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“So,” George started, voice lithe, “your… hair. “
Dream laughed from the other side of the call. “What about it?”
“It’s… real.”
“I’ve sent you pictures of it before, George,” Dream said, rolling his eyes at the brunet’s idiocy. He could hardly believe a mirror selfie was what made George finally lose his ability to act cool.
His calm, nonchalant exterior was gone, and all that was left was this: George saying stupid, meaningless words while Dream could only laugh.
“But this is different. It’s your whole head now, I can see all the fluff,” he said, as if the whole sentence was matter-of-fact. As if Dream hasn’t sent George selfies of the corners of his face, a slice of his chin and shoulders, the tops of his curls.
“My fluff?” Dream chortled.
“Yes Dream, your fluff. It’s freshly cut, and fresh cut hair always looks the best the day after a haircut.”
Dream had to roll his eyes. “You would know.”
The brunet went silent. Honestly, Dream hadn’t even thought before he’d said it. It was stupid, since the fans always went crazy whenever George went to see Simon for his regular chop. But he always felt so jealous. Jealous that another person got to wash George’s hair, got to run their hands through it. It was so stupid.
“Okay Dream,” said George. “Sorry for keeping myself fresh.”
Dream didn’t have a rebuttal that time, too off put by the images of the time George had streamed getting his haircut live. He’d seen Simon do everything that Dream could do just as easily. Sure, maybe he wasn’t a qualified hairstylist, but he liked George’s hair enough — he wouldn’t put any harm toward it.
“Who was your stylist, then?” George asked, switching the topic so effortlessly. “Were they better than Simon?”
Dream pursed his lips. “Probably not. But she was super nice. Said my hair was one of the nicest she’d ever cut.” He laughed, “She was newer, though, so it probably didn’t mean much.”
“It’s nice, is it?” George droned from across the line. “What does Sapnap think about it then?”
Dream spluttered. “What? Why would Sapnap care about my hair?”
“I dunno,” George hummed. “I guess I’ll have to see for myself when I get there.”
“Yeah,” Dream sighed dreamily, “when you get here.”
“You're wearing rings, Dream,” George said. “I didn’t even notice until I looked on Twitter. The fans are going crazy over it.”
Dream had seen Twitter. He’d seen all the stupid simp posts about his hands and hair and god forbid how his pc looked dnf-coded. He’d assumed George saw the ring previously and decided to ignore it. But now-
“People wear rings all the time, George.”
“If they’re married.”
Dream’s lips subconsciously turned into a smile at George’s words. “Oh yeah? You sayin’ I have a secret wife?”
He could hear George’s grin through the phone. “Or husband. Or partner. Or partners. You never know these days.”
The silly thought of Dream dating someone made him speechless. He’d barely even thought about romance, about relationships, since he’d blown up. Maybe there was the occasional want for a hookup, or maybe even a small fling, but he’d never really wanted to settle down. It was too scary, too much anxiety to think about meeting — about dating — a person he’d never met before.
Besides, he was too caught up with work anyway. With Sapnap and Bad and George, there was hardly any time to think about love.
“I’m single, George. You know this.”
The Brit tsked. “I don’t know, Dream. Maybe when I get there, I’ll meet a new addition to the WasTaken’s.”
Yeah, you, Dream’s brain supplied unhelpfully.
He didn’t respond and quickly changed the topic, leaving the question of love unspoken in the transatlantic air.
When George got to Florida, finally, there was the whole shebang with first hugs and driving home and eating McDonalds, and it was all so normal that Dream had to chastise himself for ever thinking it to be different. He’d been nervous before, but now he knew that George wasn’t something to be particularly nervous about. They were cool, chill. Nothing could separate them. Not even-
“Your pc is DNF colored!” George exclaimed upon entering Dream’s room for the first time. “Oh my god, is that a bit or is it completely unintentional? This is too good.”
