Chapter Text
Hot hot silk. Around, crossed, twisted, and down, tucked into the loop, and secured suffocatingly around his Adam's apple. Its navy color is stark against a light tan and freckles, sun damage from too many hours avoiding obligations. Which is what he wishes he could do now, hands tugging him every which way, dragging his attention in all directions.
Women, frazzled, stray hairs escaping their tied-back hair. Hurried, hurried, hurried, voices strained as they address only each other. He’s irrelevant, despite being the cause and focus of their desperate scramble. He doesn’t even bother opening his mouth, head being tugged this way and that while different hairstyles are discussed.
Shaky hands, alright? One moment you’re drinking from the smooth glass of a coffee cup and the next your hand jerks bad enough that it conveniently falls over the special suit picked out months in advance. It’s an easy mistake, anyone could have done it. Just this time it happened to be the prince with one of the most important events in his life happening in two hours. It’s anxiety, barely his fault, he weakly defends against himself.
Now he’ll look shitty, well, maybe not shitty. But women from kingdoms and royalty all around are traveling to the kingdom to greet him, to bat their eyelashes, to hope for him to court them. And he feels a bit guilty, them working to look their best while he’s now just being shoved into a navy suit and calling it good.
It’s not the attention that even makes him anxious, he’s used to attention, he’s a fucking prince after all. He’s just got this pit in his stomach that’s slowly eating him alive, jabbing an accusing finger into his chest painfully and telling him he’s going to fuck this up. Which can’t be true, he knows that much, he’s been taught how to speak to people.
He’s been taught to be charismatic, women fawning over him isn’t a new event at all, he feels like all eyes have been hungry on him since he’s turned 18. But he just knows, knows deep down, that he might not click with anyone there. Sometimes prettiness intimidates him, especially when women are aware of it, when they blink up at him as if he’s lucky to be under their gaze.
And many royal women are aware of their looks. Royal people, in general, are smug about any good looks they might have. Himself included. And he’s aware of that, that he’s partially the very thing that intimidates him. But now a whole crowd, hundreds, of those women in their very best are going to be approaching him all night.
What happens if he can’t channel interest into his eyes? If there’s just caution there, wide-eyed awe at rosy cheeks and glossed lips and colorful eyelids. Well, he supposes, it’d make sense that he settles on someone that doesn’t mind that. That understands. How can these women understand him in one night? He doesn’t even understand himself.
He’s just complying with anything the stylists are doing, too caught up in his head. A deeper part of him worries about something else, something that makes his throat tight. But no, there’s no way his possible disinterest would instantly associate him with the word. A simple syllable, digging a dagger into his future, gay.
But, he’s not gay. Because he likes women, he’s been with enough to solidify that. He admires them enough to solidify that. And he’s certain that he does like women, heart always jumping in his throat at the prospect of getting his recently-admired between his sheets. He just, he fiddles with the bottom of his suit jacket, he thinks he might be.. What had his personal guard called it again?
Sapnap, the bastard, nowhere in sight. Probably getting ready himself for his special someone. He doesn’t remember the term and he feels stupid to think half gay, he’s out of touch with labels. Fuck, it comes to him suddenly just as his fidgeting hands are batted away from the navy material, bisexual.
That’s what Sapnap had said, looking at him like he was going to banish him from the castle when he’d said the word, caught with his hands on a certain brunette prince. Dream almost smiles at the memory, at his initial missing response to the word, the definition being explained in this small voice he hadn’t heard before from his best friend. Idiot, thinking Dream would let him go over something like his sexuality.
There’d been a scramble after, the other prince freaking out about his parents finding out, classic of Karl to be dramatic. But it’d been hushed, waved off, lips sealed obviously. Because now, despite not knowing it then, he’d hate for his own possible association with the word to be exposed. He’s not cruel, not heartless.
Now he keeps his lips sealed while Sapnap comes home in the middle of the night, lips swollen, giddy with his flushed cheeks as he goes on and on. Dream should ask if they’re together, he thinks in passing of remembrance of them sitting close as the three talked. Sapnap talks too much of him for it to be simply lust.
Why is he thinking about Sapnap again? He’s gotten too far on his train of thought, woven connections in his head luring him off his initial crisis. Whatever, it’s coping, at least he’s coping. It’s a potentially life-crushing label, the crown being pulled away from his fingertips until his parents die or banish him from the kingdom altogether. Happy thoughts to be having before he picks his potential queen, he thinks sarcastically.
Whatever, nobody will find out, he can shove it away as he’s done his entire life. He likes women, only women, at least as far as anyone knows. Sapnap had almost smacked him over the head with the hilt of his sword when he’d muttered his confession about his uncertain sexuality, calling him a ‘big fucking idiot’ because apparently the initial ‘duh’ didn’t do. He’s obvious to nobody but his best friend, he supposes.
He’d been threatened with the blade of the sword after, which is technically treason but whatever, and told to stay away from Karl. He scoffs, the women still restlessly adjusting every little thing about him just choosing to ignore him. He figures he’d be getting lectured more if his mother hadn’t looked like she wanted to murder him.
It’s a dear event to her, especially since he’s been told through light-hearted comments that he can’t seem to find a wife on his own. His mother was a special case, daughter to one of the maids, growing up decently near his father. They’d latched onto each other as children and gotten married in their twenties, it was apparently a big scandal.
As big of a scandal as there could be in the kingdom, which is nothing much at all. The people love their family, the uproar mostly being in support of any monarch being able to wed the person of their choice. The person of their choice that is of the opposite gender, at least. Queer people, or homosexuals as been spit at him many times in his life, are not taken kindly to. Again, treason.
A handkerchief is pushed perfectly folded into his breast pocket, a white that feels off. Apparently, the young woman in charge of such a thing also agrees, yanking it from the spot to push a flower there. It’s a yellow carnation, contrasting the blue of his suit and the white shirt buttoned underneath it. But it matches his hair, brightens his eyes, and she moves on to flatten the lapels after a pause.
An older woman, in charge of styling him his entire life but never allowing him her name, waves everyone off. She’s stern as she looks at him, lips set in a line from the frustration of his suit being ruined in the first place, making sure not a single thing is out of place. He blinks at her, used to the intense gaze, waiting for her to approve. She pats his cheeks, maybe a bit harsher than needed, “Quit looking so pale, you’ll be fine.”
He’s been stuck in his head for the past hour and a half, will he really? He feels as if now he’s being thrown into the whole event blind, his stomach turns at the picture that appears in his head of hundreds of gowned figures dancing and twirling. He thinks he’s going to be hit for real by his stylist if he pukes all over this suit, instead twisting his fingers together in his lap and squeezing tight.
