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New York was cold.
Not just the “Oh, it’s quite chilly I should have brought a scarf”-cold, more like “Holy shit I have to keep blinking in order to keep my eyes from freezing over”-kind of cold. If it wasn’t snowing, frosty winds were whipping ice cold rain around, almost like a punishment to those that had to roam the busy streets in order to arrive at their job in time or that hurried home after a long day of work.
It was brutal. It was unpredictable.
It felt alive.
Dream had fallen a tiny bit in love with the harsh and unforgiving weather here. It was his second winter in the city and he had learned a few things here and there the previous year in order to make life with the icy outside a bit more bearable.
For example, whatever you do, don’t forget your beanie at home! It could rain, it could snow, hell, somebody could open a window and throw out some random crap and the only thing separating your tender scalp from a few handfuls of questionable garbage could be the fabric of your beanie … He did have to learn that the hard way, but you won’t find him outside during the cold months without at least a hat in his pocket now.
He sighed. There wasn’t a hat in his pocket or on his head right now. No need for any protection as he was sprawled out on his trusty old couch, safe inside his apartment as the heavy snow was silently falling outside. With it being around 10pm on a wednesday, there was not much noise out on the street, amplifying the calming silence inside the flat.
Today had been a good day. He was off work until next week, had been for the last couple of days, and was just enjoying his free time. His fridge was fully stocked thanks to a grocery run he did earlier in the day and his living space was remotely clean. Sure, he could rearrange his two decorative pillows his mom had gifted him when he moved out here or he could replace some of his burned down candles from his coffee table, but he could always do that later. He had the time.
Right now, it was just him on his sofa, not really thinking, just drifting.
The big ceiling lights were off. The only source of light inside the apartment came from a lamp, tucked away in a corner and dimmed. From outside, the streetlamps shone their light through the kitchen window, effectively illuminating the actual kitchen with a much cooler shade of light than his warm-toned lamp.
He didn’t mind though. His eyes were turned to the ceiling anyway, body relaxed on the slightly worn cushions of the couch. One arm was tucked behind his head, the other resting on his stomach, fingers playing lightly with the thick fabric of his dark green hoodie.
Eyes threatening to close, he felt himself drift deeper and deeper into a state of tranquility.
.
.
.
Until the loud sound of someone knocking on his apartment door ripped him from his floating state of mind. The knocks were rapid, unrelenting, almost frantic.
He groaned. Rubbing his eyes and stretching slightly, a small smile made its way on to his lips. There was a 50/50 chance of what sight would greet him when he was going to look through his peephole right now. It was either a true emergency and he had to evacuate the building immediately or it was a certain human that had a habit of trying new obnoxious “knocking techniques” as he called them, in order to get Dream to answer his door faster.
With a silent scoff and smile on his lips, Dream got up to identify the intruder.
Pressing his eye against the little lookout, his smile grew bigger. Of course it was him.
“Dream! I know you’re in there. Open the door, you sausage McMuffin.”
“Shut up, idiot!” Dream retorted with no real malice in his voice, already opening up the chain and unlocking the door.
He swung open the dark wooden door separating them and looked down, straight into a pair of mirth filled dark brown eyes.
George was another reason Dream liked winter in New York. George reminded him a lot of a blizzard rampaging through the narrow streets of the city. He too was wild, unpredictable and to a certain degree untouchable. However, just like a storm, once you know to navigate your way through it, you feel almost safe in it.
Moreover, snow-storms did have a certain beauty to them and by god was George beautiful.
He and Dream moved into the apartment-complex roughly around the same time two years ago. Dream saw Gearge struggling to get a rather large houseplant into the elevator and offered to help. They started to talk on the way up, realized that George was basically moving into the apartment above him and exchanged numbers.
Since then, they have been inseparable. They worked in a similar field, just for different companies and moved to New York because of job offers. George even came all the way from England.
(Dream had teased him countless times for “Leaving the homeland to make it in the big city”, while imitating a terrible British accent. George was never impressed.)
They hung out during their lunch breaks, sometimes went for a drink after work or met in one of their apartments on the weekend for movie nights.
It took some time for George to get used to Dream's natural touchiness, but once he was, the two cuddled almost every time they watched a movie, with George even initiating some of their physical contact.
It would be fine if it ended there. It would be great. Just two best friends, having a great time, totally platonically being friends.
Of course that would be too simple. Of course Dream just had to have an epiphany one summer morning last year, waking up next to George on the floor in the pillow fort they had built the night prior while being sugar high on too much ice-cream.
He is beautiful.
