Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

George wakes to gentle sunshine.

It is new, still. Here, light spills from all corners of his room - beneath the door, in between the wooden slats of the porch - and instead of the incessant noise of the city, there's the soft murmur of waves singing a sweet lullaby to lull him back to sleep. The air is sharper and a little itchy, but after a week he sort of grows used to it, and the same goes for how the salt makes his hair fluffier, curlier at the edges, much like it looks in the pictures from his childhood.

He kind of likes it.

As he does most days, he lazes about in bed for a while. Routine is something he has always struggled with, especially now that he lives alone, especially since it's a Saturday. There are days when he feels a little adrift without the constraints of a job that demands he be showered, dressed, and present from nine to five, but the novelty of being so free has yet to wear off. He is slow in his trek from bedroom to kitchen, even more so when he heats the water for tea, pouring it into a mug that was one of the first things he unpacked. He drinks it with a little hum, brain finally starting to come online.

Groceries. Finish unpacking. Showering, maybe. The list of things he has to do starts taking shape inside his brain. He knows yesterday marked a month since he moved here, and he feels like he should do something to celebrate. The people have been friendly enough, and while George wouldn't call his neighbors or the grocery clerk guy his friends, he kind of feels like they might be on the road to that, if he sticks around long enough.

Neighborhood, George has come to understand, is different here than back in the city. There are way more square meters between you and the next person, and yet people want to know you more. Better. George isn't used to speaking about himself, and it feels like they indulge him right now - the town newcomer they don't press for too much despite their curiosity while staying unfailingly nice and welcoming.

George does want friends in this new place - that's not it. He'll just have to get over himself a little.

His next chance comes later that morning, when he arrives back home with his trunk full of groceries and his neighbor is busy trimming the grass around the hollyhock that is growing in all sorts of colors along the side of their house, painting an almost ridiculous picture of idyll.

"Hey, George!" Nick gives him a wave, snapback shielding his gaze from the sunlight. "Need any help hauling all that inside?"

His first instinct is to say no and scurry inside, but he pauses when he takes in the amount of stuff he has stashed in his trunk. The sun is also very warm on the back of his neck, reminding him that sunscreen is also something he will need to incorporate in his new life here.

"Please," he concedes with a small smile, grabbing the heaviest bag and almost losing his footing. Ugh. Maybe finding a gym should also be on his list - if there are any within a reasonable distance at all.

Nick jumps up and heads over immediately, wiping his hands on his jeans. He looks delighted that George actually invited him over, and grabs the first big bag he can find.

"This is still, like, covering your bases, huh? Do you like cooking?"

"Not really," George says with a shrug, balancing the groceries with a single hand to unlock his door. He pretends he doesn’t see Nick's look. Locking the front door whenever he leaves is not something he thinks he'll grow out of, no matter how safe the town is.

Nick follows him inside with polite curiosity, dropping the bag near the counter before following George back out to get the rest of the stuff. "I was used to eating a lot of takeout. This is like - all new," George finds himself saying after a while, awkwardly trying to fill the silence. "Hopefully I won't burn the house down."

"Man, I wish we had more options for takeout." Nick is grinning good-naturedly at him, carefully depositing two smaller bags on his counter. "I was a bit of a catastrophe in the kitchen, despite my mom's best efforts. Iris is working on it, but, you know."

George huffs out a small laugh, picturing "Yeah, I guess I'll have to start doing that too if I want to survive."

"You'll be fine," Nick laughs, his gaze trailing over the multitude of groceries they have scattered over the counter. "If things get dire, you just come over. Iris wanted to invite you anyway."

There it is, again, the difference between back home and here. There's visible warmth in Nick's voice for George to know he truly means it - much like when he offered a hand with George's house's sad excuse for a garden, much like with the groceries today. These aren't pleasantries that won't lead anywhere.

"That's nice of her," George says and he means it. If he will accept the offer is another thing entirely, but he's touched all the same. "Thanks, Nick."

His neighbor huffs, an amused look on his face. " I want you to come over too." He regards George, his head tilted to the side, and it reminds him how young Nick still is - easily forgotten behind his beard and settled lifestyle. "You know," he starts, a fresh grin blooming on his face, "my friends call me Sapnap."

George laughs because that's easier than dealing with the weird giddy feeling blooming inside his chest. He hasn't made a new friend in what feels like forever, but he only hesitates for a second before he reaches for the six-pack he bought at the store on a whim.