Then he stands, forcing them to unclasp, bowing his head gratefully, “Thank you, everyone, truly. The evening would be ruined without you.”
He’s grateful that his stylist and assistants are comfortable enough to treat him like another person, all smiling brightly. A redhead, the one that chose the flower, speaks up, “Just don’t ruin this one too.”
His cheeks flush with embarrassment, “I’ll try my best not to.”
His stylist’s lips quirk up, “And don’t choose someone.. Utterly insufferable? I mean, she can be terrible, but at least-”
He grasps her into a warm hug and he feels shaky again, “I know you’re joking but I’ll try to pick a good one.”
“I know you will,” She pats his back in a motherly way. Then she pushes him away, smiling despite the action, “Now. It’s time, I’d say. Ready?”
“Not at all,” He breathes honestly.
“Good, good,” She’s already turning away, everyone back to moving hurriedly. His job is just not to throw up all over his shoes, he tugs at the cuffs of his suit as a nervous habit more than an adjustment. He feels stupid, with a whole event for him, he kinda mourns his lack of ability to stick with one woman. Has he really even tried dating?
He’s practically dragged along, ushering looks from his guards, being led through the hallways. He’s nearly crashed into by his best friend, who’s dashing in a nice black suit, hair styled. Wide green eyes take him in before his eyebrows flatten, “That’s a different-”
Dream grasps the back of his neck, shoving him forward to keep them moving, “I know, shut up. What’s got you so dressed up? You’re not in-”
They seem to be cutting each other off a lot as they walk quickly after the two guards, “I figured it’d be better if I went undercover today. Probably can stick closer to you like this in case you need me. If that’s okay?”
And Sapnap’s eyes shine with the true reason why he dressed up. Dream nods stiffly, because of course his friend is allowed to look nice for his boyfriend or whatever. He looks him over again, smooths out a hair he messed up from his shove, saying, “You look nice.”
“Yeah?” He looks over for true validation of the words, being met with an honest gaze. Then his expression calms, he mutters too low for the guards, “Thank god, fuck, I feel gross and formal.”
Dream scoffs out a laugh for the first time all day, feeling lighter already with the other by his side. He supposes this means that Karl’s going to be around him all night too, since Sapnap won’t leave too far. He wishes the other would have fun, being gross and formal and all, there are going to be plenty of other guards there. He tugs at the cuffs of his suit again restlessly, nervous.
Sapnap stops before they turn the corner to meet his parents in front of the grand doors to the ballroom. He grasps him around the biceps, looking at him intently and saying, “You’re going to do great tonight, okay? You’re a hot piece of ass, these women are showing up for you. You’ve won half the battle, they’re all at least a little into you.”
He scoffs at those words, grateful for the reassurance, “Thanks, Sap.”
“And hey,” He’s shaken a little, his friend looking up with more careful eyes as he says, “If you don’t find someone you like in there, that’s okay too. Okay?” Dream trains his eyes on the floor and he’s shaken again, “I’m serious, idiot. Okay?”
He nods, letting the words sink in, repeating back, “Okay.”
His mother greets them both with a big hug, perfectly dressed in the outfit that’s been ready for months that she didn’t ruin. His father simply gives him the incline of his head, mind seemingly elsewhere. Dream tries not to look too sick as the doors are pulled open and they stand on the balcony next to the grand staircase, straightening his posture and putting on a practiced smile.
His parents address the room and he feels like he’s going to pass out. He’s a picture-perfect prince, winningly handsome, and the women down on the ballroom floor are looking up at him as if he’s been molded by the hands of gods. He feels stupid, absolutely ridiculous, like something to be gawked at instead of acknowledged as a person. Fuck, he feels so stupid.
He tries not to fall as they walk step-by-step down the staircase, trying to hide his shakiness. Every eye in the room is on him, watching his every move, and he feels obvious. He wants to run back to his room and hide away, away from the eyes that try to read him based on his initial presentation. This is dumb, he hates this custom, he decides.
But the music resumes when they reach the bottom and most eyes turn away, high-standing people chatting amongst themselves. Sapnap joins him again, taking another entrance, smiling at him gently. He’s probably pale, he shakes his head to clear his nervousness, leaning toward his friend, “Can you get us champagne?”
“I can get you champagne. I don’t drink on the job.”
Dream instantly hisses back quietly, “Bullshit.”
And Sapnap laughs, off to find a server. The moment that the prince is left alone, he’s being tapped on the arm, turning to meet doe eyes. They look up at him, pupils dilated, glossy lips parted. Then she blinks, straightening out into a pose that feels definitely not comfortable, “Your highness.”
She offers her hand and he burns with distaste for this whole situation, taking it and pressing lips to her dainty knuckles, “M’lady. Just Dream is fine.”
“Sadie,” She seems to swoon and he hates this, he wants to leave already. He doesn’t let the bitter expression touch his face, plastering on a smile as she speaks again, “Care to dance?”
“Ah, unfortunately, I just sent my guard off to bring me a drink,” It’s not unfortunate at all. He feels he’s being indecent, saying in a more polite tone, “That’s a very nice color on you.”
“Thank you,” She flushes pink and then turns coyer, “I picked this dress because it unlaces easily.”
His head spins and a nudge of his shoulder pulls him from feeling he’s underwater. Sapnap holds the glass delicately in a calloused hand, his other secured around his own glass, “Here.”
The woman continues talking, covering her mouth as if she shocked herself, eyes wide, “I apologize, that was indecent of me, wasn’t it?”
Dream really has the best friend in the world because he’s being tugged, Sapnap putting on a plastic smile, “Excuse us, we need to.. Find somebody.”
They’re walking before they can be stopped, she calls after them, “Come find me later, your highness?”
He doesn’t answer, still feeling incredibly lost on the turn of conversation. Sapnap laughs lightly, looking back at him as they move carefully through the crowd, making sure not to step on the lace of any ballgowns, “What the fuck, man?” Dream shakes his head, because he truly has zero idea. Another huff of laughter, “Let’s find Karl.”
Karl’s suit is velvet, purple, his cheeks are already pink from probably the half a glass of champagne he’s drunk. Sapnap absolutely lights up when he sets sight on him and Karl’s jaw nearly drops at seeing him all dressed up. Envy swirls in Dream’s stomach over how much the two click.
It’s not acceptable for them to hug like the idiots they are but Karl still brushes a hand over Sapnap’s shoulder, rushing out with pinker cheeks, “Look at you, all fancy.”
A glance around and then his friend lowers his voice so much it’s nearly inaudible, “For you, darling.”
And Karl giggles, hand lingering for a moment more before it’s gone, their eyes sticking and tracing over each other. Then the other prince looks to Dream, “Having fun being the man of the hour?”
