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If George was to think about it for more than two minutes, he would freak out. So he doesn’t. He continues walking down the empty hallway like nothing happened. Because nothing had happened.
Borrowing a pen from his roommate's desk, because he wanted to jot down a few missing items from their shared grocery list, was fine and very human. Stealing one of Dream's sweatshirts because he didn’t know how to work the washing machine yet was acceptable in George’s opinion. Asking - no, not begging, George still had an inkling of pride in him left - his friend to fetch him his favorite meal because he was feeling down, was merely something good friends did for each other.
But, this feels different from every sweet gesture Dream has done for him. Different from all the times his roommate has taken care of him when he was stressed out due to exams.
Different from late nights spent on the couch, huddled together under an obscure amount of blankets since the heating in their ancient building has once again broken down, watching one of their favorite shows and falling asleep to the rhythmic breathing of the other.
It was such a small change, barely even noticeable unless you knew what to look for.
And yet, the weight of it brought feelings to the surface that felt grander than any act could.
George is leaving Dream's room, walking down the empty hallway with a contrastingly not-so-empty neck.
Hanging around George’s neck is a newly acquired chain - Dream’s chain.
The metal rings woven into each other highlight his prominent collarbones and delicate neck. Standing in a stark juxtaposition to its previous owner's paler skin, one might think it is an entirely different piece of jewelry.
Your very close friend, whom you have known since he was in diapers and whose life is practically inseparable from yours, gifting you the chain he hasn’t taken off once since 5th grade for your 23rd birthday, is not weird.
At least that’s what George decides to tell himself.
Continuing on with his journey towards the cozy kitchen, George makes a brief stop at his own bedroom, taking his phone from the charger and leaving.
It is not long before George hears another pair of footsteps enter the small place where he is currently cooking - at least attempting to - a dozen eggs.
“C’mon birthday boy, sit down and let me make these,” Dream announces, making his presence known in the room, “ Wouldn’t want to burn down the house before 8 am.” Dream adds with a sarcastic tilt to his voice.
“I am managing fine, thank you,” George replies softly, zoned out.
“What’s wrong, George?” Dream gently nudges George away from the stove, taking his new position as a chef.
George knew he had lost. If there was one thing knowing his best friend for so long has taught him, it was that lying was completely and utterly useless when it came to Dream.
“Nothing,” George tries nonetheless, “I think I need more sleep.”
“Eat, and then we can continue that weird show you wanted to watch.” Dream says in response, “Go settle down on the couch.” George, still feeling out of it, follows the advice, sitting on their sofa while pulling a blanket over himself.
Shortly after his best friend steps into the room, Dream hands a plate of steaming eggs over to George, taking a seat right next to him. Probably closer than necessary.
During an especially boring part of the sadly uneventful show, George decides to break the comfortable silence that had taken place between the pair. “Why the chain?”
“What?” Dream asks unhelpfully.
“Why give me your chain now? You have worn it for the past decade. Surely it's important to you,” George acquires gently, not trying to create a hostile environment in their moment of peace.
Dream takes the TV remote in his hand before answering, and presses pause, turning his body more towards his roommate, “Yeah, of course, the chain is valuable to me. That is why I chose to give it to you.”
“What?” it was George who asked this time, perplexed. Dream turns his upper body even more towards the birthday person, taking one of his hands in both of his, “How long have we known each other? 10? 15? 20 years? I don't think there even has been an important moment in my life that you weren't there for. That you weren't part of. This chain,” Dream lifts one of his hands off of George's and takes the metal around George's neck softly between his fingertips, almost like examining it for the first time. “My mom gave it to me when I turned 13 because it meant something to her. You know what she said when she gave it to me back then?” Dream asks.
George couldn't have opened his mouth even if he wanted to. So he opts to shake his head from left to right.
“She told me to keep wearing it until I found something that meant even more to me.” The blond finishes his explanation. Yet it didn't feel like George really understood. He couldn't. All these years he refused himself the pleasure of actually being Dream's. Believing that they couldn't be more than childhood friends who, more often than not, acted like an old married couple.
If Dream meant what he thinks he meant, everything is going to change. But there wasn't another opportunity to ask for more clarification, since Dream had gone back to watching another episode. So George sits there, consumed by thoughts of 'what if' and 'why'.
It isn't until four entire days later that George notices something out of place.
Dream has just returned to their small apartment after an exhausting day of listening to some senile professors drone on and on about the importance of punctuation in classical literature. Dream is a freak for majoring in Philosophy of Physics, in George's humble opinion. He would much rather be stuck behind a screen for 28 consecutive hours in order to complete a problem for one of his Topology courses like he is doing now.
It does not take long for Dream to catch on. Without even needing to look at George, Dream makes his way over to their mini fridge, taking out one of the many containers with George's favorite foods inside that have been frozen in case of situations like this one. Taking off the lid, the blond makes his way over to the microwave, popping open the door and placing the ice-cold Chicken and Biscuits Bake into the heater.
