Archive of Our Own

. one .

it’s a bad idea.  what, with his already fucked sleep schedule, george knows it’s a bad idea to go an entire night without any rest, especially on the night before his plane ticket to dream’s house.

his ceiling stares back at him, as it has been for the past hour.  the paint chipping at the corner has been the only source of entertainment.  if you can call it that.  it’s chipped paint, gogy, are you okay.

george runs two hands over his face, high on adrenaline with no want to close his eyes for more than a blinking moment.  he’s just thinking about seeing dream.  seeing his dream.  the one he’s spoken to daily for years, the one he’s fallen asleep with on call more times than he can count, the one he’s adjusted his fucked sleep schedule for.  he’s going to be seeing that floridian motherfucker.  he only really knows what dream looks like from pieces of snapchat, from scratchy facetimes, from blurry pictures.  he’s never seen dream’s face in proper lighting, proper focus, proper quality.  he hasn’t seen justice given to (allegedly) green eyes.

george really wants to see dream.  really badly.

he picks up his phone, which reads a mocking 4:38 AM.

he sighs, letting guilt fester in his belly when he unlocks it and goes straight to discord.

> i cant wait to see you

4:38 am

its a little clingy, maybe, even for george.  but he’s feeling clingy.  he absolutely cannot wait to see dream.  he cannot wait and yet he can’t manage to sleep the time away either, so he’s forced to wait.

thankfully, dream doesn’t make him wait for a reply.

>> me neither

>> I can’t believe you’ll be in florida tomorrow

4:38 am

george smiles at the blue light of his phone.

> it’ll be later today for me

4:39 am

>> george!! I just realized it’s like almost five am there!!!

4:39 am

> i can’t sleep, too excitef

> excited*

4:39 am

>> dude it’s gonna be hell for you if you don’t get to sleep soon

>> I’m so pumped to see you too gogy but if you don’t get to sleep soon you’ll want to sleep the whole time you’re here

>> not that I’m opposed to cuddling 👀

4:40 am

george hides pink behind his hand, not that dream can see him blushing.

> you’re so annoying

4:40 am

>> whatever

>> you’re the one coming to florida to see me

4:40 am

> sapnap will be there too you know

4:40 am

>> then why aren’t you texting sapnap right now?

4:40 am

george’s fingers get stuck on his keyboard, nothing coming to mind as an excuse.  he stays like that, blushing rose hues as his fingers stammer over his screen.

>> got nothing to say, hm gogy?

4:41 am

george did, in fact, have nothing to say.

> god you’re so annoying

> and cocky

4:41 am

>> but I’m right aren’t I?

4:41 am

george blushes.

> no

4:42 am

>> aw its okay george

>> I know it’s hard to come to terms with the truth

4:42 am

> you’re so annoying

> i’m gonna leave you on read

4:42 am

>> heart been broke so many times 💔

4:42 am

george smiles at the screen.

> so what’re ypu up to

> you*

4:43 am

>> texting some loser on discord ugh

4:43 am

> sounds like a really sexy guy

> you’re probably lucky to get to talk to him

4:43 am

>> he doesn’t even have as many subscribers as me

4:43 am

george rolls his eyes, ignoring the mirth that swims in his heart.  then he sees a new message.

>> but he does have pretty privilege

>> and he’s not going to bed despite having to wake up WAY TOO EARLY tomorrow morning

4:44 am

george hides again behind his palm, the concern that dream has for him making him weak.

> i already told you, i’m having trouble sleeping

4:44 am

there’s a soft rustle that picks up his attention, but he realizes soon that it’s just the trees dancing together in the dead of night.

>> do you want me to keep you company?

4:44 am

george’s eyes go a little wide; his belly flutters with sparklers.  what is dream on about?

> keep me company?

4:45 am

>> do u want me to call u

4:45 am

george swallows.

> yeah

4:45 am

dream’s contact lights up his phone screen, and he quickly accepts the call.

he takes a bated breath.

“hey,” he tries.

“hey,” dream’s voice comes through a grating speaker. “can’t sleep, huh?” his voice is lower, definitely, probably from the time of night in florida.

“i don’t know what’s wrong, usually i get to sleep fine around now.” george sighs to himself, covering his eyes with an arm.

“that’s okay, it’s normal to be nervous.  you’re probably just... hopped up on adrenaline.” george lets dream’s voice filter through the speaker like audible comfort.  a pillow for his ears, and a blanket for his perturbed heart. “you nervous to see me, george?”

george huffs out a scoff. “i feel like i have a right to be nervous.  we’ve been friends for years, dream.  aren’t you even just, a little scared?”

“no.” the answer comes so easily, so instantly, george’s eyes go wide. “the only fear i have is about you getting pissed about how shit sap is at doing dishes.”

george laughs at that, they share a small moment of ease.

“aren’t you just as bad?”

“god, no,” he sounds offended, and george grins. “if i don’t do them, they’ll just stack up.  but, in return, sapnap does the laundry, so i can’t really complain.”

“does he wash your sheets for you because you piss the bed?” george teases.  dream wheezes, a loud, unabashed sound of comfort.

“you’re such an idiot!” he says.  the call goes quiet after their easy giggles stop, but there’s something weighted in the air.

“but i’m not scared at all,” dream says. “we’ve been friends for years, george.  i don’t think i could be afraid of you if i tried.”

“it might be different in person,” george mutters, feeling small.  his ceiling is still the same beige color.

“maybe a little,” dream hums. “but probably not as different as you think.  i mean, it’s not like you’re a stranger.  we’ll just have to get used to being in person.”

“are you different in person?”

“not really.  i’m a bit... affectionate—or, touchy i guess—from what i’ve been told.”

george imagines that for a moment.  he imagines dream hugging him whenever his side is empty, scooting closer on a couch, maybe draping an arm over george’s shoulders.  some of that might be too wishful of thinking.  george doesn’t care.  he lets himself wish.

“are you?”

“i... i’m not very touchy,” george admits. “but i’m not against it.  i like hugging my friends and stuff, that stuff is normal.  i’m cool with that.”

“would you let me hug you?”

“you’re my friend, aren’t you?” the word sits like ash on his tongue, a cigarette butt burning through his spit.

“yeah,” dream responds, and it drops george’s stomach into a relieving disappointment. “i just... don’t wanna make you… uncomfortable.”

“a hug wouldn’t make me uncomfortable, especially from you,” george hums, hardly thinking. “i feel like that’d be normal for us.”

“i guess,” dream replies. “would you let me hold your hand?” now the weight of the conversation is gone.  it’s just light teasing, george thinks.

and yet the words weigh so heavy in the call.

“oh, you’d love that,” he rolls his eyes through a smile, deciding to entertain dream. “maybe i would.”

“that’s surprising,” dream chuckles. “would you let me cuddle with you?”

“i thought that was already on the table.” george bites his lip, gnawing through the skin until it stings.

“just checking,” comes another hum, another half-hearted taunt. “would you—”

“how many things did you want to do with me?” his words don’t even register in his own head, not realizing how easily it could be spun on himself.

“whatever you want me to, georgie.”

the nickname falls like liquid heat from his phone; it’s not anything crazy, but it’s a nickname, and it’s got george’s gears all working on overdrive.  raging steam fills his brain.

“dream,” he says, almost a plea, though he’s not sure for what.

“is there something you want me to do to you, george?” his name buzzes like alcohol, sizzles down his gut, stirs something unholy and untamed in his belly. “something not-so-friendly?

the words blare flashing red, new territory and old boundaries discarded into flames.  it’s more than what they’ve said in the past, because dream’s voice rings out a little too genuine for george’s comfort.

“dream, i- please,” he whimpers, something sour but addictive bubbling in his tone. “stop it.”

“why?” dream’s voice drops, and george nearly melts. “it sounds like you like it.”

“and what if i do?” george tests the waters—lets it scorch and numb his skin until he’s drowning in ice and lava.

“then why do you want me to stop?”

“maybe because i know they’re empty promises,” george gnaws on his cheek, until he tastes iron and the thick of red. “because i know you’re full of shit.”

“you think i’m not good on my word?” dream asks, and he sounds challenging.  there’s a bite to his voice, softened by a lavender tint.  it’s positively destroying george.

“maybe.” george is dancing on forbidden land, eating foods meant for gods, biting off enough to choke on.

“do you want me to be good on my word?”

george stutters on his next breath.  dream’s voice came so much softer, a hidden plea, a cloaked confession.  george’s glutton falls somewhere permissible—maybe the food isn’t as high and mighty as he thought.

“i... i do,” he whispers, heavy words locked with weighted secrets. “i want you to.”

“are you sure?”

“i want you, dream,” he breaks. “i want you to be good on your word—on those words.  when you said you wanted to hug me, to hold my hand, and- and- whatever else.  i want you to be good on your word, because i... i want you.  as more than a friend, i want you.”

his breath comes to him like heavy rain.  on skin torn raw from magma and embers, the drops sizzle into smoke, and george nearly suffocates on it all.  the air in his lungs cools after the volcanic heat, hardening his organs to stone.  the trees outside his window have stopped moving altogether, looking back at him like a photo—like he’s sitting in a moment frozen in time.

“you- you want me?” finally comes an answer.  george swallows salt and burnt rubber.

“more than you know,” he confesses to his phone, hugging his knees to his chest and barely letting words fall past his tired lips.

“george, baby—” dream speaks, voice warm, so warm— “god, i—fuck.  i don’t know how to say this.” george clings.  he stopped functioning after he heard the name ‘baby’ grace his ears.

“george, i want you, too,” he talks in caramel tongue—hot, thick, and overwhelmingly sweet. “you have no idea—” he laughs dryly, almost a scoff— “no idea, how much i’ve had to hold back.  how much i’ve just wanted to... to tell you.  to tell you how much i- i need you.”

“you need me?” george bites down on his knuckle, eyes blown wide, something candied breaking open his soft heart.

“i need you, baby.” and george keens.  he loses his breath, practically squeals to himself, like a teenager with a helpless little crush.

