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The last few months have been rough.
That’s not to say they haven't also been amazing. George has met Dream, seen Dream, and met so many other people, done so many other things. It’s like everything broke on them at once. But George is a homebody, he craves the comfort of his own bed to sleep in and his own toilet to shit in. Hell, George’s own bed in Florida doesn’t even feel like his yet. It’s just Dream’s old mattress on the floor.
Another downside to the last few months is Dream’s immune system. Re-entering society has been tough on George’s best friend, it seems like he can simply breathe in the direction of the common cold and be down for weeks, and if he eats anything outside of his usual diet he’s fucked over by food poisoning or just a straight up allergic reaction.
So after February and LA, the three of them agreed to stay home for a couple months and just finally settle into their home together.
Sapnap managed to keep it up for two weeks.
He’s not a homebody. Right now he’s back in North Carolina with Foolish and Karl. For an introvert he sure loves meeting new people and being out of the house,he loves to travel and just do things. It was one of the worst parts of Dream being faceless for him.
But Dream and George love to stay home. It’s something they’ve grown very used to in their years of friendship. George sat in London alone, Dream as close by as he can be through Teamspeak or a Discord call. Sometimes George would put his phone on the pillow next to him and close his eyes, pretending Dream was in bed right beside him. He thinks Dream knew, Dream's voice always becoming hushed and soft whenever he called, like Dream was whispering right into his ear.
Now that they could actually do that if they wanted– even if they haven't, George hasn't even tried. He thinks the sight of Dream looking at him with his face smushed into a pillow, breath hot and words hushed, would kill him. The closest they get is lying on either end of the sofa. Sometimes if George is feeling extra bold he will let his foot touch Dream’s leg.
Talking with Dream is still as easy as it’s always been. Being able to physically see him hasn't changed that. But why would it? George was in love with his best friend long before he’d seen his face.
They’re talking now, sitting on either ends of the sofa. Today isn't a confident day for George and he’s keeping his feet to himself. The power is out again, and honestly George has completely lost faith in the Florida electric companies– like how have they not found a way around this when it’s storming so often?
George is voicing this exact opinion at the moment, since Dream threw the chess board across the room when he lost for the fourth time.
“Seriously, can’t you guys like- prevent this?” he groans, slumping further down the couch but bending his knees up higher. The spark of his skin touching Dream’s when there’s lightning about seems like a bad idea.
“What would you have them do? C’mon genius, if you’re such a smartass,” Dream replies. He’s smiling, almost laughing at George’s frustration.
George sighs, overly dramatic. But he doesn’t reply, he isn’t a fucking electrician.
“Exactly,” Dream says, smug. “So quit your bitching and let's just wait for it to blow over.”
“If I wanted to stay inside with rain all day every day I would've stayed in England.” He doesn't mean it. He’s just grumpy. Storms make him grumpy sometimes, as though when the weather is bad he gets his own personal stormcloud that follows him around.
He stands from the couch, abandoning Dream and his stupid, smug little face, and goes to his favourite spot in the house. Dream doesn’t follow him, they both know George isn’t really angry. This isn't a real fight, they don’t have real fights very often.
On the first floor there’s a big cozy nest chair in front of a large window. Next to it, Dream’s mum had bought a wicker basket full of fluffy blankets in various shades of Green, Blue and Red. Dream usually uses this space to read, but George likes to sit here and just look out the window.
He grabs his favourite green blanket (it’s his favourite because it’s the softest, not because it’s green), and curls up into the chair.
The storm came in off the coast a few days ago, pitching the sky darker than it should be for two in the afternoon. Before the power cut out this morning, the news said the water was knee-deep in some areas. The Dream Team house is safe for now, and despite it not being built to keep the power on, it was built to withstand a storm. So George sits comfortably in the darkness, watching heavy rain lash against the window and through their garden. Before he moved, weather like this meant pots and pans scattering the kitchen floor, his mop bucket in the corner of the bathroom and his bin on a particular drippy spot in his bedroom. He was practically holding the roof up in that flat, so desperate to get out and determined he didn't need to fix the problems because it was only temporary.
It turned out to be a long temporary.
The house is surrounded by trees, some of which bend and arch so uncomfortably in the wind that George thinks they might snap, like they’re mere branches and not fully grown.
Despite his protests, and dependency on technology that's now long-since ran out of charge, George loves the sound of rain. The heavy pitter patter mixed with whooshing winds is cathartic to his chaotic mind– he gets why people use the sound to go to sleep.
