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Everything looks prettier in the snow.
A fact that continues to prove itself every year when it comes around to wipe the world clean in a fresh blanket, posing over a landscape that doesn’t dare to be seen again until it is eventually washed over by the forgiving sun.
Snow forms itself perfectly over the trees and around buds that will sprout another time, surely after its gentle friend has visited and gone. And under some perfect force of nature, snow seems to line the cottage in the woods just right so that it gleams and glistens under the sun’s loving touch.
And George can’t help but notice how impossibly prettier his freckled, sunny boy looks standing under the white flurries that fall perfectly onto his features, caressing them with the careful touch of a lover. A sight for sore eyes indeed. Like this, George thinks, everything is just perfect.
Moments of shared touches and desperate, urging movements, despite the stillness that surrounds them, the two boys are right where they want to be. The world around them stops moving, if only for a second, to let the nature of their sweet kiss shine ever more brightly, and like this, they think, everything is just perfect.
But the winter is cold. And bitter.
It takes and takes, forgetting to give in return until all that is left behind is a desolate land, begging for the slightest sliver of forgiveness for something it did not do.
And then winter has left, leaving without an ounce of remorse or sorrow for the pain it has caused the land which continues to cry out for someone, anyone, to pull them out of their despair. And the sun, being forgiving as it is, will be the one to listen, melting away the icy shards that have punctured the land, washing away all traces that may point to the gentle foe that had kept the land hidden, and holding out its warm hand as its offer of a second chance. The sun will heed its warning, telling the land for next time “ do not be fooled by its beauty ”, and the land will listen because it is right.
Months will pass and the land will move on. Remembering the forgiving act of the sun, it will grow plentiful trees and flowers as a token of gratitude and the sun in return will shine warmly on them.
Much like the land, George finds himself moving on as well. Packing up his belongings and moving away from the cabin in the woods that houses far too many memories in its walls for him to live with. He will look back only once, with a sad sort of happiness that comes with letting go. And he, like the sun, will forgive the man who holds his heart.
After all, he isn’t left completely alone. Accompanied by friends and people who will hold him up when he himself can’t stand, who are willing to listen to him when at times he sounds a little insane, and who take up the space that would otherwise stay empty, he supposes he has a lot to be grateful for.
So when he tells Sapnap about his thoughts on visiting the man in the prison, he knows the boy has every right to be alarmed at the sudden proposal.
His bandana wavers in the wind, but he remains still. Steady hands finding solid ground on George’s shoulder. “If you think you should.”
George ponders those words over and over again, repeating them in his head like a quiet mantra. If you think you should. If you think you should. If you think you should. You. You. You. It wasn’t lost on him that Sapnap didn’t think he should, but what he thought was clouded by anger and hatred for the man enclosed in the obsidian walls.
George knew he could never fill his heart with hatred at the man, but some part of him wished he could. It would make a lot of things a lot easier.
Even now, when he stood mere feet away from the man -- the only thing separating them being the river of lava that ensured no exit for one of them -- he couldn’t fathom hating someone so much to not only lock them away for eternity, but isolate them and deprive them of seeing anything beyond the purple and orange that laced the room.
And so he stepped on the moving platform, allowing it to lead him to the one person who had at one point meant more than life to him. The one person he could have loved for a million lifetimes, and he wonders when exactly that sentiment had changed.
Was there an exact moment when you stopped loving someone? No , he thinks. He never quite stopped loving his freckled boy, but he can remember when loving him began to hurt. When he opened his eyes to discover the roses had grown out and were now showing thorns. Thorns that had rooted themselves so deep it was impossible to leave without a scratch.
He stepped off the platform, shutting his eyes from the intensity of the lava. The emanating heat prompted beads of sweat that were wiped away quicker than they came. The wall of lava came down with a mechanical hum, and there he was.
He felt the intense chill that overtook him, despite the pool of lava surrounding them, and he couldn’t help but remember a time when none of this made sense. Never in his wildest dreams could he conjure up the image that lay before him now.
A boy, his boy, more disheveled now than he had ever been in his entire life, sharp edges that had seemed to worn down over time, now hanging loosely over him as though someone had taken the time to brush them out. His hair was a mess and he sat hunched over in one corner of the room, but one look at his face, the freckles that dotted a bridge across his nose and down to either cheek, the smooth skin turned rough no doubt from his time in here, and his eyes- those eyes that managed to pierce right through his soul until it was turned inside out, lost in everything it once was with the familiar tug that had pulled him in every time.
“Dream.” His voice carries across the room, skipping the formalities of ‘hi’ and ‘ hello ’ because that was never who they were, and he wouldn’t reduce them to that status, especially now when he can feel the cold creeping up on him.
“George.” And he looks up, facing the boy with mushrooms newly sprouting on his arms, remembering a time when he would reach out and kiss every one of them. But not anymore. “I’ve missed you.” He says, because it is the only thing he can think of to say. And it’s the truth.
