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Dream laughed quietly, the glow of the fire illuminating his sharp, yet kind, features. If George could stay in this moment, he would, but he knew Dream had to fly back home to Florida in the morning. This night would be the last of its kind.
Admittedly, George had known from the beginning that it would be a bad idea to catch feelings for his closest companion. His heart seemed to have a mind of its own, though, because for the better part of Dream’s visit, he’d been suppressing the very obvious not-so-platonic feelings he had for his best friend.
Maybe it was the fact that on that night, he’d had a few too many drinks of alcohol. Or the fact that Dream would be gone by the time he woke up. Or the fact that Dream just looked so perfect in the light of the bonfire they’d lit a few hours ago.
Either way, George was having an especially hard time containing his affection as they sat there in the dim light.
Sapnap had left a short while ago, claiming he had something he needed to get done before the morning. George suspected it may have just been a ploy to get the other two alone together. Regardless, it had resulted in Dream and George sitting on opposite sides of a dwindling flame, telling stupid jokes and laughing at nothing in particular.
Dream clearly had more drinks than George, and was on the verge of shifting from tipsy to full-on drunk.
Maybe that’s what sparked his next few words, or maybe it was just the fact that they had been bottled for far too long.
“You know,’ Dream started. George leaned forward intently. “I took Spanish in highschool.”
George paused for a second. Was this another set up for a joke? But something about the way Dream said it was different. It seemed like he was exposing something about himself. Like he was opening up about something he’d kept hidden for years.
When Dream didn’t continue, George decided to respond. “Oh. I took French. I wanted to take Spanish, but the class was full.”
Dream didn’t say anything at first. He’d broken a small smile and then a giggle, but it wasn’t the same laugh George had heard so many times that night.
After what seemed to be a few seconds of intense thought, Dream reached into his pocket and fumbled with his phone.
“What are you doing?’ George asked, but it solicited no response.
Dream typed something in, then paused, then typed something else. George watched keenly, not quite knowing what to expect.
Seemingly satisfied, Dream looked back up from his phone and gave George a small smile.
“Je pense que George est très beau.”
George stared at him for a few seconds, trying to decode the message. Eventually, his eyes widened. George giggled nervously.
“Uh- Dream? Are you sure you know what that means?” He questioned carefully.
Dream nodded groggily, and typed something else into his phone.
“Je vous aime. Je t'aime depuis des années, George.”
George was stunned. Dream was- Dream was saying what? George chuckled again, sounding more panicky than last time.
“Dream. You’re drunk. You need to- ah, you need to get to sleep. Come on, Dream. I can help you get inside.” George desperately tried to reason with himself that Dream was only saying these things because he was drunk, not because he actually meant them.
“No! C’mon, George. It’s true. I meant everything I said.” Dream’s words were slurred and his breaths were heavy. George turned away. “They say drunk words are sober thoughts,” Dream continued. “I think about it every time I see you. I’m just drunk now, so I’m saying it. I meant everything I said.”
“Yes, Dream, you certainly are drunk,” George agreed.
“I love you!” Dream nearly shouted. “I love you and I always have and I always will. I’m not joking, George. I love you.” His voice broke on the last part, and George held back tears.
George couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake anymore. Dream had been known to be a bit of a crazy drunk, but he hadn’t even had that much alcohol that night. George could have played it off as him joking and ignored it, but…
The way his lip quivered in an obvious attempt at not crying, and the way his voice broke while he was speaking, and the quiet stare he was giving George…
It all felt so real.
Did Dream genuinely mean what he said?
Did Dream genuinely love him?
As real as it all seemed, George couldn’t bring himself to believe it.
“Come on, Dream. I think you need-” George started towards the younger one when he caught sight of his face.
His eyes were watering, and he looked… Vulnerable. Like he truly was confessing something. George didn’t know what to think.
His eyes were red and watering, in a sort of daze. His cheeks were tinted pink, blotched and spotted red. His mouth was open
“Please,” Dream repeated. “Please, I love you. I love you, George.”
And maybe George was beginning to believe it.
But still, Dream was drunk. George knew, from past experience, to never trust anything Dream said while drunk.
George sighed, looking away as a tear slid down his face.
George lifted Dream and propped him up onto his shoulder. Dream reluctantly followed the shorter into the house, up the stairs, and into his bed.
Dream collapsed onto the pillow with a final smile. “I love you, George.”
George pressed his mouth into a thin line. “You’re drunk, Dream. Goodnight.”
Without another look back, George walked out the door and shut it quietly. He inhaled, and didn’t let the breath back out until George was safely in his own bed.
Because even with a drunken mind, he still knew that when he got up in the morning, Dream would be gone back on his way to America, and they both would have forgotten everything that happened that night.
Even if George did remember broken bits and pieces, there was no way he’d muster up the courage to ever again mention it to Dream.
Yes, Dream and George loved each other, but any hope of that fact being let into the open died as George fell asleep last night.