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the wardrobe is bigger here.
George notices this fact immediately. An array of his shirts and sweatshirts hang on the left side of the closet with a large, noticeable empty space, while in his old flat they all fit snugly in the confines.
there’s so much room. like it’s all missing.
He crosses his arms, staring blankly into the closet as his vacant suitcases mock him from the floor.
The room is barren and doesn’t feel like his own yet, everywhere he looks is foreign territory and he feels as if he’s scavenging it on his own— due to the anti-George policy instituted by Dream and Sapnap to ensure he was able to get settled into his room without any bothering, something about allowing him to get comfortable. George didn’t decline it- but he wishes maybe he would’ve tried to fight it a little more. He wouldn’t mind Sapnap’s presence tinkering through his belongings.
truthfully, the anti-george policy (named by george himself in the first moment he closed his bedroom door) that was supposed to rid George of feeling overwhelmed has taken to do the exact opposite of its job.
He can go into their rooms right now; he can ask for them to come hang out with him or spend time with him. But that would mean acknowledging all of this right now. acknowledging this is real. and this bedroom is in florida right now. and george is living inside this house now. and dream is living in the same house, just merely down the hallway.
His blinds are slanted open and dim light travels across the room, it’s not late enough to sleep yet, but George finds himself slipping further into his jet-lagged mindset.
And, alas, his closet hasn’t gotten any smaller.
still too empty. maybe if i sleep and wake up and-
tap tap
George looks to the right at his door where the sliding noise originated. “Hello?” George mutters under his breath, afraid that maybe he made up the sound in his own mind. An attempt to give into this fantasy world where one of his friends has broken the anti-George policy and wanted to spend some time with him.
He pauses at the door, his fingers caressing the cold bronze of his doorknob.
This time the sound is more clear, a distinct scratching against the bottom of the door. “Meow!”
For the first time since he’d been so sadly abandoned by his friends, George grins. He cracks the door and Patches paws her way inside the room, completely ignoring George in consideration for his suitcase across from the bed. She gets inside immediately.
She steps around and then pauses, putting her front paws forward and arching her back to stretch.
George sits, criss-cross applesauce, next to the suitcase. “Hi Patches,” he stumbles out quickly and reaches his hand for her to smell, “I’m George.”
She sniffs in acceptance and rubs her head against his palm. Patches would like Cat, George thinks and adds a mental reminder to call his Mum in the morning and let her know how everything is going and request a picture of his own kitten.
mental checklist
1- introduce yourself to patches (DONE)
2- leave your room and break the anti-george policy (WIP)
3- set up your pc
4- call mum
He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a quick picture of Patches inside the suitcase.
George @GeorgeNootFound
This random cat came out of my suitcase ...
[image: patches is tucked in the corner of the travel bag. she is easily identified by the white stripe down her head and nose. george is petting her head with his opposite hand]
He posts the tweet quickly and puts his phone away on his bedside dresser.
let the internet have some more fun with the meetup, George thinks. The fans got their confirmation earlier with a picture of Sapnap and George sitting side by side and drinking coffee together at the kitchen barstools. After Sapnap picked him up from the airport, George met Dream at his front porch awning, opting to not leak the face reveal any earlier than they intend to.
“hi,” dream quickly held him into a close hug, causing george to disregard the bags in his fists and drop them to his feet.
he immediately took notice of the difference in sapnap and dream, not just in height but even in their smells. sapnap smells like the expensive cologne he brags about owning, but dream opens the door to his house and smells of home. the thought pulls a chill up george’s spine at the reflection of real life dream becoming more real.
george had to force himself to quit staring. he had never seen dream so close, in so much detail. the 10 second snapchats or blurry photos of his teenage years or pixelated late-night video calls were never enough to give him the put-together image of his best friend.
george feels home in the presence of his friends
And at some point between Patches and George’s meeting and George patting her gently behind her ears, Patches gets out of the suitcase and scoops herself into his lap. She purrs as she leans into his touch and George thinks he may have found the best part of living in Florida in the form of a fluffy cat.
Patches buries herself into his arms like a babydoll and allows for him to pet her head with one hand and her belly with the other.
He yawns. The awareness of how tired he is pulls his body down like stiff gravity. sleep now or sleep never
George lifts her gently and places her on the tucked corner of his bed while he pulls the blinds tight and dresses into sleep clothes, a random sweatshirt and plaid pajama bottoms. Although being early, he hopes to get rid of jet lag and maybe adapt back to the horrendous sleep schedule his friends follow as well.
Laying in the soft bedding of his new mattress, Patches curls back in his arms and purrs herself to sleep. The room is dark aside from the white moonlight breaking against the back of his blinds, and the only sound heard is the rustle of night outside the window as George falls asleep.
-
A murmured humming and a clicking noise from the outside hallway wakes up George. He flips onto his stomach and, according to the ticking red lights of a cheap alarm clock Dream had put on his night stand, it’s 4:32 a.m.
