Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You seriously haven’t asked yet?” George’s sister rolls her eyes in a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“No, Dani, I haven’t.” Dream pinches the bridge of his nose when she bursts into laughter, apparently deeply fascinated by his inner turmoil, and wonders why he’d thought that she’d be any help at all. “Stop laughing at me, I’m trying.”

“Not trying hard enough, clearly,” she scoffs, sounding so much like George that it’s a little eerie. “I thought you guys had, like, already talked about marriage and stuff. Doesn’t that take the pressure off? You know he wants to get married, he’s not going to say no.”

“He won’t say no,” Dream repeats softly, more of an affirmation to himself than anything else. “I know he won’t. It’s just—it’s still a big deal, you know? He’s going to remember it for the rest of his life, I want it to be special.”

Dani passes him a water bottle from the fridge with a fond smile, gesturing for him to sit down and relax instead of hovering tensely by the door.

“You’re overthinking it,” she chides gently, “he’s going to think it’s special just because it’s you, you have to know that.”

Dream knows she’s right, that even if she hasn’t seen George very much in recent years, it doesn’t take long to notice the way George is with Dream. Softer, everyone always says, more so than ever when they spend time with people George has known longer, people who knew him before he’d ever met Dream. One of George’s friends from university had said as much just days ago, a wide-eyed grin on his face watching the way George instinctually stopped to fix the zipper of Dream’s coat for him as soon as he started struggling with it. You’ve gone soft, George, he’d laughed, clearly intended as an amusing observation rather than a mocking one.

Every time Dream thinks he knows everything there is to know about George, they visit England and he’s proven wrong. It’s only their second time—their first trip had been shorter, too, but both times, Dream thinks he’ll never be able to get enough of the way George lights up whenever he recognizes something—a place, a person, anything—and recalls a story he’s never told Dream before. Dream wants to know everything there is to know, and George never seems more sure of anything than he is of allowing Dream to see every possible side of himself.

Dream has never had to wonder whether or not George loves him. George loved him even when Dream took a few years too many to catch up with his own revelations, and while he’s never given any indication of resenting Dream for how long he waited to be happy, how long he was lonely, Dream sometimes feels like he owes him the compensation anyway. George is a romantic, even if he’d never dare admit it. Dream loves to spoil him—he loves grand gestures, he loves when George indulges him and allows him to go over-the-top—and though George will swear otherwise, he never shines brighter than he does under the blinding spotlight of Dream’s affection.

“It’s sweet that you’re even worried,” Dani laughs, reminding Dream that he’s meant to be in the middle of a conversation. “But come on, get on with it! You’ve got to do it before you go back home, it’ll be so lovely to do it while you’re here.”

“I know,” Dream whines, slouching over the counter. “That was the plan, but I just keep—I feel like there needs to be a moment, you know? Like, I’ll know it when it happens, it’ll just be the right time.”

“I think—” Dani pauses, lightly patting Dream on the shoulder in an effort to make him stop sulking, a fond smile on her face when he looks back up at her. “I just think you need to rip the bandaid off. Next time you’re alone, or even if you aren’t, next time it even crosses your mind, just ask him. You can’t wait for a perfect moment, but you can make it perfect just by asking, probably.”

Dream raises his eyebrows, honestly impressed by how insightful George’s sister’s advice has proven to be. He’d honestly only opened up to her in a moment of desperation, needing to vent about his stress to the only person he’d actually told in advance that he was planning on proposing in London. He wanted at least one person from George’s family to know before they flew over, but he didn’t want to tell too many people and risk George figuring it out in advance, based on how everyone else was acting.

“That was actually helpful—you’re pretty good at this advice thing,” Dream blurts out honestly, making Dani roll her eyes again. “Are you sure you’re not secretly married? You’ve actually never done this before?”

“Definitely not,” Dani snorts, “call it older-sister-intuition. And if you think my advice is so good, take it. Go make my brother the happiest he’s ever been.”

Dream has been trying to propose for two weeks straight.

He knows that all his overthinking is only wasting time, that really, he could’ve proposed to George months ago with no fanfare and he would’ve said yes. The problem—as it often is—is that Dream has sat on the thought for too long, and now the pressure feels insurmountable.

He’s almost asked a dozen times, thankful that he’s always been prone to shoving his hands in his pockets while walking so George seemingly hasn’t paid any mind to his newfound hobby of clasping the small jewelry box in his coat pocket any time he’s overwhelmed. Dream planned their trip with the specific intent to propose, and somehow still hasn’t gotten around to it.

Dream thinks he probably should’ve done it on their first night in London, that it would’ve been special to ask while they were at George’s parents’ house, under the same roof where George experienced so many of their earliest conversations. He’d talked himself out of it because he didn’t want to jump the gun, to be too impulsive instead of waiting for the moment, but now he’s afraid he already missed his chance.

“Dream,” George waves a hand in front of his face with a soft smile, laughing when Dream blinks rapidly before scowling at him. “Stop thinking, talk to me.”

“I’m not thinking,” Dream argues, rolling his eyes when George just scoffs and pulls him along, stepping off the paved path and closer to the water. “Well—whatever, nothing serious, I mean.”

“Are you sure?” George raises his eyebrows. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“Sorry.” Dream shrugs, squeezing George’s hand apologetically. “I don’t mean to be. You talk, I’m listening.”

“Well, fine. Today was good,” George says, his eyes bright as they walk beneath a lamppost and Dream loves how effortlessly he glows like this, how even in darkness, what little light remains seems to cling to him. “I used to sit out here sometimes, during quarantine and stuff when I had nothing better to do.”

Dream wraps an arm around his waist, not caring at all that he’d usually refrain from being so touchy in public. He can’t help but reach for George whenever he’s reminded that this wasn’t something he always could’ve done—that for so many years, this was a luxury they were never afforded.

“Did you ever talk to me out here?” Dream asks, not for the first time, a common thread he pulls at every time they’re anywhere near the home he spent so many years seeing only fragments of in the background of videos and pictures.

“Yeah.” George shrugs. “Sometimes when it was like, super late—so, morning, basically—if I knew my parents were about to wake up I’d go for a walk out here so they didn’t hear me talking.”

Dream nods along, splaying out his fingers a little just to watch the way George grins as he feels Dream’s fingers spread possessively over more of his side. It’s quiet by the water, late enough that they’ve had the entire path to themselves and Dream thinks that he’s allowed to be a little indulgent, especially with thoughts of the past floating through his mind, reminders that for so much of their lives together, this was something he could only imagine.

“You’re all clingy,” George observes, far from a complaint. “D’you wanna go back to the hotel?”

George stops walking, turning in Dream’s grip to look up at him inquisitively. Dream doesn’t know if it’s the moonlight in his eyes or how effortlessly he’d sensed Dream’s sudden sentimentality or just some combination of the two, but when he opens his mouth to respond, he almost blurts out the words that’ve been on the tip of his tongue for weeks.

Marry me. The instant the thought occurs to Dream, he stiffens. Is this it? Is this the moment?

George notices the way he tenses. “Dream?”

“George, I—” Dream starts, his empty hand reflexively slipping inside his coat pocket to grasp the jewelry box even though his fingers feel numb, and George’s eyes drop to follow the movement before they widen.

“Dream.” He isn’t asking a question. George raises his eyebrows, his mouth falling open like he wants to say more but hesitates, and Dream can just see the beginning of a smile in the upturned corners of his lips.

“You know,” is all Dream can manage to say, and the punched-out gasp George lets out confirms his suspicions. “Oh my god, you know.”

“I know you.” George giggles, reaching down to cover Dream’s hand with his own. “I know that—I know you’ve been so nervous. I can pretend to be surprised, if it helps.”

“I hate you.” Dream shakes his head, beaming so hard his cheeks ache. “What the fuck, how long have you—”

“I didn’t know until right now.” George laughs harder when Dream feels himself frown, his thumb running along the back of Dream’s hand. “I had a feeling, though, ever since you said we should come to England. I knew you were, like, planning something that you weren’t telling me. And—well. There are only so many things that it could’ve been. I know you.”

“What else could it have been?” Dream attempts to redirect, hoping George will somehow forget what they’re talking about if he can convincingly divert the conversation and still get the upper-hand for a surprise.

“I thought for a second that maybe you wanted to move or something.” George sighs when Dream’s brow furrows, rolling his eyes fondly. “I realized pretty quickly that wouldn’t make sense, relax. I just knew it was something important, if you were keeping it a secret from me.”

“I wouldn’t keep that from you,” Dream can’t resist insisting. George’s smile deepens, as if it’s exactly what he expected Dream to say.

“You don’t need to reassure me,” George laughs. He reaches out to grab Dream’s wrist, narrowing his eyes when he must feel Dream’s grip reflexively tighten over the jewelry box he’s spent so long attempting to hide. “Well, come on. Aren’t you going to ask?”

Dream sputters, relentlessly flustered by how casually George is treating this. “Hold on—stop laughing at me, I wanted this to be special.”

“Dream,” George says plainly, letting go of his wrist to surround Dream’s other hand in both of his own and squeeze. He doesn’t even need to say more than just his name, it’s all Dream needs to hear—this is special.

Dream takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Pulling the satin box out of his pocket and losing the weight of it feels foreign, but the look on George’s face as his eyes drop to it makes every moment of nerves worthwhile.

“I’ve been—um, you know. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Dream starts, and it’s the understatement of the century. George knows it too, his lips curling into a smug grin as he nods for Dream to continue.

