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Dream spots the pretty boy from a mile away. He was able to tell everything about him just from the look in his heterochromia eyes. One brown, one green. His pupils were slightly dilated, too.
The boy is a brunette who is no taller than 5’10, with pink rosy cheeks. He looks to be alone, smoke escaping both his nose and his lips. Dream has never found smoking attractive, but now somehow he does.
It’s clear the brunette has no intentions to wake up each morning, fine with living in the moment and seeing where things go. He’s the sort of person to have not planned a future for himself all because he didn’t think he would end up having one.
There’s two rings on his fingers. One on his left hand, on his pointer, and the other on his right, on the middle. They have a lot more delicate detail than what Dream can make out, and he knows they most definitely mean something to the man.
Dream blinks, his eyes closed for not even a second, but it’s apparently a second too long because the brunette is suddenly in front of him. It’s not a cigarette the man’s holding, but a blunt, and the smell shoots up his nostrils and fills his senses.
“Are you having a nice time staring at me, hm?” The brunette teases, a smile crossing his features for a moment as he takes a drag from the blunt in his left hand. Dream notes he’s most likely left handed.
He must admit though, the British accent takes him slightly aback. It’s not as strong as it probably once was, but it’s definitely not gone away. There’s a slight twinge of American there somewhere, but not much.
It’s been a while since he’s heard such an accent. He wonders why the brunette is here, and not at home. He’s sure he’ll find out, anyways.
“You noticed?” Dream asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course I noticed,” He chuckles softly, inhaling once more from the blunt before throwing it to the side and standing on it with his foot, “I’m George.”
Dream isn’t surprised he has a pretty name. He expected it, in fact. The name repeats itself over and over in his head, and he just about manages to stop his mind from going into overdrive thinking about George.
The smile that George gives him has him on his knees. Just when he thinks the brunette couldn’t possibly get any prettier, he does.
“I’m Dream.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dream.”
-
dream
r u here yet
george
maybe
find me
Dream shakes his head with a light laugh, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He glances up, gripping the red cup just a little tighter. The crowd is huge.
There’s familiar faces here and familiar faces there. He spots a couple of friends but they don’t stop to give him the time of day so he simply pretends he never noticed them in the first place. He slips through groups, apologising whenever he bumps into someone a little too hard and offering them a forced smile.
It’s been a while since he’s attended a party. He used to go to them occasionally, then things changed and he found himself preoccupied with other matters. It’s George who got him back into them again.
He finishes the last of his drink but he has no idea what he’s done with the cup because one minute it’s in his hand and the next it isn’t. He decides not to dwell on it.
Outside is lively, people here, there and everywhere. His eyes latch onto the back of George’s head nearly instantly, as he’s standing with his back facing Dream. Although he can’t see the front of his face, he knows he’s definitely having a smoke. It leaves his mouth in puffs and blends in with the darkness of the night sky.
With a smile, he makes his way over to the pretty brunette, scaring him from behind. George jumps, turning around with a cigarette between his index and middle fingers and flushed cheeks. He looks divine.
“Dream!” George hisses, elbowing him in his sides, “You idiot. That could’ve gone badly, you know.”
“Found you.” He says, a proud beam on his face.
George leans against him with blown pupils and an urge to be touched. With a final drag from the cigarette, he chucks it into the distance and lets out a soft sigh, “Hold me, will you?”
Dream could almost predict he was going to say that. When he first met George, he was quite closed off and didn’t seem fond of human touch. Oh, how wrong he was. George’s favourite thing was to be held, and Dream was confident in that.
Music thuds in the back of his mind. He can still taste traces of alcohol in his mouth, and he’s forever thankful he lost his cup. Although his hands are somehow shaky, he holds George’s hips, swaying them gently in time to the rhythm of the music.
The brunette chuckles, turning around slightly and using one of his own hands to touch the side of Dream’s jaw. He feels the cold of George’s fingertips but he doesn’t mind. They stay like that for a moment, before George is pulling away and lighting another cigarette.
Dream doesn’t remove his hands. George doesn’t either.
-
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Dream quieres, turning on his television and getting comfortable.
George pouts, tugging on his shoe and leaning on the wall for support, “I thought we were going to go out?”
“It’s raining.” He points out, gesturing to the window.
“Let’s go out anyway. Please?”
They go out.
-
From his table, he watches. He watches George dance with such elegance and beauty. He watches people approach George, asking for his hand, to which he politely declines and locks eyes with Dream. He does it each time without fail.
It makes him feel like he means something. They’ve never really talked about their relationship and where they stand with each other, but it’s clear they’re something more than friends. Anyone could tell.
When George occasionally looks at him, he feels special. He feels as though he’s the only one that matters, and they’re the only two in the room. But that’s not true because each time he returns to reality, he hears the chatter and banter of other people.
