Work Text:
The guest bed is a little too big for George. He becomes painfully aware of the empty space next to him from the first night. He tosses and turns for hours, but he can never fall asleep because the mattress is way too firm and it feels new all over.
It takes a few hours before he decides to get up and head downstairs for a glass of water and the hope of maybe dozing off on the couch.
There’s a dim light streaming through the living room, and he thinks Dream or Sapnap probably forgot to turn the light off before they went to sleep, but then he sees Dream sitting on the couch. His head is against a pillow, and George quiets down with hesitant footsteps just in case he’s asleep.
The floor creaks beneath George’s step, and Dream flinches to turn around. Apparently, he isn’t the only one who’s having a hard time sleeping.
“George?” Dream furrows his eyebrows.
“Hi,” George heads next to him. “Why’re you awake?”
“My sleep schedule’s fucked,” Dream replies. “Couldn’t really sleep while I was waiting for you.”
How long have you been waiting for me? George blinks at him, the sacrifices they’ve made along the way flooding through him — all unquestionably worth it. He feels like he has been restless for days, for years, always itching under his skin just to get home.
Dream turns his attention to him next. “Why are you awake?”
“Thirsty,” George simply says. “I don’t know where to get it. This is all really new.”
“From the sink,” Dream replies, getting up to show him as George groans.
“You drink water from the sink? That’s fucking disgusting.”
“It’s clean, you dumbass. Says the guy who literally drank his disgusting bath water on stream.”
“That doesn’t count,” George shoots back.
“You’re stupid,” Dream grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water before handing it to George. “Drink.”
George rests his back against the cabinets. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Dream caves in with a sigh. “Drink, please?”
“That’s more like it,” he smiles as he grabs the glass and takes a sip. “Tastes like water.”
“Who could’ve known?” Dream smiles, settling on the couch, leaving a George-sized space. It’s beyond natural, how Dream doesn’t stop to think before he scoots towards the middle with the unconscious assumption that George will want to sit next to him. Just like he leaves the chair beside him empty when they go out to eat, and how he always makes sure to only take half of the blanket because he knows George will want to fight him over it.
He always wins, and he knows it’s because Dream lets him every single time.
“How’re you feeling?” Dream asks, voice threaded with concern at his silence. The other end of the couch gapes at him as George sits impossibly close to Dream.
“Good, I guess. A little overwhelmed.”
Dream brushes the side of his hand against his knee, a silent understanding spirals through the way he just keeps it there, like he’s saying I’m here for you forever now. “Do you need anything?”
Just this, George gazes at him. Just you. “Maybe an actual bed,” he says instead.
Dream’s eyebrows quirk up, a challenge by itself. “Well, there is an actual bed. In my room.”
“What, you wanna sleep with me?” George scoffs, and he turns red as he registers what he just asked.
“I mean,” Dream looks like he’s contemplating. “Kinda.”
George’s face pales in the blink of an eye. “Dream.”
“What? You asked.”
“Stop being stupid,” George stiffens, lip worried between his teeth.
Dream’s hand twitches slightly, but he hides it with a squeeze. “I’m serious. I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you. Until we get you a bed.”
George knows there and then that there’s no way in hell that he’s going to survive this whole ordeal.
“I’ll think about it.”
______
They’re watching a movie a few days later, but the colors on the TV are a blurry mess from where his head is pressed against Dream, eyelids growing heavier by the minute. Sapnap is asleep on the couch across from them, snoring lightly.
“You’re not watching,” Dream doesn’t even waste a second once he realizes, craning forward to get a better look at him. Somehow, it’s like Dream never misses anything when it comes to him.
“I am,” George lies through his teeth.
“You’re not,” Dream laughs, the tension in his body dissipating. “Tired?”
George yawns, curling in on himself. “Yeah,” he lowers his voice. “Just wanna sleep for a bit.”
“George,” Dream warns with that same tone he uses whenever George is doing something he’s not supposed to do — protective and careful and so impossibly soft. “Not here.”
I like sleeping with you in the room rests on his tongue. I like hearing you breathe. I like knowing you’re here with me. “It’s comfy here,” he says instead.
“No, it isn’t,” Dream breathes out a tender little sigh. “C’mon. You’re gonna hurt your neck, baby.”