“It used to be a joke, or at least that’s what I told myself. Before you got to Florida, we’d talk about getting married for the visa and it was supposed to be a joke, but I think once that seed was planted in my mind, there was always some truth to it. I thought about it a lot—maybe not marriage specifically, but the idea of—of spending the rest of my life with you. I knew that was what I wanted from before we even met, before I really, uh, knew exactly what to call that feeling.”

Dream pauses his rambling to study George’s expression, and all the air escapes his lungs when he realizes George is teary-eyed. “You can’t cry,” he begs, shaking his head and George laughs while rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m not, idiot,” George lies.

“George, seriously, I haven’t gotten to the point yet and you’re going to make me cry and—”

“Dream, please just keep going,” George whispers, soft and earnest in the way that Dream always feels so lucky to witness. “I want you to keep going.”

“Okay.” Dream breathes out slowly, trying to recollect his thoughts and remember everything he wanted to say. He presses a quick kiss to George’s lips, making him giggle fondly.

“All I was—I guess, all I actually need to say is just—you’ve made me better. You trusted me even when I was just a stupid kid who you easily could’ve found obnoxious but you saw something in me, you believed in me and you built this life with me and I’ve become the best version of myself by your side. And even when I still had a lot to figure out, I never doubted that I wanted you in my life for as long as you’d tolerate me—for forever, once I realized that was an option.”

When Dream gets down on one knee, George bursts into tears again. It takes everything to stop his voice from shaking when he tries to continue, choked up by how lovingly George smiles down at him with tears pouring down his cheeks.

“We already share everything—and maybe I’m selfish because I still want more, but fuck, George. I want your last name—or, um, you could have mine, or we’d hyphenate—it doesn’t matter. I was just, like, making a point. I want a family with you. I want to spend the rest of my life waking up with you as the first thing on my mind, I want to call you my husband and I want to grow old together and I just want everything, George. I know how lucky I am to be loved by you, and I want to spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to make you as happy as you’ve made me.”

“Yes,” George says before Dream can collect the rest of his thoughts, and he pretends to pout in spite of the obvious happy tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I didn’t even get to ask yet,” he whines, smiling despite his best efforts to appear sincerely disappointed.

“Okay, fine, say it then.” George attempts to sound flippant, which only reminds Dream just how silly he was to feel so nervous for this—in a lot of ways, it’s the most natural thing in the world for them. It’s just another conversation they may as well have had a thousand times.

“I’ve known I wanted us to be, like, life partners, or whatever, since before we even met.” Dream’s voice wavers, suddenly more choked up as he’s hit anew by the magnitude of what he’s asking, of finally being able to say everything he’s wanted for what feels like a lifetime. “And maybe that’s why this was so hard for me to finally say, because it’s almost an understatement to ask, compared to everything we’ve already promised each other. But George, this is me asking you to change my life for the hundredth time. This is me promising myself to you, for the hundredth time, because I’ll never get tired of saying it. I love you so much, will you please marry me?”

“Yes,” George promises again, infectious laughter bubbling as soon as the word slips out because he knows he didn’t even really need to, he’s aware he could have made a joke and Dream already would’ve known the answer but he chose to be sincere. George knows Dream well enough to know that he wanted to hear it anyway—that even if they’ve been somewhat mentally married for far too long it doesn’t stop him from needing to hear the words out loud, to memorize the shape of the affirmation on George’s lips.

“Yeah?” Dream repeats, a little helplessly, his hand shaking when George reaches down to cover it with his own and hold the jewelry box together.

“Of course, Dream.” George nods, blinking rapidly and tugging lightly at Dream’s wrist. “Stand up already, I need to kiss you.”

Dream complies easily, allowing George to pull him to his feet and wasting no time. He tastes salt against George’s lips and wraps an arm around his waist to hold him as close as possible, his heart heavy in his chest with the weight of how much love he feels, so overwhelming it could suffocate him.

“Love you,” he manages to whisper into his mouth, and George exhales shakily like it’s the first time he’s ever heard it. “So much,” Dream punctuates with another press of his lips. “Forever.”

“I love you,” George whispers, pulling back just enough to look back down at the jewelry box still clutched in Dream’s hand between them. “Can I see my ring again?”

“I’ll do you one better.” Dream laughs, slipping the ring into his palm and closing the box, shoving it back into his pocket for the last time. “Here,” he takes George’s smaller hand into both of his own, and slides the ring onto his finger while blinking back tears. “It fits.”

“It’s perfect.” George inhales through his nose and shakes his head, spreading his fingers and staring at the band in what Dream can only assume is awe. The tiny inset sapphires sparkle beneath the moonlight, and Dream feels a little lightheaded when George holds up his hand to look closer, overwhelmed by how right it looks against his skin. “When did you—”

“A few weeks ago,” Dream answers, lacing his fingers with George’s. “Well, technically, I ordered it a few weeks ago. I picked it up the day before our flight. I was so nervous it wouldn’t be ready in time.” He’d been too paranoid to go to any jewelry stores in person, too certain that with his luck, he’d be recognized immediately. The idea of needing to wait—especially when he ended up ordering custom, unsatisfied with how plain all the standard men’s engagement rings were—was far from ideal, but it was a calculated risk he’d decided was his only real option.

“Did anyone know?” George raises his eyebrows, only glancing up at Dream for a second before looking back down at their conjoined hands, like he can’t tear his eyes away.

“My mom, your sister,” Dream lists, “and I only told Nick right before we left. But none of them knew until after I’d already bought the ring.”

“It’s like it was made for me,” George says quietly. Dream squeezes George’s hand when stretches up onto his tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I would pick this out for myself.”

“Well, it was made for you,” Dream affirms. “I mean, it was custom. One of a kind.”

“It’s like you, then,” George says quickly, his voice steady but his eyes a little glassy.

“One of a kind?”

“Made for me.”

Dream opens his mouth and tries to respond but the words get caught in his throat, stammering a little helplessly when George just smiles and pulls Dream’s arm around his own shoulders, leaning into his side. It isn’t that George isn’t affectionate—he is, he’s just usually less forthcoming about it. Dream is used to heartfelt gestures and quiet intimacy that says I love you in more ways than words ever could, but he’ll never quite know how to handle George at his most earnest, his most vulnerable.

“You’re so red,” George laughs, his thumb pressing against Dream’s cheek to feel the heat rising beneath his skin. “We’re getting married, Dream, how are you so flustered?”

“Oh my god,” Dream’s jaw drops. “We’re getting married.”

George’s attemptedly-smug grin crumbles to a genuine smile. “We are.”

George kisses him, and they’re both smiling too much for it to be particularly coordinated, but Dream doesn’t think he’s ever felt his own heart beat harder. It’s like coming home—kissing George—and Dream thinks about doing this on an altar after promising to cherish one another for the rest of their lives in front of all the people they love most, and he needs to pull back to catch his breath.

“You and me. We’re going to be husbands,” Dream repeats, visions of George in a suit and a second ring on his finger dancing through his mind at a dizzying pace. “I just—god, I love you so much.”

“I know.” George cups Dream’s face with his hand and pulls him down for another short kiss, the metal band on his finger cool against Dream’s skin. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

They only have a few more days in London, and almost all of them are spent with George’s family. Dream had been scared out of his mind the first time they visited that George’s parents wouldn’t like him, that they’d resent him for dragging their son across an ocean and giving him a home so far away.

He’s never been more pleased to be wrong. George’s mum adores having him around, and while George’s dad had initially seemed a little uncertain about whether or not Dream could be trusted with his son’s heart, he warmed up quickly after their first visit. Dream thinks he probably talks to Dani more often than George does, earnestly getting along with her and sending a message every so often just out of genuine curiosity for how she’s doing, not just because he wants to make a good impression. He likes having as many connections as possible to George’s life in England—his life before Dream. There’s something special about unlocking these private pieces of George’s heart that he keeps closely guarded, about carving out a place for himself in George’s family and understanding every part of him.

He loves that Dani, and George’s parents, call him Dream rather than Clay, even though he’d expected the opposite. It’s a reminder that George used to talk about him often, often enough that they know him by the name he chose for himself and the only name that sounds natural coming from George.

A day before they leave, George takes Dream back to the lake where they got engaged.

Dream can’t wait to be home, but he’s grown fonder of London than he ever could’ve imagined being. He’s always seen himself growing old in Florida—but sometimes, he thinks, maybe they could settle down in London. George loves the city, and after spending any number of years close to Dream’s family, it would be nice to settle down somewhere closer to his, for a turn. Dream isn’t in any rush for anything to change—he loves their home, he loves their life—but he knows it's naive to believe he’ll never want a change of scenery.

George’s hand brushes against Dream’s between them, a common occurrence with how close together they’re walking, but the touch is searing every single time. It’s a fight against every single one of his instincts not to hold George’s hand, especially when he glances down and watches sunlight reflected on the water catch on the tiny sapphires embedded in his ring. He reflexively clenches his own hand into a fist, stopping himself from taking what he wants. They’re in a public park, in broad daylight, on a sunny afternoon. There are too many people—too many potential fans, or strangers who happen to recognize them well enough to know that a picture of them holding hands would earn a lot of attention online.

It isn’t worth the risk. Dream resents that it needs to be considered a risk at all.

“Is this like—your thinking spot now?” George turns to look up at Dream and smiles. “You’re just so contemplative, Dream. I can tell from your face, you’re like—you’re internally debating.”