“Not particularly, no,” He smiles dryly and takes a sip of his drink. Then he leans forward, voice going quiet enough for just the two of them, “I don’t need a guard tonight, so you know. I’d turn a blind eye if you two..”
He doesn’t continue, they get what he means. Sapnap claps him on the shoulder, “On your special night? No way.”
“I’m serious.” He meets both of their eyes for a second so that sinks in before he straightens his posture again. He looks over the crowd, towering over most, seeing eyes watching him and rosy cheeks. Dancing too, swaying in corsets and layers of lace. He ducks his head back down, once again feeling stupid being the center of attention.
Karl straightens the flower, saying earnestly, “Thank you, Dream. Really. But I think we’ll stay with you for tonight.”
And his best friend couldn’t pick a more perfect person to be stupidly-probably-in-love with. He doesn’t say the words but he turns to his friend and silently communicates, ‘if you don’t marry this man right this instant-’. Sapnap laughs, sipping his own drink, “Let’s find you someone to dance with, yeah?”
“No, Sap-” He starts to complain but he’s cut off.
A stern finger and a sterner tone, “You’re trying tonight, hear me? One night. Try.”
“I need new friends,” Dream breathes back, obviously not serious.
“So,” Karl is looking over the crowd, “Anyone you’ve got your eyes on?”
He looks again, over women with their heads held high as they keep conversation, over silkily gloved forearms and pearls. He takes a bigger drink of champagne, feeling tired already. Then he lands on broader shoulders, brunette waves untamed, a suit that nearly matches the color of his own. He can’t see the man properly, only the delicate movement of his hands as he talks and each shift of his waistcoat.
He’s nudged, Sapnap sounding a bit exasperated but not genuinely, “Dude, not what I meant.”
“Who?” He doesn’t get out more than one word, breath catching as the man tilts his head and he catches a glimpse of soft smooth skin. Almost rosy like a woman’s. But the light stubble on the sharp curve of his jaw takes away from that. And Dream thinks he likes that, wanting to squeeze those slender fingers between his own.
Karl’s fingers grasp his sleeve then, tugging, he says quietly, “Quit staring, you’re giving yourself away.”
Dream turns to him instead, asking again, “Who?”
“I don’t know, actually,” Sapnap says, shrugging, sipping his drink as he looks up at him. It’s a question, it seems that he answers it when he meets his gaze. A nudge, “Go talk to him.”
“It’s,” Dream grasps at any excuse not to, he doesn’t think his heart could take it, “It’d be weird. I’m supposed to be talking to people I can court.”
Their conversation is intercepted by one of those very people, a nervous-looking woman. It’s odd until it sinks into his head again that whoever he chooses will be queen once they marry. His two friends walk away, ditching him to handle the situation himself. He feels dumb, looking down at someone who idolizes him.
So he spends the night doing a delicate waltz, short careful conversations before he slips away, there are so many women that it can easily be passed off as meeting all his options. He feels gross, expected to pick one as if they’re objects and not people. He wants to throw up again if he thinks too hard into it so he simply doesn’t.
He keeps his head empty, running on autopilot, tending to glass after bubbling glass of champagne. It makes it better, a warm comfort rests in his stomach, makes him feel less dumb. At least until he’s doing his sly waltz of getting through the night and he bumps into him. Literally bumps into him, a bit less steady on his feet, trying to make his way through the crowd for whatever reason.
Their chests hit and leave a burning ache there, liquid spilling over both of their glasses and onto their polished shoes. He expects to get an apology out and slip away, not even realizing who it was at first. But then big brown eyes look up at him, dark lashes, pretty pink mouth. And Dream doesn’t expect him to be so mean, biting out, “Watch where you’re going next time, why don’t you?”
And Dream has never felt so stupid in that moment, words caught in his throat as he takes him in for the first time. His hair is long, longer than what’s usually permitted at least, curling around his face and softening his looks. There’s a scar through one of his eyebrows, a shadow on his jaw, a straight nose. And Dream is stupid, so stupid, looking down at the pretty man and saying, “Nice suit.”
He rolls his eyes in response, giving him a once-over, wrinkling his nose, “I think the color looks better on me.”
What is this guy’s problem? Seriously. Dream doesn’t give in, lips lifting, “What would you suggest for me then?”
The man’s face twists and he shoves past him, their shoulders meeting harshly, “Stay out of my way next time.”
And Dream feels numb, watching after him. Despite their interaction, the man is mindful not to step on dresses. So he chases after him, grasping him harshly on the elbow, irrational with alcohol in his system. His anger burns where they touch, he grits his teeth, hissing, “You should learn how to watch your mouth.”
The man looks like he can’t believe this, turning his head and looking up at him. They’re at a standstill, he’s still got him tight by the arm, surrounded by people barely paying them mind. The man blinks, “Hit you where it hurts, did I?”
“You’re insufferable,” Irritation still creeps in his head, he’s a bit mad about finding this rude man attractive, “I was going to apologize until you decided to be an asshole. I complimented you.”
“I’m not a woman,” The man yanks out of his touch, “I know they’ve been letting you walk all over them all night but-”
“Walk all over them? They’ve been walking over me, I don’t even want to be here,” He defends himself, despite arguing with a literal stranger, “This is dumb, for me to choose like they don’t have free will, you know? Power for possible loss of will, why are they-”
He’s just gotten into his thoughts all night, feeling dizzy, when the man frowns, “Do you ever shut up?”
“You started this,” He points. The man stares at his hand for a long moment before his eyes jump back to his, looking at him through his lashes with their closeness. Dream softens for whatever reason, feeling exhausted, asking, “Your name would be nice.” He’s just stared at and he tacks on a quieter, “Please.”
“You..” Eyebrows furrow, “Are so odd.”
“I’m losing my mind the longer I’m forced to be here, I think,” He does feel a bit deranged, looking over the crowd. Sapnap is nowhere in sight, probably taking him up on his statement that he doesn’t need a guard. The breath he lets out is shaky and he tries not to have a breakdown in the middle of a crowd, feeling weird. He wants more champagne, most of his glass spilled on their shoes.
He thinks he might be sick, seriously. The man takes no notice as he says, “George.”
His head jerks back to the sound, “Huh?”
“My name, you asked. George.” His eyebrows are furrowed still.
“George,” Dream tastes the name in his mouth before he continues, “I apologize, I’m a bit out of it. Sorry for spilling my drink on your shoes too, they were nice.” Then he brushes past, their shoulders hitting gentler this time, breathing, “I’m going to get more champagne.”
He’s not followed, many women calling his name to try to get his attention and therefore have a conversation. He ignores every one, he doesn’t think he can take one more sly comment about sleeping together or weirdly tough criticism of his kingdom. Why can’t one talk to him like a person, ask about the weather or something?