Dream had to smile because it wasn’t a bit. It was an accident, a subconscious buy that came back later to bite him in the butt with the Dnf slander. He hadn’t even realized the colors until he unboxed the package in the kitchen, when Sapnap walked in and yelled at him to stop quote-on-quote 'dnfing'.
He showed George the rest of his room, giddy all the way through.
Later that night, they were watching a movie on the sofa. Sapnap had gone off to play Valorant with Punz, leaving the newly met best friends alone with themselves.
Dream felt like he should’ve been nervous, should've been anxious about spending his first ever alone time with George, with his best friend from across the globe. But he felt relaxed, as if a sense of calmness had washed over him.
The brunet was next to him. Like next next to him, with their thighs brushing and shoulders pressed. He liked the warmth, he craved it. With George finally here, it was like they couldn’t touch enough, couldn’t stop showing that the other was real, that their best friend was alive and breathing. It felt good.
A scene in the movie showed a haircut, of all things, and suddenly George was leaning closer. His strawberry shampoo filled Dream’s brain as he asked, “Can I? You know.”
Dream had to blink, the strawberry sweetness still infecting his ability to breathe. “What?”
George rolled his eyes, and if Dream could see through the darkness better he would have thought George to be blushing. “Can I… can I touch your hair?”
Dream’s lips parted because although George had explicitly said he’d be determining if the blond’s hair was soft or not, he hadn’t thought the Brit would really do it. He didn’t think George would brush a hand through his hair, do something so intimate, so vulnerable as running small fingers through wavy locks. He nodded anyway, too excited for his own good.
George’s lips turned into a smile. His hand reached up until it brushed against the curl at the nape of Dream’s neck. He tugged on it a little, scoffing when it bounced back into place. Dream smiled.
Moving up, he got to the hair behind Dream’s ear, pausing. “You have an earring?” George asked, eyes trained only on the black circle in front of him.
Dream had almost forgotten he’d done that, forgotten he’d done a self-piercing that ended in tears and hugs from an annoyed Sapnap. “Yeah,” he said, voice prideful, “I did it myself.” He only hoped George missed the grimace.
The brunet stared for another second before running up again. His fingers swiftly met the divot at the center of Dream’s forehead, and brushed back all loose strands. The motion was soft, gentle, and Dream felt his heart beating faster at the very thought.
George wasn’t done, however, and pushed his hair back until he was ruffling all the hair at the top of Dream’s head. It was cruel, but Dream found himself laughing anyway as he pushed the brunet away.
George was laughing too. “You’re an idiot,” he said, voice softer in the darkness. “Your hair, it’s so stupid.”
“How is it stupid?”
“Because it’s so soft,” George huffed. “How does it even get like that? Mine’s never felt that nice.”
Dream, without thinking, brought a hand up to George’s hair in return. He waded through the brunet locks he’d learned to love over the last years, and fell in love impossibly more being able to feel them. They were softer than his own, surely. Maybe George had gotten immune to the feeling, maybe he knew perfection so much that it became average.
“You’re an idiot,” he said simply, once he’d finished his examination. “You have hair softer than a pillow.”
“Ooo a pillow,” George said, mocking. “Look at you with your metaphors and proper English.”
Dream chucked, “I used to write fanfiction. You know this.”
George grinned. “About us, I’m sure.”
Dream’s cheeks fumed at that. The Brit knew he’d written about Percy and Annabeth back in the day, back when he’d read rather than been swept onto the online world. He’d known, and still made a joke about their questionable relationship.
“Yeah. I’m a pretty famous Dnf author if you ask around. I’ve got a secret Twitter account and everything,” he said, playing into the bit.
“Oh yeah?” George asked, leaning in to grab Dream’s hands. “What do you write about then? Is it platonic earth duo or is it in-love-with-your-best friend- DNF?”
Dream was a weak man, so he said nothing.
“You’re wearing rings again,” George said, threading his fingers in between the blond’s. “Is there a special person I’m supposed to meet yet?”
