Work Text:
The feeling of home was not one George associated with his apartment. He never put any decor up, he had almost no personal belongings anymore. His PC was constantly turned on, and the RGB lights were the only colour that was spread around his place. His PC background being an old picture of Patches he found on a harddrive he kept, was the most personalised his apartment was. He had exactly one normal plate, one deep dish, and one bowl.
It was a sad place, but he was content enough to stay around for a bit.
George was working when someone knocked on his door. He got off his chair and went to open the door. He already knew it was Dream waiting on the other side, with some take out, most likely. He had come by every day for the past week.
The first time George had almost slammed the door shut into his face, but Dream stopped him by placing his foot in the door frame to stop the door from closing. He had explained that Wilbur drove him here, and he was not about to intrude. He was worried, because George had not shown up for dinner, according to Wilbur. And Dream wanted to see him again, even though after their chat at Wilbur’s, his panic attack and all the tears, George had run away again. He had hidden himself in his apartment and turned off his phone so no one could reach him.
He had not exactly expected Dream to show up at his place. But here he was, holding one single box of take out, holding it out for him. “I just.. Wanted to make sure you ate something.”
George had taken it and mumbled a small thanks, before closing the door before Dream’s eyes. That should have been it. It should have been the end of it. But like anything with Dream, it wasn’t this easy.
Dream came back the next day, still only one box of food in his hands. George took it, thanked him, and foolishly, foolishly told him to come in. He ate in silence. Dream had looked around, and George had turned back to his work. The next day Dream had two boxes of food with him. And George invited him inside again. They didn’t talk outside of a few words.
On day five they had a full conversation about something dumb Tommy had done the other day in a vlog.
Day six had Dream rant about his house and what he was currently trying to get fixed and changed. He revealed what George had thought for a while, that Sapnap had moved out and Dream was apparently thinking about removing the walls between the rooms on the top floor and making it into one large master bedroom. George was quiet for the most part, just listening to Dream’s rant. He did tell him though, that he thought the idea would be pretty cool.
Day seven had George give the shortest summary of his travels. And Dream didn’t probe for more when he realised George was getting uncomfortable. George appreciated Dream’s ability to read him so easily, and it was also the thing that kept him up at night. Dream still read him so effortlessly, on the rare occasions George was actually talking. When George was sitting in silence though, George could see the look of focus on Dream’s face. He was trying to understand his silence, too.
George was not known for being quiet. He used to screech and scream and yell and talk. He could rant on stream for an hour straight if he wanted to. He had comments to make on what people said, he asked questions, made jokes and was overall a person with a presence.
And that was the George Dream had known all this time. That was the George Dream had gotten to know years ago, and it was the George who persistently stayed that exact same way, all through their friendship and relationship.
But this George, this new George, was quiet. He stayed silent in conversations unless explicitly spoken to. Even then he sometimes avoided opening his mouth. This George was afraid of taking up space within conversations and a room. And Dream was clearly not used to it. And a small, hopeful part in George’s brain never wanted him to get used to it. Because as much as he liked just existing in self-made silence, he also missed being himself. It was like he abandoned himself somewhere along the road and forgot to pick himself back up.
But Dream never pushed, never asked. He did prompt him sometimes, but never let his spirit get down when he didn’t receive an answer.
Today, George had a good day and he really wanted to try and use the energy he felt in his veins, to try and make actual conversation with Dream. He opened the door for Dream, who stepped inside, with two bags that looked like grocery bags. George made wide eyes at the sight, because so far his food consisted of take out and plain pasta, most days.
“Hey,” Dream greeted, his voice quiet but it carried to George anyway.
“Uhm.. hi.” George replied and stepped aside to let him inside again. Dream, without a second thought made a B-line to the kitchen and started unpacking ingredients that looked like it could be part of a complicated rice dish.
“Wilbur said you usually eat take out, or order food. So I thought, maybe having actual fresh food would be nice.”
George stood kinda dumbfounded, closing the door to his apartment and looked at Dream, who stood in the small kitchenette, where he stored maybe one pot, and basically no utensils.
“I don’t think I have the capacity to really cook here..”
Dream waved him off with a smile. George still wasn’t able to look at it properly yet. It felt several levels of wrong to have
Dream
in his apartment, smiling at him like this.
“I’ll make something work, don’t worry.”
George worried. It was his second job at this point. He woke up and worried. He edited and worried. He ate and he worried. Even in the shower he worried. It was like his personality was taken over by worry and fear, constant fear of making mistakes.
