Archive of Our Own

George pulled his hood down when he entered the huge mall, the air was humid outside and was raining lightly.

Rain was common in Florida. In exactly half of the three (almost four) years he lived there, it was either we're-living-under-a-waterfall type of rain, or blazing hot. The you-can-cook-eggs-on-the-sidewalk kind of hot. It was a cursed blessing to wake up to a light rain that was trying to combat the sweltering heat, and miserably failing.

George wasn't comforted at all by the fact that it was March.

Normally, he wouldn't have gotten out of his apartment or hell, even his bed, on the days where it was horribly humid. Today was just a little less normal. 

Last Christmas, Bad and Skeppy had given him a gift card (that had been collecting dust in his drawer) for this plush shop. George had always had an affinity with stuffed animals. There was really nothing to be ashamed of, he was just another person who preferred the fluff-filled bags of cloth over social interaction. He just likes to keep the hobby a little more to himself.

Not a lot of his friends knew about his small obsession, only Bad and Skeppy really knew the full extent. He usually doesn’t go around buying on impulse but this was his last year in college, and he has been stressed out of his mind to the point he concluded he might as well put the gift card to good use. 

So he approached the store, armed with a 35 dollar gift card and no expectations.

The outside of the store was a bit plain, just adorned with bear-themed decorations and the store name in bold letters. The doors were wide open, inviting anyone to come inside and take a look.

What piqued his curiosity though, was how the store was completely empty if it was not for the person who was standing at the cash register.

That was weird. Bad and Skeppy said they have visited the place a few times before and every time they'd complain about how crowded it was.

Granted, they did say that they usually visit around Christmas time so George will give the poor store the benefit of doubt.

Maybe today was a slow day.

George stepped inside, and immediately cringed at the employees' uniform.

It was so… unnecessarily over the top. The blue and white polo would’ve been fine but that combined with an apron with spotted bear heads was so childish. (The white cap with brown bear ears sticking out didn’t help either. Nor did the white bow tie. Or the pale yellow pants.)

However… This was an establishment directed at children. He didn’t have the right to complain.

A red-haired woman was standing behind the counter, mumbling to herself and scribbling on an open notebook. George would hate to bother her, but he really didn’t have another choice here.

“Hi, excuse me?” Her name tag was scratched out, only the ‘S’ was barely visible.

“Yeah, uh.” She looked him up and down before calling someone named Dream from the backroom.

He expects a grumbling teenager to be brought out to help him, so you can imagine his shock when this guy who's a full 6 inches taller than him steps out to greet him.

It doesn't help the matter that he had the uniform on too.

Shock soon turns into laughter as he takes hold of his situation. This 6-foot-something giant just waltzed out of the backroom of a plush shop, wearing the stupid uniform and looking like he hasn’t slept in a good millennia.

George could definitely relate to that.

“What's so funny?” The man accused.

This shut George up. For only a second. It wasn’t long before he was giggling, this guy was 18 maybe 19 if he stretched it.

“I’m sorry. I-” George barely composed himself before laughing again. “You’re so… tall.”

“I’m tall?” Dream placed his hand on his hips. “That's the joke? I’m tall?”

“I was just expecting someone different. Maybe someone shorter, with a voice crack?” Dream scoffed, he didn’t seem all that offended. “I’m sorry I’m just- stressed. I’m George.” George extended his hand and Dream shook it. 

“Dream. What are you looking for today, George?” Dream led him over to the wall of bear skins on display. If this wasn’t a plush shop, it would've been unsettling to see the lifeless skins all mounted up on hooks for the world to see.

“Uh, just give me the cutest one here?” He shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Ah, are you looking for a gift for someone?”

Was treating himself to a new plush friend considered a gift? “Something like that.”

Dream nods and presents George with a furry brown bear skin with a bright yellow bowtie. (Green? He’ll need to ask Bad later.) George could see even when stuffed, the bear won't be that big. Perhaps the length of his hand and forearm if he measured it from top to bottom.

“This guy has been here for a while. I think somebody should finally take the little gentleman home.”

“Why has he been here for so long?” George followed Dream to the stuffing station after giving him the go ahead.

“His skin didn’t sell great so the boss made us stuff them and donate the bears to Sick Kids.” Dream’s voice was getting louder as the machine powered up and started making a VRRRRRRR noise.

“Why not? I think he’s pretty cute.”

“Yeah, well, he was too simple and simple just doesn’t cut it.”