Sometimes he wishes it really was just him and George. Things would be better. Life would be easier.
Right now, there’s a lot of people staring at George. Not just Dream. The table of guys to his left are intrigued to see his next move, and the group of girls on the dance floor beside him are admiring his looks.
Dream finds it impossible to blame them. However, he does feel twinges of jealousy.
The next song comes on and George looks ecstatic. He’s getting right into it, moving to the rhythm and holding an endless smile on his face. Dream takes a picture to capture the moment. He even favourites it.
But then the brunette isn’t dancing anymore, instead, he’s approaching their shared table and reaching for Dream’s hand, “Dance with me.”
“I can’t dance.” He chuckles, slightly embarrassed.
“Dance with me anyway.”
Hesitantly, he takes George’s hand and follows him out into the crowd. He feels as though everyone has their eyes trained on him specifically, but they don’t. It’s George that they’re watching.
He mimics George’s moves, following his dancing as closely as he can. When he was younger, he took dancing classes for two years, competing in competitions and earning medals. The moves never seemed to stick with him, unfortunately.
To dance in the first place was never his idea. His mother signed his sister up, and because of that, she signed him up too. Since he had nothing better to do, he went. He even ended up quite liking it but when they moved away, he never picked it back up again.
George’s eyes are mesmerising with their different colours and the emotions they hold. From what Dream can tell, he’s happy. There’s a sparkle in them that only seems to appear when Dreams around.
Every now and then, someone will brush up against him and he will feel nothing. But when he touches George, he feels the stars align and electric buzzes underneath his fingerprints. It’s like magic.
The way he feels with George is like no other feeling he’s felt before. He feels so joyous, and his cheeks always end up aching from having smiled so much. It’s almost impossible not to be happy around the brunette.
There’s tiny beads of sweat keeping George’s hair stuck to his forehead. It’s only noticeable up close. Dream’s only surprised he hasn’t sweat even more with the length of time he’s been dancing for. If it were Dream, he would’ve been panting for breath.
“You look pretty.” Dream whispers, hands holding the beautiful curves of George’s body as they move.
George raises an eyebrow, the fluorescent lights reflecting off his face as he tilts his head upwards, “What makes you think that?”
Dream could write an essay for an answer.
“Let’s get out of here.” He responds, completely avoiding George’s question and interlocking their hands together.
When he hears no opposition from the brunette, he guides them through the crowd. Once they’re outside, the fresh air smacks him in the face, the cold wrapping itself around his torso. It’s not as warm as he imagined.
There’s a couple of people laughing down the street, wobbling with each step they take. Only a few cars pass by, going at the speed of lightning down the streets. Dream didn’t think it was that late, but he always loses track of time when he’s with George.
“Where are you going to take me, lover?” George asks, removing his hand from Dreams as he goes to light a cigarette. Dream misses the warmth as soon as it leaves. His heart flutters at the nickname.
“Any requests?”
George nods once, exhaling smoke into the night air, “Home.”
Home is where they go.
-
There’s something about silence that none of them like. Whenever there’s even a hint of silence, they will begin rambling or he’ll play music or put on the radio.
So today, as they sit huddled over bottles of alcohol and board games, the radio buzzes behind them. George has a glass of wine in his left hand, his head in his right hand. He’s looking for a way to win, and sure enough, he finds it.
Dream suffers his fourth loss of the night. He huffs, crosses his arms and takes a large swig of now warm beer. It seemed to be his new method of coping with being bad at games he thought he was good at.
It was his fault, really. He wasn’t as smart as George. The brunette always had some sort of trick up his sleeve, some sort of backup plan if something was to go wrong. Dream didn’t.
George chuckles, “You’re such a sore loser, Dream. Come on, you big baby. I’ll let you win next time, I promise.”
“Count me out,” He sighs, leaning against the back of the sofa, “‘m tired.”
“You’re not,” George hums, packing up the game, “You just don’t want to lose again. I can read you like a book.”
A piece rolls off the table, but George catches it just before it hits the ground. Of course he does.
“I’m sure you can,” Dream nods with an amused smile, “Movie?”
Once every piece is back in the box, George then decides to contemplate an answer. He takes a sip of wine, hand on his hips as he stares upwards. He looks almost lost in thought over a question that only required a one word answer.
“Only if I get to pick. And after a quick smoke.” Is the response.
Dream’s happy enough with that.
George moves for the balcony door, tugging it open and rummaging about in his pockets. He places the wine glass down on the table outside, finding his lighter and taking a cigarette out of the packet.
It’s lit in an instant, the smell of the smoke nearly hitting Dream in the face. It always smelt so strong.
