Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Of course Dream is late to his first class of the semester. 

To be fair, Sapnap had hogged the bathroom for half an hour, and then an already-late Dream had run into traffic on the drive to the university campus. There wasn’t a whole ton he could have done. 

Still, he rushes to the art building, praying that the professor doesn’t take attendance. It’s a small class, desired for its lack of requirements and abundance of freedom, and ridiculously difficult to get into. Dream had tried to get into the class multiple times, but wasn’t able to secure a spot until senior priority kicked in this year. 

As Dream reaches the classroom door, he flings it open breathlessly, looking inside. The professor is already halfway through her beginning-of-semester speech, and makes quick eye contact with Dream upon his entrance before resuming. He translates this to mean that the professor doesn’t really care.

He scans the room for an open seat; there’s only one left, hidden in the back corner. He hurries to it and slides into the chair, noting the layout of desks — pairs of desks facing each other, like everyone in the room is on a very strange date. 

He then allows his gaze to drift to the boy seated across from him. The first thing Dream notices is that the kid seems to be more hoodie than human, hiding, nearly swallowed in the folds. On eye contact, the boy gives him a little lift of the side of his mouth, a half-smile of acknowledgement. Dream can tell it’s just to be polite. 

The quiet, shy type, he concludes.

He wears a large black hoodie, simple blue jeans, and white vans, the type of outfit that blends right in. Under his dark hood, his hair is fluffy and brown. His hands are smothered in the sleeves of his hoodie, and it makes Dream smile. He’s much shorter than Dream, maybe 5’9”. His skin is pale, and he looks so skinny, but his face intrigues Dream the most. 

It’s really pretty, he thinks, even though there is very little emotion. He seems to be deep in thought, but for some reason his soft brown eyes are full of life, like all of his communication is wordlessly spoken from the lights within. He’s listening intently to the professor speaking. 

Dream finds him really cute. 

Soon the teacher is explaining how the class works. It’s a very unrestrained art class: each day in class they will be given a vague prompt and can use any medium to express their thoughts. 

“For today,” the professor tells them, “I just want you to draw something you think is pretty. I’d suggest thinking about what makes it pretty, what stands out to you the most, and start with those. Everything else will fill in around those parts.”

She releases the class to begin their tasks, and Dream pulls a box of colored pencils from his backpack. He watches the brunet take a single pencil and piece of paper from his own bag, and musters up the confidence to speak.

“Hey,” Dream says brightly, and the boy looks up at him, seeming slightly alarmed. Dream softens his tone. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. What’s your name?”

The brunet seems to shrink even deeper into his hoodie when Dream speaks, wide eyes darting around fearfully like he’s considering all of his escape routes. “George,” he finally whispers, and his voice is so soft and shy that Dream almost misses it. Also, is that a British accent?

“Nice to meet you, George,” Dream murmurs, trying to match the soft tone, “I’m Clay, but people call me Dream.”

“Dream,” George repeats, voice still a whisper, still nervous. Yeah, that’s definitely a British accent. Dream marvels at the way his tongue tumbles over soft consonants, flowing from heavenly pink lips like each word is a gift. And then George says no more and turns to his paper to draw.

Dream supposes that’s all he’s getting from the shy boy, and looks down at his own paper. 

Draw something you think is pretty.

George is pretty, Dream thinks, and seems like he could benefit from someone telling him that. 

He pulls two shades of brown from his box of colored pencils and begins to draw. Across from him, George focuses intently on his own work, and Dream observes him carefully. The way his cheeks flush pink when he’s pleased with something, the way his eyebrows squeeze together when something isn’t right. He’s sure George can feel his gaze, but like an unspoken vow to privacy, George doesn’t look up. Dream respects this unspoken agreement, and stops his gaze from falling down to George’s work. 

Almost an hour later, when the class period is nearly over, Dream sits back to look at his drawing. The eyes are a little too big, his cheeks are a little too pink, but it feels right anyway. He's quite proud of himself; the drawing is pretty, though obviously not as pretty as the inspiration.

He’s just in time, too, as the professor calls out that class is over and dismisses the students with some cheesy reminder to look for random beauty in the day. Dream watches George carefully place his pencil back in a little pencil case and zip it up, delicate fingers only barely leaving his sleeves. 

Dream gazes at George fondly, and then looks down at his own drawing. 

He’s hit with a random burst of confidence, as he hears himself say, “George?”

The brunet looks up at him, head tilted, and Dream hands him the drawing, heart beating fast. 

“I want you to have this,” he says breathlessly. 

And George takes the paper curiously, and brown eyes slide from Dream’s down to the paper. Dream watches George’s gaze trace over the figure on the paper, eyes widening, cheeks flushing pink, and Dream thinks maybe his art is more accurate than he’d initially thought. 

“It’s you,” Dream adds, in case it wasn’t clear enough. 

The change on his face sends Dream into some blissful euphoria.

He sees the corners of George’s lips curl upward in a soft little smile. A small, shy expression of surprise and joy, an uncontrolled reaction. Dream’s heart soars; he’s not sure why he’s so happy to have made George smile, even such a small smile. Maybe it’s the way George looks like he’s only ever known sadness and fear, maybe it’s the way it seems so uncontrolled, maybe it’s the mysterious way it appears for just a fleeting second before George hides again. 

Whatever it is, it makes an imprint in Dream’s mind. The memory burns itself into his head, the way George’s face lit up for that fraction of a second, the way his own heart seemed to jump out of his chest at it, a strange and unfamiliar high he’s never felt before. 

George tugs his sleeves farther over his arms, eyes falling to the table, seeming embarrassed to have shown emotion at the drawing. And then, without a single word, George glances down at his own paper, flips it face down, and pushes it toward Dream. 

The colorless drawing of a beach before him makes his jaw drop. He’s seen beaches in real life countless times, full of color and motion and life, yet somehow this is the prettiest one. Although it is simple, the level of detail is absolutely impeccable, like George has a very particular scene memorized and drew it precisely. There’s a row of palm trees along the back, the top leaves slightly more stiff than the ones on the side, and they all lean the same direction, indicating a wind breezing over them. The ground is littered with patches of grass and broken coconuts. Small waves lap against the shore, frozen in time, not falling, defying gravity.

It is, undeniably, something pretty. The artist’s hands are clearly delicate, gentle, and pay attention to detail. Pencil drawings are hard, Dream thinks, never having been patient or intuitive enough to know how to shade things, what to add, what to leave out. 

He looks up to tell George it’s pretty, maybe ask where this is, but the boy is gone, and Dream is alone with his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Chapter Text

When Sapnap arrives home from his classes, he finds Dream sitting on their couch, dazedly staring into the void. 

“Earth to Dream?” Sapnap waves a hand in Dream’s face, and Dream blinks himself slowly back to the present. 

“Hi,” he mumbles. 

“Oh, no,” Sapnap groans, “I know that face.”

Dream frowns. “What face?”

Sapnap lets out an exaggerated sigh. “The one where you get obsessed with something and it’s all I hear about for years.”

“ Years —” Dream protests, but Sapnap cuts him off.

“I know you, Dream. We’ve lived together for almost 4 years now and we’ve been friends since we were awkward pre-teens. That’s the face you made when we were 13 and you asked me back if I’d heard of that band you like, and you still have posters in your room and listen to them daily. That’s the face you made when we were 15 and you told me you wanted a cat, and you pestered your parents for years until they gave in. That’s the face you made when you came back from your compsci class on the first day of 8th grade, and now you’re majoring in it.” Sapnap shakes his head. “I know you, dude, don’t fight me on this, I want to hear about it. It’s kind of wholesome when you get like this.”

Dream’s gaze falls to the floor, as he realizes Sapnap probably knows him better than he does himself. 

“ Dream. ”

He exhales a sigh of defeat. “Do you know of a guy named George?”