He downs the first glass he gets, eyes probably on him as he tilts his head back to do so. His parents are nowhere in sight to lecture him, off probably talking to allies and strengthening relations. He gets half his second glass down when his sickness hits him properly. He is going to be sick, genuinely.
He can’t ruin another goddamn suit, hurriedly setting his glass down on the tray of a passing server, stepping his way through the crowd. He goes out a side door, slipping past with little regard for who sees him, barely making it to the bathroom before the contents of his stomach come up.
Tears fill his eyes as he sits back, leaning against a wall on the ground. At least he didn’t ruin his suit, he rubs a tired hand over his face. The worst part about the event being for him, he thinks, is that everyone will notice if he’s gone. He can wait for a few minutes, nobody would really blame him once they see his pale shakiness.
It sinks into his chest properly that he’s not going to find the one tonight, he’s not choosing anyone in there. His parents are going to kill him, he curls into himself, probably creasing his suit a lot. He’s done, he thinks, he’s going to be ridiculed and laughed at. The king who couldn’t find a queen to rule with.
He wishes Sapnap was here, to give him a talk or to simply hold him for a moment. He could use that, he thinks. He still doesn’t regret letting him run off though, he’s probably happy with Karl right now, Dream’s selfless side always winning to stick a dagger into his mental state. Worth it, it chimes.
He stands and looks at himself in the mirror, he looks worn out and one second from losing consciousness. He smoothes out the creases in the navy material, looking himself over to make sure he won’t embarrass their kingdom. He’s enough of an embarrassment as is, he’s just trying not to make it worse for them.
And today really isn’t Dream’s day, which he already knew, but it really isn’t his day. Because when he opens the door and steps out into the hall, moving with purpose, guess who he bumps into? And guess who spills their drink all over his suit. Of course it’s fucking George, he doesn’t even dwell on it as he swears so loud that it can probably be heard by the guests inside the ballroom.
He might be sick again, his head spins. George at least has the decency to look like he feels bad, “Fuck, I am so fucking sorry, I didn’t-“
Forever polite, Dream waves him off, “It’s fine.”
His suit is ruined, absolutely ruined. A more irresponsible part of him cheers that he can leave the party now. He sways on his feet and a small hand grips onto him, furrowed eyebrows, “Are you okay?”
Odd words coming from a man that was so rude to him before. Dream leans down a bit and admits, “I think I’m going to pass out.”
George looks both ways down the empty hallway and then pushes him back into the bathroom, setting his glass on the counter and shutting the door, “Sit down then.”
He complies, head spinning, wrapping his arms back around his knees. He feels vulnerable and wishes he wasn’t with a stranger, “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”
“You’re really goddamn pale right now,” The back of a hand brushes over his face before George stands upright again, dumping the rest of his champagne into the sink and filling the glass instead with water. He extends it to him delicately, “Here.”
Dream takes it, fingers brushing, and only takes a small sip. His stomach is still turning and he’s cautious about it, not looking up because he really isn’t too happy with this gorgeous man, “Thank you.”
“Have you been feeling like this all day?”
The blonde’s eyes flick up to his expression now, he takes another sip, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you care.” George’s expression steels at that and he looks away, arms folding over his chest. Dream continues, “But yes. It’s just nerves.”
“Nerves? What could you possibly be nervous about?”
“George,” He squeezes his eyes shut, “You’re really not helping right now.”
“Should I go?” It’s spoken quieter, more genuine.
“No. No, just talk to me,” Dream’s voice goes small, “Please.”
“Um.. okay.” A pause and then, “Have you seen any women you fancy yet?”
The blonde opens his eyes and levels him with a look, earning a huff in answer and then he’s sat next to, he murmurs, “No. And that wasn’t what I meant.”
“How am I supposed to know what to say? I don’t know you.”
George looks small, like he demands less attention, as he creases his suit to sit next to him. Brunette hair curls up at the nape of his neck, his lips set in a stubborn line. Dream sighs, “Do you..” He wants to shut his mouth at the curious gaze that turns to him, “Ever get intimidated?”
“By who?” George furrows his brows, blinking at him. The harsh lighting of the bathroom is more stale than the warmth of the ballroom, Dream looks over the soft freckles dusted over the other’s nose. A work of art, really, and he probably knows it.
“Women, I guess.” Dream answers, looking away because he’s a bit embarrassed about admitting it to someone he barely knows. His face burns, “Because they’re so.. put together. I don’t know how they do it.”
He feels like he proves that especially with his second ruined suit of the day, he looks down at the wet material that’s uncomfortably stuck to his chest. George hums in contemplation, “Sometimes. But that’s normal, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.” Dream sighs, taking a sip of the water and feeling slightly better. The weight has lifted a bit at the unknowing reassurance that it doesn’t mean anything. He lifts his hand and George’s eyes stick to it instead, gesturing to his chest, “This is my second suit today, you know. My- my staff is going to kill me.”
Instead of an apology, he gets, “What happened to the first?”
He smiles without humor, “Spilt coffee all over it. Shaky hands.”
George makes a pained noise and he looks over to see his expression scrunched up cutely, “Damn.”
“So thanks,” Dream pulls the wet material off his chest.
“You said it was fine.”
“I was close to passing out,” He hisses back, their eyes meeting. He leans back once he notices how close they are and a smile slips past George’s rough exterior. Dream shakes his head, looking away to hide his own that threatens to appear, saying, “Idiot.”
“Just change. Then you can go back to being.. Nervous or whatever,” It’s the most lighthearted tone he’s gotten from the other so far.
Dream lowers his voice like it’s a secret, “Is it bad that I don’t want to go back?”
“Not particularly,” A shrug, “Just hide so you can’t be dragged back.”
“You,” Dream points at him playfully, “Are being a bad influence on me.”
George studies his smile, dark eyes lingering around his mouth. Then he looks away, gaze cast on the floor as he stands, “Are you alright to go now?”
Dream pushes himself up, more steady than he was, “Yeah, I think.”
“Okay,” And it suddenly feels so awkward with George never moving his eyes from the floor, “Then this is goodbye. Good luck on your escape.”
“Would-“ It might seem out of line but Dream doesn’t want to be alone, “Would you like to come with me?” Finally the brunette’s gaze lifts to his and he scrambles to add, “Or do you have relations you need to get to?”
“I do,” George glances at the door before amusement twists up his gaze, “But if the most important guest isn’t going to be there, why should I?”
Dream has half the mind to tease him for saying yes, but he remains silent so he doesn’t ruin the progress he’s made with the work of art. He simply nods to the door, “Shall we?”
