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“I thought I was having a crazy dream again when you got here last night. Where it felt, like, super real.” George breathes out, turning his head to lay with his ear pressed to Dream’s chest.
“Well, I mean. I am your Dream.” Dream can’t help but joke, even with the way he feels his own heartbeat speed up where George sits listening to it.
“My Dreamie.” Dream can feel the way George’s face curves into a smile against his chest, and knows if he gazed up at him his cheeks would be lit up in a lovely shade of pink.
Or, Dream comes home from Los Angeles.
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