Chapter Text
George winces at the loud music, sipping the drink in his hand. He passes through sweaty bodies on the dance floor, desperately searching for the emerald green eyes he longs for.
He was waiting for this the entire night. Waiting for Dream to get rid of the cheerleaders next to him. Waiting for Dream to lead him to his own inevitable dissolution.
After a few minutes of determined searching, he finally locks eyes with the tall boy, eyes drifting down to the black button-up and leather jeans that grips his legs so tight George can almost see the outline of his muscles. His mouth waters at the sole sight, because he just looks so fucking good.
Dream bites his lip, muttering something incomprehensible to his friends before walking straight towards George. He doesn’t break eye contact as he walks towards George, his finger softly brushing against his hand as he passes right through him. And George knows what that means. He hates it, hates how he wants so much more than what Dream can give him. But most of all, he hates himself for never being able to have the strength to say no to him.
He finds himself going up the stairs right after him, watching him sneak into the bathroom and following right after. With a quick glance in both directions to make sure no one saw them, he opens the door and slips in. Before he knows what's happening, he's slammed against the wall— red hot lips all over his sweaty skin.
“I missed you,” Dream whispers.
Maybe you shouldn't have spent the entire night with other people, George wants to snap.
“I saw the way you were looking at me,” Dream blurts. “I wanted to come over and kiss that look off your face.”
Why didn’t you? He wants to ask.
“Were you jealous?” Dream asks, digging his nails into George’s shoulder.
Maybe… George bites back the words.
“No. Why would I be?” He looks up at Dream, waiting for a crippling response.
Dream doesn’t respond, bringing his lips to George’s.
It doesn’t surprise him. Not by a little bit. Dream has always been like this, shutting George up whenever they deviated from their usual conversation topics, forgetting about the false promises he blurted right next to him after a hazy night.
And George wasn’t against it. Because all he wanted was to drown in the enthralling satisfaction of Dream. Dream—all to himself. Even if it is temporary.
He remembered the first time he met Dream, how ecstatic he felt. Dream stood before George, head high and puffed chest. Every single word he muttered was a blissful order, and George knew he would follow him blindly from that moment.
“You okay?” Dream asks, spotting the thoughtful look in George’s eyes.
George gets out of his trance, nodding, intoxicated by Dream’s lips and the beer he downed earlier.
Dream smirks, connects their mouths together. Their tongues collide with blistering hunger, and George knows right at that moment it’s all worth it for this feeling right here.
His soul nearly leaves his body as he hears a knock on the door.
And… Back to reality.
“Are you getting out anytime soon? I need to use the bathroom!” A girl yells from the other side, knuckles pounding against the door once again.
“Fuck,” Dream curses, a wave of panic rushing to his face as he backs away from George.
“What do you want me to do?” George asks, hunching his shoulders.
He’s used to it by now, running away and hiding. He’s used to acting like he never crossed paths with Dream before. It's muscle memory, at this point, to invent ways to abscond from the scene without attracting anyone's attention.
“Okay. Okay. Shit,” Dream paces back and forth. “Just– just wait here. I’ll distract her, and you'll sneak out.”
“Alright.”
“I’m sorry, Georgie,” Dream shoots him a sympathetic pout before heading out.
George can overhear the chattering slowly fading away, taking it as a sign to come out. He steps out into a forsaken room, shimmering from the LED lights. The music crescendos with each step, the heavy smell of beer burning his nostrils. Dream dances with some girls, the guys from the football team watching and whispering nasty encouraging words.
“Which one are you gonna take home?” One of them yells, and George just wants to die.
He told himself he’d get used to it. Get used to being second best. Get used to seeing Dream touch others the way he touches him in secret.
At first, it excited him— so much so that his bones were aching, his heart plummeting. The thrill of the sneaking was purely addicting, an enveloping rush sprawling through his body. Desirous glances during school, soft brushes of honeyed hands as they walked past each other in the hallway, late-night meetings at abandoned spots. George didn't think it could get better than this. He was blinded by love, so blinded that he would do anything, if Dream was the one who told him to.
It killed him, when he truly had a grasp on what Dream was willing to offer him, when he found out that this would be all that they would ever get to have. It was when he saw Dream at a party with his friends and decided to come up to him— an idiotic gesture he made sure not to repeat again.
