Archive of Our Own ^beta

Love is definitely not something that high school senior George is an expert on.

To be fair, he has much more important things to be focusing on right now. For one, he has proudly been the captain of his school’s boys volleyball team for the past two years. Working hard to get a volleyball scholarship to his dream college is a thousand times more important to him than falling in love like everyone around him currently is.

The uncomfortable plastic school chair digs into his back as he leans over his desk to read the assignment sitting in front of him. English has always been the one class he’s really strived in the most. He has never really cared about grades, but getting an A in English every single year is definitely something he is proud of.

The pad of his finger tingles as he drags it along the paper, praying that he isn’t reading the assignment directions correctly. 

Directions: Get with ONE partner and write a 1,000 to 3,000 word long fictional love story. All characters must be made up. You have 2 weeks to complete this assignment. 

Sitting in the back of the class, he slowly tilts his head up to look around at the people already getting in pairs. Everyone else seems to have already got a partner, which seems odd because he knows for a fact that there's an even number of people in the class.

Of course, with his luck, this is the one class he has no friends in. It's a relatively small class, only about 13 people other than him. 

Fuck.

He sits there in his plastic seat silently, hoping that if he doesn’t say anything he will just be forgotten about and will be able to do the assignment all by himself. 

“Alright, who hasn’t picked a partner yet?” he hears the teacher ask, clapping her hands and looking around the room. Her name is Mrs. Davis, one of George’s favorite teachers he has ever had. She looks like the stereotypical English teacher, fairly short height, with tan skin to match her deep brown hair. 

George hesitantly raises his hand, embarrassed that he isn’t in a partnership yet. He whips his head around to try and see if anyone else is raising their hand along with him.

Dream.

Dream is the only other person with his hand up in the class. 

Oh. 

George and Dream definitely would not consider each other friends, but, it’s not like they have any issues with each other, so hopefully, this assignment will go fine, and then once it’s over they can just go back to never talking again. 

Dream and George have been in the occasional same class every few years since kindergarten, and truthfully, they’ve never really spoken around the occasional “Sorry,” in the middle of the crowded hall when they’re in a rush.

Honestly, in all the years they’ve been attending school together, George had never really thought he’d get along with Dream. From what he knows about the mysterious quiet boy, he is the high school nerd who only has one close friend, never talking to other people or going to social outings. By definition, George is the exact opposite of him. The popular volleyball player who will seriously die if he doesn’t go to a party every single weekend. 

George watches Dream whip his head around to try and see who else in the class isn't in a partnership yet, when his eyes eventually land on George, noticing that he is holding his hand up along with him. 

Woah.

The first glimpse of eye contact he gets with the boy is magical. His eyes look golden through George’s vision, but they’re absolutely gorgeous. His chest tightens as he notices the irresistible details of the boy. Honey-colored hair, about the length of the lead singer of a boy band. It’s fairly thin, but looks as if it would tingle George’s fingers if he ran them through the pretty locks. The sun from the window next to them bounces off of his golden hair, making it look like a halo above his head. If someone told George he was looking at an angel right now, he would one hundred percent believe them.

What? Why am I thinking like that?

He finally snaps out of his fuzzy mind space, breaking eye contact with the boy to look back over at the teacher. “Dream and George, you boys can work together, correct?” She asks. With the sudden interest that George has gained from mere eye contact with this boy, he nods his head as hard as he possibly can, before stopping himself once he thinks about how desperate he probably looks.

Tilting his head to look over at Dream, he can see the quiet boy putting his notebooks in his backpack before swiftly zipping it up. “You all have until the end of class to talk to each other and plan this out, which is…” she looks over at the clock located on the wall behind her. “About ten minutes. I’m expecting a very large majority of this paper to be done outside of class time,” the teacher finishes telling them.

As soon as she is finished speaking, George realizes that Dream had walked over here so quietly he hadn't even noticed him. He sees Dream pulling the chair from underneath the desk next to him, sitting down, and placing his midnight black backpack on the ground underneath him. He leans back up once he is done, raking his fingers through the front of his hair.

Everyone else has already started talking to one another, so George takes the liberty of speaking up first. “Um, hey, it’s really nice to meet you, I’m-”

“George,” Dream says, finishing his sentence. George’s face must have looked fairly confused, because Dream starts to speak up once again. “I know who you are, we’ve had classes together for the past like, what, twelve years?” he says, smiling and slowly leaning closer.

The sound that’s flowing from Dream's throat into George’s ear is nothing short of heavenly . Sure, he has heard the boy speak up in class before to answer a random question, but he had never really paid any attention as to what it sounds like. It’s a bit higher than George’s own voice, with a cute---as George would call it—lisp with every word he says. It’s definitely a sound that George could get used to hearing often.

“Yeah I- I know that we have but, we haven’t ever officially talked so, I um, I just wanted to tell you who I was if you didn’t happen to know me,” George nervously stutters out. 

“Aren't you like,” Dream squints his eyes, studying every small detail of George’s face and body. “Aren’t you also the number one volleyball player or something? I’ve been to a few of your games before, you were pretty good, actually. I was definitely looking at you out of all of them on your team,” the boy huffs out, once again grinning and shaking his head.

George really hopes that Dream is colorblind too, so that he can’t see the red that he is sure is painting every cell on his cheek hearing that compliment. “I- um,” is all that he is able to stutter out in response.

“Anyway,” Dream starts to say, obviously noticing the embarrassment exhibiting George’s facial expression. “Would you like to exchange numbers? Or- or something,” he finishes, sounding nervous at the end. 

George quickly smiles and nods, digging his hand in his pocket to find his phone. He wraps his fingers around it, pulling it out and then unlocking it. He navigates to the contact app, pressing on ‘new contact’ once he is there, then handing it to Dream to fill out.

Dream starts to punch his number into the keys, and George decides to speak up as the boy does so. “So, are you um- free tonight? We could go get dinner and like, um, get to know each other better? Not like- not like that, um, I just think this would be a lot easier if we knew each other more than we do now?” he says, struggling to keep his heart rate down.

Before Dream has enough time to respond, the dismissal bell loudly echoes throughout not only the classroom, but George's skull. The sound of the bell causes everyone to stand up and pack their belongings away in their bags. “Yeah! I’d- I’d love to do that, actually,” Dream eventually responds to George’s offer, handing the phone back to him before standing up and throwing his backpack onto himself.

George bites back a smile to this, only nodding rather than saying anything as he packs his own things away. “I’ll text you details after school?” he says, fluctuating his voice, accidentally making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“Yep,” Dream says, pushing his thumbs behind the backpack straps that are clinging onto his arms. “Okay, bye, I'll talk to you then,” he says, walking away without staying long enough to hear a goodbye back.

Is this a date? 

No. it’s for school. I’m not going on a date with a random guy that I just met.

“I can't even begin to imagine how much pressure is put on you, you know um, being the volleyball captain and all,” Dream considerately comments on. 

The two of them are seated across from one another at a tall table in a Noodles and Co. which is conveniently located fairly close to George’s house. The table is tall enough for him to be able to uncontrollably squirm his legs against the metal chair when Dream says something cute—which is basically everything that comes out of his mouth according to George.

