Work Text:
With golden string
Our universe was clothed in light
Pulling at the seams
Our once barren world now brims with life
That we may fall in love
Every time we open up our eyes
George assumed he could only see the string because he was colorblind. It wasn’t clear like he’d heard other people describe. It was barely visible, and sometimes it even faded in the bright light of day to nearly nothing -- it was brightest in the darkness of his room with only the moon kissing against it. In that darkness, it glowed like his own, personal line to the sun.
He asked no one else if they saw their string of fate like he did. The last thing that he wanted to know was that the faint golden line that sometimes hovered in his periphery vision and sometimes wrapped around him as though trying to pull him forward was all in his mind.
George liked the thought that he had a soulmate somewhere on the other end of it, waiting for him to show up.
He’d actually tried to follow the shining line a few times; a good thing about living in London was that it wasn’t really hard to travel from one side to the other. He spent the entire day catching cabs, taking trains… only to find the string leading him to the beach.
To the ocean.
To the distant horizon and the bright sun glowing at him as though trying to give him some kind of hint.
Whoever held the other side of the string wasn’t anywhere that he could easily get to. Quarantine kept him locked down to the ground, and as much as he felt compelled, he wasn’t going to go swimming in the ocean in some vain hope that he would be able to find the other end before he drowned.
Fate didn’t actually work that way.
He stayed on the beach until the sun set and the moon hung high above his head, sitting in the sand and staring across the distance. Only when the moon was above his head did he finally feel the tightness in his chest slightly loosen so he could take a breath, stand up… and make his way home.
There were times when George watched the string grow taut, nearly propelled his body into motion… and there were times when he almost felt like that golden line was fraying and threatening to snap in half.
He would have to be an idiot to completely ignore the fact that the tug came hardest when he and Dream were fighting.
He would have to be an even bigger idiot to ignore the fact that the string led into the ocean toward Florida.
Maybe he was an idiot, because he never breathed a word of it to anyone… especially not Dream.
Instead, he carefully played with the golden line between his fingers, wondering what it would look like if he could see the proper color of it -- the threads between soulmates were supposed to be red , and in theory, he knew that it probably was.
If Dream had found a way to see his own string of fate, would his be a pure and perfect red? Would it lead to George’s heart?
---
Months passed; there were times when the string was so taut that it felt like it was pulling him forward, making him lean against the computer screen like he could somehow slip across the distance. When he’d filmed his cooking stream, it felt like a knot had looped over and over in his heart until he could barely breathe around it.
When he’d met up with Wilbur and Tommy, he’d seen a piece of the string fray for just a moment, and the panic clenching tight in his chest had been enough to make him excuse himself to the bathroom… enough to make him carefully clench that string in his hand and send Dream a text out of pure desperation.
When he’d opened his palm, the fray had mended -- it was hard to blame that on coincidence, but he still wasn’t ready to admit where that golden line might lead to.
He wasn’t sure what he would do if he was wrong .
It was easier to keep the string, his suspicions, and the longing that was drowning him to himself… because if it turned out that Dream could see his string (and honestly, George would not be surprised if he could see it, since he was so good at everything else ) and it didn’t lead back to him…
If it led to someone close by…
If his string never even made it to the ocean…
George would not be able to handle the devastation of causing that rift between the two of them. Even if it meant that his soulmate was still somewhere out there, waiting for him… he couldn’t think of a life where he and Dream weren’t as close as they were right now.
And honestly, he couldn’t imagine a world where Dream was just okay with him falling in love and moving in with someone that they hadn’t even met yet, spending all of his time with someone else . He couldn’t go a few hours without getting a text from him, after all.
There were days when George was angry that he could see that golden line at all.
And there were nights when wrapping it carefully in his fingers while in a sleep call with his friend and imagining that he could feel an answering tug was all that kept him sane.
---
Time passed though, because that was what time always did. Even though it wasn’t when they’d planned on it, and even though it felt to George like it had been a lifetime, the travel ban eventually lifted.