Dream admires the sight before him. George is leaning against the railing, taking long drags from the cigarette and staring up at the stars. They shine brightly tonight. When George turns around to give Dream a little wave, the moon reflects on his features and he looks pretty.
But George always looks pretty.
The cigarette seems endless. George is smoking it like it’s his last, appreciating every breath of the toxin and letting it sit in his mouth for a while before inhaling. Dream feels a little worried, but he tries not to think about it. George is sensible. He knows what he’s doing. Dream doesn’t.
When it’s finally finished, the brunette lingers outside for a minute or two more. He then picks up the wine glass, taking a small sip and gazing at the sky before coming inside, closing the door over.
Dream feels quite grateful. It was starting to get a bit too cold for his liking. He isn’t fond of being cold, but when George lets all the heat escape from his flat he doesn’t get annoyed. He doesn’t mind.
He pats the spot beside him on the sofa, budging up against the side a little further to make more space for George. The brunette smiles and slides down beside him, careful with his glass as he takes a final gulp and places it on the coffee table.
The television turns on in front of them, courtesy of the remote in Dream's hand. George leans against him, meaning there’s an open invitation for Dream to put his arm around him. Of course Dream does. He isn’t even aware he’s moved until George’s head is suddenly on his chest and he feels the warmth of the brunette’s body against his arm.
Whenever Dream had George in his arms, he felt like he could do anything. And he probably could, with the right motivation and with George by his side.
“I can hear your heartbeat.” George whispers, as he takes the remote control from Dream and starts flicking through movies. Dream feels his cheeks flush red and prays that the other doesn’t notice.
“Can you?”
“Mhm,” He murmurs, deciding on a horror movie and turning up the volume as it consumes the screen, “It just got quicker. I think we both know why.”
Dream doesn’t so much as move. He stays as still as he can, but then George turns his head to look up at him and he melts. He melts all over the floor and it takes a moment or two to scoop himself back together.
Dream smiles, “Hi, George.”
George smiles back at him.
-
dream
where are u???
im worried about you
pls be safe
im sorry if i made you run off
i know it’s my fault
but still
dream
george
it’s not funny
come home? please?
dream
i’m so sorry george
please
im so fucking worried
i was just angry
it’s my fault i know
please it’s been hours
george
can yiu come pick me up
dream
george thank god
of course
where are you??
george
im st a party
saps
but i meed to be home rn
dream
im on my way
i’ll be there soon
dont move
-
“God, stop singing,” George chuckles, flicking the last of his cigarette out the window, “You’ll burst my eardrums if you’re not careful.”
Dream feigns hurt and gasps, “You’re always insulting me. What’s that about? I’m forever showering you with compliments, you know.”
“Oh, shut up,” George smiles, “You know I love you.”
This moment means a lot to Dream. George isn’t great at expressing love, but when he is, Dream freezes time and repeats whatever he’s said over and over again. This time isn’t any different.
He never wants to make it awkward though, so he always responds right away.
“I do.”
George doesn’t respond, just holds the smile on his face. Dream removes one of his hands from the steering wheel, placing it gently on the brunette's thigh and holding it. When he doesn’t get told to move, he keeps it there for the rest of the journey.
Sapnap’s house is lovely. It’s two floors, considering he has two roommates he shares it with. Dream and George were asked originally to move in, when they didn’t know each other as well, but they’d both declined the offer. They never knew they had Sapnap as a mutual friend until a couple of weeks ago.
However, they had been invited over two days ago for dinner and they were not going to miss up an opportunity to eat Sapnap’s home cooked meals. He was surprisingly very talented in the kitchen.
They climbed out of the car, tossing comments to each other here and there before knocking on the front door. Dream watched Sapnap’s face light up as he opened the door and recognised the two faces on his doorstep.
“You made it!” He beams, pulling Dream in for a hug and then George.
It’s George who responds, “Of course we did. It smells delicious, Sap. Who knew your cooking would win me over?”
Dream elbows him in a playful manner, but he agrees. Sapnaps cooking was heavenly. However, if he was to say that out loud, he would only boost the man’s ego. He didn’t like doing that for many reasons.
“You flatter me, George, you really do,” Sapnap smirks, heading to the dining room, “Make yourselves at home. The others should be down in a bit, they’re getting ready. So, what’s going on?”
“Not much,” Dream shrugs, taking a seat in front of George at the table, “Same old, same old. What about you? I’ve heard you’ve been busy.”
Sapnap nods, “I have been. I’m with Karl now, so it makes poor Quackity a third wheel but he doesn’t mind. I’ve applied for a job. I want to be a firefighter. I’m only waiting to hear back now but my interview went really well!“
“Wow, that’s great, Sapnap! Well done, brother.” George congratulates, looking proud.
Dream always knew Sapnap would be successful in life. He’s confident he will get the job as he has no reason not to. Sapnap is a good man.