"That's not even a legit word," he says with an eye roll, softened by the beer he offers Nick. Sapnap. That's such a terrible nickname. "Your friends suck. "  

"Hey! Okay, I'm already revoking your friend privileges," Nick says but takes the beer anyway, so George is pretty sure they're fine. "In this place, you're getting made fun of if you don't have a weird nickname, so get used to it."  

"That's dumb."

They bicker at each other as Nick insists on helping George put away his stuff. Nick is nice but with an edge that makes him interesting, bouncing off George's particular brand of humor with jokes that have them both in stitches. There are still some lingering silences and run-on sentences that lead nowhere, but George thinks that with time - if he stays longer than the tentative timeline he had set up for himself when he leased his place until the end of the year - they could actually become friends.

Huh.

The house feels a little quiet once Nick heads off. George sits on his sofa to watch some mindless TV by himself, the sun long set over the horizon. Nick managed to put up some shelves for him, and he lets his eyes wander over the few knick-knacks on display. The blue shell catches his attention and the sound of waves - almost drowned completely by the TV - never wavers.  

George is used to avoidance.

He doesn't owe anyone anything, and that's been his motto to live by for a long while now. He remembers how some of his friends used to be during school and even university, worried over grades and expectations and what people would think of them if they stepped a toe out of line with what was the norm, but he isn't like that. George has never really cared about other people's opinions. He knows who he is, and for as nebulous as what he wants is, he sure as hell knows what he doesn't want, and number one on that list is having people all up in his business.

He knows what he's doing. He came here for a reason.  

"The city was really loud," he tells Sam when he sees him next by the docks, unloading a haul of clams and shrimp from out there. He buys some shrimp from him right there because they'll never get as fresh as this, and Sam offers to take him on a trip on his cutter some time, just for fun.

George thinks he'll need to take him up on it.

Puffy asks him the same question when he spends an afternoon at the bakery, laptop open in front of him as he works through a pesky little piece of code that's been keeping him awake for days now.

"Prices were too high," he answers with a shrug. "Not like I need to be in the city to do my work, right?"

Which is, all things considered, true.

Sometimes, he's being less truthful. "Nasty breakup," he says to one of the old ladies at the grocery store who's just a little too nosey for his liking.

"I was here on holiday as a kid and always loved the place," is maybe the most truthful answer he gives to Iris after she has made him pliable with waffles and ice cream, fingers sticky with syrup.

"Pookie, why didn't you move here to me if you were so intent on moving," Larray whines on a call with him for the hundredth time and George scoffs. "Why would I move from one city to another?"

(He loves Larray, and under different circumstances, he would have moved to him. But things are… different.)

The excuses pile up like a wall of bricks, with just enough truth to keep it standing. He knows the moment he shares the actual reason, people will either pity him or think him mad.

The ocean calls to him. Slowly, George starts to bring it home.

He remembers sunny days spent on the same shore he walks on a daily basis now, the twinge of sunburn on his arms not that different from back then, only now he doesn't have his mother's voice calling out to him to come back under the shade. He stuffs his pockets with seashells and weird rocks. There's sand under his fingernails and spread all over his back porch, a pinkness over the planes of his face that brings out the freckles under his eyes.

But - above all, he keeps his eyes peeled on the horizon. It's childish, but he remembers meeting a boy by the beach all those years ago, and every snapped branch or stronger wave that crashes over the shore makes him perk up, smiling despite himself. For all the friendships he has found in this sleepy little town, there's no one to quite match his fondness for the water, and he thinks he could use some company on his walks, much like he did back then.  

-----

He tasted salt on his lips, the sun so bright on the glittering water, the white sand, the drops on his skin. His hair was drying in salt-crusted curls, his shoulders and arms already tan from all the time spent outside.   

There was a boy by the shore with pearl-white teeth and eyes the same green as seagrass, voice almost entirely lost to the wind. He was way too good in the water for there to be any competition, but he always let George have the prettiest seashells they found to make up for it. On land, George laughed whenever his sticky-salt hands grabbed him, their endless game of tag spanning over what felt like the entirety of summer.

The boy was smaller than him. He didn't have a name George could quite remember, but that never phased him - why should it matter, anyway? George knew his laugh and the way his hair bounced when they raced across the beach, and that was more than enough.

George wakes up to the gentle noise of rain and gray skies, slate clouds hiding away every shred of blue. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and then slumps back down.

It’s not a day that makes him want to get out of bed.