“Shame. I mean, he’s cute but you know I asked for the cutest bear here, right?” George caught Dream’s eye as he looked up from the bear.

"You think I'm the cutest one here?"

"By far," He grins.

Dream scoffed and averted his eyes, leaving the older man’s grin to grow in accomplishment. He’ll do Dream a favor and pretend he doesn’t see the flustered blush.

Of course, the triumph was short lived as Dream yelped, realizing he had overstuffed the bear.

Said man turned back to face George once again, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a real idiot."

"In the flesh." He agreed.

“I’m sorry, I better-” Dream started, before George stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. I think he looks better like this actually.”

“Really?”

He nodded in conformation. “Yeah. Look, he’s my little pudgy buddy.”

Dream wheezed as he forced the bear out of the contraption and into the pit of water where they washed them. “Your little pudgy buddy? What are you on?”

“Whatever your company is on. Why do you guys wash the bears after they’ve been stuffed?”

Dream pulled George over to the tub in the middle of the workshop. “Dunno, that’s just how it’s been since I’ve started here.”

“Seems really inefficient.” George rolled up his sleeves, “Let go of my arm, will you?”

Dream obeyed, reddening once more as George dumped his hands into the warm water to wash the bear. The sense of triumph enveloped him once again. He didn’t know what it was about Dream, he was just too easy to fluster.

"You're doing it wrong." Dream piped up after a few minutes. George paused and looked up at him. "There's no right or wrong way to wash a stuffed bear Dream."

"Yeah, but you're doing it more wrong." Dream grabbed George's hands from across the tub, guiding him to be more gentle. “Here just- look.” The way you’re doing it is gonna make the bear’s fur rougher than it was, you gotta be softer with it, and use less soap or it'll build up inside the fabric and stiffen.”

George froze and let Dream puppeteer him, his hands were rough and calloused. He doesn't know if he was imagining it, but there was a hint of softness in them. George's face warmed against his will, one glance at the smug expression on the younger man's face said his face had turned more red than he would like.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the woman at the counter staring Dream down.

He continued to ignore her, and she disappeared to the backroom.

"Okay, we toss him in here and let the dryer do it's magic." Dream placed the scrubbed mass of cotton and fabric into the giant tumbler. He cracked his knuckles and turned back to George. “While we wait, do you want anything with your bear? Voice boxes, clothes, another friend?”

“A voice box?” He watched the poor bear get tossed violently around the dryer. "You wanna say something in it?"

"The bear?"

"Yeah, record something. So I won't forget you or whatever."

"Who's this for?"

George gestured to himself. "For me. I'll consider it a gift from you."

"It doesn't count as a gift if I didn't buy it for you." Dream protested, but grabbed a voice box from a nearby bin anyways. "Anything specific?"

"Wish me luck in my classes?" He asked hopefully.

"Good luck."

“To the bear, idiot.”

Dream sighed dramatically and disappeared to another room. (Presumably to get away from the loud dryer.) He returned a few minutes later, voice box in hand. "Here, don't listen to it until you get home."

"If you put something inappropriate in there I'm going to file a complaint."

“Aw, George. Do you really have that little faith in me?" Dream fetched the bear out of its' hot and stuffy prison. And over to the worktable, where he opened up the seams in the bears' back.

"Chest or hand?" He asked as he placed the box in, waiting for George's command.

"Chest." And Dream obeyed.

"Here, do you want a scent plate with that?" He pushed the containers towards him to pick and smell.

George raised a few to his nose; lavender, cotton candy, was that caramel?

His face scrunched up and he put the plates back into their compartments. "Which one is your favorite?"

"My favorite? The one that smells like Pina Coladas." He nudged a box forward for George to see.

"I'll take that one then."

"You're such an idiot." Dream sighed softly before placing a yellow plate into the bears' exposed stuffing.

Dream wriggled the scent plate around, trying to get it into the forehead area. George couldn't help but start to laugh again. "Dear god, this looks like a family friendly horror movie."

The culprit of said PG rated murder laughed along as he sewed the bear back into shape. Proudly, he shows the bear off to George. "Satisfied?"

“Never.” He teased, “But I suppose it’s good enough for me.”

Once again, Dream sighed. This time there was an evident grin on his face as he made his way to the counter.

The woman was still nowhere to be seen.

“What do you plan on doing after college, George?” Dream typed up the price as George glanced around the shop. Everything here was high-quality (and expensive.) He doesn’t think he’ll ever come back here for a plush.

