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George hates the big blond asshole that he’s stuck with for the rest of the year, he dwells in his misery about it every time he’s in the room. It’s not that he never knew of Dream before they got stuck together in his second year, he just never knew he was this bad. Yeah, he’s never been fond of the football idiots, with their dude-bro vibes. But this one. This one. Fuck him.
And he chose to room with him too. In ignorance, of course, he’d never look at his stupid fucking face and decide to be stuck with him. It’s just, he’s friends with Sapnap. And Sapnap is pretty okay, even as an annoying football idiot, he figured that he’d have good friends. And Karl had begged and begged to let him room with Sapnap.
So Karl had been pried from his nice-roommate role into Sapnap’s big stubborn arms, leaving him with no ideas on who to room with. And he’d heard of Dream, seen him in passing, it seemed better than rooming with a random person. Sapnap had told him a million times that he’s clean and a good person. Well? Wrong.
He doesn’t know how Sapnap roomed with him, George thinks he shoves all his shit under the bed when the others come over. He wouldn’t know, he’s never there. He wouldn’t be caught dead spending extra time with Dream, no way. To make it worse, Karl just thinks it’s funny. He can sit on George’s bed, listen, and then go back to his stupid room with his stupid boyfriend.
And George has to go back to ignoring Dream and his dumb habit of humming nonstop. He’s always shirtless too, like he’s got something to prove about his dumb football player body. And he’s always got this dumb thinking expression on his face when he’s doing schoolwork, like it’s the hardest thing in the world because his brain is only wired for fucking football plays or whatever. Dream is dumb. He gets on George’s nerves.
Which is something that Karl, Sapnap, and Dream all find highly amusing. They just love to see him suffer. But the other two have zero idea how bad it really is, with his snobbiness. He thinks he’s so special when he complains about how George brings hook-ups to the room, the prude. It’s not like George takes up the room for entire nights after partying. Besides, Dream can sleep on a couch or two once in a while. Change of scenery, no seeing the blonde’s stupid face or hearing comments on things that aren’t his business.
To make it worse, in the time leading up to games, the other gets insanely antsy. He never can sit still, pacing or jumping in place or shaking his hands out or making dumb noises with his mouth. It drives George absolutely insane and no matter how many times he yells at him to sit still, Dream always jumps on the chance to fight while he’s full of energy. Can’t he see he’s distracting?
George just goes to the library, he suspects that the other acts out more when he’s in the room. He tries, really, to just get through it. He works to ignore him, argues when things stay bad for long enough, tries to shove as much space between them so Dream never speaks to him. He does anyway, the fucking football idiot. It’s like he can’t take a hint, letting George in on his little anecdotes without being prompted.
Another thing probably just to get on his nerves, George always blatantly ignores him. Whatever, you get it, everyone gets it, George hates Dream. If he had more willpower, he’d fill out a form for a new roommate. But Karl has begged him to play nice, so he has. Like he has the energy for any of that anyway, what if he gets stuck with someone worse?
Dream is annoying and borderline intolerable, but at least he’s never tried to hurt him or touch his belongings. And that’s with the blonde knowing his sexuality, no insults or anything of the sort ever leaving his mouth. Which is the bare minimum but it’s still something. If he got stuck with one of those football idiots that change rooms every other week, his stuff would probably get trashed because of it. Even when they fight, the other never has even made a motion to hurt him, the big idiot.
Sapnap claims he’s this big soft oaf. Which might be partially correct, George will give credit to some of that statement, though Dream isn’t particularly nice to him. Though, none of those positives will ever be heard spoken from George’s mouth. He wouldn’t want to give the egotistical blonde an even bigger ego, he’s bad enough as is.
He’s dwelling again, lips pressed into a line, eyes unfocused on his document. The essay is half-done, his brain just turned off its focus the moment that his roommate turned on music. Dream’s eyes are tracing the ceiling, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He’s rolling around a squishy fidget toy ball in his hand, gaze unseeing on cracked paint. He’s shirtless because of course he is.
George lays back, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to get back into the actual subject. It’s useless, mind caught following the words of the song instead of the words he’s supposed to be writing, he shuts his laptop. He’ll just rush it later, discarding it carefully on his nightstand, tired. He rolls away from the blonde, facing the wall so a conversation isn’t started the moment he’s not busy, pulling his blankets over himself.
He’s slept through enough lectures to know that he could sleep through the music playing, already drifting. Of course, of course, a thoughtful tone, “George?”
George ignores it pointedly, keeping his eyes closed stubbornly.
A beat and then, “I know you’re not asleep already. George.”
The brunette lets out a long sigh, “What?”
“Will you..” It sounds like the other is still deep in thought, “Will you come to my next game?”
“No.” He says instantly, wrinkling his nose at the very idea.
“Thank god,” A laugh, humorless, “Sap wanted me to ask you.”
“Tell him I said I’ll go to a football game when I’m dead.”
“Well, I don’t want you there anyway.”
Instantly George’s mind twists around those words and his spiteful side rises up, “Though, I’d get to see what gets you so nervous. Bet it’s boring.”
“Mmm?” A yawn, “I don’t get nervous.”
George twists to give him a look, eyebrows flat.
Dream’s lips lift into a smile, crooked, showing a dimple on one side, “So you’re not going?”
“No,” George turns over again, still undecided on how much he wants to spite Dream, “Tell him I’m not.”
****
Wrong. An hour or two before the game, having nothing better to do, he texts Karl, Hypothetically, how cold does it get at football games?
Karl shows up at his door within ten minutes, probably having run, grinning like a madman, “George? Football? Who are you?”