“Baby?” George’s heart does a backflip in his chest as he registers the word.
“Sorry,” Dream rushes to say, and he looks like he wants to take it back, red rushing to the bones of his cheeks. “Sorry, it just — it slipped.”
That’s new, George thinks. This thing with Dream has been confusing him more and more every day.
It took him a little while to piece it together, that uncomfortable pit in his stomach he gets whenever Dream is around him. At first, he thought it was the change in the environment, trying to get used to a home that he’s been waiting so long to get to.
He has a stupid blue toothbrush in his bathroom before he even moves there, his office built down to a tee, a hand-made blanket as a gift from Dream’s mom. It’s everything he has ever wanted, within reach. So, rightfully, he doesn’t understand why he feels like something is off.
He talks to his mom about it, this feeling that he can’t contain that somehow spreads from head to toe whenever Dream sits down just a little too close to him and puts his hand on his leg when they’re laughing over Sapnap forgetting to put the lid on the smoothie machine and spilling the drink all over the counter.
It starts to make sense when he learns new things about Dream. Coincidentally, he forgets how to breathe. The crease of his eyes as he smiles, the look on his face when he uses the George voice, the feel of his hands against his skin as he happens to touch his shoulder.
It’s not like he’s bad at hiding it. He knows how to hold his stance and not let himself shake in front of his eyes, but it doesn’t mean that it’s easy by any means. It’s harder to keep his heart under wraps now that they sit at the same breakfast table every single day and Dream tosses cocoa puffs on George and their cereal gets soggy on the table but they don’t even really notice.
It’s just new, and George probably wants more than he should.
“No,” George straightens up. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.” Dream looks at him, a little breathless, the corner of his eyes creasing slightly.
His thumb traces the fabric of his sweatpants. “Go to bed.”
“My bed?” George questions, testing the waters. “Or yours?”
“It’s always up to you,” Dream replies. But he looks like he wants to say mine, looks like he’s searching for George’s answer to mirror his own.
“Yours, then,” George says in one breath, watching the corners of Dream’s face brighten up like a horizon-hidden sun.
“Mine, then,” Dream confirms. And that solidifies it. Solidifies silk sheets and Dream’s skin against his.
______
George sleeps way too easily in Dream’s bed. It’s close to ridiculous, the way he falls asleep in under a minute, head pressed against the pillowcase that Dream bought on Christmas. George has the same exact one, but for some reason, it feels so much better when his head is resting against Dream’s pillow.
And, he can endlessly bother Dream whenever he feels like it — another upside that he plans to meticulously take advantage of.
“Dream,” George mumbles, a little dazed. “Are you sleeping?”
“Yes,” Dream replies, earning a nudge on his shoulder.
“No, you’re not.”
“Now I’m not.”
“Too bad,” George feigns sympathy. “Now you can talk to me.”
Dream groans. “It’s 4 am.”
“So?” George leans in, and he knows that Dream can feel his breath on his skin because he almost shivers. “Do you want me to shut up, Dream?”
Dream averts his gaze. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t, George can tell from the shake of his voice, a barely-there exhale from the edge of his throat. So George pushes one more time, knowing that he’s bound to crack right before him. And god, does he want to watch it happen.
“Do you really?” He lowers his voice against the shell of his ear.
Dream meets his eyes then, and it feels like the sweetest victory when he sighs. “No,” he raises a questioning eyebrow. “Happy?”
“I am,” George smiles. “I want to talk.”
“Okay, George,” Dream scoffs, but he brings a hand to his shoulder and draws circles on his collarbone. He’s so fond that he can’t even pretend to be mad for more than a minute.
“I like this a lot,” George says, vaguely. He doesn’t want to clarify further, because he’s not exactly sure if he has the words to really get across what he likes, and just how much. He likes everything about this, how Dream wears out his name in his mouth but George still wants to hear it again and again and again.
Dream smiles, and George doesn’t see it through the dark room but he can practically feel the shift on his face. Maybe it’s because he knows exactly what makes him smile, a precise sort of telepathy that they have mastered over the years of distance. Dream hears every single one of his expressions and George reads every single syllable that comes out of his mouth.
“This?” Dream asks, understands him so, so easily.
“Yeah,” George replies, so easy to admit when they’re delirious from exhaustion and there’s nothing he wants more than to spill all of the thoughts he has ever had. “This.”
