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For someone who’s lived in Florida their entire life, Dream has never liked the beach.
He’s always been more interested in Minecraft, coding, and his online friends than sun, sand, and salt. Florida beaches are hot and sticky; Dream remembers sweating off his sunscreen in minutes, freckles reappearing on his cheeks as soon as he burned under the open sky. He supposes it’s nice within the genre of summer, where the beach is a romantic stroke of indulgence, but the reality is unshakeable sand and scratchy towels, messy and uncomfortable and overstimulating.
And—swimsuits.
Dream doesn’t have an unhealthy relationship with his body, not anymore, but the beach still makes him hesitant. He feels all too vulnerable stripping down, showing skin. He stayed inside his house, faceless and unbodied for three years, and now he’s supposed to be shirtless on the beach? In front of Sapnap and George?
It’s kind of irrational, knowing that George moved across the ocean just for his voice, but Dream is still very aware of his body and how he looks, and how much bigger he is than George. Sometimes, it’s hard to crush the thoughts that he simply takes up too much space.
Dream thinks he might just hide in his towel for the entire vacation, like a cloak or something. Cloaks are cool.
When he suggested that the three of them take a break from all the work and the travel, he didn’t expect George to immediately suggest a beach vacation.
“I’ve never seen the Atlantic from this side before,” George had begged, “please, Dream please?”
Maybe Dream was still terribly enchanted by the novelty of George in Florida, or endeared by George’s enthusiasm for Dream’s home state, or just a little bit in love with his best friend, but he agreed without a second thought.
He’s always been soft for George, and George knows it, exploits it sometimes, but there’s an easiness to them just being them, teasing each other back and forth like the rising and falling tide. Dream wouldn’t deny that for anything, even as he sighs and loads their bags with towels and wide-brimmed hats, driving out to the Florida coastline for the first time in years.
They’ve rented a seaside place for the weekend, but they weren’t there for more than five minutes before George and Sapnap rushed out to the sand. Dream follows more slowly, feeling distinctly adult as he sets all of their towels and snacks and an umbrella to hide from the sun.
“You need to put sunscreen on,” Dream says, squinting at George. The beach is hot, like he knew it would be. “You’re going to burn.”
“I’m not going to burn,” George scoffs. “You’re going to burn.”
“I would, if I wasn’t wearing sunscreen,” Dream replies, raising his eyebrows at George expectantly. “The sun is a lot more dangerous here than in England, you know.”
“I don’t know if I trust you, you’ve never been to England,” George challenges, and Dream can tell by the glint in his eyes that he’s having fun, “not really.”
“Well,” Dream says, disguising his amusement, “As the Florida expert, I can tell you that you definitely need to wear sunscreen, or you’ll get skin damage when you’re, like, twenty-seven.”
“My skin is perfect,” George replies, wrinkling his nose at Dream. “Everyone says ‘Oh George, your skin is so flawless! Drop the skin care routine king~!’ when I don’t even do anything. Trust me, Dream.”
“Yeah, um—you have nice skin,” Dream says, blushing slightly. George is one of those people that looks good sweaty and flushed under the scorching sun. Well, he looks good all the time—but summer definitely favors him, making him glow with effortless airiness.
“Here,” Dream extends the sunscreen. “For me.”
“For my premature skin damage,” George scoffs, but he takes it anyway.
“For me,” Dream insists, because he can, smiling when George shakes his head and uncaps the sunscreen. He likes it when George concedes to his affection, when his silence becomes a quiet reciprocation of the moment between them; Dream gazes up at him happily, a cotton-candy haze soothing his messy brain.
“Why are you wearing so many layers?” George squints at him, rubbing sunscreen into his cheeks. “It’s like, a million degrees out.”
“Uh, just—sun protection,” Dream stumbles, “extra coverage.”
“Are you going to hide in the shade like a vampire?”
“No,” Dream says defensively. “I’m going to… protect the snacks.”
