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This year’s Christmas is the same as last Christmas. And the one before that, and the other one before that, and so on.
Or at least, that’s what Dream thinks. It’s got to be, right? For twenty-two years nothing has changed, so where’s the hope that’s left?
Dream is thankful his life is financially stable, by ever-flowing cash from wherever his parents are across the globe, and a bank account worth thousands—maybe even millions after new year’s.
But with wealth comes price. A certain amount to pay in exchange for money and luxury. And that is, a normal nice working relationship with family.
Dream hates that. But if he’s to complain, people would bash him in the face for being a spoiled kid with a big mouth, attention seeking behaviour, showered with mommy and daddy’s money.
Sometimes he wishes he’d spend his Christmas at uni back in New York. But no one’s there, anyway. Plus, he'd miss Patches, who’s taken care of by Drista, who lives here in Florida.
So he spends his cold nights tucked away from gushing tongues. Instead, peacefully accompanied by blinking red-green lights and glossy metal decorations that hang lightly on the Fraser fir’s lush branches. Patches somewhere in the room toying with some decoration that managed to fall off.
Except this Christmas, it’s not going to be that way.
After a rare call from his parents—who were apparently having a blast at a party in Sydney—and a ton of elegantly wrapped gifts being delivered to his front door, Dream escapes the hollow of his home. Bidding goodbye to his sister and his cat.
Rumour has it a pretty boy had just moved down the street. Just a bit to the north from where his house is located.
After an awfully freezing ten minute walk, Dream found out that the rumour is indeed correct. Both the new neighbour part and the pretty part.
Because god damn, is he breath-taking.
Dream spots the guy—it’s pure guess but everything about the way he talks, the way he tries to blend in, with all those awkward edges, it’s kind of obvious that he is new to the environment.
And, oh, his accent.
Dream, by nature, entranced by the beauty that stood just a few steps ahead, approaches.
He’s about to greet the brunet, but the other beat him to it. “Hi there! I’m George, me and my family just moved this week. Figured we’d throw a welcome party for, well, ourselves. I think my mum forgot to leave an invitation to your house, but you’re welcome nonetheless.”
“Great—to uh, know! I’m Dream, nice to meet you.” Dream offers a friendly handshake, holding a nervous grimace acknowledging his own lack of words.
George accepts, delicate fingers meet calloused hands, sending jolts of joy through Dream’s bones, which ultimately got him to grin wider. Not sure what happened there. Probably just the holiday season.
“So, I assume you’re from England?” Dream starts. Small talk always gets him somewhere.
“Yes, London.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Definitely a hell lot chillier. Snow gets in the way.” George shrugs. “Happy we left, it’s warmer here.”
Dream chuckles. “You still look cold, though.”
“Did a mistake putting too little clothing on. It still is cold. I expected too much, I guess.”
“Get inside then? Change—or borrow my jacket if you want.”
“No, it’s fine.” George turns red, and it’s not because of the weather. Dream stares a bit too long, connecting the prominent freckles littered over his perfectly placed cheekbones. “Let’s just get inside.”
Dream breaks off the gaze, and smiles as he lets George drag his wrist into the newly furnished home that smelled of baked goods.
“Ooh, I see you brought a new friend!” A lady voices out from somewhere in a crowd. Voice laced with the same accent as George’s with features similar to the boy’s.
“Ah– Yes, mum, Dream!” George smiles. “Dream, my mum.”
“Hello! Nice to meet you, Mrs... uh...”
“Davidson! Clara Davidson.” The woman smiles.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Davidson.”
“You too, dear. Enjoy the party!” She says with a grin, before eyeing George as if telling him to be a good host.
Ten seconds later, Dream ends up with a Santa hat perched just above his eyebrows. If this is George’s definition of being a good host, then alright.
“Now I get where you got that beauty from.” The blond smirks.
George scoffs. “Are you hitting on my mum?”
Dream almost chokes on his own spit. “What? No, you!”
“Oh. Well—”
“What? Don’t tell me you’ve never looked into a mirror before.”
