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George doesn't know how he feels about the concept of love languages; he's certainly never expended much energy on the thought of them, and apart from a vague memory of maybe having taken a test about it in the past, he doesn't think about his own.
The only person he's heard talk about it at any sort of length is Dream, and George doesn't even remember the results of the quiz Dream took that one time. All he can recall was the entry at the bottom of the list - physical touch. George doesn't know why this tidbit in particular has stuck in his mind, but he supposes it has something to do with the fact that they got to know each other from afar. It's a small detail about Dream that he could only learn from a silly quiz, given the lack of tangible proximity to prove or disprove it.
George doesn't give it much thought either way. He's not particularly touchy himself - not that he's averse to physical affection necessarily, but he won't really seek it out. He's used to being poked and prodded, used to doting fingers ruffling through his hair or amicable hands clasping his arm or shoulder in fits of laughter or moments of confidence. Something about him invites a certain level of fussing, even if he doesn't return the gestures.
In passing moments he wonders if Dream will be immune to this compulsion. He doesn't really know how that makes him feel, but he never dwells on it very long. No point in stewing on irrelevant matters. He'll find out someday.
By the time he flies out, George has almost forgotten about the matter of love languages entirely.
His mind is occupied by the hope that his luggage hasn't been lost as he steps off of the plane and into the dawn light of a warm Florida morning. It's not too hot yet, but the air promises a sticky humidity for later on. He's been warned about the weather already and subsequently plied with reassurances of air conditioning back at the house.
As George shuffles toward the terminal alongside the other half-asleep passengers, the reality of the situation he's about to face sets in anew. He's going to be meeting Dream and Sapnap in person for the very first time. Not only that, but this will be his first good look at Dream that isn't from blurry old photos - the most Dream has ever allowed him to see, for reasons George never bothered to question. What Dream looks like didn’t matter to George in the past and it doesn't matter now.
What is important is that they'll be physically around one another for once.
George feels a curious sort of blankness at the thought, as though it's slightly beyond the bounds of his comprehension. Maybe that's just the case when you've known a person for six years without ever seeing them face to face. He can't even begin to imagine how he'll react to seeing Dream standing right in front of him.
And as George moves to leave the secure area, the old thoughts about love languages bubble back to the surface. He wonders if Dream will hug him. Even people who aren't very touchy-feely can enjoy hugs sometimes.
He doesn't have long to think about it before a distraction appears in the form of his new roommates. They're standing front and centre in the waiting area, not milling about with the other friends and family members lurking closer to the terminal walls. George can imagine that Dream would want to be noticed - wouldn't want George to miss him.
George doesn't miss him. How could he? He barely knows what Dream looks like, but the man beaming at him with the incandescent grin could be no one else. Rays of rising sunlight spear through the airport windows and capture Dream in a sort of natural spotlight, making it even more impossible for him to go unnoticed. Sapnap stands off to the side slightly, though he looks no less excited.
This is just Dream's moment. Their moment. George feels he knows this without anyone having to state it out loud.
The sun highlights Dream's features and yet he is the sun, golden hair and tanned skin and a summery splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose. As George approaches, moving in an awkward sort of half jog in lieu of sprinting like a maniac across the terminal, he entertains the absurd fear that if he gets too close, he might get burned.
But Dream doesn't burn him. Broad hands and strong arms rake George into a crushing hug the instant they're within reach of one another, and George thinks he might see stars if he continues to hold on so tightly, but there's nothing searing to the touch. It's only the raw desperation of too many months of late night calls and idle conversations about what it will be like to finally hang out in person. Dream clings to George like he's trying to convince himself that this is real and George allows himself to be swallowed in the sun's embrace, illuminated by the radiance rather than blinded by it.
It's only when Sapnap gives George's arm an insistent tap that Dream finally loosens his grip. George allows himself to be hauled from one hug into the next, though where Dream's embrace was reverential, Sapnap's is almost brusque in its strength. It's no less affectionate for it, though, and George finds himself sinking into it just as gladly, revelling in the contact that hadn't been possible for so many years.
