Archive of Our Own

Dream learned what work meant at a young age.

He was six when his dad first told him to stop slacking off. He didn’t get why it was such a big deal if he wanted to play pirates with his neighbors instead of doing his homework. Pirates were  cooler and much more interesting than addition.

But even still, he still finished it before he went to bed.

When his grades came back, his dad smiled at him in a way he can’t remember him ever doing before. He gave him a high five as he said “good job” and that was when it clicked for him.

Love needs work.

And over the years his understanding of it expands.

Love is when you make your mom a special mother’s day breakfast and she responds with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Love is your sister smiling as you give her all the toys you don't want anymore (and some you still do.) Love is doing your friends' homework and they thank you by inviting you to their Minecraft server. Love is learning how to code so you can make your favorite game more fun for lots of people. Love is hours poured into planning and filming and editing so you don’t disappoint anyone. Love is listening and remembering and being understood in return. Love is staying up late and waking up early to stay in sync with your best friend across the ocean. Love is waiting because waiting is hard and even harder for him. Love is moving across the world to be together.

Love is work.

So when he finally figures it out with George, he’s surprised to have his understanding of love be flipped in on its head.

George shows him love without work. To love for love’s sake.

George is work and work is love.

George is love.

At first he thinks it’s the same as the love he’s been working for his entire life. But George introduces a non-transactional form of loving that Dream’s never known before. He doesn’t expect anything from him and though it should feel freeing, it cages Dream within the confines of his own mind.

Dream remembers George’s order when they get takeout and he gets rewarded with a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Idiot,” he says, casual as always.

It almost feels like a reward but he knows he gets kisses on his cheek when they’re alone together, with nothing happening. He kisses him when he’s just woken up, groggy with  sleep all over his face. He kisses him like that to ease the frustration on his face after a long day. He kisses him just to touch each other, because they can.

He does nothing to warrant the love that George shows him and it stirs up something beautiful inside of him.

The next time he has to face this revelation of his is when he catches George doing laundry.

He’s in shorts and a thin t-shirt he thinks might be his. His socks are uneven on his ankles and Dream thinks he’s never seen someone look so much like home.

“Hi,” he greets as he pulls George into an embrace from behind, arms around his waist and chin tucked into the crook of his neck.

“When did you get home?” He turns around in Dream’s hold and slings his arms over his shoulders.

“Just now. Why are you doing laundry?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “Wanted to.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Okay,” George says. Simple and just that. “I wanted to, though.” George leans up in Dream’s grasp and kisses him sweetly.

There’s a lump sitting in his chest, heavy and dragging along the cavity of his heart. It rubs at his ribs in a way that makes Dream want to scream. George in his sleep shirt and socked feet and hair curling at his nape because he can’t be bothered to get a haircut when Dream likes his hair this much. He kisses him hard and deep like he’s paying penance.

George is breathless when they pull away. “What was that for?” he asks.

“Thank you.” And Dream can’t help but kiss him again.

It tastes sweet against his tongue when George doesn’t pull away to ask what for. He just leans into it, words said directly against his lips.

“For laundry,” he explains.

Now George is laughing and it fills up their home. Dream would kiss him for eons to come just to have his laugh take up space in every room of this house, sit in every corner and collect dust.

“You don’t need to thank me for doing laundry.”

It’s confusing and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He loves George and he just did something nice for the both of them so of course he deserves a kiss. Hell, he deserves so much more, much more than Dream can offer. But George just smiles like it’s really no big deal so he figures he can let it go.

He kisses him again but keeps the gratitude hidden underneath his palms.

The next week, same time as before, he finds George folding clothes on their bed. It evokes a deep emotion out of him, so deep he knows he can’t possibly show this side of him to George. So he places another order of Galaxy chocolate and pretends like loving him doesn't make him want to do impossible things.

They’re walking around LA when it becomes a bigger problem for Dream.

George insists on taking pictures of everything. He keeps 10 pictures in his camera roll for every one that he posts on Snapchat. It feels large, like a four letter word can’t fully capture whatever it is that’s brewing inside of him. So instead he poses for pictures and pays for their food because he knows saying thank you will earn him a look from George. The same one he gives when he’s being stupid in his eyes.

“Dream, can you hold your plate up for me?”

And he does. Because he loves him so much and it feels so good to be loved in return that he would hold up a million plates for him if he could.

George smiles as he types on his phone. Dream can’t see what he’s saying but peeks of yellow and a smile on his face clues him in. He stares down at his plate with his croissant and frowns because he didn’t know George wanted a picture of it.

