Archive of Our Own

i

“You’d make an awful thief, you know.” 

George yelps as he nearly lets go of the vine and to his death, startling to catch himself before he does so. He hisses when the rough texture of the vine burns his palms, hot warmth heating his skin, and he wishes he had brought the sort of gloves Dream wears all the time. 

Speaking of Dream. 

“You’re a terrible knight,” George chides as quietly as he can, sending glares down at the ground, where Dream stands, peering up at him. “I could’ve died.” The knight looks all too smug for someone who could have possibly killed the crowned prince by accident. Or maybe not by accident. George can’t tell anymore. 

Dream shrugs, “I would’ve caught you.” George flushes, before he quickly climbs down to the ground. “And you probably would’ve got yourself in trouble without me, anyways.”

“I would’ve been fine,” George protests, slightly stumbling when he reaches the ground. Dream reaches out to steady him, his hand firm on the side of his ribcage. George gives him a look, ignoring the surge of warmth in his stomach. “No one else would have seen me.” 

Maybe sneaking out by climbing down the side of the castle via vines wasn’t the brightest idea, but it wasn’t quite like he had many options, being the crowned prince of an entire kingdom. The amount of guards at every castle door might be necessary for a place holding so many people in high positions, yet it made sneaking away incredibly difficult for George, which - might be the entire point, but still. 

The summer nights brought an onslaught of more parties than ever in the capital of Kinoko, which resulted in many wistful nights from George, who was a little too well-known to casually go out and join the citizens that he ruled. This line of logic didn’t prevent the longing to join them, the want to join in on their loud laughter that reached his room, late at night, or try and make a few friends, even if he was a prince. 

Unfortunately, him trying to sneak out was quite a difficult feat when the only way of escape was a poorly planned route off his balcony and climbing down the vines that raveled themselves around the cobblestone of the castle. This might be easy for almost anyone else. George was not anyone else. George was a prince who has never carried anything heavier than a baby. 

Thankfully, his plan was one of discretion; something he was good at; an expert, even. 

Dream, however, always seemed to know him a little too well. 

“I saw you,” Dream points out, hand still not having left George’s side. His other hand hovers above the other side of George’s waist, and they’re close in proximity, like they always are. They’ve always been close.

“I meant the other palace guards.” The warmth of his palm bleeds through George's thin shirt; an attempt at looking like a common citizen, wellfit for summer nights but unfit for any sort of barrier between his ribcage and Dream’s hand. “You don’t count.” 

Dream frowns, letting his hands fall away, and George isn’t disappointed. He isn’t. “Why not?” 

“You don’t try to stop me when I sneak out.” He steps away from Dream and takes a look around the corner, making sure no one else had seen him. The area is quiet, besides them. Almost lonely, but Dream is all the company he ever needs. “And I - like you.” 

Dream is a little quiet behind him when he asks, “You like me?” 

George barely refrains from rolling his eyes as he turns around to face him. “No, actually, I can’t stand you, and have just been keeping you around because I like suffering.” 

Dream’s chuckle is warmer than the summer night, and George can’t help his own smile that creeps up on his face. “You’re such an idiot.”

When the coast is crystal clear, he begins hurrying across the courtyard, motioning Dream to follow. There are the sounds of light steps in the grass, before Dream is right next to him.

“That’s considered treason, you know,” he mentions, as though he has not reminded Dream of it nearly every day since they met. “I could have your head chopped off.” 

“It’s not like you ever let me forget about it,” Dream mutters, bumping his shoulder against George’s, who pushes back. One wouldn’t expect the hard armor disguised well under the dark green cloak Dream adorned, loose to cover up the iron pieces protecting his body. It was useful in times like these, when an obvious knight would cause too much attention. A knight in armor meant someone worth protecting.

They take the long way to the city in order to not get caught; around the side and to the back of the castle, where they would then hurry through the orchards and escape deeper into the woods outside the castle walls. From there, they would walk near, until safely out of the range of any castle guards, and would then head to the capital city. 

“In technical terms, you’ve committed some level of treason nearly every day,” George says, turning to Dream. The night was always kind to Dream, drawing his eyes bright and full of moonlight, and his skin a starry white. The moon seemed to love Dream; George was not so lucky, always looking a little too pale under the dark sky. He’s always preferred the sun. 

“And yet, I’m still here,” Dream comments. 

George elbows him, barely felt through the metal of his armor. “Unfortunately.” 

They fasten their pace to reach the back of the castle, a little while away from George’s quarters. This was never a problem until situations like these, when being in the near front of the castle was a little bit of a burden. 

Despite being the one sneaking out, George has to mindfully catch up to Dream, who was, horribly, taller than him, which, in his humble opinion, should be a high-level law of treason. It was unfair, the way his long legs could cover so much distance, while George has to somewhat jog and match his speed.

Once they reach the orchards, full of fruit trees and long fields, Dream slows his walking. The orchards were sure to be empty, with all the workers and people who usually inhabit this place away and sleeping in their own homes, undoubtedly in the city they were sneaking off to. 