Dream’s hands rest on his skin. “It’s still so crazy. It’s been months but I’m looking at you and realizing you’re here and you’re not gonna leave.”
“I mean,” George considers. “I could leave.”
“I won’t let you,” Dream says quietly.
“Yeah?”
Dream nods. “Yeah. You’re mine now.”
Always have been, George would cross that line if he could trust himself enough to have that conversation now. It feels easier to listen to the beat of Dream’s heart and melt into his touch until he crawls up into his bones.
______
George is possessive of Dream, he finds out fairly quickly. As selfish as it may be, he doesn’t like it when people take too much of his time and look at him like they want to take Dream away from him. George won’t admit it out loud, but his blood boils and he smiles at them even when he thinks he really should tear him to shreds with his eyes instead.
It’s still true when they’re back home and Dream is talking to someone he met in California about a merch thing, and George is bored out of his mind. He’s in Dream’s room, just watching him through the couch, feet in his lap.
“Don’t talk to him,” he says once Dream mutes for a short break. “Talk to me.”
“George.”
George straightens up slightly. “What? I’m bored. And I wanna talk to you.”
Dream looks at him with a fond type of disbelief. “So I should just drop everything I’m doing because you’re bored?”
“Exactly,” George grins. “C’mon. Who could be more important than me?”
“No one is,” Dream answers, getting a little closer. “But I also have a job to do.”
“No one is?” George circles back to that, slightly baffled by how Dream admitted that with such ease, an instinctive answer that he didn’t even have to think about for a split second.
Dream flexes his hand next to his chair, looking at him like there’s an obvious answer here and that he doesn’t even really need to put it into words. “Why do you think I waited for you to show my stupid face?”
George doesn’t know why he gets defensive. “Your face isn’t stupid.”
“Yeah?” Dream asks, the corners of his mouth upturned. “You like my face?”
I love your face. “I never said that.”
“You kinda did,” Dream shrugs. “C’mon, George. You like my face. Admit it.”
George literally feels his own body temperature rising by the second. “I’m not admitting anything.”
Dream grins. “That’s good enough for me. You find me hot.”
And, yes, George does find him hot. He has been crazy for him as long as he has known himself, he can’t really remember what anything was like before he met Dream. It’s just so easy for Dream to say things like that, never once scaling the weight of his words as his mouth delivers them with nonchalance. It’s torturous, when George wants him to mean them and then to kiss his stupid mouth into silence.
Dream still looks at him, expecting another remark to shut him off, but George really does not feel like he can keep this going anymore.
“Whatever,” George says as he turns around, voice harsher than he had intended it to be.
Dream shifts in his place, feet dropping to the tile of the floor abruptly. “Where’re you going? I thought you wanted me to talk to you.”
He tilts his head just a little to glare at him. “Go talk to your friend. I’m leaving.”
“George, come on.” Dream stops him dead in his tracks. “What the fuck? Are you actually mad?”
“I’m not mad,” George is basically fuming, and he’s sure that the way Dream looks at him betrays his words right as they come out of his mouth. “See you at dinner.”
Then George slams the door shut before Dream can even attempt to cushion the blow. His string comes undone when Dream pushes his buttons like that, and they’ve played this cat-and-mouse game for so long, but it’s different now that he’s here and he can feel the consequences as Dream unbridles him effortlessly.
______
Needless to say, dinner is an awkward mess.
Sapnap doesn’t quite know something is off yet, so he makes jokes and talks the entire time, and Dream just fiddles with the fork in his hand. He hesitantly looks at George every two minutes — thinks that George doesn’t notice, but there’s not a single moment where the corners of George’s eyes aren’t watching Dream. He’s an expert at stolen glances, after all.
“So, I was telling him that I can’t be there, right? And he just fucking—” Sapnap glances at them for a second, interrupting himself when he realizes they’ve both been quiet for a while. “Are you even listening to me?”
“What?” Dream looks at him, clearing his throat. “Yeah, sorry, dude.”
“What’s up with you?” Sapnap scowls, and then he turns to George. “Both of you.”
“Nothing,” George shrugs, taking a bite of his lasagna that’s as cold as ice by now.
Sapnap looks confused, but he decides to let it go. “Whatever. George, since you don’t wanna listen, can you go grab the salt? It’s on the top shelf.”
