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George’s toothbrush sat on Dream’s vanity. It caught him off guard every time he walked in to pee. Because it was just there, out in the open for anyone who walked in to see.
And it was obvious in the same way Dream’s affection normally was—soft kisses pressed to his hair, compliments spoken with wide grins, laughter so loud it shook the house.
Florida was better than George had ever imagined (read: Dream), sitting in his London flat with nothing but promises of a brighter future. And somewhere between then and now, an extra toothbrush had taken residence in a bathroom with two towels.
There weren’t two towel racks, so George forced Dream to drape his over the shower door to dry.
It was because he was taller, George reasoned, but really, he just liked to admire the way Dream’s shirt rose to expose his stomach every time he stretched up to put it back. (Sometimes, George walked forward and pressed his fingers to the skin, pulling Dream into a soft, hungry kiss.)
“Happy?” Dream always asked, his nose scrunching like it always did when he tried to pick a pointless fight.
“Yep,” George always responded, kissing Dream’s nose quickly before he pulled away.
Because as every day passed, the bathroom truly looked like two lives merged into one, and George held onto every kiss pressed down the line of his spine in early morning hours or dumb messages written every day on the whiteboard in their room.
It made him smile every time he thought about it.
He was still smiling as he grabbed an old shirt off the bathroom tiles, tugging it on while halfway out the door.
Sapnap paused on the other end of the corridor, his eyes a little too wide and his smile a little too big.
“What?” George said, playing mindlessly with the frayed corner of the shirt.
“You stole Dream’s lucky shirt,” Sapnap said.
George frowned at the shirt, taking in the loose threads and cracked lettering—Sooners National Champions 2000, he could barely make out. It was comfy and soft in the way only well-worn clothes were.
“So?”
“So, he’s going to kill you,” Sapnap said.
“No, I don't think so,” George said, crossing his arms. “I actually think he’ll like it.”
Sapnap narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Sure. Let’s see then.”
George blinked, trying to conceal his surprise. He expected Sapnap to back off, like he always had for things dnf.
(Propaganda, he called it.)
“Put your money where your mouth is,” Sapnap said.
“Fine,” George said. He knew he was just steering directly into what Sapnap wanted, but a sick part of him wanted to see what Dream’s reaction would be. It was a part of him that lit up every time he saw two toothbrushes lined up together—one blue and one green. (Dream had picked them out, and although George wanted to call him dumb, he loved the way Dream lit up as he showed him. So maybe—maybe they weren’t that dumb.)
“Fine.”
They stared at each other, and George almost started laughing at this image—of the two of them having a stare down across their own hallway. He was the first to move, clapping Sapnap on the back as he brushed past him to make it to his room.
“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” George said. “Might as well just give it to me now.”
Sapnap snorted. “Yeah, right.”
George closed his door, and although he would never admit it, he did spend a little too much time standing in front of his own bathroom mirror, staring at the shirt and how it nearly swallowed him whole. He’d always been a fan of larger clothes, but Dream’s clothes—Dream’s clothes were something else entirely.
He hadn’t worn Dream’s clothes often in the months they’d been together, mostly because he was scared of showing too much, but lately, they’d stopped being as careful.
Soft launch, Dream’d called it, even if the soft launch had included a picture of Dream kissing him on the couch.
So, George stared at the shirt and how the sleeves almost reached his elbows, the shoulder stitching reaching his biceps instead of his shoulders. There was a hole on the bottom right, and George could see where Dream had worried it bigger with anxious movements. (In all, it fit him in the same way Dream fit him—like a love so large it was almost overwhelming.)
And it really was Dream’s favorite shirt. He wore it the morning after every OU tailgate they hosted for themselves and their friends. He wore it for impromptu dates or movie nights on the couch. He even wore it the first night they kissed, sitting in the darkness of their backyard. And in all of the time spent in Florida, George had never seen it hanging or folded—it was always either on Dream or in the laundry (or in a pile on the ground, which was practically the same as in the laundry).
George didn’t take it off, even as he set up his streaming room. He’d sent Dream a message telling him to get ready in his own room as he started pulling down the green screen and moving the camera so that it covered the entire area.
“George, do you know where my—“ Dream said, his voice echoing as he passed through the bathroom to get to the streaming room.
George didn’t look up, waiting instead for Dream to finish his thought. But when nothing happened, he finally looked up. “What?”
Dream was frozen in the doorway. He almost looked silly standing there, one hand on the doorframe, lips slightly parted.
It took George a second to remember he was still in Dream’s shirt, and by the time he did, a smirk had slowly formed.
George raised an eyebrow. “Yes, baby?”
Dream’s face went instantly red. It was almost concerning, as he tried and failed to speak. George had only ever seen him shut down like this a few times in their relationship. Usually, those times involved less clothes, but George took every one of those moments and bottled them.
“I, um, you, um—“
“Dream?” George prompted.
Dream’s fist unconsciously knocked against the doorframe as his brain visually rebooted.
“I–I, um, I think I forgot something,” Dream finally said.
He nearly ran from the room, and George craned his neck to watch him leave, smothering his laughter in the collar of Dream’s shirt.
he didn’t say anything :(, he texted Sapnap.
No shot, Sapnap responded almost instantly.
i’d never lie to you
Bitch
George was still laughing as he pulled up the game.
-
He didn’t take it off even as he went live.
Maybe it wasn’t the most soft of decisions according to internet soft launch rules, but every time he thought about taking it off, he could only see Dream—Dream panicking, Dream breathless, Dream frozen because of him.
Maybe he also wanted to push it.
“I didn’t know you were a Sooners fan,” he read from chat.
