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It’s late when the door finally swings open, allowing chilled air and the crisp smell of rain to flow through the house. Dream stirs on the couch, a shiver wracking his body as he switches off the TV and turns to look over at it.
“Hey, George, what took you so long?”
It’s only when George snaps his head up to look at him, dropping the grocery bags he’d been holding unceremoniously onto the ground in front of the door, that Dream finally registers the state he’s in. His hair is wet, dripping and wind-blown from the storm outside, and though Dream would normally short circuit at the sight of George’s hair tousled and damp, he pushes his own feelings aside in favor of gentle concern when he sees the way he’s shaking.
“Are you cold?” he asks, already standing up and hurrying over to help move the bags to the kitchen as George pushes the door shut, locking it with a soft click. All he receives in response is a mumbled proclamation of annoyance, barely audible, and a soft laugh bubbles past his lips as he pulls a blanket from a cabinet in the entryway and drapes it over George’s shoulders.
“Thanks,” George sighs, and Dream silently takes note of the water from his soaked shirt already seeping through the places where the blanket rests heavily on his shoulders.
“C’mon.” He guides him forward with a gentle hand on the small of his back, and George follows without much protest. “Got caught in the storm?”
George narrows his eyes up at him, and the way the bridge of his nose scrunches up with the subtle motion has Dream’s heart swelling impossibly in his chest. “What do you think? No, I’m dripping wet and freezing because I decided to take a quick dip in the pool on my way back from the store.”
Dream only chuckles, reaching in front of him to turn the doorknob of his room and push it open, gesturing for George to sit at the foot of his bed while he busies himself with sorting through his closet in search of fresh clothes that wouldn’t be too huge on George.
“What are you doing?” George asks, pulling the blanket tighter around himself when Dream tosses a hoodie onto the bed next to him, only narrowly missing his head. “I can go get my own clothes, I’m not wearing yours.”
“Why not? They’re warm. Plus, my room’s closer.”
Dream sifts through the bottom drawer of his dresser as he speaks, picking up and discarding old pairs of sweatpants and basketball shorts, not bothering to worry about the minor mess he’s making. Finally, he settles on a pair of black sweatpants he’d bought months ago, only to discover they’d been too small, and makes his way over to the bed. He drops them on top of the hoodie and stands in front of George with his arms crossed over his chest expectantly.
With a sigh, George relents. “Turn around.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re not watching me change, that’s why.”
Dream rolls his eyes, but turns around nonetheless, hearing George shuffle around behind him, and only now does it dawn on him that he’s about to see George in his clothes. In one of his hoodies, too big to fit him properly, pooling around his hands; briefly, he wonders whether he’ll smell like him once he takes it off.
Oh, God, what if his hoodie smells like George when he’s done with it?
In a futile attempt to fight off the flush threatening to creep up the back of his neck and to the tips of his ears, he clears his throat, fixing his eyes on a particularly boring spot on the wall in front of him. “You almost done?”
“Yeah, I’m done. You can turn back around now.”
He looks over his shoulder just as George is finishing pulling the hoodie over his head, eyes catching on the sliver of pale skin that fleetingly shows before being covered by black fabric and a crudely drawn smiley face. He drags his eyes back up to his face to see him already looking at him with a raised eyebrow, and he opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again when he realizes he doesn’t actually have anything to say.
“Do you, uh–” he starts, and winces at the strained lilt to his voice, so he tries again. “Do you maybe wanna watch a movie? We can just chill for the rest of the night as long as you didn’t buy any perishables, I’ll put the groceries away in the morning.”
George shakes his head, flopping back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “No, I’m really tired. Don’t think I could focus on a movie.”
“Oh, okay. Let’s get you to bed, then, yeah?” Dream offers a hand, and George takes it, but instead of letting him use it to help him up, he delivers a harsh tug and lets out a tired laugh when Dream stumbles over with a sharp cry and lands next to him. “George, what the hell?”
“I’m not really tired, tired, just. Stressed, I guess. I don’t want to sleep, I just want to relax,” George explains.
Dream hums, then goes quiet for a moment, contemplating. Before he can psych himself out, he uses his elbows to push himself up, crawling to sit behind George’s head. Gently, he taps the side of his arm, a silent indication for him to sit up, and he does. Dream slips his hand onto his shoulders and George jumps, but quickly relaxes into the touch.
