Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[Track: the end of the world - Aidan Alexander]

Dream was nineteen years old when he found Callie.

Summer was almost over, and it was warm outside. The night had fallen at least two hours prior, and a few stars were already visible in the sky. It was a little windy, he recalls, but oddly, no clouds were in sight.

They said it’d rain.

He’d gone out for a walk in an attempt to clear his head. He was worried about something that, in retrospect, seems trivial.

He’d thought about going back before he got to the park. He’s glad he didn’t, because if he had, his life today would be vastly different.

He sat on a bench and looked up at the sky. He didn’t really feel like going home. His heaving chest felt pressured at the mere thought of it, but it was getting cold. And they said it’d rain.

He turned his head, and that’s when he saw her.

She was bundled up in a white blanket, under a tree. The blanket was covered in mud, but not enough that it wouldn’t catch people’s eye. She was asleep. She seemed peaceful.

Dream told this part of the story many times.

He stood up and walked towards her. He was hesitant, at first. He looked around, but he soon realized that the park was empty. And he didn’t know what to do.

It’s not every day that you find an abandoned baby.

She couldn’t have been more than one year old. She had dark brown, curly hair, and big, chubby cheeks. Baby cheeks, he’d thought.

She had nothing on her.

Dream crouched to pick her up, and she opened her eyes. She didn’t cry; she just looked at him in silence. She was peaceful.

Green met green, and the world stopped turning. Dream felt a raindrop fall on his neck, and roll down his back.

That’s the story of how he met his daughter.

The first thing he did was take her to a hospital.

He sat there for more than two hours as they ran several tests on her—trying to know if she was sick or hurt in any way.

But she was a healthy baby. Nineteen pounds, four ounces; twenty-eight inches long. Between ten months and a year old. Well fed. No signs of hypothermia.

She was perfectly fine.

They said he probably found her quickly, not long after she was abandoned. Dream begged to differ, given the state of the blanket, but no one really cared that much about that part.

It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like doctors.

They did their job and handed her back to him, clad in clean, white clothes, and bathed. They also suggested he took her to a nearby police station, or an orphanage.

It was ten thirty, and it was pouring outside. He didn’t have a coat, or his car—he only had his wallet and a baby.

He called home and said he’d be out for the night.

The orphanage didn’t want to take her.

Nor did the Police.

Dream was too young to understand why.

His family didn’t take the news well. He could see why, of course—a nineteen year-old, still in his parents’ house, working part-time at Apple and learning how to code, becoming a dad of his own volition.

They said he was being stupid, and naïve, and that he’d ruin that poor little girl’s life.

Dream argued that she wouldn’t have a life to ruin, had he left her where he found her.

They still didn’t seem convinced.

Looking back, they probably knew, too.

It was on Valentine’s day.

Exactly five months after he found Callie, and exactly five minutes after her first word.

Salty tears welled up in Dream’s eyes and a wide smile shone on his face. His daughter was in his arms, giggling adorably, and swatted his cheek.

“Dada,” she repeated, and it rang beautifully. It resonated like a perfect symphony—a sound of the utmost complexity, turning Dream’s insides into cotton.

Callie was already the most important thing in the world. And Dream was glad she’d warmed up to him so easily, like it was fated.

Callie hooked her little hand in the collar of his shirt, and tugged to catch his attention. Even as a baby, she seemed to understand how fond he is of her, how much he spoils her.

“I’m so proud of you,” Dream told her, pressing a loving kiss to her forehead. Her first word still bounced off the walls, blooming flowers across her dad’s heart.

“Dada,” she smiled, one more time, content with the reaction she was getting.

Dream was on cloud nine. “Yes, that’s me,” he said, bending to put her in her crib—Dream’s old one. “But it’s late, honey. It’s bedtime.”

Her chocolate curls fell messily on her eyes as she smiled up at him. She moved in place, and Dream tucked her in comfortably so she’d have a good night’s sleep.

“I love you, princess,” he whispered, pinching her little nose.

Then, he turned around and headed for the door. But before he got there, his daughter said something else.

Or, well, she meowed something else.

He ran back towards the crib, and in the very same place where he’d left his human baby less than five seconds ago… he found a kitten.

A striped brown kitten with white paws, long whiskers, and his daughter’s eyes.

That’s the story of how he met Patches.

The circumstances of their encounter are still a little confusing, which is why he hasn’t told any of his friends about his daughter-slash-cat yet. He has to figure some stuff out on his own.

Being a parent at such a young age is tough enough. Luckily, he has his mother to help him. After making peace with the fact that he wasn’t going to abandon that girl again, she fell into the grandmother role quite easily.

She takes care of Callie while Dream’s at work, she helps him cook for her, and she handles all the medical stuff that he’s not entirely familiar with—especially since finding out that she’s a cat shape-shifter.

She was very nice about it, because she had more time to process than Dream.

The crib episode was intense, to say the least. If Dream had had a choice, he would’ve preferred something more… gradual.

Let’s just say he had a little crisis. Not a big deal. He recovered rather quickly after Joanne, his mother, took the time to sit him down and explain what was going on.

She said she saw it coming. She said she knew, which made Dream infinitely more confused.

But apparently, it wasn’t a tough one to break. And everyone had noticed, except him. It was a low blow to his ego.

Now that he knows, their first night together starts making a lot more sense. The Police and the orphanage people saw her test results—the ones she had done at the hospital—and that’s why they didn’t take her in.

Because they’re stupid and old-fashioned and astronomical morons. Realistically, he couldn’t expect much from the Floridian system. But it’s still infuriating to know that they’d rather leave a kid to her fate than try to find her a home, just because she isn’t entirely human.

Dream is glad that he was the one to find her. If it’d been anybody else, he doesn’t know where she’d be right now.

He doesn’t even want to think about it.

[Track: PINCH ME - young friend]

“You want to quit?” Pandas inquires, his voice high-pitched in scandal.

Pandas is Dream’s best friend. He just turned eighteen, and they’ve known each other since they were two problematic pre-teens, fucking around in a block game.

They’ve been through a lot since then—through thick and thin, as they say. They’re inseparable. He’s Dream’s brother, whether blood or not, so he can always trust him.

He doesn’t know he has a daughter, though—he would like to keep it that way. For now, at least, until he figures out what to do with his life.

That’s the matter at hand.

“I don’t know what to do, dude,” he laments, dragging his hand through his hair. “It’s just— It feels like I’m wasting my time.”

“But you love coding!” Pandas says, swiveling around in his desk chair. Dream knows him to do that when he’s anxious. “If anything, you should quit your stupid Apple job.”

Dream scoffs, grabbing a ball from his desk to fidget with. “You know I can’t do that. It’s my only income, and I have to maintain— a cat.”

Nice save.

“I’m sure Patches will be fine,” he says. “Dude, I get taking a step back but— How do you plan on quitting the internet? How’s that even possible?”

“I don’t know, I’ll just—” he sighs, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. It feels too crowded, too heavy. He needs a rest. “I guess I’ll focus on IRL stuff. Get a full-time job, stop messing around. I dunno.”

Pandas breathes into the mic, and the static goes straight to Dream’s brain. He lets silence wash over them for a moment. When he speaks again, he sounds more distant. “What if you did the opposite?”

Dream opens his eyes, and looks back at his monitor. “What do you mean?”

“What if you quit your job?”

“Pandas, what—”

“No, hear me out,” he cuts him off, excitement dripping from his tone. Dream would bet on his eyes being shiny and wide, like a pair of green marbles. “You could quit your job.”

Dream frowns, sitting up straighter. “Have you lost your mind?”

“What if you went full-time on YouTube, dude?” Pandas shoots, like he just solved the hardest puzzle ever known to man. “That’s, like, your dream! You could actually try that!”

“How would that solve anything?” Dream says, slightly spiteful, cocking his head in confusion. “You know how hard that is, Pandas! I— I can’t just sweep in and make it as a content creator overnight, that shit takes time!”

And I have a daughter now. It’s not only my ass that’s on the line.

Pandas laughs. He laughs, like a mad man. Dream thinks he needs a shot of reality. “You could make a plan,” he says, even lower, like he’s thinking. “You could give yourself a timeframe, say, a year—”

“A year!?”

“And you could put your all into it,” he moves on, ignoring Dream’s abrupt interruption. “And if it doesn’t work… Then you quit.”

Dream hates himself when he finds that he’s seriously considering it.

It’s insane, isn’t it? Giving up a stable job to pursue… insanity. Straight up. Yes, it’s fucking nuts.

He’s a single parent who has to take care of a kid and a cat, and—

And that was a little insane, too.

That was fucking nuts, too. And it was risky, and his mother warned him, and nobody trusted him, and he still did it.

His job at Apple is the last remaining bit of normalcy in his life. It’s his safety net—when he’s done talking to his only friends who live miles away, or coding Minecraft plug-ins that will never see the light of day, or parenting his cat shape-shifter daughter he found under a tree.

His entire life is upside down, and this… This is the only thing that’s anchoring him to the ground.

And Pandas is asking him to let it go.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, his cuticles trapped between his teeth. He feels a little dizzy, like he could throw up.

He hears the smile in Pandas’ voice. He hears the hope. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

Dream bites his tongue, trying to slow down the tornado unraveling inside his chest. “This is scary, Nick.”

Nick is Pandas’ real name.

Dream only uses it during serious talk time.

And Pandas knows exactly how to handle it.

“Dude, I’ll follow you wherever you go,” he tells him, his determination unwavering, getting a shy smile in return. “If you want to quit, or if you want to do this— I got you, brother.”

A fresh wave of air breaks on Dream’s lungs. He nods, even if his friend can’t see him. “Thanks, brother.”

“Of course,” he says, and his tone is lighter. His confidence flies all the way from Texas, straight into Dream’s heart. “Will you think about it?”

It feels like a life-changing moment. It feels risky, but knowing that Pandas has his back makes everything seem a lot easier.

He’d trust that boy with his life.

Which is why it isn’t entirely surprising when he finds himself saying— “Yes. I will.”

It’s a random Monday in September. It’s been three months since his conversation with Pandas.

He’s taking things slow. He uploaded a couple of videos, and they’re doing quite well, but he still hasn’t taken the big risk. He hasn’t done what his brother asked of him.

Instead, he’s getting ready for work.

A job he hates.

Which is quite off-putting, if he’s being honest. Because sure, he’d never been super devoted to his job, but he didn’t hate it. He knew how to do it, and it gave him money, so it was… okay, he guesses.

But now, he thinks he’d rather be doing anything else. He doesn’t know if it’s Pandas’ words swirling around inside his head like annoying, tiny little bugs, or if it’s simply not what he was initially expecting.

The rush of his new project plays a big part in it, though. He’s always had a tendency towards the internet, technology, content creation. He loves his online life. Ever since Pandas encouraged him, he can’t stop thinking about it. He goes to sleep thinking of the videos he has to edit, the plug-ins he has to code, the people he has to talk to…

God, he wants to do it.

But he doesn’t think he’s brave enough.

Patches looks up at him from the floor.

Callie rarely shifts when it’s the two of them alone, unless she’s really tired, or a little moody. Dream’s learnt how to analyze her, after almost a year of living with her, so he knows she’s judging him. Even as a cat, or a two year old, she doesn’t approve of the duality. She wants him to make a decision.

She meows, demanding.

“I know, baby,” Dream coos, bending down to pet her behind her ears. She closes her eyes, giving into it, offering comfort. “We’ll figure it out.”

She meows again, a little softer. She gets him.

With his head turned in a mess, he gets up from the floor. His cat turns her back at him, and leaves the room in protest.

He thinks of her as he leaves for work, and decides he’s done with the bullshit. He has to make a decision, and he has to do it now.

So that’s what he does.

“I can’t believe you actually did it,” George says, as soon as Dream breaks the news to them. “That’s crazy, Dream.”

George is his other best friend. Unlike Pandas, he’s a little older than him. He’s twenty-two, and he just graduated college with a degree in Computer Science. He’s pretty cool, aside from the fact that he’s British.

He met Dream almost four years ago, and he introduced him to Pandas not long after. They hit it off right away, and the three of them have been inseparable ever since.

They’re a funny little group.

“Dude, I’m so proud of you,” Pandas tells him, through what Dream can only assume is a wide, bright smile. His voice even breaks a little. He’s so emotional. Dream loves him.

“I can’t believe he listened to you,” George teases, lightheartedly. He and Pandas work like that—through insults and meaningless banter. They have the habit of pulling Dream into their endless bickering, so really, he’s a full-time dad.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“He was right, dude,” Dream defends, leaning back on his chair. His head hurts a little. He lets it fall back and closes his eyes, with his best friends’ voices in his headset. “I hated it.”

Pandas screams, making him flinch. “I knew it!”

“So you’re doing full-time YouTube?” George asks, olympically ignoring him. His tone is light, but hesitant. Dream doesn’t know what to make out of it.

He hums, thinking of the future.

He has good numbers already, for someone who’s barely getting started. He’s creative, original—he has piles and piles of ideas, stuff he wants to try, mods he wants to code. He can actually see it happening. It’s pursuable, it’s plausible, it’s promising.

But he can’t see himself doing it alone. He’s taking the biggest risk of his life, and he knows that his friends will be there for him, but he wants something more. He needs certainty, he needs someone to hold onto, to walk this path with.

He can’t imagine a world where he makes it as a creator, and he doesn’t have George and Pandas by his side. He needs their love to be unconditional, and he needs their friendship to be forever.

And he knows how to make that happen.

“We are,” he corrects, sitting up again. He smiles, struck by hope, and swims in the silence that stretches over them. “If— you want to. All three of us.”

Pandas is the first one to react. “What are you saying, Dream?”

“You’re insane,” George says, something hidden behind his tongue. Dream can hear it, Dream can feel it, because he knows him. And he won’t be fooled.

“Think about it, George!” he beams, leaning forward in his desk, as if that would bring them closer. “You and I are great coders, and we’re all really good at the game, we’ve been playing it forever!”

“We have Bad to help us…” Pandas mentions, his tone hushed for the first time in his life. He’s seeing it too. “He’s a creator.”

“Exactly!” Dream cheers, feeling the elation flowing through his veins. He feels good about this. So fucking good. “Please, George, it’d be so cool.”

Pandas scoffs, amused. “Don’t be an idiot, George.”

“What about our names?” he asks, and it’s his way of saying that he’s considering it. “We don’t have YouTuber names.”

“I do,” Dream shrugs, swiveling around in his chair.

“Me too.”

George chuckles, bitterly. “Okay, Pandas.”

“What do you suggest then, bitch?” he shoots, earning a giggle. He’s way worse than his two year-old, that’s for sure. “You’re fucking— GeorgeeeHD. That’s lame.”

Dream hums, entertaining a thought. Tentatively, very wisely, he suggests. “What about Sadnap?”

“You’re a sad-nap,” George jests, then giggles at his own joke. The idiot. Dream shakes his head, slightly endeared. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s taken,” Pandas says, when the sound of his keyboard comes to a halt. Then, he giggles, out of the blue. “SadnapWasTaken.”

Dream’s lips curl up in a soft smile, but he scoffs, trying to play tough. “Don’t steal my brand,” he scolds, moving again to face his computer. He squints at it, waiting for the epiphany to hit him. Luckily, it doesn’t take long. “Sapnap.”

George laughs again, briefly. But all too quickly, he seems to come around. “Wait,” he says, voice funny and a little shaky. It always gets like that when he laughs. Dream finds it amusing. “That might actually work.”

“Sapnap,” Pandas tries it out, and Dream can almost feel the way it grows on him, like a flower. It suits him in a way he can’t explain. It rings right. “Yeah, I like that.”

“Okay, now do me,” George asks, demanding as always.

Pandas—or well, Sapnap—laughs at the wording, and George audibly rolls his eyes. Yes, audibly. Dream has no idea how, but the guy has mastered that technique.

“Shut up,” George groans as the younger pokes fun at him. Dream smiles fondly at the two bickering like siblings, but he knows it’s not long until one of them drags him into their fight. “You’re actually worse than a child, Pandas.”

“Hey, hey, hey. Let me stop you right there,” he cuts him off, faking a heavy southern accent, and making a poor effort to contain his laughter. “It’s Sapnap now.”

George scoffs, incredulous. “Okay, Stinknap.”

“You should be George404, because you’re an error,” Sapnap shoots, sounding way too proud of himself. He thinks he did something.

Actually… maybe he did.

Dream’s eyes snap open, and if he was a cartoon, he’d have a lightbulb popping up next to his head right this second. “Wait, that’s genius!” he says, leaning forward again. “Not— the burn, that was lame, but—”

“Hey!”

“Error not found!” he ignores him, eager to let his idea out. It simmers under his skin, begging to see the light of day. “GeorgeNotFound!”

George laughs. Bright, open. It takes Dream a moment to understand what’s going on.

He’s on board. He and Sapnap—they’re agreeing to this.

They believe in him.

“Do you like it?” Dream asks, sudden shyness blooming in his tone, and runs fingers through his own hair. The air shifts around him, and he can’t explain how.

George is still giggling, a little silly. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Sapnap grins, and his chair makes a noise when he leans back on it. “You’re welcome.”

“What!?” Dream asks, scandalized. “For what? It was my idea!”

Sapnap tuts. “Yeah, but I came up with the ‘error not found’ thingy.”

“That was— the fucking internet, you moron!”

“Both of you, shut up!” George cuts them off, like he hasn’t been doing the exact same thing, like, two minutes ago. Either way, Dream complies. George’s smile is evident in his voice. “Are we doing this or what?”

And just like that, the bubbly feeling that’s been swimming around in Dream’s blood has taken over all three of them. He knows they all feel it—hot under their skin, and like they’re doing something right.

Like they’re starting something great.

Patches walks into his room, absolutely oblivious, and jumps onto his lap. Dream pets her, and every puzzle piece seems to fall into place.

His friends keep talking about it, but he’s barely listening anymore. There’ll be time for that. Right now, he wants to savor it. Deep down, he knows this is a moment he’ll want to store for all eternity.

With his daughter in his hands, and the future before him, he allows himself to have hope. Because with Dream’s determination, George’s intelligence, and Sapnap’s humor, it’s hard not to think they’ll be unbeatable.

And of course, it’d be the three of them.

It was bound to be that way, since the very beginning.

Today, something is born. Dream feels it in his stomach, the same way he felt the first time he saw his daughter’s eyes under the night sky. This is a life-changing moment, just like that. This, right here, is the start of the rest of his life.

And so it begins.

This is the story of how they formed the Dream Team.

It’s been a long day.

Callie barely slurred a weak goodnight before falling asleep, and Dream almost didn’t catch it through his own yawn clogging his ears.

He’s more than ready to follow her steps and call it a day, after the worst fucking recording session of his entire life. It’s a promising video, but he’s still not sure if it’ll be worth the time he spent screaming and building an unbearable headache.

Minecraft, but speed rises every second.

God, what a nightmare.

He wanted to rip his hair out one by one. But he’s certain his viewers will enjoy him and Sapnap having a meltdown over a silly block game, so he’ll suck it up and go through the ordeal of editing it, eager to provide them with the high-quality content they expect.

Not today, though. He’s exhausted. Today, he’ll just go back to his room and… well, sit at his desk.

His entire body is screaming at him to rest, but he won’t listen. He’ll push the limit just a little bit further, because he still has responsibilities to attend to.

Okay, fine. It’s not technically a responsibility. He could absolutely get out of it if he wanted to, and no one would blame him. He’d feel bad about it though, and if he’s being completely honest, he kind of needs it himself.

Calling George is an important part of his routine, and he knows he’ll sleep way better if he talks to him for an hour or two. It’s just… science. George has a way with him, and Dream won’t tamper with that.

He lazily opens the Phone app, cutting a yawn early and rubbing tiredness away from his eyes. He shakes his head to wake himself up, worried he’ll fall head first into his keyboard any second now. That wouldn’t be nice.

Luckily, it’s not long until his friend picks up.

“Hi,” George greets. “I’m dying.”

Dream smiles weakly, leaning back and letting his eyes fall shut. He takes a deep breath, relaxing in place. “You sound terrible.”

George snorts. “Thank you, Dream.”

“It’s true, dude, sorry,” he shrugs, stifling a chuckle and looking back down. George is sick, he doesn’t need to be laughed at right now. His patience is thin enough as it is. “How’re you feeling?”

“How do you think?” George asks first, quick, with a bite that denotes annoyance. But unlike him, Dream is patient. He doesn’t rebut, he lets him sit on it as a shallow silence settles above their heads. George breaks it with a sigh not long after. “I have a fever. And my throat’s, like, burning.”

Dream hums, puckering his lips. George does sound awful, to be fair. His voice is deep and raspy and his ‘N’s are muffled due to his stuffy nose. It’s not pretty. “Did you take something for it?”

“Yeah, but it hasn’t kicked in yet,” he says, fighting back a frazzled groan. “‘M just tired.”

“D’you wanna go lay down?” Dream asks, out of the kindness of his heart. It’s fine. He can go a day without talking to George, really; it’s not that deep. He’s tired too. And George is—

“I am,” he cuts his thoughts off, voice sounding a little more distant. Only then does Dream catch the rustle of sheets, of his friend shifting in his bed.

Dream blinks, and a frown settles on his face. “Wait, did I— Did I wake you up?”

“Not— technically,” George mumbles, then coughs. It’s weak, like he’s been coughing all day and his throat is done even trying. Dream feels for him. “I couldn’t sleep, ‘m too sick.”

Silence stretches over them once more as Dream’s frown deepens. He hates it when he or Sapnap are sick. He hates not being there to make them feel better.

Distance weighs more on him on days like this, and the fact that he’s tired out of his mind isn’t helping. He’s the kind of friend who’d give out medicine and cuddles without caring about getting sick himself.

He’s a parent, what can he say? He’d do for George and Sapnap as much as he’d do for his daughter, his sister, or any other member of his family.

“Do you want me to talk you to sleep?” Dream asks, swiveling in his chair to chase awakeness. He lets his feet bang against the desk leg, and taps his fingers on the wood.

George scoffs after a moment. “What?”

“‘Ts what I do for my—” Daughter. Oops. “Sister… When she’s sick,” he saves, then exhales deeply. It’s dangerous, how tired he is. “I just— talk to her until she forgets about it and falls asleep.”

“You bore her to sleep?” George asks, a teasing lilt buried deep into his words.

Dream chuckles. “Fine, idiot. I’ll hang up then. See if I—”

“No, wait,” his best friend calls, voice even weaker and more hushed than before, and shifts in his bed again. “I guess— we can try that. ‘M just tired.”

Dream shakes his head fondly, but spares him for the night. He’ll have plenty of chances to make fun of his best friend when he’s not… dying. “Okay,” he smiles. “I’ll lay down too, then.”

George hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll go get water.”

He comes back just a moment later, when Dream’s already curled up under his covers, eyes falling shut against his will. He leaves his phone on the mattress, by his hand, and digs his nose in the pillow.

He hears George settle in, too.

And then, he starts talking. Or making noise. He wouldn’t trust his brain to come up with coherent sentences right now, but he sure as hell tries.

He feels his voice drop lower, his words slur together even more, and how much harder it becomes to stay awake; but he doesn’t care.

Dream talks until his throat hurts too, and in some way, it feels like he took care of his best friend and caught whatever he had. It feels nice.

He lets the sound of George’s even breathing lull him to sleep, and doesn’t wake up until the next morning.

[Track: Older - Alec Benjamin]

The holiday season brings heat, music, and success. And so, so much joy.

“Holy shit, Dream,” Sapnap says, words muffled by the hand he’s covering his mouth with. He’s overflowing with pride and elation, voice broken after screaming so much for his brother. “You’re fucking insane, bro.”

Dream can’t speak through the lump in his throat, can’t see through the tears clouding his eyes. His entire body shakes, and he feels his blood pump in his ears, feels it ebb and flow through his entire system, coursing through his veins like electricity.

This is, hands down, one of the best and most important moments of his entire life. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel this way again. He doesn’t see how it could be possible.

“Dream!” George joins the TeamSpeak call, and starts screaming like a madman. Dream laughs loud in response, bright and chipper. “Dream, you’re cracked!”

Sapnap hums with enthusiasm, in agreement. “Bro, I’m so happy for him.” A chuckle cuts his words elegantly, lacing them with honesty. Meanwhile, Dream is still unable to speak, unable to move a single muscle.

“How are you, Dream?” George asks again, his smile more than evident in his voice, drowning his speech in yellow.

God, Dream wants to hug them so tight right now.

“I can’t—” he tries, but breaks down crying again. He stares at his screen in awe, cheeks aching with how wide he’s smiling. “I— I don’t— don’t know what to even—”

“It’s okay, Clay,” Sapnap reassures him, soft and careful, supportive as always. “Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Congrats, Dream,” George adds, then claps for him. Sapnap joins. Dream cries harder. “We’re proud of you.”

Oh, God. He’ll never stop crying, will he?

It doesn’t seem like it.

He hides his face in his palms and lets himself drown in the exhilarating feeling. The image is scorched to his brain, never leaving.

Sapnap chuckles. “You even got George sappy.”

“Shut up, idiot,” he retaliates, but it’s fruitless. He sounds so happy, just as much as Sapnap.

Dream loves them, and they love Dream, and he can’t even say it but he doesn’t need to, because they know.

He opens his mouth again, and no words come out.

It’s fine. It’s fine, he doesn’t need to.

Sapnap screams again, like he can’t believe it either. George laughs wonderfully. Dream cries.

He won’t stop all day, he already knows.

He’ll cry tears of joy until he drowns in them, but they’ll never wash away the feeling, the memory he just created.

No, this is forever. Holy shit. He made it.

The following days, Dream spends them in a bubble of joy.

It’s the third day of 2020, and he feels like nothing could take him down. The future looks promising, like this is just the beginning. He hit a massive milestone in such a short period of time. He still can’t quite believe it.

He lives in a haze. It feels nice, for now.

Something tells him there’s a lot more to come. Something tells him it’s gonna be an intense year. He can sense it in his gut.

It tingles. It’s a good feeling. He embraces it.

It was out of the blue.

He calls it the Incident.

“G’rge.”

Now, Dream knows he could’ve misheard that. It could’ve been a simple baby sound. Toddlers make nonsensical sounds all the time. That’s definitely the logical explanation.

However, Dream also knows Callie’s almost always around when her dad’s on the phone, and he just happens to be on the phone with George a lot. Everyday. For hours on end.

So, these are the facts:

1. Dream says George’s name roughly thirty times a day. (This might be an exaggeration, but it could also very well be accurate.)
2. Callie-slash-Patches loves to hang around while they talk, and even meows at George sometimes, like she recognizes him.
3. Children her age are like sponges, so there’s a fair chance that Dream’s daughter just tried to say his best friend’s name. There’s an equally—or a little less—fair chance she just made a weird sound for no reason.

Regardless, what was more interesting about it was Dream’s reaction.

You see, the world works in funny ways. The Incident came at a curious time. It was rather (in)convenient.

Let’s just say Dream’s been building up courage for a few days now, tormenting himself trying to come up with the perfect way to ask George to visit him in America.

It’s not even a hard question; it’s a suggestion. An invitation, more like.

Now, realistically, there’s no reason for George to say no. And deep down, Dream knows that, but he’s also a chronic overthinker, so it’s hard for his brain to fully grasp how much of an idiot he’s being.

The thing with George is they’ve both had their fair share of online friends before. But not like each other. It’s different with them. He never really understood why, but he’s grown used to it over time.

They’re Dream and George, with everything it entails. Whatever that is.

Dream knows George never felt the need to meet his online friends IRL, or even see their faces. Which is why he’s never seen Dream’s face before. Not once in years of friendship.

Sapnap has. And Sapnap lives in Texas, so asking him to visit would be a lot easier. It’s just a few hours drive, and Dream knows he’d say yes in a heartbeat, so he’s not too worried about him.

But yes, Dream’s been thinking lately that he’d like to meet his two best friends. He’d like them to come visit for a few weeks, hang out in real life, maybe make some content. Their fans would like it a lot, he’s sure.

It would be ideal, if only he knew how to ask.

But that’s not the only problem. There’s the issue with Callie, too. That’s a bigger one.

The thing is, Dream’s two best friends—two of the people he loves and cares about most in the world—have no idea that he has a whole ass daughter.

It torments him a little bit—the possibility of them getting mad at him for hiding it, of Callie not liking them or being uncomfortable around them, of these two sides of his family falling apart before his eyes.

There’s nothing that scares him more than that. He has reasons to keep it a secret. He does, he really does. He trusts them more than anything but this is just so… complicated.

And to top it off, Callie’s been shifting less and less. She remains either a cat or a human for the entire day, when she used to do it constantly when she was little.

Dream doesn’t know the reason, but it’s a big deal. At least, he thinks it’s a big deal. And he doesn’t know how foreign presences in the house would affect her. He wouldn’t want her to feel unsafe in her own home.

He thought he’d ask her first, but let’s face it, she’s a toddler. She won’t have a grasp of what her dad’s asking of her. So he has to figure that one out on his own. Parenting skills and all.

He thought it’d be hard. He was scared. He didn’t know how long it would take, if he would have to wait months to even consider asking his friends to come over.

And then the Incident happened.

Dream was sitting at his desk, Callie resting comfortably and joyful on his lap, giggling and pointing at his screen. It was a lazy afternoon like any other.

They were playing children’s games to teach her new words—the colors and the animals and stuff like that. And all of a sudden, a black cat popped up on the screen.

Dream knew she knew the word ‘cat’. It was one of her first ones, actually, because Dream’s all about teaching her about herself and helping her feel comfortable in her skin. So she knows the word. She knows cats. She is partially a cat herself.

So imagine Dream’s face when his daughter said his best friend’s name instead.

And not just once. Oh, no, she really tried to get it right. She pointed at the cartoon animal and mumbled it once. Low, almost intelligible.

Dream thought he’d misheard it. He thought she was just— swallowing or something. And so she tried again, this time looking up at him pointedly, almost challenging.

“G’rge?”

Dream blinked once, twice. And then, his brain rebooted.

He shook his head and looked at his daughter with a frown on his lips, curled around a really awkward, really ugly smile. “What’d you say, honey?”

She seemed exasperated when she pointed at the screen with more intention, and spoke as clearly as she could at her young age. “G’rge.”

Dream doesn’t know why his heart started pounding inside his chest. He felt prideful, but also confused, a little exposed. He grabbed her finger and hitched her higher, shaking his head slowly. “Sunshine, that’s a cat. Like you, remember?”

“Cat,” she repeated, looking back and forth between her dad and the screen. But Dream heard her mumble again, under her breath. “G’rge.”

With a shaky breath, he gaped nervously. They sat in silence until he mustered the courage to ask, “are you saying… George?”

She quickly turned her head towards him, growing a bright, honest smile, showing off her tiny little teeth. Dream’s chest felt tight, like he was underwater. Callie made grabby hands at him. “G’rge.”

It’s been two days since that.

Dream still doesn’t have a coherent explanation for his daughter’s behavior, but he’s learnt to find it cute and not think much else about it. For his sanity.

It’s normal, right? It makes sense. She knows George’s voice, and it’s logical that she’d know his name as well. Dream talks to him a lot, and about him, too. Callie must’ve picked it up, and that’s it. She associates it with her dad, in a way.

It’s normal. And Dream’s normal about it, too.

She’ll learn all of his friends’ names eventually, as well as how to recognize them. She’ll even meet some of them, or talk to them on the phone.

But for now, it’s just George. George and Dream and Callie and cats.

Yeah, it’s normal. Dream is normal.

“I’ve, uh— I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

George clears his throat, and talks mindlessly, not paying much attention. “What is it?”

Patches is curled on Dream’s lap as he pets her softly, seeking stability. He keeps his hand busy to ignore the way they tremble. It feels a little silly, he’s not gonna lie.

George is his best friend. It’s just a question.

Rip the band-aid off.

“I was wondering if you’d— like to come over sometime,” he rushes out, words tumbling out of his mouth like his tongue is shaking beneath them. “Like, to America. Pay me a little visit.”

George had been typing. He stopped now. It’s quiet. “You wanna fly me over?”

Dream chuckles nervously, with a fond shake of his head. “What, you want me to pay for your ticket?”

“Well, yeah.” The light of his grin seeps into his tone. “Plane tickets are expensive, Dream.”

“I already gave you five thousand dollars, George,” Dream says, clicking his tongue. He leans back on his chair, letting his anxiety slip away. “Was that not enough for you?”

George hums, thinking about it. “I’ve already spent those, though, remember?” he asks, and starts typing again. Dream isn’t sure what he’s doing. Probably coding a plug-in for them.

“‘S that a yes, then?” he wonders, toying with his cuticles. Patches shifts uncomfortably, then lays back down against his abdomen.

“I didn’t think you’d—” George starts, almost mindlessly. Dream can tell he’s more focused on whatever is on his computer. “Hm. Never mind.”

Dream puckers his lips. “What?”

“Dunno. Didn’t think you’d want to, like, meet me,” he speaks sotto voce, laced with shyness.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

George’s clothes rustle when he shrugs. “You never mentioned it before,” he explains. “I just didn’t think you cared that much.”

“I care.” About you. “Of course I care, George. You’re my best friend.” Dream tries his best to curl his words around a smile. “It’d be cool to see you, like, IRL.”

George hums, swiveling around in his chair. It’s loud. Dream’s been insisting on him getting a new one, but George doesn’t listen. He’s a little stubborn, used to comfort. “Have you asked Sapnap?”

“Not yet,” he answers, and reaches out to grab a fidget spinner from his desk. “But I’m going to, when you say yes. If. You can— say no. Obviously.”

George chuckles softly, typing on his keyboard for a third time. “And here I thought you were gonna steal me.”

“Well, I mean…” Dream’s lips curl up in a soft smile. Gravity plays with his chest like it’s made out of bubblegum, pulling his skin taut over his bones. “I could, if that’s what it takes.”

“You really wanna meet me that badly?” George asks, tone dropping even lower. Dream doesn’t know what’s gotten into him.

“Of course, idiot.” He frowns lightly, sitting up straighter. “You’re my best friend.”

George hums again, and breathes steadily. It’s late in London, well into the night. In Florida, the last ray of sunlight is grazing Dream’s bedroom window. A light breeze crawls through, giving his thoughts some space to breathe.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, somewhat heavy for a monosyllabic word. Dream guesses he’s tired. “And you’re mine.” A beat. “My best friend.”

With an arched brow and a fuzzy brain, Dream dares ask again. “So…” he twinkles, rolling his chair closer to the monitor. “Do you want to?”

George seems to snap out of a trance when he speaks. “Okay. Yeah, I— I guess I could go,” he says, then clears his throat. The room fills with bubbles, or something else light. “If you insist.”

Dream grins, biting his lip as an outlet to his thrill, reluctant to disturb Patches by jumping around or screaming at the top of his lungs.

But he would. He would if he could.

“Awesome.” Excitement burns the tips of his fingertips. It feels infectious. “I’ll ask Sapnap when he can take a few weeks off and we’ll arrange it.”

George exhales deeply, saturating his mic. Dream hears a smile creep onto his face, and confirms it when he talks. “Okay. Sounds good.”

Dream nods, eyes lighting up.

Sounds great.

It’s gonna be great.

[Track: To Begin Again - Ingrid Michaelson, ZAYN]

The cold of February coats Dream’s days in a blue hue.

It’s not a nice blue. Not the kind you find in gentle eyes and open skies, in crowded seas and forget-me-nots. Not baby blue or navy blue or even George blue.

No, this is sad blue.

Hours stretch like victims of a hydraulic press, thick like molasses. Dream’s sleep schedule has never been great, but lately, it feels messier than ever. His mattress feels foreign, and the air in his room is clouded with dust bunnies and unfinished dreams.

It’s rough at home. He might have to move soon.

Being a dad is complicated. Being a single dad is tiring. Being a single dad to a two year-old shape-shifter is a huge challenge.

Relationships are complicated. Dream never learned to master the art they require.

It’s okay. They’ll be okay.

But for now, life’s on hold. And he has to deal with it.

“Do you want more milk, Cal?” Dream asks, running a tired hand down his face. His curls stick to his sweaty forehead. He’s exhausted.

Callie nods eagerly, in the way children always do. She pushes her empty cup towards her dad across the island. “Chocolate?”

Dream smiles faintly, grabbing a carton from the fridge. “We’re out. But I’ll buy you some later, okay?”

She shrugs, resting her chin on unpraised hands. Dream pours some milk and hands the cup back to her.

He takes a moment to look at his daughter. She’s growing up to be a wonderful kid. She’s joyful and adorable and really, really smart. She likes music and colors and animals, especially felines. She knows more words than kids her age, and she gives the best hugs in the world.

Dream is unbelievably proud of her.

He circles the island to sit next to her on a stool, and places a stray curl behind her ear. “Do you want me to do your hair later?”

She beams at him, holding onto the marble. “I want blue!”

Dream does her hair often. It was a struggle at first, but he’s working to perfect it. He’s doing a damn good job, if you ask him. Callie loves braids and buns, and chooses colorful ribbons to either match or absolutely antagonize her clothes.

Today, she’s wearing pink. But she wants blue.

Her blue is happier.

“Of course,” Dream says, then presses a loving kiss to her crown. “We can do blue.”

She smiles and brings her cup closer, taking another sip.

The house is quiet. It’s their last few days here. Moving is gonna be complicated, given the state of the world right now, but they’ll have help.

Dream takes a deep breath, and tells himself it’s gonna be fine.

One of these days, he’s gonna believe it.

“You’ve disappeared,” George tells him one day, voice hushed through his microphone, like a sturdy wall around his emotions.

Dream leans back on his chair and lets his eyes fall shut.

His new room is smaller. The ceilings are a little lower, too. The walls are a nice cream color, and some of his old furniture is taking up space in the living room, unable to serve its purpose with how small the room is.

It’s not a great place to raise a child, he’ll admit, but it’s the best he could afford. And even though there are boxes scattered across the floor and not enough light, the A/C works perfectly, and the WiFi is okay, and Callie has her own room, the best one in the apartment.

It’ll do for now. They’ll have time to find someplace better, when the world isn’t upside down anymore.

“‘M sorry,” Dream whispers, thick with honesty. He hopes his mic doesn’t pick up the weight his heart puts into his tone against his will. He hopes George doesn’t know him well enough to catch it. “Moving’s been tough.”

George remains silent. Dream doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s been a few days since their last proper talk, maybe a couple weeks. He’s not sure. “Why d’you move?”

Maybe longer.

“Just— shit with my family,” he offers, and hopes it suffices. “They didn’t kick me out or anything, I just— thought it was better to leave. Came at a good time, as you can see.”

That last bit was sarcastic. George scoffs at the tone. “Yeah.”

“Sorry I vanished,” Dream says again, guilt tugging at his heart. “I didn’t mean to, like, cut you off. And, like, YouTube and stuff.”

“It’s okay, Dream,” he says, followed by the creaking sound of his chair when he leans back on it. Dream doesn’t have half the mind to comment on it again. “As long as you’re okay.”

The blatant honesty is a little unfamiliar. George sounds tired, too. Dream sits up better and looks through the window.

It’s nighttime for him. Callie managed to fall asleep properly for the first time since they got here. She’s taking it the best, out of the two. Dream’s really thankful for her.

It’s past four in the morning for George. If Dream wasn’t familiar with their time zones, he’d still be able to read it in his tone. He’s not sure why he isn’t sleeping yet, but it served Dream well. When he saw him online, he didn’t have to wait five seconds after hitting the call button before listening to his voice again.

Dream is thankful for him, too.

“I will be,” he says, then takes a long breath, dramatic enough to make it into a movie. He thinks he earned it. “We’re better off here, it’s—”

“We?”

George’s tone is neutral. Dream’s heartbeat spikes. “Yeah, uh… Me and Patches.”

He makes a sound in acknowledgement. “Right,” he says, and exhales, like he’s getting rid of something. “Patches and I.”

Dream chuckles weakly. It’s unconvincing. “Know-it-all.”

“Sorry for speaking properly,” George jests, letting a smile lure his words towards the light. Dream holds onto it like a lifeline. “Idiot.”

The burden in Dream’s chest eases. “Yeah, alright.” His gaze falls to the wooden floor, to the dust piling under his desk. He should clean up this week. It’s not like he has many things to do. “I still can’t wait to meet you, by the way.”

He can tell by George’s second scoff of the night that the wording isn’t appreciated. “You’ll have to,” he mutters, sharp like a dagger. Dream lets it billow into the air. “We’ll have to,” he corrects, a moment later.

Dream nods, even though his friend can’t see him.

Miles stretch between them like a tightrope. Static and late night calls tumble all the way back and forth, threatening to dive into the doomy Atlantic. They hold them together weakly, like a house of cards.

It’s another thing for Dream to learn—how to navigate such an aching distance, one that seems to stretch out more with each passing day, to stab deeper into his stomach with each hushed word.

He doesn’t know when the longing became so unbearable.

Maybe it’s the broken illusion, the general state of paranoia burning the world to ashes, or the fact that he’s not alone in that misery. It’s the long time they spent knowing each other, unable yet allowed to close the gap, to hop on a plane and discover the timbre of their laughs in person.

Now they’re not allowed anymore. No one is allowed. It wouldn’t matter even if George was in the same country, in the same state as him.

With April just around the corner, the borders are closing, and people are bunkering themselves up in their homes, threatened by dangers that are invisible to the naked eye. Safety primes over love, and families dissolve, if only to remain together. To remain alive.

Dream is scared. Scared for himself, for his loved ones, for his daughter.

A storm breaks in Florida.

It’s not raining.

Dream can’t see the horizon yet, but he hopes it passes soon. He hopes the Sun shines again.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbles, almost subconsciously.

“Don’t disappear again,” George pleads, vulnerable. “Not now.”

“I won’t,” Dream grants. “I promise.”

[Track: AM I DREAMING - Lil Nas X, Miley Cyrus]

The first month is dreadful.

Dream tries his best. Dream’s always tried his best, since he was a kid. But nothing’s been easy on him.

He considers himself to be a lucky person. He’s loved by many, whether they personally know him or not. He has a loyal fanbase, a group of close friends that he loves as much as his family, and a beautiful daughter that’s the best thing he could’ve ever asked for.

He tries not to dwell on the bad things. He tries to look past the unsafe environment he grew up in, the rough childhood of a neurodivergent kid trying to navigate unwelcoming spaces, seeking a support system and a rope to hold onto and getting nothing but closed doors in return.

There are many things in his brain and heart that he’s still trying to understand. Past mistakes keep resurfacing as he’s carelessly put under an unforgivable microscope, scrutinized by thousands of eyes who pray for his downfall, who try to crawl up his spine and bite him on the neck.

He’s an adult now, with more responsibilities than he thought he’d have. Since he was a kid, he was forced to grow up at a rushed pace, to turn his back at his innocence and stand his ground in defense of his integrity. He knows a lot of people have it worse than him, but that doesn't make it sting any less.

Ghosts and shadows circle his present. He’s been trying really hard to get rid of them, but it’s a tough process. He thinks it’s one of those ‘it will get worse before it gets better’ kind of situations. He feels like he’s drowning already, but in order to stay afloat, he needs to find his impulse.

He needs to hit rock bottom. And then, the only way will be up.

He hasn’t hit rock bottom yet. He keeps on swimming. He’d never give up. For his friends, for his daughter, for himself. He keeps telling himself that he’ll be okay. He knows it to be true, even if it doesn’t feel like it sometimes.

He doesn’t know how long it’ll take, but he knows he’ll make it.

He’ll make it out.

(AN / TW: Panic attack scene. Written based on my own experiences with panic attacks and further research. I’m not a professional and everyone’s experiences are different. You know yourself better than I do, so if you don’t feel comfortable reading, feel free to scroll down to the next scene break. You won’t miss anything substantial.)

It happens on a Wednesday. He can’t explain how, but bad things always seem to happen on a Wednesday.

It hadn’t been a bad day. He woke up—or, well, got out of bed—early, he made breakfast for Callie and himself, he took a shower. He was tired out of his mind, but he had things to do.

He didn’t do them.

He joined George’s stream for an hour. He was playing in the survival multiplayer world they created a couple weeks ago to try the new update and hang out with some friends. Nothing serious, nothing big.

But even for that, he couldn’t keep his mood at bay.

The past days weigh on him, dragging him down, threatening to crush his bones. His hours feel longer and nights feel lonelier and talking to his best friends only comforts him for so long before irrational thoughts come tumbling back, turning him into an overthinking mess.

He’s had rough patches before. He works in cycles, in seasons.

Sometimes, it feels like he’s at the top of the world. But not long after, everything vanishes, and bugs and spiders crawl inside him, nipping at his organs and making it impossible for him to exist without fumigating. He closes in on himself and tries to occupy his mind to keep it shut, if only for a few days, for a few hours.

It takes a while to come back from those periods. He needs to find himself again.

The pandemic and the constant state of fear and paranoia are taking a bigger toll on him that anything else ever did. And it makes sense, sure, but when has the use of logic made things any easier?

He leaves the stream with a sour taste in his mouth. He’s worried he ruined it for George, he’s concerned about what his own fans might’ve thought, hearing him like that. He doesn’t want to go anywhere near Twitter.

George is still live, but Dream is sure that he’ll ask about it later, when he’s out of character, in the privacy of their calls. When he doesn’t have to pretend to be unbreakable. George always does that. Dream doesn’t get it.

His mind starts going in circles. His stomach does too, churning inside his body, trying to crawl up his throat. Something presses on his chest to keep it from coming out.

With shaky legs, he walks the few steps to Callie’s bedroom. He peeks in and sees sweet Patches sleeping comfortably on her pillow, curled in on herself to provide warmth, to create her own comfort.

Right then, Dream thinks his daughter is much better than him.

He goes to the living room and sits on the floor, back pressed against the couch. His throat feels even tighter when he tilts his head back and grips his own thighs with his hands, digging his fingers into the flesh.

He feels his phone vibrate against his hip, and makes a great effort to take it out of his pocket. He doesn’t check who’s calling before picking up and letting the device fall back onto the floor.