Silence hangs for a moment too long where Sapnap should respond. It’s obvious; he’s surprised, never having heard much about Dream’s feelings for people. Nevertheless, he covers quickly. “Uh, I don’t think so, what does he look like?” 

“Dark hair, pale skin, about yay tall,” he puts a hand up around his collarbone, “really quiet, seems to hide in his hoodies. British, I think.” He bites his lip, stopping himself from launching into a rant, but Sapnap tilts his head like he wants Dream to continue. 

“He’s so pretty,” Dream blurts, and Sapnap listens patiently as he details the morning’s art class. He holds eye contact, smiles at the right places, asks questions. Despite his initial surprise, Sapnap has recovered quickly. He’s a good friend, Dream thinks, suddenly aware of all the pining he’s done to Sapnap’s patience and support.

When he’s finally done speaking, there’s silence for a moment. Then, Sapnap asks, “when is your next art class?”

“Two days.” Dream makes a face, because two days seems so far away when all he wants is to see that pretty face again, see the happy little smile that seemed to light a spark in his heart. 

And two days take forever, but they pass, and finally Dream finds himself awake and ready to go to class. He’s up early this time, before Sapnap can hog the bathroom. 

He makes the short drive to campus, then sits back in his seat and checks the time. Class doesn’t start for twenty minutes; he’s early today. 

Dream leaves his car, locks it, and walks toward the art building, pocketing his keys. Fingers drum absentmindedly against his thigh; he’s thinking. 

He recalls last Tuesday, when he came into the classroom late, found George hiding in the corner alone. How early had George been? Had he arrived late too, or arrived early and refused to make eye contact with anyone entering? Antisocial college students would never leave an empty table, he’s sure of that. George must have arrived early and claimed his spot, hidden amongst shadows in the back corner of the classroom, and held himself so reservedly that no one had the courage to sit with him. 

Maybe that means George would show up early again today, Dream had thought this morning before leaving his house. He arrives at the art building and peers inside the open door. Green eyes search for a shy boy swallowed by a hoodie; they find nothing. 

Dream can’t find the motivation to go inside and take a seat. He would like to sit with George again, he really would. He’s not sure that George would come sit with him, if Dream were at a table alone, and he can’t stand the idea of someone else across from George’s pretty face, silence between them, not when Dream had taken claim to George in his own mind. 

So Dream quickly hurries away from the door, and walks a loop around the building. 

A minute later, he peeks inside the open door once more, searching for a certain boy. He still isn’t here. Dream lets out a low huff and walks around the building again. 

On his fourth or fifth lap, he notices other students outside watching him curiously. They must have noticed him walking in circles around the building, like a lost freshman. He sighs to himself. 

He does feel like a lost freshman. 

But finally, finally , he peers inside the classroom and his eyes catch on a small figure, hidden in a dark gray hoodie and black sweats. He’s so well hidden that Dream almost misses him, even while specifically looking for him. George is sitting in the same spot as last time, in the back most corner, keeping to himself.

Dream finally enters the classroom and approaches the table. He remembers how last class, his voice had startled the boy, and is careful to speak softly. 

“Hey, George,” he says, gently but with as much friendliness as he can. The brunet looks up at him, eyes wide, and lifts a sleeve-swallowed hand in greeting. “Can I sit with you again today?”

George nods, slowly, and Dream sees his eyes flicker across the classroom, full of empty spots, empty tables, happier-looking students. Dream studies his face carefully. 

Clearly, George did not expect him to sit with him again. It could mean one of two things, he concludes. One: George thinks Dream is crazy for not having taken one of the other free seats. And, probably, wishes he’d left him alone.

Two: George is just surprised that Dream wants to sit with him.

He prays that it’s the latter, because he sure as hell doesn’t want to leave. 

Before he knows it, the professor is greeting the class. It’s brief today, before she releases them to work with the simple prompt, “draw me something hopeful.”

Dream finds himself staring at a blank paper for longer than he’s like to. His eyes find their way to the pale brunet sitting across from him, intently focused on his work once again. 

And his mind wanders back to that shy little smile yesterday. The way George’s face flushed pink, eyes crinkled slightly, lips pressed softly. The way that seeing it lit up Dream’s whole heart and soul, just for a second, that one little motion enough to brand itself painfully in his memory for the rest of the day. And god, does he want to see it again. 

Spikes of cold rush down the back of his neck, an unfamiliar feeling, and he’s not sure how to place it. Fear? Confusion? Nervousness? Why does he care so much?

Sapnap is right. He falls in love quickly and intensely, but it’s never actually been with a person before. 

Dream sighs to himself, and does his best to sketch falling in love . 

By the end of the hour, he’s not totally sure what he’s drawn. It’s a little bit hopeful, but also a little bit terrifying. The professor dismisses the class before Dream really feels that it’s done, and he finds himself rushing to add a few details. When he sees George packing up and leaving out of the corner of his eye, he gives up and grabs the paper to head out of the classroom, looking for the short tuft of brown hair. 

But he doesn’t see it, and is about to turn to walk back to his car, when he remembers Sapnap had asked him to grab a few bubble sheets from the university bookstore. It’s in the opposite direction from the parking lot, so Dream quickly turns and hurries off, wanting to get there quickly as he knows that they’re reaching peak business hours. 

And suddenly he finds himself behind the longed-for, hoodie-swallowed boy. 

Dream’s heart skyrockets at the sight of him. Before he can think, Dream is falling into step beside him. 

“Hi,” he says, as softly as he can, and George flinches once before looking up to him with another polite but ingenuine half-smile. “Where are you going?”

“Chem lab,” George responds simply. 

“That’s cool,” Dream tells him, “I only have one class today. I have to pick up something from the university bookstore, though.”

“Oh.” He sees George’s brain churn silently, hesitating, before speaking again. “Same direction.”

The fact that George offered this information is surprising to Dream, understandably, and he feels a little better about making George talk. So he finds the balls to ask, “can I walk with you?”

George nods slowly, and Dream feels his heart soar. He wonders if George wants him to talk, or be silent like they are in class. Before he can say anything, though, he notices George looking downward at the paper in Dream’s hands. He’d forgotten he still was holding it. 

On eye contact, George points slowly to the paper, as if asking, what’s that?

“You wondering what this is?” Dream chuckles, and the boy nods. “It’s just my paper from class, took me a while, I really didn’t know what to draw. I was trying to draw falling in love. Here,” he adds, holding it gently to George, who takes it with wide eyes. 

Brown eyes scan the page gently, taking in every detail. Eventually, they stop and linger at one part in particular, and George looks up to Dream curiously, a sleeved finger lightly tracing the badly-drawn heart on fire. 

Dream chuckles again, taking the paper back. “I don’t really know why I drew that, I just thought it was kind of hopeful and kind of scary,” he explains. “Sometimes I surprise myself with how much I miss or want something.”

“Why?” 

It’s a soft question, a gentle plea for more. A rush of undeniable pride courses through Dream’s body. He can hear the genuine interest in George’s voice — he wants Dream to continue, and so he does. 

“It’s not something I have a ton of experience in, I’ve had crushes and been in a couple minor relationships, but lately I’ve been wondering if I really understood how overwhelming feelings can be.”

George only nods, like he understands. I’m talking about you, Dream silently whispers, but says nothing, noting carefully how the brunet beside him doesn’t talk, but doesn’t look uncomfortable either. Who would have thought one could be so happy by simply being beside someone so pretty and cute? 

The brunet slows his pace, eyes flickering toward a building, and Dream figures they’ve arrived at his classroom. He stops next to George, expecting the brunet to walk inside, but the boy hesitates and looks toward Dream.

Dream takes advantage of this extra moment to speak again. “Thanks for letting me walk with you, George,” he says, and George looks away shyly. “I realized I’m just talking at you, I don’t want to be that person who only talks and never listens, sorry. I know you don’t like to talk much, but I just wanted you to know that I really would like to know more about you if you’re comfortable.”