He opens his mouth to congratulate his friend as well, but then they’re joined by Karl and Quackity who come barrelling down the stairs. They apologise on their own behalf, shaking hands with both George and Dream.
Sapnap rushes into the kitchen, muttering something under his breath about having to stop forgetting how long things should cook for. Dream knows it’ll turn out great though because it always does.
The four of them engage in chatter for a while until Sapnap produces plates of spaghetti bolognese in front of them. Karl fills glasses with their drink requests, Dream going for water and George going for wine.
They wait until all five of them are seated before digging in. As usual, the meal is to die for. After everyone has complimented Sapnap’s skills, they all dive into conversation and it’s nice. It reminds Dream how much he loves being around his friends.
He keeps catching George's gaze from across the table, who has love floating in his brown and green orbs. Dream could stare at him all night.
Once all of the meals are polished off and popped in the dishwasher, Sapnap brings up dessert. It’s declined by George and Quackity who are talking about having a joint outside, but Dream gladly accepts the offer.
“I’ll get it, love,” Karl insists, rushing to his feet, “Sit down, you’ve done everything else.”
He notices Sapnap visibly blush before nodding and turning to face Dream.
Dream laughs, “God, you’re so in love.”
“Not like you’re one to talk,” Sapnap reminds him, and he’s entirely right, “I see the way you look at George. You think we don’t know there’s something between you two? Oh, we know.”
Now it’s Dreams turn to blush. He looks down, fiddling with the hem of his top. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees George and Quackity slip outside.
“Hey, you don’t have to be ashamed or anything,” Sapnap says, “We’re all the same here. No judgment from me.”
“We aren’t dating,” Dream sighs, picking up his glass and taking the tiniest sips of water just to do something, “I don’t know what we are.”
As if by habit, his eyes drift away from Sapnap’s to try and find George. He’s still outside, sitting on the decking with Quackity by his side. They’re passing something between them and Dream knows exactly what it is. He looks back to Sapnap who has an amused look painted on his face.
Dream scoffs, “Shut up.”
Sapnap throws his hands up in defence, “I never said anything.”
Their conservation ends when Karl comes in, balancing three bowls of sticky toffee pudding in his hands. He’s quick to put it down as it’s presumably boiling, but he flashes them a smile before taking his seat and rubbing his hands on his jeans.
The dessert tops the whole night off perfectly, as Dream listens in to what Sapnap and Karl are talking about. He chips in every now and then but he’s more interested in what they have to say and doesn’t want to interrupt.
Both George and Quackity come inside right after they finish, full of laughs and giggles and smiles. Sapnap rolls his eyes, “You guys got high without me?”
“We did put the offer out there if I remember correctly.” Quackity says, looking for George to back him up.
George nods up and down, “You remembered correctly. Definitely asked if anyone wanted to join.”
They didn’t, but Dream doesn’t comment on it.
After saying all their goodbyes and hugging Sapnap one too many times, they head for the car, George clinging onto Dream like never before. He isn’t complaining, he loves the attention.
“You okay?” He asks, once they’ve pulled out of the driveway and waved goodbye to their friends in the window.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” George quieres with a hum, staring at Dream with bright, dilated eyes.
“I’m just asking.”
George sighs and leans his head against the car window, “I’m okay, Dream. I’m okay.”
He’s okay.
-
“Get up.” Dream whispers, pressing a kiss to George’s temple.
George doesn’t stir.
“George,” He sings, “Wake up.”
A slight groan leaves the brunette’s lips. That seems to be the most he’s getting at the moment. George hadn’t slept well the night previously, but whenever he takes naps during the day it’s almost impossible to wake him up again. He could sleep for America.
Dream pokes George’s cheek, “My love. It’s time to get up, we need to go. Come on.”
One eyelid opens halfway, the other remaining shut. George looks at Dream dead in the eyes and says, “If you don’t stop talking, I might kill you.”
“You’re so charming,” Dream chuckles, “Come on, get up. You’re the one that was desperate to go to this stupid party. Come on.”
“I’m up,” George scowls, yanking the duvet off his body and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, “I’m up. I’m going for a shower. How long do I have?”
Dream checks his watch,“Twenty seven minutes and counting. You better have a quick shower, George!”
The door slams shut, and he can hear George murmur some curses most likely aimed at him. He smiles, getting up from the bed and smoothing out imaginary creases from his top.
He goes to the kitchen, turning on the radio and making himself a glass of water. The sound of the shower running can’t be heard over the buzz of whatever song is playing. He doesn’t recognise it.
When he’s alone, he thinks. He doesn’t like thinking, doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts. They can be overwhelming sometimes.