Instead, he thinks back to the boy from his dream, a fuzzy image, soft around the edges, like the memory of a childhood summer day years and years ago.

George wonders if he is being stupid. Chasing after something this fleeting, this… insensible. Upending his whole life on a - what? A dream?

And it isn't like he expects anything more. His big move was done on a whim as most of all the other big decisions in his life: he spends years dormant planning and waiting and letting his wishes pile onto another until they're so big he has to do something about it, something dramatic, something that will have an actual impact and propel him forward for a couple more years until he has to do it again.

Uni had been like that. Same as breaking up with his previous partner. And now the roster is complete with the decision to uproot his life based on some foggy memories of a childhood friend he can't even remember the name of.

He turns in bed and looks out the window to see the stormy sea, steel-gray like the buildings back in the city, and he doesn't get up until his stomach grumbles from hunger.

-----

It takes him a while, but George does take Sam up on his offer.

It's not glamorous or anything, obviously - not like being out on a yacht or whatever, but it’s not like George has ever been on one, so what does he know, really. But the breeze that's ruffling George's hair tastes of salt, seagulls are accompanying them, their cries filling the air, and the cutter is rocked gently by the ever-moving water.

Sam showed him around, explained what this or that does, how often and how long he's usually out here, little tidbits about his job or the time out on sea that George does find interesting - and yet his gaze keeps being drawn out there, onto the glittering surface and the wide horizon.

His lack of attention doesn't bother Sam. He manages to be even chiller here than he is on land, letting George be for a while as he putters around the tiny boat, setting up for the afternoon. There's a wooden chair facing the ocean, and Sam drags a second one made out of plastic to stand right beside it, offering him to take a seat with a little flourish.

"Here, no one's getting sunburned on my watch," he says as he offers George a sunhat made of straw, frayed at the edges. The texture feels funny against his fingers. George likes the sound it makes when he runs his nails over the brim. "C'mon, put it on. I'll teach you how to fish."

Fishing isn't something George had ever imagined himself doing. And yet, here he is, and it's actually nice. Under different circumstances, he would say boring - nothing really happens, except for the quiet lapping of the water against the cutter, the occasional light chat between them, and George just basking in the glory of the day.

Eventually, Sam reels in a fish - wriggling and glittery and slippery, and George can't help but feel sorry for it.

"Don't worry, it's not for everyone," Sam says, ever kind, and they allow the fish to slip back into the sea.

After a while, his attention drifts again.

The air smells so much like summer that George can't help but relax, reclined back against the chair and fishing rod completely forgotten by his side. From time to time, Sam hums under his breath, catching another fish that's too small to be kept and releasing it back into the ocean.

Everything is so serene. Sluggishly, he blinks as his head falls to the side, away from the glare of the sun, and for a moment, something in the water shifts.

George glances over sleepily, and then jolts in his chair like an electric current has hit him. In a second, he's wide awake and on his feet, leaning over the railing and staring down into the water.

"George?" Sam asks, puzzled, but he can't respond. His heart is up in his throat, trying to see again whatever his half-dozing mind has thought to see before.

There was a - a - a person? In the water? No… his mind has to be playing tricks on him. Again. That is the only explanation… right?

Sam comes close to also peer over the railing, but there's nothing there, only the gentle ripples caused by the same wind that ruffles his fringe. George’s heart beats against his chest like he has run a marathon.

"Everything okay?" Sam asks after a minute or so, turning away from the ocean.

It's nothing George wants to talk about. There is nothing in the water, anyway. "Yeah. I just… I thought I saw something in the water."

Sam hums, and George thinks he can feel his eyes on him. But when he glances over, the man is just giving a light shrug and a good-natured smile. "The water plays all sorts of tricks on you sometimes," is what he says. “Can’t count the number of times I was tricked by the light.”

George doesn't say anything. There's a lump in his throat and he kind of wants to be back home.

He remembers when he was little and also thought he saw something in the water, not quite the same shimmer as today but something close enough to have him bristling from even thinking about mentioning it to Sam. He knows how this goes, how easily it'll be dismissed as the sun or his own imagination playing a prank on him, and he knows it would be even worse to be treated like that as an adult.

On the way back, Sam regales him with stories of lost whales and how he thinks he once saw a giant stingray swimming under his boat, how he wouldn't find it strange if something like that happened again. It's clear he's trying to cheer George up, and since he's not overbearing about it George indulges him. All the while, though, he's mindful to keep his gaze firmly trained on Sam's face. There’s nothing in the water for him. 