They’ve barely snuck past the gates and into the orchards when Dream asks, “You like apples, right?” 

“Ten years of being my first knight and best friend,” George begins dryly, Dream laughing beside him, “and you don’t even know my favorite fruit.” 

“Alright, Your Highness, I get it,” he grins, jogging ahead to reach an apple tree further up on the path they were on. George frowns, a little lost, before Dream begins to climb it. 

He is sure as always, hands grasping around the brown bark of the tree branches as he makes his way up. The dark green of his cloak nearly matches with the leaves when he settles himself amongst apples and branches, legs a few feet off the ground. 

George has to look up to see him. “We are going to get caught, and it will be your fault.” 

He is barely prepared when Dream drops a red apple down at him. It lands in his hands, thankfully, and is crisp and almost sweeter than the smile his knight gives him. Dream plops down beside him when he jumps off the tree, his own apple in his left hand. 

“If we get caught, you’d be the one in trouble.” The crunch of Dream biting into his apple follows. “I’m just doing my job.” 

George begins walking again, grimacing as the juice of the apple trickles down the side of his hand and down his wrist. “Of what, helping me sneak out?”

“No,” Dream shakes his head, a few strands falling into his eyes. George's fingers twitch to fix it. “Of protecting you.” 

That wasn’t - entirely false. Really, it wasn’t false at all, seeing as Dream was George's knight - has been his knight for over a decade, training when George was fifteen, and has had Dream following closely behind him since. It was almost instant, the way they both became so close, and only seem to grow closer as years pass. Although it was Dream’s job to protect George, it went both ways, with how much both of them cared for and looked after each other. 

George doesn’t respond as they descend into the woods, arms brushing close as they stick to the narrow path. The moonlight offered guidance to trace out a visible outline of their surroundings, enough to not get lost so easily, but not the most necessary.

They wouldn’t be very likely to get lost; George had grown up with these woods, and had brought Dream along with him. Both of them knew these woods like the back of each other’s hands. Still, the subtle guidance Dream offers as he leads them through the trees is appreciated. 

"You've been sneaking out a lot, lately," Dream says, ducking under a tree branch, because he was unnaturally tall. A mutant, really. 

George swallows a chunk of his apple before he answers, "The city always looks more tempting during the summer." With the arrival of warmer and longer days, there were more parties; parties that were loud, joyous, obvious in their supply of happiness. George wants to join them. 

“Whenever you sneak out,” Dream suddenly says when they’re nearing the city, close enough that George can feel the cold metal of his armor through his cloak, “why don’t you ever bring me along?” 

George shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d want me to.” 

Dream’s brows furrow, and he looks entirely lost when he asks, “What? Why?” 

“I don’t know.” The ground is suddenly very interesting when he stares down at it. “You’ve already got to deal with me all day as my knight. I doubt you’d want to also deal with me during the night, too.” 

They stop walking as Dream suddenly pauses, placing a hand on George’s arm, warm like the rest of him. Dream always runs a little warm. 

He’s frowning when George looks up at him. 

“I don’t ‘deal with you’, George,” Dream says, eyes intense while they stare into George’s, and the latter almost looks away. “I care about you. I want to be with you day and night, as your knight or as your friend.” 

George hopes to God that the moonlight doesn’t catch his blush. “Thanks, Dream.” 

Dream stares at him, before continuing his walking without warning, and George hurries to match his pace as they rapidly approach the city. “You’re an idiot for thinking otherwise.” 

“Treason,” George reminds him again, and grins when Dream groans. “Now, come on. We’ve got to hurry up, it’s nearly midnight.”

ii

“However, I do believe that, in the result of such rising demand for a new sort of market - one, which I may say, offers more control to the consumer rather than the producer - it would be a little dangerous to -” 

“I understand what you are implying, Sir Weller, but I do not think that such totalitarian restrictions on the market should be enforced in our -” 

“Lady Lore, the citizens are much too foolish to understand the dangers of -” 

George was absolutely bored out of his mind. 

Thursdays may be considered one of the most average and boring weekdays, certainly, but it seemed to be a little too apparent on this particular afternoon, where Prince George of Kinoko was forced to attend meetings, many of which pertained to subjects he had no idea about. 

Of course, as someone in such high status and in the position to possibly rule the kingdom one day, George knew his fair share of economics, but never enough to possibly participate in whatever sort of argument that was currently occuring before him. He was much more experienced when it came to treaties, allyships, the exchanges between countries and the risks that come with careful conversation. 

That being said, he hasn’t the slightest idea what the people around him were talking about, and George, at this point, does not know if he wants to. 

He’s nearly falling asleep in his seat, nodding off in the palm of his hand where his head rests, and his presence here was more of a formality than anything, a second opinion on ideas he was meant to blindly agree to, but he would really, really like to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. His quarters, preferably. 

“Psst.” 

There was always, of course, Dream, who seemed to make even the most boring of meetings slightly more interesting. 

