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George traces the swirls in the wooden table, his mother’s voice only providing the background noise for his thoughts. He’s supposed to be paying attention, as the next king of the country, but he’s not sure if he could care less about internal affairs, more interested in adventuring the lands that lie beyond the castle.
They’re negotiating territory with a neighbouring kingdom, is as much as he’s gathered, distracted with the wandering thoughts in his head and the mystery of what was across the river he saw yesterday. He dreams of leaving, escaping, taking one of the many paths that he traverses daily and just, never looking back, but he has duties, he has people who rely on him, he simply can’t just up and leave, despite how much he may want to.
He’s dragged out of his trailing thoughts by his mother mentioning his name, “So it’s agreed then, we’ll merge our territories and people and to make sure we honour this agreement, our sons, the future kings will be married, my George and your Clay.”
George had known since he was a very little boy that he was going to have an arranged marriage, as the heir to the throne, his hand in marriage was little more than a bargaining tool. He knew this, yet this whole time he had held on to the hope that he may have a chance at marrying for love, despite what a selfish, romantic hope it was.
It’s the mention of another boy that gets him to finally look away from where his eyes were transfixed on the swirling wood, coated by caramel varnish. George looks up and locks eyes with a boy around his age probably, early twenties with sandy blonde hair and a look in his intriguing yellow eyes that George can’t quite decipher.
He’s easy on the eyes, is what George decides, he’s not sure if he would have pursued the other man in an ordinary situation, but he has the kind of face that George could see himself falling in love with, and attractively broad shoulders that George’s eyes keep getting drawn to.
He, Clay — George reminds himself, offers George a small smile and a quick head nod in recognition, he doesn’t seem too ecstatic to be offered up like this either, something George easily relates to. They get no choice in the matter of course, neither of their parents sparing them even a single glance during the discussion of their future.
The conversation continues after that, but George tunes it out again, choosing instead to pluck intently at the lace ruffles on his shirt cuffs until they’re excused from the large meeting hall, at which point George bolts in the direction of his room. His blue cloak billows around him as he runs through the long corridors, it makes him feel powerful, something he’s desperately searching for now that he’s been promised to a complete stranger.
George longs for control over anything else in his life, it feels like everything since his childhood has been chosen for him, he’s going to be king, he’s going to attend lessons, he’s going to marry Clay. He knows that he’s very lucky and that these complaints would be things that some people in his kingdom would dream of. But George wants out. He wants the option to make his own decisions. Perhaps the reason that he’s drawn to the forest so much, the lure of freedom irresistible and the way he can forget everything upon his shoulders, even if just for a few scant hours.
When he gets to his room he rips all his fineries off one by one, shedding more silk and ruffles than it looks physically possible. He’s itching for the possibility to jump on his horse and ride, maybe check out the path across the river, or just to escape from all this, the location doesn’t matter as much as proximity from the looming castle that encompasses George’s whole life. But he can’t and he knows this, he’ll be expected to meet Clay tonight at a banquet, as is customary after the heir has been promised to someone. That, however, doesn’t stop him from donning his riding clothes and hat before dropping down onto the roof of the stables that were located conveniently outside his window.
Though once he gets there, there’s already someone in the stables and for half a second George thinks that the game is up until he recognises the broad shoulders that his eyes were practically glued to earlier - it’s Clay. Now is as good a time to meet as any, George thinks, as he approaches the blond, who is facing away from him.
“Prince Clay?” George says, almost cautious but he huffs in amusement when, at the sound of his name, Clay’s shoulders jump up around his ears.
Clay turns around slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly when he sees that it’s George, “Prince George uhm hi? What’re you doing here?”
George gestures to the riding gear that he’s wearing, “Well I was about to go for a ride, and please, just call me George,” the brunet wrinkles his nose, “I hate how formal my title makes my name sound.”
“Well then, George, please call me Dream,” Clay- Dream replies, and he elaborates when he sees the confused look on the shorter man’s face, “It’s what all my friends call me.”
“Yeah?” George arches an eyebrow and cocks his hip out, “So, Dream, we’re friends?” he asks sarcastically.
A flush appears high on Dream’s cheekbone and he splutters, George finds he quite enjoys the sight of Dream being flustered because of him. “I- I just- Well if we’re betrothed and all that now, we probably should get to know each other, you know?”