“I’m thinking about how much I like it here.” Dream opts for a half-truth, not wanting to rope George into his actual thought process, at least not now. It’s a conversation they’ve had a hundred times over—they want privacy, they want what’s theirs to be just theirs—and Dream knows no good will come from mentioning it, from passing his momentary resentment on to George, too. “I could see us living here one day. Not now, but in a few years or something, maybe.”

“Really?” George’s eyes widen. “I thought you’d be more open to LA than anywhere else.”

“I do like LA,” Dream admits, though he realizes the statement could use amending. “I like LA with you. I think I just like anywhere with you.”

“You’re so mushy,” George teases. “But me too. I like Florida, I like wherever. I don’t want to move any time soon, do you?”

“I don’t think so.” Dream shakes his head. “It’s only been two years. We always said five, at least.”

“God, I’m excited to go home.” George leans his head against Dream’s shoulder, just for a few seconds, like the brief proximity is all he needs to feel recharged. “I love it here. But it’s not home.”

“You’re mushy,” Dream teases. “I miss home too. Three weeks is a long time.”

“It’s crazy that next time we’re here, we'll probably be married,” George says, stealing all the air from Dream’s lungs.

“Fuck.” Dream coughs to clear his throat, attempting to swallow the lump that grows every time he’s reminded this is real life. “We might be.”

“Let’s take a picture.” George reaches into Dream’s back pocket and pulls out his phone, surprising him in how easily and instinctively he knows where it’ll be. “You can post it, saying like, ‘last day’ or something, so people know we’ll be home soon. DNF crumbs.”

Dream nods, wrapping both his arms around George’s waist and pulling him in front of himself, hooking his chin over his shoulder and grinning from ear to ear. “Too much?”

“Probably,” George laughs, but opens up Snapchat and moves to take the picture anyway. He puts on a completely stoic expression, pretending not to notice when Dream leans in and kisses his cheek right as he takes the photo.

“Do not post that,” Dream scoffs, and George blushes a furious pink but hovers his finger over the button nonetheless, a silent challenge. “Save it. But you are not posting it.”

“I could.” George sighs, raising his eyebrows. “People would say it’s a joke anyway.”

“Well, it wasn’t a joke,” Dream argues in earnest, reaching to take back his phone. George lifts it as if holding it out of Dream’s reach—knowing Dream could easily take the phone back no matter how much he stretches out his arm, and knowing with equivalent certainty that he won’t. It’s a symbolic gesture—a test. “It wasn’t a joke. Keep that one for just us, take another.”

“Fine,” George stretches out the word dramatically, rolling his eyes as if Dream has deeply inconvenienced him.

Dream decides to be a little less transparent, that instead of crowding entirely into George’s space he’ll settle for an arm around his shoulder, like a person who definitely isn’t in love. George puts on a shocked expression, covering one of his pink cheeks with his hand and opening his mouth wide, and it’s only as he takes the picture that Dream realizes which hand he’s using.

“Shouldn’t you—” Dream gestures to the glaringly obvious engagement ring on George’s finger, nodding for him to move his hand so that it isn’t in frame.

“Oh.” George blinks at him for a second, his brow furrowed, before nodding albeit solemnly and moving his hand. “Right, yeah. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I just want to be careful.” Dream frowns, not sure why George seems so caught off guard by the same caution they’ve always exercised. “You know, it’s—it’s on your ring finger. People would know.”

“You’re right, I know,” George agrees. Instead of the silly surprised face he’d been making before, he’s just smiling politely when he takes the picture and posts it to Dream’s story, typing out a short caption about being home soon.

Dream wonders if he’s imagining things when George is a little quieter, a little less enthusiastic for the rest of their walk. He thinks he’s probably just reading into it too much—George is probably just tired, ready to be home.

Sapnap is acting suspicious.

It’s noticeable enough that Dream nearly calls him out on it within only minutes of being home, and it takes a conscious effort not to point out how uncharacteristically cagey he seems talking about what he’d been up to while Dream and George were away. He keeps the focus of the conversation entirely on Dream and George—at first it could’ve just been brushed off as earnest excitement for them, but the complete lack of any interjections only grows increasingly suspicious. Dream can’t help but notice how quickly Sapnap’s door slams shut behind him when he retreats back to his room, muttering something about coming back down in a minute.

“He’s being weird, right?” George asks as he drops down onto the couch and throws his legs over Dream’s lap, apparently reading his mind.

“Super weird,” Dream agrees, threading a hand through George’s hair and smiling when he leans easily into the touch, his eyes falling shut. “What do you think he’s hiding?”

“Secret girlfriend,” George answers without missing a beat.

“No way.” Dream rolls his eyes. “He’d brag about that, there’s no way he’d manage to keep a secret.”

George hums in agreement, though he doesn’t seem to be paying particularly close attention to the conversation at all anymore, burying his face in Dream’s neck and kissing lightly just above the gold chain he never takes off.

“He’ll tell us,” George adds after a moment. Us—because even if he only tells Dream, or only tells George, it’s as good as telling them both—something Sapnap knows better than anyone.

“You better not be making out,” Sapnap calls down from the second floor, and Dream wrinkles his nose to express his mild disdain when George shouts back instead of waiting for him to come down to talk. The two of them dissolve into bickering about—honestly, Dream isn’t even sure what—for a handful of seconds too long, and Dream decides he’s had enough.

“Why are we yelling?”

“I don’t know, tell this idiot to come downstairs instead of, like, hiding in the shadows.” George’s shoulders shake when he laughs, and Dream can’t help but think about how much of a relief it is to be home, no longer having any need for restraint and free to keep his hands all over George whenever he pleases.

“Hold on—” Sapnap protests. Vaguely, Dream thinks he can hear the sound of something rustling. “I have a surprise for you guys, I wanted to—I wanted to show you right when you came in, but you were early.”

“Oh?” Dream raises his eyebrows at George, who just shrugs, appearing equally as unaware as Dream feels.

“Okay,” Sapnap starts, his voice moving closer with the telltale creak of the stairs. “There’s—well, there’s kind of two things. But this is the best one.”

When Sapnap finally steps down far enough to be visible, at first Dream can’t quite tell what he’s holding, which apparently requires two hands and he’s cradling like a baby.

George realizes first, gasping and jumping to his feet to meet Sapnap at the bottom of the stairs, and Dream doesn’t entirely process what he’s looking at until he sees the way George impatiently holds out his arms for Sapnap to pass the surprise over—a tiny grey kitten.

“Oh my god,” Dream coos, amazed by how little the kitten looks even when Sapnap passes it over to George, how even in George’s hands it’s still so small. “Nick, when did you—”

“I picked him up from the shelter yesterday.” Sapnap nods, reaching over to scratch behind his ears while he settles in George’s arms. “He’s a little nervous around Patches, but they’re great together. No hostility at all, I got Sylvee to help me introduce them and they love each other, I think he’s just shy.”

“What’s his name?” George asks, though he’s immediately distracted when he notices that he’s starting to fall asleep in his arms and turns carefully to make sure Dream can see without disturbing him. “He loves me,” he whispers, “look, Dream, he loves me.”

“I wanted to let you guys name him,” Sapnap shrugs, “I got him for you.”

“Oh, come on.” Dream nudges Sapnap with his shoulder, not understanding. “Why wouldn’t he be all of ours?”

“Remember how I said there were two things?” Sapnap raises his eyebrows, suddenly looking a little sheepish, and George stops staring in amazement at the new kitten to look up and see what he’s talking about. Dream and George exchange a look—mutual confusion—confirming neither of them have any clue what he’s possibly thinking.

“I—well, I mean, to make a long story short, I made an offer on a house.”

“You what?” Dream’s jaw drops, unable to even fathom the idea. “Did you actually? When? Why?”

“Calm down, it’s—” Sapnap starts and stops, apparently realizing that Dream will not be able to take this calmly, and gestures for him to sit down. “I knew you’d freak out. It’s not, like, a bad thing or anything—I don’t want you to feel guilty for pushing me out or something. Because you didn’t.”

“Is it because I told you I was going to propose?” Dream asks, biting his cheek as the precise guilt Sapnap was trying to dissuade him from feeling forms a lump in the back of his throat. “Because I promise, that wasn’t—I didn’t want you to think we’d need space, or anything, this is our house, all three of us and—”

Sapnap cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head gently. “Dream, I was already looking at houses before you told me.”

“You—really?”

“Yeah man, I had a feeling that—well, I don’t know. I love living with you guys, don’t get me wrong, but I can tell that sometimes you’d definitely like to have more privacy, a place entirely to yourselves. And that makes sense! I know we always said five years, and whatever, but I always—I don’t know. Ever since you guys got together, I was planning on finding my own place eventually, to give you more space.”

Dream’s mind races, wondering if he should feel relief that his best friend is so thoughtful or guilty for ever allowing him to think that they wanted him to leave, and he doesn’t mean to interject but he can’t really help himself.

“You didn’t need to do that—”

“Dream,” George interrupts him this time, settling a hand on his knee and squeezing. “Let him talk first, breathe.”

“I knew you’d think you pushed me out, or something, but whatever you’re feeling bad about, I promise it wasn't a problem.” Sapnap tries again to reassure him, and Dream is struck by how levelheaded and mature he sounds. “I just think that, like, realistically, come on. You guys are getting married. You’re going to want your own space, I don’t want to be in the way of you guys, like, starting the next chapter of your lives together.”