One of Dream's favorite things that comes with living with his childhood best friend, is being able to care for him. Having lived in separate parts of the grand city of Boston for way too long, felt like being separated by the Atlantic itself - as if. Dream chuckles to himself at that thought. He doesn't believe he would survive a week without seeing George.
The very first thing Dream did when he turned 16 was to get his driver's license, so he wouldn't have to make the 30-minute-long journey by metro every day to George's mom's house. And because Dream became George's chauffeur at the ripe age of 18, the brunet never saw the necessity to get a license done for himself.
Dream is suddenly ripped from his daydreaming by by irksome beeping of the microwave. He probably left it in for too long and the plastic container nearly burned his ring-adored fingers. Plating the food, Dream makes his way over to where his roommate is camping on the living room floor.
George notices it when the younger leans over him to place the steaming plate on the coffee table.
Hanging around Dream's neck is a beautiful golden chain. George is no expert on the matter, but it does look similar to the one he is currently wearing. From the pattern to the size of the rings, the two chains appear almost identical if it weren't for their shade of color.
In an impulsive decision, George reaches for the chain with the hand that is unoccupied, which makes Dream stop in his tracks.
The younger pears down at him with a quizzical look on his face yet doesn't attempt to pull away or create distance between the two.
"You bought another one?" George inquires, something akin to hurt crystalizing through his voice, "You know I would have given it back if you asked me to." The brunet adds while making a move to take off the silver chain.
"No!" Dream exclaims hurriedly, grasping George's hands in one of his own and plopping down next to him on the surprisingly clean carpet. "Keep it. It's yours now. Otherwise, I wouldn't have given it to you to begin with," Dream explains and even though George has stopped trying to remove his chain, the blond has yet to release his hands.
"I lied on your birthday," Dream admits earnestly, "Well, technically, I didn't lie." He looks up at George as if he contains the secrets of the universe, he might as well do. With his glistening sepia-tinted eyes and down-turned smile. With his tiny scar above his left eye from when they were 13 years old and stupid and thought that stealing from Ms. Jackson down the street was an outstanding idea. With his naturally rose-tinted cheeks that become brighter in a laughter-filled room and tiny little freckles all across his face that a stranger will definitely miss at first glance.
But not Dream.
Dream has spent the past two decades looking at his best friend's face. Seeing him grow into his features with a defined jaw and a big nose that George always wrinkles whenever he giggles. Oh, that laugh. Dream could listen to it for the rest of his life and would die a happy man.
And right then and there, at almost 3 pm on a Thursday afternoon, sitting on the cold floor in November together with his George, Dream is more than sure he has made the right decision giving George his chain.
Dream starts, "When she gave me my chain - the one you are wearing - she said I should give it to somebody that deserved it... somebody that was worthy of it," Dream has to refrain from smiling, "She was always so dramatic." Dream pauses and takes a deep breath. "But I think she was on the right track. The two chains are part of the same set. Practically indifferentiable except for their color."
George is still holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, to hear that this is a big misunderstanding. He doesn't allow himself to hope, doesn't allow himself to ponder what life with Dream might be like after this. Doesn't imagine warm mornings with a cozy bed with his favorite person. Doesn't imagine slow evenings, eating together on the couch, re-watching their favorite shows with a goodnight kiss before they both fall asleep in each other's arms under a big bundle of blankets.
But Dream has never disappointed him and he won't start now so he slowly adds, as if the words were always trapped in his mind and have finally found an escape, "I love you, George."
The pair looks at each other, shy smiles creeping onto their faces. "There isn't anyone who would be more deserving. Nobody needs to be loved and cherished as much as you, G. We have been through so much together. Even when my mom passed," a small hiccup interrupts Dream's speech, "there wasn't a second where I thought you might not be there. That we might not make it through it. There isn't a single doubt in my mind that it will always be you for me. Nobody has ever been so kind - so good - to me."
George takes back one of his hands, pulling down the sleeve of his - Dream's - sweatshirt, and reaches up to his best friend's eyes, wiping away a few lone tears that glisten in the light of the cheap ceiling lamp in the living space. "Your mom is proud of you, Dream, and so am I," George croaks in such a small voice, "I couldn't wish for anybody else to be loved by."
Dream looks down to stop the flow of oncoming tears, but it's futile.
...
Kissing his childhood best friend doesn't come as big of a surprise as it probably should have for George. The kiss is disgusting. Filled with ugly tears and snot from crying. The two did not last a few seconds before breaking apart to laugh.
Dream is crying and so is George, but it doesn't matter. It's so painfully them, two idiots who have absolutely no idea what they are doing.
But if the whole world went up in flames and the sun burnt out, even then, Dream is sure of one thing: they would still have each other.