George laughs gleefully, talking to Dream makes him feel light and airy in a way he doesn’t think he has before, “I know, I know I was just messing.” He pauses for a second, thinking about how Dream makes him feel, about how, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if Dream were his friend, and then he continues talking, “You could come with me, if you wanted, I was only going to go out riding in the forest, I could show you some places I like?”
Dream is nodding eagerly even before George has finished his invitation, smiling in that easy way of his, as if he has no worries in the world. George finds himself returning the smile without realising and it’s a genuine smile, not the one that he puts on at balls or in front of the people, he’s smiling because he wants to. Maybe Dream won’t be the worst person to spend the rest of his life with, he thinks.
“I was going to head into town but I’ll gladly accompany you, after all, I don’t know anyone here yet and I’m quite enjoying your company,” Dream punctuates the end of the sentence with a wink that has George’s cheeks and the tips of his ears heating up.
“Okay I’ll- I just need to-” George turns away from Dream for a second, pretending to fiddle with the bridles hung up on the wall behind him, but really he just needs a moment to collect himself. How embarrassing, he scolds himself, being flustered so much by a man you’ve just met, really George pull yourself together, he’s only doing this really because you’re betrothed. It’s only at the reminder of his arranged marriage that pulls George down from the blissful high that flirting with Dream had given him, right, this was all just another thing that he hadn’t chosen or wanted. “I’ll just saddle and bridle up my horse and then we can go,” his voice comes out blank and cold, similar to the way he addresses his advisors, it’s a far reach from the open, cheerful tone that he was using before, perfect.
If Dream is thrown by the sudden change then he doesn’t show it, just acknowledging what George had said with a single nod of his head and then untying his own horse, already saddled and all that.
George straps his horse up quickly and efficiently, with deft hands that know the movements almost without thinking. He leads the horse out of the stable and climbs onto it, putting one foot in the stirrup and then swinging the other one over. He nudges it into a gentle walk over to where Dream waits, already mounted. He presents a striking figure on his horse, all and broad, his blond hair ruffling in the wind. George allows himself to look, until Dream feels the weight of his eyes on the blond’s figure, and then he tears his eyes away, entranced instead by the intoxicating calling of the forest.
“So are you-” George stalls, he can feel Dream’s gaze on him heavy and scrutinising, he feels very seen for a moment, like Dream can read his innermost thoughts and feelings, but it’s nonsense it must be, he met Dream today, “Ready to go?”
“Yeah I’m good, lead the way please, Prince George.” George rolls his eyes at the use of his title and laughs good-naturedly, Dream’s pretty eyes sparkle with mirth and George wonders for a second if there’s anything Dream doesn’t look helplessly attractive doing.
George doesn’t deign him with a response, choosing instead to swing his horse around and head into the forest by a small path that you probably wouldn’t notice unless you knew it was there. George knows that it would probably be more practical to travel on foot through the forest, but he had explored all of the areas that he could reach in a day by walking, so he had to endure being hit sometimes in the face by twigs.
They ride on in silence, accompanied only by the clop of the horses’ hooves and the occasional rustle of an unseen animal. George relaxes more and more the deeper they go into the forest, even simply being away from the castle is joyous, his soul itself feels light.
George leads them to a little clearing he found, with a pond in the far corner. The moss that covers the floor is dappled in the golden sunlight, it’s at moments like these when he doesn’t wish that he could see colours properly, their vibrance and life clear to him even as he is. When he dismounts, and motions to Dream to do so as well, the moss squelches wonderfully, soft and cushiony beneath his feet.
It’s a safe haven for George, one of the first places that really drew him to this forest and kept him coming back, the peace and tranquility intoxicating to George, who really just wanted somewhere to belong. Dream seems similarly enthralled, if the way he gawks at the ivy draped trees and blooming flowers is any indication.
The horses wander over to the pond for a drink, dipping their heads and drinking serenely from the clear pool.
“Look, George I- you’re not happy about the marriage- situation, either?” Dream begins speaking haltingly, he’s whispering as if scared to break the silence in this little haven, his words barely reaching George over the melodic bird song.
George shakes his head no, even though he’s sure Dream knows the answer anyway. He picks at his fingernails, he doesn’t want to talk about this here, like rot setting into fallen tree trunks, he’s sure that this conversation would taint the air of this place forever. But he sits and listens anyway, because he knows that this conversation needs to be had and George would feel worse surrounded by the grey, looming walls of the castle.