“Dream?” Bad’s voice comes through the speaker, soft and with a careful lilt that denotes worry. Dream swallows past the lump in his throat. “Hey, man, are you okay?”

Dream’s tongue feels thick inside his mouth. He doesn’t remember how to articulate words. He doesn’t think he can figure it out right now.

A chill runs down his spine, making him shiver. His senses are clouded enough that he can’t determine whether his blood is boiling or freezing cold, running through his veins like thick lava, tearing him apart from the inside.

His breath becomes so ragged he’s sure Bad can hear it.

“Dream, can you hear me?” his friend asks, tone growing more urgent. It does nothing to help Dream, whose chest keeps on shrinking, leaving less and less space for his lungs to operate.

Dream tries to take a deep breath but it gets stuck in his throat. His brain rushes a mile a minute, urging the churning in his stomach to worsen. It’s like no part of his body is working properly. It’s like every last bit of himself is out to get him.

He feels himself sink deeper and deeper, and his knees finally grace the bottom.

“Clay, I need you to breathe.” Bad makes it sound like a suggestion. He grows a steadiness that seemed too distant only a second ago.

Dream digs his hands into the sand to try to reach it.

He presses his eyes shut and forces his chin down, dragged like a magnet to his sternum. Ice and heat and pain shoot through his nervous system, leaving no cell unaffected. His vision is blurry and he can’t feel his legs, but he tries to ignore it.

He really does.

“Count with me, yeah?” Bad’s voice sounds a little more real with his eyes closed. He sounds like he’s inside his head, reaching a hand out to him to pull him out of the pit he dug for himself. “I’m gonna count to three, and you’re gonna inhale,” he explains, his tone soft like silk. Dream’s feet kick the ground against his will. “Then hold, then exhale, okay? Just follow my lead, Clay, you can do it.”

Bad starts counting.

Inhale. One, two, three…

Hold. Four, five…

Exhale. Six, seven, eight.

And repeat.

Dream doesn’t get it at first. He messes up the number and gets ahead of himself and somehow it’s worse, but he doesn’t know how. Tears well up in his eyes and the world closes in on itself and it feels like this is it, like there’s nowhere to go.

There’s nowhere to go.

But up.

Something unleashes under his ribcage. At first, Dream is worried it’ll become a threat like all the others. That it’ll try its best to shake the floor he walks on and snag his organs and make him useless.

Then, the pain eases. It seems to aim for the bugs and the spiders and his fears, and it’s better. It gets better. He follows Bad’s lead, swimming towards himself, crawling to find stability.

He can see himself inside his head. He can see himself all curled up in the bottom of the ocean, knees scratched by gravel and bubbles escaping his nose worryingly. He can see himself look up and yearn for air.

“I’m here, Clay. Breathe with me.”

He can see himself push against the seabed and start to swim up.

The creature in his stomach lights a comforting fire, ridding him of the shivers tormenting his body and running through his nerves like electric shocks. He can finally feel the air swirling inside his lungs, bringing them back to life, tethering him to reality.

He can see himself break the surface of the water.

He falls back into his living room. He breathes in the dusted air and exhales relief, running a shaky hand through his fringe to uncover his sweaty forehead. The ringing in his ears eases. His vision slowly goes back to normal.

Bad keeps talking.

“Are you doing okay, Clay?” he asks, in a parental tone. It reminds Dream of himself, of the way he talks to Callie.

He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out raspy. “‘M good,” he forces out, breathing heavily, clutching his chest. He believes it. “‘M good, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“What happened, Dream?” Bad asks, tentatively. “Do you need a doctor?”

Dream shakes his head, still a little lost. “No, I—”

“Was it a panic attack?”

Dream takes a deep breath, then another. He leans his head back again, but it doesn’t feel like he’s choking anymore. He feels the ground beneath his legs, he sees the world around him. “I think so,” he admits as a few spilt tears dry around his lashes. “I’d never had one before.”

Bad hums in acknowledgement. “Do you know what caused it?” he asks. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not, uhm—” Dream swallows his words, and his head starts to feel heavy. He’s sleepy. Today has been a lot. “Not right now, Bad. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” his friend says, in the tone of a soft smile. “I just wanted to check up on you.”

Dream sighs deeply, blowing away some of his anxiety. “Well, thank God you did.”

Bad chuckles faintly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “God wanted you to be okay.”

Dream doesn’t believe in God.

He still nods. “Tell him thanks.”

“I can’t do that, you muffin,” Bad says airily, pulling a small smile from Dream, too. “Take care, okay? Call me if you need to talk.”

Dream thinks he’ll take him up on that offer.

[Track: Angels Fly - Louis Tomlinson]

Dream manages to sleep for ten hours after that, minus the time he woke himself up to feed Callie and make sure she was okay. Between short naps and blurry daydreams, it’s the first time in weeks he feels rested enough to just exist, and not like he’s about to pass out at any given moment.

So after having something to eat and bringing Callie to his room, Dream sits at his desk with his kid on his lap, and calls BadBoyHalo.

His friend picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Dream,” he greets, sounding exactly like he did a few hours ago. Relaxed, carefree, light. It eases Dream’s nerves almost immediately. “How are you doing?”

“Better,” he says, smiling when Callie wraps her arms loosely around him. She knows him. “Way better, thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“I’m glad I could help.” Dream admires him. He’s an amazing friend, a great person to have around. There’s not a big age gap between the two, but Dream can’t help but see him as a father figure. And on that note, the least he deserves is an explanation. “Do you want to talk now?”

Dream takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I—” he looks down at Callie and smiles at her, like he’s trying to reassure her. It’s actually him who needs that. Callie smiles back. “I want to, uhm— tell you about someone.”

Bad’s confusion seeps into his tone. “Are you seeing someone?”

“No! God, no,” Dream chuckles, looking back at the screen. “I don’t think I could see anyone right now. Too many responsibilities.”

“Okay,” Bad titters, brushing the comment away. “What is it, then? Who do you want to tell me about?”

Dream takes another deep breath.

Here it goes.

“I have a daughter.”

Silence.

Bad giggles. “You have a daughter?” he repeats, incredulous. Oh, poor Bad. “What do you mean you have a daughter?”

“Patches is actually— my daughter,” Dream says, and yeah that’s confusing. “Like—”

“Oh, I get it,” Bad cuts him off with a smile, audibly relaxing. “Lucy is like my daughter, too.”

Dream groans. “No, Bad, I—” Inhale. Exhale. He can do this. “Patches is, uh— She’s a shape-shifter. She’s— partially human. Her name is Callie.”

Dream looks at her, and she looks back—green eyes wide on her face, light-brown lips curled in a smile. She bats her long lashes and lets her gaze fall.

Bad speaks again. “A shape-shifter?”

There’s something in his tone Dream can’t quite place. He’s never talked to Bad about his opinion on certain topics of society, but he doesn’t take him for a prejudiced person. He’s nice and welcoming and open-minded. So reading him right now is a little difficult.

It strikes him for disappointment.

“What are you talking about, Dream?” he asks again, and lets go of a nervous chuckle, one that shoots straight to Dream’s stomach. With fake resolution, he nudges the girl’s side.

She understands. “Hi,” Callie greets, bright and wonderful. “I’m Callie.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Bad says, and Dream melts when he hears the huge grin he’s wearing on his voice. He breathes again. “What the fudge?”

Dream beams. “Language, Bad!”

“Oh, shut up, you muffin-head,” his friend laughs, turning Dream light like a feather. Callie giggles, and his day immediately brightens. “That’s— I can’t believe you have a daughter, how do you—” his tone falters a little bit. “Actually, how do you have a daughter?”

Dream exhales, leaning back on his chair. Callie stands shakily on his thigh to play with his hair, and Dream holds her absentmindedly so she doesn’t fall. “It’s the same story, Bad,” he says tiredly. “Found her at the park. No one wanted to take her when they saw— her DNA results.”

“So they just let you keep her?” the man asks, almost offended.

It aches Dream to say— “Yes. It was just some ridiculous paperwork. They don’t care about shifters.”

Bad huffs out a sound, and it merges with the heated air in Dream’s room. He loves Callie, but hates this part of the story. He hates that the only reason why he has her is because no one else would.

“You did a good thing, Dream,” Bad says, and hearing it from someone else, from someone honest, who loves him unconditionally, is something he didn’t realize he needed. It stitches the wound that part of his family opened, and turns his heart into a better place. “I’m proud of you.”

Dream smiles, grabbing Callie’s hand and squeezing it lovingly. “Thanks, Bad,” he tells him, baring his soul. “She’s two and a half now. Found her when she was one.”

“I bet she’s a cute little muffin,” Bad declares, pulling an open laugh from his friend. “Aren’t you adorable, Callie?” he asks, in his Rat voice. “Can she hear me?”

“Yeah, she can hear you,” Dream nods, jabbing her lightly to get her attention. “Hey, Cal. Bad said you’re a cute little muffin.”

“I like muffins,” she replies, smiling with teeth, turning towards the screen. She speaks softly, like children do, like pulling the words from her little brain. “I want a muffin, dad.”

Bad squeals, stealing another giggle from him. “Oh, my gosh, she’s adorable.”

Dream makes her sit on his leg again, and pokes her nose. “Yeah, she is,” he agrees, in the sweetest tone imaginable. “I’m sorry I didn’t, like, tell you about her sooner. It’s a big deal.”

“No, I get it,” he assures him, understanding as always. It’s easy to be on good terms with Bad. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Callie slurs, mimicking Bad’s words.

Dream smiles down at her. “Sorry. We do this thing where she repeats everything I say to, like, practice her speech.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Bad praises. “You seem like a good dad, Dream.”

“Well, I try my best.” Dream puckers his lips when he realizes he’s starting to tear up. He’s a little emotional. Too much is going on for him, but for the first time, he feels at peace with it. “Can I ask you to— not tell anyone? You’re the first person to know outside my family, and I don’t want to—”

“Of course. I’m a vault,” he promises. After a moment, he speaks again, unusually careful. “So George and Sapnap—”

“No.” His heart stings a little. “Not yet, I— I couldn’t tell them.”

Bad fails at hiding his surprise. “You know they wouldn’t judge you.”

“I know, it’s just—” he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s— more complicated than that. I will tell them, just— not yet.”

He hears Bad move, probably nod. “Okay. Well, you know you can always talk to me if you need to. And I’ll do my best to help you.”

“Thanks, Bad,” Dream says again, and means it wholeheartedly. “You, too.”

“Thank you, Dream. Love you.”

With the secret off his chest, Dream feels lighter. He hopes things get easier from now on.

“Love you, too.”

[Track: Right Now - One Direction]

The second month is better.

June is almost over, and Florida is back to being unbearably hot. Dream adjusted to the new reality, kept up with his projects, and took care of his daughter. He’s had some difficult days, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He had his friends to lean back on, and he was there for them as well when they didn’t feel good.

The multiplayer server ended up being a long-term project for him. It’s growing. They’re thinking of adding new people, turn it into something more… professional? Dream has many ideas for it. He thinks it could be good.

He’s also exploiting a new series on his channel. He’d made some videos with George a few months ago, where his friend would chase him around a Minecraft world and try to keep him from beating the game. They did surprisingly good. People loved them.

Dream tried adding a second ‘hunter’, invited Sapnap to their little world, and that one did even better.

So he’s pursuing it now. He uploaded the first three hunter video over a month ago. It’s longer, the editing is better, and it’s overall promising. It’s original, and his skills really show. The rush adds to it. It’s exciting.

Things are good. Things are definitely going to be good, even with his plans on hold. He’s motivated, and he knows the time will come when he can finally do all the things he was hoping for before COVID hit.

It won’t be long. It can’t be long.

Dream’s still half asleep when he picks up the phone.

“Dream!” George yells in his ear, all loud and chipper. “Dream, Dream, Dream, Dream—”

“I’m here,” he smiles against his will, giggling at his friend’s insistence, and shifts in place. He blinks slowly, basking in the darkness of his room and the first rays of sunlight trying to crawl in. What a way to start the day. “What’s up?”

George scoffs, slowing himself down. “Were you sleeping?”

“No,” Dream lies, turning sluggishly to face the ceiling. He rubs the tiredness away from his eyes, and bites back a telling yawn. “‘M awake. All good.”

“Your voice sounds—” George starts, but cuts himself off, putting a frown on Dream’s lips. He’s too tired to acknowledge it. “Never mind… I hit one mil, Dream!”

Now, that wakes him up.

“Are you serious?” he asks, sitting up so fast it gives him a head rush. The smile on his face widens, and his chest swells with pride. “For real?”

“Yes, Dream, for real!” he yells again, and Dream swears his voice cracks a little bit. He doesn’t remember the last time he heard George this excited. “And you’re so close to four million, Dream. We’re popping off!”

Dream’s cheeks are starting to hurt with how much he’s smiling. The effect George’s tone has on him right now is unheard of. His brain is still running a little slow after waking up, but his heart is entirely up to date, bursting with an unknown, bubbly sentiment.

“That’s— that’s amazing, George,” he mumbles, but there’s something stuck in his throat. His eyes start to burn. He feels happy, elated. He lets George know. “Holy shit, you— I’m so, so happy for you.”

George laughs. Open, bright. Dream is dying to meet him. “You were right, Dream,” he starts, and Dream hears in his tone that he might be crying, too. He’s overflowing with emotion in a way he rarely allows himself to do.

“About what?” he asks, infected by the feeling. He fidgets with his covers, smiling down at his own hand.

He wishes Callie was here. It’s silly—she wouldn’t be able to talk or do anything. But she knows George. Dream knows she does, and she’d find a way to be happy for him as well, even if she has no idea what they’re talking about.

Dream wants her to know him like this, too.

“We’re, like, actually blowing up,” George explains, followed by a childish giggle. Dream’s heart swells under his ribcage. “You asked us to come with you, and—”

“Yeah,” Dream beams, cutting him off. He doesn’t think he could ever stop crying if he heard the end of that sentence. He’ll make sure to talk to him again when he’s a little more awake, a little less emotional. “Yeah, we are—”

“I fucking love you, Dream.”

One of the bubbles pops. And then another, and then one more, and suddenly Dream’s entire chest is bursting with light and water and colors. It feels nice. It feels so, so nice. He doesn’t want it to ever leave.

George clears his throat, his emotion fading. “I’m sorry, I— I don’t know why I—”

“I love you too, idiot,” Dream says, chuckling sweetly. “And I’m insanely proud of you.”

George flusters. Dream adores him. “Thanks, Dream.”

Going back to sleep is impossible after that, so he stays on call with George instead. He couldn’t ask for anything better.

Raindrops hit Dream’s window and meander down, sheening the glass and cleaning the grime that used to coat them. The night is about to fall, stars hidden behind the gray clouds shielding the Floridian sky from the boy’s prying green eyes.

He turns back to where his daughter is sitting on the floor, playing with stray puzzle pieces she couldn’t find a match to. With a domestic smile, he sits down by her side on the freshly clean rug, and leans back on the couch. Callie stands and tumbles to where he is, then leans down with her head on his lap.

“Are you tired?” Dream asks, playing with the dark brown curls showering his thigh. “You can go to bed.”

Callie shakes her head, and turns to grab one of the puzzle pieces from the floor. “I’m not tired,” she slurs, then yawns weakly. Dream smiles. She looks up at him like she’s trying to check if he noticed. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“That’s okay, honey,” the dad says, poking the kid’s nose like he always does. She giggles, like she always does. “Do you want to watch the Little Mermaid?”

Callie has developed a not-so-healthy obsession with Ariel. Dream can quote it from memory at this point. He’s getting a little tired of it, but he’s a cool dad. He’s not going to deprive his only child of her favorite movie.

But the girl shakes her head again, so he goes for his third shot. “Do you want to make more puzzles?” Another no. “Are you— hungry?”

“No, dad,” Callie giggles, swatting his leg lightly. She lets the puzzle piece fall on the floor. “I’m yawny.”

(Yawny means she’s sleepy but not tired enough to go to bed.)

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and she props herself up higher to get more comfortable. “Do you want to sit in silence for a while?” he asks. He likes to give her space when she looks like she needs it, but he’s always around, keeping an eye on her.

She’s young, and the fact that they aren’t able to leave the house or interact with anyone but each other can get… old. But they’re managing. Dream thinks he’s doing quite a good job. He makes sure to keep her up and curious and learning, so she will be as unaffected as possible by the situation.

She’s a happy kid. A smart one, too.

Callie nods, hiding her green pearls behind her lids. Her cheeks are a little rosy, and her chest heaves peacefully. If Dream didn’t know better, he’d think she’s asleep already.

He takes his phone out of his pocket when he starts to get antsy. That’s the thing with this situation—he’s not built to remain sitting and quiet for long periods of time. So very often, when Callie is yawny or doesn’t feel like chatting, he busies himself with something else as long as he’s in the same room as her.

So that’s what he does. He scrolls Twitter, looks at fanart, writes down video ideas in his Notes app. The rain still sizzles against the window. The wind blows in the distance, but it’s warm inside. It’s a lazy day.

Recently, they’ve become his favorite kind.

His ringtone breaks their make-believe peace, and Sapnap’s name pops up on his screen.

Callie peeks through one eye, staring at him with slight indictment, but turns around in place and hums a gentle sound.

Dream picks up and brings the phone close to his ear. “Hey, brother.”

“Hi, Dreamie,” Sapnap greets, in a sweet, careful tone. “Wanna do something?”

Dream scoffs half-heartedly. “You only call me when you’re bored, Sapnap,” he accuses. “That’s not nice. I don’t think our relationship can work like this.”

Callie looks up at him with a lopsided smile. Dream ruffles her hair.

“Oh, sorry, baby,” Sapnap follows along, and his friend has to bite back a laugh to not startle his daughter. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah, alright,” he chuckles, playing with his fingers absentmindedly. “I can’t right now, though. I’m chilling with Patches. She’s always around, you know?” he jests, earning a groan from his friend. “You should learn from her.”

Sapnap blows a childish raspberry at him. “Say hi from me. Tell her her dad sucks.”

Dream looks down at his kid, running a hand through her hair. “Hey, Patchy,” he says, just to let her know what the situation is. “Sap says hi.”

The girl rolls her pretty little eyes, and meows softly, sounding just like… well, herself. Dream strives to keep a giggle in. Sapnap sounds delighted. “She’s so cute,” he says, absolutely oblivious.

It’s a little funny. Just a little bit.

“She is,” Dream agrees, and his daughter closes her eyes again, laying back on his leg. “I’ll make dinner and then we can play, yeah?”

Sapnap hums an affirmation. “Sounds good.”

Dream hangs up after they bid each other goodbye.

Callie looks up at him even more accusingly, and her dad apologizes with his eyes. “Okay, listen—”

Now it’s his daughter’s turn to blow him a raspberry.

“Sapsap,” she mumbles, sitting up from his lap and leaning back on the couch beside her dad. She pokes Dream’s side while he looks at her with a starstruck expression, a wave of warmth running through his veins.

“There you go,” he praises in a hushed tone, poking her back. “Sapsap.”

He can’t wait for Sapnap to know about her. He’ll tell him this story over and over again.

[Track: Youth - Shawn Mendes, Khalid]

It’s a sunny day in the middle of September. Dream sneaks into Callie’s room around eleven in the morning. Sunlight falls at the end of the girl’s bed, giving the room a nice golden glow.

Today marks two years since Dream became a dad.

He has a plate of warm pancakes in his hands, and holds his breath to not blow out the candle on top. His eyes prickle as he sits at the edge of the mattress, features gentle and still grazed by sleep, even though he’s been up for a while already.

He gets emotional on his daughter’s birthday. It’s such a special date.

It makes him think of how much he’s grown, how much she’s grown. They’ve been through a lot since that first night at the park. Their lives are unfathomably different.

He’s a creator now. They live alone. That nineteen year-old boy he once was is nowhere to be seen, and the defenseless baby curled up under a tree is growing up to be such a strong, wonderful little kid.

It’s still a little crazy how much he’s achieved in such a short period of time, how much he’s learned. Sometimes he can’t quite believe it.

He’s a lucky man.

Dream leaves the plate on Callie’s bedside table, and lets his free hand fall on the girl’s shoulder. “Hey, princess,” he calls, slightly shaking her. “Sun’s up, Cal.”

She grumbles and turns around, uncovering her face. Her long lashes brush her cheeks, and her tiny hands get buried deeper under the pillow. Dream thinks she looks like an angel.

“It’s your birthday, honey,” the dad says, well aware that she doesn’t really understand the concept of a birthday yet. “It’s party day.”

Callie peeks through one eye, her curiosity apparent, filling Dream with sweetness. “A party?”

“Yeah,” her dad chuckles, pointing at the plate of pancakes with the three-shaped candle on top. “‘S your party. I made pancakes for you.”

I have no idea how to bake a cake goes unsaid.

His daughter grows a shiny smile. “I like pancakes.”

“Oh, that’s amazing!” Dream smiles back, offering his hand to help her sit up. She does, while letting go of a cute little yawn. Her dad takes the plate and holds it in front of her. “And you can blow out the candle, too.”

She frowns and cocks her head, looking at the fire.

Dream lowers his voice until it’s barely a whisper. “You can make a wish, you know?”

She cranes her neck, looking more interested. “A wish?”

“Yes!” Dream scoots closer to create mystery, to make it feel like a secret. She looks up with wide, interested eyes. “You think of something you really, really want… and it might come true.”

The girl hums and puckers her lips as she thinks. Dream’s eyes remain on her, lost in the room with a shallow gaze. After a moment, her whole demeanor brightens up, and she sits up straighter for emphasis. “I wanna go outside!”

Oh. Right.

Dream’s face falls. He gapes, but no words come out at first.

It’s moments like these that he wishes he had all the answers. He wishes he could give her an exact date in which everything is gonna be back to normal, even though she doesn’t really know what normal is, with how little she was when this whole ordeal started.

But it still pains him to live like this. His daughter could be having so much fun, exploring the world, learning about it—and yet here she is, bunkered up with him and unable to leave the house.

So many things are happening in the world. So many bad things.

Dream is trying his best to be a good friend, a good parent, a good role model. But it’s hard. It’s hard with so much uncertainty.

He takes a deep breath, and squeezes her hand softly. “I know, baby, but—”

“Will we go outside?” she cuts him off, floating in her innocence.

Dream wants to hold her close to his chest and never let go. “We will,” he nods. “In the future. But for now, we can’t. Not yet.”

Callie leans back on her pillow, pouting lightly. “Okay.”

“I’m so sorry, sunshine,” he says, putting on his most apologetic eyes. Hopefully, she will believe it. “I promise you— we’ll go out as soon as we can, yeah? We’ll go to the park and have a really, really fun day. Sound good?”

She smiles faintly at first, but ends up brightening up a little bit. “Okay,” she repeats. Then, she looks down at Dream’s hands. “I want pancakes.”

He giggles, and moves the plate slightly closer to her, nodding towards the candle. “You have to blow out the candle first.”

Callie looks at the shaking flame for a moment. In a low voice, so low Dream barely catches it, she whispers— “Soon.”

A narrow river of smoke billows into the air, and Dream’s trust flickers.

“It’s gone!” she notes, beaming in surprise and pointing at the tip.

“Yeah.” Dream places the plate on his lap, looking down at it too. “Yeah, it’s gone.”

He hopes he can keep his promise.

“It’s a funny video,” George comments absentmindedly, and Dream sees him swivel around in his chair. “I don’t know if it’s our best, but a lot of people liked it, for some reason. Maybe it was the plug-in.”

George doesn’t usually have his camera on. He finds it quite unnecessary, most of the time, so witnessing him exist like this is still a little odd to Dream.

In a way, it feels like he’s invading his privacy. He doesn’t mean to notice and learn all these little things about him. But Dream is very observant when he doesn’t have to be, so here they are.

Dream now knows that George is also a fidgeter. He plays with the hem of his clothes and the trinkets on his desk and can’t stay still for a full second to save his life.

He also knows that George gets distracted almost as easily as him, and can forget there’s a camera aimed at him for several minutes at a time, pacing around his room, absolutely unbothered.

To Dream, it’s like peeking into his life. He’s not sure how he feels about it.

Also, George is talking. He seems enthusiastic. Dream can sense it through his screen. It puts a smile on his face. He takes the feeling in as he toys with the spreadsheets and documents that are scattered across his desk, long since forgotten.

“We could make, like, something better with it, I think,” George continues, oblivious. “Maybe. I don’t have an actual idea, though. So… I guess we could come up with it, but— I dunno, it might be stupid. What do you think?”

The question aimed at him brings Dream back to reality almost violently. He’d been fidgeting with one of the important papers, as he now realizes. It’s crinkled. He hopes it’s not a problem.

Truth is, he wasn’t really paying attention. He was actively listening to George’s voice, but the words weren’t… computing. It happens to him quite often, even more so recently.

Dream tries his best not to sound rude when he asks— “Are you still talking about today’s video?”

“Yeah, I am,” George says, ever so patient. “D’you think we could do something else with it? Like, do you have similar plug-in ideas you think might work?” He stops the chair and focuses on his monitor again.

Dream notices he’s still sharing screen from earlier. He doesn’t really remember how the conversation veered into what it is now.

One minute, they were focused and efficient, and the next, George suddenly had a lot to say about their most recent video—‘Minecraft, But You Can Only See One Chunk…’

Dream feels himself slip into slumber every few seconds.

His brain’s been working overtime. He’s been busy doing stuff with Callie all day, keeping her entertained to give her a good birthday, despite the circumstances. By this time of night, he’s more than ready to wrap it up and head to bed.

“I don’t know,” Dream replies, leaning back and rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. “It wasn’t really about the plug-in, to be fair. They enjoyed your rant about Monsieur Bacteria a lot more.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” George chuckles, placing his hand on his mouse again and moving the cursor around on the screen. He lets go of a deep sigh, denoting tiredness.

Only from looking at all the numbers, Dream wants to quit and finish some other day. He does not have the mental capacity to deal with this right now.

But George was kind enough to offer his help, even if the Sun is about to rise on his end, so he’s not gonna force him to do this again tomorrow. He probably has better things to focus on.

“We really should finish this,” George says, pulling his legs up to the chair and wrapping his arms around himself. Dream’s witnessed him pick up this habit sometime in the last couple of weeks. He finds it adorable, he’s not gonna lie. He doesn’t tell George that, because he’d never be able to live it down. “Ugh, but I’m so tired.”

Dream exhales fast, like a popped balloon. He keeps a yawn from coming out but rubs his eyes again, and ruffles his own hair to get the blood going. “D’you wanna stop? We can do it some other time.”

George groans, rubbing his eyes as well, digging his chin into his own knees. “But if we stop now, we’re never gonna finish it, Dream.”

Dream thinks it’s sweet how he keeps saying we, when this has absolutely nothing to do with George. He’s only helping Dream do his taxes. He gets nothing from it. He’s sharing his old-person-knowledge and explaining weird math stuff to him that he never would’ve understood by himself.

He’s a really nice friend.

“See, I know you’re right,” Dream says, unable to keep a yawn in again. He’s just too fucking tired. “But I’m, like— my brain’s actually shutting down.”

On the screen, George tries to bite back a smile. Dream doesn’t think he knows how unsuccessful he was. “Fine, I guess you can go to sleep,” he grants, rolling his eyes. “We can finish it tomorrow or— I dunno, some other time.”

“Tomorrow,” Dream promises, more to himself than his best friend. “I’ll finish it tomorrow, I promise. But I don’t wanna be, like, tired and mess it up only because of that and then have a bigger problem because I didn’t—”

“Dream,” George cuts him off, lips curling up in a gentle smile. He’s always a little different when he has his camera on, a little softer. Dream still can’t pinpoint why. “‘Ts fine. There’s no rush. I’ll explain it again tomorrow and we can finish it together.”

Dream smiles, even though George can’t really see him. He hopes it gets to him anyway. “Okay,” he mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut. He seriously needs to go to bed. “Thanks again. You really didn’t have to.”

George hums lightly, and Dream hears his chair when he leans back on it. He’s frazzled, too. They didn’t pick the best time to get this done.

“‘M gonna go to bed too, I think,” George says softly. Dream uses all of his strength to sit back up and grab his mouse. “G’night.”

Dream sighs and yawns again. He sees George chew on his bottom lip, and mirrors the gesture subconsciously. “Bye, Georgie. Sleep well.”

George swallows thickly, and turns off his camera. “Yeah. Uh— Thanks. Bye, Dream.”

The sound of him disconnecting from the call bounces off the walls. Dream mirrors the action, and somehow manages to get up and throw himself onto the bed without a single thought in his head.

And maybe, just maybe, it feels a little dangerous. But Dream doesn’t have the energy to dig further into it just yet.

[Track: Matilda - Harry Styles]

November comes way too fast for Dream’s liking. The days in the calendar rushed by with the autumn leaves, stealing ghosts of memories and whispers that fell on deaf ears. The end of October burnt down with Dream’s last candle, and hope settled in his chest like a comforting flame.

2020 slipped through his fingers, and now it’s almost over. It might be sheer innocence, but once again, he feels hopeful. The prospect of the new year is almost promising.

Things seem to be falling back into place.

He hopes it’ll last, for once. He hopes it’s not all fake.

Callie’s laugh spills from her lips like music. She’s sitting on Dream’s lap, tiny hands resting on his stomach, and looking at her Grammy from across the living room.

Joanne and Casey, Dream’s mother and sister, are visiting for Thanksgiving Day. All three got tested and quarantined for two weeks, trying to ensure the safest conditions possible for their meet-up.

Callie was really excited to see her aunt and grandma again. She’s been running around all week, barely sleeping in hopes that Thursday would come faster. She’s been behaving so well for the past year, but alas, it doesn’t ease Dream’s fear of her living an unhappy life. So as soon as he could arrange it, he tried to get part of his family back together, even if it’s only for one afternoon.

And the permanent glow in Callie’s sweet green eyes made it so, so worth it.

“Honey, do you wanna get Patches?” Dream asks into her ear when his mom and sister are distracted chatting about something else.

Joanne was very helpful with the whole shape-shifter deal when Callie and Dream still lived with them. Casey, however, never got to see the other side of her niece. Dream thinks it’s time for her to meet the wonderful cat Dream shares his life with. He hopes Callie is on board, too.

She looks at him in understanding, and crawls off his lap until she’s sitting comfortably on the cushions. Dream doesn’t want to drag attention to her just yet. His sister is six years younger than him, so she’ll realize soon enough.

With a smile, Callie closes her eyes and starts shifting. Dream’s witnessed the process a million times already, but he still finds it rather fascinating.

Her hair is the first thing to change—becoming thinner and a little lighter, different shades of brown taking over her head as a small pair of cat ears grow at the top. She becomes small, tiny; and a long, graceful tail emerges from her lower back and curls around her paws. When she opens her eyes, they look different. Hypnotic, a little more dangerous.

She makes her way out of the pile of toddler-sized clothes and meows loudly, catching Casey’s attention.

She squints, and one moment later, her eyes widen in surprise. “Wait,” she mumbles, looking back and forth between the two adults and the cute little animal by Dream’s side. “Is that—”

“Yeah,” Dream rushes to say, somewhat self-conscious.

He hates that he didn’t tell Casey this when she was younger, but to be fair, there was still so much he didn’t know, so much to worry about. The only people in his family who knew were all those old enough to realize by themselves, or that could provide actual help with the situation.

Since he got Callie, it’s been one tough decision after the other. Every time he takes a little bit of the weight off his chest—like telling Bad, like showing Casey—he feels closer and closer to freedom.

“She’s, uh— She’s a shape-shifter. A cat shape-shifter. She’s Patches.”

Casey gapes, and for a split moment, Dream is worried. But this is his little sister he’s talking to. She’s Dream’s favorite family member, one of the two girls he’d give his life for in a heartbeat if he had to. She knows this. She adores him, too. So it’s not long until she’s cracking a bright smile, and asking with her eyes if she can come closer.

Dream nods, and in the blink of an eye, Casey is kneeling by the couch, looking into Patches’ eyes with tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. “Oh, my God.” She beams, and the cat nudges her hand, asking to be pet. Casey complies with an endearing pout, throwing her long, blonde hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, you’re so beautiful. You’re wonderful,” she coos, then looks up at Dream. “How long have you known?”

Dream feels a little guilty as he shares a look with his mother. Joanne looks guilty as well—but it’s probably because of how fast her daughter warmed up to the kitten, as opposed to how long it took her to tear down all the prejudice she’d grown around. Dream is glad she got there eventually, rather sooner than later. He doesn’t blame her in the slightest.

He clears his throat, and looks back at his daughter and sister by his side. “Quite long,” he confesses, shrinking into himself. “Too long. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Casey’s enthusiasm fades a little, but soon enough, she’s placing a comforting hand on her brother’s knee, and looking back at the cat that’s nuzzling into her palm. “It must’ve been so hard for you,” she comments, only fifteen but smarter and more empathetic than most adults Dream knows. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done without her in his life. “How’ve you been holding up?”

“Well, Mom helped a lot when I was still in the house…” Dream says, and Casey doesn’t even flinch, like she expected Mom to know. She nods, urging him to continue. “I’ve tried my best. My only priority is to keep her safe, so… I can’t have much help as of right now. But we’re making it,” he smiles faintly, reaching out to caress the cat’s back, too.

As a shape-shifter, Patches doesn’t really like to be touched or held a lot. She’s being lenient today, understanding of the intense family moment. She still writhes, somewhat uncomfortable, so Dream moves his hand away.

“Aren’t we, Patchy?” he still asks, looking at her lovingly, and the cat meows in response. It sounds like a ‘thank you’.

Casey’s smile widens, and she drops her hand as well. “I’m proud of you, Clay,” she says, turning her brother’s insides into cotton. She’s always been good at reading the room, at being sweet and gentle when she knows her brother needs it. Right now, it’s one of those times.

Dream moves to hold her hand and squeeze, still somewhat frightful and reluctant to give her a proper hug. But she receives the gesture nonetheless, and squeezes back.

Dream catches his mom as she wipes a tear away.

His heart might be shattered, but his family has always been good at stitching it back together.

Nick
thanks brother! happy thanksgiving
to u too! ur the smartest mf i know
dude tysm for letting me do this w u and
for believing in me :D i love you! we’re
unstoppable!!!!!!

George
Happy thanksgiving Dream :]

December flashes by in a blur of light. It’s chilly and a little unbearable. Dream feels like he’s been living inside a bubble, like he couldn’t catch up with the speed at which the world was turning. He crawled his way to the end of the year in solitude, and is barely making it out alive.

He knows, realistically, that the end of 2020 doesn’t mark anything truly spectacular. Tomorrow might be January 1st, but it could also be July 5th, or October 15th, and it wouldn’t make a difference. Humans invented the calendar, and so the New Year is painfully meaningless.

For all Dream knows, 2021 will be just as catastrophic as 2020.

However.

Call it wistful thinking. He’s optimistic. He has ideas. He has many plans for the future, and sure, that doesn’t guarantee that they’ll come true. He knows that more than anyone. This exact time last year, he was trying to figure out how to ask George to visit him in America, and now…

Then again, it’s not all bad. Yesterday marked one year since he hit one million subscribers on YouTube—a milestone he didn’t think was possible to achieve, something his eleven year-old self would’ve died for and lost his mind over.

And also yesterday, on the one year anniversary of one of the best days of his life, his channel reached fifteen million.

So one year means absolutely nothing. A lot can happen in a year. A lot can happen in a month, a week, or an hour, even.

And 2021 doesn’t have to be better.

But Dream will do everything in his power to ensure it is.

[Track: On Top Of The World - Imagine Dragons]

There’s something inherently funny that comes with change.

It starts small. It’s like that first raindrop hitting the back of your neck, rolling down your spine, lacing your bones with blue. It’s like a pin falling to the floor and breaking the palpable silence that crowds an empty room. It’s like looking down, and realizing there’s a plant growing from beneath the concrete, a trail of ants disappearing in the distance, a long since lost penny shining only for itself.

Change is constant, most of the time.

Change is being able to remain exactly who you were, to keep building the same walls, and watering the same plants, and dusting the same shelves—all in hopes that tomorrow the Sun will shine just as bright as it did today.

Change can be good or bad, big or small, right or wrong. But change is never meaningless, and never useless, and never quiet. Change is all around—in the air we breathe, in the soil we walk, in the stars above.

Dream has learned how to read it. It doesn’t mean he can master it, it doesn’t mean he can’t cry. It only means he’s ready. It means he’ll put up a fight before he lets it break him.

“I’m so fucking frazzled, bro,” Sapnap says, puncturing his words with a long yawn. He groans right after, pulling a smile from his friend. “I still wanna hang out, though.”

For once, Dream isn’t tired. He’s just cozy. He’s comfortable—his brother’s voice in his ears, his three year-old sound asleep, moonlight falling gracefully on his desk through his bedroom window. It’s been a while since he’s felt this… relaxed. His mind is clear and his smile is constant and the world seems peaceful.

It’s a nice feeling. He could get used to it.

He leans back on his chair and grabs one of his fidget toys to play with. “I’m down to, like, watch something if you want. Until you fall asleep.”

Sapnap hums, seemingly considering it. “I wish I could just cuddle you,” he says, somewhat playful, and Dream chuckles. “You know? Just, like, chill. I’m a cuddler.”

“Of course you are,” Dream giggles, then rolls his eyes. “You wanna cuddle with the homies?”

“Yeah, bro, I wanna cuddle,” he repeats, a pout evident in his tone. He sounds younger—like they went back in time to when they were two kids playing Minecraft games and chatting on Skype. Dream looks back on those days with nostalgia, proud of how far they’ve come.

“You know what would be cool?” he asks, tilting his head back and piercing holes through the ceiling. He can feel an idea forming in his mind, the shadow of a plan sneaking in between his thoughts. “A movie night. We should have a sleepover.”

Sapnap laughs softly, and it merges with the quietness of Dream’s room. “Would we sleep, though?” he asks, faking a seductive tone. Dream can almost hear his brows moving up and down teasingly.

“Idiot,” Dream laughs too, starting to swivel his chair to entertain himself. The house has been feeling a little lonely recently. Sapnap’s warm presence could absolutely fix it. “You actually should come over, though.”

A short moment of silence clears Dream’s mind of every thought. He smiles at the idea, suddenly craving it. He’s never wanted it more—his friends close, within arm’s reach. He’s a physical person, and the distance becomes more hurtful the closer they get in spirit.

Very few people are closer to Dream than Sapnap. Very, very few.

“For real?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Dream shrugs, looking back at his screen. “We were going to meet anyway, so… And we know it’s gonna be a while until George can come. Might as well do something.”

Sapnap sighs dramatically, trying to hide his smile. “Fine, I guess I’ll move in with you, Clay.”

It’s a joke, so Dream laughs. For just one second. One long, light, careless second.

But then…

“Wait,” Dream mumbles, sitting up straighter, eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, why don’t you?”

The silence that comes right after feels like being underwater. It feels like a loading screen, like he’s just done rendering a video and now he has to wait for it to download to finally move to the next step.

Change. Change is constant. Change is everywhere.

“What are you talking about, Dream?” Sapnap asks, sounding rightly confused. Dream just smiles as the idea takes a more solid shape in his head.

It could actually work.

“What if you moved here?” he asks again, trying and failing to keep his excitement at bay. “It would make sense! We’re making content together, so it’d be a lot more productive. Plus, you don’t really have anything going on in Texas—”

“Hey!” Sapnap cuts him off, taking offense, missing the point by a landslide. “I have plenty of stuff going on here.”

Dream rolls his eyes with endearment. “Yeah? Name one, then.”

His brother scoffs, making a rather poor argument. “My— secret girlfriend.”

Dream actually laughs out loud. “Okay, Nick.” Before Sapnap can retort again, he keeps talking. “C’mon, it would be so fun! We could hang out, like, all day. We’re both bunkered up already, so why not— make it a good thing, you know? Have fun.”

“Dude, I genuinely can’t tell if you’re being serious or not,” Sapnap says, voice a little lower, a lot more careful.

Dream’s smile turns caring. “I am, Nick. If it was up to me, you’d move here, like, tomorrow. I’m being completely serious.”

They fall silent again. Dream goes back to swiveling in his chair as he stares at the Moon and the stars outside his room. They look really good today, he’d dare say brighter than usual. Maybe it’s a sign.

Maybe, something really good is about to happen.

“Can I discuss it with my pillow?” Sapnap asks a moment later, tone hushed and guarded. His tiredness is more apparent, striking Dream for shame.

He puckers his lips, worried he pushed too far. “Yeah, of course. ‘S just an idea. It— really is okay if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he promises, letting a smile creep into his words. “I’m too tired to be making life-changing decisions right now, bro.”

Dream chuckles softly, moving closer to the monitor and exhaling deeply. Something warm settles in his chest. He really does have a good feeling about this. “Take your time, Nick.”

“‘Kay. Thanks, dude.” Dream hears him move, and allows himself to wonder what he’d be like in person. They should’ve met-up already. Ages ago. Sapnap knows it, too. “‘M going to sleep before you ask me to marry you or something.”

Dream laughs and nods, even though Sapnap can’t see him. “Oh, come on,” he says, as soft as he can. “We’ll discuss the details tomorrow.”

Sapnap scoffs and hums an affirmative. “Yeah. Goodnight, brother. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” He smiles wider, grabbing his mouse to end the call. “Bye.”

When Sapnap disconnects, that feeling in Dream’s chest spreads to his stomach, to his head, to his hands. It feels like the future just turned liquid and was poured on his head, now coating his skin with infectious excitement.

How did they not think of this sooner?

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, he really doesn’t. But something in his gut tells him that Sapnap will say yes. He has to. It’s the most logical plan.

Things are changing. Things will keep on changing, and Dream is still the same. He’s still the same kid who met his brother on a random Minecraft server over nine years ago.

It’s that kid that’s asking Sapnap to move in with him. It’s that kid that’s bouncing around inside his body, running like electricity, all loud and chipper and hopeful.

It’s that kid, and Dream holds onto him.

He goes to sleep with a confident smile, and the promising idea of tomorrow swimming around in the dark room.

Nick
i can move in today u said?
like fr

Nick
Attachment.
all packed 👍🏼

Nick
yes dumbass im moving in
make room for me

Nick
im moving in /p
that better

Callie seems to have mixed feelings about it.

“Baby, you know Sapnap,” Dream tells her, hitching her higher in his arms. “You’ve talked to him, remember?”

She looks at her dad accusingly. That was Patches, you idiot, is what Dream gets.

And yeah, fair enough.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he assures, smiling softly, poking her nose. “You can go at your own pace, princess. We can still hang out in your room until you’re ready.”

Callie’s room will be a problem. Dream knows they’ll have to find a bigger place sooner rather than later, so that everyone can have their own space and be comfortable in it.

This apartment is already a stretch just for the two of them, and while Sapnap’s arrival will definitely bring joy, it’ll also carry a new set of problems they’ll have to dance around until they’re fixed.

It’ll be tough, for sure. Especially if Callie wants to remain hidden a little bit longer—which Dream absolutely understands and respects.

They’ll have to learn how to make it work.

“Are you okay with being Patches for a while?” Dream asks again, giving her somewhat sad eyes. “If you’re not, I can absolutely call this off right now, sweetheart. Your happiness is always my priority, you know that.”

The girl looks into his eyes for a moment, still reluctant to utter words. Dream raises a brow and cracks a half-smile, trying to be reassuring.

Callie sighs before closing her eyes, settling into Dream’s arms like an adorable little cat.

Something stings in his heart. He brings his daughter’s head closer to his mouth, and presses a kiss between her cat ears. “I love you so much,” he whispers, and Patches licks his hand softly in response. “I’m sorry.”

She meows, nuzzling into the space on the inside of his elbow. He takes a deep breath and runs a hand up and down her back.

Deep down, he feels selfish.

He’s too impulsive for his own good, and his friends are young and a little more reckless and they don’t have children to take care of.

It’s a tough path to navigate, he knows. But in the long run, Sapnap’s move will definitely be beneficial for everyone.

And Dream needs his brother close. He’s a human, too. And he’s dealing with so, so much. It’s terrifying, sometimes, how much he has to hide for the sake of his daughter, for the sake of his family.

And he’s lucky, he knows that. But the weight he was assigned can get too heavy at times, so he needs help. He’s done pretending he doesn’t and it’d be stupid to keep doing so.

He’s had a good support system to rely on, because he knows Sapnap cares for him just as much as he cares for Sapnap. And the same goes to George, who’s unfortunately a little bit… harder to reach.

But he’ll get there, eventually.

Right now, Dream is being offered a hand. And it’s about damn time that he takes it, before the weight crushes him again.

“Nice to finally not be— sitting in a car?” Dream asks, breaking apart from his minute-long hug with Sapnap.

Sapnap looks up at him with a wide smile and stretches, groaning in complaint after driving for so long to get to Orlando. “Yeah,” he says, then rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m exhausted, bro.”

“Well, you can rest now,” Dream beams, guiding him towards the apartment. “This is your new home.”

It feels a little surreal to say out loud. Two days ago, this wasn’t even in the plans, and now it’s not only a possibility, but a fact.

Sapnap lives here now. He lives in Florida, with Dream, in the same house as him. And this is the first fucking time they’re seeing each other in person.

What the actual fuck.

The magnitude of this event didn’t quite hit Dream yet. He thinks he’ll be floating around in a cloud of bliss for the next few days, until the undeniable fact that he and Sapnap are now roommates finally reaches his brain, erasing the past and establishing itself as the new reality.

His old room is now Sapnap’s, and he’ll be sharing with Patches for the time being until they find a new, bigger apartment. It should be easier, given that now it’s two people with stable incomes that will be paying rent. Hopefully, it won’t take long.

Dream gives his brother a little house tour, thankful to his past self for hiding all of Callie’s incriminating toys in a closet. The little cat wanders the house freely, getting used to the new, louder presence.

She seems to like Sapnap quite a lot. She let him pick her up for a while, kissed his hands and purred in content when he started to pet her. It wasn’t long until she was begging to be put down, but that’s a part of her normal behavior.