“Hey,” George smiled at him.
Dream looked at him, dumbfounded with confusion. “Hi?”
“Wanna get out of here?”
His friends laughed in derision directly to his face, filled with ridicule and mere amusement.
“Who the fuck are you?” One of his friends mocked him.
Dream didn’t defend him. He just stood there silently, not moving a single muscle and avoiding his gaze. George has never been that humiliated in his entire life, a scorching sensation emerging in his throat, chest getting heavier.
Later that night, Dream apologized to him countless times, silencing the void between them with millions of kisses. And George forgave him almost immediately, secretly hoping inside one day that he would be ready to be honest with himself.
But when George woke up, he was gone. Just like every other ghastly morning.
______
George steps outside, the loud music dying down. The moon hangs above him, illuminating the path stretched to infinity. He feels goosebumps from the icy breeze, rousing him to wakefulness.
One new notification:
Dream: I'm sorry we got interrupted. Text me when you’re home.
George scoffs, ignoring the message until he hears another chiming a few minutes later as he walks towards his house.
Dream: George?
George: I'm fine. Just got home.
The words feel like a blatant lie, blowing a hole through his heart.
How could I be fine when the guy I'm head over heels in love with can't give me what I want?
George lays down on his bed, gripping the glabrous sheets, imagining Dream right next to him. George knew inside he’d never turn him down, that he’d never have the strength to. He would take him in any shape or form that Dream would be willing to grant.
It's not like he hasn't tried. Because he has. Waking up in the middle of the night, staring at the sky and listening to the sound of the leaves rustling, he would try to convince himself to end this endless despair, thinking for hours and only reaching the conclusion that this cycle that they have going on isn't good for either of them.
But the thoughts overflowing his mind would never matter after he receives a late-night text asking to meet up. He would end up giving in every single time, the phantom nightmare that he's stuck in
The next day George spots Dream in the empty hallway. Dream walks towards him, and George knows it’s only because there’s no one else.
“Hey, stranger. How are you?”
“I’m alright. You?” George looks up at him.
“Not too bad, now that you’re here.” He winks. “Sorry about yesterday.”
“Don’t worry about it,” George says, ignoring the pain in his heart.
“Listen, my parents are out of town this weekend. How about we spend some time? Just you and me?”
George raises his eyebrows. “I’d like that.”
He doesn’t even have to think about it. Logic ceases to exist when Dream does something as simple as just looking at George. George gives in to the temptation–forgetting about the burning agitation inside of him.
Dream smiles. “Great. Can’t wait.” He looks around the empty hallway, his eyes full of apprehension. He kneels down, giving George a quick peck on the lips.
George’s stomach does backflips. Dream messes his hair up before he turns around, leaving George alone.
His mind starts to wander off to dangerous places, when he feels a familiar grip on his shoulder.
Karl.
Karl wraps an arm around him, “What’s up, dude?”
George smiles, facing his friend. “Hey, Karl.”
“Haven’t seen ya in a while.”
George feels a hint of guilt at the words. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“It’s alright. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just busy with school, you know?”
“When are you not?” He chuckles. “We should hang out today.”
George takes a second, staring at his locker. It was true he avoided Karl for nearly a week now, but it was simply because he feared that Karl would understand something was off with him, and he really didn’t think he would be able to handle all the questions. But then again, Karl always made him feel better. And, he really needed to make up with him.
“Sure. We can go to your place.”
______
The day passes by quickly, and George abruptly finds himself in Karl’s house–ordering Pizza and watching a cheesy Netflix rom-com.
George suddenly feels Karl’s gaze on him.
He turns to his friend, confusion laying across his face.
“You know I can tell you’re not watching the movie, right?”
Shit.
George scoffs. “How the hell do you always do that?”
“Because I know you. Your mind is somewhere else.” Karl scoots closer to George on the couch. “Tell me.”
And George really really wants to. But he can’t help but feel like he’s betraying Dream by telling someone.
“I don’t know if I can.” He decides on saying.
Karl sighs, before his eyes widen. “How about you tell it to me like a story? Like something that’s happening to someone else?”
George raises his brows. “Alright.” He coughs. “There’s this guy. And someone I know is in love with him. Like, really in love. So in love that they’re willing to betray all sorts of principles for him... But it’s breaking them. This guy-he doesn’t want anyone to know about them. He wants it to be a secret, so he can go on with his stupid fantasy.” George gulps, realizing he might’ve revealed too much.
