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When George thinks of kids, he thinks of the dinner table.
His dad sits in front of him, his mom sitting by her husband’s side. They’re mad at him for something that doesn’t matter and it boils down to the same conversation. How do you expect to be a good man for your wife if this is how you act? Let alone a father to a child? You are 16 now, be a man.
They expected the words to dig in deep, settle under his skin and birth a revelation in his mind. 30 years old now and the words are just as meaningless to him as it was back at the dinner table.
He’s wanted many things in his life. An exclusive hardbound edition of Harry Potter he couldn’t find anywhere, his sister’s Barbie doll his parents never let him have, a new computer when the family one broke down. Florida, Dream, life and love across the ocean.
Want sits comfortably under his tongue, digging a home in him, but never in his life has he wanted for a family.
Except in the early morning, when Patches is meowing at the door and Dream rolls out of bed, no matter how tired he is, and lets her in. She rubs her face against Dream’s and settles in the space left for her in between their bodies.
Then again, when kids come up to him in public. They run at full speed, their little legs wobbling as it tries to keep up with the excitement in their hearts. They cling to him like they know him, like he grew up with them.
Ever-patient Dream will crouch down, knees on the floor even if it’ll leave stains on his pants. He looks them in the eyes like you and me, we’re equal. You changed my life as much as I’ve changed yours.
More often than not that little kid’s mom will be the one to take the picture. George will be left to the side with the dad and he’ll say, He’s a good man. Maybe a good father one day too.
And really, George can’t pretend he doesn’t know what want looks like when he’s spent 7 years with it clinging to his skin.
The first time he felt his resolve shake in its foundation was a year before he finally got his visa.
While George isn’t one to plan out his life in detail, he thinks maybe he could be. Dream talks about his future like it’s what he had for lunch. Simple– decided. He wants two kids, maybe more, but he wants to start with two. He says a girl and then a boy would be good but he doesn’t care either way.
It makes George ache in a way he can’t stomach. There’s jealousy in his pain, not at Dream, more at the made up woman in his head that gives Dream these babies he wants. And maybe he does want kids, but he thinks up a scenario of him alone, him with someone other than Dream. It’s a harder realization to be met with, that he only wants kids if it means he can have them with Dream.
Realizing that makes him sad more than anything else. Him and his heart, wanting too much.
It’s too bad he’s not meant to bear kids, not ever.
It’s different to not want kids and actively choose that for yourself, but to not have the choice at all leaves him feeling broken. To have even the possibility of family stripped away. He supposes there’s nothing to be done about it, he just wasn’t meant to have this life.
The next time he thinks about having kids is a week into dating Dream.
It had taken them 5 years to get to this point. The novelty of moving in had worn off rather quickly, replaced with the heavy weight of having to do it right. To tread the waters with careful bodies.
George was never one to make a mess of things, but sometimes you come to a point where you realize something’s gotta give. 12 years of knowing each other and dancing around the truth, it only made sense that someone would brave the storm first.
It happened not like this; an explosion going off and the axis of their worlds tilting. The breeze in the air turning ice cold and sharp against their cheeks. Tension pulled so taut that when it snapped the ends of their string flung right back in their faces, making itself known. I love you, let me make it clear.
It was calm– more than either of them expected.
A quiet night turned quieter over the dancing moonlight. Pressed so close together their noses touched when they breathed.
Are you sleeping here tonight?
Yes.
And again and again for a week. Into a month, into half a year of sinking into the mattress together for no other reason than to breathe. Dream had woken up, eyes clear as if a revelation had struck. George felt the air shift around them that morning, he knew what was coming.
When their lips touched there was hardly any surprise. It was never about not loving each other, or being scared of what it meant to have a heart beating for someone other than your own. Somehow, deep down, they both knew they needed the time. They needed the wait before the catalyst struck, much like everything in their lives.
I love you, George thinks. I’ve made it known.
“Do you think I’d be good with kids?” George asks. Dream had somehow wormed his hands underneath his shirt, trailing up and down his sides like he can’t bear to not touch his skin. It’s early in the morning, on one of those days where they waste away under the sheets. George presses his body closer to Dream’s. He might be sick, finding romance in the way their knees miss each other by just a few inches despite his body covering Dream’s right side.