“I already bit into mine.”

George looks up like he’s something absurd. It seems like he’s been doing that a lot lately. “I know that.”

“You should’ve told me you wanted a picture.”

“It’s just a picture, Dream. It’s fine.” He says it like it really is just fine and not like Dream wants to give him the best of everything, even if it is just a silly picture.

“Here,” George starts. “I haven’t touched mine yet. You can take a picture of me.” Dream knows he means I love you.

Dream smiles as he takes a picture of George. He thinks about posting it and it makes him feel  beautiful. Beautiful in the way girls do when they’ve just finished curling their hair or touching up their lipgloss. Pretty and nice like flowers tucked behind their ears. It’s just a picture but it’s one he’s going to post for the world to see. One George asked him to take.

He feels taken care of and loved so wholly he saves the picture onto his phone before he posts it.

When they leave the cafe, George hooks his arm with his and says nothing.

From where he’s standing he can see the top of George’s head, shined upon by the sun. It takes his breath away to be the one that gets to have this. No one else sees him like this and it makes him feel like he was made for him. Made to see the way the sun falls on him and to count the freckles underneath his clothes.

Wordlessly, George switches their sides, keeping Dream on the inside of the pavement. His body shielded from the road by George’s own.

He’s reminded of his dad, doing the same for his mom. He doesn’t understand what he’s meant to do with all of this love placed in his body. He wants to put it to words and he wants to choose the perfect filter for their pictures and he wants to pay for a thousand dinner dates to come.

He wants to work his entire life to even be considered worthy of this love.

They get home and it’s scary.

George still does their laundry and every week Dream comes up with new ways to thank him. He wants to scream Stop, slow down because George is loving him with every breath he takes and he can hardly keep up.

There’s a tally in his head of every action that has gone undeserved and it grows infinitely.

He suggests cooking them dinner and editing his videos and George answers with a smile and kisses him until they’ve both forgotten their names. He feels like he’s slowly evening out the score between them but it’s still not enough. It will never be enough because George kisses his stress away when he’s stuck in his office. He orders toys for Patches and he asks Dream if it’s green because she’s just as much his cat as she is Dream’s. He’s the one that keeps track of what’s missing in their pantry. He puts Dream’s important dates on his own calendar. He loves and loves and loves him so much and he asks for nothing in return. 

Every time he’s hit with the realization that George loves him he has to reevaluate himself. What has he done to warrant this kind of affection? What has he said that resulted in loving lips and hungry hands?

George answers all his worries with a nonchalance that Dream never learned to have. Through a smile, a kiss, a touch on his shoulder. I love you, he says through the way that he looks at Dream. It chokes him. He wants to buy him a billboard and a blip and fireworks display show all of which will spell out ‘I LOVE YOU GEORGE’ just so gets it.

So he takes him out to a nice dinner. He plans it weeks ahead, preparing a reservation for them both and lets George know to wear something nice. He buys a beautiful necklace that comes next week (even though he paid extra to have it come earlier) and wonders how many kisses he will get from this.

The answer is one.

George smiles the entire night and holds his hand as they walk home. He laughs when the waiter calls them a couple but he doesn’t pretend they aren’t. When they get home, George is too tired to stay up so they take a bath and Dream washes his hair with all the love and care he has in his body.

They’re dressing up when George turns around and leans into him. He winds his arms around his shoulders, the way he always does. By now he can recognize what he looks like when he’s asking for a kiss. His eyes go soft, in a way he can’t describe, and there’s a redness that colors his face. Dream, not one to deny him of anything, kisses him. It might be ridiculous how fast his heart is beating over a kiss with his boyfriend but he can’t help it. Dream doesn’t think this is something he can ever be casual about. Lips against lips with 8 years of waiting behind it.

George holds him as they sleep and right before he succumbs to the night he whispers, I love you against his neck and Dream feels tears well up in his eyes. Not the kind that falls from sadness or pain, the kind that comes from watching a movie that was made for the kid that lives in you. The kind that falls when you listen to a song that has heard you way before you figure out you’ve been screaming for help. The feeling of being known and loved simultaneously.

He works hard to be loved. That’s been a constant fixture in his life.

But George loves him without the work. George does all of this because of love. George loves the work he does.

It gets all tangled up in his head and he can’t make sense of it.

Next weekend the necklace comes. Next weekend George pushes Dream down on their sofa and traps him there for hours as they relearn what it’s like to know a body like it’s their own. Next weekend Dream is loved and he loves in return. It’s a marvel he never expected to have.

