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Growing up, George struggled a lot with coming to terms with his sexuality and himself as a person. However, as he got older he developed a good support system and didn’t let the negative thoughts and internalised homophobia win, managing to fall in love in the process.
Dream. The one person who was there for him throughout it all, his coming out and every late night panic attack, comforting him through the phone when they were too far from each other to do something about it, the stares and hurtful words thrown at him in the school hallways, and, the denied affection when he was too in his head to do anything about it. Dream was there. Always has been, always will be.
Now, at 26, George has come to terms with himself and didn’t let the anvil of intrusive thoughts fill his brain.
He wakes up, his favourite way, with the warm press of lips to his neck coming from the blond behind him. Tan arms wrapped around slim hips, George turns in his husbands arms to meet bright eyes crinkling in the corners from the wide smile gracing his face.
“Morning handsome,” George greets Dream, smiling, “what time is it?”
“Hey gorgeous,” Dream pecks the brunet before turning to the clock sitting on the nightstand, “it’s just gone 8.” he replies.
“Well then, I’d say we have about ten minutes before someone comes barreling through that door,” George moves to straddle the other man's hips. Dream hums in agreement resting his hands on the Brit’s hips, “better make the most of it then.” He's quick to flip them around, George ending up back on the bed, soft lips pressed to his as they take advantage of these ten minutes.
Ten minutes is quickly shrunken down to about three when the sound of little footsteps come from the hallway and a little fist is pounding on the door.
“Daddy, open the door!” a little voice comes from the other side of the bedroom door.
Dream sighs deeply, detaching his mouth from his husbands. George chuckles, “you heard the little man.” One last kiss and Dream is reluctantly leaving the warm bed to open the door for his son.
Hand on the doorknob, Dream calls out to his son on the other side of the wood, “Now, Atticus, what have we talked about? If we want something, what do we say?” He hears a small huff, turning to George in amusement. He definitely took his father.
“Please!”
“That's better,” Dream swings the door open and scoops the four year old in arms and spins him around before throwing him onto the Kings sized bed in the middle of the room, the boy quickly being attacked with tickles.
“Stop,” he giggles, “Papa it tickles.” George smiles down at the boy in his fluffy spiderman pyjamas, “that's the point.”
Dream joins them both, sitting back down on his side of the bed, George standing up as he does so. “Where are you going?” Dream questions.
“Incase you’ve forgotten, we have two children not just this little monkey,” he pokes his son in the belly which makes him laugh again as George leaves the room to move to the room down the hallway.
“So, bud,” Dream turns back to his son, “what do you wanna do today?”
Atticus brings a finger to his chin to show he’s thinking. Dream has no clue where he learns it all. “Can we go to the park?”
“But we always go to the park, don't you want to go somewhere else?”
Atticus’s face lights up as he asks “Can we go to the beach?”
“The beach, huh?” Dream doesn’t think they’ve ever taken their kids to the beach. It might be a nice change. “Why the beach?” he asks. His son has never mentioned it before.
“Lily said Uncle Karl and Uncle Sap brought her there.” Atticus replies, moving to jump onto his father, begging “Pleaseeee.”
Dream laughs at the little boy's persistence, “I don’t see why not, I’ll have to ask Papa first though.” Small arms are thrown around his neck as Atticus thanks him. How did he ever get so lucky?
-
George makes his way down the hall and opens the door at the very end, immediately met with darkness except for the sliver of light making its way through the slightly open curtains, and the nightlight hanging on the wall.
He makes his way to the crib in the corner of the room, grinning when he looks at his daughter laying with a small blush pink blanket covering her chubby legs. She stares widely up at her Papa before being lifted up into his arms, immediately pressing her face into his shoulder. “There’s my sweet girl,” George whispers into dark curls, “let’s go see what your Daddy and brother are doing, hm?”
George had never imagined himself being a father. It was one of the things he struggled with the most when accepting his sexuality growing up. He had always wanted to be a dad, and the thought that being gay could prevent that from happening, it crushed him. But now, his kids mean absolutely everything to him, and he wouldn’t change a single thing about them or their adoptions.