“Okay and I- I know that we only met today but, I really enjoy your company, I do and if you’re willing I’d like to try and become friends, outside of- all of this,” Dream’s voice is uncharacteristically nervous, unsure in a way that George hasn’t heard it before.
“That- yeah, that’d be nice I think,” George answers honestly, maybe he was being too negative before, this would be okay, he just had to try.
When they head back to the castle that afternoon, it’s with hearts light with hope and a delicate new friendship, blooming like a rose in the spring. George however is brought right back down to earth when, after climbing back into his bedroom via the window, his mother is sat waiting for him.
She sniffs prissily when she sees the sight of him, flushed cheeks from the wind and muddy clothes, “How unbecoming of the future king, really George, you’re nearly 24, you’d think that you’d be over things like this now.”
George flushes even darker, he knows he shouldn’t care about his mother’s scathing words, but there’s something demeaning about her that always manages to make him feel like a child again. “I just went out mum okay? Let me be,” he answers defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest.
She stands up and scowls down at him, George hates that she's still taller than him, even now he’s grown, “We don’t have time to discuss this right now, begin getting ready for the banquet or you’ll be late. You will be expected to dance. And for god’s sake have a bath, please.” And with that, she strides out the room, slamming the door behind herself.
George glares and sticks his middle finger up at the door she just left out of. He was grateful that his mother had raised him, and continued to do so after his father had died and she stepped up to the throne, but he really hated her sometimes.
He undressed for the second time that day, shedding muddied leather and leaving it on the floor of his bedroom before heading into the bathroom next door, where a sweet-smelling bath was already steaming in wait for him.
Sliding into the bath, George hisses at the heat against his skin, but melts quickly into the smooth hands of the water, caressing over his sore muscles. After taking a moment to appreciate the water, to just sit and feel the way the water laps greedily at his skin, his movements creating small sloshes that echo in the empty room, George washes hastily, heeding his mother’s warning about being late.
Someone has left out the suit he supposes he’s going to be wearing tonight, blue suit tails with golden accent and some fitted pants that make his ass look very nice, if he does say so himself. He puts them on swiftly and turns this way and that in the mirror, straightening the ruffles of his shirt one last time before putting on some shoes with a small heel.
He arrives in the great hall just as the first visitors do, and gets straight to greeting them, so as to avoid the scathing words of his mother. George looks around briefly for Dream, but doesn’t see him, he pushes down the disappointment at this discovery, feeling distinctly stupid for being this attached to the blond so quickly after just meeting. It wasn’t his fault really, there was just something about Dream that pulled George in, the taller man was a whirlpool of friendliness and easy smiles and pretty eyes and George couldn’t help but get pulled in by the current.
Dream finally arrives just as the first dishes start coming out, swooping in ‘fashionably late’, dressed in a black suit that accentuates his small waist and broad shoulders. He sits in the place across from George’s on the great table, shouldering a few people out the way as inoffensively as he can, which George giggles at from behind a gloved hand.
Once their eyes meet they don’t break contact, George swears he can feel lightning crackling in the air between them, green holding honeyed brown even as they are swept into conversations with other people.
Then, once they’ve eaten their fill of the lavish foods laid out for them on the table, George’s mother signals for the dancing to start. Dream is by his side in an instant, pressed probably too close for people to not stare, but George finds that he can’t care, not when he can feel Dream’s body heat radiating into his side.
“Prince George, may I have this dance?” Dream asks, leaning close enough into George’s ear that his lips brush the shell of it, sending delicious shivers down George’s spine.
George can’t answer for a second, too caught up in the way that Dream’s gloved hand grasps his own, until he finally remembers how to breathe properly and answers, “Yes I- it would be my pleasure.” The words come out embarrassingly soft and breathy, but rather than pointing it out Dream just smiles at him and pulls George into his chest so they're standing in position.
George promptly forgets how to breathe again.
It’s only muscle memory that has him placing his hand on Dream’s shoulder (his solid, broad shoulder) and beginning to dance the waltz in time, because the only thing George can focus on is the weight of Dream’s hand on his waist and the grip of their hands together. His hands are- big, is what George notices, it’s all he can notice really when Dream’s hand covers almost his whole waist and his other hand envelops George’s own, (George wishes that neither of them were wearing gloves, wants to feel the heat of Dream’s hands, the callouses against his own.)