“‘Course you would,” He says. George feels the words form where his lips are resting against his temple. Dream’s heart beats right under his ear, steady and sure.
“It’d be different if it were my kid.”
“Yeah,” Dream inhales sharply. “It might. Why do you ask?”
He shrugs, shoulder rubbing against his chest. “I think about it sometimes, if I could have a kid. I dunno if I’d be any good.”
“Do you want kids?” Dream asks. His words are careful, somehow floating in the air alongside the dust caught in the sunlight.
George merely shrugs, not for lack of answer but for lack of words to explain how he feels. He wants kids under certain conditions, which makes him think he doesn’t deserve kids in the first place. And there’s the matter of his infertility, hanging over their heads like a bad omen. George isn’t the type to believe in fate or divine interventions, but he can’t shake the feeling that if he physically can’t ever have kids, then maybe that means he was never meant to have kids.
“I didn’t think I did.” The rest of the sentence is so tangible it could wedge a space in between their languid bodies.
I didn’t think I did but I do now, I swear I want it.
“For what it's worth,” Dream tells him. He drags his body to lay over his own, arms wrapping around him to rest against the small of his back. George’s mouth settles into the column of Dream’s neck, hands caging his face. “I think you’d be good.”
It’s absurd how quickly George’s eyes fill with tears. He tries to blink them away but a kiss is being pressed against his forehead and he feels the fight over his own heart give way. He lets himself bask in the grief of losing something he never even had in the first place; the hurt of not being able to give himself– to give Dream what he so desperately wants.
“You really think so?”
“I know it, baby,” Dream says, lips still against his forehead like he could speak the words to plant them directly into George’s brain.
When it does happen, George feels like someone must be pranking him.
A week after he admits to himself that he wants a family, maybe two, he’s bent over the toilet seat spilling out his breakfast.
It might’ve been something he ate but neither Dream nor Sapnap have gotten sick– they would’ve complained by now. Deep down, he knows what it could be, but he doesn’t dare to voice it out loud, even consider it in the privacy of his own mind.
He’s practiced keeping it down for years. Never allowing himself the luxury to hope for things he cannot have. But he can feel it festering inside him, like a disease taking root, a contagion effect playing out on his entire body.
Hope is a dangerous thing. Quiet, unassuming, hope.
George greets it like an old friend.
That was almost a week ago.
Now he’s sitting on the toilet seat, waiting for lines to appear on the pregnancy sticks he got. He rationalized with himself that he could wait but his stomach roiled at every passing minute.
3 years under his belt, you’d think he could wait a couple minutes.
When all three sticks show him two lines he bursts out into tears. He feels cheated out of a chance to do this properly. To get married and talk about it with Dream, like most couples do. To plan it out and have it penciled into their schedules. He wants to curse out the doctor that told him he was infertile. He wants to curse at Dream just so he feels like he has the right to face him with this. But most importantly, he finds himself blaming his own heart. Too big for his body to house. He loves his boyfriend too much to not consider jumping into this with him, but at the same time he loves him enough to recognize they probably aren’t ready for this yet.
Sometimes it feels like he was born for this. To love and give away pieces of his heart until it shrinks itself small enough to fit inside his chest. Loving Dream is more than just something he feels, it’s a part of him. He will die loving him, on his deathbed with nothing but Dream’s name on his lips.
George cries in his bed all day. Patches comes to visit him, purring and nosing at his stomach. In a way, she’s the first one to know and it only makes him cry harder.
She cuddles up to him as he drifts to sleep, tears seeping into his pillows.
When he does decide to tell Dream, he doesn’t know whether or not he wants to keep the baby. George figures if he’s already thinking of it as a baby then that must mean he already has an answer.
He knocks on his door. The sun shines down on the roof of their Florida house. Sunshine house in the sunshine state. George swears he can feel the heat of it burning through his skin.
“Come in!” Dream calls out. He’s propped up against the headboard, phone in hand. The shirt he’s wearing is wrinkled from sleep. “George,” Dream greets. “Why’d you knock?”
“Can we talk?” Maybe if his heart beat just a little bit faster he’d have a heart attack then he wouldn’t have to have this conversation.
“Sure, yeah.” He pats at the empty space on his bed, asking him to sit there. George feels like a ghost as he walks toward him, opting to sit at the edge of the bed instead.