“Patcheess,” the voice quietly calls out in a sing-songy tone that he quickly recognizes as Dream’s. Dream calls out again for his cat and clicks his tongue.
In a tired moment, George collects Patches in his arms and rolls his eyes. He slips out from the covers and turns the doorknob.
breaking of the metaphorical wall. the wall between himself and the rest of the house.
And as George steps into the darkness of the hallway, he simultaneously breaks the anti-George policy in the same movement; he breathes in deeply. Patches leans further into his hold again. She closes her eyes and pushes into the fabric of his sweatshirt, falling sleepy once more.
Dream stands at the end of the hallway, his back to George and facing into the darkness of the living room. The hall is cool and George anxiously leans his weight onto his right foot. Silence builds quickly and George finds his words catching in the back of his throat, his mouth full of cotton at the prospect of speaking to Dream now.
He runs his fingers along the soft fluff of Patches’ chest.
“Dre- err- Clay?”
Dream turns quickly, hand on his chest in shock. His eyes are widened on the exterior but show as sleepy in the lack of rest way. He looks genuinely tired, but lets out a relieved laugh and sigh nonetheless. “You scared the shit out of me, George.”
He feels his heart quicken at the sound of his name.
Dream gestures to Patches, “I thought she may have gotten out or something- I didn’t know.”
George looks down and he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s suddenly reminded of the cat in his arms again, or if it’s because he can’t keep himself to stare at his friend in front of him. “She’s been keeping me company, I think she likes me.”
He glances up and back down immediately at the sight of Dream’s warm smile. “And you don’t have to call me Clay,” his voice sounds like how honey tastes- sickeningly sweet. Reassurance wraps each word. “Me and Nick want you to call us whatever makes you comfortable. Don’t feel pressured or anything now- I know you’ve always just called us our game names.”
George nods, meeting eyes with Dream. A rush of air hits his chest and the inability to speak is back, this time from an overwhelming feeling of love. feeling seen, feeling heard, feeling accepted.
this whole florida thing is exhausting
first the wardrobe and now… speaking to dream
He shuffles closer to Dream, his socks sliding against the hardwood flooring, and he finds his voice, “Do you want her back?”
Dream hums softly, “But you guys look so cute.”
silence
In a quiet symphony of irony, George hears crickets in the concert of the Florida night outside. He feels his cheeks get red, something he would’ve been able to push away on a stream or a discord call.
starting to think discord sleepovers are nothing like the real thing
“Dream,” George whispers. His voice is weak but he doesn’t try to correct it. He hopes in his heart Dream can somehow understand.
somehow understand the feelings that george can’t.
somehow understand that george’s closet is embarrassingly empty and that’s definitely the issue at hand right now. somehow understand this inability to talk to dream right now- more or less even look him in the eye like a normal person
but none of this is normal. leave it to george to do it all backwards. create the whole feelings-friendship thing and then meet each other in person.
“George,” Dream says his name like a poem and George’s ears ring, “I think I need to go to bed.”
White noise amplifies in George’s head, “Um- yeah- oh sure- that’s um- yeah?” He pauses and the question leaves his tongue without thought or substance, “Can I…?”
Dream’s smile is so warm, George feels it in his chest. He nods without any word, taking Patches out of George’s hold and turning back to his own bedroom. Leaving George in the dust storm of emotion behind him, not even sure what he'd asked for nor what Dream agreed to. He doesn’t turn back to George, he keeps walking with the assumption that the older is following him and leaves the pillar of salt at its wits.
He follows Dream wordlessly. Each step feels like one being taken by someone else. He runs on autopilot until suddenly he’s standing at the opposite side of Dream’s bed and Dream has this amused smirk on his face. And, romantic or not, the idea of getting into Dream’s bed is something more intimate than he ever planned on doing yet. yet?
Dream’s room is larger than his own and at first glance you would almost assume it to be a guest room. But as you look closer, the room comes together with little pieces of Dream that are undeniably him.
a small dream plushie on his nightstand, slanted from all the cotton squished onto its left side and leaned against a lamp. a picture of him and his siblings when they were young. a drawing of the dream team laying flat on one of his dressers. an assortment of little things scattered around the room to make it his own.
Dream sits with Patches slinked across the end of the bed. He pats the mattress next to him once and George sits awkwardly. He crosses his arms and continues to look more around the room, hot at the such personal feeling of being inside Dream’s bedroom, until his vision lands back onto Dream who pats the mattress again. closer, his eyes plead, and who is George to deny him?
George squints with rosy cheeks, pressing his palms on the mattress to scoot back and closer to his friend. Dream leans in and takes him by surprise, wrapping an arm around George’s shoulder and rests his hand on his waist. The older folds instantly, curling into Dream’s touch in acceptance and melting like this is all he needed to solve his issues.
He releases a deep breath, one that filled his lungs to full capacity. A tight feeling burns up the back of his throat and holds strong; George pinches his eyes shut, his thumbs pressing against Dream.