George sighs loudly, exaggerated in the way that means he wants something. “We have an epic beach, almost all to ourselves, and you want to spend our vacation—” George pauses to raise his eyebrows at Dream, “—being an idiot. That is such an L. You are an L, Dream.”
Dream curls his lip over a blinding smile. Seven years of friendship has made it easy to see right through George’s stupidly roundabout ways of asking for attention, yet somehow it never gets old seeing George try and ask for the things he refuses to say out loud. “I’ll be right here, Georgie.”
“Fine,” George huffs. “If you’re not coming, I guess I’ll just go drown Sapnap—”
“Do not—”
“You’re so easy,” George looks down at him, smirking with a vindictive kind of fondness, like he knows he’s the only one who gets Dream like this. “I’m done with your dumb sunscreen, here.”
He tosses the bottle to Dream, brushing his hands on his swim trunks as he prepares to head out to the shoreline. There’s evidence of sunscreen underneath his fingernails and on his face—a little white patch by his temple and streaks under his chin—and Dream can’t stop himself from calling out.
“Wait, George, you have—” He gestures to his own face, miming applying sunscreen.
“Where?” George demands, hands flying to his face. One of his fingers drags the sunscreen on his temple into his hair.
Dream makes a frustrated sound. “Just come here, I’ll do it.”
“Just tell me where,” George replies impatiently.
“You already fucked it up, let me fix it for you,” Dream answers, exasperated fondness bleeding into his voice as he gestures to the spot in front of him.
“Fine,” George says. He bends down, sitting cross-legged before Dream, and closes his eyes with surprising patience. “Fix me.”
Dream hovers awkwardly for a second, realizing that they are suddenly very very close and that George’s eyelashes are dark and beautiful and have they always been this long?? His lashes flicker slightly with movement from under his closed eyelids, his faint freckles in high-definition from Dream’s vantage point three inches away, his lips slightly parted and dry from the summer heat, and Dream struck with the dizzying feeling that he has never found anyone more attractive in his entire life.
“Dream,” George says, eyes still closed, and Dream startles. “Fix me.”
“Sorry,” he blushes. It’s embarrassing that George knows him so well he can call Dream out without even looking, and it’s unfair that he says fix me like he entrusts Dream with his entire being. Dream is a little helpless in the face of it all, truth and love and need all entangled by the sunscreen in George’s hair.
He places a gentle hand on George’s jaw, tilting his face down so he can reach the smear. George’s stubble brushes against his palm, and he shivers involuntarily, wondering why it feels like he’s handling a holy book rather than his best friend’s face. Reverant, he drags his thumb across George’s hairline, collecting the stray bits of sunscreen. George’s eyes stay closed the whole time, barely moving, barely breathing as Dream’s hands ghost over his skin. Dream feels similarly breathless, the outside world of waves and sand ticking down to a faint static, everything pinpointed down to George. Just George.
Dream smoothes his fingers over George’s temple again, rubbing tiny circles into his forehead and watching as the sunscreen disappears, absorbed into George’s skin like it was never there. Nothing remains but George’s face in his hands, peaceful and radiant with his own internal glow.
Dream lets himself indulge, clinging desperately to this moment that George has given him. He can’t begin to think about everything he wants to say, all the kisses he wants to press to George’s face, all of the compliments he wants to whisper in George’s ear, so he just—looks. He looks, and looks, and because he’s selfish, he tilts George’s jaw towards the other side of his face and strokes a gentle hand down his cheek, even though there’s no sunscreen there. The crazy part is that George lets him, and Dream revels in it, hiding a tiny gasp as his fingers trail across George’s stubble again.
“Um,” Dream coughs, removing his hands. He folds them together in his lap, an act of nervous politeness that doesn’t even begin to mask his desire to hold George’s face again and kiss him stupid. “You’re good, I got it all.”
George opens his eyes, finally, and immediately squints at the light. He blinks at Dream, adjusting, and Dream tries to look normal under his dark brown gaze. Their faces are still less than a foot apart.
