Archive of Our Own

Things are good.

Life is good, better than it was months ago. George knows this, feels it in the late night conversations with Dream, in the success of his business, how the hollow hole in his life is suddenly filled once more and he no longer has to spend his time in a quiet apartment too lonely for his own good.

And Dream is always there, like a burning light. Sometimes George wishes he could burn himself on his light, let his skin tan and blister and bubble until he was reduced to a char. Dream always brought such strong emotions wherever he went, emotions George wasn’t familiar with, ones he would carefully try to explore with each dawning day. He doesn’t know what it is just yet, but he hopes he can find out.

A part of him wants to repay Dream for the happiness he has dragged into his life. Something to lift the shadows from beneath his eyes and brighten that smile just a little more. Ever since that drunken explosion a few weeks ago, Dream had actually taken his advice and gone to see someone, insistent that it was useless but doing it ‘only for you, George’. Whether it was helping or not George couldn’t be entirely sure, but Dream no longer clung to his phone with an air of anxiety, and his body seemed more relaxed, no longer ready to spring into action if the situation were to call for it.

George wants to do something for him.

The idea comes on a late night. George is in bed, phone on speaker beside him. Dream is on the other end, the quiet sound of his typing filling the air. The two were working in silence, comforted by the simple acknowledgement of their company through the device. He’s typing up an email when Dream makes a quiet noise, and his gaze drops to his phone, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Lovejoy is coming into town.” Dream hums, a hint of excitement in his voice. George recognized the band, had obviously heard their songs before, had picked up their music through Dream alone.

“That’s cool. You gonna go see them?” George asks, turning back to his email. Dream makes a little noise.

“Eh. Maybe. If I can get tickets for it. They’ll probably sell out quickly, it looks like a small venue.”

George pauses, and a lightbulb brightens somewhere in his mind.

“Alright then.” He says, quickly switching tabs and setting this plan into motion.

It’s a week later when he traipses into Dream’s office, an air of excitement following behind him. Dream lifts his head from his computer, blinking from behind round glasses George had gotten after he’d seen him squinting one too many times. “You look happy.” Dream smiles, leaning back in his chair as George comes to stand before him. George nods, trying to resist the urge to rock back and forth on his heels like a child. The grin on his face is almost too much, and now Dream looks happily suspicious, one brow raised. “Alright, something’s up. What is it?”

“You get next Thursday off.” George begins, and Dream starts to look genuinely confused, head tipping curiously. George reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a thin strip of paper, holding it out. Dream takes it with a curious look, inspecting it for a moment before his eyes widen, and he jerks his head up to look at him.

“You got me Lovejoy tickets?” Dreams' voice is a soft shock, blinking at him with round eyes. George nods quickly, his stomach in a flurry as Dream suddenly smiles at him. “And you’re coming with me?” Another nod. Dream’s smile widens. “Aw, man.”

“Don’t make it sappy.” George mumbles, feeling a heat rise to his cheeks. His smile can’t be wiped away, not even as his heart flutters in his chest at the way Dream stares at him. Dream gives a laugh, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright.” Dream hands the ticket back to him with a hum. “I’ll let you hold onto it. I’d otherwise lose it.” George snorts, and gives a nod.

“I’ll keep them safe.”

_____________________

George has fucked up.

How did he manage this? He’d done everything right, been so damn careful. This was the one thing he could do, the one thing that had brought such a bright smile to Dream’s lips, a shine to his eyes that wasn’t there often enough. George had promised , man. He promised! And now he’s fucked it up.

They’re in line, just about to enter the venue, and his coat pockets are empty. Dream’s smile is gone, a look of concern taking over his face as George frantically searches his pockets then, finally, gives up and looks to the other.

“I lost the tickets.”

Dream blinks, and the bouncer before them sighs. George just stares at Dream, waiting for him to get mad, or be disappointed, or upset, or something other than the smile that comes back to his lips.

“That’s fine.” Dream turns to the bouncer then. “Can we step aside for a second?” The bouncer looks at him with a raised brow, but eventually nods. Dream takes George by the elbow lightly and nudges him out of the line, so others can use their tickets to get inside.

“Dream, I’m sorry, I swear I thought I had them.” And he’s remembering switching coats last minute, hating the scratchy texture the other had, being so damn picky about what he wore. But Dream shakes his head, pulling his phone out with a hum.

“Don’t worry about it. Give me a minute.” And he’s typing away, George watching but not able to see his screen. He’s curious, and confused, but he doesn’t say anything as Dream focuses intently on whoever he’s messaging. Whatever it is it makes him smile again, and he looks at the bouncer. In almost a second, the bouncer is picking a phone up and answering a call, and a moment later glances at George and Dream. They say something, then hang the phone up, nodding to Dream.