The hardest part of that was the fact that Dream still wanted him to wait -- his words made sense, if you were thinking logically. He didn’t want people to accuse them of being unsafe, he wanted to make sure that George was careful …
Or maybe there was something else behind his nerves; George was just enough of an idiot to worry that maybe Dream was anxious that when he got there he wouldn’t be what he was thinking… that he wouldn’t live up to the picture that they’d built over a thousand conversations, a hundred moments of wanting to meet, and a million fleeting feelings of longing .
Though, George wasn’t sure if that longing was just on his side or if Dream felt it, too.
And he still hadn’t been brave enough to ask. Instead, he fought with him about the delay, desperately clutching at the string all the while to make sure that it didn’t split at the seams.
But time continued to pass, and even Dream couldn’t tell him to stay put forever… and when he told him he was ready, his voice was so warm. Tickets were purchased, and George’s fingers trembled when he held them. They were tangible and real, and the string in his chest pulled. Even though he was sure that it was all in his mind, it felt like it was leading him to the airport.
That faint golden line almost seemed to get brighter when the jet finally took off , and the only thing that George could do was put his hand over his heart and try to quell the rapid and nervous beating that was threatening to steal his breath away.
It wasn’t easy. And it didn’t help that the flight was close to ten hours.
It helped even less that Dream couldn’t meet him at the airport; he had to take an Uber to an Airbnb. The flight was coming in so late that it only made sense for Dream and Sapnap to meet him in the morning. It was a good decision, if you looked at it from an outsider’s perspective; George was anxious, he wasn’t going to sleep much on the flight over. He was going to be so exhausted that he’d probably want to just collapse and pass out as soon as he landed. It was going to be late when he arrived -- he probably wouldn’t even get his key into the door until midnight.
But that didn’t mean that it made sense in his heart, when all that he wanted was to follow that string and hope …
When all that he wanted to do was see his best friend, regardless of where that golden line led.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from carefully tugging on it while he flew… or from anxiously opening his window so that the golden line blazed brilliantly like the sun when the moonlight hit it.
Something about the warmth of the color comforted him when nothing else could at least nothing that he had access to on a plane with no wifi connection.
There was something almost anti-climatic about his landing. George had seen a thousand pieces of fanart of this exact moment -- he’d read hundreds of fanfictions depicting some grand show of adoration and him running into Dream’s arms.
He’d never seen a single piece depicting him wrapped in an oversized top with the hood up and a pair of dark glasses covering his face, wheeling a suitcase that was nearly as big as he was behind him.
Alone.
No one was waiting at the terminal to meet him and scoop him into a hug.
There was nothing but a long stretch and a (thankfully) mostly empty airport.
Dream had designed it that way. He seemed knowledgeable about when the airport would be most crowded and when it was safest for George to walk through it.
He followed the instructions in the text that Dream had sent him before he left London; he went to the front desk and asked them to ring their shuttle service, carefully reading off the number of the confirmation code Dream had sent him. Then George had nothing but fifteen minutes to stand alone in the airport and look down at his phone while contending with his thoughts. Dream was probably sleeping. He’d told him to text him as soon as he landed, but he didn’t want to bother him.
He didn’t want to find himself doing something embarrassing , like asking him to come and see him right away, please , because he didn’t care how tired he was.
He didn’t want to be alone.
He wanted…
The string at his chest tugged harder, and his hand pressed his hoodie to cover the thudding of his heart; it was painful, struggling like it was trying to escape from beneath his ribs to make the journey alone. As soon as his feet had touched the ground, the light spilling from that line had grown even brighter, making the hope that George was trying so desperately to quash flare all the more vigorous.
He wanted it to be true.
He wanted it to be Dream.
But if it was, why hadn’t Dream said anything to him about it? Even if he couldn’t see his own string, didn’t he feel the same tugs, the same pulls? Did his ever get frayed when they fought?
Or was George just chasing rays of sunlight without knowing where they ended?
There were times when he wished that he was the one who was unsure about things like the internet sometimes seemed to think. That might have made things a little easier.
Instead, he got into the car when the shuttle driver pulled up, stubbornly struggling his suitcase into the trunk by himself in an attempt to desperately grasp back at his self-control. The motion was awkward enough that he actually knocked the driver’s phone out of his hand just as he pulled it out to take a call. There was a loud cracking sound, and when he picked it up again the screen was shattered.
“I’m sorry!” And then instantly, “I can pay for that!”