“and you’re not just fucking with me?” his comforter burns in an iron grip, digging calluses into fragile palms. “this isn’t some twisted joke to you?”

“god, no—george, i wouldn’t take it this fucking far just to mess with you,” dream assures him. “i couldn’t do that to you.” george bites his tongue to conceal a whine, for it’s much too late for him to be anywhere near coherent enough to take this news.  especially, especially, when he’s so high on his own adrenaline—adrenaline to meet the man he’s confessing his feelings to.

“well, fuck,” george breathes out, chortling. “now my plane ride is gonna drag on for way too fucking long.  i’m even more impatient to see you.”

“oh, shit— george!” dream scolds, and george nearly flinches. “it’s almost 5:30 there!”

george checks on his phone and—yup, dream was right.  he’s sitting cozy at 5:26 AM.

“well, that’s not my fault!”

“george!  this is, by definition, your fault!  you were supposed to be asleep hours ago!” although his tone is louder than necessary (the trademark dream yell), he’s not nearly as angry as he lets on—probably frustrated, mostly worried for george’s sake—but dream isn’t angry.

“i called you to help me sleep!” george retaliates, grinning like an idiot despite the argument. “all you helped with was getting my… my heart rate higher.”

“oh, is someone’s heart racing?  do i give you butterflies, georgie?” dream purposely lowers his voice, dipping to vicious volumes.  with a shallow swallow, george realizes dream is past his frustration.

“you’re so annoying,” george rolls his eyes, but there’s no bite.  dream chuckles, slow and sonorous, and george’s smile fades with reddening cheeks.

“just from my voice?” he’s playing with fire again, but george is fully fueled now, by dream himself. “does my voice give you butterflies, baby?”

and george’s self-control is out the window with that pet name again.  he whimpers into a hand, shamefully aware of how audible he’s being, how helpless he is to stop himself. “yeah.”

“georgie,” dream muses.  george’s knees tremble. “do you like it when i call you ‘baby’?”

george tries not to split his lip in two.

“yes,” he mutters, voice high with desperation.

“you’re so cute,” dream giggles.

“oh my god, shut up.” george runs a hand down his face, though he knows it’s a fruitless attempt to prevent red from flooding his face.

“no,” is the smug reply, but george can’t even find it in himself to be mad.

he lays back in his bed, falling onto his pillow with a small ‘pomf’.  the air in his flat doesn’t hurt like it did earlier, when his heart was lying open and vulnerable on his sleeve.  he takes several deep breaths to let his pulse fall into a steadier rhythm, until he can only hear it if he really focuses on it.

“dream,” he murmurs, eyes closing. “what does this mean for us?  what are we?”

“whatever you want us to be, george.  i’ll be whatever you want me to be for you.  i’ve waited for years just to—to tell you how i feel.  we can take this as slow as you want.”

the cautious care encasing dream’s words means everything to george, a stark comfort to the lifeless cold of his dark bedroom.  he lies, staring at his ceiling, talking to a boy some 4000 miles across an ocean, confessing sickly sweet feelings among hushed nothings as he tries to fall asleep.

“thank you, dream.” he turns on his side, facing where his phone rests by him, and wishing it was dream instead. “i think i- i want to...” he cuts himself off with a yawn, realizing the late hour is probably getting to him.

“tired, baby?”

that name is straight up dangerous coming from dream’s mouth.  george tries and fails to get himself used to it.  dream, his dream, is calling him baby after telling george he needs him.  the pet name courses through his bloodstream like ecstasy, intoxicates him until he’s desperate to hear it again.  he needs to hear it again.

“i want to be your boyfriend,” george fesses, the words coming out his mouth in one breath. “i want... you to call me your boyfriend.”

“you’re sure?”

george chews through his lip.

“yeah.”

a soft sigh falls through the speaker, growing into a giddy giggle.  the sound is hypnotic, mesmerizing.  it catches on george; it grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him until he’s laughing with dream.

“what, dream?”

“nothing!” but george doesn’t believe him for a second. “you’re just usually so shy about this stuff!  now you’re telling me you want me to call you my boyfriend and baby, and you jus—i’m honestly just happy, george.”

and george’s heart is gone.  it’s flown to heaven and back, even stopped to say hi to the moon.  butterflies and fireworks and a million meteor showers are alive in his lungs, in his chest.  he lets himself bask in the feeling for a bit, lets himself enjoy the fireworks, lets himself hold a butterfly.  he lets himself be happy until his eyes are closing on their own and dream’s giggles float happily into his ears.

“thank you for calling me tonight,” george hums, sleep edging his voice.

“anytime, baby,” dream mumbles, sounding near as sleepy. “just making sure you get to sleep so we can hang more tomorrow.”

“can’t wait to see you.”

“mm, only... oh, fuck, george, you have like an hour and twenty minutes until you have to wake up for your flight.”

“that’s fine,” george murmurs into his pillow. “‘s like a nap.”

a gentle wheeze breaks a smile on his face.

“it’s not ‘nap time’, it’s time for you to get some solid sleep.”

“whatever,” george rolls his eyes, looking much too fondly at his phone. “close enough.”

“you’re such an idiot.”

george is smiling, like an idiot.  he supposes he can’t fight too hard on this one.

“good night, baby,” and george is on another high of serotonin.

“good night, dreamie.” it sort of slips for george, just like how dream called him ‘georgie’, except that he’s aware the moment it comes out.

“see you tomorrow.” george lulls into a quiet daze where dream’s voice is the ocean upon which he floats.  it calms him, sobers him, while at the same time, gives him that perfect drug.  and george is out.

or, george is out until that precious hour passes, and then his alarm clock is going off.

his eyes drag open; the limited sleep he got gives him close to no relief.  the blaring digits by his bed read a mocking 7:00 AM, and george sighs.  maybe he should’ve tried a little harder to sleep.

but then george is remembering last night.  the conversation, those confessions, dream talking to him until his breathing slowed with his pulse.  and george prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that he didn’t just imagine it all.

he turns to his side, sees his phone, and his heart stops three separate times.

the screen reveals an ongoing phone call.  george hangs up.

phone call ended [dream]

2:14:58

. two .

airports always prove a bother to george.  he always has to wake up much earlier than he appreciates, he always gets confused where to go, usually losing his sense of direction (not that he has much), and the prices are generally absurd.

all that being said, george is jittery with a buzz of unearned energy, minding the unnaturally cold air of the airport, even despite getting barely an hour of sleep.  he pulls his suitcase behind him with a fervor he can’t place.

there’s a small coffee shop next to some other odd breakfast places he’s never heard of, plus a mcdonald’s.  george figures a coffee can’t hurt, especially since he wants to keep this drive so as to not miss his flight by accident.

the line doesn’t stretch too long, and george checks his phone.  he’s got a solid hour and a half until he’s due to his flight.  more than enough time for coffee.  so, george takes fast paces up to the line, and waits patiently as it steadily dies down until he’s standing at the register.

“just a macchiato,” he tells the barista, fishing for his wallet. “caramel, please.”

“what size?”

oh, shit, what sizes do they have?

george glances up to their menu, and says the first word he reads. “tall.”

“of course, that’ll be right up.  can i get a name?”

“george,” and it’s then that george reads that he ordered their largest size.  he figures it’s probably fine.  he’ll just drink the coffee, and take whatever he doesn’t finish on the flight.

so, when the barista is done making his coffee, he takes it with a smile, and rushes off with his suitcase trailing behind him.  he stress-drinks a good amount of the coffee, surprising himself just a bit.  it tastes really good, so he takes another sip.  he needs the energy—taking a short nap and calling it ‘sleep’ might not have been the best move on his part.

plus, he’s pretty nervous to see his boyfriend (boyfriend!) in person, so some coffee can’t hurt to get some food in his stomach.  george even got a morning text from the man in question (although it must’ve been when dream was just dozing off).

>> have a safe fligjt baby

>> o miss u alresdy

6:23 am

george flushes an untamed pink whenever he thinks about those messages.

he decided against sending a message in reply, considering he woke up at what would be 2 am for dream, and he wants to make sure at least dream gets some rest to prepare for george arriving.  but now, george is staring at the messages and getting antsy.  his fingers twitch over the keys, eventually electing to put his phone away, and just take another generous sip of coffee to fixate on some sort of stimulant.  his nerves feel a little fried, and he’s absentmindedly taking little sips of his coffee until it weighs almost nothing.

and then he’s finished his coffee.  it makes a loud slurping noise when he tries to get the last few drops, and so he stops trying so as to spare those surrounding him from that obnoxious sound.  it’s much too early to be pissing everyone in the airport off.

george is still way too early to his flight, so after a moment’s deliberation, he concludes another snack won’t hurt.

he ends up buying another coffee and a muffin.

he finishes both not five minutes after he’s found his gate.

his left thigh serves as a little tapping surface for his fingers, and his right bounces by its own volition.  the weight of his phone itches like sand in his pocket, so he takes it out and opens discord.

> about to board my flight

> airplane mode after 9:30 :(

> see you in a few :]

8:58 am

he shoves his phone back away because he knows dream is asleep—it’s practically four in the morning for him.  and then george pulls his phone out again to scroll through twitter until his flight is boarding.

after boarding the plane, and getting comfortable in his seat, george concludes that he can makeup on lost sleep with the plane ride.

or that’s what he’s been telling himself up until he boards it.

and then he realizes he’s in deep, deep shit.

there’s a mother holding her baby in the seat to his right, and a young toddler behind him.  he’s got a window seat, thank god, but that means he can’t easily get out to the aisle to go to the bathroom.  which might be a problem considering he downed two large coffees in record time.

he goes to turn his phone to airplane mode when he sees a notification.