Dream actually thinks she’ll warm up to his friend rather easily and it won’t be long until she introduces herself as a human. Sapnap, for his part, absolutely adores her. He did already, before even meeting her. He keeps saying how cute she is, and how chill she seems, and how much he loves her.

Dream’s heart warms up at the gesture, feeling over the Moon that these two completely different members of his family seem to get along so well. He’s obviously a little scared of the day when Sapnap finds out that he’s actually a dad, worried he’ll feel betrayed and will want to leave or something.

Most of it is founded on irrationality. But, if he’s being honest, Sapnap would have every right to feel disappointed. Dream would understand it. He just hopes he realizes his silence didn’t come from a place of distrust, rather than a parent trying to do what he considered best for his kid.

But that’s something to worry about in the future. Right now, he’s just happy Sapnap’s here. And he’ll enjoy every last second of it, eagerly awaiting the day when he can be his full self in front of his brother as well, and tell him everything about the perfect girl he has for daughter.

It can’t come soon enough.

Chapter Text

[Track: Don’t Let It Break Your Heart - Louis Tomlinson]

Days come and go in a haze.

Dream feels like he’s floating thousands of feet up in the air, finally sharing his space with one of the people he loves the most in the world, with one of the most vital members of his family.

He wishes he could put all of this into a picture frame and hang it above his bed, so he never forgets how special these past few weeks have felt.

He wishes he could treasure it, freeze it in time and hold it close to his heart, like he does with every memory, every shared moment with his loved ones.

Change is never meaningless. And Dream feels like everything he’s been through to get where he is now was absolutely worth it.

“I call the big room!” Sapnap announces, totally disregarding his suitcase by the door and throwing himself onto the couch.

Dream puts Patches’ cat bed on the floor and lets her down slowly. He groans and pushes his friend’s feet off the cushions, then sits beside him. “You can’t just call the big room, Nick.”

“Sure I can,” Sapnap says, turning to look at him and frowning lightly in offense. “I was looking at it and I called it.”

Dream rolls his eyes and leans back. Sapnap puts his legs across his lap, giving them more weight than necessary only to annoy him. “That’s a little unfair, but…”

“How’s it unfair, dumbass?” Dream scrunches his nose when he doesn’t have a valid excuse to tell him not to curse in front of Patches. “You had the big room in the old apartment. What, do you think that because you’re the bigger creator you deserve the bigger room?”

Dream’s head falls back with laughter. He looks back at Sapnap with raised brows and a cocky smile, chest puffing out pridefully. “I do, actually. I have all the subs, so I deserve all the square feet.”

Sapnap groans at him before moving to kick him lightly on the hip, pushing him away. “Take these feet, you bitch,” he says, right before turning to grab one of the cushions and hit him with it.

Dream hits back almost immediately, filling the room with a pair of bright laughs from two grown ass men having a pillow fight.

Today marks exactly one month since Sapnap moved in with Dream, and they finally found a new, bigger apartment to live in, where everyone can have their own space.

Including Callie, who’ll be taking the ‘extremely necessary, deal-breaking guest-room’ Dream begged for incessantly, driving Sapnap up the fucking wall.

She still hasn’t shifted in front of him, but Dream knows it won’t be long. She absolutely adores him. She spends a lot of time in his room, lets him pet her and hold her and sleeps on his lap, or sometimes even at the end of his bed.

Dream’s talked to her about it, and she says she’s still a little scared. He told her she had nothing to worry about, and that no one was rushing her.

Dream understands how it can be a tough situation for her. Especially with the second move, she’s been more tired than usual and generally all over the place.

Dream misses her.

But he’s patient. He understands. He hopes Sapnap does, too.

In the midst of his pillow fight, she jumps onto the couch, like asking them to stop the fire. Dream drops the cushion with a giggle, cooing her so she’ll come closer.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she crawls onto Sapnap’s lap and closes her eyes, settling comfortably against his thigh.

“Patchy loves me more than you,” Sapnap says in a soft voice, petting her between her ears, right where she likes it. Dream smiles privately at the scene, unbothered by the comment.

He leans back again, and the peace returns. “Oh, absolutely.” He shrugs, and lets go of a shallow yawn. “I actually hate you. I thought you knew that.”

Patches purrs, nuzzling closer to Sapnap. It’s been a while since she was this affectionate with him. She seems a little vulnerable. Dream wonders if she’s sad, or about to get sick.

One good thing that came from this, is that he’s learned how to be a better parent to a cat. He was used to her being human, to verbal communication, but now he recognizes more signs, he understands her better.

It’s all learning, all trial and error.

It’s a long path to walk, he always thinks that. But he’s safe knowing that he’s trying his best, and that his daughter trusts him enough to share her insecurities confidently, knowing she will be listened to and not judged.

That’s all he can really ask for, really. That’s all he ever needs.

Sapnap still hasn’t streamed from the new house. He and Dream have been more focused on videos, coming up with ideas, and finally enjoying their time together in a place where they’re actually comfortable.

He wasn’t lying about being a cuddler. Dream has lost count already of the amount of times they found themselves on the couch, watching a movie all curled up together, sharing each other’s space after so many years of not being able to.

Dream doesn’t think anyone makes him feel as comfortable as Sapnap. He’s the most supportive person he knows, always looking out for his friends and the people he cares about. He’ll never get tired of telling his brother how much he loves and appreciates his company.

It’s been a week since they moved into the new place. The days go by quicker than they did in their previous apartment, which was a lot sadder and had lower energy, charged and lived in after all the shed tears and the blue feelings the pandemic elicited.

But this one’s nicer. The walls are white and the ceilings are taller and the windows are bigger. There’s more light and more air and more rooms and everything is better. Patches loves it, too. She loves being back in her own space, and she hangs out with them even more often, more enthusiastic than before.

They have fun.

Right now, Sapnap is in his room, hanging out in George’s stream, and Dream is watching them from his own computer.

His sleep schedule gets even more and more fucked up as the days go by, and he starts to slowly and unintentionally adapt his brain to the time that British clocks set.

He doesn’t really mind it. He’s been talking to George more, and he really thinks it’s worth the sleep time he’s been missing. They’re making up for the time they spent without speaking, for the missing days as he waits for the moment when he can finally come to America.

“George, do you wear cologne? Please, the people need to know,” Sapnap asks, reading the chat out loud. Dream’s attention shifts back to the stream. “I’ll answer this. No, he doesn’t.”

Dream’s lips curl up in a smile as he looks at George’s facecam on the screen. He’s wearing Dream’s merch, a detail he finds quite adorable. He sent George some of his merch hoodies a few weeks ago, and he knows for a fact that he’s been wearing them non-stop ever since.

It is, however, the first time he does it live on stream. It was a running joke they had with their viewers. The hoodie is also oversized, so when they saw it on him they went… a little insane. Dream can’t really blame them.

It got George flustered, so it served its purpose. Dream found it quite funny actually—the way his cheeks turned rosy and he started stuttering like he was hiding something, like he was doing something wrong.

But it was harmless. It’s just a hoodie.

“Well, actually…” George starts, eyes shying away from the camera. “I actually sprayed cologne right before the stream.”

Dream’s head falls to the side in confusion. He didn’t take George for someone who’d spray cologne on a random Thursday when he knows he’s not even leaving the house.

Neither did Sapnap, apparently, because he asks— “Why? It’s not like someone’s gonna smell you.”

“I don’t know, it just—” he chuckles nervously, putting a frown on Dream’s lips. “It smells good.” He grabs the neck of the hoodie and pulls it up to his nose, smelling the fabric. A little lower, he adds, “I sprayed Dream’s hoodie with cologne.”

Dream’s breath stutters.

Suddenly, the room feels too crowded. His frown deepens before he’s leaning forward on his desk, and closing the tab of George’s stream.

Dream’s hoodie, his brain echoes, still confused. It’s not even Dream’s hoodie, it’s just his merch. He’s never actually worn that hoodie. It’s just… It’s just a hoodie. Mass production. Hundreds like it. It’s not special.

It’s not special, besides the fact that it’s George who’s wearing it, and Dream who sent it.

I sprayed Dream’s hoodie with cologne.

It feels like the type of comment Dream would tease him for. It feels like the kind of thing he’d tweet about to make fun of him, like an off-handed joke that didn’t quite land.

But right now, there’s nothing Dream wants less. Maybe because of how George sounded when he said it, like he was revealing a secret. Maybe because of a hidden implication behind it that Dream can’t quite put a name to. Maybe because he’s not even sure he was supposed to hear it, even if, in a way, they were talking about him.

So from his teeth out, Dream lets it go.

But he’s sure it’ll be a while until his brain does the same.

Dream barges into Sapnap’s room as soon as the clock strikes midnight.

He finds him in his chair, back turned at the door, waiting for a game to load. Still screaming and full of energy, he wraps his arms around him and shakes him almost violently, pulling a loud laugh from the bottom of his stomach.

“Happy birthday!” Dream cheers, laughing as well as Sapnap squeezes his wrists, trying to yank him away. But that won’t do. Oh, no—it’s their first birthday since they live together, so he’s being pampered today. “It’s your birthday! You’re twenty, Nick!”

“Shut up, you idiot,” he says, but he laughs all the same. He manages to wiggle away from Dream’s grasp, and swivels his chair to get up and give his brother a proper hug. “Be careful, I’m catching up to you,” he says, smiling warmly and patting his brother on his arm.

“Yeah, you’re getting old, Sap.” He giggles, as Sapnap goes back to his chair. Dream sits on the edge of his bed, determined to stay with him for a while. “Your age doesn’t end in teen anymore.”

Sapnap groans, turning to his monitor as he bites back a smile. “Oh, fuck off,” he tells him between gritted teeth, going back to his game. “Also, where’s my cake, Clay?”

“Looking good in those shorts,” Dream teases, never missing the opportunity, and guffawing when Sapnap cringes. He then shoots him a charged look, but can’t hide his amusement. “I’m gonna need your help with that, actually.”

“‘Cause you’re a trash cook? Yeah, no shit,” he jests, rolling his eyes in a lighthearted manner. If it wasn’t his birthday, Dream would throw him a pillow. For today, he gets a free pass.

He settles for a weak scoff, and leans back on his own hands on the mattress. “Yeah, whatever. If you want cake, you’re gonna have to help me.”

Right when Sapnap is about to retort, a loud meow comes from the other side of the door. “Oh, she wants to be let in,” Sapnap comments, focusing on his game.

Dream frowns. She was supposed to be asleep hours ago.

“Yeah, uh… I’ll— go check on her,” Dream says, tone drenched in worry, and he gets up to leave the room.

When he closes the door behind him, he gets jumpscared at the sight of his daughter standing idly in the middle of the hallway.

“Is it Sapsap’s birthday?” she asks, head cocked in curiosity, fidgeting with the sleeves of her crewneck.

Dream looks back nervously as he approaches her, and kneels in front of her to be at eye-level with her. “Yeah, it is,” he whispers, grabbing her hand gently. “Why aren’t you in bed, sweetheart?”

She frowns and snatches her hand to cross her arms in front of her chest. “You were yelling, Dad.”

Oh. Right. That’s on him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, princess,” he says apologetically, craning his neck to kiss the girl’s forehead. “I’ll take you back to sleep, yeah?”

“No, I—” she rushes out, playing with her feet, gaze fixed on the floor. Her dad’s frown deepens. “Can I—” she cuts herself off, pointing at Sapnap’s closed door.

Dream’s tone is gentle. “You wanna hang out with us?” he asks carefully, taking her hand again. “But it’s late, honey. You sure you don’t wanna wait until tomorrow?”

She shakes her head eagerly, and meets his eyes again. “I wanna meet Sapsap.”

Dream’s heart actually stops working for a full second. He gapes as many, many feelings crawl across his skin, making it prickle. “You wanna—” he starts, but he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Just to make sure though, he asks— “Like Callie? Right now?”

Callie cracks a smile and nods shyly, eyes big and pleading. “Can I?”

“Bro, everything okay?!” Sapnap screams at him through the door, startling him a little bit.

Dream thinks his heart is about to malfunction with how fast it’s beating. “All good, give me a sec,” he answers before turning his attention back to his daughter. Smiling back, sounding as soft as possible, he asks again. “Are you super, super sure, hon?”

She nods again, now beaming, and squeezes his hand.

Dream takes a deep breath before standing up. “Okay,” he says, nodding to reassure himself that this is fine, and breathing deeply through his mouth to make sure his lungs don’t give up on him. “Wait here, yeah? I’ll tell you when to come in, I— I need to explain a few things first.”

“Okay,” Callie says, and sits criss-cross on the floor.

Dream inhales to brace himself. His relationship with Sapnap might be about to change forever.

He can only hope it’s for the better, but he’s never been a man of faith.

[Track: Brother - Kodaline]

Dream walks into the room again, and returns to his spot on the bed.

“All good, bro?” Sapnap repeats, eyes trained on his monitor. “Was she okay?”

“Yeah, uh… She— She actually wanted me to, uh…” Here it goes. “She wanted me to tell you something.”

Sapnap chuckles, not even flinching. “What, that I’m her favorite?” he asks, tone light, careless. “Yeah, I already know.”

“Nick,” Dream calls, more serious than he’s been in the past few months, maybe in the past year. He catches the moment when Sapnap’s face falls. “I really need to talk to you.”

Within two seconds, Sapnap’s paused the game and turned to look at him with furrowed brows. “Dude, you’re freaking me out. Is everything okay?”

Dream takes another deep breath. This is gonna be way harder than he expected. “Yeah, I—” A sigh. “I need you to— listen to me first, please. And then you can ask all the questions you want to. But, please, listen to me.”

“Dream, what the fuck is going on?” Sapnap asks again, getting up and sitting next to Dream on the bed. Dream doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this worried.

“Just— promise me,” he pleads.

Sapnap puts a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, brother. I promise.”

“Okay.” He exhales again, turning his gaze away to gather his thoughts. “You know how I— I told you I got Patches on Valentine’s Day 2019?”

“Yeah,” Sapnap says, confusion seeping into his tone like venom. He’s about to get a lot more disoriented in a minute. “So?”

“Well, that’s not— Not technically true.”

Sapnap shakes his shoulder to get his eyes on him. He doesn’t like it when Dream hides from like this. Dream respects that, and so he looks at him again. “Clay, chill. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Dream nods, letting his hand fall near Sapnap’s knee and squeezing it lightly for reassurance. He scoots a little closer. “Okay, well. I— I’m sorry, I— Yeah. Uh… Truth is I got Patches a few months… before that.”

“Okay?” Sapnap says again, trying to keep the hostility away from his eyes.

Dream appreciates the effort. “And when I got her she— wasn’t really— a cat. Per se. Like, technically speaking.”

His brother’s frown deepens. He looks at Dream like he’s making an April Fool’s joke or something. “What are you on, Clay?”

“I’m not—” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, listen. She wasn’t a cat when I found her. She—”

“When you found her?” Sapnap repeats, cutting him off. “At the park?”

“Yeah.” Another deep breath, and then one more. Dream’s blood feels like it’s boiling. He bites his lip to release some tension, and keeps talking. “I was— around a year younger than you are now. And I was— scared and I didn’t really know what to do but I couldn’t leave her there, and I—”

“Clay, dude, I love you but you’re not making any sense right now,” he says again, and Dream admires how good he is at keeping himself composed. He rubs his back soothingly, sensing his nerves, and tries his best to flash a comforting smile. “Walk me through it. Leave who where?”

“Patches,” Dream says, then blinks hard before correcting himself. “Callie.”

Sapnap frowns again, stopping the movement of his hand. “Who’s Callie, Clay?”

“Patches.” He looks into his brother’s eyes intently, trying to catch even the faintest of reactions. But he finds nothing. “Callie is, uh… Patches’ human name. When she’s a human.”

He clears his throat, bringing his hands together in front of his mouth. “Patches is… a shape-shifter?” he asks, words muffled into his palm.

Dream swallows harshly, eyes starting to burn. “Yeah.” He presses his fingers to his own thighs, feeling his anxiety burning at the tips. He looks away from Sapnap again. He doesn’t think he can handle it right now. “I, uh… I legally adopted her. I’m her father, and—”

Sapnap jumps from the bed. Dream sees his feet as he paces around the room, hands in his hair, tension rising. He doesn’t know what he expected. He’s obviously mad. He obviously hates him and is hurt and thinks he’s—

“And you dealt with this by yourself, for more than two years?” Sapnap asks, something urgent in his tone, something deep. He kneels in front of Dream and wraps his hands around his wrists to keep him from hurting his legs. He tries his best to find his eyes, to make him look at him, to ground him. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Dream wants to rub his eyes, to wipe away the tears he feels rolling down his cheeks, but he doesn’t dare move away from him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I— I really should’ve, I’m so—”

“Yes, you should have!” Sapnap tells him, raising his voice a little bit. Dream is worried Callie can hear them from the other side of the door. “I could’ve helped you, brother. How did you— How the fuck did you handle this all by yourself?”

Dream sniffles and gapes, but he truly doesn’t have an answer to his question. He doesn’t have any excuses, any explanations to give.

And right then, the door opens, and Callie peeks through.

“Dad?” she asks, softly.

Her eyes widen when she notices he’s crying.

Dream sees all of Sapnap’s feelings flash in his gaze before a bush of brown, curly hair is clouding his vision even more than his own tears. A pair of slim arms wraps tightly around his neck, making Dream’s heart stumble inside of his chest.

He hugs his daughter back, pressing his eyes shut in fear, in adoration. “I’m okay, baby, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, chest heaving with each breath. “I’m so sorry. I’m okay. Don’t worry, baby. I’m okay.”

Sapnap’s hands fall from his knees, and Dream feels the air move as he tumbles to the floor. He opens his eyes and sees him stare up at him, his gaze lost, wondering. “Clay, I—” he attempts to speak through the lump in his throat. “I’m so fucking sorry, dude.”

Dream frowns as Callie breaks apart, turning in his arms to look at his brother. Right as he’s about to ask for reasoning, the girl speaks. “Sorry, Sapsap.”

His eyes widen even more, until they’re almost popping out of his head. He brings his own hand up to cover his mouth, and sits up a little straighter to talk to her. “Holy f—” he stops himself, causing Dream’s lips to curl up slightly, despite his tears. This girl has heard way too many curse words at her young age. “Hello, Callie.”

She giggles and jumps out of Dream’s lap, standing in front of Sapnap and looking down at him with an honest, childish, innocent smile. “Can I give you a hug?”

Sapnap strives to keep a squeal in. Dream’s mind is spinning. He did not count on starting Sapnap’s fucking birthday like this. Holy shit.

“Of course you can,” he chokes out, opening his arms so she can fall into his chest, and hugging back as soon and tight as possible.

Dream wants to burn this image to the inside of his eyelids.

Sapnap looks up at Dream from the floor, eyes pleading, still set ablaze by everything he’s feeling. Dream can only imagine what’s going through his mind right now.

But he needs to know. He needs to know if he lost him.

“Why did you…” Dream starts, but has to clear his throat before finishing the sentence. “Why did you say you’re sorry, Nick?”

His hug with Callie ends and she runs back to her dad, settling in between his legs. Dream stares into Sapnap’s eyes as he gets up from the floor to sit next to him again.

“I’ve always admired you so much, Clay,” Sapnap says, his voice still caught in his throat. Dream wants to hug him, too. He wants his brother. “You’re so ridiculously smart and creative and it’s annoying, bro, because you get shit every single day on Twitter for the dumbest shit, and—”

Dream gives him a pleading look, but refuses to interrupt him. Sapnap gets the message regardless, and chuckles faintly before he keeps on speaking.

“Sorry. But yeah, dude, you’ve done so much with your life in the past two years. You quit your job and started a new life and are popping off on YouTube, and—” he scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through his hair. He shakes his head lightly, and looks at Callie with loving eyes. “And you’re telling me you’ve been raising a kid while dealing with all of that?”

Dream hasn’t stopped crying yet. He’s not sure when he will, if ever. His child crawls onto the bed and sits by his side, mindlessly toying with her own fingers. Dream gives her a lopsided smile to let her know that everything is okay.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, Nick,” he says again, wiping some tears away with the heels of his hand. “I understand if you’re upset or disappointed, or—”

“Disappointed?” he repeats, incredulous, reaching out his hand again. “No, dude, I’m fuck— I’m muffin proud of you.” Dream chuckles, easing the tension. Sapnap follows. “I just can’t believe you chose to keep this to yourself instead of asking for help, Clay. You know you don’t have to save everyone, right?”

Dream shrugs, sniffling again. He wraps an arm around Callie, bringing her closer. She remains quiet, lets him have their moment. “I know. I’m too much.”

“You’re too kind, Dream,” his brother says, a sad undertone to his words. “You give and you give and you give and… Brother, you know I love you, but I’m scared that if you don’t start asking for help, one day you won’t have left for yourself, dude.”

For the millionth time, Dream’s heart shatters. He’d like to pick up the pieces, but at this point, they’re scattered all across his body, and some of them seem out of reach. He takes another deep breath, hoping it’ll clean him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry, dumbass.” Sapnap says and immediately grimaces, rolling his eyes at himself. “This is gonna be an issue.” Dream smiles faintly once again, shaking his head dismissively. “I’m here now, bro. Please, I’m begging you to rely on me.”

Dream reaches out his free hand, and squeezes Sapnap’s. He really doesn’t know what he’d do without this boy in his life. “I will. I swear I will, I— I’m done being an idiot.” He looks at him with adoration, and holds his daughter closer. “And you’re older now, so…”

Sapnap laughs and shoves him away, but scoots closer one second later to talk to Callie. “Your dad is a dummy,” he tells her, reaching out his hand to jab her lightly in the stomach. She giggles and nods, taking Dream by surprise.

He gasps. “Are you gonna gang up on me now?”

“Yes. Absolutely,” Sapnap deadpans, looking him in the eyes. Dream peers at him for a moment, and frowns when he sees his demeanor change into something more guarded. “Does George know?”

Dream swallows harshly. “No.”

Callie grins. “George!” she repeats.

Okay. Terrible timing. That’s fine.

Sapnap raises an accusing brow, and looks at him with something akin to amusement flashing in his eyes. “Are you raising her to be a George simp like you?”

Dream’s cheeks burn. He looks away from Sapnap and judgingly at his daughter for exposing him like this. He feels utterly betrayed and humiliated. And in his own home. This is crazy.

“No,” he emphasizes, peering at his child so she’ll keep her mouth shut for the time being. She giggles like she finds this whole situation very entertaining. “I’m not a simp. I don’t know how this happened.”

“I do,” Sapnap says between gritted teeth, getting up from the bed again. “I can’t discuss this today, though. Too many revelations for one evening.”

And oh, Dream agrees wholeheartedly.

“So you’re not upset?” he asks tentatively, getting up too, his daughter in his arms. Sapnap shakes his head and pulls him into an uncomfortable but very sweet three-way hug.

“Hell, no, bro,” he mumbles next to his ear, rubbing his back reassuringly. “I just want you to take better care of yourself.” He breaks apart, looking at him seriously. Dream is glad he has someone who looks after him like Sapnap does. “But I’m here to help now, yeah?” He turns to Callie and pulls a face that makes her giggle. “I’m gonna be the best uncle ever.”

Dream feels the tears threatening to pour out again, but he succeeds at stopping them.

He feels his soul get lighter, his mind get clearer. With another weight off his chest, he sees the world start to brighten.

He’ll hold onto Sapnap like a lifeline. He knows his brother would never let him fall.

In retrospect, Dream thinks he should’ve known. It’s been sitting at the back of his head for years now.

It was harmless, at first. Then, it started to grow. He could hear it breathing, like a part of himself he didn’t recognize. Like a threat. Like… a monster.

He’s not sure when he made his peace with it, if ever. He stopped acknowledging it, hoping that it would get bored and simply leave him alone.

But these things don’t leave just like that. Not without a mark, not without scarring.

The last time he addressed it was over two years ago. That night, he tried to dialogue with it. He tried to understand its reasoning. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and gave it the time to speak.

He sat in front of his computer and let it take control. It opened his browser and took over his fingers.

how do I know if I’m gay? it typed.

It was already too late to stop it.

The words flooded his screen and then beyond, crawling out and colonizing his body, wrapping themselves like devilish hands around his throat.

Like a threat. Like a monster.

He felt the air leave his lungs, and then… he felt it fall. He felt it vanish. Maybe he just needed it to get it out of his system. Maybe he’d found peace, and this could be permanent.

Maybe he was fine, after all.

He got up to go for a walk.

Summer was almost over, and it was warm outside. The night had fallen at least two hours prior, and a few stars were already visible in the sky. It was a little windy, he recalls, but oddly, no clouds were in sight.

He didn’t grab a coat, even though they said it’d rain. That was his first mistake.

Because it did. It did rain.

And then Callie came.

And the monster has been dormant ever since.

But these things don’t leave, not without a mark.

Dream learns that the hard way.

[Track: Alone Together - Del Water Gap]

“I thought it’d be funny,” he says, that night, when George confronts him about it.

He hears him scoff. “Yeah. ‘Twas hilarious.”

The tone he uses is almost venomous. Dream’s never heard him like this before, and he doesn’t get where it comes from. He didn’t sound upset during the podcast, he didn’t even seem to care.

Dream gets how it could’ve been… unexpected, at the very least. But it’s not like it was his idea to begin with. It was someone else’s.

He’s impulsive in those situations. He was bored and distracted and a little tired, and suddenly, he was reading the message out loud and it didn’t seem like such a terrible idea.

‘am I in love with my best friend quiz’

It wasn’t serious. It wasn’t real.

“It wasn’t funny, Dream,” George spits. The way his voice cracks almost goes unnoticed. Almost. “It was just— weird.” The last word catches in his throat, and Dream feels it sink into his own stomach.

Weird. It was weird. You’re weird, Dream.

Wrong, his brain provides, unhelpful. What you did was wrong. What you were thinking of was wrong, and you shouldn’t be doing it.

Change. Be normal.

“I’m sorry,” Dream says, digging his nails into his palms, trying to divert his attention from everything he’s feeling inside, screaming at him and calling him names he doesn’t dare utter. “I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I didn’t— I didn’t think it’d matter this much—”

George scoffs again, and it’s even sharper than the first one. Dream’s not familiar with George sounding angry, negative, even poisonous. He’s not sure how to handle it—can barely even hear it over the noise in his own head. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

Dream’s heart shrinks. He wants to reach his own hand down his throat to grab it, to hold it, to save it. “What does that mean?”

He hears George swallow. Silence stretches over them, isolating them from the real world, leaving them alone with their thoughts.

Dream would like to peek into George’s mind now. He’d like to know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. He’d like to know if George hates him.

Do you know? he wonders in silence. What would you think of me if you did?

“‘S nothing,” George answers finally, but it doesn’t ease Dream’s nerves in the slightest. “I know it was a meme, but just— You know I don’t—”

“‘M sorry,” Dream repeats, pressing his eyes shut to ignore the way the room is spinning around him. He feels disconnected from the rest of his life, like it doesn’t belong to him. Like he doesn’t belong in it. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

George sighs heavily. “That’s not—” A beat. He cuts himself off. Dream hears him breathing, and starts following his lead subconsciously. In, out. In, out. In. Out. “It’s fine.” It doesn’t sound fine. “Like you said, it— doesn’t matter.”

Dream feels heavy now. Gravity never seemed so palpable. He wonders where everything went wrong and how he could’ve avoided it.

Do you ever imagine what it’d be like to kiss your best friend?

He can only grasp at flashes, small bits and pieces of his memory. They float around in ether, and he reaches out his hand far, far, far into the void, trying to curl his fingers around them.

They keep slipping away. He doesn’t get why. It’s like that monster that lives inside his head keeps stealing them for its own comfort, depriving Dream of a lot more than just his words.

You are a little in love with your best friend.

“I’m really sorry, George,” he mumbles again. He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for anymore. “Really sorry.” He sniffles, hoping the mic won’t catch it. His heartbeat picks up again, his blood pressure off the charts. He wants to lay down and disappear for a day or two. He wishes he could grant himself that privilege. “Please, don’t be mad at me.”

George sighs again, tired. Exhausted. It’s late in London. Dream realizes it’s always late when they call, when they speak like this, in hushed tones and half-sentences.

Maybe, they should stop doing it.

You don’t wanna ruin what you have.

“‘M not mad at you, Dream.” He sounds a little off. Dream wants to reach out his hand into the screen and pick up his tears like the shards of his own memory, make them disappear in space as well. The burning distance scorches his palms, and doesn’t let him come closer. “We’re good,” George says, regardless.

Dream swallows, picking at his cuticles. Smoke billows from his fingertips like they just fired a gun, except he’s the one biting the bullet. “Are we?”

George softens. “Of course, idiot.” A tired sigh, dams falling down. Honey, sugar, sweet cotton candy. “We’re us. We’re always good.”

The contrast is almost jarring. It rings in Dream’s ears like an alarm, but he can’t reach the source, he can’t hold it either. He’s not sure what drives it, but it feels bright from where he stands.

It feels safe, somewhat hopeful. Like he could make a home out of it.

A lot of my future is your future.

There’s a clock in Dream’s bedroom. Its hands seem louder sometimes, like they shape themselves into whatever Dream needs, like they want to help shut his brain off. They’re a part of him already.

Right now, they’re screaming.

It’s late in London. In Florida, not so much. The night has fallen, stars coat the sky like freckles of light and dust, swimming in the boundless blue like fish in the sea.

Time is a part of him.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Dream clears his throat, and coughs out a question. “Do you wanna move in with me?”

Time means nothing. A lot can happen in an hour, a minute, a second, even.

Change is constant.

George exhales enough air to blow up a balloon. “What?” he asks, tone hushed and laced in confusion.

But Dream knows him better. Dream hears the smile slipping into his voice, and he uses it to fuel his own assertion. He speaks slower, making sure to pronounce every sound perfectly. “Move in with me. Don’t visit. just— Move to America.”

George’s laugh breaks the taut silence. Bubbly, joyous. Dream’s nerves ease, and he can feel his hands again. We’re good. We’re us. “You’re so weird, Dream.”

Weird. Through a smile, laced in happiness. Special. Unpredictable. Unique.

It’s interesting. It feels better the second time around, like George has the ability to rewrite every single dictionary. Like words can take a different meaning when curled around his English tongue.

Dream leans back on his chair, following the hands of the clock around with his eyes. Tick. Tock. “‘S that a yes?”

George chuckles. “Are you serious?”

Dream knows George when he’s positive. He knows him when he’s hopeful, when he’s happy. He knows him like he knows his family, because he’s part of it too.

But it’s different. It’s absolutely different.

Until recently, he hadn’t realized how much.

He’s still trying to make his peace with it.

“You’d like it here,” Dream says, feeling his mouth dry. He finds that he’s not lying. He finds that he’d like it, too. “You could be happy with us.”

George chokes on his own breath. He thinks Dream doesn’t notice. “Yeah?”

“‘M being deadass, George.”

“Okay,” he says, his words bashful, shaky. Then, out of the blue, “I’d like to be happy with you.”

In. Out. Tick. Tock.

Dream breathes.

We’re good.

“Then do it.” He beams, clutching his chest in his hands like he could rip his heart out, if he tries hard enough. “Be happy. Come to America.”

George groans, but Dream can’t be fooled. “Fuck,” he says, then laughs. It only takes a moment, a fleeting second. “Fine. I will.”

We’re us.

And Dream breathes.

[Track: Shadow Of Mine - Alec Benjamin]

“He said yes!” Dream announces the next day, barging into Sapnap’s room before he’s fully awake.

He rubs his eyes and sits up on the bed, shooting Dream a confused stare that overcomes his anger for the loss of his beauty sleep. “You’re getting married?”

Dream frowns, rethinking his word choice. “What the fuck!?” he laughs nervously, shaking his head in surprise. “No. What? Who would I get married to?”

“I don’t know, bro,” Sapnap shrugs, leaning back against the headboard, looking amused. Dream kind of wants to throw something at him. “Some dude.”

“Nick, what—” he splutters, swallowing hard, heart beating off his chest. He feels seen, all of a sudden. Even though he doubts Sapnap— No. Surely not. “Why would I—” A chuckle. He wipes the sweat off his hands in his pants, and averts his gaze like he’s guilty of a crime of some kind. He supposes— “You know I’m not—”

Sapnap’s frown deepens. “Dude, I was joking,” he says, sitting up again. “You said—” he scoffs. Dream doesn’t like it one bit, but he doesn’t dare ask follow-ups. “It was a joke, man, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I—” I’m going crazy. “All good. I— I was messing with you.” The smile he flashes doesn’t reach his eyes. “Obviously.”

Sapnap doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t comment on it further. “Alright.” He shrugs. “Who said yes then?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. George.” Dream’s shoulders relax as a smile threatens to creep onto his face. “I asked him if he’d move in with us, like we talked about, and—”

“Oh.” Sapnap smiles softly. Dream notices he looks at him differently. “Oh, I see,” he chuckles. That explains it, he seems to say. “Wait, that’s— Is he really?”

Dream caves, beaming. He exhales deeply, ridding himself of whatever it is that’s clawing inside his stomach. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with it right now. “Yeah, dude. I asked him last night.”

Sapnap now looks like a kid waking up on Christmas Day. It’s a little hard to process, Dream knows. Like when Sapnap moved in. It didn’t really sink in for a while.

But what matters is that it will happen. It will, and Dream’s family keeps growing, and he will gather all of his favorite people under a roof they share.

It’s gonna be great. So, so great.

“When is he coming?” Sapnap asks, reaching out to grab his phone from the bedside table, probably to text George himself.

Dream shrugs, taking the non-verbal invitation to sit at the edge of the bed. “He didn’t say,” he tells him, peering as he thinks about it. “But it shouldn’t be long, right? I’m guessing as soon as he can.”

“Yeah,” he smiles too, then runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, maybe in a few months—”

“Hopefully.” Dream lets his hand fall by Sapnap’s shin, shaking him lightly in excitement. “By the end of the year, maybe. Or, like, early 2022.”

Sapnap chuckles, letting the bubbly feeling envelop him. The glimmer in his eyes spreads through Dream’s chest warmly. “That’s so fucking crazy.”

“I know,” he says softly, then chuckles again. He averts his gaze, losing it somewhere in the room. “I know, man.”

“Hey.” Dream looks at him. “Is everything okay?”

With a small shrug, Dream puckers his lips. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” he smiles again, warily. “Just— can’t believe it. We’re gonna, like, live together.”

“I don’t wanna be this guy, but—” Sapnap starts, then sits up straighter, like warning him of his next words. “When do you plan on telling him?”

Dream blinks, taken aback. “Telling him…”

Sapnap frowns, looking at him like he’s gone crazy. “About your daughter?” he asks. Green eyes widen, like a pair of big marbles. “You dumbass.”

Right. That other thing George doesn’t know about him.

“I— Oh, fuck, I—” he splutters, world spinning and crumbling before his eyes. He’d thought about it. Of course, he’d thought about it. But he has so many things on his plate right now… “Do you think he’ll hate me?”

Sapnap’s frown deepens. Now he definitely thinks he’s gone crazy. “Why the fuck would he hate you?”

Dream averts his gaze again, dragging a hand down his face. “Because it’s so huge, and I didn’t tell him, and what if—”

“You didn’t tell me either,” he says, lower. There’s an underlying note of spite that makes Dream’s stomach turn.

He looks up at his brother with bashful eyes, and speaks in a whisper. “And I was worried you’d hate me, too.”

Sapnap exhales deeply. There are way too many emotions flashing through his expression for Dream to catch, especially over the noise of his own. With a soft look, Sapnap scoots closer to him and wraps him in a hug.

“I know.” Dream buries his nose in his neck, and clings onto his clothes, hugging back just as tight. “I know, Clay, I’m sorry.”

Change is constant. And so fucking loud.

Sapnap’s hands are soothing on his shoulders, but they make everything fall, crash and break so much faster. Dream feels as though months worth of blue emotions catch up to his brain after clawing up his throat for so long.

It’s just so much. Everything is so, so much.

Maybe that’s why the excitement for George’s arrival seemed so heavenly, so unreal. It was still out of reach, and so he hung onto the illusion it filled him with.

But there’s a lot to handle before he can fully own up to it. There are more things to unpack.

Way more.

“I could never hate you, you big idiot,” Sapnap says next to his ear, softer than ever. “And neither could George.” He dares laugh right after. “God, you’re so fucking clueless.”

Dream opens his eyes, but he doesn’t break apart. “What are you talking about?” is muffled into Sapnap’s shoulder, now showered with lonesome tears.

“You should tell him,” Sapnap suggests, ignoring his question. Dream would scream it into his face if his throat wasn’t so painfully clogged. “Before he gets here.”

He’s right. Dream knows he’s right.

But sometimes, fear screams louder than reason.

He hides in his brother’s neck again, shedding silent tears. The noise in his head is bad enough. Sapnap draws soothing figures on his back, coaxing him towards calmness, towards light. Dream thinks it’s achingly far. “I’m sorry.”

“What did I tell you about being a moron?” Sapnap asks, swatting him lightly in complaint. “You don’t have to apologize to me. Ever.” Lower, amused, he adds, “unless you— fuck my mom or something.”

Dream chuckles faintly.

Sapnap’s next words are cautious. “Or my dad.”

And the world stops turning.

Tick.

Dream wonders in silence. He wonders if Sapnap somehow found the zipper to his head while soothing his back, and didn’t mind peeking in.

Tock.

Intruding. Curious. Reckless.

In.

You’re weird, Dream.

Out.

You’re wrong.

“I love you,” Sapnap mumbles, hugging tighter. “No matter what, Clay.”

Dream breathes.

“You’re my brother, and I love you,” he says again, even lower. The words cradle Dream like his brother’s arms, holding him together, keeping him from falling. He leans into it. “And George loves you. I need you to see it.”

The world crumbles.

And Dream breathes.

Patches purrs under his hand.

She’s peaceful, like the magnetic wave of excitement Dream emanates doesn’t quite get to her. It’s fair, when he thinks about it. She doesn’t really understand what’s going on.

They’ve talked about it, though. Dream asked her if she’d mind George moving in with them, like Sapnap did exactly eight months ago. She has a better grasp of it now, less than two weeks away from turning four.

She loves George, in her own way. She smiles when he’s mentioned, and brings him up unpromptedly, calling his name at random moments during the day. It’s like she’s super aware of his existence, and even when he’s not around, he’s at the back of her head, like a guardian angel.

Dream gets her. It’s becoming increasingly harder to stop thinking about George. Whenever they haven’t talked for a while—even if it’s just a few short hours—Dream wonders how he’s doing. He’s gone crazy coming up with things to do when he’s finally on American soil, when the three of them can finally go out and spend time together.

George applied for a US visa two weeks ago. He’s getting help from a lawyer, and he’s been warned that it might be a long process, but he said it was looking good. The system tends to benefit people like him—famous white men, college graduates, clean record, no blemishes. He should be fine.

An aura of hope drenches every room in the house. Dream and Sapnap are both happy, motivated.

Faith might not be so bad after all.

Dream runs his hand down Patches’ fur and sighs softly as he thinks of the future.

Will George love Callie as much as she loves him? How long is it gonna take for him to adjust to living with a kid, with a shape-shifter? Is he gonna judge Dream for keeping it a secret? Will he ever forgive him?

You should tell him before he gets here, Dream’s brain provides, an echo of Sapnap’s voice.

It was easier with Sapnap, in a way. If he wasn’t happy with it, if he suddenly decided it was too much for him, he could drive right back to Texas and take Dream’s soul with him. It would’ve been over in a day, just like it started. Poof.

But George is doing so much for them. George is juggling paperwork and paying a lawyer and making long-term plans that simply can’t go wrong. He’s leaving his entire family behind to hop on a ten-hour flight across the Atlantic. He’s moving countries for him and Sapnap, flipping his entire world upside down without a second thought.

Dream can’t do that to him. He can’t let him get to America and welcome him with the news, because George is undergoing a months-long process that can’t be undone just like that. It’s much, much more complicated.

So Dream has to figure out a way of telling him soon.

Because any day now, George will book his plane ticket to Florida, and then it’ll be too late.

Just like that.

Poof.

[Track: Wait For You - West]

“I could be there by Christmas, I think,” George says, biting a grin into his lower lip. His eyes glow under the fluorescent lights of his temporary apartment in the center of London, lifeless and empty but good enough for the few weeks he has left in England.

Dream wishes George could see his smile, the way it lights up his face like a Christmas tree. “Are you serious?”

“The lawyer said so.” He shrugs, trying to act aloof, but Dream hears the bubbling excitement below his façade. He’s been talking about Florida nonstop, his eyes shining brighter each time as the day seems to get closer. Dream starts to think he could never get tired of it. “I don’t wanna, like— get my hopes up, though.”

Dream’s expression softens as he cocks his head to the side, peering at George’s Discord icon. “D’you think you might not get it by then?”

George sighs deeply. It sounds more charged, heavier than the atmosphere that’s been surrounding them for the past few weeks. Dream doesn’t know what to make of it. “I just don’t think he…” George starts, but cuts himself off with a choked out sound. “Whatever. He’ll handle it.”

A frown settles on Dream’s lips, making him sit up. He hears the world more clearly now. He doesn’t like it. He wants to focus on George—only George. “Do you know something I don’t?” he asks, guarded. “Did he tell you—”

“He didn’t say anything.” The last word sounds meaningful in George’s lips. Like it’s a bad thing. Like he dreads it. “Not besides— what I told you.”

“But that’s good,” Dream mutters, looking down at his hands, like the answers will be magically scorched onto his palms. He only finds pale skin, itching to feel the sunlight. “Isn’t it?”

George hums weakly. “I guess.”

If he thinks about it, he’d say it’s more of a rollercoaster. The days seem to be getting longer each time. The mornings are more weighted, and the occasional loneliness feels more palpable, more apparent. Like a presence, rather than a condition.

They need to prepare for the worst, even if the possibilities of it actually happening are slim, seemingly remote. Even if Dream doesn’t like to dwell on those moments. He’d rather focus on the good things, what seems plausible. But George keeps telling him—one way or the other—that he should remain stable, feet tethered to the ground.

Just in case, he keeps saying. Dream’s starting to hate that phrase.

Realistically, there’s no reason why George shouldn’t be in America by February, at the very latest. What excuse could they possibly have to deny him?

Dream wonders sometimes. He’d like to know what goes through George’s mind when he lets this side out. This scared side, lacking confidence, so negative. He’s excited, of course. He wants to be happy—they all want it. So why can’t he allow himself to be hopeful, too?

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Dream says, trying to melt as much calmness and confidence as possible into his tone. He leans back on the chair and smiles again, just as pointlessly, hoping it’ll get to the boy waiting at the other end of the ocean. “We’ll get you here.”

He hears George try and fail to keep a scoff in. “But what if—”

“George,” he scolds, his frown deepening. His chest thunders, like a storm is brewing. He has no idea where it came from. He thought everything was okay, just a few minutes ago. Where did they— “Is there something I don’t know?”

George exhales into his mic, and the noise of static pierces into Dream’s head. It’s intrusive. He wants it out. George’s next words are flat, emotionless. “I just want us to consider every possibility. Just in case we have to wait more or— I dunno. I don’t want us to give up on it if it doesn’t—”

“It’ll work, George.” It has to. I need it to. It feels selfish, in a way. Some side of Dream believes he’s earned it. He thinks Sapnap would agree. “You’ll be home in no time.”

Home. Home is a dangerous word.

George told him he doesn’t like to call it home. It fucks with his head, he said. He wants to be here too badly, and he doesn’t want to think of it as home just yet, because it’d be stupid to feel homesick for a place he’s never been to before.

Dream thinks about it, sometimes. He gets it, but he doesn’t. He feels bad for bringing it up right now. It feels like a low blow, like he’s playing with George’s feelings in a moment of vulnerability. It feels like George handed him a gun by confessing that to him, trusting that he’d never aim it at him.

As soon as it leaves Dream’s lips, it feels like he fired it—a deadly bullet going straight to his best friend’s chest.

But, for some reason, George doesn’t even mention it this time.

“You know I want that as much as you.” His words reverberate in his throat like he’s trying to swallow them down. Dream’s always had a way of coaxing them out of him. “But if I’m not—”

“If you’re not—” Dream cuts him off, his tone even more silky. The side of him George gets is buried deep within him. George is his weakness, in that sense. He has no limits when it comes to him, no need to hide. “—then we’ll wait. However long it takes. I’m not giving up on you, George, even if it— drives me crazy.”

His next breath is shakier. Dream slow-dances with it. He wishes he could trap it in a jar and keep it as solid proof for the future—of what, he’s not sure. Of this call, of this conversation. Of George’s mere existence at this moment. Of his vulnerability, his honesty. Home. Home is you. “If it doesn’t— work out—”

“It will,” Dream insists.

It’s not what George needs.

“Dream,” he pleads, sounding broken. Dream doesn’t understand it. It’s a rare occurrence, him not understanding George. It’s the moments he fears the most, the ones when he feels lost, almost insufficient. The ones when he tries the hardest. “Just— Promise me.”

Just listen to me. Listen to my voice.

This isn’t about you.

“Of course, George,” Dream whispers, sinking in the emotion George let loose. He puts his whole heart into it, soaked in red, still beating. In, out. “I’ve told you already, I—” A lot of my future is your future. “However long it takes, I don’t care. We’ll get you here. Of course, that’s a promise.”

It’s George’s turn to breathe. As the world crumbles.

“Thank you.”

Dream stores another hug for him, for when he’s here.

For when he’s home.

Dream isn’t scared to say it. He’ll repeat it until it finally comes true, like an infallible prayer.

He only hopes there’s someone there to hear it.

“Dude, I’m tired of moving,” Sapnap groans, plunging into his fifth Floridian couch after he’s done getting settled into the new room. He brings newly-four Callie onto his lap, letting her drop her toys on the floor. She looks frazzled, too.