Dream hovers around before they break apart, looking as though he wants to scoop George up again. He doesn't, though his restless hands leave George to wonder if his friend will be immune to the typical affliction he causes in the people around him. Mostly, though, Dream's eyes glint with incredulous mirth, as though seeing George in front of him is an illusion he doesn't dare allow himself to believe.
George can hardly believe it himself, but the phantom sensation of each hug clinging to him serves as a reminder that this is actually happening. It's all wide smiles and wild laughter as they chatter their greetings, boisterous and loud and the centre of one another's universes, the bustle of the airport forgotten.
For an instant, George is struck by his own bizarre urge to reach out and ensure that Dream and Sapnap are actually there - Dream especially, more a golden beacon than a person in that moment - but he resists. He's never been the touchy one and he's not about to start now. Not when he still wants to know how Dream will treat him without any sort of influence. George is too curious to know if touch will be low on the list after all.
He's not sure why he finds the idea so intriguing. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it would make Dream different from most of his other friends - including Sapnap, who continues to clap George on the arm with every joke made. Sapnap has already fallen prey to whatever it is about George's aura that draws people to preen him.
Of course George already knows Dream is different. He's known that for years, even if neither of them have ever said it aloud to one another. He's still figuring out what that means for him, exactly.
When Dream continues to smile at George like he's never known true happiness before, George finds himself wishing the hug could have gone on a little longer, especially without knowing when it will happen again.
George never thought himself much one for sunlight - part and parcel of his heritage, he supposes. But Dream has broken through the overcast and George is suddenly in want of clear skies, if that's what it will take to surround himself with Dream. He can't say for sure why the intensity has settled upon him so quickly, but he can't bring himself to regret the turn of events.
George is in Florida. Dream is right there. And George intends to bask in that as much as he pleases. They have years to make up for.
It turns out the quiz wasn't wrong.
After the first couple of weeks of living in Florida, George remembers which language had slotted into first place when Dream did the test originally. Quality time. Of course. It was one of the clearest means through which he had shown his affection when they had been an ocean apart - long streams and longer calls, sleep schedules so mutually discombobulated that their time zones began to blur together.
Now it's that but in person, and George is glad he's not the type who requires an inordinate amount of alone time. The three of them still spend a fair few hours in their own rooms daily, whether while streaming or unwinding, but when they aren't individually holed away they are clumped together, if not all at once then in pairs. George is especially insistent on being in somebody's company as much as possible. He's around his best friends for the first time in his life and he intends to take advantage of that fact.
Whether it's tagging along when Sapnap goes to toddle around on his skateboard (Sapnap has offered to teach George, who pointedly refuses to let a miniature set of wheels come between his feet and the stable ground) or milling about while Dream edits a video (George won't say anything but he'll send Dream choice content from his For You page in an attempt to distract him, and Dream will call him an idiot through a poorly repressed smile), George makes a point of being where his friends are. He enjoys their company too much to hide away in his room, and Dream especially is only too happy to oblige. Quality time - they spend a lot of it together.
And, though George has yet to figure out how he feels about it, the bit about physical touch seems to be ringing true as well. Since the initial hug at the airport, Dream hasn't laid a finger on him, even to nudge him out of the way. George is almost impressed by the casual acrobatics needed to dodge a person entirely without letting on that you're doing so, if that's what Dream is doing.
It seems absurd, but what else could account for the way Dream will come within reach of George without ever closing the gap? Skirting around one another like it's an elaborate dance, one for which George hasn't learned the moves. But it doesn't matter, since Dream knows the paces - nimble side stepping so that they don't run into one another, getting George's attention through words and texts rather than pokes or prods, affection expressed mainly through words and comfortable silences together.
But nothing more than that. Nothing like the way Sapnap can be, though George had known to expect that much at least. He saw the stream footage with Karl, the easy way the two would hang off one another without thinking. Whether or not Karl was the primary instigator doesn't matter, since Sapnap seems to have picked up some of those habits regardless. He'll give George a little tap on the arm every time they greet one another, or lean his head on George's shoulder when they watch a movie.
George lets him, even if he won't sling his own arms back around Sapnap like Karl might have. But he's okay with it. He's used to it.