Dream doesn’t realize how choked up he is until he catches himself blinking back tears. He’s known Sapnap for more than half his life—longer than he ever lived without knowing him. It doesn’t feel fair that at some point, overnight, his little brother grew into this rational, pragmatic adult.

“But—I’ll miss you,” Dream chokes out, giving up entirely on making a sensible argument.

“Dude, don’t make me fucking cry,” Sapnap groans, shoving Dream on the arm before covering his eyes with his hands and shaking his head. “I’m not going far. There’s a house for sale literally a ten minute drive away that I’ve been keeping my eye on for a while, I’m so confident they’ll accept my offer. I went to a viewing while you guys were in London, and it’s perfect.”

“A ten minute drive?” George bursts into breathy laughter, his voice quiet and still careful not to disturb the kitten napping in his lap. “Oh my god, I assumed you were moving to North Carolina or something. We’re crying over a ten minute drive?”

“Fuck no, man, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Sapnap promises, laughing too in spite of the tears in his eyes. “I know it’ll still be a big change, but I’m staying close by. I’ve just been thinking about it for a little while now, and when you told me you were gonna propose, it just seemed like it was time.”

“Wow,” Dream breathes out, still struggling to wrap his mind around the idea of Sapnap living on his own. “That’s fucking huge, I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah!” Sapnap grins, relief evident from the way he relaxes back into the couch. “It’ll be an adjustment, but I’m excited about it.”

“I can’t believe Sapnap is going to own a house before I do,” George scoffs, though any bite his words may have held is negated by the fond smile on his face that doesn’t fade even when he looks up from the kitten in his lap and over to Sapnap.

“We can put you on the lease for this house,” Dream quickly interjects, even though he knows George isn’t being serious. “That does make sense, actually. We may as well.”

George and Sapnap exchange a look—Dream knows them well enough to know it’s their way of communicating a joke at his expense telepathically, sparing him from hearing it out loud.

“It’s kind of crazy, right?” Sapnap suddenly blurts out, staring down at his own feet. “Like, all of this, I don’t know. You guys are getting married, I’m getting my own place, like, we’re real adults.”

Dream swallows hard, refusing to allow himself to get emotional all over again. “It is crazy.”

“They grow up so fast,” George says in a mocking tone, though he shifts closer to Dream on the couch until their thighs press together. Dream reaches over to pet the kitten sleeping soundly in his lap, and his tiny eyes blink open slowly as if sensing the attention before his hand even makes contact.

“Oh, hi baby,” Dream whispers, leaning closer and resting his head against George’s chest, knowing he won’t mind. “You’re so sleepy. George is comfy, hm?”

George’s hand joins Dream’s, their pinkies brushing together, and when Dream glances up, George is already smiling at him.

“Thank you,” George says quietly, still looking at Dream when he starts but glancing over to Sapnap as he pauses. “Like, seriously. You didn’t have to—I can’t believe you literally brought us a replacement for you.”

“Well, I knew you’d miss me too much if you didn’t have a new family member to occupy your time,” he jokes lightheartedly, making Dream snort. “You should name him after me. It’ll be like I never left.”

“Not a chance.”

“He loves my ring,” George whispers to Dream, his lips close to his ear as he leans all the way over the armrest separating them. “Look, Dream.”

Dream looks. The new kitten—Blue, they’ve decided to call him, because George is definitely his favourite and it had been Sapnap’s suggestion as a joke that unfortunately stuck—nuzzles his face against George’s ring finger, his eyes not yet open as he apparently wakes up from his nap in his favourite place, George’s lap.

“He just loves your hands,” Dream whispers back, trying not to disturb the sleepy kitten or annoy their friends sitting a few rows in front of them who are actually watching the movie they’d put on that neither Dream nor George have paid much attention to. “Well, he just loves all of you, actually.”

Dream thinks that inviting people over for a movie night was a better idea in theory than it has been in practice, considering he’s a little incapable of focusing on anything other than George or their new baby, but he’s started just saying yes to anything Sapnap asks to do. Dream wants to make the most of the time they have left together, Sapnap’s move only days away but a lump still forms in Dream’s throat every time he walks down the hall and sees the pile of boxes stacked up outside Sapnap’s room. They’d all gone out for dinner together and Sylvee and Hannah had insisted on paying, considering it a present since all three of them had something to celebrate, so really Dream has nothing to complain about.

“Loves all of me, hm? Reminds me of someone else I know,” George retorts, and Dream rolls his eyes before pressing a soft kiss to his brow bone.

“No way, who?”

“Just some idiot who’s obsessed with me,” George deadpans, and Dream can hear the corners of his lips quirk upward just from the way his voice softens.

“Could be lots of people. Do I know him?”

“Oh, come on, Dream,” George teases, one of his fingers slipping under the chain around Dream’s neck and ever-so-slightly tugging him closer, stealing all of his attention. “Surely you know my fiancé.”

“Not ringing a bell, actually,” Dream attempts, despite his voice coming out a little breathless even to his own ears. George’s eyes flash with satisfaction, clearly well-aware of the effect he has, how all it ever really takes is a reminder that they’re engaged to leave Dream a stuttering mess.

“No?” George pushes further, his eyebrows raising. “Well, you should meet him sometime. You have a lot in common.”

“Oh, do we?” Dream tries his best to keep up, his eyes dropping to the chain around George’s neck, then the ring on his finger, their hands side by side. “You’ll have to introduce me.”

Sylvee clears her throat loudly, forcing Dream to confront the fact that he’d definitely forgotten anyone other than himself and George were in the room, much to his disappointment. George’s hand quickly drops from his neck, waking the kitten in his lap with the sudden movement.

“Look what you’ve done,” Dream scolds, turning to see that the screen is black, the movie must’ve ended, and both Sylvee and Hannah look deeply amused by the fact that neither of them noticed. “You woke the baby.”

“You guys woke the baby when you, like, jumped,” Sylvee argues, looking to Hannah for backup. “How is that my fault?”

“Well, you scared me, I didn’t realize the movie ended.” George’s defense is half-hearted, he’s distracted by Blue getting up and walking over his armrest into Dream’s lap instead. Dream’s heart melts when Blue paws at the sleeve of his hoodie, completely helpless to give him all the attention he asks for.

“Yeah, because neither of you were even watching,” Hannah says, though Dream isn’t really listening.

“To be fair, they’re always like this,” Sapnap interjects, still sitting down and apparently completely unphased by the conversation. “This is why I don’t sit with them. They’re engaged, they can get a pass for being gross for now.”

Hannah says something else—Dream has stopped paying attention, he’s aware his three friends continue their conversation but he’s too easily distracted by the way George makes faces at Blue while he curls up in Dream’s lap, at how impossible it is not to notice how much smaller George’s hand is whenever their fingers brush.

He’s staring at George’s chain again—sometimes it still drives him completely insane, seeing it around George’s neck and remembering that it was once his, that it’s equally as significant as the ring on his left hand—when he gets an idea.

George never takes off the chain, it’s been visible in nearly every photo since the day Dream gave it to him, and Dream knows some fans have definitely put together where it came from. George wears it under his shirts already, most of the time—he likes the comforting weight of it, knowing it’s there—he doesn’t feel the need to show it off, it’s a display no one other than the two of them needs to understand.

Dream has been worrying that it’ll be a matter of time before George goes live without remembering to take off his ring, or they’ll be out somewhere in public expecting privacy but there’s a photo taken where it’s visible. He could easily say it’s just any ordinary ring—but George almost never wears rings. George rarely wears any jewelry, other than his chain, and Dream also hates any situation where they’re forced to outright lie, he’s never wanted to have to directly deny anything about his love for George.

“You should wear the ring on your chain,” Dream blurts out, brain-to-mouth, softly because he doesn’t care if anyone other than George is listening.

“What?” George blinks in confusion, his hand on Blue’s back goes still.

“Oh, sorry, that was—random thought, sorry, I was just thinking.” Dream laughs under his breath, hooking his pinky over George’s. “Since—you know, it being on your ring finger is pretty obvious, but you always wear the chain anyway, too. You could wear your ring on your chain, under your shirts, and stuff. So you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing it.”

“I wouldn’t say I worry about it.” George shrugs. “But yeah, that would be smart, I guess.”

“You don’t have to,” Dream quickly amends, worried that he’s making George sad by reminding him they still need to hide. “I just thought—you know. That way you never have to take it off.”

George nods, smiling gently and shifting in his seat. The baby stretches and gets up when Dream leans forward, dissatisfied with all the movement. George appears to mourn the loss for a second as both of their eyes dart to see where he’s going, but fondness drips from his expression when he watches the kitten curl up on a blanket on the unused chair beside Dream.

“You’re right, yeah. Here, put it on for me?” George turns so that Dream is faced with the clasp at the base of his neck, and Dream complies, knowing that George easily could’ve done this part himself.

He unclasps the necklace and, as he holds out his hand for the ring, presses his lips to the warm skin just above the collar of George’s shirt quickly, pleased when the tips of George’s ears turn red. Whatever temporary worry had plagued his mind seems to have faded, and Dream presses another kiss to his spine just for the relief of noticing as much.

Dream slips the ring onto the chain and reattaches it, and when George turns around, his mouth feels dry.