Their remaining boxes await by the front door. Dream thinks they’re almost taunting him, like daring him to not open them until he truly needs them. What’s the point, anyway? They might be moving again before they know it. It’s always like that. Always unexpected.

It’s Dream’s sixth apartment since he and Callie moved out of his parents’ house. Being a big creator is no joke, apparently. He keeps getting doxxed and swatted and harassed and it’s fucking tiring, because it’s not only Dream that’s in danger, but two crucial members of his family. Sometimes even more.

He and Sapnap have talked about it—internet security, the absolute hell Dream has to put up with ninety percent of the time, how he can’t seem to be able to catch a breath without someone jumping at his throat. He deals with it the best he can, sure, but he’s tired of it having such an impact on his day to day life—so unfortunate, so inconvenient.

Callie has no clue why she keeps getting new rooms, why she keeps having to get all her things in a box and move around quietly, in the middle of the night, to lower the chances of them being recognized. Dream is more scared each time. One day, he’s gonna go crazy.

It’s uncomfortable, too. He can barely help with the stuff because he’s hiding in the back of Sapnap’s car, with Patches alongside him. He feels like a clown every time it happens. And Sapnap hates it, too. Everyone hates it. It’s ridiculous.

But it’s necessary. If he wants to be safe, and keep his family safe, he has to do this. Which is why he’s decided he’s not face-revealing to the internet until after George gets home. It doesn’t seem right, anyway—to have all these strangers look at his face, know him better, stare closer, while his best friend sits in a lonely, sad apartment in London.

It’s not how things were supposed to go.

October felt long, but now it’s fading away. It’s George’s birthday tomorrow, and he still has no news from his lawyer on how the visa is coming along. He could potentially come for Christmas, but they’re still not certain that he’ll be able to stay. He’d have to go back eventually to get his visa, and even then, it might be a good couple of weeks until he’s actually able to be here permanently.

Dream imagines it sometimes, wonders how it’d go. He pictures George in Florida, within arm’s reach, looking at him from the end of the couch. George yawning as he walks into the kitchen, asking Dream for breakfast or a glass of juice. George screaming at the top of his lungs, laughing innocently, bickering with Sapnap about some nonsense, being a sore loser, or simply trying to rile him up. He pictures him calling out for Dream when that happens, almost begging for him to take his side and simp for him like he always does.

There’s so much domesticity in the way he imagines George that he doesn’t think he would be able to say goodbye indefinitely if he ever had it between his fingers. Dream thinks he’d be crushed if he could see that side of him, if he could learn it, be with it, and all too soon, it slipped away.

He’d be heartbroken.

“Earth to Dream?” Sapnap calls, looking up at him with a brow furrowed, like trying to peek into his head to know what he’s thinking. Dream is really glad he doesn’t have that ability. “Dude, are you here?”

Callie rubs her eyes, falling against Sapnap’s chest. He wraps his arms around her so she’s more comfortable, and lets her rest. They’ve grown really close these past few months. She calls him uncle. It warms Dream’s heart more than the unforgiving Floridian heat.

“Yeah.” Dream’s voice strains with misuse. His thoughts get to his chest way faster than he’d like them to. And there’s so many of them—invasive, colonizing. Some, even dangerous. He’s not sure how to get rid of them yet, how to stop them. “Sorry, I was— thinking.”

Sapnap peers. Obviously, he seems to be saying. Dream shrinks as he sits by his side, lips puckered, eyes bashful. “‘Bout what?”

Our best friend. How cute he’d look in the mornings, soft and yawny after leaving his bedroom to start the day with me.

George. I’m always thinking about George. I don’t think I can stop. I think I’m obsessed with him.

I actually have to tell you something.

“What you said,” is what Dream settles for. It’s not entirely a lie, definitely less risky than the full truth. It’s what he can muster the courage for, what he feels ready to share. “I think I’m gonna, uh— talk to the architects this week.”

Sapnap blinks once, twice. He leans back on the couch, and averts his gaze to think about it. He rubs Callie’s back mindlessly, lulling her to sleep after the long day they had. “For the Dream Team house?”

Dream shrugs noncommittally. “We’ve had the green light for a while. We could start building soon so it’s ready when— George gets here. And get settled there so we don’t have to, like, keep moving every two months.”

Soon. It’ll be really soon.

“Can you get it handled from here?” Sapnap asks, meeting his gaze again. He doesn’t look like Dream is crazy, and that’s a win in his book. “I mean— it’s pretty much all ready for—”

“It is,” Dream confirms. “I know it’s not what we planned but—”

Sapnap hums. “It’s not.”

“And you don’t think it’s too rushed?”

“No, you’re right.” Sapnap nods slowly, holding Callie so she doesn’t fall as he lifts his feet off the ground to lay them across Dream’s thighs. He leans back, too, placing his hands on Sapnap’s shins. “It’s more, like, convenient. I don’t think George would mind.”

“I’ll talk to him, too.” Dream cocks his head back, resting it on the couch. He didn’t realize how tired he was. His limbs ache, and his brain feels mushy, almost useless. He turns to his brother and speaks in a soft voice. “D’you wanna watch a movie?”

The corners of Sapnap’s lips curl up in a smile. “You wanna cuddle with the homies, Clay?”

“I actually do.” Dream chuckles, lifting his arm so Sapnap can tuck himself under it, careful not to startle his niece awake. Once he’s settled, Dream reaches out to grab his closed laptop from the coffee table.

He likes to think of the future. He likes to think of days where the four of them will be curled up in a bigger couch than this, watching children’s movies or their own videos after having dinner together. How, after being alone for so long, he’ll see his daughter happy, with her dad and her uncle and… George. He likes to imagine things will be good, and they’ll be a real family.

He’s not scared of the future since he has faith in it. He’s not scared of the wait since he put an expiration date on it.

Sapnap nuzzles into his side and Callie rests atop his chest and Dream can’t wait for the remaining piece to fall into place, to give him everything he’s ever wanted.

The buzz inside his chest grows—hot, electric, hopeful. It’s pleasant. He relaxes into the couch with a smile, and lets his brother pick the movie.

For the first time in a while, he feels at peace.

It’s always a Wednesday.

George
Denied

Dream hates Wednesdays.

He reads the word over and over again as the world turns to ash around him. It does so slowly, piece by piece. Oxygen is the first thing to leave. Its tenacious atoms rearrange themselves into something thicker, something poisonous. He feels it as it sticks to the inside of his lungs, isolating them from the rest of his body. His chest hurts, but he can’t focus on it. Not right now, as the world turns to ash around him.

He falls to the floor as his room burns down. The furniture is second. The fire takes over it in slow motion, leaving it scorched and useless. All his scars appear on the wood like, somehow, it’s a part of him. His skin is wrapped in flames too, but he can’t feel it. Not as his room burns down.

All the possible answers run through his mind as his throat closes up. Silent tears roll down his cheeks as a myriad of questions swirl around in his head. It feels like they’re screaming at him from within—deafening, merciless. He wants to scream back, to let them slip out through his mouth. But he can’t, not as his throat closes up.

The idea of George slips through his fingers like sand, like dust, like the ash surrounding him. It makes a pile on the floor—it makes it even harder for him to breathe, it fuels the fire, it feeds the tornado that’s Dream’s head. He can almost see the images reflected in each particle, that hopeful idea of the future Dream’s been building inside his mind. Brick by brick, like a house. Like their house.

He doesn’t know where to go from here.

Go up. You’ve done it before.

His sense of direction is ruined.

There’s no up, no down. There’s only this—emptiness, sadness, destruction.

There’s only ash, and he can’t hold onto it.

He can only let it go.

We’re us.

Dream fears the day it stops being enough.

[Track: Antes Que el Mundo Se Acabe - Residente]

“I’m exhausted,” is the first thing George says.

The call has been active for two hours. Dream’s been trying to get him to speak, to eat, to get out of bed. This is the first sign of him being alive on the other side of the line—this, and the choked out sobs muffled into his pillow, traveling across the stupid Atlantic alongside static and heart-rending notes.

In five years of friendship, Dream has never felt such a physical need to hold George. It might be due to how impossible it feels right now, in the dawn of what seems to be a really long, really tiring period in their lives. It might be the burning feeling that haunts his brain, or the crave for contact that’s becoming more and more apparent the longer this ordeal stretches out.

He wishes he could teleport by George’s side. He doesn’t even care about goodbyes anymore, he doesn’t care about permanency, he only cares about him. He needs George to know he’s real, that he’s here, and he’d never think of leaving.

George doesn’t cry often. George never cries, is more fitting. And yet, Dream’s been hearing him choke in his own sadness for the longest two hours of his entire life. He feels his own tears dry around his eyes, and doesn’t remember when or how he managed to stop. But his heart agonizes every time George starts again, sounding rotten and broken, drowning in sorrow.

Hope seems artificial. It’s just as unreachable as George. It’s hiding in some dark place in Britain, slipping through his fingers, haunting him in the middle of the night. It’s invisible, it’s a joke, it’s fake. And its illusion is the most dangerous thing Dream’s ever had to deal with.

“D’you wanna talk?” Dream asks, his own voice hurting just as much as his heart, laced in something so raw, so empty. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before. It’s a different kind of pain, one he didn’t know until today. He was so, so lucky to not know it. “We don’t have to, but—”

“No,” George cuts him off, sharp like his text, like his silence, like everything he turned into today. Thorns are scattered all over his tone, burying themselves into Dream’s ear, his brain, his chest. God, he wants to hold him. “‘M tired.”

Dream sighs heavily, turning in his bed. The sheets stick to the sweat coating his skin. He’s uncomfortable, but there’s no way he can muster the strength to do something about it. Keeping his eyes from spilling blue is hard enough. “You should rest.”

“What for?” George asks, venom seeping into his tone and dripping down Dream’s chin as it’s force-fed to him. Their pain explodes in their words, in their tongues, and seems to commit to them. “I can’t, Dream, I—” Another sob threatens to cut him off. George swallows it.

Dream rubs his chest with his hand. He’s harsh with it, like he could wipe off everything he’s feeling, like he could make it vanish with his bare palms. He’s quick to realize that he can’t. He presses his eyes shut, and his brain echoes George’s text for the millionth time.

Denied, denied, denied.

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Dream mumbles, burying the side of his face into his cold pillow. He takes a deep breath, and then one more. He hears George when he begins to cry again. He would offer his shoulder, his chest—he would offer his entire heart, if it was of any help. But this is new territory. He doesn’t know how to handle George like this. “You can apply again, or—”

George scoffs. It’s even worse than the tears. “Don’t even.”

Dream’s throat closes up around his next words. “It’s not all lost, George. I’m sure that if you apply again—”

“You’re sure?” he echoes, aiming for Dream’s jugular. “How can you be sure of anything, Dream? What could you possibly know—”

“Hey,” Dream cuts him off, swallowing down a whimper, face screwed in pain and frustration. “Don’t take it out on me, George. This hurts me as much as it—”

“No, the fuck it doesn’t.” The words flow like ice down Dream’s spine, and the air stills around him. He thinks he’s about to be sick. His skin feels like it’s on fire and his stomach turns and turns and turns, dizzying like a tornado.

He doesn’t know from where he gets the strength to answer. “You’re already too far,” Dream says, like it’s not fucking palpable. Like it’s not a monster looming above their heads. But he needs to establish it, he can’t walk around it. “Please, George, don’t push me even farther away. I don’t think I can take it.”

George breathes evenly now. Dream isn’t naïve enough to believe he’s done shedding tears. He hears him gasp for air a few times, he hears the choked out sounds getting caught in his throat, like warning him to remain silent. George doesn’t pay them any mind. “At least you have Sapnap.”

Dream’s heart was shattered already, so he can’t even begin to explain what the words do to him. He feels it disintegrate inside his chest, thaw and drip down his body, soaking his bones in frozen feelings, turning them blue. The only thing he knows is that there’s no way it’s still beating. There’s no way he’s the same.

“That’s unfair, George.” He speaks softly, trying his best to be the sane one of the two, at least from the lips out. George is more hurt than he’s ever been his entire life—it doesn’t take a genius to realize. Dream is patient. Parenthood has given him that ability. George needs to be grounded. “You know damn well that if I could do anything to have you here, I would’ve done it already.”

George whimpers—shattering even more. His broken pieces make a sound when they hit the floor. The echo reverberates inside Dream’s head. “That doesn’t mean—”

“I wish it was me in your place,” Dream says without thinking, and quickly finds that he means it. He’d give his soul away, if only to ease the burden George carries. He simply can’t—he can’t witness someone he cares about so much as he’s beaten up over and over and over again by things beyond his control. “I wish— I wish Nick could be with you instead. And I wish it was me— the one who has to wait. I don’t want it to be you, I want— It should be me.”

It’s silent after that. Dream’s brain-to-mouth filter is long gone. He felt all the emotions as they rolled down his tongue, but he didn’t have the strength to stop them. They left with his words, and they aren’t coming back. They’re George’s to keep.

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” George replies. The rustle he hears lets him know he’s shifting in bed. When he speaks again, his voice sounds deeper than before. “It’s lonely here, Dream. You’d hate it.”

Dream shifts in bed too, laying face-down. He feels the wrinkles of the fabric against his cheek, and already knows they’re gonna leave a mark. He doesn’t mind. What’s one more scar on his already shattered body? “It can’t be worse than hearing you like this.”

The cold night has settled over them already. The stars seem messier than ever. They don’t write promises anymore, but rather depict the chaos their lives have become in the span of a few hours.

Dream wonders how it’s even possible for hell to break loose so quickly—like it was waiting for the perfect moment to attack, to send everything to shit.

Just like that.

Poof.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” George asks him, tired. The urgency in his voice makes it sound like a desperate plea—like he needs Dream to give him an actual answer to his question.

Dream worries nothing he says will heal the wound that quickly. He still gives it his best shot. “I don’t know,” he admits, looking up at the dark ceiling. “But you made me promise I wouldn’t give up on you. So I won’t rest until you’re home.”

George groans. “I told you not to—”

“I won’t apologize!” Dream says, raising his voice just a little bit. He presses his eyes shut right after, and grips his empty chest tightly, hands shaking. “It is your home, George. You belong here, not in that fucking apartment—”

“I know, you fucking idiot!” George yells, and he’s ugly crying again. The same charged tears roll down Dream’s cheeks, unannounced. “You think I don’t know that? I’m just so fucking done, Dream. Each day gets fucking worse and I just— I can’t keep losing this anymore. Not when I don’t even know what it feels like to have it.”

Dream breathes. He’s not sure how. He gapes—once, twice, three times. He holds onto the little air he manages to guide to his lungs, and lets his eyes fall shut to the feeling. His brain screams words at him—words of hate, words of hope, broken confessions and empty promises.

But for the first time in his life, he’s rendered completely speechless.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he didn’t know something about George. He wishes he could bury this side of him that’s being brought out, that he could hide it alongside his own feelings and never see it again.

He wants his best friend. He wants to be blinded by his smile and to sink in his laugh and to whisper sweet words at him well into the night, when they’re too sleep-deprived to remember to talk about it the next morning.

He wants him, and not this empty shell of a man that’s sitting in London, alone and absolutely hopeless, like a stray ghost unable to find his way back to the sky.

Dream knows what George means. He sees all the images his own brain had made up as they slip through his fingers and vanish into existence before even reaching the floor. He sees his perfect future disappear before his eyes, and it gets increasingly harder to burn the memory to the inside of his eyelids.

He thinks of his family and remembers the way it crumbles.

It’s all made-up. It’s all fake.

Distance is lonely.

“However long it takes,” Dream whispers, a ghost of his previous words, like if he says it enough times, he’s going to speak it into existence. “This will always be yours, George. Florida will always be yours. Our house, our future… me.”

George gasps, and Dream swallows. His ribcage shrinks, squeezing everything within. He’s not sure what he just admitted to, but he knows he can’t take it back. He knows he doesn’t want to. “Dream—”

“You will always have a home here, George,” Dream rushes to say, letting his lashes drown in the hot tears he’s still shedding. He feels his own heartbeat again. He can’t deny it’s there—racing inside of him. Like it was suddenly shocked back to life. “Whether you call it that or not.”

Their pain is far from leaving, but the storm eases down. The night is quiet as the stars dance to a slow beat, if only for a moment. Calm and faith get lost down a long, dark hallway, but it’s not all lost.

It can’t be.

Dream promised.

George doesn’t talk again, but he doesn’t cry, either. He manages to fall asleep. The sound of his even breathing—of fake, made-up peace—coaxes Dream into doing the same.

We’re us. It’ll always be enough.

DREAM @dreamsecretclub
dteam Christmas won’t be happening unfortunately, thought I’d say before that way Christmas can still be great :)

totally out of our control unfortunately, can’t wait for the future still :)) 2022 incoming ❤️❤️

[Track: Wake Me Up (Acoustic) - Lukas Larsson, Viktor Rosberg]

Dream’s phone heaves with his chest as he breathes slowly, almost taunting his lungs with a treat they’re not deserving of. His eyes are trained on the ceiling, but the words he typed are splattered all across the white paint, swimming around in his irises and reflecting in his vision like blinding headlights.

Even when he lets his lids fall shut, he can still see them. They’re burnt onto his skin, every last inch of it, and he can’t run away from them, no matter how hard he tries. They’re a part of him now—he can’t make them leave, he can’t make them vanish.

I’ve never said anything about my sexuality and it’s simply just because I don’t really know.

Something ill-intended bangs its head against his stomach. It’s probably that stupid monster, agonizing and drowning in Dream’s bravery, feeling its chest as it’s ripped to shreds. Dream can’t help but feel hurt by it, too. He doesn’t have much willpower left after fighting it for so long.

He won, though, and that’s what matters.

But victory feels bitter. It feels dishonest, conditional.

I’m comfortable with who I am.

It laughs. No, you’re not.

Dream presses his eyes shut when he feels them prickle with idle tears. The damage is already done, regardless of how he feels about it. Hesitancy isn’t a privilege he can grant himself; it has no place in his rushed life, in the haze enveloping him.

It’s hard to be who he is. One wrong turn can burn things to the ground, just like that. He’s standing in silence under judgmental spotlights, he always is—twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. And he can’t really complain, can he? That would only make things worse.

Dream can’t bear to be any worse.

If I was to say anything about my sexuality I’d be pressuring myself into making a “decision”, he typed, like the pressure isn’t there already, driving him crazy for days on end, blaring sirens inside his head so he’ll say something.

It’s been especially annoying for the past weeks, like these people picked the worst possible moment to scrutinize him in even more detail, to ask questions he doesn’t even have the answer to. He’s not above sharing personal facts about his life as long as they don’t put anyone in danger, but God, does he wish everyone could shut up for just one second.

Just so he can breathe.

I think sometimes it takes time and life experience to actually know exactly where you sit.

Dream hates how impulsive he is. He’s an expert at overthinking his every move, at second-guessing even the smallest of actions, so it’s no surprise that he feels like he’s choking right about now. He squirms in the bed and turns to lay on his side, curling into a ball.

His stomach really hurts. His chest, too. But his head is taking it the worst.

He hears a knock on his door, and a click as it opens ajar. “Hey, bro,” Sapnap’s soft voice greets, drowning out some of the noise. “I brought Patchy. Can I come in?”

Dream’s lips curl up ever so slightly, against his will. It’s bittersweet. An ugly feeling churns under his skin—the unavoidable guilt that comes with knowing the people who care about him are worried for his well-being. He can’t help it. It’s always like this.

“Sure,” he mumbles into the pillow, not even bothering to open his eyes. He feels the mattress sag by his side when Sapnap sits, and the warmth of his cat curling next to his arm.

Sapnap’s hand lands on Dream’s shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. “How are you feeling?”

Did you open Twitter? Is that why you’re here?

“I’m okay.” What do you think of me? “Just— tired.”

Sapnap sighs, cocking his head to the side as he looks at his brother. Dream peeks once, and closes his eyes again. He can’t look at Sapnap right now—not without feeling like he’s tricking him, like he’s playing a part. He’s terrified his brother will see right through his eyes, find this broken, sad, disgusted side of him. He’s terrified he will hate it.

Sapnap clears his throat, and the motion of his hand feels even softer. “You know you don’t have to be okay, right?” he asks, words hushed and secretive, in a way. They fight the stray ghosts haunting Dream’s mind, and the blaring noise seems to ease down. “‘M here if you just— wanna talk.”

Dream’s body feels like a battlefield. These two sides of him keep arguing with each other, and their screams don’t let him think. It’s hard to handle, almost impossible to tune out. He’s too nosy—he’d like to know what they’re saying. He wants to know what his own subconscious thinks of him.

He turns until he’s on his back, facing the lifeless ceiling. He opens his eyes and takes a deep breath, digging the back of his head further into the pillow. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

My sexuality is ambiguous because it’s also sort of ambiguous to me, and I think that’s okay.

No, it’s not okay. You’re being ridiculous.

Yes, it is. It is. It is, it is, it is…

Sapnap taps his shoulder once, catching his attention. When Dream looks, he arches his brows and nods at the reduced space beside him. Without a second thought, Dream moves to the side, and Sapnap lays down, mirroring his defeated position. Patches already sleeps soundly between them.

“You like men?” Sapnap asks, direct, visceral. It sounds easier than it seems when it falls from his lips, so unapologetically. Dream wishes it could ring like that inside his own head, too.

He shrugs noncommittally, well aware that his brother will see right through it. “I’m— not sure. I think. Maybe.”

“Okay,” he nods, still avoiding Dream’s eyes, like he knows he can’t bare his soul like that while having this conversation. Dream appreciates the reading. “Does that, like— I dunno, scare you?”

Dream’s heart picks up inside his chest. He wasn’t expecting to have this conversation today—with Sapnap, of all people. For months, it’s been just him and his mirror, discussing in silence, letting out broken secrets that fell on deaf ears. It feels odd to have someone actually talk back to him, asking him things that will force him to order his train of thought.

It might be useful, though. It might be nice.

“A little bit,” Dream admits, closing his eyes again. He’s much more comfortable like this, overcome by his brother and daughter’s warmth, sitting in the silence, in the darkness, in the familiarity of his bedroom. “I never— I guess I just never thought I would—”

“Because of your family?” Sapnap cuts him off, stealing the words from his tongue. Dream nods minutely. His brother catches the motion from the corner of his eye, and takes it as an invitation to keep speaking. “You know that has nothing to do with—”

“I know,” Dream mutters. “Of course, I know, but— Yeah, I guess I never had the space or whatever to actually… I don’t know, consider it, I guess.”

Sapnap hums in understanding, bringing his hands up and tangling his fingers on his own chest. They breathe in tandem, sitting in the silence that settles around them. It feels like being covered in wrapping paper. It feels safe—like he could fall, and he wouldn’t shatter to pieces.

Sapnap turns his way for a split second, and takes a steadying breath before asking, “did something happen that— Y’know, made you consider—”

Dream’s breath hitches. He’s definitely not ready for that conversation. “Uh— Not— that I can think of. I’ve been, uh— I’ve been thinking about it for a while, though. But with Callie and the pandemic and everything I just— Yeah, I guess I couldn’t, like, uh— Pay attention to it? Yeah…”

“That makes sense,” Sapnap nods, even though he doesn’t really know, as far as Dream is aware. “I know I can’t be of much help, but—”

“No, you are,” Dream says earnestly, elbowing him lightly. He catches a soft smile from his peripheral. “Just— By listening you’re being really helpful. A lot, actually, I— I guess I just needed to let it out.”

Sapnap laughs softly, with no bite. “And clearly, Reddit was the best place to do it.”

Dream can’t help but laugh, too, even if it’s not really funny. Sometimes, that’s what it’s all about. Letting it out. Especially the things you can’t change. “Okay, listen—”

His brother laughs again, squeezing Dream’s arm gently, reassuringly. Dream takes a deep breath, sinking into the mattress. He feels way more relaxed than he did a few minutes ago. Sapnap clears his throat when the fleeting amusement dies out, giving Dream a cautious look. “George was really worried, too, you know? You should call him.”

He chews nervously on his bottom lip, starting to pick at his cuticles. He takes measured breaths, gaze jumping around the room like he’s looking for an exit, an escape. But at the same time, he knows he’s safe here. He’s okay here. “He hasn’t texted me.”

Sapnap lets his own guard down. “You know how he is.” He shrugs, mirroring his position again, staring at the ceiling. “That little bitch.”

Dream can’t help the smile that creeps onto his lips. “Yeah,” he mumbles, and sighs deeply, slowly. You’re safe here. “We haven’t, uh— been talking a lot. Since— You know. The visa thing. He was really—”

“I know,” Sapnap cuts him off, underlying hurt laced with his words. There’s a bite in them that Dream hadn’t heard in a while. It makes him turn to look at him, but for once, Sapnap stays still. “He’s been talking to me. It’s like he’s— Scared. I don’t know.”

“He is,” Dream confirms, the faint echo of his and George’s conversation replaying in his head, killing him softly. He wishes he could erase that memory from his mind, from existence. He wishes he’d never had to live it. “He was, uh— Sad, I guess. Disappointed. For a second there, I thought—”

Sapnap turns his head. Their eyes meet for the first time in what feels like ages. There’s something burning in both of them, buried in soft green, hidden behind masks. Dream realizes Sapnap has secrets, too. He’s overcome with an urge to hug him. “You thought—” Sapnap drawls out, careful, “—what?”

“I thought he was giving up.” The look in his brother’s eyes murders something deep within him. The single year age-gap between them feels abysmal on days like this. Sapnap’s had to go through way less than Dream. Sapnap didn’t have to become an adult so quickly. “But— it was stupid. We’ll get through it, we— always do.”

He remains quiet. Dream catches the movement of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. It’s not long until he’s turning back towards the ceiling, and letting go of a shallow, empty breath. “Yeah,” he mumbles. Dream isn’t sure who it was aimed towards. “Just talk to him.”

“I will,” Dream promises, one more time. “I’ll call him tonight.”

Sapnap seems to relax after that. Dream wonders what’s going on inside his head.

He hates that he has no way of knowing.

Dream wishes George a merry Christmas when he calls.

It’s snowing in Britain. George was supposed to go to his parents’ house in Brighton, but they closed the roads due to the relentless storm. So he’s alone now. He pretends he’s okay with it.

They all do.

Dream’s mom and sister visit for New Year’s.

The holiday season has never felt so bitter. Ever since Sapnap’s warning, Dream and George have been on call a ludicrous amount of hours a day. They just exist in silence, busying themselves with solo projects that can tamper with the noise their brains keep making.

Dream isn’t sure where to go from here. It feels like they’re in a boat in the middle of the ocean—no stars, no compass, nothing to guide them through the night. But they’re still trying their best to find their way to each other. They’re still trying to find True North.

It feels stale, this state they’re in. Like it’s rotting slowly, like it will get really bad, really soon. There’s not much they can do to help it—not much but pretend that it’s not happening, that they’ll get used to it. If they sit here long enough, it will shape itself to fit them better, to stop squeezing them like this.

Dream’s heart feels imprisoned. Every time he so much as opens his mouth, he worries he’ll let out something he’s not supposed to. So when they do talk, it’s about work. Videos, editing, streams. Manhunt, the DSMP, challenges.

It’s safe. A different kind. A worse kind.

George seems to be better. He laughs again, he’s more productive, he sleeps more. He seems… almost normal. Dream would be calm if he didn’t find it so jarring. He can’t shake this feeling that there’s something below the surface, something dark that he can’t quite see.

George has secrets, too. The more he hides, the more unreachable he feels to Dream, one of the people who care about him the most. One of the people who love him the most, who know him best.

It might be the dad in him. It might be that constant need to protect, to make people feel better, feel happier. It might be an instinct that he’s subconsciously ignoring.

Only time will tell.

He hopes it proves him wrong.

dream @dreamwastaken
.@GeorgeNotFound you’ve had such a big impact on my life I don’t even know where to start. helping me code my videos sometimes, helping with random ideas within videos, encouraging me and always being the light in the room to make things even just a little bit brighter.

dream @dreamwastaken
you took a chance on me out of university, making thumbnails and coding for scraps because we wanted to make it big and I’m proud to say that we did it and I’ll have an appreciation for you for the rest of my life because of your friendship, kindness, and love you’ve shown me.

dream @dreamwastaken
love you man. idc if you’re never serious or if we joke around a lot, you have a place in my heart and I’m looking forward to finally meeting you and taking our next step in content creation and friendship. LOVE U

[Track: Lost Boy - Ruth B.]

It’s late when George calls. Late in Florida, late in London. Dream isn’t sure what he’s doing awake himself, but here he is, ready to pick up as soon as his best friend’s name flashes on his phone screen.

It thunders outside. It’s about to rain.

“Hey,” Dream greets in a hushed tone, a broken voice, appropriate for the ungodly hours. “You okay?”

George sniffles. “I don’t think so.”

Dream’s back stiffens. “What’s wrong?” he asks, trying his best to keep his fear at bay. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m—” George starts, cutting himself off with a whimper. Dream buries his nails into his palms when he hears it. It feels like the onset of something dreadful. “I don’t know, Dream, I’m— I’m just so tired.”

There’s something foreign seeping into George’s tone, something unwelcome. It tampers with that sweetness that’s so characteristic of him until it’s barely even noticeable.

Dream tightens his grip on the phone. His chest aches, and George’s evident pain becomes his own. His fear could reach England, if he tried hard enough. “I don’t understand, George.” He speaks through gritted teeth, biting the words.

“Can you, uh—” he tries again. His breathing picks up. It brings back some terrible memories in Dream’s head. “Can you get Sapnap?”

A sharp frown sneaks onto Dream’s lips before he’s on his feet, moving on impulse, almost mechanically. He rushes to his brother’s room with his frail heart beating hard inside his chest, pounding in his ears. His stomach churns with an ill feeling, one he doesn’t claim.

He doesn’t stop to think about it before barging into Sapnap’s bedroom.

He shakes him awake with no regard for the consequences. Sapnap bolts upright, rubbing his eyes and groaning low in complaint. “What the fuck—”

“George needs you,” Dream tells him, sitting on the bed and handing Sapnap the phone. His brother seems just as surprised and confused as Dream feels by the sudden requirement. Dream hates that it soothes his churning stomach. He hates that his messed up brain is choosing to give it attention.

Sapnap clears his throat futilely, and speaks into the phone as softly as he can manage. “What’s up, George?” he asks as Dream swallows. He’s being careful with George, like he also thinks he’s fragile.

George seems to shift in bed. “Did Dream leave?”

Pain shoots through Dream’s spine to the question. It sinks deep, deep, deep into his chest, making him limp, making him useless. Gravity weighs on his shoulders, along with everything else he’s been carrying.

“No,” Sapnap says, wrapping fingers around his brother’s wrists when he sees the tears welling up in lifeless green eyes. “Do you— want him to?”

“No,” George says quickly, choking in a half-sob. Oh. “No, I— I just thought he might, but—”

“‘M here,” Dream forces out through the lump in his throat, swallowing down his selfishness, his green thoughts. He shuffles in place, and Sapnap pulls at his arm to bring him closer. “‘M not leaving. What happened, George?”

He takes a steadying breath, but even from this distance, Dream can tell it didn’t serve its purpose. “I think I’m depressed.”

Dream and Sapnap lock eyes immediately. The air around them stills as a loud thunder breaks the electric quietness. Raindrops begin to hit Sapnap’s bedroom window almost violently, and meander down tauntingly, like threatening to break in.

The two boys hold a conversation—silently, telepathically. George simply waits.

It’s Dream who answers first, speaking for the both of them. “What— What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I— I’m just not doing anything,” he tells them, forcing Dream’s eyes shut. The past two months loop in his head, ghosts and demons pulling at the strings of his heart, growing even more insistent since George’s visa was denied. Dream should’ve seen it coming. Dream should’ve listened. “I just wanna be in America, I— It’s so lonely here.”

Sapnap’s gaze falls. Dream sees words stuck in his throat, and feels his own close up around empty promises that are no longer soothing, but rather more discouraging. Dream is tired, too. So, so fucking tired. “I’m so sorry, George,” he whispers, for lack of anything else. “I know it’s—”

“No, you don’t.” He says it in a low voice, like it escaped his mouth against his will. It’s sharp, it shoots to kill. Dream tries his best to not let it get to him, but he understands. He knows what George means. “I’m sorry,” he backtracks. It’s pointless, anyway. “I’m sorry, I—”

“‘Ts fine.” Sapnap shakes his arm lightly to catch his attention. When Dream looks back at him, he flashes a gesture that’s supposed to be reassuring. He pulls again, and Dream sits by his side, leaning back on the headboard.

George sniffles again, shifts again. He’s restless, uncomfortable. “No, you— You do know,” he mumbles apologetically, almost tumbling on the words.

Dream shakes his head, even though George can’t see him. “‘S not the same,” he tells him, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder for support. Sapnap leans on his crown, and holds the phone tighter, like George will slip away if he doesn’t.

“Is there anything we can do, George?” Sapnap asks, using his free hand to fiddle with the cord of his sweats. Dream scoots closer, seeking comfort in his brother’s warmth. Fuck, how he wishes George could have him, too. How he wishes…

Dream clears his throat, and a question tumbles out before he can even process it. “What if Nick went to London for a few days?” he suggests, and feels Sapnap’s jerk of surprise by his side. “Would that help?”

Sapnap shifts to look at Dream, confusion laced with his gentle features. He doesn’t look adamant, it’s just sheer bewilderment. Dream’s eyes are pleading. He doesn’t know that he’ll be able to take this much longer.

“I couldn’t—” George chokes out, taken aback by the sudden suggestion. “I can’t ask him to do that, I—”

Dream cuts him off. “But would it help?”

“George, I would renew my passport tomorrow if you say yes,” Sapnap chimes in, avoiding Dream’s gaze and burning holes into the phone. On the other side, George holds his breath in a poor attempt at controlling it.

He gapes. Dream can hear it. He does so once, twice, before speaking again. “It’s not what we planned,” he mumbles, and Dream’s heart shatters.

“Who cares about what we planned?” Dream asks, a frown cracking his lips in half. Sapnap turns towards him again, eyebrows knit, but Dream can’t hear him over the sound of his agonizing heart. “George, I would go to London myself if—”

“No,” George says immediately, shaking his head so intently it’s also audible through the phone. Dream grits his teeth, not knowing what to do with it. “No, Dream, you—” His speech gets stuck in his throat again. He’s never fought like this—not his own words, his own thoughts. Dream realizes there’s a lot he doesn’t know about his best friend. “I can’t.”

Dream sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and buries his nose in Sapnap’s arm. His brother’s hand falls on his thigh, and shakes it softly in support. “Why not?”

George doesn’t hesitate, but his voice still comes out strained. “You know why.”

The rain picks up outside. Sapnap’s hand stiffens.

Dream has no idea why.

Dream knows why.

“Can, uh—” he starts, then clears his throat, bringing his knees closer to his chest. His brother’s hand falls, but his presence remains warm. There are bugs in the room—flying around, crowding, threatening. They feel like Dream’s hidden thoughts, slipping from his mind. “Can Nick go?” At least goes unsaid. It’s evident in the urgency Dream carries, in the pleading tone.

George coughs and shifts. His phone makes a sound when it’s dropped onto the mattress. “I don’t wanna make a big deal—”

“Bullshit,” Sapnap cuts him off, the gentle tone melting from his icy words. “Stop thinking you could ever be an inconvenience to us. We’re going through a lot already.”

Dream looks up at him and sheds his first tear. Out of love, out of anger, out of frustration. His insides are a tornado of emotions. He’s not sure which one’s screaming louder.

George’s dams feeble. “Sapnap, you know—”

“We’ve talked about this, George,” he tells him, leaning onto Dream. He’s the one who needs support right now, and so Dream provides. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done without Sapnap these past few months. He would’ve crumbled. He’d be like George. “We’re not giving up.”

Dream’s own words resonate in the room, resonate with Sapnap’s. He knows George is important to him as well, but he can’t help but want to thank him for being there, too. He wants to thank him for taking care of him he cherishes so much, for being as tender as Dream himself.

He can’t help but wrap an arm around Sapnap’s middle, already starting to say goodbye.

He’ll be in London soon.

There’s someone who needs him more than Dream.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Dream opens his eyes a few minutes before midnight.

In. Out. In. Out.

Sapnap’s footsteps resonate across the hallway. Callie rests by her dad’s side, still sound asleep.

“Have you seen my black hoodie?” he asks, peeking into the room.

Dream doesn’t move. He answers in a shallow voice. “Couch.”

Sapnap leaves without another word.

In. Out. For some reason, the air isn’t going through.

The infamous clock is being loud again. Too fucking loud. Each noise pierces Dream’s head, burying itself deep into his core, cutting through his thoughts. Not a single one remains unharmed.

He wishes he could turn his brain off with a button. He’s been wanting it for a while, actually, but he hasn’t figured out how yet.

He can’t go back to sleep. He’s hungry, but not enough to get up and eat. He can’t call George. Sapnap doesn’t want help. It’s far past Callie’s bedtime.

His brother hasn’t left yet, but Dream is already alone.

He turns to pick up his phone from the bedside table and looks at the time like it will go by faster, slower. He puts it back down and turns back towards the ceiling.

His hands heave on his stomach as he makes a concerted effort to breathe.

He’s never been too good at it. Not in situations like this.

Sapnap peeks in again, asking for another piece of clothing, for another trinket, for something else he’s missing.

Time consumes itself as Dream gets stuck in a time loop.

Over and over and over again.

Tick. Tock. In. Out.

[Track: the author - Luz]

Dream watches the sunrise. He doesn’t do it in the spirit of simply watching the sunrise—he just happens to be awake, gaze lost into the horizon, colorful and lively through his bedroom window.

The first sun rays reflect on the remaining raindrops coating the glass, creating a prismatic image on the wood of his desk, like that of a mirrorball. Dream’s long fingers toy with the shower of lights, covering and uncovering stray dots, lacing his digits in unfamiliar brightness.

George’s rhythmic breathing lulls him to peacefulness. The boat they’re in is moving, but they don’t know what the destination is. They don’t know where they’ll end.

Dream grabs the phone and goes back to bed. Patches crawls onto his lap when he lays down, aware that she can’t be in her human form but wanting to provide warmth and comfort nonetheless. Dream doesn’t know that he’ll be able to do this if he didn’t have her.

He pets her back and looks at the screen, wishing he could muster the courage to ask George to turn his camera on. He wants to see him, no matter how he looks. Even after being told that he hasn’t properly slept or showered in days, that his eye bags have become more prominent.

I’m a mess, George’s voice echoes.

Dream doesn’t mind the mess. How could he, when George took him in before Dream even had time to fix himself? How could he not extend the same courtesy?

He sighs deeply, and feels the shards in his throat as they move around and scratch his vocal cords. For all the words the English language counts with, he can’t bring himself to utter any right now.

Sapnap’s plane took off three hours ago, which means he still has six more to go.

Dream offered to keep George company.

How could he not?

Everyone is alone now. All three of them.

Half the Sun is already visible in the sky. It’s anticlimactic—like two halves of different pictures were taped together, but they don’t really fit. They don’t really make a whole.

“Why didn’t you want me to go?” Dream finds himself asking, sounding genuinely curious, less bitter than he feels. “I just wanna know. Not— judging you or anything.”

“Why would you judge me?” is the first thing George asks, his voice straining with misuse. It’s rhetorical. Dream knows it is, but he can’t help but want to answer either way. “It’s nothing, Dream. Just— forget about it.”

Dream swallows harshly. Patches lays her head on his abdomen, nuzzling into the fabric of his hoodie. Dream leans back further into the pillows behind him. “I would’ve done it. You know I would’ve—”

“Why didn’t I go visit you in America, Dream?” George asks. He sounds frazzled. He sighs deeply, and Dream’s stomach sinks. “Why didn’t I go before getting my visa?”

Dream lets his eyes fall shut. “‘Cause you can’t stay.”

“I can’t say goodbye,” George corrects him, his voice cracking on the last word. “I can’t be there for just two weeks and then come back here and be alone again.”

Dream feels bad when he doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. “But, like— I understand that,” he tells him, continuing to pet Patches when she purrs against his stomach. “But why didn’t you want me to go there?”

“You haven’t even face-revealed,” he mumbles noncommittally.

Dream sees right through it, scoffing bitterly in response. “You know I would’ve done it anyway, George. I don’t care about that. I just wanted—”

“What did you want?” he snaps, raising his voice. Dream shrinks in place. All too quickly, he seems to backtrack, falling back into pretend gentleness. “I really don’t wanna spell it out for you, Dream.”

Dream hates fighting with George. It rarely happens, anyway, but they’re both way too stubborn for anything good to come out of it. George can’t talk about his feelings, and Dream needs every conversation to be as blunt and clear as possible.

They’re incompatible in that way. Only in that way.

They try their best though, but sometimes, it simply can’t be done.

“Sorry,” Dream whispers, letting go of a deep breath. He sees it merge with the air and slip through the window, into the horizon. The Sun is fully up now. A light breeze crawls through, and the insistent light hurts Dream’s eyes. “I don’t wanna fight with you.”

George sighs again.

And right then, a broken sob cuts through the bubble enveloping them.

Dream wants to bang his head against a wall.

Guilt tugs at his organs, and isolates his heart from his brain. “Please, don’t cry.”

“Saying goodbye to Sapnap will be hard enough, Dream,” George continues of his own volition. Dream doesn’t know whether to tell him that he doesn’t have to, or keep his mouth shut to give him the space to speak. He settles for the latter. “But you, I— I just couldn’t’ve done it.”

Dream presses his eyes shut, and wishes he could turn back time and never ask the question that started this. He wishes George would stop crying. He wishes he didn’t feel like doing the same himself. “George, I—”

“I haven’t even seen your face, Dream, and I already—” he cuts himself off again with a shallow gasp. The rest of his sentence gets lost in space. Dream knows he’ll never hear it. He doesn’t think he can handle it, anyway. “I can’t just be in the same apartment as you for days and then go back to this, I— I genuinely think it would kill me.”

Dream bolts upright again and rushes to close the curtains.

The light gets to him anyway, in the form of a million fireflies. They burn his skin, they make him prickle, ache, suffer. He wants them gone. He needs them gone.

He sits at the edge of the bed and leaves his phone by his side before hiding his face in his hands. He feels exposed regardless, seen, even though George is the one dripping with honesty. Dream’s chest rumbles and Patches swats his arm, demanding attention.

It’s a good thing Dream doesn’t mind the mess.

He fucking lives for it.

“You’re right,” he chokes out, muffled into his own palms. He tries his best to not let his pain show, to keep his tears far from his words. He’s not sure he’s successful. “I think it would kill me, too.”

George inhales like he’s about to say something, but cuts himself off at the last second.

Dream knows what it was.

You don’t understand, Dream. You don’t know what I mean.

Maybe he finally realized that yes, he does.

He does, and it burns like hell, but he’s not alone.

He’s not alone.

We’re us. Maybe in more ways than one.

Chapter Text

[Track: Satellite - Khalid]

Dream has known George for years.

Sometimes, he thinks he made sure to know him in all the ways a person can know another from miles away. In the good and the bad, in the happiness and the loneliness, in the silences and the blaring noise. He’s known George in their youth, known him as he grew, as he learned how to rid himself of his fears and jump head first into his hopes and dreams.

He’s known sleep-talking George, drunk George, stressed George, excited George. He’s known him in ways that could be considered too intimate for the type of relationship they have. He doesn’t think there’s anyone he knows better, and no one who knows him better than George does.

Like change, George has been a constant in Dream’s life. He’s been his rock, a big part of his support system, the one to provide him with warmth and safety and a lot of his sturdy confidence. A lot of things he has—a lot of things he is—simply wouldn’t have been possible, had George not become friends with him all those years ago.

And yet today, on a random Saturday evening, Dream can’t help but realize how much more there is to George. As he stares at his monitor, the last few sun rays falling gracefully on his desk through the window, Dream cocks his head and allows himself to look.

He looks at the pink apples of George’s cheeks as he laughs loudly, musically, like he always hears him do on late night VCs and challenging videos. He looks at the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes when he turns towards Sapnap, but he misses every last word he says, despite focusing solely on him.

He looks at his seemingly straight hair, dark and soft-looking, flattened out by the cooking hat he’d been wearing earlier. He looks at the permanent blush he wears, more apparent on his face but spreading down to the base of his neck and beyond, like it’s trying to hide from Dream’s prying gaze.

He finds himself almost falling into his computer screen as he does it—as he looks—and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more dedicated to such a simple task before. Dream reads 4,336 in George’s eyes and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, dreading the ghostly reminder.

It makes him go a little crazy, he thinks. A little crazier. It’s the way he’s been feeling, the way George has been making him feel for the past couple of weeks—unstable, astray, confused.

I think I’m obsessed with him.

He cocks his head the other way and leans back on his chair, sighing deeply. George’s guffaw when he opened that snap Dream sent him replays in his head—loud, musical, all-encompassing. The feeling it awoke in him hasn’t faded away yet, the butterflies fluttering inside his stomach still pretty much present, invasive, content with the reaction they got.

Get out of my head, he wants to say.

And then, an echo, I don’t think I can stop.

His lip stings with how hard he’s chewing on it.

The glimmer in George’s irises almost masks the scorched numbers, the burning reminder of distance, so present, ineluctable, almost palpable. Even from here, even from Florida, from the pounding loneliness surrounding him.

It grazes Dream’s heart with devilish fingers and whispers softly into his ear.

You’re looking. You know you’re looking.

But sometimes it’s not enough.

And what you need is to pay attention.

What you need is to see.

“How’s Sapnap?” Dream asks later, the ghost of his feelings still vibrant in the warm smile he carries, in the silky tone he wears.

George settles into his bed, the rustle of sheets traveling through static until it reaches Dream’s ears in America. “He’s an idiot,” he mumbles, humming softly as he gets more comfortable. The sweetness in his words drips down and exposes his true thoughts. “He’s— I dunno. It’s still, like, weird to be with him in person. After so many years of— Y’know.”

