Archive of Our Own

Being in love with someone you hold delicately near your heart, someone you’re afraid to lose, doesn’t arise without a bittersweet ache.

There is always the fear of unknowingly throwing away a friendship with a single and taciturn love confession, afraid that your best friend would think differently of you because how can someone feel that way when they simply don’t reciprocate it? What if this important person in your life thinks you’re weird for carrying feelings for them?

Doubt and confusion haunt your mind late at night, wondering if they feel the same— wondering if acting on it would be the best move. You overanalyze their confound pushes, overthinking every seraphic gesture— if they embrace or reject your genuine and different kinds of affection. Every push and pull in their motion, if they melt or flinch.

When you are in love, you think too much. When you are in love, you give everything you have and much more. When you are in love, you love the other and everything about them fully, including the quirks and flaws they possess, because being in love is the most euphoric experience in the world even alongside the bittersweet ache.

When Dream is in love, he loves just like any person does and he experiences everything. The fear, giddiness, worry, euphoria, angst, warmth— and especially, the deep affection running in his blood, ineluctably painting his sight golden.

Dream loves George fully because he can, wants, and ridiculously; needs. Completely absurd. Well, it’s kind of hard not to love him when George does the same— it’s just equitable like that.

It’s raining, at the rise of August, when Dream meets a boy drenched with the sky’s tears. He is standing beside the bus stop shed with a big yellow ‘Under Construction’ sign, mocking the rest of the kids without an umbrella shielding them.

The rain poured out of nowhere, catching the kids, even the teachers, off guard. Some of the kids let their bodies soaked in water that has the teachers scolding them, and some rush into the shed in front of the Middle School building while Dream just pulls out the foldable umbrella his mother insisted on bringing.

Guess she’s right, after all, Dream thinks, remembering her words about the possible rain in their area.

Dream considers just walking home because there is no single bus in sight, but instead, he stares at the boy, who’s looking down the puddled pavement with his hands wringing the straps on his bag. He knows the boy’s name is George, a new student from the United Kingdom. He’s quiet and shy, only talking when their teacher talks to him. There was a time when Dream wanted to approach him and instantly cowered into his seat when they made eye contact.

It isn’t like Dream doesn’t have any friends because he has, but not in his class, though. He has a friend and a neighbor named Sapnap who, sadly, goes to a different school. His mom always tells him that it would be good to make a friend in his class, to have an acquaintance. Maybe she’s right again because it is kind of lonely to go to class without someone to talk to.

So, when he strides his way toward George, he treads carefully, not wanting to scare the boy off. He raises the umbrella above their heads, shielding the boy from the heavy raindrops. And when George looks up at him, his face is painted with surprise and confusion.

“Hi,” Dream says, almost inaudible from the harsh slap of water against different surfaces. “You shouldn’t let yourself get wet, my mom told me you could get sick from that.”

George looks down at his clothes and scrunches his nose. The boy merely looks at him when he nods instead of giving him a verbal reply, choosing to glance at the road, probably searching for the bus that’s supposed to be ready to flee. Dream looks to the other end of the road and sees the blurry yellow vehicle approaching their building.

“You’re new here, right?” Dream asks, trying to follow and shield George when he walks towards the gate, unbothered from the pouring rain.

George nods again, stopping and almost tripping Dream. He knows the boy is mostly quiet, but Dream would appreciate it if he speaks just once.

He barely restrains himself from huffing.

The bus stops right in front of them, and he tries again. “Where are you from? I know Mrs. Lewis said you came from the UK, but where exactly…?”

Doors parting open, George enters the bus without a word, followed by rushed footsteps from the other students.

This time, the annoyed huff that left him gathered some weird looks from his classmates. He doesn’t pay them any mind, shaking his umbrella partially dry, and follows the rest of the kids inside.

Seated beside the window, George’s eyes are trained on the raindrops that slide down the glass, bored. Dream sits beside him stubbornly, wanting to get the boy’s attention.

Maybe it’s because of his mother’s words constantly playing in his mind, urging him to make friends and have fun with someone. She constantly reminds him of this as if Dream is in preschool. He doesn’t need more friends, he has Sapnap and some in their neighborhood. Dream doesn’t need new ones.

For some reason, he doesn’t know why he suddenly listens to his mother and why it has to be George.

A handful of his classmates have tried to befriend him, and Dream also tries to, but it always ends up with them just being kind of friends.

Dream feels like he needs to be friends with George and it is kind of weird because he doesn’t feel that way about his other classmates.

Perhaps, it could be the knowledge that George is British. He’s only met a few British people in his life, anyway, it would be nice to have a British friend. School just started not even a week ago, and it would make sense if George isn’t at ease in his unfamiliar surroundings. Dream wants to make him comfortable, welcome. Only if George would stop ignoring him.

“I’m Dream,” He introduces himself, a little bitterly. George side-eyes him and Dream can’t help but feel like the other is judging him. “What’s yours?”

Beside him, George sighs like he’s doing Dream a favor. He hasn’t even done anything yet.

“I think you know what my name is,” George mumbles, tilting his head to face the window completely. “You just want to annoy me. Constantly.”

Dream frowns because that’s the most offensive thing a person had assumed of him. Maybe he doesn’t want a British friend after all. “That’s rude.”

“And you’re annoying,” George quickly shoots back, though he seems unphased. “There, you’ve annoyed me now. Go bother someone else.”

Dream, much to George’s obvious dismay, didn’t.

He sits stubbornly, grumbling to himself. He just wants to be friends with the new kid, is that too much to ask for? Plus, he’s not that annoying. A little enthusiastic, maybe.

“‘M not trying to annoy you,” Dream says, and he can hear how defeated he sounds as he fiddles with the strap of his bag. The wet umbrella sits at his foot. “I just want to… get to know you.”

George’s eyes flicker to his slumped form and the look on his face isn’t annoyed anymore. The indignant curl of his brows is smoothed onto a slightly confused one. At least Dream doesn’t feel like a complete nuisance anymore.

When he and Sapnap first met, there wasn’t any annoyance that transpired at all. It was all innocence and jokes alongside playful hits because there were just young boys who met each other because of an exchange of housewarming gifts. Sapnap acts like the small brother he’s ever wanted.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves his little sister to the core, but sometimes, she also annoys him to the core, maybe deeper, if that’s even possible.

Sapnap greeted him, shy, because he was only a stranger back then. Then, Dream greeted him back, enthusiastic, because he was excited at the idea of having a friend.

Since they became one, he never entertains the idea of making new ones, sticking to hanging out and playing around with the kids in his neighborhood. They were easy and fun to play with, so why bother befriending more? He has them, they are entertaining and occasionally, Dream would lose his breath from laughing.

A total of three friends, each one of them went like this: greeting each Dream shyly. Partaking in banter, back and forth. Chase the other down the park near them until they get bloodied and bruised knees. Laugh. Then they’re friends.

Easy.

Then, George.

Who didn’t even spare a breath to greet him.

People grow. Moods and personalities change. It’s probably why it’s not easy or the same when you’re trying to get to know someone. Or maybe, it’s just George. Who knows.

Not Dream, definitely, because he knows nothing but the fact that George came from the UK. He can’t rule on someone just by being treated distantly. It’s fine, they’re strangers, and that’s why Dream wants to learn about him.

For a thirteen-year-old, his mom should give him more credit. Just a little.

He looks at George, who is looking at him but it seems like he’s in his head. Thinking. Then, it’s small, but it’s there; the slight upturn on his lips.

An arm shies away from the window, dropping on his lap. George looks defeated, like he’s given up some fraction of the fight in his body, and wants to indulge Dream’s wishes.

Oh, how badly does he want George to do that.

“Why?” The word finally leaves George’s mouth. No downturn of lips, no pinched eyebrows, no annoyance to trace. It’s curiosity that wanders.

As the single-word-question registers, Dream shrugs. Because his mom told him to? His mother’s advice that he put not even an ounce of effort, an ‘effort’ that he can barely consider an accomplishment?

Because he’s George and his nerves are telling him to keep him close, keep him warm?

He’s new and British, and British people have a funny accent. Yeah. That one.

Absolutely.

“It wouldn’t hurt to make new friends…” Dream shrugs, feeling his shoulder bump with George’s. “Noticed you’re quiet in class, so maybe it’d be nice for you to have someone to talk with.”

George’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’re saying that I’m lonely.”

Dream’s mouth drops in panic. He’s already messed this up.

“N-no! That’s not what I’m trying to say at all— I mean, you’re new, so it makes sense to not have anyone close—”

“It’s fine, Dream.” George’s blank face breaks into a smile as he chuckles. “Just messing with you.”

Dream continues anyway, “I wasn’t trying to, like, make you feel bad about being new here— what I’m trying to say is it’d be great for me to befriend someone in school because I don’t have a friend in this school just like… yeah.”

Avoiding George’s eyes is a little hard because he laughs. George is laughing and doesn’t look like he wants to kick him for vaguely implying that he’s a lonely loser. Just like him.

“Sorry… I’m just—” Dream sighs, smiling at the sound of George’s laugh. “You’re new here, I want to be your friend if you’d like ‘till you become comfortable. There.”

“Why me?” George asks, and Dream fumbles to answer.

“I literally just said because you’re new here.” If he says anything more than that, he might blurt out that he finds the other kids boring, and he doesn’t want any of the kids inside the bus to hear that because his mom told him to be nice. “Do you even want to be friends with someone? You keep questioning me.”

At that, George scoffs. “Usually, when people try to make friends, the first impression they shouldn’t have is annoying.”

“What the hell! I offered you space in my umbrella—”

“More like you coming into my space.”

“— And asked you a simple question, how is that me being annoying?” Dream hisses, and he can see George trying to hide a smug smile. He’s the one being annoying, not Dream.

“You were demanding me a very personal information,” George says, rolling his eyes. He looks out the window again. Dream’s house is not far from their school, most of the time, he just takes a walk to go home but today, it’s raining hard.

“I was asking you where you came from, not your mother’s birth name.” Dream mirrors the rolling of George’s eyes. The other is still looking outside the window, snickering to himself. “Is your stop near?”

George nods. “Yeah, just a block more.”

“Live near the school?” He asks, leaning towards the window and trying to catch where George’s eyes land.

A hand blocks his view, his whole face, to be exact— pushing his face away from George. Dream looks at him, bewildered with his mouth hanging open.

“What is your problem? Why did you do that?”

“Don’t go stalking me now,” George tsks disapprovingly, shaking his head in an unserious manner. At least he didn’t look mad. “That is something you’re not supposed to do if you want to be my friend.”

“Well, I don’t want to be your friend anymore because you just did that!” Dream says, still offended at how this kid just placed his hand over his face. “You weren’t supposed to do that.”

“Oh, you don’t want to be friends with me anymore—”

“No, no, no!” Dream interrupts him because he didn’t mean that, at all. It is further than he really wants. “I didn’t mean it, ‘m sorry.”

George hums, smiling at him softly, then silence falls over them. Somewhere inside the bus, somebody screams, and bubbly laughs fill their silence. Suddenly, George perks up, his hand coming up to hold the strap of his bag.

A bus stop comes into their sight, and Dream scrambles to get the words out.