Dream had been so shocked by his own thoughts, he physically had to shake them out of his head. George had woken up half an hour later, completely oblivious to Dream's inner turmoil and just began complaining about his teeth feeling funny.
Since then, it had been downhill for Dream. He began noticing every little thing about George and adoring him more day after day.
However, he swore to himself to never make a move on George. This proved to be very difficult, as he was completely enamoured by the Brit, but he refused to act up on his desires.
Dream was aware that neither he nor George were straight, however, George had never openly expressed any kind of romantic interest towards Dream, so in Dream’s head that meant that there was no interest further than friendship. He may be a little (read; very, extremely much) in love with his best friend, but he would rather eat his own, sweaty gym socks than ruin the best thing that has happened to him (and he went hard in the gym so that was a statement).
So yes, Dream was utterly and completely fucked, but he was also the happiest he had ever been with George by his side. Even if that meant to suffer for all eternity and stay friends and be there for George's wedding someday and babysit his kids and look his beautiful partner in the eyes while still never being able to get what he truly wanted and …
“... -eam!”
A shout, way too loud for this time of day and setting, ripped him from his little thought escapade.
Dazed, he blinked himself back into the present.
Right, George infront of his door at 10pm.
“What?” came Dream’s not very eloquent reply. His eyes refocused, back looking into a chocolaty pair now filled with even more humour, but also the smallest glimpse of concern.
“What is going on in your head, idiot?”, asked George, a smile evident in his voice, “You’ve been blocking the door for two minutes now. I’ve been trying to get your attention, but you were totally spaced out. Everything alright?”
Despite the teasing tone, it was a genuine question. Dream’s heart squeezed. He took a deep breath.
“Yeah, yeah, I was just thinking about stuff and got lost in my head I guess.” he chuckled lightly, one hand running through his ever growing blond hair. “I think I need a haircut soon.” he mumbled while examining a strand of hair between his fingers, crossing his eyes in the process. In his defence, it was down to his ears now and longer than he normally preferred.
George scoffed. “Well, alright, get it cut then. But can I come in now or do you want some alone time with your mane?” He exaggerated his accent on the word mane, making it sound even more ridiculous. He crossed his arms and looked up at Dream expectantly.
Dreams' heart stuttered in his chest. He stepped aside and opened the door wider. “Shut up and come in.” With an unnecessary arm movement he beckoned George inside. The other man just chuckled, shook his head and entered the dimly lit flat.
George carelessly took off his shoes and walked towards the kitchen space. Thanks to the open layout of the apartment, one could step right into the living area that was connected to the actual kitchen, creating a clear path without the need for walls. Dream slowly closed the door and turned to look at his visitor. George was wearing clothes similar to him, just a hoodie and some gray sweats. The only real difference, besides the size of course, was that the other male’s top was a dark burgundy.
He looked cozy.
A clap startled Dream out of his head once again.
He really needed to stay focused.
With his hands clasped together and standing in front of the sink, George turned around to face Dream, a big smile on his face.
“I want to bake some brioche!” the brunette exclaimed, his voice filled with childlike glee.
A beat of silence.
“You, what?” Dream stuttered, confusion now lacing his previously dazed features.
“I. Want. To. Bake. Brioche.” George said slowly, putting emphasis on each word.
“No, yeah, I heard you the first time,” countered Dream, “But why? It’s 10pm, why now? And why here? You had a perfectly fine working oven the last time I checked?”
At this, George's expression turned sheepish, a small blush coming up, tinting his cheeks rosy. He began fumbling with his hands, eyes avoiding Dream’s face.
“Well, yes, but I wanted to make it here.” he started, his voice more quiet now “Maybe, together with you, if you want.”
He still wasn’t looking at Dream. Nervousness was radiating off him in waves.
Dream’s gaze softened. George had gotten better at asking for affection and what he wanted in general over the course of their friendship. However, sometimes he still reverted back to his old ways, being scared of rejection and having to give his all to bring himself to ask for something.
Dream had never rejected him. Dream could never reject him. If George would ask for the moon, Dream would write a strong email to NASA demanding to hand over the moon to George.
There was no way he would have said no to the boy inside his apartment anyway, but the streetlight coming in from the window behind the brit illuminated his whole being in such a magical way, Dream felt the need to fall to his knees and offer him the world.
He didn’t do such a thing.
Instead, he opted for a small laugh, followed by a fond headshake and the words: “Well, lucky for you I went shopping nearlier. What do we need?”.
George's eyes snapped back to him, a big, happy grin on his face, nervousness all forgotten.
“I found this recipe online and it looked soo good! We need …”
They worked together for a while. Gathering ingredients and utensils, preheating the oven, even finding a “perfect baking dish for the recipe”, according to George.
