Work Text:
One day George would stop counting his life in months. Today was not that day.
He woke up early morning, after a night filled with tears and screaming sobs. The first crying fit he has had since he moved to New York, to Wilbur.
Since then it has been almost four months. 29 months since he left Florida. His entire life split into three parts.
Before Dream, with Dream and after Dream. George hated himself, but he simply couldn’t stop categorizing his life into months, counting and recounting the months since he had last heard Dream’s laugh in person.
He was now situated in his own little two room apartment. His living room slash office was where he spent most of his time now, sitting at his computer and editing videos for Wilbur he wouldn't get credit for.
Wilbur had offered to pay him for some work, getting George’s mind into a different headspace. At first George had been reluctant about the job, but now he was happy to have something to spend his days with. His only condition was that Wilbur did not write his name into the description of the videos. He did not want anyone to find out it was him. The idea of his friends or even the fans knowing he was back, was terrifying. Wilbur agreed easily. They set up a fake twitter profile for George, and that was the mysterious new person who edited Wilbur’s videos, and later some of Tommy’s as well.
He was over at Tommy and Wilbur’s place several times a week, Wilbur even handed him a key.
Tommy and George had a rocky start. Tommy didn’t make a secret out of his displeasure of George being around. He kept sending disapproving looks George’s way whenever he was around for longer than a couple minutes. Him and Tommy not getting along is one of the main reasons George rented his own apartment, despite Wilbur’s offer to have him sleep in the guest room and make it his room permanently. George had a feeling Wilbur was scared of leaving him alone; maybe Wilbur feared George would pack his backs and just disappear again one day. George couldn’t fault him for it, the thought did cross his mind every now and then after all. But he knew how unstable he had become being alone for that long, so he would be staying for now. He appreciated Wilbur’s concern however, even if it simultaneously made him uncomfortable to be cared about.
Tommy and George sorted their problems out more or less, one night, when George had been feeling like shit, and fell into his self-destructive behavior again, egging Tommy on and asking him out right why he hated him so much.
Tommy had looked at him, his mouth opening and closing several times before settling on: “Are you serious right now?”
George had nodded: “Yeah. Come on. Spill the beans. I know I have fucked up, but I wanna know what made you hate me specifically.”
Tommy had scoffed, rolling his eyes, but he had answered, which George appreciated to this day: “You fucked over one of my closer friends. I don’t know if you know anything Dream has been through since you walked away, but he was a mess. And I never wanna see him like that again. And as much as he insists it’s not true, we all know the reason he felt this bad was because you’re a selfish prick, who cannot stay committed to save his life. So sorry, I am not thrilled to have you back, in my place, when I know there is someone several states down suffering the consequences of your actions.”
While George had half expected this reply, he didn’t know how to deal with it, so he let himself tear up and nod at Tommy’s words. The tears didn’t spill, but they were visible. “Thanks for telling me, Tommy. I appreciate it.”
The two of them have been less tense around each other since then. There was nothing resolved between them, but Tommy understood it wasn’t actually his place to be mad, and George decided to stop probing and just take every conversation as it came to him.
Conversation in general became a hard task for George. He didn’t like talking. The sound of his own voice threw him off most of the time. It sounded too stable, too much like the usual him. Nothing in his mind and heart was telling him that this was okay, that this was right and how it should be. There was this nagging thought that he wasn’t suffering enough to be at the mental place where he was at this point. So for the most part in conversations, George stayed quiet.
He went days without saying a single word. He enjoyed the way his throat hurt when he used his voice again for the first time in days. He took comfort in the shakiness of his voice, the croaking sound that tended to preface his words. That sounded more like what was happening inside of him.
Neither Wilbur nor Tommy pushed him to talk, and most other people he met on the rare occasion that he left his flat alone either thought he was shy, or rude. And he was okay with both at this point. No outside opinion could hurt him as much as his own, or the one he was sure Dream and Sapnap had of him.
The latter was what kept George up at night. He had gotten himself a twin sized bed, so he wouldn't reach out at night. No one else would fit into his bed with him. And he knew that. He couldn’t have spiraling self-destructive thoughts on the basis of being alone in a large bed that should be occupied by someone else alongside him.
Wilbur had offered to look for a therapist for George. They had no luck so far, because George always came back home feeling uncomfortable. It was frustrating for every party involved. But George kept looking.
29 months, he should be over his break up, and in a way he was. He understood that he did not necessarily regret leaving. But he missed Dream.
Dream was a romantic, always spurting pretty words about George. And one of the things he said, after dating for not even six months, was that Dream believed George to be the love of his life. It had stunned George into silence then, and it served as an awful reminder what George ruined, today.
He wasn’t sure if he would go as far as to say he would never find and love someone ever again, but he could say confidently, that there was no room carved into his heart like the one Dream still occupied to this day.
He had tried dating and also one night stands during his travels as well as after moving to New York. It never felt right. The people he met were boring, uninteresting and not his type at all. Then again, he never really put his heart into any of the dates he went on, and he was sure the people could tell.
