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Dream has always known George was a flirt. It was in his nature—it came as natural as breathing to him and he wasn’t just good, he was great at it. But one thing was having his voice crack suggestive or even sexual jokes with his friends, and quite a different one was seeing it in the flesh—George leaning his back against whoever is behind him, pressing his weight into one of his friends and whispering deep words that only the two of them can hear, licking his lips and sending bedroom eyes around the room. Dream hates the very sight of it.
He’s aware that he expected certain things to fall into place the minute George got to Florida…he’s aware expecting things of any kind is always a mistake. He couldn’t help himself though, not this time, not with him. There were weeks and months and years of endless expectation, of foolish hope and chasingchasingchasing. Nightmares and dreams and anxiety all curled into one. And then George got here and it was incredible and also—not at all what he expected. A hug that broke him into two and the saddest, most relieved smile in George’s face and then…nothing.
“Dude, can you be any less obvious?” Sapnap’s voice startles him out of his reverie as he turns to find him leaning against the wall to his side. Dream blinks away from the sight of George allowing Karl to wrap him in his arms while Alex takes a picture of them and makes fun of their expressions, threatening to photoshop his own face between them.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sapnap rolls his eyes—whether he likes it or not, he knows him better than anyone else. Even if Dream isn’t actually being obvious, he would be to his best friend’s eyes. He knows his mannerisms like the back of his hand after having lived with him for two years.
“Please. I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed yet,” the younger says, sending a look George’s way—he looks so good it should be criminal; jet black hair and pale skin and the tiniest hint of stubble and pretty red lips and a confidence in his stance that Dream isn’t a stranger to, but somehow George makes even that look new.
He’s too busy flirting to notice me , a voice in his head says before he shakes it off. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way about George flirting with his friends—because fuck, what will he do once he gets into an actual relationship with someone that isn’t him? He never entertained that idea, because he was too busy waiting and hoping and convincing himself between long night talks and whispered promises that they’d start dating as soon as he got here.
George hasn’t dated a single person since he’s known him. It’s been six years. But looking at him now, seeing in the flesh how he exudes a magnetism that everyone falls under like a silent spell…he realizes it’s only a matter of time before he does. Maybe Dream has just been incredibly lucky, but that luck will soon run out and he’ll have a first seat row to George bringing people over to their house.
Oh god.
He’s thought of asking him, of hinting at something more, but he’s scared to even touch George the wrong way. He’s frightened of messing it up, of George shaking his head at him and with disgust in his black eyes say ‘you thought any of that was real?’
“You know, if you stopped sulking in the corner and joined in you might be a tiny bit less miserable,” Sapnap says then. Dream hears Karl’s loud laughter echo down the living room before scoffing at the younger.
“I’m not miserable. I’m just tired.”
Sapnap must see past all his bullshit, past the fake smiles and the old excuses, because his face contorts into sympathy before he sighs and says, “It’s his second week here, bro. You guys will get there eventually.”
Get where, exactly?
Dream doesn’t say anything to that, because a part of him is pretty sure George had a different destination in mind all along.
——————————————————————————
Alex and Karl are gone the next morning and the house is eerily quiet when Dream wakes up. Well, quiet everywhere except inside his own head—it’s a mess up there. He dreamed of George yet again, and this one was a bittersweet one; slightly better than the ones in which he leaves their house unannounced and they only find out by the strangely made bed. In this dream, one of his wishes comes true and he watches George reach for him from across a room. But somehow the older never manages to reach him, no matter how hard both of them try.
Sometimes you wake up and don’t remember your dreams or you remember them in blurry images and they don’t affect you at all. Today, Dream remembers the dream in vivid colors and can’t shake the feeling of missing something someone during the rest of the day. He only leaves his bedroom to get lunch and even getting some food requires more from him than he feels like giving. He doesn’t see George or Sapnap and barely hears their voices carrying through the hallways during the afternoon.
He remembers one night that felt particularly endless, the one right before his birthday in 2022. George was supposed to already be living with them and the fact that he wasn’t had both of them on the edge of losing it. Despite the aching distance between them, he’d never felt closer to another person than he did that day, with George’s deep voice on the other side of the phone, refusing to go to sleep, refusing to miss a single second of his birthday. I have to make up for not being there, he kept saying and Dream had never felt more loved. I promise it’ll be soon, I promise, he told him that night before they fell asleep.
And George’s visa got approved only three days later and it was the best birthday present he could’ve ever asked for.