There’s a long silence. George hesitates, fiddling with the strings on his backpack, before unzipping it to pull out his drawing from today and hand it to Dream shyly. 

Dream takes it, surprised, and lets his eyes fall to the page. 

It takes him a moment to understand what he’s looking at. There’s an airplane, flying over a city that is clearly in Florida. It’s obvious, really, with the beaches in the distance, a tiny alligator silhouetted on the sand as a symbol for the place. There are no people in the drawing to reveal the context of the drawing, but Dream has a hunch that this might be a memory.

“Is this when you flew here from … the UK?”

“London,” George whispers, and quickly snatches the paper back, shyness taking over his features again. Small feet shuffle on the ground, and George stuffs the paper back in his backpack, and tugs his sleeves farther down his arms.

It finally hits Dream how brave the boy is for sharing it with him. The reserved, shy, quiet boy, sharing his past life with an almost-stranger who walked him to class like a fucking simp. 

“Oh my god,” he finds himself murmuring, “George, there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s really pretty, and for the record, I think you’re really brave for sharing that.”

Subtly, very very subtly, the edges of George’s pretty pink lips curl upward. It’s very very inconspicuous, nearly invisible, but it’s there. That little shy smile that Dream hasn’t stopped thinking about, hidden better this time, but still there for him to see, for him, just for him .

And then, for the second time, George turns and leaves to enter his classroom, leaving Dream standing like an awestruck idiot. 

George’s idea of something hopeful is a memory. Specifically, the memory of flying to Florida from the UK. Something tells Dream that it’s not only the promise of American schools and a future of adulthood that made George feel hopeful. What was he leaving behind?

He’s got a new thing to think about, to obsess over, along the way to the university bookstore and all the way back to his car in the lot closest to the art building. 

After that, Dream goes out of his way every day to park in a different parking lot, far from the art classroom, for an excuse to walk in the same direction as George. 

Chapter Text

Those days were the best days, the ones where Dream got to walk with George to the chemistry building. It wasn’t every day, but the promise of maybe next time was almost enough to outweigh the disappointment coursing throughout Dream’s body when he asked George if he had chem lab today, and George said no. 

But those little walks, no more than 5 minutes, became Dream’s favorite moments. Even more so than the hour he spent each day in class sitting across from George, where they had some quiet agreement to sit together each day. (Dream had decided to test it out after three weeks of walking laps around the art building, waiting for George to take a seat first, and sat down at a table that wasn’t their usual one before George arrived. To his delight, when the brunet walked in, he came and sat with Dream.) It was better, here, because he had George all to himself. Nothing distracting either of them, just him and George walking together.

And they established a little routine that both seemed comfortable with. George still seemed to prefer to stay silent, but if Dream talked during the walk, he would shyly present Dream with his drawing from the day before taking it back and running into the chemistry classroom. 

Even when he’s starting to open up, he runs and hides, Dream thinks. 

And through the weeks, Dream learns little bits about George, and tries to fit the pieces together in his head in some strangely-shaped George puzzle. He tells George everything he can think of. The class prompts are good for conversation starters. 

Draw something you miss. Dream got to tell George about his love of cats, and about all the cats he had as a kid. George drew his older sister. 

Draw some of your favorite things. Dream got to tell George excitedly about Floridian summers and warm beaches, about his long friendship with Sapnap, about the color green and about his favorite sports and how he came to love computer science. George’s drawing looked a lot like comfort — big hoodies, strawberry ice cream, steaming coffee cups, snow-dusted evergreen trees.

And so Dream learns. Through weeks of draw something’s, Dream learns all he can about George. George draws something bright, something sweet, something soft, something quiet; something sad, something painful, something scary, something broken, and Dream soaks it all in.

He learns what George likes, his favorite color, favorite smell, favorite sound, favorite weather. He learns things about George that he never would have expected George would share. What the inside of his mind looks like. When he’s happiest. What his heart looks like. Big changes in his life. Something he’s missing. A secret. 

As the prompts for their art class slowly grow more intimate, Dream finds that George continues to share increasingly vulnerable pieces of his life. He does his best to precede these, sharing as much and as openly as he could so that George would never have to be more vulnerable than Dream was, but he eventually felt that there wasn’t much he could talk about that matched the intensity of what George kept sharing with him. 

Draw something dangerous. George drew broken bottles, and a child that Dream could tell was meant to be George. 

Draw something you regret. George drew some flurry of bright lights and police cars. Dream tries to piece together what he knows in any way other than what his instinct suggests, but he can’t help but suspect that his gut is right. 

Draw your greatest fear. Dream felt that his drawing of his fear of heights was a little bit dumb after seeing George’s depiction of abandonment, as it seemed to tear into his heart and soul. When George went into the chemistry classroom, Dream’s heart broke for him, the boy who must know what it’s like to literally have no one left. 

In parallel to George opening up to him, Dream finds his own heart opening up even farther for George. A little crush grows into being head over heels in love with the quiet boy, wanting to be the one to swallow him in his arms instead of those giant hoodies. 

It’s quite scary. He thinks back to that drawing he made on the second day of class. Truly, he has never had such intense feelings for anyone before. Perhaps he had just never met someone so right for him. 

Time passes faster than ever, and Dream’s feelings for George only increase. He finds himself going to sleep giddy about something George did that day, or waking up early, too excited with the thought of getting to see the pretty boy again. He notices that George strings together more and more words when communicating verbally, and is almost shocked at the pride and pure joy in his chest when George gives him a full sentence for the first time. His feelings are rather foreign to him. Sure, George is probably the prettiest human to ever exist, but even apart from that Dream feels like his heart had attached itself to George on the very first day they’d met. He hasn’t felt like this about anyone else, even in the couple official relationships he’s had, and it’s almost frightening. 

God, he’s such a simp. 

In addition to learning about George’s life, Dream learns about how George works. The way he closes off himself to most people, hides most of his emotions, thinks before every word. Dream really isn’t sure why George is so open to him — he likes to think that maybe they’re just meant to be — but whatever it is, he'll take it. 

By the end of the seventh week of school, Dream is surprised at how well he knows George. Not just George’s favorite things, activities, memories, but the things that cause him pain. The reason he’s used to running away and hiding when things frighten him. It’s a trauma response, the only way he was able to stay safe as a child. 

On the first day of the eighth week, the professor assigns the class their first assignment outside of class: draw someone as a place. 

What?

“Draw a person,” the professor repeats, “as a place. It can be either a drawing of the person with characteristics of the place, or a drawing of the place with characteristics of the person.” She continues to explain the requirements: it can be a solo project where you draw yourself, or a partner project where you draw each other. Dream finds himself glancing toward George, like you do with your best friend when the teacher says you can choose partners, but George doesn’t look back. The poor kid probably has never gotten close enough with anyone to do that. 

So, after class ends, Dream finds George, like he usually does to ask if George has chemistry lab today. But instead of that question, Dream asks, “George, would you like to work with me on the project?”

George seems to hesitate for just the slightest moment before nodding, and Dream smiles. 

“Yay, I’m glad. Do you have chemistry lab today?”

A shake of the head. No.

“Maybe we could start working on it, then,” Dream suggests, and George nods his okay. “Where would you like to go?” 

George gives a small shrug.

“You live in the campus dorms, right? Do you want to go there?”

A shake of the head. 

“Do you want to come to my place?”

There’s no response. “George?” Dream tries again. 

When George looks toward Dream, he has that fearful look in his eyes, and Dream’s heart stills, worrying that the boy will back out. 

Right, George is shy in new places, with new people.

“It’s just me and Sapnap,” Dream offers, “he’s a great guy. It will be safe. I promise.”

“Promise?” 

The brunet’s voice is a soft whisper, a plea for comfort. 

“I promise, Georgie.”

And George’s tensing shoulders relax, giving up his trust to Dream. He nods, Dream smiles, and George allows Dream to drive him back to his place.

