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“What are you doing down here?”
George turns. The Sun stands on the sidewalk a few feet away, staring at him. He’s wearing human clothes for once, and George thinks absentmindedly that they suit him.
“Visiting,” he has to raise his voice a little to be heard above the gentle patter of rain. His hand presses against cool glass, the other closed around the handle of his umbrella. “Why did you follow me?” He asks, as if it’s something strange. It’s not.
“I got worried,” Dream steps closer, hair wet from the downpour. Even deities aren’t immune to the weather. He tilts the umbrella so that it covers both of them, allowing Dream to pry his hand off the store window. “Why are you visiting?”
“I just felt like it.”
Dream flicks his forehead, disapproval evident. “You could’ve said something.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes, and feels a little guilty. “I thought you’d be busy?”
“Doing what?” George shrugs. “Ah, so you hate me now, is that it?”
“What?” He laughs, craning his neck to meet Dream’s gaze, “No, idiot. Stop trying to guilt trip me.”
“Whatever,” Dream blows out a puff of air, crossing his arms. “Where are we going now?”
George raises an eyebrow. “We?”
“Yes, we,” he rolls his eyes, feigning exasperation. His eyes glimmer like stars. “I’m already here, so we might as well.”
“Oh.” He glances to the side, watching a car drive past in a blur of yellow and blue. “I don’t know. I was just… wandering.”
Dream smiles at him. “So let’s wander,” he says, and presses their palms together to hold George’s hand in his own. The rain drums hard against his umbrella and it’s barely big enough to cover the both of them as they stroll through the quiet streets, pointing out things as they go. He thinks that it may be better for Dream to hold it, with him being so much taller, but Dream doesn't seem to mind it and George knows that he’d say something if he did, so he stays silent.
There are other people out and about. Most alone and some not, some running through the rain with a bag over their heads to shield themselves from the onslaught, others are couples with their fingers intertwined and bodies pressed together as they walk, joy and love evident on their faces. George wonders if they also see him and Dream as a couple, wonders if their bond is just as visible to the humans as it is to him.
Yellow light pours from shop windows, bathing the streets in a golden glow. The sky above is a swirl of gray and white, stars just barely visible behind the dreary clouds. It's a melancholic night, one without the Sun and the Moon in the sky, but he doesn’t feel too bad for abandoning his duties. It’s the one day a month that he can do so without worry.
“You’d think,” Dream says to him, shoulder pressing against his as they watch someone else walk through the rain with their hood pulled tightly over their head, “that after all the years that have passed, humans would learn to remember their umbrellas when it rains.”
“It’s not like you did either,” George points out, giggling when Dream shoots an offended glare at him, “I’m literally sharing mine with you.”
“I was in a rush,” Dream defends himself, tugging George out of the way of a puddle, “because you disappeared without warning. If anything, you’re the one at fault.”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Okay, Sun.”
“Okay, Moon.” Dream mocks, making his voice high and squeaky, and when George sticks his tongue out at him childishly he just laughs. “Sorry that I’m right.”
“Whatever,” He huffs. Dream laughs again, squeezes his hand as if to placate him, and that’s all it takes for George’s annoyance to melt into fondness and a smile to dance on his lips. “You’re so annoying,” he says, but it’s more of a compliment rather than an insult, evident from the softness of his tone and the affection in his words.
“Mm,” Dream hums his response, grin audible, and tilts his head to rest softly on top of George’s, “whatever you say, Moon.”
Whatever you say, Moon, he mouths to the air, wrinkling his nose. It doesn’t escape Dream’s notice and his loud wheeze fills the space between them, then they fall into yet another one of their comfortable silences.
Dream’s hand is warm in his — it’s not surprising because everything about Dream is warm, from his touch to his smiles to his laughs; and he is the Sun, after all. It’s something that George adores about him.
“Do you really like Earth this much?” Dream asks after a few short moments. The air blows cool against his flushed cheeks.
George shrugs in response. “Don’t you think it’s pretty?” He asks, stepping through a puddle and watching the water ripple from the disruption. “All the buildings, the nature, the people. We’re more like them then you think.”
“Sure,” Dream says, sounding like he doesn’t really believe him. “Humans are boring, though.”
He shakes his head. “They’re intricate,” he corrects, “they believe in different kinds of love and different gods and different fantastical beings, all different things that stem from the same place. Don’t you think that’s fascinating? How they can have such wildly different beliefs despite all those beliefs basing themselves on the same ideas?”
“I guess so.” Dream watches another car rumble by. “I don’t preoccupy myself with this stuff, you know.”
“You spend all this time on Earth with me, though,” George says.
A sliver of pink is visible on Dream’s cheek when he responds, the words mumbled so that George has to strain to hear them. “I’m only here because you are,” he admits, “I don’t like being without you.”
“We’re without each other all the time,” George points out.
“That doesn’t mean I hate it any less.”
George doesn’t reply for a minute, only stares at the ground and watches the raindrops splatter against the wet concrete. Rhythmic, almost.
“You’re a sap,” he says eventually, bubbling fondness warm in his stomach. He thinks — knows that it’s strong enough to call it love.