Both Dream and Sapnap have already left to warm up or whatever, leaving the two. Karl just shoves clothes into his hands and he pulls them on, bundling up. A beanie is secured over his head, one that he feels is definitely Dream’s but Karl deems fair game. He almost calls it quits with the amount of effort put into going, not realizing it was going to be this taxing. Just to annoy Dream. Probably worth it.
Once they’re seated on the bleachers, Quackity squishing against his other side and giggling wildly, George points a stern finger at Karl and establishes, “I came to the game for Sapnap, okay? I felt bad that I’ve supported him less than I should.”
Quackity elbows him, always intruding, saying, “Sure, sure. Look out for Dreamie out there, number 22, we know that’s who you want to see anyway.”
“Shut the fuck up,” George shakes his head, eyes turning to the field to find the number despite his words, “What number is Sap again?”
“Thirteen, duh,” Karl laughs back happily.
But George’s gaze stumbles upon Dream then, catching his stupid smile and his height. He’s not the tallest in the team, but George has been stuck with him enough to recognize it’s him even with a helmet on. He’s talking rapidly, it looks, careless with whoever. He looks to be in his element and it gives George whiplash to see this in comparison to his nervousness. Is he faking? He can’t tell.
Sapnap jogs up and claps him on the shoulder, the other lighting up even more. If George wasn’t paying attention, he’d nearly miss the way the shorter squeezes Dream’s wrist. Reassurance? George realizes he’s leaned forward in his seat, leaning back. Why does he care so much, anyway? He doesn’t, he doesn’t care. He brushes it off, looking at other players to find familiar faces.
He doesn’t understand a single moment of the game, stumbling to follow along with Karl. At least his two friends have enough time spent with football idiots to dumb down the game for him. He still doesn’t completely get it but nods like he does anyway, it’s just one game anyway. Not like he’s going to go to another anytime soon.
From what Karl tells him, their whole team seems to be pretty decent players. He’s taken through by name, his friend giggling to him about dumb things they’ve done too. George doesn’t get it and doesn’t attempt to, simply feeding on the energy of the crowd. They win, as Karl screams loudly in his ear when the entire crowd jumps up around them.
He’s slow to stand as well, catching the entire team grasping onto each other in happiness. Huh. Damn this, it’s making him dislike the football idiots less. Karl grabs his hand and pulls him down the bleachers against his will, Quackity being left behind and laughing manically. He feels small, down near the football players, awkward as Karl embraces Sapnap. But then the shorter spots him and lights up, pulling him into a sweaty side hug, “You came!”
He shrugs, “Had nothing better to do. You did well. I think.”
“I mean, we won, right?” Sapnap laughs and Karl kisses him. George feels small again, wanting to leave now. It was fun but he’s done for the night, trying to glance around for an opening to escape through. His elbow is grabbed by a gentle hand, tugging his attention to the side, eyes meeting his roommate’s.
Dream’s eyebrows are furrowed, he leans down so he can be heard, “You came?”
He’s gross and sweaty, still out of breath from the game. George doesn’t have it in him to be mean, having witnessed the win and for once letting him have it, “You guys won.”
“Well,” The blonde looks over the crowd, pressing his lips into a line, “Yeah.”
“Are you..” Fuck, being even a tiny bit nice is hard, “Are you staying?”
“Yeah, there’s like a thing after,” A hand is still gentle on his elbow, forgotten in the other’s thought, “You wanna come?”
He shakes his head, “This was fucking exhausting.”
“You’re telling me,” Dream laughs, looking over the crowd again for some reason. Then he hums, releasing his arm, tilting his head, “Is that mine?”
George shakes his head, waving it off, setting off. The quietness makes him realize his muffled hearing, the loud yelling must have taken a toll on him. He needs to remember to bother Karl to get earplugs or something, dead on his feet as he unlocks the door. He doesn’t even unbundle before he’s collapsed onto his bed and absent from the conscious world.
****
Since then, he’s pointedly avoided Dream before games, the nervousness making him feel weird. And he hasn’t attended one since, not once he remembers Dream’s dead-weight half-naked frame the next morning. Or the hickeys that’d been scattered on his chest for too long for them not to make an itch in George’s brain. He wasn’t aware that Dream even got laid, not with how much time he spends complaining about George.
Whatever, he doesn’t care. At all. He just falls into his classes and his covers only to crash, ignoring all attempts at conversation. Dream thinks they’re friends now that he was somewhat nice once. Idiot. It reaches a point where the other gives up finally, simply always absent from the room. Never coming back at night either too.
What? George doesn’t worry about him ever, he’s relieved to be left alone. Totally. But when he gets cornered by a worried Sapnap demanding answers, he realizes he’s a bit in the wrong. They both get upset that he has no answers, Sapnap saying he can never get a hold of him. Which puts George on edge but he doesn’t want to latch onto Dream in the short moments he returns. It’d be a hit to his pride.
Instead he tilts his chin up and talks, never taking his eyes off his screen, “Where you going tonight?”
“None of your business,” It’s sharper than anything he’s gotten in a while, the two mostly ignoring each other or mumbling carelessly.
“I-,” George stares at his back, hoping he feels the burn of his frustration, “You can’t just disappear.”
“What do you care?” Dream’s searching through clothes gets more aggressive, dripping venom.
“Sapnap fucking cares,” He starts pushing his laptop to the side, “He’s bothering me about it now.”
“Fuck off, George,” Dream’s actions halt, frame stiff, teeth clenched. George rises, coming up behind him to catch his gaze. But he keeps his eyes low on his hands, jaw set. Then he says quieter but still just as angry, voice cracking, “I’m going to a party, okay? I’m a full-grown fucking adult, I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I know that. Just text him, you can’t just ignore him, he’s a mess.” Dream’s brows flatten but his eyes rise to George’s, unwavering. The brunette tilts his head, “Just so he knows you’re not dead. And so he quits bothering me.”