“Did something happen? Is everything–”
“I’m pregnant.” The words come tumbling out before he can stop himself.
Dream stares at him, wide-eyed and in disbelief. “You– you’re,” he stops himself, taking in a breath. “But how? I thought…”
“I know. I am. Or I was. I don’t know, Dream. I took three tests and they’re all positive.”
His hands are trembling in his lap. “Can I see?” he asks.
George hands all three to him, delicate as if he was handing him his own heart. His nerves are shot to hell, a hollow clunking noise echoing around in his chest as his heart beats.
Dream’s eyes immediately fill with tears as he examines the lines and right then and there George has his answer staring right in front of him.
“I want to keep it,” he says simply. “You don’t have to want to raise it with me but I want this baby. I don’t know how this happened or why now but I don’t want to abort. I’m scared it’s a one time fluke or something and I can’t risk it. I know I should’ve asked you before I made any decisions but this baby is mine as much as it is yours. We can think of how to co-parent them when they get here and I’ll get my own place if–” His words are cut off with Dream enveloping him in a hug.
“I want it,” he whispers, tears falling down his face. “I want a family with you, George, of course I do. We can do it.”
The relief he feels is immediate. “Do you mean it?”
“Oh, George,” Dream says. The words feel like they sink right into his body. “Of course I do. We’ll do it right.”
The first thing they do is move George into Dream’s room. They empty out the room right beside it and map out where all the baby stuff will go. George fantasizes about a beautiful wooden crib, painted white and built with the intention to keep their baby safe. The corner of the room will have a desk, one big enough for all the baby clothes and short enough that they can change diapers on it. He dreams of walls painted with colorful flowers or tall trees and growing grass. He wants this room to be a manifestation of their love for their child.
Dream comes into their room ( Their room. Us, we, ours.) holding a small package.
“Look at what I got,” Dream announces. He settles beside George on the bed, almost shaking in his excitement. He opens the box carelessly, not caring if it tears or rips apart.
When he holds it out for George to see, on the center of his palm are a pair of shoes. Baby shoes. Tiny enough that it fits in the center of his hand. It’s a plain white shoe with ladybugs printed across the fabric. The soft kind meant for infants, not toddlers. Shoes not meant for walking.
“I know it’s too soon but I couldn’t help myself. Look at it, George. It’s tiny.”
George thinks, at this very moment, he has never been less deserving of Dream in his entire life. He could live forever doing nothing but selfless servitude and he still wouldn’t deserve this man. He’s surprised to not have this thought bother him– it’s rather comforting to know. He might not deserve Dream but their baby definitely does and it's enough to quell his racing mind.
In a fit of emotions he can’t bear to comprehend, George surges forward. His arms lock around Dream’s neck and they come tumbling down the bed.
“George!” Dream laughs. He’s surprised yet his free arm still wraps around George’s waist, almost instinctively.
When he’s braced himself enough to pull away from the crook of his neck and not cry, he sees the tiny shoes, still atop Dream’s palm, not having moved an inch in the middle of him being manhandled.
Maybe it’s the hormones, maybe he’s in love, but he’s never wanted someone as much as he wants Dream now.
“You’re gonna be a great dad,” he tells him, voice almost tangible with emotions.
Dream’s eyes well up in tears. It breaks George’s heart, knowing that he almost couldn’t give him this. That there was a chance they’d never have kids.
And as if Dream had read his mind, his hand travels up to the back of his neck and pulls him in. He kisses his sadness away, soundly and earnestly.
“I love you,” he professes.
George responds by kissing him harder until Dream has to set aside the shoes on the bedside table.
When they go to their first natal appointment, the doctor tells them that it’s a miracle. George can’t help but agree. She sends them home with prenatal vitamins and advice that Dream had typed into his notes app. She tells George to be careful, that this pregnancy could be difficult. It rattles his bones. Only when they get in the car and Dream kisses his face, everywhere he can reach, that his heart calms down.
It doesn’t really matter if it’ll be difficult, he thinks.
By the third month of the pregnancy, their next step was to start telling the people that mattered.
It only felt right to tell Sapnap first. Brother, best friend, uncle.