George stood awkwardly behind Dream as he started unpacking the stuff he bought. When George saw snacks that were clearly not meant to be put in whatever Dream was making, he pretended not to see it. Dream stocked his mini fridge with eggs, yoghurts, and more. He brought bread, and stored that with the two plates George had.
And all George could do was watch him, as Dream filled his stupid kitchen with life.
Once the bags were empty Dream waved him over and handed him some vegetables and a knife that didn’t look new, but George had also never seen before. He wordlessly started to cut the vegetables into small cubes, using the plate he had as a cutting board.
Dream was busy humming something as he sat up everything else. It felt awfully domestic. And it scared George. Because this was too easy. Too close to what it used to be. And George still wished that looking at Dream long enough could bring him back to Florida, before he decided to fuck them over and leave.
George had a difficult relationship with his trip. He had needed to leave, was not ready back then to commit to something as long term as he and Dream were heading to be. He needed something new. But it was almost like he missed the point when “something new” was becoming toxic. It was like he missed the exit, the exact point when it was enough, and then toppled over into too much.
And it was too much for so long.
But Dream was here, humming something as he stirred the rice in the one pot George owned.
Once the rice was done, and Dream reused the pot to try and fry some of the vegetables George had cut, did George find his voice again. “I… I have a question.”
And Dream looked over to him, eyes gentle, lips set into a smile, just big enough to translate into the rest of the face, but not enough to light up his entire person. It was private, waiting, patient. George translated every muscle Dream moved in his mind, to try and not let his self-destructive thoughts win.
“Did you ever… Did you ever hate me?”
Dream’s face melted, in one of pity. And George wanted to claw his eyes out to never have to see that look on Dream’s face again, but he was glued into place, everything inside of him forcing him to look at Dream, and take it in.
Dream sighed softly. “I will be honest. I was mad. For a bit. But I am not anymore. And I never hated you. You had your reasons. It didn’t come out of nowhere. I understand. And I forgave you so long ago.”
George nodded along, trying his best to process the information received and file it away as neutral as possible. Dream was mad for a bit. But he is not mad anymore. And he didn’t hate George.
He hoped he could hold onto this, without his mind twisting the words into ugly whispers that would keep him up at night.
Dream must have been able to read his struggle, because he moved on with the topic. “Karl and Sapnap are leaving tomorrow. They have this super cool video idea that they have to set up. It’s so cool, even Tommy is jealous of it. He literally asked them if he could steal it.”
George smiled weakly. It did sound like Tommy, to always try and push for more, push harder and also ask to steal video ideas that he thought were cool. He grew up so much, but he also was still hungry for new, good content. A constant in George’s life he appreciated a lot.
But something about the phrasing caught George’s attention. “Are you going with them?”
“Nah, they told me I wasn’t invited. The audacity.”
“The audacity,” George repeated, trying to follow the joke, trying to make the atmosphere light hearted, instead of tense.
Dream had to leave at one point, he knew that, but he was so unsure what would become of them, now that they were in this weird, uncomfortable in-between of nothing and everything.
They finished in a more tense silence, which was accompanied by Dream’s quiet humming of music. A small comfort for George’s heart. He used to sing or hum when they were doing kitchen work together all the time. It reminded George of a moment when Dream grabbed him, and twirled him around their kitchen, singing some dumb song he had in his head at the time. The memory was bringing tears into George’s eyes which he wiped away as quickly as possible.
If Dream heard the sniffle beside him, he didn’t comment on it. Instead he filled the bowl and the deep dish with the rice mix he had created and handed one to George. “Voila! Not exactly a five star meal, but it should do, right?”
George took the bowl and nodded. “It’s definitely a bigger portion than any five star meal.”
When he heard Dream chuckle, the warmth that spread in his chest could wear no other name than pride. He made him laugh. With a dumb joke, but he did that.
Usually George sat at his computer while Dream occupied the couch. But today, George felt brave and sat next to Dream on the couch, which earned him another, brighter smile. They dug into their food immediately after, the tension slowly easing out of them with the sound of fork and spoon against ceramic.
“You've been to a lot of five star restaurants, then?”
It was an innocent question, a safe one. Food was a safe talk. George didn’t have to say anything he wasn’t ready to share yet, and Dream must have known that when he asked.
“Yeah, a couple. But I learned quickly that the local street food and small corner restaurants are way better and more authentic. What’s the point of spending 500$ on steak when you can get soup dumplings with a recipe that was passed down several generations, you know?”
“500$ for steak? George you’re crazy for even considering that!”
“I just said I didn’t spend that on food! Listen properly you idiot.”
“But you clearly did, if you know the price of a five star steak.”