George makes his way down the stairs, Hope babbling softly to herself on his shoulder making George smile.
“Papa!” Atticus calls from the kitchen table, “We’re having pancakes.”
“Are we now?” George raises an eyebrow at the boy before walking to the stove where his husband stood, shifting the little girl in his arm to face Dream. She giggles when Dream lets out an over dramatic gasp at the sight of his daughter, “Good morning, princess.” He presses a kiss to Hope’s cheek, then turns to kiss George as well.
“Yuck” a voice calls from behind them, Atticus standing behind them holding a plate about two sizes too big for his little hands.
“Oi mister,” Dream takes the plate from his hands and places it on the counter before turning into the tickle monster, chasing his son around the kitchen. George just rolls his eyes at his boy's antics, “Please don’t turn into them when you’re older,” Hope just sticks one of her fingers into her father’s cheek, giggling.
After bringing up the idea of going to the beach at breakfast, hearing George’s agreement, Atticus is practically bursting with excitement babbling to his Dad as he gets him dressed for the day.
-
By 10 o’ clock the Hughes are in the car on the way to the seaside, Atticus and Hope having a ‘conversation’ in the back seat, it more consistent of Atticus talking about whatever popped into his head and Hope babbling along as if she understood. The wind ruffles George's dark hair from the open window as he watches the scenery speed past, Dream’s hand a comforting presence in his own.
They make it to the beach fairly quickly, traffic being kind to them during the Florida summer. Hope is quickly back in George’s arms, she is his mini me after all, while Atticus ‘helps’ Dream unload the bags from the boot of the car, carrying his little bucket and spade with him onto the sand.
They find a spot not too far from the car park, close to the water and set up camp there. A few other families are scattered around the golden sand, but it’s still fairly quiet and the sun isn’t too harsh on them. George sets up a deck chair on the sand for himself, Dream putting a parasol up to shade them from the sun. Hope is sitting on a towel in front of them playing with her brother. The sight makes George’s heart melt. An arm is slipped around his waist, a kiss pressed to the side of his head and he knows Dream is feeling the same.
George always thinks of the adoption of his two babies as fate. Dream and him have always been open to their want for kids and once they started looking into adoption, Atticus was sent their way. Watching their little boy grow up after being abandoned by his parents has been their greatest achievement in life. Hope’s mother was unable to take care of her baby and so, she came into their lives, and hearts, when Atticus was almost three. They couldn't be happier.
Atticus might as well be Dream’s biological son with the resemblances between them. With sandy blond hair and bright green eyes, he’s the spitting image of his Dad. However, he’s stubborn and headstrong like George, also having Dream wrapped around his little finger. Hope, with her dark brown hair and freckled features, is a little George. Fate, George thinks.
George settles onto his deckchair, getting his book from his bag and laying a dozing Hope onto his bare chest leaving her to snooze in the shade, pink sun hat covering her ebony curls. Dream lathers little Atticus up in sunscreen to protect him from the sun beating down on them.
“Hey, baby,” George looks up from the page of his book to the man standing over him, “I’m bringing Atti out to the sea for a bit, ok? If you need me just yell we’re not going too far.”
“Okay.” George nods smiling, tilting his head up for a kiss which Dream happily provides, kissing the top of Hope’s head softly before running in the direction of the ocean with Atticus running after him.
Hope begins to stir after her nap shortly after Dream runs off, so George gives her a sliced up banana to chew on while they watch their boys splash about in the shallow water.
As the day begins ticking away, the beach gets busier and busier. Dream and Atticus come back and the family have some sandwiches George made before they left for a small lunch. Dream takes Hope from George and brings her for a walk around the beach while Atticus shows George the small selection of seashells he accumulated while in the water, lining them up on his leg.
Dream returns shortly bringing Atticus back down to the water, this time, with his bucket and spade to make sandcastles with the wet sand. George has Hope sitting up on his chest listening to her mindless babble as she waves her fists around enthusiastically. Recently, George has been trying to encourage the small girl to start saying short words, preferably Papa, as Atticus’s first word was ‘Daddy’ and he’s determined to not let it happen twice.