“Eh, I’d probably go back to the UK. I still have people waiting for me back there.”

“Really?" Dream looked like he was going to pry more before the former cashier stepped out of the backroom. "Dream, don't you have boxes to sort?"

“That I do.” The clicking stopped and he let the woman take over the cashier again. Dream waved and George smiled back before he disappeared into the dark room.

A few more moments of silence before the woman raised her head. “That’ll be $27.99.”

George reached into his pocket and pulled out the sparkly gift card for her to scan up as she placed the bear into a box-bag.

“If you’re using a gift card, would you like a pen to go with your bear? It’s only two dollars more.”

George turned to look at the pastel display for said pens. They were adorable, but not something he could see himself using. He, however, figured that he’ll never use the gift card again and the pen wouldn’t make a bad gift to his sister so he responded with “Sure.” and the employee threw a blue one in there.

She slid the box-bag over to him while typing on the cash register. “Do you want to keep this?” She held up the gift card.

“Um, no.” He didn’t feel like getting glitter all over his room again. “Thank you.” He made his way out of the store as she waved. Her mouth said “Bye! Please come again!” But her eyes said “Never fucking come back.”

George doesn’t know what he did, but the fear in his gut told him that Dream was going to get an earful.

Returning to his shared apartment and finding Skeppy there instead of Bad wasn't an uncommon practice. In fact, days where Skeppy wasn't in the apartment were the days George actually got concerned.

The man practically lived with them.

Today, however, George didn't want to see him.

The sinking feeling in his stomach dragged him along. Leaving the store felt… wrong, in a sense. He couldn't pinpoint the feeling, but he knew it was horrible. Like he was ignoring an innocent person in danger. Guilt, maybe? But guilt for what?

The box weighed heavy in his hand, George felt terrible all over. If he clawed at his chest, maybe it'll stop his hearts' infernal whining.

Maybe Skeppy noticed the tense expression on his face as he only greeted George with a “Hey.” before disappearing to Bad’s room.

George mimicked his movements, returning to his own abode to sort himself out.

His space was bare, save for the stuffed animals on his dresser and small trinkets he has on his desk piled high with study notes.

The window was wide open; he must've forgot to close it before he left. George groaned, his bed was sopping wet from the rain water and it’ll take forever to dry.

Tossing the box onto the astrew chair, George organized his sleeping space. He shut the window tight and tossed the duvet on the cold floor, set to be dried when he had the strength.

All that was left was a cold mattress and pillow.

George settled himself on said mattress, finally opening the yellow and blue box and starts fishing out the contents.

He takes the blue pen out first. The nice and simple design told him his sister would like it. He prays it won't get lost in the clutter, then promptly tosses it into a pile of papers he couldn't be bothered to read.

The second prize was what he cared about. The plump bear was slightly squashed when he pulled it from it's cardboard prison. He takes it out to examine it.

As much as George hated to admit, the fur was really soft and fluffy, despite the cheap satin that was tied around its neck.

Tentatively, he smelled its head. As expected, the plate smelled like pineapples and coconuts. He shouldn't have anticipated anything less, so why was he so disappointed?

A frustrated groan escaped from his mouth as George sinks lower into the mattress, hoping it would consume him so he could will himself away from the heavy Florida rain. By accident, the bear was squeezed and a familiar voice accompanied his misery.

"Hey George, it's the idiot from the plush shop. You're forcing me to record this so uh- I hope you don't fail any of your classes, haha. I believe in you man, you're going to be okay."

In that moment, in that small apartment room with the formerly wide open window and soaking bed; George smiles, no, he grins .

He almost has the urge to laugh.

-

George will turn 23 in a few months.

His college days were long behind him, a plane ticket back to the UK that sat on the now empty desk was clear evidence.

He's set to leave within the next 48 hours, meaning he should finish packing, but George couldn't find the motivation to.

His room looked emptier than ever, every half effort to put some personalization has been wiped clean and stuffed into boxes.

The dresser was where George kept his most prized soft plushies, ranging from huge to the size of a child's hand. Some he won at carnivals and others at particularly hard arcade games. They all somehow fit on the limited space. And they all have been packed away weeks ago; shipped to the UK to greet him when he lands. All except for one.

George keeps the brown plush bear on his bed.

Peculiar, yes. But the bear gives him a sense of comfort that he had grown to like.

There may have been nights where he clung to that thing like a lifeline, stained it with his tears and exhaustion. The smell of Pina Coladas has long faded away, yet he never tossed it into the washer.

