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The water runs hot down George’s back as he stands under the shower spray, clouds of steam turning his skin soft and pink. With tired muscles, he gradually scrubs away the grime of three airports and hundreds of people packed into the San Diego convention center. He’s terribly tired, yet content all the same.
Truthfully, George feels like he hasn’t stopped moving since the moment he started packing for Orlando. It’s been a blur of traveling, staying up late, and meeting new people. Still, after two years of sitting alone at his apartment day after day, he welcomes the chaos.
But the chaos doesn’t reach their hotel room. The lights are dimmed and it’s quiet. Even the cars and voices outside are muffled beyond closed windows and drawn blinds.
Here, finally, it’s peaceful.
Dream is already laying on the bed furthest from the door, knees tucked up towards his chest as he looks at his phone. It’s a silly contradiction– seeing all six-plus feet of him taking up such a small space on the mattress. There’s two beds in here, but only one has been used.
Dream had showered before George, so his hair is still damp– curling at the ends and falling in his face. He pushes it back with a frown, not noticing George watching from the doorway.
He’s wearing a t-shirt in some dark shade of gray, with sleeves that peek out over the covers as he shifts around. Dream usually sleeps shirtless, George knows now, so the clothing is likely for his sake. It’s funny though, because he would admittedly prefer it off. He wonders if it would be weird to say so. Probably.
“You alright?”
Dream’s voice snaps George out of himself. He glances up to find the phone placed on the nightstand, with Dream’s eyes now on him. It occurs to him that he’s been standing there watching for quite a while.
“Yeah,” George replies, turning off the bathroom light behind him before crossing the room. “Just zoned out for a sec.”
Dream rolls over to make space for him. “Tired?”
George fills the empty spot, body mirroring Dream’s in a gentle arc.
“Mhm,” he sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He can feel Dream’s soft gaze on him.
A hand delicately brushes across his forehead, pushing away the bangs.
He opens his eyes.
Dream pulls his hand back and snorts quietly. “Ha. Wet hair George.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You’ve seen it before, idiot.”
Dream takes him in lazily as he burrows further into the pillow. “Doesn’t count. It’s different up close.”
George scoffs, but feels his cheeks warm nonetheless. “You’re like obsessed,” he chides, and Dream smiles.
“Maybe a little,” he admits, shifting closer, so they’re face to face. It only serves to draw George’s attention to Dream’s curls, wild and a little frizzy. In a moment of bravery, he reaches out.
“It’s okay. Me too,” he says quietly, allowing his fingers to card through damp hair, turned dark brown from the moisture clinging to it.
To his delight, Dream leans into it. Closes his eyes.
“You did well today,” George finds himself saying after a moment.
Dream hums— contemplative, and a little worried. “Did I? I feel like I was weird.”
Something tightens in George’s chest. The urge to hold Dream comes strong.
And then, he gives in.
The hand at the back of Dream’s head splays open, cradles the shape of his skull. A few seconds pass, then George draws him gently into his chest.Dream follows pliantly, nosing at his collarbone once they’re settled.
“You were weird, and it was perfect,” George says, reassuring. “You were perfect.”
“You’re being so nice to me,” Dream mumbles, and George can hear the smile in his voice.
The instinct to reply with something snarky rises, then falls away as he thumbs at the thin skin under Dream’s eyes– dark with lack of sleep.
“I’m always nice to you,” he attempts, as a joke, and Dream starts to protest.
George kisses him swiftly, right between his thick brows, which silences him. “Alright, silly,” he sighs. “I am being nice.”
Dream opens his eyes then, two warm pools of green. He blinks slowly, sleep clearly pulling at him.
George looks back, his insides suddenly turned soft.
“I just missed you,” he finally admits.Saying it out loud quiets something inside him, like his soul is sighing with the truth of it.
Dream replies, with tenderness that makes George ache.
“I’m right here,” he says.
He kisses the place between George’s neck and shoulder.