George is looking around in wonder by the time they reach Dream’s house. Dream wonders how much of this is new to George. Has he been in a friend’s car before? (Has he allowed himself to get close enough to anyone to call them a friend?) Visited someone’s house? Has he even been off campus since coming to Florida? 

When would he have had that opportunity?

Dream watches the boy, sees his wide eyes take in everything slowly. He smiles to himself. 

God, George is adorable. 

After George has spent a minute looking at the flowers in the front, Dream chuckles and says, “I’m glad you like my house, Georgie, but we should really go in to work.”

George turns to look at him, quickly, apologetically, but the look of concern vanishes from his face when he sees Dream’s welcoming smile, allowing Dream to gently take him by the hand and lead him inside. 

And yeah, Dream wants to work on the project, but he is only a boy in college, and all he can think about is how damn hungry he is right now. A healthy young man has a bottomless pit for a stomach, he remembers his mother used to say, half jokingly, half in exasperation. And okay, it’s past noon, but Dream is really craving some pancakes right now. 

“I’m hungry,” he tells George. “Do you like pancakes?”

George nods. Of course he isn’t picky, Dream thinks, he lives on freaking cafeteria food. He immediately resolves to make George the best pancakes he’s ever had. 

While grabbing stuff from the cabinets, Dream recalls the reason they are here. “So, we have to draw each other as a place,” he says, thoughtfully. He glances toward George, half-opened carton of eggs in one hand. “Do you have any ideas?”

George shakes his head. “I don’t leave campus.”

And Dream’s heart breaks for him again. If he hadn’t offered to be partners, George would be drawing himself as a tree on the university campus, he realizes. 

“Right. Hey, then maybe I can take you back to one of my favorite places from when I was a kid,” he offers. His childhood home is a couple hours’ drive away, and he knows all the pretty places in between. They can take a short trip. 

“Beach?” George requests timidly, and Dream smiles. 

“Sure,” he agrees. Anything for you, George. 

So he whips out his cell phone while heating up the stove to open their professor’s sign-up sheet and type in Clay, George, beach. George is studying Dream’s cooking.

“Have you ever cooked before?” Dream asks, and George’s eyes snap up to his face. 

George replies with a simple shake of the head. Then, “once with my sister.”

And the way he watches Dream so intently makes Dream want to share everything he knows about cooking. “Come here,” he tells George, and the brunet obeys immediately, appearing right by his side. “I’m gonna show you how to cook pancakes.”

And he tries. Truth be told, George really sucks at it. But he’s doing his best, and they’re both giggling, and it’s a lot of fun. Dream finds himself behind George, helping steady his hands, and he’s struck by how cheesy and domestic the scene must look. He can’t complain, though, as he gets to be with the boy he has a fat crush on. And apparently, George can get cuter, and Dream can’t take his eyes off of him. His heart absolutely melts when George tastes the pancake for the first time, and his eyes light up with delight, and when he reminds George that he made that, himself, and George’s face shines with pride.

By George’s sixth attempt, the pancake actually slightly resembles a circle. 

“You’re doing so much better,” Dream tells George, who smiles proudly, before immediately tensing.

Dream’s hands drop from George’s, and he wonders for a second what is scaring George before he hears footsteps. Those are Sapnap’s footsteps, he knows the sound all too well, but Sapnap is still a stranger to George.

Sapnap’s voice comes from the hall before the boy himself is visible around the corner. “DREAM! Do I smell pancakes? You better save me some this time, dickhead—”

And then Sapnap is around the corner, and his eyes land on Dream and George in the kitchen. He stops his sentence immediately, the loud, teasing voice quickly replaced by something soft. 

“Oh, hey…” his eyes flicker from George to Dream, as he concludes, “you must be George, Dream talks about you a lot.”

Dream chokes back a retort, a little embarrassed, but sees George’s cheeks flush pink as well. “This is Sapnap,” he tells George, “my roommate and best friend. We’ve known each other since we were twelve,” he reminds George, who nods, remembering. 

The brunet offers a shy lift of a sleeved hand, then quickly looks at the floor again. Sapnap has been warned of how shy George is, and catches Dream’s eye again, as if to say, wow . 

“I’m teaching him how to make pancakes,” Dream tells Sapnap. “We’ll make you some.”

“Blueberries and chocolate chips,” Sapnap says, turning around. 

“I know, bitch,” Dream shouts after him. Lovingly, of course. He looks back toward George, a smile on his face, and sees George mirror it.

“He’s nice, I promise,” he assures George, “we just tease each other a lot.” George just nods, like he understands, and Dream figures George is okay. He poses a question. “Hey, I’ve never asked about where you live. Do you have roommates?”

George’s hand pauses on the spatula he holds. He shakes his head no, then hesitates, and says, “suites.”

“Suites? Like, you have your own sleeping room but share common space with other people?” Dream clarifies, and George nods, returning to sliding the spatula underneath a pancake. Dream can’t help but feel a wave of relief rush through his chest. No one watches George sleep, the poor kid definitely wouldn’t like that. “That’s cool, so you have your own space but still get to live with others. I like having my own space too,” he tells George, “that’s why Sapnap and I moved out of the dorms and into a two-bedroom house.” George only nods again, wordless as always.

Dream allows a peaceful silence to fall over them as he helps George cook the rest of the pancake batter and they sit together at the counter to eat them. It’s horribly domestic, and Dream loves it. He’s perfectly happy to just sit here, existing, with George, and it seems George feels the same. Soft brown eyes continue to take in their surroundings, as George sits happily, no trace of nervousness in him. Occasionally, their eyes meet, and they exchange a small smile, and Dream’s heart leaps each time. 

After swallowing an unholy amount of pancakes like a normal boy, Dream stands up with a sigh. “Okay, I feel better now. Do you want to head over to the beach?”

George nods excitedly, and Dream chuckles. God, he’s so precious.

So they grab their bags, Dream packs up some food in case they get hungry, and they head back out to the car. George buckles himself into the passenger seat, and Dream watches him carefully. 

“Okay,” he tells George, “so I have two options for you. I thought it would be fun to go to one of my favorite beaches from when I was a kid — it’s very quiet and underrated and I think it’s really pretty. But, it’s over an hour drive away, and if you’d rather not do that drive, we can just go to a beach nearby that’s a little busier.” George nods to show he’s listening. “Do you have a preference?”

“Quiet one,” George replies instantly, and Dream smiles. He’s glad George is up for making the trip, it’s an excuse to hang out with him, and the beach really does match George’s vibe — quiet, peaceful, and gorgeous as hell. 

Dream turns on one of his favorite playlists and pulls out of the driveway to head to the highway. While he drives, he watches George from the corner of his eye. The boy seems absolutely enthralled looking outside his window, marveling at all the cars on the highway, the mountains along the sides of the road, the ocean in the distance. It’s the most precious thing Dream has ever seen. His heart seems to be doing cartwheels in his stomach. Is it possible to die from cuteness?

The long drive goes by very quickly, George captivated by the scenery and Dream observing him adoringly. When they arrive at the beach, George stays seated, paralyzed taking in his surroundings. Dream smiles to himself, and parks before getting out and hurrying around the side of his car to open the door for George.

The sound of the door opening seems to startle George out of a trance, and he gives Dream a nod of thanks. Dream opens the trunk of his car to grab their bags and a couple other things, then returns to find George closing his door. He’s so cute. His excitement seems to be more than he can handle. 

Not that it’s particularly obvious, of course. The boy still has the habit of limiting his expressions of emotion, but Dream’s spent enough time with him to understand that the widening brown eyes, the tousled hair, and the way George walks like he has wings for toes mean he’s excited. 

He reaches for George’s hand to tug him toward the sand. George, still gazing out at the water, doesn’t seem to be aware that Dream’s there, but his fingers close involuntarily around Dream’s. Dream doesn’t stop him, and carefully leads George onto the sand. As Dream had hoped, there’s no one else on the beach.