“Fuck,” Dream whispers, unable to resist the urge to trace his fingers over the ring where it hangs from George’s neck, on full display. Dream has never loved being called possessive, but there’s always been something tantalizing about George wearing a marker of his affection in plain sight, of people knowing, if they’re paying attention, even if neither of them confirm anything. It’s intoxicating—seeing the ring he had made specifically for George, something that no one other than George will ever own, hanging effortlessly from George’s chain that was once Dream’s—it’s too much.

Apparently reading his mind, George glances suddenly around the room, noticing that their friends are still sitting a few rows ahead of them engaged in their own conversation. “I think that we should go upstairs.”

“We have guests,” Dream scolds halfheartedly, already sitting up in his seat and prepared to get up at a moment’s notice.

“They’re going to leave soon anyway, it’s late.” George’s eyebrows raise, and one of his hands teases the hem of Dream’s sweater. “I think that you care more about what I want than being a good host, anyway.”

“George,” Dream warns, his resolve already crumbling as his eyes drop to George’s lips. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Well,” George stretches out the word slowly, blinking innocently. “I think you should take me upstairs, Dream.”

Dream has never claimed to be a resilient man. He’s on his feet in seconds, announcing that he’s tired and they’re going to head to bed, and he can’t even pretend to be phased by the jokes at their expense. Hannah says something about how the honeymoon phase is meant to come after getting married, and Sapnap retorts that he’s pretty sure the honeymoon phase started before they were even dating and has lasted two years. Dream thinks that they’re probably right, and maybe he’s proving their point by completely tuning them out and instead focusing on the firm, needy grip George has on his wrist as he pulls him out of the room and toward their bedroom.

“I love you,” George says as soon as he shuts the door behind himself, pressing Dream against it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Yeah?” Dream can’t help but fish a little, finding it within himself to be surprised by the sudden declaration, even with the imminent distraction of George’s hands sliding beneath his sweater.

“Yeah, obviously,” George breathes against his lips, and it’s a miracle that he needs to stretch onto his tiptoes to reach his mouth but he still manages to make Dream feel small. “I do. I was in my head a little, and I know you noticed because you’re you but I promise it was nothing, I promise I wasn’t upset.”

Dream blinks, his mouth falling open at the confession, though he isn’t given very long to evaluate how he’s meant to respond before George’s lips are back on his, his tongue slipping easily into his open mouth and Dream finds that his ability to think is severely hindered.

Both Dream and George are far too particular to ever consider hiring a wedding planner, but the process turns out to be much more of an ordeal than Dream could’ve anticipated.

“I thought we said small?” Dream asks, trying not to sound as confused as he feels as he looks over the spreadsheet George put together and clicks on the first few links to venues he thought looked promising. “These are gigantic.”

“I mean, they were just some of the first places I found,” George shrugs, leaning over to take control of the laptop, scrolling further down the list and selecting a different one. “Like, between friends, my family, your family, we’ll easily still be looking at more than fifty people, right?”

“I mean—” Dream frowns. “I don’t know about that. I mean, my family will probably just be my parents and siblings, maybe one or two cousins.”

George’s brow furrows. “That’s it? It’s our wedding, you don’t think any of your relatives will want to be there?”

“You know how my family is, George,” Dream sighs, trying to come up with a nicer way of saying most of my family will be horrified I’m marrying a man while he moves his laptop out of the way and shuts it, sensing this won’t just be a quick interjection. “And it’s—like, the more people we invite, the more of a risk it’ll be that someone leaks something, you know?”

George doesn’t seem comforted by the elaboration, in fact, his entire body stiffens and he opens and shuts his mouth several times before responding.

“I mean, I care more about being able to invite the people we care about to our wedding than I care about leaks, I’ll be honest.” George’s voice is sharp, unfamiliarly so, and Dream knows he’s struck a nerve when he places a hand on George’s knee and he shrugs it off, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed instead. “Is that really the only reason you want to keep this small? So you don’t need to tell anyone we’re together?”

“George, I thought you—”

“I know, Dream. Anything to do with us we keep as private as possible, that’s what I want too.” George seems to steady himself a little, his voice lowering, and he releases the tight fist he’d clenched in their bedsheets. “But we’re getting married. Like, I’m not saying we should make a big announcement and post wedding photos all over the internet, but shouldn’t we, at some point, just give up on hiding?”

Dream struggles to find the right words—because he wants, more than anything, to be able to hang billboards and shout from every rooftop that he’s in love with George, that he’s lucky enough to be loved by George. And it isn’t fair that he’s never felt like that was even an option, that he knows if they ever stop being as careful, it could ruin everything.

“Of course I want that,” Dream tries, reaching for George’s hand and breathing out in relief when George allows him to take it instead of pulling further away. “I’ve always wanted that, but we can’t, George, not yet. We can’t take that risk.”

“Just like it’s too much of a risk for me to wear my ring in photos,” George mutters bitterly, his eyes dropping to their conjoined hands, his empty ring finger. “No one can ever know anything.”

“George,” Dream pleads for him to say what he actually means, not understanding where this is coming from. “I don’t even think I know what you’re trying to imply, I—”

“I’m not implying anything, Dream.” George drops his hand. “I’m just pointing out a pattern.”

“A pattern of what?”

“Your worst nightmare is that anyone will ever know we’re dating,” George states calmly, steadily, even as his eyes fill with tears. “You love pretending that this secrecy can last forever, that no one will ever need to know.”

“George, lots of people know, that’s not—” Dream quickly starts to disagree, not wanting to admit that there’s a seed of truth somewhere within George’s words, that he does often prefer to imagine a world where their business can always be theirs, just theirs. “What, you think I’m, like, ashamed of you? George, you know I’d never be.”

“Lots of people guess. Our friends, and stuff, most of them figured it out for themselves, that’s not the same as us choosing to tell someone. And I don’t think that you’re ashamed.” George shakes his head. “I understand that—I know it isn’t easy for you. I know you were raised—not the best, and your family would probably be weird about us being together, and I’m not trying to make you feel bad about that. But I also don’t want us to spend the rest of our lives in hiding, either. That’s not fair, Dream. It’s not fair to either of us.”

Before Dream has a chance to say anything more, George stands up and paces to the other side of the room. He hesitates when he looks at the door—like he wants space, but doesn’t want to leave—and Dream can’t remember the last time they fought like this. He realizes that’s what they’re doing, fighting, and his defensiveness crumbles entirely.

“I never said I want us to hide forever,” Dream protests, his hands shaking as he resists the urge to pull George into an embrace, biting his tongue to stop himself from making false promises and telling George anything he wants to hear if it just means he’ll get back in bed. “And it’s—it’s complicated, George. I want things to be easy, like they are right now, for as long as possible.”

“For how long, then, what’s ideal for you?” George looks back at the door, then pulls on a hoodie that had been thrown unceremoniously at the foot of their bed. It’s one of Dream’s. “I don’t want you to think I’m forcing you to do something you aren’t comfortable with. It’s just—it sucks, Dream.” George's voice breaks as he says his name, and he swallows hard before continuing. Dream has never wanted anything more than to sweep him into a hug and promise him that everything will be just fine, but he knows that delaying this conversation any further will only be prolonging the inevitable.

“I don’t know,” Dream admits, fidgeting uncomfortably beneath George’s intense gaze. He’s always loved being looked at by George, the way it feels like he can see straight through him—like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather see—but it feels daunting, now, to be known so completely. “I wish I could tell you, George, but I don’t know. I just know that I still don’t think I’m ready.”

George nods as he exhales slowly, blinking back tears and swallowing what Dream is afraid is a sob. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I think that—I think I need to—calm down, a bit. Before I say something that I don’t want to say.” George talks slowly, like he’s choosing every word meticulously. “And I’m not mad at you, I just—I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

“I love you,” Dream says, helpless. “I never want to hurt you, and I want to make this okay, but I need—”

“I know, you need more time,” George says shakily. He rubs his eyes with the sleeves of Dream’s hoodie. “I guess I just thought—I thought that, when we got engaged, we’d be able to drop all the pretending, the secrecy. And I shouldn’t have assumed that, but I guess I figured that if there was ever going to be a time to stop hiding this part of our lives, it’d be now, since so many big things are changing.”

George pauses, and Dream wonders if he’s waiting for him to rush to an agreement, to change his mind. He’s frozen, still, trying to figure out how to put into words that it’s safer allowing people to see all the changes—Sapnap moving out, the two of them staying together—and draw the obvious conclusion for themselves rather than confirm anything. It seems he takes too long, collecting himself, because George takes another deep breath before continuing.

“I didn’t want to fight about this,” George chokes out, his hands shaking when he crosses his arms and looks down at his feet. “I don’t want to fight about this, because I love you and I know it’s—I know you’re not doing it on purpose. But it still hurts, Dream. It hurts feeling like you’d be okay with never telling anyone.”

“If we were—if we were different people—” Dream starts, and he knows it’s the wrong thing to say before he can even manage to finish the thought.

“But we aren’t, Dream.” George interrupts, and he’s right. “I don’t want to be different people, I want to stop being so afraid of letting people know that we love each other, us.”

He’s right, and Dream knows he is, and what hurts the most is that he still can’t bring himself to agree. He knows it’s delusional to hold out this hope that one day he’ll feel safe announcing his relationship without it being horribly complicated, to imagine that there will ever come a time it could be easy.

“I’m sorry,” Dream says, for a start, because all he really wants is for George to crawl back into bed and promise they’ll figure this out, that everything is okay, that they can talk about this another time when they’re both less upset. And he can’t bring himself to lie—to say it’s okay, I’ll stop hiding—because he knows he can’t promise he’ll be able to change overnight, to let go of the foolish optimism and patience he’s spent so many years centring his ambition around.

