skin before they step away from one another.
But he’s still right there. Right in front of him. And Dream can’t take his eyes off of him.
George falls asleep in the car — Sapnap offers to drive, and he throws George’s suitcase into the front seat with a knowing glance at Dream.
Dream and George have to ride in the back seat, and their nervous energy radiates through the interior… but George’s lids are already fluttering softly.
“It’s warm.” His voice is sweet, and he slumps carefully against the seat. He starts to drift, and Dream recognizes the sight of it by now — he lifts his arm up without thinking, and George slowly slinks against him, cuddles his head against his shoulder like a cat, and murmurs softly. “You’re warm, Dream.”
Everything inside of him is bursting from their proximity. His entire chest is full of emotions and thoughts and feelings… but it doesn’t matter. George is breathing softly against his shoulder, and Dream is ignoring how Sapnap keeps glancing back at them with a completely dopey expression on his face.
It’s probably because Dream is crying again at how right everything feels.
How right everything finally feels.
—5—
The fifth time he watches him sleep is probably the thing that changes something inside of him. George has been there for a week, and they haven’t really discussed anything, yet. Things are too good, too perfect. They fit together in person just as much as they did online. More. They stay awake for hours just talking… and poor Sapnap has left the room more than once without them even noticing.
They’re enamored with the fact that they are together in the same room without the separation of a glass screen and the reverberation of a microphone.
Dream feels completely engulfed when he can reach out and tug on George’s hoodie string when he says something annoying. Enraptured by the soft flush of his cheeks when he calls him an idiot.
He’s fascinated with the fact that even an HD camera couldn’t properly capture the way that the sun looks shining through George’s hair — the way that it lights up the warm tones in his eyes like honey.
And like they’re in some bad fanfic, George has instantly taken to stealing his hoodies.
It might have something to do with the fact that Dream has cranked down the temperature of the house so he’ll do it.
They’re both dancing carefully around one another; it’s like a cup of water. All that’s holding it from spilling over is surface tension, and every second that they spend together is another drop threatening to make it burst.
He’s anxious about it initially, but Dream is realizing more and more how much he wants it to spill.
This is different, though. He’d gone to take a shower, and in that time George had curled up on the couch. His body is swallowed by one of Dream’s merch hoodies, and Patches is curled up on his chest, dozing in and out.
She’d taken to him right away — maybe it was because George had been cuddled against him the entire car ride home… but she sniffed him, and when George reached for her, she started purring.
She’s stretched across the green fabric of the hoodie that George is wearing now, and she opens one eye to carefully look at Dream as he stands, caught in the doorway. His hair is still wet from his shower, and he doesn’t even notice the droplets falling to catch in his lashes.
All that he can concentrate on is the sight of George curled up, sleeping with one arm on his chest, fingers lost in Patches’ fur.
All that he can think about is how perfect this is, and how this should be every day of his life. He wants to wake up to see this every day.
He doesn’t want George to leave.
He doesn’t want to lose even a second of their time together.
He pulls out his phone without thinking and snaps a photo of the two of them, and then instantly sets it to his lock screen.
This is perfect. And Dream is aware -- so aware -- of the fact that he doesn’t just love George.
He sees this moment spiraling, shining like the facet of a gem, a kaleidoscope of emotions that could last forever.
No… he doesn’t just love George.
He’s in love with George. So in love with George. And he can’t deny it anymore.
Everything is changing.
— +1 —
In all of the times that he’s watched George sleep, it’s never been while he was in bed. And George has never woken up and caught him.
Sapnap is out; George has been there for a month, and he’s gone to get Karl so they can film a meet-up vlog. They’re going to drive back instead of flying. Honestly, Dream has a feeling that it’s because seeing him and George together is making his best friend realize his own feeling a little more.