>> havr good flight <3

9:26 am

palm trees and rose bushes bloom in his chest.  dream is so obviously half conscious, just texting something out with his eyes dropping shut.  george wishes he could be with dream, listening to him mumble sleepy nothings and watch him drift off.  he really just wants to see his boyfriend.

ten hours.  a quick, ten hour flight where he can nap most of the way.  that’s easy.

the baby on his right hasn’t made much noise, past a little sleepy blubber or blowing a spit bubble.  he figures it can’t get too bad.  and the kid behind him is playing on an ipad, too distracted to do much harm.

george slips in some earbuds and enables airplane mode, heading to his most recent playlist.

what failed to get george’s attention earlier is the now-crying baby two seats in front of him.

george swallows on hard tar, and turns his music up two notches.  he can handle one crying baby—he’ll just call it white noise.

but then the plane is thousands of feet up, and the change in altitude is too much for the baby on his right.  it starts crying, and maybe if it wasn’t right next to his ear, he could handle it.

george blinks twice, fights the sweeping urge to throw the baby out the window, and sighs quietly.  the mom is clearly in a panic, and he immediately feels guilty for the murderous impulse he had moments prior.  she’s bouncing her baby so much he’s nervous for the baby’s brain.

he blasts his music until he’s sure the baby can hear it.

after a few minutes have passed, some guy probably around the mother’s age comes up the aisle, cooing the baby and helping her calm it down.  he hopes that’s her spouse or something.

the old man in the aisle seat is dead asleep and george doesn’t complain either.

it takes a while for BOTH babies to calm down, the chorus of screams enough for several moms to recommend help and soothe both the crying babies and the frantic mothers.  and even by then, george can tell he’s not going to rest easy.  he should not have had two coffees.  his brain is buzzing full speed despite running on an hour or so of sleep.

he turns his phone on and off several times before shutting it off and pulling out his laptop instead.

luckily, he downloaded a couple movies on his laptop so he doesn’t need internet.

he gets about fifteen minutes in when he realizes the mom next to him is watching as well, cradling her baby to her chest as she does.  in an attempt to break tension, he turns his screen a little more towards her, making it easier to share.

she blushes a little and shies away like she’s been caught.

“oh, thank you, you don’t have to do that,” she stammers, smiling at him.  he shakes his head.

“i really don’t mind, plus it’s kind of nice to have someone to watch a movie with,” he assures her.

“thanks again, kill bill is like one of my favorites.”

“right?” george reaches for the earbud from his left ear, and hands it to her. “here, if you want the sound with it.”

“oh, thank you,” she flusters up again, and he smiles. “i’ve been so worried about this guy that i didn’t think to bring anything.”

“of course,” he says. “it must get exhausting.”

“oh, you have no idea,” she sighs. “i’ve been losing so much sleep over this guy.  i love him to death though.” george looks over to the sleeping baby (thank god).

“he is so adorable.”

“thank you... ah, forgive me, i forgot to ask your name?”

“george, and you?”

“joan,” she smiles. “what’re you going to florida for?”

george’s face burns. “i’m meeting my boyfriend and his roommate in person, for the first time.  we’ve been friends for around five years now, so we were really just finding a perfect time to meet.”

“aw!” her face softens into a look of absolute joy, and he finds his heart beating a little symphony of relief. “my husband and i are flying back to our girlfriend in the states!  we were visiting family, since i’m from london and he’s from brighton, and she was too busy to come with, so we’re trying to surprise her by coming home early.” something in george’s chest (it feels like ice) just melts into a puddle.  from the love that shines like glitter behind her smile and her eyes, george finds the most sobering warmth flow from her.

“that’s so sweet,” he comments. “i’ll bet she misses you guys.”

“she’s really upset she couldn’t come,” joan nods. “she’s been so happy about the baby, saying bye to him for two weeks was hell for her.  she had a really big project come up recently, and she’s been working her ass off trying to calm the place down.”

“oh, that’s terrible,” he frowns, having to physically restrain himself from saying ‘not poggers’. “and it’s so daunting to be across an entire ocean too, what with time zones and all.  i literally had to sync up my sleep schedule with my boyfriend so we could hang out more.  it was worth it and i don’t regret a second of it, but i didn’t sleep two hours last night.” she gapes at that, and then points to her baby.

“same!” she whisper-yells, clearly excited to relate to someone in such a capacity. “and oh, my god, syncing up sleep schedules?  that had to have been difficult!”

“i’ve been going to sleep at 5 am and waking up at one for the past few years.” george deadpans.  she barks out a laugh, and then immediately slaps a hand over her mouth, making george laugh with her.

“oh, uh, how long have you and your boyfriend been together?” she asks, and george rubs at his neck.

“not even a day,” he chuckled nervously. “i finally got the courage to tell him when i was sleep deprived and high on my own adrenaline.  that was last night, but i mean, i’d been crushing on him for a couple years.”

“are you nervous to see him in person for the first time?”

“oh, god, you have no idea,” george laughs. “we’ve never done this sort of thing.  what with being on two separate continents, we make do with facetiming, texting, playing video games together, but physically seeing him?  and like... being able to touch him?  that’s totally new.  it’s not like we aren’t close—i mean we do everything together.  we practically live together already.  sometimes we stay on call for like ten hours at a time, and we’ve fallen asleep on call more times than i can remember.  but... seeing him?  i don’t know, i just get all- all jittery.”

“i can imagine,” joan agrees, switching the way she’s holding her baby. “it’s a new boundary to establish and to like... mess around with.  to see how comfortable you guys are with each other, and how much is too much.  it’s totally normal.”

“he told me he was affectionate,” george remembers. “and, well, i don’t think i’m unaffectionate.  i don’t hate affection, but i’ve never been told i’m a- a touchy person, y’know?”

“my girlfriend is like that—she’s doesn’t initiate a lot of affection, but she’s told us she loves when we do.  it’s just a little difference in comfort, but it works as long as you guys communicate.”

“that part i’m actually, a little bit excited about.  i, uh- like i said, my friends wouldn’t call me touchy, but i’ve never really hated physical touch?  especially with someone like him, because i mean, even over the phone he’s a bit clingy sometimes, i kind of just... expected it.  it’s very in character for him to be touchy.”

“very simp behavior of him?” she grins.

“VERY simp behavior,” he giggles. “yeah, it’s just, like who he is.  even over call he loves just hanging out without doing anything.  sometimes we’ll be on call for hours without saying a word.  he just wants me there.”

“okay, honestly?  that’s some of the cutest shit i’ve heard in a while.” she starts cooing her baby when they stir a little.  it calms them down quick. “i think that’s the best part of finding out you love each other?  like the comfort of knowing you don’t have to do anything when you’re with them, but just knowing it’s them you want to be doing nothing with.  that feeling is everything.”

“god, it absolutely is,” george sighs, turning to the screen they’ve been ignoring. “oh, shit i forgot about the movie.  did you wanna go back a bit?”

“yeah, i sorta stopped paying attention,” joan giggles, and george snickers and agrees.

they watch the movie together, with quiet banter shared and little comments that add a nice layer of repose to it.  the plane’s turbulence hums in the background, providing some sort of white noise.  george notices that joan doesn’t comment on the movie as often towards the end, or her responses are one worded.

soon enough, it finishes, and george feels the extent of the coffee he drained earlier.  his bladder is positively full, and he adjusts his legs uncomfortably.

“hey, i think i need to use the bathroom,” he tells joan, who had begun dozing off.  she makes a noise of understanding, and moves her legs up for him.  with a quiet thank you, he lets her go back to getting some rest.

awkwardly, he moves across the seats, apologizing several times over the old man on the aisle seat, and finally stumbling out.

after a short trip to the bathroom, george returns, and scoots back into his seat with a bit of more awkward shuffling.

he pulls his laptop back up, glancing over to joan to see if she’s up for a movie.  she isn’t, but she’s sitting in an odd position, and george knows it won’t be friendly on her neck.  with a gentle nudge to her shoulder, she stirs blearily.

“what’s up?” she whispers, voice scratched.

“sorry, you didn’t look comfortable,” he adjusts, putting the arm rest away. “i was gonna say you could rest your head on my shoulder.  it might be better than before.” she smiles sleepily, and thanks him as she leans her head over to his shoulder.

he starts up another movie, glancing fondly over to the sleeping mom and child.  at some point when joan was leaning over to george, the earbud came out of her ear, so george had taken it.

inglourious basterds starts playing, and george gets comfortable.

a rackety cart rolls down the aisle, with a honey-voiced flight attendant asking passengers what snacks they want.

she arrives at george’s aisle, glancing over a sleeping baby, a sleeping mother, and a probably sleeping old guy.  george pulls his earbuds out and asks for a sandwich and a ginger ale.  he slips his earbuds back in, but he’s focusing on something else.

his thoughts zone out, buzzing on the idea of dream finally holding him in his arms after years, years, years of teasing him with pictures and snippets of what he looks like.  he knows, though.  that’s the thing, is he knows what dream looks like, or at least he has some pretty clear idea.  he has a cut jawline; wavy (and usually unkempt) hair; piercing eyes that go soft when he laughs; a slightly crooked nose because he broke it when he was young and never got it set; and skin kissed by the sun.  dream is so, so unimaginably pretty.  every speculation george had about him was put to shame when they facetimed one fateful night.

they had been talking for hours, about everything and nothing and all in between.  there were careful steps taken over unspoken boundaries, tossing regard to the flames with hands joined.  it was a night not so unlike the night prior to today, in which george finally confessed.

when george first saw dream, through a poorly lit, shoddily connected phone screen at an hour that george wants to keep a secret, he was struck speechless.

dream wasn’t done justice.  george knows that much even without seeing him in the flesh.

dream was fuzzy around the edges, moving in choppy fragments with laughter cutting out by auditory issues.  nonetheless, george had let out an audible gasp when he saw dream.

if pretty privilege were to be personified, george would bet his entire career that dream is what you would see.

george’s mouth rambled on with stammered compliments about his face, with just how pretty dream was.  he was pushing bounds, and he knew, but he couldn’t stop.  god himself was facetiming him, and george would drop to his knees for him at the drop of a hat.  he tried and tried and tried to reel himself back, to reign himself in, but the efforts were futile.  george was blushing up something fierce, what with the hefty pounding of a storm in his chest hitting full force.  he knew how he felt about dream; he had walked into his love for the guy with a smile on his face, but seeing him on such a heavy-hearted night with a timid grin and expectant, anxious eyes staring through a camera—

it left george breathless.

and the flight attendant returns, handing george a sandwich.  it smells alright, not too terrible, but george isn’t sure how much he’ll enjoy it.  he takes a bite, decides he’s pleasantly surprised with the taste, and finishes it off while he continues inglourious basterds (which is already halfway done by now).

joan is still sleeping on his shoulder, so he opts to eat his sandwich with his left hand only, not wishing to disrupt her rest (considering how much she told him she got last night).

but george still isn’t tired.  he’s not even close, if he’s being completely honest.  he’s aware of everything going on around him, totally alert and energized.  it’s pissing him off.  he wants to be well-rested by the time he meets dream.  now, he’s near four hours in to a ten hour flight.  he’s not anywhere closer to sleeping.

inglourious basterds is still playing, but george pulls his phone out anyways.  he scrolls through his home screen, then goes into his messages.

his texts with dream are open still.

he looks over the texts and smiles softly to himself.

he can breathe, so he does.

anxiety consumes him like he’s nothing, like everything he’s done has built up to a monumental moment and he’s just waiting to fuck it all up.

but that’s not it.

george pauses the movie.

he reads over the last text he got from dream this morning.