“Is your stop near your house?” Dream asks, and immediately regrets it. It’s literally what George doesn’t want him to ask. Too personal, or whatever. George looks at him with a sly smile and a raised brow.

The other shrugs and looks down at his feet. Dream notices the way George’s eyes linger on the umbrella. “Maybe.”

“You can…” Dream points to the umbrella with a finger, his legs dangling in nervousness. “You can borrow it if you want. My stop is, like, two houses away from mine.” Dream sees him hesitate, so he gives him a smile that he hopes is reassuring. “Give it to me tomorrow and we’re all good.”

George is quick to add his quip, “Who says I still wanna see you tomorrow?” But his hand is inching toward the umbrella.

“Me,” Dream says it like it’s obvious. And it is obvious. Isn’t it the whole point of their exchange? “Because I want to be friends with you.”

“Fine,” George huffs, and gestures for him to stand up when the bus comes to a stop. George towers over him and smiles. He’s doing that a lot. “But don’t blame me if I forgot to bring it with me.” Then he’s out of the bus, leaving Dream to scoff to himself. He rolls his eyes to the empty space in front of him before taking his seat back.

Jesus, he hopes George doesn’t actually forget about his umbrella. His mom won’t be happy with him if he does so.

Later, after three minutes or so, when he got home, his mother asked why his hair was slightly wet and why he didn’t use the umbrella she made him bring, he just answered with a simple ‘a friend borrowed it’, and stomped his way to his room to reward himself a good nap, completely forgetting about the visual exercise their Geography teacher had assigned them.

Then he’s woken up by his sister screaming about her arrival from school, after that, the night goes by like usual. Nothing new.

Then the morning after, he’s also woken up by her screaming directly in his ear.

Sometimes, he wishes he could do something to stop her from being annoying. Maybe cut her hair or something, he doesn’t know. If it wasn’t for the fact that they’re connected by blood, he would’ve thrown her out of the window already.

A week passes, and he continues to pester George (and he also had come to an acceptance that he is pestering the boy), if it were to befriend him or because of the forgotten umbrella that is supposedly sitting on one of the racks in George’s house.

It’s sunny out, but her mom told him there is a fifty percent chance of rain today and he doesn’t have any idea how it works. She reminds him about the umbrella and they part with a kiss placed on his right cheek. He’s slightly sweating when he gets to school because, for whatever reason, he decided not to take the bus.

Well, he gets impatient pretty quickly, maybe that was why. Who would want to wait for the bus just to drop them off five minutes late, anyway?

George, for the first time, is sitting directly behind Dream’s usual seat, but he never looks up when he drops his bag on his seat. And for the first time since last week, George isn’t the one who greeted him first. He’s a little disappointed but he never let it show on his face. George won’t see it anyway.

Four subjects later, something hit the back of his head lightly, making his body turn over just as a crumpled paper fell to the tiled floors. He looks around to see who the culprit was, then he sees George looking anywhere but the front where the teacher is talking about the process of photosynthesis. Probably. He’s been zoned out for more than a minute now, and George was the reason he was startled out of his space.

Confused, he calls George with a quiet ‘pst’, but the other just rolls his eyes and taps his foot impatiently, shoe pointing at the paper. Dream rolls his eyes, but picks up the paper anyway, somewhat annoyed because he was thinking of the globe he made his mother buy for him, George just has to disturb him.

Is it the same way George feels whenever he poked at him?

Smoothing the paper, Dream looks back at George questioningly after he reads the words written on it with an addled smile.

Do you wanna hang out?
- G

George catches his eyes, then averts, looking down at his notebook and acting to write on it. He shrugs without looking at him, and Dream bites down a wide, gleeful grin.

Dream twists his body back to his front, finding the teacher looking at him with a raised brow. He just sends them a sheepish smile before looking back down at the note placed on his table. Hesitating for a second, he thinks about what his mother would think of his son going home late. Dream then thinks that he probably can use a phone in George’s house to call her.

So, Dream writes:

yeah!! that sounds like fun :)
- D

He flicks the paper back to George without looking, and not even five seconds later, he hears a scoff, followed by a quiet snicker. Dream swallows his own and sees their teacher looking between him and George before huffing.

The snicker escapes him, and so did a laugh from George.

School ends, and the rain is already pouring. He looks back at George, who is already presenting him with his umbrella in his hand, opening it up and shielding him from the rain.

Neither of them heads to the fixed bus stop shed as they walk their way to George’s house, laughing and fighting for bigger space under the umbrella.

Dream thinks it would be nice to have George around as he watches him almost fall face-first into a muddy puddle, hooking them into fits of laughter.

Yeah— George runs, letting the cold rain shower him while he dances, but Dream runs after him to put him under the safety of the umbrella, scolding him the same way his mother does, but still, they both laugh freely— it’ll be nice to have him as a friend.

The high pressure of the shower stings his skin as he steps under it, washing off the shampoo on his hair. Stupidly, he opens his eyes, and the soap immediately slides inside his eye, causing him to wince and rub it rapidly.

Dream never thought that every year at the end of high school, they’ll have a party for it. He never understands the point, why can’t they just spend their time celebrating quietly in their room? Because that’s what he does with his friends, just basking in each other’s presence. Sometimes, they laugh and breathe like it would be their last. Sometimes, they’re loud as fuck that they’ll get yelled at by their parents. Or they just sit in complete silence.

Just sometimes. Because Quackity and Karl could never shut their mouths to save their lives.

Sometimes, they go to late-night parties just to come back with nothing but a headache from the loud music and flashing lights. Or maybe it’s just Dream who never seemed to like the feeling of sweaty skins against his because Sapnap decided, out of nowhere, to host the party for their parting from high school.

Dream always hated the smell of alcohol and hated the taste of it more. And the fact that there are students, who are underage, downing beers like it’s water.

Some might say that he is too uptight, living in old age, or whatever. Considering he’s a football player, people say that he doesn’t do enough ‘fun stuff’.

Drinking, doing drugs, and having sex.

It has been established that he doesn’t like alcohol. Simple and easy. Everybody who’s asked or offered him a drink whenever he is at parties, he always tells them his reason. Then they’ll call him a liar or something because he’s a football player. Always. They always think— that because they slam their bodies on other players— that they spent their time outside the field drowning in a pool of drinks and the smell of sweat and sex.

Doing drugs… yeah. No.

Just a brief no.

Stereotyping sucks, people suck. Especially when they force him to fucking drink even though literally everyone in their damn High School knows he doesn’t.

And especially when people throw their bodies at him because they want something from him.

Hook-ups. Sure, he used to do hook-ups, but the thing is: he used to. Why did he stop? Well. It just doesn’t feel right… anymore. Yeah. That’s… all.

Frankly, it just catches Dream off guard when he finds out Sapnap is throwing a party. It’s not like he hasn’t before because he has, it’s just— a year-end party? Where most of the furniture and stuff in your house gets trashed, Dream doesn’t think Sapnap’s parents would be too happy about it.

But now, he’s almost suffocating from the steam of the hot water. He quickly finishes showering and putting on a cat-printed sweater and sweatpants because as soon as the party ends, he’s going to sleep.

As he makes his way out of the bathroom, there’s some shuffling from the other side of the door. George is lounging lazily on his bed, his phone high up in the air as his fingers scroll through TikTok, giggling quietly.

Dream doesn’t know what got to him, or what opt him to do it. Maybe it’s because George looks comfy and soft, but like a dog (or more like a dumbass), he throws himself on top of George and knocks the breath out of both of them.

“What the fuck is your problem,” George hisses, and smacks the back of his head. Dream groans but he just wraps his arms around George tighter. “Get off of me, idiot.” He smacks him again, but this time, on his back, though he quickly massages the spot.

Dream chuckles and says nothing. Instead of moving away from George, he relaxes his body with his face buried into George’s neck. What the hell is happening to him?

“Your hair is literally drenching my face.”

“Don’t care,” Dream mumbles, closing his eyes and wanting to forget about the party that is about to happen (or probably already happening) next door.

George’s arms lay limp around him, hand lazily tapping his side. “Dream, seriously, dry your hair first. We have to go to Sapnap’s, they’re already there.”

“Why?” Dream huffs, pushing himself up with his elbows on either side of George to look down at him. “We don’t have to. We can just ditch them.”

George doesn’t immediately reply, his eyes wide and fleeting across his face. And Dream just realizes how little the proximity between them and how intimate the position is.

Seriously, what is happening to him.

There’s a hint of pomegranate dusting George’s cheek that he mostly gets to see when he’s laughing. But nobody is laughing and it’s completely silent.

He wishes Sapnap is there to break or end whatever is happening just like he always does because Dream can’t move and can’t take his eyes off George.

He doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to look away.

Seriously—

“We just finished high school, Dream.” George is making no move to shoo him off when he can easily do it. Dream feels his heart skip a beat, and he also feels George’s hand curling into his sweater. “Last party, then we’re done.”

Dream swallows the lump in his throat and it feels like rock salt scratching his insides. Of all the years he’s known George, he’s always known that he’s attractive. But never that way.

It’s a damn lie, and he’s never been known for being good at lying. It’s been a year since he realized it, but he swallows it down, just like he always does.

Because he can’t do that to George. Not with someone he can easily and can’t afford to lose.

“There’d still be college parties,” Dream says weakly, and he forces his lungs to work because he feels like he’s about to die from the lack of air.

George blinks up at him, then huffs, his fingers uncurl to slap him again. Dream notices the tension seeping away from George’s body. He wishes his body could do the same.

“This is Sapnap’s,” George replies quietly, and he’s smiling softly. Of all the years he’s known him, Dream notices he’s the only one who gets to see that kind of smile. The thought would’ve sent him to his knees if he wasn’t already on it. “We can always ditch those parties ‘cause we’re not obligated to go to them.”

Dream feels his lips mirroring George’s, and he has to mentally slap himself for starting too long to his friend’s lips. Fuck. The tension slowly slips away from him and it’s easier to breathe.

“But it’s not like it’s required to go to Sapnap’s as well,” Dream reasons, just to be a little shit. He gets an eye roll in response. “You know, let’s just stay here and cuddle with Patches or something.”

George giggles and Dream finds the both of them giggling like they’re middle schoolers, uncaring and hushed as if they’re trying not to wake somebody up.

“Shut up, you’re gonna wake Patchy up.” And maybe they are trying not to wake someone up. George looks to the end of the bed where Dream remembers Patches is sleeping, but Dream doesn’t look away from his smile. It’s magnetic, and he wants nothing more but to let himself fall into it.

“So you think me, crushing your body, didn’t wake her up?” Dream teases. “Also, you screamed like a little girl.”

“Must be another cat, then, because a little tabby cat is snoring behind you.”

“Must be.” His voice quietens even more.

George looks back at him and his smile turns small, but it’s so, so, so soft, that he can feel his heart twist in guilt. “Shut up,” George whispers, his arms curling around Dream’s waist.

“You shut up.” There’s a droplet of water that sits on George’s upper cheek, Dream can’t help but notice.

Brainlessly, a hand reaches George’s face, his thumb swiping the water away. The achingly soft smile never left and the arms around him tightened.