George looks at him, an irritated comeback on the tip of his tongue before he decides to give in. He would rather be literally anywhere else than here.
He heads to the kitchen, glancing at the cabinet that he’s definitely not going to be able to reach. Dream must’ve put it up there, he assumes. And just like clockwork, Dream follows after him, slips into the kitchen like he’s been chasing for alone time with George.
He glances warily at George standing on his tiptoes. “Careful. Let me do it.”
“I can do it,” George assures, reaching over and Dream just has to touch him then. It’s sickening how his palm fits the crevice of his waist just right, a missing puzzle piece he’s been waiting so long for. “Dream,” it burns through his throat.
Dream’s hand doesn’t budge. “We don’t have any stools yet. Just wanna make sure you don’t fall.”
That’s exactly who Dream is. That’s his Dream, loves freely like he has to give it his all or nothing at all, and George swears he feels a piece of his soul every time he looks at him. His eyes are so soft, meant just for him, and George’s hands can’t do anything other than tremble in the air. He drops the stupid salt shaker the moment he grabs it.
It breaks into pieces right on the floor. Dream retracts his hand. Fuck.
“George,” Dream looks at the pieces scattered all over, eyes widened.
" Fuck,” George curses. “Sorry.”
Dream doesn’t look mad at all, more like worried out of his mind.
“You’re barefoot, you fucking idiot,” Dream shakes his head, red blaring alarms in his eyes. “Don’t move. Let me clean it up first.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Dream says. “Not your fault.”
“It was,” George retorts.
Dream sighs at the familiarity of his stubbornness, and he knows that there’s no reason to argue further because he won’t ever win. There are other things on his mind now.
“Let me help,” George says.
“No, just stay still,” Dream warns quickly. “I got it.”
“Don’t cut your hands.”
Dream scoffs, grabbing the pieces from the floor and collecting them in his palm carefully. “Didn’t know you cared about my hands that much.”
“Shut up,” George shakes his hand, slightly amused that Dream can find it in himself to be sarcastic in practically any situation. “I thought you were mad at me. ‘Cause of this morning.”
“What?” Dream pauses. “I thought you were mad at me. You left so fast, I couldn’t even figure out if you were being serious or not.”
George feels a pang of regret in his chest. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s alright,” Dream’s eyes soften. “Just don’t leave like that again. I hate feeling like you’re mad at me. It just — God, it fucking sucks.”
He only feels ten times worse now. “I’m sorry.”
Dream smiles. “You’ve been apologizing a lot today.”
“Yeah, don’t get used to it,” George remarks.
“Oh, I won’t,” Dream smiles, tossing out the pieces in his hand to the trash and offering a hand to George. “Hop off. It’s clear.”
George has no reason to take Dream’s hand, but he still does anyway. “Thanks.”
This time he doesn’t let go.
“Dream, Sapnap is right there,” George whispers, and it’s weird to even point out, like if Sapnap wasn’t here there could be something more. The worst part of his brain crawls at just how selfish he can bring himself to be.
Dream seems to come to his senses then, coughing loudly and dropping George’s hand before he makes his way upstairs.
From the table, George hears Sapnap complain: “Dude, how long does it take to grab the fucking salt? You guys are useless.”
______
At night, George hesitates. He doesn’t know if he should show up in Dream’s room just like he always does. Dream won’t mind it, he knows that by heart, but it’s the fact that he won’t mind that scares him. George has been sleeping in his bed the last few days, and he thinks he’s going to cross a line if he loses count of how many nights it has been.
He shows up anyway. It’s inevitable, with the way his eyes turn droopy when the clock strikes midnight. He wants to sleep. He wants to sleep next to Dream.
George knocks hesitantly, bending his fingers against the door, calculated as he waits. He almost considers turning around right before Dream opens the door.
Dream doesn’t look like he has been sleeping, his hair messy from how restless he has been.
“George,” Dream acknowledges. “Hey, I was waiting for you.”
George glances at him. “Do you still want me to sleep in your bed?”
“Of course I do,” Dream answers. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to ask.”
“You never have to ask. My bed is yours,” Dream declares, the enormity of that scares the shit out of George.
“Alright,” George replies. “I’m not gonna let you forget that.”