“I just meant— That’s one way to move forward.” George pauses. Dream waits with a grin itching to be unleashed. “Now cut, let’s get us some eggnogs.”
George strolls into a dining room filled with plenty of Christmas dishes ready to be served. Dream follows suit, eyes roaming for a line of eggnog cups.
George found it first, then handing one out to Dream, of which he chugs too eagerly.
“Whoa, slow down, tiger.” George chuckles.
“Haven’t had one of these for years.”
“Huh really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“When’s the last Christmas party you attended?”
“Two-three years ago, I think. But it’s nothing like this sophisticated family kind of party. Alcohol, sex, and all that jazz."
“Right.” George says, dragging the i. “Last ‘real’ one, then?”
“Probably when I was a kid, dunno.” Dream shrugs.
George takes a moment. Dream watches as the Brit’s eyes shift from something akin to a preloader to bright, idea-stunned.
“Then I’ll show you Christmas traditions!” George suggests. A hesitant smile placed across angel like features laced with child-like excitement.
“Come on now, I’ve seen those in movies, George.”
“But have you got to actually experience it?”
“Not some of them, no.”
“Then why not?” George smiles. “It’s gonna be fun, like a festive twenty questions.”
“I don’t see the similarities between those.”
“Eh, don’t mind it.” George shrugs and picks at Dream’s fitting sleeves, tugging it in the slightest so the taller would follow behind.
“Okay, first stop!” George announces, turning on his heels to face Dream, acting like a tour guide.
Cute.
“So here,” George says, gesturing to the line of fuzzy red socks that decorate the front of a fireplace, “are Christmas stockings. The one with your name on it is yours, of course. So basically, you fill it up with presents for kids. Or coal when they’re naughty—tradition—but we don’t do that here because that’s just eh, you know? Pretty sure no one does it but, yeah, that’s the legend.”
Dream only nods along, stupid sleek smile on his lips as he silently adores George’s rambling. In his defense, it’s adorable, who wouldn’t?
And if George had noticed his staring, he didn’t say a single word about it.
“Now,” George points to a specific corner of the living room with his thumb, then starts to skip towards it. Dream takes the signal and follows closely behind. “This one is a fun one, not gonna lie. Well, was, I don’t really participate anym—”
George is cut off by a particularly small, furry thing, meowing softly. It’s a tiny white cat with subtle black stripes. It was wearing an elf costume, causing some of its fur to bunch up on the sleeves.
It rubs the back of its head against George’s leg while its head tilts up looking at George, Dream, then back to George.
“Oh, hi Cat!” George’s face noticeably lights up in the presence of the so-called ‘cat’. “Um, sorry for the interruption, but my cat is too precious to ignore.”
“So, Cat? You call your cat ‘Cat’?”
“Well, it’s her name, so.” George shrugs. The brunet crouches down to pick Cat up into the gentle cradle of his arms. He holds her so dearly, carefully, as if she’s fragile. And to be fair, Dream would’ve done the same.
“What’s up with the costume?”
“Oh! That reminds me. It’s a Christmas tradition too! Dressing up your pets.”
“Oh, that’s new.” Dream nods understandingly. The taller looks around, just to realize how he’s stupid enough to not notice there’s a few dogs and cats running around in silly Christmas themed outfits. It’s an adorable sight, to say the least.
With Cat still wriggling in George’s seemingly comfortable hold, he continues to ramble. About gingerbread houses, this time. As well as a bunch of other traditions in the household.
The pair strolls from room to room with Dream following wherever the smaller goes. Explaining about this and that, and occasionally meeting family members and neighbours. And even if Dream already knew most of them, he still listened wholeheartedly.
“We're swapping presents, George, c’mon!” A man Dream acknowledges as Karl shouts out from a mere distance.
“You still do that?”
“Yes, why not?”
“I’m just– behind on the Christmas lore, I guess.” Dream jokes.
“You’re an idiot.” George rolls his eyes playfully. Pretty hazel catches Dream’s attention in an easy swoop as it moves. There’s something about the brunet that's enticing. Dream’s not sure if it’s his eyes or George as a whole. “Now, come, they’re waiting for us.”