“Seeing him through a screen?” Dream completes, turning to face the ceiling. His hands rest on his chest, fingers laced, heaving as he breathes. “‘S it hard to get used to?”

“Yeah.” George clears his throat. “But I’ll have to, right? If I’m gonna, like, live with him.”

“Yeah.” It’s the first sliver of hope Dream hears in him since the denied visa. It’s the first time he doesn’t sound heavy as he speaks of Florida, as he imagines the future. It’s jarring, but not unwelcome. Not unwelcome in the slightest. “Yeah, that’s— Yeah.”

George sighs a deep breath, and his tone drops lower. “‘M glad you had him during… I dunno, everything.” Dream almost hears him fidget with the ends of his sleeves, tangle his fingers in unreadable figures. He wishes he could soothe them with his own. “Sorry for being a dick before.”

Dream frowns. “You weren’t a dick.”

“Well, I was,” George says, but Dream disagrees. He knows how easy it is to feel alone at times like that, to feel like no one has ever experienced pain so deeply. He can’t blame George for being exactly like him. “You don’t deserve that,” he adds. “You’ve been through a lot, too.”

“‘Ts okay, George.” He lets his eyes fall shut, the content gesture returning to his face in the form of a warm smile. He feels like he’s floating in a bubble, like he’s swimming in the sea that was let loose inside him when he allowed his year-old dams to fall. He basks in the feeling, and taps fingers on his sternum.

George doesn’t seem so peaceful. “You just— never get mad at me.” Dream’s simper widens at the words. He can’t even try to deny it. “It’s annoying.”

A soft giggle escapes his mouth, dancing with the air in his room. He opens his eyes and turns again to lay on his side. “I can’t get mad at you,” he says gently, honestly, sinking into the pillow.

George smiles now, too. With a chuckle, he mumbles, “simp.”

“Yeah. I’m a George simp,” Dream admits, scratching the mattress with his nails if only to busy his hands with something. He tangles his legs in the gray sheets, basking in their comfort. “I wear that badge proudly.”

George sighs again, but his tone remains light, almost loving. “You can just tell me I was a dick, Dream.”

“George, why—” he rolls his eyes, pulling the sheets up and tucking them under his chin. Tiredness weighs on his eyelids, urging them shut. His heartbeats reverberate in his chest. “Are you mad that I didn’t get mad at you?”

George scoffs lightly, whispering again under his breath. “A little.”

Dream peers, disbelieving. George is so dumb. Endearing. Something in his tone lulls Dream to sleep. “Do you want me to be mad, George?”

“No,” he says, easily. Dream clutches his sheets tighter. George speaks again through gritted teeth. “‘M just saying I deserve it.”

“Fine. I’m— I’m mad, then.” Dream tries to indulge him, he really does. But his tone drips sweetness, defeating the purpose. “I’m so angry. Grrr.”

George scoffs again, then tries and fails to bite back a giggle. Dream gives him one of his own, and closes his eyes again, focusing on the voice curling into his ears, on its English accent and delicate cadence. “You’re such an idiot.”

It’s a phrase he’s heard a million times before, each fonder than the last. He gets the sleepy version now, as the slurred syllables escape George’s mouth slowly. It makes him smile even wider, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s been doing it tonight.

It had been a while. They’re getting used to it.

“Come on, now, George,” he teases, earning a halfhearted groan in return. He giggles again, only to spite him. “How am I the idiot? Give me a break.”

“No. You’re dumb,” George deadpans. He turns in his bed, judging by the rustle of fabric. Dream wonders how he looks, how he lies. He’s not sure why. “You let me get away with everything.”

Dream hums. “Yeah.” He feels a little bold. “And you like it.”

I’m obsessed with you.

I really can’t stop.

Dream’s head is still a mess, but he’s learned to find comfort in it. It feels somewhat peaceful—it’s his own form of normalcy. He likes how the movement feels like pieces falling into place, like reckless feet stumbling upon melodies and waxed hardwood floors.

It puts him one step closer to freedom.

George scoffs once more, belatedly. “Whatever.”

But Dream insists. “You do.” The waves hit his ribs, and Dream uses the clear water to scrub them clean, to drown wilting feelings. He’s tired. Tired after the day he had, but also just tired of pretending, of hiding. He’s not doing that to himself right now.

He feels safe letting go.

“So what?” George asks softly, matching his energy. Dream appreciates him more than he can explain. George seems to know it regardless, as he softens his tone even more, like he never did before. “What does that— have to do with anything?”

Dream giggles. It grows quickly, turning into a laugh. He tries to not be loud, scared he’ll pop the bubble, but something akin to mirth flows through his bloodstream, blooming flowers in every crevice of his body.

George laughs, too, in his own way. In his own sneaky way. “You’re actually… so annoying.”

Dream turns once more, restless. His smile doesn’t fade as he repeats, “oh, I’m so annoying.” Hearing his own voice, he feels exposed. He’s spilling blood and pink-colored thoughts, letting them escape from the safe confines of his guarded mind. He lets them loose, lets them wander.

George takes every last one, and stores them cautiously. “Yes,” he says. “Idiot.”

Dream’s room is spinning. He pulls the covers until he’s buried beneath them, blocking the faint light that broke through the open window. He sprawls out on the mattress and sighs deeply, letting his and George’s moment slip away.

He doesn’t hold onto it. He doesn’t feel like he has to.

“Did Sap leave?”

George hums an affirmative. “Yeah, he went back to the hotel.”

He nods minutely, even though George can’t see him. “‘Ts a shame,” he says, clicking his tongue, knitting his brows. “He could’ve cuddled you.”

George reacts exactly like Dream expected. “Ew.” And Dream just knows he’s scrunching his nose, faking disgust. A new wave of fondness overcomes him, so he melts into it. “I don’t want Stinknap in my bed.”

“Why not?” Dream asks, pushing further, simply messing with him. “He’s a good cuddler.”

Another scoff, and Dream shakes his head. “What, you sleep with him or something?”

Dream can’t contain the smirk that creeps onto his face. He bites down on his bottom lip, trying to keep his tone light, his feelings at bay. “Sometimes,” he admits, like he’s testing the waters. “He’s a nice— presence.”

“Pfft.” He shifts again. His phone makes a sound as it hits his mattress, and Dream’s gesture turns even slyer. “Yeah, okay.”

Dream unburies himself from the covers when he starts feeling too crowded, suffocated. The fresh air from the outside hits his skin like a truck, melting against his warm blush. “What?”

In a heartbeat, “nothing.”

Green eyes land on the sky through the window, dark blue and encouraging. “What, are you— jealous?” he asks without even thinking, fingertips burning with a need to hold onto something, anything in close proximity. “D’you wanna cuddle with me or something?”

George huffs out a laugh. “I don’t, actually.” He says it in that way only he says things, in that way that has Dream’s mind running off to God knows where. He sounds noncommittal, like his sole purpose is to make his best friend spiral. He’s pretty damn good at it. Then, lower, he adds, “you’d be in a hotel, too.”

“Would I?” he chokes out, closing his eyes again. It won’t be long until he draws blood from his bitten lip. He feels it sting already, burn with all the emotion he’s choosing to swallow down, to keep hidden. What the fuck is happening? “I don’t know about that, Georgie.”

George’s breath hitching is an illusion. It has to be. He’s imagining things. “Whatever,” George says. Dream thinks he should trademark that word. He can’t keep getting away with it as if it’s a fucking wildcard. It makes Dream’s stomach churn like he’s about to be sick. “‘M tired. You’re boring me.”

Dream clears his throat, trying his best to get rid of the heaviness that’s now looming over their heads, so sudden, unexpected. “Well, go to bed then.”

“Fine. I will,” George says. “Idiot.”

Dream cracks a smile through his nerves, starting to fidget with the covers to busy his hands with something. “Fine, idiot,” he replies, because what else can he do? “Just go.”

George hums and speaks through a yawn. “I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If I feel like it.”

“‘Course.” Dream smiles again. Lower, almost against his will, “‘s nice to hear you smile again.”

It’s an illusion. Surely. “Shut up.” George flusters. It seems almost too easy. Dream thrives in it, in the way he beams, sounding affected even through the phone.

4,336.

An illusion.

Distance is lonely.

“G’night, Georgie,” Dream slurs, dizzy with sleep. The mattress sags beneath him, easing him into the arms of Morpheus faster than ever.

George sighs deeply, and seems to slip away, too. “Night, Dream.”

[Track: Waves - Dean Lewis]

“Dad, I’m bored!” Callie complains, face-planting into Dream’s bed.

He takes off his headset and turns with an amused smile, standing from his desk chair to go sit by his child. He rests a hand on her back and rubs it soothingly. “What d’you wanna do, honey?”

She turns to look at him, her cheek still smushed against the mattress. Her eyes are glossy, greener than ever, and her curls seem to be extra rebellious today, falling to cover her forehead haphazardly. She’s gorgeous. “I dunno. ‘M just bored.”

Dream giggles, hooking his hands beneath her arms to pull her up and sit her on his legs. “We could watch a movie,” he suggests. She crosses her arms on her chest, resting her head on his collarbone. “You don’t wanna watch a movie?”

Callie shakes her head. “Where’s Uncle Sapsap?”

“He’s still in London, with George,” he tells her, biting back a grin. Callie looks at him again, eyes almost pleading. “You can’t talk to him now, baby. Maybe at night.”

She huffs and lets herself fall back. Dream catches her and laughs again. He sees her do the same. “Why?”

Dream presses his lips into a line, and plants a kiss on her crown. “You know why, Cal,” he drawls out, apologetic. “George doesn’t know about you yet.”

She frowns. “Why?”

Well, that’s a good question.

“I— haven’t told him, baby. Not yet.” Dream scoots back, and Callie lays down on a pile of blankets. He doesn’t stop her.

She blinks slowly, breathing deeply. “Why?”

He sighs, laying down too. They both stare at the ceiling. “‘Cause Dad’s, uh— a little scared, Cal.”

Callie turns to her side, resting her head on an upraised arm. Dream stares into her eyes, wishing he could explain everything telepathically, in a way that she’ll understand. He knows he can’t. Once again, a little more cautiously, she asks, “why?”

Dream’s eyes are starting to threaten him. He really doesn’t want to cry in front of his kid. He takes a deep breath, and reaches out a hand to her. “I love you.”

She smiles, like she always does. “Love you, too.” She grabs his hand and pulls herself up to rest on her dad’s abdomen, poking him playfully. “‘M bored. And I miss Uncle Sapsap.”

“I miss him, too,” Dream admits easily, wrapping fingers around her hand. She’s so small, so precious. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “D’you wanna watch one of our videos?”

Callie beams now, sitting up quickly. She’s her dad’s number one fan, no doubt. “The floor one,” she says. Pushing herself off the bed and trying to climb onto Dream’s desk chair.

He stretches as he shakes his head, standing to follow her. “Okay,” he agrees. “The floor one it is.”

The smile doesn’t fade from his daughter’s face the entire time. It’s one of her favorite videos, ‘Minecraft But You Can’t Touch The Floor…’ Dream gets it. It’s a funny one, despite the headache it caused them. George’s hysterical laugh is definitely a highlight.

They spend the afternoon like that, sitting in Dream’s chair, watching Dad’s videos and laughing at his best friends’ antics. It’s nice to see how much Callie adores George and Sapnap. It stings, too, just a little bit. It makes him wish he wasn’t such a coward.

He knows he’ll figure it out. He knows he has to.

He just needs to find the right time.

“Sapsap!” Callie yells enthusiastically, running to cling onto his leg as soon as he walks through the front door two days later.

Sapnap laughs as he discards his suitcase on the floor, bending down to pick her up and hug her tightly. “Oh, hi, Patchy,” he greets. The girl groans a complaint, annoyed by Sapnap using her cat name at the wrong time. It’s a bit they have going on, like Callie calling him Sapsap despite being perfectly capable of pronouncing his real name.

Dream looks at the scene from afar, leaning on the doorframe that separates the living room from the hallway leading to the bedrooms. It’s been a little bit more than a year since Callie introduced herself to his best friend. They’ve grown to love each other ever since, and consider the other, without a doubt, a part of their families.

Dream thinks about it, every once in a while—how Sapnap thinks of Callie as his niece, and how she thinks of Sapnap as her uncle, as Dream’s brother. He still can’t believe how lucky he was to find such a perfect family, people who stand by his side through thick and thin.

He can’t help but feel like there’s a void by his side, though. He can’t help but think there’s someone missing.

“Hey, brother,” Sapnap greets, wrapping Dream in a comforting hug. It’s curious. He didn’t even see him cross the room. “How’ve you been doing?”

Dream presses his lips into an unconvincing smile as he breaks apart. Callie tugs at his shirt, asking to be picked up, so Dream complies. “Been worse.”

Sapnap shakes his head and pats his brother’s shoulder. “Well, I’m back now.” He smiles faintly, somewhat guarded. Dream isn’t sure he likes that gesture on him. It feels cautious—too much for his liking. “I got you.”

“How’s George?” he asks, averting his gaze, walking towards the sofa. He hears Sapnap sigh behind him as he sits, arranging Callie on his lap. She toys with the cords of his hoodie, wrapping them around her little finger, and Dream speaks hushedly into the room. “Don’t lie to me.”

“He was better,” Sapnap mumbles, taking the spot by Dream’s side. Dream spares a glance at him, knowing there’s more to it. Sapnap proves him right rather quickly, lowering his voice as if that could soften the blow. “Until I left, at least.”

With puckered lips, Dream leans back on the couch. Callie goes with him. “What d’you mean?”

“Is George sick?” she asks mindlessly, not even stopping to look at them.

Dream sighs. “Something like that,” he mumbles. “But he’s okay.”

Callie does look this time. “Did Uncle Sap leave to make him soup, like when I’m sick?”

Her dad flashes a sad smile, hugging her tighter, biting back tears. This is new territory; it feels like walking on ice. How do you explain depression to a four year-old? How can they fathom someone being so sad they can’t bring themselves to even get out of bed, let alone eat or shower?

The two adults share a moment in silence. It’s Dream who clears his throat, shaking his head lightly, and speaks first. “No, he— He went to keep him company,” he provides, holding her hands in his own only to feel something, to ground himself. “Sap cheered him up a little bit.”

Sapnap nods, scooting closer, and adds, “he’s really sad and upset, Cal.”

She hums in understanding, turning to lay on Dream’s chest. She fidgets with her own fingers now, head cocked slightly as she wonders, “why?”

“Because—” her dad continues, wrapping his arms around her. He really is walking on eggshells here. Sapnap taps his hands on his own lap, like he’s also trying to come up with something that’ll spare them the dreadful conversation. “—he wants to be here with us, and he can’t just yet.”

“Why?”

Dream loves his kid more than anything in the world. He does. But he really didn’t need to have this conversation right now, not as soon as Sapnap arrived. He’s trying his best to keep it together, the ache of the first days slithering back slowly, claiming him sneakily. He wishes it could pass already. “‘Cause— he lives really far. It’s, uh… It’s complicated, baby. He needs some things that he can't get yet.”

“But he’ll get them,” Sapnap assures, flashing a comforting smile. Dream isn’t sure who it’s aimed towards, but he’ll hold onto it anyway. It can’t hurt. “It’ll just take a little time.”

To Dream’s pleasure, Callie deems that answer good enough. “‘Mkay,” she slurs, falling back against her dad’s chest, stealing a long breath from him.

“D’you wanna talk later?” his brother suggests, a hand landing on Dream’s shoulder for stability. Dream looks at him for a moment, brows knitted in concern, eyes threatening to pour. He runs his fingers through Callie’s curls and lets his head fall back—tired, defeated. Sapnap speaks again. “I don’t wanna make you feel worse, dude.”

“Can you?” he asks, and he wants to know. Is there really something Sapnap can say that will make him worse? Is it really that bad?

Sapnap leans back on the couch too, retrieving his hand. “To be honest, I don’t know,” he says. Dream deems it good enough, for his sanity. “I hope not.”

“Just be honest with me,” he asks, begs, as he lets his eyes fall shut. Callie moves on his lap, and before he realizes, she’s shifting into Patches, dark hair turning into soft fur between Dream’s fingers. He opens his eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Patches purrs, nuzzling into his stomach.

I am, she seems to say. You’re not.

Dream doesn’t know his daughter to be a mind reader on top of a shape-shifter, but he appreciates the loving gesture regardless. He pets her behind the ears and turns towards his brother once more, forcing the corners of his lips up in a poor attempt at soothing his evident worry. “What did you mean he was better until you left?”

“You know he didn’t want to say goodbye,” he explains, puckering his lips and pulling his legs up. Dream looks down at them, reluctant to comment on how he picked that habit from George. He wants to ignore it. It only reminds him that Sapnap was within touching distance, meanwhile he— “D’you wanna talk about something nice?” he shoots in the dark, smiling softly, tentatively. “I can tell you about him, if—”

“No,” Dream cuts him off, averting his gaze. He’s not sure why he does it. He knows Sapnap doesn’t mean bad, it’s just— “Don’t. I— I don’t wanna know.”

His brother frowns, and his tone is drenched in curiosity when he asks, “why not?”

Dream shrugs. “Dunno. Feels like cheating,” he whispers, but deep down, he knows that’s not it. He’d much rather find out for himself. He knows George, the good and the bad, and he knows him because he took the time to learn him. He spent days and nights with him, asked the questions other people wouldn’t dare ask. He’s gone out of his way to map him, and he likes it. He likes doing it. He wants to keep doing it.

He doesn’t want Sapnap to be the one to tell him about his little IRL quirks, the faces he pulls without realizing, the movement of his legs when he’s nervous, or the pattern of his fingers when he fidgets. He doesn’t want to be told that he’s clingier or chattier or louder or softer. Even though he doubts Sapnap—or anyone, for that matter—would be so attentive, so receptive to how he behaves. Even though he doubts Sapnap will have crucial information, the kind he wouldn’t want to have spoiled, he’s not willing to risk it.

He’ll wait. He’ll wait like he’s been doing so far, and when George is here, he’ll still go out of his way to know him better, to learn him in depth and commit him to memory. They’ll have more time than the one they’re losing to make sure they’re never in the dark again.

He just has to wait.

Then, it’ll all be worth it.

[Track: Hypotheticals - Lake Street Dive]

Change is constant. Change is like a hurricane.

It’s loud, messy, chaotic. It obliterates everything it can reach, turning it upside down until it’s not even recognizable anymore. It breaks and it shifts and it creates and suddenly there’s so much more being born from beneath the debris, from pieces that once seemed too wrecked and lifeless to be deemed useful.

And then there’s the eye. Then, unexpectedly, there’s peace. There’s that crucial, life-changing moment, when you’re able to see everything else crumbling around you, but it doesn’t affect you. It doesn’t get to you anymore. The broken pieces vanish in a cloud of dust, covering the floor in meaningless remains of what they once were. And there’s peace.

Dream is peaceful. Even as it crumbles, even as it moves. He looks up at it—at the mess that surrounds him, that threatens to snag him—and he does so with a smile, with the knowledge that he’s been through worse and came out alive.

It’s scary, but scary in a good way. In an exciting way. Scary like finding Callie, like starting YouTube and bringing his best friends with him, like moving out and asking George and Sapnap to move in. It’s electric, like new beginnings tend to be. And he’s at peace with it.

He’s at peace.

“How’re you feeling?” Dream asks as he swivels in his chair, hands busy with a fidget spinner. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, faint wrinkles cradling his eyes delicately. He looks peaceful, he looks rested. His heart beats slowly and he takes even breaths and maybe things will be okay. Really okay, for once.

“‘M good, actually,” George says, tapping fingers on his desk. He sounds relaxed, almost chipper. Dream can’t even begin to explain how happy it makes him. “It’s weird, but— Y’know.”

Dream hums, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly. “D’you miss Sap?”

George huffs out a laugh, as difficult as he is. But he answers earnestly, nonetheless. “Kinda, yeah. Like I said, I— It was weird. But it was good, y’know, to… have him here.”

“Told you he’d help,” Dream mumbles, if only to indulge his own ego. George laughs softly. Dream doesn’t have to see him to picture the eye roll the comment got him. “What, idiot?”

George chuckles again, light and airy, delicate like a feather. Dream stores it safely, alongside everything else he has on him. Every last detail. Everything crumbles. “You want me to thank you or something?”

“No,” Dream replies, failing to keep the smile out of his tone. “‘M just saying—”

“What, that you were right?” George completes, a teasing lilt curled around the question. He knows Dream too. Maybe just as well. Maybe even better, however impossible it may seem. “You’re dumb, Dream. That’s what you are.”

And he’s at peace.

“Yeah, okay,” Dream giggles between gritted teeth, looking through the window. He traces figures in the sky, connects the stars like they’re numbered dots with a hidden message. He doesn’t know how to read them, but he thinks he knows what they say. He thinks he’s known for a while, actually, but it seemed scarier before. It seemed dreadful, months ago. Right now, not so much. “‘M glad you feel better.”

George hums, agreeing wordlessly. Silence washes over them for a moment, just a moment. Then, he speaks again. “He was worried when he left. That I’d— get bad again, or whatever.”

He nods, even though George can’t see him. With glistening eyes still fixed on the clear, blue sky, he asks, “did you?”

“No.” Quick, honest. Dream treasures it, too. It soothes him, after everything they’ve been through. It taunts his nightmares, scares them away. It smothers his fears, stifles the echo of George’s broken voice, the withering feelings he shared during vulnerable nights, the ones that got Dream to spiral. It’s far from over, but Dream knows they’re closer to freedom. Closer than yesterday.

There’s something different. He feels it everywhere—in his head, in his bones, in his heart.

Change. Change is constant.

“I thought so, too,” George confesses, but just by his tone Dream can tell that it wasn’t the case. And he’s glad to have been mistaken. Of course he is. “But, like— I dunno. Obviously, it gave me, like— more things to look forward to. Y’know, when— When I’m there.”

Dream’s smile grows impossibly wider, his gaze still lost in space. “Yeah,” he breathes out, so soft it’s likely the mic didn’t even catch it. But it’s fine. He’s fine.

George huffs out a laugh. “Yeah,” he echoes, like he’s giving it a thought, too. Dream is met with the same recurring urge to see him, to hold him. Yeah, he knows what the stars say. He doesn’t really mind it. “What did he tell you?”

“‘Bout you?” Dream asks, turning his gaze towards the monitor. George’s Discord icon lights up as he clears his throat, urging Dream to continue. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

George scoffs, disbelieving. “C’mon, Dream,” he drawls out, saying his name in that way—the one that paints a vivid picture of his smile inside Dream’s mind. A smile that grows slowly, bright and honest, with teeth. “No way you didn’t ask him anything. I don’t believe you.”

Dream shrugs noncommittally, letting his head fall to the side. He feels something simmering under his skin—something sweet, colored red. “What do you mean you don’t believe me?” Dream asks in a low voice, letting it drip into existence. George seems to savor it as it pours. “I didn’t ask about you, George.”

“Why not?” It dances on his tongue like a taunt, but Dream can read the underlying note of curiosity that fuels it. Before he can address it, though, George speaks again. “I know you, Dream. You’d want to know.”

For the first time, feeling seen doesn’t seem so terrible. He actually likes not being the only one who pays so much attention, who bets against himself on how much he’ll be able to guess. He likes that George pushes the line just as much, that he’s just as dedicated to understanding him in every way he can—even if he’s slightly more subtle about it. “I do want to know,” Dream admits, voice cut in half, almost choking on the words. “But I didn’t ask him anything.”

Dream hears the gears in George’s brain, turning and turning and turning to make some sense of what he just said. He gives up rather quickly, asking through a grin, “why not?”

The blush that covered Dream’s cheeks spreads all the way down to his neck, to his chest, coating his heart with fresh, pink flowers and waves of warmth. He bites his nerves into his bottom lip and speaks in a matching tone, a whispered half-confession. “‘Cause I wanna know,” he says first, and then he repeats, “I wanna know.”

George’s breath hitches and it’s real. Dream hears it—Dream feels it, intertwined with his own, making how lungs ache, tethering him to reality. “You’re so stupid,” he says, not a hint of annoyance in his tone. None at all. Dream basks in the way it resonates, clean and impactful as it digs into his eardrums. “You’re, like, obsessed with me.”

“‘M not,” Dream says, beaming, because fuck, yes, I am. I can’t stop. I don’t even want to. George knows it. George must know it, because Dream is getting worse and worse at hiding it. No matter how hard he tries. “I’d just rather— figure you out by myself. When you’re here.”

George lets go of a breathy laugh, and judging by the sound of his chair, Dream can tell he’s doing the leg thing, hugging them close to his chest. He lets his eyes fall shut, lulled by peacefulness, by the shining sky, and sinks into his best friend’s voice flowing from his headset. “Figure me out?” George repeats, barely above a whisper, sounding almost impressed that Dream said something like that. “You wanna study me or something?”

I already am. Is it bad? “I dunno.” He shrugs, heart beating rhythmically, and opens his eyes again. His face aches, his lips stretched and red from biting at them, drenched in newfound feelings trying to break the surface of his skin. Earnestly, shamelessly, he admits, “I just wanna know you.”

“You know me, Dream,” he assures, tone softer, fonder than Dream’s ever heard it. He treasures it. He stores it for later, lets it lull him to sleep, dance with the telling stars and the moon and the boundless beauty of the Floridian night sky. “But you already know that.”

“Maybe,” he sings, heart on his sleeve. Blame it on the high hours, on the most recent events, on George’s innate delicacy, the one that makes him addictive. Dream’s head spins with it, with how much he put it to work these past few months. Too many battles were fought within him in the span of a few months to get where he stands now—too many to count, too many for a lifetime. But it’s over now. It’s over and he won and that’s what matters. He can live with it, with this part of him. And he’s okay. “But I can know you better,” he adds, tongue laced with gentleness. “‘M not done yet.”

George hums musically. “That’s so… Dream,” he comments, his tone confident like his sentence could make sense in any context, like it isn’t just an undercover secret between them. Dream likes the way his name sounds on that note, like it carries countless meanings that are only his and George’s to decode. “You just never do things halfway, huh?”

“I don’t,” Dream confirms, his mouth dry, stuffed with cotton. His leg bounces nervously to the beat of a love song that’s been stuck in his head for hours. It seems fitting. “Especially, y’know— Things I care about. Things that matter.”

You matter. I read it in the stars.

The silence that surrounds them isn’t stale, isn’t uncomfortable. No, what takes over them is peaceful.

They’re in the eye of the hurricane. They’re in the eye of the hurricane and they like it there, because after so long, after so much pain, they learned how to make a home out of chaos.

And if they’re being honest, there’s nowhere else they’d rather be.

Dream Fanart @Dream__Fanart
you like 100 normal amazing pieces of fanart, and no one bats an eye because it’s “according to plan”, you like ONE little DNF kissing art and the whole world LOSES THEIR MIND

Dream bolted out of bed when he heard a loud noise in the kitchen.

His Dad instinct was telling him that they were getting robbed or worse, that he needed to pack his bags and flee the country because there’d been a zombie apocalypse or something.

Luckily, Dream has learned when he’s supposed to listen to it, and when it’s being completely unreasonable. For the most part. Okay, fifty, fifty.

Point is, he was, indeed, being unreasonable this time. The zombie in question was his brother Sapnap, covered in what Dream can only assume used to be a full bag of flour. It’s undoubtedly just as disastrous, but not life-threatening, so he’s fine. He’s allowed to laugh.

“What the hell happened?” he asks as he walks in to retrieve his very giggly, very dirty child from the white moor, already dreading the task of getting that thing off her hair. Holy shit.

Sapnap splutters for a moment before speaking, like he’s trying to come up with something that’ll get him out of trouble. Sometimes, it feels like Dream has two kids instead of one. “We were gonna cook and Callie—”

“It wasn’t me!” she interrupts, crossing her arms on her chest and getting Dream’s sweater dirty, too. Oh, this is gonna be a nightmare. “Uncle Sap dropped it!”

“I didn’t drop it!” Sapnap tries, but Dream sees the laugh bubbling under his skin from a mile away. “She— knocked it off.”

“How could she knock it off when I just picked her up from the floor?” Dream asks, peering at him judgmentally. He grabs the girl from under the arms to spare his own clothes as much as possible, but he’s not doing a very good job, he must say. “I can’t believe you’re trying to pin this on my kid,” Dream says, shaking his head, but finding the situation rather amusing despite the mess they made. “That’s very mean, Sapnap.”

“He’s mean, Dad,” Callie pouts, batting her lashes in a way that’s proven very effective in the past, but not today.

With a loving look, Dream puts her on top of the counter and grabs a rag to wipe the hand-shaped smudge of flour off her face. “Oh, no,” he says, kissing the tip of her nose. “You’re a little demon. I don’t think you’re innocent here.”

She crosses her arms again, a light scowl on her face, still coated in infectious amusement. “I am!”

“She’s not,” Sapnap insists, already starting to wipe the floor and his side of the counter. The two little idiots. “She insisted on us making, like, pancakes or something. And she distracted me. That’s why I dropped the thing.”

Dream hums, biting back a laugh. “I thought you said she’d knocked it off.”

Sapnap groans as he rolls his eyes, drowning in the loud laughter pouring from Dream and Callie. “It’s the same thing,” he says through gritted teeth, trying fruitlessly to get his clothes clean.

Callie leans forward and grabs her own knees, rocking back and forth on the table. Dream remains in front of her so she doesn’t fall. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. “Sapsap is an idiot.”

“Oh, my God?” he exclaims, dropping everything to go confront her, arms akimbo. Dream simply stands there, jaw slack, feeling the burst of laughter that’s trying to escape him. But he can’t do that. He’s the dad. He’s not supposed to allow this behavior, right? Although— “This is your fault, by the way,” Sapnap says and oh, he’s talking to him.

Dream turns to face him, taking offense. Callie giggles in the background. “How is this my fault?”

“Oh, George, you’re such an idiot. No, you’re the idiot. How am I the idiot, idiot?” Sapnap mocks, clearly exaggerating, but leaving Dream speechless all the same. Okay, maybe he does have a point. “Yeah, dumbass, it’s your—”

“Don’t say that!” Dream scolds in a poor attempt at getting the heat off himself. “C’mon, man. Not cool.”

Sapnap straight up growls at him, seeing through his little game. Dream is still trying not to laugh as Callie clings to him, already annoyed by the flour stuck in her hair. “Dad, this is gross,” she says. Dream isn’t sure where she’s getting all these words from, but he’s really proud of her. Besides, you know, the insults and name-calling. Which are totally Sapnap’s fault, by the way.

“You’re not getting out of this, Clay,” his brother condemns, leaning back on the counter like he’s taking Callie’s side now, after ratting on her less than five minutes ago. “You’re all giggly and shit so she probably—”

“Language!” Dream complains again, swatting his arm, and oh, God, he’s turning into BadBoyHalo. This is not how he needed to start the morning.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sapnap dismisses. “Point is, you should stop flirting in front of your daughter. It’s unethical.”

Dream is rendered speechless. Not a single thought behind his eyes. No fucking shot. “Did you say flirting?” he asks, incredulous, playing pretend. Sapnap cocks his head, looking at him like he’s dumb for not seeing it that way. “How’s that— How’s that flirting?”

His brother spares a glance at Callie, who sits in silence, eyes open wide, paying close attention to the conversation the two men hold before her. When his eyes land back on Dream’s, there’s something amusing buried deep within them. Something teasing. “‘Cause I know you,” he says, simple as that. “And I know George. And y’all are not subtle.”

Now, the real question is, how the fuck did the conversation veer into this? There’s still a ton of flour on the floor and on Sapnap’s clothes and Callie’s hair and it’s, without a doubt, the most ridiculous situation to be talking about Dream’s alleged feelings for his best friend, of all things. Yet here they are.

Dream doesn’t even know how to defend himself, if he’s being honest. “‘M gonna go— get this off her,” he mumbles as he grabs Callie again, uncaring for the state of his sweater. It’s fine. It’s fine. “You— clean this. Now.”

Sapnap pats his arm, daring to look triumphant, like he’s not about to spend at least two hours of his time cleaning their kitchen. Dream doesn’t get him sometimes. His head hurts. “Sure, bro,” he says through a smile, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Dream leaves the room before any other bullets are aimed his way. He only hopes Callie doesn’t have any questions.

Now, that would be apocalyptic.

[Track: Tightrope - ZAYN]

“Dream, are you joking?” is the first thing George says as soon as he joins the call. He thinks Dream can’t hear the smile filtering his words, making them lighter, making them glow. “Again?”

Dream giggles softly, leaning back on his chair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, George,” he says, his tone soft, airy. He won’t lie and say he didn’t see this coming. He won’t lie and say he’s not enjoying it.

“You’re actually so annoying,” George tells him then, but he doesn’t mean it badly. Dream knows he doesn’t. After a scoff, he adds, “that’s like— the worst pandering you’ve ever done.”

“Who says it was pandering?” Dream asks then, looking through the bedroom window. It’s always at night. Every single time. The warm air seeping through gets down to his bones, drowning him in feeling, in heavenly secrets. He hears them, every last one. He treasures them, too. “Maybe I was genuinely curious.”

Dream imagines George shaking his head, like he does on stream sometimes, a big smile creeping onto his face, cheeks blushed. Dream imagines George sitting at his desk, fidgeting with the long sleeves of the oversized hoodie he’s most likely wearing, looking small and gentle and adorable. He imagines him blinking slowly, victim of tiredness after a long day out, after what Dream put him through this morning.

George breathes, and Dream simply imagines him.

Is there a moment that you realize you’ve been thinking about him all the time?

“Curious about what, Dream?” George asks then, lower, cautious. The rustle of clothes lets Dream know that he pulled his legs up to wrap his arms around them. He’s waiting for an answer in silence.

Dream clears his throat before giving it to him. “Maybe I wanted to know if my feelings had— You know, evolved. Since last year.”

“Your feelings?” George echoes, a playful cadence to his question. Dream rolls his eyes, smiling fondly at the empty monitor. “What kind of feelings are we talking about here, Dream?”

He chuckles, tangling the cord of his sweats in his finger. “Just— feelings,” he diverts, almost teasing. He’s hit with the weight of the past few months, the past few hours, the past few seconds—it all lands on him, on his chest, and for the first time in his life, he thinks he can bear it. He thinks he’s ready for it. “Y’know, my— infatuation, or whatever.”

Have you ever imagined what your life would be with him as your other half?

“Oh, so you admit it, then,” George presses, sharp, assertive. Dream sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, failing tremendously at hiding his smile, at toning it down. “You’re infatuated with me.”

Dream hums, heart beating furiously in his chest. He’s new to all of this, he’s not quite sure how to handle it. But it can’t be bad, right? It’s George. It feels comfortable, even domestic. It feels like it’s been a part of him since before he even knew what it was, like it’s been lurking somewhere inside him, waiting for the best moment to come out. “I mean, the results were pretty conclusive,” he says, in that low tone he loves so much, the one George makes fun of him for.

He doesn’t seem to be in a very jesty mood tonight, though. “Were they?” he asks, less playful, more serious. It goes straight to Dream’s chest like an air pressed bullet, and blooms flowers all across his ribcage as soon as it breaks his skin. George seems oblivious to the effect he has on him.

And Dream doesn’t want to keep it that way. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “They were pretty accurate, don’t you think?”

Have you ever talked about liking each other in the past?

George huffs out a laugh. His next words are muffled into his knees, most likely, indicative of his nerves, the way he’s feeling about this conversation. “I don’t know, Dream,” he says, and he sounds shy. Dream thinks he’s lovely. “You tell me. They were your results.”

He uses the shakiness of George’s voice to fuel his own assertion. “I think so, yeah,” he admits then, out loud, for the first time. It feels good. It feels honest, necessary, like taking a weight off his shoulders and throwing into the river for nature to steal and merge it with the Universe. The stars smile at him tonight, like they’re grateful for it. Dream smiles back, grazing freedom with the tips of his fingers.

He’s almost there. Almost there.

His soul is layered, he’s come to realize. He still has secrets left—things he’s always been too scared to share, things that could get him in trouble. Things that could lose him this, even if realistically, he knows they won’t. He still feels them inside his chest, knocking on doors and begging to be let out.

He wants to listen. He wants to grab them by the neck and rid himself of them, too, so someone else can take them. But his fears haven’t left, not just yet. They still cloud his judgment, even if his heart screams at him from within, even if it beats to the rhythm of his best friend’s name when it falls from his own lips, from his daughter’s.

Do you think you trust him more than anyone else?

Dream wanted so badly to say yes, but it would’ve been a lie. He desperately wants George to be that person in his life—the one he goes to for advice, the one he relies on without a doubt, the one he doesn’t keep any secrets from, the one who guards them better than anyone. He aches with how much he wants that for them, the unconditional trust, the unwavering permanence.

He opens his mouth to speak, but George beats him to it.

“I like you too, y’know,” he whispers, all the light he emanates so present in his tone, drawing Dream in like a beacon in the darkest night. He feels all the air as it’s knocked out of his lungs, threatening to pour out of his eyes in the form of joyful tears. “Infatuated, or— Y’know, whatever.” It hits him like an earthquake, the way George utters the words. The way they tumble out of his mouth and cheer when they see the light of day. The way they seem to be screaming finally.

At least, to Dream, that’s how they sound. They sound like the future, like all the promises he made for the past seven years. “Yeah, or whatever,” he repeats, grinning widely. It’s a beat of silence until George lets go of a soft laugh, and Dream sees him as he does it, so vivid inside his mind. He feels as though he’s about to explode, to burst with feeling. “You’re such an idiot,” he says, and fine, maybe he is flirting. Sue him.

George scoffs again, lightheartedly. “‘M not the one who basically confessed during a stupid Discord podcast,” he says, voice thick with emotion.

Dream laughs then, too. He wants to pinch himself to make sure that this is real and so he does, maybe too hard, but he doesn’t care because he feels it. Just as vivid, just as present as everything else blooming on his skin, in his stomach, in his chest. “Okay, fine. Maybe we’re both idiots, then.”

“Mostly you, though.” Dream doesn’t think he’s ever heard this side of George before. He sounds so soft, so open, so hypnotizing. God, if he was obsessed with him before, after tonight he’s just going to be absolutely ruined.

He wonders how long George has been sitting on this. How recent his feelings are, or if he’s been torturing himself for weeks, for months, like Dream has. But that’s a conversation for a different night. Today, they’ll have this. They’ll have this and it’ll be more than enough.

“Okay, mostly me,” he grants, because he doesn’t care about picking up a fight. Not now, when he’s the happiest he’s been in a long time. Not on the onset of what could be one of the most meaningful things that have ever happened to him. “As long as you like me.”

He grazes freedom with the tips of his fingers… and he lets it get away.

One more time—one last time, hopefully. He’ll get there. He knows he will. And he’ll be happy.

“You have nothing to worry about then.”

He and George will be happy. It’s what they’re made for.

Dream thought change was constant.

He was sure of it—it’s what he’d been taught, what he’d experienced his entire life. It’s what he’d gotten used to growing up, and even as an adult. Things keep changing, things keep moving; even if he doesn’t want them to, even if he doesn’t realize.

But George has always been a constant, too. And as it turns out, things with him didn’t change. The bickering didn’t change, the flirting didn’t change. They eased into a new territory without losing themselves in the slightest, without letting nerves or fear or blue thoughts take over. Like, in a way, they’ve always known they’d end up where they are now. Like they were dropped from the sky with a map and a compass and all the information they needed to make it feel like home.

Oh, one thing changed. George likes the word home now. He doesn’t call out Dream when he uses it, he even says it himself sometimes—late at night, in hushed tones, like they always do. He talks about the future and Florida and throws around words like hope and soon and will and Dream is ecstatic about it. It makes him wonder.

As days fly by, more and more of his sorrow shifts into something better, something brighter, akin to excitement and colored yellow. He lets it ebb and flow through his bloodstream, lets it take over him slowly, bone by bone, cell by cell. It makes him light, it makes him float. And he doesn’t mind giving into it. For once, he doesn’t mind.

He knows it’ll probably be a while until George gets his visa. He knows it’s still a while until he gets to Florida, until he can live with him. But he’s already permanent—he’s already constant—and that’s something no one can ever take from him.

Dream has always believed in soulmates, in the Universe, in fate. How could he not? He’s been through a lot, sure, but he was blessed with the most beautiful people anyone could ever think of—his daughter, his brother, his best friend. He’s lucky to have everything he has, and he’d go insane if he had nothing and no one to thank for it.

He’s fine with waiting. Even more so now, knowing what he knows, feeling how he feels. There are so many more sides to his and George’s relationship that they’ll be able to explore, and Dream will gladly wait to do so in person. It’s one of the things he’s looking forward to the most, and George agrees—simply existing together, learning and growing, bettering themselves, living like a family.

He’ll wait as much as he has to, because the reward at the end of the road is worth more than he could ever put into words. It’s the rest of his life that’s awaiting, alongside one of the people he’s the most excited to spend it with.

The sound of the clock isn’t so dreadful anymore—not when it keeps him company, not when it means that he’s one second closer to getting everything he’s ever wanted and more.

Tick. Tock.

Dream breathes.

[Track: Some Kind Of Magic - LVTHER, Myzica]

George doesn’t even give him time to speak after picking up the phone. “I said maybe, to be clear,” he blurts out, stealing a loud laugh from Dream almost immediately. Then, sounding just as upset but polite nonetheless, “hi.”

A wave of fondness overcomes Dream as he lays on his bed, leaving the phone to heave with his chest. “Hi, George,” he greets, a honeyed lilt to his words, the one that’s usual for these conversations. Then, lighter, amused, “you did not, by the way.”

George huffs, leaving his phone on the desk rather aggressively. “Let’s think about this logically, okay?” he starts like he’s about to lecture him, probably pacing around the room and throwing hands in the air, determined to get his way. “Why would I call you baby?”

This time, when he says it, his tone drops like he’s embarrassed of it. It makes sense, really, when Dream thinks about it, how something so mundane can be absolutely mortifying to someone like George, who’s more subtle in the ways he shows love. He strikes Dream for someone who’d only use terms of endearment in private, during lazy mornings and drenched in intimacy. Not during MCC and with a fifty-thousand people audience. It’s just not like him.

So it’s no wonder he’s being so difficult about it.

And Dream? Dream will have his fun with it. “I— I don’t know, George. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Exactly,” George says instead, stopping in his tracks, playing hard to get. “I have no reason, which can only mean that I didn’t. I didn’t say that.”

Dream nods, even though George can’t see him. Then, unconvincingly, “sure.”

And George takes the bait oh, so easily. “Oh, my God,” he groans, taking personal offense in Dream agreeing with him, because he’s stubborn like that. After a beat of silence, he asks, “you’re never dropping this, are you?”

“I mean, to be fair—” Dream really, really tries his best to keep his amusement hidden, but it’s to no avail. He finds this situation exceptionally funny, and he’s rather curious about where it’s going. Who can blame him? “You brought it up, but—”

“You’re stupid,” George cuts him off, by the sound of it, face-planting onto his bed.

Dream lets laughter bubble out of him, threatening to bring George with him. But his friend resists, like a sturdy tree. “How— How am I stupid?” he splutters through his giggles, grabbing his phone again and opening Twitter. He doesn’t even have to scroll to find what he’s looking for. “You called me baby, I have the clip right here.”

George scoffs lightly, voice muffled into the pillow. “‘Course you do.”

“Oh, come on,” Dream defends, turning to lay on his side and leaving the phone on the mattress. The smile hasn’t left his face, and it widens every time he remembers the name aimed at him, how natural George made it sound at the time, even if he didn’t mean it. He wishes he could hear it, close, slurred into his ear. It feels distant. “Like it’s not all over Twitter. It’s literally trending right now.”

“Oh, my God, this is ridiculous,” George says, then groans again, shifting in bed and huffing in annoyance. Dream giggles, soft, loving, and hears him sigh before he’s doing the same. The little idiot. Dream doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone as obstinate as him. “Now everyone’s gonna think we’re dating or something.”

Dream hums, mindlessly toying with the fabric of his hoodie. “They think that already,” he says, lips curling up even higher. It’s not like he minds it, really. He encourages it, even. “And you do like me, so…”

“Okay, but we’re not dating, Dreamie,” he reminds him, going soft again, words laced with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says through gritted teeth, rolling his eyes at the empty room. With his heart on his sleeve and the sour taste of distance on his tongue, he adds, “we’re— waiting, or whatever.”

George chuckles now, torturing him. “Or whatever,” he echoes. Then, lower, more vulnerable, “you know I can’t do it like this.”

“I know,” Dream assures, comforting, supportive. They’ve talked about it—it’s what they agreed on. And Dream understands. It doesn’t make him breathe any easier, though, it doesn’t slow down his heart in the slightest. But he respects it. “But, y’know, don’t— Don’t call me baby,” he mumbles then, playing nervously with his own fingers. “Makes me a little crazy.”

“Noted,” George whispers back, ever so gentle. And God, does Dream want him. He could explode with how much he needs him right now. But it’s fine. He can wait. He’s fine. “Sorry it slipped out.”

He’s not fine.

With a deep breath, Dream bites into his bottom lip. Hard. It’s like George is genuinely doing everything in his power to drive him irretrievably insane. He will accomplish it, someday—it won’t be long now. It really won’t be. “You’re so—” Dream starts, but he’s rendered completely speechless. He’s not sure the correct word to describe George has been invented yet. So instead, what he settles for is— “Unbelievable.”

George hums pridefully, because of course he does. “Thanks, Dream,” he sings, causing Dream to shake his head. He’d hold him so closely right now, if he could. He’d squeeze him tight and never let go. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Dream only giggles before letting his eyes fall shut. As the night stretches over his head, he’s lulled to peacefulness by the songs playing in his head and the sound of his best friend’s even breathing. He lets it wash over him carefully, lets it colonize him.

He’ll drown in every last bit of George he can get until he’s finally here, until he can finally have him. He’ll use them to make it through while he waits.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait—it’s all he needs to do.

Then it’ll all be worth it.

Dream leaves his room earlier than usual.

