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At lunchtime i bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave
They got quarters and I had a half
And that orange, it makes me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list.
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
- Wendy Cope, 'The Orange'
Dream has many reasons to love Florida.
He grew up here. His childhood home is a drive away. He has his family barely a phone call away.
And now he has Patches, Sapnap and George all under one roof.
In a green house they built together, in the state that the two of them chose over the home they up in.
They chose him.
Dream leans against the kitchen counter, thinking idly just how lucky he is to have this be his life.
The sun streams in the living room, and though the rest of the house is still sleeping, he feels wide awake. Granted he’s been away for a while- he’s been trying to fix his sleep schedule for the millionth time.
The seasons are changing, and though Florida never really gives the full winter experience, there is a slight chill to the air, and Dream can feel it in the cold marble tiles of his home. He’s always telling off George for it, but he falls back on the counter and sits on top of it, letting his feet dangle just a bit. He shuffles back just a bit further so he can’t feel the cold and leans his head against the cabinet, closing his eyes.
There are birds chirping outside, their days already well and under way, and Dream can’t be sure, but he thinks he can hear the slight pitter-patter of rain. With eyes still closed he smiles.
This is home.
This is what he worked so hard to achieve. And he finally gets to enjoy it.
Relish in it. And exist.
He’s not sure how long he stays like that, but he can feel fatigue settling around him like a blanket, urging him to go back to bed where he’s positive George is still sleeping soundly.
But then he hears the softest footsteps, and he peeks open an eye.
Another soft thud and then a curious mewl.
“Patchy?”
She meows back in greeting and he watches as she jumps onto a chair and then onto the counter in front of him. Looking up at him, tilting her head and then meowing again.
“Hungry, I’m assuming?”
Almost in response she meows.
“Okay, Princess, I’ll get you your food.”
He pushes off the counter and walks to her food cabinet. He pats her on the head and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering a soft, good morning, to her and begins preparing her food.
It’s routine, the way he moves around the kitchen, opening the can and pouring it into her bowl. He mushes it together, and pours dry food over it, mixing it just how he’s been doing it for the past couple of years.
Dream sets the bowl down on the floor by Patches’ water fountain and whistles, calling her over.
She trots up to him and immediately starts eating, no longer interested in him.
“You’re welcome,” he says and trails a hand down her back, smoothing down her fur.
She doesn’t like being touched while she’s eating but in these small moments, with just the two of them, he likes to think he’s still her exception.
George and her have a special bond too, and he can tell how much Patches has taken a liking to him, but Dream likes having moments that just belong to him and her.
Almost as if his thoughts summon him, he hears soft footsteps coming down the stairs and he’s greeted by one of his favorite versions of George.
Technically, everything that is George is his favorite. He loves him in every moment that he can have George. But there’s this moment, every day without fail, where George is between consciousness and slumber- where his hair is tousled and his eyes droop, and his hands seek Dream’s body like a magnet, and Dream wants to stay in that moment forever.
He watches in familiar intrigue as George looks around curiously, eyes flitting to Patches first, seeing that she’s eating and shoulders relaxing, as if he was wondering where she was. Then his eyes raise and meet Dream’s.
“Hey, I was looking for you,” he mumbles, and as expected, he reaches his arms out.
With his own arms already out, Dream takes him in and wraps them together. George sighs contently, and Dream presses a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the familiar citrus of their shampoo.
They stand there for a moment, and Dream feels George sneak his hands underneath Dream’s shirt, pressing gently against his back. No ulterior motive, just settling there, holding onto him, because he can.
“Are you hungry?”
“You’re talking to me like Patches again,” George hums against his chest.
“It’s the morning, let me talk to you however I want.” Dream says, smiling despite George’s teasing.
“And how’s that?”
‘Like I love you.”
George pulls back to raise an eyebrow at him, and for a moment Dream thinks he’s going to poke fun at him again. Instead, his face softens into a smile and he shakes his head, laughing slightly before leaning forward and kissing Dream softly on the corner of his mouth.
“You missed,” Dream points out, and pouts his lips a little to draw attention to it. George rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
“No I didn’t, breakfast first.”
“We don’t have much, my mom is coming by later today to drop off some groceries, but we have some fruit.”
“Smoothie?” George suggests, and Dream nods in agreement.
Dream finally lets go of George, but keeps their hands intertwined. Like routine, George follows, allowing himself to be led until Dream needs both hands to grab things from the fridge and he lets go, jumping up on the counter and crossing a leg underneath himself. He calls to Patches as well, beckoning to her in short whistles.
Once all the ingredients are out on the bench, Dream separates the fruits out by what needs to be chopped and sets them on the counter next to George so that he can help.
Wordlessly George takes the knife that Dream hands to him, and sets the fruit against the chopping board, cutting methodically. Every now and then Dream sneaks a glance at him in the corner of his eye, watching as George’s brow furrows in concentration while he pours fruit into the blender, blindly measuring the ingredients.
“Does watching me help you make our smoothies better?” George asks, barely looking up from what he’s doing, but Dream still catches the smirk on his lips.
Caught in the act, Dream laughs and turns to properly look at George. He throws in the last piece of fruit into the blender and waits for George to give him the next handful of fruits.
“And if it does?”
George hums in response, but doesn’t reply.
Dream smiles and grabs the next fruit, turning it in his hands. The bright fruit seems to draw all the light in the room, and Dream can just tell that it’s going to be sweet.
“Do you want oranges in it?” He asks.
George looks up and scrunches his nose.