Like a hypnic jerk, his body completely withdraws. Bones learn to unlock themselves so he can sit on the side of his bed, away from George. Away from his fear.

There’s a missing weight on his waist, he can’t let himself miss it.

George moves to sit as he stands up, picking up his towel from the bathroom just to be back in his bedroom after a second. There’s an unreadable expression on his face, the secret smile gone, and Dream feels like it hurts more to see him without it.

He thinks he did something wrong for the soft expression on George’s face to be wiped off. Dream tries to do something, to bring it back. But all he can do is point to the towel and gesture to his hair jerkily.

“Gotta, uhm, dry it off,” Dream chuckles uneasily, the pounding on his chest is almost enough to make him stumble forward.

George looks at him for a moment, eyes darting across his figure before he smiles. One that didn’t hold anything. One that he hasn’t seen before.

One that shoves piles of dread into the pit of his stomach.

“You’re going to wear sweatpants.” It’s stated blankly, and who knows what he would give just to turn back time.

Dream thinks it’s because he touched his cheek. That was too far. Best friends don’t do those things, and he’s pretty certain he and George don't do that.

No apology comes out of him because it wouldn’t be genuine. He’s not sorry for that, he got to caress George’s face like glass and it’s more than he’d ever wished for.

Maybe he’s sorry for ruining whatever was in the air.

But he can’t apologize, so he blurts out the only thing that he observes: “Like you’re not, too?” He immediately winces at how loud his voice came out than he’d intended to. Then he sees George’s sweater that wraps a hand around his throat. “And— my… my sweater. You’re… wearing my sweater.”

George looks down at his own clothes and Dream sees the exact moment he tenses, his shoulders going rigid, cheeks retaining their blush.

“I— no, I’m not. This is—” George stammers, shaking his head in denial, but the taunting logo of his football team is displayed at them uncaringly. Dream laughs at George’s spluttering, and the awkwardness that hung over them a minute ago completely vanishes, easing them back. “Shut up! I was just cold, okay? I forgot to bring a jacket or whateve— it’s not my fault that your room is colder than Antarctica.”

Dream scoffs, dropping the towel on the edge of the bed after he finished drying his hair. It’s not even that cold. Well, it kind of is, Dream admits to himself. It’s not his fault, even if George says it is, it’s not. It’s his mom, who he thinks wants to form snow in their house.

“Aren’t you from London? You should be used to the cold.” Dream gestures for him to follow as he exits his room, heading downstairs and to the kitchen.

“Yeah, but I didn’t wear anything but hoodies, that’s only when I went out. We didn’t use A/Cs.”

“Still.” Dream shrugs, causing George to huff. Dream turns to look at George, who’s reaching for the cupboard. For Dream, it will never be not funny seeing George go onto his tip-toes just to reach for stuff when Dream used to tip-toe around while George laughs at him.

George sends him a glare when the snicker he tries to hold leaves him. He’s filling the glass in his hand with water when he asks, “Are you drinking?”

Dream gives him the blankest stare. “You did not just ask me that. I am very offended right now.”

“Well, I’m not, just so you know, if you ever wondered,” George says nonchalantly, and places the empty glass on top of the counter. “If you even cared.”

“Stop that,” Dream laughs, endeared. “See? We can just not go! You’re not even going to drink, what’s the point of going there anymore—”

“Stop that,” George mocks in a high-pitched voice. “You stop that. I need you to stop being a baby for a second and walk for, like, ten steps outside and sit your ass down on Sapnap’s couch for thirty minutes, then you can sleep. Maybe socialize a little bit. You only have us as your friends, you’re kind of a loser.”

Dream huffs and leaves George behind, stomping his way to the house next door. He didn’t mention the fact that they have the same friend circle because George is definitely going to say he has some outside and it’d be the football team, which is also Dream’s.

The living room is already trashed when he enters, red plastic cups crushed lying on the carpet, he sees some stain on it and he knows Mrs. Brown will get Sapnap’s ass when she gets home from her business trip.

She never should’ve left.

Just like George said, he plops down on the couch where Karl is lounging, eyes glued to his phone. He lets his head fall onto Karl’s lap, legs occupying the rest of the couch, and his fingers immediately comb through his hair.

“Hi, babe,” Karl says, distracted.

“Stop talking, Karl.”

“You guys are late.”

“I had to shower,” Dream defends himself. If he’s going to be honest with himself, he only took that shower because he just wanted a peaceful night’s sleep. “I was all gross and dirty.”

Karl lowers his phone to raise a suggestive brow at him. “Oh? What were you guys doing that made you ‘gross and dirty’?”

“Okay, whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that.” Dream feels himself turn pink.

Karl tilts his head in false innocence. “So you didn’t take a run? What else could you be doing?”

“I did!” Dream exclaims with his hands thrown, the buzzing of loud chatter strikes his nerves and he can feel an oncoming headache. “I did take a run early this morning but I forgot to shower after ‘cause Mom wanted me to buy groceries, so I showered late.”

“You texted us that an hour ago.”

“Karl.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.” They’re both shouting over the blaring music and the colorful flashing lights are starting to hurt his eyes. “We didn’t do anything, dude, I swear.”

Dream thinks he hears Karl mumble a quiet ‘I didn’t even say anything’ before covering Dream’s eyes, probably sensing his discomfort from the furrowed brows on his temple.

“Your boyfriend is not even here, Dream,” Karl says, both of his hands are working on him right now as the fingers combing through his hair return. “When you guys are late, I was expecting that you’ll have George with you.”

Flapping a hand in the air tiredly, he gestures to where he thinks is the crowd. “He’s there, somewhere, you’ll find him.” Candidly, he thinks George could be fighting with Sapnap or Quackity over a stupid thing. Like they always do. “He’s not my boyfriend, by the way.”

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy,” Karl scoffs, patting his hair light-heartedly. “Don’t even get why you keep denying it. You’re just trying to convince yourself at this point.”

Dream didn’t say anything in response because if he did, it’d only make his case worse.

It’s hard, he’ll admit. It’s hard to keep everything locked when he has very prying friends. But he manages because he has to, he’ll fuck things up, otherwise.

It hurts, suffocating even. Filling his lungs with pent-up feelings he badly wants to get rid of but opts to just hide and disregard them, because he doesn’t know if can. And the funniest part is; he doesn’t want to. Dream wishes he knows things, but George doesn’t give him anything he highly wishes for. And it’s fine.

He’s fine with just cutting it at the labels of best friends.

Not like he wishes for more. Dream stopped doing that a long time ago and it has been easier since then.

He’s fine now.

Maybe in the future, things will change and he could wish for it by then. Dream tucks the thought and locks it alongside the others, piling on a concerning amount. He forgets about it at the moment while he knows he’ll think of it later and the day after.

Fingers halt, but Karl’s hand remains as a comforting weight on his head. Dream is almost falling asleep, he would’ve if Karl didn’t stop. He has no idea why he’s so tired today. He didn’t even do anything much. It’s kind of amusing how he can sleep in such a loud crowd.

“Hey,” Karl murmurs, and despite the blaring music, Dream hears it. “Your man’s here.” Dream huffs a breath out and nuzzles his head further in Karl’s hand, urging the other to continue. A second later, the combing resumes. “Someone’s… talking to him.”

At that, Dream’s eyes shoot open. I don’t have jealousy issues, he’d insisted to his friends and himself before, but he slowly comes to realize that maybe he has a little bit. There is still a hand covering his eyes and he didn’t hesitate to swat it away, slightly guilty after seeing Karl’s offended expression looking down at him.

“Where?” Dream asks, looking around the room to find the familiar brunet, his head still placed on his friend’s thigh.

Karl looks at him knowingly. “Far right, near the stairs, white hoodie guy chatting with him.”

Dream tilts his head as far as he can, almost fearing he would twist his neck, but he quickly stops when he sees them. There’s a person with his hand holding a cup and the other placed on George’s hip as the guy talks his ears off. While George doesn’t seem to be bothered by it— by the hand on his hip, at all, he doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the guy’s company as well.

For a second, his eyes meet Dream’s, and there is no spasm in his complexion whatsoever, before looking away in favor of looking at the person in front of him, face carefully blank. Painfully blank. And Dream feels his breath catch in his throat. Piling. Suffocating.

Dream looks away because he feels the lump in his throat is alarmingly close to coming out of his mouth, and Karl looks at him with a gentle expression as he bounces his thigh slightly.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Dream asks quietly over all of the shouting and drunken laughs.

“Dunno, but George is holding a phone that’s not his, for sure.” Dream shuts his eyes for a moment and Karl bounces his leg again. “George is coming over, bud,” Karl whispers next to his ear, but Dream didn’t make any move to look at his fear. Frozen.

The shaky breath doesn’t leave him, not after George talks. “Dream.”

And when he looks up at George, that blank face is still there. It never left. His eyes, with the same unreadable gaze he received when they were in his room, are fleeting between him and Karl. His eyes seem to linger on Karl longer than Dream, and as if Karl read a hidden meaning in George’s eyes, he gets up while guiding Dream to sit up, murmuring something about getting a drink.

George plops down beside him, careful of the drink in his hand.

“Hi,” Dream whispers, scooting a little closer towards him like he’s approaching a stranger. It’s enough for their shoulders to brush. “Thought you weren’t gonna be drinking.”

George startles, looking down at his hand like he didn’t know there was a drink in his hand. “Oh… uh, somebody…” He shrugs, and Dream sees his attempt in nonchalance. “Somebody gave it to me.”

He didn’t even give himself time to think of who the ‘somebody’ might be, because he was in an immediate panic. “Why did you accept it?” Snatching the drink from George’s hand, he ignores the fizz he feels when their fingers brush. “Uh, yeah, no. Not drinking this.”

“You’re like my mum,” George scoffs, but a smile curls on his lips, and just like that, the air around them returns to normal. It seems to do that whenever that smile appears, Dream observes, and it’s an observation he discovered a long time ago.

“And I thought I raised you better than this,” Dream scolds, and playfully rolls his eyes, placing the cup on the floor, left to be toppled over by some shit-faced teenager. He hopes it won't come to that because he’s a hundred percent sure Sapnap will beg for his help to clean up tomorrow.

“I didn’t even take a single sip.” Huffing, George slumps his body against Dream, his upper half lying on his thighs, mirroring his position moments prior. “You’re too protective.”

“Hm.” Like an instinct, the spaces between his fingers are filled with soft, chestnut hair. “Would you rather otherwise?” When he didn’t get an answer, only a huff of air, it caused him to giggle. “So, so dumb.”

“What the hell,” George whines with a pout, his eyes fluttering shut when Dream scratches his scalp. “Didn’t even do anything to you and you’re being mean to me.”

A short silence falls over them as Dream smiles down at George’s blissful features.

Then, before he can even stop himself, or even compose his tone, he asks, “Who was that guy earlier?”

Just like that, George’s blissful expression is wiped as his eyes shoot wide open. But after a second, his lips form into a mischievous grin like he just figured something out.

Dream has never been good at keeping his jealousy, after all.

“Why’d you ask?” George mumbles with an underlying teasing tone. Dream tilts his head to the side and rolls his eyes. “He was kinda nice,” He adds like it was an afterthought.

It takes all of Dream to not grit his teeth. “What’d you guys talk about? Karl and I saw you talking.”