“But I didn’t bring any presents.”
“Ugh, just come on!”
Dream grows a fond smile over George’s annoyingly cute etiquette. Viridian eyes linger on the childish yet delicate movements the brunet is sporting as he stomps down the hallway, hands intertwined in fairly freezing air between warm bodies.
This time though, George points out his staring. “Y’know, it’s rude to stare.”
Dream savvies it’s all playful sassiness. Something he’s picked up from George’s nature. But he plays along, a smirk slipping between chapped lips.
“It’s rude to walk around with pretty privilege.”
Dream can't see George’s face as he turns to strictly to look the other way, but even then he can sense the blush.
The present swapping went on smoothly. Almost the whole time, George was narrating about the activity being one of the last traditions he hasn’t mentioned yet, elaborating further on the topic. He got to see George’s dynamic with his family and friends, which was a pleasant experience. Though it only seemed to increase his fondness of the brunet even more.
“I got a scarf.” George says, rather not excited.
A red reindeer knitted scarf drapes across pale palms. The loose grip of slim fingers on soft looking fabric. The rich matte colour contrasts with George’s skin prettily. Dream could go on and on, but overall, the scarf is nothing short of perfect for George.
“Yay?”
“I’ve been getting scarves for the past three years, Dream. I don’t know who keeps gifting these but I hope they trip and fall.”
“Hey, be thankful! It helps keep you warm, at least.” Dream replies.
“Guess so.” George circles the scarf around his neck, propping it up on slender shoulders.
“I’ll take you to a shop sometime then, yeah? They got cool stuff there. Haven’t been there for a while, too, so I hope they’re still open. Pick whatever you want.”
George’s neck almost snaps as he turns his head to Dream. “Really?”
“Of course.” Dream smiles, George smiles, and he doesn’t think he can hide his fondness anymore.
The blond clears his throat. “Alright, so, what’s the last tradition?”
George visibly falters. His previously bright energy is fading now to a faint yellow, enveloped in rapid patterns of subtly racing heart. “Well– Well this one, I’m pretty sure you know already.”
Dream only frowns and waits for George to continue.
“Mistletoe.” George lets out.
“Oh, yea, of course, yeah.” Dream shrugs nonchalantly as he guides the both of them to a particular spot. Just one or two steps away. He makes sure to do that extra subtly.
There’s hesitation, of course. The constant heavy pang in his chest as sweat threatens to spill. “And we’re under one.”
Dream can feel the way George's figure stiffens. A blush creeps up onto freckled cheeks, and Dream thinks there’s nothing that could compare to George's beauty. Dream odders his praise to Aphrodite, or whatever being out there that had sculpted this gem of a boy.
The expanse of his neck—although covered by a scarf—Dream could still imagine how it would feel to press a loving peck there. Fluffy chestnut hair that reached past his eyebrows looks so soft that Dream’s palm instinctively places itself on top of it, giving it a soft ruffle.
And God, those cherry lips.
If he could, Dream wouldn’t mind spending time planting kisses that would leave a mark on his brain. Head tilting up until green leaves reflect against caramel eyes. The barely-there gasp that leaves his pink lips doesn’t go unnoticed either.
“Dream...”
“May I?” It comes out more breathless than he intended it to be.
“It’s technically the rule, so.” George smiles sheepishly.
Dream is more than happy to dive in. Taking in plump lips against his own. It’s softer than he thought it would be—at least this time of the year. It’s slick, smooth and every promise in cloud nine. Sleek ribbons of spit and innocence reveal a sensation he never knew existed. A longing to keep the other close in his embrace—to never let go.
But time passes, and the kiss ends almost as quick as it starts. It felt longer than it really was, and Dream takes notes to remember every single turn of their lips.
When they part, both of them are slightly panting. Not because of the kiss, but the nervousness and uncertainty that comes with it.
“Okay.” George huffs out a breath.
“Merry Christmas.” Dream softly says.
“Merry Christmas to you too.”