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The ambient temperature dropped, causing goosebumps to rise as the sun set.
The sky’s light was faded, painted with brushstrokes of cool lilac and warm amber like an oil painting.
"I can't fucking believe I agreed to this," Dream whined, his sculpted face glowing in the colourful twilight.
He groaned from deep within his throat as his old Nikes hit the pavement of their driveway.
"Come on, it'll be fun, Dreamy," George replied, descending the white stone of the front steps.
Dream fidgeted with the strap of George's black backpack that cut into his broad shoulder.
"Ugh, what the fuck's in this? It's so heavy."
"Just flashlights, a temperature reader, a spirit box, some candles," George said, brown eyes looking up as he tried to remember everything he packed.
"Oh, candles? Is this a date, Georgie?" Dream teased, voice no longer complaining, now saccharine.
He shifted the bag on his back, his hand reaching into the pocket of his grey sweatpants.
George's face heated up as his fingers threaded through the handle of the passenger door.
"They're for a séance, Dream."
"Whatever you say," Dream bit back, unlocking his beater car as his keys jingled rhythmically.
"So where are we going, again?" Dream asked breathlessly as they sank into the cushions of the car seats.
Dream looked out the back window, placing his hand behind George's seat as he backed slowly out of their driveway.
"Uh, um," George stuttered, feeling the close proximity of Dream's arm.
"The, uh, the Tampa Theater."
George wiped the sweat on his palms on his black sweatpants, pulling out his phone.
Its white light reflected in the car window and burned his eyes as he read an excerpt.
"The abandoned Tampa Theater in Florida is supposedly haunted by a projectionist from the 1940s—"
"Yeah, emphasis on supposedly," Dream huffed, signalling right.
"Don't interpret me, Dream," George groaned.
He sank into his seat, the seatbelt tugging on his small chest.
"Sorry, sorry. You're such a princess. Keep reading," Dream probed, approaching an intersection.
The fabric of Dream's green sweater wrinkled as his head turned.
His blond hair caught the fading light of the late afternoon, illuminating streaks of gold as he looked both ways.
George pulled his eyes away, ignoring the butterflies he felt from seeing Dream's face.
"Employees at the Theater often hear the projectionist's footsteps and chains rattling in the hallway."
"Chains? Why chains?"
Dream looked at George in the passenger's seat.
His viridian eyes scanned George's pale skin, dotted with freckles, his brown hair that cascaded down his face.
George shrugged his slim shoulders, eyes down at his phone as he kept reading.
"There are often reports of smells of old perfume in the women's powder room, and cold spots where the air seems to drop several degrees."
"Oh, so spooky."
"One woman claims she was grabbed by the neck by an unseen phantom, the force ripping out her hair."
"Yeah, sure," Dream mumbled, rolling his eyes.
"I'm scared, Dream. This place has a 92% chance of being really haunted," George said, sinking lower into the passenger's seat.
"According to who?"
"Hauntedplaces.org," George said, lowly, playing with the cashmere hem of his light blue sweater.
Dream bit his cheek, stifling a laugh.
God, he is such a bottom…
"It's not funny, Dream!" George said, hitting Dream's upper arm, feeling his muscles flex under the green material.
"Sorry! It's okay, Georgie. Ghosts aren't real, they can't hurt you," Dream assured.
George was actually really scared, the nervousness edged its way into his tone.
It hurt Dream.
He just wanted to take away George’s fear, to give him a comforting touch— to hold him, feel the baby blue of George’s sweater in his arms.
—
The theatre came into view, its bright yellow sign flickering.
With the crunch of gravel, they parked between the chipping paint of white lines.
Their sneakers hit the asphalt as they exited the car, approaching the dark entrance.
"Is this, uh, illegal?" Dream asked in a whisper, looking through the dusty glass doors into the lobby.
"No, it's abandoned. But I called the property manager, just in case. They said we're fine being here," George explained.
"Oh, okay," Dream exhaled, running his hands through his sandy hair.
"Wait, why'd you agree to this if you thought it could've been illegal?" George asked, dark eyebrows knit incredulously.
"Because, George, I like hanging out with you. And I like it when you scream," Dream said matter-of-factly.
"Uh—"
"Okay, that sounds… weird. I think it's funny when you scream," Dream corrected.