They’re twirling around the ballroom perfectly in time, Dream leading them in circles around the other dancers. George’s shirt tails are flying outwards and he almost feels weightless in Dream’s arms.
He only becomes aware of other things again when Dream speaks to him again, distractingly close to his ear, “I’m going to dip you now, just thought that I’d warn you.” And then he does, his hand shifting to span George’s back and he dips the smaller man. George grasps desperately at his shoulders, feeling off-balance despite the warning, and feels the blood rush to his head quickly, no doubt worsening the blush he was already sporting.
When Dream pulls him back up, their chests are pressed impossibly closer, the proximity is intoxicating and it makes George’s head spin.
“So, George,” Dream murmurs again, George can only hope that this isn’t going to be another request for a dancing ‘trick’, because he’s not sure how his heart would hold up if Dream decided he wanted to lift him, but George gets what he wants when Dream continues, “What would you want most in the world?”
“What kind of question is that? You’re supposed to talk about the food or the company or something, small talk,” George replies, not daring yet to look up at Dream’s face.
“Well what if I want,” Dream pauses and George glances up at him for long enough to see him waggle his eyebrows suggestively, “big talk.”
George smacks his shoulder, “Dream,” he hisses, “I can’t- what kind of euphemism is that, oh my god.”
“What are you suggesting George? I would never suggest anything of the kind,” Dream says, widening his eyes in an attempt to look the very picture of innocence, the wide grin on his face ruins it, George thinks, “Anyway, answer the question, or would you rather I make remarks on the cocktail dress Lady Fairbright is wearing?”
George sweeps the ballroom for a second before locating the poor woman, he’s not sure how he didn’t notice her earlier to be honest, it’s hard to miss her offensively salmon dress that clashes with the auburn of her hair in a way that makes George want to gauge his own eyes out. He wrinkles his nose in disgust and replies, “Fine, fine I- uh I guess I would want to leave here.”
“Here as in-” Dream gestures at the ballroom vaguely with their joined hands.
“Well, yeah, but also, everything, like, my whole life,” George doesn’t dare look up at Dream out of fear of seeing the same contempt that everyone else has worn when he’s told them how much he wants to leave this life.
“George,” Dream breathes, “You’re- I- feel the same way.”
George’s head shoots up at the admission, Dream’s looking down at him with wonder, his eyes are so hopeful that it’s almost overwhelming to hold the eye contact, but there’s something in George that won’t let him look away.
“You do?” George asks reverently, it’s only here that he finally stumbles over his own feet, but Dream just pulls him closer to his chest, almost completely supporting George’s weight.
“I- yeah, George we could- we could run away, together,” Dream whispers into George’s ear again. It feels intimate, far too intimate for where they are, twirling around a marble ballroom, but George doesn’t care because this is the first time any real chance at getting out has been offered and he’s damned if he isn’t going to take it.
“You mean that?” He’s sure he sounds dumb, asking so many questions, but he can’t quite believe that he’s actually here, the moment is so surreal and the constant spinning of the dance isn’t helping either. “Please tell me you mean it.”
George can feel Dream’s heart beating through his shirt, the rhythm matched by his own. “I do, I really do,” Dream says fervently, and then pauses, “Let’s- we should talk about this somewhere else.”
Wordlessly, George nods and lets Dream pull him out of the ballroom by their clasped hands, dodging and weaving through various guests. And if they don’t let go, even when Dream pulls them to a stop behind a column in an abandoned corridor, then neither of them mention it.
“So we’re- we’re really doing this,” Dream whispers, he’s bent down to better look George in the eyes and the proximity is intoxicating, heady emotion filling the air around them.
“Yes, god yes, Dream, oh-” George can’t express his gratitude properly, too overwhelmed with emotion. Today has felt like a whole month, he can’t quite believe that he only just met Dream this morning. It’s probably stupid and risky to just blindly follow Dream, but George can’t care when he’s so close to realising a wish he’s had for so long that he can almost taste it.