“Actually—” George perks up and Dream wants nothing but to punch a hole through a wall. “John asked me out on a date.”

Dream takes a pause.

“You’re gonna go out on a date with a man named fucking John,” He deadpans, but Dream feels the need to shout at George to erase that smug smile on his face. “That’s, like, a borderline heartbreak mission. You know every man that’s named John— which, by the way, is a stupid name— are, like, sketchy, right? Like, their parents didn’t even care enough to pick a better name for them, I’m sure, they wouldn’t even care if they got your heart broken.”

“Dream!” George shouts with wide eyes, laughing. “I never said I’m going—”

“You barely know the guy. What if he’s a cheater, huh? Worse, a murderer. Go on this date with him and if you never come back, the first thing I’d do is laugh at your gravestone.”

“Holy shit,” George whispers, mortified, and bursts out laughing. “What is your problem—”

“I’m serious!” Dream says, but there’s laughter bubbling out of his chest just because the words he spat are completely ridiculous and he’s just realizing it. Not because of how contagious George’s laughter is.

Not at all.

… It’s the mix of both, Dream concedes to himself.

“Oh my God—” George gasps, doubling in laughter as he wraps both of his arms around his stomach, while Dream hides his face in his hands as he also gasps for air. “Holy shit, you could’ve just said a simple ‘don’t go’, and I literally wouldn’t. You— fuck, you didn’t need to tell me all of that, Jesus.”

“I didn’t— no, I wasn’t—” Dream giggles, and he doesn’t overanalyze George’s words because he’ll go batshit insane if he does. George doesn’t know how his words affect him, so he's not letting them. “Oh, God, that was horrible.”

“You’re horrible.”

Dream scoffs, smiling stupidly. “I was just informing you that you could possibly get hurt and all you’re giving me is ‘you’re horrible’? I could’ve possibly saved you from dating a murderer.”

“Dream, do you hear yourself?” George says incredulously through a chuckle.

“Just kidding, dumbass,” Dream huffs, and returns a hand on George’s hair. “But maybe he is—”

“Are you guys done,” An unimpressed voice speaks darkly before them. Looking up, Quackity is glaring at them like he just witnessed his parents have sex. “There are other people who want to sit down, and both of you are just fucking giggling like middle schoolers.”

Holy shit, they’re at a party. Dream completely forgot about that, and it looks like George did too because he scrambles to sit up close next to him. Quackity sits on the end of the couch, maintaining his eyes on him and George, and Dream just knows he’s judging them inwardly.

Dream turns to George to hide his chuckle, and Quackity just keeps staring at them.

George whirls his head to Quackity, and snaps, “Stop staring.”

It takes too long for Dream’s liking for Quackity to revert his gaze, but not before he mutters a quiet ‘get a grip’.

They stayed for another ten minutes, George had his own entertainment by making Quackity’s night a living hell. The two of them argued. A lot.

At one point, he thinks about George going on a date with ‘John’ and tries to find the said man in the crowd of stragglers across the room, but he never did. Dream wraps an arm around George, just in case.

At one point, the couch they’re sitting on starts to get filled with strangers, cramming Dream and George in the corner. He looks down at the boy almost falling asleep in the crook of his neck. Dream smiles down at him, whispering, “Back in mine?”

George just nods but he doesn’t move. Dream can feel eyes on and he’s sure they’re Quackity’s. He looks at him and the look he’s giving Dream just says one thing.

Get your shit together.

Dream moves, standing and reaching down to hold on to George’s forearms, and guides them back to his house but not without sending Quackity a look.

I have.

Back in his house, his mom greets them with a warm smile that slightly dissipates when he sees George’s state. “George, honey, are you okay?”

And when he looks at George, he’s narrowly swaying on his feet. Tired. Jeez, they didn’t even do anything at the party. They just sat all the time— well. George didn’t, he supposes. But, still, he looks exhausted.

George mirrors his mom’s warm smile but he just looks like he’s going to pass out. “I am, Kate, don’t worry about me, ‘m just tired.”

“Do you want me to tell Carol that you’ll be staying here?”

“Already got it,” George reassures her with a comforting wave of a hand. “Told her this afternoon.”

“Oh, well.” Her mom’s shoulders sag in contentment. “If you need anything, just ask that boy, right there,” She says this while pointing a finger at Dream, and her tone comes out as if he’s not in the same room as them.

Dream scoffs. “Night, Ma.”

She calls out her goodnight and they head to his room, George barging to his bathroom to brush his teeth, most likely.

They do it like it’s a routine. George is brushing his teeth beside Dream, standing in silence, Dream realizes the intimacy they hold. The shoulder brushes, the secret glances in the mirror, the deflected smiles.

It hurts and he’s suffocating.

But on top of it all, he is so fucking warm that it makes him want to jump around. He wants to fall into the promise of security in George’s arms.

Dream wants to believe and just accept it.

However, he can’t, not right now, at least. He’s not ready to risk it, yet. It could cause him an unbearable hurt, and the thought roots him to wish that he can crave as any other weak man does.

Dream will, soon, maybe, because if he recognizes some things, he knows it will be worth it.

As artificial cold air tucks them under the sheets, all Dream does is stare. How can he not when the prettiest creature of them all lies in his bed with him with relaxed features and tired eyes? There’s dizziness swirling in his eyes when the bedside lamp hits as George tries to turn it off.

“You did drink,” Dream says quietly because he simply wants to talk, talk, and talk to him.

“Sorry,” George chuckles sheepishly, and Dream lets out a hum of disapproval. “It was just a sip, I promise.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Okay, I won’t,” George whispers. Dream can’t figure out why they talk to each other so quietly most of the time like they’re scared that somebody could be hearing them, but he likes it. It’s the best kind of tone they use. Dream thinks that George also thinks that, too.

As much as he wants to talk, the best part of their friendship is the silence. Just existing, breathing. Fragile quietness occurs naturally and it’s not something flimsy that a simple cry from an outsider could break. Not anyone nor could anything.

Years of kinship, they learned how to tune those out in favor of living in their own bubble, where they’re comfortable and blithe.

“... Earlier, my phone kept buzzing.”

“Hm?” Dream blinks, trying to make out the silhouette in front of him. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“Think it was John,” George replies, and Dream’s eyes sharpen.

“What happened?”

George huffs. “You weren’t even listening to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Dream whisper-shouts, and he tries to poke at George’s face in the night’s darkness because he knows there’s a pout playing on his lips. “Say it again.”

“He was texting me about the date.” Dream rolls his eyes irritatedly, and he hopes George can’t see it. “Asking me if I’m free tomorrow.”

“Have you replied yet?” Dream asks hesitantly, his heart painfully constricting in his chest.

“No.” The breath Dream releases are shaky. He hopes the same thing again. “I don’t know if I want to, honestly.”

He sinks further down onto the mattress, slowly inching towards George's figure. The other turns around soundlessly, and Dream’s arm snakes around him like customary. He provides the heat that George’s body always seems to crave.

“Well, you don’t have to go,” Dream whispers against the skin of George’s nape as their legs tangle with their own minds. “Take a break for once, we had a long year.”

“The hell do I even do?” George untangles their body, much to Dream’s trepidation, but he turns to look at Dream. And he stares back. There’s an arm curling around Dream’s waist that makes his brain all mushy. “Stay in my room, twenty-four-seven? Like, that would actually kill me.”

“We don’t have that much time for a break, it’s not that long. Stay here if you want, you technically live here, anyway.” Because George is, for the better and worse, almost a part of this house, if not for the fact that he goes home late at night or any time of the day. Some of his clothes took the empty part of his closet, an extra toothbrush he’d claim as his property, consuming two meals a day, and complaining about the lack of hot water in the shower. Pretty typical for a member of a household. “Your mom doesn’t look like she minds. I think she wants you to move out as soon as possible, even,” Dream teases with a giggle.

“You’d say that,” George scoffs, and shoves his shoulder. Dream fakes a sniffle. “Mum almost teared up when I told her we’re moving to dorms, I don’t think she wants me gone.”

“I was joking,” Dream murmurs, pulling him closer. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” And in the night’s darkness, George smiles softly. A smile that’s enough to light up the room, a twinkle meant just for him. “I know you don’t.”

“College is nearing,” Dream says after a minute, making George groan. “Shut up, you’re such a baby— anyway— we don’t have much time to do stuff. You’re not gonna be free for a long time.”

“College is boring,” George huffs. “Like, I don’t wanna learn, that’s so… lame.”

Dream giggles, totally endeared. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Only a month or so, right?” Dream hums in response. George scoots even closer. “Then we’re sharing a room?”

“Yeah,” He breathes with his heart hammering. Fuck George for doing this to him. “We are.”

“Then you’re gonna help me with whatever I need, yeah?”

“Sure, George,” Dream bursts into laughter, trying to hide the way his heart is beating fast. It causes George to grin. “Whatever you want.”

“Oh, whatever I want, huh?” George prods, and Dream knows it’s intentional how his voice lowers.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck—

I’ll do anything if you ask me to.

“Well… if you asked me to eat shit, I probably won’t do it, but, yeah…” Dream is not even trying at this point. He doesn’t think he can, anyway, at how his mind is going haywire just from the change of George’s tone.

In the silence of the night, the darkness dulls even more as his twinkle gradually fades.

George’s smile disappears and his voice is quieter than they have ever spoken that night when he says, “You shouldn’t say that.” Reaching out with his other hand, Dream ever-so-marginally flinches when George tucks a sandy curl behind his ear, and Dream notices the way his arm falters before dropping onto the bed.

Dream doesn’t know what to say. So, he reaches out for George’s hand, but before he can even intertwine their fingers, George pulls back, settling his head onto Dream’s chest.

There’s no way George doesn’t hear his heart attempting to escape his ribcage.

He attempts because he doesn’t like how the silence fell this time. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not gonna laugh at your gravestone.”

George feebly lifts his head with a faint confused smile. “What?”

“You know.” Dream runs a hand across George’s back, feeling a vague shudder ripple. “If you ever die when you go to your date—”

“Oh my God,” George groans playfully, burying his head into the crook of Dream’s neck, making his breath hitch. “Sounds like you’ve got some vendetta with the guy, you don’t even know him.”

Maybe it’s the lack of rest, the lack of sleep that he’s been reaching for from hours ago because he just spits out the first thought that comes to him. “And you do?” Dream challenges, not bothering to filter his tone. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with not knowing him, that’s why you’re going on a date to know each other, after all. But I think it’d be better for you to date someone you already know.”

Dream realizes his mistake as soon as he finishes talking.

“What are you talking about?” George moves back, looking at him like he’s fucking crazy. And he probably is, considering friends don’t tell you who and how to date. Dream feels like he is crazy. “That’s—”

“Sorry— that wasn’t my place to— I-I’m sorry—”

“Do you want me to go or not?” George asks firmly, and Dream’s mind blanks. Even when George asked it so silently, it was so loud. “Answer me one thing, and I’ll do it.”

That’s not how this works, Dream wants to shout. He shouldn’t be telling his best friend to not date the guy because he’s fucking jealous when he shouldn’t be, and George shouldn’t be asking him to answer such a heavy question.

