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George didn’t mean to find it.
He was just looking for Dream’s fuzzy socks, the red and white striped ones his Mum got him for Christmas that are so big they make it all the way up to George’s knees when he borrows them. Honestly, this is Dream’s fault. He never wears damn fuzzy socks anyway, but he refuses to give George full custody. If Dream would just accept that the fuzzy socks were George’s, this never would’ve happened. His feet were just cold, which is also Dream’s fault for always dictating the AC.
The blue, velvet ring box sits at the bottom of the sock drawer, staring George down.
Besides the predictable cliché hiding something in the fucking sock drawer, George thinks he’s gone into shock. It’s so unexpected, or maybe he really is as emotionally unintelligent as the fans think?
Don’t get George wrong, things with Dream are perfect, or as close to perfect as a realistic relationship can be. They worked hard to get to where they are together and it wasn’t fucking easy. Years of internalised homophobia, external homophobia, accusations of queerbaiting, and an arduous Visa process, and that was before either of them realised their feelings for eachother.
They’ve been together a while now, George has been in Florida more than a year. They’re comfortable and confident in their relationship. George doesn’t know why this surprises him, it’s just- honestly he never thought he’d get this far with anyone, let alone his best friend.
The small box in his boyfriend’s drawer says differently.
George shouldn’t look, he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even know of the box's existence, let alone the appearance of its contents. But in for a penny, in for a pound. George has always been too nosy for his own good.
He lifts the box from Dream’s drawer, then double checks the bedroom door is closed before opening the lid. It opens with a satisfying pop , revealing a gorgeous silver band.
It’s subtle— nothing too extravagant or flashy, Dream knows George would hate that. Even if George also knows that Dream would have him wear a big neon sign that said ‘Dream’s Boyfriend’ if he could.
Dream has never been good at keeping secrets, he’s not nearly as private as George. It only took him three weeks to spill to the fans that he and George were dating. Which is another reason why George is surprised he didn’t already know about the ring, it must’ve been burning a hole in Dream’s metaphorical pocket.
George smooths his thumb over the cool metal sitting in the blue velvet box. The ring is pressed into a white satin cushion, and it practically glows in the overhead lighting of Dream and George’s bedroom.
Now, George shouldn’t have looked at it, and he definitely shouldn’t keep looking at it. But it’s just so pretty.
The ring slides out the cushion and rests between George’s right thumb and index, he rolls it against the pad of his thumb, holding it up to the light and watching it reflect. He spots an inscription on the inside, and silently curses when he has to squint to try and read the tiny etchings. In his head he can hear Dream scolding him for squinting, telling him once again to get his eyes tested.
My future is your future.
George’s eyes sting, he holds back tears that want to break. He remembers that stupid quiz, the catalyst for everything really. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why he’d been so excited when it said Dream was a little in love with him, at first he thought it was because it gave him new material to bully his best friend. But then when he didn’t hear from Dream for nearly four days after, he realised the real reason, gooey feelings and all. Of course when Dream finally reappeared, George didn’t dare bring up his revelation; he’d just spent four days without his best friend and he didn’t want to do that again any time soon.
Little did he know Dream was busy sharing in George’s crisis.
George should put the ring back, he definitely shouldn’t try it on. But he wants to know if Dream got his size right— hell he doesn’t even know his own size. It slides onto his left ring finger easily, it’s a perfect fit. Seeing the silver glint in the light, wrapped gorgeously around his bony finger. George’s heart seizes.
This is happening, isn’t it?
“George? The countdown starts in ten minutes,” Dream’s voice is too close.
George pivots, frantically trying to pull the ring from his finger as he turns— but god damn it, it fits so well that it catches on his knuckle and he can’t get it off.
“Fuck- George-”
“I was just looking for the fuzzy socks,” he rushes. “I didn’t mean to-”
Dream laughs then, cutting him off, “so it slipped and fell onto your finger too, did it?”
“Yes,” George says.
“Yes?” Dream is smiling, ready to laugh at George again, but he must see in the softening of George's features that George isn’t answering the question Dream asked, but a question he hasn’t yet had the chance to ask.
“Yeah?” Dream’s smile is blinding, his whole face glows and brightens.
“Yes,” George replies, “please don’t make me take it off, let me say yes now.”
He holds his hand up to Dream, to show him how wonderful the ring looks on his finger in a way to convince him. His boyfriend strides forward in three steps until he’s so close George can feel Dream’s breath against his hairline.
Dream takes George’s left hand in his own, and George thinks he’s going to snatch the perfect silver from its rightful place. Instead he holds George’s newly adorned hand with reverence, and drops to one knee.
“This isn’t how I was supposed to do this-”
“You should’ve just conceded and let me have the fuzzy socks,” George says under his breath.
“Will you shut up about the fucking socks? I’m proposing right now, idiot.” Dream’s smile is so wide it looks almost painful, his thumb strokes over where the silver band sits against George’s skin.
“George, wi-”
“Yes,” George blurts.
“Shut up,” Dream’s laughing, eyes sparkling and wet. “Let me say it.”
“Fine. Say it, nimrod.” George’s face aches from grinning, looking down at Dream on one knee.
“George,” Dream takes a steadying breath, “will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
George barrels forward, knocking Dream over with an ooft and sitting across his stomach. Dream winces in pain as his back hits the hardwood floor, but he’s still laughing and reaching forward to take George’s face in his hands.
“I’m so mad you found it, I had a whole plan at midnight and a speech about this next year together, and you ruined it,” he doesn’t really sound mad. George leans down to kiss him.
“It’s your own fault. The sock drawer, really?” George shakes his head in humoured disbelief, his nose brushing against Dream’s as he does.
“I panicked, okay?” he huffs against George’s mouth, lifting up to steal another kiss.
“My fiancé’s an idiot,” George says, his whole being glowing with the word. Dream mirrors his reaction.
“My fiancé is a bigger idiot,” Dream responds, “and nosy too.”
“Will you just give me the fuzzy socks now?” George's eyes catch on the ring around his finger, it looks so right.
Dream rolls his eyes at George’s stubbornness. “Anything you want.”