Chapter Text
Tap. Tap. Tap.
There’s a rap and a rattling on George’s window. He is on the edge, on the very verge of falling asleep--but the constant clicking against the glass pulls him out of that headspace and causes him to wake. With a disgruntled, drowsy groan, he sits up in bed, sliding the covers off his body. He scoots over to the side of the mattress and touches his toes to the cool, wood panel floor, slipping his feet into the comfort of soft, warm slippers. With a delicate hand, he quietly shoves dusty maroon curtains to the side of his window before unlocking it and pushing it open.
His eyes meet the moon, first; half of it is shining brightly in the middle of the dark night sky, the outline of its shape just barely visible to George. A pebble lands against the frame of his window and draws his attention to below.
His gaze meets the green, crystal irises of someone he surely knows better than anyone else. George isn’t able to control the smitten smile that forms on his face as a certain blond haired boy waves up at him, cradling half a handful of small stones in his left hand.
“Dream,” George calls out, trying to be loud enough for Dream to hear him but also not loud enough to wake anyone else up. “What are you doing?”
With fond eyes, he watches as Dream crouches down to drop the pebbles on the ground. He motions to George with his hand in a way that makes it look like he’s beckoning him over. Come down, Dream mouths.
George peeks at the clock in his room. It’s two hours past midnight. He sticks his head out the window and mouths back to Dream, ‘ Right now?’
Dream nods vigorously. George stands there for a moment, contemplates, and sighs. He holds up a finger to signify that he would be down soon. Dream’s upturned lips are the last thing he sees before gingerly closing the window with utmost care. And in his blue slippers and silk pyjamas, George tiptoes towards the door.
George makes it to the garden without managing to wake anyone up. He hopes.
Dream isn’t in the same spot where George left him--he’s standing off to the side, back hunched by a bunch of gardenias. Long shadows, imitating his figure, spill over on the garden’s mossy stone path. And when their eyes meet, George’s heart skips a beat.
It’s at this moment, that George is so sure--bathed in moonlight and surrounded by fireflies--that he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as Dream. He’s absolutely ethereal in this setting, an absolute angel, he swears- Dream is wearing pyjamas that were made of satin, a dull emerald colour with vertical stripes running up and down on the fabric. His hair is messy and untidy, fluffed up and spilling down the side of his head in gentle waves.
George wants to capture Dream in this moment and paint it onto a canvas, hang it up in a room in his house and cherish it forever. God, he absolutely would, if he had the ability to.
“Hi,” George says softly, fireflies illuminating their faces as he walks towards Dream. His lover turns to the gardenia bush, picking a flower and holding the stem between two of his fingers, snapping the stem to separate it from the rest of the plant.
Dimples form on the side of Dream’s cheeks as he turns back to face George. “Hey there, pretty boy,” He says with a grin, reaching over to slide the white flower into George’s hair. The brunet blushes at the gesture. “What are you doing out here this late in the night?”
George scoffs, pink dusting his cheeks. “You called me down here, you idiot. What did you need me for?”
Dream puts an arm around George’s shoulder, bringing him along to walk with him. The shorter man stumbles a bit, but Dream holds him upright. “I just… wanted to see you,” His lover says quietly in explanation. Bashfully, he adds, “I missed you.”
George cocks an eyebrow at him. “You missed me? You saw me at dinner earlier,” He says, a hint of amusement in his tone. Dream stops in the middle of the footpath.
"Yeah, at dinner. Barely saw you the entire day at all,” He pouts. “Besides...I can't do this, not in front of everyone else,” He says, rolling his eyes subtely as he takes George’s hand in his, pressing cool lips against the pale knuckles of George’s hand. The way he looks up at his lover, with crinkled eyes and moonlight bouncing off dilated pupils, sends a shiver up George’s spine. It’s such a tender gesture. Roses are blossoming in his chest. He’s struggling to hold a grin back because of how loved, how happy Dream makes him feel that he can feel the muscles in his face start to ache.
The soft beat of his heart resounds so loudly every time it pulses. And when Dream speaks again, it quickens.
George is sure he can hear it. Feel when it contracts and relaxes from the veins in his fingers.
“I missed doing this.” Dream mumbles, Holding you. Touching you, kissing you--”
George laughs as he wraps his arms around Dream and pulls him close in a warm embrace. “After mass in the morning, we have all day to ourselves. You couldn’t wait until then?” His breath hitches when he feels a calloused hand grazes the skin on the back of his neck.
“Nope,” Dream murmurs into George’s hair, a finger gently massaging the brunet’s scalp. “Wanted to tell you that I love you. I got too impatient,” He pauses, closing his eyes and breathing in his lover’s scent, and George smells of sweet honey and rich sandalwood.
“Tell me, then,” George whispers, gently pulling away from Dream and reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. Dream stares into his eyes with want and longing, and presses their foreheads together, his eyelids fluttering shut before the words leave his mouth.
“I love you.”
His voice is so soft, so quiet, that George isn’t sure if it could even be considered a whisper. And the flowers in his heart are flourishing when he realises that no one else can hear them; no one watching from afar or even standing remotely close to the two of them would be able to hear what Dream said besides George. A profession of love uttered only loud enough for George to hear. This moment is theirs, and theirs alone.
You belong to me, and I belong to you. “I love you, too,” George says, his voice just as faint. “You are my one and only, Dream.”
The words slip out of his mouth like soft drops of water falling from grey clouds in the middle of a gentle rainstorm. And if he was less tired and more awake, he'd be wincing at how incredibly sappy he sounds right now, but right now? He's too deep in his affections to care.
They move on their own, without even thinking--and in one desperate motion, their lips collide. George’s stomach fills with butterflies, a burning sensation entering his lungs as Dream takes control of the kiss and kisses him breathless. At first, it’s too much all at once. George tugs at the fabric of Dream’s pyjamas when he feels his knees involuntarily start to give out, reaching out to grab the wrist of the hand that’s holding the side of his face.
Dream immediately starts to slow down, kissing his lover more gently when he feels George weakly gripping his wrist. He pulls away for a second, long enough for George to shakily inhale a breath of air, and connects their lips once again. George has regained his footing, following Dream’s lead and kissing back as best as he can.
Dream kisses him voraciously, a fire kindling in his gut as he continues to take, take, take, and George continues to give, give, and give. He kisses him with the hunger of someone that’s been starved half to death, as if this is the last time they’ll ever be able to kiss each other ever again.
It isn’t, surely, it isn’t. But isn’t it just so romantic? Locking lips underneath the shine of the moonlight, amongst bushes of gardenia, underneath an audience of hundreds upon thousands of stars.
George can’t remember anything from when he was five, but he’s burning this moment so deep into his memory to guarantee that, twelve years from now, he’ll still remember this as crystal clear as he will when he tucks himself into bed tonight.
When it comes to the point where they both can’t breathe anymore, they pull apart, lungs heaving heavily. Looking into each other’s eyes and nowhere else, with no regard for their surroundings because to them, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world.
“Your one and only?” Dream asks, as if he’s asking just to be completely sure.
“Yeah,” George murmurs. “And I’m yours.”
“You promise?”
A chuckle. “I promise. God, that sounded so sappy."
A rough hand runs through and loosens short waves of dark brown hair. The two lovers don’t take any action to save the white blossom that falls and drifts towards the ground when strands of hair come undone, its delicate petals dancing in the gentle breeze that blows in their direction.
Neither noticed the pair of eyes watching them from afar as they dove into each other once again, minds cloudy with love, hunger, and desire.