A braver person might’ve yelled, screamed at the top of their lungs as they took vengeance in hurting the person who had destroyed them. What reason did he have to miss him when he was the one who left him behind?
But George was not vengeful, and he was not brave.
“I’ve missed you too.”
And the cold grows, wrapping itself around his leg hoping to take over his body, remaining unnoticed until it is too late. But this time, George knows it is there. And he continues moving forward.
“I’m sorry.” Dream sighs with a heavy heart. Things were never supposed to get as messy as they did, and they definitely weren’t supposed to lead them here, two souls yearning for the other’s reach, but their minds refusing those wishes. “I’m so sorry, George.”
Ice pricks at his skin as he continues forward, unrelenting. He guides his hand to Dream’s face, desperate to feel it once again. He wishes to hold it forever, sliding smooth hands over rough skin until it becomes flush under his touch, caressing it like the snow had once done on that perfect day, that perfect time.
George doesn’t allow himself to do all he wishes, instead simply placing a hand under Dream’s chin and holding it there, with his fingertips grazing across the many lines on his face. An act he would do every night before sleep, when they were both still giddy and high on each other’s company, it was the only thing that would calm them down.
Dream sighs, leans into the soft touch with his eyes closed, imagining himself in the bed of the warm cottage in the woods. He can smell the fresh-baked confection that George made, can hear the crackling of the fire as the snow outside falls gracefully on the ground, landing with a silent poise. And although he knows he doesn’t deserve it, he still chooses to ask one thing of George. “Forgive me. Please,” he holds back the oncoming tears, “forgive me.”
“I’ve already forgiven you.” A promise he had made to himself after Dream had been sent far, far, away to this hideous and unforgiving box. He never wanted to hold any animosity toward anyone, so forgiving Dream was something he would’ve done, even if he was never asked to. “I just wish you would forgive yourself.”
One look around the room and George had been able to see the unnecessary destruction he had done to himself. Dream had deprived himself of anything and everything he was provided with, as if he was unworthy of it all. The torn papers that littered the floor, the spilled ink, the broken clock that remained on the floor, the stash of uneaten food in one corner, and the sole pillow he was given had been torn to pieces, stuffed under his rock solid “bed”.
But, oh, how could someone be as amazing as George in that moment, Dream thought. That after everything he had put him through, all the careless fights, and horrible trauma he had given, the only person George was worried about was him . This selflessness had been one of the reasons he fell in love with him in the first place, yet he resented him for never putting himself first, ever. If anyone deserved to be a little selfish, it was George.
He looked anywhere but at George. “I’m a horrible person, George.” He said, removing the hand that still rested on his chin, as if just now recounting all the horrible things he had done. He was unworthy of his touch, worried his filthy sins would mar George’s precious, beautiful skin.
He let Dream remove his hand with the gentlest of force, but the second he let go he was already nestled back under his chin, to which the blonde shook his head, closing his eyes. “Can I ask you something?” He asked ever so gently, tracing the scars that had lived on his face for more years than not.
He waited for the boy, his sunshine, to open his eyes before continuing. “How did you expect me to forgive you if you can’t even forgive yourself?” It was an honest question, because George had always been an honest person, preferring truth even if it hurt more.
The answer was simple. It had been the same ever since they were young children, chasing each other with no care in the world for anything that went on around them. They were the only two people in the world, and still, “You’re a better person than me.” It had been a truth for as long as he had known George, and it still held to this day, of that he was certain.
But the problem with ideas we create from a young age, ones that we hold on to for much longer than we really should, is that somewhere along the lines we mix up our beliefs with pure, actual fact. By placing George on a pedestal his entire life, of course he would come to believe this, forgetting that they are both made of the same compounds and chemicals after everything else is stripped away.
George knew this much was true, because for the longest time, he had believed the same truth about the blonde right in front of him. His love for the other had taken up all his vision that at some point he stepped back and realized that he was merely human . Like himself.
“You can’t be certain of that.”
But Dream, so stuck in his ways, so rooted in the one thing that had held true his entire life, was certain. He knew, even if everything else in the world changed, this truth never would.
Fragile arms, once strong, now nothing more than skin and bones wrapped around the brunette’s torso, following the icy path that formed around the touch.
“Of course I can.” He said with the strongest conviction, fully believing every word he spoke. In this box, there wasn’t much else to do but think . He spent the majority of his time just thinking, letting the hours tick by as he remained lost in his thoughts. So yes, he was certain that on this subject, he was right. It wasn’t outrageous to say that George is a better person than almost all the people in the lands, he knew it was true.
The cold continues to creep up, up, up, settling into position around his heart. Loving him was beautiful, powerful, and everything he never knew he needed, but loving him hurt. In the same way you love a flame that glows and dances, providing you with a pleasureful warmth until it pushes too close, eating away at your skin. In the same way you love the waves that travel back and forth, offering a keen sense of comfort until the tide begins to pull you in. And in the same way you watch the snow fall in admiration, sharing its graceful beauty until the ice pricks painfully at your skin.