"Right, sure, you think it's 'funny' and ghosts 'aren't real'," George said, making air quotations with his hands.
"Yes! Exactly!"
"Whatever, let's go in," George said, rolling his umber eyes.
Metal rattled as they swung the door open and they stepped inside.
Dust fell softly, catching in the diminishing sunset like snowflakes.
Poles with velvet rope formed a queue line for the ticket booth.
Several of the golden poles had been knocked over, their bases pulling up the red carpet below.
The ticket booth glass was smudged with fingerprints.
A chair sat behind it, with broken wheels.
Springs protruded from yellow foam through the rip in the grey fabric.
Ticket stubs and paper receipts littered the floor.
Dream walked behind the glass, crossing into the ticket booth.
He sat on the broken chair, nearly falling over at the imbalanced chair that was missing a wheel.
"Oh, shit."
"Careful, Dream!"
It squeaked vengefully as Dream quickly got back up before he fell over.
Dream blushed intensely.
"You’re an idiot. Just give me my 2 tickets, Mr. Ticket Man," George joked.
Dream smiled, his blush dying down.
"For you, it's free," he replied with a wink.
Dream opened the cash register, its bell ding still chiming cheerfully.
"Don't touch that!" George tsked.
"Wow, I can't believe this still opens."
There were a couple of coins in its black compartments and Dream scooped them out with a thick finger.
He slid a gold coin through the hole in the glass to George.
"Your change, sir."
"Put them back!" George whisper-yelled.
"No! They’re souvenirs. One for you, one for me," Dream said, pocketing one of the gold coins.
—
"Ugh, you are so annoying!" George groaned from the middle of the lobby.
"Me?"
"Not you, the spirit box. Stupid thing won't work."
George fiddled with the buttons on the black box where he stood on the red carpet.
"Let me see," Dream said.
He pushed up the sleeves of his olive sweater, revealing his veiny forearms, brushed with light brown hair.
George handed it to him, their fingers brushing in the exchange.
Dream hit the box with his large palm.
George scoffed.
"That's not going to wor—"
The spirit box whirred to life, casting staticky noise against the peeling paint of the beige walls.
"Uh, hello?" George began in the empty air.
Dream spun around, looking at the room aglow by the light of their flashlights.
"My name is George. This is Dream," George said, placing a hand on Dream's exposed forearm.
The spirit box loudly chirped.
"Ştคti¢"
"Can you repeat our names back to us?"
"Ştคti¢—ʎɐ⅁—Ştคti¢"
"Oh my god, it said 'Clay'! The ghosts know your real name!"
"George…"
"I'm getting chills, that's spooky. How do they know that?"
"George."
"What?"
"Uh— I think it said— I think it said 'gay', not ‘Clay’," Dream said, with airy laughter.
"What? Wait— ghosts, can you repeat what you said?"
"Ştคti¢—𝔾𝕒𝕪—Ştคti¢"
"That sounded like 'gay' again," Dream wheezed out.
"Wait, how does it know that?" George asked, face still scared, not looking relieved.
"You're— you're gay?" Dream asked, his laughter subsiding.
"Uh, um, let's— let's move on," George stuttered, flushing pink, in contrast to the light blue of his sweater.
"How did you die?"
"Woah, that's an intense question, George. Shouldn't we start by asking them how their day was, first?" Dream teased.
"Haha, very funny."
"SPIRITS! How are you today? Non-existent?"
"DREAM! I want you to not anger the spirits, got it? They could be demons. Fucking demons."
"Yeah, but if we piss them off, maybe they'll attack me," Dream huffed.
"You want that?"
"I mean, it'll definitely prove to me that they're real."
George sighed deeply, gusts of air blowing through his tightly pursed lips.
He shook his head, brown wisps of hair fluffing with the motion.
"Fine. Just—don't involve me."
Dream smiled mischievously, his sharp canines gleaming bright white.
"DEMONS! I WANT YOU TO SHOW YOUR EXISTENCE BY ATTACKING ME! But not George. Leave him alone. BUT ATTACK ME!" Dream exclaimed boldly, holding his arms out.
George looked up at Dream, eyes wide and chocolatey.
Dream returned the gaze and they stared at one another through the dusty air, waiting.