The necklace catches his eyes in moments he never expects it to.

George likes to play with Patches in the living room. It forms a crack down Dream’s chest, the ease of life. Dream swaddled in the Minecraft blanket George had gifted him, George on the floor with home hugging his clothes. In the living room. Sometimes, most times on days like this, but not always, Dream will be hit with a wave of pity for past him for not having what he has now. A house lived in with a boy he met online. A cat they call theirs. Friends that come and go and stay. And the promise that tomorrow will be the same as today, only better.

Today is no different.

George is making use of the cat toy he had bought recently. He leans down to dangle it over Patches. The necklace he gifted him falls out of where it was sitting under his shirt and swings against his neck. His eyes fall straight to it, shining and so very distracting

When he was picking out the necklace, this one wasn’t part of his final choices.

He was choosing between a simple gold chain like the one he got him a while back, or a silver one with a small round pendant. But then he came across this one, thin gold chain, with a letter for its pendant. Dream debated on getting him a ‘G’ for George or maybe an ‘L’ just to be funny, but the image of him with ‘D’ hanging from his neck had him dizzy and giggling like an idiot. He can’t help himself with how earnest George makes him.

Make an honest man out of him, as the saying goes. George doesn’t even have to try.

He bought it right away (along with the ‘G’ pendant just in case.)

George never brings it out from under his shirt and, honestly, Dream doesn’t mind. He likes that they have something for themselves, private and concealed under shirts and hoodies but never secret.

But at home he doesn’t mind it as much. George will let the necklace drag against his neck, twisting until the pendant finds its way to rest against his nape. Dream will hold him from behind, head resting right on top of his. He’ll kiss along the chain of the necklace. One, two, three times too many until George turns in his hold and pulls him closer until their chests are touching. George will kiss him until Dream’s gasping and his fingers will pull at the necklace, righting the ‘D’ until it’s back where it’s meant to be. Right above his heart.

Today, above the soft material of the shirt he wears to sleep, sits the necklace. It catches the light, making his eyes travel towards it. A testament to the years they spent waiting, longing, loving through a screen.

Dream reaches out to poke at the necklace.

“What?” George asks.

“Nothing.”

 George lets go of Patches and walks toward his boyfriend. “Silly guy,” he comments. It makes him feel prickly and burning for no reason he can name. “Like a cat.”

“That’s you.”

“You’re also a cat, but only sometimes.”

“Like when?”

“Like now, y’know? Me, you, Patches. Little cat family.”

He laughs at the absurdity. “I just morph into a cat when it’s play time.”

George laughs at that, like what he said was particularly funny. 

“You always talk about her like she’s your daughter.”

“Well, she kinda is.” Dream pulls at his arm to get George to sit beside him. George ends up flopping half on his lap and half over the pillows. “Sit properly, love.”

“Love,” George mocks, not unkindly. There’s a soft flush on his cheeks as he says it. “You always call me that.” George moves to sit down beside him, head falling against his shoulder.

Dream wraps his arm around his waist, happy to hold him as Patches watches from her bed across the room. “It just suits you well.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yeah it does. George, Love. Love, George. Same thing.”

“George is Love. Like the game.”

“Yeah,” Dream replies. “You got it.”

“If I’m love then what are you?”

“Dream.”

George thumbs at the pendant of his necklace. It makes his heart soar. “You’re stupid,” he says, his smile betraying his words. “I want to call you a stupid pet name too.”

“You can call me whatever you want to.” And it’s true. No matter how he spins it, no matter who asks, there’s no universe where whatever label falls on them matters.

Friends, best friends, partners, housemates, boyfriends, lovers– it doesn’t matter which one. Whatever seems right is right.

“What about ‘stupid little idiot,’ what do you think about that?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Dream watches as George presses his lips together, trying to stop himself from smiling too hard. He saves him the trouble, smiling as big as the sun, enough for both of them. It makes George bury his face in his chest. Maybe if he hides hard enough he’ll make an opening for himself to live inside Dream’s heart. He laughs, less at George and more because he’s so in love it drives him crazy.

“Dreaaaam,” he complains.

“What?” Feigning ignorance.

“You are so embarrassing,” he says into his chest. Dream swears he feels his words against his heart.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be quiet.”

They sit there for a good while. His arms are clasped around George and he wonders if he can hear how loud his heart is beating. The novelty of touch, closeness, of George. Dream just thinks it’ll never go away.