And George can feel it, like a familiar pull that he knows all too well. Knows he is standing on the edge of a cliff, with an abyss so dark and so deep, he knows he will never make it out if he leaps. But what happens if he reaches the bottom and instead of being met with sharp knives and thorns, he is met with soft clouds and mushrooms? What happens when you know you’re falling, but you don’t want to stop?
After all, it doesn’t matter how many times the sun heeds its warning, because the land will always await the return of winter, like a prodigal son returning from a faraway land. A cycle that wears and tears, but also brings about the promise of renewal and rebirth. So of course the land welcomes winter back with open arms, because with one look they have fallen into the soft, powdery snow, forgetting why they ever left in the first place. Or maybe they do know and simply don’t care if they are hurt again, because ‘ look how pretty,’ or ‘look how nice,’ are the only things that cross their mind. And maybe this is accompanied with a little naivete, the thought that this time will be different.
So when his body betrays his mind, and he can feel himself teetering just off the edge, should he be the one to make the final leap?
And as the ice forms a path up across his neck, replacing the warm veins that flow there, as it continues up to his throat, itching its way for a release, and up to his mouth that leans forward just a bit, he knows he is gone.
Their lips meet in a soft, warm kiss, liquid sunshine pouring from one mouth to the other, melting away any ice or impurities that may have resided there.
And this, where their lips meet in perfect union, where the warmth flows through George’s body, replacing the winter that had come and gone, this, George thinks, is how he knows everything is just perfect.
“I’ve missed that.” Dream says, with that boyish grin of his. Much has changed but George is glad that that is one thing that remains the same. When George thinks of Dream in his most beautiful form, it is when he wears that smile, breaking out and wide onto his face, bringing even more attention to the freckles scattered all around, his head thrown back in pure joy, followed by that beautiful, saccharine laugh of his.
Foreheads touching, smiles wide, Dream knows he is the luckiest man alive. Of all people, how is it that he is the one who gets to see the loving smile George gives, only meant for him. How lucky he is, that he is the one who gets to hear his laugh and watch as his face contorts to match his joy. How lucky he is, that he is the one who gets to bury George in kisses. The luckiest, he knows.
And as the ice fades away without a trace, into something old and long forgotten, George knows that this is what they had been missing. Their love, buried underneath a seemingly perfect pile of snow, could only be uncovered with this sort of gentleness and warmth that they both needed to discover on their own.
But how cruel the fates are, for allowing them to discover each other when they could no longer be with each other.
“How did this all get so messed up?” George brings up the question he knows they are both thinking. He takes a seat on the rough ground, pebbles of obsidian jutting out here and there, but he doesn’t pay it much mind.
“I wish I knew.” He sat, watching the obsidian drip next to George, forming a puddle near him. He uses it as an excuse to pull the boy closer to him, still staying cautious of being too intimate.
George doesn’t mind, snuggling closer to the blonde, chasing the warmth radiating off his golden boy. “If you could go back in time, would you stop yourself from doing everything you did?”
“I don’t think I would, actually.” He sighs, being completely honest with himself. Most, if not everything he had done was to protect the people he loved the most. He admits that somewhere along the line he lost the meaning as to what that meant, but he would do it over and over again. Even if it led him here in this obsidian prison in every lifetime. “I did what I did because I had to.”
George nods, letting that phrase that had caused countless arguments slide. George never saw violence as a necessity, and Dream was well aware of that. It was one of the things that had torn them apart in the beginning.
And it was times like these when George was able to fully grasp what he meant by that. Because here he was, two weeks later, breaking his love out of prison, knowing the consequences that await them if they ever got caught. But he knew, if it came down to it, he would say the same thing.
I did what I did because I had to.
It was no mistake when he hugged Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity extra tight before he had left. But he knew by the time they discovered why, he planned on being long gone.
So when the two were on the run, hearts pumping with adrenaline, and giddy laughter filling the air, it made sense that they go back to the place where it all started. The place that was a living memory of a life they hadn’t known for over a year now.
And things would be different this time, they promised. Everything would be different.
And maybe it is wishful thinking, for George to imagine returning to the main SMP a year or two from now, hand in hand with the man he could love in a million different lifetimes, but it felt right even if it was a dream that would live only in his head.
When they finally reach the cabin in the woods, their cabin, and the snow begins to fall perfectly onto the ground all around them, George can’t help but notice how gorgeous Dream looks amidst the glistening flurry.
This is the murmur of the land
He can’t help it when he reaches out to hold him, to kiss him, to share this moment with him. The rest of the world comes to a standstill because their love exceeds that of all nature.
This is the sound of love’s marching band
And so it’s like this, watching the snowfall underneath the vast sky of stars, that they know, everything is just perfect.
Buried for a night like this