Moreover, they opted to turn on the kitchen lights, mainly for practical reasons, bathing the space in a warm, orange hue.
Dream was just coming back from a quick bathroom break, when his train of thought came to a screeching halt. The blonde made it one step towards the kitchen before stopping dead in his tracks. He felt dizzy, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.
He took in the sight in front of him.
They hadn’t even really started the actual cooking part of the recipe yet, however, his kitchen counters were already a mess of bowls, sugar and flour.
In the middle of said mess was George. Head turned to the phone in his hands, not noticing Dreams' presence yet.
What made Dream’s heart stutter, however, was neither the state of his kitchen nor the seemingly disinterest for his surroundings by George.
It was George's outfit.
He was still wearing his hoodie and sweats. But now …
Now he was wearing a pink, frilly apron on top of it.
Dream inhaled deeply through his nose. This can’t be happening. He did not refrain from smothering the other male in his love for more than a year, for him to crumple to pieces just because the man of his desires was wearing the ditzy apron his sister had gifted him as a joke.
What was wrong with him?
He needed to clear his head.
Unbothered by Dream’s racing mind, George finally lifted his head, noticing the slightly pale looking male across from him. He smiled. There was a small smudge of flour on his cheek.
“Took you long enough, idiot” the brunette joked, “I actually know what we have to do first now, so …”
“MILK!”
A beat of silence.
George furrowed his brows, confusion evident in his expression.
“What? Are you ok?” he questioned Dream who still hadn’t moved from his spot across the room.
“Yes! Yes.”, exclaimed Dream, holding his arms out defensively “I just remembered that I don’t have any milk and you know, we need it for baking, so I’ll be off to 7-Eleven to get some, alright?”
He was breathing heavily at the end of his explanation.
George looked at him incredulously.
Another beat of silence.
“I mean, I thought I saw some earlier, but if you think we need it …” George trailed off, not quite looking at Dream anymore, his voice getting more quiet towards the end.
Dream nodded his head furiously. “Yeah, it would be really bad if we started and then realized that we don’t have any milk and then we couldn’t bake and that would be bad and yeah … ha ha.” He inwardly cringed at his own awkwardness. The sight of the apron must have really melted off some parts of his brain.
He turned around quickly, facing his coathanger, and began putting on his sneakers, his thick bomber jacket and his trusty beanie. Patting his pocket, he made sure he had his wallet on him.
His hand was already on the door handle, before he turned back once more.
George was standing in a slightly awkward manner in the kitchen in his pink apron, bathed in warm orange light, with his arms crossed in front of him, eyes trained on Dream. His bottom lip was in between his teeth, showcasing some nervous chewing.
He may look slightly uncomfortable, but oh so beautiful.
Dream tried to bite his tongue, but the sight of his boy in his clothes inside his kitchen proved to be just enough of too much for him. He had no chance of stopping the words tumbling out of his mouth.
“By the way, you look really cute in that apron.”
As soon as the words left his lips, he clamped them shut, heat rising into his cheeks.
George seemed taken aback by the unexpected compliment. His eyes widened a bit and his lip fell from his mouth, leaving it slightly agape.
A furious blush made its way from under the apron up into his whole head.
He caught himself after a few seconds, face now beet red. His hands found their way to his face, effectively holding his heated cheeks in his palms. A genuine smile appeared on his cherry lips while his eyes turned towards the ground.
“Thank you Dream” he muttered in a small voice.
Dream was on the brink of death.
“Y-you’re welcome!” he stuttered “I-imma get going now. See ya!”
With this, the taller male hastily opened up his apartment door and dashed into the hallway, not bothering to lock it on his way out. He opted for the stairs instead of the elevator and, once on ground level, walked quickly out of the door onto the freezing evening streets.
He wanted to scream.
Slowly, he backed up until his back hit the exposed brick of the building. Tilting his head towards the sky, he closed his eyes, effectively shutting out the brilliant white floating down heavily on to his skin. His breath formed puffy clouds in the freezing air.
What was he thinking?
George wasn’t his.
Yes, he was kind of wearing Dream’s clothes and was physically in Dream’s apartment right this second, but he was not Dream’s.
Not his to dote on. Not his to come home to after a long day. Not his to kiss.
Not his to love.
Of course, this was by far not the first time that he experienced such possessive thoughts about his best friend. However, it got harder and harder to control himself from acting on them.
George.
Beautiful, funny, brave, intelligent, wonderful George.
George, who came into his life like a fresh breeze and stayed like a winter storm.
George, who was always there for him.