George notices, because how couldn’t he, everything that Dream doesn’t say.

“I think we shouldn’t—I need, um, time.” George trips over his words, clearly trying to hold his emotions together as best as possible. “I don’t—fuck, I can—”

George glances back at the door, and Dream realizes what he’s saying only as he steps into their closet and slips on a pair of shoes. “You’re leaving?”

“Just—I need to clear my head,” George insists, firm, and Dream knows he won’t be able to change his mind. “I promise I just need a day, or something.

“George,” Dream whispers, all he can manage.

“I know,” George answers, his lips pressed together tight as he nods and blinks rapidly. “I’ll—I’ll be back, I promise. We just—we aren’t getting anywhere, this isn’t—we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Dream can’t do anything but nod weakly, because he knows that George won’t budge, and he’s already shutting the door gently behind him before Dream thinks to ask where he’s going to go. It doesn’t feel fair to text him and ask—not when George just asked for space.

He knows that George isn’t stupid—he’ll get an Uber to one of their friend’s houses, more than likely, and he’ll make up some excuse about Dream being sick. No one will believe it—everyone knows that Dream and George are as inseparable when sick as they are at the best of times—but out of politeness, they’ll pretend to.

In sickness and in health, Dream thinks bitterly, a sob rising in his throat.

They’ll be fine—he knows, rationally—they have to be fine. Dream stands up and paces around the room, unable to sit in bed any longer when it’s never felt emptier than it does without George by his side.

Dream can’t remember the last time he woke up alone. George has a talent for sleeping through every single alarm, managing to always, without fail, still be sound asleep whenever Dream gets up. He loves it, despite teasing him, he loves being able to wake George with soft kisses all over his face, to be the first thing he sees.

The thought of sleeping in their bed alone, of waking up without George in his arms, is enough to make him gather up several blankets and George’s favourite sweater and move to the bed in his office.

Dream thinks about putting the sweater on, but can’t bring himself to, instead settling for cuddling it like a pillow and burying his face in the soft material that smells unmistakably like his boyfriend—his fiancé.

He almost caves and calls George a thousand times, listening to the deafeningly silent house and wondering how despite finally living with his two best friends, he’s still managed to fall back into sleeping alone in his office. One of his best friends, now, he reminds himself.

Patches finds Dream just as he’s only seconds away from calling Sapnap and begging him to move back in. He hears her scratches at the door, familiar and impossible to mistake for Blue’s faster, but not-quite-as-noisy scratches, a bad habit he learned from his big sister.

“Hi Patchy,” Dream whispers, letting her inside even though he knows he’s not meant to reward her for scratching up his door. “You knew I was lonely, didn’t you?” She meows back indignantly, a complaint for leaving the door closed if he’s ever heard one, or—and he almost bursts into tears at the thought—a complaint that she already checked each bedroom and found them all empty.

She blinks up at him after hopping up into the bed and settling directly on his pillow, claiming it for herself. She’s so used to finding him in his office in the middle of the night—not in this house, but each one that came before it—to him spending hours at his computer, sleeping the least of his priorities, so it’s understandable she expects to get the bed all to herself.

Dream almost feels like crying, thinking about how many times she’s seen him like this—desperately, achingly lonely and taking deep shuddering breaths while trying not to cry, his phone face-up on his pillow directly beside him. She’s been by his side through the loneliest months and years of his life, his only constant companion through every miserable low point but all of his best moments, too.

“I bet you miss them too,” Dream says, rubbing behind her ears and suddenly catching his own eyes filling with tears as he wonders what she must think. Sapnap moving out had been emotional enough, for both Patches and Dream. He’d nearly broken down sobbing when just days after he left, he found Patches in Sapnap’s office, sleeping under his desk as if she was just waiting for him to come back from a trip.

George leaving—it’s inconceivable, and Dream knows that he’ll be back, that it’s dramatic to think of him being gone for any significant length of time, and yet—it’s enough to make Dream completely give up on keeping his composure and sob into Patches’ fur, his entire body aching with how badly he misses him.

George will come back, Dream knows, but he doesn’t know how to live with the knowledge that he drove him away. George won’t stay away for long, because he knows that Dream would never try to hurt him, but what matters is that he did, that George is upset and needs space because Dream doesn’t know how to fix the mess he’s created. 

Dream knows that Patches can’t possibly know what he’s thinking, but when he lies down and forces her to move from his pillow and she lies down on George’s sweater instead, directly beside him so that it’s impossible for him to feel entirely alone, he thinks it can’t possibly be a coincidence—she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Dream manages a few terrible hours of sleep before waking up to Patches stepping on his face.

He mumbles some complaints, lightly pushing her to move, and finds his phone already open to his texts with George. His eyes are still cloudy with exhaustion as he switches to his messages with Sapnap, clumsily typing out a brief hey, is George with you? text, hoping he’ll at least be granted the peace of mind of knowing where George is.

Dream supposes that he kind of deserves the Why the fuck are you asking ME where your fiance is reply, but his chest heaves with concern, the uncertainty of not knowing where George would go if he isn’t with Sapnap a little staggering. Sure, George has plenty of other friends in Florida, but Dream doesn’t have the slightest clue who he’d choose to stay with as a spur-of-the-moment impulsive decision, and Sapnap is by far the closest and most rational choice.

Dream hovers his thumb over the button to call Sapnap, desperate to talk to someone, to get an idea of just how badly he fucked up, from an objective point of view, before deciding that he may as well just go in person. He’s only been to Sapnap’s house a couple times since he moved, most of which were during the first week to help him unpack and get settled. It’ll be nice to see how everything looks now that he’s had more time to make the place his own.

Dream is admittedly a little afraid of leaving, knowing that George could return at any moment and resenting the idea of him coming home to an empty house, so he writes a quick note after feeding the cats and leaves it on the kitchen island, just stating that he’s at Sapnap’s house, and he’ll be home for dinner.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, that he expects George to come home for dinner. Dream isn’t sure what to think, yet.

He knocks at Sapnap’s door, debating sending a text too, just in case he doesn’t hear. Before he can decide if that’s overkill or not he hears footsteps and the handle twists, and Sapnap stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

“You—hello?” Sapnap’s mouth hangs open in confusion, even as he gestures for Dream to come in and steps aside.

“Uh, hey,” Dream sighs, feeling sheepish. “I—um, sorry, to just show up unannounced, I know this is weird.”

Dream slips off his shoes and leaves them on the mat beside the door, takes off his jacket and drops it onto a bench in the foyer. There’s something about the domesticity of making himself comfortable in his best friend’s home, one that he owns all on his own, that makes his eyes a little misty. Sapnap’s house is clean, orderly in a way that the Dream Team house never has been, not when they spent so much time packing and unpacking and having people over—and truthfully, Sapnap has always been the cleanliest of the three of them.

“I don’t mean to—” Dream starts, at the same time that Sapnap speaks.

“You’re here for George, right?”

“George is here?” Dream whirls around to stare at his best friend in confusion, wringing his hands as guilt settles in. Oh, God. This is definitely the opposite of giving George the space he asked for.

“You didn’t know that?” Sapnap’s brow furrows, and he seems to study Dream for a second—probably taking in the deep circles beneath his eyes, the wrinkled clothes he slept in, his general disheveled nature. “Have you really—you haven’t talked to him at all?”

“He told you what happened?” Dream asks, unable to resist. He swallows hard when Sapnap nods, trying not to let the guilt consume him whole. “I didn’t—he didn’t say where he was going, I didn’t realize he was here. I can—I can leave, if that’s—”

“Dude.” Sapnap frowns, before reaching over and pulling Dream into a hug that catches him completely off guard. He takes a few shaky deep breaths, and allows himself to soak in the warmth of his best friend for a few seconds before stepping back and clearing his throat. “You looked like you needed that,” Sapnap adds with a small grin.

“Love you,” Dream says, because he’s not sure what else to do, how he’s meant to approach this. His heart breaks for Sapnap, then, realizing the impossible position he’s in, being the go-to confidant for both Dream and George after so many years of living together, sharing everything. “I—fuck, I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’m the person you should be apologizing to,” Sapnap shrugs, clapping Dream on the shoulder warmly when he knows his face must fall. “I think you know that, though. I know you’ll make it okay.”

“What if I can’t, though?” It’s a question as much as it is a confession, an admission that as much as Dream is used to being relied on for his quick thinking, he’s not sure he can fix this, that he won’t hurt both of them more for trying. “What if he doesn’t want to hear it?”

“He does,” Sapnap reassures him gently, his expression turning serious as he guides Dream down the hall, toward the room that he knows to be a guest room. “Just talk to him, man. You’re Dream and George, I know that—whatever this is really about, because George didn’t actually tell me that much—you’ll be able to work through it.”

Dream stops in his tracks, terrified of moving any closer to the door and wondering if George can already hear their voices, if he’s going to be furious with Sapnap for letting Dream in. “I appreciate your belief in me,” Dream whispers, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

“You got this,” Sapnap promises again, urging him to keep walking. “You better, because if you ever hurt George like this again, we might need to fist fight. And that probably won’t go very well for me.”