“He said you can go in.” Dream grins, and grabs George by his hand and looks back at him with such excitement it makes George feel nauseous.

“Wait, who-”

“Follow me.” Dream interrupts him, and pulls him forward. George allows Dream to pull him through the mingling crowd, past the line, into the smoky venue. And he’s pulled through a back door, down a dimly lit hallway, and to a door labeled ‘Private’. Dream lets his hand go then, and George barely registers the knock as he aches to take his hand once more.

George barely registers when the door opens to a tall man, dressed in a comfy sweater and sporting round glasses, fluffy brown hair, and a bright smile.

“Dream!” Wilbur cheers, and immediately pulls Dream into a hug. Dream laughs, wrapping strong arms around the singer. “You idiot, you should’ve told me you wanted to come. You didn’t need to buy tickets.”

“I wasn’t the one who bought them.” Dream laughs, untangling himself from the other to step back, and nod towards George; who’s been staring in utter shock. “This is my friend, George.” Wilbur turns to George and smiles, holding his hand out.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Wilbur, but I’m sure you already know that.” He gives a friendly smile, and George stares for a moment longer before shaking himself from his stupor and managing a nervous smile, taking his hand and shaking it.

“Dream, why didn’t you tell me you knew the singer of Lovejoy?” George asks, looking at the other. Dream shrugs some, and gives a nervous smile.

“Well.. you were so excited about it. I didn’t want to ruin it for you.” There’s a pang in George’s chest then, a familiar one he always got whenever Dream gave him a secret smile, or spoke in that soft tone he would use for him, and him only. It was starting to become a familiar ache, breaking through the fog in his mind.

“Aww.” Wilbur interrupts the moment, grinning at the two. George clears his throat as he feels a heat on his cheeks, and a shy glance at Dream shows the other glancing away as red tints his ears crimson.

“Where are the others?” Dream asks instead, peering into the small room.

“They’re warming their instruments up, in another room. I wanted to take a moment to be alone. You can see them later if you’d like.” Dream gives a nod, smiling.

“Yeah, we should try and go for drinks later. You staying in town long?” Wilbur shakes his head, sighing.

“No, but this little tour is almost over. Then I’ll make sure to come back and see you before I go back home.” Dream nods with a smile, and takes a step back. His shoulder brushes George’s, and it’s all he can do not to shudder in front of Wilbur.

He’s just cold. That’s it.

“We’ll get together soon, promise. We’ll see you up on the stage.” Dream smiles and Wilbur gives a nod, then looks back at George.

“It was nice meeting you George! Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.” George smiles, and nods quickly.

“Same here, Wilbur. See ya.” He gives a little wave as Wilbur retreats back into the private room, and the two turn to head back out onto the floor, where it seems the opening singer had already begun performing.

“I can’t believe you know Wilbur Soot.” George says, looking at Dream. Dream smiles, chuckling some.

“Yeah, I’ve known him for years, before he made Lovejoy. I only go to his shows if I can buy tickets though, so I can support him.” Dream glances at George then, giving a shy laugh. “I can pay you back for the lost tickets, if you’d like. Since I could’ve gotten us in for free, technically.” George scoffs some, and nudges Dream playfully.

“Hell no! It’s fine, man. Don’t worry about it. As long as we’re here.” Dream relaxes some, George unaware of whatever had been causing the tension to be there in the first place, and his smile softens into a fondness so gentle, it makes him feel lightheaded.

“Hell yeah.”

_______________

The night was going so well.

George hadn’t been to a concert in years, so he’d forgotten how loud they could be, how the stereo could make your ribs tremble and your lungs gasp for breath. Bodies pressed against his, nudging him every so often against the warmth Dream radiated as music thrummed throughout the venue, but he didn’t care. Because it was fun, because he was here watching a band he liked, and because Dream hadn’t stopped grinning for hours.

A dryness in his throat eggs George to the bar, and he taps Dream’s shoulder, and nods his head towards the bar at the edge of the crowd. Dream gives a nod, and raises one finger to show he wants something too. George smiles and nods, and then he’s carefully slipping his way through the crowd, dodging bodies until he’s pulled himself from the intense heat, and can finally draw in a breath.

He orders two beers, waits for them while leaning on the counter and watching the show. His eyes scan the crowd, and he can just barely recognize shaggy blond hair, tanned arms raised in the air as his energy made it all the way to George. And he can’t help smiling, because this is what life was supposed to be. George realises how empty his last relationship had been, how lonely his nights had grown to be, and he realizes very suddenly that Dream is the best thing to happen to him, in a long time.