So instead of thanking Dream with words, George flings himself forwards and wraps Dream in a hug. Dream lets out a small oof, but melts into it immediately, tucking George’s head under his chin and rubbing a hand up and down him back soothingly. George doesn’t want to let go, but he knows that it’s probably getting weird so he steps back, Dream’s arms still extended towards him in the empty air until he drops them by his side awkwardly.
“So when should we- leave, do you think?” Dream asks, pulling at the cuffs of his silk gloves.
“Well I kinda want it to be a sort of, final fuck you to my mum so uh- what do you think about our wedding day?” George says, clearing his throat uncomfortably, he doesn’t regret the hug, but since they detached there’s something heavy lingering in the air.
“Yeah? Are you, are you fine waiting that long?” Dream asks, cupping George’s face tenderly and stroking a careful thumb over the line of his cheekbone. George hates the feeling of slippery silk then, aching oh so desperately for the real warmth of Dream’s hand. But it’s enough, even through the glove the contact is enough to satiate the yearning in his chest.
“I mean, I’ve waited this long, y’know? May as well have some fun with it,” George says, steadfastly not making eye contact with Dream. His whole body feels like it’s thrumming with energy from just that small touch on his cheek, head radiating through his entire being in waves.
“Then, it’s decided, if you’re happy then I’m happy,” says Dream, even his voice is tender now and George isn’t sure how much more if this he can take without melting into a puddle, and he’s not willing to be so vulnerable in front of a guy he literally met today.
So he wrenches away from Dream’s touch, missing the warm weight of his hand immediately and says, “We should- we should probably head back before someone notices we’re both missing and starts some rumours.”
“They’ve probably noticed anyway George, so we may as well give them some standing to their ‘rumours’,” Dream says, winking smoothly at George. And that’s all the warning George gets before Dream swoops in and kisses him.
It’s a brief kiss, barely long enough for George to even reciprocate, but he replays the smooth slide of their lips together, the way Dream pushed a rough hand through his head to tilt his head back, the sweet taste of champagne and Dream on his lips, that has him licking them in the vain hope for a lingering taste. He replays the short moment long after Dream has left him alone in that corridor, leaning against the wall for the support that his shaking knees aren’t providing. Dream strides away as soon as he pulls back, seemingly unbothered by the kiss that leaves George breathless for an embarrassingly long time.
When George does manage to gather in the whirlpool of emotions swirling round his head, he walks back into the ball. He can feel the pinpricks of a thousand eyes on him, sure for some reason that they all know what happened, but when he looks around furtively there’s no one watching.
He’s glad to have not bumped into his mother when he retires to his bedroom that night; he does, however, end up mortified anyway.
“Prince George, I’ll have your bed made in a jiffy,” the maid says, bustling around George’s room with a feather duster.
George waves her off, “Please it’s too late for you to be working now, don’t bother, you should head home.”
“You are too kind, Prince George,” she says, and then she gets a mischievous glint in her eye, “If it wouldn’t be too rude then I’d like to ask you something, your Highness.”
“Go ahead,” George says, shrugging off his suit tails and slipping off his shoes.
“I heard that you and Prince Clay disappeared together at the ball, is that- is this true?” she asks.
George feels heat rise to his cheeks immediately, he knows that whatever he says is going to feed the castle rumour mill so he decides to, as Dream did earlier, egg them on, “Me and D- Clay were just discussing the ah- the benefits of our future- partnership.”
The maid smiles and nods understandingly but George can already see the gears working in her brain, “Thank you very much, your Highness, I’m sure it was a very- helpful talk.” and with that she leaves the room, George standing motionless behind her.
He’s too drained to deal with the waterfall of emotions right now, so he decides that he’ll think about it tomorrow and just slips into his pyjamas as quickly as he can and climbs into bed. He sleeps easier than he expected, falling into dreams of rolling fields and silky blond hair.
He’s awoken the next morning by his mother swishing open the curtains. Groaning, he flops a hand over his face to protect his eyes from the blinding sunlight. “Wha-” he sits up drowsily.
“Really George, it’s past noon, this sleeping late is an awful habit,” his mother says, in her high, grating voice. George rolls his eyes under the cover of his arm, it’s just like her to start complaining at him as soon as he wakes up.
He doesn’t answer her, just giving a vague grunt to show that he heard her.