The two of them had already been there for a bit, already ordered their two dishes, and are about halfway done with them. The first bit of time that they had been there was only a smidge awkward, but was awkward enough to not really say anything that piqued either of their interests. Homework and how much they hate school were the only two things that they had previously spoken about, not knowing enough about the other to get into any good conversation.

Placed between them are two large bowls of pasta. In front of George is placed an ample-sized white porcelain bowl filled to the middle with mac and cheese. Dream ordered some sort of pesto pasta with ingredients that George doesn’t even know how to pronounce.

“Oh, yeah,” George starts to respond, sighing and carefully poking his noodles with his fork. “If I’m being completely honest, I really only started playing volleyball because I didn’t have anything else that would look good to colleges, and after years of trying my hardest I actually started to enjoy it, and here I am, I guess, star of the high school volleyball team. What sucks the most, though, is that I haven’t really had much time to do things other than volleyball and hang out with my friends. I haven’t had time to… um…” he hesitates, not sure if Dream’s reaction to what he wants to say will be the reaction he desires from him. ”I haven’t had time to fall in love or anything, which I think really sucks.”

George stuffs his mouth full with a bite of mac n cheese, the taste is one of the best he's had. Dream kindly nods at the words that he hears coming from George, indicating he is really listening and actually cares. “I get it, that’s what got me into speech and debate,” he starts to say. ”Completely honestly, I fucking hated it at first but now I’m the president of the whole club. It’s still not my favorite pastime but hey, colleges will love it. And- and I’m the same, not really much luck in the boyfriend department either,” he awkwardly forces himself to laugh out at the end.

Did I hear that right? BOYFRIEND?

“Why did you keep doing it if you hated it so much? I don’t think I could do that, honestly,” George asks in an attempt to keep himself chill at the sexuality confirmation, making conversation, but in reality, he is actually really interested in every single word this boy has to say. He genuinely loves hearing him talk, which is something he for sure can’t say about a lot of other people.

Dream smiles, looking up from his large bowl of food to the boy across from him before answering. “I don’t think that colleges would really care about the nerdy boy that spends all his time coding Minecraft plugins going to their school. I needed something that would really, yknow, make them notice me, I guess.”

George’s eyes shoot open wide at his response. He leans forward, trying to tell if Dream is lying about this or not. “Minecraft? You code Minecraft? Are you serious?”

A puzzled look paints Dream’s face as he stabs the food under him with his metal fork. “Yes? Why would I be lying?”

“Coding random stuff on Minecraft is like, my favorite thing ever,” George leans forward even more, really enjoying this conversation, feeling some sort of sudden string connection to the man across from him. 

Dream’s eyes are now the ones that spring open at the words of the other. He looks pale from shock at what he heard, almost as if he had just seen a ghost possess George’s bowl of mac n cheese. “What?” he aggressively breathes out. “I would have never guessed that George, the um,” he carefully hesitates, biting his tongue. “The pretty, popular, star volleyball player would have so much in common with someone like me.”

George can feel his stomach doing hundreds of somersaults a second at the compliment he just heard drop from Dream’s lips. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that if he wasn’t completely red before, he definitely is now. “I-” is all he can manage to say, still entirely flustered by what he just heard. 

“Anyway,” Dream starts to say, not allowing flustered George to respond to the compliment. “For the actual assignment, I think that we should base it off of a real place then we can go there, for um, research purposes,” he looks down, softly scratching the side of his face, “and then we can write about it. We can make characters and stuff first, though. Let's do that in class tomorrow, though. I don't want to ruin the um, the thing we got going right now,” he shyly smiles, clearly hoping that George feels the exact same way.

George softly nods, looking down at his bowl of food. A wave of disappointment rushes through his body at the sight of it being nearly empty along with Dream’s. The last thing he wants is for this night to come to an end.

Disappointingly, though, it does so a bit too soon. Not much happened over the last thirty minutes of them finishing their food. What did happen, though, was that George found out how handsome Dream looks under the light of the sun meeting the horizon. Just as he thinks he can’t get any more perfect, he does.

George follows Dream as the man pushes open the glass door, causing a bell to ring on the doorframe. Once they’re fully outside, Dream turns his back to look at the boy that was previously following him like a cat. Cold wind pushes against their bodies, maybe being the universe's way of saying they should stand even closer than they already are.

“This was um, this was great, actually,” Dream chuckles exactly how a boyfriend would, shyly tucking his hands into his pockets. “I really enjoyed this. I’ll see you at school tomorrow?” he says, sounding more like a question than a statement.

“Yep,” George confirms, still flustered by all the feelings that have been overwhelming his senses from this entire experience. “I’ll see you then. Bye, Dream. For the record, I had a lot of fun too.”

“What about Clay? It’s my middle name, I can’t really think of any other name for a boy character,” Dream says, the sides of his mouth slightly tugging up.

George nods. Clay. That’s a pretty middle name. I like it.

“I think that’ll work, I like it,” he starts to say, pausing between his words and biting his lip. “Now what should his um, romantic partner's name be? I’m honestly pretty bad at coming up with names, too.”

He awkwardly shifts in his seat after he is done responding. It's the same uncomfortable plastic chair that he was sitting in the day before, when the two of them had first officially met, and of course when George had realized he really likes this mysterious guy.

Not like that. I don't have a crush on him. I swear.

“Okay,” Dream kindly smiles, writing the name Clay on the piece of paper placed between them. The paper has a few sentences of their ideas already scribbled all over it, written in thick black ink. 

Setting: hike in a forest to go to a lookout place? (Georges idea:) )

Idea: short date between the characters where they share their first kiss

Main characters: Clay, 

“Hm,” Dream hums, setting his pen down to pull his hand up to scratch the end of his chin. George can feel fireworks exploding all over his body at the sound of Dream's slight stubble being scratched.

“What about Oliver?” George blurts out. It’s his middle name, but there's no way he is telling him that.

Dream softly smiles without saying anything, picking his pen up again before writing down Oliver next to the word Clay.

Our middle names look good next to each other.

What?

What the hell am I thinking?

“Okay so,” Dream sighs, gripping the two sides of the piece of paper between his fingertips.

I wonder how his fingers would feel between mine- 

“When would you like to go to this place to um,” he hesitates, “we talked about this last night, right?” he looks up. George nods, indicating to him that this is something they were both aware of. “Okay, we will go there sometime to… get the full effect? And then, after we go there we can start writing it. When would you like to go there?” he queries.

George takes a moment to think about when he’s going to be busy over the next couple of days. He is definitely not a busy person—at least with things he can’t just skip such as a party.

“I actually- I have a volleyball game in two days, um, on Thursday. So, I can't do it that day, but other than that I should be free to do it whenever,” he explains to him. Dream's constant interest in everything he says became one of the biggest things he learned to love about the boy over the last 24 hours of them officially knowing each other.

“Really? Is it a home game? Can I go watch it?” Dream asks, seemingly very excited about the possibility of being able to watching George play.

George shuts his eyes and grins in humiliation. “Yes, it’s a home game,” he admits to him. He can't tell if he wants Dream to even go or not. If he does go, he doesn’t think he will be able to focus. What if I do super badly? I don’t want him to see it.