-----

George tries not to think about it. It's hard though, when after that day, the dreams come back.

Over the course of the years, they had mostly tapered off, while his life had moved on and he had grown up, the guardrails of adulthood bringing him in line to a world of taxes and insurance and pension plans, politics and economics and the everyday woes of earning money to live his life.

But now, he dreams of the sea again. Of glittering water and bright green eyes, of laughter and magic and a friend that might have existed only in his mind. Eventually, little George had given up trying to defend what he had been so sure had been real, and finally, time had mellowed everything so much that adult George was sort of on the same page as everyone else had been, back then.

He must have imagined it.

It is harder to hold on to that thought now, when he is back by the sea side and all the images in his mind feel more vivid, more like memories, and less like a dream.

He can’t let go of that moment on the cutter either. Is this what his life will always be like? Thinking you caught a glimpse of something, just out of the corner of your eye, and then never knowing if it was real or not?  

The beach is empty. He has come to know the regulars that show up for a quick jog or the parents taking out their child for a morning stroll, but there's no one around as he makes his way down the sand. It makes sense: it's a weekday with the sun only just starting to break out from behind the clouds. No one should be here, and yet George couldn't stay inside drowning in his endless questions one second longer.

The water is cool when it laps against his bare feet. The rhythm of the waves is soothing even when everything in George wants to stay worked up. Frustration is known. If he lets go of it, he's not sure he would be ready to face whatever else surfaces from its dead bones.

He follows the waterline, bending down from time to time to inspect what's been brought to the shore. There's a funny-looking piece of driftwood that almost looks like a cartoon character, the weathered texture rough under the pads of his fingers. There's a purple clam shell and some other little pieces of something opalescent, a long string of kelp that feels just as sticky as it looks - with a little grimace, George drops it back onto the sand, shaking his fingers to dispel the gross sensation.

It's when he looks up from the ground that he sees it.

And this time, he doesn't convince himself that he's imagining it. Like someone has given him a push, George jolts forward, water splashing around his feet as he runs deeper into the sea.

"Wait, wait !"

The figure twists around, something shimmering underneath his shadow, lost to the constant movement of the waves. In his haste to come closer, George's feet catch on a rock and he trips, but that doesn't matter - the silhouette of a man comes into focus, face cast in shadow from how the sun stands behind him, and that's what he keeps his gaze focused on, afraid that if he blinks, it might disappear.

"Wait - please," he screams, heart painfully beating inside his chest. "Please - don't go."

George feels wild, like he's chasing something monumental, life-changing - maybe his own sanity. Foaming sea water is spraying up into his face, blurring his sight, but he can't just go back now, can't let this go, not again, please -

Maybe he's going to drown himself while chasing after a dream. It would be a little poetic. Dramatic, just like he’s been accused of being. 

He has lost the ground under his feet, treading water while he's trying to get there, heart hammering frantically all the way up in his throat.

Please…

In his desperation, he holds his breath and dives, the salt water stinging in his eyes as he tries to see.

He thinks his heart comes to a halt when he sees it. Despite his blurry gaze and stinging eyes, there's something moving in the water - pale skin and limbs and - and then there's a face, coming closer, and just - just right there.

It's the eyes that make him gasp.

Which is the dumbest move George could have made. The air comes out of his lungs from the force of his surprise and he almost chokes on the saline water that floods his mouth before he closes it, but he can't blink away from the face that's staring at him. The eyes are so green they almost glow, perfectly matching the tail that swishes lazily behind his torso.

It's a merman.

There's a stab of pain in his chest and he frantically swims up, breaking the surface to take huge gulps of air. He is ready to dive again when the water shimmers close to him. The creature's head comes out of the water, close enough George can see the way its pupils contract, adjusting to the glaring sun above their heads.

"Are you okay?"  

George doesn't even know what to do other than stare. A part of him waits to wake up, or for him to blink and the image to dissolve, for him to realize he was seeing things, again.

But nothing of the sort happens. The man tilts his head, peering at him, and George remembers to breathe.

"Yeah," he says, staring. "You're - Hi. "

"How… Why did you swim after me?" The merman's voice sounds nothing like George would have expected it to. It's smooth, a little deep, warm despite the clear confusion in the creature's face. His arms are covered in tiny scales that shimmer as he treads the water, and George has a moment where he realizes how similar the effect is to what he saw that day on Sam's boat.  

"Because -" How is he supposed to put anything into words? Any of the past twenty years of his life.