The lobby of the movie theatre was motionless, smelling of melted butter.
The only sound was that of the spirit box and its loud static.
Dream scanned the dark of the lobby, green eyes casting over wrinkled movie posters and empty ticket booths and queue lines.
"PULL MY HAIR! CHOKE ME! LEAVE BRUISES AND SCRATCH MARKS ON MY SKIN!"
"Woah, Dream," George muttered, his face heating up.
"Are you trying to get the ghosts to attack you or have sex with you?"
“I don’t know, which would you rather see?" Dream teased, voice gravely and low.
"I— I'm not answering that."
"I'll assume it's the second one, then," Dream antagonized.
He narrowed his green eyes dangerously.
"Cuck."
George chuckled, rubbing his face that burned scarlet.
"Laughing, but not denying it," Dream teased.
“W-whatever. This isn't working. Let’s, uh, let’s try something else,” George said.
“Okay, were you thinking 69 or doggy, or…?”
“Gross, Dream. Is sex all you think about?”
“When I’m with you,” Dream cooed mockingly.
“Ugh, turn your flashlight off,” George commanded, trying to ignore him.
“You don’t have sex with the lights on? That's a crime,” Dream said, looking George up and down.
“DREAM!”
“Sorry, I’ll stop,” Dream said, flicking his torch off.
The lobby was plunged into darkness.
“GHOSTS! Show us your presence by turning on this flashlight,” George said, placing his flashlight down on the red carpet.
In the darkness, George felt something brush against his waist.
“AHH! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!”
“That was just my hand,” Dream spoke lowly.
“WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME? THAT SCARED ME!”
“I couldn’t see where you went,” Dream whispered.
“AND WHY ARE YOU WHISPERING?”
“I don’t know, for effect, I guess.”
Suddenly, the room burst into brightness as the flashlight shined.
"OH MY GOD, Dream, look!”
Dream murmured an mhmm, but his eyes stayed on George, his clear complexion glowing in the yellow light.
“Look, LOOK!”
“Yup,” Dream said, still watching George as he bounced where he stood.
“It’s turned on!”
“Yeah, it is.”
—
"Did you hear that?" Dream asked, looking from the staff lounge out into the hallway.
"Dream, that's not funny," George groaned, looking up from the camera he was adjusting.
The red light of the recording blinked into the small room.
"No, listen," Dream insisted.
"Dream, I know you think it's f—"
"Shh," Dream growled, placing his finger on George's mouth.
George tried not to think about the rough texture of Dream's forefinger, but it was difficult, considering it was brushing against his lip.
Oh my god, this can't be hap—
Then George heard it.
A noise that sounded like chains dragging across concrete.
"Hear that?"
George let out an mhmm, the weak noise sounding like a whimper.
"We should split up and follow that sound," Dream said, taking his hand off of George.
George's lips parted.
His tongue wet the spot Dream had touched, tasting the residue left behind.
After a moment, his dazed mind processed Dream's words.
"Wha— Split up? What are we, in Scooby-Doo?"
"Divide and conquer," Dream said, raising a light brown eyebrow.
"But— but I don't want to be alone," George whined pathetically.
~I don’t wanna be alone, you know it hurts me, too~
The sound of metal dragging on concrete bounded through to the side room again.
"C'mon, let's go," Dream mumbled.
Dream turned on his heel, his long legs taking quick strides as he left the staff lounge.
George's fingers itched to grab Dream's toned forearm, to stop him from leaving, but Dream left too quickly.
George felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
The thick thump of his heartbeat crept into his ears.
He suddenly missed Dream's presence beside him, even being the tsundere that he is.
He missed Dream's tall, strong, protective figure looming near him.
He missed Dream's big hands with the veins and tendons that always graze his waist from behind as they walk.
Being away from Dream, George's fear increased tenfold, becoming unbearable.
"DREAM! COME SAVE ME!" George yelled out into the hallway, frozen with anxiety.
"DREEEAAAMMMM!"
He heard Dream's quick footsteps approaching.
Dream bounded into the room, chest heaving under his green sweater.
"What? Are you okay?"
Dream frantically looked George up and down, scanning his lithe body for signs of an injury.
"What's wrong?" Dream asked, concern painted on his face.
"N-nothing… Hi," George said, fiddling with his hands.