Finally, George turns to Dream, the biggest smile on his face that Dream’s ever seen him give. He’s almost bursting with excitement in his shy, adorable little George way, his face shining, arms pulled close to his chest, walking with a bounce in his step. 

Dream chuckles and gives George’s hand a squeeze. “Do you want to go in the water?”

George just nods excitedly, pulling Dream toward the ocean; Dream laughs and drops their bags on the warm sand and allows George to bring him to the water. 

He’s never been so happy to be on a beach. Watching George take in everything absolutely melts his heart, because George is so excited by the smallest things — the sun in the distance, the blue of the water, the warmth of the sand, and he shows it by stopping to look at and touch everything. Dream is reminded of the cold English climate and the staleness of their college campus, and wishes he could show George the whole world. 

Time passes as George explores excitedly, and Dream is perfectly content just watching him fondly. He allows George to pull him slightly into the water, marveling at how his feet leave prints in the wet sand; encourages George to walk onto the tide pools nearby, points out the different fish and shells containing animals, smiles when George’s eyes widen with surprise at how many things are alive.

He loves the way that George repeats Dream’s words in soft wonder, when he’s amazed or surprised by something. It makes him want to tell George everything he could possibly think of. “Those are sea cucumbers,” he would say, and George would repeat, “sea cucumbers,” in the most delicate voice, his British accent prevalent, and it never fails to make Dream’s heart melt. 

George is particularly enthralled by a couple hermit crabs scuttling along the beach. He asks Dream why one is missing a shell.

“Well, their shells don’t grow with them,” Dream explains, “so when they get too big they have to leave their old home and find a new one.”

They’re kind of like George, Dream thinks, who’s been hiding in a shell far too small for him.

“It’s kinda funny,” he adds, “that they're at their most vulnerable when they’ve come out of their shell, but it’s necessary because they need a better home.”

Like you, Dream thinks, willing the words to telepathically inject themselves in George’s mind, they are like you. 

George only nods thoughtfully, watching the crab intently. Dream wonders if George sees himself reflected in the little animal’s predicament. 

I would keep you safe.

Chapter Text

Much to Dream’s surprise, it’s been over an hour by the time they walk back to where he had deposited their stuff. Realizing they only have an hour before sunset, they quickly lay out beach towels to sit on and begin their drawings. 

It takes Dream a while to decide how to draw George. He’s all too pretty, too cute, too precious, and his behavior from this afternoon did not help that sentiment. Dream can only think of George’s mesmerization and delight at everything he saw; he can only see George’s adorably soft smile written in his features, shyly attempting to hide, but failing as it seemed that the earth and the heavens and all its angels surrounded his pale face, spotlighting him amongst the darkness of the rest of the world, the wind and sea bent in just the right way to make him even more beautiful.

So Dream tries to draw just that. And it’s basic as hell, and the drawing doesn’t nearly do justice to just how beautiful the boy before him is, but he does his best, and the depiction of George is the prettiest thing on his paper. 

While drawing, Dream watches George from the corner of his eye. The brunet seems even more conflicted regarding what to draw, as he repeatedly brings pencil to paper, erases repeatedly, tears pages off his sketchpad, and frustration grows on his face. 

Dream manages to finish the majority of his piece before sitting back with a sigh to take a break. He puts down his paper and closes his case of colored pencils, and shifts his seated position, eyes darting back to the boy across from him, sitting pretty as always. It’s quite warm, but he seems content in his usual outfit of sweats and a too-big hoodie. Dream realizes he’s never seen George’s arms and legs, and wonders how skinny he must be. He remembers how at his house, George had eaten like 2 pancakes while Dream had eaten more than 10 and brought Sapnap a plate with another dozen. 

He wishes he could help George get some meat on those bones. Speaking of which, his stomach is telling him it’s almost dinner time. 

He hates to interrupt the boy sitting peacefully and prettily on the blanket, contentedly drawing something, and speaks softly. “George?”

The brunet looks up at him. 

“It’s almost 5, I was wondering what you wanted to do for the rest of the time here. We could stay if you want, I brought a bit of food and we can watch the sunset. Or, we could go get food somewhere else and then head home. Or, if you’d like to just go home I can do that too,” he rushes, realizing how long it’s really been.

George blinks down at his drawing before speaking. “First one sounds nice, I’m only half done anyway.”

And Dream smiles to himself, because it does sound really nice. 

George doesn’t seem to want to talk much more, focusing intently on his work, still looking slightly frustrated. So, Dream pulls out the food and places a plastic-wrapped sandwich onto George’s blanket for whenever George is hungry. Being Dream, he himself is starving already, and opts to put away his work for now and eat something and enjoy the view.

(The sunset, of course. What other view would he be thinking of?)

A few minutes later, George puts his work away as well with a sigh, and picks up the sandwich that Dream had given him. He glances toward Dream, who quickly shifts to the side of his towel to make space, gesturing for George to come sit with him. George does so, placing himself delicately beside Dream, close enough that their thighs touch slightly. Dream chokes on his sandwich at the contact. 

“How’s your work coming?” He covers quickly.

George just shrugs nonchalantly, untangling plastic wrap.

“Could I see it?” Dream asks, politely, trying to ignore the warmth pulsing through his body at the touch of George’s sweatpants-covered thighs on his own.

To this, George looks toward the ground, shyly, then murmurs, “can’t get it right.”

“Aww, I’m sorry,” Dream says sympathetically, understanding he won’t get to see it until it’s done anyway. “Maybe a little break is good, though.”

George nods, smiling, and looks up toward Dream. 

Dream finds himself gazing into George’s eyes for longer than any normal eye contact should be. 

“Pretty,” George whispers softly, and then looks away and out toward the sky. 

Dream supposes he will never know what George is talking about. 

The Florida night is not cold at all and Dream finds himself thoroughly enjoying the time spent together out on the quiet beach. Dream can tell that George wants him to talk, so he tells the boy beside him all about his trips to this beach as a kid, the sand castle fights he used to get into with his siblings, the (many) times one of them nearly died. George sits and listens, looking happy. It must really be one of his favorite activities, Dream thinks, just sitting and listening. 

He doesn’t mind at all. He likes to talk, and he likes to see George’s pretty face eagerly soaking in everything he shares, smiling when Dream laughs, and blushing when Dream looks at him.

A couple hours go by. As it’s winter, the sun sets early, casting them into darkness; Dream realizes they were stupid in thinking they could keep working on their drawings after the sun went down, as they had negelcted to bring flashlights. Instead, they continue to chat for a while, and then he decides to bring George to the shore to show him the bioluminescent plankton that has always amazed him.

“Watch,” he instructs, and George’s wide eyes follow his hands curiously as they sweep a handful of sand to the side, revealing just an instant of soft light beneath. 

“Whoa,” George says softly, and mimics the motion, eyes lighting up joyfully in the dark when he sees the sand under his hands glow. 

“It’s a type of plankton that washes onto the shore and emits light as a defense mechanism,” Dream explains, “I suppose when we uncover them, they feel exposed and panic for a moment. I’ve always thought they were so cool.”

George nods and looks up at Dream, a soft smile taking over his pale face, barely visible in the darkness. 

In the end, they go for a little walk along the shore. He finds George wrapping small hands around his larger forearm in the darkness as they trudge along the sand. At the end of the beach, they stop for a moment to look for shapes in the stars, and Dream feels a soft head against his shoulder. He wraps an arm around George’s waist, pulling him close to his side. 

God, he really, really likes this boy. 

It feels like heaven, and he wishes he could stay here forever, but all too soon they find themselves back at the blankets, and it’s very late.

“Ready to go home?” Dream asks George, who nods softly. Dream realizes that they’ve been together for over ten hours — the poor kid is probably drained from all the social expenditure. 

