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"It's been a long year and all of our book's pages dog-eared
We write out the ends on our palms, dear
Then forget to read"
— Everywhere, Everything, Noah Kahan
The wind is stronger today, whistling high over the music in the car, pushing up against the driver’s side doors and making Dream grip the steering wheel harder. The road is slippery, and glistening, clad with scattered potholes filled with rain and leaves from shedding trees. And with everything on Dream’s mind the past few days, the weather only helps him to quiet his head as he forces himself to focus solely on driving safely.
He’s always a little nervous when someone else is in the passenger seat while he drives—something about having that extra life and responsibility; that fear of anything happening, and how Dream would blame himself first and foremost, no matter what. And his worry only increases when it’s George by his side. Yet, having George curled up in the seat beside him, knees pulled to his chest and sock feet flat on the leather, humming along softly to the playlist they’ve chosen, Dream can’t help but feel calm.
It’s a weird combination to love someone so hard that you’re constantly in a state of anxiety for their safety, yet just the presence of them—or a look or a touch—has the ability to set you at ease. This is something Dream has come to learn since falling in love.
Dream glances over at George; how beautiful he looks in the evening glow, resting his head against the window and gazing out at the steady rain. Dream mourns when he has to tear his eyes away to guide the car around a bend.
He speaks softly into the quiet: “You doing okay?”
George sighs and looks over. “I should be asking you that.”
And Dream almost crumbles, right there under George's gaze—all fond and concerned and gentle as always. “I can still worry about you," he says quietly. "You know that I do.”
“Dream.”
“Georgie.”
George sighs. “Yes, I’m okay,” he says tiredly. “Just worried about you. And—and fucking furious at the world, and people, and I wanna burn things. But yeah, I’m fine.”
Dream laughs gently, the urge to pull George into his arms and press a kiss to the crown of his head sitting warm in his chest. He reaches over to squeeze George’s thigh, and leaves his hand there. “I love you so much,” he says.
“I know,” George murmurs, covering Dream’s hand with his own. Playing with his fingers. “I know you do.” I love you too, goes unsaid. They both know it’s there.
Dream mulls over George’s words and his usual reaction to the bricks Dream gets thrown at him every few months. He frowns, eyes on the road. “I’m just trying to—” Dream shuts his mouth, attempting to parse through the mess of words and emotions in his head. Trying to gain any clarity at all of how he feels.
The windscreen wipers flick quietly back and forth across the glass. And George squeezes Dream’s hand.
“I’m trying to push it from my mind,” Dream finally says. “Just—just want some time with you, right now. A drive. Some music. Out here amongst the trees …” He trails off quietly.
George picks up Dream’s hand and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s forget. But”—he raises a hand—“just for the drive, though, because I need to commit some crimes when we get home.”
Dream bursts out laughing and shakes his head. “Okay,” he says, “sure. I’ll bail you out.”
“Yeah?” George’s grin is audible as Dream turns off the main stretch of road. “Even if it’s a million dollars?”
Dream barks out a laugh. “What crimes are you committing?”
“I dunno.” George shrugs. “Maybe I’m a vigilante or somethin’. Gotta get back at everyone who’s wronged you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Still wanna bail me out?”
Dream whistles. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he says. “Always.”
George grins. “Too easy.”
“Anything for my baby,” Dream says. And George scoffs and covers his face, but he isn’t quick enough for Dream not to catch sight of the pink blush spreading from his cheeks up to the tips of his ears. He hums. “You’re so damn cute.”
George groans. “Shut up, idiot,” he says, muffled.
“Never.”
George huffs. He lets his head fall back with a thump on the car seat and sticks his feet up on the dash.
Dream perks up in an instant. “Nuh-uh!” he says, reaching over and batting at George’s legs. “No. I’ve told you this already—what if someone went into us, huh? And your legs are all the fucking way up there—?”
George rolls his eyes so far back in his head Dream can’t even see them. “Oh my god,” George says through a groan. “You are so annoying. You sound like my mother. And nothing is even going to happen, Dream. You’re a good driver.”