“Thank you,” George replies, soft and gracious in a way that makes Dream’s heart flicker like a freshly lit matchstick. George doesn’t usually offer this kind of gentle genuinity in broad daylight; Dream is used to it when they’re eight hours deep into a Discord call, a continent away and delirious with longing, and it feels like magic to hear it spoken inches just away from his face.
“You’re welcome,” Dream manages.
“Silly,” George tilts his head with a tiny smile, seemingly unbothered by the way they’re almost breathing the same air.
“Yeah,” Dream murmurs. George is still staring at him, strong and beautiful and unreadable, and Dream can’t help when his eyes flicker away, overwhelmed by the intensity of George’s full attention.
George sighs, pushing himself to his feet again, and the moment ends. He scrapes sand off his palms as he stares at the ocean where Sapnap is splashing in the foam. “You’re really not coming to the beach part of our beach vacation?”
“I’m good here.”
“Alright.”
George still looks like he’s hesitating, hovering at the edge of shade and sun, and Dream swallows a tiny seed of guilt. It’s ridiculously comforting to know that George would follow him anywhere he goes, but he never wants to hold him back from any opportunities or fun.
“Go,” he urges, waving a lazy hand at the sea. “I’ll watch you guys.”
“Okay,” George nods, offering a small smile. “See you in a minute.”
Dream blinks languidly as George skips off to join Sapnap, letting himself indulge in the gauzy haze of summer. The shoreline wavers before his eyes, shimmering like a delicate plane of pixelated heat, and he squints at the figures near the water, barely able to make out George’s profile and the outline of Sapnap’s hat.
The beach they chose is pretty empty today, just a couple older folks stretched out in folding chairs away from the water. It’s a Wednesday afternoon; Dream would usually be hunched over his computer in a merch meeting right now, fifteen emails sitting in his inbox – and yet here he is, sprawled out on the Florida sand, not more than an hour away from home. Calmed by the rhythmic crashing of the waves, he suddenly feels ridiculously grateful that George had begged for a trip to the beach.
Dream cracks an eye open, briefly tugged back to the moment by the thought of George. George and his warm skin and brown eyes, perfectly still under Dream’s hands, with a smile so soft that Dream feels butterflies cascade down his back. He thinks back to when George only knew him as a greenish rectangle, when the closest they came to kissing was the fanart that Dream liked on Twitter, and wonders what his younger self would think of them now.
Even watching George in the water, it’s still hard to believe this is real. It was a hope he never really let himself have—the three of them in Florida, finally together, close enough to reach out and touch. He’s ached for it for so long that it almost hurts to have, but he cherishes it, his little family, built around him like a giant hug.
Dream watches Sapnap splash George directly in the face, smiling as George shrieks in response, and closes his eyes, letting warmth wash over him.
He doesn’t know how long he drifts, hot and unmoving. He can feel the energy seeping out of him, evaporating into thin air as he slips in and out of consciousness.
He wakes to the feeling of something brushing against his face, something cold, and it feels so good he presses into it, wanting more. When he opens his eyes, George is peering down at him, a knowing smile unfurling across his face, laughlines bright with sunshine.
“Hi, Dreamie,” he says, sweet.
“Mm,” Dream replies, nudging his forehead against what he now processes as George’s leg. It’s cool and a little bit wet from the ocean, and it feels absolutely heavenly to Dream right now.
“No way bro fell asleep,” Sapnap’s voice floats over Dream’s head, and he hears the crinkling of one of the chip bags they brought for snacks.
“Just a little,” Dream slurs. Waking up like this has left him dizzy, the world around him big and blurry. He can feel the beginning of a headache starting to pound at the base of his skull, and he turns further into George’s hip, wanting nothing more than to be small and hidden in the crook of George’s embrace.