The man looked from the screen to George and then finally shook his head and smiled. “It’s all right,” maybe it was the way that George looked so pathetic, standing there with his head spinning and his heart confused.
Maybe it was… what did everyone call it? His pretty privilege?
Or maybe Dream had just given him an enormous tip to make sure that George’s travel went as smoothly as possible, no matter what happened. Whatever it was, the man stuffed his broken phone into his pocket and opened the back door of the car for George to get in.
His eyes flickered down to his own phone -- the realization that he more than likely would beg Dream to drive to him now was very flagrant in his mind. His fingers hesitated over the unlock button… until finally, he stuck the phone into the pocket of his hoodie and turned his eyes to look out the window.
There was a part of him that was still in disbelief that he was in Florida, and no amount of nerves could take away from the fact that he was in the same state as his best friends… that he felt like he was finally coming home.
He closed his eyes, letting his cheek rest against the cool glass of the car; the bright glow of the string was a gentle shine behind his eyes that lulled him into relaxing.
George wasn’t sure if he fell asleep or if he was just exhausted enough that he didn’t realize the passage of time between the airport and the Airbrb. He hadn’t even noticed the car stopping until the sound of the driver closing his door startled him to awareness. Once his lids fluttered, the bright flare of the string at his chest was almost too much. He squinted against it, and felt his brows knit together.
It had never been this bright before. More than that, it was pulling so violently that he could hardly breathe around the sensation of it. George felt panic flutter in his chest; was something wrong? Was there something wrong with…
He shook his head and looked over his shoulder. The house that he was staying in was down the drive -- the key to the gate was in a lockbox, so there was no way for the driver to take him to the door, especially since he’d been dozing.
“Thanks,” there was a slight awkwardness in his voice as the man in front of him closed the trunk after pulling George’s suitcase out. Dream had told him more than once that he didn’t have to tip him, but he still pulled out a fistful of American bills and thrust a few of them in his direction.
“Sorry about the delay. Who would think there’d be a wreck this late at night?”
George blinked at him for a moment, his voice still thick with sleep. “Delay?” George’s eyes flickered down to his phone briefly -- it was one in the morning. He should have been here almost forty-five minutes ago.
Apparently, he had fallen asleep.
He stared after the taillights as the driver climbed into the car and pulled away, and then pulled his phone out of his pocket again and finally unlocked it.
There was a moment where he felt a little disappointed -- there were no notifications, no messages, no missed calls. It only took him a second to realize why. He’d been so tired that he hadn’t remembered to switch it off of airplane mode. A small sound pooled from his throat and he quickly flicked the small picture of the plane.
It took a moment for signal to come through, and when it did the vibrations started.
Texts flooded through in a rapid succession that made his palm tingle.
Message from Dream<3:
>> You’re taking off, I can’t believe you’ll be here soon. I hope you’re not still mad that I made you wait, George.
>>I should have checked to see if your plane had Wifi. Sorry, George.
>>Hopefully, you’re just getting some sleep.
>>Maybe they’ll have some dumb movie you can watch in flight. I’m sure you’ll complain to me about it when you land.
Message from Sapnap:
>> I really hope when you get here he finally shuts up. He hasn’t stopped talking and cleaning and making me clean since you took off.
A small smile tugged at the corner of George’s lips, pulling a giggle from his chest at Sapnap’s complaints. Something about Dream being flustered and stressed over him arriving made his chest feel warm, made his hand come up to push his hair off of a suddenly warm face.
Message from Dream<3:
>>You should land soon. I have a flight tracker pulled up on my phone.
>>Not that I’m being weird or anything.
>>I’m not stalking you.
>>Or am I?
>>I just wanted to make sure that you arrived on time.
>>George?
>>You landed, right?
>>You were actually on the plane, right?
>>You aren’t asleep, are you?
>>George, are you all right?
>>The driver didn’t answer my call. Did he pick you up? Are you stuck at the airport? Do I need to come and get you? Your flight said you landed, though…
>>I called you and your phone is off, too. If you were stranded there, you’d call me from a desk, wouldn’t you?
>>George?
>>George.