George would be embarrassed to admit that the voice box that was lost in the stuffing so long ago was used time and time again until the battery had just about depleted.

As empty the words may have sounded to another, George's heart had felt incredibly full each time he gave the bear a squeeze.

He would be lying if he said he didn't grow somewhat attached to this semi-free country.

So George doesn't pack, he sits and listens.

He listens to nothing in particular. Just the status quo. The lady next door was screaming on the phone, the man who has a pet bird let it sit outside and it was yelling and hurling curses left and right. Bad and Skeppy were talking outside his room, not arguing yet but it wouldn't take long for it to get there.

Oh, yeah.

Somewhere in the mess of months and numbers, his shared apartment with Bad became his shared apartment with Bad and Skeppy.

He should've seen it a mile away, really. Those two couldn't live without each other, yet they found the other insufferable all the same.

Maybe George craved a relationship somewhat like theirs. (He could do well without the constant arguments though.) And maybe that's the reason he lingers. Because he still has some things he wants to attend to. 

He's leaving the US in a few days, and only one thought has been sitting in the back of his mind.

Dream.

It’s been over 4 months since he left that shop. The guilt has been trailing him ever since. It was almost painful for his heart to twist and tear itself apart everyday over someone whose voice was preserved in a stuffed animal.

He wanted to say goodbye, to thank him for things he didn't even do. He wanted to see him again. Just once, even if it was a quick glance.

He really didn't want to risk forgetting the man who might have saved him from his overworking tendencies.

Fidgeting a bit, he made up his mind.

George may have sworn to never return for a plush, but he didn't say he'd never return for Dream now did he?

So he stuffed the brown bear into a bag and waved his roommates goodbye before he started walking over to the mall. His heart sighed in relief. Finally, a moment's peace.

The sun was high in the sky, it wasn't too hot today, despite it being August.

Maybe today was going to be a good day after all.

"Hi, I'm looking for Dream?"

The store hasn't changed since he last saw it. Maybe the bear skins have been shifted around a bit, but the decorations haven't been moved an inch. The same woman was at the counter too, her hair was noticeably shorter and the red was washing out, but she looked the same.

Sort of like the store was stuck in time.

The cashier only stared at him blankly, so George pressed on. "I'm George, the guy from a few months ago? I'm looking for the tall guy that helped me, I'd like to speak to him."

"Ah, him. Are you here to file a complaint?"

His heart went from singing to dead silence. "A complaint? No, I just want to talk to him." 

"Hm." A sour expression decorated the woman's face as she studied him. "My sincerest apologies sir, the man you're looking for quit a few weeks back."

"He did?" Georges’ body wanted to stumble back, but his grip on the counter's edge was too strong.

"Yes, he did. Is there anything else I can do for you today?" She tapped her pen rather aggressively to shoo his fingers away. It was honestly like she hated his guts and he had no clue why.

Well. This visit has been a waste. But George would’ve looked silly if he waltzed into a store, asked for an employee and left after a talk.

"Do you, do you do battery replacements?" George pulled the bear out of his backpack, "I don't think he installed a way for me to replace the batteries myself."

"Of course he didn't." She muttered before snatching the bear out of his hands and gesturing to him to follow her to a worktable.

She ripped the seams and replaced it with a zipper this time. Her movements were so aggressive, George feared for the state of the bear when she finished.

The woman grabbed some batteries from a drawer and unscrewed the back of the voice box.

A small piece of paper sprang out from it's placement above the empty tubes of metal. She rolled her eyes and handed it to him.

When it was opened, a scribbled string greeted him on the pale yellow page.

It was a number.

It was a phone number.

It was most likely Dream's number.

If Dream was here, George would've scolded him for his stupidity. Who puts their number into the battery box of a stuffed bear?

The rest of the visit was a blur, all George remembered was the stink eye the woman gave him as he left. This time, he really won't come back.

He bounded off to the food court, a new hope rekindled inside of him and he couldn't hide the maniactic grin spreading on his face.

Eagerly taking a seat that was tucked away near two shops he couldn't be bothered to name, he dialed the number. Just the opportunity to talk to Dream again excited George more than it should've.

He didn't even know what they would talk about, George was certain they would figure it out. His leg was bouncing up and down as the phone rang once, twice, and-

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not a valid phone number. Please try again."

The safe little bubble of cheerfulness popped, his grin vanishing within seconds. This had to be some sort of cruel trick from the universe. George was almost devastated, he was most definitely disappointed.