“Dream? Are you okay?” That’s George. He can tell because the voice is soft and close-by, paired with gentle fingers in his hair, running over his scalp. “Dream?”
Realizing he hasn’t answered George, he makes a noise in response. It comes out kind of like a whine, and, hearing himself, he can’t even tell if it was a positive or negative sound. All he knows is that he feels lopsided and overheated, and he just wants George to keep petting his hair.
“You’re really sweaty.” George sounds worried now. His fingers ghost over Dream’s forehead. “You’re burning up. Sapnap, he—do you think he has a fever?”
“I mean, it’s pretty hot out today, but I don’t know. I feel like it’s kind of weird to have a fever at the beach.”
“He’s wearing so many layers, though,” George replies, though it sounds muffled through the pounding in Dream’s head.
He registers shuffling above him, and suddenly Sapnap’s voice is a lot closer than before. He can practically feel them both hovering over him, and he hates it, he hates the pins and needles dancing along his limbs and the hot prickle of pain that shoots down his spine every time he becomes aware of his body.
“Did he drink any water today?”
“I don’t know,” George answers for him, and then there’s a cool hand on Dream’s forehead, wiping sweat out of his eyes. George’s voice becomes gentle as he redirects the question, “Dream, have you had any water? Are you thirsty?”
“Nrghh,” Dream mumbles. Now that he thinks about it, his mouth is really dry, and water sounds really really good. He makes another sound, hoping his friends know how to translate his request.
“Okay,” George says, taking charge. “Sit up, and we’ll get you some water.”
Oh god. Dream doesn’t know if he can even sit up. His arms feel so heavy, spasming as if in protest to the very idea of moving. But Dream can feel George and Sapnap’s eyes on him, and he desperately wants water, so he digs his elbows against the towel and pushes himself upright in one big movement.
Immediately, he wants to die.
“Jesus Christ,” Sapnap says from somewhere off to the left, and Dream squeezes his eyes shut too much toomuchtoomuch. He’s panting like he just ran a marathon, hands shaking badly as waves of dizziness roll over him. He’s still way too warm, and it feels even worse now that he’s sitting up, lightheaded and exhausted as he trembles in the heat.
“Dream. Dream, can you look at me?”
George, that’s George talking, he processes slowly. He blinks, trying to find George’s face in the hazy blob of colors before him. “Hm?”
“What’s wrong?” George asks, eyebrows drawn together. He puts a hand on Dream’s face, cold and grounding, and Dream doesn’t have the self-restraint to stop himself from leaning into the touch.
“Feel bad,” Dream manages. He blinks again, horrified to find tears gathering at his waterline. “Too hot.”
“Yeah,” George agrees, eyes deep with concern. He brushes a thumb over Dream’s cheek, and the tears spill down his face like an egg yolk escaping from its shell. Dream’s breath hitches, chest trembling with emotion and fatigue and a million other things, unable to bear the anxiety in George’s face. Without even meaning to, he crumbles forward, collapsing straight into George’s lap.
“Dream—”
“Am I dying?” he asks hoarsely. The world spins above him.
“You’re okay,” Sapnap says shakily. George exhales sharply, a breath Dream can feel from where his head is pressed to George’s stomach. His headache is louder than the waves, skin burning, and he feels all wrong.
“You know where I keep all the passwords, right?” he babbles, nervous and high-pitched. “They’re in my Notes app somewhere. Ken knows where all the legal stuff is. He should be able to give you guys the rights to Dream Branding, and the house is yours, obviously, um— I don’t know how the paperwork for that will work, but it should be fine.”
“You’re not fucking— dying,” Sapnap bursts out. “Dream, what the fuck?”
“Sapnap,” George says hurriedly, ignoring Dream altogether, “his heartbeat is really fast, what do we do?”
“I don’t know George, he has fucking heatstroke or something! I’ve never done this before, and he’s not helping right now!”
“Can you take care of Patches?” Dream asks, tears welling up again. He can feel himself fading, eyes flickering as he struggles against the dizziness dragging him down. “I miss Patches.”