"Hi…?"
"Hi," George repeated.
"What'd you want?'
"Nothing, I said," George replied, subconsciously taking a step closer to Dream.
"You're the one that wanted to prove to me that ghosts exist, and then when we finally hear something compelling, you don't want me to investigate?"
"I— I was scared," George admitted, his shoulders dropping slightly.
"So— so you called me?"
George shrugged.
"Don't I make you more scared, taunting the ghosts and stuff?" Dream asked, eyes wide.
"Well— surprisingly no. I don't know, I just feel safer with you," George mumbled, a small smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.
Dream's heart twinged, filled with warm roses.
His face brightened as he smiled fondly.
It was rare for George to compliment him, but any bit of praise sounded so much better from his plush lips.
"Don't be scared, George," Dream spoke in a hush.
George held his hands out from where they dangled by his sides, ever so slightly.
Dream's emerald eyes followed the movement.
Is he— asking for a hug?
George looked up with big doe eyes, twinkles sparkling in the agate brown.
He opened his arms a little wider.
Dream stepped closer to him and so did George.
They met in the middle, standing incredibly close, the atmosphere thick with an invisible barrier.
George strained his neck up to meet Dream's eyes.
They stayed like that, just looking at one another, for a moment.
“Can I— can I hug you?” Dream asked, his voice shaking.
George gave a small nod and wrapped his arms around Dream's waist.
He leaned into Dream's chest, feeling his raised pectoral muscles against his cheekbones.
Dream wrapped his arms around George's shoulders, pulling him close.
He nuzzled his freckled nose into George's soft brown hair.
The scent of green apple shampoo filled his lungs.
George's body melted like strands of honey, feeling safe caged by toned muscles.
George breathed in Dream's scent— soft ocean breeze and sandalwood.
He savoured the closeness, the body heat, the safety.
After several seconds of heaven, George pulled away from the hug, hesitantly and reluctantly.
"T-thanks, I— I feel better now," George stuttered quietly, hoping his blush wasn’t too obvious.
"You do? Good," Dream said, smiling brightly.
"You want to keep going?"
"Uh— hugging?"
"No, I meant ghost hunting."
"Right, yeah. Okay," George mumbled with a bittersweet smile.
—
Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they entered the basement.
A broken popcorn machine, old movie posters, and cleaning supplies sat with dust.
George walked behind Dream, watching his figure as they stepped onto the bottom floor.
The ceilings were low, especially for someone as tall as Dream.
His head brushed cobwebs that hung from the roof, the grey catching in his hair.
"You—"
"What?" Dream asked, turning around to face George.
George's breath hitched.
Dream looked ethereal, an actual golden angel.
His features were chiselled and his expression was warm in the light of their torches.
The green material of his sweater brought out the colour of Dream's eyes, even if George couldn’t see it very well.
"You— you have cobwebs in your hair."
"Oh," Dream said, flushing ruby red.
He ran his thick fingers through the threads of spun gold but didn't wipe away the cobwebs.
"No, more to the left," George directed.
"My left or your left?"
"Just, come here," George huffed.
Dream waltzed over to George and bent down.
George thought about how cute his stance was, shoulders hunched together so George could reach.
He moved his hand towards Dream's hair, trying to ignore the fact that it was shaking.
With a gentle motion, he swept away the cobwebs from Dream's dirty blond.
Dream's hair was just as soft as George had always imagined it would be.
The shiny strands slipped through his fingers with ease as they ran through his hair, getting out the cobwebs.
The hair tickled the webbing between George's digits, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Uh, there," George stammered, shaking the cobwebs off his hand.
"Cool, thanks."
Dream cleared his throat, straightening his spine.
“So, uh, um, what are we down here for?”
“We’re going to do a séance, remember?"
"Right. How do we do that?"
George shrugged.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know? You're the leader of this thing," Dream grumbled.
"Oh, I am?" George smiled.
"Don't let it get to your head. That was a backhanded compliment."
"Whatever. I'll just look it up."
George typed on his phone, reading through his browser’s search results.
His lips parted and his eyebrows knit as he focused.
Dream smiled to himself as he watched George's concentrated face fondly.
"Okay, I found a WikiHow on it, 'How to Perform a Séance— With Pictures,'" George said, still looking at his screen.