On the other hand, though, he is really good at volleyball, even he knows that. He wouldn’t be the captain of it if he wasn’t. I could do really well and he could be really impressed and like me back.

Like me back? What?

I don’t like him like that. I like him as a friend. We are just friends. 

Ultimately, he decides that more of his heart wants Dream to go as opposed to not. He slowly flutters his eyes open, only to see Dream still intently staring at him, looking as if he is staring at the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. “The game starts at 7,” George informs him, feeling his face start to grow warmer every second that he stares into the angelic boy's golden eyes.

Dream smiles at him, softly nodding. “Alright,” he starts to say in response. If George had to describe Dream’s voice with one word—other than ‘cute’---it would have to be warm. A warm energy radiates from him anytime that they have a conversation, an energy that George is more than willing to feel for hours at a time. “We can go to the lookout tomorrow, then? Tomorrow evening?” he asks, slightly tilting his head as he says it.

George immediately nods without even a drop of hesitation flowing through his nerves. “Yeah- I’d- I’d really love that,” he tells him.

Dream shoots him an even bigger smile right back. “Okay. I’ll pick you up around 6 then. Just text me your address and stuff before then, and I’ll be there.”

The thought of Dream driving him around in his car makes his stomach completely drop—in the best way possible, though. He has never been this excited about something as much as he is right now , definitely looking forward to this experience. “I will,” he pushes out through his smiling teeth.

“Alright!” he says, standing up to gather his things. “It’s um,” he hesitates. “Well,” he forcefully laughs, “it's a um…” just as he hesitates this time, though, the bell indicating that it's time for them to leave loudly rings, bouncing all throughout the walls of the room into their ears, interrupting what the boy was trying to say.

Dream throws his backpack into his arms, shyly waving to George before walking towards the door, not finishing what he needed to desperately say. 

What was he going to say? Its a date? Was he about to tell me that it's a date?

George’s eyes drop to his own backpack that's laying on the ground underneath him. He stares at the red—at least that's what he was told the color was, not being able to see it himself—notebook that's poking out of its unzipped pocket, reflecting on how the things that he is definitely feeling for the other boy are for sure not as platonic as he previously thought they were. 

I have a crush on him. Fuck. 

George’s fingers tingle and slightly shake as he types a text to the boy the next day.

(5:21 PM): hey dream, here's my address 

He types out his address, pressing send. Once he watches the message say the small delivered underneath it, it truly hits him what's happening.

I’m going on a fake date with this guy that I went to dinner with and who called me pretty at that same dinner. And he is picking me up from my house in his fucking car-

His overthinking is rudely interrupted by the sound of his phone dinging, alerting him that Dream had texted him back.

His eyes shoot back down to his phone to see what was said in response.

(5:22): hey george : ) ill be there in a bit, i know i was supposed to get there at 6 but i can come closer to 5:45 if ur ready to go?

(5:22): its fine if u wont be ready by then btw 

Truthfully, George hasn't even started to get dressed. He whips his head down to look at what he’s currently wearing. His eyes are met with a pair of worn-out jeans and a thick brown shirt—an outfit that he had just thrown on in the morning before school while he was still half asleep.

There’s absolutely no way I can wear this there. It’s fine, I have 20 minutes until 5:45, I can get dressed by then.

He swiftly types out a quick ‘thats fine, ill be ready by then :]’ in response before getting up off his bed to walk over to his closet. He opens it up, ever so slightly tilting his head as he looks through all the different shirts he has. 

Ultimately, his heart decides to wear a thin pink shirt and a pair of black slacks, something that will hopefully be a good idea to wear for what they're going to be doing. He strips his previous outfit off before throwing on the new one.

Once he is done getting dressed, he walks into his bathroom that is conveniently located right next to his room, stepping directly in front of the mirror.

From the moment he stares back at the guy that's staring right back at him, his heart rate almost triples. He won't lie, he looks good. He can definitely tell why Dream called him pretty, it wasn't a lie in the slightest.

It’s always been kind of an obsession for people—some of which being random people in the hall at school—to tell him about how beautiful he looks and how they wish more than anything that they looked like him. He is always been very aware of how angelic he looks, but some days it’s more breathtaking than others.

Although he knows this, he really can't help but wonder what Dream will think.

Will he call me pretty again? Do I look good enough for him?

His fingertips tug at the bottom of his pink shirt—the color that he can't see, but has been told by many different people that it fits him very well—attempting to straighten it out to look as flattering as he possibly can.

He pulls his hand up to his hair, running his pale lanky fingers through it. 

My hair is greasy, I wish I had time to shower. Will he notice? What if he notices and doesn't like me anymore?

His mean thoughts are suddenly interrupted once again by the ding of his phone in his back pocket, telling him that someone had texted him. He swiftly whips his hand around his back, pulling his phone out.

He pulls the phone up closer to his face, scanning the words that tell him Dream had just texted him something.

(5:37) hey im on my way, ill be there in a few mins :) ill text u when im there 

George's heart fully drops reading those words, explosions of anxiety bursting in every cell in his body. How did the time go by so fast?

He is most definitely nervous, to say the least. This is the kind of nervousness that he only ever gets before big volleyball games, never when he is meeting up with a friend.

He takes a deep breath that tingles every cell in his lungs, getting one last good look at himself in the mirror before walking out to his living room.  

He had already put on a pair of solid black socks with the rest of his clothes, so all he had to do was slip on his pair of black Adidas tennis shoes. Normally, he would wear more aesthetically pleasing shoes, but he assumed it would make more sense to not wear those kind of shoes when hiking.

Once he is done slipping his shoes on and tightening the also solid black laces on them, he takes a seat on his couch that's right next to his front door. The seat has a fairly good view of the driveway that's right outside of it, so at least he is going to be able to mentally prepare himself before Dream texts him to tell him that he is there.

Lucky for him, tonight is the night that his parents have to work late, so they won't be home before he leaves or after he gets home to question what he was out doing. They've always been fairly supportive of him being gay—something that was never a surprise for anyone— but he has never technically dated anyone or had a full-on boyfriend.

His mind starts to wander as he waits, making up possible scenarios in his mind about what could happen in only a few hours. His vision goes blurry, picturing him and Dream kissing at the pretty lookout that they're meant to be going to. 

Our story for class is going to be about two people sharing their first kiss… what if that happens to us?

The only thing that these thoughts do is excite him. He wants to kiss Dream, and he wants to do it more than anything that he has ever done before.

His mind is suddenly snapped back into reality by the feeling of his phone harshly bussing against his thigh. He looks down at it, quickly noticing that Dream had texted him. He presses the message with the pad of his thumb, typing in his passcode to see what was said. 

(5:44) im outside, come out whenever ur ready to go (no rush dw) :)

George's head has never snapped up faster than it had at that moment. His eyes lock on the black jeep sitting outside of his living room window. He can faintly see Dream through the dark tint of the windows of the car staring down at his phone. From what he can see of the boy, he will definitely be speechless when he sits down next to him.

He looks back down, hand slightly shaking as he turns his phone off without responding. His legs feel like overcooked noodles as he slowly stands up from where he was sitting on his couch, tucking his phone in his back pocket.

He starts to walk towards his front door to leave, but is as slow as a turtle as he does so.