Because his answer would be: don’t fucking go, don’t leave me. Stay by my side, there’s no reason for you to date anyone else because I’m he—

That’s not how this works, Dream shouts to himself. Friends don’t discourage each other from wanting to experience love.

A friend shouldn’t feel like they want to be their friend’s partner.

Dream breathes out a shaky breath, causing George to imitate when he repeats, “Do you want me to, or not? Because if you don’t think it’s a good idea, then I won’t go.”

“George, that’s… that’s not what—”

“Dream.”

“Please—”

“Just answer it. Please.”

In the vulnerability of the nightfall, he hears the plea in silence. Not on the word George uttered, but in the silence.

The silence holds too many promises, too much security that he chillingly longs for. There’s an unspoken pledge in George’s words and Dream wants to throw himself into it, to see if it’ll all be okay. If they will be fine if things went bad between them and if they’ll go back to what they were used to.

Weak men have diversities, Dream thinks. Others are willing to give themselves up, reaching with their bare forearms, fully aware of what could happen. They have accepted several outcomes even before they presented themself because all they care about is having a drop of taste.

On the other hand, Dream is the complete opposite. Having to get to taste the sweet familiarity and all for the possibility of being taken away seems like the worst thing that can happen. He’s not as brave as other people say, he’s scared. He’s fucking scared because he knows that it will rip his heart in two, left permanently unstitched, if his fear were to tear it.

Dream’s fear comes in a Moon embodiment of a boy with brown curls, freckled cheeks, pale skin, soft gazes that he now understands are just meant for him, and sweet smiles.

Downright terrified from his catalyst.

The catalyst: George, who looks at him with millions of questions in his eyes Dream isn’t quite ready to answer. George looks at him with all the hope he has and Dream wants nothing more than to fulfill them. Who has his heart laid between them, ready for Dream to take.

Weak men have diversities, Dream knows he’s one of many. And he’s not ready to offer himself. Sometimes, weak men can’t afford to have their whole on the platter.

At times like this, he can’t bring himself to cave without the promise of evermore.

Dream, in the fragility of silence, wishes George will wait.

Like he’s promising, Dream slowly reaches for George’s face, watching him trail those brown eyes as his hand touches his face. George doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull back to ask what he’s doing. Instead, he lets him map his speckled cheek, leaning into the warmth.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Dream finally answers after a long pause, seeing George’s shoulder shakes as he exhales. “‘M not saying I don’t want you to go, and I’m not saying otherwise.”

“Just decide,” George whispers, and it’s the most vulnerable voice Dream has ever heard from him. He touches Dream’s hand with his, and his skin is cold. Dream scoots closer, bringing the blanket over their shoulders and hugging him adjacent to his chest, his chin tucked over soft curls. “I don’t care what it is, just…”

Dream breathes an amused chuckle. “Let’s say, I said that you should go and have some fun. Would you?” George doesn’t respond, not even a shake of his head. Dream’s chuckle becomes louder, just a tad bit, then he breathes, biting his inner cheek. “Have some rest, you’ve been here and there for academics, it wouldn’t hurt you to spend some time for yourself.” Copper doesn’t taste so good. “I’ll be here.” More than in the physical sense. Dream hesitates before ghosting his lips on George’s head.

Another shaky exhale and George huffs. It sounds defeated, but George sarcastically rasps, “Do you mean you’re gonna bother me all summer?”

For a moment, Dream stares down at him blankly before kicking his shin. “I told you to spend some time for yourself, are you not listening?” He huffs, rolling his eyes. He wants to fucking sleep and this idiot is not helping. “You can do whatever you want—” Just don’t somebody. “I do not care.”

“I do not care,” George mimics in his neck, and kicks his shin back. “You’re so cu…”

Dream immediately tunes out whatever the fuck George is saying because he needs to have a calm heart to be able to sleep.

Then George speaks again after a long pause. “You’re not gonna laugh at my gravestone, right?” And there’s a teasing tone painting his voice. Dream grounds his jaw, maybe if— “‘Kay, fine,” He huffs, draping his arm over Dream. “I’m not going. No need to look like you want to murder me.”

It’s dark, but Dream glares at the opposite wall with a petrified heart.

☼

As daylight comes, George parts with a gentle explanation that his dad needs some help in the house and a soft promise to see him soon. Dream just smiles, hoping for the ghost of George’s lips on his collarbone to disappear.

But it didn’t, even when he heard George greet his parents from downstairs. The tingle did not fade, not even when he opened his phone just to see Sapnap’s name flooding his notification panel, asking— begging for his help to clean up that makes him want to crawl out of his skin because it’s seven in the morning and the unspoken words from George replay in his mind in an instant.

Not when it’s his turn to greet his parents, or when he’s wiping the remnants of alcohol on the marble counter, or when he’s tying the trash bag to a close, or when he’s tossing another bag full of crushed cans into the bin.

Dream has come to an acceptance that George can tattoo himself on his skin however he wants.

The revelation makes him want to throw up, not because of the fact that George is promising there is something, that he’s willing to leave more— permanently, if he’d like. But because his barriers are starting to crumble.

He glares at the vacuum in his hand.

The barriers that are keeping him safe, keeping him from hurting, shielding him from his downfall. The barriers he never knew he’d ever let down are starting to crumble. And now, he’s scared because that’s all he knows what to do.

Dream shoves the vacuum at the edge of the couch a little too aggressively.

Sapnap perks up from the other end, his hands stopping from scrubbing the stained carpet. “What’s into you today, dude? Did something happen?” He stands up, brushing the wrinkle on his jeans. “You’ve been moping, like, since you got here.”

“Nothing,” Dream dismisses him with a shrug, then for a moment, he considers if he can share the battle he’s having in his mind. He opens his mouth to confess, but Sapnap beats him to it.

“You don’t need to continue helping me clean up this mess, right?” Sapnap says with a tilt of his head. “I only have this carpet left, just leave that there and I’ll get to it later.”

“It’s not that.” Dream shakes his head but leans the vacuum against the wall, sinking his body on the couch. “There’s just… something going on in my mind.”

“Oh?” Sapnap tilts his head in a questioning manner. “Did you and George fight?”

Dream huffs, rolling his eyes. “How is that the first conclusion that you thought of? No, we’re not.”

Sapnap shrugs, walking into the kitchen with a brush, a towel, and a carpet cleaner in hand. “Well, first,” He calls behind the counter, gesturing to his face with a hand. “You have that ugly frown on your face when you fight, or when George is avoiding you. Second, you’re moping.”

“I’m not moping,” Dream drawls, and it comes out whiny.

“Enlighten me, then.”

He inhales a sharp breath, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I… I think I like George,” Dream mumbles, and Sapnap gives him the blankest stare of his life, hands resting on the edge of the marble. He looks like his dad, who’s about to give him a lecture on something. “I-I mean—”

“Are you serious?” Sapnap’s eyebrows to his hairline in incredulity.

“Yes!” He whispers-shouts. “Last night, he—”

“No, no,” Sapnap interrupts, rounding the corner to join him in the living room, towering over him. “Are you telling me you just realized that? Like, recently? ‘Cause, you’ve got to be fucking with me.”

Hesitating, Dream mumbles, “No…?” The other huffs, raising an expectant eyebrow. “No. Well, I kind of just let it happen, or, like, I don’t know… I’m letting it happen.”

“Yeah…” Sapnap nods faintly. “What on earth are you talking about? I’m not following, at all.”

“Bro—” Dream lets out a frustrated breath, scooting over, so Sapnap can sit beside him while he runs a hand through his hair while Sapnap pats his back encouragingly. “Listen, it’s not that I just realized it because I knew there was something different in George way before. But more like… like, I’ve come to accept it.”

“Come to accept, what exactly?”

Another frustrated breath— trust Sapnap to be the dumbest of them all.

“That I’m in love with George,” Dream says, and he says it like it’s obvious. It is.

“Uhm.” Sapnap is speechless for a second, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “So… you’ve been denying to yourself that you’re in love with our best friend this whole time.” A pause. Then: “You’re in love with George—” Dream wants the cushions of the sofa to swallow him whole. “And, now, you’re moping—? I seriously don’t get it.”

“I’m scared,” He confesses shakily, curling his arms around himself. “I’m really fucking scared.” Dream smiles, and maybe it isn’t a smile because Sapnap looks at him worriedly.

Knowing each other for God knows how long, Sapnap barely worries. They’ve always got each other’s back, helping each other to do whatever they need, but they don’t worry. Maybe he’s more scared than he’d thought.

“Why?” Sapnap asks gently.

“I can’t lose him, Nick. As you said, he’s our best friend.”

“Why are you so sure you’d lose him?” Sapnap is beyond confused, Dream can see it with the way his brows furrow. “Because just on the way you said it, it feels like you’re waiting for something bad to happen, like, I don’t get it.”

“Be honest with me,” Dream starts, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact with him. “Do you really think I’d be the same if we got together then broke up? Even if we’d stay friends. And I don’t want to hurt him, that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“No, I don’t,” Sapnap answers easily, and Dream sighs. “But you know what I think? I think you should get over whatever fear you have there and be happy.”

I’m trying to work on that. “Well, I’m trying to, but it’s just how my fucking brain works. And it’s not that easy.”

“Yeah, and your brain needs to get over it,” Sapnap huffs. A grin slowly forms on Sapnap’s face. “What spurred this on?”

Dream blushes when he remembers the look in George’s eyes. “Uh… we were just talking last night, and I think I might have a chance, ‘dunno.”

“Okay,” Sapnap sighs. “Look, this isn’t my place to tell you this, but he likes you, dude. It’s so obvious with the way he looks at you. It’s almost sickening.”

Soft smiles, brown eyes, a look meant just for him. “Maybe.” Dream shrugs, deciding against ignoring the fluttering in his stomach. Fuck, he’s going to be a blushing mess after this, won’t he? Shit.

“Since I helped you, pick up that vacuum again,” Sapnap says cheekily, clicking his tongue. Dream looks back at it, then he rolls his eyes, sending Sapnap a glare.

“You didn’t do shit,” Dream scoffs, not making any move to get up.

Sapnap shrugs and doesn’t say anything back, doing it himself instead. “I’m going to be honest with you, Dream,” Sapnap starts carefully. “I don’t think that will ever happen.”

Dream sends him a questioning look.

“You, George, breaking up or whatever, if you to get together— which is fucking ludicrous, by the way. Like, anyone who’d see you together would definitely think you guys are dating, there’s no way they wouldn’t. But, anyway, yeah, I seriously don’t think it’ll ever happen. As you said, you’re his best friend, nothing can stop you. The fact that it’s you and George is just an addition. You’re scared. There are bad things that could happen, but you can’t control or predict that. Want to get over that fear? You will, once you two talked about all the shit going on with you.”

Sapnap smiles softly at him, ruffling his hair. “Stop deflecting, face it. And I know you have doubts, and that’s fine. It’s you and George. You’re, like, glued to the hip since you met. Nothing can make you guys separate. I’m betting everything I have on that.”

Picking up the vacuum, he sends him another reassuring smile while Dream sits silently, sorting his shit out. Sapnap orders them takeout for lunch, then Quackity comes over sometime in the afternoon, demanding for them to play a new game he found with him.