The weight of life change falls suddenly.
he’s real and he’s here. and he’s holding me.
and sapnap is here. he’s upstairs right now and he’s going to help me with my pc tomorrow and
and i’m living here. and i have a room, i have my clothes, i have that stupid wardrobe.
and i love dream. i love him more than anything.
“Are you okay, George?”
And his name being spoken again into the dark quiet of the room lights another spark within him; George thinks he may have to ban Dream from saying his name again— or maybe he needs to hear it more often.
“No I’m okay, more than okay,” George’s fingers ghost against the cloth of Dream’s sweatshirt, “This is just a lot for me.”
George’s hand ends up resting against Dream’s chest, entangled in his hoodie strings.
“What’s a lot?”
“Everything,” George pauses and opens his eyes again to look up at Dream, meeting his concern, “Everything feels like a lot here- in here- with you. You’re a lot for me. I’m not good at- processing stuff like this.”
Dream cocks an eyebrow, giving a reassuring smile that pulls George up out of the pit and holds him safely. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The room falls back into the dense quiet. Dream’s fingers are tender on his hip, gentle as they sneak under the fabric of his sweatshirt and hold a flame against his skin.
He traces small circles and stars into George’s hip with the pad of his finger, following an imaginary mapped galaxy.
And, he thinks for a moment that Dream might be asleep as the movements slow and his breathing becomes lower. He’s enveloped into the moment with the sound of a calm night breeze against the windows and his friend’s sweet embrace.
Dream speaks so softly it makes George dizzy, wondering briefly if he even hears the words as they’re spoken, “What are you thinking about?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, allowing space for his thoughts.
“My closet.”
and it’s kind of the truth
it’s still so empty
“Is that a metaphor for something?” Dream murmurs.
George twists his fingers in Dream’s top and giggles, “You’re such an idiot.”
His fingers still and he shifts to look down at George, his head resting against the smaller’s, “No, really, what do you mean?”
“It’s empty,” George mutters, “I put all of my clothes in and there’s so much extra space.” He hides his face. Every word feels like he’s exposing a secret, “It’s stupid, sorry.”
“That’s not stupid,” Dream’s opposite hand raises and he swipes his thumb against the smooth skin on George’s cheek, “We can fix that, buy you some new clothes or put a shelf in there- or something.” Dream pays no mind to his friend’s embarrassment, instead opting to look at him with this sort of breathless smile, “See, easy fix Gogy.”
gogy. he says it with an emphasis, letting out a soundless laugh. he fills it with so much endearment despite being just a silly nickname he was given by the fans and used over until they grew old of it. but, his friends never seemed to grow out of it. sapnap and dream still calling him gogy, using it in especially specific situations to show their love for him.
“Okay,” George turns, allowing Dream’s fingers to blaze against the bare skin of his stomach and facing to see Dream better now. He watches as his breath hitches. “What are you thinking about?”
Dream has a sleepy smile. “You,” he pats George’s belly with the hand still secured around him, “‘n how good you look in my arms, George. ‘n how long I’ve been waiting for this.”
George closes his eyes again briefly and takes a breath for a second too long, pushing his lungs to make up for all the oxygen leaving his head just at the sound of Dream’s voice saying that. “Well, I’m here now,” his own words hit him like a freight train.
“And I’m so happy you are.”
George is close to Dream in every sense of the word. Warm fingers hug against his skin and send electric shocks, causing him to hold his breath in his sternum. There’s a faint scent of mint traced close to him, the smell of Dream’s toothpaste from how near they are together. And he holds the cotton fabric in his palms with proliferating knowledge that right underneath it is his friend’s chest.
“George,” Dream whispers. The words are soft, encompassing so much more love than George has ever received, “Can I…?” He mimics George’s own question from earlier in the night, reminding George of how quickly this whole situation has come into his lap. Just an hour ago he was sleeping with Patches propped into his arms, dreams full of worry about when he would next leave his new bedroom. And now, Dream is asking of him the unthinkable- the undreamable.
He pauses to look up to his friend’s face with Dream’s pink cheeks— and the blush extends up to his nose, rushing to make cute patterns with his polka-dotted freckles. He blinks once, his brain fuzzy in what’s either confusion or helpless awareness, hoping Dream’s asking for what he’s thinking.
He nods, giving Dream full permission to do as he wishes.
i'm yours
Dream tips his index and middle finger under George’s chin, tilting their faces together and kissing his lips gently.
The kiss is quick and ends with both of them giggling. George hides his face, laughing and relishing in the warm-cozy feeling left on his lips. He falls asleep like this, held up in a beautiful embrace of love, the smell of him, a still grin ever-present.
And when George wakes up again, it’s raining. The drops make a quiet pitter patter sound against the bedroom windows. Patches is plopped into a new position now between both of the boys, purring against George’s chest, a reminder of all of the new changes in his life now.