The taller shakes his head but it’s obviously not a refusal, just acknowledgment of the last bit of his words. George retreats back to his spot on his bed, adjusting his blankets over himself again. He tugs the laptop into his lap, trying to act like he didn’t stage a weird intervention with someone he hates.
But then he remembers and his head shoots up, Dream already opening the door, he calls after him, “And come home tonight for once, yeah?”
All he gets is the other closing the door behind him, making him sigh. He gets some work done, sending a quick text to Karl saying that he said something. He hopes it works, that the other will at least fall back on his friend during this weird thing he’s got going on. He means, what? He doesn’t worry about Dream one bit. Ever.
But he straightens up immediately at the sound of the door opening again around 2am. Dream looks absolutely destroyed when he presses the door shut behind him, expression solemn. He says no words, doesn’t try to wipe the troubled look off his face, simply collapsing into bed. He faces the wall, curling up in a way that looks vulnerable.
George mentally sighs, biting on his lips. Fuck. Fuck. Goddammit. He gets up quietly, making his way over, touch lightly tugging on the other’s arm, “What’s got you all.. This?”
“George,” Dream presses into his touch, stupidly large arms wrapping him up into an unfamiliar prison, forcing him onto the mattress as well. He barely catches himself before he just crashes into the other, adjusting with how he’s now trapped. He lays, careful, just in case the other decides to shove him off the bed.
He just gets a wet face pressing into his shoulder, the scent of alcohol glued to the other’s skin. What the fuck. They’re definitely not close enough for this. And he’s absolute shit at comforting, he hates crying people. George doesn’t even know what to do with his hands for a second before he’s tentatively grabbing a shoulder, shushing him gently.
Dream is trembling against him, hiding away, no words to say. And that realization crashes down on George, who squeezes him, mumbling, “Do I need to get Sapnap?”
“Fuck,” The blonde pushes away, “Fuck, I’m sorry, please don’t. It’ll kill him.”
“You’re crying though,” Dream’s eyelashes are covered with tears, shielding his gaze from George’s. The brunette squeezes again, “You’re really crying.”
“It’s fine,” The taller wipes the rosy trail off his cheeks, “It’s not your problem, I’m fine.”
“It’s too fucking late now, idiot, I’m already here. So spit it out, what’s wrong?”
Dream’s gaze lifts to him then, hands pausing. Then it’s gone again, avoiding his, it’s only a mumble, “I don’t think I want to play football anymore.”
“So?” George furrows his eyebrows, “Then don’t play anymore.”
“No-” A sigh, “George, you don’t get it. If I don’t play then.. I don’t know who I am.”
“Yourself. Football doesn’t change that,” George says, catching the next tear with his own cold fingers and wiping it away.
“I’ve worked my ass off to play. What if I just throw it all away?”
“Then you’re just.. You’re just an English major,” George says, “Which is fine. Better than being a History major or something.” The laugh that Dream lets out is watery, weak. The brunette hums, “Just think a bit on it, you know? Make sure it’s what you want.”
“That’s true,” That glossy green gaze meets his, “Thanks, George.”
“Whatever,” He retracts his hand from where it’d been mindlessly lingering, “Just come home at night, hm? I think you need to get some sleep.”
“Ooh,” Lips curving upward now, “Someone cares about me.”
“Shut up or I’m going to be the one leaving,” George sits up, escaping from Dream’s heat at his side. It’d been lulling him into sleep and he needs to return to his own bed before he acts like an idiot. They don’t speak about it in the morning, just that he gets a thanks in text from Sapnap along with a million heart emojis. It almost makes the awkwardness of it worth it.
****
The two of them don’t exchange more than little looks, George is still in denial that he shared any nice words at all. He doesn’t care about Dream of all fucking people. That would be dumb. It’s Sapnap’s problem now, he doesn’t care, he wants nothing more to do with it than what he was forced to.
Which is the worst when Dream comes back wasted, looking small when he falls into bed. But George doesn’t care so he doesn’t speak up. He doesn’t have to anymore, he hasn’t been bothered again. So he just leaves it alone, sneaks glances when the other is doing schoolwork, and doesn’t talk when he sees vulnerability. Easy.
Or not so much. Definitely not on the night that Dream comes back so drunk he can barely stand and collapses nearly on top of George. He just falls as dead-weight, stunning the other awake at the way it shakes his whole bed. He feels lucky that it didn’t break, Dream’s eyes already closed. George pushes at his shoulder, weight half on him, still groggy, “Wrong bed.”
A hum, eyes remaining closed. He’s on his stomach, head laid down near the brunette’s, obviously falling into sleep. George tries to push at him again but there’s no way he’s going to get the other up and into bed if there’s no cooperation. He’s stubborn, not strong. He eyes Dream’s bed, not wanting to sleep with the other, wrinkling his nose about his knowledge that the other is gross.
He’s slept in his messy sheets without showering after games, George decides he’d rather just suffer through the rest of the night. He still grumbles to the other, “I literally hate you.”
The corner of Dream’s lips quirks up, earning him a slap on his shoulder that isn’t as harsh as he truly meant it to be. Whatever, he just got woken up, he’s not in full fight mode. And he’s too tired to stay up anyway, letting his eyes fall shut. It heightens the sensation of breath hitting his skin and the smell of alcohol, he shoves away the chill that goes up his spine.
He wakes feeling as if he’s burning up, a heavy arm laid across his chest and a face pressed into the crook of his neck. His own head had been resting against the other’s, cheek against soft blonde curls. They hadn’t moved much in their sleep, Dream still on his stomach while he’s on his back. They’re just stuck together, he feels too warm even with no covers.