Dream hasn’t checked on his phone for almost the entire day. He scrambles to pick it out where he left it on the kitchen counter and quickly wishes he isn’t hoping for a message from George. It’s nearing nighttime, and there’s no word from him. After all the things Sapnap said, the silence from the other end on George kind of sucks.

To say that he’s disappointed would be true.

He goes to pocket his phone, but he doesn’t even get to do that when it buzzes once.

To say that he doesn’t have a dumb smile on his face would be wrong.

George
DREAM

Dream chuckles at the single message. Then he thinks about why the hell he’s chuckling at a simple message from George.

He inhales a defeated breath as he sends back a lone question mark. Dream will admit, he’s not completely keen on this whole acceptance thing, because he’s aware of what he’s doing and feeling. Silly and— fuck, he’s just in love.

George
where are you???

Dream
why are you in my room.

George
im not
youre wrong
and dumb

Dream scoffs, shaking his head. Quackity calls for him, he hears it clearly, but he doesn’t look up from his phone.

Dream
where are u then?

George
in your backyard
lol

Dream
cant u spend a day without me

George
are you saying you dont want my company 🥺🥺
thats kinda fucked up

Dream
yea
like get out of my backyard who even let you in the house
im tired of seeing your face

When he looks up, his friends are looking at him with an empty stare. Dream just shrugs because— what else can he do? He calls out a loud ‘goodbye’ to them and leaves the house with the image of Sapnap’s knowing, and yet, encouraging look.

George
SPEND TIME WITH ME

Dream
thats?? literally?? all?? i?? do??

George
get out of stinknaps house

Huffing out a laugh through his nose, he pockets his phone and enters the kitchen, where his sister is digging through a tub of ice cream, sitting on the counter. She looks up, tilting her head when his hand touches the handle of the sliding door to their yard.

“Where are you going? George is up in your room,” She says with a nod of her head to the ceiling.

Dream’s brows curl in confusion. “What?” He steps on the deck, looking around just to see empty tables with foldable chairs neatly tucked under them.

Then: “Pst. Idiot, look up.”

An exasperated sigh leaves Dream. Looking behind his shoulder, he sees him, sitting on top of the roof by his bedroom window, weakly smiling at him. He stares at George before rolling his eyes and stepping inside the house with a fond smile.

His sister gives him a weird look and shrugs. “Told you.”

Dream ignores her, walking his way to the stairs and to his room. The sheet on his bed is gone, leaving the mattress bare. The pillows are also gone. Mentally groaning, he thinks about how he’s going to have to wash those earlier than he wants to. He glares at his window as he approaches it.

“We’re too heavy for this roof to hold us both,” Dream complains, but he hoists himself out, hard tiles digging in his ass before settling down on the soft sheets laid out beneath George and wrapping his arms around his legs. “We’re gonna die.”

“No, you’re not,” George huffs, lying on his back.

“You don’t know that.”

They were fifteen when they first decided to watch the sunset from his window, then Dream had suggested the idea of climbing out and watching it outside. George was hesitant at first but they got comfortable with the tiles digging in their flesh.

They got the best view of the sunset that day, pink and gold blending as they bleed out of the sky until the ocean’s hue takes over the wide canvas. They stayed there as late as they could till Dream’s mom scolded them for climbing out. But they did it over and over again before she gave up. Every time they do this, silence encompasses them, and it’s the best kind of silence.

Now, though, Dream can’t help but feel that there’s a weight in it.

For about ten minutes, it’s a thorough tranquil, the brisk air of May breathing in by their solace, speaking and hearing each other in quietude.

“What did your old man need you for?” Dream asks, his eyes directed at the sky’s slowly ending light, halfway through slipping completely into the horizon.

“He’s not that old, your dad’s older,” George defends lazily, and Dream is sure that he’s also engrossed by the sunset without looking at him. He wants to look at George, but at that, he isn’t sure if he’ll be able to take his eyes away from his intricate skin. “But he wanted me to help Lia build her new bed.”

Carefully laying on his back as he giggles, he inquires, “How’d it go?”

“Sucked. Dad told me he’d help, but the second I called for him, Mum said he was at the hardware shop! Like, my dumb sister suddenly wanted the bed on the other side of the room when she insisted that she wanted it by the window in the first place. I can’t drag that heavy bed by myself!”

“It’s your fault that you’re tiny,” Dream teases, having a hard time gluing his gaze at the sky when he knows that there’s a small pout playing on George’s lips. “I mean, I’m surprised that you can even pick up a screwdriver.”

“Your character’s just made for bullying and annoying me,” George grumbles. “Not my fault that you’re taller than a pole.”

Dream doesn’t say anything, but he lets a smile form on his lips because George is bullshitting. That’s the first time in forever he let the tease slip from his tongue. Dream knows George got upset about losing the forefront on who’s taller between them when Dream hit a sudden spurt, so he stopped with the teasing.

But sometimes, a little poke doesn’t really hurt.

“Maybe it is. Like, literally, if you’re short, just grow.”

“You’re just big.”

They were dead quiet for a second before Dream bursts out laughing.

“That’s what—”

“Shut the fuck up!” George shouts over his loud laughter, but his laughter mixes with wheezed-out breaths from Dream. “You’re so annoying, like, shut up—”

“I didn’t even get to finish!”

For the first time in the (very) late afternoon, George looks at him with a scandalized look, then falls into fits of giggles after a second of hearing Dream’s lively laugh. Dream stares at him as George loses his breath, covering his face with a hand.

Lacing his hands on top of his belly, Dream fights the urge to swat away dainty hands just to see his smile, or to worsen it, intertwine their fingers.

Stillness, George is looking at the dimming ceiling, and Dream is looking at him. And he’s looking at him without suffocating, but there’s still a lump at the bottom of his throat. He’s looking at him, and yearning splits his heart into pieces.

Stars, the Sun, the Moon— he doesn’t care what he’s presented with. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone, Dream will choose to look at George over and over again, no matter what. With the golden hue just hitting him right, it’s hard not to.

Because on top of them all, George’s eyes shine brighter. Better. Prettier.

Carob seizes on olive, and George’s eyes soften. With a stutter inside of him, Dream focuses on his stabilizing breathing.

“What about you?” George inquires quietly. They’re now staring at each other. Studying, craving. “Did you have fun cleaning strangers’ vomits?”

Dream smiles, despite wanting to cry at the softness of his gaze and tone. “No, I didn’t. It sucked.”

“We had the same day, then,” George hums.

“Quackity came over,” Dream adds, staring at George, him staring at Dream. Subconscious smiles. “We were playing some stupid game, then you begged for my attention.”

George rolls his eyes, scoffing, “I did not beg—”

“Spend time with me—” Dream mocks in a faux-British accent. “You’re an idiot.”

Ignoring the quip, George lies on his side. “Is that all you did?”

Like a mirror, he copies George’s position, and instead of using a pillow, he puts an arm under his head. “Mhm, yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so boring,” Dream snorts with a playful smile.

“You’re so dumb,” George gibes, a grin curling on his lips. “Well, I could’ve gone on a date, might’ve been interesting, but I don’t think someone’s gonna be very happy about it, so…”

Dream’s mood sours a little, but he wants to know. He wants to get over it.

“I wouldn’t have minded if you did.” George raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “A little… maybe.” When the brow didn’t lower, Dream huffs. “Is… is there any other reason why you, uhm, why you didn’t…”

George’s gaze wavers a little. Smiling weakly, he whispers, “‘M kinda waiting for someone.”

“Uh.” Dream wants to shut his eyes, blink back the tears, and cry in solace. But he didn’t. He looks at George, who is looking at Dream’s hand resting between them, breaking their staring. “Are you… willing to wait for… them?”

The smile on George’s face twitches skyward a little, his eyes gleaming.

“Yes.”

“Even if—” His voice breaks, a quiet sniffle leaving him. He hates how vulnerable he sounds. “Even if it takes them a while?”

Slim fingers intertwine with his, a thumb brushing on his cheek. Dream finally closes his eyes.

“Even then.”

Deep into the night, where silence is all Dream can hear, wrapped in the blankets George stole from their cabinet, with his arms wrapped around George’s sleeping figure, he’s at peace. With the Moon giving him the light he needs to admire George’s face, he thinks the Moon and him have similarities.

Beautiful and on the pedestal for him to take.

And a difference.

George— Dream presses a kiss to his forehead. In his arms. At reach.

Soon, he will reach for him. He will, as soon as he’s ready.

In the silence, without the daylight, with George sleeping soundlessly against him, he accepts it. Dream presses a final kiss, this time, on the corner of his lips, before slipping his eyes shut.

I’m in love—

In the silence, Dream makes a promise he wishes George could hear.

And I will let you ruin me at any length. Of course, I will.

If it’s you, I will.

London, to say the least, is fucking cold. Dream didn’t expect to feel like he was one shiver to death when he stepped outside of Heathrow Airport, piercing his skin with crisp air— and it’s not even snowing.

It’s colder than his parent’s house, Dream thinks it’s saying something.

But for now, he doesn’t complain about anything loudly as George talks vivaciously about the plans they want to do for the day. Or more likely, for the night, because this idiot’s brain decided to wake up late in the afternoon, and Dream, the other idiot who decided to watch George sleeping like a dumbass the whole time, didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

Or he just wanted to stare at George, no one can read his mind, anyway.

For their sophomore Christmas break, they chose to go to London, where George’s hometown is, though they’re staying in a hotel. It was Dream who presented the idea after noticing the increasing mentions of London from George, and George, who will always follow him around, agreed easily.

Yesterday, they didn’t do much, except for walking around in George’s old neighborhood for hours. But he didn’t complain. He can’t. He didn’t want to. Then George showed him a diner that didn’t even serve anything good, but George said he missed it, so they both tried to hide their grimace when the waitress slapped their table with soggy fries and thin burgers.

So now, on their second day, the two of them sit on the hotel’s alluring bed while George assesses what they’ll do.

“... Yeah, that’s it— wait, no.” George pauses, looking at Dream like he just caught him doing something dumb. “Are you even listening to me?”

He did.

Is it even dumb to appreciate an artwo—

Sometimes, Dream wants to kick himself for thinking such clichéd things. Though it’s not a lie, and he doesn’t want to hold himself back from mentally fawning over George. He’s been doing good at that.

As cliché as it sounds, George does look like an artwork. With every drop of pigment detailing every freckle and scar he possessed from time to time—

“Dream.”

He blinks.

“What?” Dream questions, dazed. “You sayin’ something?”

George frowns and huffs, ruffling his hair, effectively making Dream blush. “I told you if we want to have more time in the park, it’d be better if we get going now.” He turns to him with a small smile. “Gonna take a warm shower first ‘cause I’m pretty sure it’ll be cold.”

“Uh… yeah, no shit, we’re in London,” Dream breathes, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “What park are we talking about?”

“Dream.” George’s shoulders drop as he glares at him.

“I’m sorry!” Dream cries, throwing his hands in defense. “Are you talking about the one our taxi passed yesterday?”

“Yes!” He walks past the bed with a smile playing on his lips and presses a kiss on Dream’s cheek. A very unnecessary one. “It’s only a fifteen-minute walk to get there so no need to call us an Uber.” George turns to him again with a grin. “And if you want to shower as well, you can join me.”