And now…
Dream stares at George’s shut door and ponders over knocking. He’s done this a lot. Pretty much every day since he moved in—walk all the way to his bedroom and pace around the hallway until he’s talked himself out of an entire conversation they’ve never even had, his mind providing him with all sort of crazy scenarios in which George always ends up either flinching away from him or letting him down gently.
Any sort of rejection, even a gentle one, would wreck him.
Sapnap found him pacing once and only shook his head in disapproval before walking away.
Now the hallway is empty, but he manages to find a thousand reasons not to talk to George in the span of fifteen seconds and leaves.
It’s later at night when it happens. Around ten or eleven p.m, when the moon is so high up in the sky he has to crane his neck to look at it. It’s then that someone tries to open the door of his bedroom. Dream blinks dizzily away from the window, away from the stars he’s been focusing on from the moment they made an appearance across the sky. He leaves his bed and unlocks the door, opening it to find a very confused George on the other side.
He’s wearing one of Dream’s hoodies—he’s taken on the habit of borrowing whichever clothes he may find discarded around their house. Usually it’s Dream’s—perhaps that’s his own doing, perhaps a tiny huge part of him wants George to wear only his clothes and no one else’s.
“You locked the door?”
“Uh, yeah. Privacy,” he shrugs. He’s been locking his door from way before George moved in with them. It’s not because he thinks Sapnap will walk in without his permission, but because it makes him feel safe in a way he can’t quite put into words. It allows him to be vulnerable. George doesn’t seem to share the sentiment though, as his frown deepens before he walks past him and sits on his bed.
“Fuck privacy. What have you even been doing all day long?” he rolls his eyes, looking around his bedroom as if looking for the culprit. “You don’t even own a tv. What can be so interesting that you keep locking yourself in here?”
Keep is a strong word. Has he been avoiding George? Maybe a little bit. But they still spend time together. George is still loud and demanding of his attention—at least that’s one of the things he expected and thankfully got.
Dream shuts his door once again and leans against it. He won’t sit with George on his bed—he made that mistake once, on his third day here, and the impulse to wrap him in his arms was so strong he almost did it. Almost. George isn’t an affectionate person, and even though he lets all their friends pull him to their chests, he’s never one to initiate any gestures. Dream thought he’d be different with him—he hoped he would be.
He knows that if he were to try and George were to let him, he would lose all self-control. Every single wall around him would come crashing down, reducing him to a powerless, emotional mess.
And then the inevitable rejection would happen and Dream would never be able to recover.
He stays glued to the door.
“Just stuff. Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs.
“You’re acting weird. Actually, you’ve been weird. Sulky. Sapnap noticed too. What’s up?” he asks and not for the first time, Dream wishes he could be just like George—able to conceal every single thought and emotion neatly inside.
“What did Sapnap say?”
“Nothing, just that you’ve been moody,” his eyes snap back to him, gaze piercing. “Why, have you talked to him?”
“No, just curious,” he lies, hoping George can’t see past it, but he’s well aware lying has never been his strongest suit. “I’m not moody, anyway. Just tir—”
“Tired, yeah. So you’ve said,” he says, but his voice is weaker now and he isn’t looking straight at him. Dream doesn’t like this George; insecure, self-conscious, swimming in Dream’s oversized hoodie and looking so small that the mere concept of holding back tastes worse than death itself. “Did I do something—”
“No, I mean yes—I mean, no,” he runs a hand down the side of his face. He really butchered that. This is why he can’t have long conversations with George. Not important ones. Not in person. Not like this—with this eating distance between them, deeper and more painful than the ocean. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”
George’s eyes widen, the arms he had wrapped around his torso dropping defeated to his sides. “So it is me? What did I do?”
“Nothing, George. Let’s just drop it.”
“Just tell me,” he says, narrowing his eyes in a way that Dream recognizes. George is stubborn and he always gets his way for a reason—Dream is incredibly weak to him. He knows he won’t let this go no matter how much he may insist. If anything, that will only increase his curiosity.
He exhales. He isn’t ready but what else is he supposed to do? Maybe if he gives him a tiny bit he can get to keep the bigger, more fragile parts of the truth in the safety of his heart.
“I didn’t…I didn’t expect you to be so flirty with everyone,” he admits.
George stares at him. Dream fidgets with the hem of his shirt. The moment stretches around them like gum.
“What?”
“It’s dumb, just—last night I…noticed that you were a bit…” he trails off, unable to find the right word or rather scared he might use the wrong one. He’s threading through thin ice now, and George is very close to snapping at him. He can see it in the tightness in his sharp jaw, in his hands gripping Dream’s sheets.
“A bit what?”