“In my smoothie? Ew no. Oranges are for juices, Dream.”
Dream throws the orange in the air, once, twice, before placing it back on the bench.
“Well we have a bunch, I don’t want them to go to waste.”
“We can just eat them on their own. Here,” George pushes the remainder of the cut up fruit towards Dream, “That’s the last of it, you can blend now.”
Dream nods and sets the orange aside, closing the lid on the blender and then switching it on. Patches runs from the kitchen, scared from the abrupt noise.
George gets down from the counter, and starts putting away the utensils they’d used, throwing away fruit peelings and cores, and Dream can’t help but watch him.
It’s hard sometimes to remember that this moment belongs to him. To the both of them really. But this one, where he can watch how George’s back moves, and how his shirt is tucked into his shorts and he can see the waistband of his boxers.
That he’s not just imagining George wiping down their marble counters, and putting the wrong dishes in the dishwasher like he always does.
Just as he does every time, he steps in before George closes the dishwasher, and takes out the knife and plastic cutting board, setting it in the sink and grabbing George by the waist.
This moment is all his, and no one is going to take it away.
“I did it again, didn’t I?” George says with a sigh.
Dream laughs and buries his face in George’s shoulder, hugging him from behind.
“Yeah, but it’s okay.”
“I swear I do try to remember, I just never used my dishwasher in London.”
“It’s okay,” Dream repeats. He presses a kiss to the shoulder he’s laying his head on and keeps his lips there, cherishing the warmth. He likes existing here, in the crook of George’s neck, where it’s soft and just for the two of them.
George pulls out of the hug slightly, and turns off the blender, shaking it slightly and sets it on the counter before coming back to Dream, facing him properly and kissing Dream on the cheek.
“You’re all cuddly this morning,” he notes, “I’m not complaining, but are you okay?”
“‘M fine, just missed you.”
“I’ve been here.” George reasons.
“I still miss you,” Dream says with a shrug.
George smiles and finally leans in, kissing him on the mouth. Dream sighs in contentment and settles into the familiar warmth, tracing George’s body with his hands, committing it to memory, not that he would ever forget, but just so that he can remember for a rainy day.
When they pull away they’re both smiling and Dream wants this moment to be immortalised. He’s been thinking that a lot, the concept of forever, and how much George is intertwined with that thought.
George kisses him again on the corner of his mouth, just missing his lips, and like clockwork, Dream leans in further, chasing him.
“After smoothie.” George chastises.
Dream rolls his eyes, but he steps away and grabs two cups for them. He pours their smoothies and places a straw in both of them, he slides one to George and keeps the other next to him, mirroring George as he sits on the counter opposite him. The smoothie tastes like the lingering sweetness of spring. He takes a long sip, relishing in its freshness and the chill it brings to his body.
“You’re going to give yourself a brain freeze,” George warns.
Dream shrugs, not caring and continues drinking.
“Look how ridiculously huge this is,” Dream says, staring at the orange in his hand, where it takes up almost his entire palm. If he holds it up near George’s face, it almost looks like it could be the same size from where he sits.
“That’s what she said.” George mumbles.
“You’re such an idiot.”
George holds a hand out, making grabby hands for the orange and Dream passes him the orange.
For a moment he watches as George struggles to peel it, laughing at the silence between the two of them.
“Here, let me, before you hurt yourself,” he says, grabbing the orange from earlier and beginning to peel it. The skin is thick and coarse in his hands as he digs his nails into it, and he sets the drink down so he can hold it properly. It’s not particularly satisfying to peel, the rind coming off in small pieces, but he picks at it until it gives.
Dream continues peeling the orange, listening to George as he recounts the dreams he had last night, and the plans he has for today.
Eventually he reaches the flesh of the fruit and he smiles down at the fruit, satisfied with it.
“-and then you were there, and we were in Minecraft, and there were these mobs and they were killing me and I thought I was going to die, but you saved me-”
“Naturally.”
“Shut up- and then…-”
Dream drops the last piece of the orange peel next to him, juice running down his arms from where he’s accidentally punctured the fruit, and he twiddles his hands, the stickiness of the fruit unsettling against his skin.
He hands the peeled fruit to George and jumps from the counter, still listening to George talk as he rinses and washes his hands.
When he comes back to George he stands by his side instead of sitting on the counter, and grabs his drink. It’s still cool against his tongue and he licks his lips.
George pulls the orange apart, separating it into two, and hands one half to Dream without stopping his story and Dream stares at him, smiling as he continues talking animatedly.
“Can you take the orange Dream, I’m not going to finish all of it.” He says, waving it in front of his face.
Dream takes the orange, not yet taking a bite as George chews and talks with his mouth open. It’s a bit disgusting, but Dream thinks it’s also a bit endearing. He can’t explain it, but it’s George. He’s always automatically excused. It’s just how the world works. Or at least, Dream’s world.
“Right, sorry.” Dream says.
“Distracted?” George teases.
“You’re pretty in the morning,” Dream says honestly.
George scoffs and shakes his head, but he leans forward and kisses Dream.
It tastes like citrus, and it reminds him of summers lounging in the sun. He chases the taste, and George touches his face softly, cradling him.
“I love you,” George mumbles against his lips.
“I love you too.” Dream whispers back. He leans back on the counter and takes a bite out of the orange. The fruit bursts in his mouth and he wipes at his lips when some of the juice drips down. George laughs at him, and uses his thumb to help him, and then steals another kiss.
And he’s glad they exist in this moment.