While focused on his daughter George doesn’t notice when a woman sets up her belongings right beside their own. He glances their way and smiles politely at the woman sitting there. The lady reciprocates the smile and gives a small wave to Hope which has the baby shyly burying her face into her Papa’s chest.
“She’s gorgeous!” The woman says while applying sunscreen to her arms.
George looks down at his little girl and bursts with pride, “yeah, she is.”
“Mary,” a hand is extended out to George and he shakes it gingerly, “George.”
The pair fall into an easy conversation talking about everything from the weather, to the amount of people on the beach but ultimately falling back on little Hope.
“How did your wife find the pregnancy?” Mary questions innocently. This catches George incredibly off guard, “I’m sorry?”
“You know, did she struggle at all? I sure did with my first,” she laughs. George just stares at her, not really sure what to say.
“Papa!” a voice calls out before Atticus is jumping on the deck chair sitting between his fathers legs, “I found some more shells.” he tells him, holding them up for George to see.
“That’s nice, baby” is all George can say, brushing a hand through Atti’s blond hair, still struck by Mary’s question.
A wife. Something George thought he was inevitably going to have when he grew up. A nice wife, a good home with a white picket fence while he wastes everyday sitting at a desk in a drab office working a 9 to 5.
George feels a kiss planted into his hair and Dream sits beside the chair, taking Hope into his arms for a cuddle. George stiffens as he turns to look over to Mary, a confused look on her face. She moves on from the wife related question to a different one- “who’s your friend?”
“Oh, how rude of me,” Dream leans over George to hold his hand out to the lady across the sand with an outstretched hand, “I’m Clay, George’s husband,” he grins.
Silence falls over the group as Mary just looks at Dream’s hand before slowly shaking it. Satisfied, Dream turns back to Hope and Atticus.
“Husband?” Mary asks quietly. Only George heard her. Not once has George ever been ashamed of Dream and their relationship. But in that moment, as he looks at Mary’s face twisted in confusion and something akin to disgust in her features, George is brought back to high school. The stares, the words that felt like a knife being twisted deeper and deeper into his chest, the nights he spent crying in Dream’s arms because he couldn’t understand what he ever did, that made some people hate him so much. As he sits on the beach, his family beside him and an older woman, with an older mindset drilled into her opposite him, he feels nothing. It’s like he’s become numb to it all and he thinks there’s nothing this woman can say that could affect him.
“Yes, husband.” George blindly reaches for Dream’s hand, interlocking their fingers, Dream’s attention being brought back to the conversation.
“So these children, they’re not actually yours?”
George thought wrong. He could handle the casual homophobia he’s experienced all his life, but that deep rooted hatred, none of it should ever be directed at his babies. Atticus and Hope were his.
Dream looks shell shocked at the woman sitting before him. How could anyone say something so cruel?
“Excuse me?” George finally speaks up.
“C’mon Atti, Hope, let’s go out to the water, yeah?” Dream takes his son’s hand in his own, Hope still in his arms and he heads out further onto the beach, not wanting their kids to hear such horrible things.
While they walk away, George can hear Atticus ask Dream, “what did that lady mean, Daddy?”
George can feel his heart crack.
“You can’t expect to raise those children on your own. What about their mothers?” George really wants to punch this lady in the face.
“They don’t need a mother, they have myself and my husband.” George revels in the way Mary grimaces slightly at the use of the word ‘husband’. You're uncomfortable? Good.
“What happens when they come to you wondering why they don’t have a mother around like their friends? You can’t have them thinking your lifestyle is the norm.”
George can feel tears in his eyes at her words, “our children have plenty of female presence in their life should they choose to turn to them for something.”
Unknown to Mary, having a maternal figure in his children's life had been something plaguing his mind for years. It wasn’t Dream he was doubting, it was himself. He had always feared that he would never be good enough for Hope and Atticus.
Before Mary has the chance to say anything else of callous nature about him, or his family, he walks quickly to where he spots the rest of his family.
“George-”
“C’mon kids, let’s go home,” George interrupts with a forced smile on his face, “you wanna get a mcdonalds on the way home?” he crouches down to be in Atticus’s eyeline. Atticus just nods enthusiastically before running back to their spot on the beach.
