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Driving came easily to Dream.
It’s something the blond has been doing since the minute he turned sixteen, going that very day to grab whatever license he could. He was practicing driving regularly before that, liking the feeling that came with wheels gliding over smooth concrete.
Soon, with experience came new feelings, and while Dream isn’t sure what it is, there’s something oddly therapeutic about sitting behind the wheel of a car and driving, destination or not. There’s something calming about the fluid movement feet made shifting between the gas and the break pedals, familiar ease when moving fingers slighting up or down to switch on a blinker, going left or right or to either side.
It’s how he finds himself out, driving well past midnight in the middle of who-knows-where for a brunet with a wicked smile. When Dream first managed to get his license, the purpose of driving delved into more than just driving. While he grew to like the freedom of driving on his own, he soon learned to love the feeling of doing things for his parents if they were busy, making short trips to any place if they needed something. It turned into a deed he could do to make their lives easier.
He supposes that’s why he agreed to take George out when the other asked him.
Either that, or it has something to do with the fact that it was George who asked.
George, who muttered quietly to himself in the passenger seat while he slept despite being the one to ask to go out late. George, who Dream has found to be incredibly hard to look away from.
Dream has yet to fall into any sort of accident behind the wheel. Call him overly cautious—or cocky—but he prides himself in being too aware for anything bad to happen. He’s too quick to react, too dedicated to staring straight ahead of him even when the person next to him is pleading for his attention.
He prides himself in this, and yet with George, that all managed to crumble incredibly fast.
The brunet never really tries for his attention as far as Dream is aware, and yet it’s impossible to focus on the road with gentle breathing sounding through the dark car, followed by the occasional shift. He’ll claim he wants to make sure George is comfortable with each glance—refuse to admit he wants to look at the brunet rather than the road in front of him.
He’ll also claim he’s bored in the silence, having turned off all sounds so George could sleep as peacefully as possible—something Sapnap would probably whine about, either claiming Dream was unfair for not doing it for him in the past, or complaining about how boring things had gotten.
Admittedly though, Dream isn’t actually bored. He likes driving, and he likes sitting in silence, and he likes driving and sitting in silence with George, so he enjoys the ride. It helps that he also enjoys being with George.
George.
It’s a thought that pulls his attention away from the road.
He’s tried and failed miserably to keep his eyes away from the older, but he knew it would only take one brief thought to gather his complete attention. He feels frozen, eyes stuck on pale skin and thick lashes folding over shut lids—eyes stuck on how effortlessly beautiful George looks, even in his sleep.
George has his head against the window—which makes Dream incredibly thankful the road isn’t bumpy—with his shoulders raised slightly to reach his neck. He looks peaceful, lips parted slightly to release each exhale and whispered word—an area Dream finds his eyes spend too much time on—hair plastered against his head from the window. He doesn’t seem too cold, either, wearing a sweater Dream is pretty sure is his.
George’s shorts have ridden up his leg just slightly, and Dream fights the urge to reach out, especially because he doesn’t know what’d he’d do if he did. He doesn’t know if he’d tug the shorts down a little, doesn’t know if a warm palm would encase a chilled thigh—and frankly, he doesn’t want to know.
The car jerks when wheels make contact with treads on the side of the road, a shake coursing through the vehicle, and Dream hurriedly looks back towards the road and re-centres the car. He prays silently that the bumps hadn’t woken George up, but he sees the others’ head move in the corner of his eye and sighs, body falling back against his seat.
“Dream?”
The word is mumbled gently—almost breathily—and Dream tries not to look back lest he can’t look away and accidentally gets them killed.
“Hey,” he whispers back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“‘S fine,” George says, voice muffled behind the sleeves of his (read: Dream’s) sweater as he rubs his eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep anyway.”
“No?”
George’s arms fall. “No.”
Dream smiles. “Jeez, George, were you just so comfortable you couldn’t help it?”
George mutters something under his breath, turning to look at the blond. Dream watches him from the corner of his eye.
