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"George, am I just an inherently bad person?"
George paused running his fingers through Dream's hair and gave him a little frown. As always, he was unable to see the expression behind the pristine porcelain mask. Not that it really mattered. "Of course not. Don't be stupid." Then he cocked his head to the side and looked at him, eyes narrowed curiously. "Why do you ask?"
Dream shrugged. To anyone else it would have seemed calm and collected, casual and careless, but not to George. George who had been there with Dream since before he was anything, since before either of them were anything. Who had watched Dream craft life out of thin air and then reached in with his own hands to help him mold it. George could read Dream far better than any mask could hide, and they both knew it. But Dream still shrugged in an attempt to shield himself from whatever it was he was thinking, so George let him. "I don't know. It's just something I was thinking about."
George hummed. "And how far did you make it down that train of thought?"
Dream chuckled lowly then fell silent, and George almost wondered if his question would be ignored. But Dream never ignored him. Not for long. "How come I'm always the bad guy? No matter how many times we reset the world; no matter how many stories we live through and watch them tell; no matter who I try to be, I always wind up as the one everyone hates."
"I've never hated you," George corrected automatically.
Dream laughed again and leaned into the hand George had cupped over his cheek. "There were times when you should have. I deserved it. And besides, you don't count."
George wasn't entirely sure he agreed with that. Both Dream deserving George's hatred and George not counting. Dream had always cared more about the lives of all the souls they played with than George did. George cared about the souls themselves, had relationships with all of them and some he considered to be his favorites. Wilbur always managed to set the spark of adventure alight in his chest, while Quackity never failed to make things far more interesting and entertaining than they had any right to be. And even without a body to inhabit, Sapnap's soul was one George found a bone-deep comfort in, a connection and support that ran so deep it made the epic tales of brotherhood look fleeting and he spent as much time around it as possible. But the lives? Pointless. It didn't matter what anyone did, who they wronged, how they failed, or what they accomplished. In what George always saw as the blink of an eye, the pause between breaths, the thump of a heartbeat, they were over. A story ready to be forgotten and rewritten. A board with all the pieces in a pile, ready to be lined up for the next game. Because that's what this was. A game. George knew that, so he found it difficult to ever truly get invested. Not in any way that mattered.
But not Dream. Every life he lived, he lived like it was his only one. He cared about all of these insignificant things because that's just what Dream did. He cared. He cared about everything with everything he had. There wasn't one single choice, an action, a relationship, a person that Dream didn't devote himself fully to. It was something that George used to get jealous over, and still struggled with sometimes, but all that melted away when he saw the way Dream always swung towards him like a sunflower chasing the light, shoulders slack with joyous relief. But that's not what Dream asked him about. But then again maybe it was.
"It's not because you're a bad person," George said firmly, leaving no room for doubt to fester in Dream's mind. "It's because you care so much."
Dream's head turned in George's lap, and perfectly round dots of shining black stared up at him. "You're going to have to explain that one."
George hummed, his brow pinched tight in thought. "These worlds, these people, they're not real. Their souls are real when they're in here, but out there they're just characters in a story. There's always some dramatic tale going on in whatever world we create, some epic role for them to fill. Not once have any of our worlds ever been something completely peaceful. There's always a story, and every story needs a villain."
"But why is it always me?"
"Because you're easy to hate." Dream let out a loud, startled wheeze while George spluttered in embarrassment. "That's not how I meant it!" he pouted. "I just— Look, you know that they need someone to hate, so you make yourself easy to hate."
"And why would I do that?"
"So they don't have to hate each other." Dream was still again, and George smiled down at him with eons of affection dripping down his face. "You care about them all — you love them — and you can't stand the thought of someone hating them. You'd rather have all of that hate directed at you than have any of them try to shoulder that weight."
George trailed his fingers over Dream's jaw and chuckled softly when he melted into the touch. There wasn't anything funny, but sometimes when he was around Dream there was so much joy burning in his chest that it simply had to bubble up in the form of laughter. Dream stared up at him and somehow that painted smile seemed a little more genuine. "You love them so much and you want them to win. You want them to celebrate each and every victory they can. But to do that, someone has to lose. So you set yourself up. You put all your little pieces together just so they can knock you down."
"I never thought about it like that," Dream said softly, a hint of wonder staining his tone.
"Of course you didn't," George replied with a smirk. "I'm smarter than you'll ever be." Dream made a loud squawk of offense and George flopped backwards to lay down, laughter ripping itself from his lips to mix with an ever-changing sky, Dream's soon rising up to join it. When he caught his breath, George sat back up and cupped Dream's cheek in his hand. "Are you a bad person? Of course not," he chuckled gently, every word soaked in love. "You may always play the villain, but in your stories evil always falls."
Dream rolled over and pressed his face into George's stomach, arms wrapping around his waist to hold him tight. It was a little uncomfortable for George, painful even, but he never mentioned it, just like he didn't mention the obvious shaking in Dream's shoulders. Instead he just tangled his fingers in blonde curls like they were made to go there — and, really, he wasn't sure that they weren't — and cooed gentle nonsense to the still air.
"I want the next story we make to be a love story," Dream stated, his face still hidden against George like he feared rejection. "For us. One that doesn't require a bad guy. Just a love story for us."