“You know,” he mumbles out, suddenly regretting this entire exchange. This is what he was scared of—he knew George wouldn’t react well to confrontation and he’s been avoiding exactly this . Despite what he used to believe about himself, he’s not great with words, not when they hold so much weight, not when they can crush and wreck and mess something as delicate as them. Maybe they aren’t as strong as he led himself to believe.
“I don’t, actually. Explain.”
Dream stares at the ceiling. He wonders where Sapnap is right now. Probably thinking what a stupid idiot Dream is—he wouldn’t be wrong.
“You flirted with the guys a lot, that’s all,” he says, and he doesn’t realize everything else he isn’t saying, because George’s face is quick to contort in disbelief and Dream could watch this back and convince himself there was disgust and regret mixed in there, too.
“So you’re mad at me for flirting with my friends ?”
Dream curses as he takes a step towards him, abandoning the protection of the door. “No, that’s not—”
George stands up as well and he might be a couple inches shorter than him but he makes up for it as he juts his chin forward and sends a maddening look at him. “Because last time I checked, you didn’t own me.”
The jab is quick to hurt.
He’s always been possessive and gotten easily jealous of the people he loves. When he was a kid, sharing was a struggle and his mother had to repeat to him sharing is caring, darling a little too many times for it to stick to the back of his head. But he knows he doesn’t own George, he isn’t something to own, he’s his own person and even if they were in a relationship he wouldn’t expect him to do his bidding—and yet, is it so crazy to want to call him his when he so desperately wants to be George’s as well?
But George obviously doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want you.
“That’s not what I meant at all,” he says now, but it’s too late, the damage has been done and the older is having none of his excuses.
“Then what did you mean?” he fires back, and a part of Dream thinks George isn’t just mad about this . He can see pent up anger in his eyes, the tension that’s been building up steadily between them is finally snapping and there’s so much that they’ve brushed under the rug, so many unspoken words and lingering gazes and—
“Are you really going to act like the last six years didn’t happen? Was that the plan?” he suddenly asks, taking another step his way before realizing they’re standing a bit too close. If he lets himself get any closer he might get a hint of his cologne— and that could melt him.
George blinks at him, confusion taking over the angerness. “What?”
“Was that what you wanted to do once you moved here? A warning would’ve been nice if that was the case,” he grits out, because he might’ve expected more than he should’ve—because surely someone like George, who needs to be taught how to talk about his feelings with people he’s known for years, who needs to warm up to the idea of being held, won’t be jumping into his first relationship the minute he meets him in person—but he did not imagine everything that happened between them. He didn’t imagine the whispered promises and the secrets and the morning texts and the night calls and the falling asleep together and the yearning.
And yet George stares at him as if he were crazy.
“What are you even talking about, Dream?”
He lets out a laugh, the sound so bitter it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He shakes his head, defeated as he takes one, two, three steps away from George. Too far for his addicting orbit to reach him.
“Fine then. Fine. If this is what you want then—then you know what? I’m gonna go on a date this weekend,” he blurts out, and it’s petty and stupid and he doesn’t even want to do anything with anyone who isn’t George, hasn’t wanted it for years.
But he wants George to feel even a sliver of what Dream is feeling right now.
The older’s eyes widen as his lips part. “ What ? You—what? Why?”
“Because I want to, I should get myself out there, right? What else am I waiting for?” he asks, because really, he thought he was waiting for George all this time. All his fucking life has been about waiting for him. And what for? What the hell for?
George stares at him as if he doesn’t even recognize him. “You’re going to go out and date a stranger ? How is that even comparable to me flirting with the guys?”
But Dream has long given up and he doesn’t hesitate to throw his own words back at him. “You don’t own me, George. What is it to you?”
The older’s gaze darkens as he regards him with blank eyes. There’s a silence so sharp Dream can almost taste it. And then— “Fine. Have fun in your stupid date. See if I care,” and with that he walks out of his bedroom, slamming the door so hard Dream is sure Sapnap must’ve heard from the other side of the house.
He’s left feeling exhausted as he falls face first on his bed and reaches for the nearest pillow, hugging it to his chest.
I hope you care, he mumbles against the soft fabric.
———————————————————————————
Sapnap knocks on his door the next morning and he can tell by the look on his face that he knows exactly what happened between them. Dream says nothing as his friend sits by the edge of his bed and sighs.
“Why the hell are you going on a date, dude?”
Dream regrets having said he was going to do that. He didn’t even consider all the risks of it—getting recognized, for one. He was too angry to think. But George thinks he’s doing it and he can’t possibly bring himself to backtrack now.
“Because I want to,” he lies instead.
“That’s literally not even true. You haven’t been interested in anyone other than George in like, what, three years? Maybe more?”