He knows those eyes.

"It's you," George breathes, and a part of him is still waiting to wake up. "You're the - the boy I - we played together."

There's a moment where George thinks reality will come crashing over him. The silence that greets his bold statement is only broken by the soft whispers of the water moving around them. His arms start to tire from treading the water, but he stays where he is.

"Oh. Oh! That's why you're so familiar." The merman's entire face softens when he grins. It's like watching sunlight break through the clouds. "You’ve changed."

George breathes in shakily, the words hitting unexpectedly hard. A stark reminder of how many years have passed - how he has grown up. Can he compare in any way to the child he used to be?

"You - you too," is the only thing he can think of saying, because above all else, it's true. The chubby baby face from his dreams - memories? - has merged into one of a young man with bright eyes and a strong jaw, with wide shoulders and sinewy arms that move through the water effortlessly.

He really isn't the only one who has grown up.

"I can't believe you're real," the merman says next. It feels so weird to hear that from someone like him that George can't help but laugh in disbelief, watching his cheeks turn a very human shade of pink. "I don't know, okay? I never - how are you even here? I looked everywhere after you stopped showing up."

No - George definitely isn't going to cry about this. Not after all this time.

"My - We were just here on vacation," he says, his tongue feeling a bit numb. "My parents took me back home."

The merman blinks at him, the edge of his tail barely brushing George's shorts. If he knew him any better, George would say he looks sad. "How long until you go home again?"

George swallows, and his heart is fluttering. "This is my home now. I'm not leaving."

It's clear his words catch the merman off-guard, but even if he's a little coy, he's visibly pleased by it. His tail flicks once again and it reminds George of something long-forgotten, of how his friend used to do that when he was happy with something. This feels like an accomplishment, and he tucks the feeling under his heart for later examination. He's sure he will have plenty to freak out about once he's back in the normalcy of his home.

George wants to ask so many things but he doesn't get to. His arms cannot hold him up much longer, so they wade back to the shore. It's wonderful to see the merman swim by his side, elegant and swift where George fights against the heaviness in his limbs.

"Can we see each other again?" the merman asks, tentative. He hasn't fully come out of the water, and from where George sprawls in the sand, he is still a little taller than him.

"Please," George says and doesn't care if he sounds downright desperate. If they don't, he'll never trust this memory either. "I'll be here. You - you'll come find me?"

A smile spreads on the merman's face that makes George's heart ache. "I will," he promises, and no one will ever be able to tell if it really is only sea water on George's cheeks.

"Okay." He watches how the merman retreats, neither of them turning to take their eyes off each other. "Wait!" George cries as a thought comes to him, and he rises to his knees in the sand, drenched clothes weighing him down. "What's your name?"

The merman laughs, the sound carrying over. "I'm Dream."

Dream . Of course that's his name.

The merman disappears into the water, but George keeps his gaze locked on the spot, unable to even blink. Dream . His body sags completely, ass falling onto the sand, and he stays there for a long while before he can find the strength to walk back home.

Dream will find him. He promised. George just has to believe it.

Chapter Text

George wakes up, and for one terrible moment, it was all just a dream.

Panic surges in his chest and he jumps out of bed, rushing to the window to look out at the ocean like he will just see him out there. The merman. The boy he played with for those two beautiful weeks of summer vacation as a kid. Dream.

He can't see him, of course. But his heart calms down and his head centers more on reality as he shakes off the remains of sleep so that he can think more clearly. And it was real. It has to be. He hasn't dreamed it - never had.

It's still a little difficult to wrap his head around it.

The steps that lead him to the beach on that first day are heavy with dread. It's a struggle between hope and resignation born out of years of not thinking , and he walks down the beach resolutely looking at his feet. His heart is heavy in his chest, ready to shrivel when he casts his gaze up and sees nothing other than the familiar blue waters.

But then a head pops out, only enough so Dream's eyes are out, and George's chest blooms with relief. He steps forward until water laps at his ankles and he calls out Dream's name with a voice that doesn't hide his relief or his joy .

When Dream swims up towards him, he looks a little weary still. George is the siren calling Dream to shore, almost like their roles have been reversed.

It's understandable. George learns right then and there that Dream doesn't want anyone to see him - he's not scared of people, but George can imagine how dangerous it could be for him to be seen, probably more so than the merman himself can imagine. Humans can be cruel even when they don’t mean to. 

Dream brings him to a place that's at the far end of the beach, sheltered by steep rocks where the land rises into a bit of a cliff, a spot you can't reach on dry foot. And this is where they sit and talk .