George dips his head in response, “I don’t exactly know my way-“
“Oh,” Dream’s cheeks warm and he smiles in embarrassment, “Right. C’mon.”
He glances both ways down the hall before he goes, George coming to walk at his side. His dark eyes trace up and over the architecture, the paintings over the ceilings, and the sculpture busts from the monarchs that came before. It’s a bit endearing, his wonder.
Dream speaks, “It’s a very old castle.”
“It’s beautiful.”
You’re beautiful. He clears his throat to shove the thought down, being caught staring at another man would be dreadfully incriminating. They pass a hall and Dream grabs the other’s arm, pulling him down after him, realizing, “We should probably go to my room so I can change.”
George is wide-eyed at the touch, looking down at his large hand enveloping his bicep. His pretty mouth is open to say something when Dream retracts his hand, wincing in embarrassment about his many thoughtless mistakes.
“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to force you.” Big brown eyes land on his face and he has to look away so he doesn’t die inside. He notices that George is struggling to keep up with his long paces so he slows, apologizing again, “Sorry.”
George speaks to him, despite him being a little rude by looking elsewhere. They’re quiet words, unrelated, as they reach the staircase leading to the upper floor, “At least I didn’t ruin your flower with my drink.”
Dream furrows his eyebrows, not understanding, looking down just as delicate fingers touch the yellow carnation still secured safely in his breast pocket. He nearly slips on the last steps in response. Once on flat ground, he tugs it out of the spot. George flinches at his hand being so close when he tucks it behind his ear into dark curls, “Here. You can have it.”
“Oh, um,” Pink is splotchy on his cheeks, his small fingers coming up to touch the plant where it rests, “I shouldn’t really-“
“We’re in hiding, remember? Nobody will see you with it, it’s fine,” Dream waves off the worry, being looked at almost in surprise. He shrugs, the two reaching his door, holding it open with a slight bow of his head, “It’s just me and I don’t mind.”
George brushes past, making Dream realize his short height. It’s endearing, everything about this man is endearing. Such luck to be hidden away with him for the rest of the night, to lay his sights upon intelligent eyes and a gorgeous face. He’s got that same wonder on his face as he looks around Dream’s room, standing in such an intimate space owned by a near stranger.
Then Dream enters, closing the door silently behind them, paying him no further mind. He unbuttons his waistcoat where it’d been tight around his waist, shrugging it off and dropping it onto his bed. He walks into his closet, undoing his tie, “Do you wish to see anything in particular?”
The answer is soft-spoken and distracted, “What?”
He’s got half of the buttons on his shirt off, standing in the doorway to his closet to rest his hip against the doorframe, fingers still working, “The garden perhaps?”
George is looking longingly out the window, over the view of the perfectly tended garden. He turns his head at Dream’s voice, eyes darting down to the skin being revealed before back up to his gaze. The blonde simply raises his eyebrows and hums in question for an answer. George clears his throat, cheeks looking blotchy again, “Maybe.”
Dream tries to kill the lump in his throat, tilting his head, “Or would you rather wander the castle?”
“Whatever you wish,” George turns back to the view and the other vows to take him to the garden. He scoffs at his pathetic desperation and goes to find something new. With no plans to return to the event, he shrugs his ruined shirt over his shoulders and trades it for another button-up. This one feels softer, a nice lavender color, he leaves the top buttons undone because he’s tired of feeling stiff and formal.
He trades his navy slacks for black ones, wanting to still keep up a nice image just in case they’re caught. He doesn’t want to appear too laid back if caught alone with another man on the one night he’s supposed to find someone to court. George appears at the doorway, lingering, looking over his rows and rows of clothing.
His eyes latch onto the wall with carefully hung crowns, studying the intricate details of each. Dream is beginning to learn that George appreciates the art of things, watching as the other steps closer in innocent fascination. The blonde thinks he would do anything for his affection, feelings twisting up his poor heart over someone he doesn’t know, saying a risky, “You can try one on if you’d wish?”
“Oh,” George shrinks away at the proposition, “No, I couldn’t.”
“Please,” Dream steps carefully over, brushing his fingers over each one before he settles on a delicate gold one with intricate wiring, “I think this one would look perfect on you.”
He’s being obvious, he knows he is, he still pulls it off the hook securing it in place. George blinks up at him, “You- You should know, I’m not of-“
His mouth snaps shut at the metal piece being placed gently over atop his curls, Dream tries not to let his hands linger, “Not what?”
“Nothing,” And something seems to twist George up in shame and guilt.
“What?” Dream asks again. He was right, the crown does look just right on him, he struggles to keep his eyes off him.
“I’m not of.. royal status.” The shorter seems to be waiting for a massive reaction, furrowing his eyebrows and saying slower, “I’m a personal guard.”
“Oh,” And Dream can’t help but chuckle a bit, “That’s fine. Come look in the mirror.” George just stares at him, he waves him over to stand in front of the full-length mirror, “I swear it looks great, c’mon.”
“You’re not upset with me for deceiving you?” George straightens the gold piece in the mirror, careful not to let the flower behind his ear fall.
“Deceiving me? I never asked of your status.” Dream studies the two of them standing together, “Though, is your.. lady, I assume, alright without you?”
“She dismissed me to mingle with the crowd. Something about wanting you alone in a conversation, she thinks you’d be polite enough to include me if I was nearby.”
“I would be. Am I not polite in your mind?”
“You’re..” George squints up at him, “I don’t know. You were an asshole at first and now you’re.. nearly kind.”
“You have a sharp tongue for a guard, does it get you in trouble much?” Dream asks, the two of them looking at each other. The brunette still seems unsure about his initial reaction being honest so he adds, “Your words remind me a bit of my guard.”
“Oh? In a positive way or a negative?” A hand on one of his dressers as he leans back, “I still haven’t decided if you’re worth my kindness.”
“You have,” Dream protests, studying the contrast of pale skin against the dark wood, “You helped me. That’s kind, is it not?”
“Have you considered that you’re not particularly important to me?” George dips his chin down and looks up at him through his lashes, “Perhaps I was getting a good impression in for my lady.”
“That’s why you swore at me when I ran into you the first time,” Dream bites and a silence fills the room. He straightens, “Now, I’d like to take you out to the garden, if you’d allow it despite your stubbornness.”
“I don’t understand you,” George furrows his eyebrows, “Calling me stubborn in the same proposal to take me elsewhere for the night.”
“I hardly understand myself if I’m being honest,” He tells him, looking away for a moment before he’s back to studying him. The navy suit and fair skin and gold crown, those dark eyes, he says, “I’d like you to keep that. I think I’d despise it on anyone else now.”