“I’m not—” he sighs. It’s fruitless to fight a losing battle. Sapnap knows him too well for him to deny it, anyway. “Whatever. I’m going out.”
“With whom?”
“I don’t know yet. I got tinder.”
“Tinder, bro? That’s so shit. And dangerous. This is nothing like you,” he says and he’s very much right. This is nothing like him. He would never be this irresponsible with his own safety if he was in his right mind—but he isn’t. He would ripped a new one if any of his friends were dumb enough to get on tinder. And yet. “George’s pissed.”
“Well, he has no right to be pissed,” he grumbles out.
“Neither do you, for the record. Like, I usually would ask someone out first and then maybe get jealous when they do shit with other people,” he says. “At least don’t confront your crush before you—”
Dream looks away from his phone to glare at him before he keeps going. “Nick, if I wanted your advice I would’ve asked for it.”
“No, we both know you wouldn’t have,” he snorts. “Look, do whatever you want, man. But if you go out with someone else then you’re just being an idiot.”
“Maybe I am an idiot, then,” he shrugs.
“Yeah, that’s for sure. Both of you are idiots. Only explanation for all this,” is the last thing Sapnap says before he walks out of his room.
Dream locks his phone and shuts his eyes.
——————————————————————————
Dream makes plans to meet with a guy named Oliver on Saturday night. He’s handsome and kinda tall and his picture looks okay—as in, he doesn’t look like an insane guy his age plotting his murder. He cracks a few jokes during their short-lived texting and Dream pretends to find him funny. He couldn’t be less attracted to the guy even if he tried.
He doesn’t talk to George for two full days and it feels like a body limb is missing. But then Saturday rolls around and he puts on his favorite cologne and wears the leather jacket he only wears on special occasions. He knows Sapnap is streaming and thinks the living room is empty when he makes his way out, but he finds George there nonetheless. He’s sitting on the sofa watching television by himself, looking incredibly small under his blanket, eyes threatening to fall shut.
Dream stares at him for a moment, one of the lingering glances he lets himself steal whenever George isn’t looking.
It’s weird how you can long for someone even when they’re right in front of you.
George is living in his own house and he feels farther from him than he did back when he was all the way in England.
How unfair is it to fall in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way about you? Maybe he did imagine part of it. Maybe he romanticized their texts. Maybe he didn’t realize there was always an edge of humor to their flirting. Maybe what he saw as promises, George saw as simple words. Maybe he doesn’t remember every conversation they’ve had like he does. Maybe he wasn’t falling asleep to the thought of a future together the way he was.
He looks away from George and heads out the door.
——————————————————
He comes back home three hours later, and the house is so quiet he’s positive both George and Sapnap must be sleeping. It’s only a little after midnight but their sleeping patterns are all over the place. Anyone could be sleeping at any time at all during the day.
Dream walks up the stairs, hands cold from the wind having picked up a little after ten p.m. He shouldn’t have spent so much time so close to the sea, but sitting by the shore seemed to be the only thing able to calm his mind.
When he opens the door to his bedroom and turns on the light, he almost considers for a moment the possibility of having walked into the wrong bedroom at the sight of George curled up in his bed—but a quick glance around confirms this is indeed his room.
George is wearing another one of his hoodies, but judging by his open drawer he took this one from his closet himself. He expects him to be sleeping, but the moment the lights flick on George turns to face the door and blinks at him. His hair is messy in the way it only gets after he’s spent too much time tugging at the strands. Dream drops his phone and keys on his desk, taking off his jacket before turning back towards George.
He doesn’t look pissed. He doesn’t even look angry. He looks… sad . The sight makes something inside him physically hurt.
“What are you—doing here?” he asks, but once again it seems to be the wrong thing to say as George curls up on himself and averts his gaze.
“Did you have fun?” he whispers out, and Dream isn’t sure what he’s talking about until he remembers. The date. The date he was supposed to go to and canceled last minute because in what world would he be able to date someone who isn’t George? Sapnap was right. It was stupid and immature and…not the right thing to do. He’s not ready to let go of George—maybe he never will be.
Instead of saying this to him though, he lies and says, “Uh, yeah. It was okay.”
He expects George to snort or mock him, or even realize how unenthusiastic he sounds and prod further. Instead, he watches as his best friend shuts his eyes and presses the side of his face against Dream’s pillow. He hears muffled words come out of his mouth and frowns.
“What?”
It takes a couple more seconds before George parts his lips and repeats in a clearer voice, “Did you hold his hand?”