Dream’s brain was screaming at him to stop this, to leave so he couldn’t do something dumb (like asking for George’s hand in marriage), but he stayed, too enamored by the brunet to even think of doing anything differently.
“No,” he said, “That spot's still waiting to be filled.”
George hummed, and was Dream going crazy, or was George blushing? His cheeks looked darker, suddenly, but he couldn’t determine if it was a trick of the light, or all in his own head.
“Huh,” George said, voice quiet, “We’ll have to do something about that then, won’t we?”
Dream felt lightheaded. He nodded and smiled nervously and faked his chill all the way through the night. He only let his smile fall, however, when George left to go to his own room, left to sleep alone, leaving Dream with his stupid thoughts about his stupid best friend.
Two weeks later, George started complaining about his hair being too long for the Florida sun. He said he didn’t want it to keep sticking to his neck and forehead, didn’t want it to bother him anymore.
“So, are you going bald then?” Quackity said from across the line. George had called him, called all of their friends to whine about it while Dream was busy. Dream was free now, but George was still on call with Quackity.
“Yeah, Quackity, yeah, I am going bald. The fans will hate it, it’s the end of the best hair ever known to man — or, well, second best, I guess.”
Dream’s breath caught in his throat at the implications. Did George mean- could he really think that?
George turned around a second later, eyes finding the blond hanging in his doorway. “Gotta go, Q. Talk later.”
He hung up before their friend could protest.
“Why’re you standing at my door like a weirdo?” George asked, voice accusing. He was probably annoyed, Dream realized. His forehead was sweaty and his cheeks were tinted red from exhaustion. Maybe George wasn’t meant to live in Florida after all.
“I finished work,” Dream said simply. “And you’re complaining about the Florida sun.”
George rolled his eyes before getting up. He grumbled as his shorts stuck to the chair beneath him, huffing as he walked over to where Dream was situated. “It’s not my fault there’s, like, a heat wave, or something. Ha, heat waves!”
Dream smiled like an idiot. “There’s no heat wave right now. Trust me, you’ll know when a heat wave rolls around.”
George shoved Dream away from the door before storming out on his own. “It’s so hot, Dream. I need another haircut. I need to go back to Simon, or like ship him out here or something.”
“Don’t do that,” Dream said, voice more envious than he wanted it to be. “Why do you need him when you have me?”
George trailed his eyes up and down, looking at Dream suspiciously. “So you’re a hairstylist now? I know you pierced your ears, but chopping hair is like- a totally different story.”
“My mom used to cut my hair all the time as a kid. I learned from her, c’mon it’ll be fine.”
He hoped he didn’t sound too pleading, like he was begging for George to let him do this. He was, to be fair, but he didn’t need to brunet to know that. Didn’t want George to know how much he craved to run his hands through soft locks every second of the day.
George scoffed, eventually. “Fine,” he said. “You can cut my hair. But don’t be stupid about it. Meet me in the bathroom in an hour.”
He walked away after that, leaving Dream once again alone with his mind. Alone with his giddy mind and feverish heart that were much too excited to be cutting his best friend’s hair.
Fuck, he was going insane.
An hour later, he was sauntering to him and George’s Jack-and-Jill shared bathroom. He was nervous about this. He’d technically lied about his credentials, and didn’t entirely know what he was doing, but this was George. He knew George better than himself. And besides, he’d watched the haircut stream more times than he could count. He’d seen Simon do everything to perfection, and Dream realized that he could do it too.
When he reached the setup, George was pacing around, looking for something Dream didn’t know. On the counter was a ring light, a comb, and a pair of scissors like the ones you see when you get your haircut publicly — the smooth silver ones. He wondered where they came from.
George scoffed when he arrived. “Finally,” he said, voice vexed. “You were taking so long I thought I’d have to shower.”
“I’m here now,” Dream said easily. “Should we start?”