"And what of the love story we're living?" George teased fondly. "Ancient powers forged together who live countless lives just so that they can find each other again and again? Is our tale not enough for you, my love?"
"Of course it's enough. Anything with you is more than enough, George," Dream said emphatically, sitting up so he could meet George face to face. "But I want. I want more. I want to shout my love for you so loud and bright that no one will ever be able to deny it."
Dream paused his declaration to cradle George's cheek in his big sturdy palm like it was something precious. He brought their faces close enough to rest their foreheads together and George could almost feel the breath that should be fanning over his face. "But I want the quiet, too," he murmured, just loud enough for George to hear. "Soft and whispered like a secret passed back and forth between bedsheets. Soothing and comforting like the home we've only ever found with each other. Because as much as I want to tell the world of my love for you, I need only raise my voice enough to reach your ears and I've spoken to my entire universe."
"Dream," George said, the word no more than a breath, but soft and reverent like everything it stood for. His eyes slipped closed and when he pressed forward, instead of the expected porcelain, smiling, chapped lips met his own. George hummed into the kiss and brought his hands up to thumb across soft, stubbly cheeks, searing every detail of this moment into his mind. Moments like this didn't come very often, so George always made sure to savor them. He pulled back just enough to get a good view and he knew he probably looked like an idiot thanks to the wide, dopey grin on his face, but he couldn't really care. "Hi." Green eyes sparkled back, and George was suddenly glad these moments only ever happened in the space between worlds where he could fully appreciate the sight. This was a color for him and only him. No one else would ever get to experience seeing it.
"Hi," Dream replied, cheeks pulling up in a smile and blossoming red under a smattering of freckles George had had memorized since before he could remember.
But just as the worlds around them changed from cycle to cycle, so too did Dream, and George was determined to learn each and every new feature before they were hidden away again. Dream knew his part of their dance well, and just sat quietly as George traced over his features with his eyes and the most delicate touch imaginable. George knew most of the changes by now — a crooked nose from a failed minecart stunt with Sapnap, a knick in his eyebrow from an arrow Tommy shot that sailed a little too far off the mark, a chipped tooth from tripping over his own feet while chasing Techno during one of their little games — but every now and then there was something new like there was this time. It was small, almost hidden by the little field of facial hair, and anyone but George would have missed it. But he didn't, and instead gently stroked over it in curiosity. "You have a scar on your chin."
"I do."
"It's new."
"It's from the Dragon," Dream explained easily. "I went to the End with Phil to get him a new set of wings. It was the first time Ranboo showed up."
"Really?" George furrowed his brow, trying to remember that. "But that was three resets ago."
Dream blinked, shock written across his features. "It… was. Has it really been that long?" George nodded, not that either of them truly needed the confirmation. Dream's memory of the souls and their stories was as impeccable as George's memory of Dream. Dream reached up and cupped George's cheek in his hand. "Has it really been so long since we last kissed?"
"I don't mind," George sighed, leaning into Dream's touch. It was the truth, wholeheartedly. He didn't mind. Not when it was Dream. He never minded. "Besides, I kiss you plenty, even with the mask."
"Yeah, but I mind," Dream argued. "Because I can't kiss you."
George laughed. "Then kiss me now."
Dream surged forward to do exactly that, hands cupping George's jaw like he was worried it would shatter under his touch and kissing him again and again with a ferocity like he'd die if he ever stopped. "I love you," he gasped in the space between kisses, the words pressed against George's lips like Dream couldn't bear for them to part.
"I love you, too," George panted, head spinning and eyes glossy. Dream pressed forward again and George was helpless to do anything but kiss him back for all that he was worth. And to George, that was everything.
But there was an itch in the back of his mind, a longing in his heart that he couldn't ignore. One that couldn't be sated in this place, alone with Dream, no matter how badly he wanted to stay. He knew Dream had felt it, too, it had been building for days between them. George thought that it was probably what prompted Dream to ask his silly question in the first place. So, he wound his fingers into Dream's hair, and pulled away from their kiss, chuckling softly when Dream chased his lips. "It's time for us to go, isn't it?"
"I don't want to," Dream said immediately, eyes wide and begging as they darted back and forth across George's face.
George laughed again, love and joy and affection squeezed into every sound. "Yes you do," he teased. "Of course you do. You want to see them all again. You want to hear their stories. You love them."
"I love you," Dream argued.
"And I you," George agreed. He pressed a kiss to Dream's mouth, and smiled when Dream didn't chase after him. Dream never needed to chase him. "Which is why I can't keep you away from them. I would never keep you from something that brings you that much joy. Even I'm not that selfish."
Dream hummed and pulled George's hand down so he could press a kiss to the palm. "And what of the joy you bring me? Would you keep me from that?"
"You'll always have me," George vowed easily. He said it like it was an inherent truth of the universe because it was. No matter what happened, whatever world they created and found themselves in, Dream would always have George at his side, no more than an arm's reach away. "I'll follow you anywhere, Dream."
Green eyes sparkled, and a besotted smile was pressed into George's palm in a movement they both knew as well as their next breath. Dream got to his feet and turned to George, offering him both hands to pull him up, too. "Then follow me again, my love."
And George looked up at him, his porcelain smile back in place, and he felt his heart soar. He put his hands in Dream's.
"Always."