The Sun is up and about already, and the sound of metal and glass echoes down the hallway. He looks down, and finds Patches sneaking in between his legs, making a beeline for the kitchen. He rubs his eyes with his hands as he walks, dragging his feet and yawning softly before coming face to face with his roommate, who puts on a shit-eating grin as soon as he sees him.

“Good morning, Dreamie,” he says, provocative, sliding a plate with a toast across the island. “Sleep well?”

Dream frowns as he sits, looking around like he just fell into a parallel universe or something. “Hi. Why did you make breakfast?”

Sapnap shrugs as Patches jumps onto a stool, stretching and looking at them curiously, then meowing to demand attention. Sapnap pets her behind her ears and says, “can’t I make breakfast for my brother on a random Sunday morning?”

“No,” Dream deadpans, leaning forward to rest his face on upraised arms. Patches shifts to Callie, who then mirrors her dad’s position, eyelids heavy with sleep. Sapnap kisses her head before giving her a plate with toast too, and while Dream finds it incredibly adorable, he’s not letting him get away that easily. “What did you do? Do I need to call someone?”

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I didn’t do anything, Dream,” he insists, sipping from a glass of orange juice. “‘M leaving today so I wanted to be nice to you, but you clearly—”

“Wait, today?” Dream asks through a mouthful of toast, his frown deepening. “I thought you were leaving tomorrow.”

“Why’s Sap leaving us?” Callie slurs, kicking the air with her feet, waking up slowly. Dream chuckles softly at her choice of words, sparing a glance at Sapnap so he can answer for him.

“I’m visiting my family for a few days, but I’ll be back,” he tells her, and takes the seat by her side. She shrugs, seemingly satisfied by the answer. Sapnap turns to Dream again. “And yes, Dream, I’m leaving today. Maybe if you weren’t so busy with— y’know…”

Dream’s brows shoot up until they graze his hairline, eyes open wide in surprise. “With what, Sapnap?”

“I don’t know, baby,” he teases and oh. Oh, this is a nightmare. “I’ve heard things.”

As he puckers his lips, Dream tries his best to figure out the logistics of jumping out the window this exact second. “Okay, listen—” he tries, but Sapnap immediately guffaws, not even giving him the benefit of the doubt. “It’s— It’s not what it looks like.” And yeah, that’s a convincing statement.

His brother leans forward, attentive, and Dream watches Callie as she turns to him, inquisitive, throwing more eggshells on the floor for him to walk on. “And what does it look like, Dreamie?”

“You know what it looks like,” he spits through a scoff, averting his gaze, cheeks burning scarlet. He hates being ambushed like this, and with his kid in the room, for God’s sake. “But that’s not— that’s not what happened.”

“Clay,” Sapnap presses, lips quirked playfully. Dream wants to kick him under the table, but he refrains. “Did he or did he not call you—”

“Yes,” Dream cuts him off, sparing glances at Callie to see how much of this conversation she’s picking up. Not a lot, by the looks of it, but Dream won’t rely on that. She’s a smart kid. “He— He did, but— it slipped out. We’re not— We’re not.”

Sapnap’s amusement shifts slowly into something less bright, like he’s working overtime to figure out the intricacies of his two best friends’ relationship. Good fucking luck with that. “But you— y’know. You’re, like—”

“We’re nothing,” Dream insists, biting the inside of his cheek. “We’re— nothing. Not— Not yet, I guess, we’ve—” With a groan, he drags his hands through his hair. “We’ve talked about it but—”

“And?” Sapnap insists, dropping his hands on the island and reaching out for Dream. God, he’s such a gossip head. “Are you, like—”

Dream groans again, louder. His heart is about to run off his chest, probably to jump out the goddamn window. He notices Callie is about to open her mouth, so he rushes an answer before she gets to. “We’re nothing, Nick. We’re just friends.”

“But he called you baby!”

Callie turns to him in a heartbeat.

Oh, Dream is gonna kill him.

He closes his eyes with a deep breath, trying his best to not commit a crime on his brother in front of his only child. It requires a lot of willpower. Like, a lot. Sapnap’s hand snaps up to cover his own mouth when he sees it. “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled into his palms, eyes full of regret. “I’m so sorry.”

The girl plays with her fingers mindlessly, and under her breath, like an afterthought, she says, “you call me baby, Dad.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Dream lets his head fall forward, his forehead hitting the cold surface of the island. “Yeah,” he admits, regretful, a somber weight to his tone. He looks back up, and finds two pairs of green eyes already on him. He focuses on Callie, though, favoring Sapnap’s safety. “Yes, honey, don’t worry about it. Uncle Sapnap’s being… silly,” to say the least.

She frowns at him, like she can see through his façade. It must be her cat instincts or something. “But—”

“Baby, can you—” he says then, fingers pressing down on his own eyes. Then, he smiles gently at the girl, still avoiding his brother’s gaze. Being a dad has given him more self-control than he ever thought he’d have. “D’you wanna draw?” Dream asks, trying to divert her. It’s still a work in progress, but he really, really hopes it works this time. “We can finish that tree you were doing the other day.”

She smiles, stretching over the island. Dream holds his breath for a few seconds as the previous conversation slips her mind. “‘Kay,” she says, nodding eagerly. Thank God.

“Can you go get your crayons?” Dream asks, and he feels horrible for messing with his child like this, but he has no other choice. She nods again as she jumps off the stool, running down the hall towards the bedroom. Only then does Dream turn towards Sapnap, the smile slowly falling from his lips. “Dude, what the hell?”

Sapnap looks tiny where he sits, his brows knitted in concern and his mouth pressed shut. He gives Dream the puppy eyes, finally letting his hands fall to his lap. “I don’t know,” he says, and he does sound sorry but Dream’s head is killing him. This is the last thing he needed. “Like, dude, I thought you were messing around at first, but then you said ‘not yet’ and I wasn’t expecting it and—”

“Okay,” Dream cuts him off, taking another deep breath, fingers pressing down on his temples. “Okay, no. We’re—” A sigh, and Sapnap’s gaze pierces through him. He rushes the words out before Callie comes back to the room. “George can’t do long distance and neither can I, honestly. Not again, not— with him. So, there you go. There’s your answer.”

Sapnap is speechless. He looks like a spaceship just fell from the sky right in front of him. He gapes and he stares and he blinks but it’s pointless, no words come out. Not until— “So you and George—”

“C’mon, Dad,” Callie screams, running up to her dad and pulling at his clothes to drive him towards the living room.

Dream shoots a pointed look at his brother, asking him—begging him—to remain quiet. “Are you all packed yet?” he asks, and Sapnap nods, mouth still agape. “‘Kay. What time’re you leaving?”

“Two,” he says, voice hushed.

Dream nods. “Wanna hang out with us?” Then, softer, a peace offering, “we can talk later, if you want.” Sapnap doesn’t argue, he simply gets up and follows them to the couch in silence. Dream hugs him when he’s close enough—for comfort, for himself. Against his hair, he whispers, “‘m not mad, for the record. But you owe me.”

Sapnap chuckles, relaxing in his embrace. “I’m a good wingman.”

Dream shakes his head as he breaks apart, and messes up his hair only to annoy him. “I think you’ve done enough.”

Amsterdam fits George like a glove.

Dream isn’t sure what it is—the ancient architecture, the colors that surround him, the sunlight falling on alabaster skin—but it makes George look so effortlessly enthralling that Dream doesn’t know what to do with himself when he sees it.

He knew he was attracted to George, he’s known for a while. But this—the way he’s feeling right now—is utterly different. It’s burning bright, hot and lively like a forest fire, taking over him from within, spreading through his entire body. This feels like he was spread open, teared apart and slowly pieced back together—shard by shard, through classy laughs and chocolate eyes and oversized shirts.

Even through a screen, George could get Dream to gravitate around him like a satellite, stuck and devoted to his heart, his smile, his kindness. George moves his hands around as he speaks in hushed tones, floating in the water with the sunset behind him, adding to a view that’s way too majestic for a simple Twitch livestream on a day like any other.

The image it paints is so vivid, so achingly wonderful, and Dream loves it and dreads it at the same time. George was made for this—for hypnotic European landscapes, canal boats and vibrant flowers, walking around picturesque cities like he owns them, like they’re his. He doesn’t belong in lonely apartments with leaking ceilings, in silent phone-calls echoing ticking clocks, in confinement.

Dream didn’t know it until then, but for years now, he’d been witnessing George lose his glimmer, hide his soul beneath layers and layers of pain and solitude, burn amidst longing and yearning and distant promises that were always too hard to reach. And when he sees him like this—so relaxed, so ethereal—he can’t help but give way to the side of his brain that implies he doesn’t fit in any of it.

George disagrees, he’s told him before. George has always been good at telling that part of Dream to piss off and let him be happy, but he’s not here to do it right now. He’s in Amsterdam, surrounded by his friends, by a group of people Dream deems too elegant to be a part of, and he blends in perfectly. With high cheekbones, a sharp tongue and his accent deeper than Dream’s ever heard it, he looks unreachable, worthy of a lot more than what Dream has to offer.

Dream doesn’t like that thought. He’s worked around it for a long time, tried to surgically remove it very slowly, very carefully, scared that it’d fuck something else up in the process. So far, there’s been no luck. He managed to keep it at bay for a long time, though, but it always finds its way back, hidden amongst his other insecurities, hitting his head like a hammer.

He leans against the headboard, eyes fixated on the screen, and tonight, like this, it feels unavoidable. He chews on his nail and then his bottom lip and as his leg bounces with nerves, there’s a voice in his head that whispers why does he like me? How, if he’s never even seen me? For how long, if this is all that I can give him?

It’s toxic and unlike him but he still doesn’t know how to shut it down. And seeing George like this—chatting and laughing like it’s his element, like it’s his passion—it feels like he never will. But for two more days, he has no choice but to swallow it down, to lock it up and let it scream, let it wreck him, but not colonize him.

It might cause mayhem in his stomach, but Dream knows the brighter side of him—the one that’s full of love, the one that knows George in private—will try its best to keep it subdued.

He can only hope it’s good enough. At least, until George is back.

[Track: Connexion - ZAYN]

Dream is not mad. He’s not.

George
Dream
Pick up

George
I don’t wanna watch it tomorrow
Just pick up

George calls again.

Dream is a weak man.

“What’s wrong with you, idiot?” he asks as soon as Dream picks up, a certain delicacy to his voice that definitely wasn’t there five minutes ago, when they were hanging out in Karl’s stream.

Dream takes a deep breath as he leans back on his chair, feeling as tiredness slips away to leave place to something else, something he doesn’t welcome. “‘M just tired, George.”

“Why are you mad at me?” George asks then, and Dream sighs in exhaustion. “Why don’t you wanna talk?”

“‘M not mad, George,” Dream says, softer, trying to sound convincing. “I told you, I’m— tired. We can watch the episode tomorrow.”

“I don’t care about the episode,” he says and yeah, Dream figured. He thought the excuse would go on for longer, though, but apparently, George is a weak man too. “I just— I miss you, idiot. You’ve been avoiding me since I came back.”

“You’ve been sleeping since you came back,” Dream corrects, his elusive gaze turning away from the monitor, as if that changed anything. He still has no hiding spot—not with George, not in private. He’s too easy to read for him. It’s a blessing and a curse.

George’s determination doesn’t quiver. “Why’re you being weird, Dream?”

Dream is not mad.

“I dunno what to tell you, George,” he says, unconvincing. “‘M not being weird.” He is. He’s not even sure why, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t like it, but he can’t stop it, he doesn’t know how. “‘M just tired and I don’t feel like watching the show, so—”

“Dream, it’s not about the show,” George insists, huffing in annoyance. Dream puckers his lips, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “You’re barely talking to me and you were weird on stream and now you sound mad and I don’t even know if I did something or—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cuts him off, sitting up straighter and tangling his hands in his hair, feeling like an absolute idiot. God, why is he being so stupid? “‘M sorry.” He presses his eyes shut, trying his best to give way to honesty, to the way he’s feeling, even if he hates it. “I’m sorry, you— you really didn’t do anything. I promise.”

George breathes deeply, and his tone is softer when he asks, “then what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just—” A sigh, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “It’s nothing. I’m being stupid.”

George hums like he’s giving it a thought. “I’m gonna ask you something,” he says, guarded, then clears his throat. “If the answer’s no, then we don’t have to talk about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Dream says. “Ask me.”

Even before he says it, Dream already knows. “Are you jealous, Dream?”

Dream is not mad.

Not at George.

“I—” he starts, but cuts himself off right away. So that’s what it is. Yeah, that checks out. “Maybe? I don’t— I don’t know.”

George clicks his tongue. “Oh, silly,” he says, in that honeyed tone of his, the one he keeps for very, very exceptional days. It melts the thin layer of ice in Dream’s heart almost immediately. “Dream, why didn’t you tell me?”

“‘Cause— I didn’t know!” His cheeks burn with sheer embarrassment. He really wishes the Earth could swallow him and spit him out on Saturn. “And, like— It’s stupid. It’s not your fault, it’s just me being an idiot.”

“You are an idiot,” George agrees, because he’ll take any chance he gets to remind him. “But it’s fine. I’d just rather you tell me stuff like that, dummy. I wanna know, not guess because you’re acting stupid.”

Dream groans into his palms as he throws his head back in despair. George giggles in the background, turning the air lighter. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, letting his hands fall. “I’m not, like, possessive—”

“You are,” George cuts him off, and Dream envisions his smirk so vividly he thinks he’s going crazy. “You’ve always been. Even before— y’know.”

“Before wanting to kiss you and shit,” he spits out hurriedly, not even stopping to think of the words. But when they’re out, he’s suddenly wide awake. He sits up so fast he almost gets a head rush, and an apology starts to tumble out of his mouth before he even has time to process it. “I mean—”

“Yeah, exactly,” George cuts him off, and judging by his tone alone, Dream can tell he’s blushing beet red. Hell, Dream himself feels like he’s about to blow up or something. They don’t say things like that. Not on call—not ever, for that matter. But George doesn’t seem to mind it this time. “Or— Y’know, whatever.” Whatever. Or whatever. “I kinda like it, by the way. Not when you’re being stupid, though.”

Dream is pretty sure he chokes on air. “You like it when—”

“When you’re possessive,” George clarifies, and if his mic wasn’t so good, it probably wouldn’t have picked it up. He’s never sounded like this—so quiet, so alluring. “‘S kinda— hot, I dunno.”

Oh, Dream’s room is spinning. This isn’t good. “I’m—” he attempts, but his brain gives out on him. George just says things, doesn’t he? “‘M too fucking tired for this, G.”

He has the audacity to giggle. “Sorry,” he says. Dream doesn’t think he means it, but it’s okay. It’s really, really okay. When Dream’s stomach doesn’t feel like it’s burning anymore, George speaks again, less menacing. “But, yeah, you— You have no reason to be jealous, idiot,” he tells him, and Dream knows he means it. In theory, at least. Then, even softer, even more vulnerable, “‘m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he says immediately, cocking his head to the side. George might cause him a heart attack today, and it’ll be entirely Dream’s fault.

“I thought about you a lot.” A whisper of his smile slips into his words, present in the adoration with which he says them. “Y’know, when I was there.”

Dream smiles too, as a reflex. “Yeah?”

George hums softly, almost like he’s singing. “I think you would’ve liked it.” Dream hears him swallow, and guesses he’s chewing on his lip right now. “We should go, sometime,” he adds, as an afterthought. “Like, after we meet.”

“We can,” Dream says, feeling the heat as it rapidly takes over his entire body. “I’d like that.”

“It was just so— alive, y’know? It’s nothing like here. It’s— I dunno.”

There’s something in the way George speaks when he starts ranting like this. Something that makes Dream think they could very well be the only two people in the world, and it wouldn’t make any difference. George burns in thought, and Dream is always there to listen.

“I was just walking around and thought of smart stuff you’d say about, like, the architecture or something. Or the flowers. You’d like the flowers,” he continues, then makes a pause. Dream thinks of him. He remembers that stream he watched, how George looked like a star that had fallen from the sky, and was swimming amidst bits of the Universe that were almost as precious as him, but not quite. He remembers thinking something about the architecture, too, and the flowers. He doesn’t remember feeling so ruined, though, in the most wonderful way possible. George speaks again, in a whisper. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah,” Dream chokes out, feeling like he’s about to cry. His throat is closed up and his chest is tight and fuck, he doesn’t remember a time in his life when he’s felt so much while talking about European buildings. But he guesses George has that effect on him. “Yeah, I’m listening.”

“‘Kay. So— yeah, I dunno.” He’s done now, Dream can tell. He’s easing back into normal territory, but the way Dream’s heart is beating right now will be remembered beyond this conversation, beyond tonight. He feels small in comparison. “I’d wanna visit with you. It’d be fun.”

“I’d love that, George,” he says earnestly, playing with his fingers, tracing the lines on his palms. He wishes George was here. “I’d love to go— anywhere with you, honestly.”

He giggles again, ever so musical. “You’re getting sappy.”

“Well, I missed you,” Dream confesses, in case it wasn’t clear already. They haven’t talked for more than three days, which is insane if you ask him. No wonder he was going crazy. “And you’re being all sweet and shit, ‘m not used to it.”

“Good. You shouldn’t,” George deadpans, pulling a giggle from Dream, too. His case crumbles when he adds, “idiot.”

Dream hums. “That’s basically a pet-name.”

“Fine.” George clicks his tongue, probably rolling his eyes. “I’ll call you baby again then.”

A long yawn escapes Dream against his will, and he notices how much his face hurts from beaming for several minutes. It doesn’t stop him from messing with George, though. “I thought you’d said maybe.”

“You’re being stupid again,” he says through a grin, sounding so fucking soft that Dream refuses to pay him any mind. Oh, how he wishes he could be there, ear pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. Oblivious to the thoughts running through Dream’s mind, George clarifies, “the other kind.” The sweet kind. The kind that makes me nervous.

“‘Mkay,” Dream smiles, standing from his desk with the phone in hand. He rubs his eyes with the free one, dragging his feet towards the bed, and says, “I’m sleepy.”

George doesn’t waste a second. “Let’s sleep-call.” Dream adores him. He falls onto the bed, leaving George on the pillow by his side, burying himself in the covers. “We haven’t done it in a while.”

“Okay,” he says again, already feeling the way his consciousness slips away. Muffled into the mattress, he whispers, “g’night, G.” Wish you were here.

George fires the last bullet. “Night, baby.” I’ll be there soon.

Dream sleeps better than he had in months, and George doesn’t leave his mind until the next morning.

One week into August, Dream makes a decision.

“How do you think I should tell him?” he asks Sapnap one night, out of the blue, leaning back against the headboard of his bed.

Sapnap looks at him from his desk chair, taking his headset off. “Tell who what?”

“George,” Dream clarifies. “‘Bout Callie.”

His brother’s eyes open wide. “You haven’t told him yet?” he asks, alarms blaring with his tone, the game he’d been playing now permanently forgotten in the background. “Dude, what the hell?”

“You would’ve known!” Dream tells him, as if that gave it more sense, somehow. “I would’ve told you how he reacted or what he said—”

“You didn’t even tell me you, like, confessed to each other or whatever!” Or whatever. It doesn’t sound the same, not even close. Dream shrinks in place. “I just assumed you’d told him and he was fine with it.”

“Well, I didn’t tell him.” It weighs on his tongue, on his heart. It weighs on his shoulders, alongside the rest of the world. “And I want to tell him before it’s— too late.”

Sapnap blinks once, twice. He gets up from his chair and sits at the edge of the mattress, looking at Dream carefully. “What’s too late, Clay?” he asks. Dream finds it accusing. “‘Cause it’s been months.”

Years, actually, Dream’s brain provides, unhelpful.

“I know,” he mumbles, because he does—he does know. It doesn’t make it any easier, though. “I’m just—” A groan. “I’m scared, Sap. Especially now, dude, I— I can’t lose him.”

Sapnap sighs, running a hand through his own hair. It lands on Dream’s thigh next, supportive, reassuring. “Brother, I really don’t think you will. But you need to tell him.”

“I know, Sap. But it’s just so— huge,” Dream laments, eyes falling shut. Sapnap sighs again, and moves to lay by his side. “And the more I go without telling him, the more it grows, and now it’s this massive thing, and I— I’m scared that he’ll just— never look at me the same again. And then he won’t wanna come here, and—”

“Dude, he will,” he cuts Dream off, draping an arm around his shoulders to bring him into a hug. Dream appreciates it, but it’s not what he needs. It’s not— “You know George, he’s—”

“Nick, just—” Dream tries again, nestling into his brother’s chest, breathing evenly to calm himself down. “Let me, please?” he pleads, tone vulnerable. “Can I just vent to you for one second?”

Sapnap exhales, rubbing his back soothingly. “‘Course, brother.”

Dream takes a deep breath. “George is— He’s one of the most important people in my life. Ever. And I like him. I really, really like him, and he knows that. You— You know that, too.” He makes a pause to gather his thoughts. Sapnap hums, urging him to continue. “You also know that— I’d rather kill myself than let anything bad happen to Callie. It’s always been that way.”

Sapnap swats him lightly. “Don’t say that.”

“Well, it’s true.” Dream’s throat closes around his fear, reluctant to let more words out. He tries to swallow it down, and chokes on his next sentence. “I’m just— scared, dude. I’ve never been so scared about something like this. I don’t know if I’m being irrational, all I know is— that honesty is a really big deal for him. And I don’t have any reason to— keep this for so long. I don’t have a reason that doesn’t make me feel like a selfish asshole.” Sapnap stiffens against him, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I just wish I’d told him much sooner, y’know? It feels like I stole something from him.”

Sapnap swallows, and moves a hand up to his hair, like his mom did when he was younger. “Like what?”

“Dunno,” Dream says, shrugging, but he doesn’t know it to be true. “Seeing her, I guess. Talking to her. Getting to know her.” With each item he adds, his heart breaks a little bit more. He wishes George had been there for all of it. He wishes he’d given him the chance to ask questions about her, to know what Dream is like as a father. “It just confuses me, how— How he can say he likes me when he doesn’t know something so vital about me.”

“Is that what you’re scared of?” his brother asks, still playing with his hair. “That he won’t like you anymore?”

“Among other things,” he grants, trying his best to get his head to stop spinning. He’s not successful. “I feel like an impostor.”

Sapnap shakes his head. “You’re not an impostor, this isn’t fucking Among Us.” Dream huffs out a laugh, despite his best wishes. “Can I talk now, or do you not want me to?”

“You can talk,” Dream allows, nodding minutely. “You know George too, so… Be honest.”

“‘M always honest, bro, c’mon,” he starts and yeah, it’s true. Dream will give him that. “You wanna know what I think?”

He nods again. “Yes, please.”

“Okay. Okay, I think—” He clears his throat, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. With a deep breath, he finally starts. “I think he’ll let you explain yourself. He’ll know it’s, like, a big deal to you, so he’ll give you the space to vent, like just now. He’ll hear you out because he cares about you, and he’ll want you to get everything off your chest before, y’know, saying something stupid.”

Dream almost smiles at that. He holds onto his brother too, and urges him to continue.

“But he might need— I dunno, some time to process. Because it is a big deal and that’s— healthy and shit, right? So I’m not saying— that you should prepare for the worst, I’m just saying, like— All that stuff that’s in your head, just… Please, Clay, remember that’s it. It’s in your head.”

“Yeah?” Dream asks—small, vulnerable. It might be his imagination, but he thinks Sapnap holds him a little tighter.

“Yeah, dude. George loves you,” he says, and Dream knows it’s not the first time he has to remind him, but it definitely is one of the most important ones. He closes his eyes and lets it envelop him, lets it sink into his blood and engrave itself onto his brain. But just in case, just to make sure, Sapnap keeps speaking. “I knew it when I was in London, y’know? He— Bro, he doesn’t love anyone like he loves you, I can promise you that. And I don’t think he even knows it himself,” the final part is mumbled, more like a realization than a statement. Dream knows he’ll be thinking about it for a while. “It’s, like, important that you know it, though.”

“I do,” Dream says, shaky, broken. “I— think I do.”

Sapnap nods in approval. “So— Yeah, dude, even if it takes him a bit… he’ll come around. What you did for Cal is nothing to be scared or, like, ashamed of. And please, for the love of God, if you imply that you’re selfish one more time—”

“‘M sorry,” Dream cuts him off, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He knows how much Sapnap hates that word. “I won’t.”

“Okay, thank God.” Dream chuckles then, more honestly. Sapnap does the same, only to lighten the mood. “You’re not, bro, not even remotely close. George knows you and what you’ve been through. He’d be a stupid idiot if he didn’t understand how hard this has been on you and, like— He’s not an idiot,” he says, and Dream looks up at him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Okay, you know what I mean. Obviously, he’s an idiot, but—”

“I know,” Dream assures, letting the smile take over his lips. Sapnap hits him lightly in the head, so he goes back to his previous position. “Idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all idiots. Shocker.” He laughs with Dream again, who moves away from him a little bit, turning to lay on his back. Sapnap gives him a pat on the shoulder before retrieving his hand, but he remains where he is, taking up the other side of the bed. “Point is, I can’t promise you he won’t feel bad or that he’ll be normal about it right away. But he loves you, and he loves to love you. He’ll be happy to find out more about this— other side of you, or whatever.”

Dream takes a cleansing breath. “I hope he likes that one too, then.”

“Oh, he will,” he assures, smiling warmly. “I’ve been living with him. He’s fucking awesome.” Dream looks up at him shyly, lips curling up, and Sapnap squeezes his arm reassuringly. “He’ll love him just as much. I give you my word, brother.”

Dream has always trusted him. Today is no exception.

“One minute!” George cheers, clapping his hands, bursting with joy.

Dream beams at his monitor, totally enamored by this version of him—bright, loud, open. He can’t keep the fondness from his voice when he reminds him, “you already said happy birthday to me, like, five hours ago.”

“I don’t care,” he deadpans, groaning directly into the mic only so it comes out saturated. He’s goofy like that. “That’s ‘cause I’m cooler and it’s already Dream Day where I live.”

Three.

“Dream Day?” he repeats, laughing softly.

George hums an affirmative. “Yes, idiot. It’s your day, and you’re Dream, hence— it’s Dream Day.”

Dream pretends to be giving it a thought, swiveling in his desk chair with his gaze fixated on his own hands. “Hm. Where you live is trash, though.”

Two.

“I know,” George agrees easily, but the gleeful tone doesn’t leave his voice. “But it’s your birthday here, so—”

Dream rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but—”

“Shhh,” George cuts him off, his excitement more palpable the more seconds that go by. Dream can’t shake the warm feeling taking over his chest, not with George’s delight being so infectious. “Five seconds!”

One.

“Oh, my God,” Dream laughs still, hands moving up to cover his face in sheer embarrassment. “You’re so—”

The clock hits midnight.

George starts yelling immediately. “Happy birthday, Dream!”

Zero.

Dream’s door swings open.

“Happy birthday, dad!”

And then everything stops.

Tick. Tock.

Poof.

Chapter Text

[Track: ARRANCARMELO - WOS]

Dream’s utter panic must be visible in his face.

Callie is already climbing onto his lap when he turns towards the door and meets Sapnap’s wide eyes. There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Dream doesn’t catch it over the sound of George’s question.

“What was that?” George giggles, ever so oblivious, and Dream’s heart sinks deeper and deeper into his chest. “Was that Sapnap?”

“Oh, fuck,” Sapnap whispers, tumbling towards his brother to take Callie in his arms. “Fuck, I didn’t know—”

Dream doesn’t even bother to mute before looking at his daughter and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “Thank you,” he mumbles, squeezing her fingers before Sapnap can take her away. “Can you— please, give me a few minutes, baby?”

“Uh— Yeah, sure,” George replies and oh. Oh, no. Holy fucking shit. “Is everything—”

“Sorry, not— Not you, George,” Dream cuts him off, dread and embarrassment sinking their claws into his heart, keeping him from breathing, threatening to kill him. Sapnap catches on rather quickly on the dire misunderstanding, eyes open even wider than before.

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry,” he says, but his brother still can’t hear him. His ears are ringing, the most unbearable headache pressing on the back of his eyes, on each side of his skull. He barely registers the sound of the door shutting to his left, gaze still fixed on the floor.

Here the fuck it goes.

“Dream?” George calls again—small, scared. The contrast with his voice just one minute ago is abysmal. “Dream, what— Are you okay?”

In slow motion, Dream’s hand moves to grip his own chest. He falls back against the chair—head spinning, legs numb—and the last sixty seconds of his life rush before his eyes, all at the same time.

Time means nothing.

A lot can happen in a second.

“Yes,” he says first. His voice comes out strained, even for such a short, such a simple word. He’s not even sure that he’s lying, but he knows George doesn’t believe him. “I’m, uh— I’m fine, but—”

“Who— Who was that?” George tries again, hesitancy ever so evident in his voice. Dream digs his nails into his palms, eager to feel something, eager to feel anything. He’s not surprised that it doesn’t work. “It didn’t sound like Sapnap.”

Dream clears his throat. “It, uhm— It wasn’t. It wasn’t Sapnap.”

George aims for the walls around his heart. He’s the only one with enough power to tear them apart—brick by brick, like they’re meaningless. Just like time. “It sounded like a girl,” he says.

It all seems so easy, it all seems so simple. Dream lets his eyes fall shut right when the clock hits 12:03, and tries to focus on his breathing, on clearing his head to put a sentence together. He tries and he tries and he tries but the echo of George’s last words won’t stop reverberating inside his head, bouncing off the walls and driving him towards madness.

It’s out now. It’s inescapable.

He knows it is, but even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t dare run. This secret has stretched out for too long already, and it’s about time that he lets it loose, that he lets it free.

His heart sinks even more, grazing his stomach, making it churn.

“There’s something about me that I never told you,” he opens, voice inexplicably steady, denoting a certain confidence that he doesn’t possess. He definitely hears George breathe, he almost hears him think. In. Out. “I’ve been, uh— I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, but I—” A long sigh, eyes pressed shut. The white stars that swim around behind his lids seem at peace with his madness. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I haven’t told you yet. I only have stupid reasons, selfish reasons, and— And I’m really sorry that— this is how you’re finding out.”

George breaks his silence. “Dream, what the fuck is going on?” he spits, a bite to his words that Dream hasn’t heard in ages, sharper than a dagger, burning like fire. “You’re freaking me the fuck out.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Dream reassures, and surprises himself by pulling his legs up into his chair, hugging them tight against his chest. Callie’s frown when he shut her down doesn’t slip his mind, and he doesn’t even want to imagine the expression on his best friend’s face right now. He doesn’t think he can survive it. “But it’s, uh— a lot, and— I’m gonna talk and I’m gonna need you to just— listen. And then you can ask questions, if you have them. Y’know, if—” If you don’t hate me.

“Okay,” George agrees, forcing his voice to soften ever so slightly, sensing the fear in Dream’s own. It doesn’t do much for him, though—not with everything else that’s screaming at him from within. He wishes it could shut up already.

With a shaky breath, he digs his face into his knees, reluctant to cry. He won’t be able to do this if he starts to cry. The urge to run away is already hard enough to fight, the need to hold his child close, to know what Sapnap told her to ease her confusion. But he needs to take down one beast at a time.

Here’s the first one.

“Okay, so… Four years ago, I was— I was at my old house, at night, uhm— And I was dealing with something that— It was big. It was a big thing. I was freaking out about it and I didn’t know what to do or who to talk to, so— I simply chose to not deal with it. Which came back to bite me in the ass later, but that’s— beyond the point, I guess.” Get to the point, then. George breathes in his ear, but he doesn’t interrupt him. He simply listens.

Dream continues. “I went for a walk to, like, clear my head… I went to the park. I was gonna go back home because they said it’d rain and I didn’t have a jacket, but— I didn’t. Thank God, I didn’t.” He’s taking his time because it feels like it’s the least George deserves. The words have been stuck in his chest for way too long—the day his world changed forever, the single most important night of his life. He needs to do it justice. “I sat on a bench there for— I dunno. Way too long, maybe. And it wasn’t making any difference, but— This might sound stupid. I— I felt like I had to stay there. And then I— I simply turned my head and I saw… a baby.”

“A baby?” George repeats, unable to contain himself.

Dream swallows before humming, and the vines squeezing his chest ease their grip and tighten at the same time—getting used to him speaking but knowing that he’s getting closer to the confession he dreads, his biggest secret. “A baby girl. She was, uh— She was all bundled up in a dirty, white blanket, right under a tree. She’d been abandoned. Later, I— I found out why. I, like, took her to the doctor and to an orphanage and the Police and none of them did anything because—”

“She was a shifter,” George completes. His voice is barely above a whisper and the words fall from his lips ungraciously, but they hit Dream like the first time he ever had to utter them himself. “What did you do?”

The lump in Dream’s throat has never felt bigger. “I took her.” He says it like it was the easiest decision he’s ever had to make, even though he knows it’s far from it. But it’s the best one, for sure. No one can take that away from him. As the first tear rolls down his cheek, he clarifies, “I raised her.”

“You—” he’s cut off by his own breath hitching. In his voice, Dream hears he’s crying, too. “You did what?”

Dream flashes a sad smile that no one will ever get to see. “That’s— how I met my daughter.” And then, the final blow. “That’s how I met Patches.”

Dream doesn’t think he’s ever heard a louder silence in his entire life. It echoes, somehow. It feels empty, like falling into an abyss and not being able to see the bottom. It’s like knowing you’re about to break your knees from the impact, pressing your eyes in anticipation and waiting...

But it never comes.

“I don’t think there’s anything I can say to— To make up for the fact that I kept this hidden from you for so long,” he continues regardless, desperate to fill the void. The worst is behind him, and all he has left now is hope. “At first, I— I just wanted to keep her safe. I didn’t tell anyone for a really, really long time. And then, I— guess I was just… scared. I don’t want to, like, victimize myself, I guess. This is— a lot. It’s a lot to take in. I know it’ll take a while, and—”

“You’re a dad,” George cuts him off hushedly, still shocked, still monotone. He’s making it impossible for Dream to read his emotions. He’s being more guarded than ever before. “You have— a kid.”

Dream swallows harshly, biting his fear into his bottom lip. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The clock hits 12:09. Dream’s head is divided. He sinks deeper and deeper into the silence that’s settled around him and George, but he also itches to run off his chair this exact second to spend time with his kid, to explain to her what just happened. He feels numb to everything. He feels like he can’t process a single word he says, a single breath he hears—he feels like an outsider to his own life.

He’s not sure how to handle it.

“It’s too late for you, George,” he whispers softly, fidgeting with his own fingers. His heart stings in ways he can’t explain, and his lungs burn from the effort to keep him going. He still doesn’t know how he’s pulling it off. “D’you think you can— think about it?” he suggests tentatively, because he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say right now.

George clears his throat, but he doesn’t speak for a while after it. It’s like he ran out of words, like they bailed on him. Dream doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know anything right now.

But he’s desperate. “George, please, at least—”

“I’m gonna go to bed,” he announces—quiet, lifeless—and Dream hears him click his mouse, sit up to get closer to his chair. “‘M sorry, I—”

“Don’t be,” Dream tells him earnestly, pressing his lips into a line to keep the tears at bay. You did the right thing. His head thunders. It can’t be undone. “Take as much time as you need, I— It’s okay.”

George hums, then sniffles. Dream’s nails dig further into his palms—stinging, burning. But he can’t stop doing it. Not when it’s the only thing that feels real. “You’re—” he starts, but he cuts himself off. Dream wishes he could crawl inside his head, read his every thought, let the echo of his heartbeat lull him to sleep. God, he needs it so badly. But it never seemed farther. “You know you—”

“You don’t have to say anything, G,” Dream reassures him, eyes falling shut, clouded by silent tears. His legs fall from the chair and his feet make a sound when they hit the floor. It’s cold. It’s real.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he mumbles, accent thick, almost robotic. “I just— I can’t think right now.”

Dream takes a deep breath, and then one more. The stars aren’t there anymore when he closes his eyes. It’s only darkness. “That’s okay. Take your time.” Finally, softer, loving, “g’night, George.” I’m the same. I’m still the same.

George chokes on three simple words. “Good night, Dream.”

Dream wishes they were different ones.

Hope. It’s all you have.

The magnitude of what happened doesn’t dawn on Dream until after he leaves his room.

It all comes crashing down with the first step he takes into the hallway—the words he used, the story he told, the way he felt. It falls on his head like a bucket of bitterly cold water, freezing his skin and his blood and all the way down to his bones. It colonizes his head, turns it upside down like a tornado, and doesn’t allow him to think about anything else.

He stands still, gaze lost somewhere on the floor, mouth agape. He breathes slowly, carefully, like he’ll explode if he gives his lungs more than they can take. His brain takes and takes and takes, and it’s barely ten minutes into the new day but he doesn’t think he can do it anymore. All too suddenly, everything is real. All too suddenly, there’s nothing he can’t feel, nothing he can ignore.

His knees threaten to give out and his heart bangs against his ribcage and everything is so much, pouring out of his body like an open wound, drenching the floor in blue blood and spilled secrets. He can’t keep any of it from coming out, from disintegrating right before him, from dissolving into nothingness and leaving him empty inside.

He sees Sapnap approaching him from the corner of his eye. He presses them shut, and he hears the echo of his own voice telling his daughter’s story, of George’s mindless goodbye and Callie’s broken voice when she came looking for him. It’s deafening, it’s merciless. He’s still trying to make sense of it when a pair of arms wraps around him, keeping him steady, keeping him together.

He doesn’t fall because his brother catches him. He always does.

“Dream, I’m so fucking sorry,” he mumbles into his ear, thick with honesty, hand rubbing his back soothingly. Dream nods, because there’s nothing else he can do. “I had no idea, dude, I’m so sorry.”

He feels a second pair of arms—a gentler one, a smaller one—envelop the lower part of his left leg. And his eyes are welling up again, just like that. He hugs Sapnap back with one hand and pulls him closer, while the other finds the back of his daughter’s head and gets lost in her hair. It helps. It keeps him from falling, keeps him from breaking.

This—his support system—is everything he needs right now.

“C’mere, let’s sit down,” his brother suggests, holding him by the waist and walking with him to the living room. He takes tentative steps, like he’s scared Dream will give out on him any second. Like he wouldn’t be surprised if that happened. “D’you wanna talk about it?” he asks once they’re on the couch, keeping a safe distance and allowing Callie to climb onto her dad’s lap, hugging him by the neck.

Dream nods, but the words escape him. He wouldn’t know where to start, he wouldn’t know what to say. Because, really, what the fuck just happened? He runs a hand through his own hair as he thinks, as he wonders, and he still doesn’t know how he can be okay with his stupid birthday being the catalyst to George finding out he’s a goddamn father, for God’s sake. That’s not how it was supposed to go.

Sapnap puts a hand on his thigh and shakes it softly, catching his eye. Dream must look like a ghost right now—snow white, shaking like a leaf, empty eyes and wandering hands, confused as to where the fuck he’s supposed to go from here.

Not up. You can’t go up. You need to go forward.

But his head falls backwards. It hurts. It stings. His gaze jumps from one spot to the other on the ceiling, and he feels his own face as it starts to warm up slowly, getting used to the deathly silence. Callie is more quiet than Dream’s ever seen her. She simply lies against his chest, playing with the cord of his hoodie, like she’s waiting for something. Like she’s waiting for the Earth to break in half right under her innocent feet.

“He’s, uh—” Dream starts—minutes, hours later—and he can’t help the way his voice breaks, straining with misuse, with previously shed tears. “He’s gonna need some time.”

Sapnap nods, leaning on his brother’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he mumbles, because he knows. He called it.

Callie looks at the two boys then, big, bright green eyes glowing on her face, a question threatening to fall off her lips. It takes her a while to let it out, and her voice is small when she does it. “Are you okay, Dad?”

Dream wants to cry again. He doesn’t know what it is with the Universe and grabbing his heart and shaking it around like a maraca, uncaring for its well-being, for its proper functioning. He looks down at his kid and flashes a sad smile, nodding unconvincingly, even to him. “I— Yeah. I will be,” he whispers, pressing a long kiss to her forehead.

She cocks her head as she looks at Sapnap, like Dream won’t listen if she so much as turns her head, and asks, “is George okay?”

“Yes, Cal,” Sapnap says, lips curling up ever so slightly. “He’s just tired. He went to sleep.”

Callie barely pays him any mind. She turns to Dream again, moving her hand up to wipe a few dry tears from under his eyes—something Dream does every time he sees his daughter crying. She smiles, then, like she learned from him. “Why sad?” she asks. “Happy!”

Yeah, Dream is crying again.

He hugs her tighter, and Sapnap pouts because he knows exactly the feeling that’s coursing through Dream’s veins right now—of sheer adoration, of honest indulgence. He kisses her head because she’s the most wonderful human being to step foot on this cursed Earth of theirs, and he must have done something right to have such a perfect daughter.

Callie is right, after all. It’s his birthday today, and she and Sapnap are right here, right by his side to spend it with him. This is his family, too, and they have his back no matter what. They all deserve a happy day together, especially after everything they’ve been through. They deserve better than to put up with him moping for hours and crying over something that’s not even under his control, something he can’t change no matter how hard he tries to.

Wait. It’s all he can do.

It’ll all work out.

It has to.

[Track: Habits - Genevieve Stokes]

Dream’s never been one to sleep a lot. Not until his twenty-third birthday.

The blissful haze can only last so much when you’re worried about someone hating you—especially if that person is someone you care about deeply, someone you’d move buildings and oceans and entire continents for. Dream knows it’s stupid. He wants to know it’s stupid. George doesn’t hate him, and that’s simply because there isn’t a world where Dream could hate George. So it works the other way around, right? It has to.

It has to.

Dream has been clinging onto that inconclusive mantra for a really long time. He tries not to think much about it. A lot of things happen when they shouldn’t have to, a lot of bad things. He desperately wants to think this is not one of those cases, but it’s getting harder by the minute.

Radio silence. It’s not something he’s used to. He doesn’t know how to navigate it. He sleeps and he thinks, and before he knows it, he’s overthinking so he goes to sleep again, because he wants to stop it. He won’t let it break him, he won’t let it drive him mad. He finds some time to eat, every few cycles.

Or, well, Sapnap finds it for him. He’s worried about Dream, and so is Callie. Dream can’t help but feel like he’s neglecting her, even if he does spend time with her every day. Not as much as he normally would, though. It’s not as fun, either. It’s mostly them talking about cartoons and watching children’s movies and Dream’s mind wandering off and then he wants to sleep. He hates it.

His head is a mess and it’s really hard to even put things together to talk to anyone. Sapnap tries that, too. He sneaks into his bedroom every other night, asks how he’s doing, lays with him in silence, only to keep him company, only so he’s not alone with his thoughts. Dream allows it, because he doesn’t want his madness to rub off on his brother. He doesn’t want to take him down alongside him.

That’s the thing with fake, made-up peace. That’s the thing with the eye of the hurricane.

It doesn’t mean it’s over. It means you’re only halfway there.

It means you have to keep fighting.

The phone rings two days later.

Dream has never picked up so fast in his entire life.

“Hi,” he greets, itching with anticipation, burning with anxiety.

George takes a deep breath. “Hi, Dream.” He doesn’t sound mad. He does sound tired. “Can we talk?”

Dream sits on his bed, and leans back against the headboard. This will be long. “Yeah, we can.”

“Okay. Okay, first of all— Sorry,” he starts. Dream frowns. “Sorry I, like, disappeared. You told me something important and I didn’t even say anything, so— Yeah. I apologize.”

“You don’t have to,” he says earnestly. “It was a lot. You had every right to— Take your time and think about it and— To be upset or mad or feel however you wanted to feel. To, like, process it. Don’t apologize for that.”

George hums in admission. “I wasn’t mad. I knew you’d think that, but— I wasn’t, I wasn’t angry with you,” he assures, and it hits Dream like a breath of fresh air. That’s before he adds, “I was— sad, I think. And I’m really confused.”

“I know,” Dream nods, sliding down a little bit, tilting his chin down. “That’s— Yeah, that makes sense. I can— I can answer any questions you may have.”

“Okay, that’s good. I have questions.”

Dream breathes deeply, bracing himself. “Shoot.”

“Who else knows?” he asks first. Dream has the feeling that his voice drops lower with each word he utters. He’s never heard George like this before—so careful, so guarded, walking on eggshells. Not around him.

“My mom, sister, and a few more people in my family. From— When I still lived with them. Sapnap found out a few months after moving in. And, uh— I told Bad first. A few years ago,” he remembers, playing with his fingers. He hates that memory. “I was really overwhelmed and I had a panic attack and he helped me and— I told him.”

George hums. There’s a tapping sound of his end, of fingers on wood. Dream closes his eyes to focus on the beat he sets. “And you, like— legally adopted her? Just like that? And raised her on your own?”

“Yeah,” Dream says, his pride and joy. He builds up confidence slowly. George is open to listen. “I had help, at first. When I lived with my family. We were on our own for a while when COVID hit, and now— Nick helps a lot. He helps both of us.”

George swallows hard again. The beginning of his next sentence comes out a little strained. “When were you planning on telling me?”

Dream feels his own heartbeat in his ears. He moves his tongue around inside his mouth, biting the side of his cheek. “I’ve been trying to for years. Since— Since Sap found out, basically, but— I’m a coward, so,” he admits, speaking through the lump in his throat, determined to get over his stupid fear. “I kept trying to find the right time and then I realized that— you’re more than a friend to me, which was— also pretty scary, at first, and—” With a sigh, he presses fingers to his temples, squeezing his head. “Like I said, I don’t have a valid excuse. I should have told you. Way sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?” George asks—shy, a little broken. He sounds calm, though. He’s really trying, putting in his best effort to understand Dream’s reasoning. Even in the way he asks, Dream feels like he already knows.

“I was so scared that you’d— hate me for keeping it from you or— I dunno, that you wouldn’t wanna, like, live with a kid, or—” Dream chokes on the rest of his sentence and tilts his head back, resting it against the headboard. He feels naked like this. He’s never been so vulnerable. “It just feels like I’ve been living this, like, other life, y’know? And I hate that I didn’t make you a part of it sooner ‘cause you’re, like—”

“Yeah,” George cuts him off, hushed, wary. “I know. You are, too.”