Dream drove out and bought a baby onesie, one he was excited to dress their kid in. It was a light gray color, so tiny either Milo or Naomi could’ve fit in it. A tiny cartoon panda adorned the center of it. George had folded it up and placed it in a tiny box. On top of it, Dream placed the card he bought along with the onesie.
They gave it to Sapnap over breakfast. They had started doing this more often now, waking up at a decent time and sitting down together just to eat. George slid over the gift while Sapnap poured himself a bowl of cereal.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Beside him, George could feel Dream practically shaking in excitement. He placed his hand on Dream’s thigh and kept it there while he spoke.
“A gift,” he stated, not wanting to explain any more. The truth is he’s too nervous to say more. (that, and he’s afraid that his morning sickness is about to kick in and make him throw up all over the kitchen island.)
“Open it,” Dream urged. For a second George could see them, a few more years into the future. Dream excited over seeing their kid open their Christmas gift. It makes him smile, hand squeezing his boyfriend’s thigh.
When Sapnap pulls out the onesie, his face is one of confusion. He looks at it, then down at the card.
“‘Happy Birthday to the best uncle in the world’?” he read out.
“Really, Dream? It’s not his birthday.”
“That’s all they had! The other one was about being a big sister and the rest were stupid.”
“Holy shit! Is this a joke?” Sapnap asked, eyes still boring holes into the onesie.
“Well,” Dream says in the way he usually does when he has a secret he so badly wants to tell. He slung his arm around George’s shoulder, hand rubbing up and down his arm. It takes everything in his pregnant body not to lean into him and sink beneath his skin, just to get more of his warmth.
To both of their surprise, Sapnap turns to them, eyes watery and hands gripping the baby onesie.
“This better not be a fucking joke you guys. I’m gonna be so mad if George isn’t pregnant.”
“What? Why would you assume that it’s me?” he asks, sounding more offended than he actually is.
Sapnap spares him a glance, “Bro, just look at you. You’re, like, glowing and shit.”
Dream pulls him closer and kisses the crown of his head. He smiles down at him and George thinks that Sapnap’s got it wrong. It’s Dream that’s glowing, bright and so happy it takes his breath away.
“He is,” Dream agrees anyway. “We’re having a baby!”
Sapnap cheers at that, and for the first time in a while he looks so much younger than he is. George sees the 19 year old he had been when they started this life.
“Holy shit! Yes!” Sapnap screams, he runs around the kitchen island to wrap Dream in a hug. They do a sort of bounce while hugging and it looks ridiculous, just a little, but George loves it all the same. They’re so excited it makes him want to have enough babies to fill a school bus.
Sapnap lets go and turns to George, arms extended and mouth curled in a permanent smile. When they hug, it’s surprisingly gentle. It’s the first time Sapnap has ever afforded him this kind of softness between them. They’re brothers in the way they push each other around and poke at the cracks in each other’s shell until it gives. It’s nice to know that they can also have the quiet parts of brotherhood, even if it took them longer to get here than other people do.
“Congrats, brother,” Sapnap tells him. George gets the urge to tell him he loves him, to hug him tighter and say he can’t wait to start this family with Dream. That he’s so excited to have Sapnap right by their side as they do it.
Of course, he doesn’t say it. Instead he pats his back and tells him “Get off of me, Idiot. You’re crushing my baby.”
He wasn’t, but Sapnap moves away regardless.
Later on they call their parents. George’s mom had wanted to fly out, be there for her son, but he had convinced her to save her trip for when the baby came. Dream’s mom had burst into hysterics, passing the phone to her husband as she collected herself. Then she had ushered her entire family into their car and drove all the way to their house.
George stressed over dinner, worried about the cutlery and the plates. He was wiping down the table for the fourth time when Dream came up behind him and pulled away the rag.
“You’re stressing yourself out, babe.” Dream wrapped his arms around George’s middle, rag discarded on the dinner table. “It’s just dinner.”
George sighs, leaning back into the warmth of his boyfriend. “I know,” he sighs. Dream’s hands lay flat against his stomach, where their baby is currently the size of a grain of rice.
“They love you, George. You know that.”
“It’s not that. I don’t know. I just didn’t want them to think I couldn’t do it.”
“Do what? Be pregnant?” Dream keeps his voice quiet; safe.