George groaned, “fine, once! I tried it once! But it wasn’t that special. Like. It was good, but I have had better.”
Dream wiggled his eyebrows at him, in a friendly banter way, before saying: “Yeah, you’ve had mine! I make better steak.”
And without thinking, George replied: “Whatever you say, Dream.”
Banter came so easy. It was a no effort task, something they have shared for years, and it came back to George easily, even if he looked like he regretted having been a bit sassy to Dream the second the words left his mouth. But Dream never looked anything less than happy whenever he did it, so he had no heart to stop his mouth from just spilling comments at the pace they came to him.
One thing Dream said almost made him giggle, but he hid his face in his hands to stop the noises from spilling out of him. Dream’s shoulders fell slightly when he did, but it was the safer option in George’s mind, keeping some things to himself.
They finished their food and started talking more and more. George was responsive today, actually having stuff to add on to the conversations.
It was freeing to let go like this, not thinking about the consequences while the conversation was still going. George knew, once Dream left and he would be laying in his bed, he would relive the whole thing and regret ever opening his mouth, but finally being able to see the microexpressions of Dream again, was worth it for the moment.
George caught his lips twitch when George said something funny, that Dream refused to laugh about. He saw his eyebrow soften when George used gestures to talk. And even better, he saw Dream wave his hands around, underlining his story with wide gestures like he always did.
Once upon a time he knew the feel of those hands on his own, on his cheek, on his back, fingers tracing in his hair. But now all he could do was watch them move, untouched, unheld, free and without any pressure holding them back.
George knew he could never be friends with Dream.
Because he wanted to be the pressure that held his hands back. He wanted to know if Dream’s palm still fit perfectly against George’s cheek. He wanted to know if his thumb could still trace the bag under his eyes, the ones he knew were more present now than ever before. He wanted to know if those hands still had the power to scare away every nightmare George woke up to at night.
Those hands carved a hole into his heart, and it was the shape of round eyes, a gentle smile and a million freckles scattered around skin.
He could never be his friend again.
“I have a therapist appointment tomorrow,” George blurted out, completely stopping Dream in his story about Patches getting lost for a whole day, only to find her sleeping in the guest bedroom under the pillows.
“You do?” Dream asked, unbothered by having been interrupted.
“I- yeah,” George nodded, trying to find a reason he told him this. There was one reason, and it felt too open, too honest and too vulnerable. It would be like handing Dream a knife, and hoping for the best.
“That’s amazing George! I’m glad you are finding someone to help you cope.”
“I- I think it’s.. I think it’s more than that…”
Dream smiled, his hand briefly placed on his leg, before being removed again. And Dream didn’t even know how much George internally begged for him to keep it there.
“I-”
“George, you don’t have to tell me.”
“But that’s the problem! I want to tell you. There is so much I want to tell you. Share with you. I want to be able to tell you about the sights I have seen, about the shitty hotel rooms and the even shittier hotel food. I want you to be able to.. I want to be able to look at you and not cry. I want to… Dream, I just want to be here and not dread regretting ever opening my mouth. I want to be
me
, again. I miss me. And I miss you. And I… want to be able to tell you. Those things. About me.”
He breathed heavily, trying to keep himself calm.
The knife has been given
.
His eyes stung with tears, and an arm snuck around his shoulder and he was gently pulled against a body he thought he would never be able to feel again. His head rested right on Dream’s chest and the arm rubbed over his back.
But Dream didn’t stabbed him
.
“You’re so… Thank you for telling me, George. I appreciate that more than you know.”
George stayed there as dry sobs shook his body. The tears didn’t spill, he didn’t cry, but he whimpered as if in pain. His heart hurt, with emotions he hadn’t felt in forever.
They didn’t say another word, for almost an entire hour. Dream was still rubbing his back. And George stayed quietly pressed against his chest, scared that if he lifted his head, all this would disappear and he would wake up in a hotel, somewhere in Sydney, and be alone again.
But once George finally lifted his head to look at Dream, the taller one leaned down and placed his lips against George’s forehead. “I’m so happy you are here.”
The two of them got off the couch, George feeling a bit out of it. But they cleaned the dishes, Dream hummed a melody as he did before, and the two of them pretended like they never checked their phones.
George’s phone was open on Twitter, with a tweet from Dream, reading: “I think it’s time I take a small vacation, guys. I will be back in a couple weeks!”
They didn’t mention it. Didn’t acknowledge what it meant. And when Dream made his way to the door, he leaned down and kissed George’s cheek, wishing him good luck with the therapist the next day.
George could never just be Dream’s friend.