At this point, as he opens the door and uses his key to lock the heavy door behind him, it's completely undeniable that he has some sort of romantic feelings for this boy. In absolutely no way would his stomach feel as if it's going to explode everywhere just at the thought of seeing him if he didn't. 

His slightly damp hand sticks to the warm car door handle as he pulls it open, revealing a charming boy in the driver's seat who looks immensely happy to see him.

George smiles back, stepping up into the tall jeep’s nice leather seats.

“Hey, George,” Dream says. George doesn't even have to look at him to know that a huge smile is plastered on his face. 

He pulls the door closed, tugging his seatbelt and looking back over at the boy now sitting only inches away from him. “Hi, Dream,” he smiles back, even bigger than the other.

George gets a good look at the car that he is now surrounded by. It's a very nice car, probably the nicest one that George has ever been in. The seats are (fake) leather, the floors are completely clean, and the console that's placed right in between them even seems new, perfect for hand holding on-

What?

Dream must notice that George is taking notice of the nice interior, because he decides to speak up. “I just got this car like-” he hesitates, probably thinking. “I got it like three weeks ago, I think. That's why it looks so new. The only person other than my family that I've had in here is Sapnap, and even with him, he knows I’d kill him if he even got a speck of dirt anywhere,” Dream laughs out, slightly shrugging.

Sapnap. Right. That’s his best friend's name.

George shows a smile, glad that Dream is comfortable enough to tell George random things like that. It’s cute, knowing the boy can be so open with him.

“You ready to go?” Dream asks, most likely noticing that George zoned out for a second.

“Oh- yeah,” George answers, jerking his head to look down at Dream’s hand.

He carefully inspects every detail on the boy's large hand as it wraps around the gear stick in between them, shifting the car in reverse.

His hand is so big, I couldn’t even imagine how big it would look compared to mine-

What????

He looks up at the sudden movement next to him. His eyes catch the new position that Dream’s body has suddenly taken on.

Oh my god.

His body is halfway turned to face the rear windshield, with his arm extended out and pushing against the headrest of George’s seat.

It’s a position he is seen many of his friends do while reversing the car, but he is never felt this way when seeing someone other than Dream doing it.

The boy looks strong from this angle—so strong that he could overpower George relatively easily if he desperately wanted to. He could make George crumble with a single breath against his skin, completing him by just being there.

George holds his breath, staring at the beast of a man as his fingers fiddle with one another in his lap in anxiousness. 

“I don’t understand where this trail thinks it’s taking us,” Dream whines, staring at a small red metal square attached to a tree next to them.

It’s nearing dark by now. They’ve been hiking for a bit, thinking they would not have any issue getting here. They both said that they had been to this lookout spot as kids—but it seems as if no one’s been here in years.

The cotton of George’s shirt uncomfortably sticks to his skin, thick air mixed with sweat causes him to feel as if he is going to pass out. Crazily enough, the feeling doesn’t even bother him. His mind is still much too distracted by the handsome guy that he is with.

George can't help but smile at the sight of Dream looking confused. He will admit, it's cute to watch the boy look around with a puzzled look on his face, trying to make sense of it all.

“Dream, it's fine,” George says through his teeth, a smile still plastered all over his face. There’s no way he could hide it even if he tried to. “It’s getting dark out, let's just go back to the car.”

Dream turns his body around and looks down at George. A slight frown can be seen, but it seems as if he won't try to argue against George’s idea. “Are you sure?” he softly asks, voice becoming much shyer than it was when he was previously frustrated over the situation that they've found themselves in.

George smiles, slowly nodding his head. He has to use his entire head to look up and make eye contact with Dream, such a small detail but one that he absolutely loves and wouldn't give up for the world. 

Compared to his previous feelings of shyness, he suddenly decides to be bold. “Yes, Dream, I’m sure. I promise,” he says, pausing between his thoughts. He knows exactly what he wants to say, but he has to force himself to say it, much too scared otherwise. “Since this didn't really work out, why don't we go back to my place and hang out for a bit? My parents aren't home, and they won't be until pretty late.”

A shocked look paints Dream’s face, also clearly thinking about the possibilities of what they would do if they end up going to his house, alone. George waits for a response from the much taller boy, but starts to get nervous as the seconds pass of pure silence. His heart rate doubles, assuming that he took this the completely wrong way and shouldn't have suggested that at all.

The continued silence provides the perfect opportunity for him to find a way to take his stupid offer back and pretend as if it had never even happened. “Actually, Dream, It's fine if you don't-”

“I’d love to,” Dream interrupts, a pleased look gathering itself on his face. “That sounds great, George.”

Their surroundings are getting darker by the second. Just as George thought that Dream’s looks couldn't get any more angelic, he is proven very wrong. This lighting is perfect, almost as if it was made for him. 

Dream finally beams back at the boy after what feels like minutes of them just staring at one another in nothing but a perfect silence. George wonders if Dream thinks he looks pretty in this dark lighting too, and if his heart is starting to beat nearly as fast as his is in this moment.

“Let's go,” Dream says, leaning down to grip his fingers between Georges. 

Their hands cling together immediately like two magnets in a set. 

Before George can even process what's going on, Dream starts to walk towards where they think the car lot is, pulling George along with him. “I think we came from this way,” Dream conveys to him.

We definitely didn't come from this way, but I won't say anything because I don't want this to end. George thinks.

George speeds up, walking right alongside of the tall man next to him. 

Holding hands has never felt more natural. 

As they walk, George can't help but think about times in which he has held hands with someone and it felt this perfect.

He comes to the conclusion that he hasn't. The only time he has ever been like this with anyone has been drunk guys who are all over him at parties, slurring their words as they breathe on his face with their repulsive alcohol breath. 

He has never felt loved before. Not like he feels with Dream.

“Hey, George?” Dream says, almost at the volume of a whisper, snapping George out of his overthinking. 

George pushes a branch out of his way, stepping over piles of sticks and leaves that are spread all over the ground. This is definitely not a path, but George doesn't really care. As long as he is with Dream.

“Yeah?” George replies, loud enough to be heard over the sound of leaves crunching.

“You still have that volleyball game tomorrow, right? And it's a home game?”

George's heart drops all the way down his body. He completely forgot about that somehow. “Oh uh- yeah… yeah it is.”

George doesn't even have to look over to know that Dream has started smiling. “Okay, good. I'll be there to cheer you on. You'll do great, I know it.”

Before he can even think about what he wants to say in response, the two of them are met with a pool of water. They both stop in their tracks, hands still stuck to one another.

The both of them just stare at the seemingly clean water, looking as if it would be actually fun to swim in.

They look over at each other at the same time, making eye contact and smiling in unison. 

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Dream chuckles, in a way that sounds like perfect boyfriend material. 

He doesn't wait for George to reply before he starts stripping his clothes off. He hesitates before letting go of George’s hand, but as soon as they're unclinged, he rips his shirt and pants off, grey boxers the only thing left covering his skin. 

George watches this all happen in complete shock. “You coming with me?” Dream pants out, uniting his shoes.

To be completely honest, George was just staring at Dream's bare torso and wasn't even thinking about getting undressed himself. “Oh- yeah-” he stutters out, gripping the bottom of his shirt and pulling it off. He slips his shoes and socks off next, followed by his slacks. As he is doing this, the sound of water splashing takes his attention.