Dream pulls a face. “Dude, that’s disgusting.” His cheek tickles with warmth from George’s lips.

“Your loss, dude.” George shrugs and enters the hotel’s bathroom. He lets a minute pass just to hear the sound of water hitting the floor before letting out a flustered breath.

Mournfully, Dream agrees with him.

Since their conversation, almost two years ago, George became thoughtless toward Dream, leaving these soft kisses on his forehead, cheeks, jaw, or neck whenever he wants, marking his skin with chapped presses.

But never on the lips.

There’s a part of him that believes he will let go of the fear when George does the first move, that it’ll cut the cord stringing him back from comfort. He wants George to kiss him so he can let it go.

Dream wants to kiss George and he wants to let go of the grip he has on the rope.

Vastly, guilt eats him alive. When George holds his hand, he notices the look in his eyes. Longing. He wants more. Of course, he wants more, and Dream wants nothing but to give everything to him. He needs George to take everything he yearns for, everything he wants, so Dream can show him what he needs.

On an occasion or two, or more, Dream almost kisses him. And every time he tries, his brain entirely freezes. His eyes would be glued to George’s lips but his body won’t move, not an inch.

Every time George notices, frustration will leak from his eyes, and he’ll kiss him on the cheek. Like he’s trying to enable him. He knows it hurts George. It’s been years, it doesn’t matter if it takes months or years more, he knows George will wait for him, though that doesn’t mean it’s not hurting him. Dream doesn’t want that, not even if he has a grudge against him. He thinks that he’d gotten over some of his fears because he never thinks about the possibility of George leaving him.

It’s impossible at this point.

Keeping a nice apartment for nearly a year for themselves, like they were a couple, living a simple life. Existing in each other’s spaces, invading and existing, never leaving. Sharing a bed most of the nights because they can and want to, leaving the other room empty for a day or two, just for the two of them to infest it with their clinginess. Breathing each other’s breaths, living through the unclouded air without asphyxiating.

Focused on their eyes, like they were trying to get to know each other for the first time, shyly observing. They do a lot. Dream, sometimes, wonders if George is falling just as deep as he is for his gaze to be always set on twinkling eyes.

Dream is not scared anymore. Or at least, not as scared as he was before. He’s overcome a lot of it. It feels like he’s making it difficult for himself.

Predominantly, he’s more tired than he’s scared.

Lying on his back, he stares at the blank ceiling. Soon, he tells himself, looking at the door when the shower soon stops and reveals the Moon’s embodiment dressed in his clothes— he’s cursed. Always has been.

Curses shouldn’t be adorning.

Dream stands up. Gathering up his things including his jacket and gloves, the only thing in his mind is: kiss him. He asks George if he’s ready when he gets his coat on. Then they take an elevator and stroll their way through the busy streets of London.

The cold air keeps nipping on his skin but manages to deal with it. They stopped at Dairy Queen first because they haven’t eaten since they woke up. George insists they can just eat again from food stands at the park. George orders himself a bacon cheeseburger and some onion rings. They haven’t had a proper meal since they stepped into London. Shit.

Occupying one of the tables, Dream watches George fetch their tray, full of greasy food, while he wonders how they’re going to survive for a whole week with just fast food, especially when George is the one who decides everything on this trip.

“Is this all we’re going to eat the whole time we’re here?” Dream asks George when he sits in front of him. Dream picks up an onion ring, he plays with it before biting on it. “Like, listen, we’re gonna get a heart disease or something.”

George stares at him. “When was the last time we ate burgers?”

“I dunno.”

“Yesterday.” George munches on his burger. “And aside from that was, like, three months ago because you suggested we start eating healthier. Give yourself a break from greens.”

“Not everything I make is green, I cook you steaks, too— or whatever.” Keeping their eye contact, he pouts. “I thought you liked my meat.”

George chokes and turns noticeably red, laughing, and Dream keeps the pout on his lips, biting back a grin. He feels fucking proud just for that. After George finishes choking on his food, he glares at him. It’s funny how his expression changes in a blink of an eye.

“I actually don’t,” George argues, even though they both know that he always demands to cook them steak for dinner. “You suck at cooking— stop complaining, by the way.” Dream huffs. “We can stop. I’m gonna be honest, I feel like fast food has grown on me. Don’t like it that much anymore.”

“Good, thank me later.” Dream continues to empty the box of onion rings. “Tomorrow, we can have a proper breakfast at the hotel.”

“Huh.” George’s nose crunches in skepticism. “How are you sure that we’re going to wake up in time?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” Dream drawls, sipping on his drink. “But, you know, we can try.”

“I don’t know if we can try,” George says gingerly. “We woke up at five PM today, there’s only a little faith in me right now.”

Dream wants to correct him, say that he woke up earlier than him. Say that he spent an hour and a half admiring him even with the curtains shut tightly. It was dark and he still spent an hour and a half thinking about how beautiful he is.

No one can ever blame him for that, because how can he not? That’s equivalent to missing a meteor shower, and he’s never witnessed one before. Though, the thing is, he doesn’t care about meteor showers, whilst he’ll do anything just so he can listen to George’s steady breathing.

A little disturbing, but it’s not like George doesn’t do the same. He can feel a pair of eyes whenever he’s on the verge of sleeping and waking up.

“That’s okay,” Dream says casually, making George scoff. “It was your fault anyway, you made us watch a whole season of Breaking Bad the whole flight here.”

George protests, insisting that Quackity kept annoying him to watch the show, so they might as well do it on the plane. They kept bickering back and forth, and at one point, George almost shouted at him for being annoying that the person behind the counter gave them judgemental looks.

They finish eating their food shortly after that. The food in his system adds energy to his body, starting to feel giddy as they near the park. It’s a long path with trees surrounding the street, and golden fairy lights hanging on the thick branches, giving the pavement a softer glow alongside the soft gold luster the London’s dusk is cascading.

With their shoulders brushing as they talk, Dream notices the tremor in George’s words, shoving his hands in the warmth of the pockets of his coat. Sighing, Dream reaches for his forearm and pulls out his hand— and he just realizes that George isn’t wearing gloves on a forty-two-degree Fahrenheit night. There are dumber people on this planet, Dream’s rational brain defends George’s stupidity.

Dream drops his hand, his insides warming when George frowns from the lack of weight on his. But Dream takes off his right glove and snatches George’s other hand to slip it on before intertwining their bare hands.

Crimson from the cold deepens. Both of them look away to hide a smile.

It’s so fucking dumb. Dream can’t feel anything but the warmth on his cheek, in his chest, everywhere, he almost forgot they’re outside, under the winter chill of London.

But they walk, hand in hand, covered in comfort and excitement until they arrive at the park.

For Dream, the elation completely vanishes when George tells him they’re getting on the Drop Tower as soon as they step foot at the place. He tries everything, whining and begging, even dragging him away from the line, almost tempted to carry him out of the park, but George looks at him intentionally with that look. His look. It’s unfair. He’s cursed.

So, he caves. Dream grips George’s hand while they’re being lifted, and he almost feels bad because he’s sure he’s hurting the other with the iron grip he has. Dream just hopes he doesn’t crush a bone or two. On the way down, he prays for George’s hand as he screams.

After Dream recovers from his thirty-second death, they play calmer games from then on with hotdog sticks in their hands. They didn’t win anything, though, because they suck at aiming. Dream tried to give all his best but apparently, tossing rings was harder than he had thought. When the kid who played against them won a plushie after popping more balloons than they did, they laughed harder than they ever had that night.

George proposes for them to go on another ride and Dream just flat-out refuses. But Dream offers the Ferris Wheel. George, of course, yanks them toward the ride. The operator shouts them a needless ‘enjoy your date’ as they get onto their seats. George didn’t seem surprised by it, but Dream is. It’s dumb because when he looks down at their entwined fingers, he just looks like a kid who’s afraid of getting lost as he grips his parent’s hand. The cart wobbling underneath their feet makes his heart stutter, and not in a good way.

“This is pretty,” Dream whispers once they’re at the top of the ride, sitting closely beside George, his hand still sitting contently on his. The sight takes him back to that night, again. Dream likes the way the light sits on George just right, painting his face with a beautiful shade of golden rose. He likes the view and George. They mix virtuously. George and the light. George. George. George.

George hooks his chin over Dream’s shoulder, looking at the city’s bright light under the dimming sky. “Mhm, it is,” George whispers back with a hint of a smile. “You enjoying London so far?”

“Well,” Dream huffs. “I almost died, so I don’t really know about that.”

“Oh, so it’s London’s fault that you’re a little baby?” George teases, rolling his eyes.

Dream gapes, feigning offense. “You knew I don’t like heights, and you still made me put my life on the line.”

Giggles fall from pretty lips. “And you still went on the ride. You’re so dramatic, dumbass. It wasn’t even that high.”

“What do you mean it ‘wasn’t that high’?” Dream almost shouts. “I felt my soul leave my body, I’m not exaggerating. You don’t understand because you’re a freak who’s not afraid of heights.”

“Eh, you’re alive.” George pecks his cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

“Almost put your best friend into cardiac arrest, and all you say is ‘you’re alive’,” Dream says with all casualness. “Okay, that’s good to know.”

George snickers and Dream did the same because he did— holy shit, he might be actually sick. The last time he checked, George wasn’t a witch, but he might’ve cursed Dream or something because this is some next level of absurdity.

“I hate you,” Dream says, contradicting his words by pulling George’s hand to kiss the back of his palm. “I hate you, I hate you. I hate you.”

“Hm. ‘M sure you do.” George smiles, silly and lovely. Then he looks at their hands, raising an eyebrow. “That was new.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“No, it sucked.”

“I hate you,” He huffs, rolling his eyes, and pushing George’s hands away, but there’s a wide grin on his face, copying George’s. They both ignore the fact that it’s a fat lie as George links their hands in response.

❅

Fuck George. Fuck George for making him do this. Fuck George for making him put on the skating blades. Fuck George for dragging him onto the rink. Fuck George for making him incapable of refusing him.

“I— you don’t understand how much I want to scream at you right now,” Dream hisses, clutching both of his hands onto George’s arms. “I hate you.”

“Shit— stop fucking gripping— you’re not supposed to just walk,” George scolds with an eye roll. “Lift your right.”

“No.” Dream stubbornly stands still while George is gliding backward, pulling him along. “I’m never going to listen to you ever again.”

George gives him a sudden tug, but his body is tense, so the blades under him just simply follow George. “Just do it! It’s not that bad, c’mon.”

“Yeah.” Dream nods sarcastically. “And you also said that about the tower thing. You’re not fooling anyone.” He’s being annoying, God, he’s fully aware of that. But he can’t help but think that if he lifts anything, he’ll slip and fall on his ass.

And he doesn’t want that to happen, especially when there are dozens of people surrounding him, skating like he should be doing— skating like it’s the easiest thing in their life.

“Dream,” George says, and Dream doesn’t look up, his head down and staring at their sliding feet. He knows what he’ll see if he does. It’s not hard for him to crumble these days. “Dream, come on, please.”