Dream seems to still be in deep sleep, radiating heat, dead to the waking world. His back rises and falls slowly with his breaths, fingers twitching occasionally where his hand rests at George’s side. The feel of his touch brushing the sensitive spot makes him want to shy away, there’s nowhere to go with someone on top of him.
He sighs, resting his cheek back against the other’s head, a bit mad at himself for enjoying the innocent touch. He still feels the other’s breath hitting his skin, closing his eyes. It’s been so long since he laid with anyone, slept next to anyone. But reality knocks on the door, forcing him out of it. Literally, someone’s knocking at the door.
Instantly George is fighting his way away, shoving insistently at the other. Karl calls through the door, “George? You up yet?”
Dream makes a noise in complaint, large hand curling around his side to try to tug him back underneath him. But the brunette hisses, “Let me go, he’s got a key, you idiot. Go to your bed.”
Another mumble of complaint, the blonde pushing himself up. His eyes stay nearly closed, he falls down onto his own bed as another knock sounds. George calls, “One moment.”
He makes sure there’s nothing suspicious to give away their odd sleeping arrangement from the night before, standing. He’s smoothing out his shirt and his hair, making sure Dream is securely in his own space. Then he opens the door, not forcing energy into his expression. Karl giggles, “Just wake up?”
****
And they don’t talk about that either, there’s just blatant avoidance. The next time they talk at all is when Dream gets sick, for the first time it’s really George that goes and bothers him. He’d been pale, shivering even with a hoodie and many blankets, looking miserable. And the brunette had crept over, placing the back of his hand against the other’s forehead, “You’re burning up.”
“No shit,” Dream grumbles, looking up, “I feel so sick right now.”
“Maybe just don’t?” George hums, getting a glare. He rolls his eyes and sighs, heading back to his bed, “You better not get me sick.”
In an hour, he’s escaping out into the warm summer air with Karl, an easy stroll like old times. They talk about classes and Sapnap and Dream being sick (“Don’t you feel bad for him?” “I kinda think he deserves it.”). They huddle close when it gets dark and colder and they’re nearly home. But Karl’s got to ruin everything, “Hey, look!”
He points to a cozy-looking cafe excitedly. George surveys it, “What?”
“You can get your roomie some soup,” Karl shrugs.
“Ew, don’t call him that,” George wrinkles his nose, “And no, he’ll be fine.”
“You can say it’s from me or something. C’mon, you know he probably hasn’t left his bed all day,” It’s the whole puppy eyes and pouty lip combo.
George observes it in suspicion, “Why do you care so much?”
“Because,” Karl smiles, “If I someday marry Sap then my best friend and his best friend should get along. Or!” Karl jumps a bit in excitement at the idea, “You two can battle it out as best men like a rom-com.”
“That’d imply that we like each other,” George protests. But Karl is still looking at him expectantly and he lets out a long sigh, “Fine. For you, though. Not him.”
He gets him chicken noodle, in a little takeout container made to keep it hot. They walk back to the dorm building quicker, George getting a water bottle too as they go. Just so he doesn’t have to leave the room for it later if Dream is a whiny bitch, he justifies.
Karl gives him a little giggle and finger wave before they part, George stands in front of his door and wishes he’d dragged the other along. Being nice is a bad look for him, George doesn’t do nice. This is stupid, he feels ridiculous. It’s a struggle to unlock the door and it’s pitch black when it is open, making him struggle to not trip on his way to the light switch.
Dream looks dead, stripped down to sweats and spread out over his covers. So he must’ve gotten warm instead of cold then. He’s asleep, very much asleep. George could just not wake him up and therefore not have to worry about being kind, but also he didn’t spend his damn money just so the other can drink cold soup tomorrow.
He sets the food and drink on Dream’s nightstand, gathering up empty water bottles to put in the trash. It frees up a lot of space, he lets out a long sigh. Then he’s shaking the blonde awake gently, getting a hum in response. He just hisses back, “Dream.”
Furrowed eyebrows, stubborn to hold onto sleep.
George shakes him again, “Wake up, dumbass. I got you soup.”
“Me?” He sounds a ton more congested than he did when George last heard him. The brunette is too stubborn to let out more than a hum of affirmation. He still feels ridiculous. Dream cracks an eye open then, beginning to push himself up. He still looks miserable, hair a mess, and George carefully opens the container for him and places it in his shaky hands.
“Slow,” George soothes as he watches him tremble as he lifts the spoon to his mouth, “I got you water too.”
George truly doesn’t know what he did to get this sick but he looks exhausted. He takes pity and doesn’t give him shit for it. Dream looks to him, murmuring, “Thank you, George.”
“Karl made me, really.” He sits across from him lightly, rolling his eyes, “Something about marriage and rom-coms? Like, him and Sapnap being nasty and us being forced to be friendly? I think.”
Dream scoffs in amusement, remarking, “Nasty.”
George hums, getting back up and tidying up his side of the room for bed. He also changes, uncaring as he has been every day since the two got stuck together. He takes the empty container from Dream once he’s done, feeling as if the other wouldn’t be steady enough on his feet. They go to sleep without another word, the blonde returning to his spread-out position over his blankets.
He still seems gone in the morning, asleep as he recovers, George gets another water bottle for him before he goes to his classes in the morning. When he returns, Dream is under the covers again and bundled up, practically pouting. George yawns as he sets his bag down, falling into bed tiredly. He could go for a nap, really.
He rubs his eye, bending his legs to pull his shoes off before pulling covers over him. The blonde ruffles blankets across the room, probably turning, voice complaining, “George. George, I’m so cold.”
“That sucks for you.”
“George.” It’s bordering on a whine, making the brunette lift his head to see how upset he really is. He gets furrowed eyebrows and pleading eyes, bottom lip sticking out. He looks like a kicked puppy and George laughs.