“I’d never,” Dream smiles. “C’mon.”
George settles next to Dream on the bed, yawning when he gets under the covers. “My neck hurts.”
“Want me to kiss it better?” Dream asks.
“Shut up,” George laughs. “You wouldn’t kiss me.”
“You think?” Dream scoffs.
“I know,” George declares, confident.
Dream reaches forward, breathing against the skin beneath his jaw, and George thinks he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. “You sure?”
“Dream,” George warns. “Stop fucking around.”
“I’m not,” Dream scowls. “I’m not fucking around, George.”
George’s heart tugs at his ribs. “What is this then?”
“I don’t really know,” Dream answers. “It’s you and me. It’s us.”
George doesn’t really know either, and he understands in some twisted way. He just knows them. He only ever knows himself when he’s with Dream. It’s hard to explain something that’s this real, something that has felt like the beginning of forever ever since they met.
Dream’s face is so close that he doesn’t think much anymore, can’t really even if he tries. His bottom lip touches his cupid’s bow, and there’s the impatience of years itching at the back of George’s throat. He’s the one to kiss him, hands settling on the back of his hair, curling around the locks like he can’t let go ever again. Now, the inside of his mouth is warm and he feels every ounce of blood that courses through his veins. This is what being alive feels like, he thinks. This is what you do to me.
Dream on his lips is something so familiar, but it jolts him as his fingertips make their way down his spine. He has never known a lack of distance so intimate, the tip of his nose rubbing against Dream’s, his hands dancing across his body like he has been waiting to have, to discover him just like this.
He’s not waiting anymore.
“Do that again,” George yearns, breathing heavily against his lips. “Dream, kiss me again.”
There is something so unrestrained about how fast Dream mouths at his neck, like he was waiting for George to give him the green light all along.
When Dream pulls away, it’s like he knows there’s no way they’re ever coming back from this.
“Well,” Dream grins. George’s shoulders are heaving as he leans onto the couch. “Anything to say?”
“Guess I judged too quickly,” George manages to say through a breath, hands shaking noticeably.
“Guess you did,” Dream says. “Now you know.”
“Know what?” George asks, transfixed.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do,” Dream says. “When it comes to you.”
When it comes to you. George scoffs, trying to make up for the fact that there is an electric shock pulsing through his arteries. “That can’t be right.”
“Name something.”
“You wouldn’t get naked and run out to the street.”
Dream bursts into laughter. “Is that your wildest fantasy? Seeing me naked?”
George shakes his head. “You’re literally so dumb.”
“I would get naked if you wanted me to.”
“Dream, shut up.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re so fucking stupid,” George scoffs through a laugh. “Sleep.”
______
He wakes up next to Dream. It still startles him sometimes, that a few weeks ago he didn’t even know what Dream looked like, and now he’s in his bed, inhaling his smell, feeling his warmth.
“Hey,” George mumbles, voice quiet with sleep. “Watching me sleep?”
“Yeah,” Dream admits, no shame in his voice. “You looked cute.”
“You’re so weird,” George says fondly.
“I kinda am with you,” Dream accepts. “You turn me inside and out. It’s ridiculous.”
George is about to ask him to clarify, even if he knows just exactly what he means, he loves stealing a few extra minutes of this sickeningly sweet domesticity that stretches through his words. But then Dream furrows his eyebrows like something crosses his mind.
“What’s wrong?” George asks.
“Aren’t you leaving today?”
“Oh, fuck,” George remembers all of a sudden. “Yeah, I almost forgot.”
“Wish I didn’t say anything, then,” Dream jokes.
“You want me to stay?”
“I do,” Dream says earnestly. “I always do.”
“I’ll be back soon,” George assures, and he already hates the distance that forms between them as Dream gets up from the bed. “Promise.”
Dream kisses him, holding both sides of his face with his hands. This is us now, George comes to the realization as his mouth moves on his own accord. This is us, forever.
______
George wishes that Dream could keep his promise, and be glued to his side at all times, but it’s a little harder to do than say. They both have to travel, and sometimes their schedules don’t overlap even if they try their hardest to make it work. They’ve mastered distance, but it somehow feels harder to be apart than it was when he was back in England.