“Yeah,” George says airily. Dream purses his lips at the honesty.
He can remember calls throughout distance—can remember the unfamiliar honesty that came with George when he was tired, or freshly awake. It never fails to catch Dream off guard when George returns an energy Dream is only used to giving. He’d never complain though.
Dream smiles, something softer. “I’m glad,” he says. “You seemed tired, anyway. It’s good you went back to bed.”
George sighs, head falling back. Dream tries not to watch him. After a beat, George is sighing again, a little louder. “I’m hungry.”
“Well, if you see somewhere to eat, let me know.”
George groans, voice bordering on a whine when he speaks. “Dream,” he drawls. “Where would I even see that? You’re the one who’s supposed to know where we are.”
Dream laughs a little. “George, I have no idea when the next place to eat will be.”
“Are we lost?” George asks, voice laced with mock-judgement.
“No,” Dream chides, “we aren’t lost. I know where we are, I just don’t remember if there’s anywhere to eat before we get back to the main roads.”
George groans. “Give me your phone.”
“What?”
The brunet doesn’t say anything as he reaches down to grab the phone out of Dream's pocket. His body jerks to the side at the sudden movement. “George, what?”
“Shut up,” he says quietly, opening and navigating through Dream's phone with quiet ease. Dream bites his tongue at the realization, because of course George could guess his password that easily. It’s embarrassing nonetheless, having the person in your password guess what your password is. He supposes he makes it obvious, but he tries not to feel awkward because he’s almost positive George doesn’t even care, too distracted by whatever it is he’s doing.
Which reminds Dream: “What are you doing?”
George lets out a quiet ‘ah-ha!’ after a moment, hand moving to wave the phone in front of Dream’s face. “Diner in 1.5 miles.”
Dream pretends not to hear George’s tone. He moves his head slightly to keep his eyes on the road. “Is it open twenty-four hours?”
“Obviously,” George huffs. Dream mocks him quietly, voice pitched up just to see George scowl at him, rolling his eyes. Dream grins.
“So,” George asks after a beat, “can we go?”
Dream tries to sound not too eager to please. “If it’s there, we can.”
George smiles. It takes every muscle in Dream's body not to stop the car and kiss him.
—
They come up to the diner not long after, and George is practically bouncing in his seat when they park. He’s out of the car in an instant, and Dream wonders how he can be so energized when he practically just woke up.
He follows George carefully after locking the car and takes the lead when he meets George hovering by the front door.
It’s cute inside. It’s empty, as expected for what Dream remembers to be almost four in the morning, but there are two people working, chatting quietly in the back. The door chimes when Dream opens it and the talking goes on for a short moment before pausing, and an older-looking lady appears from the back. She walks towards the front as Dream does, smiling.
They get their seats—a booth per George’s whispered request—and the woman leaves after a moment to get their menus. George looks happy from where he sits across the table, and Dream finds that he doesn’t even care about the place itself if George is that pleased. He’d go into a dirt shack for breakfast if George wanted to.
She comes back with their menus a moment later, smiling widely. “It’s not often we get people out so late on these roads.”
Dream smiles politely. She doesn’t say anything else.
They order their drinks and she’s gone not long after, leaving them with themselves and the menu. George is watching Dream, and Dream tries not to look back though it’s proving to be more and more difficult the longer George stares. He gives in less than a second later and tries not to shame himself for it.
“What?” He asks, careful. George squints at him. Dream shifts nervously in his seat. “What?”
George stares, and Dream can feel the gaze—can feel George’s eyes going straight through him. He swallows thickly.
George shrugs. “Nothing.” He looks down at his menu.
Dream purses his lips. “No, what is it?”
George shakes his head, tucking it into the menu. “Nothing.”
“George,” Dream huffs, reaching out to pull the menu down. He lays it flat on the table with his palm, eyeing George’s red cheeks briefly. “What is it?”
