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When nobody’s watching, George’s feet glides around the hardwood floor in the safe of his bedroom. Cladded in fuzzy warm socks as he moves, drawing lines and shapes when he does so.
He keeps in mind to keep the curtains shut and the door closed. He likes it like that. No interruptions, no whispers, no nothing. Plus, nobody will judge, then, right?
Delicate hands flow in the air with the most tender movements. But at the same time, reckless.
Swinging here and there without batting an eye. And to be honest, who could blame him? It’s the freedom that blossoms in his chest in these special moments. Freedom of being himself, freedom for allowing himself to.
The sensation dances in his stomach as music escorts every action. His eyelids closes as he listens. Beautiful browns of his eyes hidden through resting lashes.
When nobody’s watching, George admires himself in the mirror. Wrapped in oversized clothing or in expensive silk, it never really matters.
When silk dresses accentuate the curve of his hips and expose his smooth shaved legs to warm breeze.
George loves to walk around feeling pretty and adorned in beautiful things.
When nobody’s watching, George wishes someone would.
He’s currently dancing with some 2010s pop songs playing in the background. In the Dream Team household, nothing is quiet. There’s got to be something loud going on. Either one of their screams from streaming, or Dream’s football matches playing on the TV, or Sapnap’s shrieks along with Karl’s over the phone line. You know, Pokémon. George rolls his eyes at that. And maybe their podcast sessions.
Either way, it’s never quiet. And George is beyond grateful for that.
He has the chance to blast his speakers without complaints. His room may not be soundproof but the walls are fortunately thick enough. And with all the other noises going on? There’s nothing to worry about.
Except, the next day, George finds the house to be dead silent.
“Hello?” The brunet shouts. “Is anyone dead or did you all suddenly become extroverts?”
His question is met with silence. More silence. George huffs.
It’s unusual. But he can definitely see an opportunity here.
Oh wait.
George sneaks his hand into his pocket and snatches out a clear cased phone.
dream
> morning george
> you’re peacefully asleep as im typing this
> me and sapnap are going out for a bit. Wanted to bring you along but you looked to comfy
> we’ll be back soon tho dw
> gonna do some devious lick
> hint: skittles
> see you :)
George smiles reading Dream’s texts. Red blossoms upon his cheeks. Fuck. Why is Dream so goddamn nice? He can’t take it.
Look. It’s not his fault he has a stupid crush on Dream, alright? It just suddenly appeared one day and he didn’t know what to do with it. Still clueless till this day. But he can do little to nothing.
So, he does what he does best.
He sprints up to his room and blast the hell out of his dying speaker. It only takes a second for the Brit to jump on his floor and onto the bed, screaming summer songs at the top of his lungs till this day.
He has the house all to himself. So best to take an advantage of it, right?
He enjoys every lasting moment, fitting back into the usual “routine”. His dark brown hair flops onto his shoulders repeatedly though not quite in sync with the rhythm.
When the song dies down, he peeks outside and it’s still empty. He decides to be bold and put on his favourite oversized hoodie and pairs it with a little tennis skirt. He gives himself a quick check in the wall-length mirror and grins.
He looks so fucking pretty.
George approaches his phone and scroll for songs on Spotify, then continues messing around with a comb in hand acting like a mic.
He twirls around with a soft smile playing on his lips. It’s been a while since he wore a skirt. Now that he’s back to it, it feels like it’s brand new but somewhat familiar. It’s purely indescribable.
It was going perfectly perfect until there’s a knock on the door.
Even worse, George couldn’t catch the sound.
It’s seconds after, when the music stops and his attention drifts, when he sees Dream standing at the doorway.
An audible gasp escapes. “Dream! How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.” The taller says with a too fond smile sitting on his lips.
George goes madly red. No way. No way this is happening.
He’s torn between scared and embarrassed. By instinct, he covers up his lower part where the skirt shows as clear as day. Which doesn’t help the case, but he did anyway.
“Uh.. what do you— I hope this is fine with you?” George looks down.
He’s not ready to see what Dream has to react. But he looks up before he gets the time to overthink.
The nearer Dream gets, the faster George’s heart beats.
“Hey, hey,” Dream softly says. “Calm George, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Hey.”
George feels bigger arms wrapping around his smaller frame, engulfing him in a gentle hug. A kind of hug George can easily associate with Dream.
The one where Dream’s hand are soothing careful strokes on his back and radiates the warmth of a setting sun.
George stills. “D’you.. mean it?”
“Of course, I do.” George can hear Dream’s smile. “You look so stunning, baby.”
George’s eyes widen. And so does Dream’s. It seems like Dream is surprised by his own words, too. Yet it feels natural rolling off of the blond’s tongue.
“You’re the worst.” George buries his face into Dream’s chest. “And the best. Thank you.”
When they let go of the hug, George notices the soft look on Dream’s face is now replaced by a smug one.
“What?”
“I’d smash. Just saying.” Dream says, stifling a laugh.
George rolls his eyes. “You’re not funny.”
Dream chuckles. He reaches out to hold George’s hands in his. “Next time, invite me to your little dance party.” He winks. “And wear that skirt. It looks good on you.”
George simply nods while rolling his eyes yet again. Dream would be the death of him.
The next “dance party”, George did invite Dream. With a little surprise.
He can and will remember the completely priceless facial expression change Dream did. But to be fair, who wouldn’t react like that. George was wearing a goddamn forest green silk tube dress. He looked like how you would describe a renaissance painting.
When nobody’s watching, George loves himself.
But now somebody is, and George loves himself even more.