California is hot as hell, and Dream isn’t by his side. George is having fun with his friends, but there’s an empty feeling just beneath his sternum that aches for him. Sapnap teases him about it because he can tell exactly why George is off even if he never confirms it out loud, brushing him off whenever the question comes up.
Dream calls him in his hotel room, and George jolts up like he’s been waiting for it. He answers on the first ring.
“Hi, George,” Dream whispers into the phone, a simple word such a relief that George feels like he’s breathing for the first time.
“Hey,” George responds. His insides melt like ice cream under the sun from how much he has missed Dream’s voice.
Dream breathes on the other side of the phone, calm and calculated like he’s trying to search for just the right question to ask. “How’s L.A?”
“Hot,” George answers simply.
He laughs, airy as it echoes through his ear and plasters a smile on his mouth. “I bet it would be hotter if I was there.”
George fucking groans. “You’re actually so dumb.”
“Miss you too,” Dream says, understands his sarcasm and stupid jokes like he’s an open book before him, and it gives him a head rush of the worst kind. “Wish I was there.”
“Yeah,” George agrees, a little quieter. “Sapnap is horrible company.”
Dream laughs. “I’ll be happy if you don’t kill each other by the time you get back.”
“Unlikely,” George jokes. “How’s Patches?”
“I think she misses you too. She crawls into my bed sometimes and paws at me. She wants attention now that you’re gone.”
“‘Course she does. I’m her favorite.”
“It seems like you are,” Dream warmly says. “She really is my cat.”
“I’m your favorite?” George asks, well aware that was what Dream meant, but he wants to hear it again anyway.
“Maybe,” Dream smirks. “Are you gonna hold that against me?”
“You know I will.”
Dream makes a small sound. “Come back to me soon.”
He feels like breaking down. “I’ll try my best.”
“Good,” George can hear his smile as he says it, teeth probably exposed and bright and all-consuming. He can picture it down to the smallest detail, but he still misses it like hell.
“See you soon.”
Sapnap scoffs and steals his phone from his hand to see who he was speaking to, and despite George’s protests, he eyes the screen for a brief second.
They haven’t shared any details with Sapnap, but they don’t really need to when Sapnap already acts like they’re a couple. George thinks he has been suspicious for a while, and he hasn’t asked about it directly to give them time to come to him when they feel ready. He’s the biggest idiot in the entire world, but he loves them to bits and George thinks he wouldn’t be able to pull through without him.
He groans on the spot, shakes his head like he has seen this coming. “You two are so fucking ridiculous.”
______
The moment they come back home, George swears to never step a foot outside ever again. Maybe it’s an exaggeration, but he feels like every one of his muscles are aching and he only feels rested when Dream pulls him into a tight hug. Just like the one he did when he saw him for the first time ever, maybe because he misses harder now that he has actually seen him.
“Hi,” Dream whispers against his hair, inhaling the scent of the hotel shampoo. His hands are on his back, clinging to the fabric of his shirt. “Missed you so much.”
“Hi,” George smiles, and he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t holding him just as tight. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“I am,” Dream easily admits, not like he could hide it if he tried to. “You okay?”
“Exhausted,” George answers. “And disgusting. I probably stink, sorry.”
“‘S okay.” It’s almost funny how Dream looks at him like he said something sweet in response. “C’mon, let me wash you.”
George raises his eyebrows. “You wanna wash me?”
“I do. If you’re okay with it, of course.”
George smiles at how he still asks, how he’s always so considerate with him. “I’d like that.”
Getting naked in front of Dream isn’t the intimidating experience he thought it would be, ease perching into his soul as he dips his toes in the lukewarm water and Dream follows after him. Dream smiles, wet fingertips on the bone of his cheeks as he just stares at him.
“Hi,” Dream’s finger moves across the surface of his skin, eyes fixated like he’s making up for every second that he spent not looking at him. “Baby.”
Dream washes him clean, his hands soft as he takes care of him.
George accepts it gracefully, washing Dream’s back with the shower gel he finds on the edge of Dream’s bathtub. Dream hums gently, lets George take care of him just like had before. Love is a two-way street, and they love so, so easily.
This is vulnerability as a whole, bare skin against his own, hands charting the edges of Dream’s relaxed frame.
George has never known a home quite like this one. He didn’t know home could be contained in a single person, but now his heart beats against Dream’s chest, and everything else is an afterthought.