‘havr good flight <3’

his eyes linger on the little heart for so long—probably longer than acceptable—and he takes a breath.

dream is a source of comfort, of something so achingly homey.  his voice sounds like the waves of the shore captured in a sea shell; it lends george’s ear fresh mattress sheets.  it’s something so soft, so warm, george lets the frigid fear of physical touch thaw into nothing but a little candle of pure harmless thrill.

he resumes the movie.

at some point or another after he finishes inglourious basterds and starts v for vendetta, joan stirs on his shoulder.  she blinks slowly, cradling her baby to her chest, and sits up.

“how long was i out?” her voice is raw with sleep, quiet too.

“probably two and a half hours.”

“oh, shit— shoot, sorry,” she shakes her head. “i didn’t like... hurt your shoulder at all?” george chuckled softly.

“no, no, my shoulder is fine,” his eyes crinkle with his grin. “did you sleep alright?”

“yeah, thank you, by the way,” she says. “i feel better definitely.  did you sleep at all?”

george shakes his head with a shrug. “i think i’m too excited to sleep.  plus i had quite a bit of coffee before i got on the plane.”

“oh, that... kinda sucks.” she glances to his laptop. “whatcha watching?”

“v for vendetta.” he hands over an earbud.

“i’ve never seen this one,” she comments quietly. “is it good?”

“so good,” he tells her. “also, you were asleep when they went around asking for orders, but, i brought snacks in case you wanted any.  do you like peanuts?  or raisins?”

“god, thank you, you’re a saint,” she praises him. “peanuts sound great right now.”

“of course.” he hands over a small baggy he brought, since he’s sitting comfy on a full stomach. “we’re already like... five hours in by the way.  halfway there!”

“let’s go!” she whisper-cheers, and he laughs.  they fall into easy conversation and light banter as the movie continues.

and then joan’s baby is getting restless, squirming around until joan figures he’s probably just hungry.  she pulls out a bottle—which quickly eases his whining—and george is holding the peanuts for her since her hands are full of baby.

but then something terrible happens.  something george had been so lucky to not have happen to him for five hours.

he feels a kick to his seat.

it’s not hard, not at all, but it pricks at george’s patience.

and it happens again.  a swift hit to the back of his chair.

he blows out a breath and opts to ignore it.  it’s ignorable—bearable for now.

even as the movie reaches half an hour in, george still receives a kick to his chair every few seconds.  his patience is laser thin; every kick hitting like needles to his palm.  he clenches his hand into a fist and shifts uncomfortably.

“are you okay?” joan mutters, just over the volume of the movie.  george grimaces.

“the kid behind me has been kicking my seat for like half an hour.” he drops his voice so neither the kid nor his parents can hear him.

though he supposes it isn’t something much to worry about when joan nods, turns around in her seat, and looks dead at the kid.

george realizes the kid’s parents are asleep.

“hey, buddy,” joan calls, just a bit quiet so the parents don’t stir. “maybe don’t kick the seat.  thanks, man.”

the kid looks at joan with unreadable child eyes, and goes back to hyper focusing on his ipad.  his legs don’t rush up to beat up on george’s chair.

joan falls back into her seat, smiling at george as she grabs a peanut from his bag. “easy money.”

“oh, my god, thank you.” george lets the movie play, sighing in relief. “i was about to combust on the spot.”

“not a problem, man,” she says. “if he does it again, just tell me.”

george glances fondly over to her for a moment, pleasantly surprised with how cool his airplane buddy is.  he was really expecting someone rude or even just not talkative.

the movie plays on without a hitch.  they’re about seven hours in to the flight, and george feels a dull ache where he’s been sitting for those past hours.  he adjusts his settled position, but it does little.  he turns to joan who seems unbothered.

“hey, i think i’m gonna get up to stretch a bit.” he stands to his feet, and joan moves her legs up. “thank you.”

“i’m gonna finish the peanuts,” joan tells him as he shuffles to the aisle.

he snorts a little, and tells her there are more snacks in his bag if she’s really hungry.  she’s digging into his bag as he walks down to the bathroom.

once he’s shut the door, he bends backward to alleviate the tension in his back.  it cracks—loudly—and he returns to his full height.  after a couple small, in-place stretches, george relieves himself, and washes up.

he falls back into the commercial cushion of his window seat, where joan is chowing down on another bag of peanuts that she found.

“george, do you think you could hold this little man so i can get up?  i have to change his diaper, but i can’t really get out while i’m holding him.” she pats her baby twice on the back for emphasis, and george nods without reluctance.

“of course, you go on,” he assures, extending his arms out for her to hand over the baby.  she thanks him with a grateful smile, reaching back over the still-sleeping grandpa once she’s safely out in the aisle.

he pulls his laptop out again, starts up the office, and lets it run.

when joan gets back some ten or fifteen minutes later, she’s looking tired but calmed, and george tells her she can rest again if she wants.

she does, falling asleep on his shoulder after a couple episodes in, and so george stays still to not disrupt her.

the rest of the plane ride kinda flies by for george, with his mind drifting to dream every so often and shivers worry at his skin.  it’s been so long, and he’s so so close.

after several more episodes of the office, george finally feels it.  the weight lidding his eyes.  the yawns that come in frequent accounts.  the slowing of his breath, and with that, his pulse.

he’s tired.  after some nine or so hours on a stupid plane, george is tired.  he feels it, the brunt of it.  it softens at his eyes, lets them droop.  there’s something warm and euphoric about it.  so nice, so cradling.

another episode in and george’s eyes drop shut entirely, with cotton and honey coating his lungs until everything is heavy and george knows he’s going to get some rest just before seeing his dream—

“ladies and gentlemen, we will be descending soon, please fasten your seatbelts,” the captain’s voice comes through the overhead.  george’s eyes blink wide.  silt scratches his veins until he’s sure his blood is long gone.  the little blinking ‘no smoking’ sign is the final nail in the coffin for george.  he stayed awake through the entire flight.  the whole fucking flight.  ten long hours down the drain.

only now, the exhaustion prickles at his pale skin, and he wants to close his eyes and drift.

“good afternoon, it’s now 14:37, we are landing in orlando, florida, and the weather is a warm 27°C or 82°F.  hope you all brought sunglasses!  we’ll be landing in a quick fifteen minutes, be sure to keep those seatbelts fastened.  thank you for flying with delta airlines.”

george scowls to himself.  he’s going to be exhausted his first time meeting dream.

“hey, we’re landing soon,” george rustles joan gently. “fifteen more minutes.”

she blinks sleep from her eyes, lends him a quiet thank you, and sits up.

“george, did you ever get any sleep?” she’s soft spoken, like she was earlier after her first nap.  he swallows dust.

“no, but it’s fine, i’ll just... rest up for the day.  it’ll be fine.”

sympathy shows clear in her tired eyes, and she gives him an assuring squeeze on the forearm. “i hope meeting your boyfriend goes well, i’m sorry you didn’t end up sleeping.”

“thank you, and have fun seeing your girlfriend.” george offers a genuine smile, which only widens after she returns it.

“it was nice meeting you, man,” she sticks a hand out to shake. “i’m glad i got stuck with you and not some creep.” he laughs a little at that, and the air lightens to something george can handle.

“same here,” he grins. “although, the old dude is still asleep.  do you know if he’s just sleeping?” he makes a quick glance to the grandpa for emphasis, and joan does the same.  she giggles quietly, but shrugs with a nervous look on her face.  they share a quick fit of giggles before joan makes the executive decision that they will simply wait for the flight attendant to do something.

the old guy was just sleeping, they find out.  he gets up, gets his stuff, and leaves after the plane lands, as if he had planned out his sleep before he got on the flight.  george feels a quiet nip of envy at the thought.

he finally gets off the plane, gets his luggage with joan, says a goodbye to joan after exchanging numbers, and pulls his phone out.  he turns off airplane mode.

he goes into discord.

> flight landed :] i’m by baggage claim

3:02 pm

there’s a bench open for george, so he takes a seat, and lets exhaustion and mush burn in his joints.  he gets a message.

>> heading over!

>> I’m weasing white shirt and jeans

>> green jacket

3:03 pm

> are u close?

3:03 pm

>> maybe

>> sapnap is in red hoodie baggy jeans

3:03 pm

george glances up, looks around a bit, decides he doesn’t see anyone that looks like his friends, but then feels out of place just sitting around.

> i don’t know where to go

> should i just wait here?

> you take forever 🙄

3:04 pm

>> hurry ng

>> gimme minure

3:04 pm

> what are you doing?