He looks up, seeing Dream walking into the water. His back is such a lovely sight, so strong and muscular, definitely able to overpower him.

Dream turns around, the water up to his knees at this point. “Like what you see?” he grins, catching George staring at him.

George looks back down, finishing taking his pants off. He shakes his head and can feel his cheeks starting to burn in embarrassment. “Shut up,” he says.

Once all of his clothes–minus his boxers–are off, he starts to slowly walk over to the water, watching Dream continue to go deeper in it. 

He steps one foot in it and shivers are immediately sent through his spine. The water is much colder than he expected, but he tries to get used to it as quickly as he can so he can get closer to Dream.

Ultimately, he decides to just go for it. He walks deeper into the water without any hesitation. His face scrunches up in discomfort, but he pushes through it.

By the time he is at the same level as Dream, the water is deep enough for them to swim in, going up to George’s chest. He moves in front of the taller boy, who seems to be enjoying this a lot. “Having fun?” George asks, smiling up at him as he treads in the chilly water.

“I'm having the time of my life,” he grins. 

George doesn't think his heart has ever felt like this before. He feels in love, and he feels it right back. There's no way he can deny that he likes Dream at this point, something that he is more than happy accepting.

With the silence comes an idea. George looks down at the water, looking up at Dream, then looking right back down.

“George… don’t do what I think you're about to-”

He splashes the water all over the handsome boy standing in front of him. Dream attempts to block the water, but he is fairly unsuccessful.

They both start to laugh, unable to control it. Dream pulls his hands up, wiping the water off his face and out of his eyes. He opens them again, looking down at George. “What the hell was that for?” he says, still continuing to laugh.

George stops laughing and just looks at him. Dream stops laughing after a moment too, seemingly sensing that George has something to say.

Moonlight is their only source of lighting at this point. It reflects off of the clear water, but more importantly, it reflects off the gorgeous surface of Dream’s eyes. This truly couldn't be any more perfect. 

George looks down, breaking the eye contact. It's completely silent between them, the only sound being from the wind hitting the trees and knocking them against one another.

“Have I ever told you how gorgeous I think you are? Your body is so delicate, I can’t believe I’m even able to merely exist in your presence, George.” Dream says. It's the softest that George thinks he has ever heard his voice, such a beautiful sound that he wishes he could listen to for the rest of his life.

He looks back up, their eyes immediately locking. George’s entire body is starting to grow warm at the words, fluttering butterflies crammed all underneath his skin. He can tell that Dream has moved forward even more since saying that, now close enough for them to share the same air. George’s lips slowly open, his breath becoming heavier as he imagines what's going to happen.

“Our characters um,” George starts to slowly whisper out, taking all the time he needs to say this. “Our characters haven't kissed yet, like they were supposed to.”

Dream’s head tilts down, the sides of his mouth slightly tugging up as he starts to realize what he is saying. “And do you want them to kiss, George?”

George immediately nods without even thinking about it. He doesn't have to think about it to know that he wants it, that he wants it more than anything.

“More than anything,” he whispers.

Their lips connect mere seconds later. 

It's soft at first, its intent being love and passion over lust. Their lips move in sync, but not fast at all. Slow and meaningful moments, the only thing they care about is the fact that this is actually happening.

Dream’s large hands carefully grip the sides of Georges's jaw, pulling him even farther into the kiss. George follows Dream’s lead, sliding his hands up the boy’s strong torso, landing on his chest. The feeling of his muscles causes his stomach to nearly explode. His type has always been Dream, but he had no idea before this stupid English project.

The kiss slowly starts to progress into a more lustful intent, becoming sloppier and less thought about. They want to drink each other dry, licking and breathing messily into one another's mouth.

Dream’s hands suddenly drop from their previous position on George’s jaw and move to the dip in his hips. He grips it hard, pulling him closer to him, causing their bodies to nearly be flush to one another.

George loves the feeling of the control that Dream has in this situation. He wants to be his–letting him do whatever he desires to him.

After many more minutes of them licking into each other's mouths and loving every moment of it, Dream pulls his lips only an inch or two away. Dream rubs his thumbs across the sides of George’s stomach, sending blissful shivers through his body.

“Let's go back to your place, okay?”

It’s hot in the room. George pants into the taller’s mouth, pulling away every few seconds to be able to breathe.

Their walk back to the car and car ride over to George’s place surprisingly wasn’t as awkward as George had expected. Being new to this kind of thing, he expected the worst. The only time he has been able to see relationships like this in action are through movies and TV shows, which probably don’t even represent it very well.

Now, they find themselves harshly licking into each other's mouths on top of George’s bed. Dream still has the power, almost on top of George, pushing him against the wall that's connected to the bed. 

Dream has his hand around the side of George’s neck, very similar to the same position that he had it earlier. 

Dream is a very good kisser, George won’t lie. Definitely the best that he is ever made out with, for sure. It’s not odd for him to make out with random guys at parties, but that is nothing compared to this.

This has feelings involved, feelings of passion, feelings of lust, and most importantly, feelings of love. Something that George never would have even thought he would be experiencing anytime soon.

They continue eating each other up as Dream slowly moves his hand down George’s body. There’s clothing restricting the touch between Dream’s sweaty palms and George’s bare skin, but it still feels good between the cotton of his shirt.

Their lips feel like they were made for each other, constantly moving in perfect unison. George wonders if Dream thinks he’s a good kisser, or if he is even enjoying it as much as George is in this moment

Dream’s hand stops when it gets to George’s stomach. George doesn’t know what Dream is doing, but he doesn’t really care. The only thing he cares about is kissing the soul out of this man as quickly as he possibly can.

George’s mind snaps out of his focus on kissing at the feeling of Dream’s finger wrapping around his waistband, the waistband that’s right next to where Dream stopped his hand. 

He hesitates as he pushes Dream away slightly, not wanting this to end. “Dream,” he pants out, finally being able to breathe.

Dream pulls his hand away, most likely already knowing what George is going to say. “I’m… I didn’t mean to…” he whispers, pushing words out.

“It’s okay, Dream,” George reassures him. “I just… I just don’t want to do that. Yet,” he frowns. He wants to do it—but he also wants to have something official with Dream before they do. That’s not just something that he does with anyone.

Dream nods, pursing his lips. He leans back, throwing his legs off the bed. “I understand. Thank you for telling me, George. The last thing I want to do is make you feel bad.”

Those words do the opposite, though. He feels bad, but he knows Dream is being genuine with his intent. “Thank you, Dream. We can keep…” he trails off.

Dream stands up, though, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “I actually um,” he uses his lanky finger to point out the bedroom door. “I need to get home. It’s a school day tomorrow. Sorry. I’d love to do this again, though.”

“Oh,” George nearly whispers, sheepishly looking up at the taller. “I can walk you out…?” 

Dream shakes his head. “No it’s okay, I got it. Get some sleep, George, it’s kinda late. Sleep well.”

The boy is gone in the blink of an eye. George looks over at his clock, noticing that the time says 10:36.  

Oh, I guess it is already a bit late.

