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George wakes up early that morning, bare back snug against the gradual rise and fall of Dream’s chest, waist bound by familiar arms now slack with sleep. Warm puffs of air tickle the back of his neck, briefly interrupted by incoherent murmurs that curve a smile across George’s lips.
He takes his time, shuffling awkwardly against the bed sheets as he attempts to turn his body without moving Dream’s arms, and is rewarded eventually with freckled cheeks and messy waves of butterscotch. The blonde has been desperate for a haircut lately, complaining needlessly at the constant sweep of hair against his neck, and each time George fixes him with a reproachful look and hands him a hair tie. He finds himself keeping one spare around his right wrist more often than not.
It’s close to midday, George assumes, and sun filters freely through their bedroom window to paint his boyfriend’s skin in honeyed hues. He traces scattered freckles across the spanse of Dream’s shoulder, fingers barely touching, and dips his head to pepper close-mouthed kisses along the slope of Dream’s neck.
A soft sigh falls out of his sight, and he moves back to see if he’s woken the other man. But eyes remain closed, and George moves to brush the pad of his thumb over Dream’s bottom lip where it hangs slightly ajar. His question is answered when pink lips close lightly to trap the end of his thumb there, and eyelids flutter open with pools of gold to rival the sun. The blonde smirks, tongue flattening against the underside of George’s thumb as he tugs it slightly further, large hands pressing soft against George’s back.
“Morning,” George barely whispers, unwilling to shift the delicate atmosphere just yet.
Dream hums in response, vibrations running beneath George’s skin where his thumb still sits just inside the other man’s mouth. He teases him a little, pushing in some more for a moment before taking his hand back and giggling as Dream subconsciously moves to chase it. He pouts dramatically, and George rolls his eyes, giving in easily with a kiss.
They kiss lazily for the next few minutes, Dream’s hand massaging circles into George’s hip as the brunette presses himself up against Dream’s chest. When the younger man opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, George pulls back instead, smiling innocently at the other’s frown.
“Why do you hate me?” Dream whines, and George’s laughs shake through both of them.
“You’re a baby,” he says.
Dream futhers his point with an indignant huff. “I’m your baby though, and you’re supposed to kiss me.”
George shakes his head. “We’re going out.”
His boyfriend perks up slightly at this. “Where to?”
“Well, that’s for you to tell me. But I do want food.”
“You want me to take you on a date?”
George laughs. “Yes, Dream. We haven’t been out properly yet, just us two.”
“That can be arranged,” Dream nods with a grin. “But before we do that–”
He interrupts himself by pressing his lips to George’s again, licking into his mouth for only a second until he’s pulling away and leaving him flushed. Before George can say a word, Dream is slipping out of the bed and padding footsteps to his wardrobe.
“Now you know how it feels,” he says, and George can hear his smug smile despite his back being turned to him.
“Nope, you have no absolutely no effect on me,” George lies, untangling his legs from the bedsheets and standing from the bed as well.
Dream turns to him as he tugs a navy-blue crewneck over his head. “You’ve really never been a good liar, baby.”
It’s one of George’s favourite articles of clothing Dream owns, and seeing Dream in it again along with the pet name is enough to cause a slight flutter against his ribcage. His boyfriend smirks, tilting his head back slightly because he knows that he’s making George stare.
The brunette huffs, picking up the pillow beside him to throw at Dream. He catches it easily, of course, and George rolls his eyes at the confident chuckle that follows.
“You’re so dumb,” he says.
“But you love me,” Dream responds, walking over to plant a wet kiss on George’s forehead that is quickly wiped away.
“Don’t slobber on me, you dog.”
“Slobber on this di–”
He doesn’t catch the next pillow thrown, and his sentence is cut off abruptly as it hits his face. A second later, the pillow is flying right back at George, who barely ducks in time.
“Finish getting dressed, idiot,” George scolds without any real heat, and Dream groans dramatically before turning back to his clothes.
They’re out of the house and seated in Dream’s car ten minutes later, leaving Sapnap curled up with Patches on the living room couch, watching some show on Netflix. Dream drives them to a diner not too far from the house, and George can’t help but chuckle at the corny 50’s style layout as they make their way inside.
“Very American,” he comments.
Dream nods, grinning widely. “I used to bring all the girls here.”
George scoffs. “What girls?”
“Hey, I’ll have you know I was your regular heartbreaker back in the day.”