Which is why it only feels stranger and stranger the longer Dream keeps away from him.
He'll come close. George might be resting against the kitchen counter and Dream will reach past to grab something from the cabinet behind George's head. There might be scant inches between them, but Dream is more likely to ask George to scoot over than usher him aside. Or he'll lean over George's chair while the latter is pointing out something on the monitor, and Dream's hand might brace itself on George's desk but never in a spot where they might bump into one another.
George thinks it's almost like there's a force field keeping them apart. They're two magnets with the same polarity.
He doesn't mind. He doesn't think he minds, anyway. It's enough to be around Dream, much though George sometimes feels like a planet caught in Dream's orbit, helpless but to follow the motion of the sun. That's not so bad, though. And the planets never get too close to the star they're orbiting, after all.
But he does wonder if it's intentional.
Nothing else would give the indication that anything is amiss. If George is being honest, living in Florida has been better than he could have imagined. He expected more growing pains, more acclimatising to the dynamic of living with two other people who aren't family. But everything falls into a rhythm more quickly than expected, like this was always meant to happen.
Maybe it was. George wouldn't be shocked if that were the case.
And even if Dream isn't doting on him physically, the affection is there regardless. It comes through in breathless laughter and brilliant grins, time spent together either in person or on calls - because of course they still go on voice chat with one another from separate rooms, even if they're now in the same house. George feels he could easily spend every minute with Dream and not be sick of the man, and that's why he can't find himself wanting from the lack of touch.
His obsession with it stems from other places, other lines of reasoning. They're just ones he doesn't want to think too deeply about.
So he lets Dream continue his funny little evasions, the dance in which George will never have anything more glance off of him than a gaze. Sometimes the gazes linger, with a subtle emotion in Dream's eye that George sometimes thinks might be hesitation.
George can't discount the possibility that it's just wishful thinking, though.
A couple of months pass and George realises that, for the first time, he wants physical affection.
Part of him still believes it's just because he was so curious to see if Dream, he of physical touch ranking the lowest on his love language quiz, would be just as drawn to mess with George regardless. George wanted that strange, small victory, and he hasn't even come close to achieving it.
The other part, the one that keels in sardonic defeat to the fan jokes made about him on the daily, feels somewhat that he has been thrust into a very catlike state of being. Cats prefer to dictate their own schedule for receiving love. George isn't accustomed to being deprived of the sort of passive fussing wrought upon him by everyone else. Sure, he tolerates physical affection... but when he's being denied it when it's something he wants, then suddenly it develops into a grand, covetous thing.
And somehow it has become something he wants - though the one person who he can't seem to stop thinking about is the very one withholding it all from him. Cruel irony, George reflects. Perhaps his own fault for being so smug in the beginning.
Now he's the one drifting after Dream constantly, still stuck in that orbit, often no more than an arm's length and a couple strides from the source of the gravitational pull.
It doesn't help when George notices that Dream's game of avoidance doesn't extend to Sapnap. Dream will tap him on the shoulder or touch his arm or give him a high five without hesitation, every time. There's no moment of pause, no complicated dance - only the easy comfort of two long term best friends existing in each other's space.
George wonders if it's something that will change in time. He hasn't been in Florida very long.
But he isn't sure if that's the entire story.
Dream hasn't been helping himself, either. George doesn't know how his housemate can walk around without a shirt when the place feels hardly above freezing with the air conditioner on. He'll be bundled up in sweats and a thick jumper while Dream lounges about in gym shorts and little else, sunlit skin unblemished by gooseflesh. It's a mystery how he does it.
George tries not to stare when Dream is shirtless, tries not to take notice of the clusters of freckles peppered across Dream's shoulders, or the way his torso tapers into hips that vanish under a low-slung waistline. He especially ignores the build of Dream's forearms and how he'll scratch at his chest idly with one large hand, or rake long fingers through his shock of hair.
George doesn't want to think too deeply about these things, nor does he want to think about why they're on his mind at all. If he lets himself go down that path, then he'll also have to wonder if it has anything to do with his sudden cravings for physical affection.
The answer seems obvious. George won't let himself put it to words, as if that will change anything.