But, let’s think logically, how long has the number been there? A year and 5 months? Was that a reasonable time frame for a person to change their number? Especially when they put it somewhere for someone to find?

George wouldn't know. He didn't even know what was reasonable to begin with. 

So he did the only slightly reasonable thing he could think of: moping his way back into his apartment.

His room was bare, and he still needed to pack the remainder of his clothes. But he ignored the voice in his head prodding him to finish his work. Instead he sat on the cold, empty bed and located the voice box the employee had placed in the fluff once again.

He's leaving in less than 48 hours, but George couldn't give a damn.

Today wasn't going to be a good day.

He just squeezed the location of the voice box again and again, the start of Dream's message playing like a broken record.

"Hey George- "

"Hey George- "

"Hey- "

-

"-- George. Do you understand?"

He's been zoning out again. He needs to stop doing that if he wants to make a good impression on his roommate.

George was back in Europe, and now officially 24 years of age.

Admittedly, switching from the US to the UK was rough, to say the least. He had to stay at his parents' place for a few months after he moved back, as he needed to settle in and find a job.

That proved to be easier said than done. Job hunting was hard when you just came back from an overseas college and needed to familiarize yourself with how different things work around here. 

He ended up staying at his parents place longer than he had planned. But it’s alright. Now he has a stable income and he could afford a nice studio apartment (with the help of a roommate.) His landlord decided to set George up with one, seeing it's been a year and he's still trying to get used to driving on the left. (Or not driving at all, that works too.)

"George?"

Oh, right.

"Yeah, sorry. Could you repeat that?"

He heard his landlord sigh on the other end of the phone. "I said, your roommate will meet you outside of the telephone boxes that's located near the Brighton Palace Pier and Grand Junction Road. You'll introduce yourselves, maybe grab a coffee, and then you'll move in with them on Saturday. Please don't be late, George. Do you understand?"

"I understand now. Sorry again." George scrambled inside one of the said telephone boxes. "They'll meet me here?"

"They're running a little late, be patient." His landlord scolded through the tiny speaker. "Remember, if you have any troubles with them, you're gonna need to wait till next month to move out."

"Yes, yes I know."

“Make a good impression. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, bye.” His landlord hung up and George was left to wait in the confined space as the world moved around him.

Minutes dragged on slowly, George was half tempted to take a nap until his roommate arrived. Come to think of it, his landlord never told him their name. All they said was “They’re tall. Very American. You can’t miss them.”

He debated on being concerned, he was supposed to spend the next month or so with them after all. Roommates could range for really good or disturbingly horrible, George could only hope he got stuck with one with more pros than cons.

Three sharp taps shot him out of his trance. He realized he had been staring blankly at the yellow book, it must’ve been a sad sight for anyone peeking through the glass and into the box.

He poked his head through the door, and met a pair of grey-yellow eyes.

Dream’s grey-yellow eyes.

He was there, standing outside the red telephone box. George knew it had to be pure chance. (He didn’t dare for it to be fate.)

A fickle feeling started brewing in his stomach, a sick hope that maybe... Dream was his roommate. He definitely checked all the boxes the landlord described to him.

As the feeling turned to relief it turned to fear just as quickly, what if Dream didn’t remember him? Would the world be so cruel as to play with his heartstrings so brutally? (The answer was yes, but this trick was too obvious.) 

So instead of a look of confusion, a grin presented itself onto Dreams’ face. “George, It’s you!”

“It’s me.” The older man repeated slowly. “It is. It is me! Dream, you’re here!” Laughter started to fill the air as George stepped out of the telephone box to properly face Dream. “Dream, you’re here?”

“I am! I’m here! I-” Dream’s laugh died down as he tried to catch his breath. “I wanted a fresh start.”

“Clearly.” George's loud laughter quieted down to soft giggles. “You’re in Brighton! You’re across the sea!”

“I am. I found you again George.” Dream continued to beam as he looked down at George. “I did something stupid."

"You put your number in the battery box." George guessed. Dream cringed and hid his face, his assumption must’ve been correct.

"Yeah, then I got my phone smashed and my number changed. I was.. really hoping you'd find it before then."

"You put your phone number in the battery box." George repeated. "Do you know how long batteries last?"

"I'll admit, that wasn't my best move." Dream let out a strained sigh. "Maybe I was hoping you'd miss me so much you'd replay my voice to the point you needed to change the batteries."

Dream tilted his head to meet George's eyes. "Did you?"