“Just-” George starts, before groaning and covering his face. “Nothing, it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Dream reassures, reaching out again to grab the hands over his face. He pulls them down gently. “It’s not stupid.”
George stares at him again, before sighing and falling back in his seat, cheeks still flushed. “It’s just-”
He falls silent—pulling his hands from Dream’s—when the lady comes back, placing their drinks down and smiling politely. “You two ready to order?”
Dream tries not to feel disappointed at the loss of contact. “No,” he offers her a smile. “Not yet.”
She nods curtly and turns. Dreams eyes fall back onto George.
“Well?”
“Your phone,” he rushes, eyes not meeting Dreams. Dream feels his entire body tense. “Your phone password.”
Dream wants to scream because of course George ignoring it would be too good to be true. It’s his fault for being so dumb anyway, making his password something done when things are domestic, so unlike what they have.
He clears his throat when George doesn’t speak any further. “Yeah?”
“Is it-” George hesitates. “When I tried it, I didn’t—I didn’t think it would work, you know?”
Dream swallows. “Yeah.”
“But it did, and-” George pauses. “Was it on purpose?”
Dream blinks dumbly. “Huh?”
“Like,” George tries, “was it supposed to be my birthday, or was it a coincidence?” He asks quietly. “Or- or was it maybe changed because you knew I’d use your phone and- I don’t know, you thought it would catch me off guard.”
Dream wants to laugh. He does, but only a little. “George-”
“Actually,” he shakes his head, “it’s- no. It’s probably just a coincidence and I’m reading into it, I-”
“It was on purpose,” Dream rushes, cheeks a little flushed. George stops talking. “I meant for it to be that,” Dream states. “Your birthday.”
“Oh,” George exhales.
“It-” Dream tries to defend, “it’s just- it’s important enough for me to remember.”
George’s eyes flutter slightly, breath a little shallow. His cheeks are a vibrant red. “Oh.”
The woman comes back. Dream turns to look down at the menu and orders the first thing he sees. George does the same.
It’s quiet once she’s gone aside from the faint hum of the fans spinning on the ceiling and the sound of George’s breath. It isn’t an awkward silence by any means, all things considered, but it never is with George. Dream thinks that anything could happen and things wouldn’t be awkward between them. It’s just how they are.
George is moving around nervously in his seat, and Dream can’t pinpoint why. He can’t pinpoint what it is that’s making George so fidgety when he should be the one who can’t stay still. He’s the one who had his password as George’s birthday.
He could guess, he’s sure, as to why George is acting how he is, but it would be foolish to make a guess that would be completely biased. So he sits while George keeps his eyes locked on the window beside them, and doesn’t let himself try to understand why.
Their food comes after what feels like hours, and they eat in relative silence, the only talking brief when the worker comes by to ask how their food is. They make eye contact occasionally, but George looks away first every time, ducking his head down and eating more. Dream wants to ask him if something’s wrong, but he’s worried he won’t like the answer.
He very well could have made George uncomfortable. It’s completely likely—more likely than not—that George is being quiet because he’s uncomfortable. He rules it out before the guilt eats away at him too much though because he’s almost positive he can tell when George is genuinely upset, and if the constant bumping of feet and occasional glances are anything to go by, he should be okay.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Dream tries to believe it. It’s selfish, but he doesn’t want to feel bad for something he doesn’t even know he did. So, he eats and tries to ignore the possibility that George’s behaviour is a bad thing.
They finish their food and Dream pays when they get the bill, George watching him fish out the money like he’s in a trance. Dream ignores the feeling of eyes on his face, and fights off the chill crawling down his spine.
They leave soon after paying, Dream holding the door open for George to pass through, and before he knows it they’re in the car and back on the road. This time, George goes back into his phone and puts on music, though Dream is hardly focused on that. A random song plays quietly in the background as he drives, and he grips the wheel tightly like if he holds on tight enough he could will away the feeling of George’s eyes on him.
“Thank you,” George says, breaking the silence. Dream furrows his eyebrows, and lets himself glance over.