Repressed thoughts aside, George decides to do what any cat would in his situation: cause trouble for attention.
While he's been wanting to play this straight and wait for Dream to cave on his own time, George has still been cataloguing hints that could help him rig the game. It's in the little things - like the way Dream will usually find a way to insert himself into whatever George and Sapnap are up to if they've been hanging out for a while, or how he's likely to bring up their shared memories whenever someone else is waxing fond over George. It's nothing new to George, who's been just as bad in the past for monopolising Dream's attention at times, but now it's a bit more visible. And he thinks he can use that.
George caught Dream staring once, eyes inscrutable as they trailed over the forms of the two other housemates strewn on the couch. George was sat up in one corner, Sapnap in the other, the latter's legs stretched out to rest over George's. They weren't doing anything more interesting than scrolling through their respective timelines, and it was hardly the cosiest they had ever been, but George noticed the way something resembling envy flashed across Dream's expression.
It passed in an instant, and Dream flitted out of the room as quickly as he had entered. Sapnap hadn't even noticed his arrival.
George saw it all, though. And he thought the reaction was interesting.
He wants to experiment with that now, see where needling can get him. But he doesn't want to use Sapnap for the cause without telling him - that wouldn't be fair, and George genuinely appreciates Sapnap's casual amicability. He won't take advantage of that. In the interest of honesty, George decides he can talk to Sapnap about his idea. If anything, he thinks it might be a good way to untangle some of his own thoughts.
Sapnap doesn't need to know about the game - George knows he'll sound full of himself (or worse, completely off the deep end) if he tries to explain people's compulsion to poke at him - but he might still have some insight.
Sapnap is understandably confused at first.
"So like, what, you think he's avoiding you?"
George props his chin in one hand as watches Sapnap from his vantage point on the curb, though Sapnap has paused in his boarding to meet George's gaze.
"Not really, no," George replies vaguely. "It's more like... dunno, do you find he's not a very touchy-feely sort of person?"
Sapnap furrows his brow in serious consideration of the question, though he looks relieved to know there isn't some sort of tension between the other two he wasn't aware of. "Good question. I guess I don't really notice, though."
"Mm." George knows he's going to have to be more explicit if he wants any of this to make sense, but it’s just as daunting to vocalise his own self-acceptance as it is to have Sapnap know what's going on. He takes a short breath. "I don't think he's avoiding me, but I do feel like he won't come near me. It's a bit weird."
"You think so?" Sapnap is rolling the board back and forth under one foot as he stares out thoughtfully. "I mean... yeah, I guess that might be a thing with him? I dunno, like, we'll high five sometimes but that's about it."
George pulls an exaggerated frown. "He won't even give me that," he intones dramatically, hoping it will make him sound a bit less needy.
"I guess that's kinda weird, yeah." Sapnap's voice is still tinted with confusion, though it doesn't look like he's made any assumptions about why George is asking. George feels it won't be long before he connects the dots, though.
Hell, they've been connecting in his own mind this entire time, much to his own chagrin. Talking to Sapnap about this has only made it into a more tangible, undeniable thing. This conversation wouldn't be happening if George wasn't spending far too many of his waking hours wondering why Dream wouldn't touch him.
George isn't an idiot. He knows what it means.
And because he knows what it means, he could just give up the silly little charade and seek out what he wants for himself. The only complication is that Dream keeping him out of reach could mean any number of things, up to and including discouraging the exact sort of behaviour George is craving. Seemingly wistful gazes aren't enough to confirm anything, and George is cautious.
Caginess from a man known for his open displays of affection (albeit verbal ones) is a mighty deterrent, and that's why George wants to eke more proof out of him first. He still hopes Sapnap can help with that.
"Do you think..." The words fall from George's lips before he can stop to think about how the sentence is going to end. Do you think it's deliberate? Do you think he likes me? Childish, hamfisted questions, like someone wanting to know if a schoolyard crush is reciprocated. Which, in all fairness, isn't far from the truth.
Sapnap raises his brow questioningly.
