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hand-holding by the river

Summary:

"He pulled his white glasses from off of his head, and moved them down to his eyes.

George used to come here as a child. Their family would walk for what felt like hours with baskets full of food, just to sit, eat and watch nature slowly wake and sleep before them. He would run around, chasing his sibling; laughing hysterically when they lost the game. "

or

George takes Dream to his favourite place.

Notes:

I wrote this for an English exam and subjected my very cishet male English teacher to a gay DNF fanfiction.

It was worth it.

Work Text:

He took a small step forwards, balancing on the river’s edge. The soft breeze that blew strands of his brown hair, now unruly and awake, also made its way through trees and whistled between their leaves. Blue skies swept for miles behind hills and forests; small clouds scattered sparsely, but not covering the sun. The cold water below him crashed at rocks, yet ran calm and un-angered. 

 

He pulled his white glasses from off of his head, and moved them down to his eyes. 

 

George used to come here as a child. Their family would walk for what felt like hours with baskets full of food, just to sit, eat and watch nature slowly wake and sleep before them. He would run around, chasing his sibling; laughing hysterically when they lost the game. 

 

Hearing his mothers warm voice calling them over as she packed the leftovers into the basket along with :spoons, forks, plates and mugs, was George's least favorite part of these trips. He would walk slowly, and lazily with sadness in his voice, crying for just a moment more in the oasis they had stumbled upon a few years before. 

 

And to this day, nothing has changed. Despite not going back there for years on end, the same vibrant coloured flowers bloomed by trees, and the long, winding river still flowed with peace; clear, quiet and gleaming. Everything was exactly as calming and ethereal as he remembered. 

 

‘George?’ an expressive and slightly muffled noise came from behind him, getting slightly closer and only stopping when the shorter brunette spun around. He took a few steps from the river’s edge and stared at the man. 

 

A white, round, porcelain mask fastened around his head, covering his face. A small crack ran from the bottom left, only stopping at a small, black eye painted on to finish the smiley-face design. 

 

He reached a hand up to the hood of his sweater before pushing it off, and unclasping the mask. Long, blonde hair fell down to his jaw, and parted neatly in the middle. 

 

The smile that George held throughout the action was contagious. It made its way to Dream, spreading a grin across his face. George found it endearing, the way his eyes lit up at his surroundings, as the mask slipped from his hands and landed safely on the dewy grass below them. 

 

Dream hadn’t seen anything like this before. He didn’t believe places like this existed. So starved of conflict. Starved of hate. He liked the serenity of the birds singing, and rabbits that lazily hopped around. 

 

Even as a child, his imagination couldn’t bring him anywhere like this. He was often confined to his room, locked away as punishment for fighting, or simply hanging around with the ‘wrong people’. 

 

Field trips were always off limits for Dream, too. Unnecessary arguments and conflict with classmates were easily avoidable,but at the cost of his adventuring. 

His life stayed that way, until he met George. Their teenage years both full of restoration and change, adventures and smiles. But this was the first time that George had showed him this area. The first time George had taken him to his favorite place. The first time George had shared such an important and shaping part of his childhood with Dream; he was thankful George had made that decision. 

 

The contrast of their relationship amused them; the glee and positivity of George against the seemingly harsh exterior to dream. But they were still happy that they had found each other. That they were now standing in a wonderland of blooming flowers and gratuitous trees, listening, smiling at the melodic tune of the hidden birds. 

 

“I love you.” Large, rough hands reached forward. Intertwining cold fingers with George’s. Soft smiles again broke across both of their faces, brown eyes staring into pools of green. 

 

“And i love you, too.”