Silently, they pack up their stuff and say goodbye to the beach. Well, George says goodbye — Dream watches fondly as the brunet shyly stands on the edge of the water, gazing at it for a quiet moment, before turning to follow the blond to the car. 

The first 20 or so minutes of driving are completely silent, just the two of them sitting contentedly in the dark.

For once, it’s George that breaks the silence, with just one word.

“Dream?”

The voice comes out of the darkness like a whispered secret; nervous, shy, soft. 

“Yes?” Dream tries to match the tone. 

There’s a pause before George speaks again.

“I’m happy.”

It’s his way of saying thank you, of saying he enjoyed spending the afternoon together. Dream’s heart soars, and he doesn’t know how to return it, how to express how happy he is that George has opened up to him so much, that he’s been blessed to be in his presence for so long. Instead, he simply smiles and reaches over the console to take George’s hand and give it a squeeze, hoping George understands. 

He waits for George to pull away from his hand, but the boy doesn’t. Instead, George cups it with both of his hands — small, soft, pale hands crafted by gods — and reclines into his seat with the gentlest of sighs.

Within five minutes, the brunet is asleep in his seat. He looks so cute, so peaceful, so content as he sleeps, and Dream’s chest swells with pride, knowing that it was him that was able to break through George’s shell, to get him comfortable enough to fall asleep in front of him. He continues to drive in the darkness with one hand, careful not to move a muscle in the other hand which rests against George’s, and wonders if George finds comfort in having someone close. 

Dream drives more carefully than he’s ever driven in his life, as if he’s carrying the most precious thing in the world, because he is, and he knows it’s his job to protect this pretty boy at all costs. 

He only wakes George up when they arrive on campus, once he’s safely parked in the lot closest to George’s dormitory building and can gently shake the sleepy boy. 

“We’re here, Georgie,” he whispers gently, seeing George jolt awake. “We’re back at your dorm building, let’s go in, yeah?”

George sits up, and quickly says, “that's okay, you can just drop me here.” 

Dream frowns. “It’s less than twenty feet,” he protests, “I want to walk you back, George.”

George refuses again, and Dream sighs, giving in. He’s sure there’s a reason George doesn’t want Dream in the building. “Okay. Can you at least text me to let me know once you’re back inside your room safely?”

There’s silence, and through the darkness, Dream can feel George’s eyes on him like he’s missing something. 

Right — George doesn’t have a phone, it’s too expensive. I should buy one for him — he makes a mental note. 

“I’m sorry,” Dream hurries, “I just really want to make sure you're safe, Georgie.”

And George smiles, a genuine smile Dream can feel radiating through the darkness. “Don’t worry,” the boy whispers, climbing out the car door, “it’s less than twenty feet, I’ve survived traveling much farther on my own.”

As Dream drives back home, he feels like his heart has never floated so high.

Chapter Text

Every day, George seems to give Dream more genuine smiles. 

He begins to find the brunet standing outside the art classroom after class ends, waiting for Dream to walk him to chemistry lab. Sometimes, he allows Dream to take his hand while they walk. 

And every day, Dream falls harder. 

His routine continues as such. Wake up early, excited to see George. Spend time with George. Return home, excited about having seen George. Hang out with Sapnap or other friends at night and go to sleep early, excited to see George again in the morning. (Yes, he’s aware he’s probably the world’s biggest simp; no, he does not care.)

And this routine continues peacefully, until about a week after George’s visit to their house, Dream can’t sleep. The reason: all the damn noise going on outside. 

When he hears the sirens of police cars and ambulances, he gives up and leaves his room. He finds Sapnap in the kitchen, scrolling on his phone with an open but clearly neglected textbook in front of him. 

Sapnap looks up when he hears Dream enter. “Oh, hey. Couldn’t sleep?”

Dream nods, “what the hell is all that noise?”

“Some party on campus,” Sapnap supplies, “it’s literally on the news, some kids got arrested.”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “Oh damn. I remember when we used to live on campus. They had some crazy parties, but never intense enough for the cops to come.” 

“Yeah.” Sapnap pockets his phone to turn fully toward Dream. “I could’ve sworn I heard shots fired, I was just texting Karl to see if he heard anything about what’s going on.”

“I don’t regret my decision to never drink,” Dream notes. “Honestly, it’s very easy to have fun without it—”

He’s cut off by a knock at the door. 

Dream’s eyes lock on Sapnap’s in a shared moment of confusion. Who the hell is knocking at this hour? His first thought is that it’s the police, here to ask questions about whatever is going on at the university. 

There’s a silent battle of will over who will open the door, and eventually Dream gives in with a sigh, trudging to their front door to carefully tug it open. 

He’s immediately glad that he let Sapnap win the stubbornness contest, as his eyes are met with a trembling George. For the first time ever, he’s not wearing a hoodie, instead shivering in a loose t-shirt, clearly too big for him as the fabric hangs off his body, revealing pale skin below his collarbones. His arms are even more pale and thin than Dream had expected. In the shadows, his jawline is toned, neck almost white and looking so soft, so delicate. The boy standing in front of him appears smaller and more fearful than ever, tears clinging onto the corners of his eyes. His heart jumps. Why is George upset? 

… did he run two miles here from campus?

“George,” Dream whispers, stunned into paralysis for a moment; George blinks wide eyes and glances behind himself fearfully. “I — oh my god, come in.”

He pulls the door open all the way, ushering the brunet inside. Sapnap’s eyes fall on him, then flicker toward Dream in confusion. Dream returns the confused stare, and thankfully, Sapnap remains silent. 

Dream closes the door behind them. “What’s wrong, George?”

The boy stands alone, staring up at him silently, wide eyes brimming with fear. He shakes his head quickly — he doesn’t want to talk. 

Spending time with George has taught Dream that yes or no questions generally help. He takes George by the hand, leading them to the kitchen table. 

He softens his voice carefully before speaking. 

“Did you run away?”

George nods, eyes still terrified. 

“There’s some out of control partying at your dorm?” Dream infers. 

Another nod. 

“Why did you come here?”

A shake of the head. George is too afraid to talk.

“George,” Dream takes George’s hands in his again, “I want to help you, but you need to talk to me.” 

Another shake of the head. 

“I’m safe, George, I promise,” Dream pleads. 

“How?”

The soft, quivering voice startles Dream for a moment. Not just because he’s surprised to hear it, but because of the tones in his voice. Fear, sadness, hurt; it’s all so prevalent in just that one word, in the way George’s voice breaks, and it feels like a sharp stab in Dream’s own chest. He manages to regain composure, and notices Sapnap, ever the sweet friend, lingering in the corner. He looks conflicted, probably knowing that George doesn’t like talking to strangers, but also thinking it might be inconsiderate to just leave when he came here upset. 

Dream exhales slowly, then stands. “Come, Georgie, let’s go outside.”

He gently reaches for George’s hand, watching carefully for his reaction. The boy flinches momentarily and hesitates, but ultimately complies, allowing Dream to tug him through the house and into the backyard. 

Dream sits on a bench, gesturing for George to join him, and George takes a seat beside him, leaving a few inches between them. He waits for a minute, letting George breathe the fresh air and relax a little bit, before he speaks. 

“George,” he whispers, as softly as he can, and the brunet’s eyes scan his face. “You asked me how you can know I’m safe.”

George’s gaze drops to the ground.

“Look at how open it is here,” Dream continues, “look at the sky. Look at all the stars. They’re all watching me, George, making sure I keep you safe.”

George emits a soft breath. 

“Look at how much space there is,” he pleads, “look at how free you are, I can’t hurt you, George.

“Whatever you’ve had to run away from, Georgie, I’m not totally sure what it is, but I promise you it isn’t here. And if it comes, I promise you, god I swear on my life, that I will fight it away for you with everything I have.”

The brunet’s eyes close; his lips tremble slightly. 

“Okay?”