Dream’s breath abandons him as he struggles to understand both the older’s question and the agonizing pain he can hear laced through his voice. The deep yearning that pulls him towards George whenever they share a room sends a sharp tug down his chest. Dream takes a few steps forward, allowing his thighs to reach the edge of the bed.
“Did I—did I what?”
George fully turns his way then, and slowly opens his eyes. They are bloodshot and full of tears. Dream hasn’t seen George cry like this in years—last time he cried so much was about the visa and it was over the phone and the sound of his sobs was enough to make Dream’s own gaze get blurry.
“I—I asked if you held his hand.”
“Why—”
“Please tell me you at least didn’t…kiss him,” he begs, and he looks so defeated, so small and hurt that Dream isn’t even sure what he’s done wrong but he’s ready to take it all back if it means he will stop hurting.
“George, darling—”
The older blinks and a tear slides down his cheek. His body visibly trembles as if he’s just been burnt. “Don’t. Please.”
Dream sits by his side then, and it’s the first time he lets himself be this close to him in weeks.
“I didn’t go on the date.’
George frowns, wiping at the stray tear with the long sleeve of his hoodie. “What? I—I saw you leave.”
Dream didn’t even realize he noticed him in the room. Did he notice his lingering eyes, too?
“I did leave but I didn’t go out with anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Because I couldn’t,” he mumbles out. He still isn’t sure why George is crying like this and maybe he has it all wrong but he’s given up by now. He can’t keep it all in any longer. It’s killing him. He lets himself reach for him, runs a tentative hand through his soft hair. “Because I’m too in love with you to see anyone else.”
George searches his eyes. “You’re—you’re in love with me?”
“Stupidly.”
“Dream—”
“It 's okay. I don’t expect you to…” he sighs. “I did. I did expect it. When you moved in here I thought we had an unspoken agreement to… be more. But that was on me. I shouldn’t have expected anything from you, and I’m so sorry for being an idiot about the flirting. It just hurt so much to watch you do what we’ve been doing for so long with everyone else and I’m terrible at explaining—”
“Come closer.”
He looks at him then, and George’s gaze is already trained on him; a gentle, soft thing he’s never seen before. Not like this.
“W-what?”
Instead of repeating himself George tugs hard enough on his hand that he falls over him, but the older doesn’t complain about the sudden weight—he wraps his arms around his back instead and clings to him like his life depends on it. He’s never been held like this—as if terrified he might not even be real.
“I love you, too.”
Dream makes a herculean effort and rises from George’s chest high enough to meet his eyes. “You—you what?”
“Flirting with my friends means nothing to me,” he says, and Dream flinches a bit because then that means—but George is quick to clarify, “It was different with you. Everything is different with you. Always has been. I…I thought you knew that.”
“Then why didn’t you…say anything?”
“I thought you would. You’re better with words,” he says and Dream wants to laugh because he’s actually pretty terrible. “But then you started avoiding me and locking yourself in your room and getting worked up over something so silly…I thought you regretted me coming here,” he confesses.
“George, what ? I could never regret that,” he says, because even in their worst moments, he never once did. He would want him to live in his house even if he barely got to see him—even a few lucky glimpses are better than nothing.
George seems to remember something then, because his eyes fill up with tears once again and Dream is so desperate to make them go away that he leans and kisses the top of his head, bringing him to his own chest this time. “Shh, please don’t cry, baby. I’m here. I’m here now.”
“I thought—I thought you were going to be dating s-someone else. I was so s-scared,” he sobs against his neck and Dream feels like the biggest asshole to have ever walked this earth.
“Never. I’m so sorry. You’ve always been the only one for me, George. I was just being stupid,” he admits, his hands running up and down his back in gentle caresses. Now that he gets to touch him, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop.
“Really?”
“Of course,” he says, kissing his forehead before brushing their noses together. “You’re the love of my life, George.”
He watches him lean into his touch, melting as if this is exactly what he’s been seeking for, for a very long time.
“H-how would you know that?”
“I feel it. Right here,” he whispers, taking one of George’s smaller hands and pressing it against his chest.
“Oh,” he says in awe, his hand curling over the fabric of his shirt as if reaching for what's inside. “Your heartbeat—it’s going really fast.”
Dream chuckles as he nods. “It’s because of you,” he says right before he leans the rest of the way and swallows the tiny gasp that drops out of George’s soft, pliant mouth. He wants to capture every single sound that comes out of his lips with his own. Nothing has ever felt more perfect than this. “I’m not letting you go again,” he tells him, and it’s a promise.
George’s eyes are still bright with tears, but this time he smiles before whispering, “Please don’t.”
The end.