“I couldn’t,” Hands fly to the crown that he seemed to have forgotten about in their tense talking, “You’re still tipsy, you don’t know what you’re saying-“
“Please. It looks lovely, take it,” Dream says, bold with his words, “I mean it, George.”
Their gazes are unwavering on each other for a long moment before George sighs, hands dropping from their refusal. He looks away, the curve of his jaw sharpening as he turns his head to look in the mirror. He messes with the curls over his forehead, requesting, “Instead of the garden, can you take me into town?”
It’s risky, Dream is uncertain, “I usually don’t go without-“
“I’m a guard, you’ll be okay.” George points to the crown and lets his pleased feelings about it show for a moment in a smile, “I'm disguised.”
“Your lady wouldn’t mind me stealing you for the night?”
“Well,” George tilts his head and makes a face that says yes, making his way out of the closet they’d been uselessly lingering in, “I’m sure she’d prefer to keep you to herself.”
Dream follows before swearing, if they’re going out then he might as well grab a coat just in case. He hesitates for just a second before grabbing a second, draping it over his arm. He holds his door open for the other once again, saying, “You seem close with her.”
George cautiously looks down both ways of the hallway to be sure it’s clear before leading the way out. It seems that all the staff in the castle is tending to the event, hallways for the most part deserted. They walk for a second and George replies, “I had to listen to her talk about her fantasies with.. seducing you or whatever.”
Dream rolls his eyes, making an annoyed gesture, “If I have to hear one more fucking comment about how easy a dress is to take off, I swear.”
George grins up at his misfortune, “That many, huh? Must be so hard being so desired.”
“No, it’s not-“ His words get all twisted up and he restarts, “I wanted to be talked to like a person tonight, that was all I wanted.”
“I’m talking to you like a person now,” The other points out.
“No, I meant by someone I can court,” Dream leads them to turn down another hall, making sure to keep a slower pace than his usual. The crown on the other’s dark hair catches each light overhead as they walk.
George changes the subject slightly, “I had to help with my lady’s preparation for this dumb event, it took months. Something about knowing what men like in a woman, you know? But meeting you, I think I fucked her over.”
“Oh?” Dream questions, lips tilting up about how much more lively George is when he’s given space to say what he wishes.
“Yeah.” His cheeks are flushed from not taking enough breaks between words and his wild gesturing, “Meeting you, I think we’re into very different things.”
“Hm,” Dream thinks this over, thinks over how George likes women and how he must like his women to look, “So you just like the sex appeal then?”
“I-“ George’s cheeks turn pinker from his blunt words, “I suppose.”
And it sounds unsure, Dream can’t catch his eyes. The blonde smiles, “What, embarrassed? It’s just sex.”
“I know, shut up,” George waves him off, never meeting his eyes as he instead looks upward. The paintings on the roof of the second story are different, there’s some history that the blonde doesn’t even know. He thinks it’s just a million metaphors about men meeting god, though he also sees a lot of the paintings as ironically homo-erotic. He smiles to himself about that.
He almost bumps into a marble bust as he turns the next corner, not paying attention with his eyes glued upwards. George scoffs out a laugh at the way he clumsily steadies it, making him turn to scowl at him. But then his ears catch on voices, distant muttering, and their eyes widen. He whispers, “fuck,” knowing that they’re in plain sight and if they’re spotted he’s in big trouble.
He grasps George around the waist, hurried but still gentle, opening the nearest door and forcing them both inside. They stumble in the dark, feet getting tangled, before they narrowly avoid blindly slamming into a wardrobe. They’re in a guest room, he recognizes as his eyes adjust, a hand splayed on wood that had saved them both from the tragic noise of hitting it full force.
George is flustered, caught between him and the piece of furniture, the two of their hearts still slowing from the threat of the fall. Dream carefully pulls away, their ankles still hooked and forcing them to shift. The sound of their clothing feels too loud in the silence as the voices get louder and then fade as the people continue without pause. Dream immediately whispers once it’s clear, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you like-“
“It’s fine, it’s okay,” George’s cheeks are still dark and his breathing is unsteady but he seems sure of his words, “I’m not upset. I get it.”
“But still,” Dream is scrambling to not fuck himself over, “It was incredibly inappropriate of me.”
“It’s okay, Clay,” George’s hand rises up to make sure both the flower and crown are still there.
His name is wrong, that’s so wrong. He’s forgotten about his birth name being used by most unknowing outsiders. He goes quieter, “Dream. I go by Dream.”
“Oh.” George’s face goes blank for a second and then his hands drop from their searching, “Okay. Then it’s okay, Dream.”
“You sure?” He makes sure, straightening out his clothes and his posture, the two still standing in the dark.
“Yes. Now let’s go, they could be looking for you,” George leads the way to the door and then is cautious before deeming the way clear. They walk and the brunette’s decided to speak quieter, “Do you know another way out of the walls?”
“Yes,” He confirms, veering right, “Let’s go this way. You might get your suit dirty.”
George rolls his eyes, “I don’t care.”
He dips into one of the staff passageways, cautious as he does so, leading the way through the walls of the castle. It’s a route he’s memorized, listening carefully for any noises. They have to hide away a few times, squeezing into a supply closet at one point, but it all goes smoother than their first time. He’s careful not to grab George’s waist again in his hurry.
Finally, though they step down narrow stairs all the way down and hurry along the straight passageway to a door leading outside. George squeezes past him to look for any wandering eyes outside the door, then they both carefully go through the farmland. The food is always grown fresh on the grounds to prevent mishaps and contamination, extras being given to the town, as he tells George when it’s questioned.
George eyes every single fruit tree they pass until Dream snatches down an apple for him, he brightens and eats it happily as they continue towards the castle walls. The blonde trails along carefully down the stone, fingers dragging over it, speaking the first words between them since he’d been thanked for the fruit, “I didn’t expect to go on such an adventure tonight.”
“Me neither,” Dark eyes are trailing along the tall walls with interest. It’s dark out, past nightfall, their eyes having adjusted throughout their walk. There are sparse lights along the walls, metal and rusting, providing them at least a little more range of sight.
Finally, they reach where Dream had been leading them, a gate used only by staff. And himself when he wants to avoid his obligations and disappear for a few hours. It’s not known by anybody but staff that it’s there, but he supposes befriending the castle staff as a child has its perks. The issue is it’s terribly locked tonight, heavy chains on it. Dream just eyes the small gap between the gate and the wall stretching above it.
He’s done this before, snuck out during events, he knows he can fit. George frowns at the lock, “Well, fuck.”
“Now,” Dream points to the gap, “We go up. You need help?”