And George just nods, before breaking into tears. 

Unsure what to say, Dream cautiously slides closer to George and wraps his arms around the boy. George’s body quivers, eyes spilling with silent tears, and melts slightly in his arms. He holds him, running a large hand through soft brown hair, waiting for George to be ready to speak. 

When Dream notices how George shivers, he immediately takes off his own hoodie, handing it to George; it’s already warm from him wearing it. He sees George blush and accept it, watches the boy tug it over his head and smile. He sees how George is engulfed in it, swims in it; and he looks so comfortable, bringing the floppy sleeves to his face and breathing deeply like it calms him. 

George finally looks up to meet Dream’s gaze, eyes wet but shining happily. “Big,” he whispers, sounding pleased, and Dream’s heart melts. Like usual, George likes to hide, but seeing him in his own hoodie is so cute, and god Dream wants to hold him tight and never let go.

Now that George has spoken, Dream wonders if he’ll say more. The boy continues to gaze up at him, silently, and Dream realizes that he usually doesn’t talk unless Dream asks something first.

He inhales deeply, carefully, and takes George’s hands in his before speaking gently. 

“Did the police get called on a party at your dorm?” 

George nods, gaze falling to his feet. 

“Did it scare you?”

Another nod. 

Dream pauses for a moment, not entirely sure how to proceed, but with George sitting in his arms, in his hoodie, he figures it’s okay to keep asking.

“Would you like to tell me what scared you?”

There’s a pause. George’s body quivers more violently, and Dream holds him tightly. 

“It’s like home,” George finally whispers, and the tears fall harder. 

Well, that confirms Dream’s suspicions of why George tends to run away. He’s had reason to be scared, and running away is his self defense, for Christ’s sake he got scared of what happened as a child and ran out of the damn country.

He makes another silent promise to himself to never scare George. The boy seeks safety, alert like a delicate animal who’s terrified of people (for good reason) and ready to leave at any sudden motion. How many times has he hidden in his room, hearing noise right outside his door, fearing for his own safety? How many times has he cried himself to sleep, cried out to no one, because there was no one to listen? Has he ever had someone to turn to, someone safe and warm, someone to just free him of loneliness?

He takes another deep breath, giving George’s hand a gentle squeeze before speaking. “That isnt your home, George,” he whispers, and George’s body stills. “Your home is where your heart is,” he continues, pressing a finger lightly against George’s chest, and when he pulls away he sees George mimic the motion. “And where it is safe, okay? When you're doing what you enjoy, when you are safe and free and happy, when you are with people that make you feel safe.”

Slowly, George lets out a long breath.

His voice, floating softly out of the darkness, comes as a surprise to Dream. 

“Like you?”

Dream is so touched that he can only nod, speechless at George’s openness to him, and tighten the arms wrapped around George’s calming figure. 

They sit for a bit longer, in comfortable silence. Dream can feel George relax, hear his breathing slow, and just holds him, as it seems to comfort the boy. Not that he’s complaining, of course. It feels right, like he belongs here, shielding this angel from the world. 

It takes almost half an hour before George finally sighs, wiping his eyes, and casts his gaze up toward Dream’s face.

“Thank you, Dream,” he murmurs shyly, and Dream hugs him close. There’s no need to thank him for what he was put on this earth to do. 

“Are you ready to go back inside?”

George nods, and they stand together. When they enter the house again, Sapnap is standing in the kitchen and scrolling on his phone, with a glass of water and a sandwich placed on the counter in front of him.

“Hey,” he says when he sees them enter, tilting his head toward George, wondering if he’s feeling better. George gives him a weak half-smile, eyes still red from crying, clutching tightly onto Dream’s arm. “I didn’t want to intrude on you guys,” Sapnap continues, “but George, you look like you could use something to eat, so I made you a sandwich. I’m not nearly as good at cooking as Dream, but I tried my best.” Cautiously, he slides the cup and plate across the counter and toward the side where Dream and George stand, studying George’s face for a reaction. 

Dream sees the brunet flush pink, touched, but still shy. “I — I’m not hungry,” he whispers, and the shyness in his voice makes it clear that he appreciates the gesture, but is still a little anxious. 

“That’s not a measure of whether you need to eat, George.” Sapnap’s voice is gentler than Dream has ever heard it, yet firm at the same time. 

George casts a glance toward Dream, who nods in agreement, so he slowly releases Dream’s arm from his grasp to pick up the sandwich and carefully take a bite. Dream sees a soft smile appear on his face, a genuine one of gratitude. Sapnap is beaming, his face exuding the same type of joy that you do when a particularly shy cat lets you pet it.

Dream grabs a glass of water for himself too, and there’s silence for a bit as the three of them stand in the kitchen. Eventually, Sapnap excuses himself, with an “it’s nice to see you again George, but I have a midterm tomorrow,” and it’s just the two of them again.

Dream lets the silence linger for a moment longer before speaking. 

“Hey, I know the stuff happening on campus isn’t super safe or comfortable, would you like to stay over?”

George’s eyes widen at the offer, and he nods quickly. “Yes, please.”

“We don’t actually have any guest beds,” Dream apologizes, “but you can sleep on the couch if that’s okay?”

To his surprise, George freezes, tears forming in his eyes again as he whispers, “alone?”

No, no, Dream thinks, his heart breaking again seeing George upset and afraid again. He’s never heard so much sadness in a single word, so much betrayal, and he curses himself for causing it. “Would — would you like to come sleep with me instead?”

George’s shoulders relax, and he looks up at Dream as if to ask, really?

Dream can’t help the smile that forms on his face. “I’d love to have you, George.” He’s a little surprised, actually, that George would choose to be close to someone. Maybe he feels safe with Dream. Maybe he’s just that scared of what he’ll think about if he’s alone. 

Dream is reminded of George’s drawing of his greatest fear — abandonment. George doesn’t want to be alone right now, so Dream won’t leave him. 

George seems to close in on himself as he nods, face tilted down to hide a deep blush and soft smile. His legs cross, arms wrap around himself; he’s a little flustered, and it’s adorable. 

Dream takes the empty plate from the counter and deposits it in the sink, then gestures for George to follow him down the hallway.

The brunet shyly shuffles down the hall after him, eyes widening when he enters Dream’s bedroom. Dream watches him look around in wonder for a second, taking it in, before he looks up at Dream, whispering, “you.”

This place is you, Dream translates. He chuckles softly, wrapping a large hand around a small waist. “Yeah, it’s me.”

The boy’s gaze falls on the very familiar drawing pasted to the wall, and he points at it with a tilt of the head, looking at Dream, who emits another chuckle. “I thought it was pretty, George.” And the brunet hides another blush.

Dream flops onto his bed, smoothing the blankets, then pats the spot beside him. “Come to sleep, Georgie.”

George approaches shyly, arms clutched into himself, and delicately takes a seat. Immediately upon contact, his shoulders relax, and in a second he’s flopped over beside Dream, reaching for Dream’s hand. 

Dream gives it to him, of course, and pulls him close, tugging the blankets over them snugly. The boy curls softly into his chest, wriggling slightly into the warmth. 

He hears George let out a slow, long exhale. Then, his quiet voice softly breaks the silence. 

“Thank you, Dream,” he whispers, the words just barely audible.

“Of course,” Dream whispers into his hair, holding him close, “goodnight, George.”

When he’s sure George is fast asleep, he whispers softly into brown hair again, quietly, hoping that George would hear it in his dreams and know it to be true. 

“You are so beautiful, and deserve all the love in the world. I wish I could take away all the pain you’ve ever faced. You’re an angel. I love you.”

Chapter Text

Dream is woken with nails digging into his back. 

He opens his eyes confusedly; it’s still dark. When he looks at the boy next to him, his heart drops.

George is clearly having some sort of nightmare. Tears flow down his face, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in pain, and his body writhes slightly. His lips are closed tightly, and he’s trembling.