“For what?”
“I don’t know,” George answers. “For driving, for taking me to eat—for paying.”
Dream’s eyes shift between George and the road at what he considers to be a healthy amount. The brunet is a little flushed again, and god does Dream wish he knew why.
“I’m just glad we went out,” Dream says honestly. “I like being with you.”
He wonders if it’s too honest—if it’s too much for the unknown tension between them right now—but George just flashes him a gummy smile and looks out the window. “Me too,” he says quietly. Dream would think he heard George wrong if not for how clear his words were despite being low.
He looks back to the road and drives.
—
The trip home is short, though Dream finds himself glancing back at Geroge every now and then.
The brunet is awake this time, so Dream can’t pin the constant gaze on safety. Still, he basks in the sight of George each time green catches brown hair sticking to a pale neck, hair untrimmed and too long for comfort in Flordia’s heat. Selfishly, Dream is glad it still has a bit of length.
When they pull into the driveway neither exit the car. They sit in quiet, Dream waiting patiently for George to move first. He looks like he has something to say—looks like there’s more to the trip now than Dream thought—and he fidgets with the seatbelt. Dream watches in what he hopes is portrayed as patience.
George finally meets his eyes. Dream swallows.
George unbuckles his seatbelt, moving with newfound confidence, and he takes a deep breath. Dream can only watch helplessly—can only wait for what feels like the inevitable.
George leans back against the seat. Dream does too.
“Your password is my birthday,” George starts. “Your password is my birthday, and you paid for our food, and- and you bought multiple different curtains in case I moved in and didn’t like the one you got.”
Dream thinks he knows where George is going with this, and it takes all of his strength to not get out of the car and run. “Yeah.”
“You play my playlists when we drive together, and you make me food every day, and when I got sick last week you sat beside my bed the entire time. And- and when we walk you put your hand on my back and you guide me and-” George swallows. “And when I was halfway across the world you called me every single day. Every day, Dream.”
“George-”
“I love you.”
Dream freezes.
It’s not what he had been expecting—not at all.
When George started, he worried it was too much. He kicked himself and prayed that the earth would swallow him whole so he could avoid the knowing gaze George had in his eyes—so he could avoid the knowing tone George had with every word.
He hadn’t been expecting this.
“You-” Dream stutters, “I- what?”
George turns a bright red. “If this is some ploy to make me say it again it’s not going to work, okay? I’m not saying it again-”
“George,” Dream interrupts, hands coming up to rub his cheeks. “What?”
“Oh god,” George drawls. “Did I misread everything?” He says, eyes wide. “Did I just list a bunch of, like, completely platonic things you’ve been doing and make it sound- oh god. That is so embarrassing-”
“No!” Dream blurts, shaking his head. “No, I- those are- those were definitely not platonic,” he says. “I just- I’m still trying to- okay, hold on.”
George falls silent. Dream takes a deep breath.
“You love me,” he asks. George nods. “Like- as in romantically? This isn’t you finally saying you love me in the ‘oh, Dream, you’re my best friend’ kind of way?”
George shakes his head. Dream lets his head fall back against the headrest on his seat. And when he’s regained his breath—because he swears he lost it all when George first spoke—he laughs.
He laughs, and he feels a little delirious, and George is looking at him like he’s insane, but he’s so relieved, and happy, that he just laughs a little harder.
“Why- what are you laughing at?” George asks a little grumpily. Dream grins widely, picking his head up.
“I love you too.”
George purses his lips. “Okay. Why is that funny?”
“It’s not funny,” Dream nods, taking off his seatbelt. “I’m just… really happy right now.”
George blushes. “Okay. Well, I am too, but you don’t hear me laughing like an idiot.”
Dream’s grin grows. “George.”
“What?”
“George.”
“What,” he asks, voice choked and face red. Dream laughs again, and this time when George smiles as well, cheeks rosy, Dream doesn’t stop himself from leaning in.