3:04 pm

>> jus stay

3:04 pm

george is about to text something about how dream can’t spell anymore when he hears it.

“george!” comes an all, all, all-too-familiar voice.  dozens of streams, hundreds of chases, countless nights flood his senses, overwhelm him so quickly that he doesn’t register he’s moved.  helium and bubbles bloom in his heart, unbroken iridescent joy.

“gogy!” and george is smiling.  he’s smiling so wide, the corners of his lips touch his ears, and he’s on his feet in an instant.

and then he sees them.

he sees two fully grown men rushing towards him, and he nearly cries.  he huffs out a quick squealish laugh before he waves his arms like mad, running to meet them in the middle.

the collision is hard, comforted only by thin cloth and big arms, but then george is in the tightest, warmest, homeliest embrace he’s felt in years.  there’s mutual laughs and fond sniffles exchanged, until george finally pulls out of the hug, with a smile he doesn’t think can die on his face.

“i can’t believe i’m with you guys!” he cries, putting a hand on his forehead and running it back through his hair. “this is insane!”

“welcome to florida, gogy!” sapnap cheers, clapping the brit on the back to send him stumbling forward.  he laughs, warm and full and relieved.

his eyes reach up to gauge their faces in the blaring airport lights, in harsh glow.

golden (green?) eyes and a sun kissed tan gleam with unadulterated glee; thin, slightly dry lips part to reveal pearly whites.  a spatter of freckles decorates his skin, complimented by hazel-honey locks of tousled hair.  he’s all warm colors and aureate glory, even in grating lights that give george a headache after too long.

sapnap is donning a baseball cap, so george takes in the patchy facial hair he’s got, the soft chisel of his narrow jaw.  he’s leaner than george remembers him from video calls, scrawnier than he thought.  but he’s so sapnap and george can’t help a little tuft of elated laughter that spills from him.

they’re both so uniquely and perfectly home, they’re comfort george knows from talking with them through the days even from 4000 miles away.

but it’s not 4000 miles anymore.  he’s holding them, hugging them, touching them.  they’re real.  they’re home.

. three .

.part one.

“c’mon!  there’s no way you’re not hungry,” dream (dream!) says, grabbing him by the arm with a hyper grip and pulling him along. “we’re going to mcdonald’s!”

“dream- dream, wait—” george tries through little laughs. “my stuff!  i need my suitcase!” at that, dream releases his arm, flushing slightly, and agreeing to head over.

george grabs his bag, letting it roll behind him, clicking over the tiles.  it’s heavier than he remembers it being, a strenuous task that has george huffing in annoyance.  he yawns between slow blinks.

“how was the flight?” dream asks, practically bouncing next to george. “i mean ten hours?  something had to happen in that time!  did you sleep at all?” george doesn’t fight the smile twitching on his lips at how lively dream is in person.  the interaction feels so foreign and yet, so expected.

“it was alright,” george nods. “the woman next to me was very sweet, we watched a couple movies together.  she had a newborn, though, and he cried at the beginning of the flight.  but it was fine overall.  nothing crazy happened.”

“did you sleep?” dream repeats, leaning his head down just a bit, just so george remembers the height difference of just over half a foot.

george swallows, then shakes his head.

“george!” dream scolds, just too loud for george.  he winces. “you got an hour of sleep last night!  how did you not sleep at all on a ten hour flight?”

“i know!  okay, i got it!” he retaliates. “i had two full sized coffees this morning because i didn’t want to miss my flight.  i just accidentally was too excited.” he adjusts his travel bag on his shoulder, ignoring the ache that digs into his muscle.

“‘accidentally too excited’, what does that even mean—“

“how are you still functioning?” sapnap asks, and george rolls his eyes. “you need eight hours of sleep a night.  did you forget that, gogy?”

“shut up, sapnap,” george shoves him, but his hand is weak and just as exhausted as the rest of him, so it does little damage. “it’s not like i meant to get super nervous and stay up.”

“whatever, now you just have to sleep on the ride home.”

the phrasing makes george perk up.  calling their place ‘home’ sells it for him.  after all, george will be moving permanently to florida soon.  it’s just weird to think about for him.

the little moment of brief welcome leaves when an unforgiving burn in his arm swallows whatever tender touch melted him seconds prior.  he makes a sound of irritation.

“george would probably want to sleep on the ride home anyways, ten hours on a plane— george, are you okay?” dream interrupts himself once he notices george shuffling his arm under the bag.

“i’m fine, it’s just my dumb travel bag,” george complains.  he yawns, frowning after a new onslaught of fatigue works into his body.

“oh,” dream hums, looking a little antsy, and george decides to take full advantage of the simp wrapped around his finger.

george sighs a little more dramatic than he should. “it’s just so heavy, you know?  and i’m so tired.”

“…george,” dream deadpans.  george can feel his stare through the word.

“if only i had some big strong man to get it for me, sigh,” george bemoans, fighting down a smile and failing .

“did you just say ‘sigh’—”

“you’re such an idiot,” dream scoffs, and george laughs when he sees surrender in dream’s eyes. “give me your dumb bag.”

“are you sure?” george asks, already shifting the bag off his shoulder. “you don’t mind?”

“you little… fucker, oh my god,” dream’s nostrils flare. “it’s not even heavy, princess.”

george breath catches in his throat, and his eyes dart to dream’s face.  dream is waiting for it though, with an adorable grin that reads with vicious taunting.

“don’t call me princess, dumbass.” george rams his side enough to throw him a little off balance.

“why not?” dream laughs.

“i’m not a princess!—”

“you’re a little damsel in distress, and you need me to carry your bags—”

“fine!  give me my bag back then.”

“no,” dream wheezes. “no, george- get—” he interrupts himself with that stupid, adorable wheeze— “get off me, you little gremlin.”

“oh, i thought i was a princess.”

“you’re a gremlin princess—”

“a gremlin princess?”

and dream is wheezing again, joined by george’s sleep-deprived giggles.  they’re both idiots, sapnap’s surely thinking, bickering like teens over carrying bags.

george basks in his boyfriend’s laugh, that dumb, stupid, adorable, beautiful noise that he knows from phone calls, from video challenges, from terrible jokes, and from exhausted late nights.  he basks in finally seeing it; finally matching a face to the sound of it.  there’s something so… so perfect about the crinkles around his eyes, the faded bags under his sockets, the scruff of unshaved hair on his jaw, the easy elation shining off his teeth.  it’s so sobering—so grounding—to finally see the laugh he’s entertained and learned and loved for years.  it’s so refreshing, so… there’s probably another word george could use but he’s very tired.  his brain is mush.  the only thing running around in there is his pretty boyfriend laughing his ass off.

“aw, you guys are so cute,” sapnap gushes, and then his face drops, unamused. “it’s gross.”

george flips him off internally, which turns out to be him just sticking his tongue out.  sapnap returns it with a kissy face, and dream wheezes.

“you’re so dumb,” he laughs. “you guys are like children.”

“shut up, i am literally older than you,” george chides. “pissbaby.”

“george!” dream wheezes, eyes squinting through hilarity.

“george, you may be the oldest, but you’re also the shortest,” sapnap smirks, all smug and annoying.  george rolls his eyes.

“by like a centimeter!  that’s not even—”

“‘by a centimeter!  i’m george and i’m still the shortest.’” sapnap does an awful english impression, but george opts to ignore him while dream cackles, yes, cackles.

“alright, i’m heading back to london,” he sighs, turning around.

dream takes his hand, pulling him back forward. “oh, come on, now.” he chides despite himself. “sapnap, lay off.”

“he’s a grown man!  he can handle himself!” sap argues.

“george is a baby,” dream smiles. “right, george?” and george bites down on his lip, severely considering how he would take the consequences of a double homicide.  but then his tongue slips.

“i’m your baby?” he mumbles, like an afterthought.  he thinks it’s a result of the big, callused hand that holds his, and the brainrot that comes with it.

“oh my g—please, get a room,” sapnap groans. “finally!  mcdonald’s!  eating time!”

george looks up, and sees the familiar colors of mcdonald’s (though they look a bit different for him).  he’s about to say something about what he’ll order when dream squeezes his hand again.

he glances up.

dream is just as pink (if not, even more so) as him, with a small smile playing on his face.  dream leans down.

his lips ghost right by george’s ear, and george thinks that if melting were an option, he’d be a puddle.  an involuntary shiver runs up his spine and back down again as summery breath kisses his lobe.

“you’re my baby,” he whispers, not near loud enough for anyone but him to hear.  george visibly shudders, clings to dream’s hand tight as he fights down a whine.  his knees tremble—and he knows he can’t blame it on fatigue.  it’s so surreal, so overwhelmingly real.  he almost can’t keep up with it.

“alright, lovebirds, what did you guys want?” sap calls to them as they make their way to the front of the line.  george tells the cashier his order, and then dream follows.

it takes a few minutes, but they seat themselves, with fresh food (as fresh as mcdonald’s can be) in front of them.  the smell is familiar and new, thick with grease and so, so appetizing to a growling stomach.  he opens the container with his food and almost begins drooling.

george feels like a man starved, but he knows his hunger runs deeper with it dulled by his fatigue.  he takes a bite and decides it’s the best food he’s had in years, and then realizes that maybe he didn’t eat enough on the plane.

his burger is gone in mere minutes, and his fries are reduced to crumbs of salt and little scraps.

merciless, syrupy mist fogs heavy in his mind, dripping to his eyelids and dragging, dragging, dragging.  even with the awkward cold of the seat that touches his skin every so often, his sleep pushes straight through the discomfort.

dream is a little over halfway done with his burger, and sapnap is faring about the same.  george figures he’s in the clear for a moment and rests his head in his hands.  it’s not an ideal pillow, but it’s what he’s got.

cotton balls and static hum into white noise, a constant sound of his subconscious.  his sentience slips into a fading dark of muddled thoughts and muted sounds.

he hears a soft voice call to him through the silk webs that cloud his senses.  it calls to him like water, not harsh, but enough to judder a webbing.  it ebbs gentle, hitting his skin like rain, a sprinkle, until it becomes a distinct sound.