George, who he trusted with his life.
George.
Dream had never been someone for cheesy New Years Resolutions. In his opinion, if you really wanted to change something, you could change it any month of the year.
However, at this moment, outside of his apartment, roughly 10:30pm on a snowy night in New York, he promised himself to talk to George next year.
There was no epiphany like the first time he realized he liked George.
It was a natural conclusion to thoughts that had been brewing for a while and were now boiling over.
It was going to be terrifying, but he had had enough of his own pining. He would tell him how much he adored him, how much he respected him, how much he loved him.
Even if George did not feel the same and things turned awkward between the two, Dream was sure their friendship was strong enough to bounce back from that (or at least he really, really hoped so).
With his mind made up and a possible future with George in sight, Dream opened his eyes, let out a big puff of air into the night sky and continued his way to the nearby convenience store.
He had some milk to buy after all.
The walk to the nearest 7-Eleven only took five minutes, but that was enough to leave Dream shivering. Just sweats had not been the best decision in terms of trousers, but he had been in quite a hurry to leave.
He quickly found the milk, paid and rushed back into the mellow warmth of his apartment-complex.
Before ultimately entering his flat, he took one more deep breath.
Everything was going to be fine. He had a whole year to talk to George and right now, he deemed himself stable enough to just enjoy their little baking escapade.
With a small smile, he opened up the door and entered the apartment.
Nothing on this earth could have prepared him for the sight in front of him.
His kitchen looked destroyed. Flour was coating most of the surfaces, various liquids ran down the multiple edges of his counters and most of previously gathered utensils were dirty.
In the midst of the chaos was George.
And oh, was he breathtaking.
Apparently, he had connected his phone to Dream’s bluetooth speaker and was now blasting some shitty 80’s love song, while completely ignoring the chaos around him. He was still wearing the apron, his eyes were closed and he was swaying his hips softly while holding a wooden spoon in his left hand.
He looked ethereal.
Something in Dream snapped.
Fuck next year. Fuck waiting.
This.
This is what he wanted.
He wanted George and he wanted him now.
He wanted to come home to George and the mess he had made in his kitchen everyday.
He wanted to dance with him to shitty 80’s music and make fun of each other for singing terribly.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
Quickly, Dream put the milk carelessly down on the floor and shrugged off his coat, shoes and beanie. Until then, George seemingly hadn’t realized his friend was back from his little shopping trip, but the sound of the milk container hitting the floor a tad bit too hard was enough for him to startle slightly in his movements and open his eyes.
“Dream, you’re back!” George exclaimed, a smile making its way onto his lips “I’ve already finished the batter, I hope that’s alright. I did find some unopened milk in the cupboard, so I …” The brunette stopped in his tracks as he observed the serious expression on the other's face. “Is everything alright?” he asked the blonde.
Dream was now finally free from his outside clothes and took big strides towards George.
The other flinched the tiniest bit, not used to his friend just wordlessly stalking towards him.
Dream stopped just centimeters before him.
His mouth was set in a straight line, determined, but his eyes were soft like the orange light still flooding the kitchen. Slowly, he raised his arms and cupped George’s now once again burning face with his hands and raised it slightly.
“George” he spoke quietly, privately, as if the name was a secret no one else was allowed to hear. His eyes flitted along the brit’s face, drinking in every little detail. Now he had a real chance to stare and who was he not to use that.
George’s arms hung limply by his side, still holding on to the dripping wooden spoon.
“Dream” he whispered, voice and eyes filled with wonder.
“George, I’m going to do something I should have done a long time ago. Please don’t hate me.” Dream also whispered the last part before leaning in.
And oh.
Oh.
Their lips connected softly.
And just like in every other cliche new age romance novel, there were no fireworks or explosions of colour, only warmth. Home.
It felt like coming home to Dream. George was his home. It didn’t matter if they were in New York during winter or visiting George’s family in England, home was where George was.
Dream couldn’t stop the little sigh of content that made its way out of his mouth against the others lips.
This was everything he had dreamed of for so long.
And the best part?
After the initial shock on George’s site, which resulted in him dropping the spoon, he kissed back.
He moved his arms to Dream's front, clawing at his hoodie and actively kissed back.
Dream was in paradise.
If the world ended right now, he would be at peace.
He slowly disconnected his lips from the other soft pair. Not because he wanted, but he did need to breath again. He hadn’t even realized he closed his eyes at some point, however, upon opening them, he was greeted by a sight he wanted tattooed onto his retinas.
George’s eyes were closed. His cheeks were a delicate pink and his lips were slightly reddened from the sudden stimulation.