It’s still warm when it storms in Florida, unlike what he’s used to back in London. If it wasn't for the ferocity of the weather itself you could still leave the house in shorts and a t-shirt and be comfortable. He thinks back to the chill of an English storm, how it settles in your bones like ice and you just can’t shake the feeling that you’re freezing from the inside out. Even though it isn't cold here, George can't fight the urge to bundle up. He wraps the blanket up over his head, fully enveloping himself with it so only his face peeks out.
Winter has been difficult for George, and spring has brought storm after storm. George just wants summer already. He’s dreamed of summer in Florida. He wants to wrestle Sapnap in the pool, he wants to watch Dream’s freckles erupt across his skin like he's said they do. He wants to finally see if Dream’s hair does go blonde in the sun, because as it stands he’s yet to be convinced his best friend isn't a brunette.
He really wants to go to the beach. George loves the beach. England's beaches are rocky, and seagulls shit everywhere while simultaneously stealing your food. Controversially, George likes the feeling of sand between his toes, he had always loved sandpits when he was a kid (as long as nobody had peed in them).
While thinking of warmth and all the tropical possibilities of his new home, George’s eyes droop, like shutters that keep the current storm from his mind. He drifts off thinking of vanilla ice cream and green eyes glowing in the sun.
He’s woken by a gentle hand on his shoulder. “George?”
“Mm?” he replies, groggy as he comes to.
“The storm’s passed.”
George opens his eyes to bright light, sun streaming through the window and over his face. But…
“It’s still raining,” he says, puzzled.
It’s lighter now, but still definitely enough to warrant an umbrella. The grass and all of the garden is glittering with beads of rainwater, and it still falls heavily from the sky, but now the world is bright and blue, barely a cloud left in sight.
“Yeah, but the worst is gone. This is the good bit.” Dream sounds like an excited child on Christmas morning– like he’s never experienced this moment before even though he’s lived in Florida his whole life.
He rummages in the blanket, narrowly missing places George doesn't want him to touch right now, and finds his hand, then he’s dragging George out his chair and down the stairs.
“What are you doing?” George asks, giggling and stumbling behind Dream as he’s pulled through the house to the doors that lead to the back porch.
“We are going in the rain,” Dream says, still giddy and grinning from ear to ear in the most carefree way.
Dream doesn't get like this often, but when he does– it's infectious. George can't help but be swallowed whole by the happiness that radiates from his best friend.
“I don't even have shoes on,” George says, laughing but still letting himself be pulled out into the rain.
Dream lets George’s hand go for a moment once they get onto the patio, removing his socks and rolling his sweats up a couple of times to show most of his calf. George follows his lead and does the same, putting his socks next to Dream’s on the wet stone.
The ground is soft underfoot, waterlogged and slippery. George already knows as they step out onto the grass that this is going to be a recipe for disaster for both of their clumsy asses.
Dream is radiant in the rain. He tilts his head up to the sky, letting crystalline droplets land on his face. He’s smiling so wide, lit by the long awaited sun, George can't help but stare at him. When he turns to face George again, George doesn't bother pretending that he wasn't looking, but from the way Dream’s smile only widens as their eyes meet, he guesses that he doesn’t mind.
“I’ll race you round the yard,” Dream says, eyes full of mischief and playful competition.
“How are we going to race if you’re holding my hand?” George asks, trying to wiggle his hand free but failing.
“But I want to hold hands,” Dream whines, squeezing his palm around George’s in emphasis.
George rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says, before yanking himself free and setting off to run around the back garden.
He hears Dream shout behind him, but his voice doesn't carry far enough through the rush of the rain and the wind in George’s ears. His feet slap against the ground wetly and he knows the only way this ends is with him flat on his face in the mud, but he doesn’t care.
“ Oh George!” echoes from behind him, Dream’s catching up already, using his long legs to his advantage.
The garden blurs to nothing as George runs, water hitting his face in a heavy spray, soaking into his t-shirt and hair till both cling uncomfortably to him in the wind. His lungs burn– this is the most exercise he’s done since running away from KSI in the Sidemen video and honestly he thinks he's already winded.
Dream is gaining fast, his stamina is better, he’s taller, he works out. The odds were never in George’s favour and he knew that when Dream first challenged him. But he won't go out without a fight.
He can hear the heavy pounding of Dream’s feet against the grass, can hear him getting closer and closer, and can hear the smug laugh of the hare. But George is a cheating tortoise, he stops suddenly, kicking his foot out to the side and tripping Dream as he races past.
“ George!” Dream shouts, flying forward face first into the dirt. He slides along the mud and wet grass for about an extra metre, and George is so caught up in laughing his ass off he forgets to keep running.
“You menace,” Dream says, rolling onto his butt to face a hysterical George. His whole torso is covered in dirt, as well as his knees and arms, there's a perfect smear of mud along his cheekbone and into his beard and jawline.
“Look at you!” George giggles, “You look like such a nimrod.”