“If you’re stressed, I could always give you a massage,” he offers, accentuating his words with a gentle squeeze.
George seems to genuinely consider the request, glancing back at him with a deliberating look before diverting his attention back to where his hands rest in his lap. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just sit here and watch you play Minecraft or something, I’m fine.”
“I don’t mind, George, seriously.” Dream digs his thumbs into the spot between George’s shoulder blades, and despite himself, George tips his head back to rest on Dream’s shoulder. “I want you to be comfortable.”
“If you’re sure...?”
“I’m sure,” Dream assures him, pushing against his back lightly until he follows his movements and shuffles around to lay down on his stomach. “Let me do this for you, baby.”
Ignoring the way George tenses at the name, Dream continues to work at a knot at the base of his neck, settling awkwardly atop his legs and trying not to put too much weight on him. George sighs contentedly when the knot gives way, melting into his touch, and lifts his head up to look back at him in confusion when Dream draws his hands back completely.
“What’s wrong?” he frowns.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Dream says, probably a little too quickly. “I just, uh...”
He trails off, gesturing aimlessly and avoiding George’s gaze. He tries to focus on the rain still pattering against the window, pointedly watching a lone raindrop slide down from the corner of the window, but the weight of his eyes roaming over his face is an almost tangible thing.
“What is it, then?”
Dream sighs, long and drawn out, and hesitantly turns to meet George’s eyes. “Could you take the hoodie off?”
George makes a face at him, propping himself up on one elbow. “What? Why?”
Dream winces. “It’s getting in the way, I need to get to your back.” When George makes no effort to move, he quickly backtracks, saying, “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I can work around it. You don’t have to.”
George lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reaches behind him to push him gently to the side. Dream slides off of his legs and watches as George sits up, eyes widening when he reaches under the bottom of the hoodie and immediately averting his gaze.
“What are you looking away for, dumbass? You’re gonna see it no matter what.”
Dream snaps his head back up to look at him, and, much to his chagrin, feels heat pooling in his cheeks and spreading through his face. “Well, yeah, I was just–”
“You were just being an idiot. C’mon,” George encourages as he drapes the hoodie over the edge of the bed, moving to resume his previous position.
Dream follows his lead, settling once again on top of his thighs and beginning to knead his shoulders softly once again. He can feel the coolness of George’s skin beneath his warm palms, allows it to seep into his fingers and through his arms, sending small shivers down his spine as he works his hands down the expanse of George’s back.
He can’t help but drag his eyes over the delicate curve of his bones and the pale skin that rests atop them, sparsely dotted with impossibly light freckles. He tries not to get distracted, he does, but his hands end up stilling on multiple occasions when the pull on his heart gets to be just a little too much. George patiently brings his attention back to the task at hand each time, and Dream couldn’t hold anymore love for him even if he tried.
At one point, he digs into a particularly stubborn knot, and George lets out a quiet gasp at the sudden pain. Dream shushes him, rubbing soothing circles into his side with his other hand as he smooths it out, feeling it dissipate beneath his fingers along with the tension George has been carrying for God knows how long.
“That feels nice,” George says, his words muffled by the fabric of the comforter he’s settled his face into, and Dream hums in response. His hands roam up and down his back, working into the dips in his spine and tracing along the curve of his shoulder blades.
“Is it helping?”
“It is, actually,” he admits, and all but melts into the mattress when Dream switches from firm pressure to light touches. “I’ve been really stressed out with editing lately, and I’ve been on so many streams, I’ve barely slept at all. So, yeah. Thank you.”
Dream smiles warmly down at him, despite the fact that he can’t see it, and starts tracing absentminded shapes across his back, trailing his fingers in aimless patterns and reveling in the way George shivers beneath him. “Of course,” he murmurs.
It’s quiet for a moment, nothing in the air but the quiet sound of breathing and a newfound tension, before George tentatively speaks up. His voice is small, cautious, and Dream’s heartbeat speeds up in his chest. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go for it.” Dream tries his best to sound reassuring, dipping down to leave a fleeting kiss on the top of George’s shoulder, and he hears his breath hitch beneath him.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re my friend, George.” He says it as if it should be obvious, and it should, if not for the fact that they’d both felt an undeniable shift in the atmosphere long ago. “And I want you to be comfortable.”
“No, I meant–” George pauses, visibly struggling with something. “Why are you being so sweet?”