“I love you,” George says, right into the skin of his heart. The words are a branding on him. He can feel the burning swirl of the letters forming right on his chest.

George has his necklace and Dream has these words. It’ll be enough to carry over all their lifetimes.

They stay like that for the rest of the afternoon. Dream spends all of it calling him sweet names and George kisses him right through it.

George is a collector.

On their bedside table are two rose quartz elephants facing each other. George says to leave them alone, they're kissing. There's a rock from L.A. that stays on his desk. His wallet is a collection of dollars and pounds and whatever currency he can put meaning to. A single flower from the first bouquet Dream got him is pressed inside a notebook he doesn’t use. The top of his drawers are his favorite shirts, worn on a rotational cycle.

Little trinkets that he can’t bring himself to get rid of.

Dream wonders if he’ll ever love the way George does. He keeps things most people would get rid of and stores them in places no one would check to look. It cracks at his heart in a way he can’t explain. George and his bundle of memories, George and the tangible pieces of his heart.

But sometimes, George will forget about it. He’ll hide away a rock he called special and never bring it up again. The sight of it will bring out the words oh, I forgot about that and it scares Dream.

He dreads the day George will look at him and forget that he once regarded him as special. Shiny and important enough to keep within his orbit. One day he’ll keep him hidden so far into his heart that they’ll merge into one and George will forget all about what made him keep Dream in the first place.

But George has a folder of their pictures on his phone. It’s a shared album between them and every once in a while he will upload a photo he took of Dream when he wasn’t looking and Dream will blush when he gets the notification. George takes pictures of anything green and sends it to him. He takes pictures of dogs and cats he sees when he’s in public and it makes Dream think about expanding their little family of three to five, them and two cats and a dog. George will point out random things that form the shape of a heart with a ‘Dream, look!’ and Dream will answer with a kiss to his temple wishing that he could leave a kiss in the shape of a heart just so George will forever notice it.

In the dead of night, with George sleeping on top of him, his hand clutching at Dream, he lets himself believe that maybe George will never forget him. He squeezes him tightly and George stirs in his sleep.

There’s a frown forming on his face from being jostled like that and Dream has to swallow down a scream. His boyfriend is the most adorable man in the world what the actual fuck. 

“Dream,” George mumbles in his sleep. 

He loosens the grip he has on him, rubbing his hand up and down the length of his spine. “Sorry, baby,” he whispers. They fall asleep nestled against each other.

When they wake up George is pressed flush against his back, hands pressed against his navel. Dream comes to slowly, eyes bleary and neck prickling with the way George’s stubble drags along his nape. 

Good morning indeed. 

It’s Christmas when Dream starts thinking about proposing.

He knows it’s way too soon but he can’t help but think about it when George is the way that he is. Sometimes George isn’t thinking about his words carefully. He talks about their future with the promise of ‘when’ and not ‘if.’

They’re visiting Dream’s family for Christmas when the topic is brought up. His mom makes a comment on their ‘honeymoon phase’ and George laughs it off, hand clasped in his. Dream’s face is burning hot and he has to duck his head to avoid looking at anyone in the eyes.

“He’ll be a hundred times worse when you guys get married,” she comments.

George smiles like this is all a joke and Dream has to ignore the ringing in his ears.

When, not if.

They go through dinner with that bouncing around his head. When you guys get married. Such a big thing condensed into five words. The surety in his mom’s voice when she said that, like it was an inevitable fate. George’s easy smile, like he had already said yes ages before the question would be asked.

He thinks about the drawer of their bedside table George never checks. Inside is a velvet box housing a shining ring before it finds its permanent home on George’s finger.

He wonders what married life would be like. Maybe they’ll be clingier, more disgustingly in love with each other. Maybe George will call him ‘husband’ as he kisses him good morning. Maybe they’ll look into adopting a cat or maybe a dog this time. (Dream knows how much George wants one.)

It might be too early to ask the question but it feels right. It almost feels like he’s been putting it off for too long. 

Like 8 years and 4,336 miles too long. 

Before dinner, George was pulled to the kitchen with his mom.

From where he sits in the living room, he can see them talking. George has a flush to him, it seems like he always does these days. His mom is whizzing around the kitchen getting dinner ready as they talk. 

He thinks about London and George’s mom. He thinks about how he promised him next year they’d spend Christmas there. How wonderful is it to now have two families to share their lives with. 

There must be a sappy look on his face because his aunt elbows him and waggles her eyebrows at him. 

“Is there a girl back home that’s got you so distracted?”