Dream’s laugh is sweet, like honey, and the grip on his hand tightens almost imperceptibly before loosening once again, fingers warm and smile warmer.
“Let’s walk a little longer,” he says, “then go home. It’s cold down here. Even deities can get sick.”
And because he can never say no to those soft green eyes and gentle words, he nods. The sound of rain drumming against his umbrella lightens along with the downpour.
He smiles. Earth seems a little less dreary.
They’re sitting in their bed, amongst soft sheets and silken blankets. Dream’s hair is damp from his shower — because apparently even as much as he likes to differentiate himself from the humans on Earth, they do have some good ideas — and George is drying it with a towel, just because he can.
Dream leans into his hands, head tipping back and eyes closed blissfully. It’s quiet in the Moon’s palace, the vast building empty only for the distant whistling of stars dancing through the hallways.
“I think I like your place more than mine,” Dream mumbles offhandedly. “It’s more lively here.”
“It’s cold,” George says, fingers threading through golden hair, “At least when you’re not here. The Sun’s palace is warmer.”
“I guess so,” Dream hums. He sits up, taking the towel from where George had set it aside, and stands. The moonlight pouring through the windows illuminates his bare back, and if George stares close enough he can see the faint glimmers of freckles scattered along the skin, just like the spots on the Sun.
The bathroom door opens and closes as Dream puts the towel away, then returns and begins ruffling through their drawers for something to wear. He watches silently, knees pulled up to his chest and a book in his hands. The paper is smooth under his touch.
“What book is that?”
George tilts his head, casts his gaze down to stare at the author’s name.
“Paulo Coelho,” he says, “Niki lent me this one.”
“Do you like it?” Dream asks.
George shrugs. “I haven’t finished reading,” he pauses, then adds on, “Niki said it’s a very popular read amongst humans. The Alchemist. ”
Dream hums, doesn’t respond and pulls out a green sweater. George blinks.
“No,” he says, sets the book down so he can hold his arms out, “give me that one.”
“Why?” And when George just pouts at him, pushes his fingers together in a grabby motion that he’s watched human babies do time after time, Dream sighs and tosses the hoodie towards him. It’s soft, warm when he slips it on, smells of strawberries and sunlight. It smells of Dream and it’s big enough so that it covers his arms and slips down to stop at the tops of his thighs.
“Thank you,” he smiles, pushing up the sleeves to pool around his wrists, “coming to bed?”
“On my way,” Dream responds easily, pulling on a white shirt. If George misses the sight of Dream’s bare, glowing skin and faded scars, he’d never say it.
The bed dips once Dream settles in, flopping into the pillows and reaching out to wrap one arm into his waist. George protests when Dream drags him half across the bed, into his firm chest, yet doesn’t resist and only settles himself more comfortably. Dream’s nose presses into his neck and he breathes softly, breaths warm.
“Stop that,” George giggles, squirming. It doesn’t matter though because Dream’s arms only tighten around him and he hums, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck.
“You smell nice,” he murmurs, lips brushing against his skin.
“Like you?”
The wolfish grin he dons is audible in his voice. “Like me. ‘S good.”
George hums. “You sound sleepy,” he comments.
“Maybe a little.” Dream mumbles, nose tickling against the skin of George’s neck when he drags his face south to press down another kiss, this time to his collarbone.
“Deities don’t need sleep,” he teases, gentle, and turns so that he can face Dream. He raises his hand, fingers running gently over the soft skin, over the light freckles splattered over the bridge of his nose, then down to feel the stubble growing on his chin.
Dream tilts his head up, eyelashes brushing against his upper cheekbones when he closes his eyes. “I know,” he rumbles, words vibrating up his throat and into George’s chest, “but it’s still nice.”
“Guess you aren’t too different from humans then,” and Dream huffs, breath warm and tickling over the top of his head. No response is given, so he settles for pressing his head into Dream’s chest, listening to the gentle thrumming of Dream’s heart, beating in sync with his own.
Dream’s breaths are evening out, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as he dozes. George smiles, affection warm and tingling to the tips of his fingers as he drags them back along Dream’s jaw, tapping gently over his freckles and then rubbing into the slight flush on his cheeks.
It’s so… human, even for someone that isn’t.
“Sleeping now?” He murmurs.
“Mm.” Dream doesn’t open his eyes. “Think so. That okay?”
George smiles. “Always.” And he listens to the sound of Dream’s breathing growing softer, to his heartbeat slowing and the stars quieting in their games. They can hear it — they can feel it.
He feels it, too. The love. Raw and unfiltered in his heart, so strong that he feels it’ll burst if he keeps it in.
So he doesn’t. He lets it all out with a soft hum, coated in tenderness and saccharine affection, accompanied by a soft, gentle, “I love you.”
If Dream is awake still, he doesn’t show any signs of it, eyes staying peacefully closed and his heart beating steady. But the way that his arms squeeze to pull him subtly closer is enough of a sign that even in sleep, Dream can feel him — can feel them, their love, their bond, the thing that connects them across the Earth and across space and across time.
Because just like the people on Earth, even deities can love.
He thinks that the Sun and Moon aren’t as different from humans as they seem to be.