Dream runs his tongue through his lips, his soul dancing and jumping around inside his chest, ever so desperate to meet George’s. He’d kill to see him right now, to read his eyes like only he knows how to do, to trace patterns with his freckles that will reveal what his heart whispers. “I really wish you’d known about her sooner,” he tells him, a confession that’s been weighing on his tongue since before he can remember. “I was just trying to protect her. The world is so cruel to shifters and I— God, she’s been through so much already, y’know? I just— I just want to protect her. But she didn’t need protection from you, you’re— You’re George.”

George huffs out a half-laugh and it’s such a simple gesture, but to Dream it’s the most precious thing that’s happened to him in the past few days. He relaxes, almost melts into the mattress. He’s taking anything he can get, anything that tells him it’s not all lost. “I know it’s hard,” he says, his tone lighter, less charged. It rings like music. “I mean— I figure. I know, like, society’s opinions on shifters and— all that, so—”

“I just wanted to keep her safe,” Dream insists, heart on his sleeve, mind slightly clearer. George gets it. George gets it. “I don’t want it to come off as— I dunno, wanting to hide her or something, ‘m not—”

“Dream, I don’t— I don’t doubt that you did what you thought was best,” George cuts him off, a long breath escaping his lips, an underlying sweetness to his voice that Dream has missed desperately. “I know you. You’re all— love. And kindness and— all that.” The smile that breaks on Dream’s lips could blind thousands of people all at once. “I know you did your best and wanted to keep her away from— Yeah, everything. Everything that you go through.”

Tears well up in Dream’s eyes, colored red and blue—like his love, like his inner peace. He feels light, for once. Freedom. It feels nice to fly. “She’s my girl, George,” he breaks, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I can’t— I can’t expose her to any of that. I can’t even risk it. She’s—” A deep breath, and Dream fidgets with the hem of his shirt, deep in thought. “I’ve always prioritized her.”

“I understand that,” George says finally, taking the weight off Dream’s shoulders for good. It’s not all lost. “I— Yeah. I understand— wanting to protect her, but—”

“I know,” Dream cuts him off, because really, he does. He knows George is having mixed feelings, how could he not? “I just— I had so much to, like, focus on, and— I didn’t understand a lot of it, at first, and then— Then it spiraled and I hadn’t told you and I was— Like I said, really scared, and—”

“I don’t hate you, Dream,” George rushes to say, denoting the same vulnerability Dream feels. “In case that wasn’t clear. I’m not angry with you and I don’t hate you and I get it, I think. I have no idea what I would’ve done in your position, but— Yeah. ‘M still… You’re still— it, y’know, for me, it’s just— It’s something to get used to, I guess, but—”

Dream’s heart does a cartwheel inside his chest. Childish, innocent, he asks, “you mean that?”

He chuckles softly. Oh, God. It’s not all lost. It really isn’t. “Of course, Dream. You’re— You’re stuck with me, idiot. I already applied for a visa for you, you’re not getting out of it that easy.”

Dream beams. “Wasn’t trying to,” he sings, a warm feeling spreading all the way down to his stomach, something stronger and more intoxicating than he’s ever felt before. “‘M still sorry, though. I would’ve loved to tell you about her sooner, but— I was an idiot.”

“You were parenting,” George corrects, slowly coming to terms with it. It’s a process, Dream knows. It will take a while, but they’ll get there. They’ll get there. “It’s even harder with shifters, it’s—” A sigh, a heavy breath. He doesn’t finish his sentence. “All I’m saying is… A lot of people would’ve left her there. You didn’t. You’d never do that, you’re— You’re a really kind person, Dream.”

“Thanks, George,” he says, smiling, bashful. He fully lays down now, leaving his phone on his chest, right by his heart. His head still spins, he still feels dizzy, but in a good way. In a loving way. “Means a lot coming from you.”

George continues like he didn’t even hear him. “You’re just— I dunno. It’s one of the things I like the most about you, I think,” he mumbles, secretive. Dream aches to hear it from up close. He’d let it flood him. “I’ll never fully get it, how you just— How you have enough love for everyone. Even the people who aren’t nice to you, like— It’s stupid.” He says it in the way he always says it, with intention, like he means it. And then he adds, “not, like— Ugh. Like, in a good way. I guess I— admire you, is what I’m trying to say. I could never be that big of a person.”

Dream has been crying a lot lately, he’s not gonna lie. It’s a little dumb to feel so touched by this, he thinks, but he can’t help it. He can never help it when George gets like this with him—so soft, so earnest, rambling about nice things, sweeter than honey. The way he’s speaking now, like he could never get there, tells Dream something he already knew.

George has no idea how visible his love is. George has no idea how open he is, how vulnerable, how easy to read. George is made out of love, too. He just struggles to notice it himself. Dream’s attempts at telling him have always been a failure, and he knows today will be no exception. “George, you—”

“Don’t,” he cuts him off right away, coming back into himself. His voice is affected, though. Dream catches the way it breaks, the way it tries to hide. He wants to kiss it better. “I just wanted to say that. We don’t have to talk about it.” I don’t wanna talk about it, Dream translates.

He puckers his lips, but he doesn’t argue. “You mean so much to me,” he says instead, letting him know a different way. George’s scoff is the equivalent of a beet red blush. “I hope you know that.”

“Yeah.” He smiles almost against his will. Dream catches that, too. “You too, Dream.”

Dream breathes. It feels like the first time. On some level, he knows it is.

He also knows there’s a lot more firsts to come, and he can’t wait to live them.

“So,” George starts a few days later, settling into his desk with a wide smile, by the sound of it. He’s in a chatty mood. “You have a daughter.” A really chatty mood.

“I do,” Dream confirms, beaming. Because he can talk about this now. He doesn’t have to hide.

George hums, swiveling in his chair. “Tell me about her.”

And oh, Dream is on cloud nine. “Really?”

George giggles at the evident excitement in his tone, and softens when he answers, “of course, idiot. She’s your daughter. I wanna know about her.” I wanna know about you. “Oh, my God. That’s crazy. You’re a dad, Dream.”

“Yeah— I know,” he says again, heart beating steadily, hands trembling. God, it feels surreal—George asking about his daughter. He won’t get used to it anytime soon. “This is weird. Like, good weird,” he clarifies, just in case. “It’s like— I dunno, just— You seeing me as a dad for the first time.”

George makes a sound in agreement. “I’ve always imagined you being one of those dads who never shut up about their daughters,” he says then, bashful, and Dream’s heart and his stomach and his entire body take a leap, jump in excitement. “Y’know? Who have, like— pictures in their wallet and do their hair, and— Oh, God. Dream, please, tell me you do her hair.”

“Yeah, I do her hair.” He giggles again, unable to keep his joy in. He feels like he’s dreaming. “I’m not saying I’m good at it, but— I try my best. She likes bows.”

“She’s probably the most spoiled kid on the planet,” George says, teasing, amused. Dream’s cheeks go a little red. “Don’t try to deny it.”

He rolls his eyes, sinking into his chair. “Fine! Yeah, okay. She lives like a princess,” he says, peering at his monitor, like he just got caught. Okay, sue him. She’s his only kid—of course, he’s gonna spoil her.

George giggles in response, like he doesn’t know all about being spoiled by Dream. But he changes topics then, ever so curious. “Does she like Sapnap?”

“Yeah, she loves him,” he answers, grinning warmly. He remembers the day they met, the day Callie first talked to him as a human. It feels like yesterday. “It took a few weeks for her to shift in front of him, but— They’re really close now. She calls him Uncle Sapsap.”

“That’s cute.” Then, softer, “now I’m, like— even more scared that she won’t like me. What if she hates me, Dream?”

“She will love you,” Dream assures, and he’s never been more certain of anything in his life. “She will absolutely love you, George. She— she already does, actually.”

George chuckles in surprise. “What? How can she love me? She doesn’t even know me.”

Dream chews on his bottom lip before replying, in a careful tone, with words that ring too much like a confession. “You really think I don’t talk about you?” he asks, baring his soul, leaning his head back. “She knows who you are.”

“Are you serious?” George sounds genuinely surprised. Dream doesn’t understand why, if he’s being honest. He could talk about George for hours and not even realize that time is even going by. Everyone who knows Dream knows about George. His daughter is no exception.

“Yeah, she thinks you’re cool. She knows your voice and your name and— She asks about you, sometimes.” He smiles at the mere thought of it. Yeah, Callie already loves George. She knows how special he is. “She’s excited to meet you. Just like I am.”

George stopped breathing, sometime in the past minute. His voice comes out strained the next time he speaks, thick with feeling. “You tell your daughter about me?”

“Of course,” Dream admits easily, because how could he not? It shouldn’t be so simple, but it is. The two most important people in his life know about each other. It just makes sense. “And you— imagined what I’d be like as a dad.” He’s not sure why he brings it up, but it feels like it just dawned on him. I’ve always imagined you being one of those dads who—

“Yeah, I guess— I did.” It flies straight into Dream’s chest, and he wants to keep it in a little crystal box. It’s charged, electric, like a beacon in the middle of the ocean, like the key to something else. Dream already knows he’ll be spinning it around inside his head for a long time. “You give off dad energy. I guess it makes more sense now, but— y’know. It’s easy to, like, imagine you with children.”

Dream hums, smiling down at his own hands. “I see.”

George clears his throat, letting the moment slip away. He’s an expert at that. “What does she look like?”

“She’s tall for her age,” Dream indulges him solely because he loves this question. He doesn’t get it often. “She’s, uhm— She turns five in a few weeks. September fifteenth, it’s— the day I found her. I don’t know her actual birthday, I only know she was around one year old then, so…” George hums softly, urging him to continue. “Uh— Her eyes are really similar to mine, I’d say. And she has dimples and— the prettiest smile ever. She’s gorgeous.”

“Sounds a lot like you,” George comments mindlessly, amused. “From what I know, at least.”

Dream rolls his eyes, chuckling fondly. “Well, no, I mean— Her skin is way darker. And her hair is more like— yours, I guess. Dark chocolate and a little curly and— I dunno, soft. It’s nice hair. And even when she’s, like, human, she behaves kind of like a cat.” He pauses, thinking of the times she’s meowed or jumped off places as Callie. She has fun with it, and Dream loves that about her. “She’s both, all the time. And she— reminds me of you sometimes, dunno why.”

George chokes on his own breath, which only causes Dream’s smile to widen, to become sharper. “That’s— That’s sweet, Dream,” he forces out, words muffled in embarrassment. He scoffs when Dream giggles. “You’re stupid, stop messing with me.”

“I’m not messing with you!” Dream defends, shaking his head. “‘M being serious, I promise. She’s, like, goofy. She’s funny and really smart and, like, obsessed with cats, for— obvious reasons. But— Yeah, ‘m not lying, why would I lie about that?”

“Okay, whatever,” George mumbles, scoffing, taking weight off of it. Dream wants to shake him, the little idiot. He’s so fucking precious. “She sounds perfect, actually. And she’s probably cool, if she’s anything like me.”

Dream leans forward, closer to the mic, and rests his head on upraised arms. “She is,” he says first, harmless. Then, lower, “she’s perfect like you.”

George splutters, letting go of a lighthearted groan, a fruitless complaint. “Stop flirting with me, Dream, we’re talking about your daughter. You’re being inappropriate.”

“I can do both,” Dream argues, lips puckered, head tilted sideways. “I’m efficient.”

Dream sees George’s response coming from a mile away. “You’re not a fish, you’re an idiot.”

“Okay, George,” he drawls out, laughter bubbling out of him, fueled by his best friend’s poor attempts at deflecting. He’ll give him a break, though, he’s earned it. He’ll have plenty of time to mess with him later. “‘M really happy we can talk about this now.”

“I know,” he answers, somewhat shy, but honest all the same. His smile is still noticeable in his voice when he says, “I like it, too. You and your little family.”

Dream chuckles airily, a warm feeling coursing through his bloodstream, making him float. He has so many things he wants to tell George. So, so many. For now, he settles for— “Can’t wait for you to be here. You’re gonna love it.”

Hopefully, you’ll be a part of it, too.

George whispers, “I know I will.”

Freedom. For the first time, it doesn’t slip away.

Dream is finally—genuinely— at peace.

[Track: You - benny blanco, Marshmello, Vance Joy]

After that day, time rushes by.

As soon as they get settled into the Dream Team House, Sapnap leaves for North Carolina.

And the missing pieces start falling into place all at once.

George
DREAM
DREAM
DREAM
ANSWER ME IDIOT

George
I GOT THE VISA

The message explodes on his phone screen, shaking Dream like a ten point earthquake. He barely has any time to process it before the phone starts to ring, and he picks up with muscle memory alone. There’s no way.

“Hello?” George says as soon as the call connects, and Dream can’t contain the tears welling up in his eyes, the lump forming in his throat. There’s no way.

“Are you memeing?” he asks because he has to, because he can’t pinch himself to make sure that he’s not dreaming. “Are you memeing me?”

George seems calm, but Dream knows better. “I’m serious,” he says, and Dream’s heart stops. Everything fucking stops. There’s no one else in the world, nothing else happening, besides this moment. Holy fucking shit.

With a hand clasping his chest and as he paces around the room, Dream chokes out, “you’re being completely serious?”

George laughs. He laughs, and Dream knows it’s his way of saying yes, you fucking idiot, why would I lie?

“Oh, my God, yes!” he screams, voice stuck in his throat, hands tugging at his hair. His heart is beating so ridiculously fast inside his chest it might spontaneously combust, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. “George. Oh, my God.”

“Now show me your face, idiot.” George is grinning—it’s achingly present in his words, in the way he enunciates them. He sounds so fucking happy, and Dream’s skin burns red with how much it moves him.

With the back of his hand, he wipes a few tears from under his eyes, but it’s pointless, for they keep falling anyway. He stumbles back to his chair, sitting down when he feels his legs about to give out on him. Softer, slightly more collected, he asks, “are you sure you don’t wanna wait to see me in person?”

“I’m ready!” George insists, ever so impatient. God, Dream fucking adores him. “I have my camera set up, I’m all ready to go.”

Dream takes a deep breath, leaning forward on his desk. “I guess I’m just— I just wasn’t expecting this!” he says, finger hovering over the camera button and— No. Absolutely not. This is George seeing him for the first time in their lives. After over seven years of knowing each other. This is not how it’s going down. “I’m gonna go look into a mirror, make sure I don’t look like trash.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer, and he’s already hyperventilating. God, his chest hurts. He was playing Minecraft, just two minutes ago, and now he has to— Jesus Christ.

This is arguably one of the most important moments of his life and George expects him to simply… do it. Rip off the mask like it’s a band-aid and suddenly have the love of his life know—

Oh.

Oh.

Okay, this is clearly not the time for a revelation like that, so Dream decides he’s putting it aside for the time being. He’s fine. He’s normal. He rushes to the bathroom on shaky legs like a normal person. He runs his fingers through his long hair almost aggressively, also like a normal person, and he frowns at his own reflection for not getting a haircut like an extremely normal and sane person.

He’s fine, he really is. He’s not scared or anxious in the slightest. He’s not nervous out of his mind. And it’s not getting worse with every second that goes by. Not at all.

He goes back to his bedroom—very calm, very collected—and sits in his chair again.

In. Out.

Fuck.

He hesitates, but realistically, does he have a choice? He can’t just leave George hanging, not if he already has his camera on, not when he sounded so excited and happy and— On the other hand, George would understand if Dream told him he’s not ready. It’s a big thing after all, so—

Okay, no. No. He’s ready. He’s not a coward. He’s got this.

Has he got this?

Fuck it.

He calls. It rings and it rings and it rings and, for a moment, Dream thinks George might’ve regretted it. That he might’ve changed his mind, that he—

He picks up.

He’s there, on Dream’s screen. And he’s beaming. And he’s red like a fucking tomato and he looks so ridiculously beautiful that Dream thinks he might pass out right this second.

“I was waiting— Hello!” Dream greets, shaking with nerves, laughing awkwardly. He looks at the upper-left corner of the screen and his own face is there, looking back at him. He thinks he looks stupid but, judging by George’s expression, he probably disagrees.

“Oh, my—” he starts, hand over his mouth, jaw slack. Dream’s legs bounce anxiously, and he’s not really sure how to hold his phone. He’s never done this before, okay? This is new territory. Entirely new territory. “I actually was not expecting— I don’t know what I was expecting but you actually don’t look at all like I was expecting. Oh, my God.”

Dream tries to pucker his lips, but the smile never leaves them. “Is that— a good thing? Or are you saying I’m horrible?”

“Okay, it’s definitely not horrible,” George mumbles, turning even redder—assuming that’s possible. He’s blushed so many times before—so many times, especially because of Dream—but this time he genuinely looks like his head is about to blow up. His cheeks must be burning right now. Dream focuses on it so much he forgets he’s being seen, too. “You look like an NPC,” George says earnestly, pulling a laugh out of him, easing the tension. “It’s like— This is so weird.”

Dream plays into it, hypnotized by his best friend’s smile glowing on his phone screen. It gets him all the way down to his bones, poisoning his bloodstream, all-consuming. He welcomes it. With an arched brow, he asks, “you seeing me for the first time?”

George laughs nervously, covering his eyes with his hands. Dream knows that gesture, he loves that gesture, even though he doesn’t get it often. That’s George in his rawest form. That’s the side of George that hides behind upraised legs and soft words muffled into knees, the one that calls Dream ‘baby’ and pictures him as a father and asks about his daughter.

God, does Dream love that side.

Almost like he’s reading his mind, George looks back at the phone. “This doesn’t feel real,” he says.

Dream couldn’t agree more. He gapes, but he doesn’t really want to speak. He wants to savor it, he wants to treasure it. He doesn’t tear his gaze away and he knows that George feels it, that he knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“I’m gonna cut this out,” George announces, tone ten times softer, looking away shyly. Dream’s smile widens, and he bites it into his lower lip. Between his teeth, he drips honesty. “You’re— really, really handsome, Dream.”

Dream deflates. He runs a hand through his fringe and feels his own face as it melts, as it burns, as it gives him away. “Thank God,” he jests, scrunching his nose, getting George’s attention back. “Here I was scared you wouldn’t like me anymore.”

George rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “I don’t, actually,” he lies, raising his eyebrows, and Dream chuckles in response. “I changed my mind.”

You’re stuck with me, echoes in Dream’s head as he hums.

But still, because he knows how stubborn George is, he says, “I’m sure you did.”

He’ll have plenty of time to prove him wrong.

“Hi, idiot,” George greets him a week later, a bright smile on his face. It almost feels like it never left, almost feels like it never will.

Dream shuffles in bed, sitting up against the headboard. “You really like pet-names, huh?” he teases, a light tone, mirroring George’s gesture. He sees him open his mouth, but before he can rebut, he warns, “be careful, G. We have company.”

George’s expression shifts, and Dream’s is flooded with amusement. “Sapnap’s still with Karl,” he reminds, squinting, as if Dream could forget that. He nods regardless, so he knows he didn’t. “Who—”

“Well, I thought—” Dream starts, swallowing harshly, playing with his fingers. He turns to look at his daughter, smiling widely at him, a nice baby blue bow on her head. He reaches out a hand for her, and she takes it willingly, scooting closer to lay on his chest. George sees her hair from this angle, and his eyes open in surprise, round and bright, like a pair of marbles. “—since you saw my face—”

“Shut up,” George cuts him off, bolting upright, cheeks growing pink. Dream runs his hand through Callie’s curls and she giggles, because she knows what’s coming and she’s very excited about it. George’s palm flies to cover his mouth when he hears it. “Dream. Dream, are you serious?”

He shrugs like it’s meaningless, like he’s not about to burst into flames. Callie can probably feel his heart banging against his ribcage, his breath hitching in his sternum. He feels like he’s levitating, really. He sits up slowly, holding the girl’s back so she doesn’t fall. “If you want to see her—”

“Yes, oh, my God,” he says, words muffled into his hand, and Callie giggles again.

She shuffles, eager to show herself, trying to push herself up on Dream’s stomach, but he doesn’t let her just yet. He hugs her tighter, and laughs between his teeth. “Just— Wait a second, baby.”

“Ugh, okay,” she says, he says. Dream presses his lips together, holding back laughter. George’s eyes widen even more, if possible, sheer embarrassment overtaking him. There’s no way.

Dream hums, a soft pink color coating his cheeks. Teasing, “if I had a nickel…”

“Shut up,” George mutters, averting his gaze, face-planting into his hands. He’s adorable like that. Callie rolls off Dream’s chest, laying on her back on the mattress, huffing impatiently. Her dad laughs again. He seems to be the only one having a good time—if you don’t count the blood coursing through his veins like lava, or the way his lungs simply refuse to work like they’re supposed to.

But he’s fine. He looks at Callie, looks at George, and he’s fine.

“D’you wanna meet George, sweetheart?” he asks his daughter, sparing a glance at his phone screen to catch George coming out of his hiding spot. He shakes in anticipation, playing with his fingers and puckering his lips, trying to keep composure.

Dream looks at Callie, and she beams. “Yes, Dad,” she says, small hands coming to press on Dream’s chest, green eyes glowing with illusion.

“You ready, baby?” he whispers at his phone, and this time George does make sure Dream is talking to him before answering.

He muffles a scream into his hand, earning himself a soft giggle. “No. But— I’ll never be, so just— Do it.”

“C’mere, Cal,” Dream calls, pulling his daughter onto his lap. Before either of them have the time to second-guess themselves, he angles the camera so that her face is in frame. “Say ‘hi, George’.”

Unannounced, a stray tear rolls down George’s cheek.

“Hi, George!” she greets, unable to contain her laugh, reaching out her hands to grab the phone and bring it closer to her face. “I’m Callie!”

George sniffles, and Dream feels his heart grow a hundred times its size and press down on every other organ inside him. His chest has never been so tight, and his head has never been so fuzzy. “Hi, Callie,” he says. Dream closes his eyes just to savor it—a perfect symphony, a sound of the utmost complexity. He wants to pause. It doesn’t feel real. “It’s— really nice to meet you.”

She cocks her head, looking back and forth between the two boys with an arched brow. “Why is George crying, Dad?” she asks softly, like she thinks he won’t be able to hear it. Dream sees him bite back a sob, deepening his pout. “Is he sad?”

“No, sweetheart,” Dream answers, wrapping an arm around her. Then, into her ear, “why don’t you ask him?”

Callie moves her face closer to the camera, and speaks gently, reminding Dream of himself. George is going to have a field day with it. “Don’t cry, George,” she tells him, but it doesn’t serve its purpose in the slightest. Dream chuckles wetly, his own eyes prickling. “Happy!”

“My God, Dream,” George chokes out, laughing too, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. He and his goddamn sweater paws. Dream wants to squeeze him. “She’s a mini-you,” he comments, so sweet it’s almost sickening. He focuses on Callie again, and not in the way his best friend looks like he’d hand him the world if he ever asked for it. “I’m— They’re happy tears, Callie. I’m— happy crying.”

She hums in acknowledgement, leaning back on her dad, which puts them both perfectly in frame again. Dream wants to burn this image to the back of his head, like a perfect portrait. God, he’s so fucking happy. He rests his chin on his daughter’s crown, barely giving it any weight, and tickles her tummy before telling her, “George is moving here soon, Cal. He’s gonna live with us.”

“Really?” Her smile grows even more, and she raises her arms in celebration. “That’s cool.”

George clears his throat, catching Dream’s attention. He’s nervous again, gaze averted, lips tugging upwards. “Oh, uh— That reminds me, actually,” he opens, followed by a deep breath. His teeth sink in his bottom lip, and lower, he announces, “I, uh— I booked my plane ticket today.”

If Callie wasn’t on his lap, Dream would jump. He holds onto her and sits upright, with her curious eyes piercing the side of his head. In a thin voice, he asks, “when?”

George laughs, sizzling anticipation coursing through him. “This weekend,” he says, causing Dream’s entire Universe to do a backflip. “I’ll be there October 2nd.”

Pause.

October 2nd. That’s five days from now.

Five more days, and it’ll be over.

Five more days, and their lives will start.

Dream’s smile is brighter than a thousand suns.

For now, his heart belongs in Britain. But in five days—only five more days—it’ll find its pair under this very same Floridian roof.

Five more days. Then, it’ll all be worth it.

Dream sinks his head further into the pillow. His lips are still tugged upwards—he can’t help it. His green eyes burn holes through the ceiling, imagining white dots splattered all across it. There’s starlight in his gaze, roses blooming in every crevice of his body, and a river of joy oozing from his heart, hitting his stomach like a tidal wave.

Through the open windows, a refreshing breeze crawls through. It flutters the trees, ruffles their leaves. The sound is comforting. On a normal day, it would lull him to sleep, but today is not a normal day. Today is the exact opposite of a normal day.

Today is an exceptional day—a nerve-wracking day.

George is thirty-five thousand feet up in the air. And Dream can’t bring himself to sleep for the life of him.

The prospect of tomorrow has never been more exciting. He picks up the phone and he reads the date at the top of the screen and he wants to scream at the top of his lungs, wants to run laps on the roof and shake everything he can find and say George will be here. George will be here after years of waiting. George will be home and he will be happy and he will be mine.

He sits up and runs a tired hand through his curls, tugging at them lightly and then not so much, scalp prickling with the force, skin burning with red anticipation. He feels such a rush of electricity running through his body that he doesn’t know how to keep it in, he doesn’t know how to stop his legs from kicking and his hands from fidgeting and his brain from going and going and going.

His feet touch the cold tiled floor, but they warm up to it by the third or fourth lap around the room. He walks towards the open window, towards the open sky, towards the open sea. The trees wave at him and he waves back, out of politeness. It’s been a while since the Universe felt so in touch with him—since he met George, since he found Callie.

The stars aligned in his favor, and used all of their force to topple down every last domino until they were at his feet, until he could bend down and pick them up. He keeps them. He keeps them as a reminder of every piece of himself he’s lost along the way, of every joule of energy he gave away, every shed tear and every broken promise and every tick-tock of the clock on his bedroom wall. He keeps them like he’s kept words, confessions, breaths, heartbeats, composure. He keeps them like he kept his sanity because he knew, no matter how long it took, that he’d get to the end of the road.

And this is it. Mere hours away from meeting George, his heart threatening to run off his chest into the unknown, and he’s never felt happier.

He closes his eyes and lets the breeze consume him. He lets it flood him, take over him, even steal from him. He gives into the way it feels—so refreshing, so grounding—and simply imagines. He imagines the next morning, George’s body engulfed in his arms, George’s hair tickling his nose, George’s eyes pouring sundrops, streaming down his face, gathering by his jaw. George’s hands in his own, George’s smile so bright it blinds him. George exploring the house and seeing his room for the first time and—

George meeting his daughter.

Dream goes back to bed and rolls and rolls and rolls. He digs his hands in the pillow, buries himself under the covers, kicks the mattress with his feet. He picks up his phone and scrolls Twitter and likes fanart and he thinks he’s about to go crazy, but he knows he’ll be fine.

He’ll be fine.

Tomorrow, he’ll be fine.

DREAM @dreamsecretclub
bro I can’t sleep sapnap is gonna have to hit me with a frying pan

[Track: Be Right Now - Ed Sheeran]

Dream is burning a fire ring onto the floor of the living room. Sapnap finds him like that—spiraling in every sense of the word—and risks his own safety by standing in front of his brother, cutting his walk short.

“Bro, you need to chill,” he says through a gentle laugh, hands on his brother’s shoulders, jacket hanging from one of his arms.

Dream blinks slowly, following Sapnap’s lead to take deep, cleansing breaths. “I can’t,” he mutters. “Nick, he’ll be here—”

“I know,” he cuts him off, pushing him to sit on the couch. On a normal day, he’d put up a fight. This isn’t a normal day. He’s too out of it to argue, so he lets himself fall onto the cushions. “And I’m happy for y’all but I need you to promise me you won’t have a heart attack before we get here, Dreamie.”

He averts his gaze, even though he could very easily promise that. He thinks. He has a healthy heart, so the odds are in his favor. “I won’t. I think,” he adds, just in case. Sapnap peers at him, straightening his back, arms akimbo. “Okay, listen—”

“Dream,” he insists, rolling his eyes as he puts on the jacket. “I know how long y’all have waited for this, but I’m genuinely concerned, bro,” Sapnap tells him, brows knitted. He sits by his brother’s side, letting a hand fall on his thigh. “Please, breathe.”

“I am,” Dream swears, leaning against the back of the couch. In, out. He’s fine. He’s fine. “Sorry, I’m just— I’ve been waiting for this— Feels like my entire life. I’m so nervous, dude,” he chuckles, carding fingers through his hair. Sapnap gives him a shy smile, an understanding smile.

“I know, Clay,” he mumbles, falling back next to him. “But y’all are—”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Dream cuts him off, unable to help himself. Sapnap gives him a questioning look, his brows furrowed. “You keep saying— y’all. Like you haven’t been waiting too.”

Sapnap chuckles faintly. The feeling in his eyes confuses Dream, makes him think he’s missing out on something. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s too focused on George’s imminent arrival to process anything else that happens around him. “You know it’s not the same, Clay.”

Dream frowns. He doesn’t like this conversation. “Well, yeah, but—”

“But what?” Sapnap cuts him off, letting go of a short laugh. He leans back next to Dream, softening his expression and avoiding his eyes. “Dude, I know he’s here for me too. I know it’s, like— the Dream Team. But this has been way harder on you two, and don’t even try to deny it.”

A question forms on Dream’s lips, but he doesn’t dare utter it. He’s not sure how.

Sapnap hears it regardless, and turns to look at him. “Y’all are, like— in love or whatever you stupid fucks wanna call it,” he says, a gentle smile dancing on his mouth. Dream mirrors it subconsciously, something warm spreading across his chest. “It’s fine, dude. I’ve met him already. I didn’t pause my entire life for him like you did. You’re allowed to have this, you know?”

Dream swallows thickly, feeling himself shrink, feeling himself sink. He puckers his lips, fidgeting with his own fingers. He can’t help but feel bad, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He clears his throat, and speaks almost in a whisper. “I don’t want you to feel like—”

“I don’t feel like anything,” Sapnap insists, shaking him lightly. He looks confident, he looks relaxed. Dream envies him a little bit. “We’ll have literal years together, the three of us. Today is your day, Clay. He’s meeting your fucking daughter.”

Patches meows at the words, almost judgmentally. Dream pats the spot by his side and she jumps onto the couch, curling up in between them. Sapnap pets her behind the ears, shaking his head playfully, and Dream gets it. He thinks he does, at least. “So— you’re not gonna—”

“That’s your moment,” he says, an even more careful tone, an even softer smile. He’s selfless like that, always looking out for his brother. Dream doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to explain how much he truly means to him. “You’re gonna spend the rest of your life with them. That’s your family.”

Dream brushes their knees together, lip trembling, chest tight. Openly, honestly, “you’re my family too, Nick.”

“Of course, dude, I’m your brother,” Sapnap replies, chuckling, somewhat giddy. There’s something bright in him, something almost childish. Dream thinks back on the days when they first met, just a pair of kids with their future before them, absolutely oblivious to what life had in store for them. They’ve grown since then. More than they thought they would. “I know you don’t want me to feel, like, left out, but—”

“No, I—” Dream tries but he chokes on his own words. He smiles at his brother with nostalgia, laced in blue. Sapnap sees right through him, cocking his head in endearment, saying everything Dream can’t put into words. “I’m not used to going through big stuff without you, y’know? You’re my rock. You’ve been there for all of it.”

Sapnap leans forward to wrap Dream in a hug—one he returns quickly, careful to not squish Patches between them. He digs his nose in his brother’s shoulder, letting his heart pour. “I’ll always be here,” he promises, patting his back once before breaking apart. “Love you, brother.”

Dream nods in response, biting back a sob. Emotion overflows from him, flooding his insides mercilessly, colonizing. Today isn’t a normal day. He squeezes Sapnap’s shoulder and answers, “love you, too.”

Sapnap leaves for the airport right after.

And Dream keeps it together.

Sapnap pulls into the driveway around noon.

Dream hears it from the living room and bolts upright, rushing towards the front door and pacing around the lobby. Exhilaration builds up inside of him, tugs his lips into a smile, shocks his feet so they can’t stop moving. He rubs his hands nervously, pulls his own hair, chews on his bottom lip. His nerves are physical, and he can’t think straight.

It gets hazy after that, wrapped in a cloud of bliss.

Sapnap walks in, camera aimed at the floor, and asks if he’s ready. Dream thinks he isn’t, that his body won’t be able to handle it—but at the same time, he knows he’s never been more ready for anything in his life. So he hops and he clenches his fists on the hem of his sweater and he grins like a madman, but he says yes.

When he walks out, the Sun blinds him. There’s light and there’s fresh air and then there’s George—standing there idly, hands on either side of his body, bending slightly forward in excitement. He laughs. It pours out of him like music and Dream doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything better. It’s brighter than the Universe, pure and white and all-consuming.

Whatever words are exchanged don’t compute. Not at the moment, maybe not ever. He stores snapshots—George walking towards him, George right in front of him, George about to hug him. And then there’s black. There’s black behind closed eyes and the mere feeling of George’s body around him, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle, like two halves of a whole.

Dream feels whole.

He breaks apart reluctantly, holding his breath, biting back words. His eyes prickle and so does the rest of his body, burning and burning and burning like it’s being stabbed by a thousand needles, making him numb to anything but this moment in time. He works on auto-pilot, unable to keep his eyes off his boy.

He’s right here. He’s right here and it’s not an illusion.

When the camera turns off, Dream finds himself staring into the horizon. George knows him, Sapnap knows him. A small hand is waved in front of his eyes, catching his attention, and when he looks down, there he is.

“Hi, idiot,” George whispers—the first thing that fully filters through—skin pulled taut over his cheekbones, the widest smile he’s ever seen him flash.

His eyes well up and he can’t feel his tongue, can’t form a coherent sentence for the life of him. Shy, nervous, he opens his arms again, and George falls into him immediately, a magnetic force urging him forward.

Dream digs his nose in the crook of his neck, squeezing his body as tight as he can, drunk in the way he feels, the way he sounds, the way he smells. He thinks he can feel their heartbeats sync up when they’re like this—chest to chest, eyes closed, giving up. He can’t help the feeling that consumes him, can’t help the words that escape him. “Welcome home, G.”

George hugs him a little tighter.

Because home is where the heart is, and George has just found his. Finally, after years of waiting, he got there.

They did. Together.

The light breeze whispers forever, and Dream holds onto it like a promise, swearing to himself that he’ll never let it go.

Dream goes in first, trembling with anticipation, slowly regaining composure. He needs to be okay for this. He can’t miss it.

God, he can’t miss it.

Callie peeks from behind the couch, sweet brown curls covering her forehead, head cocked in curiosity. Her green eyes are brighter than Dream’s ever seen them, cradled by long lashes and a soft blush, open wide, attentive.

Dream reaches out a hand, and she leaves her hiding spot to walk towards him slowly, tentatively. She looks around like she’s waiting for George to materialize in front of her, like she’s expecting him to be hidden behind the furniture, under the rug.

When she gets to him, Dream squats in front of her and speaks in a soft voice. “There’s someone I want you to meet, Cal.” The girl can’t stop moving her eyes around, can’t hold in the giggle that escapes her. Dream beams at her, taking her hand in his, kissing the back lovingly. “Dad’s really happy about this.”

She must notice the tears welling up in his eyes, but she doesn’t comment on it. Happy tears. She understands that now. She knows her dad is okay—he’s never been better. Shakily, adorably, she confesses, “I’m nervy.”

That’s Sapnap, Dream notes, his insides melting, his heart growing in his chest. There are bits and pieces of him in her, and there will be bits and pieces of George, too. There’ll be plays on words and witty observations and Dream can’t wait to see what else she picks up from him, like she did with his brother. He loves it.

He wipes a tear away with the back of his hand, leaning forward to press a kiss on her forehead. “I’m nervous too,” he tells her, open, earnest. She relaxes after that, walking a step to wrap her arms around her father’s neck, to bring him into a hug. Dream is quick to return it, overflowing with adoration, with pride, with how much he loves her. “What do you say we do it together?” he asks, rubbing her back soothingly. He feels her nod against the side of his head. He breaks apart, looks her in the eyes, and promises, “I got you.”

Callie gives him the brightest smile she can, her small hand in his. It’s right then that Sapnap peeks through the door, eyebrows knit, grinning widely, and asks, “can he come in?”

George walks in as soon as Dream nods. His lips are puckered, his nerves evident from a mile away, sleeves pulled down to hide his hands. He plays with them mindlessly, taking tentative steps and looking around the house—their house.

He spots Dream in the middle of the living room, Callie’s curls peeking from behind his back, a tiny pair of hands clasping his forearm. George approaches them with a shaky breath and bends forward, hands on his knees, to be at eye level with the kid. “Hi,” he greets, a grin breaking on his face.

Callie moves slightly to the side to look at him. Dream crouches in front of her, hypnotized with the way George simply stares, mere feet away from his daughter. Dream’s heart is vibrating inside of him, jumping around like an acrobat, clinging onto everything it can find. Softly, staring into George’s eyes, he asks his daughter, “who’s that, honey?”

In a low tone, but confident regardless, she smiles and says, “it’s George.”

“Oh, my God,” he chokes out, looking at the girl just like Dream did when he first met her—with adoration, in disbelief, like she’s the most precious thing in the entire world. Dream melts seeing that look on his face. He wants to hold him, wants to hold them. He could very well be ascending into a different plane of existence.

Callie’s breath is shaky against Dream’s cheek. She giggles nervously before she finally starts walking, taking tentative steps towards him without letting go of her dad’s hand. It gives her confidence, stability. George doesn’t move, worried he’ll rush her, but his smile widens the closer she gets.

When she’s closer to George, Dream thumbs at her wrist reassuringly, letting go of it slowly. George’s eyes meet his and he winks at him to give him strength, too. He knows it gets to him, he sees it when it sinks in. He sees it when it coats him, when it makes him relax, when it makes him breathe.

He kneels down in front of Callie, gaze jumping from one of her eyes to another. A million emotions rush by his expression, and Dream gets ahold of them all, pressing them to his own chest, treasuring them like gemstones.

This is, hands down, the single most important moment of his entire life. The realization burns in his eyes, rolling down in the form of baby blue colored tears. He sniffles when Callie’s hand finally leaves his, and gravity pulls him down when he sees it find George’s.

“Hi, Callie,” he whispers, but it echoes, bouncing off every wall, every corner of the house. Dream wants the words etched onto his skin. Then, even more gently, his voice thick with emotion, “nice to meet you.”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she walks the final steps towards him and jumps into his arms like she’s known him her whole life, like they’ve never been apart. George takes her in a tight embrace, his face almost disappearing behind her curls, but Dream doesn’t need to see him to know how hard he’s smiling, to know he feels elated, just like Dream is.

He feels his legs shaky, his entire body trembling. He’s never had such a physical reaction to anything in his life. He can’t think of anything past this image—George hugging his kid, Callie melting into him comfortably—something he’ll never be able to forget. He can’t begin to explain the feeling that consumes him, he can’t put a name to it.

He presses the heels of his hands to the apples of his cheeks, drenched in tears, in happiness.

Freedom. Fucking finally.

George moves his head to the side to meet Dream’s eyes with his, to lure him in. His tears look like pearls, tangled in his lashes, reflecting the sunlight breaking through the window. They roll down his cheeks like a rebellious river, gathering in the corners of his mouth.

Without warning, without regard for Dream’s sanity, the boy he’s been loving from across an ocean does something Dream hadn’t even considered until this exact moment, something that makes his heart pound in his chest like a deafening drum.

Still holding Callie close, George reaches out one of his hands towards Dream. He pleads with his eyes, with his smile, inviting him into their hug—the perfect picture of domesticity, of family.

And Dream crumbles, in the best fucking way possible.

He kneels by his side on the floor and wraps them both in the tightest hug he’s ever given. He cries and he cries as one of his hands soothes Callie’s back and the other one finds George’s waist, sprawled across his side with a perfect fit. And it’s perfect. God, is it perfect.

His eyes fall shut almost against his will, and his mouth is at the perfect level for him to kiss his daughter’s crown and then his lover’s forehead, to plant love on both their heads, to hear their thoughts in this moment they share.

Fireworks light up inside his chest and his cheeks hurt with how wide he’s smiling, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care and he never will, because the two loves of his life are in his arms, and they always will be. They live here now—with him and Sapnap—and Dream is the luckiest man in the whole wide world.

“I love you both so, so much,” he can’t help but whisper as tears stream down his face, squeezing them just a little bit tighter to make sure that he’s not dreaming this, that his brain isn’t playing a twisted game on him.

But he isn’t. This is his family—with cats and humans, childhood friends and British people, adults and children and light and laughter and happiness blooming in every corner. This is his life now, and it’s about time that he starts fully living it, with his three favorite people by his side, and the future shining bright in front of him.

Up until this moment, Dream hadn’t realized that George isn’t the only one who found his home today.

In a way, it feels like they all did.

[Track: Little Things - One Direction]

It takes some time for them to get settled.

The bubbling excitement doesn’t seem to ease down, but rather envelops them for as long as they let it, hazy and blinding, ever so present. Dream likes the way it feels against his skin, making him glow, making him float, feel invincible. He drowns in it and he loves it. He’s never felt so light before.

George is sitting at the island stools by the time Sapnap bids them goodnight. It’s been a long day, an exhausting day, but a happy day, too. So the orchestra of yawns that follows is absolutely worth it.

Dream presses a kiss to George’s crown before he starts picking up the empty plates. Callie giggles by George’s side, pulling at his sleeve, trying to get his attention. George gives it up willingly, even with the soft pink blush coating his cheeks, and Dream simply looks from where he stands by the sink.

Domestic. He smiles at the image, warmth taking over his heart, and he feels cozy. His eyes jump from one brunet to the other, and his fingers tap on the counter to the beat of an acoustic song. He can almost hear it echo in the distance, serving as a soundtrack for a scene like this—so perfect, so movie-like.

Callie and George bicker like they belong in a commercial catered towards happy families looking to buy a house. Dream walks on marshmallows, stuffed with sweet cotton candy, and spills sheer sweetness all over the kitchen tiles.

But after a moment, his expert eye catches George’s smile falling ever so slightly. It wouldn’t be noticeable to anybody else, but Dream has been studying him for years, so he knows. He sees it.

Dream approaches him slowly and stands behind him, a hand on the small of his back. He kisses the side of his head and whispers into his ear. “All good?”

Callie stops to look at them, head cocked in confusion. George gapes once, twice, and Dream shifts uncomfortably, knitting his eyebrows. When their eyes meet, Dream already knows the answer. “Yeah, I—” he starts, biting his lip nervously, smile dropping even more. “I have to tell you something.”

Dream draws soothing circles on his back and George leans into it, as if seeking protection, comfort. Dream provides. Callie just looks, resting her head on upraised arms, attentive. “Okay. D’you wanna tell me now or— after Callie goes to bed?” Dream asks, and his daughter makes a small sound in protest.

Before Dream can answer to it, George speaks. “No, uh— I have to tell both of you, actually, so—” he says, tone shy, gaze averted. “I have to, uh— show you something, I guess.”

Dream is working himself up, and he doesn’t like it. He’s worried now—even more so when his hand falls and George escapes it, getting up by his side and taking a deep breath, swallowing thickly.

Anxiety builds in Dream’s stomach, a deep frown quickly taking over his lips. He sits on the stool where George just was, looking at him intently, waiting for something to happen. Before saying anything, George takes a step towards him, staring straight into his eyes.

Brown and green meet and merge and Dream’s frown deepens, because George is clearly trying to talk to him but he can’t read anything. He can’t see anything, not this time. Callie’s eyes jump from one to the other and right when Dream is about to speak, to ask what’s going on, George closes his eyes.

He breathes. In, out. And after two seconds, he opens them again.

A gasp gets stuck in Dream’s throat.

His jaw drops and he chokes on any and all words he was about to utter, because there’s no fucking way. He blinks, trying to clear his vision, but it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work. He’s staring into George’s eyes and he can’t believe his own, his brain rushing and rushing and rushing to make him understand what’s going on.

His best friend’s perfect eyes are as bright as they’ve always been, as wide as they’ve always been, as expressive as they’ve always been… But there’s something different.

They’re yellow.

George sees it when it clicks in Dream’s brain, and that’s the moment he chooses to take one step back, and another, until he’s standing in the middle of the kitchen. He doesn’t waste one more minute.

Dream blinks, and he’s not there anymore.

He’s shifted.

There’s a loud gasp to Dream’s side, and through the corner of his eye, he sees Callie jump off the stool and land on her feet. “I knew it!” she says, throwing Dream off even more, making his head spin even faster.

In a blur, she shifts too.

She shifts too.

Dream looks down, frozen in place, deaf and mute, and finds not one, but two cats on his kitchen floor—his perfect Patches, and a stunning, wonderful black cat right by her side.

That’s his best friend. That’s George.

Patches swats George’s back before fully jumping on top of him, making him fall and curl into a little black ball. He meows and swats her back—lightly, gently—standing up again to head-bump her side, kissing her behind the ears. Patches nuzzles into him, meowing loudly, moving around excitedly, continuing to play with him, and Dream—

God, Dream is crying again. And he hadn’t even realized.

He clears his throat, getting on his feet almost in slow motion. When he regains balance, when he doesn’t feel like he’s about to fall to the ground, he kneels by their side, hands shaking, legs numb. There’s just no fucking way.

Something deep within him tells him he should’ve seen it coming. It’s the same part of his brain that stores all the information about George—the random facts, the childhood stories, the meaning behind the different angles of his eyebrows and all the moles and scars he’s seen or knows the story to. Something way beyond himself, screaming into his ear, ‘you blind fucking idiot.’