It throws him off guard. 

“Uh, no, actually. No– none. No girl.”

“You know it’s about time you got a girlfriend, huh? You’re at the age to settle down and start a family.”

The fear is a familiar feeling. His throat is closing up and no words come to mind. He laughs it off, just to get her off his case.

“I know this wonderful young lady. Very smart, very Christian. You’d like her!”

“Um, no. That’s not– I’m okay, thank you.”

“Oh, are you sure sweetie? You’d do good finding yourself a nice woman–”

“No!” he blurts out. “Sorry, No. I don’t– I’m just not looking, aunt Lucy.”

She leaves him alone for the rest of the night.

“Your mom is nice,” George offers when they’re alone in Dream’s old room. 

“Yeah?” he asks, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. He rubs his hands up and down his boyfriend’s arms. “What did you guys talk about?”

George wraps his arms around Dream and sags against him. He holds him up and presses a kiss against his forehead. “She called you clingy.”

“‘M not clingy,” he says from the crown of his head. George chuckles at the irony and Dream marvels at the way he can feel his laugh right above his heart.

George looks up at Dream, arms hanging from his shoulders and chin against his chest. “You are,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Dream swoops in to kiss him. No matter how many times their lips meet it always feels like the first time, heart beating and flushing faces.

“Am not,” he argues against his lips.

George pulls away to give him a look. 

“Alright, fine. Maybe I like being around you just a little bit.”

“I knew it. You freak.”

“You’re the freak. Don’t act like you aren’t as clingy!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you don’t remember begging me–”

“-begging! I was not–”

“—You were! You begged me to stay in bed with you. You do this every morning.”

“That’s not true.”

“Okay then. Guess you’ll be fine sleeping in your room tonight.” Dream flops on the bed and turns away from his boyfriend.

“No,” George announces. He gets on the bed and lays his entire body over Dream. He turns in George’s hold and faces him, arms finding their way back around his waist

“No?” he asks, tilting his head

George has a pout on his mouth when he slumps into the crook of Dream’s shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Okay, baby.”

“Baby.”  Again with the tone. 

“I don’t know if you know this but you can call me pet names too, if you like,” he teases. “I won’t laugh.”

“Shut up,” he says.  There’s hesitation dancing on his face for a moment, then–

“Babe.” It’s abrupt. Shocking, almost. George is staring at him with a straight face and he looks so serious it makes Dream giggle.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” he buries his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry!” Dream laughs, brightly. There’s a litany of love in names hiding behind his teeth. He can feel George’s blush against his neck so he decides fuck it there’s no use holding back. 

“My baby. My lovely George,” Dream caresses his face in his hands, thumbs sitting right underneath his eyes. He’s beautiful with his freckles and the wear of the day hanging onto his skin. “Sorry, George. Didn’t mean it, you just looked so serious.”

“Fuck you too.”

“No, please, my darling love!” He squeezes George in his grip, exaggerating his words. His cheeks squish underneath his palms and it’s distracting enough to have Dream press kisses all over his face. 

“Stop. You embarrassing simp. I hate you.” 

“You don’t,” he argues.

George glared at him through his eyelashes, more embarrassed than mad. “Shut up.”

And to Dream, he knows it's a declaration of love. 

He sighs, settling both of them into stillness. 

“I love you so much, you know that?”

It must surprise George because he says nothing in return, just stares at Dream with amusement in his eyes.

“I love being around you, even if it's just like this, you know? All quiet and stuff. It’s nice. Never gets old.”

George cradles his face with both hands, thumbs brushing back and forth against his cheeks. “Clingy.”

“Yeah. Who can blame me? With the 3 years we wasted.”

“I’m just as bad as you are, I think.” George’s voice is quiet but sincere. “All the waiting was just a lot. Wasn’t easy not having you around.”

There’s a crack in his chest that swells and aches like an old wound. It makes him think if he could have saved them all this hurt by just getting on a plane himself. 

“Do you wish we had gone ahead and just did visits like you did with Sapnap?” He blurts. 

“Not really?” he shakes his head. “It would’ve been worse if I met you then had to say goodbye. Being with you now is good, you know? So good. And I think part of that is because we waited until we could do it right.”

And then his vision starts blurring and he can feel his hand trembling in George’s hold. He looks up at his boyfriend and concern immediately colors his face.

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

“You are! You’re crying,” he laughs brightly. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not.”

“Dream, “ he says in that specific way that makes him cave.