“Be a mother,” he says. He’s filled with a surge of embarrassment over the choice of word. It’s not uncommon for carriers to prefer to be called mom, yet he can’t help but feel shame over it. Like he hasn’t earned it. “I know, I know.” George shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”
“Honey, it’s not stupid. C’mon,” he says. He turns George around in his hold, tugging him close until he’s face to face with the column of his neck. Dream cups his face and looks right into him. “Talk to me.”
For all that George restricts himself on, loving Dream could never be one of them. It almost feels like his heart is growing alongside their baby, reaching a new milestone every month. It’s too much, especially right now. So he leans in and presses their lips together, soft and disgusting like they’ve been married for 20 years. It strikes him that their future is exactly that. Soft and mushy and disgusting until they die.
George hangs off of him, arms around his shoulders and head leaning on his chest. “I want to be good,” he admits.
“You will be.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you love me.”
George scoffs at that. “That’s different. I didn’t have to do anything for that, I just love you.”
“Exactly,” Dream tells him. “You’re gonna be the best at this, are you kidding me? Our kid could be half-monster, half-dinosaur and you’d still love them.”
George swats at his boyfriend, “Don’t say that about our baby.”
Dream takes the hand George had hit him with, clasping it in his. He raises George’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it like it’ll hide the smile on his face. “Our baby,” he quotes back, sickly sweet and dripping of honey. Dream opens up George’s palm and rests his cheek against it. From where George is standing it looks like he’s nuzzling his face into his hand.
George bites his lip to hold in his laugh. “Old age turned you stupid.”
“I disagree, baby.”
“Baby,” George parrots. “Honey,” recalling what Dream had just called him moments ago.
Dream ignores him. “I disagree, you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m growing old with you.”
George scrunches up his nose, grimacing at his stupid boyfriend. “That’s the corniest thing you’ve ever said.” Both of them know that George secretly likes it anyway.
Dinner goes well. George is banished to the sofa while Dream clears away the table and loads the dishwasher. Dream’s mom, Sarah, had started showing him all the baby pictures on her phone of all her kids. It almost makes him cry, seeing baby Dream run around the house in a Batman costume. His voice gets a little wispy as he coos over the pictures, though no one makes any acknowledgement of it.
When they get to the section of Dream and all siblings he very nearly tells Sarah to put the phone away. Seeing Dream, his Dream, before they even met greeted him with a sadness he didn’t expect to feel. He looks at the pictures of Dream hugging his sister, carrying his baby brother in his arms, all three of them huddled around their mom to greet the newest addition to their family. Dream’s life was filled with so much love he could only hope that theirs would be the same.
Later, when they’ve retired to their room, George is staring into the darkness as his boyfriend pulls him flush against his front, hands placed protectively in front of his stomach. A habit he’s gotten into ever since he started to show.
“Do you think we could have a big family?” George asks. It isn’t lost on either of them that what he really means is Do you want a big family? Will you resent me if I can’t give it to you? If I don’t deserve it?
“I think,” Dream starts, words pressed against the nape of his neck like a promise. “We could have fifty kids and I’d be happy. We could have just this little one and I’d never complain.”
“Maybe fifty is pushing it,” he giggles. Dream always seems to get that out of him. “I was thinking four, like your family.”
Dream hums, thinking about it. “We’d have to get a minivan.”
“Oh god.”
“What? What is it?”
“I’m gonna have to become a soccer mom.”
In the quiet of the night, Dream laughs, chest shaking against George’s back. “That’s okay,” he tells him. “I’ll be the PTA dad then.”
It seems so simple– so easy it sort of scares him.
“I think our baby deserves siblings,”’ George admits. “I see how you turned out with yours, and I know I would be so different without mine. Plus, it would be nice to fill in the rooms at home.”
Dream says nothing, just holds him closer. It isn’t until George feels the wet against his neck that he realizes he’s crying.
“George,” he whispers, words heavy with meaning.
“We’ll figure it out,” he promises.
When they wake up, Dream kisses him with sleep still stuck to his skin. He whispered the words marry me against his lips and– well, George is but a man.
At the start of his second trimester, George has gotten into a habit of shaking Dream awake with cravings he can’t ignore. Tonight it's a glass of pineapple juice. Simple enough that he could’ve gotten it himself, but he knows how sad and wet Dream’s eyes had gotten when he caught him alone in the kitchen last week, eating pickles straight from the jar.