Today, however, he thinks about George. He thinks about what the hell is going on between them, and he wonders why they can never admit their feelings for each other. He wants to know where he stands.
“Dream?” George calls, the bathroom door opening shortly after, “Can you run to my house really quickly and get me some clean clothes?“
“Do you not have something? You can wear my stuff, if you want.” He offers, picking up his car keys and pushing the previous thoughts out his head.
“I will but I still need stuff anyway. Just grab whatever you can and shove it in a bag.”
“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” Dream shouts, opening the front door and closing it right back behind him.
It’s warm out. It’s quite late, but the temperature hasn’t dropped any further than earlier.
The drive over to George’s isn’t long, only five minutes if he speeds a little. Dream was originally quite surprised they hadn’t met before considering the closeness of their houses.
He unlocks the front door, letting himself in. In record time, he shoves clothes into a plastic bag and gets back to the car. George owns a small bungalow that he keeps nice and tidy and Dream genuinely doesn’t think he’s ever seen it messy.
The living room is inviting, with pictures and memories everywhere. Recently, George added pictures of the two of them to his collection. Dream’s personal favourite is there, the one that he took himself. He’s smiling from ear to ear, George too, with an ice cream in his free hand. George has a spot of it on his nose.
There’s so many more pictures of them, but he knows he shouldn’t be nosy and should head back home. The party time was getting closer and closer and they never liked to be late.
When he gets home, George is loading the dishwasher and humming to the radio. He’s also wearing Dreams clothes and he looks good doing it.
Dream holds the bag up in the air before setting it down on the sofa, “Got your shit. Let’s go.”
George jumps a little before turning around and offering him a bright smile. He finishes up, shoving a fork in the cutlery bit and closing it over.
Dream holds the front door open while George grabs his phone. He checks outside for the Uber, locking the door behind them when they’re both outside.
The Uber pulls up right on time, both of them getting in the back. George feeds the driver the address before slipping his hand into Dream’s and staring out the window as they drive through the streets.
Although he preferred to stay sober and drive them home after a night out, he wanted to have a little something tonight.
Dream pays the driver when they arrive, only letting go of George’s hand temporarily. He links back up with him again before they go inside. The house is full with people, the trashy music filling his ears. He always knew Punz’s music taste was the worst.
“What do you want to drink?” George asks over the music, raising his voice so he can be heard.
“Whatever you’re having.” He supplies with a shrug, allowing the brunette to guide him through the crowd of drunk people.
George pours them both a glass of something unknown, and they clink the cups against each other before drinking it and refilling it.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” George announces, after their third drink, “You coming?”
And like a puppy, he nods. He would follow George to the ends of the earth if he had to, but right now, it’s just to Punz’s backyard.
“Can I try some of yours?” Dream asks, watching as George lights the cigarette and takes a puff. He also watches as George nearly chokes, looking at Dream as though he shot a dog.
“What did you just say to me?”
Dream’s heart drops, “Uhh, can I try some?”
George almost looks disappointed. He shakes his head stubbornly, “No way. I don’t want you touching cigarettes. Ever. You hear me?”
The first word that comes to mind is hypocrite. He stares as George puts his own cigarette out, despite having only had a few puffs from it. A waste, Dream concludes.
“You’re being a little hypocritical, George.” He slowly says, although he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. He hated fighting with the other.
“I am,” George agrees, “But so be it. I’m going to get a drink.”
He disappears into the crowd. One moment he’s there, the next he’s not. Dream doesn’t know how to feel. So he does the only thing that seems reasonable, and goes back inside for another drink.
George is already in the kitchen, downing cups of alcohol like it’s water. If Dream knew it meant so much to him, he never would’ve asked in the first place.
Whilst approaching him, he grabs a fresh cup and extends it forward, “Fill it up for me?”
“Look, Dream,” George sighs, all anger having faded from his tone, instead being replaced with exhaustion, “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to start smoking. I wish I never did, and if I can prevent you from doing it, I will.”
“‘S okay,” Dream says, holding his cup steady while George pours something in it, “I just wanted to try it. I won’t bother. I get it, I promise.”
And then George is smiling again, smiling so bright, and everything is fine.
-
“I want you to move in with me.”
“Then I’ll move in with you.”
-
“George, don’t hang up,” Dream pleads, hand gripping the phone like it’s his lifeline, “Where are you? You can’t be alone.”
The sound of laboured breathing is all he receives for a minute, two, three. Then, “I’m safe.”
“What did you take?” He quieres, because he knows that George isn’t sober. He knows.
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” Dream whispers, “And I’m worried about you. You’re alone and high. Please come home. It never goes well when—“
“I’m safe.”
He hangs up.
Dream calls him again and again and again.
George doesn’t pick up a single one of his excessive calls. Dream isn’t sure if he blames him or not.