The first week is very awkward.

It's a little ironic, considering how that's half the time they had known each other back then. Their talks are filled with some awkward pauses and silences George doesn't know how to breach at first, too taken by Dream's everything . He's got little scales around his eyes that shimmer when he tilts his head to the side and they only disappear once he's fully dry. He has legs , too, something George already knew but never really stopped to consider how it would work, his child brain much more eager to brush over that fact than it does as an adult.

"So, like - how does it work?" he asks on the second or third day, eyes hypnotized by the play of light against the faint scales covering the back of Dream's hand.

"I don't know. It just does." Dream smiles at him. He's scratching at the sand beside his tail with a broken piece of seashell. The tail is glimmering and glittering all over, a beautiful shimmering green that makes it impossible for George to look away. I can't stay like this for long, I get - everything gets too itchy , you know?"

George nods like he understands what Dream means, but his mind kind of halts at the idea of being stuck somewhere like that.

"How long can you go before you need to be back in the water?"

Dream shrugs, his broken seashell drawing a sun into the sand. "Not that long. A few hours? I've never tested the limits."

"Huh," George says, still a bit starstruck. "Looks cool. The colors are - nice." The colors are pretty , but George chokes on the compliment. If they were still kids, that wouldn't have happened, he's certain of it, but as it is, he is a little intimidated by the broad line of Dream's shoulders, enough that his tongue feels heavier with all the compliments he’s holding back.

He has just… grown up so much. Not the little boy anymore that was smaller than him and had chubby, rosy cheeks. Now he's… he's…

George swallows and forces his gaze off the nice shape of his arms and the dusty pink of his nipples.

There are so many things wrong with him.

"You used to say that." Dream is smiling at him, unbothered, unaware. "That you thought the way they shimmered was pretty. Do you remember?"

"Mhmm," George hums and wraps his arms around his knees. He feels like he remembers everything , now.  

That sets the tone as the days go by. It's not like he sees Dream every day, but enough for the awkwardness to ebb away as they build something new from the old bones of their previous friendship. Pretty soon they'll have known each other for longer than ever before, and yet George feels like he's uncovering a whole new person between the flashes of the boy he sometimes catches peeking from behind Dream's mischievous smile.

George remembers.

From the depths of his memory, he recalls Dream likes strawberry ice cream and manages to surprise him with a semi-melted cone, earning a brilliant grin that makes his heart warm. He passes Dream a green piece of sea glass that he knows used to be his favorite color, lets him sit in silence as Dream thinks through something, watching him carefully untangle his thoughts like kelp that cling to George's ankles when he dives. Surprised, George finds a well of patience within him that seems to only exist for Dream. 

The first time Dream asks him if he wants to swim together, George hesitates. He doesn't even really know why - maybe the thought is just a little overwhelming. Like he might resurface and everything pops like a bubble and he will have dreamed it again.

He tells himself that's nonsense though, because the more days pass, the more it becomes apparent that it is . It's real. And even the scared, scarred part of him is slowly learning to believe it.

"Just, you know… don't forget I need to breathe," he says, heart fluttering with nervous excitement as he wades deeper, squishing sand between his toes.

"Don't be an idiot." The way Dream says it is so familiar George grins despite his nerves.

The water is nice and Dream's tail brushes against his calves playfully, but the way Dream eyes him has that edge of someone who's ready for a bad reaction. If he expects George to be grossed out by it, George is more than happy to disappoint. He is so fascinated by the delicate membrane that he has to keep reminding himself to keep his hands to himself, fingers itching to touch the translucent edges of Dream's tail.

"You're the idiot," he responds distractedly, finally sliding all the way into the water. He doesn't know where Dream wants to take him but is looking forward to it nevertheless - the sea feels like a vast treasure chest of secrets, alluring and daunting all at once.

"Alright," George says and then dips his head all the way back into the water, only to shake it out of his hair after it's all soaked, grinning brightly at Dream. "Here I am. Where are we going?"

It turns out they're going to the island.

It's nothing much, just a piece of land way too small to be anything of notice. Dream twists and swirls around him, happy as a clam, and they slowly make their way to the rocky shore. Despite his teasing, he is very patient with George's slower rhythm, pointing out the variety of fish that swim by them as a way to let George catch his breath.

He holds George's hand once, helping him when the current gets a little stronger. George likes how it completely envelops his own, likes how he's pulled along as if in a dream, knowing no current can do him harm. The sea is so vast and deep, and he would never ever ever have swum out here if not for Dream.