Somehow, the lighthearted threat is more reassuring than any affirmations of trust could have possibly been. Dream feels endlessly better knowing that Sapnap is prepared to stick up for George, that even if he usually tends to take Dream’s side in arguments—likely just because George is easier to antagonize—he isn’t going to let Dream off the hook for something like this, something that matters. He’s glad that George had Sapnap—Dream had their house, their cats—he deserved a piece of home, a reminder that whatever happens, it’s the three of them, the Dream Team forever.

“You need to move back in, man,” Dream declares with a laugh, attempting to shake off all the heavy emotions weighing down his shoulders, and when Sapnap groans and shoves him he just laughs harder. “I’m serious! Like, you’ve been gone for less than a month and everything is already terrible, we need you.”

“You need to stop being idiots and talk to each other,” Sapnap complains, turning around to go sit in his living room and leaving Dream standing by himself outside the guest room. “Go talk to your future husband, I’m not your marriage counselor.”

Dream stares at the handle of the door like it might lunge forward and attack him, his hands shaking with anticipation while he thinks about George on the other side, probably doing the same thing as him—waiting, wondering, thinking.

He finally brings himself to knock, only for Sapnap to yell over his shoulder from the couch after a few seconds pass with no response. “He’s probably asleep!”

He didn’t sleep well last night goes unsaid, but Dream figures he already could have guessed as much. Neither of them sleep well alone, not now that they’ve been so spoiled by the alternative.

Okay, Dream thinks. George would probably rather be woken up than completely destroy his sleep schedule by sleeping through to the afternoon. I should wake him.

Maybe it’s selfishness, partially, that drives Dream to slip carefully into the guest room where George is, sure enough, still sleeping soundly. He doesn’t think he could survive another hour of uncertainty, of waiting to figure out what George wants—where they go from here.

The sight of George’s sleeping face just barely peeking out beneath the covers he’s pulled up to his chin almost makes Dream burst into tears. He looks tense—even in his sleep, his forehead is creased and the corners of his mouth downturned, and Dream has to clench his hands into fists to resist running his thumb over every line on his face, to attempt to soothe whatever is troubling his unconscious mind.

Dream knows, of course, what’s troubling him. He’d be delusional not to.

“George,” Dream breathes out, barely a whisper, as he crouches down and gets on his knees at the side of the bed. “Hey, George.”

He’s afraid of crossing a line. He doesn’t know if George will ask him to leave when he wakes up, so it doesn’t feel fair to pretend this is any ordinary morning. Instead of pressing his lips to George’s forehead he runs his hand along the curve of his shoulder beneath the covers, pressing gently while whispering his name again.

George grumbles under his breath, completely incoherent, but leans into the pressure of Dream’s hand reflexively as his eyelids flutter.

“Georgie, hey,” Dream whispers, as soft as he can manage. “Baby, it’s me.”

“Dr’m,” George mumbles, his eyes still shut. One of his hands appears from beneath the covers, fumbling in the air until he finds Dream’s wrist and wraps around it. “Stay.”

Even half-asleep, it’s like he can read Dream’s fucking mind.

“Not going anywhere,” Dream promises, and, in a moment of impulsive indulgence, takes George’s hand into his own and brings it to his lips. “Never going anywhere, I promise.”

George hums in contentment, and Dream is bracing himself for the worst, prepared for George to possibly rip his hand away as soon as his eyes slowly blink open. Instead, George’s eyes settle across his face, and rather than pulling away, he shifts closer, rolling onto his side.

“Dream?” His voice comes out low and scratchy, and Dream’s heart aches, wondering if it’s just from disuse or if he’s been crying, too. “Sap called you?”

Dream shakes his head. “I came here to—I don’t even know, honestly. Cry, probably. Didn’t know you were here.”

George laughs a little, a warm rumble in his chest that Dream thinks he can feel, and the smile on his face is breathtaking.

“We’re really terrible at this space thing,” George says quietly. Dream starts to release his grip on his hand, but George tugs him closer, glancing down to see where he’s still kneeling on the floor and then shifting in bed, moving to the other side. He’s making room, Dream realizes.

“It’s okay if I…?” Dream trails off, looking from the empty space on his side of the bed and back up to George, who nods and grins.

“Come here, idiot.”

Dream doesn’t think anything could have prepared him for this, for George to be so clingy and pliant and eager to act like themselves, instead of dwelling on the argument.

“We should talk,” Dream tries, his guilt not subsiding, and George shushes him as he lies down, slipping an arm around his waist and tucking himself into Dream’s chest.

“We will,” George promises, letting go of Dream’s hand and instead tracing stars along his forearm. “I know we need to, but I slept like shit without you. Talk later.”

“George, it’s almost noon, you shouldn’t—”

George heaves out a long, drawn out sigh, and it’s so melodramatic and quintessentially George that Dream bursts into fond laughter, so relieved that things aren’t uncomfortable.

“Ten minutes,” George whines, burying his face in Dream’s shoulder.

“How about—” Dream considers it, threading his fingers through George’s hair and scratching softly at his scalp, attempting to placate him. “How about I talk, and you don’t have to say anything. Just promise me you’ll listen, yeah? And we can take a nap later, but I—I’m not going to be able to fall asleep, not until we talk about this first.”

George’s breath hitches, but Dream feels him nod, feels the way he inhales slowly and the grip he has on Dream’s waist tightens. Without a single word, he’s telling Dream exactly what he needs to hear—that he’s ready, that he won’t let go.

“I never want to fight like that again,” Dream starts, and George hums in agreement. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have been so defensive. I should’ve listened to you, and I should’ve talked to you before being so—set on what I thought I wanted.”

“‘M sorry too,” George whispers, lifting his head just enough to meet Dream’s gaze, his eyes wide and his lips chapped like he’s been biting them. “It’s not all on you. I shouldn’t have just assumed things.”

Dream shakes his head. “You were right, I wasn’t being realistic. I just—you’re too important. This, us, it’s too important to me, George. I don’t want—I can’t let anyone else touch this. I’m fucking terrified of giving anyone the opportunity to scrutinize our every move, to look for problems with everything we do, to try and ruin this.”

“You think that there’s anything that could ruin us?” George asks, his voice small, and he bites the inside of his cheek when Dream doesn’t instantly respond. Us, Dream repeats in his head like a refrain, us, we, ours. “Dream, you know I’m—I know what I signed up for, I’m not going to suddenly start caring what people say about you.”

“I know that.” Dream’s voice breaks, his breathing unsteady beneath George’s unwavering eye contact. “I know you don’t care but it’s—it’s still not fair to you, I still don’t want you to have to deal with any of—that. And it feels… too good to be true, I guess, trying to believe that you’ll be okay with this being our life forever, that one day you won’t grow to resent me because I can never promise you, like, the ability to just exist, without people having opinions. You were right, when you said it’s never going to magically get better overnight. What if I—what if it’s not worth it, in five years? Ten years?”

“You’ll always be worth it,” George says without hesitation, and Dream bursts into tears. “Dream—oh, baby.”

Dream wraps his arms around George and pulls him closer, burying his face in the smaller man’s neck and breathing in the scent of him, soaking up the warmth of his embrace.

“Dream, Dreamie, listen to me.” George kisses the top of his head, before shifting back onto his elbows, forcing Dream to relinquish his grip and meet his eye again. “Is this what you’re worried about? You think that once people find out, it’ll be a matter of time until it drives me away from you?”

Dream can’t do more than nod, not trusting his voice.

“I promise you,” George starts, pausing to brush his own thumb beneath Dream’s eyes, wiping away his tears and inhaling sharply, something close to laughter when Dream can’t help but sob again, unable to get over how gentle George is with him. “There is nothing that could ever make this—what we have—not worth it, okay? I don’t care if I have to deal with weird people being in our business for the rest of my life, constantly making an issue out of everything. That doesn’t bother me, not if I have you.”

Dream opens his mouth to say—well, honestly, he isn’t even sure what. He doesn’t get very far, because George steals the breath from his lungs and kisses him before gets the chance to construct a sentence.

It’s at least their millionth kiss, but there’s something about the light scratch of George’s stubble and the unfamiliar bed and the mutual desperation to be as close as possible after an entire night apart that makes it uniquely earth-shattering—or maybe, Dream is just in love.

Maybe, the truth is that it doesn’t matter when, or where. Maybe, Dream thinks, he’s learning and relearning what it means to be in love every single day, with George.

Sometimes being in love is needing to spend a night apart, to remember how much darker the world is without George by his side, to rediscover how right everything is the instant they’re back together.

“I love you,” George breathes against his lips, only leaning back enough to look into Dream’s eyes and watch the way he melts, because even after a handful of years, he’ll never get over the euphoria of hearing George say it first.

Dream knows that he can’t expect everything to instantly revert back to normal, to pretend their argument never happened and carry on with business as usual until the topic is inevitably dredged back up. But it’s not as heavy, anymore, the thought of just existing like George wants without constantly worrying that something will be taken out of context, that the best thing that’s ever happened to him will be twisted into something for others to dissect and disparage.

George convinces him—with his whispered reassurances and chapped lips pressed to his own—what’s theirs will always be theirs, they’ll be just fine.

A few days later, George is sitting on the floor in the living room playing with Blue, and Dream takes a video for Snapchat. It’s only as Dream is about to post that he realizes George’s chain isn’t tucked beneath the collar of his shirt, and it’s pretty impossible to miss the white gold of the ring against the black fabric of his t-shirt.

He thinks about deleting it, about saving the video and pretending he’d never intended to post it in the first place. On his screen, the video loops, and Dream catches himself smiling at his phone as he watches it back. Fuck it, he thinks, and he posts the video anyway. He loves his little family—he’s tired of letting paranoia stop him from showing them off every chance he gets.