George abandons the previous attempt and changes tack. "Is it bad that I kind of want to bait him into it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Dunno, sometimes I wonder if he sees the two of us hanging out and feels a bit jealous, you know?" George's tone is light, like he's making a joke of it all. Jealous Dream, an old standby in the group chats. "Maybe I need to be all over you so that he'll finally give me the time of day."
Levity or not, George knows how it sounds. He can see the recognition blooming in Sapnap's eyes, and he bites back the urge to backpedal before it's much too late.
"So you're saying you want Dream to be all touchy-feely with you," Sapnap replies slowly as his mouth stretches into a knowing grin. "That's what all this is about."
"I didn't say that." But a lofty voice won't save him now, not with Sapnap's entire countenance lighting up in merriment, like he's just gotten the best news he's heard all week.
"You pretty much did," Sapnap retorts. "Oh, man, this is hilarious. I've been noticing you following him around like a lost puppy dog but I didn't even think -"
"Please," George scoffs, though there's been no word of a lie. He can feel heat rising in his face, but he continues to stare down Sapnap as though there isn't a bright flare of colour across his cheekbones giving him away. "Like it's not the two of you who are obsessed with me, obviously."
Sapnap barks a laugh at the shoddy defense. "Sure, keep telling yourself that." He picks up his board and walks over to join George on the curb, his expression suddenly becoming serious once more. "So what, you wanna make him jealous or something?"
George's mouth flattens into a line at the question, even if it's not incorrect. It just sounds so terrible when it's worded as such. "Look, I'm not trying to pull something." When Sapnap gives him a dubious look, George sighs. "All right, maybe I am, just to see if it would do anything. Like, is this just me, or ..." His voice trails uselessly, and he feels very stupid and insecure and small in that moment. He prefers to gloss over tough situations with omissions and indifference, evade serious topics with jokes. Being vulnerable for even a brief conversation strikes him as something shameful.
Sapnap, for his part, looks understanding at least, though George could do without the trace of pity in his eyes.
"It's not you, dude, I promise," Sapnap says in earnest. "Dream's always been kinda, standoffish? And anyway, he's like, super obsessed with you. He doesn't shut up about you whenever you're not around."
George doesn't need Sapnap to tell him that - it's also old news - but it makes him feel fractionally better regardless. "How much of an idiot do I sound like?" he asks with a pained smile. Pathetic.
"A little bit, but only because you think he doesn't like you or something." Sapnap slings an arm around George's shoulders and draws him tight into a side hug. Simple gestures, so easy for him. "I also don't think you have to do this mastermind 'make him jealous' thing either. Have you tried, I don't know, actually talking to him?"
"Talking? What?" George whinges. He still can't bring himself to tell Sapnap about his little test, but the omission makes him look even more ridiculous somehow. Of course talking would be the reasonable course of action for most people... but the thought of walking up to Dream and asking why they haven't come into contact since the airport makes the concept of jumping into the void seem appealing. Serious communication was never George's strong suit.
"I'm just saying! If you want answers, that would be way quicker than... whatever you were gonna use me for."
George meets Sapnap's eye in mild panic, but the other's smile indicates that the comment was lighthearted. "You're an idiot," George says. Strange how he can feel such visceral embarrassment and relief at the same time.
"Uh, okay. I'm not the one who thought it would be easier to trick Dream into giving me a hug instead of like, asking him for one."
"Ugh." George winces at the very concept. "I have some dignity."
"Whatever you say, man..."
So much for the game. George knows he should have figured that this would be the eventual outcome, but sometimes fooling himself is an easier feat than admitting something stupid. Something like wishing his housemate would stop treating him like an artefact in a museum. Something like wanting his best friend.
Dream's top love language is quality time. George wonders if he should take greater advantage of that if he wants to see what else he can glean from the situation. It feels like a compromise between waiting it out and asking directly.
There's nothing to be lost by spending time with Dream, at least. And maybe, if George is lucky, there will be something to gain.
It's a quiet evening in the house.
No streams, no other plans. Sapnap and Dream have been in their rooms since they all ordered takeout for dinner a few hours ago. Only George is in a common area, sitting on the island in the kitchen and poking unseeingly through his FYP. He came out here with the intention of finding a snack, but after a brief, fruitless search for anything interesting, he's since given up and parked himself on the countertop.