His face heated up and he averted his eyes. “Don't be an idiot.” He says instead. A short pause before he whispered, “I did really miss you.”

The way Dream's ears reddened told George he heard him loud and clear, his face didn’t show any reaction though. (George was silently disappointed at that.) They both just stared and smiled. The air was awkward all around, he didn’t mind one bit.

A phone ringing shook them both out of their trance. George peeked at the caller ID. Whoever ‘Sapnap’ was, George had the feeling that Dream wasn’t all too happy with him. Excusing himself, the taller man stepped inside the phone box and seemingly answered the call, leaving George to face his inner turmoil. Which mostly consisted of:

What the fuck was that.

If you asked him what just happened, George wouldn’t be able to answer. 

What was that? Dream was close, very close. Closer than George would’ve let if his body actually responded to his brain’s commands. What was he feeling? Uncomfortable but also somewhat… at peace. Something about it just calmed him down and made him dreadfully euphoric.

When the moments passed, all he was left with was a longing for more.

(He had felt this way about someone before, right?)

“Hey, sorry about that.” Dream emerged from the red box like he had done moments before. “I actually need to go now.”

“Aw, really? No coffee with your long lost best friend?”

“No, I’m really sorry-” More ringing interrupted him once again. “Okay, shut up I’m going, I’m going.” He declined the call and turned back to George.

“Sounds urgent.”

“It’s not, my friend is just being dramatic.”

The phone lit up once again, proving his point.

“See? I’m really sorry George.” Dream silenced the phone and shoved it into his back pocket.

“It’s alright. Really.” He put his hand up as Dream started to protest. “I’ll see you on Saturday anyways.”

“That’s so far away though-” 

“It’s literally in two days.” 

“So far away!” He declared. “Oh, wait!”

He pulled a pen out of his bag and reached out his hand for George to grab. “Here, I’ll give you my number for real this time.”

“Not joking?” George asked as he admired the neat handwriting on his left hand.

"I'm not going to change my number overnight, George."

"You very much could." He pointed out while pulling out his own phone. Dream grinned cheekily, "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, I sure hope you do." He mumbled to the vacant spot Dream left behind.

George, for one, couldn't wait.

-

Sometimes George was an honest man.

And if he was being completely honest, living with Dream wasn't that exciting.

The man kept to himself most of the time, he hardly came out of his room for reasons that weren't going to the bathroom, eating or work. (George would tease him about being antisocial though, at times, he was the same.) Living with Dream means living with Patches, his adorable, green eyed (?) cat he brought with him from America.

Patches was nice, Patches was adorable.

George was surprised the apartment even let pets in.

Rules were set in place, of course. Showers weren't permitted to be longer than an hour to save money, chores are to be done by the end of the week or it's the dishes for the whole of next week and meals depend on who is free and the ingredients available. The same goes for who feeds Patches.

His life was still a repetitive mess, sometimes it was defined and sometimes it wasn't. Days pass by without anything special happening most of the time. It was the days Dream and him actually talked outside of obligation, he cherished. (George practically integrated squeezing the bear until he fell asleep the days where he and Dream didn’t talk enough. Dream’s voice was soothing in ways he couldn’t explain.)

They had grown closer, but not close enough for Georges’ liking. He was busy with his job at a tech company most days and Dream balanced his work and school life surprisingly well.

Maybe not as well as George once thought.

George had a major project due before a meeting that (very early) morning, and Dream was struggling with a project he needed to get done for a good portion of his grade.

Both parties migrated to their conjoined living room-kitchen area, as it was easier to get snacks, and they didn't want to sit on their uncomfortable office chairs for the next few hours.

Dream laid on the couch while George occupied the kitchen island. Silence was preferred, however, unachievable due to the whirring of laptops and the soft buzz of electricity.

“Hey, George? Are you busy?" Dream asked to the semi dark room.

Patches yawned from her spot near his feet. Disrupted from her slumber, she slinked off to where George was sitting.

"No, Dream. I'm not busy. In fact, I'm frolicking in the flower fields right now." George sarcastically remarked as he rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry. That was rude. Do you need something?"

"Can you help me with this?” Dream held up his laptop for George to assess the blueprint of circuits he was trying to correct.

Setting his own laptop on the counter, he made his way across the silence, George settled next to him to peer over his shoulder. An act that summoned Patches back onto the couch. “You’re forgetting some wires in some of the volt supplies, remember that 9 and 10 are basically one string that splits into two. Keep an eye on the AC motors and signals or the whole thing will overheat.”