George also doesn’t return home for two days after that. It’s late on a Tuesday night when he does end up stumbling through the front door. His hair is an utter mess, and there are dark eye bags underneath his heterochromic eyes.
His key slots in the lock as he opens the front door, closing it quietly behind him as if he was fearful to make a noise. Dream can only watch. He had been waiting up, praying he’d come home.
And he did.
George is using the door handle to keep himself upright, sniffling and trembling. Dream thinks this is the worst state he’s ever been in.
He can barely keep himself upright, and he looks sick. His face is paler than usual, tinted yellow at some points. To be honest, he looked almost dead. It scared Dream to his core.
From his place on the sofa, he knows George hasn’t slept in forty eight hours. He pushes himself up, going straight towards him. The brunette practically falls into his arms, sighing with contentment, and maybe a little bit of exhaustion too.
Although worry is practically seeping out of every pore on his face, he manages to guide George to bed all whilst murmuring reassuring phrases.
Somehow, he manages to prevent the brunette from bumping into anything, and helps him into bed. He lowers him down gently, worried that George will break if he’s not careful enough.
Once he is lying down, Dream dashes for the kitchen, grabbing the basin and a glass of water. He places the glass of water on the nightstand, the basin on the floor beside the bed. Adjusting George so that he’s lying on his side, he puts pillows all along his back to prevent him from rolling over and choking on his own sick in his sleep.
That was the very last thing he wanted. He’d heard it happen before.
Surprisingly, George isn’t asleep. He’s shaking all over, and his eyes are drooping, but he isn’t sleeping. Dream sits on the very edge of the bed, rubbing his side in a comforting manner through the duvet.
“You’re okay,” He promises in a whisper, “You’re home. You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you, now. You’re safe, okay? Nothing can hurt you.”
George closes his eyes.
-
“Why are you crying?” Dream questions.
George jumps, dropping his cigarette off the balcony by accident and quickly wiping his face, erasing any evidence of the soft tears rolling down his cheeks. If Dream squints, he can see it down on the grass, still lit.
“George? Why are you crying?” He repeats, taking a small step closer.
“I’m not. Let’s order pizza for dinner.”
They order pizza for dinner.
-
Dream is alone. He’s sitting on the beach, sand in his shoes and a bottle of vodka to his right. The waves wash over the rocks and the sand in front of him before retreating again and repeating the process.
He doesn’t know why he’s here and not at home, in the warmth and the light. It’s dark out and he can’t see much other than the ocean, but that’s because it’s right in front of him.
It’s silent. Dream doesn’t like silence. There’s no chatter or buzz from the radio, just the sound of the sea. Although it’s quite soothing and tranquil, it’s not enough. He needs it to be louder.
His hand feels empty, too. He’s too used to having George beside him, their fingers interlocked. It doesn’t feel right being without him. Maybe he’s just whipped.
If he had to put how he felt into words, he wouldn’t be able to. He feels lonely even though if he walked all three minutes to his flat, he wouldn’t be. He would be surrounded by people who love him (Sapnap and George).
If Dream didn’t wake them up when he left with how noisy he was cluttering about the house, then hopefully they’d still be sleeping. He hadn’t meant to make such a noise, but things just kept falling over and it was out of his control.
It had been a nice night overall, so he doesn’t know why he’s feeling the way he does. They’d talked and laughed and made memories and played games. There was nothing they didn’t do.
He had even won one of the board games, earning himself a proud smile from George and a complaint from Sapnap. They’d played again and he doesn’t even have to say who won that time, but it wasn’t him, he came last.
Sapnap had been invited to stay over by both of them last weekend, but he was unable to make it and they ended up postponing it to the present. Dream had just woken up feeling dull and it was nobody’s fault but his own.
At one point, Sapnap and George shared a joint and even though they offered it to Dream, he declined. George kept slipping out into the balcony for cigarettes and if Dream counted correctly, he had eight. Eight in the span of a couple of hours.
However, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop him, and it would be pointless to even try.
He takes a swig of the alcohol beside him, allowing it to burn the back of his throat as he swallows. A singular tear escapes the corner of his eye but he’s quick to wipe it away and pretend it never existed.
Behind him, he can hear faint footsteps approaching. He turns around, expecting to see someone walking their dog or something, but the face is familiar, and it belongs to George. His George.
His George, who looks relieved when he catches sight of Dream. His George, who doesn’t even have a jacket on and is probably freezing. His George, who isn’t fond of being by himself at night but does it regardless just for Dream. His George.
There’s worry written all over his beautiful face.
Dream doesn’t want him to worry. Not about him, not about anything. A wave of guilt washes over him.
The brunette offers a sad smile and holds up a blanket that Dream never even saw. He drapes it over Dream’s shoulders, rubbing his arms to try and warm him up a little. It was pretty cold.