But he gets what’s being asked, waving his hand dismissively, “No, Dream, I can’t get sick.”
“I’m so cold,” Dream squints his eyes at him, lip pouting more.
“No.”
They just look at each other, the blonde makes a soft noise.
George turns away, “No. I’m going to take a nap.” There’s silence, the brunette looking at the wall for a long moment. Then he swears, “Goddammit, I hate you.” He turns, “C’mere. If I get sick then you’re dead.”
Dream brightens, instantly hopping up to slip under the covers, “If you get sick I’ll take care of you.”
“Not very reassuring,” George grumbles, turning away again, “We’re taking a nap though. I am. Don’t bother me or you’re going back to your bed.”
The blonde hums in agreement to that, pressing closer. He’s warm, George can feel it even though they’re not touching. He stubbornly keeps facing the wall, not wanting to meet the other’s eyes and acknowledge himself giving in. But Dream hums, “George?”
“I thought you weren’t going to bother me.”
“George. Why do you hate me so much?” His voice is soft and raspy now, tired.
“Because you’re annoying,” He answers firmly.
“Because I cried?” It’s soft, worried.
“What?” George furrows his eyebrows, finally turning to meet his eyes. There’s more sadness there than he expected, “No. Why would I hate you for crying, Dream.”
A shrug, still worried and with sad eyes.
George rolls his eyes, “You can cry anytime you want, it’s healthy, idiot.”
“But Sap should’ve been the one to pick up the pieces, not you.”
“That’s stupid. He’s part of the whole football thing, you know? It was okay that you didn’t want to talk to him about it.”
“Was it?” Dream looks exhausted from his conversation.
“Yes,” George presses a hand to his forehead, feeling his warm temperature, “I don’t hate you, you just annoy me sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” The blonde’s lips lift.
George huffs, pulling his hand away, “Right now is one of those times.”
It’s a bit awkward to fall asleep facing each other, not touching. Especially with the way he can feel Dream’s gaze dancing all over his face when he closes his eyes. But he makes due, not wanting to turn his back again because the heat of the other is overwhelming. If he wakes tucked against Dream’s chest then that’s nobody’s business.
****
Of course he gets sick, he feels the heaviness in his body and wants to mourn all the schoolwork that’s going to pile up. Dream is back to normal again, full of energy and ready to leave the room. He’s nearly jumping all over the room in excitement of just going to classes. George regrets antagonizing Dream when he was sick as much as he did. Which he didn’t really.
His head feels like it’s splitting and every movement makes his stomach turn. He thinks he cries three different times in front of Dream about how terrible he feels. The blonde is.. surprisingly kind about it. Karl refuses to come over to help, claiming he won’t until they disinfect the whole room. But Dream is all soft touches and worried murmurs, making George’s heart twist too.
He comes out of the sickness feeling weird, he blames it on still recovering, cleaning the room so neither of them gets sick again. He’s wiping down his nightstand when he’s caught by the elbow with a gentle hand, “George?”
He hums, prevented from his movement, looking up, “What?”
“Will you come to the game with me?”
“What?” George furrows his eyebrows, “I thought you were playing.”
“I quit,” It’s said with a shrug but he can read Dream enough now to know it’s a big deal.
“You did? When?”
“Well,” He releases his elbow to smooth down his blonde curls, “I think officially.. yesterday? But I gave them the heads up a week ago.”
“Oh.” So when he was sick, George doesn’t remember anything seeming off. But if he thinks about it enough, he realizes that the usual pregame nervousness was never there, “That’s today, isn’t it? The game?”
“Karl’s going, so if you don’t want to then it’s fine,” A shrug that feels too casual, “Just figured you’d want to get out of the room.”
“Yeah,” George agrees, knowing that the other is nervous about it. And probably sensitive, he looks for his phone, “Fuck, what time is it?”
“Like 10?” Another shrug, “Game’s at 11:30.”
“Okay,” He nods but Dream lingers. He waves his hand dismissively, “I already said yes, idiot. Let me clean a bit more before we go.”
“Oh,” Dream says it like he didn’t pick up on the agreement to go at all, “I’m going to Sap’s for a bit.”
“Okay, idiot,” George huffs out a little laugh. He gets a fleeting touch against his elbow again before the other’s gone. His cheeks feel like they’re on fire and he scrubs harder at the surface in irritation about it.
Karl returns with Dream, the two laughing about something when they open the door, making George’s heart squeeze. But then George is being forced into wearing layers, the same beanie that’s definitely Dream’s based on his amused look, and gloves. Dream chuckles, “That’s so many layers.”
“It’s cause he’s small,” Karl protests, gesturing to him, “Gets cold easier.”
George shoves him for that, he’s really not in too many layers. It’s only three jackets, really, and none of them are very thick. Dream still laughs at him when they step outside and he shivers, making him shove him too. Bunch of idiots, he can’t find it in himself to regret agreeing to go though.
George really came to be emotional support but he realizes too late the vital problem that he knows fuck-all about football. So now it’s obvious that he just came for the other. He sits between Karl and Dream, sitting with his legs crossed up on the bench and trying to keep up. He doesn’t do a very good job, resting his chin on his hand in boredom.
Warm breath dusts his cheek, “Do you have any idea at all what’s happening?”
Dream looks amused but the words aren’t meant to be making fun of him. George shrugs, admitting, “Not really.”
“Here, c’mere,” He’s being urged to scoot closer. And then Dream begins murmuring about what plays are happening. He doesn’t know what he expected really, to let the other simply talk, but the look on the other surprises him.
It’s passion, eyes bright, hands moving as he explains. He looks completely content to talk about his interest to someone who’s listening, grinning with pure happiness. It’s odd, to be given that look, George almost feels it’s reserved for someone else. For a moment more private.
