Chapter Text
It's four in the morning when Dream stirs, feeling awfully toasty as a nearby light pricks at his eyes. He feels the soft, comforting texture of a warm blanket tucked tightly around him. It was very cosy, and very nice, but he felt very hot at the moment and wanted to rid himself of the warmth.
Dream rubbed at his eyes with one hand as he shifted, yawning softly as he moved. It was then that he felt a weight on his shoulder suddenly slip, along with someone's hands gripping around him, tighter, pulling him closer. Somewhat alarmed, Dream quickly turned his head to see a certain brunet nuzzling his head up Dream's neck, tucking his head back into its previous position.
The blond-haired man immediately felt his face flushing as he felt George hum against his skin, sighing contently as a peaceful expression made its way onto his face. He hadn't noticed George beside him, George , who was currently cuddling his torso. The two of them probably fell asleep at some point during the movie, and Dream's heart fastened at a ridiculously quick pace as he wondered how they got to this point, caught in each other's embrace.
What was he supposed to do? George, despite how small and twig-like he appeared to be, had a rather firm grip around Dream at the moment. The position they were in made it difficult for Dream to even move , and moving would risk waking George up. Dream didn't want to disturb him. He looked tranquil, quiet. Lovely. Absolutely adorable like this, holding Dream close and burying his face into Dream's shoulder. A part of Dream didn’t want to move or leave at all. He wanted to go back to sleep and hold George close.
At the same time, though, Dream was really, really hot and starting to feel dreary and uncomfortable. He felt like he was about to overheat, and on top of that, he was also starting to feel his throat growing dry--a glass of water would really hit the spot right now. The taller man sighed, knowing that he'd have to make a decision and move eventually. He wasn’t particularly happy about that. As he let his eyes roam over George, carefully moving a free hand to gently stroke the fluffy tufts of hair on his head, he makes a decision to savour this a moment longer.
Dream stares at him lovingly, his chest filled with swirls of fondness as he observes George's features. He was so infatuated with this man, in complete adoration of everything he did and everything he was. Well, not completely, in a literal sense, at least. Of course there are things that you'll inevitably end up disliking about your friends, your family, your lover (or lovers). Everyone, in one way or another, is inherently flawed.
There are things that you may not like about certain people in your life, and that's alright, sometimes. Of course, there are some situations where you have to draw the line. But at least with George, he felt heard whenever he voiced his concerns. George listened. George tried to be considerate, when he could. George would improve, just for him, and it warmed Dream’s heart knowing that the communication wasn’t one-sided.
Dream wouldn't be able to list all the reasons as for why he loved George even if he tried. Mostly because he'd keep coming up with more, and also because there were too many to even enunciate properly and out loud. That's just how whipped he was (at least, that’s how Sapnap put it) for this beautiful, colourblind British man.
As for George? Dream didn't have a clue as to if he reciprocated his feelings or not. Perhaps he would never know, but he was fine with not knowing. He was fine with how things were right now--Dream valued their relationship nonetheless. And besides, if something happened between them, what if it didn't work out? They could never go back. It wouldn't be the same, and that scared the shit out of him.
Dream had contemplated telling him before, and that was the main factor holding him back from ever doing so. Along with the fact that they were living together now, if George didn't feel the same way, they'd both have to deal with some sort of uncomfortable awkwardness for a while. He didn't think it was worth it to risk it all, because he didn't want to lose this. Lose him.
So this was fine, Dream told himself as he sighed, trying to push feelings of painful pining out of his heart.
It's fine with me as long as I get to be with you, one way or another.
Dream didn't take a moment longer to consider the actual credibility in those words before he shifted. There was no need to. If he needed to constantly affirm himself with lies so that he could get over George, he would, because admitting to and continuing to live with these feelings would surely kill him. The truth was toxic, poison, and he needed to get it out of his system before it killed him. He knew it would, eventually.
Slowly, he started to untangle himself from George's arms, moving ever-so-quietly, making minimal movement as to not to wake the other man. So that he wouldn't hurt George's neck, he carefully slipped out from underneath George's head, moving it and adjusting the position of the brunet's head so that it was now resting against the surface of the couch. Then, he slid out of the blanket that they were both sharing, keeping a close eye on George for any signs of discomfort or wake. Dream tucked the blanket snug around the Briton.
Sitting down on the couch, Dream held his breath, staring at George for a while more. George remained asleep and still, undisturbed as his chest heaved up and down in a constant motion. He was peaceful as Dream was suddenly overcome with the sudden urge to lean over, cradle the other man's face in his hands, and press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Dream frowned--but that would be wrong, especially if George didn't reciprocate his feelings. The more he thought about it, the more complicated it became. Would you kiss someone unless you explicitly had consent from them? No, right? George wasn't his, Dream didn't have any permission to kiss him, and that was that.
But then, of course, he wasn't completely sure if George felt the same way, but chances are, he doesn't. It would suck if he didn't. It already sucks that he doesn't know, and probably never will. Why? Because Dream had absolutely no plans to confess to him at all, or anytime soon, for that matter.
And so, for the second time that night (or morning, however you prefer it), Dream was considering a confession to George. Spilling all of his feelings was incredibly risky--he could not exaggerate that enough. His eyes drifted over to his cell phone, which was sitting on one of the arms of the couch. He wanted to talk to Sapnap about it, but it was four in the morning and...Dream grabbed the phone and pressed the power button with his finger. No response came. It didn't vibrate or light up or anything, and Dream sighed, his forehead wrinkling in a perturbed sort of way.