Dream had never seen a more gorgeous sight.
However, he needed to break the peaceful moment in order to finally spill his heart.
“George” he started quietly “Could you please look at me?”
The brunette whined at that. Dream chuckled. “Common, please?”
Slowly George opened his eyes.
“There we go.” whispered Dream softly, voice filled with adoration for the man in front of him.
As George slowly made eye contact, Dream smiled.
“I have to get this off my chest and if I don’t do it now, I don’t think I’ll ever do it, so bear with me please” the blonde began.
“I adore you George. I think you’re absolutely incredible and I love every second we spend together. You understand me like no one else and I am so lucky to call you my best friend. However, …” Dream trailed off, eyes falling to the floor. Shit, this was harder than he thought.
Suddenly, he felt two delicate hands framing his own face. His eyes quickly darted back to George’s face. And he was … smiling. Completely relaxed, softly touching his face and silently encouraging him to go on.
Dream took a big breath.
“However, I have been feeling more than just friendship towards you for a while now. And how could I not? Have you seen yourself? Shit, you’re incredible, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re funny, you …” He trailed off once more, eyes grazing the ever growing smile on the other’s lips.
“You’re you. And I love you for it. Like, holy shit George, I am so in love with you, you have no idea.” Dream laughed quietly.
George stayed silent.
Dream sputtered slightly. “Of course, don’t feel pressured to say anything, it’s fine really, we can just stay …”
He didn’t come much further as his head was being dragged down and lips were planted softly on his. The kiss was shorter than the first, but sweet nonetheless. He didn’t even have time to close his eyes.
“You idiot, I’ve been trying to make a move on you for weeks.” came the mumbled reply from the shorter male.
“You … what?” was the only thing Dream managed to stutter out. He was still in shock from being kissed by the love of his life.
George halfheartedly rolled his eyes. “Just kiss me again, dumbass.” he demanded. After a second, he tacked on a much more quiet “please”, which was more than enough to kickstart Dream’s brain back to life.
Without wasting anymore time, Dream leaned back in, this time way more sure of and less hesitant with his actions.
And kiss they did.
With wandering hands, the at first rather innocent press of lips against lips ended up in a full make-out session, with George seated on the kitchen counter and Dream in between his legs.
It was as if they couldn’t get enough of each other.
At some point, George had to physically push Dream back in order to catch his breath.
He rested his pale hands on the others collarbone while both of them panted in to the orange air of the kitchen. Dream’s hands stayed firmly planted on his thighs.
“Dream.” George was the first to break their unintentional silence, voice a bit scratchy from disuse. His 80’s playlist was still playing in the background. He smiled sheepishly.
Dream replied with a crooked smile on his own, his eyes shining with love for the man in front of him.
“I know we’ve been making out for the last 20 minutes, but … ” One of his hands gripped Dream’s bizeps lightly, his other hand sneaking up to his face. Dream’s head turned slightly in order to place a kiss on the warmed palm.
George’s smile widened. He drew the others face back in, foreheads touching, eyes hooded.
“I love you too” George whispered against strawberry lips.
And Dream?
Dream could have cried. He was overwhelmed with emotions. For months, he didn’t dare imagine what it would be like to be with George in any other relationship than just friends. And now he’s here. In his kitchen, with the love of his life in front of him, reciprocating his love, actively seeking out contact.
If he thought he had been in paradise before, this was his own personal heaven.
“Oh George” was the only thing he managed to get out before diving back in, heart full of love.
They continued to make out for a while, baking and chaos momentarily forgotten, until George put his hand into something sticky and flinched violently. Dream, thinking he had done something deathly wrong, started to apologize profusely, nearly slipping on a towel on the floor. They had looked at each other silently before breaking out into loud laughter.
After that, they decided it was best to clean the kitchen before any real accidents could happen. Of course, the tidy-up-session was littered with little kisses and endless teasing from George (“If I knew it would only take an ugly apron to get you to make a move I would have put on that thing weeks ago!”; Dream just stayed silent, cheeks glowing. George laughed at him.)
With the actual batter in the oven and the kitchen in a half decent state, the lovers turned off the lights again and curled up together on the sofa.
If you would have told Dream two hours ago that he would lie on the couch together with the love of his life in any other way than just being friendly, he would have laughed in your face.
Now, however, he was in a similar position from earlier, just with a way lighter heart and his favourite human to call his.
Both of them observed the lights on the ceiling, unbothered by the frosty winter weather outside, discussing what their first official date should be.
So yeah, New York was cold and storms could be dangerous.
However, Dream was inside, and he was warm, with his love by his side, unafraid of the future to come.