“Nothing bad.” Dream buries his face into the space where George’s neck meets his shoulder. “Just can’t believe you’re here.”

“Oh, Dream, Dream Dream,” he says.  “You big baby.” He speaks with a smile. He sounds weepy, eyes misted over with unshed tears. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! What’s wrong with you, huh? You’re the one crying.”

“Am not,” he counters, tears welling in his eyes. 

Dream reaches out to wipe it away as it falls, thumb tracing the high of his cheekbone. “What are you crying for?”

“It’s because you smell so bad it’s foul. Actually, Dream. It’s nasty, I’m actually tearing up. Stop laughing, you smelly asshole.”

“If I’m so putrid smelling what are you doing here cuddling me?”

George splutters, laughing too much to take this seriously. “It’s so no one else has to suffer. I’m actually doing the world a favor, you know? Saving them from yourmmpf–!”

Dream interrupts his tangent with a kiss. He can feel him smile against his lips and it lights something wondrous deep inside of him. It’s a beautiful feeling to be kissing with laughter following right behind them. There’s love and fun and so much joy between the two of them sometimes Dream fears they’ll burst. 

Here, in Dream’s old twin sized bed, with his childhood memorabilia lining the walls, George lays with him. Lips to lips, hands roaming, and it makes him so strikingly aware of how he barely had to work for this. 

Fuck, he thinks. I really need to propose.

“Morning Dr’m,” George mumbles against his collarbone, stubble scratching against his cheek.

“Hi love.”

“Love.”

“Too early for this George,” he teases, angling his head downward to claim his good morning kiss. 

“Okay,” he pecks him on the lips. “Okay, honey.”

“Honey?”

“Honey. Sweetie.”

“What’s with you this morning, huh?”

George puffs out his cheeks, physically holding in a laugh. There’s a redness to his cheeks, bashful and embarrassed despite himself. “It’s Valentine’s.”

Dream can feel the length of his spine light up like a line of fireworks. “Valentine’s day.”

“Yeah,” George says. “Will you be mine?” 

“I’m already yours,” he says instantly. 

“Idiot. I meant be my valentine.”

“Ohh, George,” he coos. “You wanna be my valentine?”

“Why else would I ask you, idiot.”

Dream shuffles them around until he has George lying on top of him. The morning has just started and his mind goes back to the box in their drawer. He thinks of years ahead of them, just like this. Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s, Easter, Halloween, Fourth of July, Groundhog day, birthdays, anniversaries, and every single holiday in the calendar. 

Him and George, all year round. 

Dream doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve this. 

When George had first moved here, they were timid. Never too much, afraid of overstepping. George would duck his head to hide his blush and Dream would squeeze his fists as tight as he could, afraid to show him the emotion he feels inside. 

Now, they live together and he’s put a ring on his finger. There’s a puppy sleeping by their feet and Patches is off playing with her new kitten friend. 

How curious, what time has done to them. The love on George’s tongue is looser now, no more hiding behind insults and half-cloaked confessions. Dream doesn’t worry much about the future, unlike before. No more thinking about what could go wrong, if George will get on a plane and leave him forever. Now he thinks about whether or not the spare office would work as a nursery room. 

Love weighs down on him, heavy. It feels like destruction lining the bones in his body, waiting to erupt. It’s hard work— through and through. 

But George makes it so easy it just doesn’t seem real.

George: creature of habit, man of comfort, love in human form.  

Sometimes Dream has this all consuming urge to know every single person that had loved him before. To know who they are and what George meant to them. He wants to meet them, to know them. To thank them all one by one for loving him right and good, just enough to get him to Dream. 

Somewhere in London, someone’s hands have touched George. Someone’s number was written on a paper napkin, forgotten in George’s pocket. Somewhere, here and there, there’s a heart that loved and let him go. 

Someone is responsible for placing George, here, in his arms, carrying his name on a chain and his heart in his pockets. 

Dream can never thank them enough. He can only make sure that every day with the love of his life is better than the last. To love him more today than he did yesterday. To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. Now and forever, no matter how much work it takes. 

Because loving George works. 

“Yeah, of course,” he nods. “I’ll be anything you want.” Honest and true. George calls him an idiot for his words but the smile he presses into their kiss gives him away. They’ll make breakfast together and George will pretend he’ll let Dream do all the work but he’ll slip away to give Patches her food. 

They’ll kiss the morning away, languid and loving. George will sit on the counter, legs parted to make room for Dream. 

They’ll do this every morning, until next Valentine’s comes, and it’ll be good.