“Argh, George…” Dream knocked his head into Georges’ as he whined. “This sucks.”

“Does it?” George blocked Patches’ paws for attention but didn’t pull away. Dream reached across his lap to scratch her ears.

“It does.” Dream groaned tilted his head to look at him in full. “George, would you be upset if I drop out of school?”

"Why do you say my name so much?"

"I like it. It's nice."

He wasn’t sure if it was the caffeine from the three coffees he had a few hours ago or Dream, but at that moment, George felt butterflies in his stomach, clawing to get out and spill the truth to him.

“Well, I guess it’s your choice. If school’s making you unhappy and you would be happier doing something else, I’d say go for it. Doing what you love in life is the ultimate goal right?”

(There was supposed to be a joke in there, George is sure. He’s too tired to laugh right now.)

Dream closed his eyes and leaned back, George could imagine him sleeping without a care in the world.

(Maybe his ultimate goal is to wake up next to him for the rest of his life.)

Whoa hey, where’d that thought come from?

“I’ll give it some thought.” Dream opened his eyes again to catch him staring. “I guess it feels like surrendering doesn’t it?”

Georges’ mouth felt dry. “Kind of, yeah. But you need to also consider if this is a battle worth fighting or if you’re just shooting yourself in the foot.”

“...Thanks George.”

“Anytime.”

The 24 year old dropped the cat onto the youngers’ lap before returning back to the countertop. Not long after, he heard a small voice call for him. 

“George..? Can you help me again?”

George groaned and made his way back, this time taking his laptop with him.

He imagined that this is what falling in love is like.

Him in his pyjamas at 4:00 am in the morning sleep deprived out of his mind helping his exhausted roommate, who he is head over heels for, with his homework.

He wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

Their midnight endeavors weren't limited to only that of course.

A few weeks later in June, shattering glass would startle George awake. Still half asleep, he stumbled out of his warm bed to find the cause.

He found Dream standing dumbfounded in the middle of the living room space, a puddle of water and glass at his feet.

"I dropped my water."

"Yeah, I heard." George rubbed his eyes before motioning for Dream to stay so he could find a towel and a dustpan for the glass.

“I’m sorry for waking you.” Dream piped up when he returned. 

“It’s okay, I know you didn't mean to. Watch your step.” George says while guiding Dream away from the glass. “What kept you up?”

“Thinking some things. I didn't notice the glass slipping, I’m really sorry.”

“I already told you, it’s okay.” He started collecting the glass into the dustpan while the towel soaked up the water. “You wanna talk about it?

A short bout of silence occurred once again as Dream thought about it. George waited.

“I’m thinking about you a lot. I’m trying to make sense of what you mean to me.”

George harshly bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from reacting. Maybe it would’ve been better if Dream kept his mouth shut.

(He wanted to bite his lip until it bled.

Maybe Dream could kiss it better.)

He accepted these thoughts a long time ago, George concluded there was no point in suppressing them if they’re just going to come back stronger and more overwhelming.  He feels somewhat guilty for them. At this point, he considered Dream a friend. It was really unfair for his brain to make him possibly lose a friend and roommate in one fell swoop.

“Do you? Am I not a friend to you anymore?” George handed the damp towel to Dream, who wrung it dry over the sink.

“I’m starting to think you’re not.” Dream tossed the cloth onto the island. “I’m starting to think you’re more.”

“The heat is getting to you.” George croaked as he deposited the shards into the trash.

“No, I don’t think it is.”

His breath hitched, refusing to meet Dream’s eyes. The half moon was the only one  bearing witness to their bitter demise.

“I play your voice message to myself a lot. I like how your voice sounds.” George struggles out. He decides to be vulnerable too.

“Why don’t you come and talk to me then?”

“You’re busy most days. I don’t want to bother you.” George’s voice got quieter and quieter, but there was no sleeping roommate to wake up this time. “I sometimes think about how unfair it is for your classmates to see you more than your own roommate.”

“That’s kinda selfish George.” Dream tried to tease, but both of them weren’t really in the mood for jokes.

"Maybe I just want to be selfish." George protested in a low voice. "Maybe I just want you to be mine and mine only."

Dream closed his eyes and rolled his head back, there went another wasted sigh. 

"George..." It came more as a warning this time. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

 For what? George wanted to strangle himself before the silence could. What was he not ready for?

"Here, look. I'll teach you how to dance."

George took Dreams’ extended fingers and the taller one pulled him close.