He nods and tries to keep up the best he can, tries not to let his mouth hang open and stare. Dream looks much happier than when they’d been watching the game in silence, talking his ear off. He lights up when he remembers a famous play or whatever similar to what’s happening. And George still knows fuck-all about football but he knows a lot more about Dream.
When their team wins, they both get up and cheer, and Dream gives him this more private smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes. No. Oh no. George turns away so fast because of the flustered feeling that spreads through his body, stomach turning. No fucking way. There’s no way that the other just being nice to him has made his feelings betray him. He will not start liking another straight man.
He’s so stuck that Karl’s even stopped himself from rushing down to the field, tugging on his sleeve worriedly. He shakes his head, letting himself be pulled down the bleachers, losing Dream in the crowd. When Sapnap hugs him, he’s stiff, off. He’s shaken, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” George blinks, still stunned, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
There’s an afterparty. He has half the mind just to go home but he doesn’t know if Dream plans to do the same. He’d rather see him at a party than see him alone in their dorm. He needs to process all of this, this curveball has knocked him off his feet.
He does not, in fact, process. He loses himself in alcohol and loud music, being caught multiple times by women in glossy lipstick. He doesn’t want it to be widespread knowledge that he’s gay, not in this crowd, so he always slips away with an apologetic smile. He feels awkward and out of place, not interested in third-wheeling with Karl and Sapnap.
But he catches the eye of some football player, with dark hair and a darker gaze, and nods to the stairs. He’s used to the whole discreet hookup thing, heading upstairs and the man following a minute later. This one is risky though, pressing him against a door and kissing him hungrily. The feeling of stubble scraping against his jaw reminds him of someone else and he tugs on his hair harder.
But then a door opens, somewhere down the hall, and George’s eyes jump to it warily. The football player attached to his neck doesn’t seem to care much at all. But then George meets familiar eyes and he wants to die, Dream with swollen lips and darkening marks down his neck. George’s hand finds the doorknob and twists, sending both him and the random man into the room. He presses the door shut hard behind them, closing off that stupid look on Dream’s face.
Who gave him the right to look hurt? Not with his stupid hickeys or goddamn heterosexuality. He’s straight, George lets himself be pressed onto the bed, probably just fucked some woman. And he’s hurt? The stupid fucking bastard, George finally lets his mind go blank after that. He doesn’t remember much after that, not the man who fucked him or getting home. Just that he’d been so goddamn angry that he almost didn’t want to go home.
****
It all goes downhill from there. They had been making progress, gradually becoming nicer. And then George had shut and locked every gate leading to them being even somewhat friendly. He ignores Dream until he also quits trying, missing sometimes at night the sparse memories of them sleeping next to each other. But it’s for his protection, so he doesn’t get hurt by the big blonde idiot that has his feelings captured in his clumsy hands.
Until Sapnap comes into the picture and threatens to beat the shit out of him if he doesn’t start being nice. Which is bullshit and maybe George cries to Karl about it. He expects comfort but Karl is weirdly stern in a way he never is, sending George into confused theories. But he’s alone, really, as long as he’s protecting himself. And it sucks. His free time is spent sulking about it.
It feels like any other day when Dream sits next to him, voice soft, “Hey.”
George ignores him, typing away on some dumb assignment.
“What’s wrong?”
“Fuck off,” George keeps his eyes glued to his screen.
“George. It’s been like a month.”
“What do you want? Can you just leave me alone? You’re so goddamn annoying.” He bites, venom spilling from behind his teeth. He’s shaking.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Dream rises to meet him, “We’re all fucking worried about you.”
“I fucking hate you, you know?” George rises to escape the room, unable to handle it, “I’m going to fill out one of those goddamn forms-“
Dream catches him halfway there, arms twisting around him to hold him close, face pressing between his shoulder blades, “Can you just tell me what I did wrong? I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry, George, about whatever I did. I’m sorry.”
His voice cracks and so does George, trembling in his hold. His large hands are splayed with one against his chest and one over his ribs. He’s supported and he falls, he’s crying. George twists, and he thinks Dream expects to be hit by the way he winces, arms twisting around his neck to hide against him. Those large hands find a place on his back instead, squeezing him just as close in their embrace.
One hand runs through his hair, words spoken shakily against his skin, “It’s okay, George. You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” George cries, “Dream, I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Dream is so tender with his words, “It’s okay.”
The brunette shakes his head, “I didn’t mean it. Don’t hate you.”
“I know,” Dream hums, still supporting him.
George is fucked. He’s so stupid for getting this caught up, he needs to talk to Karl. He pulls back as much as he can with the other’s tight hold on him, cradling his face in his hands, “You didn’t have to apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong.”
Dream leans into his touch, voice breaking, “George. I had to have done something.”
“You didn’t,” The brunette gazes up into his eyes, probably looking like a mess from crying, “I promise.”
“Okay,” The blonde gives in, hugging him close again.
George huffs a humorless laugh, remarking, “This is a change in pace for us, huh.”
“As long as you don’t go,” A large hand cups the back of his head and his chin hooks over his shoulder, “I don’t really care.”
“You care about me,” He meant for it to be teasing but it ends up being more of a statement.
“Duh,” Dream hums, “And you care about me.”
And, with arms draped over broad shoulders, George bumps their heads together gently but doesn’t speak. He’s squeezed in response, reassuring that it’s okay if they don’t hate each other. And maybe it is.
“Okay,” Dream pulls away finally, “You’re okay to keep doing your schoolwork now? And we’re okay?”
“Yeah,” George nods to both of those questions, rubbing his cheeks.