“That’s not fair,” Dream whines. Honestly, he’s not scared of messing up and falling flat on his ass. He’s embarrassed. If he sees one more kid pass him easily, he’s going to lose it. They’re mocking him, Dream swears. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” George laughs, and he would’ve been pissed at him if his laugh didn’t sound like wind chimes. “I’m not doing anything.”

At that, Dream glares at him, seeing George holding back a laugh. “You know what you were doing. You were doing that… that eye-thing. And you say my name differently, it’s… annoying.”

George shrugs, grinning. He wants to kiss it off. “Hm, okay, I’m stopping, then. Not a problem.”

“Uh, no,” Dream says quickly with a frown, huffing. That’s his thing. “You’re not stopping anything.”

“Fine, I won’t,” George huffs. “But, come on, you trust me, right?”

Reluctantly, Dream relents. They start slowly, carefully gliding on the ice. Really carefully, because Dream would hiss at George whenever he tugged him in a swift. The other guides him, telling him to step a foot forward in a marching action, knees marginally bent, and pushing his weight steadily faster and harder with each slide. Dream keeps his hands interlaced with George’s, both of them laughing at the ridiculous sight of the pair of clad and unclad hands.

Of course, it doesn’t go smoothly. There are a couple (read: a lot) of slip-ups, and it always ends up with George laughing at his face. When the kids stare at him while he is on the ground, Dream concludes that they were definitely judging him. He would’ve ruined their Christmas by saying that a certain bitch isn’t real if it wasn’t for their parents that are supervising them.

George guides him until the grip on his hands slowly loosen, which makes him panic for a bit but George assures him that he’ll be fine. They round the outdoor rink, hand in hand.

It’s dark, and the park closes in half an hour or so, but the twinkling lights on the trees that connect to the gazebo in the middle of the rink help. The place is beautiful, he’ll admit. Cozy and warm. It makes him feel good on the inside, and whenever he looks at George, the rope tugs.

Dream, for the past months, has been trying to beat the things he’s afraid of.

A person can’t promise forever, he’s come to realize. Their fate is not upon someone they haven’t met, it’s not upon anything. It’s upon them. They get to decide what will happen in their future, on the plans they’re going to make. They get to decide what happens to them. Dream and George aren’t written on anything, they aren’t carved into stones. So, he forgets about it and promises to himself that if he wants forever, they’re going to be the ones who carve their names into stones.

For a short period of time, he used to refuse the intimacy George provides, inching away a step or two and they wait for themselves to go back to normal. George doesn’t apologize because he doesn’t need to, and neither does Dream because George understands the fracas he’s dealing with. But he overcomes it. He welcomes the loving touches and kisses George is willing to give and repays by doing the same.

His friends help a lot, even when the way of their help is through relentless teasing, it helps him realize how happier he would be when he gets his shit together.

No such thing as living around your fears. That annoying tug really makes him want to let go. He will.

“What d’you say about going by yourself?” George asks with a twinkle in his eyes, he’s still sliding backward, and Dream almost wishes for him to bump into someone just for laughs. But he didn’t because he’s not that cruel. He really does look good under the golden lights.

Then the question registers. “No, are you insane?”

“Eh,” George breathes, exhaling a cloud of smoke from the cold. “You’ll be fine.” His hand starts to slip but Dream quickly catches onto it, pressing a kiss on his bare hand.

“Please, don’t,” Dream pleads quietly with a giggle. There’s a blush on George’s cheek and it isn’t from the cold. His plea doesn’t work on George, apparently, because he’s still detaching himself. “George— wait.”

“How are you going to properly learn with me?” George swats Dream’s rapacious hands. “You can glide now, you just need to work on balance by yourself.”

“No, I can learn with you holding my hand.”

“Sure, you can, but you need to learn it by yourself, too!”

When George successfully unfastens their hands, Dream focuses on balancing himself with a slight slither. “Don’t leave me, what the fuck!” He yells after him as George circles the gazebo, teasing Dream to chase him. And Dream tries his best, balancing and skimming on the ice with a little wobble. It’s a surprise that he can even manage to do it himself.

But George knows how to skate, so all of his attempts don’t work, no matter how hard he pushes forward. Dream comes to a full stop at the other side of the gazebo, a Christmas tree under the roof blocking his vision of George, but he skates further for Dream to see him.

And, God, the smile George is sporting is enough to light up the place, brighter than all of the lights around them. His lips copy his like a mirror, and to say the least, he’s mesmerized.

Dream remembers the conversation he and his mom had, the way she scolded him for being a fool because she thought he was dragging the whole thing for so long, but she still understood his doubts. Now, blinded by a simple smile, he thinks she’s right all along. He is a fool, and he’d gladly be known for being one when it’s for George.

They went into circles, Dream trying to chase George, while he skated further away from Dream. Laughing when he almost trips face-first, Dream, more breathless than the other. It’s probably embarrassing if someone would look into his eyes. He’s pretty sure they would be a kaleidoscope of George.

Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to the other people on the rink because he doesn’t notice the kid barreling into him, sending both onto their back with a quiet ‘oof’ from the kid. Sitting up, he checks on the kid, who’s looking at him with panic in her eyes.

He tries to stand up, giving out a hand to the kid, and hoists them both up, asking, “Are you—?” Before he can even get out his words, the girl is already slipping away with whispered-panic apologies. Distantly, he can hear the sound of contagious laughter.

This time, it’s a dyad of tugs, two strings pulling him in two different directions. So as George skates his way toward him, Dream stands to his full height.

As the blades carve through the ice, he also lets the blade cut the rope and for the other to draw him in.

At that, Dream lets go, and he lets go of everything.

Letting go means allowing the pull to lead him towards his light, meeting him in the middle, eyes only reserved for George. He thinks about the secret looks they shared, about the soft brown eyes that look at him as if he’s handing them the stars. The looks that always glimmer when daylight hits them.

Letting go means: nothing is holding me back anymore. I don’t care about the inevitable complications in the future. All I want is to hold, kiss, look, and think of you. The remnants of a smile from his laugh didn’t fade, and neither did Dream’s. He can look at his light without getting bored, long enough that it might seem like he’s borderline obsessed. (He is.) He can think of George until his brain would feel like a broken record, with the sound of his name becoming continual. A beautiful melody.

Letting go means reaching for him.

And Dream reaches for George, pulling him in until there’s no space dividing their bodies. Dream lets go, and George holds him. And letting go means pressing cold chapped lips together.

The feeling of George’s lips against his, to put it simply, is heavenly. The string loosens and snaps. And he pulls George tight by the hands on his waist, as their lips chase each other. There’s no uneasiness, fright, or dread he thought would fall on his shoulders. Instead, he’s never felt such peace easing through his body.

When they part for a second, George whispers with a giggle, “That’s definitely new.”

“Shut up,” He whispers back, his voice cracking. George notices and it heightens his giggles. Dream puts a hand behind his neck, slowly pulling him in. Their eyes are fixed on each other, never breaking. And the look in George’s eyes makes his own tears up a bit. He really likes George’s eyes. “I-I love you so fucking much.”

George presses their foreheads together, smiling. Dream notices the glimmer in his gaze. “That’s awesome.”

Dream squeezes his waist as he laughs. People are watching them, he can feel it. Why can’t they just mind their own business?

“I hate you,” Dream scoffs, and he sniffles a little. George wipes his cheek with a peck.

“Stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“Just because of your reply, I hate you now.”

George tucks a blond strand behind his ear, and Dream’s chest aches with familiarity. A good one. “What did you want me to say then?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dream groans, tipping his head back in faux-exasperation. “Maybe an ‘I love you, too’ or ‘ah, yes, Dream, love of my life, I’m in love with you, too’. I mean, I guess me loving you is awesome or whatever, but—”

“Well—” George turns his head, and Dream sees him hide a big grin. “I do love you.” Dream’s breath hitches. “But you never said anything about being in love, so I’m not saying anything back.”

Dream frowns. “No, you have to say it now.”

“Say it first, then I’ll say it.”

“Technically, I already said it,” Dream says smartly, a smug grin on his face. He can feel himself slipping.

“Complaining doesn’t count,” George huffs, and looks around them. Dream doesn’t bother to take his eyes off George. “We should get out of here.”

“Say you’re in love with me, first.”

“Dream, I am going to leave you here.” George rolls his eyes, but he has a smile playing on his lips. That smile hasn’t left his face for a long time. Dream’s cheeks are aching, he can only guess what George is feeling. “I’m serious.” Dream gives him his best pleading eyes. “Jesus, fine! You’re annoying,” He scoffs with a grin, and Dream beams, pulling him in again so their noses are touching. “I’m… in… love… with…”

“You’re such a dick,” Dream whines.

George breathes out a laugh. “‘Kay, fine. I’m in love with you,” He whispers softly, before giving him a look. “There. Are you happy no—”

Dream kisses him, effectively cutting George’s words. All he can feel is the smile against his smile, and he can’t even consider it a kiss because he’s also smiling when their teeth clash, both of them giggling at the sound.

“I’m in love with you, too,” Dream murmurs, nuzzling his face in George’s gloved hand. He takes one look at George and kisses him gently. It’s a nice feeling, and he’s never been more in love. He never wants this feeling to go away.

When they part, George is beaming. They’re both smiling at each other before George closes the gap again, and again, and again.

On their way to the hotel, Dream can’t stop kissing George on the sidewalks, and neither does George. It just seems like they can’t get enough of each other. And when they were in the hotel, lying on their bed, they didn’t stop kissing.

Fatigue soon hits them. They lay quietly when their lips detach, staring at each other with hooded eyes. Dream kind of wants to kiss him again. So, he did. Because he can, and no one can stop him. Except for George, who’s extremely tired.

“‘M sorry,” Dream mumbles. His chest touches George’s, and he thinks his heart wants to mold with George’s heart. The way the other’s heart is loudly beating against his, he thinks they’re on the same page.

“No need to apologize for kissing me.” George smiles softly at him, his eyes tender. “I’m just tired.”

“No, not for that.”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Dream replies, caressing George’s cheek.

George holds the hand on his face, pressing his lips on his wrist. “Never apologize for that, or else I’ll be mad at you.”

“Yeah?” Dream chuckles, melting.

“Mhm. I’ll do it. Over, and over again, until you’re ready. Especially when I get to do this.” He presses a quick kiss on his lips. “I will wait for you again if I have to.”

“You’re too nice.” Dream hides his face on George’s neck and wraps an arm around his waist, humming when an immediate hand comes to comb his hair. “Too good for me.”

“‘S because you’re too good for me,” George whispers in his hair. “I’ll do anything for you.” Dream hears the three whispered words in silence, so he kisses the column of George’s throat in a quiet response, and he knows George is aware he’ll do anything for him as well.

In the silence and darkness of the room, they fell into each other’s warmth and slumber.

He dreams of evermore.

They didn’t get to eat breakfast at the hotel the day after, sleeping in until daylight seeps through the curtains, basking in each other’s existence. Wrapped in arms that keep him safe, away from the uncertainty. Dream thinks back to the day he met George and, yeah, he made the right choice to keep him as a friend. But when George greets him with his smile and a kiss in the morning, and the morning after that, Dream thinks it’ll be nicer to keep him as more than that.