Dream's hand was warm and grounding, George buried his head into his neck before Dream gently started to sway back and forth.

It was comfort. It wasn't love. Pity as one part, longing as the other.

In that small kitchen, swayed two stubborn boys trying not to hurt each other but doing so all the same.

The imaginary music won't last forever, and They'll eventually be forced to play their hand

Damage was unavoidable, though how much dealt was up for the high heavens to decide.

When George pulled away, Dream spoke for him to hear, "I think… I may be too far gone."

"I think I am too."

They left it at that.

(George needed to cover his head with his duvet to hear the repeated 'you're going to be okay's that night.)

-

Dream had a habit of bringing home abandoned kittens he found on the street and nursing them to good health until they found a good adoption center.

The act was so common in fact, that they both cleared out a cabinet just to hold supplies for the small cats when they eventually caught Dream's eye.

Tonight, he brings home a small gray and white stray.

Maybe he felt compelled to bring another factor into their lives as things were getting ready to bubble and boil over.

Dream placed the kitten on the counter island, and turned to George, who was already grabbing a bowl from the cabinet.

As George filled the bowl with cool water, he decided it was now or never.

They have been avoiding it for weeks now. Life continued as normal as it could be.

He felt empty, dissatisfied with himself. He knew trying to fend off the growing void would eventually be their little haven's downfall.

George wanted to talk ages ago, but wouldn't say anything because they both were busy, with work and with school. But in the early days of July, assignments were long handed in and pressure at work has died down by a long shot. 

They both needed to get this out.

"I think we need to talk." He says as he halts the tap.

"I guess we do."

George places the water on the counter as Patches hopped up to meet the new refugee.

"That night, the one you dropped your water, what did you mean when you said you weren't ready?"

"Oh god." Dream hid his face in one hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it- Okay well, what I meant was, I'm not ready for another relationship."

"Oh."

"It's just that- something happened. In the past. I don't want to talk about it." Dream peeked at George through his fingers. "I also wanted to make sure you felt the same about me as I do to you."

George swallowed hard, here comes the part he's been dreading. "How do you feel about me?"

"It's… how do I explain it? I like you George. I like you a lot." Dream's eyes closed once more. "You're fun to be around, you help me with my work and my cat, and you make me feel good about myself. I like how you smile, I like how you get loud and competitive without realizing, I like how to talk to things like they can hear you. I genuinely think you're a good person. And I'm scared that I may not be enough for you. Because… I wasn't enough for someone in the past."

"That someone sounds like a total douche bag." George muttered and the kitten finally started to drink some of the cool water. "They really couldn't see your brilliance, huh?"

The blonde's head was resting on the counter, trying to stare up at him. "What do you think of me, George?"

"Me?" He stared blankly at Patches, who was coming to him for pets and scratches. "I think I like you more than I should."

Dream's head raised at that, George figured he should continue. No more denying it now.

"I can't figure you out. You intrigue me, Dream. I know I like you, but I have no clue why. Maybe it's because you flatter me, maybe it's because I find you charming, in a sense. Maybe because you're not ashamed to ask for help, or the way you try to spend time with Patches no matter how busy you are. Maybe it's the way you try to make me laugh every time we talk that makes me want to hold your hand."

The air fell deathly silent, save for the kitten, who was dipping her paws into the water and out again.

"Do you think we could work? Like genuinely, genuinely work?" Dream finally asked.

"I think, I think we could if we try." He was tracing shapes into the counter as Patches tried to squash his moving fingers.

"I don't think I'm ready for a relationship but... I'm willing to try." His eyes met George's "For you, okay?"

"Don't push yourself. I can wait until you're ready." He smiled softly. The weight hasn’t been completely lifted off his chest, he was still learning to be okay with it. He knows now that there will be a hand right there to keep him safe and grounded.

George extended a hand to find it, Dream took it, kissed it quick and gave a shaky smile in return.

Their hands didn't fit perfectly.

Dream's hands were too big, they engulfed his own, leaving him with barely enough room to curve his fingers in-between Dreams' slots and squeeze him tight.

George was comforted but the fact that they weren't supposed to. 

They weren't factory made, laser cut to perfection. They were carved, molded and whittled down to size with their own experiences and hardships.

Sure they didn't fit together perfectly, but they were as perfect as humans could be.

It was awkward in some places, some parts were pressed too firm, others, too loosely. But that was why it was so special. To him. To them.

And that was coming from a man who thought he was in love once.

(This time, he truly was.)