“Psst.” 

Even if he was slightly a nuisance. 

“What,” George mumbles back, barely sparing a glance where his knight stands, less than a few inches behind his seat. It was more of a cautionary procedure, having his knight standing near him all the time, but it never went unappreciated in moments like these, and especially when they were best friends. 

Dream is quick to lowly answer, “You’re falling asleep.” 

“I’m bored,” George replies, almost hissing the words as he hides his mouth behind a cleverly placed hand, feigning a place to rest his chin instead. “I’ve no idea what they’re talking about, and I’m not even allowed to speak during their ridiculous arguments.” 

“Why don’t you just leave,” Dream asks, slightly kicking the leg of George’s chair. 

The prince resists from turning around and smacking him. “Because that would be rude and would display poor manners, Dream. Not that you’d know anything about manners.” 

“You’re the prince,” Dream whispers, as if that means anything, ignoring the dig at his social etiquettes, “you can leave boring meetings if you want to.” 

George wishes. “That’s not how that works.” 

“That’s not how your mom works,” Dream quietly whispers back, before there is a long pause, and he quickly adds, “don’t tell the Queen I said that.” 

“Your Highness, are you alright?” Sir Halo on the other side of the table asks, a worried expression present on his face as he watches George cover up a laugh with vigorous coughing. 

“Yes, I’m - fine,” he says, voice slightly hoarse, and he clears his throat. When a slight giggle is heard from Dream, another laugh threatens to bubble up in George’s chest, and he coughs again, the entire table looks at him with concern in their eyes. “Truth be told, I’m feeling a little unwell, actually.” 

“You ought to get some rest, Your Highness. We can call a brief recess until you feel better,” someone else says, and George is quick to shake his head. 

“No, that’s alright, you can continue without me. I’ll be sure to catch up in my absence,” he reassures, slowly getting up from his seat. “Sir Halo can always fill me in later.” 

“Of course,” he responds, concerned as he watches George hurry out the room. “Do call for someone if you need any assistance!” 

“Will do,” George calls back after him, Dream chasing his heels as he steps out into the hall. They are both filled with restrained laughter as they walk, somewhat in a rush to get away from the conference room as quickly as possible. 

It’s well into the afternoon, sunshine spilling into the open halls of the castle when George turns to his knight, who looks a breath away from bursting into laughter. “You are an idiot.” 

Dream bites his lip before he lets out a few giggles, and George rolls his eyes, lest he accidentally kiss the smile off his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just - I always forget how you laugh so easily,” he laughs, quickening his pace to step alongside George. “Why do you even go to those meetings? You never even say anything.” 

George shakes his head, holding back the urge to maybe expel his knight. “Shut up, it’s a formality. Are you not going to escort me back to my quarters? You’re an awful knight.” 

The smile is evident in his voice when Dream says, “Yeah, that’s why you still keep me around.” 

George scoffs, hiding his own smile behind his sleeve as they find their way back to George’s quarters. It would probably be reasonable, if he really felt sick, to go back to bed, and it might be excusable as well to include his knight. He might - die of coughing, and need someone physically fit to carry him to his grave or something. Right. That is all the reason he has to keep Dream around. 

“Still feeling sick, Your Highness?” Dream asks when they approach George’s quarters, and it’s a little bit too late to ask now, the physician nearly to the other side of the castle, an entire walk away. 

George groans, an odd flutter in his chest when Dream laughs beside him. “Feeling sick of you, actually.” 

“Oh, clever,” Dream grins, hurrying up ahead of him to pull open the doors to George’s quarters. It’s a polite gesture, he does it every time, following a little too close behind George when he steps into the room, but George feels a little light each time. 

“Why are you always so insufferable,” George huffs, shuffling over to his nightstand as Dream makes himself comfortable on his bed. 

“Shall we sleep together, Your Highness?” He invites, before holding back a grin at the innuendo. 

“I should fire you as my knight,” George mutters, rolling his eyes when Dream smiles cheesily. “You’re entirely unprofessional.” 

He places his crown onto the side table, running a hand through his previously styled hair. He stalls as he undoes his cufflinks, in the closed privacy of his quarters, where he’s allowed to be a little less presentable. Dream never looks at him differently, anyway, and that’s all that ever really mattered to George. 

The knight in question groans when George takes a little too long to join him in bed, which sounds a little too heavy in the implications for his liking. When he looks over at Dream, the knight’s hair is slightly a mess from him wiggling in George’s bed, much like an oddly placed worm, and he looks soft when he turns to George, patting the space beside him. “Come to bed. You’re just standing there.”

“You’re so needy,” George mutters, but he doesn’t mind when he slowly sits on the made sheets of his bed. When it’s just the two of them, with Dream laying down with his eyes shut, and George sitting up straight next to him, he asks, “What do we do now?” 

“We do nothing,” Dream huffs, throwing an arm around George’s waist and tugging him down, and the prince makes a noise of slight alarm. Dream’s easy embrace never fails to send some sort of storm into George’s chest. “You get the afternoon off because you’re sick. This is the perfect opportunity to do absolutely nothing.” 