“george?” it calls, and george stirs up back in the airport, surrounded by too much bustle and commotion.

but then george remembers the voice as dream’s, who is sitting just to his left with their thighs touching.  he’s got a hand on george’s arm, feathering—careful.  he removes it once george has stirred, almost as if george leaves splinters like jagged wood.

“hey, uh, we were gonna go ahead and leave now, that way you could nap in the car and back home,” dream tells him in a voice that rings comfort. “you ready to go?” george yawns, quiet.

“right now?” his tongue is steeped in sleep, and his eyes blink with bleary regard.

“yeah,” dream winces, knowing george just wants to rest. “once we get to the car you can sleep, i promise.”

george takes a few seconds to gather up some energy, to no such avail.  instead, he takes hold of dream’s bicep (which is much firmer than he previously thought), and cuddles it close to his chest, leaning all his weight on dream.  dream’s shoulder proves a nice pillow for his heavy head, and so he falls into the shut eye paradise of sleep again.

“george,” dream pleads, moving an arm around george’s shoulders. “just a really quick walk, then you can nap.  i swear.” his words are laced with apology, a little promise of comfort sewn in.

george figures he can handle a small walk if it’s for dream.  and better sleep.

he hoists himself up on wobbly legs, joints riddled in tiresome ache, and grabs his rolling suitcase.  he rubs sleep from his eyes, but it achieves little.  the conversations around him all haze into one blob of messy words.

“are we almost there?” george asks, but it’s quiet.  he’s not sure it’s reached their ears.

“george, we- we haven’t moved.” he thinks sapnap says.

“hey, can you get his rolly bag?” comes a tangle of more words.  the handle escapes his grip.  he doesn’t try to stop it.

“yeah, i got it.”

“george?” dream.

“dream,” george mumbles, standing on the cliff that falls into the dark of his subconscious.  a weightless drop into rest. “you should carry me.”

“you want me to?” the words barely work into his ears.

“mm,” george hums, his foot slips on loose pebbles.  the drop is so inviting. “carry me.”

“okay, i’m picking you up now.”

“this is all narration.  get on with it, prince charming.”

“i- what? i- i wanna make sure he knows what’s going on.”

“just pick up the damsel already.”

“whatever.”

the conversation is lost on george’s ears, but then he’s scooped under the arms and knees by toned strength.  a broad chest cradles him close, radiating heat and giving a sturdy pillow for him to curl into.  he loosens into deadweight, finally taking a step off the cliff, and falling into delirious wonder.

george listens to bits and pieces of sentences, but nothing strings into coherency.  it’s all buzzed together like he’s miles away.  and he is.  or he feels it.

the only thing he remembers in a clear memory is the feeling of a firm heat that beckons him to the familiar silence of his mind.

. three .

.part two.

dream notes two things when he scoops george into his arms.

one, george is light.  he might be a little dense for his height, but he’s scrawny.  he’s not much more than just skin and bones, and he hardly weighs enough for dream to be bothered by carrying him.

two, george is cute.

dream never had the honor of seeing the man in person before now, so he’d never been able to take notice in the minor details.  george has few freckles, scattered over his face, but they’re prominent.  they stand out against pale skin.  there’s a bit of scruff that catches in the light, it trails along his chin and up his jaw.  his breath is even as he sleeps, chest moving unnoticeably.

george has long eyelashes and pretty pink lips.  his lashes flutter just a smidge while he sleeps, twitching unconsciously.  his lips part so he can breathe, silent almost.  george’s pretty brown hair sits nicely on his head, with a couple stray strands falling against his forehead.  he looks so, so pretty in dream’s arms, totally knocked out by his own exhaustion.

dream smiles to himself as george mumbles something in his sleep.

“i can’t believe i have to get both of gogy’s bags because you’re too much of a simp.” sap grumbles.

“shh, you’ll wake him up,” dream scolds.

“oh, poor george.  we all know how much he needs his beauty sleep.” sapnap rolls his eyes, trudging onwards.

“c’mon man, he’s tired,” dream says.

“you’re lucky i am so ripped that carrying these dumb bags doesn’t even bother me.”

“at least you don’t have to carry george,” dream chides. “he’s not as light as he looks.  he’s like, surprisingly dense.”

“whatever,” sap dismisses. “you like carrying him, admit it.”

“what?  i do not!”

“you so do, simp.”

“i don’t mind carrying him, there’s a difference.”

“walking on a thin line there, dream,” sap sighs, like it can’t be helped how smitten dream is. “it’s fine.  but riddle me this.”

he looks at dream like he can read right through him, and for a moment, dream feels caught red-handed without even knowing what he’s done.

“you started regularly hitting the gym the day after we booked george’s flight.” sap is donning the most self-smug smirk dream has seen, besides when sap wins a petty argument.

dream thinks he knows where this is going.

he gulps.

“i was going to the gym before that, too, moron,” dream insists. “that literally means nothing, you were even going with—”

“i didn’t say that, dreamie,” sapnap sings. “i said you started going regularly .  i know you went before we set a flight, but we would go, maybe, once a week.  you started hitting the gym like five times a week—and the first week you did it, you only took off that saturday!”

dream’s heart kicks up to his throat.  he bites on his tongue. “what’s the riddle.”

“hm?”

“you said ‘riddle me this’,” dream swallows again. “what’s the riddle.”

“i guess there isn’t one,” sapnap hums, sounding so, so irritatingly amused.  dream wants to slap the tone from his voice. “i just thought it was funny.”

“hilarious,” dream deadpans.

“and i hope you really worked on some upper body in those gym sessions.”

“i did- ah, why?” dream corrects himself, much too late to actually save the slip and late enough to earn yet another cheeky grin from the brunette to his right.

“because do you remember where we parked, simp charming?”

dream groans.

. four .

“sapnap, play good music challenge,” george prods.  he’s getting increasingly more annoyed with sapnap only playing pitbull for the past fifteen minutes.  it was funny the first two or three times, but george is still bitter from getting woken up in the parking lot so dream didn’t have to carry him in the torrid florida sun.  dream is still sulking about not being able to carry george the entire way, so he hasn’t said shit about the music.  thankfully for george, dream took the backseat with him so he isn’t alone.

even if they aren’t sitting close enough to touch, nor are they even facing each other, george feels a sense of company with him near.

“sapnap, come on man, it’s getting annoying,” dream cringes. “you have good songs on spotify—play them.”

“you guys are losers,” sapnap huffs, tossing his phone back to dream. “don’t play any stupid shit.”

“can’t be worse than your choice in music,” george mumbles into his palm, which he’s opted to use as a cushion for his head.  it works enough.

a second later, the intro of heatwaves begins, and george perks up before rolling his eyes. “good one, dream, you’re so funny.  we’ve got a real comedian here.”

“it’s a good song!” dream chuckles. “i like it!”

“of course you’d like it,” george mocks him, though the words are covered with rose hues.

“oh, come on,” dream glances over at him, mischief in his smile. “you like it too, idiot.”

dream changes the song the next second, an intro george isn’t familiar with ringing through the car instead.

“what song is this?”

dream is about to answer, but sapnap interrupts.

“pork soda.  it’s another glass animals song.”

the beat thumps through the car, soft at first, near unnoticed.  but it grows.

“they have good songs,” dream defends himself. “their albums are really cool.”

“you listen to them a lot?” george is fully turned to dream by the time the question falls from his mouth.  his whole attention on the blond.

dream turns to him, but his eyes fall elsewhere.

“i did for a bit, i still like a lot of their songs.”

“do you wanna tell george why you got into them?  or are you too shy?” sapnap cuts in, and dream flips him off in the rear view mirror.

“oh, there’s a specific reason?” george muses, leaning towards dream.

“you guys suck,” dream shakes his head. “i liked heat waves, so i listened to the rest of their album.” he doesn’t continue, and sapnap soon clowns him for it.

“and?  tell george what you told me.”

dream sighs. “and… it… reminded me… of you.” the words force themselves out eventually—by the shade of red on dream’s face, george is sure it took a lot to muster it out. “b- okay, to be fair, it’s literally the same artist as the song that got ridiculously fucking popular for the fic, so of course it’s gonna kind of remind me of you, that’s- i mean, it’s kind of a given—”

“definitely not a given, but go off—”

“dream, just admit you listened to it because it made you think of your boyfriend.”

“fan behavior.”

“that’s not!— okay, that’s, for one, totally normal to do, and for two—”

“aw, dream, you normally listen to songs to think about me?” george teases, giggling devilishly at the rosy blush it rewards him.  dream turns away, going quiet.  it makes george giggle a bit more before he unbuckles his seatbelt and scoots closer to him.

his boyfriend, however, continues to stay quiet, holding his head in a hand that leans on the window.  george bites his lip to contain a chuckle.

“are you embarrassed?” george prods, leaned close to dream’s ear.

dream turns his head to see the brunette, coming within an inch of his face.  george must’ve leaned closer than he expected.

george’s cheeks bloom into a soft pink, but his little teasing smile remains.

“no, i’m not embarrassed, you nerd,” dream rolls his eyes.

“it sounds like you’re embarrassed.”

“i am not.”

“it’s okay, dream.  i won’t judge you if you are.”

“i am not embarrassed!”

“i believe you, it’s sapnap you have to convince—”

“i’m gonna strangle you, i swear to god—”

“you want to choke me?”

“GEORGE!”

“shut the fuck up, i am DRIVING, you- motherfuckers!  let me focus, jesus!”

“SAPNAP!  we don’t cuss in the fucking car!”

george is busy giggling about the outburst from the driver while dream scolds him for cussing.