He is most definitely not tired, though. He still feels the rush moving throughout his body at what has just happened, the image of their lips connected on a constant replay in his mind.

Even though he doesn’t feel that tired, he decides to go to bed. He shuts the lights off, tucking himself under his thick white comforter that the two had just been making out on. His chest feels empty as the side of his head pushes uncomfortably against his pillow. 

He misses him already.

He misses the feeling of just being with him, he misses the feeling of his fingers between his, he misses the feeling of his hands on his hips as he pulled him forward, he misses the feeling of power that the taller had over him, he misses the gentle touches that he placed all over his body, and he misses the feeling of their lips being perfectly in sync.

He misses everything about the past few hours. He would relive it in a heartbeat if he could.

He shuts his eyes, trying his hardest to doze off as his mind replays the day.

His phone buzzes against his wooden nightstand three times, but he is already too far asleep to check it. 

(11:07) hey george, I had so much fun tonight. I really like you

(11:08) I’m sorry abt leaving so abruptly, I promise it wasn’t because of what u said. I cant wait to see u at ur vb game tmr :) I’ll be ur personal cheerleader lol

(11:08) goodnight, love. see u tmr 

His head pounds as loud buzzing sounds from the blinking scoreboard pierces his ears. His brain aches, a feeling that he last felt when Dream had suddenly left him alone in his bed, all by himself.

“George, pay fucking attention dude,” his teammate loudly whispers under his breath, spitting the words out. “You were doing great just a bit ago… but you’re snapping out of it now for some odd fucking reason. You're supposed to be the team captain. Act like it.”

George shuts his eyes, breathing as deep as he can. Although his body is sweating enough to fill up an empty pool, he can feel the cold air hit the bottom of his lungs. It feels good, relieving even. 

Sounds rarely ever overwhelm him this much during his volleyball games, but today, it’s even worse than he could imagine.

Anytime the crowd cheers, whether it’s for his team or their opponents, he wants to scream at the top of his lungs and stomp away.

To run home and slam his door shut, jump into his bed and soak his pillow with salty tears.

Because the one person he wanted to be there to watch him, isn’t.

The second that the ball hits the ground his eyes scan the home section, searching for the only face he wants to see right now. He is done this every single time this set, distracting himself from the game with the anxiety of wondering why he’s not here. The only face that will completely turn his mood around.

But, nothing.

He is nowhere to be seen.

A wave of different emotions consumes him every single time he tries to find Dream’s perfect blond hair.

Anger, disappointment, sorrow.

Emotions that Dream is supposed to make go away, to make disappear for as long as he possibly can. 

In the past hour, though, Dream’s been the cause of George feeling that way. He wishes he didn’t have to connect these awful feelings to Dream, but he can’t even pretend to deny that he is the root of them.

The crowd goes silent. George knows what that means—someone’s about to serve the ball. 

He snaps out of his trance of overthinking about Dream to look around at what’s happening.

He is in the middle back, a position that he is near-perfect at, considering he is supposed to be the absolute best one on the team. 

The opponents have the ball, he very quickly notices. 

His eyes spring to the scoreboard on the wall located to the left of him. He reads the red numbers, telling him the score.

24-20.

We need one more point to win the whole game.

Okay. I got this. Deep breaths. It’ll be done soon and then I can go home and cry as much as I want to.

His eyes lock on the green and white ball as it’s tossed high in the air, positioned flawlessly to be able to be hit.

Time feels frozen as the ball flies over the net, right to George. He moves back, estimating as to where the ball is going to end up. He throws his arms out, positioning them in a perfect V, hands clasped around one another.

His arms are already a fairly dark pink from the countless times he has already passed the ball tonight, but it grows even darker as he hits the ball that was just served towards him.

It flies up, angled a bit forward. His teammate that’s a few inches in front of the net sets the ball to the player in the middle, allowing for him to easily tip it over the net.

The opponents take no chances in not getting the ball, though. 

“George,” the teammate to the left of him says, urgent tone spilling from his lips. “Move back a bit, I’m going to set you up to spike it over the net, okay?”

George’s eyes are still locked on the ball as he listens to what his teammate is telling him, carefully calculating how he wants to go about this. He knows it would be fucking amazing for him to get the winning hit in the way that his teammate suggested, so he ultimately agrees. “Okay,” he says, watching the ball fly over the net at him.

The ball comes to him once again. He hits it up just like he did a minute ago, but this time, he passes it to the teammate to his right. 

He has done this hundreds of times, something his coaches have started to call his ‘signature move’. 

His eyes fixate on the ball in front of him which his teammate just passed to him. He gets a running start, throwing his hand behind his body and jumping as high as he can at the perfect time to spike it straight down over the net, aiming for the spot where no opponents are placed.

His hand burns as he hits it as hard as he can, but that’s how he knows he did it perfectly.

Eyes from all around the room are locked on the ball as it feels like it moves in slow motion across the net. 

Two of their opponents fall to their knees at an awkward angle in an attempt to hit the ball, but of course, it’s utterly unsuccessful.

The full crowd erupts in cheers immediately after the boom of the ball hitting the ground bounces off the walls of the large room. 

George smiles—for what seems to be the first time tonight—as his teammates erupt in cheers too, running up to hug him as tight as they can him ruffling his damp hair.

He got the winning point.

But, the rush of it wears off instantaneously as he remembers that Dream wasn’t even here to see him get that. He looks behind him, scanning the student home section once again to try and find the boy, only to realize that Dream was never there to be his number one cheerleader like he had promised.

Still, though, he is nowhere to be seen. George knows that if he did see Dream, he would know it immediately. He is far too attractive to not be seen in a big crowd like that.

Tears prick at his eyes as his team continues to try and hug and tell him how great he did, but his mind is racing with nothing but Dream Dream Dream.

“I’m sorry guys I-“ he pushes away, trying to not look as empty as he feels. He knows the team, and he knows that if something was wrong, they’d try and help him feel better, but that’s not what he needs right now.

He walks up to his coach who was already looking right at him, the biggest grin on her face in the world. He points to the locker rooms with his thumb, hoping she understands what he is saying.

Her name is Mrs. Ray, his absolute favorite person in the whole world. Seriously, he could have never asked for a better coach than her.

She must notice the sense of dread on George’s face, because he watches her smile fade away a bit as he looks her in the eyes. She defeatedly nods, clearly knowing that something is up, but not wanting to intrude. She and George have talked about this kind of thing before, where an agreement was made that she would always help him emotionality, but only if he asked her.

George rushes to the locker room as soon as he is given some sort of okay from her. The soles of his sticky shoes cling to the beat-up slick wood underneath him as he sprints out of there. He looks back before he goes downstairs, seeing the rest of his team shaking hands with their opponents and going to talk to their parents. He bites his lip in an attempt to hold back tears that are starting to grow heavier in his eyes as he watches, imagining how tight Dream would have hugged him if he saw how amazing he had done at the end of the game. 

Would he have kissed me?

He physically shakes the thoughts from his mind as a single tear streaks down his worn-out face. He rushes down the stairs to grab his things from his locker, needing to get home as fast as humanly possible.