Guilt and worry clenched in his stomach as the messages escalated in desperation. He honestly hadn’t realized he’d kept the phone on airplane mode. He had Dream’s calls and texts set to go through do not disturb specifically for this reason. He knew how his mind sometimes spiraled to the worst possible conclusion. It was just a part of who he was, and being able to calm him down was something that he always wanted to be there to do.
George thought he’d just been asleep.
But obviously… he’d been wrong.
Message from Sapnap:
>> Fuck, George. Just answer him already. What are you doing?
George could almost feel the desperation in the texts, vibration through the phone and spilling up his arms, burrowing into his heart like little worms of doubt and despair.
Message from Dream<3:
>>Did you change your mind? Are you still mad, George?
>>I didn’t want to make you wait. I wanted you here months ago. George?
>>George… you wouldn’t change your mind, would you?
>>George, please… call me.
>>Please. Please… please, call me. George, please.
George could almost feel the misery in that last message. Guilt swarmed up along his chest, threatening to suck him under like a tidal wave intent on drowning him.
The 15 missed calls and the four voice messages that blinked back up at him only solidified that guilt.
He quickly punched in the lockbox's number and pulled the set of keys out. It forced him to juggle the keyring and his cellphone in one hand -- it hurt to not call him right away, but he was almost inside.
Was that why his string had been so bright? Was that why the scintillating glow felt like it was tugging so sharply that it was threatening to snap?
Panic crawled up in his chest and he half jogged up the driveway, his eyes focused on the door. The string’s brilliance grew with every pounding step he took… and George felt like he couldn’t breathe because the tension running through that flare of light felt like it was going to snap.
His fingers fumbled the key into the door and he twisted it open in a rush of motion that was drowned out by a dazzling glow of gold that flared and then dimmed .
A sob tore out of George’s throat -- at least, he thought it came from him, until he realized that, no… it came from deeper inside of the room.
From someone sitting on the bed.
Dream was there, with his face turned to George, painted with pain and disbelief. The tears tracking down his cheeks were illuminated by the light of the string that spilled from his chest; it wasn’t golden like the sun. It was iridescent and pale, a soft glow like the stars.
Like the moon.
And it stretched forward and connected in a brilliant flare of color to the line spilling from George’s center.
“George?” Dream’s voice was husky, full of shock.
You wouldn’t change your mind, would you?
“Dream.” George’s fingers felt numb -- he raised them up to pull on that line spilling from his chest and the man on the bed stood with the motion of it, compelled by the soft tugging like gravity was forcing him forward.
“I thought…” Dream’s voice was a fine tremble, and the guilt from earlier tried to claw its way to the surface again. It was only tempered by the shock rippling through George at the sight of that long line of silver melding into the gold, meeting in the middle like some gorgeous eclipse. “I thought you changed your mind about coming… I… couldn't get ahold of you.”
“My phone was on airplane mode.” George’s voice was faint, and he took a small step forward, watching with fascination as the string stayed taut between them.. “I forgot, so I thought you were sleeping. I was going to text you when I got here… you weren’t supposed to be here . Why are you here?” He couldn’t take his eyes off of the line tracing between them, though something inside of him desperately wanted to look up and see Dream’s face now that they were this close together.
Now that there wasn’t a glass screen and thousands of miles separating them. He was almost afraid that if he looked up, everything would vanish -- this was everything he’d ever wanted...
“I wanted to surprise you,” Dream’s voice was still so soft and husky. “But you’re an hour late… I thought… I thought...” George watched fingers clench and unclench, start to stretch out toward him and then fall back to lean sides… and then slowly raise -- his eyes tracked the motion with reverence -- and carefully wrap around the string spilling from his chest.
“Dream?”
George’s eyes finally flickered up to catch sight of his face. His sight caught on halos of color that he knew were green, even though he couldn’t see it.
They were still the most beautiful eyes that he’d ever seen.
“G-George.” Dream’s voice actually stuttered for a moment, and he tugged the string slightly; George moved forward with the motion. “Can you… see it, too?”
George felt something crawl up his throat, warm and tight, and didn’t realize that it was a small sob until it bubbled from his lips. “It looks like moonlight.”
Dream’s lips were trembling, but they slowly lilted into a radiant smile. “Yours looks like the sun.”