Karl stares at George, contemplating. “So… Dream?”
George goes into a coughing fit. “Karl! What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry, dude… But you really thought you could keep it from me? I see you looking at him every chance you get, thinking you’re all subtle and shit!"
He rolls his eyes, “So you just knew the entire time?”
“I guessed. But now I know for sure.”
George shakes his head, coursing a hand through his hair.
“Look, George.” Karl places his hand on George’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend. I just– I don’t want you to get hurt. ”
“I love him, Karl. So much.” George feels his eyes watering.
“I know, dude.” Karl sighs. “But you need to talk to him– about all of it. He needs to know what you want from him.”
George doesn't respond, gritting his teeth and burying the thought to his mind.
______
George grabs his algebra textbook from his locker, heading towards the classroom. He searches through the class, spotting Dream sitting next to his friends. Their eyes meet briefly, before Dream returns to the conversation with his friends.
He walks over at Karl, who waves at him cheerfully. He sits next to him, dropping the heavy book to the desk and facing the teacher who already starts writing quadratic equations on the board.
Nearly thirty minutes in the class, and George can’t seem to comprehend a single word. His gaze lands on Dream, meddling with his concentration. He watches how his chest rises and falls, how he looks around the room and finds George’s eyes every five minutes.
And George has an ignition of hope in his heart. That Dream cares for him. And one day he’ll care for him enough to not give a fuck about what people think.
The bell rings, and they rush out of the class. George gets out of the classroom, heading towards the lockers. Dream and his friends walk by him, and they glance nastily at George, sneering among themselves.
Dream looks at George sympathetically, and George smiles a little.
______
Dream parks his car, opening the door for George. George steps out of the car, instantly feeling the dappled sun on his skin. The clear azure sky reflects the lake in front of them. The earthy breeze almost burns his nostrils.
“Where are we?”
“You’ll see. Come on.” Dream interlocks their fingers, making his heart flutter.
They walk for a few minutes before Dream heads towards a street vendor, motioning George to wait. George overhears small chattering, before Dream turns around, two cups in his hand.
“There. Best milkshake in Orlando.” Dream hands him a cup.
“Oh?” George raises his brows, sipping the milkshake. His eyes widen at the sweet vanilla taste lingering on his tongue. “Oh…It’s good.”
"Told ya," Dream chuckles, wrapping his arm around George’s shoulder. “I come here when I wanna think about stuff. The milkshake is just another benefit,” Dream smiles.
"Think about what?" George raises an eyebrow.
“Everything," Dream answers. "You.”
George’s heart thumps as he meets his gaze, breath caught in his throat. "Me?"
“Yeah. I think about you way more than I should.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
Dream grits his teeth. “I don’t know.”
George sighs. “You can't just say things like that and not give me any explanation. It's confusing, Dream."
“What’s there to be confused about?”
“Everything," George swallows."You," he mirrors Dream’s words.
His gaze softens as he walks closer to him, cupping his cheek and pulling him in a kiss. George parts his lips in surprise, before bringing his hand to Dream's shoulder blades and letting him slip his tongue. Reality soars into oblivion once again, lips against his own transforming him into a euphoric state of existence. Bliss courses through his veins as they pull away to catch their breath.
Dream drops his hand to his lower waist, gazing right at him. "I'm sorry," he blurts abruptly.
George furrows his brows in perplexity, unsure what he's apologizing for. Maybe there are one too many things that he expects Dream to be sorry for. “For what?”
“For the way they treat you at school. They’re assholes.”
George scowls. “Then why do you hang out with them?”
“I need to," Dream sighs, looking away. "You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then talk to me," George pleads. "Make me understand.”
“I can't–" He nervously rubs his hands together. "Can we– can we just enjoy today? Without thinking about any of that?
George sighs, fully aware that, once again, he won't do anything but give in. “Alright,” he whispers, turning towards Dream and letting him sling an arm around him.
It feels forbidden, way too intimate for them to laugh and act like they're just two boys who love one another, without a single obstacle on their way. George can't help but question how long is left until they go back to reality, where this just doesn't last. George hits him playfully, burying his head in his chest and drowning out the thoughts deep into his mind.