He turned and looked back at George, and not knowing what inclined him to do so, he spoke. Perhaps it was a result of all those sleepless nights Dream spent thinking about him, all those years of pining and holding back that came when he realised his feelings.
"If I spoke honestly right now, would you hear me? Would you leave me?" Dream asked quietly, observing the other man acutely to see if there was any reaction at all. "I know you're probably asleep, and if you aren't, you're doing a damn good job hiding it, George."
Dream paused, breath faint as his face burned. "God, this is stupid. This is really...embarrassing, for some reason, even though you're not conscious and there's no one else here but you and me," He whispered, voice hush and cautious, wary just in case George woke up. "This is the only time I'm going to say these kinds of things out loud in a genuine sort of way, because saying it to you directly, when you're awake, would just be too humiliating and risky.
"I'm not even sure why I'm doing or saying this, honestly. Maybe it's because when I realised my growing feelings for you all those years ago, they just kept growing. And they won't stop," Dream murmured, his words cracked and shivery. "It sounds cliché, but it's becoming too much for me. It'll kill me, George. Until I've destroyed myself and I can't deny myself any longer. So I need to get it out--the truth, or else I'll probably end up inevitably telling you all of this sometime in the future when you are fully awake. Whether or not I'll feel embarrassed about it wouldn't matter, because nothing matters when my feelings for you cloud my mind. You don't know what you do to me, and you? You do so much.
"You make me a better person. And you absolutely ruin me sometimes, but in the best ways. Over and over I have to reprimand myself, assure myself that I'm fine with the way things are between us, remind myself of all the things I can't have. There is nothing better or worse than being in love with you, and you are simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to me, George."
It takes a moment for Dream to realise he's crying. He was too numb to feel the familiar sting of tears at his eyes, the tingly sensation you get at your nose just before the dam bursts. He wipes at them quickly, sniffing the mucous in his nose up and away.
And painfully, as if he was saying goodbye, Dream whispered three words. His voice was filled with pure adoration, love, longing, and a kind of hurt caused by a yearning for something he couldn't obtain.
"I love you," was simple and all that needed to be said. After everything he said leading up to this point, he could only sum up all of his emotions in three words, and nothing more. They were words that didn't need to be heard at all; Dream had feelings that didn't need to be known.
"I love you," was a resignation. This would be the last time Dream would allow himself to pine, to hope, because of the idea he constantly reinforced in his mind: that his feelings would never be reciprocated. This was his way of saying goodbye, letting go of all these feelings, and he'd get over it slowly. Steadily.
"I love you," was honest and tender and raw. There were so many ways to say "I love you." For some, it was through passionate kisses, through songs with awfully poetic verses, wordy professions of one's adoration, but they all stemmed to this one universal meaning. "I love you" was truth incarnate, words spoken so candidly from the very bottom of Dream's heart.
Those words carried years of unheard, romantic loving with them, and Dream had released them out into the air to finally dissipate. Love. Love. How to describe it, when it was a multitude of various emotions, ranging from pain to pure infatuation? Even a dictionary's simple definition couldn't define it in all its glory; it wouldn't be able to properly communicate its meaning to someone not understanding of it.
There. That was all. Dream blinked hard as he exhaled deeply, caught up in thoughts of George and his emotions that he didn't notice the only other person on the couch shifting around very carefully. He couldn't see the befuddled, almost disbelieving look on their face as they sat up, eyes full of...slight incredulity, and something else.
Mirth. George looked mirthful.
It was still four in the morning. Dream's throat was still parched, and his body was still a bit warm. And he said what he had needed to say, and it felt like a huge weight had just been lifted off of his shoulders. It felt...nice. Weird, but nice. It felt like he finally put an ending to everything when he indeed hadn't, and he knew that, but it still felt relieving.
With an ache in his chest, Dream shifted to stand up--
and suddenly felt someone's hand tightly grasping onto his wrist. Dream's stomach immediately dropped, and he could swear that he felt his heart stop. His thoughts came to an abrupt halt, freezing as if someone had just dropped a glass vase in a quiet room.
"Wait, Dream--"
That voice. Dream flinched at the sound of his name being spoken, but he didn't say anything, only turning his head to look at George. He could feel his stomach filling up with dread, a frightened expression making its way onto his face as he caught George's eyes, by accident, looking away quickly. But George's grip was strong, hand firm on Dream's wrist as he pulled him back down to sit on the couch. He tugged at Dream gently, almost pleadingly, but Dream sill refused to meet George's gaze.
This was not how this was supposed to go. He should've shut up. He should've written about it instead. Why didn't he think of that? Why didn't he think of that earlier? Dream cursed himself over and over in his head. Now, George knows, and he can't take anything back.
He was bracing himself for rejection. Dream could feel the foundations of his life starting to crumble, afraid for everything that would change and everything he would lose. He was willing to beg. Beg to pretend that nothing had happened, for George to ignore everything he said, because even pretending was better than everything changing completely. He understood what he could and couldn't have, but he'd be willing to do anything, anything just to keep his friendship with George.
Dream was panicking and George noticed, eyes widening as he realised the probable reason as to why. He scoot over, rubbing soothing circles on the other's back with a gentle hum. And although Dream winced, he observed, he didn't move away.
"Did I hear that right?" The brunet asked, voice hushed and as gentle as could be, with a sliver of hope in his tone. "Was that a confession, Dream?"