****
When he confesses to Karl, his friend punches him. George winces, rubbing over his shoulder and stating again that Dream’s straight so it’s all fucked anyway. But he reassures that they’d made up at least, leaving out the whole crying bit. And Karl is just staring at him, silent. He doesn’t get it, really, the staring. He makes sure to say that he’s not going to screw up anything obviously.
Then he’s punched again midsentence and Karl shakes him hard, “George.”
“What?”
“Yes, he’s given permission for me to tell anyone I think is safe, first off.” Karl says and then shakes him again, “Dream is bisexual, you big fucking idiot.”
“He’s..” George blinks, furrowing his eyebrows, “He’s what? Nobody thought to tell me this?”
“I thought you knew! I thought he told you.”
“So I.. Wait, why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“Maybe he thought he did,” Karl shrugs, “Maybe he thought you’d pick up on it?”
“How would I do that? He’s all football-ish.”
“So is Sap,” Karl counters, crossing his arms, “You two are helpless idiots.”
It explains so much now, puts down why exactly that Dream isn’t homophobic. Because why Sapnap isn’t is a given. And now Dream too, he supposes. George stiffens, “So we’re all..”
“Yup,” Karl smiles, “I can’t believe you’ve barely picked this up.”
“Fuck, that makes so much sense,” He rubs a hand over his face.
****
It’s easier then, to lean into him. Because there’s a chance at least, a small one but still somewhat of a chance. Dream takes any contact happily, like a puppy the moment you show it attention. It’s a bit endearing, George will admit to nobody but himself. It’s a stark silence once winter break comes along.
Karl had gone off with Sapnap to his family’s, obviously George wasn’t going to tag along like usual. And he couldn’t afford a flight to London, settling for a phone call instead. Which means there’s only Dream left, who’s got family in town and is constantly gone with them. So George is stuck alone, day after day, telling himself that he’s not bothered.
He claims that it’s good time to get stuff done but he organizes all his things on the very first day. Which was his only thing to do on his to-do list. So he lays around, finishes multiple books from the library, his biggest adventures being going back to that coffee shop. In a way it’s nice but he’s also bored out of his mind.
He thinks it’s pity that makes Dream pull him out of bed, “C’mon. I have a free day, there’s a fair downtown, we’re going.”
“No,” George winces, “Spend the holidays with your family, Dream, I’m fine here.”
“It’s depressing, George, come on,” The blonde raises his eyebrows, “I want to go with you, if you don’t go then I’m staying here.”
“Really?” George raises his eyebrows back, challenging him.
“Yes, really. Get dressed, wear something warm, we leave in ten.”
Ten minutes doesn’t feel like nearly enough time, he changes hurriedly, pulling on jacket after jacket. He ends up with just the three, seeking his gloves from their new home, unable to find the beanie. Dream’s changed too, in just a light jacket, placing a larger thicker one over George’s shoulders.
He also presents the beanie with a little flourish but secures it over his own blonde waves instead with a grin, “You can’t have everything.”
“I’m gonna freeze,” George pulls the fourth jacket on, it’s much too big for him but it’ll keep him warm. A hood is pulled over his head in retaliation, covering his messy hair, making him scowl, “Thanks.”
“You have everything?” Dream is patting his own pockets and George hands him his phone. They both look over their sides of the room before he’s being urged out the door, “We gotta go, we’re gonna miss the bus.”
They nearly do miss it, running and laughing when Dream nearly slips and falls. The bus driver doesn’t look too amused with them but the blonde pays the fare quickly and squeezes against George on cold plastic seats. There are some excited families, probably on the way to the same fair, children laughing. Dream sticks his tongue out at a little boy and the two giggle, George goes all soft while observing.
He rests his cheek against a warm shoulder and Dream instantly murmurs quietly, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m alright,” George answers just as quietly, feeling some eyes on them. He sees a mother shoo her kids further away from them out of the corner of his eye and he squeezes Dream’s forearm. The blonde senses why instantly, twisting their fingers together for some form of comfort. They sit like that in silence until it’s their stop, letting the parents go first before being the last off.
George shivers, being carefully dragged along on the sidewalk of a busy street, Dream finally speaking, “Okay, you’re going to kind of hate me right now.”
“What, why?”
“Maybe it’s not a day away from my family.”
George instantly pulls away from his touch, feet stopping, “What? I’m not meeting your family, Dream, I can’t-”
“They’ll love you, George, come on,” Dream argues back passively, “I swear they’re not mean or anything.”
“Dream.” He crosses his arms, leveling him with a glare. Then he turns, “I’m going home, there is no goddamn way-”
He’s caught by one arm and tugged back around to face Dream, “Please, George? I wanted to hang out with you today.”
“Not with your family, Dream,” He frowns, “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” The blonde counters back, “With Sap and Karl being together, it’s not like you’d never meet them.”
“I’m not even ready, I don’t even look nice or put together at all,” George gestures to his hair pointedly, “You lied to me.”
“Because I knew you’d say no,” Dream justifies and then adds, “And you look wonderful right now. So please, George.”
“Bullshit,” He argues, “I can’t believe you lied to me.”
“Because I want you to meet them, George. I want you to be a person in my life,” They both go quiet for a moment after that, gazes glued together. Then Dream pleads again, “Please?”
“You swear they’re not mean?”
“Yes, I swear on my life. I promise, please.”
“Fine,” He huffs, “But only because this is better than sitting at home.”
“Yes!” Dream lights up, squeezing him so close for only a second that he can’t even process it. Their arms get hooked together and George is being dragged along again, the two no longer holding up foot traffic, “We’re really going to be late now.”
“You’re the worst,” The brunette huffs, trying to smooth down his hair now, “I really look fine?”
“Yes,” Dream answers without even looking at him, too busy reading street signs.