And there it is, that funny feeling, tickling the bottom of his ribs and making his stomach do twists. He can’t focus on it, not just yet, but it clouds his brain as he grabs the beers, and blindly heads back into the crowd.

Or, he tries to. Instead, he smacks right into someone's chest, and jerks back with a startled yelp as his fingers slip, and one of the beers goes dropping to the floor and shatters.

Bitter wetness splashes his jeans and he winces as some drips into his shoe, but he doesn’t have much time to lament his wet sock as there’s a loud ‘fuck’ and he’s suddenly aware of the angry drunk he’s just dropped his beer on.

“Oh, shit man. I’m sorry.” He can’t make out features in the dim light, but blazing eyes glare at him from a man just a few inches shorter than him. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Fuck you!” Strong hands push at his chest and send George stumbling back a few startled steps, gasping. “You did that on purpose, you bastard.” George blinks, raising his hands placatingly.

“Woah, woah! I didn’t. It was an accident, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Here, I’ll go-” And he’s going to go get some paper towels from behind the bar, but there’s hands curling into the front of his shirt and jerking him forward so quickly he nearly knocks heads with the guy.

“You know how much these shoes cost?” The hiss of his breath is foul, and George grimaces, pushing on the others chest to get him off. It works, if only to make the other let his shirt go, and take a drunken stumble back and glare at him.

“Let it go, dude.” George warns, but he doesn’t feel up to fighting, not at a place like this, not when everything was going so well, when he was so damn happy.

“Is there a problem?”

A rumbling voice rises over the thundering music, and there’s a hand on his back, sliding around his waist and pulling him into a warm side.

George can’t breathe, can’t understand the blistering heat surrounding him as he looks up at his knight in shining armor, and suddenly something locks into place. It’s like the last piece of a puzzle is slid snugly into its spot, like a kink in a rope straightened and stretched taut. His chest explodes with a flourish of emotions so strong George feels like he’s going to tip over as thoughts of Dream, Dream, Dream fill his mind like a broken mantra. And Dream is beautiful, with shaggy blonde hair just barely too long, a dark verdant gaze trained on the man that dares threaten George. Sweat glistens on his brow, somehow looks like dew on a summer morning in the flashing lights of the concert, face twisted into something protective, possessive , and George finally understands the twist of his viscera, the flutter of his heart and the fog in his mind.

He’s in love.

“Yeah, there’s a fucking problem. My shoes are wet.” The man, so unaware of the situation, sneers. Dream stiffens at George’s side, jaw tensing.

“You don’t want a problem with me, bud. Beat it.” He jerks his head up some, teeth just barely shown in a snarl. The drunk looks ready to challenge him, but something changes at the last second and he huffs, shoulders hunching as he turns away and shamefully disappears into the crowd.

George’s entire body is buzzing as Dream shifts beside him, his arm still clasped around his waist, hand hanging limply across a bony hip. Dream settles down some, turns to George with a concerned look on his face. “Are you alright?”

No . No, George is not alright, because Dream is suddenly so beautiful, is suddenly all his mind can think of, the only thing his vision can focus on. But he has to answer, swallow past the dry lump in his throat.

“I.” George clears the itch in his throat. “I need to go outside.” The room is too hot, too stuffy, too loud and too much. The floor pitches beneath him like a boat caught in a storm, and dammit he’s no sailor. One wrong move and he’s afraid of plunging into freezing harbor waters that would drag him to a watery grave. Dream looks worried and nods quickly, and he withdraws his arm some to lay his hand along the small of his back, and help lead George out.

They make it out onto quiet city streets, and George sucks in a cold breath as the doors shut behind them and lock them firmly out. His head spins, and the only reason he hasn’t collapsed is the gentle pressure on his back.

“You okay?” Dream asks after a few precarious moments pass. George finally gathers the courage to meet his gaze again, and he finds an ocean of concern in the hazy streetlight. The sudden silence makes him realize just how much his head is pounding from the music, the nausea of the experience and his realization not helping.

“..Yeah. I think I need to go home.” George whispers. Dream hums softly, nodding. “You can stay-”

“No, no. I’ll drive you home. I’ll see Wilbur again, don’t worry.” Dream answers immediately, gently rubbing at one shoulder. The touch is meant to be comforting, but it feels like fire prickling against his skin. “Do you want me to stay over?” George shakes his head numbly, and it only adds to Dreams' concern. George musters up a smile, straightening some.

“I’ll be alright, Dream. Thanks for that.” He lifts a hand, gently patting Dream's shoulder and feeling relieved as he watches the tension ease from Dream’s face as he smiles back, in such a fond way it makes him dizzy.

“Anything for you, George.”