“Let’s go home.” George whispers, helping Dream as he stands and leaving the vodka bottle behind in the sand for someone else.
“‘m sorry.” He murmurs.
George just holds on tighter.
-
“I can’t do this anymore.” George decides, lowering the joint from his mouth and refusing to make eye contact with anything other than the sunset.
It’s funny, because George can’t even see it properly yet he’s still completely enamoured by it.
Dream tilts his head to the side in confusion, “You can’t do what anymore?”
“Anything,” George hums, bringing the joint back up and taking two draws before speaking again, “Life, this, us. Anything. Everything.”
With a chuckle, he reaches out, places his hand on George’s forehead and tries to make a joke, “Are you feeling okay, George?”
He realises it’s most definitely not a joke when he gets zero response. Just the sound of steady breathing and the light crackle of the joint as George inhales it. Regret fills up inside him.
His heart is in his throat. It’s very loud, all of a sudden, and for a moment it’s all he can hear.
What is he to say? He can never seem to comfort the man despite his best efforts to. Everytime he tries, George just assures him it helps but the lies are thick on his tongue and even though he thinks he’s hidden them, tucked them away, Dream can see them.
Maybe he’s just not good at comforting people in general. Maybe he’s not meant to help others like he wishes to. Maybe he’s supposed to just watch them ruin themselves despite the fact he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to watch George slowly kill himself but sometimes it’s like he doesn’t have another option.
“You don’t mean that.” He settles with, shifting around in the chair and fiddling with the hem of his top. It turned out to be a more frequent habit than he thought.
George scoffs, shaking his head. He doesn’t say anything, but Dream knows he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Why does he always have to ruin things?
Colours of yellow and orange and red fill the sky. It’s a pretty sight in front of them, but not prettier than George. Dream will always think George is the most beautiful man to walk the earth, no matter what.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Dream sighs, “I just worry about you. I worry about you so much sometimes. I know you’re struggling but I just don’t know how to help you. Have you ever considered therapy, maybe?”
“I don’t need it,” George states, as if it’s obvious, “I’m not the only one with these thoughts. I’ll bet money that you think like me sometimes, too. I’m just the only one that says it out loud.”
Dream turns scarlet, but attempts to brush it off the best he can by ignoring what he said, “Look, I’m just worried about you. Am I not allowed to worry about you? You’re my boyfriend and—“
Oh.
Had he just said that out loud?
George doesn’t even flinch, “I never said that, Dream. I’m just saying, I’m not the only one. That’s all.”
“Alright,” He says slowly, glad that George hadn’t had anything to say about the name, “Okay. Tell me how you are then, George.”
“I’m tired, Dream,” George replies, putting out his joint and flicking it over the balcony, “Just tired.”
Dream wonders if George is tired of being tired.
He also notices that the brunette still won’t look at him. The whole time, his eyes have been locked on the sky in the distance instead of Dream. He wonders if he did something wrong. He probably did.
“Are we boyfriends?” He asks.
“I’d say so.”
With a nod, Dream messes with the hem of his top again. It only made sense to be in a relationship. They’d shared countless kisses and made out one too many times to count.
However, he feels slightly guilty for bringing the topic away from George’s feelings. The other doesn’t seem too bothered, but Dream isn’t the best at reading people so he could be wrong entirely.
“I need you to tell me that I’m okay.” George suddenly pleads, turning to face Dream.
It’s the first time they’ve looked at each other since they’ve been sitting outside. Dream doesn’t look away. George doesn’t either.
“You’re okay,” He whispers and God, does he want it to be true, “You’re okay.”
Despite the fact they’re both desperate to believe it, they know that it’s a lie.
-
Things were getting bad but Dream never realised how bad until he caught sight of George’s arm one dull Tuesday evening.
“Are you shooting?” He asks, disbelief coating his tone.
Even though he knows the answer, he hopes he doesn’t hear it. He almost hopes George lies. Instead, George says nothing at all. His face lights up red, indicating he’s ashamed of what he’s done. Good.
“George, I won’t stand around and watch you kill yourself. I can’t do that.”
“Then don’t.” George says.
Dreams eyes widen, “What?”
“You don’t have to stand around and watch me do what I do. I never asked you to. If you want to leave, feel free.” He hums.
The sound of Dream’s swallowing breaks the silence. You could probably cut the tension with a knife if you wanted to. He hates it. He doesn’t know whether he should leave or stay or cry or laugh.
They spend the night seperate. Dream goes for the sofa, leaving George with the bed.
He can’t sleep for a while, and he considers going to apologise to George, but then the sound of the front door opening and closing can be heard. Lifting his head in a panic, he can see the shadow of a figure under the door walk away.