Dream is able to tell the exact moment that George opens Twitter and sees THE RING trending with DNF and Snapchat, because he turns to stare at Dream in some mixture of awe and disbelief, bursting into laughter when Dream just shrugs and pretends he hasn’t been holding his breath and waiting for him to notice all afternoon.

It’s worth whatever uproar he may have caused within his own fandom, Dream thinks, when George climbs into his lap and kisses him breathless. Always, always worth it.

On the day of his wedding, Dream can’t stop thinking about fate.

The entire day before and morning of passes in a blur—he feels incredibly lucky, having so many friends who love him enough to make sure he’s got almost nothing to do other than simply show up, and make sure George shows up. Sylvee is a godsend, in particular, handling nearly all of their design choices because it turns out she actually has an incredible eye for—well, pretty much everything.

Both Sylvee and Hannah gave them an incredibly hard time for insisting on a blue and green colour scheme, but it had been the one thing both Dream and George refused to budge on. They’re tasteful about it, opting for deep forest green and a muted sapphire blue, and maybe it’s still a little obnoxious but Dream wouldn’t have it any other way.

By the time he’s walking down the aisle with his mom, Dream thinks that he’s been holding back tears for what may as well have been months, waiting for this precise moment. As soon as his eyes settle on George, dressed in his dark green suit with a smile that rivals the sun itself, he feels a little lightheaded.

Dream had expected to be at least somewhat stressed—even during the planning, though, he thinks that everything clicked easily into place. They’d wound up moving up the date, once they’d gotten confirmation all their friends could fly in and all of the family George was inviting would be able to make it from England.

Dream can’t stop thinking about fate, because as soon as they realized it was possible to move the date up to the exact anniversary of George’s arrival in Florida, it felt like they simply had to.

Dream spends most of his own wedding ceremony too focused on gazing lovingly at his almost-husband to properly take it all in, but he thinks that they hired a videographer for a reason—he’ll be able to watch back all the finer details later. He’s a little preoccupied, unable to tear his eyes away from how radiant George is beneath the late afternoon sunlight, making sure he doesn’t miss a single one of the glances George keeps throwing his way, holding entire conversations with him about how happy they are just through widened eyes and soft smiles.

He makes eye contact with Sapnap, at one point, who pretends to gag in response to all the very un-subtle staring he’s been doing. In full view of the entire audience, of course, considering he’s in the direct centre of their shared bridal party—another decision they’d made with little debate—making several people laugh under their breath, including the officiant.

Dream doesn’t know when he started holding his breath, but he only releases it when he finally gets to hear George’s voice, when it’s time to say their vows.

“So,” George starts, laughing at himself and blinking up at Dream with glassy eyes, and Dream wonders how embarrassing it’d be if he manages to cry before George has even said two words. George is holding a few small cue cards—they’d made a rule that neither of them could have more than 4 cards of notes, to make sure neither of them wildly outdid the other. “When we first became friends, I used to refuse to say ‘I love you’. It drove you kind of crazy, I think, and you’d play up jokes about it all the time, which drove me crazy.”

Lots of people laugh, Dream included.

“And sometimes, maybe I was just being difficult on purpose. But mostly, and I know that this isn’t news to you, I just couldn’t bring myself to say it so casually, not when I would have meant it so completely. Because it’s been an unavoidable fact for as long as I’ve known you that I’m completely, humiliatingly in love with you. My entire life changed the moment I met you—and not just because of everything that we’ve built together, but because of how much I changed, how different my life became as soon as I knew I had something to live for—the hope that one day I’d be able to love you the way I wanted to, that you’d let me.”

George pauses when he hears Dream clear his throat to stop himself from loudly sobbing, and the tiny laugh he lets out under his breath makes it easy to forget that there’s a single other person listening, that he’s not just talking to Dream and Dream alone.

“I’ve never understood how—how other people are able to see you so differently than I do. I think that you’re the type of person who it’s impossible not to care about, one way or another. Because you’re so—good.” George’s voice shakes, and Dream gives up on trying to stop his tears from falling. “You’re so infuriatingly kind that sometimes it actually makes me angry, because after everything you’ve been through, there’s no one who deserves to be bitter and jaded and angry at the world more than you do, and instead you’re just—you’re just good. Kindness is a choice, and it isn’t an easy one, and you make it, every single day. You don’t do anything halfway—you love so completely, like it’s what you were born to do, and for so long, I thought that it was too good to be true, to think I’d ever get to be on the receiving end of that type of love.”

Dream shakes his head, already having a feeling he knows where George is going, but needing to bite his tongue to stop himself from interjecting anyway.

“You convinced me, eventually. It took a while—it took moving to a new continent, actually—but you convinced me that it wasn’t too good to be true. And instead of getting upset that not everyone understands, that so many people don’t see the same version of you that I get to spend the rest of my life with, I’ll just have to love you twice as hard. And that’s—that’s my promise, my vow, I guess. To love you enough that it outweighs everything else. And to love you forever, to spend the rest of my life doing everything I possibly can to lighten all the burdens you might carry, but that part was a given before I ever would’ve believed we’d be standing here right now.”

Dream is a mess by the time George finishes, and he knows that it’s his turn, that he’d made a long list of all the things he wanted to say, but now that he’s here, at the altar in a suit that George picked out in his favourite colour, surrounded by all the people he loves most, he doesn’t think any words will ever be enough.

“I can’t believe you told me you didn’t prepare much,” Dream complains fondly, shaking his head at George as if he can convincingly appear disappointed while he still hasn’t even managed to stop sniffling.

“I know your vows are going to be, like, an hour long,” George teases, squeezing Dream’s hand and nodding in his own private reassurance. Dream takes a few deep breaths, blinking rapidly, until he’s able to see George clearly instead of through a fog of his own tears.

“So,” Dream starts after the officiant prompts him, copying George’s introduction, unable to stop himself from giggling just because George does. “I’ve always believed in soulmates.”

Dream manages to look away from George for the first time in a while, glancing at his friends, all the people he doesn’t believe could have wound up in his life by coincidence. “Not just—not just romantic ones, I mean, I think there are just people you’re meant to find. And I can’t say with any certainty that some divine intervention was responsible for bringing George into my life, but what I do believe is that even if our paths hadn’t crossed when they did, we’d all still be standing here today.”

Dream glances down at his cards, at all the long poetic promises he planned to make, and decides to deviate pretty heavily, to just say what feels right. “I think we’d have found each other, somehow, and I think this is—I think this is how it was always meant to be. And I can’t prove that. I can’t prove that soulmates are real, and maybe I’m completely wrong, maybe this really was all just a bunch of coincidences, and maybe I’m just the most fortunate person in the world. If there’s one thing I’m pretty well known for, it’s my unrealistic luck.”

George shoves him on the arm for the predictable joke, but it earns a big laugh from their friends, and he’s beaming so radiantly that Dream wishes he could just spend hours making terrible jokes, uncaring of whether or not anyone but George laughs.

“What I’m trying to say,” Dream collects himself, “is that if there is such a thing as soulmates, as fate, then the universe was definitely on my side, giving me the easiest person that there is to love. Because even at our worst—even at our most fragile, there’s never once been a single doubt in my mind. I’ve known that you were it for me since before we were together, because there’s no one else who I gravitate to without even noticing I’m doing it, who lights up every single room he walks into just by being there, who has fought for me and believed in me and stood by me even when I probably didn’t deserve it. George, I love you because—because you are love. I promise to never stop listening to you, to make the most of every single moment we get together, and never take you for granted. I promise to love you with everything that I have, for the rest of my life, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“I’m so glad you let me go first.” George is laughing as he weeps into a handkerchief, and it takes an incredible amount of restraint for Dream to resist his instinct to pull George into an embrace.

Dream nearly drops George’s ring as he attempts to slide it onto his finger smoothly, his hands already shaking with anticipation because this is it. Really, Dream thinks, it’s just a fancy ceremony to celebrate something that was already true—whether or not they had any paperwork to prove as much, he’s been George’s since the day that they met.

It feels significant anyway. After years of trying to keep his love for George as quiet as possible, getting to kiss him in broad daylight, surrounded by everyone he cares about and knowing that nothing can possibly take this away from them—it’s easily the best moment of Dream’s life.

“We did it,” Dream whispers when they separate, pressing his forehead to George’s and keeping his arms wrapped tight around his waist. “We’re married.”

“I knew you’d say that.” George laughs and kisses him again, before Dream can question what he means, and they’re both kind of laughing so it’s barely even a kiss, but Dream thinks he never wants it to end. He wishes he could capture this feeling and bottle it, he thinks he could probably survive eons with this sheer euphoria as his only sustenance.

“Knew I’d say what?” Dream asks, too curious to let it go.

“Something cheesy.” George sighs, cupping Dream’s face with his hand and stopping him from shifting any further away when he laughs, like he’s as desperate to live in this moment for an eternity as Dream feels.

Dream leans in to kiss George again, ignoring all the wolf-whistles from their friends and complaints from Sapnap in particular that it’s meant to be a first kiss, not a first dozen kisses.

I don’t need to hold so desperately onto this one moment, Dream thinks, and he wonders if George is coming to the same realization, because the next time they break apart, he seems to have the same idea—their hands effortlessly find one another, their fingers interlocking. We have the entire rest of our lives to look forward to.