He wants to bring goggles next time, so he'll be able to see everything clearly, without the salt stinging in his eyes. He wants to see Dream clearly, properly take in the wonder he is.

"This is so cool," George sighs as he flops into the surf of the little island, a small stretch of sand between ragged rocks and sparse wisps of wind-swept grass.

"You think so?" Dream asks with a happy smile, treading the water. George can see flashes of his tail when the scales catch the sunlight. It looks like emeralds, like a treasure George can't wait to dig up.

He splashes surf water in Dream's direction instead. "Come on ! You better come be on the island with me."

Dream's smile becomes even bigger and he swims up, pulling himself up on the shore with his arms which should look ridiculous, but somehow George still can't look away.

The transformation is swift. The scales ripple, gently like water, hypnotic in how they flicker and twist to reveal the soft pink flesh underneath. There's a lot of skin on display, but Dream seems unbothered, sitting down by George's side and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

From the corner of his eye, he catches how there's still a teal glimmer to his knees. George resolutely avoids looking anywhere else.

He flops down into the sand, spread-eagling, the sound of the surf rushing in his ears and the blue sky high above.

It still feels like he's dreaming sometimes.

"It's so weird," George decides to give some of those thoughts a voice. "That we're here now." He glances about, cranes his head back to see greenery further up the sand. "Why did you bring me here , actually?"  

"It's my favorite spot," Dream says easily, and George marvels a little about how open he is. "I always come here when I wanna get away for a while. No one comes here."

George can see why. The island is too small to be of any importance, and so it's left alone - by human society, but by those living in the sea as well, it seems.

He turns onto his stomach and props himself up on his arms to look at Dream. George is so curious . He wants to ask him everything - about what life is like down there, about his family, friends, hobbies, what he eats - there's just so much it's overwhelming.

Dream makes it easier. When George asks, he tells him about his small little house by the reef and how much he likes turtle season. George learns mermaids are a little like nomads in how they don’t really put down roots - instead, Dream says it’s common to just follow the current to a new place whenever things get dull.

“But you stayed here all these years?”

Dream nods, unaware of how much of an impact that has on George’s heart. It’s stupid, but a part of him can’t help but wish that Dream stayed because of him. 

"Does anyone know you're friends with… a land guy?"

"They don't really mind as long as I'm careful," Dream says with an expression that tells George he's talked about this subject a lot, practiced in his excuses. "We aren't supposed to wander around town or anything like that, but I like it up here. Our home is far enough that it shouldn't be a problem."

"Do you have… other land friends?"

"Sometimes I hang out with Sam, but he's not - it's different." Dream's answer only opens more questions in George's mind, but before he can sort through what he wants to say, Dream asks, "How about you, though? Where did you go when you disappeared?"

It feels crazy that they can go from Dream's underwater world to George's boring life - but maybe it feels just like this for Dream too. Maybe he's the exciting one in Dream's eyes.

"Hm." George turns onto his side and fiddles with the waistband of his swim trunks. "Just back home. Like, my childhood home, it's just not by the coast. Not as pretty there. And, umm…"

He reminds himself that he doesn't have to talk about it. But at the same time, he kind of wants to - for the first time in his life.

"Some time passed, and I wasn't sure anymore if I had… imagined you. Or dreamed you. You know?"

"So you came here… looking for me?" Dream asks in a way that isn't judgmental, full of the type of surprise that George can't help but find endearing.

It makes him look up, makes him search those pretty eyes, his heart flipping.

"Kind of. I think. Yes."

The truth earns him a brilliant smile. It might even be incentive to talk more, George thinks to himself, feeling a little silly - if it gets him Dream's attention, he might be willing to lower his walls a little bit.

"Took you long enough," Dream jokes, starting to pile up some of the shells lying around them. George gets the feeling that even on land, Dream has got to be constantly on the move. Without the push and pull of the water, he is left to fidget with his fingers. "Is everything like you remembered?"

"Well…" George's gaze inadvertently drops down to Dream's shoulders, his arms, chest, naked thigh, the curve of his ass in the sand…

Nope. Not like he remembers.

With an embarrassed cough, George tries to turn away, half hiding behind a hand scratching at his nose.

He feels how Dream's eyes stay on him, expecting more, but it takes him a couple of moments to catch his breath, wiling away the warmth in his cheeks.