George leans over, as if shielding Dream from the heat exhaustion plaguing his body, and plants a kiss on his forehead, quick and comforting. It sends a full-body shiver down Dream’s back, his body understanding the gesture even when his mind is too muddled to emotionally process any of it. “She’ll be fine, Dream. And so will you.”
“George,” he says, fluttering on the edge of consciousness. George. His skin feels like it’s being vaporized, heat scorching his ribs like scars as he clings to the one person he would trust with his entire heart.
“What do you need?” George asks immediately, peering down at him. His hands rub gentle circles into Dream’s temple. I wish you would kiss me again.
“I love you,” he tells George helplessly. He feels breathless just admitting it out loud, everything burning and aching with a million Florida suns, and this is never how he planned for George to find out, but— “George. George, I love you.”
The world swims above him, hot fatigue dragging him down, and Dream doesn’t have a chance to see George’s reaction as yields to exhaustion, eyelids fluttering dangerously. He feels gross and lightheaded and weak and yet he doesn’t care because he’s in love, entirely and irrevocably.
He nestles into George’s chest one more time before finally passing out.
___
Dream wakes to darkness.
He blinks rapidly, disoriented, staring at the texture of the ceiling as he anxiously tries to piece together where he is. He doesn't have the energy to move; his eyes slide from one corner of the room to another, trying to temper the bubble of nerves in his chest.
All he remembers is overwhelming heat, George’s hand on his forehead, and a jumble of voices above him. The beach is a blur, nothing more than summer demons scratching at his skin as his body slowly failed him.
Dream’s head hurts. He’s in a dark, unknown place, a deep ache cutting through his bones, and all he wants is George. He wants to feel small and safe under George’s gentle hands and kind words, a need so deeply ingrained in his heatsick mind that he doesn’t even realize he’s made a soft noise.
The sound is pulled out of him again involuntarily, and he only registers it when someone responds, a quiet voice above him, cool hands framing his face. “Dream, hey. Hey, you’re okay.”
“G’rge?” he mumbles, blurry.
“It’s me.” George gives him a tired smile, and Dream immediately feels the pressure in his chest release. It’s a little bit insane that just seeing George can put him at ease so quickly, but he can’t stop the rush of love that sweeps through him knowing that George has just been sitting here, watching over him and waiting for him to wake up.
“Where are we?” Dream asks, his voice cracking painfully. His mouth feels like it’s full of sand, dry and rough when he tries to speak again, and George’s eyebrows draw together in concern.
“Here, water.” George grabs a bottle from the bedside table and presses it into Dream’s hands, soothingly cool.
Dream can feel his head clearing as he sips at the water, eyes refocusing. It feels cold and slippery in the best way, a balm to his wobbly, aching limbs. “George, where—?”
“We’re at the Airbnb,” George explains, peering at him worriedly. “You—you got overheated, like, Sapnap said it was heat exhaustion. You passed out at the beach, so we brought you back here to cool you down. Sapnap went out to get some stuff for you.”
“Oh,” Dream says stupidly. It comes back to him slowly, as if a layer of dust is being brushed away from his brain.
“Do you feel okay?” George asks. He reaches over and takes Dream’s hand as if this is perfectly normal, and Dream has to breathe against the hope under his rib cage, eyes wide until he realizes that George’s fingers are pressed to the pulsepoint at his wrist. “Your heartbeat feels more normal than before, so that’s good.”
“Um, yeah,” Dream agrees shakily, and wonders if he’s imagining that George is acting more clingy than normal.
He’s wholly unprepared for George to bow his head and leave a gentle kiss on his wrist, hands smoothing over the skin as he returns Dream’s hand to him.
“George,” he manages in wonder, warmth shooting through his fingers. There’s something different about this, about the two of them, and Dream swallows nervously. “What did I—Did I say anything?”