The poor boy has taught himself to keep quiet, Dream thinks. 

He doesn’t want to wake George, so he finds a soft hand and laces his fingers between, gently rubbing George’s back with his other. He holds him close, whispering that it’s gonna be okay, burying his face in George's hair, shushing him gently. 

The nails in his back are sharp, and they sting a little bit, but Dream could really not care less. He would take all the pain in the world if it meant less hurt for George. 

Within a couple minutes, George's sleeping figure calms, letting out a couple soft hiccups, and he sleeps peacefully. 

The next time Dream wakes up, the sun shines brightly in the room and George is wrapped securely in his arms, still asleep, and looking peaceful. When Dream shifts, George stirs slightly, and eventually opens his eyes. He smiles sleepily when his gaze meets Dream’s, looking like he’s slept better than he ever has, and Dream thinks sadly, it’s probably true.

He’d be happy to stay here forever, but they’ve slept in quite late and unfortunately class is in half an hour. So, he whispers softly into the sleepy boy’s hair, “it’s time to wake up, George.”

George shifts slightly, making eye contact with Dream, and then shakes his head no and snuggles back into the pillow.

“Come on, Georgie, we have to get to class.” There’s no response. Dream tries to tug his arm out from around George, to get up, and to his surprise, the boy lets out a soft whimper. 

George is quiet. He rarely speaks. And aside from a few whispered words, he rarely uses his voice to tell Dream what he wants. 

He doesn’t want Dream to let go, so Dream won’t.

With a sigh, Dream murmurs, “okay, Georgie, have it your way,” and simply gets out of bed with George in his arms. George giggles, seeming happy, even when Dream stumbles a little bit to stand, thin arms clinging tightly around Dream’s neck. 

Dream thinks he wouldn’t mind if he woke up like this every day.

George allows Dream to carry him to the bathroom; he’s reluctant to unwrap delicate arms from Dream’s neck to go inside alone, burying a pale face in Dream’s tightly muscled chest with a whimper, but concedes when Dream promises him there will be food and open arms waiting for him when he’s done.

And as promised, Dream feeds the sweet boy, tugs a too-big hoodie over a small, happy head, and drives them to class. 

He’s happy to take care of George; the poor boy deserves it.

Class goes by normally, but when the hour has ended, Dream notices that George looks anxious, stressed, just overall terrified. It’s certainly a shift from his gentle joy this morning. 

“George?”

The boy turns to look at him, lips trembling. 

“George, what’s wrong?”

George sniffles softly, and his voice quivers when he speaks. “I don’t — don’t wanna —”

His voice trails off, eyes watering, and Dream’s heart breaks. 

“You don’t want to go back to your room?” He infers, and George nods. 

“Oh my god, Georgie,” Dream steps toward him and pulls him into his arms, “you don’t have to.” 

How could George not know how wanted he is, how loved he can be? His heart melts, wishing he could show George just how much he’s loved, but settles for holding him tightly and whispering in his hair softly. 

“You can stay with me and Sap as long as you want,” he offers, and he hears the brunet sniffle again. 

“I don’t want to bother…”

“George, please, believe me,” Dream takes George’s hands in his, “I want you, I really do. I like my house better when you are there, and I’m sure Sapnap does too. It’s more sweet and warm and beautiful, because you are there. I mean it,” he assures the trembling figure, “I mean it with all of my heart, Georgie.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then George lets out a long exhale and a soft hiccup. “Okay.”

That’s all he says, but Dream is honestly surprised that he spoke at all. 

“Do you want to go home now?” He asks gently, and George gives a small nod, curling into Dream’s chest. 

He’s so brave, Dream thinks; so strong; and Dream wishes he could take all the burdens George carries, the ones he knows of and the ones he doesn’t.

Neither speaks on the way home. Sometimes, George wants Dream to talk, and sometimes he needs silence to process things. Dream knows him well enough by now to understand that the kid needs silence right now. 

By the time they’ve arrived at Dream and Sapnap’s house and walked inside, George is fidgety. He wants to say something; Dream is familiar with this behavior, but he’ll have to coax it out of George. 

“What’s up?” He asks George, and the brunet’s gaze falls to the ground. “Did you want to say something?”

George shrugs off his backpack, holding it close to his chest, and soft, brown eyes trail down toward it.

“You want to show me something?”

George nods slowly, unzipping his backpack, and pulls out a piece of concealed paper before hesitating.

“Finally finished this,” he whispers timidly, looking down, but doesn’t move to give it to Dream.

“Is it the project we did together?” Dream inquires as gently as he can, remembering how the brunet didn’t want to show him earlier. 

George nods, and shyly presents the paper to Dream face-down, not making eye contact. 

Carefully, like he’s holding a sheet of glass, Dream turns the paper and looks at it.

George has drawn a sandy beach, much like the one they’d gone to, with the pretty ocean and sky in the background. The sand is covered in shells, and in the front is a naked little hermit crab. Right in the middle of the beach is a big shell, and the drawing is structured in a way that brings your attention to that shell in the middle. That shell in the middle is the prettiest, the biggest, the most cozy and safe. 

Like the rest of his drawings from this year, George uses just a pencil, sketching everything perfectly without color. With one exception: the middle shell has color. And it’s fucking beautiful. 

Dream remembers telling George about how hermit crabs choose their home. He recognizes that that shell is that place, to George — the home he’s picked. 

And when Dream realizes that it’s him, that the absolutely gorgeous shell is Dream , George's chosen place, he’s never felt prettier. 

It’s like a little thank you, a little “you bring color to my life,” a little unspoken “I love you.”

Dream feels his heart melt, his face breaking into the biggest smile, and says, “you are amazing George, you know that?”

George gazes up at him, bringing a hand to his chest, as if to ask, me?

“Yes, you, silly,” Dream tells him, and a soft smile takes over George’s features. Soft, brown eyes cast toward the ground shyly, the corners crinkling, his mouth curling upward. He shuffles his feet slightly, and Dream sees brown eyes flicker up toward him. So he pulls George into a hug, whispering into his hair, “I really really like you, Georgie, and I will keep my promise to keep you safe, okay?”

George seems to melt in his arms.

And when he finally lets go, and breaks away, he sees a shy smile emerge on George’s face. It’s small, nervous, as usual, but there’s something else there, something he’s never seen on George's face. Underneath the face shaped by fear and hiding is a little spark of bravery, ready to take a chance. And then, George whispers, “want.”

Dream asks, “what do you want, Georgie?”

George is silent, but his gaze slips from Dream’s eyes to his lips. He presses a soft finger to Dream’s lips before touching his own with the same finger, and then looks back up into emerald eyes. 

Dream gets the message, and smiles and pulls George in for a kiss. 

And George isn’t a talker, but Dream understands why, he’s been saving his lips for this very moment. This moment, where George speaks through his lips without words, to say thank you, to ask for more. He's warm, he’s safe, he’s happy, he’s home. 

His lips are just like George himself: soft, gentle, timid, shy. Careful, quiet, just barely moving, letting himself get comfortable against Dream’s. And, at the same time, so, so fulfilling; it’s everything. 

The epitome of soft and precious. 

And when they finally break apart, maybe days or years or centuries later, George doesn’t let go of Dream’s waist. 

“I meant it, you know,” Dream tells him, “when I said you could stay indefinitely. I would love for my home to be yours.”

George smiles, and brings his hand up to Dream’s chest, a soft whisper of “home” falling from his lips just like the night before. 

“I love you, George,” Dream tells him, with confidence, with pride, holding the softest boy in the world close to his heart. 

And George meets his gaze, and breathes, “I love you too, Dream.”

His pale, pretty face shines, happy with the first admission of love that he’s ever given Dream, perhaps the first to anyone ever. Soft hands hold Dream’s gently, and Dream knows he’s become George’s safe place, the shell meant to protect his delicate heart.