“You didn’t even look at me.”
“That’s cause you always look good, George,” The blonde flashes him a little smile before he’s distracted again.
Meeting Dream’s family is.. Odd? He thinks that Dream really gets more embarrassed about it than him, rushing through an introduction and protesting his mother’s kind greeting. But at least they’re all nice, all vaguely resembling his roommate. It’s cute really, their little family, they seem very loving. His little sister reminds George vaguely of his own, a glint in her eyes revealing her future plans to antagonize her brother.
She’s sixteen, apparently, as told to him by Dream afterward. She’s given free rein of the fairgrounds, choosing to stick around the two for a moment. Dream’s parents wander off towards some ride and instantly she pinches her brother, making him shove her and laugh, “Fuck off.”
She stands up straight and George scowls when he realizes she’s taller than him, the giants, “Bet I could beat you at ring toss.”
Dream scoffs, “As if.”
“I think she definitely could,” George cuts in, eager to team up on the blonde.
“No way,” The other waves the idea off.
“Then prove it,” She prods, “Or is your throwing arm getting weak already?”
“You’re dead,” Dream bites and George is being dragged over to the stand with fingers twisted together with his, the brunette shares a grin with his sister.
The two are much too competitive, George notices. He knew somewhat the extent of the blonde’s willingness to compete on anything but now the two are really competing. And his sister wins, laughing loudly at his furrowed eyebrows, making George grin. He soothes, “You did so good-”
“Fuck off, George,” Dream laughs at that, loosening up a little, “Rematch.”
At some point in all the chaos, running from ride to ride only to press close and giggle, Dream sets his sights on a stuffed bunny. And then he’s set on winning it, doing so after only a few tries. He instantly presses it into George’s hands, so bright as he gifts it to him. The brunette almost can’t process that kindness, blinking up at him for a long second. Then his cheeks warm, “Thank you.”
“I’m literally the greatest person ever, you know,” Dream jokes, grinning as George rubs the bunny’s soft ear between his fingers.
“I’m going to name it after you,” George turns it around to face the other, smiling, “His name will be Idiot. Or her? What do you think?”
“Them?” Dream suggests while shrugging one shoulder, then he adds, “And not funny, with the whole name thing.”
“It’s hilarious,” George argues, squeezing the stuffed bunny close to his chest. He doesn’t let it go the rest of the time, making sure to keep a hold on it so he doesn’t lose it. Except for the one time that his shoe comes untied, when he’d handed it to Dream to hold for a moment with a look. It’d been held delicately between large hands, careful even when handing it back as if it’s glass and not cotton and stuffing.
George appreciates it, smiling as he takes it back. When the sun starts going down is when he gets cold, trying not to let it bother him. Dream still notices anyway, leaning to say into his ear, “We’re going on the ferris wheel and then going home, okay? Promise.”
“We don’t have to, you should-”
“George. They literally live here, I can see them anytime,” A tug towards the line for the ferris wheel, “Don’t want you getting sick again.”
The whole family gets in line with them too, agreeing that it’s getting too cold. The metal seat is cold through his clothes and Dream wraps him up in his arm, he shivers and presses close. The ferris wheel goes and then stops as each seat is filled, once they’re at the top he’s nudged.
He lifts his head from the blonde’s shoulder and Dream points with the arm wrapped around him, “Look.”
It’s a perfect view of the city lights, bright and still full of life. George breathes, “Wow,” And then returns to the place he’d been before.
He squeezes the bunny close to his chest, knees hitting against Dream’s with how they’re so close. They have been all day really, he thinks as the ferris wheel finally starts going properly. They go around once and they’re a quarter of the way through the second when the blonde hums, “George?”
“What?” He answers and shivers, being squeezed.
“Can I..” An exhale, weaker, “Can I kiss you?”
George would jump up if they weren’t so high up and moving, bunny for the first time nearly slipping from his grasp. His voice cracks as he moves away, their eyes meeting in the lights of the ferris wheel, “What?”
“Can I kiss you?” Dream’s eyes jump all over his face, voice quiet, trying to read him. Pink fits him, he thinks, the wind blowing blonde curls as lights hit freckled cheeks. And then George nods, swallowing down all the words wanting to leave his throat. A cold hand lands on his cheek and the first press of lips against his is chaste. And then George twists his fingers into blonde hair and pushes closer, kissing him properly.
A hum against his lips, large hands tugging him in. The sides of their noses brush and Dream tastes like the cotton candy they shared earlier, still feels like a man much too tender towards him when he’s been anything but. They fit together too well, George scoots closer and cups the back of the other’s neck.
He gets a sudden laugh against his mouth in response, the two parting, foreheads pressing together. Dream grins brightly, teasing, “Ooh, you like me.”
George smiles back and shakes his head, another peck being pressed to his lips in response. He feels stupid with excitement when they get off, fingers twisting with his instantly. It’s all quick goodbyes and George acts as if his lips aren’t kissed swollen, the two walking down the streets that are less busy after nightfall.
On the way to the bus stop, Dream muses, “I can’t believe you almost dropped our child to kiss me again. Hurt their feelings, I’m sure.”
“They’re okay,” George squeezes the bunny under his arm, “If I dropped them then they’d look even more like you.”
That earns him a laugh and a squeeze of his fingers. On the bus they sit even closer than before, George’s head finding a place against the other’s shoulder. Dream rests his cheek against brunette curls, “George.”
“What now?” George complains but there’s no irritation behind it, simply a yawn.
Dream yawns back in return, humming tiredly, “Will you go out with me?”
“I dunno, will you lie and invite your family?”
“Shut the fuck up,” A huff, “I’m serious.”
“Yeah,” George holds his hand, fumbling with his fingers, adding, “If I have to..”