George’s face aches from smiling, and he’s so tired from running, he doesn't notice as Dream starts to shuffle forward.
“You cheated,” Dream says, smiling back at George before quickly lurching forward and grabbing George’s ankle with a muddy hand. He pulls and George’s legs come out from under him, landing on his butt hard.
“Dream!” he shrieks, dirt splatters up onto him from the impact of his ass on the ground.
“Karma,” Dream shrugs.
George resigns himself to the mess, flopping back to lie against the wet grass and stare up at the sky.
“This was fun,” he says, hoping Dream’s listening. “I needed this.”
“Yeah?” Dream asks. George hears him crawl closer, coming to lie next to him in the grass.
George reaches blindly for Dream’s hand again, allowing himself to lace their fingers together. Dream did it earlier– it isn't weird.
He rejoices when he feels Dream willingly tangle his hand with George’s and give it a squeeze.
“We’ve been inside a lot…” Dream muses. “It’s nice to just get out, even if it is our own yard.”
George hums in agreement and turns his head to look at Dream again. Dream isn’t looking at George, his eyes are closed and raindrops gather on his lashes, clumping them together. Thin streaks of water run off his face and into his hairline, his hair is damp and curling uncontrollably. George still can’t believe how curly Dream’s hair is– can’t believe Dream was convinced it’s wavy. The profile of Dream’s face is one of a Greek god with a strong nose and sharp jaw. People had mocked how his profile looked when he face-revealed, saying unkind words about his underbite, but honestly George loves it– loves how it makes Dream different and makes Dream Dream.
“What’re you looking at?” Dream asks. He’s looking at George now, and George feels heat creep up his neck and flood his face at being caught.
“Just your dumb face,” he mutters, turning away to look back at the sky.
“If it’s so dumb why do you look at it like you look at cool rocks from the beach?” Dream says knowingly. George pointedly ignores the question and keeps looking up at the sky.
The sky’s still blue, but it’s already beginning to darken again, and the heat of the sun is no longer keeping the chill of the rain at bay. George shivers, holding his arms to try and keep warm.
“It’s cold,” he says, watching dark clouds begin to encroach on the sky.
“It’s probably just the next storm coming,” Dream explains, his voice hushed and right in George’s ear like it used to be on those late night discord calls.
“Should we go inside?” George asks, keeping his eyes to the clouds. He can feel his face burning where Dream’s gaze lands on him, hot and heavy.
“Not yet, let's wait for it to start.”
So they wait. George stares at the sky, watching as it darkens and the clouds overtake everything. The rain changes, from light drizzling to heavy drops that splash against his skin with force. The sky flashes, and then thunder rolls through the air, bouncing off the trees around the garden.
“It’s here,” Dream whispers in wonder, rushing to his feet and pulling George up with him.
They stand face to face as the sky opens and rain pours down. Dream beams up at the sky, like this is the best feeling on earth, and honestly– if Dream wasn’t still holding his hand, George might agree. He reaches out, selfishly taking Dream’s other hand in his. Dream looks down then, eyes snapping to where they’re connected hand in hand.
“George-” There’s a look in Dream’s eyes, a look George thinks is mirrored in his own. A look that pleads and begs for what George hopes they both want.
He swings forward on his feet, standing on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Dream’s shoulders. They’re closer than ever, closer than George could’ve ever wished when he was across an ocean with a phone on the pillow beside his ear.
“Dream?” He says his name like it's a question. Dream answers with a nod and his hands land on George’s waist over the rain-wet t-shirt.
George leans forward and kisses Dream. His lips are ice cold from the storm and so are George’s, but they soon warm with the friction of moving together. He moves to cup Dream’s cheek, uncaring for the mud on Dream’s face or his hand– he just wants to hold them there for as long as he can.
He wobbles slightly from standing on his toes for so long, and Dream wraps his arms around him, crashing George into his chest to keep him steady.
They kiss till another roll of thunder hits them. They pull away breathless and smiling.
“We should go inside before you blow away,” Dream teases, reaching to hold George’s face too. His thumb strokes through the stubble on George’s jaw and George leans into the touch.
“I think we should be more worried about you getting sick again,” George says, pinching Dream’s nose playfully. It’s already a little red.
George takes Dream’s hand again, no longer needing to find courage to do so, and they run back inside as the storm worsens around them. They kiss again on the threshold, hit by the warmth of the house, letting their hair and clothes drip water onto the hardwood floor.
-
Dream does end up getting sick, he has a cold for over a week. George refuses to kiss him the whole time, no matter how much Dream whines at him like a baby, but he brings him soup and strokes his hair. The first day Dream wakes up with a clear nose and a soothed throat, George kisses him again, and again, and again.