“i’m gonna crash the car if you say one more word.”

the bickering continues just a little longer, and then the car calms down again.

george is still sitting right next to dream, who is slightly bigger than he realized.  his legs don’t fit in the compact legroom space the car allows, so he has to spread them a bit, and his right arm stretches over the backs of the car seats.  it nearly touches george’s shoulder.

george is measurably scrawnier than dream, and so he fits like a glove against dream’s side.

that sweet breath of exhaustion sleeps in the low of george’s lungs, but he feels it expand soon.  a warm blanket falls over his consciousness, hugs him into a soft lull.  his eyes are open by a hair’s breadth.

“you can rest your head on me,” dream whispers to him, opening his body a little more to let george lay his tired head down.  george feels the firm of dream’s chest against his hair again, cuddling up close to the warmth.  the arm once lain across the backs of the chairs comes down to hold george close, closer still.

fingers drag down over george’s skin, skimming down his arm to his own hand.  the warm pads of dream’s fingertips tangle and intertwine with his until their hands clasp together.  george slips into subconscious for the better half of five or so minutes, up until the car rolls into an unfamiliar driveway, and sapnap slows to a stop.

“alright, gogy,” sapnap calls as the car’s engine stops rumbling. “welcome to your new home.”

“pog,” george mumbles, in and out of a slumber.  he’d much rather stay coddled up in dream’s hold.

“c’mon, baby, just a quick little tour, and then you can rest for as long as you want,” dream tells him in a hush, only for him to hear.

and if there’s anything to wake him up like dream calling him baby, george would be shocked.

he swallows, but nods, shuffling out of dream’s arms.

. five .

“alright, so you’ll be crashing with me for the time being, until we get your bed all up and ready,” dream tells george with clasped hands.

dream’s room is unsurprising and yet not all how george thought it would look.  there are few decorations, one being an alec benjamin poster, plus a bookshelf with fan mail and gifts.  his walls are beige, and his bed has gray comforters with a green blanket sitting by the edge.  there’s a setup for dream’s computer on one side of the room, and a closet near his door.  the windows are covered by his blinds, but it doesn’t stop little slivers of sun from lining the interior.

“make yourself at home,” dream says, gesturing to it all.

“this is very you, you know,” george says.

“very me?”

“mhm.”

“i’d hope so,” dream chuckles. “i did decorate it.”

george laughs with him, before shaking his head. “i guess.”

“what- what do you mean, ‘you guess’?”

“i don’t know!  it’s jus- shut up, stop teasing me,” george pouts as dream wheezes.

“i’m not teasing you—”

“you are!—”

“okay, okay, i teased you a little bit, whatever.”

“yes, you did.  apologize.”

“you’re such an idiot.  i’m not gonna apologize.”

“i’ll be mad at you.”

“oh no, i don’t want you to be mad at me!”

george turns around, arms crossed.  it earns a small wheeze from the other.

“george.”

“…”

“george, c’mon.”

“no.”

“george, PLEASE—”

“shut up!  you’re so loud!” george laughs, going to put a hand over dream’s mouth to get him to stop.

dream is able to grab his hands before he can actually manage to put a hand over his mouth, and he holds them in a way that makes it look almost like they’re about to dance.

“let go of me, idiot.”

“n- no.” dream tells him through a laugh.

“let- go—”

“no, we’re- we’re dancing.”

“we’re not dancing!”

“that’s because there’s no music.  we just need music!”

“no, we’re not dancing.”

“c’mon, even a little bit?  you don’t wanna dance with me at all?”

“no, i don’t.” george laughs.  he crosses his arms while dream scurries to grab his phone.

he starts pressing a few buttons on his phone while george stands, waiting for him.

after another moment, music floats through the room.  it’s a gentle guitar melody, but george doesn’t recognize it.

“how about now?” dream asks, a genuine grin donning his face.

“what song is this?” he responds.

“it’s called the saltwater room,” dream tells him, taking another step forward. “you didn’t answer my question.”

i opened  my eyes

last night

and saw you in the lowlight

“do you actually want to dance?” george asks, incredulous and hopeful, despite himself.

“of course i do, georgie,” dream tells him, much too sincere for george to think it’s a taunt still.

walking down by the bay on the shore

staring up at the stars

that aren’t there anymore

“fine,” he says, and takes dream’s hand. “just so you don’t pout after getting rejected again.”

“you’re so considerate,” dream chuckles.

i was feeling the night

grow old

and you were looking so cold

george keeps one hand intertwined with dream’s, letting the other come up to dream’s shoulder.  it rests high, a slight reach for him.  he doesn’t mind.

dream’s hand falls slow down to george’s hip, touching the skin cautiously.  george keeps his eyes trained to dream’s collar, much too nervous to ever meet dream’s eye.

so like an introvert i drew my over-shirt

around my arms

and began to shiver violently before

although he seems to understand george soon after, and ducks his head just by george’s ear, pulling george closer to his chest.

it radiates warmth, all of dream does really, but it’s so clear and- george assumes his blood just runs hot because holy hell, he’s just all warm, warm, warm.

you happened to look and see

the tunnels all around me

running into the dark underground

they sway to the music, which wafts from a tinny phone speaker.

george can feel every movement of dream’s—the gentle caress of his breath; the way his hand grips george’s, so carefully; the touch of dream’s hair against his ear—he’s aware of all of it.  it’s all that’s running through his head. dream, dream, dream.

all the subways around

create a great sound

to my motion fatigue, farewell

“i don’t know if i’ve danced with anyone before,” george whispers, a shy attempt to cool the pooling fire that stirs in his belly.

“don’t be nervous,” dream murmurs, but it’s loud by his ear.  still not louder than his own heart. “we’re only swaying now.”

with your ear

to a seashell

you can hear the waves

“i’m not nervous, idiot,” george argues, but the red he feels in his face argues back.

in underwater caves

as if you actually were

inside the saltwater room

dream pulls back, meeting his timid stare.  it takes george by surprise.  his green eyes must contradict george’s sanguine browns, it’s almost embarrassing how collected dream appears.

he stays there a moment, just looking over george’s face, making him feel so, so vulnerable.

time together isn’t ever quite enough

when you and i are alone

i’ve never felt so at home

“you look a little nervous, george,” dream speaks in hushed tones, secrets only meant for the man in front of him. “are you blushing?”

george swallows.

what will it take to make or break

this hint of love?

only time, only time

“a little, maybe,” george whispers, barely over the song. “i’ve never been alone with you before.”

“but you have, if you think about it.” dream tilts his head, playful mirth in every move.

can you believe that the crew has gone

and they wouldn’t let me

sign on?

“when we would call for hours, staying on for the whole day.  we were alone then.” he elaborates.  he watches george so intently, it makes him want to melt.

“but that’s different,” george argues. “i never saw your face then, and we weren’t… dating.”

all my islands have sunk

in the deep

and i can hardly relax or even oversleep

“sure, that’s true,” dream hums. “but you still had me all to yourself.” the way dream says it makes little skitters of sparklers fizzle around in george’s belly.

“i wasn’t dancing with you then.”

but i feel warm with your hand

in mine

when we walk along the shoreline

dream untangles his fingers from george’s, but only to splay his palm flat against george’s, examining the size difference between their hands.  it’s rather noticeable.

“god, your hands are big.”

i guess we’ll never know

why sparrows

love the snow

dream chuckles. “yours are just small.”

“mine are perfectly average, you’re just a giant.”

“i am not!”

we’ll turn off

all of the lights

and set this ballroom aglow

“you’re a giant and you have giant hands.”

“oh, whatever, you like them.” it kinda just slips, without intent, but george flushes pink still.

“i never said that.”

time together isn’t ever quite enough

when you and i are alone

i’ve never felt so at home

“oh, c’mon,” dream smirks. “it’s okay to admit it, i like your hands too.  even if you have tiny, baby hands.”

“you’re such an idiot.”

what will it take to make or break

this hint of love?

only time, only time

dream’s hand moves slowly, almost achingly, as it trails down george’s wrist, over his forearm, and up to his shoulder.  it doesn’t stay there, however, because it skims carefully just over his collarbone.  the touch reduces george to nothing but an eager mess.

when we’re apart whatever are you

thinking of?

if this is what i call home

why does it feel so alone?

his hand leaves a trail of burnt glory and ash along george’s pale skin, only for george to feel.  dream’s hand travels higher, higher still, up to his neck, and then daring to his jaw.

george’s head is tilted up.

so tell me darling

do you wish we’d fall in love?

all the time, all the time

“is this okay?” the words brush like cotton candy against george’s face, delicate and sweet.

“yes,” george whispers in reply, surprised at how often his eyes flit to dream’s lips.  how nice and soft they look.

time together isn’t ever quite enough

when we’re apart

whatever are you thinking of?

he finds that dream is doing the same thing.  he isn’t upset about it.  maybe surprised, but definitely not upset.

“george,” dream says, and it comes out soft.

what will it take to make or break

this hint of love?

so tell me darling do you wish we’d fall in love?

“can i kiss you?” he finishes.  george’s knees nearly buckle.  he’s only kept up by the hand on his hip, courtesy of dream—the one who’s making his knees weak in the first place.

george’s eyelashes flutter, his body is alive with pure heat.

all the time

oh,

all the time

“please do,” george breathes, no louder than a breeze.

their lips touch slowly, and so, so softly.  dream treats him like porcelain, and george appreciates it.  his hand remains tender on george’s cheek, subtly keeping control and leading the kiss.

dream’s thumb brushes up and over george’s cheek, holding him with such fragile care.  george almost wants to cry.

a new song is playing.  it sounds oddly familiar.

dream presses slightly firmer, tilting george’s face up just a hair’s inch.  it’s such a small movement, such a small action, yet george understands it.

george links his hands behind dream’s neck, pulling him down closer.

their lips slot together at an angle, and george’s jaw goes slack in dream’s hold.  they melt into each other, raw and unfamiliar, but so right.  it feels like forbidden territory, again, especially when dream pulls his hands off george’s face, and they roam over george’s chest instead.

it’s so intimate, so new to george.  he gasps against dream, then shivers.

pineapples are in my head

got nobody ‘cause i’m brain dead

they part for air, breaths intermixing into short puffs of heat, eyes closed.

george dares to open his eyes, and he’s thankful he did because dream looks so pretty after he’s been kissed.  his tan cheeks are flushed red, and his eyelashes flutter every so often.  his lips look just as soft as they felt.

pineapples are in my head

got nobody ‘cause i’m brain dead

dream moves south, kissing the corner of george’s lip, trailing down his jaw, leaving tingles and butterflies on every spot.  his lips brush over george’s neck, down to his pulse, and george feels ivory teeth graze against skin.  he runs desperate hands through blond hair, encouragement.

somewhere in south end when you were fun

you took my hand and you made me run

“dream, what… what song is this?” george mumbles, airy.  he knows the song, he must’ve heard it recently.  but it’s catching off his tongue, he can’t remember.  maybe it’s because something very distracting is going on, but george isn’t one to blame.