Dream made a choking sound in the call.
They had set up the call minutes before George pressed the button to stream, and Dream hadn’t said anything about what happened in the time they spent mindlessly chatting.
A small part of George was disappointed, and maybe, as the stream went on, he wanted more attention, so he said:
“No, I’m not a fan.”
The other end of the call was noticeably silent, so George continued.
“I actually don’t remember where I got this shirt. Do you, Dream?”
“Um, yeah, I-I don’t know,” Dream said. “I think I got it for you when Sapnap and I visited OU.”
George looked directly into the camera and shrugged. “There you have it.”
He tried not to look too proud as a few messages spammed mentioning the years didn’t add up or the shirt definitely looked older than a few months.
George smothered his smile.
“I actually think I found it in the trash,” George said.
Dream scoffed. “In the trash.” His words were barely picked up by his mic.
George pretended to ignore him, even as he imagined how flustered Dream was. Now, especially in person, where George could push and pull at everything Dream, he realized just how easy it was to fluster him.
It was cute, even if Dream paid it back just as much.
On screen, Dream’s character failed an easy jump, and George laughed, his chair tipping back and his legs moving to press to his chest.
“What was that?” he asked, the words light from laughter.
“Shut up. I didn’t see it.”
George buried his smile in his knees.
-
There were no other mentions of the shirt during the rest of the stream, much to George’s annoyance. If he were asked, he would’ve shown it fully to the camera. (And even when he wasn’t asked, he still debated doing it anyways, just to hear Dream scoff at him.)
But just because chat didn’t mention it, it didn’t mean Twitter wasn’t blowing up.
He was grinning as he scrolled through the screenshots and theories, all with the same conclusion: the shirt was not his.
George sent a few of his favorites to Dream, his smile only widening further when Dream left him on read.
He’d only just left his room and sat on the stools in the kitchen before Dream also joined him.
“You’re a menace.” The words were whispered in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. A hand pressed against his lower back, and George instinctively leaned closer into the touch.
George glanced up at Dream and gave him a wide grin. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Okay, George.”
George turned in the kitchen stool, and Dream’s hand moved with him, curling around his hip.
“Explain it to me, Dream.”
Dream was leaning down to talk to him, his leg slotted between George’s. In an odd way, it was comforting, like wearing a piece of Dream’s old clothing, especially as Dream was looking at him with darkened cheeks and hand-ruffled curls.
“I-I shouldn’t have to explain it to you,” Dream said. “Like, you should just get it.”
George wrapped his ankles around the back of Dream’s leg, pulling him closer. “And if I don’t just get it?”
Dream sighed, shaking his head, but George saw through him and the small smile that was starting to appear. “You’re a menace.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” Dream echoed, leaning down to kiss him.
George smiled into the kiss, pulling Dream closer by his hips. Immediately, a loud clank echoed around the kitchen and Dream was falling forward, laughing into George’s shoulder. Most of his body weight landed on George.
“Fuck,” he said. “That–that was my toe.”
George snorted, trying (and failing) to push Dream off of him. “Why’d you stub your toe?”
“Why?” Dream said.
“Yeah.”
Dream moved his head enough to glance up at George, and George’s heart stopped, even after all this time. “I don’t know. I just woke up this morning and said, ‘Today would be a great day to injure myself.’ And so I did.” He scoffed. “What, George? Why would I want that? Really, why?”
George reached up and cupped Dream’s cheek, rubbing his thumb in small circles. “I think you just want attention.”
Dream finally straightened, and George was torn between wanting to pull him back and wanting to finally breathe without Dream crushing his lungs.
“Oh, you want to talk about attention, George?” Dream asked.
George bit back a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dream looked him up and down, and George resisted the urge to hide under the weight of his gaze. Because he was wearing Dream’s favorite shirt, hanging out in their kitchen, with matching toothbrushes and two towels hanging in a bathroom originally meant for one.
Dream snorted. “Okay. And Twitter is acting perfectly sane right now.”
“It’s enrichment, Dream,” George said. “I’m, like, letting them touch grass or something.”
He knew he was just spewing random words, but Dream still laughed at him.
“That’s literally–that’s literally the opposite of what you’re doing.”
“How often do you touch grass, Dream?” George asked. “Because I touched a poisonous frog the other day.”
Dream’s face scrunched up, and he kissed the top of George’s head. “Don’t touch poisonous frogs.”
“Fine,” George said. “Where’s the closest gator?”
Dream flicked his nose before pulling George to his feet, leading them both back to their room, where they spent the rest of the night intertwined and sending each other funny tweets.
“Oh, did you see this art?” Dream murmured against George’s collarbone.
“No, did you see this?”
And when they got ready for bed, they stood together at one sink, fighting for space as they brushed their teeth with matching toothbrushes. In the early days, Dream had moved between the two sinks every time George started to take over one of them, but eventually, he learned that George wanted to elbow him every night, laughing at the toothpaste drying in the corner of his mouth.
Tonight, George did it all in Dream’s favorite shirt, trying to be extra careful to not get toothpaste on it.
When Dream tried to pull him closer, hands searching to find a way under the extra fabric, George’s face fell to Dream’s shoulder as they both laughed.
“This is so much work,” Dream said.
“Sorry,” George said. “I’ll take it off.”
“No,” Dream said so quickly, George looked up. “Well, I mean, yes, but, like, no.”
And George smiled as he rose onto his toes to kiss Dream’s cheek, understanding him perfectly.
“Simp,” he said.
Dream laughed like an exhale of air he had been holding back. “Shut up.”
Later that night, George texted Sapnap.
L
he gave me the shirt
No fucking shot
where’s my money?