Dream rushes to his feet, shoving shoes on and grabbing a jacket before following right behind him. He doesn’t even bother to lock the door.
The elevator doors close before he can get in them, so he takes the stairs. It’s only four flights anyway. By the time he’s made it down, eager for answers and ready for confrontation, the elevator doors ping open.
A sad looking George is revealed. He stands there, on the phone, murmuring about being on his way to pick something up. The phone call ends, George shovelling the phone in his pocket and walking out the elevator with a sigh.
George looks up, ready to open the door when he notices Dream. He visibly gasps and takes a step back in what can only be shock.
“Please,” Dream begins, his voice shaking much more than he expected, “Please, tell me you’re not going to meet with your dealer. Please, George.”
And George turns pale. He looks something incredibly similar to a ghost. If Dream squints his eyes hard enough, he can see traces of guilt on the other’s face. In his eyes, too. In his beautiful eyes.
“I’m not going to meet my dealer.”
He was one hundred percent going to meet his dealer and Dream knew that. He knew that, so why did it still sting? Why couldn’t he stop him?
“Come home.” Dream practically croaks, hugging the jacket around his body for some sort of comfort.
“I have to go,” George whispers, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Dream.”
The brunette pushes open the front door, but Dream latches onto his wrist, “ George . Don’t go.”
And Dream thinks this is it. George is going to listen and he’s going to close the door and they’re going to go home. They’re going to laugh about being up at this hour and sleep in the same bed and cuddle and kiss.
They’re going to hold each other close and lie in in the morning until one of them makes breakfast or George goes for a smoke. They’re going to comfort each other and Dream’s never going to let go of what he has.
They’re going to be okay. George is never going to touch substances again and he’s going to cut down on smoking. Dream is going to be better, for both himself and for George. Things are going to be good.
But no, George gently shakes Dream off and he’s gone with the bat of an eyelid. Dream watches as he goes down the steps outside and crosses the road without even looking. It wasn’t like there were any cars but that didn’t matter.
George never took care of himself, and he wouldn’t let Dream do it for him either.
Dream decided to continue to sleep on the sofa just in case George came home and wanted somewhere comfortable to lie down.
He didn’t.
-
“Stop smoking.”
“If I could, I would.”
“You can. You just don’t want to.”
“Trust me, Dream. I want to.”
-
When George asks to speak to him, Dream thinks the world might be ending. He’s either getting broken up with or getting proposed to. There’s no in between.
They sit down on the sofa, George with a small smile on his face but nervousness swimming in his eyes. It’s making Dream increasingly more worried.
Dream reaches forward and intertwines their fingers together, “Hey, whatever it is, it’s fine. Don’t worry. You can tell me anything.”
George nods, “I know. Alright, I may as well. It’s not like it’s bad or anything. Dream, I’m staying away from drugs, now. Not going to touch them. I can’t make the same promise for smoking or anything but I want to be better. I know I can be better.”
Here Dream was thinking it was going to have a different outcome. He hopes George sees how proud he is as he wraps his arms around the brunette, seemingly incapable of speaking.
“I’m so proud of you, and I promise I’m going to help you.” He whispers in George’s ear, one hand around his body and the other holding onto his curls.
They stay like that for a while, just holding each other. Dream knows how much George loves to be held, after all.
When they finally pull apart, Dream interlocks their hands again to keep them together. He doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want either one of them to break.
Somehow, they spend the night on the sofa, talking. They talk about their feelings and what they want to do in the future and it’s good . They haven’t sat down and just spoke to each other in a while. Dream was almost starting to feel like they were becoming strangers.
But, of course, they’re never really strangers. Dream will always know that George’s favourite colour is blue because it’s the only colour he can see, and that he seeks comfort in cigarettes because he never really had anything else.
Dream will always know that George loves the scent of strawberries but hates how they taste, and that he has a strong hatred for blueberries because of their texture. Dream will always know that George wants to dye his hair because he’s sick of being a brunette, but he won’t because he knows how much Dream likes it.
Despite Dream insisting he goes for it, he never does.
He will also always know that George loves parties because he loves to feel alive, and like he means something to someone. He will always know that George loves winter because he gets to wear Dream’s clothes and mope around the house with him. He will always know that George isn’t afraid of death, he’s just afraid of leaving Dream.
He will always know every little thing about George, no matter the fact they sometimes get distant. They’ll always grow back together again and it took a while for Dream to learn that, but when he finally did, it made things much better.
George, however, drifts off when the clock strikes six in the morning, and Dream falls asleep not long after. They spend the day indoors, napping and eating on whatever they have in.
They spend the day together and happy and that’s all that really matters.
-
“I’m always going to love you, I think.”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to say it back.”
“You already know I love you, Dream.”
“I just like to hear it. Say it, will you?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
-