"Very helpful," Dream chuckled, breathing in the smell of popcorn.
George looked up, scanning the cluttered basement.
"I guess we'll just sit on the ground, considering there's no furniture," George said finally.
They sat down cross-legged on the concrete.
They sifted closer to be across one another.
Their knees touched, black fabric on grey, but neither made the move to pull back.
George looked down at the article.
"'Invite people who believe in the spirit world,' huh, I should have invited Karl."
"Eeh, next time. What now?"
"We light the candles," George explained.
Dream unzipped George's backpack that he had been carrying, taking out the candles.
George grabbed the lighter, sticking out his pink tongue as he tried to light it.
Dream noticed the saliva glistening on his tongue and pushed away the painted thoughts that the visual sparked.
"Here, babe," Dream said, taking the lighter from his hands.
Dream lit the lighter, its flame burning bright.
He held the flame to the candlewick, the flame taking ahold of its blackened string.
"Wait, what did you just call me?" George asked as the nickname registered.
"Oh, um, uh, n-nothing."
The blue and green swirled candles burned, filling the room with flickering light and the smell of bellflowers.
George started the audio recorder, the silver device blinking red as he placed it next to the candles.
"Spirits, I want you to rap once for 'yes' and twice for 'no', okay?"
The room was quiet.
"And rap zero times for 'ghosts aren't real'," Dream teased.
"Okay, so, oh— um, oh."
"What?"
“It says, um, it says we have to hold hands,” George said, his face heating up with streaks of scarlet.
“It says that?” Dream attempting to keep the optimism from his deep tone.
“Mhmm. 'Join hands and close your eyes to begin the séance.'"
Dream held out his hands, large, tan palms facing upwards.
George couldn't remember how many times he had stared at Dream's hands and wanted to touch them— now the opportunity was literally in front of him.
It felt surreal, in the most divine way possible— like gazing upon an oil painting, in a gold frame, the acrylic landscape looking like a place you swear you've been.
George held his breath as he placed his hands on top.
Their sweat mingled where the skin contacted.
"What next?"
George was distracted by the touch, the oil-painted scene, but he looked down to read the opening line.
"Um, oh, okay… 'We welcome any good spirits who are near us to join our circle. Please make your presence known.'"
Dream adjusted his hands, tightening his grip on George’s.
Goosebumps broke across George’s skin, feeling the connection of their skin, warm in juxtaposition to the cold concrete they sat on.
—
“What else should we ask?” Dream questioned.
“Hmm. Apparently baby blue is my colour, do you agree?” George asked.
“Fishing for compliments, really? Well, I agree,” Dream said with a cheeky grin.
“I’m asking the ghosts, Dream.”
“Well, they’re not responding. George, you look amazing.”
"What? Okay, uh, w-whatever…” George stuttered.
“Why’s this not working? Did I do something wrong?"
"Maybe we're not holding hands hard enough, should we try interlacing?" Dream said, face brandishing a smirk.
George rolled his eyes, eyelids fluttering.
"Nothing's happening, and now we're just two dudes holding hands in a dark room with candles," George huffed.
"This really is a date, isn't it?"
From the outskirts of the basement, there was a rapping noise, hollow and wooden.
"Wait, that was one rap for 'yes'. So this is a date! Even the non-existent ghosts ship DNF," Dream teased with an affectionate laugh.
"Shut up."
—
After about 15 minutes of trying to contact the spirits, they gave up.
George scrolled down on his phone, his hand still holding Dream's.
"'We thank you spirits for coming to our circle and sharing your guidance with us.'"
"Guidance?" Dream said with an amused air.
"I'm just reading what it says," George said, lips pursed to blow out the candles.
George looked at Dream’s face once more, in the shifting shadow of the candlelit, before the flame extinguished.
Their hands lingered in the dark room, tan skin on pale skin, neither wanting to let go first.
—
"This room's probably the most haunted because the projectionist's the one that haunts the theatre," George said as they entered the projector room.
Dream nodded, looking around at the old metal rolls of film.
They were covered in a thick layer of dust, a brownish-grey.
Dream's veiny hand brushed some of the dust away, revealing printed titles written in black permanent marker on white labels.
"You think these still work?" Dream asked, flipping through the metal rolls.
"Worth a shot," George shrugged.