George eyes where he points and then shakes his head, hesitating for a second. And then he pulls off the crown and extends it to him to hold, he takes it carefully and watches the stem of the flower be taken between the other’s ivory teeth. Dream has to look away as he climbs, not wanting to appear indecent by staring at his ass. And it is a nice ass, by the way.
George lands easily on the other side, reaching through the gate for the crown. Dream gives it to him along with the coats before climbing and slipping through the gap easily, landing almost silently. He dusts off his clothes, turning to see George has woven the stem of the carnation into the metal of the crown carefully, that way it doesn’t fall.
“Do this a lot?” George questions, smiling a bit and handing him back the coats. Dream simply shrugs in response, hurrying them along in case somebody happened to hear the rattle of the gate as they climbed. The city lights are pretty and George gasps, “So much better than the garden,” He presses a hand to his own chest and fakes smugness, “A great idea on my part.”
“Whatever,” Dream shakes his head with a smile, thinking that the lights don’t even compare to the beauty at his side.
“Oh! Here,” And Dream nearly jumps at the cold fingers against his skin, tucking the stem of a flower behind his ear, “We both have one now.”
“Fucking hell, George,” He touches the flower to make sure it’s secure, skin tingling where they’d touched, “Your hands are freezing.”
“I’m cold,” He shrugs and his nose is pinker than it was before, extending his hands out to show his red fingertips. Dream instantly grabs one of the two coats, extending it to him, getting a little smile in return. His words almost do sound grateful as he gently takes it, “Thank you.”
He nods in response, throat feeling tight, looking instead toward the city. They can just make out the lights through the treetops, following a short trail to it through small woods. Crickets greet them warmly, along with the moon and stars. It’s all so much, experiencing running off with someone for the first time. Well, someone other than Sapnap. He feels the need to keep his voice quiet, “You know, you don’t seem like a guard.”
“No?”
And when Dream looks at him, the coat seems to completely smother his small frame. He smiles, “No.”
George doesn’t seem to care for that topic, “Tonight, can we drink, maybe? There’s a festival for you, isn’t there? We can dance,” And the idea of dancing makes his eyes sparkle.
Dream is still caught up on that look and he can’t get out more than a nod. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, trying to hold back from stuttering over his words as he says, “You don’t care for looking like a guard? Mine would’ve jumped me if I’d said that to him.”
“I just get it a lot,” George shrugs, “I get it, I’m small, delicate, doesn’t mean I can’t be a guard.”
“You are delicate,” Dream agrees, getting an upward tilt of the other’s lips in response. He adds, “You must get along well with the ladies then, don’t you?”
“I think they prefer someone like you,” The brunette tugs the coat tighter around himself, “I’m more like a woman, as I’m told. Too delicate. Even if I could kick the ass of someone like you.”
“Too pretty,” Dream speaks the thought aloud, looking down at him and finding that he’s grown a bit fond in their short time together. It took him literal hours to find his stand-offish nature endearing rather than infuriating, deeper talk somehow slipping into their easy speech.
George’s lips part at his words, the two of them nearing the town now, saying softer, “You think I’m pretty?”
“Is that indecent of me to say?” He wrinkles his nose, feeling as if it is, “Apologies if it is, I meant it as a compliment.”
“No, no,” His hand tucks brunette curls behind his ear in a way that feels rushed after being startled, “Thank you. I meant thank you.”
“Yeah?” Dream brightens, thankful that he hadn’t taken offense, “Okay. Good.” He trains his attention on the lively lights in front of them, tilting his head and adding quieter, “And you’re very welcome.”
He feels as if he’s just jumping back and forth from absolute panic to odd calmness, glancing back down at the other to see him smiling. Okay, so it’s fine. They’re fine. George stuffs his hands in his pockets and says, “So.. dancing?”
“You don’t get out a lot, do you?” He muses.
“No, I really don’t. Not like this. Can we?” They can barely make out the tents and the lights strung across the roofs of buildings, hearing yells and happy shouts and music.
Dream nods, “We can do anything you want. It’s my kingdom, I could go into town any day, you lead the way.”
“Really?” And George looks absolutely delighted by the chance, lighter somehow after the compliment. “I’ve never-,” His eyes jump everywhere before settling on him, “You’re an odd prince.”
“What gave you that impression?” He rolls his eyes, “Jumping the gate or letting you drag me into town to dance? We could’ve danced at the event, you know.”
“Not..” He furrows his eyebrows, taking in his expression. Then he lets out a huff of air, grasping onto his sleeve and forcing them both to increase their pace into a jog, “Let’s just go!”
Dream just barely catches his crown when it slips, hand darting out to push it back into place, getting a look in response. They race down the path, careful not to trip, George’s hand still tightly holding the lavender fabric of his sleeve as they go. They both have to catch their breath as they peer in at the busy streets, full of couples holding hands and laughing children. Lively music is everywhere, banners of the kingdom’s crest, it all lights up George’s face beautifully.
They both just take it all in, a whisper of touch still on his bicep from the brunette’s hand, he places his own larger one on it. He fights the instinct to tangle their fingers together, urging instead, “Let’s join.”
“Won’t you be recognized?” George has no protests to the action, looking up at him.
“Uh..” He considers the question, looking down at his outfit, “Probably not in my casual clothes.”
The other man’s gaze lingers on his collarbones peaking through where his top buttons are undone, lips parted, “Oh.”
“I am cold though,” He doesn’t move for a moment, savoring the skin under his palm before straightening. He tugs on the coat still in his hand, both hands finally free for the first time since entering his room, George trains his attention back on the festival. There’s a bit of pink that dusts his cheeks and Dream doesn’t quite understand why, looking into the crowd for a reason. He finds none, “C’mon, thought you were supposed to be taking the lead?”
“Shut up,” Dark eyes on him again, “I haven’t had true free will since I started my job.”
“Ouch,” He winces, “That sounds like the worst.”
“She’s lucky I love her,” He shakes his head but his words only leak fondness. He studies the scene again and then admits, “Where do we even go?”
Dream draws out a long sigh, though his lips pull up. He takes the initiative, George’s hand instantly darting out as if to hold onto him before he abandons the action. He wishes he could give that comfort, wanting to grasp his hand as he takes the lead, but there are so many eyes that could see them. Being accused of treason does not seem like a good way to end their night. He turns back as they go through the crowd, “How long do you think we’ve been absent?”
“Hours,” is the reply that he gets, George covered in warm colors. Fuck, Dream wants to hold onto him and never let him go. He gets eyes squinting up at him, the question, “What?”
He’s been staring dumbly, he shakes his head, turning away. Cold fingers brush over his forearm in response, practically asking to be warmed up by his own. He feels as if he’s burning up with George so close so that they don’t get separated, he can practically feel his small frame against his back. He orders them both a drink from a tent, passing it into his hands and refraining from using an endearment as he says, “Here.”