So he wakes him.
As usual, Dream is happy to do it for him. He leads him into the kitchen and hoists him up the counter. George feels his cheeks heat, hyper aware of how much heavier he is than usual. Still, Dream’s face shows no indication of struggle so he lets it go.
As he drinks his glass of pineapple juice, Dream takes to talking to their baby. No matter how many times George tells him that they can’t possibly hear him yet Dream pays it no mind. His hands rub circles against his bump and George hums in contentment.
“Hi baby,” Dream kisses him right at his belly button. “Mommy’s been drinking a lot of pineapple juice lately hasn’t he? You’re gonna come out with a full head of thick hair because of it. My mom had the same cravings and she always told me I had that to thank for my hair. Do you think the baby will get my hair, George?” his eyes meet a shocked George, eyes wide and hand clutching at his glass.
“George? What’s wrong?” Dream moves to take the glass, not wanting it to get in the way.
“Nothing. It’s just– well.”
“What? Is it about the hair? I promise I don’t care about our baby’s hair. Even if baby comes out bald or with blue hair, I wouldn’t care. I’m sorry, George.”
“It’s not that. It’s stupid.”
“Nothing’s stupid when it comes to you, George,” he says, voice awfully earnest. George starts tearing up at it. Stupid hormones.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” Dream pleads with him.
“It’s just– you said mommy.” Even as the words come out of his mouth he feels ridiculous.
“Did you not want to be called that?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I guess I just didn’t think– like, I didn’t realize that it was an option.”
“Oh, George,” he sighs. Dream pulls him into his arms, loving as he always is. “Is that it?”
“I told you it was stupid.”
“Well, thinking I would think it was stupid was stupid.”
“You’re stupid.”
Dream laughs. One thing George is certain of is that Dream is always laughing with him, even when it’s at George’s expense, he always wants to share it with him.
“You can be mom. I don’t think anyone would take that from you, especially since you’re the one carrying the baby.”
“You don’t know that. What if she gets teased at school?”
“We can’t protect our baby from everything, George,” he sighs. “We’ll do good, teach them to be kind.”
Dream crouches down to be eye level with his bump. His hands, warm as they are, rub against his stomach like he’s trying to tell them something. “Just like mom,” he says. His words carry weight, steadfast in the face of George’s doubts.
He cradles his face in his hand bringing Dream back up to his face. “Hopefully she won’t be as stupid as dad,” he smiles.
Dream kisses him soundly. In the middle of the kitchen, he can almost see the life they’re about to step into. Love and understanding seeping into the cracks of the house. It’s tangible, in a way. George wakes up to their sheets and the pillows that creased under their bodies and he feels cared for. He steps into the shower and feels protected, the rest of the world washing away with the water. The kitchen holds their biggest fears, the arguments that never lasted for longer than a day. It’s where he knows they’ll spend first birthdays and where a report card will be placed, waiting for them to look over it. This is where he’ll find their kid, drinking water after a long day of running underneath the sun.
This house, the manifestation of the years they spent wondering if they would ever get past the distance, this house will be their home. Forever, if he could help it.
“‘She’ huh?” Dream interrupts his thoughts.
“Hm?”
“You called our baby ‘she’.”
“Jus’ a feeling,” he mumbles.
Of course, something comes up. Something always does with them. George has long made his peace with it but it’s obvious that it still bothers Dream. His eyebrows are furrowed as he types away at his computer.
“We need to say something,” he says. It sounds a little bit like defeat.
“We knew we’d have to,” George soothes. “We couldn’t have kept it a secret forever.”
“Still,” Dream sighs. “I wish we had more time, you know? Just us and the baby before everyone started prying.”
It started with a picture circulating around the internet. Dream, so obviously in frame, with his hands around George. Except his face was turned away from the camera and his bump was a clear silhouette. It never even crossed anyone’s mind that it could be George. And why would it? Despite having announced that they were dating a year and a half ago, he had never gone public about being a carrier. He’s even denied it multiple times over the course of their careers.
The only conclusion that people seem to have come to is that Dream was, obviously, cheating on him and was hiding a secret family. Dream refused to say anything despite George telling him that he could. He couldn’t bear to watch his fiance’s name be dragged through the mud when there was no basis to the claims they were throwing around.