“We could play chess,” George suggests instead, giggling when Dream opens an eye to glare at him. 

“No,” he states, pulling George close until their sides are squished together, Dream’s arm firm around his middle as they both lie down. It’s nice, with the afternoon sun sneaking into the room, and the warmth that Dream always offers, tucking himself into George’s neck. George hopes he can’t hear his quickening heartbeat. “Be lazy for once, George.” 

He brings up a hand to slowly rake it through the knight’s hair. “One round?” 

“Absolutely not,” Dream mumbles into George’s neck, and he tries not to shiver. “Now, be quiet.” 

As Dream clings onto George, it’s a Thursday afternoon, spent doing absolutely nothing.

iii

It’s not often George wishes he wasn’t a prince.

He has many privileges, being a prince; money, for one, easy access to anything he wanted, close friends always within reach, and most people tried to be in his favor by default. There was not much he could complain about, being a prince. 

Still, his royalty did not do much for him during Eroday. 

Eroday, of course, was a commonly celebrated holiday in Kinoko; a day for romance and wishing for long lasting love. It is a day for lovers, young and old, picking Erolions - yellow flowers that bloom into white puffs once picked, which can be blown away, a way for wishing for mutual admiration and well-lived love. It was tradition for couples to blow them together, in hopes to stay in love for as long as they wished, or for individuals to wish on them alone, in hopes that someone might love them back. 

That being said, Eroday was somewhat torture when George’s high status was too intimidating to ever have any admirers pursue him. 

And that - is fine, George has never been one for much romance, really, he’s always preferred easy friendships and the clean cut of platonic love to what romance brought on, but sometimes -

Sometimes it was a little lonely.

Especially now, he thinks, when the halls are covered with yellow decor and Erolions, planted in fancy pots and arranged strategically around the castle. The decorations looked nice, wonderful even, but George can already tell the day ahead was going to be long. 

He had already witnessed three wishes this morning, barely eight a.m. and he now knows so many of his cooks, maid, gardeners to be infatuated with each other. It does not help that he can’t quite escape it in any way, the city surrounding them celebrating loudly and joyfully, because love was something to be celebrated. 

“Looking quite cheerful today, Your Highness.” 

George rolls his eyes as Dream strolls into his office, dressed in a casual, white shirt and his hair slightly mussed. He looks to have gotten just out of his morning training, with his cheeks pink and his eyes bright. He looks good. George looks away. 

“I hate you,” George says, averting his eyes to stare back at the parchment full of scribbled words in front of him. One would assume, being a scribe, that their handwriting would be good, maybe even legible. Clearly not. 

Dream hums, sitting himself in a nearby chair, adjacent to George’s overflowing desk. He drags it over closer, until their knees nearly bump. 

George tries not thinking about it when Dream replies, “I have a weird feeling you actually don’t.” He raises an eyebrow when the prince groans in return, watching as he lets his head fall to his desk. “What’s got you so moody?” 

“Eroday,” George mumbles into the parchment, and he’s probably got ink on his face now. He can’t bring himself to care. 

Dream prods at his shoulder. “What about it?” 

George picks his head back up to give him a look. “I’m so lonely, Dream. I’ve got no one to love me forever.” 

“You’re so stupid,” Dream says instantly, leaning over to flick at him. “I love you forever.” 

“Not like that, you don’t,” George huffs, even if he’s wished so many times that it was like that. God, how many stars he’s wished on. He’d rather not think about it. 

Dream seems as though he’s about to say something, mouth open while he stares at George for a long, long time, before his mouth clicks shut. He taps his fingers on the desk, once, twice, and tells him, “You’re a prince, George. I’m pretty sure someone out there wants to be your Eroday date.” 

“It’s not the same,” George almost whines. “They just want my crown. I just - want someone to like me.” 

Maybe it was a little sad, complaining to his best friend about his love life on Eroday, but George was a little sad, goddamn it, he was allowed to rant about how lonely he was on the most romantic day of the year, even if Dream has also never had a date for Eroday, in the many years that he and George have known each other. 

George not having someone for Eroday made sense - he was a prince, it wasn’t the most convenient of situations, especially when there is an odd power imbalance with him and most of his citizens. Dream, despite not being quite the most average citizen, could still easily fit in with the rest of Kinoko, and therefore could have almost anyone he wanted; he was attractive in nearly every way. 

George doesn’t know how he’s never had an Eroday date. He would almost think Dream isn’t interested in having one, but that’d be idiotic. Almost everyone is interested in Eroday. 

“Someone out there loves you, George,” Dream says, his voice going soft like it does sometimes, so, so fond and so, so warm, and it makes George’s chest feel a little congested. “Someone loves you a lot.” 

George turns to him, slightly frowning when he asks, “Who?” 