The following hour is a blur for him, a headache starting to push against his temples as tears block his vision. It’s a mysterious feeling, a feeling that is only used to describe scenes in sci-fi movies. His throat eventually even closes up, but he tries his hardest to hide these symptoms so his mom doesn’t ask about it.

He’s able to stop crying for a bit as he meets up with his mom and rides home with her.

He attempts to look at the positives right now, like how he has a perfect mother who supports him and goes to all of his games. He loves her more than anything, but god, does Dream have a chokehold on his mood right now.

The moment the car pulls into their driveway he rushes inside, slamming the door behind him. The walls audibly shake around the frame of the door as he does so, a perfect representation of the not only anger, but disappointment filling his skin right now.

He pulls all of his clothes off, except for his boxers, at light speed before sitting down in his bed with his phone wrapped between his sweaty lanky fingers. He thinks about what the two of them did on this bed just the night before. His mind makes a film of images that he just wants to forget. 

He thinks about the feeling of Dream’s large hands wrapped around his small body, and how perfect it felt to move his lips along with the other’s. 

He thought they were perfect— he thought they were meant for each other.

His hands slightly shake as he unlocks his phone, directing himself to his messages app. He taps Dream’s name and is immediately faced with their texts from last night. They hadn’t talked since.

(11:07) hey george, I had so much fun tonight. I really like you

(11:08) I’m sorry abt leaving so abruptly, I promise it wasn’t because of what u said. I cant wait to see u at ur vb game tmr :) I’ll be ur personal cheerleader lol

(11:08) goodnight, love. see u tmr 

He reads the texts, over and over again, wondering what he did wrong in those hours leading up to his volleyball game for him to not even show up.

He called me love. He said he couldn’t wait to see me at my volleyball game.

What did I do wrong?

He hates himself for letting this affect him so much, but the texts become a blur as he starts to slowly sob again. 

Of course, the one time he allows himself to fall for someone, this is how it turns out.

Maybe I’m just unlovable.

A deep breath enters his lungs as he starts to type out a message to him.

I thought we had somet-

Delete.

Can you at least tell me why you weren’t there instead of not even saying a single word to me about it-

Delete.

Did I do something wrong? Why didn’t you go-

Delete.

I really like you and I thought you liked me back. If this is about me making it awkward last night, I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, but I would have appreciated a notice text before you just didn’t show up.

Send.

He doesn’t even think before sending the message, his mind too full of vexation to be able to think correctly.

Quickly, he realizes what he just did, and throws his phone to the other side of the room before suffocating his face in his damp pillow. His eyes shut as hard as they can, leaking tears as he does so. 

Within minutes, he can hear his phone buzz.

Once… twice… three times…

He doesn’t want to hear it, though. He rolls over to face the wall and tries to fall asleep. Although he just came home from a volleyball game and is sweating enough to fill a storm cloud of rain, he has no motivation to do anything, let alone shower.

His sensitive bare torso rubs against the silk sheets in a way that sends shivers through his spine, a feeling that he felt a lot of last night with Dream’s hands all over him.

The sound of his phone buzzing again hits his ears, but he’s already half-asleep and does not want anything to do with what Dream has to say.

(10:34) ???? George what are you saying

(10:34) I was at the game? I was going to come to say hi to you and give you the biggest hug ever for how good you did but you went into a back room before I was able to

(10:35) did you think I bailed on you???? I would never do that I promise

(10:43) George, please answer me, are you there??? 

“George. George.”

His brain feels blurry as he slowly regains consciousness, attempting to lightly crack his eyes open that were previously glued tightly shut due to the salty tears that never stopped. Once he figures out it's probably too much work to do that—and he’d rather just keep them closed for the time being—he lays there with his vision still all black.

The emptiness of his skull is becoming more and more noticeable. His head pounds just as much—if not more—as it had right before he went to sleep.

He can feel every thread of the bedsheet underneath him against his particularly bony back, bare shoulder blades intersecting against silk sheets.

“George. Please. I need you to talk to me.”

The voice is one that George will never fail to recognize in his life. It’s a thick voice, so raw and grounded that he will never forget how in love with it he’s grown to feel over the course of only a few days. It’s a voice that he wants to hear whisper to him with burning skin touching one another’s. He wants to travel the world with that voice, to hear that voice cheering him on no matter what, he wants to grow old with tha-

“Dream,” George states in the most monotone voice possible, eyes still glued shut. The sound that ends up bouncing off his tongue is more of a sleepy tone. 

Before he can hear Dream respond to his name, he pulls the tough palms up to his hands, rubbing them against his eyelids as hard as he can. He sees an array of colors blotch on a back background as he does so, almost as if it's a sign of how all over the place he’s expecting this conversation with Dream to go.

Once he's done, he returns his hands to lay face down on the comforting bed, and finally opens his eyes. 

He's faced with the sight of a tall blonde boy facing down at him. The same blonde boy that he once described as angelic.

As angry as I am at him… he’s perfect.

It's only a matter of time before George's brain remembers what the hell has happened over the past few hours and it stops being excited about seeing the boy.

As angry as George is, and as much as he doesn't want to, he can't help but allow his face to be pained with the slight expression of a smile. 

He smiles at Dream, but Dream definitely is not smiling back. His expression is frazzled–as if he’s been running all over the place trying to figure something out. His lips are chapped, his hair isn't even slightly combed, and he looks like he came over without even changing out of his pajamas.

He definitely rushed out of bed as fast as he could to come over here.

As George starts to prop himself up to at least be a bit closer to face-to-face with him, Dream reaches his hand out to grab George’s. 

George leans his sore back on the wall that's connected to his bed, while Dream interlocks their hands in a way that symbolizes way more than friendship. Both of them know that.

The euphoric feeling he had seeing Dream quickly wears off, and his thoughts move on from “I missed him so so so much-” to a very opposite “he skipped my volleyball game when he told me he would go.”

Dream takes a seat on the mattress next to George's stretched-out legs. As he sits down, George notices four pieces of paper between his fingers that aren't between his own, placing the paper on the other side of him where George can't see what it says. He sits there for a moment, still no words leaving his mouth. 

George can tell he's thinking about how he wants to go about this. If he's learned anything from being around Dream this much, it's that he has to really think about things before he can come up with the courage to say it.

Instead of waiting on Dream to talk since it's taking him so long, George decides to be the first one to talk.

“Dream why are you even here-”

“What were those texts about-”

The two of them say at the exact time, perfectly in sync. 

George smiles at this, Dream, on the other hand, does not. His mood has started to grow even poorer. He's avoiding eye contact with George at all costs.

Is he just embarrassed about skipping my game? What’s happening?

Once a slight tremor causes his bottom lip to shake, George can tell something else is going on.

Is he about to start crying…?

“Dream,” George leans forward, landing his hand on his wide shoulder. He rubs his hand across it, trying his hardest to comfort him. Their hands are still interlocked in a way where they both know this is a hard thing to do, even though it must be talked about.

“George… I-” he finally starts to say.

He looks up, and the two of them make eye contact for what seems like the first time in years. George stares into Dream’s bloodshot eyes that look a gorgeous gold color from his sight, and Dream stares directly back into his with a gaze that should be turning him into stone.

George wants to be mad, he wants to be so so so upset with him, but he doesn't even think he can be.