He's bored. And lonely. Sometimes he doesn't mind knocking on doors when the other two have them shut, but this is one of the nights where he wishes company would fall into his lap.
Particular company, though. And the lap part doesn't have to be literal - though at this rate he wouldn't complain.
His orbiting of Dream has only gotten worse, to the point where he actually worries that he might look desperate if he were to go seeking him out to hang tonight. Dream hasn't said anything, of course - he's only too happy to be spending time together - but George can't shake the fear of actually appearing clingy. That he wants some sort of physical attention from someone at all is still foreign to him; he doesn't want anyone else (other than Sapnap, apparently) to know it.
And if Dream catches wind that George's neediness is indicative of anything more than platonic camaraderie... well, that could have one of two outcomes, and George is still afraid of the bad option.
An outright rejection doesn't seem likely. If asked to put a number to it, George would say he's 75% certain that Dream wouldn't react with horror, at the very least. Some discomfort and awkward laughter? Maybe. But George still files away every moment he notices Dream looking at him, often with an expression of such open fondness that George almost believes that it's not just him after all.
He's still not sure, though. Dream might just be... like that.
So George resigns himself to the occasional night by his lonesome, like this one. His legs dangle off the side of the island, eyes glazing over as he scrolls past the dozenth variant of some new, quasi-comprehensible meme. Distantly he thinks he should move from the cold marble countertop to the comfort of his own bedroom, or even just the couch, but that requires effort that he's not yet ready to put in.
The delay rewards him when he hears footsteps pad into the room. He can tell it's Dream without looking up.
"Why is your ass on my counter?" is Dream's griped salutation.
"Our counter," George corrects delicately. "And you let Patches on here all the time. She walks in her own filth."
Dream responds with a mock offended gasp. "I can't believe you'd call my cat filthy ..."
"Just her feet." George sets his phone down and looks over to Dream, who's busying himself with refilling one of his water bottles. He's also shirtless again. Of course. "What are you up to?"
One freckled shoulder rises and falls (George pretends he isn't tracking the movement), and Dream takes a long swig of the bottle before responding. "Literally nothing," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. "I was just on the practice server for a bit."
"That's not nothing." George doesn't think Dream is capable of remaining idle for more than a few minutes at a time, and so his concept of "doing nothing" typically involves a minimum of two distractions at once.
Dream only shrugs again. He doesn't leave, but the silence stretches out and George casts about for an idea, unwilling to lose his chance at having company tonight.
"Do you want to do a Discord stream or something?" George suggests. Not his preferred form of entertainment, but it's better than nothing. And the listeners particularly enjoy the thought that the two of them can stream from the same room now - not that they ever do, thanks to mic setups, but it's about the possibility .
George finds an uncomfortable sort of kinship in the fans' wistful thinking these days. If only they knew.
"Nah," Dream says, though it’s a kind refusal. "Maybe we can play Geoguessr on my alt soon, I dunno."
"You're boring." George punctuates the jibe with an exaggerated eyeroll and makes a show of picking up his phone again. He hears Dream exhale a low chuckle and assumes he's about to retreat to his room. Maybe tonight isn't George's night.
"Says the guy sitting in the kitchen by himself like an idiot," Dream retorts, and George gives a small start at hearing the voice directly beside him now.
Dream is leaning against the island, propped up on both elbows, and he's levelling George with a challenging stare. There's nothing more to it than teasing amusement, but George still finds his heart getting stuck somewhere in his throat. They're scant inches apart - and while it's not like they've never been this close before, George prays to anyone listening that his traitorous blush doesn't return to give him away.
It's possible he's been thinking more and more about Dream lately. He doesn't even have his own doubts to shield himself any more. Now it's all raw and exposed and extremely difficult to manage when Dream is right there, golden and grinning and half-dressed in the cool light of the kitchen.
"Yeah, because you're boring," George repeats. He's telling himself that sticking to the bit will protect him from slipping up or saying anything stupid. It's harder than he could have imagined, though that might have something to do with him being blinded by his sudden proximity to the sun. He can hardly keep Dream's gaze without looking away, flustered, let alone think straight.