"Oh, want to watch Secret Admirer, Georgie?"
"That 80’s film? I wouldn't peg you—"
Dream cut him off with a wheeze.
"You wouldn't peg me? Why not? I’d—”
"That wasn't the end of my sentence. I wouldn't peg you as a romantic comedy kind of guy," George finished, his accent thick with enchantment.
"What? Really? Come on, I'm a romantic gentleman," Dream defended, flourishing dramatically with his hands.
"Uh-huh," George rolled his brown eyes.
"Yeah, I always hold the door for you," Dream mused.
George blushed, his nose scrunching up.
It was true, he couldn't deny that.
George bit his cheek, steeling his resolve.
"Yeah, and then you look at my ass, such a gentleman," he parried.
"I DO NOT!" Dream said, you know, like a liar.
—
Dream set up the movie in the projector room while George sat on the red chairs of the main theatre room.
The fabric was worn down, the underside covered in chewed gum.
The film flickered to life, the image displayed blurrily on the white screen.
Dream adjusted the image, fiddling with silver knobs until the projection became clear.
The ripped red velvet of the curtains covered the edge of the screen.
George ran out of his seat and onto the stage to fix it.
He pulled the tattered red back, revealing the screen in its entirety.
From where he stood by the screen, George turned to look at the projector room.
He stared at the streak of light from the projection, a moth flying through it.
George gazed through, squinting lightly.
The image projected on his skin, flashing colours and shadows onto him.
Dream returned the stare, thinking about how George's pale skin was the perfect canvas— he wished he could watch the entire movie with George's beautiful face as the backdrop.
George felt the gaze, thinking about Dream's handsome face.
He smiled an indistinguishable smile, before running back to his seat.
Dream joined him shortly afterwards, and they sat beside one another, even though the whole theatre was empty and the seats were joined in pairs.
As the previews played, George turned to Dream, watching the blue and green lights cast shadows on his sharp features.
Dream looked at him, his eyes flicking down to George's lips.
George followed the gaze longingly.
"Do you— do you want something?" Dream asked.
"Wha— huh?" George stuttered dazedly.
"They have snacks at the concession stand," Dream said, wetting his dusty rose lips.
"Oh. Ew, is that safe?" George groaned.
Dream shrugged.
"Airtight seals."
"Eeh, why not?"
—
They left quickly to get some snacks while the preview trailers played.
The concession stand was covered in popcorn kernels and spilled butter.
Behind dust-covered glass were packages of unopened snacks.
There was a fridge with a faded sign for Coca-Cola, still filled with carbonated drinks.
George jumped onto the countertop, his black sweatpants on the glass.
Dream stood near George, placing large palms on either side of George's thighs.
Dream leaned closer, his grey sweatpants touching George’s knees.
George held his breath as strands of dirty blond fell into Dream’s eyes.
Is he— going to kiss me?
Instead of kissing him, Dream’s chest leaned over George's thighs, grabbing a snack from behind the glass counter.
The orange of the candy wrapper dangled in front of George, tauntingly.
"Mmm, Reese's," Dream said.
"Your favourite."
"You remembered."
George hummed nonchalantly— he remembered lots of things about Dream.
"What else they got?"
—
With arms full of snacks, they bounded back into the theatre.
They threw themselves down in their joined seats beside one another.
As the opening scene played, Dream tore open a package with his sharp fangs.
"I want one, give me one," George said, the scent of cherry filling his senses.
Dream dangled a piece of the red licorice in front of George.
George bit into it, letting out a satisfied mmm at its sweet taste.
"Good, huh?"
"It aged like a fine wine," George spoke over the movie's vintage soundtrack.
George giggled at Dream's responding laughter, the sound cute and wheezy.
—
They spoke over the slow parts of the film, making comments and jokes in hushed voices.
But during the important moments, they paid attention, becoming engulfed in the storyline of the love story.
They leaned forward as the ending scene of Secret Admirer played.
Micheal drove to the coast in a red convertible to catch Toni's boat, but it had already begun sailing away.
He ran to the edge of the shore, calling out to her boat.
"I love you, do you love me?" Micheal screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice coming out strained and hoarse.
"What difference does that make?" Toni responded, shaking her head.
Her brown hair blew in the sea air as her boat sailed away.