“pork soda,” he rumbles, sending goosebumps down george’s spine. “we listened to it in the car.”

up past the prison to the seafront

you climbed the cliff edge and took the plunge

“i guess i didn’t actually listen to it,” george sighs, trying and failing to keep his mind off dream nibbling on his neck.  he’s much more sensitive than he thought.

dream presses a hum into george’s collar, trailing his hands down to the hem of george’s shirt, and then rucking it up just barely to slide his palms over bare skin.

why can’t we laugh now like we did then?

how come i see you and ache instead?

it’s all warm intimacy, so unfamiliar to george’s normal.  it’s the first time he’s actually met dream, let alone kissed, danced with, and gotten a hickey from.

george gasps as dream pulls his skin between sharp ivory, laving a tongue over the sensitive skin that soon flushes bright red.  it feels as though he’s enduring the smart of a sun, but he needs to feel it again, even if it burns him raw.

how come you only look pleased in bed?

let’s climb the cliff edge and jump again

dream’s hands are big, they span across the expanse of george’s unmarked stomach, rubbing slow circles over the flesh.  and george shivers something fierce.  he’s surprisingly sensitive, especially at dream’s mercy.

pineapples are in my head

got nobody ‘cause i’m brain dead

fingertips rush up george’s chest at the same time teeth sink into the junction between his shoulder and his neck.  he sighs brokenly.

“dream, that- feels good,” he murmurs, arching his head to give dream more leverage.

somebody said i’m a fuckin’ slum

don’t know that i belong

he threads his fingers through dream’s soft hair, gentle with his motions, merely brushing through the small mane.

maybe you’re fucking dumb

maybe i’m just a bum

it’s when dream bites down and sucks especially hard when george is caught off guard—it’s then that he gasps louder than he thinks, and it’s then when he stops his hand at the root of dream’s tresses and grabs.

maybe you’re fuckin’ scum

don’t you go psycho chum

he doesn’t mean to, to be fair, it’s dream who surprised him.  but he grabs dream’s hair in a fist and pulls just a bit.  the force takes dream off of george’s neck that he’d been roughing up, and then dream gasps.

george fears he fucked up.

i want you for the world

i want you all the time

dream’s cheeks go red as his eyes blow open, landing on george’s face like he knows something dream doesn’t.

pineapples are in my head

when you were fun

“sorry,” george mutters, small. “i didn’t mean to pull, you just… s—”

“no, don’t… uh, don’t apologize.” dream glances furtively between brown irises, sincere and confused as all hell. “you can do it again.”

got nobody ‘cause i’m braindead

you made me run

george falls silent at that, and then something sickly addictive slithers like acid into his belly.  it runs high into his bloodstream, grabs him by the shoulders and steers him clear of what he’d known before.

pineapples are in my head

to the seafront

“you liked it?” george whispers.  his voice is tainted with hot-wired secrets, like he’s dream’s kryptonite—and he knows it. “dream, do you like when i pull your hair?” he can’t fight the smile that teases his face.

got nobody ‘cause i’m braindead

you took the plunge

dream takes a moment and swallows hard, with eyes that dart nervously over george’s expression.

he nods.

george looks at him with newfound confidence.

5000 footsteps in your wet dress

back to the house with your arms

‘round my neck

he grabs dream by the shirt and yanks.

they fall together again, mouths knocking awkwardly as teeth click against each other.  it’s imperfect, and yet so incredible for that same reason.

we drank pork soda with tangled legs

i won’t forget how you looked at me then

dream’s hands return to george, scoping down past his torso, down further to his hips, then down again past his waist, finally landing around the backs of his thighs.

“jump.” and george isn’t one to disobey.

i know i’m no sweet prince of love

those times that we got drunk

dream is strong.  george can feel it from how dream lifts him without much strain, and—needless to say—george isn’t too mad about it.

maybe jamaican run

maybe some johnny dub

his legs wrap around dream’s torso, hoping he can do his own part in this while dream does most of the heavy lifting.  he’s not complaining.

maybe you still think of us

phone buzz, and still i jump

their noses bump a couple of times; it lets george steal a couple giggles off dream’s divine lips.  he likes kissing dream.  especially considering he hasn’t too much experience with kissing, while dream surely does.

why don’t i say it then?

i want you all the time

he sets george down on the bed, lets them each catch their breath.

the comforter makes a warm welcome, heightened with dream’s earnest embrace that soon follows his landing.  dream looms over him once he’s crawled onto the bedding.

why can’t we laugh now like we did then?

how come i see you and ache instead?

he straddles george with steady muscle, hips hovered over george’s.  he stares down at george like a god, placed on a pedestal george only dreamt of touching.  but that pedestal isn’t far from his reach.  george can feel it.

how come you only look pleased in bed?

lets climb the cliff edge and jump again

george lets his hands touch, and looks up to that god of a man just to check with him.  just to glance up at summer eyes and see the fog of want that mixes in.

“can i touch you?” george whispers. “please?”

pineapples are in my head

got nobody cause i’m braindead

“go on,” dream tells him, and his voice is full of honey and acid.  he takes a sharp inhale when george’s hands roam up his thighs to dream’s waist, locking there and grabbing.

“thank you.” george nearly pants; the air is hot, sticky in his throat.  he gasps on it for oxygen but burns with the need for more, more, more.

pineapples are in my head

got nobody cause i’m braindead

his hands are small over dream’s skin, against his body.  to dream’s own, they pale in comparison.  he can hardly cover a small portion of dream’s thighs, but when dream leans down over him—when he cages george’s body between his big hands—he feels much, much smaller.

pineapples are in my head

got nobody cause i’m braindead

dream’s breath puffs out tight, short and eager.  it fans over george’s lips, warms him past the torridity already sweltering his insides.  he dips down and takes george to paradise again, pushes him through nine circles of hell to the fiery depths of intrigue that he’s sure are indecent enough to land him in the flames themselves.

pineapples are in my head

got nobody cause i’m braindead

dream uses that surprising amount of muscle underneath his loose clothes to flip them—george perched comfy on his lap with dream sitting up against the headboard.

those hands- those stupid hands that george can’t get out of his head hold his waist down onto dream’s, and dream tips his head up until their faces aren’t inches apart.

george swallows down silk and the tips of fire.

he leans closer, slows the kiss down to breathy touches.

dream snakes his hands around to george’s backside and pulls george’s body flush to his.  they move in clumsy motions, all careful and indecisive.  it feels heartfelt and honest to george, everything he wanted and so much more.

they push and fall like the tides, until george draws back, relishing in dream’s keen attempt to keep kissing him.  he smiles something sickly sweet, it makes his heart twist in cinnamon sugar.  he giggles despite himself.

“wow,” george awes, fighting pinks and reds off his face. “someone ought to give you kissing lessons.” then he moves to lay next to the man he just made out with for a solid five minutes.

dream’s mouth falls open in shock—accompanied by a bright blush—before he wheezes unnecessarily loud.  he throws george the rest of the way off his lap in protest.

“you’re such an idiot!” he laughs. “if i need kissing lessons, would you volunteer to teach me?”

george blooms in rose hues.  he grabs a pillow and shoves it in dream’s face, who only laughs louder. “i don’t think it’s worth it, you’re practically hopeless.”

“you’d just have to practice with me a lot,” dream suggests, grabbing the pillow and tossing it away.  george hates how smooth dream is.

“i don’t think so,” george giggles.

“george!”

they burst together into a fit, everything coming easy with the way they interact.

they sit together in a moment of quiet before george yawns.

“did you wanna do anything now?” dream asks him.

“i think i might rest for a while,” george hums. “i’m feeling the brunt of jet lag and i still haven’t slept more than two hours in the last… thirty six.”

“oh, you’re right,” dream blinks. “i’ll let you nap for however long you need.  just text if you need anything.” george isn’t sure why he says that until dream swings his legs over the bed and almost gets to his feet.

“wait, are you leaving?” he asks, and realizes how needy he sounds.

dream lingers by the bed once he’s standing.  he glances over george’s face. “did you not want me to?”

george gulps. “no, you can- you can leave.”

dream doesn’t budge.

“i can stay, if you want?” he offers.  george feels meek.

“you don’t have to, i don’t know… i jus— no, i don’t know.  you can go.”

“george, yes or no,” he crosses his arms. “do you want me to stay?”

“yes,” he stammers on a breath. “but i don’t want you to… like, have to stay with me.”

“i’m gonna stay with you.”

george lets dream crawl back into the bed with him, he lets him get underneath the comforter, lets him scoot closer until their knees knock together under the covers.

he clenches his teeth together trying to mind the nerves that swim in his head.

“thank you,” george whispers, almost like he doesn’t want dream to hear. “for staying.”

dream wraps an arm around george’s shoulders and holds him in an easy embrace.  george’s eyelids flutter.

“all you have to do is ask,” he responds into the fluff of george’s hair before pressing a gentle peck into the crown of his head. “we finally meet in person, i’m not gonna waste a second that i could be spending with you.” their hands find each other again, linking fingers and coaxing george into that hypnotic hum of a snug slumber.

and he sleeps like a baby.