"Ouch, George." It's just a name, spoken with the usual honeyed affectation that Dream uses for him alone, but it's enough to cause something in George's midsection to twist in delight. In any other situation, George would consider a voice reserved for one person to be an indication of something significant, but with Dream he still doesn't know if it means anything more than friendly affection.
George wishes he could figure out how to prove it one way or the other. Spending time with Dream hasn't given him any answers yet, and he's running out of patience.
"Whatever," he says, looking back to his phone. It might be enough to goad Dream into bothering him more, but really George is stalling for time. He's thinking about what Sapnap said - have you actually tried talking to him? - and horror of horrors, he's actually considering it.
"George." One word, drawn into a warm taunt.
This could mean everything or nothing at all, and George isn't sure which option is more distressing to him. All he knows is that this is the most concentrated dose of Dream's attention that he's received in weeks, and his fortifications against impulsivity are rapidly crumbling.
"I have a weird question for you," George says before he can stop himself.
From his periphery, he can tell Dream looks a little taken aback, but the smile hasn't faded entirely. "Hm?"
George forces himself to face Dream, who is staring at him with mixed amusement and curiosity. "I was wondering... okay, this will sound stupid, but..." It feels as though he's wrenching every word from deep within himself, and the admission is fighting tooth and nail to remain unspoken. He sighs, harshly, and rifles a hand through his hair as a momentary distraction.
(He doesn't miss the way Dream's eyes follow the motion of his hand.)
"Yeah?" Dream prompts. He's so close that George swears he can feel the heat radiating from him. It's not helping.
"Why do you like..." George scrunches up his face slightly. "Why do you avoid me?"
It's only half of the full question, and the ensuing silence reveals Dream's confusion.
"Avoid you?" Dream echoes, and George wilts at hearing the faint note of hurt in his voice. "Do you think I avoid you? George, we spend like, half our waking time together -"
"No I know," George interjects in a panic. His heart has gotten unstuck and has begun racing at an alarming pace instead. "I mean it more like, why don't you ever..." He gestures vaguely with one hand, unable to put it to words without feeling like a prime fool.
Dream looks more baffled than ever, brow furrowed in concern.
Talk to him, George remembers bitterly. Easier said than done. He's fumbling for the right thing to say, a way to explain himself without sounding like a complete idiot, and as the seconds tick by his anxiety only grows.
An idiom drifts into his mind then. Actions speak louder than words.
"Like..." And he reaches out to nudge Dream's arm - nothing too lingering, just a quick brush of his knuckles over the warm skin, but it's more contact than they've had in months. He's reminded of his ridiculous thoughts from when they first met, as though the touch might burn him. Reaching out for the sun hasn't become easier with time.
Dream looks down at where George's fingers made contact, then back up to George. "Are you asking why I don't... touch you?" he asks, tone too blank for George to read with any confidence.
George can only nod weakly in response, as though the minuscule gesture has taken every ounce of his strength. In a way, it has.
"Well, I mean..." And George is equal parts terrified and thrilled to watch Dream rise up from his reclined stance and position himself directly in front of George instead.
"Dream," George says, though he doesn't have anything else to say as a follow up. It's just the only thing coming to mind. Dream, only Dream, the man he's been pining after with varying levels of self-awareness over the months, the man who's been so carefully skirting out of reach for just as long, the man who's impossibly and overwhelmingly alluring, all at the expense of George's pride.
Dream, whose hands have found the countertop to either side of George, boxing him in. They're still not touching, though George is acutely aware of just how small the gap is. Particularly between his face and Dream's, as the other has leaned in to make the trap all the more intimately wrought.
"George," Dream replies, smile returning once more, slow and wicked in a way that makes George's breath catch.
George fetches for something to say in return and comes up with nothing, too thrown off by this turn of events to form sentences. He can do little else but stare at the man in front of him in mindless anticipation.
"I guess you could say I was nervous," Dream goes on, the gravel in his voice indicating anything but nerves. "I didn't want you to get the wrong idea or anything."