“You rambled about all your passwords, and legal stuff like the company and the house because you thought you were dying,” George says, fixing him with a look. “Which is stupid, because you’re not allowed to die, idiot.”
“Sorry,” Dream apologizes, fuzzy memories filtering back in. If it was terrifying for him, it must have been even scarier for his friends, to see him like that. He feels phantom tears on his cheeks, asking for Patches, asking for George, George, George.
“And, you, um—” George looks straight at him, fond and bashful, as if re-confessing Dream’s own words is an admission of his own. “You told me you loved me.”
Dream blinks, feeling hot all over again, cheeks pink with truth. “George.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” George starts, and Dream’s hopeful heart sinks. He wants to curse his own delirium for running his stupid mouth and ruining this, letting his feelings rust in the open air.
“I can’t handle it, Dream, seriously,” George continues, urgently, and Dream shuts his eyes in pain. He’s too fragile for this right now, too full of love to hear George’s rejection like this.
“You told me you loved me, curled up in my lap, and you fainted—” George’s voice drops to a whisper. “You fainted before I could even say it back.”
What the fuck.
Dream keeps his eyes closed, disbelieving. He trembles in place, feeling hot and cold as love and despair chase each other under his skin.
He feels George’s hand on the side of his face again, unbearably gentle as he tucks Dream’s hair behind his ear.
“You’re awful for my heart, y’know,” he murmurs, shy and affectionate.
Dream cracks open an eyelid cautiously, heart racing when he sees George’s brilliant smile shining down at him.
“Hi, Dreamie,” George says, eyes crinkling, and Dream’s chest opens in full bloom.
“Say it back?” he asks, desperate for clarification, confirmation, needing to hear what George has already said in so many words.
“I love you too. Idiot,” George replies haltingly, not looking at Dream. He rolls his eyes like he’s above it all, but Dream sees the blush that creeps over his cheeks like a love letter. “Of course I love you.”
George finds Dream’s eyes for a split second, and the tension breaks like melted butter, soft and warm and light with tenderness. Dream surges forward and buries himself in George’s lap in a half-hug before he can help himself.
“George,” he breathes, grinning like an idiot, “oh my god, George.”
“I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me you loved me until you thought you were on your deathbed,” George grumbles, hands running thoughtlessly over Dream’s shoulders. “You’re so stupid.”
“Yeah,” Dream agrees happily. “But ‘m your stupid.”
“Mine,” George echoes, tasting the word like it’s a delicacy as he releases Dream back into the pillows. Dream giggles at the thrill it sends to his brain, fireworks sparking madly.
“I like it when you call me that.”
“Okay, idiot,” George exaggerates, teasing him. “You are actually an idiot for getting heat exhaustion, though. Why were you wearing so many layers to the beach?”
Oh.
“Um,” Dream starts, and suddenly becomes acutely aware that he’s shirtless, jacket and t-shirt stripped off. He was so overheated he didn’t even notice it, but now he looks down at his half-naked body and burns anew with embarrassment. “Where are my clothes?”
“I took them off, they’re just over there,” George says kindly, as if he can see Dream’s discomfort. He holds up a rag. “I used this wet cloth to cool you down.”
“Okay,” Dream replies crookedly, and tries to be okay with the fact that George has seen him sick and shirtless and vulnerable, insecurities on display.
“What’s wrong?” George asks, frowning. He traces the curve of Dream’s eyebrow like he knows. He knows everything about Dream.
“Nothing,” Dream denies, but he can’t help himself from crossing his arms low over his stomach.
George notices immediately, as if he’s got a special Dream frequency that lets him pick up all of his silent sounds and signals.
“Dream,” he says, softening with what Dream barely dares to label as love.
“I just don’t like it,” Dream squirms. “I know it’s not—I don’t know.”
“I don’t care,” George declares, “because I like it. I love it, actually. I love you.”
Dream looks up at him, eyes wide. It’s still so weird hearing George say it out loud, I love you slipping off his tongue so naturally that he wonders how long George has been holding it in.