He drops his feet anyway, despite his protest, and pulls his knees back in close to his chest.
Dream relaxes, returning both hands to the wheel. “It’s not me I’m worried about,” he says, glancing up at the rear view mirror. “It’s every other idiot on the road.”
“So you admit you’re an idiot?”
Dream scoffs. “Oh, shut up,” he says. “God, you’re so fucking annoying.”
“Sure,” George says, tone full of mischief. “Keep telling yourself that. Especially when I’m being so annoying later. Just like last night when—”
“George!”
George bursts into laughter. Now it’s Dream’s turn to blush.
“You’re terrible,” Dream says, but he can’t hide his smile.
George hums happily, wiggling a little in his seat. “Can we get McDonald’s for dinner later?”
“You had it yesterday,” Dream says. He knows George did, because he remembers vividly when his boyfriend walked into his office with a crinkly paper bag and oily fingers, Nintendo Switch in hand, and jumped up onto the office bed wordlessly to settle in and happily munch on his chips and burger while Dream continued to edit.
“And?” George asks.
And, Dream thinks, I am a weak, weak man. He sighs fondly. “Sure, baby.”
George grins. “Thank you very much.”
They fall back into comfortable silence. Rain continues hitting the roof of the car. Soft melodies drift out of the speakers—songs from a playlist Dream had made to calm himself. He knows they’ve been driving for a while now, since the landscape is beginning to look more hilly and country-like. There’s only the odd house now, replacing Orlando streets that are lined with them, and Dream starts to notice the speckled farms in the distant fields. He smiles thinking of the animals there and how much George would love them. He could take George to one. Make a day of it. Spend the time watching his boyfriend’s giddy smile and his bright eyes. And fill up on the endless peace of knowing that George is finally happy. He’s here. And has been for over a year, now. He’s not alone anymore.
“Would you ever wanna get away for a bit?” Dream asks into the quiet. “Like, for a few days. Or a week with just the two of us.” He glances over to see George watching him; curious.
“A holiday?” George asks, wide eyed. “Like—LA or something?”
“No, like—” Dream bites his lip, thinking. “Like get away, somewhere peaceful and quiet. To escape everything and just … be.”
“Oh,” George says. In Dream’s periphery George sits up straighter, turns slightly to face him, and although it bothers Dream, he refrains from telling George to face forward because it’s safer. “I think that would be good,” George says. “I … you do need some time away, I think. To not work at all and—”
“Wait—” Dream blinks. “No work?”
George scoffs. “God, Dream. Yes, no work—”
“Like, at all?” Dream asks.
And George laughs, disbelieving. “Oh my god, you’re so—you are not working if we go on a fucking vaccation, you idiot!” He hangs his head back. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, and it sounds like ‘I love you’.
Dream gazes over and melts instantly, everadoring George's dramatics. “Well,” he says, “I just always have a lot to do, you know?”
George shoots him an incredulous look. “Obviously,” he says. “That’s why people go away, Dream. They leave to have a holiday from their daily lives and constant work, like—come on.”
Dream laughs loudly, right from his chest, wishing he could just watch the frustrated look on George’s face grow and redden. He sighs. “Okay. Promise I won’t work, I swear it.”
George pouts and mutters, “You fucking better.”
Another farm house appears over the hill and distracts Dream. He points at it. “What about something like that? A countryside house for a week. Like a farm.” He smiles. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
George slips his feet off the chair and leans in closer to the dashboard. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” Then he looks over at Dream inquisitively. “With animals?”
And God, Dream thinks. He is so achingly fond of the man he’s fallen in love with. “Yeah, Georgie,” he murmurs, resting his palm back on George’s thigh, passing his thumb across soft fabric once and twice. “They’d probably have a bunch of farm animals roaming around the place.”
And George beams. “I like the sound of that,” he says.
Dream’s cheeks warm as his heart swells. “I knew you would.”
George hums, covering Dream’s hand with his own. “You just know me so well, don’t you?” he says teasingly.
And Dream gives George’s thigh a soft squeeze. “Yeah, Georgie,” he says, “I do.”