They stepped forward in unison, and this time they didn’t stop until Dream’s arms wrapped around him, pulled him close -- lifted him inches off the ground, and hugged him hard to his chest. His nose buried against his neck; Dream even smelled warm -- of course, the line leading to him had looked like the sun.
Where their chests touched, where their strings met, George felt something click into place -- he felt a piece of him that had been missing suddenly filling up. His arms were holding so tightly that he could feel his muscles trembling with the effort, and his legs raised until he was clinging to him with his entire body, with the desperation of someone who would die if they let go.
Soulmates .
He’d always been so afraid of the word. He’d always been so afraid that it wasn’t Dream.
But… of course, it was him.
It had always been Dream.
The larger frame that was holding him was trembling , and the moisture that he felt fall on his cheek told him that Dream was crying again.
“Dream?” George’s voice was muffled against his neck, and it was almost painful to raise his head back. It was worth it though, to be this startlingly close to that perfect, tear-streaked face. They stared at one another for a moment that seemed to span a lifetime, seemed to fill and erase months of longing and miles of separation with the overwhelming sensation of now .
George wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly their mouths pressed together. His tongue flooded with the taste of tears and a soft undercurrent of flavor that he couldn’t describe, yet it instantly became his favorite taste. A soft whimper chasing a moan filled the air, and they held each other tighter as they kissed, as fingers danced greedily against skin, tangled in hair, pulled tight.
George wanted to dissolve , to melt into Dream’s mouth and stay wrapped in his arms forever. He wanted this moment to be every moment for the rest of his life. The sensation of Dream’s tongue tracing soft poetry against the roof of his mouth was something that he couldn’t describe, something that he couldn’t breathe around until he actually had to pull back because he was lightheaded.
Dream’s cheeks were flushed and red, his breath coming in hard, panting bursts that George could feel rise and fall against his chest.
“I knew,” Dream spilled forward again, and his lips were warm as they brushed against George’s again. “I knew it had to be you.”
He sounded so confident that it pulled a small giggle from George’s chest. “Did you?”
“I followed the line one day, all the way to the beach. I don’t know why, but I did.” Dream’s voice was soft, sweet, and his fingers were in constant motion. They traced George’s jawline, brushed featherlight through his hair. They trailed up and down the line of his spine until he was nearly purring with the sensation. “It could never have been anyone else.” He leaned in, pressed his forehead to George’s, and closed his eyes for a moment. His expression was pure bliss. “George, it’s always been you. Didn’t you know, too?”
Of course, he had. “I went to the beach, too.” He felt so warm… soft… so safe wrapped in Dream’s arms, even when he shifted and pulled him around, half walking-half carrying him to the bed. “The line stretched out all the way to the sun.” A gentle push sent him down to the bed and smiled up as Dream actually tucked the covers up around him. “Who else could it have been?”
The taller man leaned down and stole another quick kiss, his mouth a curve of pure delight. “George?”
His face was so close. His eyes were burning.
“Hmmm?”
“I love you.”
George felt like his heart was going to combust -- the line between them was a shining, brilliant thing, and he thought he could feel Dream’s pulse thundering through the connection…
Waiting…
Waiting for…
“I love you, too.”
The confession brought their lips crashing back together, and Dream licked greedily at his lower lip. His fingers started to thread through George’s hair, and when a low moan tore from his chest, he sat back on his heels with a reluctant expression.
“You’re probably tired, aren’t you?” He looked like it killed something inside of him to say it, and George loved him all the more for it and the fact that he was obviously trying to take things slow, to be considerate.
In contrast, George wanted to lie through his teeth because he was greedy for more of his soulmate’s touch. (He wanted to say that word a thousand times.)
The yawn that pooled from his chest answered for him, and he actually scowled as the traitorous thing spilled out. Dream looked at him, warm and fond, and then spoke again, “I can just sleep on the--”
George’s hand snapped up, wrapped around Dream’s wrist, and tugged him forward. “You’re not getting away from me that easy. Come, lay down.”
The smile that lit Dream’s face was the most beautiful thing that George had ever seen, and the string trailing between them flared brighter.
Dream really was the sun -- his sun. And the warmth of him engulfed George as he crawled into bed and pulled him close to his chest, until he could nestle his head and relax against the steady beating of his heart.