He doesn’t get an answer when Dream stares at him, keeps staring, until George can’t keep eye contact anymore, and looks down at the marble flooring. He tries to force away the flush creeping up on his face, focusing on anything besides the heaviness of Dream’s gaze. Dream looking at him was too much, sometimes. 

Being a prince means George must become accustomed to having people stare at him all the time. George will never grow old to the way Dream looks at him. 

Dream suddenly stands up from his chair, the movement of it squeaking against the floor when he does so. He quickly grabs his cloak from where it hangs near the doorway, and walks over to George, who watches with careful eyes. 

“Come on.” Dream offers his hand, callous fingers half-covered in his fingerless gloves, and George glances at it, before looking back up. 

“What?” 

“I want to take you somewhere.” Dream looks entirely eager, slightly bouncing on his heels as he waits. “Come on!” 

George slowly shakes his head. “I can’t. I’ve got to get the conditions of this new treaty settled before lunch, and it’s already nearing nine, and -”

“George,” Dream says, and it’s one word, simply his name, but it sounds like temptation when it’s in his mouth. Technically, Dream should have been reprimanded for not using his proper title of Prince George with him. George couldn’t care less. He’s always liked Dream being one of the few people that can call him just George, freely and without fear. “Please? Just for a few minutes.” 

The prince chews on his lower lip, trying to actually consider it, but his mind is already made up. He’d always give in to Dream. 

“Fine,” he sighs, biting away a smile when Dream cheers and raises both arms in the air, hands formed into fists as he grins. “But if we accidentally get into a war because of this, you’re being held responsible.” 

“I’ll take that chance,” Dream shrugs, offering his hand again, and George easily takes it. 

“Where are we going, Dream?” George sighs when they keep trudging through the woods, an entire forest behind the castle. He wasn’t quite in the mood for an entire hiking trip so early in the morning, and yet, here he was. He gives in too easily to Dream, he’s beginning to think. 

“You’ll see,” Dream sings, all too cheerful as they keep walking. He looks a little like the sun, blond hair nearly gold in this lighting, skin a lovely shade and his entire being looking alive, bathing in the morning glory. He must have sunlight in his veins. 

They diverge off the path later, George blindly trusting Dream as they continue forth and beyond the woods, until it gets thicker and harder to navigate through. He doesn’t worry. 

The sky is pale in the freshness of morning, nearly clear and the sun bright when Dream takes George’s hand again, warm and firm in his grip, and George tries to imprint the feeling into his mind as he is tugged along. 

They step into a clearing, and George stills. 

There are miles of fields stretching on, beyond what George can possibly see, where entire hills of Erolions reside, growing in large amounts, swaying in the nonexistent wind. It looks almost unrealistic, the sight, the flowers bright in their sunshine yellow and smudges amongst miles of green and grass. 

Dream doesn’t stop walking, not until they’re amongst the flowers, until they are nearly a part of the flowers themselves, and it doesn’t really matter, the heavy crown atop George’s head, the armor Dream wears under his cloak, the thousands of citizens only a few miles away from where they stand, amongst flowers and the pale blue sky. 

There is, unexpectedly yet thankfully, no one else aside from them, and this is apparent when George turns to him, a little loss for words. 

Dream grins, wide and genuine. “Do you like it?” 

“I do,” George answers honestly, his voice quieter than it’s been all morning. There feels no need to raise his volume here, when it’s just him and Dream, who’s looking at him, so heavy with intensity, and it’s almost too much. He wants to live under Dream’s gaze. 

“Good,” Dream laughs, cheeks pink and eyes full of light, and he looks like a mortal Apollo would envy. “I’m glad you like it.” 

George wishes he were as honest as he wants to be while he looks away from Dream, talking to the grass when he says, “I do. I love it.”

He watches as Dream picks a bundle of flowers, his fist around green stems and yellow petals. The flowers themselves were small, barely bigger than a large, gold coin, and seemed to be even smaller when in Dream’s hand. 

He holds out his fist to George. “Here.” 

“What?” George looks down at the flowers, before looking up at his knight. “These are a little bit of a waste if I can’t wish on them, Dream.” They were already quickening to white, their yellow petals shriveling to form puffs of furry white on stems, a breath away from blowing away in the wind. 

Dream raises an eyebrow. “Why can’t you wish on them?” 

George opens his mouth, so ready to answer honestly, say something along the lines of you don’t love me like that, I can’t hope for you to, because it’s true. Dream loves George, but he does not love him how George loves Dream, nor how the ocean loves the shore, like how the moon loves the sun; so sincerely, repeatedly, romantically. He doesn’t love George like that, and it would be cruel to wish that he did. It would be foolish to think otherwise.

George lets himself be a fool when he leans forward and makes a wish. 

Dream smiles when there’s nothing more but bare stems in his hand. “Who’d you wish for?” 

“It wouldn’t come true if I told you, idiot,” George says, but his answer must be obvious when he stands a little too close to Dream when they begin to walk back, much to George’s chagrin. He likes it here. He doesn’t feel like a prince, in the middle of the flower field, with his knight beside him and an abundance of royal duties left back at the castle. He feels like George, here, standing next to Dream and wanting to hold his hand so badly. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Dream replies, grinning when George stares back blankly. 