It’s the first night that he and George have been alone; they stayed up until near dawn. It was only when he could barely keep his eyes open that the smaller man finally drifted to his bedroom to go to sleep. Dream could tell how much he didn’t want to go; the offer for him to stay in his room was caught somewhere on the back of his tongue, thick in his throat, burning to be spoken but lost in nerves.
This is something that’s been swirling in the back of his mind since he saw George curled up with Patches. He teased him for the photos, but he didn’t tell him to delete them.
Instead, he pulled out his phone and leaned in, snapping a picture of the two of them while Dream’s cheeks were still flushed at being caught with George as his lock screen.
George made the picture as his home screen with a smug grin.
Now we’re even, Dream.
He’d seemed so pleased to glance down at the screen any time he got the chance.
But George is sleeping now in his own room, and Dream can’t stop himself. He gets up and pads barefoot across the hall; the door is slightly open (George leaves it that way in case Patches wants to come in) and the light from the hallway is playing across his face.
Dream can feel something inside of him shatter at how perfect he looks.
He steps into the room without thinking, presses his back against the door, and closes it softly behind him. His heart is thundering in his chest, and there’s a moment where he finds himself unsure of what he’s doing. Unsure of why he is doing this.
But he knows if he doesn’t say something, he’s going to burst. And at least now, while George is asleep, he can test the words out on his tongue to see if he can manage them in the daylight.
Maybe he can gain the courage to finally say them when George’s eyes are open.
Dream steps forward and comes to the side of the bed and looks down; George has never woken up while he watched before, so it should be safe.
He should be safe.
“George…” He murmurs his name as a test — below him, the brunette brings his arm up and snuggles against yet another stolen hoodie.
“George…” Dream reaches out like he’s wanted to since that very first call and brushes dark strands of hair from a pale forehead. His fingers trace down for a moment and touch against freckles, and George shifts to snuggle against his hand.
He moves back before he wakes him, because now that he’s started, the words are swelling in his chest and he knows he isn’t going to be able to hold back anymore.
He knows he won’t survive walking out of the room without saying them.
“I love you.” He murmurs the words carefully, and when George doesn’t stir, he continues. “I should have known that nothing would change when we finally met… or maybe I should have known that everything would change.” His fingers clench tight, trembling a few inches above the prone figure; he wants to touch him again, to hold him while he confesses to a sleeping man. Instead, he just continues to speak. “I’ve loved you for so long now that I don’t know how to do anything else. And I don’t think I can go back to doing it from a distance… George… I want you to stay with me forever.”
Brown eyes open.
George’s smile is soft and sleepy and sweet.
Dream freezes like a deer caught in headlights. He knows George’s face — and he knows from the expression that he’s heard everything he said.
What he doesn’t expect is for a small hand to reach out and grab his t-shirt, or the strength behind it when George pulls him down so he falls atop him on the bed.
George laughs and Dream's heart feels like it's going to explode; it sounds so warm -- it's his favorite sound. He rolls them both so that he’s curled against him, so that Dream’s entire world is filled with the brown ochre of his eyes.
“I was wondering how long it was going to take for you to say that.” And George leans in so Dream can feel the heat of his breath against his mouth. “I love you, too. I’m not going anywhere.” and then with a laugh he adds, “You idiot. I’m actually a very light sleeper.”
There’s something in George’s eyes and what he says that makes him wonder how many times he’s known he was watching. How many times he’s pretended to be asleep just to relax under the weight of his gaze.
Dream parts his lips to ask that very question, but George is moving forward instead — fingers tangle in dirty blonde hair and pull him closer. Warm lips meet warm lips, and any question that might have existed flies out of his mind to make room for what has to be Heaven: the feeling of George’s mouth eagerly moving against his own. He wraps his arms around him and rolls onto his back, so George’s smaller body is splayed across his chest and they can cling to one another tightly, desperately, locked in the moment of their first kiss; of the only kiss that has ever really mattered. It’s tinged with the edges of promise and love and forever finally starting.
He can ask questions later — he can ask questions for the rest of their lives. For now, Dream just melts.