Mary stares holes into their backs as they pack up their belongings. George says nothing the whole way home and hides away in his and Dream’s bedroom for the rest of the evening. Dream knew better than to bother him, instead spending the rest of his day entertaining Atticus and comforting Hope when she gets restless later into the evening, she was always such a Papa’s girl.
-
Dream finally heads into their room at about nine o’ clock, having put the kids soundly to bed. He knocks lightly on the door before opening it, alerting George of his presence. “Georgie? I’m coming in, okay?”
The sight that greets him is one he’d give all the money in the world to never have to see again. George is hunched over himself lying down on the bed, bedside lamp casting a warm glow on his form. But it was anything but warm.
George turns around when he hears the door click shut once Dream has stepped inside. Dream sees his puffy, red eyes and tear tracks shining down his pale cheeks and his heart breaks.
“Clay..” George whispers, body shaking as another round of sobs escape his throat as Dream rushes to his side, wrapping his love up in his arms pressing soft kisses into his hair. “Shh, shh, you’re okay baby. I’m here.”
They lay there in the dimly lit room for what feels like hours, George letting out every single emotion he’d had to hold in ever since he spoke to that Mary woman.
“I’m sorry,” George croaks out once he’s calmed down enough to speak, “it’s stupid.”
“No, we’re not doing this George. You’re not going to sit here and call your feelings stupid okay?” Dream took the smaller man’s face in his hands, “I had to watch you do that to yourself for years. I don’t want you going back there, okay?” He presses a soft kiss to George’s forehead and feels tears running down his husband's face again which he is quick to wipe away.
“Talk to me, please.” Dream pleads.
George huffs, manoeuvring to get more comfortable in Dream’s arms before speaking, “You don’t resent me for not being able to give you biological children do you?”
Dream stiffens, “George, why on earth would you even think that?”
“It’s just.. We’ve been together for what, ten years? That’s a long time to be committed to one person and I know you’re bi so, you could’ve met some nice girl along the way and married her and she could’ve given you children. I hate thinking you just settled for me.”
That last part is what really made Dream’s heart ache. Settle? For George?
“Baby, look at me,” they returned to their previous position, George’s face cradled so delicately in Dream’s hands, like he could break. “You are the most incredible man I have ever met. There’s no one in this world I love more than you, always have, always will. Being able to call you my husband is such a privilege and I'm grateful everyday that you chose little old me,” he pushes back the ebony fringe out of the other boy's eyes and pulls him into a kiss so gentle it made George want to cry.
“She told us our babies weren’t actually ours,” George whispers in a voice so broken it makes Dream’s chest hurt.
“I know she did, angel,” Dream wraps his arms tighter around the other man, as if trying to protect him from all the pain he’s been subjected to.
“You’re a good father, Clay.” George says quietly.
“So are you,” Dream responds, pressing a kiss to George’s forehead.
“I should’ve never spoken to that awful woman,”
“You didn't know she’d be like that,”
“Still. I’ve worked so hard for so long to be able to accept myself and it’s like I've been set back three steps.”
Dream hums, “I know you have George and you’ve done a brilliant job. Don’t let a Karen ruin all your progress.”
George chuckles at the use of the term Karen and tilts his head to look up at Dream from his place lying on his chest, “I love you.”
“I love you too Georgie, more than anything.”
-
The next morning, George slips out of bed early and goes straight to the room at the end of the hall. Hope’s bedroom had become like a sanctuary for George, he spent weeks in there caring for his darling girl when she was sick, was first in the room whenever she woke up crying in the middle of the right, bottle ready. She was his little girl, how could he not.
Sitting in the old rocking chair adjacent to the white stained crib, his daughter stirs. George is quick to pick her up and cuddle Hope close to his chest, whispering reassuring words into her hair as she gets comfortable against him.
He runs a finger gently over her pudgy cheek. Hope, with her wide, curious eyes, looks up at him poking at his cheek as she so loved to do. She whispers the most gentle “Papa.” and George feels the crack in his heart from yesterday heal in an instant.