“I know, but you weren’t earlier,” George answers with a shaky smile. To his embarrassment, he can feel tears prick the corners of his eyes.
God, he really needs to sleep.
Dream notices. He doesn’t say a word, but wipes at the corner of George’s eye with one bent knuckle. George laughs thickly.
“Sorry I’m not—I’m fine,” he assures, and Dream listens, hands warm where they trace up and down George’s neck and jawline, soothing him. George continues.
“It’s happy tears. I think. I just– there was the meet and greet this morning, and you weren’t there, and then the panel, and I really wanted to sit by you, and that didn’t happen, which is fine ,” he pauses, stopping to breathe. “And like, I was just watching you, and I knew you were nervous, but you still did it and then there were more people everywhere afterwards and I knew it wasn’t the time so I didn’t, but I really wanted to–”
Dream kisses his forehead.
George’s whole body relaxes at the touch. He slows, allowing himself time to find the words.
“I really wanted to tell you how proud I am,” he tries, heart in his throat.
Dream kisses him again, this time at his temple.
His voice lowers. “And I knew it was hard for you.”
Another kiss.
Then another. Each somewhere new.
George breathes into each one, memorizing the sensation.
The words tumble out before he can stop them, tired and honest.
“And I wanted to tell you, when all those people were around you and you were so exhausted, but you still took the time to talk to them, but you were also looking across the room at me , that I was so proud, but I missed you, and I just really, really wanted to…”
Finally, Dream stops. And waits.
The silence stifles him.
George meets his eyes, looking for reassurance.
The steadiness in his gaze surprises him.
Oh .
Dream already knows.
Of course he does.
George clutches the front of his shirt, suddenly afraid. Suddenly exposed.
“It’s okay,” Dream whispers, and George nods rather unconvincingly. Annoyingly, his lip starts to tremble.
“I’m sorry… I’m–” his voice catches. “This is so dumb,” he laughs wetly.
The corner of Dream’s mouth turns upward slightly, but he doesn’t pull away.
George shoves a finger into his sternum.
“Listen, you had better stop looking at me like that,” he starts, “because I’m trying to stop crying and your stupid little doe eyes are making me stupidly emotional and I don’t even know why– like this is just embarassing , and–”
Dream smooths George’s sopping hair back, trailing his fingers down his scalp before settling a hand at the back of his neck.
Dream breathes.
“You are so beautiful.”
And kisses him.
So George shuts up.
There’s a few seconds of shock, then he melts into Dream.
It’s softer than he expected their first kiss to be. Slow. Unhurried. Their noses and knees bump together, but it’s not awkward in the way first kisses back in grade school were.
Instead, it’s like each part of his body is introducing itself to Dream’s.
Foreheads, knock together once, when he crawls on top of Dream to avoid having to crane his neck. Then teeth, in the moments of laughter after, when they’re smiling so hard, their lips can scarcely reach each other. Ankles, catching and connecting as they tangle together under the covers. Hands, finding each other in the darkness.
“Is this what you were trying to say?” Dream eventually pauses to ask, as George kisses along his cheekbones.
“No,” George responds between loving pecks. “I was gonna say I wanted to trip you actually. Thought it’d be funny. Didn’t even let me finish my sentence.”
Dream strokes the hair at the nape of his neck, humming pleasantly. “I see. How inconsiderate of me.”
“Yeah, idiot.” George seeks out his lips again though, time and time again, and Dream kisses him back sweetly.
They lie like that for a while, exchanging kisses and meaningless banter until George is pretty sure Dream is actually falling asleep between sentences.
With a whisper, he assures that they can continue this tomorrow morning.
Dream nods in contented agreement, eyes closed.
Like they’ve done it a thousand times, they slot together, pillows shoved next to each other so they don’t have to separate to sleep. George snakes his arms around Dream’s torso, who in turn, curls into the empty space of his body. George kisses the back of his neck and combs through his hair with his fingers.
Within minutes, Dream’s breathing slows to an easy rhythm, heart beating steadily under George’s open palm.