"But do you love me?" He called, the same wind gusting on his tan skin.
"Yes! Does that make you feel any better?"
"Yeah!" He exclaimed jubilantly, diving headfirst into the dark blue water.
She stared at him as he swam with strong strokes through the waves.
Throwing her purse on the deck, she dove into the water as well.
The two characters swam towards one another, splashing in the indigo.
They kissed in the water, their tongues mixing with the taste of saltwater as they passionately made out.
Dream looked at George as the end credits rolled, the two lovers continuing to kiss on screen.
His pale cheeks were glistening, catching the light of the projector with sparkles.
"Are you— are you crying?" Dream asked, sounding more accusatory than he intended.
"I am not," George huffed, turning his face and rubbing at his cheeks with the sleeve of his baby blue sweater.
"You totally are! God, you are such a tsundere," Dream teased.
"I'm just surprised you even know what that is," George retorted.
"Hey, I've seen Death Note."
"Everyone's seen Death Note."
"Whatever. Want to watch another one?"
"Sure," George said, the sound of his smile present in his voice.
—
George watched back the footage of the camera as another 80’s rom-com played in the background.
He sped through the footage, scanning for any orbs or noises.
Through the white noise of the video, there was a sound.
George's eyebrows knitted.
He paused the tape, his thumb hitting the button to rewind it.
“Dream, check this out. I think I found something.”
George turned the volume of the speakers up.
“Listen.”
Dream turned his head so his ear faced the speaker.
George pressed ‘PLAY’.
“Mmph,” the footage replayed.
“Oh, that— that sounds like a moan. Was that— was that you?” Dream stuttered, getting flustered.
“No! It’s a ghost.”
“Pretty sure that’s you.”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, because it sounds like a moan and you’re the one that’s always moaning.”
“That was a groan, not a moan.”
“Same thing,” Dream said, viridian eyes flicking back to the projector's screen.
George resumed the video, seeing his and Dream's figures in frame.
"Don't be scared, George,” Dream’s voice played through the camera’s speaker.
George slowed the footage.
“Can I hug you?”
He smiled as he watched Dream wrapping his arms around himself.
He’d never forget that night— he had the memories, matching gold coins, and now, video evidence.
Dream’s face was visible in the video.
He was smiling so broadly, so genuinely.
George had no idea Dream enjoyed the hug as much as he did.
The realization made his chest warm.
He longed for more touches from the other man.
Dream peered over his shoulder, looking at the camera screen.
“You’re— you're watching our hug?”
“Oh, uh, y-yeah, I guess.”
“You don’t have to rewatch it. If you want a hug, I can just give you another.”
George couldn’t tell if he was being serious.
Dream was like an upside-down painting— the blood rushed to George's head, dizzying him as he tried to understand him.
He had thought he heard an inviting lilt in Dream’s deep voice, a hint of genuinity.
“Okay,” George breathed out, lightly.
“Okay? Really?” Dream voice pitched with excitement.
“Really.”
Dream cleared his throat, his voice deepening.
"Okay."
Dream leaned closer to George where they sat in their adjacent, conjoined movie seats.
He wrapped his arms around George, squeezing him tightly.
George fell into the hug, his head rising and falling with each of Dream's breaths.
His whole head, his whole perspective changes, his whole world moved with the movement of Dream's chest.
Suddenly, Dream's chest became his favourite place— the place he wished could be captured in oil paint and warm brushstrokes.
In the safe embrace, George's remaining nerves from the spooky night, the cobwebs, the strange noises— all of it melted away like sugar in rain.
He felt at peace and his eyelids drooped with tiredness, curtains closing over his brown eyes.
“Dream, I think I’m going to—” George yawned.
“I think I’m going to fall asleep.”
“Go ahead,” Dream whispered into his ear, over the soft sounds of the movie.
He ran his index finger on George's back, spelling words and drawing shapes with the touch.
“Protect me from the ghosts,” George mumbled sleepily, tightening his returning grip on Dream's waist.
“Okay.”
“So, you agree ghosts are real, then?” George grumbled, nuzzling into Dream’s toned arm, feeling the veins that snaked upwards.
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Dream huffed, resting his cheek on the top of George’s head, the silky strands tickling his skin.
“But DNF is.”