“It does, because I say so.” Dream breathes a light laugh, and it’s barely heard over the slight summer breeze that creeps between them, yet it finds a place in George’s ribcage. He continues through the woods, shrugging off the weight in his chest as he begins, “Actually, I have a question.” 

Dream spares him a glance as he steps on a fallen twig. “What is it?” 

George sucks up all his cowardly manners when he asks, “Why have you never had someone around for Eroday?” 

He answers a little quickly, looking away from George, “I don’t know.” Dream sounds hesitant when he continues, “I’ve never been interested in anyone in the city.” 

“In the castle, then, maybe?” George suggests, more teasing than anything, and it’s a little funny, the easy blush that rises in Dream’s cheeks.

“You’re so dumb,” he groans, but he smiles anyway. 

iv

“I’m a great dancer, you know.” 

“I’m sure, Dream.” 

“I just thought I’d remind you.” 

“You’ve been reminding me for the past three hours.” 

“What if you forgot?” 

“I promise you I haven’t.” 

George was not a fan of dances. 

Ironic, when considering the large amount of dances, balls, and galas he has had to attend in his lifespan; he knows more dance routines than he’d like, and could probably waltz in his sleep. Despite the many hours that have been dedicated to dances, George did not like them. 

Still, it’s a little more bearable with Dream next to him. 

It’s the summer solstice, with it being one of the longest days of the year, and, in celebration, the royal family has decided to throw a ball. George did not know about this until two days ago. 

Now he stands, in front of many, very important people that George had been required to memorize all the names of, while they danced, mingled, and chatted amongst themselves. George’s entire family, of course, had joined them. He had refused, too tired to socialize with anyone else besides Dream, and he was not quite in the mood to dance with a stranger who was probably after his crown.

George has his hands clasped behind him, standing straight and looking as welcoming as can be while mumbling conversation to his knight, who stands less than a few inches away, a constant and comforting company. 

“We should dance together,” Dream mentions when it hits hour four, with no signs of the event ending any time soon. He looks entirely too energized for so far into the event, and George is a little miffed about it. 

The idea of them dancing together sets George’s heart ablaze. He ignores the fire to respond, “I don’t like dancing, Dream.” 

“Still,” he insists, “we’ve been best friends for what, nearly eleven years now? I feel like we should have danced together at least once by now.” 

He mulls over it, the probability of him accidentally confessing his love to Dream in the middle of a waltz, before he responds, “Maybe.” 

Dream hums, satiated. “Okay.” He rolls on his heels, and a silence between them passes, filled with music from the nearby band. “I always forget how long these things go on for.” 

“I can always excuse you if you’re tired, Dream,” George reminds him gently, “I don’t mind being alone for a little.” 

Dream shakes his head, certain when he refuses, “No, I’m good.” 

George tilts his head, before shrugging. “Let me know if you change your mind.” 

“I won’t,” he responds, and he sounds sure. “I like being with you.” 

Sometimes George wishes he weren’t so pale, so that the blush that spreads on his face wasn’t so obvious. Dream grins at him, and he turns away. 

“Alright,” George says, a little quieter, and he can feel Dream’s eyes on him. 

Time spent during dances was often like sand, so smooth in slipping between George’s grasp as he watches politicians and people in high positions pretend to be friends for a night. There are more guests dancing than not, swaying in someone else’s arms or properly waltzing to the music while a handful lingered to mingle and eat. 

George, although never being able to join them, doesn’t find himself envious. He despises how careful they are to talk and dance together, practiced calmness in their voices as they spoke, tiptoeing their words when one slip-up could cost them their reputation. 

Even if George’s evenings were boring, spent standing in front of the room and chatting with his knight, waiting until someone approached him to ask for a dance or talk about politics he never quite cared for, he’d prefer it over the odd orchestra that everyone else put on show. Dream was always better company than anyone else, after all. 

“I,” George begins, Dream turning to him, “kind of want to ditch this.” 

“Very irresponsible of you, Your Highness,” he muses playfully. “Want to turn in for the night?” 

“Not quite,” George replies, chewing on his lip. “Just too many people.”

Dream hums, before he suggests, “The gardens?” At George’s nod, Dream stands up a little bit straighter. “We should wait until the next dance starts up, and then we can leave.” 

“Okay,” George agrees. “West exit?” 

“Sounds good to me.”

It was often that George was thankful about Dream being both his best friend and knight; in many cases, George would not be able to get away with what he did, breaking a few too many rules and sneaking out as much as he does. Dream, in his own way, had his own portion of rule breakings, in the informality of addressing Prince George as nothing more than George, holding him so close and so easily, treating him as nothing more than simply a commoner, unprofessionalism in the way he regards the prince. 

George likes it, the way Dream didn’t acknowledge his royalty outside of a simple Your Highness from time to time, treated more like a joke than anything else, how he did not hesitate to tease him or sneak out of the castle together or force him to spend time together doing nothing. He likes it all. He likes Dream. 