As they walk away, the other’s eyes shine up at him in amusement, “You’re not going to pass out on me if you drink that, will you?”
“Shut up,” He bumps their shoulders together, “It was nerves, I told you that. Maybe we should worry more about not running into each other for once.”
“Fourth outfit of the day,” George laughs, taking a sip of his drink. He lights up, “Holy fuck.”
“Good?” Dream hums in mirth, hand finding his elbow gently to hurry them along past a large family. George goes willingly, caught up in his drink now, eyes cast down at his glass. He trusts Dream to guide him, the blonde peers over the heads of people to head to the main plaza. There must be dancing there, he looks over familiar streets that look particularly cheerful, mentally taking in that this is all for him.
For an event he’s ditching. He scoffs out his own laughter, George temporarily slipping out of his grip as a crowd going in the opposite direction shoves past. He catches him around the waist easily, eyes finally leaving the drink to look back up at him. He squeezes just once, just to test that it’s okay, getting a little secret smile in response.
Then he returns his grip to where it was, in a less eye-catching position, “We’ve got to go to the plaza, that’s where the dancing will be.”
“Well hurry up,” A roll of eyes, “You’re a slow guide.”
Maybe Dream is a bit more insistent as he makes his way through the streets after that, always with something to prove. He drinks steadily as he does, careful not to let his companion for the night go. The plaza is full of loud music and beautiful women, swirling dresses and laughter. They’re both being eyed immediately and George giggles somewhat nervously, making him turn and question, “Not used to the attention?”
“It’s because you’re here.”
“Are you attempting to flatter me?”
A pink lip is dragged between teeth and it hits Dream that George is a total lightweight, his face already flushed after one drink, “Maybe.”
Dream laughs, “Find somebody to dance with, yeah?”
And then he lets himself be taken away by the first woman that grabs onto him, turning back so he can share a smile with the other man. It’s an easy set of steps, it’s not the first time he’d danced with the townspeople under the guise of being just another person living there. He doesn’t think he particularly likes the response to being a prince, laughing easily as he twirls the woman this way and that.
He catches George also being dragged along, flawless with the steps, not missing a beat as he joins. Dream doesn’t think he’ll ever want to dance with someone as much as he wants to with George, the way that the brunette is carelessly light with the alcohol in his system. They spend hours, he thinks, playing a game of being close but never too close.
They end up somehow in a hotel, giggly from alcohol, and getting a room with of course two beds. Dream doesn’t particularly care about the consequences of staying the night in town, not caring that a search party is probably out looking for him. Instead, he just collapses down onto one of the soft beds and hears George rant about this being the most fun he’s ever had.
It’s easy, with George. He doesn’t get why it’s so damn easy, to be interested. He rises as George is getting into talk about a specific song, still pink in the face and giggly and gesturing wildly in that George way. And Dream catches his hands, which silences him instantly, listening in to the music still audible through the window. Then he steps away, their hands clasped together, stepping back in with the beat.
And George falls into place, giggly state seemingly gone at them dancing together. He follows the steps, pressing close when he needs to and letting himself be twirled. They dance without a word until the song outside ends, Dream dropping his hands. They simply look at each other and then the blonde returns back to laying on the bed, drawling, “Sorry. I’ve wanted to all night.”
A hushed response, “Me too.”
Dream studies the ceiling and has a mini-crisis. Seems like the millionth tonight. The billionth today. The bed dips next to him and George’s lashes are shielding his gaze where it lingers on the blankets. The blonde’s hand rises, fingertips brushing over the center of his back, just for an excuse to touch him.
“You know,” George falls back next to him, twisting so his knees rest against his thigh, “At home, I have a cat. And now when I sleep anywhere else..”
He trails off, looking up at him. Dream completes it for him, “You don’t like sleeping alone.” His fingers touch the stubble along George’s jaw, the words a breath, “You’re so pretty, you know.”
“You’re drunk,” A hand squeezes his.
“So are you,” He squeezes back.
“Can I sleep here tonight?” A pause where he doesn’t respond and George asks quieter, “Or am I stupid?”
“You’re not,” Dream risks it and brushes his lips over his temple, right under where the crown sits, “Turn off the light for me though, please.”
George rises to do as asked, both of them pushing off their coats and getting more comfortable to sleep. The crown and both of their flowers are set onto the nightstand, Dream watches the careful way that the other curls up under the blankets. He faces away from him, small and still so delicate. Dream stops himself from making a terrible mistake then, taking a moment to let his gaze linger before he turns his back to him.
He wakes in the early morning only because he’s startled awake, the warmth next to him withdrawing from under the covers. George is tugging on a coat, looking alarmed, making Dream sit up groggily, “What are you-”
“We- We slept in town. Fuck, I’ve got to get home, she’s going to kill me.”
“Hey,” George is still looking very desperate to leave and Dream reaches for him, “Hey. You’re already gone, okay? Freaking out is going to get you nowhere, slow down.”
“Easy for you to say, you-”
“No. C’mon, George. Don’t do that.” He still feels heavy from sleep as he gets up, stretching out his stiff muscles. Then he shoves on his shoes, grabbing the forgotten crown and eyeing the dying flowers. He secures the gold piece onto unruly hair where it belongs, the other going silent, “I’ll take you back, okay?”
“If she gets upset, I’m blaming you, got it?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” He pulls on the other coat, seeing that they’ve switched. He wraps his fingers gently around George’s wrist, tugging him along to the door, “I’ll even talk it out with her personally. Charm her.”
Once in the hall, the other’s voice quiets as he hisses, “You mean sleep with her.”
“You think so lowly of me, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart? Really?” Is the exasperated response he receives back, making him smile.
They walk fast on their way back and Dream avoids practically everyone just to call George a carriage. The brunette wrinkles his nose at him at the fanciness of it all and he bows his head mockingly, “For you, prince.”
“I am not-” Dream points to the crown atop his head and he pulls it off, extending it to him, “Take it.”
“It’s yours, George.”
“I can’t. Dream, you can’t expect me to seriously keep this.”
“It looks lovely on you, I’d put it to shame.” He pushes it back toward him gently, “Keep it. Please.”
A sigh, “You’re insufferable.”
“So I’ve been told.” He smiles, watching the crown be placed back on his head. The carriage arrives to take him back, both of them hesitating reluctantly. But Dream musters up a smile, “Until the next time I need to run away?”
A single nod, “If you wish.”
“Next time we’ll go to the town in your kingdom, yes?”
George scoffs and his lips curve up. Dream wishes he could kiss him goodbye, simply watching him go. He’s offered a simple wave as a goodbye and it holds so much promise. He thinks he’s absolutely fucked.