“If that’s okay,” George retracts nervously. “Is it— Do you want me to get your shirt?”
“It’s okay,” Dream answers, breathless.
He still feels clumsy inside his own skin, but George smoothes fingers across his face and through his hair and looks at him with so much affection that it is okay. It’s terrifying, bared to his best friend’s gaze even in the shadows of a dark room, but George is safety. There’s no one he would trust more to love the parts of himself that he hides from the world.
“Well, good,” George says, hovering, a question in his eyes as he rests a hand under Dream’s jaw.
Dream nods automatically. With George, even if he doesn’t know the question, the answer is always yes.
“I like you here,” George whispers, hand splayed over Dream’s stomach. Dream lets him, head spinning, unmoving as George bends to leave a slow kiss just above his belly button. No one has ever touched him like this before, and he likes that George is the first.
“And here,” George continues, holding his waist, mouth pressed to the middle of his chest. Dream shivers, boneless under George’s hands. “I like you here.”
George kisses his heart so delicately Dream kind of wants to cry. He wonders if George can feel his heartbeat through the layers of skin and bone, wonders if he knows it means I love you I love you more than words can say.
“I love you here,” George admits quietly, kissing his heart again, and Dream’s insides do a little backflip.
“George,” he begs, trembling, but George just squeezes his hand.
“Shhh, I’m not done yet.”
“Okay,” Dream quiets. He wants this for the rest of his life, if this is how George likes to love him.
He closes his eyes, and lets George kiss a line up his bare chest, whispering little reassurances so close and so soft that Dream feels like he’s floating on a cloud. He’s never felt so wholly adored, every part of him seen and cherished. He wishes he could rewrite every love song in the world for George.
George reaches his face, kissing the jut of his chin sweetly, cupping his jaw like he’s something precious. “Open your eyes, idiot.”
Dream does, eyes watery.
“George,” he croaks. He blinks, tears spilling over, caught by George’s hands. “You’re so… I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” George smiles, and he’s leaning forward as Dream leans up, nerves erased by the thrill of George’s lips against his and then oh my god they’re kissing.
Dream thinks his brain evaporates the second he thinks about how George’s mouth is warm and soft pressed against his. George is kissing him like they have all the entire universe at their feet, his hands steady against Dream’s jaw, and Dream thinks this might be the best kiss he’s ever had in his entire life.
“Never fucking get heat exhaustion again,” George threatens with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, pulling back to admire Dream’s flushed face.
“Whatever you want,” Dream agrees, curling his hand over George’s. He loves that he can twine their fingers together now, and have it mean something.
“Terrible vacation,” George continues, melting into Dream’s side.
“Awful.”
“I hate the beach.”
“Me too,” Dream giggles, smiling at him. George smiles back, secretive, as though he’s not halfway in Dream’s lap right now. “Where would you want to go instead?”
“Nowhere,” George says, kissing him, and Dream laughs.
“Stop, George, stop,” he says, grinning. “Be serious.”
George shrugs, thinking for a moment as he squeezes close, wrapping an arm over Dream’s waist.
“I don’t need a vacation to love you,” he says simply.
“You—” Dream shakes his head, the breath knocked out of his lungs. He thinks back to their Minecraft days, spending hours online with George, pouring over code, spreadsheets, thumbnails, even taxes. He’s loved him for so long, from so far, it’s almost unreal that they can just go home together.
“Can you kiss me again?” he asks instead, hopeful.
“Dreamie,” George teases, voice lilting with playfulness, but his hands are already tangled in Dream’s curls. Insatiable, Dream thinks, letting himself fall all over again as George presses him into the pillow.
George smiles against his lips like he knows, like the place where their smiles meet is the beginning of everything, love whispered in tiny touches under his elbows and behind his ears, and Dream kisses back with everything in him, letting the world fade into nothingness as he surrenders to it all.