"What was the wrong idea?" George finally manages, spurred by a last ditch effort at banter, useless though he knows it will be. Dream has breached into his orbit and George thinks he might just be swallowed whole by the blaze. Not such a bad way to go, he thinks.
"Like... that I was just getting you over here to be all over you."
George's gaze slides from heavy lidded eyes to lips still quirked in a salacious grin. "And the right idea?" he asks, breathless. Millimetres separate them now, and he thinks he might combust at any moment, skin catching fire from proximity alone.
"I dunno. Maybe I wanted to see if you would be all over me."
George has only a split second to register any form of indignation before the kiss engulfs him. It's somehow both demanding and gentle, Dream's mouth coaxing his own into pliant cooperation, and George need only follow along. Every last thought is struck from his mind, coherence lost to the sensation of a tongue running experimentally along the back of his teeth and the press of a canine into his bottom lip.
The heat caressing him is like that of the airport hug and yet more in ways George could not even begin to describe. He's too consumed by the physical touch he's been coveting, yielded to him more generously than he could have ever asked for.
When the kiss breaks, Dream maintains contact by bringing one hand up to cup the side of George's face. George can feel a thumb tracing through the hints of stubble along his jawline and tries not to melt at the touch.
"Okay," George says after a beat. "Okay."
"That's all you have to say?"
As the haze from the kiss begins to clear, George thinks Dream sounds entirely too amused, given the weeks of agony he's had to endure in silence. More than amused, actually. Dream sounds smug.
"I can't believe you left me hanging on purpose," George whines. "You are such an idiot." His eyes drift shut as he allows himself to lean into Dream's hand, too deliriously pleased to feel any actual irritation. He knows he shouldn't be surprised to discover that he wasn't the only one playing the game - and that Dream happened to be a couple steps ahead of him. The competitive trait is just as familiar to George as anything else about his friend.
"Hey, you could've said anything at any time," Dream says idly, still smirking to himself. "But no, I had to find out from Sapnap."
"What?" George's eyes snap open, and his dizzied joy is replaced by a spark of fury. He straightens out of Dream's grip and whips his head around to stare daggers in the general direction of Sapnap's room. "Sapnap told you -"
"Calm down," Dream interrupts with a laugh. "I - look, okay, I pried it out of him, all right? I thought you were acting weird - shut up, you totally were - so I asked him what was up, and then he started being weird, and... yeah. I figured it out. Wasn’t that difficult."
George slumps in defeat and returns his face to Dream's hand. "This is so embarrassing," he moans.
"Well, yeah." There's that smugness again, but it's laced with affection. "But we got here eventually, right?"
"I just figured..." George fights through another wave of shame to get the question out. There's no point hiding anything now. "I didn't think touch was really... your thing."
"It's not like, the most important thing," Dream replies, sounding honest enough. "That doesn't mean I don't enjoy it, though."
George resists the urge to roll his eyes again and only nods against the hand cupping his cheek. "Okay," he says after a moment. "Now what?" The question is semi-rhetorical - he thinks they'll have to talk about this properly at some point, but there's no way it'll be tonight. That would require thinking straight.
Dream, for his part, has a mischievous glint in his eye. "I dunno. Did you still want to do a Discord stream? We could tell everyone the news."
"Don't even joke about that -"
Dream is laughing, filling the room with loud, pealing wheezes, and George can only stare in fond disbelief. Somehow this, this of all things, has been the culmination of the stupid game, their little dance - and George still hasn't gotten burned. It's only light, and laughter, and Dream's enormous personality basking them both in radiant joy.
George wonders if he might be in love.
He doesn't want to do a Discord stream, or an alt stream, or anything much at all apart from finding a way to get Dream's mouth back on his as soon as possible. Fortunately, they no longer need an elaborate ritual to make that happen.
Now that it's out there, neither of them need to ask permission in words or nudges. George just uses his newfound freedom to take Dream by the back of the head, fingers slipping reverently through locks of hair, and pull him into a kiss. The other obliges gladly, and George doesn't bother to tamp down his glowing sense of triumph.
He still considers this a victory, dammit. And he's going to enjoy it.