“Maybe with your Minecraft girlfriends, nerd.”
Dream pouts, wrapping an arm around George’s waist and tugging him into a booth and onto his lap.
“Dream,” the brunette chuckles, pushing his hands against Dream’s chest to try and regain his balance. “Don’t pout, you know I’m right.”
“And to think I brought you on this nice date to share a milkshake like a cute, cheesy, Pinterest couple,” his boyfriend sighs.
“You’re so dramatic. Let me up.”
“I don’t think I will,” Dream says, tightening his hold and causing George’s arms to give out beneath him.
“Is this what you did with all your girls, huh?” George huffs, voice muffled against Dream’s chest where his face is pressed into soft cotton.
He can hear the grin in Dream’s voice when he responds, “What do you mean ‘did’? I’m still doing it, right now.”
A hand reaches up to hit him on the head. “Idiot.”
Dream let’s him sit up after that, and George pulls out his phone to take a picture of him quickly before he can move from his cramped position against the diner wall. He laughs at the picture, then holds the phone high in the air as Dream tries to swipe at it.
“I’m going to post this and make the fans go crazy,” George teases, pretending to tap away on the screen.
“No you won’t,” Dream scoffs, sitting up properly.
George raises an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”
“No. Sit down, idiot.”
George makes a point of moving to the opposite side of the booth because ‘that’s how normal people sit’, and mournfully tucks away his phone after Dream reminds him of all the blackmail material he holds. They each order a burger and fries, and Dream insists on getting a large vanilla milkshake with two straws for them to share.
“Why do I put up with you?” George jokes, watching as Dream grins and tilts his head in a way that resembles that of a puppy.
“You love me.”
George smiles. “I do.”
And he does. Despite his boyfriend’s overconfidence and frequent dramatics, George knows he loves him more than words can describe. They talk aimlessly until their food comes, then eagerly dig in. George steals at least a third of Dream’s fries from his plate, to the other man’s chagrin, in-between eating his own fries, and George argues that Dream has had considerably more of the vanilla milkshake than him.
When Dream irritably blows a strand of hair from his face and opens his mouth with what George knows is going to be a complaint, the brunette wordlessly hands him the hair tie from around his wrist. Dream rolls his eyes but takes the black band nonetheless, tying the mop of dirty blonde back into a tiny ponytail and chuckling when he notes the light blush on George’s cheeks.
“You don’t want me to cut my hair, do you?” he asks knowingly.
“You can do whatever you want, I don’t care,” George replies, shrugging with feigned indifference.
“Sure, baby.”
George’s nose wrinkles at the nickname and Dream laughs again.
“Who’s going to carry around my hair ties when you’re back in London? I’ll be a mess without you,” the blonde jokes, and George can’t help but frown at the thought.
“I just won’t go back, then.”
“Your flight at the end of this week says otherwise, but it does sound nice.”
George huffs, gaze trained on his lap. “I don’t want to leave at all.”
“Hey,” the blonde says softly, reaching over to rest his hand on George’s where it sits on the table. “Before you know it, you’ll be moving here. There’s no way they won’t approve you for a visa, and when they do you’ll come flying right back the second you can.”
George turns his hand to lace his fingers with Dream’s, feeling them squeeze briefly. “I know. I’m just going to hate being so far away again.”
“It won’t be for long.”
George sighs. “I know.”
“You’ll be okay. We will be. I promise,” Dream says, running his thumb against George’s pinky finger before taking his hand away.
George gives him a curious look, which goes ignored as Dream focuses on twisting one of the paper straw wrappers into a circle shape.
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
“Making you a promise ring, what does it look like?”
“That’s a paper wrapper, Dream.”
Dream nods, taking George’s hand again and pushing the makeshift ring onto his right ring finger. “It is. And when you come back to live here, I’ll get you a real one. That’s my promise.”
George rolls his eyes, but the fond grin across his face gives him away. “You’re so cringe, Dream. What would Twitter think of this?”
“They’d ask when the wedding was.”
They both laugh, and George fiddles with the paper ring around his finger with more admiration than he honestly should have considering it was a twisted scrap of paper. His heart flutters when he looks up again to meet his boyfriend’s gaze, offering a shy smile that he knows is accompanied by rose-pink cheeks when he notes the teasing glint in Dream’s eye.
“I’ll hold you to that promise,” he says softly, and Dream grins.