The last bit, unfortunately, was more of a burden than anything, trying to hide the odd flutter in his chest whenever it came to Dream. It was difficult pretending George didn’t want to kiss the knight senseless whenever Dream looked at him or laughed at any of his shitty jokes or how, sometimes, George would look up, and Dream would be looking at him already. 

It confused him, whenever that happened. It confuses him, when Dream willingly holds onto George for a little bit too long or stares at him for a little bit too long or risks his job to make George a little bit happier. 

Dream confuses him, but he’d rather not think about that when the music starts up again, with more duos joining the dancing, and Dream’s fingers wrap themselves around George’s wrist. 

“Let’s go,” he murmurs.

They make a rushed path to the west exit, the nearest escape to the courtyards, and the duo make sure to be as discreet as they can possibly be amidst guests and servers. 

The music behind them fades as they open the doors, their shoes against the marble floors clicking in the halls while they hurry out the castle. There is a gust of warm breeze when they push open the doors, stepping out into the gardens, just the two of them in the summer night, and George relishes in the thought. 

It is almost entirely silent in the gardens, so far out the castle grounds and away from the ball. They neared the wall separating the castle and the city, and, if George tries hard enough, he’s sure he could hear the chatter of citizens in the streets. 

The gardens, flowery, well-kept, and void of any other company, are a welcome change to the stuffy room that they’d both been in earlier, and when they approach the few benches they have lined up next to the stone pathway, Dream jogs up to sit on one and pat the space next to him. 

“Sit,” he demands more than suggests, and George rolls his eyes as he walks over. He doesn’t know how he allows the knight to boss him around like he does. 

“I was going to sit here anyway, Dream,” he says, and he sits beside the knight, leaving room between them. Dream frowns, before tugging him a bit closer, thighs touching, and George - doesn’t mind. 

There are flowers of all sorts sprouting around them, with names that escape him and colors that he can’t quite figure out in the moonlight. They’re pretty, albeit looking a little different at night than what they’re like during the day, but the gardens are always pretty, even if George could not differentiate two flowers from each other. Still, it did not take a florist to know that Dream looks wonderful next to roses. 

The night sky is, miraculously, clear - clear enough to spot the many stars freckling the inky purple of the sky, residing with the milky eye of the moon. George thinks, if they were in the fairy tales that they’d grown up with, one of them would wish upon a star.

He instead looks down at the ground, before glancing at Dream, who stares up at the sky. His freckles are washed away in the night, and his eyes are glassy. He looks like a star. 

George looks away before he’s caught, gaze dropping to Dream’s hands, which are placed on his lap. His own hands are tucked between his thighs, lest he accidentally do something preposterous, like try to hold Dream’s hand.

Dream would let him, he always does, but George isn’t so forward, not quite confident like Dream is when it comes to initiating touch. George is not the sort to initiate, would rather wait and lean into the embrace than make the first move, but Dream wouldn’t move away if he did.

Even so, George carefully keeps his hands to himself. 

Comfortable silence fills the garden, content when Dream pushes his arm against George’s, and George pushes back, and it stays like that, their sides linked, and they sit together on the bench, alone in the gardens. 

The silence, however, is broken, when George hears - “Music.” 

Dream looks up from where he had been staring at rows of lilies. “What?” 

“Music,” George repeats, so far into the night, and it drifts into the gardens and from the city, just a cobblestone wall away, close enough to hear laughter and the buzz of citizens and music, even when it was possibly nearing dawn break at this rate. 

“At this hour?” Dream questions, eyes following as George stands up from the white wood bench and rushes to the ivy-covered stone, trying his best to peer over and spot the music source. He barely catches sight of small, loud crowds of people in parties, with equally loud music and equally loud laughter. 

“Listen,” he invites, motioning with a hand for Dream to walk over, “listen, listen!” 

“I’m listening,” Dream chuckles, fond like it usually is when he’s close. “Why do they have a live band in the middle of the night?” 

“We have a live band in the middle of the night,” George points out, and Dream opens his mouth, before clicking it shut.

 They both fall quiet while they both listen, the sound of lively music trailing into the gardens, and neither of them protest, a nice difference to the technical, flat music in the castle. 

“You know,” Dream begins, “we never had that dance together.” 

George frowns when he turns to him. “What dance?” 

“From earlier,” he elaborates. “I asked for a dance, and you agreed.” 

“I said maybe, Dream.” George rolls his eyes, standing away from the wall and walking back to the bench, the knight following. “A maybe is not a yes.” 

“But it can be!” Dream insists, eyes wide when George sits on the bench and looks up at him. “Please?” 

“We’re not even in the ballroom anymore,” he mentions, gesturing around. “We’re in a garden.” 

“But we’ve got music,” Dream reasons, “and I’ve got you, and you’ve got me. Perfect conditions for us to dance.” 