“So how do you wanna do it?” he asks. He knows how important control is for Dream in moments like these.
“I– I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t want to treat this like it’s something we have to address. I just want everyone to leave us alone.”
It’s a gamble, George knows this. Yet it doesn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. “Do you want me to do it?”
“What? George, no. Everyone’s mad at me, this is mine to fix.”
George had never learned to speak without his heart leaping into his throat. Sometimes he can taste his own emotions gurgling in his mouth, threatening to choke him. Today, he swallows it down and opens his mouth.
“For better or for worse, right? This is about us. Let me deal with it, just this once.”
He can see the way the fight leaves Dream. It’s less about giving something up, more about trusting George enough to share this with him.
Dream retweeted.
George
@GeorgeNotFound
❤️
[Attached are four pictures. The first one is a sonogram. The second picture is a selfie of them at the beach, sitting on a blanket with a basket of food beside them for their second anniversary. The third is a picture of Dream holding the baby shoes he bought all those months ago. The last picture is Dream’s hand over his bump, smaller than it had been in the picture circulating the internet. George’s hand rests above Dream’s, the engagement ring in clear view.]
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George
@GeorgeNotFound
Lol
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Dream
@Dream
my baby mama <333333333
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George
@GeorgeNotFound
Stop calling me that
GEORGE
@MrFeralMan
As funny as it is to see people defending me in the hypothetical scenario that Dream cheated on me and is starting a family in secret, I would like to ask everyone to stop. I am a carrier. That is me in the picture being spread around. Please stop prying into our lives. Dream and I have talked about it and we decided that we will be taking a break until we have settled down into parenthood. Thank you for all the kind words :)
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And fuck you to everyone hating on dream lollll he got me pregnant just trust me i would know
In the end, George is right. It’s a girl.
Labor was excruciating, more than he could’ve expected. And yet he would go through it all over again, the pain, the screaming, Dream right by his side as he cursed at him for knocking him up. He would’ve done anything to have his baby girl in his arms just like this.
Dream was the first to cry. Truth be told he had been crying ever since George’s water broke. George cried, truly cried, when he finally held her. It was like the entirety of the nine months caught up to him and the dam broke.
When the nurse had come up to them for a name, there was no hesitation when he said it. “June,” George announced. It was only fitting. June, right as spring ended, heralding in the season of the sun. “June Rosalie.” Roses were Dream’s favorite flower. It was also the first bouquet that George had gotten him all those years ago.
On her first birthday, George finds Dream sitting on the toilet seat cover, early in the morning.
“There you are,” he says. “June’s been asking for you.”
“Has she? I’ll be there in a minute.” He doesn’t need to say anything else for George to know that he’s stuck in his head again.
George moves to sit on his lap, hands running through his hair in the way he knows calms Dream. “Tell me?” he requests.
“Just a lot. She’s growing up.”
“Well, of course she is. She looks more like you everyday.” He kisses his hairline like I love you.
“Mm,” Dream leans in, hugging his husband on the comically small toilet. “We did good, didn’t we?”
George knows that there isn’t much that they wouldn’t do for her. It doesn’t stop them from moments like these, when time has caught up to them and they’re struck with the reality of their life.
“Of course we have,” he answers him honestly. “She’s a happy girl, Dream. She has too many toys, you spoil her rotten. Her aunts and uncles too. She knows she’s loved, we tell her everyday.”
“I know, I know,” he sighs. “Just… y’know.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Enough of this. June wants her dad and we need to get back to her before she ropes Sapnap into burning the house down.”
It startles a chuckle out of Dream and George is glad for it. “She’s only 1.”
“Well, she is our child.”
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”
George knows that this won’t be the last time Dream needs to be pulled back in. He also knows that sooner or later it’ll be his turn. He can’t find it in himself to be too upset at it, he knows that above everything else, it’s June that anchors them.
When she sees them walk into the room she screeches in joy and claps her hands. “Da! Da!” It’s her favorite word right now.
“My baby junebug!” Dream exclaims, lifting her from her high chair.
Their house is full of love, he can feel it. It’s almost too much to be kept inside. But in his chest sits an unfamiliar feeling, almost foreign. It surges when he looks at the life they’ve built, the years to come. He kisses his baby and greets her a happy birthday when he realizes what it is.
This is peace.