Instead of hopping into bed with a random person in a bar, he ended up a bit too drunk to have fun and left alone, to cry in his shower.
One of those weak nights, he had called Dream’s number. And he was greeted by a robotic voice that told this number was not in service. Message received.
George never deleted Dream’s contact from his phone. He had him blocked on social media for a while, to not open twitter and lose all his resolve by seeing Dream all over his timeline.
He unblocked him months ago however.
Now he would stare at his phone and wait for messages from Wilbur or Tommy, which either invited him over for dinner, or asked for editing updates.
Today it was a dinner invitation and George sighed, shooting a text back how he wasn’t sure if he was feeling up for it. But Tommy was insistent, telling him it was very important, and if it helped George get out of bed, it should be regarded more like a business dinner than anything else. It did help, and George agreed to coming over later that day.
So George got out of bed, walked from his barely furnished bedroom to his living room, where he had most of his belongings. It was empty. It had a couch, a coffee table, a TV that wasn’t connected and his desk where he had bought himself a new computer so he could edit more efficiently than on his laptop.
He turned on his computer and just decided to work for now. He forgot about breakfast and lunch, not on purpose, but because he was lost in his work. He used to hate editing, whining about the creative process taking too long and not being exactly how he envisioned it. But now that it was not his own work that he had to turn into a marvelously perfect video -- that would be compared to one of the fastest growing channels and best editors he had met to date -- he felt more free in his process and he always lost himself in creating something he knew was worth watching repeatedly. He loved the music he got to pick, the freedom of editing gameplay as well as vlogs. He was never with them on those vlogs, meaning he had no prior vision of what he wanted it to be, before he got the raw footage and was allowed to go rough.
George edited until his phone rang with a message from Wilbur, telling him to come over in an hour. George saved his work, and got dressed properly, to go outside. He jumped into his car, which he owned because Dream bought it for him years ago, after teaching him how to drive, and he drove over to Tommy and Wilbur’s place to have “business dinner”.
George showed up right when the delivery guy brought their take out. Wilbur let George and the food inside and George made himself feel comfortable on the couch, in a spot he at this point called his own, in the far right corner, where he could overlook the door as well as everyone else sitting in the room alongside him. His shoulders relaxed more when he was the one having the ability to see everything happening around him.
They were having curry for dinner it seemed and mostly ate in silence. Not like George was into having conversations anyway.
Wilbur asked George a few questions about his editing progress and Tommy rambled about a video he had seen the other day that George hadn't heard about. And it was pleasant and calm, until they finished their food and the shift in the air was so obvious it almost made George throw up.
He didn’t ask though, waiting for one of them to make the move to address the sudden elephant in the room. It was Tommy who in the end opened his mouth to speak.
“So. I got a message today. And in two weeks we’ll have three guests here in New York, to film some vlogs and just hang out with friends.”
George nodded his head, but the question of who was lingering in the air.
“And I wanted you to know in advance, that you are always invited to join.”
George nodded again, his hands finding the hem of his shirt to hold in anticipation.
“I have a feeling you will not want to join us this time around. But Wilbur and I felt like we should let you know what was happening, so you wouldn't be overrun or surprised with this knowledge.”
George felt his head spin, if Tommy spoke any more vaguely George might just leave and ignore this conversation ever happened. He didn’t learn anything new. They had Tubbo over a month ago, and George got the talk of “you can come if you want to, but you don’t have to”. This felt like the same conversation in a different font.
Wilbur opened his mouth next: “Look. All I want you to know is that we couldn’t say no, because we had no real excuse to. And it’s important that you know this, okay? He’s still our friend, just like you. But I don’t want you to feel betrayed.”
“He?” George croaked out, and there was a pit in his stomach that settled down nicely and heavily, making George want to curl up and die on the spot.
“Sapnap, Karl and.. and Dream. They have a shoot in North Carolina with Mr Beast, and have decided to drive upstate further and visit us. And… And we agreed.”
There it was. The earth shattering news George had waited for ever since he moved here. His ticket to leave. The subtle wave of being kicked out of the comfort he let himself indulge in. He opened his mouth.
“Dream…” Was all he got out, his hands shaking. He wasn’t even sure if the whole name traveled to Tommy or Wilbur, because all he could focus on was his breathing. His breathing got more shallow as he waited. Waited for the hammer to fall, open the ground below him and swallow him into hell. But nothing ever came. All that happened was Wilbur coming closer and George choking on his own tears as his vision blurred and he felt like he was about to pass out.
He waited for the sweet release of unconsciousness, but it never came. Tommy watched with concern as Wilbur tugged George close and held him as they rocked back and forth.
They would talk about it. And George would not leave his apartment. He couldn’t. There was no way. He couldn’t see Dream.
He couldn’t see Dream.
George wanted to scream, but sleep overcame him. He didn’t pass out, but he did fall asleep, with fear running through his mind at a million miles an hour. He was too exhausted to keep up anymore.