And maybe it’s right, maybe he should’ve known. Maybe he should’ve at least suspected it, having lived with a shape-shifter for half the time he’s known George for. But he can’t help but feel surprised, awed that this is how things turned out.

Cat George presses his little paws to Dream’s knees, causing him to snap out of his daze, catching his attention. He looks at Dream with yellow eyes open wide, with curiosity, with a question embedded in them. He meows, ever so demanding, and Dream smiles. He smiles because— of course.

Of course, George is also a cat shape-shifter.

Dream pets him behind the ears and he nuzzles into his hand, purring softly, kissing his palm. Patches swats Dream’s other leg, because she also wants attention now that she’s not the only kitten in the house, and Dream gives it to her willingly.

He giggles. He giggles because the Universe works in funny ways.

He can’t put a word to this, but if he had to, his best shot would be that it’s fated. It’s meant to be, it’s written in the stars. It’s a shame that he never learned how to read them, not properly. But either way, they’ve always been there—speaking to him, giving him signs, lighting the way.

Just like George and Callie. Just like his family.

They’ve always been there, and they always will.

When Dream comes back from the bathroom that night, the boy he’d left in the room mere moments ago is no longer there.

“George?” he calls, frowning lightly, and right when he’s about to beeline for the door to see if he went downstairs, a loud meow makes him stop in his tracks. He turns around with a defeated smile, right when George shifts back into his human form and grins at him smugly. “You— are an idiot.”

“It’s so fun, Dream!” he sings, and Dream bites his lip because, God, is he precious. And a menace. A precious menace. George pulls a face and Dream sits by his side on the bed, looking at him lovingly. “I couldn’t do it before, so— Now you have to bear with me.”

Dream rolls his eyes, then wraps fingers around his forearm to pull him in, to bring him closer. George goes willingly, laying down with his head on his lap. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dream asks, but it’s not spiteful. Just sheer curiosity.

George winces, turning his head a little bit and nuzzling into his thigh. “Got used to hiding it,” he says, shrugging it off like it’s meaningless. Dream hears the pain behind his tone. “Dunno. ‘S hard. It’s just—” He sighs deeply, letting his eyes fall shut. Dream runs a hand through his dark brown hair, playing with his curls. “I don’t really do it anymore. Only the small things. Y’know, like, the eye thing or stuff like that.”

“Callie doesn’t do that,” Dream comments, his other hand playing with the hem of George’s shirt, drawing figures on his stomach. He relaxes under it, giving into the touch.

“She’ll learn, eventually,” George answers. “Kids can only go, like, back and forth. It’s— It gets better with time. Or— worse, I guess. Dunno.”

Dream sighs before lifting George’s head off his lap, but he doesn’t go anywhere. George scoots to the side and Dream lays next to him, their heads at the same level, and urges him to open his eyes. He can’t shake the hint of nostalgia in his words, the underlying sadness tugging at them. “D’you not like it?”

George chuckles bitterly. “I love it. But it’s— an unpopular opinion, I guess.” Dream wraps a hand around his waist, bringing him closer, kissing his forehead. George hugs back, hiding his face in the crook of Dream’s neck. Dream tries to make his heartbeat just a little bit louder in an attempt at soothing him. “I hope it’s easier for her.”

Dream hums softly, spinning the thoughts around in his head. He knew it was hard for shifters, but he never really thought— He never thought of how it would affect them, pushing them to hide themselves like that, to shield themselves from hatred. He never thought George had gone through it, too. “Sorry if this is, like— overstepping, I guess? But, uhm— Do you also have, like, a cat name? Y’know, like Patches?”

A soft, short laugh escapes George’s lips before he’s pressing them to Dream’s collarbone, leaving a kiss under his neck. Dream closes his eyes, feeling it linger. “Yeah, uhm— Niko. That’s— That’s it.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Dream says, finding comfort in George’s presence, in the soft voice he uses to speak to him. He gets a hum in response, followed by another chuckle. It takes a little bit for Dream to see the reason behind it. “Sounds like Nick,” he teases, tickling George’s waist, and he squirms in his arms, pushing himself away.

“Shut up,” he tells him through giggles, trying to escape and hissing when Dream doesn’t let him. Dream simply looks at him then, mouth agape, and it’s not long until they fall into a fit of laughter, bubbling with joy. George hides in his chest with a low groan, swatting his stomach one more time in complaint. “Stop. Don’t tell him.”

Dream hums, tightening his arms around him, kissing his crown. “I won’t tell him. For now,” he warns. George groans again, but he doesn’t protest. He lifts his leg and wraps it across Dream’s thighs, clinging onto him better, like a koala bear. He’s touchy, Dream notices. He’s glad he waited to find out by himself. “Why did— When you shifted, Callie said ‘I knew it’. How did—”

“Oh,” George giggles again, turning his head to look up at him. “She’s— She’s smart. Did you, like— try to teach her stuff about it? Like, learn about herself and—”

“Yeah, of course,” Dream nods, melting under the stars in George’s gaze. Something akin to pride flashes in his eyes, and his smile widens ever so slightly. Dream remembers a story. “Y’know, when— When she was, like, two years old, she— She said your name for the first time.”

George props himself up on one arm, looking down at Dream with a light frown. Dream thrives in it as the memory slowly comes back to him, clicking in place like puzzle pieces inside his mind. “You’re joking.”

“‘M not,” he says, pinching his waist, frowning slightly too. “I was, uh— We were on my computer and I was, like, showing her pictures of— things. To teach her, like, the colors and the animals and stuff like that—” George beams at that, moving his arm up to wrap it around his neck. Dream peers at him, a smile dancing on his lips. “What?”

With a kiss to his sternum, George whispers, “nothing. Go on.”

Dream shakes his head fondly, but complies either way. “Yeah, so— I showed her a picture of a cat, and she— She just said— ‘George’.” George blinks slowly, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly. Dream runs a hand through his fringe. “I— lost it, a little bit,” he chuckles nervously, cheeks growing pink. “I guess it makes more sense now.”

A moment goes by, something growing around them, merging with the silence. Dream purses his lips, waiting for a reaction, for any form of answer. But George isn’t looking at him. His eyes move around, as if he’s picturing it in his head, trying to make sense of it. As if he doesn’t believe it.

“You’re lying,” is the first thing he says, choked out and broken, confirming Dream’s suspicions. Dream’s frown deepens, and with his thumb, he soothes the wrinkles between George’s dark brows.

“I’m not lying, baby,” he whispers, shifting in place when his sweet brown eyes start reddening, watering. He cranes his neck to kiss right under them, tasting his tears on his lips. They tug at his heart, turning it liquid. “Why would I lie?”

George doesn’t answer. He simply lets himself fall against Dream again, lets himself be enveloped in his hug, in his warmth. He presses his eyes shut, mindlessly wiping his tears on Dream’s shirt, letting himself be vulnerable. He gets loving kisses in return—on his head, on his hands, on his forehead. Dream loves him everywhere he can, letting him know he’s safe.

“Should I—” he starts softly, a lump forming in his throat. “Is it bad that I told you?”

George is quick to shake his head, to prop himself up again. He cups one of Dream’s cheeks with his hands, thumbing at it as he cries, as he smiles, as he shakes. The grip on George’s waist is steady, almost grounding. He looks into Dream’s eyes and Dream swears he sees all the way down to George’s soul through them.

He feels himself get filled up with a kind of love that simply cannot be contained. It goes beyond—beyond anything he’s felt before, beyond himself, beyond the Universe. It consumes him, it burns inside of him with the intensity of a thousand fires. He’s not ready to let it go but he feels like he doesn’t have a choice. He feels like it’ll explode inside of him if he doesn’t allow it.

So without even trying, he lets it roll down his tongue. “I love you,” Dream says, unapologetic. “I’m— I’m in love with you.”

George is in the middle of a deep breath when he kisses him. Dream feels him relax, feels him disintegrate under his touch, against his lips. He moves one of his hands up, presses it to the back of George’s head and deepens the kiss, taking and taking and taking like he’s a starved man and George will give him all the energy he needs, all the strength, all the life.

He kisses him through tears—through the ones George is spilling right now and the liters and liters they’ve shed among the years. He feels everything on George’s lips—the sour taste of longing, of yearning and hidden feelings, of fears and anxiety and loss; the bitter taste of distance, his denied visa and lonely nights, counting solely on the stars to find his way home; and the sweet, sweet taste of love, of reciprocation and loud heartbeats and butterflies and blood rushing through their veins, making them red all over.

It hits Dream like a breath of fresh air, the way their lips move like they were made for it, like they’ve been doing it forever. And maybe they were, and they definitely should have—but Dream won’t dwell on it right now. He’s too busy kissing George stupid, tangling fingers in his hair, spilling love into his mouth until he runs out of it.

He doesn’t think he ever will. Fuck, he knows he never will.

You’re it for me, George told him once.

George is it for him, too. George is the love of his life, his one and only, his end game.

And for the first time, after fighting for so long, he knows nothing will ever take him away from him. He knows he can keep him, he can call him his, and ‘goodbye’ is a word he’ll never have to utter again.

Not for long, at least. Never for long.

Never again.

[Track: You Are In Love - Taylor Swift]

San Diego is way brighter with George in it.

There’s something that pours from him—something pure, almost divine, unexplainable. Something that makes every head turn his way when he walks into a room, something that makes Dream’s heart stop every time their eyes meet. Beyond. It goes beyond everything he’s ever known. It exists solely around him, and no one else.

Dream thinks that, if he hadn’t been in love with George, he would definitely fall for him in San Diego. And he does. He does, either way, over and over and over again. He feels it course through his bloodstream like an electric shock every few hours, almost as if his brain needed a reminder of how utterly insane and upside down his heart has gone ever since this boy walked into his life.

Dream falls in love with George on the plane. They’re surrounded by strangers and the unmistakable sound of engines, by the tingling anticipation of Dream’s first flight in a long time, of George’s first trip with his best friends. Dream feels the anxiety above all else—being without Callie, meeting his fans, having everyone see his face after keeping it hidden for so long.

But then, just like that, it vanishes. And there’s peace and quiet, there’s silence, there’s calmness. There’s George’s hand in his, a knitted beanie on his head, matching Dream’s own. There’s a kiss to his wrist, a whisper to his ear, giving him goosebumps. He closes his eyes, all he feels is this—their love, ever so palpable, all-encompassing.

Dream falls in love with George in the car. On their first night there, the day before the convention starts, they sneak out of the hotel to drive around the city, to share a moment in private. The streetlights cast golden shadows across George’s torso in the passenger seat. A cool breeze breaks through the open windows of the rental car, messing with their hair, getting under their clothes.

Dream feels ablaze. In the background, a song with a slow beat accompanies them. With fingers tapping on the wheel, Dream reaches out his free hand to sprawl it across his lover’s thigh, to tangle it with George’s own. They get to a red light and he can’t help but turn to look at him. And that’s when he feels it—in the silence, in his deep eyes, in the blush coating his cheeks.

Dream falls in love with George in their hotel room. When he comes out of the shower rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, clad in one of Dream’s old shirts that he brought solely because of this—because George thinks they’re comfy, and he looks so damn good in them, and it tugs at Dream’s stomach, making him a little dizzy.

He crawls under the covers and lays on top of him, legs caging his hips, a finger hooked in his gold chain. Dream thinks he wants to get him one. Or even better—he wants to give his own to George, put it around his neck as a reminder of what they have, so that he takes it with him wherever he goes. All the heads will still turn to George but they’ll see the bright metal falling on his chest and they’ll know, one way or the other, that Dream is the only one privileged enough to love him.

Dream sneaks his hands under George’s shirt, feeling the humid heat that irradiates from him. George’s wet hair drips onto sharp collarbones, sticking his fringe to his forehead, covering his eyes like a curtain of curls and residual water. Dream kisses the crook of his neck, smiling when George tells him he’s yawny—he’s picked it up already—in the softest tone imaginable.

He hugs him just a little bit tighter and his breath evens out all too quickly, following the rhythm that Dream’s heartbeat sets.

San Diego may not be Amsterdam. It may not be fancy and European and arresting in the same way, but it doesn’t take long for Dream to realize that the magic isn’t in the places they visit, but rather George himself.

Because if he looks—if he really looks—he’ll see the beautiful landscapes in George’s eyes, the ancient architecture in the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the colorful flowers in the blush that coats them.

Perfection blooms in him like a rose, and when he wakes up the next morning, still on top of him and clad in his old clothes, he thinks there’s not a day that could go by when they don’t belong together. Whether that’d be in a big house in the Floridian suburbs, a crowded hotel in the West coast, or wherever the hell destiny wants to take them.

They’ll make a home out of every single place as long as they have each other, and they’ll keep falling in love like that—every day, over and over and over again.

“‘M so tired,” George says the night after, as soon as they get back to their hotel room.

Dream is proud to say he survived the first day of the convention. It was tiring to say the least. His eyelids are heavy and a yawn escapes his mouth and he only wants to kick his shoes off and face-plant onto the bed hoping to get some well-deserved and much needed sleep.

So that’s exactly what he does.

George chuckles behind him, letting himself fall on his back. A smile makes a way through Dream’s lips as he rolls over to make him fall, to spite him. “Why’re you crushing me?” he asks, and George peers at him, tugging at his clothes to bring him closer.

“Missed you,” he says, arms draped over Dream’s chest. “You were far all day.”

“‘M sorry, baby,” Dream smiles wider, fonder, kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head. Keeping their hands off each other has been hard, well-nigh impossible. He’s not entirely sure they succeeded, but he’s not about to bring it up. It’s not like people aren’t crazy about them either way. “I’m here now,” he assures. “All yours.”

George cocks his head back and cranes his neck, only to kiss Dream’s lips for one, two, three sweet seconds. He breaks apart with a smile, and his tone softens before he asks, “d’you miss Cal?”

Dream pouts, relaxing under the gentle touches to his face. “Like crazy,” he says easily, a light weight to his words, ringing like nostalgia. “I’ve never been, like, away from her like this. She’s always been right there, y’know?”

George nods, rolling over to lay on his back, pulling Dream to rest his head on his chest. He tangles soothing fingers in his curls, staring at the ceiling. “Was it hard for her? When you moved houses and all—”

“At first,” Dream grants, nodding minutely, remembering the times when she was just a baby and had to be moved around for safety, almost constantly. It was tiring for them all, but she’s been exposed to change her entire life. She had no choice. “But— she got used to it, eventually. She’s wonderful.”

“Mhm. ‘Course she is,” George mumbles, one of his hands trailing down to caress Dream’s broad back, to trace circles and love confessions through the fabric of his shirt. Even softer, coated in adoration, “you raised her.”

Their noses brush when Dream looks up. He loves George like this—so raw, so vulnerable, under the dimmed light of the room, wearing their long day on his lips in the form of a joyful smile. He’s happy. It looks good on him.

“Love you,” Dream says, pressing a long peck on his mouth. He lays by his side when they break apart, and George turns to be face to face with him. “What ‘bout you?” he asks, placing a dark brown curl behind his ear. “You, like— just got home and had to leave it.”

“No, I didn’t,” he protests, rolling his eyes fondly. He nudges his nose with Dream’s one more time, and speaks in a whisper, like he’s telling a secret. “You’re right here.”

We’ll make a home out of every single place.

Dream’s chest erupts with butterflies. “C’mere,” he says, and George’s smile widens before he complies, tucking himself in his boyfriend’s arms for the millionth time thus far, a hair’s breadth from his lips. Dream cards fingers through his hair one last time, and cups the back of his head before asking, “d’you have any idea how much I love you?”

As long as we’re together.

George closes his eyes, kisses his lips. He puts a hand on Dream’s side and pinches his tummy before slipping under his shirt, palms cold and contrasting with warm skin. It feels heavenly, and still against his lips, George whispers, “show me.”

Dream short-circuits. He blinks one, twice, feeling a little dizzy, feeling his heartbeat pick up in his chest until he can’t hear anything aside from his blood pumping and George, because he’s always listening to George. In a thin voice, leaning down so that their lips graze when he speaks, he asks, “what are you asking for, G?” even though he knows damn well what the answer is.

“We haven’t really had much— alone time, since I got here,” he says brazenly, an arm hooked behind Dream’s neck, aiding him in pulling himself up, in rolling Dream over until he’s on his back. He kisses his lips again—soft, gentle, loving—and speaks again without opening his eyes. “I’m asking— to know you,” he says. “I wanna know you.”

Dream’s mouth runs dry, but a smile grows on his lips regardless. He steadies his grip on George’s waist, keeping him in place, pressed against him, where he belongs, and rubs their noses together again. In a light tone, somewhat teasing, he says, “I thought you were tired.”

George rolls his eyes, smirking, and pecks his lips. “I guess I can stay up for, like, five more minutes.”

Dream bursts into laughter and George can’t help but follow, eyes bright and cheeks pink, musical and joyful. “You’re such an idiot,” Dream says through cheerful giggles, but pulling George close all the same, biting his bottom lip before kissing his boyfriend like he always does—like it’s the first time, like it’s the last one.

They’ve kissed through laughter, through love, and through pain. They’ve kissed through nostalgia and flickering memories and brutal honesty, through everything they could find and everything they could feel. Now, they kiss through burning passion, and still nothing changes. It’s slow, it’s sweet, it’s raw in a way only they can accomplish.

It’s perfect like everything else they do together—just as gentle, just as heartfelt, just as comfortable.

Meant to be, Dream’s brain echoes. He feels the electricity that gathers at the tips of George’s fingers, and gives into the feeling. He lets it consume him, lets it guide him through the night.

And he sleeps better than he had in years, with George’s legs tangled in his and they synced up heartbeats bouncing off the walls.

Dream falls in love again that night, and all the ones that follow.

“What’re they doin’?” Sapnap asks one night, through a mouthful of homemade popcorn, leaning forward over the island to speak to Dream.

He turns to where Sapnap’s looking at—the couch in the living room, visible from the kitchen—and finds his boyfriend and daughter speaking quietly to each other, giggling about something he can’t hear. “Dunno,” he admits, but he smiles all the same, because he’s only a man, and he loves to see them together. Even if they might be plotting against him. “Chatting.”

“‘Re we watchin’ the movie?” he asks next and Dream winces at him, peering judgmentally. “Wha’?”

Dream rolls his eyes, stealing the bowl from Sapnap’s hands. He gets a sound in complaint, but he dismisses it easily, shaking his head lightly. “Swallow before you speak, idiot.”

His brother groans, making a show out of chewing and swallowing it down with a loud noise. “Sorry, dad,” he jests, then crosses his arms on his chest. With a teasing smirk, he prods further, “I’ll make sure to swallow.”

Dream scrunches his nose, a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat. “Either make the dad joke or the—” He cuts himself off with a groan and Sapnap laughs, as annoying as he is. Dream hits his arm lightly, and makes the executive decision to simply keep the popcorn to himself. “You’re gross.”

“Oh, my God!” George’s voice comes from the adjacent room, loud and bright, catching Dream’s attention. When he looks at George, he’s grinning widely, hands in the air, and signaling at the two men in the kitchen to approach them. “She did it!”

Sapnap takes the bowl from Dream’s hands when he isn’t looking, rushing to the couch to shield himself behind the two shifters. Dream squints again but he doesn’t argue, walking towards them with sheer curiosity, trying to find out what the fuss is all about. “What’d she do?”

“Look!” George gets up, pulling at Dream’s arm so he’s facing his daughter. She’s beaming, too. Kneeling on the couch to be closer to her dad, she takes a moment to close her eyes, and when she opens them— “She did the thing!”

Patches’ round, bright green eyes glow on Callie’s face, the irises taking over them almost entirely, a darker edge surrounding them, making them seem deeper.

Sapnap laughs in surprise when he sees it, leaning forward to look at them better. “Yo! That’s epic.” He’s still shoving popcorn into his mouth, the little idiot.

Dream looks away from him, nudging George’s arm and asking, “you taught her that?” His boyfriend shrugs, shyness growing in his smile, the wrinkles around his eyes more visible than ever. Dream smiles at his kid, scooting closer to her to ruffle her hair. “That’s— That’s amazing, Cal,” he tells her honestly, and she giggles softly, shifting her eyes back to normal. “I’m proud of you.”

She puckers her lips in shallow embarrassment, falling back to sit with her legs crossed, and says, “thanks, Dad.” Dream kisses her forehead before she turns towards her teacher, and repeats, “thanks, George.”

George pouts adorably, a soft blush at the top of his cheeks. “Of course,” he answers. Dream scoots to the side so he can sit between him and Callie, just in time for Sapnap to clear his throat, leaving an empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. What an asshole.

“‘Right,” he says, leaning back on the other side of the L-couch, playing with the remote in his hands. “Are we watching Frozen or what?”

“Yes!” Callie cheers, earning endeared giggles and soft looks from the adults around her. As Sapnap turns on the TV, she lays down on the couch, head on George’s lap.

Dream hears his breath hitch, hears him freak out a little. He wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him in ever so slightly to kiss the side of his head. “Told you she loves you,” he whispers, and George fully relaxes, leaning into the embrace, resting his head on Dream’s shoulder. Dream turns towards Sapnap again, and the sweet honey that coated his tone while speaking to George slips away all too quickly. “You ate all the popcorn.”

His brother gives him a cheeky smile, eyes gleaming with fake innocence. Dream sees right through him. “You should make more,” he retorts, right as the opening track of the movie starts playing in the background. Dream makes sure Callie isn’t looking before giving him the finger.

They don’t get any more popcorn that night, but it doesn’t matter. Sapnap grabs a blanket before scooting closer to Dream, getting comfortable and curled up by his side to keep watching the movie—Callie’s most recent obsession. They enjoy a chill, cozy night, drowning in the playful songs and the occasional giggles, the domesticity and familiarity.

Nights like this is what Dream’s heart had always craved for, and it fills him with joy to know that he can finally have them. To know that their house is no longer lonely, that his love is no longer distant, that his family is no longer broken.

He managed to gather all his favorite people here—from across the park, from across the country, from across the ocean—and they’re all he’ll ever need. He’s proud to know he made it, proud to know he’ll always have them.

Love swells in his chest, and keeps him content for the rest of the night. He can’t ask for anything better.

The unbearable heat is pretty much gone by the time November comes around.

The agitation takes a toll on Dream’s body, waking him up in the middle of the night with an Earth-shattering headache. He rolls in bed and winces when the sweaty covers stick to his bare torso, shifting uncomfortably until he’s on his stomach, hands buried under the pillows.

George hums by his side and starts moving too, rolling and rolling to find a better position to sleep in. Dream is half-awake, but he can tell George is still asleep. He feels his small hand when it swats his lower back, not used to the distance, to the cold space between their bodies.

Dream groans, pressing his eyes shut. He kicks his feet until the covers are off him, until they’re not suffocating him. The sudden movement wakes his boyfriend up for good. “Dr’m?” he slurs, rubbing his eyes, rolling to lay on his back. “What’s up?”

The mattress burns under Dream’s body, but he doesn’t have the strength to get up just yet. Slumber and heat weigh him down, pressing on his chest and depriving him of energy. “Nightmare,” he explains. Those are common. With exertion, George turns to sprawl his hand across Dream’s back, and makes a sound when he feels the sheen of sweat coating it. That’s when Dream adds, “headache.”

George hums again in admission, leaning closer to kiss one of his shoulder blades, right under the bone. “D’you have a fever?” he asks and Dream nods before groaning again. The back of his eyes stings and his limbs feel a little numb, as if he’s floating. “‘Kay. Be right back.”

Dream groans again, unburying himself from the pillows to turn his head towards his partner. With lazy movements, George stumbles his way up. “Where’re you goin’?” Dream asks. His boyfriend simply shakes his head and drags his feet out of the room.

Dream would guess it’s around six in the morning, given that they went to bed around two and there’s no sunlight seeping through the windows. They like to keep the room chilly and tend to move a lot during the night—because of the sleep-walking and the nightmares they both suffer from—but they always find their way back to each other, find the way to wake up tangled together the next morning.

He’s not sure from where he gets the strength to roll in bed again, to face the ceiling. He puts his arms over his eyes, wincing at the sweat and the heat and how uncomfortable he feels. They’re used to nights like this, for better or for worse. They always take care of each other when it happens—walking back to bed together, whispering sweet nothings to lure away the bad thoughts, kissing them better.

It shouldn’t surprise Dream when George comes back—one or fifteen minutes later—and leaves a glass of cold water on the bedside table. “C’mon, idiot. Up,” he drawls out, still a little heavy with sleep, sitting by Dream’s hip and wrapping his fingers around one of his wrists.

Dream drops his hands, but he doesn’t sit up. He feels numb. He can’t muster the boundless strength that’s required to prop himself up. “Don’t wanna,” he protests. George scoffs fondly, probably rolls his eyes, too. He thumbs at the inside of Dream’s wrist, and scoots closer. “G’rge. Lemme sleep.”

“‘M not doin’ that.” Judging by the rustle of clothes, he’s reached out for the glass. “Brought you Tylenol. ‘S gonna help you, don’t be stubborn.”

“Mm. You’re stubborn,” Dream says, because he feels bad, and he wants to be a little difficult. George squeezes his arm as an only retort, getting him to blink slowly, to finally open his eyes to look at him. And he looks exhausted, but soft all the same, smiling down at Dream in a way that makes his sick heart jump. “Y’look pretty.”

George definitely rolls his eyes this time, the faintest blush blooming at the top of his cheeks. “You’re sick and still flirting with me?” he accuses, tugging at Dream’s arm harder.

He still groans but goes more willingly, letting himself fall against the headboard once he’s finally sitting up. “I’ll be on my deathbed and still flirting with you,” he replies easily, a sneaky smile tugging his lips upwards, even through the unbearable headache tormenting him.

“Stop. Don’t say that,” George scolds, like he always does when he makes that joke, and puts the medication in one of Dream’s hands. “Take that. You’re being delusional.”

Dream chuckles and regrets it immediately, pressing his eyes shut again. George gets up to round the bed and returns to his side, getting under the covers while Dream swallows the Tylenol and finishes his glass of water. He then lays down again, rolling over to rest his head on his boyfriend’s chest, wrapping a steady arm around his waist.

George puts his hands in his hair and kisses the top of his head, and Dream hums in contentment, giving it back on his sternum. “Thank you,” he whispers, relaxing under the gentle fingers in his curls. “Sorry ‘m whiny on your birthday.”

“‘S okay. You’re always whiny,” he says. Dream hears the soft smile in his voice, the thick sweetness on his tongue, and decides he’s not arguing. “Sleep some more.”

Dream nods against him, tiredness slowly taking back over him, dragging him down. With his eyes still closed, right before losing consciousness, he mumbles, “love you.”

George kisses it back onto his head, and hugs him through the night with the feeling burning at the tips of his fingers. It lulls Dream to sleep, and keeps him safe until the next morning.

[Track: Sunflower, Vol. 6 - Harry Styles]

Everyone is already in the kitchen by the time Dream leaves his room.

The brightness that’s inherent to daytime hurts his eyes, and his feet still feel a little heavy from the night before, but his headache has mostly backed off for the time being. He knows it won’t be long until it comes back, but it’s fine. He’ll enjoy the few hours of peace he has left.

When he gets down, though, he’s pretty sure he’s somehow died and gone to heaven. Sapnap and Callie are playing hand games by the island, giggling and chatting about what sounds like nothing in particular. And his boyfriend—his perfect boyfriend—is not only awake and out of bed before noon, but also wearing a cute little birthday hat and stirring something on the stove.

Dream blinks, reluctant to believe his eyes.

His brother spots him first, greeting him good morning and beckoning him to approach them. Dream goes willingly, a shiny, wide smile growing on his lips.

“Dad!” Callie sings, turning around on her stool to hug him by the waist. He leans down to kiss her forehead, and she giggles adorably. “Good morning.”

George finally turns around, holding a spatula. He looks like he got caught red-handed. “Dream?” he asks, a frown taking over his lips. It’s still there when Dream walks towards him to kiss him good morning. “What’re you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Dream asks back, leaning against the counter by the stove, taking a peek at George’s pan. He’s making scrambled eggs. And they look… good. Genuinely, unironically good. George looks up at him, shyness in his eyes, a pink blush atop his cheeks. “Since when d’you cook?”

“It’s his third try,” Sapnap says, ratting him out, and Dream and Callie giggle.

George groans at him but doesn’t reply, instead turning to keep stirring the eggs somewhat messily, but effective regardless. “You were sick,” he explains through gritted teeth, gaze averted. Dream pouts slightly, softened by the gesture. “Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

“But it’s your birthday!” Dream protests, clicking his tongue. George shrugs, dismissive, and goes back to his own thing. Dream wraps his arms around his waist, chin on his shoulder, and asks, “why’re you not wearing my ‘kiss the cook’ apron?”

George tuts. “‘Cause it’s embarrassing, love,” he argues, leaning back on his boyfriend’s chest. “And you weren’t even here, so what’s the point?”

Dream frowns, ignoring the second part of his statement because he’s too busy taking offense. “‘S not embarrassing.”

“It is,” Sapnap chimes in from behind, earning a deathly glare from his brother. He doesn’t back down, though. “It’s cherry red, Dream. It’s literally awful.”

Dream rolls his eyes right as George shakes him off, alleging that he has no space to cook. Dream leans back against the counter, absolutely defeated, and protests again, “it’s not awful. Callie likes it. Right, honey?”

Callie hums. She turns towards Sapnap, who looks back at her with an arched brow, and then back towards her dad. And then, she breaks his heart. “It’s bad, Dad.”

Dream’s jaw falls as the two other men burst into laughter, ever so amused by his misery. Sapnap even high-fives her, for crying out loud. Under his own roof. Dream tickles George’s waist, making him squirm, making him giggle. “What are you laughing about, idiot?” he asks, fond, loving. He envelops him in his arms again, and gets closer to his face. “Just— C’mon. Let me kiss the cook.”

George rolls his eyes playfully, trying to push him away. “Let me cook, Dream!”

“Let me breathe!” Sapnap complains, and when Dream turns to him, he’s grabbing his head in feign despair. Or real one. He can’t be sure. “You’re so in love it’s actually sickening,” he says, biting back a smile. Dream knows he’s happy for them, though. Of course he is.

So he blows him a raspberry, and hugs George tighter. “Deal with it.”

He turns to look at Dream, a blush growing on his cheeks, and he turns off the stove when he deems the eggs done. “‘M not, by the way,” he lies, unable to keep the smile off his lips. “Dream is the crazy one.”

Sapnap scoffs. “George, you’re the worst one.”

“Ha!” Dream cheers, taking from his boyfriend’s hands two plates of eggs and giving them to Sapnap and Callie. Then, he looks back at him with an arched brow, a teasing smirk on his lips, and says, “he means you fell harder.”

George laughs privately, taking two plates in his hands—one for him and one for Dream. “Get the juice,” he instructs, and as Dream opens the fridge, to his back, he adds, “and that would mean you fell first. Which is just— not true.”

Dream peers, leaving the juice box and glasses on the island. “Oh, really?” he asks, turning again towards the counter to get some fruit. George averts his gaze again, stuffing his mouth with egg. “When did you fall for me, Georgie?”

“It was probably when you took that love quiz together,” Sapnap teases before diving into his own plate, pulling a laugh out of Dream because that was an extremely long time ago.

But George doesn’t laugh. He takes another forkful of egg, and then drinks juice and he almost chokes on it before speaking. “No. ‘Twas before that.”

Dream almost falls to the floor. “Before?” he echoes, sitting on the stool facing his boyfriend, sheer confusion in his face. Surely, he’s messing with him. Surely. Right? “When— When?”

George shrugs noncommittally, and Dream sees him swallow. Sapnap is quiet now, like he’s worried he’s struck a nerve. “Does it matter?” George asks, forcing out a short laugh, somewhat awkward. His blush darkens, and Dream’s frown deepens.

“It does to me,” Dream says earnestly, because there’s just no way George has been in love with him for that long and he had no idea. He would’ve noticed, he would’ve— He would’ve seen it. “Just— tell me, baby, c’mon.”

He groans, banging his elbows on the island and resting his head on upraised arms. Dream puts his hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. “I dunno, like— Four years ago?”

“What the fuck?” Sapnap says through a mouthful of eggs, earning himself another deathly glare from his brother, for more than one reason. “Sorry,” he says then, looking down to focus on his breakfast. Callie chuckles by his side, not fully aware of the conversation.

Dream gets up slowly, draping his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders, pressing a long kiss to the side of his head. His heart aches a little after that confession. If he thought it was hard for him… Barely above a whisper, he says, “I’m so sorry, G.”

George grimaces, looking up at him with a frown on his lips. “Stop. Why?” he asks, seeing Dream’s puppy-dog eyes, shaking his head in dismissal. “It’s not your fault, idiot.”

“I know, but—”

“Dream, it’s fine,” he cuts him off, hugging him by the waist, squeezing it reassuringly. Dream leans down to peck his lips, but he’s still wearing a pout when he sits down, reluctant to get his hands off him. George smiles softly at him, still blushing beet red. “I’m fine, Dream. So don’t say sorry, that’s cringe.”

One of Dream’s hands trails down his arm until it reaches his wrist, and his fingers wrap around it to bring it up towards his lips. He presses a kiss to the inside, and against the warm skin, he laments, “I’m an idiot.”

“Actually, Sapnap is an idiot,” George corrects, getting a sound in protest from the alluded—the person who unknowingly started this conversation. George doesn’t pay him any mind, instead moving his palm to cup Dream’s cheek and thumb at it softly. “We’re fine, silly. Look.” Then, gentler, “we’re us.”

Dream relaxes then.

Look. We’re having breakfast on my birthday with Sapnap and your daughter.

Look. I woke up with you today, in the bed we share, under the same roof.

Look. We’re together now. You’re my boyfriend. We’re a family.

He smiles back at George, speaking through his eyes.

We’re us.

We’ve always been.

It happens on Christmas.

Dream calls it the New Incident.

“Can I have more tomatoes?”

Now, Dream knows he could’ve misheard that. It could’ve been any other word. Children mess up words all the time. That’s definitely the logical explanation.

However, Dream also knows Callie’s almost always around when her dad’s in the kitchen, and he just happens to be in the kitchen with George a lot recently. He has a newfound interest in cooking, and like the good boyfriend he is, Dream’s been teaching him his family recipes.

So, these are the facts:

1. Dream and George spend a lot of time talking about food, and have been mentioning tomatoes—amongst other ingredients—quite a few times in the past week.
2. Callie loves to hang around while they cook, and even helps them herself sometimes (aided by the boys, of course, with all due safety measures taken).
3. Children her age are like sponges. And George is way too fucking British for his own good.

A series of reactions follow.

“What the hell?” Sapnap says first, cutting their conversation short, holding back a laugh as he waits for Dream’s reaction.

George laughs next, ever so amused by such a simple question. He turns towards Dream, too, because that’s his daughter that’s being corrupted by… English people. He laughs again before asking, teasing, “did you hear that, Dream?”

“No way,” Dream says finally, dragging a hand down his face. A smile seeps into his tone as he turns to his very giggly boyfriend to accuse him. “You’re Britishizing my daughter.”

George looks at Callie with stars in his eyes. Dream chews on his bottom lip, slightly—just slightly—endeared by what just happened. Okay, maybe not slightly. George’s smile barely fits his face. “That’s epic,” he says, and Dream wants to disagree so badly, but he can’t really bring himself to do it.

Callie isn’t as amused, though, looking around at the adults who keep looking and pointing and laughing without actually answering her question. “Dad, I want tomatoes, please,” she insists, a small pout on her lips as she looks down at the empty plate.

Sapnap takes control of the situation. “Here, Cal. You can have George’s tomatoes,” he determines, stealing his plate and putting the untouched tomatoes—Dream just can’t bring him to like them—onto Callie’s. Then, as he sits back down, "sorry your dads don’t pay attention to you.”

Dream’s stomach sinks as he looks at his brother, eyes wide open. “Oh, that’s not—”

But his daughter cuts him off. “Are you my dad too, George?”

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no.

Dream takes a deep breath, two deep breaths, a million. Sapnap braces himself for the worst, just in case, but Dream tries his best to keep composure. He doesn’t quite succeed. “Sapnap, you are— the biggest flipping idiot—”

“I don’t really like this question,” George says under his breath, still recovering after choking on a sip of water. Dream puts a hand on his thigh under the table and shakes his head, because he’s not having this conversation right now. Not a chance.

“Uh-oh,” Callie says, rocking back and forth in the chair, then hiding behind her own hands. “Am I in trouble?”

Dream sighs before smiling at her, trying to be reassuring. “Of course not, princess.”

Sapnap leans back in his chair. “I think I am.”

“Yes,” George says immediately. “You definitely are.”

“So,” Dream clears his throat when they get back to their room, and closes the door behind him. He walks the steps that separate him from George, standing in front of him nervously before speaking with a shaky voice. “About— what happened—”

“‘S fine, Dream,” George smiles honestly, hugging him by the waist, getting on his tiptoes to kiss his lips. “I wasn’t expecting it. But— It’s fine.”

Dream relaxes in his embrace, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t seem upset, or freaked out, which Dream appreciates. But he knows he can’t get out of this one that easily. “I’m not trying to, like, put pressure on—”

His boyfriend cuts him off, shaking his head. “And I’m not trying to be your daughter’s father, baby.” It’s followed by a soft giggle, accompanied with a light blush. “It was just a misunderstanding. And it’s your family, and I’m not—”

“What?” Dream frowns. “That’s not— You are my family too, idiot, that’s not what I’m—” With a long sigh, Dream closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he looks at George more intensely, green merging with sweet brown, spilling all of his secrets. In a lower voice, “I’m not worried you’re trying to steal my kid, George. I just don’t want you to freak out because of— y’know, what she said.”

“Oh.” He puckers his lips. He seems conflicted. Dream can’t really blame him. “Then what are you—”

“I’m just saying— she’s a kid,” he whispers, leaning in to press their foreheads together. They breathe in tandem, as if they’re one. “She’ll forget about it, or— not, but either way, I don’t want you to, like, go crazy about it,” Dream continues. “She knows you’re part of the family—of our family—whether that’d be as— my partner or— whatever.” Or whatever. George blinks slowly, taking even breaths. “But that’s all.”

“I guess I just— don’t want her to feel like I’m taking over the house or something,” he explains. His honesty is evident—in the shakiness of his voice, in the tentative words. Dream listens. “It’s, like— She’s been with you her entire life and I— I just got here, y’know?”

“But you didn’t just get here, baby,” Dream reassures, moving his hands to cup his boyfriend’s cheeks, thumbing sweetly at the soft skin. “I told you, she— She’s known about you. And she’s comfortable around you.” George doesn’t seem all that convinced. “C’mere,” Dream says then, grabbing his hand and sitting with him at the edge of the bed. He pulls him into a hug, kissing the top of his head. Against the soft hair, he whispers, “what’re you scared of?”

George breaks apart with a sad smile, tangling their hands on Dream’s lap, playing with his fingers. He lets his eyes get lost there, hide from Dream’s prying ones. “Of— her thinking I’m too much,” he confesses. Dream knows that feeling all too well. “You’ve told me that she’s been through a lot of— change,” he continues, frowning, small, shy. “I don’t wanna, like— upset her by— taking over or whatever.”

“Look at me?” Dream calls, moving one of his hands up to his boyfriend’s chin, angling it up in search of his eyes. He smiles when he sees them, leaning in to press a slow, soft kiss to his lips. “Change is everywhere,” he says then—a lesson he’s learned over the years, one that’s proven correct almost every single time. “Especially for people like us. We can’t— We can’t really avoid it. And sometimes, like now… it’s for the better.”

George nods. With a deep breath, he scoots closer to lean his head on Dream’s shoulder, nuzzling into him for comfort. “Yeah, I guess— That’s true.”

“Neither of us is trying to push you away from our house or our family because it’s— It’s your family, too. All of us, all three of us,” Dream reassures again—and he’ll do it as many times as necessary. As many times as he needs for it to stick, for George to believe it as strongly as Dream does. “So whatever place— y’know, however you wanna be a part of it… that’s okay.”

“Okay. Thank you,” George says, breaking apart, craning his neck to kiss him. He’s soft like this, vulnerable. Dream falls in love with him again. Their eyes meet, and he knows George does, too. “Love you.”

Dream kisses the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. “Love you more.”

[Track: Best Part of Me - Ed Sheeran ft. Yebba]

Dream isn’t ready. He simply isn’t.

He’s not sure where time went. One day, he was in his room, listening to the tick-tock of the clock on his wall, playing with his fingers and fidget toys and swiveling in his chair in front of a computer. Callie was on his lap and she was smiling and she didn’t know many words, she didn’t know many things, and neither did he.

The next day—or at least, what feels like the next day—he’s here, pacing around his living room, trying to not lose his goddamn mind. George’s soft humming soothes him, gives him something to hold onto to remain sane, or at least try. It’s grounding, in a way, but Dream can’t shake the rush, the feeling that he’s living in fast-forward and he didn’t realize.

Time. That’s it. Time is an illusion.

“We’re almost ready,” George announces, and Dream goes to stand behind him, to look at his hands. They’re way more delicate than Dream’s, way more careful as they handle Callie’s hair, as he arranges the blue bow on her head. Dream taught him well, but he perfected it. He gave it his touch. “And… that’s it!”

He was very careful, Dream notices. More than usual. He guesses it makes sense. He puts a hand on George’s waist, pulling him in, needing something else to ground him, something that will keep him from shaking.

He’s not ready.

It’s not every day that your only child starts kindergarten.

Callie smiles, grabbing a small mirror from the coffee table to look at herself. Her eyes shine, sheer excitement in them. She’s happy. She puts it back down before turning towards George, kneeling on the couch and hugging him by the waist. “Thanks, Dad.”

George’s breath hitches. So does Dream’s.

And then the world stops entirely.

It’s been almost six months since the last time they even came near this conversation. Callie didn’t bring it up again, and neither did they. They assumed she’d forgotten about it, and they were fine with it—they really were, both of them.

They assumed that was it.

It seems out of the blue, but deep down, Dream knows it isn’t.

They’ve been on holidays together—just the three of them. They watch movies together, go outside, play family games. George does her hair too, makes her breakfast sometimes, and spends a lot of time teaching her about being a shape-shifter, about her identity. Dream wakes up every day thinking there’s never been a time when he was more in love with him.

They’ve created a perfect bubble, a perfect environment for her to grow up in, and they’ve done it together. They couldn’t have done it any other way. They complement each other in a way they can’t explain, and they simply… fit.

Callie must see it. She must feel it, too.

Dream’s eyes are watery when she breaks apart, and George is already crying. He leans down, because he wants to hug her again, because he needs to. She hugs back just as eagerly, and then she turns slightly to look at Dream. One of her little hands moves to catch his attention.

Dream knows what she’s asking.

His chest is so tight he can barely even breathe, but he leans in all the same, getting into their hug, just like that first day. It makes him a little dizzy, makes him lose his balance. He’s overflowing with emotion, with pride, with joy, with nostalgia. He’s not sure how a person can feel so many things at the same time, but here he is.

God, is he feeling them.

He’s not sure when they break apart, but it can’t be long, because Callie has to leave. She has to leave for school. She was only one year old just mere moments ago, by the feel of it, and now she’s leaving for school.

For obvious reasons, for safety reasons, Dream and George can’t take her themselves. Not even today, on her first day, no matter how much they’d love to. So Joanne, Dream’s mom, is waiting at the door.

And Dream is not ready, but he has no choice.

She greets them good morning, uses her thumb to wipe some of her son’s tears, but she knows it’s futile. George knows it too, when he stands by his side and gets himself under the comfort of Dream’s arm, pressing a kiss to his chest. They lean into each other.

Dream barely registers what happens, barely hears any words being said, any movement around him. He’s in a trance of happiness, of bubbly affection, seeing his only child in his mother’s arms, waving him goodbye with a bright smile on her face.

“Love you, guys!” Callie yells right before Joanne puts her in the car, and waves at them too. She starts driving almost immediately.

And then there’s silence.

A bubble. An empty bubble.

George turns towards Dream. “She said the thing,” he says, in a thin voice. He sniffles, smiling through his tears, and Dream nods slowly, wrapping his arms around him. He feels like he’s about to fall to the ground, but George catches him. George always catches him. “Hey, look at me,” he says, pulling apart.

Dream can’t swallow past the lump in his throat. He presses his forehead to George’s, lets himself become undone in the soft drag of the fingers cupping his cheeks. His eyes fall shut against his will and his heart and his blood burn, melting him from the inside out.

George smiles, and all the darkness in the world disappears. “You did a wonderful job with her,” he chokes out, soul in display, tears rolling down his cheeks. Dream nods, trying to even out his breathing. “You’re the best dad she could’ve ever got.”

Their lips find each other, like they always do. Through the tears, through the broken sobs, through half-breaths and sweet words and through distance and through the years and through—

Through everything. They always will. Always will.

No matter the circumstances, they always will.

Dream was nineteen years old when he found Callie.

Summer was almost over, and it was warm outside. The night had fallen at least two hours prior, and a few stars were already visible in the sky. It was a little windy, he recalls, but oddly, no clouds were in sight.

She was bundled up in a white blanket, under a tree. The blanket was covered in mud, but not enough that it wouldn’t catch people’s eye. She was asleep. She seemed peaceful.

She couldn’t have been more than one year old. She had dark brown, curly hair, and big, chubby cheeks. Baby cheeks, he’d thought.

Dream is almost twenty-four years old now. And he remembers that night like it was yesterday.

It was the night that changed the course of his life forever. Like a butterfly batting its wings, causing a hurricane somewhere across the ocean. Like a single domino piece falling over, bringing the rest with it, cascading into a line. Like the Moon controlling the tides, like a satellite orbiting the Earth.

Because he didn’t only meet Callie that night. That night, he began a long path towards meeting himself. That night, a lot more things were born—in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

And today, almost five years later, he can confidently say he wouldn’t do a single thing differently.

Dream is a proud father, a supportive brother, a loving boyfriend, a successful content creator.

Dream is a storyteller.

And this was the story of how Dream found his family.