It’s at times like these when George gets a little confused, the intent behind Dream’s persistence to dance together, and he’s not even a fan of dancing, possibly never will be, but George mentally prepares as he slowly says, “Okay.” 

The grin on Dream’s face is almost worth the internal mess George turns into, how his heart rate quickens and the pinprick underneath his palms, the odd flutter returning to his chest and how he feels unnaturally light when Dream places a hand on his waist, entwining their fingers together in his left hand. 

“Do you even know how to dance?” George questions, but he already knows the answer; it’d be a little difficult, not knowing how to dance, when growing up beside royalty. 

Dream hums back a confirmation, staring between them as he fixes his footing, before he begins to lead them to slow dance - a little odd for such bright music, but George doesn’t mind. 

Yet, George asks, “Slow dancing?” 

“I’ve always wanted to slow dance with you,” Dream says, and the honesty in his confession makes George feel a little bit too warm, so he looks down at their joined hands instead. 

He can feel Dream’s eyes on him as they dance, and they might seem ridiculous, a prince and his knight, dancing in the gardens to music from afar, but George can’t quite find it in him to care. He likes how it feels under Dream’s hand on his waist, his right hand in George’s, the fabric of Dream’s dress shirt where George’s hand is placed on his shoulder. 

Dream is warm, so close to him, a sun in his own way. It makes sense, where, despite him being a prince, George seems to orbit around him. 

George makes eye contact with the moon when he starts, “You confuse me, sometimes.” 

He can feel the vibration when Dream hums. “What do you mean?” 

“Sometimes,” George doesn’t look away from the moon, “you - confuse me. Sometimes I look at you, and you’re already looking at me. Sometimes you hold me for a little too long, and you say things like how you’ve always wanted to slow dance with me. I don’t understand.” 

He feels too vulnerable, too open, and he kind of wishes the stars and moon would avert their eyes so that it’d be just the two of them. He can see Dream tilt his head as he questions, “What’s there to not understand?” 

George looks at Dream. “What is there to understand?” 

He doesn’t get an answer as they keep dancing, but the music has ended long ago, now only the distant sounds of citizens and nearby crickets. Still, he can hear some sort of symphony, violin strings behind his eyes whenever he looks at Dream. 

They’ve been dancing to silence for a while now when Dream suddenly dips George, and he nearly yelps, caught off-guard, but he doesn’t hit the ground, and that’s some sort of victory when he’s very abruptly forced to look Dream in the eyes. He avoids it anyway, averting his eyes to stare up at the stars. 

“George,” Dream says quietly, “please look at me.” 

“Why?” He keeps staring at the stars. “What do you have in mind?” 

Dream sounds a little out of breath when he admits, “Your Highness, I’d really like to kiss you.” 

George drops his gaze to Dream’s eyes, and they are so much closer than before, a better sight than the stars ever were. They share the same air when George tilts his head, ignoring the warmth in his cheeks to say, “At this point, I’d exile you if you didn’t.” 

“Well, then, I have no choice,” Dream answers, and captures George into a kiss. 

It’s - sweet, like the cider they had in the ballroom, and fond, like how Dream holds him, hand pressing against his side firmly and comfortingly, and George should be worried about possibly falling, caught in the dip of the dance, but all he has in mind is how Dream tastes vaguely of sunshine. 

Dream feels like he’s trying to kiss all his words into George, but all the prince feels is warm; warm from where Dream’s hand holds him so certainly, warm where their hands hold each other, and warm from George’s fingertips to the inside of his ribcage. All Dream is, is warm, a supernova kissing George in the royal gardens. 

It’s cliche, all sorts of fairy tales coming to life when Dream hums into his mouth contently, and George presses back as though the end credits might come rolling, pressing close, closer, until the moon blushes and looks away. 

They break, and Dream does not let go of George when he stands up straight, hand against George’s jaw and another around the nape of his neck, and Dream feels like he’s everywhere, how George leans forward until their foreheads meet, how his hands are on Dream’s sides, how he’s quite sure he’s melting, turning into nothing against Dream. 

“Do you still not understand?” Dream asks, and he looks bright, alive under the moonlight when he looks at George, milimetres away. 

“I want to hear you say it anyway,” he says, laughing when Dream huffs. 

“Your Highness,” he begins, and George curls his fingers under Dream’s chin, thumb against the corner of his mouth, and he watches when the knight confesses, “I love you.” 

George is unable to hold back a smile when he insists, “Say it again.” 

“I love you,” Dream tells him, as if it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done, entirely sincere. “I love you, George. I love you. Will you say it back?” 

George pretends to think, slowly responding, “You’re alright, I guess.” He yelps when Dream pokes at his sides, and he leans away, giggling as he says, “Fine, fine, I like you, too.” He pauses, unable to look away when he says, “I love you.” 

“Good.” Dream grins, before he asks, “Do you think it’s considered treason if I kiss you again?” 

George raises an eyebrow. "I'd consider it treason if you didn't." 

And, for the second time that night, the stars watch as George is dipped into a kiss once again.