It’s vague enough to allow for space between the words, between the lines, but also to brush it off if need be. To dismiss it with a smile and a casual wave of the hand, and move on without acknowledging it. But he doesn’t do that. Instead, he leaves a kiss on the nape of his neck.
“Because you deserve it.” Another kiss, feather-light on the underside of his jaw. “Because I like seeing you happy.”
“Because I’m your friend?”
George turns his head to face Dream, and they’re close enough for Dream to feel his shallow breaths ghosting along his face. Despite the fragile atmosphere hanging in the air, or maybe because of it, a sudden boldness sparks in Dream’s chest.
“Or,” he says, bringing a hand up to rest on George’s cheek, carefully guiding him up to sit, “because you’re more than that.”
George sharply inhales as he settles just on the edge of Dream’s knees, eyes flicking down and back up. “I’m more?”
“If you want to be.” Dream’s voice is even, his tone low and lilted with soft confidence, but his stomach is curling in on itself and his heart is constricting in his chest at the beat of silence that follows.
“Maybe I do.”
Dream uses the hand still holding George’s face to draw him closer, close enough for their noses to bump together. His gaze falls down to George’s lips, parted in gentle surprise, and George rests his hands on his hips so tentatively, so softly, that Dream aches.
“Tell me if this isn’t okay,” he whispers, lips brushing against George’s, and he’s so close. “Tell me if you don’t want this.”
George delivers a squeeze to the side of his hip, looking up through long lashes to meet his eyes. “Dream.” He gathers the fabric of his shirt into a tight fist. “Kiss me.”
He wastes no time surging forward to connect their lips, and his hand slides from George’s cheek down to the back of his neck, holding him impossibly close.
It’s perfect, no matter how imperfect it is; the tandem motions of two people learning each other, the taste of strawberries and coffee, the mumbled professions of love slotted between affectionate kisses and pecks. They press together until they’re unsure of where one ends and the other starts, and Dream could live in this moment forever, in the comfortable atmosphere created by the steady drum of rain on the roof and soft glide of George’s hands on his stomach.
“George,” Dream lets out breathlessly, just for the sake of saying his name, for the way it falls off his tongue and into the other’s parted lips, and he gently pushes against his chest.
George giggles softly in response. “Dream.”
“George,” he says again, smiling fondly down at him. “I really like you.”
“Thank God,” George snorts. “This’d be pretty awkward if you didn’t.”
“Okay– shut up, you’re such an idiot. I’m trying to have a nice moment with you.”
Chuckling, George swiftly dodges the swat aimed at his shoulder and leaves three placating taps on Dream’s side. “This is a nice moment.” A beat passes, and he scrunches his nose. “It’d be nicer if I was wearing a shirt, though.”
Through soft wheezes and a roll of his eyes, Dream leans across their laps, reaching over the bed to grab the abandoned hoodie. He bunches it up to pull it over George’s head, stifling a laugh at the sight of the places where his hair sticks up when his head pops out, static and tousled. He brings a hand up to sift his fingers through it, smoothing it down as George pulls his arms through the sleeves and lets the bottom of the hoodie pool around his waist.
“So,” Dream starts, nerves setting his stomach alight despite the endless reassurance he’s been given, “what does this make us?”
“Together, I’d hope,” George jokes, but softens at the sight of the unsure expression on Dream’s face. “Dream, I’m yours.”
Dream's breath catches in his throat. “Mine?”
George smiles. “Yours. However you want me.”
It feels as if the air has been knocked out of Dream’s lungs, and he can’t help the smitten grin that spreads across his face so widely it can be heard in his words when he speaks. “And if I want you to be my boyfriend?”
“Then that’s what I am,” George replies, and he wraps a loose hand around Dream's forearm. Pleasant tingles spread through the place where delicate fingers meet burning skin. “Come lie down with me, baby, let’s get some rest. Let me take care of you now.”
Dream’s heart flutters at the name that sounds so sweet rolling off of George’s tongue, and he lets himself be pulled down, settling into welcoming arms and tangled limbs. He buries his head in the heavy fabric covering George's chest and inhales deeply, grinning stupidly at the idea of sporting matching titles of boyfriend.
When George tightens his arms and presses a warm kiss to the center of his forehead with whispered words that seep deep into his heart and through his veins, soothing him to sleep, he doesn’t think he could ever be happier.