“ We?” George scoffed. “You’re doing all the work. I’m not doing anything.”
Dream rolled his eyes, but set out for the counter anyway. He grabbed a towel before stealing his own shampoo and conditioner from the tub and making his way to the sink.
George had brought in a comfy chair to sit on, and was waiting there impatiently for Dream to start. The angle was awkward, but Dream couldn’t find it in him to care when he was about to wash George’s hair. His hands were about to massage his scalp, about to emit stray dandruff. He was exuberant.
He turned the water on easily, but the hard part came in actually getting himself to touch George’s soft curls. He knew that that was what he came here to do, but he was nervous regardless. What if the brunet didn’t like the way he washed it? What if-
“Don’t be an idiot, Dream,” George said.
He took a deep breath and dove in.
Running George’s curls under the water brought back a strange sense of deja vu he didn’t realize he had. As he pressed in shampoo and water and conditioner and even more water into the burnet’s scalp and mane, he was brought back to well over a year ago. Back to George’s first cooking stream, the one where he’d told George to mess up his hair so that it was wet.
At the time, he didn’t really understand why he’d said that. He didn’t realize why he’d swooned so hard at the thought of his best friend being so attractive that day. That day, that day had changed something in him. He’d had a realization then, and it felt so good to know now. To know that he liked George, to know he was giving George a haircut and softly treating his hair to perfection. He got to see George’s wet, pretty hair in person, finally. He got to touch it and feel it and caress it. A year ago, he would have been shaken at the thought.
A hum from George brought him out of his loving daze. “You should like- do this more often. I think you were meant to be a hairstylist. Fuck Minecraft! You need to go to beauty school.”
Dream laughed as he wrung a towel through the brunet’s hair, as he helped George to sit back upright.
Now, it was time to actually cut George’s hair. It was time to do the part he’d faked his credentials on, the part he didn’t want to screw up and disappoint George with.
He ran the towel through George’s locks one final time before removing it completely. George’s hair fell in perfection, framing his face in pretty ways that he’d seen only twice before. He took a moment to stare, to take in the unguarded magnificence that was George with wet hair.
George scoffed. “You’re so dumb,” he muttered. “Cut my hair before it dries, please.”
Dream smiled and reached for the scissors. He called out to anyone listening for help, for guidance on how to not screw up his best friend's hair majorly. No one answered, but he was fine. Everything was fine.
He held the comb and scissors up to the edges of George’s chin. “How much am I cutting off?”
“All of it,” George said with a sigh before laughing. “I dunno, do whatever you think fits me best.”
Dream gulped at that because obviously what fit George best was everything . No matter the length, no matter the style, George could always pull it off. Dream couldn’t help but envy that aspect, although he found it much easier to swoon instead. It was incomprehensible, but that was George’s whole brand, basically.
He began to chop just the smallest bits at the edges, proceeding with caution to make sure it was even. He tried to imagine what the hair would look like when dry, what to do to make it look better.
When he cut to a length seemingly sufficient, he stopped. He stepped away from the brunet, walked around in an effort to get every angle. He squinted and moved closer and did everything he could possibly think of to test his theory. Finally, when he’d thought it to be adequate, he grabbed the blow dryer.
George looked dazed as Dream dried his hair. He was scrolling through Twitter, of course, and with every swipe of his thumb, the blond could see how his facial expression changed with each Tweet. It was cute, and Dream didn’t know if it was the hair dryer making his cheeks warm, or the brunet right in front of him. He ended up settling on both.
Finally, finally, George’s hair was fully dried. It was dried, and fluffy, and Dream’s cut looked good . (He’d cut George’s hair to the length it had been in the meet-up pictures with Sapnap, the cut that Dream had thought about for weeks. )
George turned around so he could look in the mirror. Where Dream thought the brunet might chastise or make fun of him for the cut, he grinned instead. “You would pick this cut, wouldn’t you, Dream?”