“Well anyway, I only came in to tell you that we’ve arranged your wedding with Prince Clay to be on the summer solstice,” then, with an air of finality, she strides out the room, slamming the door shut behind her. George flinches at the loud noise and then flops back onto his bed. Two months until the summer solstice, he thinks, that’s bearable.
Dream and George spend most of the two months in each other’s company, whether it be riding to the surrounding villages or exploring the forest, they are rarely seen apart. They don’t however, mention what George had begun referring to in his head as The Kiss, nor is there a repeat of the event.
The day of the wedding rolls around sooner than George expected, he’s glad about this, but there’s a secretive part in him that wishes he could have stayed in those blissful two months with Dream forever.
The ceremony is held first thing in the morning, before George can even begin to have any doubts. It’s pretty, he thinks, surveying the dew that shines on the grass like a tiny crystal adorning every blade, such a shame that it’s going to be ruined.
His mother had decided on an open air ceremony, ordering arches and columns to be built in the castle gardens. The marble reaches its milky white arms high into the sky, honeysuckle tumbling down them like a pink waterfall. It’s his mother then, that walks him down the aisle, towards Dream, towards freedom.
He wonders for a fleeting second what it would be like to marry Dream, images of warm hugs and even warmer kisses flying through his brain. But he shakes the notion away, he’s not going to ruin the escape that they’ve planned for some silly daydreams.
He looks to Dream, finding him waiting at the altar, helplessly attractive in the sharp lines of his suit. Their eyes meet and George almost feels like Dream reads his every thought in that moment, and then it’s gone, as Dream gives him a secretive wink and then looks away.
He’s nearing the altar now, walking carefully up the steps towards Dream. When he reaches the blond, they link hands, as directed to by the vicar. Gloves, Dream’s wearing gloves again, George thinks bitterly.
Dream strokes a reassuring thumb over the back of George’s hand, then the vicar begins his speech. He's probably saying something soppy about love but George can’t hear a thing over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. It’s a good thing that their signal wasn’t auditory, he thinks.
His eyes are glued to Dream’s lips, it feels like hours before Dream begins to mouth, “three… two… one.” They run on one, booking it to the stables, where Dream had paid a frightening amount of money the day before to have the horse ready for them.
The guests all gasp behind them, George’s mother letting out an ear-splitting shriek, but they don’t let it stop them, legs pumping as fast as they can, hands still clasped between them.
Dream jumps onto the horse first, pulling George up behind him, the brunet allows himself an indulgent second to admire the way the muscle in Dream’s arm flexes as he pulls George up. He can think about the tingling he felt in his stomach when Dream picked him up so easily later, for now he focuses on the adrenalin fizzing through his veins.
“Guards! GUARDS!” George can hear his mother screaming, but he can’t hear any sounds of clanking metal armour gaining on them.
Dream nudges a foot into the horses side and then they’re gone, speeding through the grounds, over the drawbridge, that no-one had even thought about attempting to close, and out into the open countryside.
Dream whoops with joy then, flinging his arms into the air in celebration, “Georgie! We did it!”
George gasps, pulling himself closer to Dream, winding arms tighter around his (broad, muscled) chest, “Dream, oh my god, hold the reins.”
“What? Aren’t you glad we’re out?” Dream asks, but he does as George says anyway, grasping the reins firmly.
“I am, I’d just rather be alive long enough to enjoy it,” George replies, pressing his face into the dip between Dream’s shoulder blades to shield himself from the wind. Dream just hums in response, George feeling the action more than hearing it from where he was pressed up against the warmth of Dream’s solid back.
They travel through the whole day, stopping briefly to eat and drink before setting off again. Mesmerised, George watches the way that Dream’s hair whips in the wind, fine like corn silk, but shining like gold-spun thread.
They dismount only as the sun starts to slide downwards, Helios and his sun chariot painting orange streaks across the sky.
And it’s then standing on a hilltop, overlooking the kingdom that he had just given up, that George admits to the beautiful man standing next to him, “I wouldn’t have minded really, if we had gotten married.” It’s a love confession, of course it’s a love confession, but George doesn’t even think about the possibility of rejection in that moment, simply too happy.
Dream looks down at him then, the setting sun shining behind him like a halo. “Well, we have the rest of our lives to do that now, and on our own terms,” is what his mouth says. I love you, his heart beats.
Standing there, tucked into the side of the man that he’s beginning to love, George feels really, truly understood for the first time in his life.