“Why didn’t you reply to my texts, George? I thought something bad had happened to you,” he carefully tells him, his voice shaking in a way that he wouldn't be able to control if he tried. His words are as soft as the hand that is holding his with so much care that he never would let go if he didn't have to.

George just points to his phone that's laying face down on a tall pile of dirty clothes on the other side of his room. He smiles a bit, thinking about how angry he had felt in the moment that he did that. “I threw- I um, I threw it over there in anger after I texted you… then I went to sleep and haven't looked at it at all. I didn't even know you texted me.”

A scoff instantaneously escapes from the roughness of Dream's throat. “That's what I don't understand- what did I even do for you to be so mad?” he genuinely asks.

“Um… you skipped the volleyball game that you told me you'd go to…?” he confusingly says, not understanding how it wasn't obvious that that's why he was so pissed earlier. “I cried from the moment that game ended to the moment I went to sleep, Dream… I don't think you understand what you did to me by not going.”

George watches Dream’s mouth hang open as wide as it possibly can. He even laughs– seemingly from how in shock he is. All this does is confuse George even more. 

“George… I was at the game,” Dream nearly whispers.

No. No you weren't.

Those words–that lie –causes George to start to feel upset once again. He lets go of Dream’s hand without a single prick of hesitation before voicing his anger. “No. You weren't at the game, Dream. Don’t even try to lie to me. I looked at the bleachers every single time that fucking ball hit the ground. I would have spotted you so easily.”

Dream sets his–now empty–hand on George’s leg that’s covered by the soft cotton blanket. “I um…” he starts to say. “You didn't see me because I accidentally um… I accidentally sat down in the visitor's section and once I realized it… I thought it was a bit too late to move seats.”

Now, it's George’s mouth that's flung wide open in shock at what he's hearing. He doesn't respond, not having any idea what to even say.

What if he's lying? He could just be saying that to make me believe him.

“Here I can even prove it to you-” he gestures, as if he read George's mind. “At the very end, you got the winning point. You jumped up and did that really cool hit and slammed it to the ground and you looked so cool doing it I wish I could have given you the biggest kiss ever after that like seriously I don't know what I did to even be in your presence-”

“OKAY, okay,” George smiles, secretly wanting Dream to keep rambling. “So… you actually were there?”

Dream softly smiles, but he doesn't look that proud to be doing it. “Yeah, I was. I got up and tried to weave my way through the people around me to go down and talk to you, but by the time I got there… you were gone. I thought maybe you didn't want to see me,” he shyly confesses, tilting his head down to look away from the soft boy across from him.

“I’m sorry,” George says as quietly as he can. “I overreacted… I really shouldn't have acted like that… I’m sorry.”

Dream looks up, leaning in closer towards him. “George,” he states. “Don’t be sorry. I understand why you reacted that way, really. Just know that I’d never do that to you, George. I promise.”

“You promise?” George meekly asks, in desperate need of confirmation that this is real, that there's something invisible between them that they both have a mutual feeling about without even having to say it. 

“I promise,” he breathes out, leaning in mere seconds later.

Just like the previous night, their lips connect and move together in such a perfect way that they both know this is something that they were made to be doing. 

They’re meant for each other.

George wraps his hands around Dream’s neck as they both lick into one another, tasting every last bit of what they're made of. It's a beautiful feeling, soft lips against soft lips, moving in a way where both of them would never pull away if they didn't have to.

Sparks fly between their tongues as Dream moves his hands to grab the sides of George’s hips. Honestly, George completely forgot that he was shirtless until the ice-cold touch of Dream’s big hands collides with his skin. The size difference between Dream’s hands and George's hips is something that they both will never get over.

They continue kissing and sharing such an intimate moment for minutes on end, heavy breaths being exchanged every few seconds. Dream pushes George even farther against the wall that he's sitting up against, seemingly wanting to gain the power in the situation. George just lets him, not even wanting to fight back. 

Dream is the one who inevitably pulls away, though.

“Sorry I-” he rushes out. “I um,” he laughs, clearly flustered from what they just did. “I just don't really do that with anyone,” he huffs out, scratching the back of his neck as he looks around. George watches his cheeks grow a gorgeous pink color, and he himself can't help but grow the biggest smile ever at how undeniably cute the boy is. 

Dream looks back over at George, and George is snapped out of his ‘oh my god he's the cutest person ever’ trance as he sees the four papers back in Dream’s grip.

“What is that?” George asks, pointing at the word-filled sheets of paper, thick black ink written all over both the front and back of each of the sheets.

Dream willfully hands it to him before explaining what it is. 

George grabs them, looking over them as Dream rambles like he always does (but it's okay, because George could listen to him talk for hours). “I wrote the paper. It’s like… 1,700 words about us-” he cuts himself off in a breath, catching his words a bit too late. “I mean um, it's about our characters’ first date. Clay and Oliver. They went on a hike to this place but they didn’t end up being able to find it so they went back to their car and stumbled across this pool of water and they get in it because they think it's cute and they end up having their first kiss-”

“I know, Dream. I was there when all of that happened,” George grins, looking up from the pieces of paper. 

The entire time that Dream had been talking, George was skimming through the beautifully written paragraphs, describing in perfect detail the moments that they shared together.

One part, in particular, stuck out to him, though.

The ending.

‘“Would you like to go on another date with me, Oliver?” Clay asks, his heart beating out of his chest as the question leaves his mouth.

A smile comes upon Oliver's lips at the sound of those words. “I’d love to,” Oliver responds without any hesitation.’

“This is so-” George tells Dream, unable to describe how much he loves this. “I would have helped you with this idiot, this was supposed to be a group project. I thought we were going to write this tomorrow.”

“Well, I…” Dream scoffs, a smile still very prominent on his face. “I was going to just write out the outline but then I started writing it and enjoyed it so much that I couldn't stop… and then before I knew it I had finished it.”

George leans forward, playfully hitting the side of Dream's arm without enough force for him to even feel it. “You're such an idiot!” the both of them giggle. “I'm glad you enjoyed writing it, though.”

“Yeah,” Dream clearly nervously breathes out, once again avoiding eye contact with George. “I um, I actually wanted to ask you something?”

“Go right ahead.”

“So,” he starts to say, trying his best to look back up at George as he talks. “George, I'm going to be so honest with you… I really like you. Like, a lot. Seriously, I never knew it was even possible to like someone this much. You’re so gorgeous too… and you're funny, and- and you make me feel indescribable things, and of course you’re such a good kisser-”

“Okay I get it… you can shut up now,” George smiles into his palms, hiding his face behind his hands in pure embarrassment. Dream sweetly giggles as he notices how flustered he's making George.

“Seriously though, I do really like you.”

George removes his hands from his face before speaking up. “I really like you too, Dream.”

They take a second to smile at each other, speaking without even saying anything.

“What I wanted to um, ask you, is um- I know the thing we did together was for like, our project or whatever, but I really did have a lot of fun…” he hesitates, obviously needing to push out more words but not knowing how to.

He looks up at George after his gaze had drifted off a bit.

“Would you like to go on another date with me, George?” Dream asks, his heart beating out of his chest as the question leaves his mouth.

A smile comes upon George's lips at the sound of those words. “I’d love to,” George responds without any hesitation.