Dream turned the shade of a strawberry. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Right,” George said. He hummed, turning back around so he was facing Dream rather than their reflections. “It’s good, though. I like it. You did great.”
Dream felt as if he were underwater, as if he were drowning. George’s compliment made it feel like every drop of oxygen had vanished from his lungs. He was suffocating, but in the best way possible.
George got up quickly, brushing away the stray, chopped hairs from his body. He lifted himself up to his toes, made himself as eye level as possible with Dream, and kissed him on the cheek.
George kissed him on the cheek.
It was a foreign movement between them. They’d cuddled, and touched each other's hair that one night, but hugs were the biggest type of affection they’d done so far. A kiss on the cheek was different. It was different, and it didn’t even seem to affect the brunet.
“Thanks,” he said, walking out of the room with his fresh cut.
Dream just stood there, reveling in the fact that George had given him a kiss.
He stood there stupidly, even going as far as to place a hand where the brunet’s lips had gone. He walked back to his room in a daze, brain unable to comprehend the complexities of George’s cheek kisses.
Later that night, as Dream was scrolling through Reddit in an effort to find strategies for a real-life Minecraft Manhunt, George walked into the room.
He looked tired with beady eyes and wrinkled clothes, and Dream immediately put down his phone, placing all his attention on the brunet in front of him.
George, however, didn’t say anything. He walked forward a little, slowly, and threw himself onto Dream’s bed. He was on top of Dream, laying right on the blond’s legs and stomach. Dream felt mellow at the touch. George huffed and scooted up further, so Dream followed suit by sliding down until his head hit his pillow.
The brunet was fully on top of him now, and Dream realized with a gasp that the brunet’s arms were snaking underneath his back. George was holding Dream.
Dream was a gentleman, so obviously, he had to hold the brunet right back. He wrapped his arms around the pretty divot in George’s back, and pulled the Brit impossibly closer. George hummed and tilted his head upward so he was facing Dream’s face. The movement brought a vanilla scent into his nostrils; Dream had almost forgotten he’d put his own shampoo in George’s hair. George smelled like him.
George smelled like Dream.
He was kind of freaking out.
“Sorry about earlier,” George mumbled. “I didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”
Dream paused his breathing. The kiss was supposed to happen – George meant to kiss him on the cheek. He knew what he was doing.
(Really, Dream knew this before. But now that it was confirmed, he felt over the moon.)
“You didn’t,” he tried, attempting to stay cool.
George huffed, and the air went straight to Dream’s bare neck. “I saw you in the bathroom after I left, idiot. You’re terrible at hiding things.”
Dream could only smile fondly.
“You know it was intentional, right?” George says, voice stern. “I meant to do that.”
Dream was nodding dumbly at the brunette’s words, hanging on to every last syllable as if it were his lifeline.
“I should-” George started, but Dream cut him off with a kiss to the forehead. He couldn’t help it, he was lovesick.
“Why did you do that!” George sounded offended. “You can’t just-“
“You kissed my cheek first, idiot. Ratio plus L plus I’m better than-“
And just like that Dream’s voice was drowned out by the press of another’s lips to his own. George was kissing him on the lips. They were kissing, and Dream was smiling so much that it was hardly even a kiss anymore.
George pulled away, pseudo anger emanating from his face. “Stop smiling. You’re ruining this.”
“I’m ruining it?” Dream scoffed. “You’re the one that-“
George kissed him again just to shut him up.
This time, Dream kissed back. He was smiling, but he was kissing. Kissing George. And it was everything. He was ecstatic, and totally collected and absolutely screaming on the inside.
But this was George. This was the stupid idiot man he’d fallen for, the man he’d realized his crush on from a cooking stream where his hair got wet. He’d lived out his fantasies of being George’s personal barber for the day, and he only hoped it could continue in the future.
He wanted to spend the rest of his life with George. Kissing George, loving George, cutting George’s pretty hair.
And right now, he believed he could.