"The town is nice," he settles on that train of thought, trying to banish all the other things his brain wants to focus on to the back of his mind. "It's smaller than I remembered but I don't mind. The city was way too crowded."

Dream cocks his head at him, and George can't help but think how pretty he is. His hair is drying in angel curls, his eyes are incredibly bright, his skin still shimmering in places, and George wants to touch him.

"And, umm… we're grown up now. Right?" he brings out, forcing himself to hold Dream's gaze. "We're different. Sorta."

"I'm glad you managed to find your way here." George has to wonder if all merpeople are so painfully earnest, but he has a feeling this is something intrinsical to Dream. "We should hang out in the town one of these days - you should show me what's different from your old home."

The thought of Dream hanging out with him in his home is weird in a very good way. Surreal, for sure, but George likes anything that means grounding Dream more into his reality.

"And no one will look at you funny?"

Dream shakes his head. "I can keep a low profile."

And with that, it's settled. Dream looks just as excited as George feels to spend some time together. They chatter a little more, trading stories back and forth with such ease it almost feels like they've had years to learn each other instead of mere weeks - they only stop when the sun starts to feel a little overwhelming against George's sensitive skin, and they race each other on the way back to the beach.

Dream wins, of course. George can't even pretend to be mad about it.

-----

Several days later, George wakes to sunshine on a Saturday morning. He shuffles into the kitchen, yawning, hair askew, and puts on a kettle for tea, still wearing his pajamas. He and Dream are going to meet up later for a stroll through the city, and George looks forward to it as much as it fills him with nervous energy.

He isn't entirely sure why. It's not like people will call Dream out, or that he'll… dry up on land or anything like that. Right?

George is pondering that while the water heats up, and nearly jumps out of his skin when there's a knock on the glass of his kitchen backdoor.

Dream cuts an impressive figure, all backlit by the morning sun.

George rushes to the door with an incredulous laugh, sliding it open. "What are you doing here?"

Dream laughs, all boyish, shaking his head. His hair is still a little damp, but he is dressed in shorts and a loose t-shirt that allows George a peek at his collarbones, so he figures this is something Dream planned, not a spur of the moment thing.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"You succeeded." George lets out a little laugh, somewhat embarrassed that he's standing in front of Dream all unkempt and just out of bed. He scratches his head, fighting the urge to tug on his clothes while his gaze flickers down to Dream's long legs, a sight that should be normal but is not . "Uhh. Do you… want to come in? I'm making tea."

Dream accepts his invitation with a bounce of his head, and they walk inside in silence. George feels the nerves creep up, wondering if this is the type of silence that's awkward instead of comforting.

"Your house is nice," Dream says, seemingly as at ease on land as he is in water. "I thought it'd be different."  

"Different?" George is taking out a second mug for Dream, sneaking glances at him all the time . Is it some sort of ethereal merpeople aura even outside of water that makes him this pretty? "What did you think it would be like?"  

"I don't know. Sometimes land people have weird stuff," Dream says, fingers drumming against the small dining table George rarely ever uses. "It's all very neat. Light. I like it."

George isn't entirely sure what that means - he doesn't really consider his furniture as following any sort of style . But maybe the only thing that matters here is that Dream likes it .

"I only have cool stuff," he lies and carries Dream's mug over to him, head tipping back to look into his face. "Why are you so tall ? Did you choose to be this stupidly tall?"

Dream looks at him like George lost his mind, bursting into the type of laughter that echoes through his empty kitchen. "Of course I didn’t," he wheezes. "What do you think I am, George? I don't have powers, idiot."

George narrows his eyes at him. "You shift between a fishtail and legs. You're magic ," he says, pokes his index finger into Dream's chest, and then puts the mug into his hand. "Where did you get those clothes anyway? Do you have a secret stash?"

"It's not a secret stash ," Dream said, taking a sip from the tea to hide his grin. "I told you I sometimes hang out with Sam. Can't do that naked, can I?"

As it often happens around Dream, George is stunned into silence, always a little caught off guard whenever the mundane and the magic tangle with each other like this. He also tries really hard to keep his thoughts from picturing Dream naked, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check.

"Speaking of clothes," Dream continues, "are you ready to go?"

"Umm." George looks down at himself and his pajamas. "Let me finish drinking this? And then I'll put on actual clothes."

The tea is still hot, but George is a pro at tea and gulps it down in a few moments. He leaves Dream in his living room while he goes to change, and when he returns, he finds him standing in his living room, looking at one of his shelves. The one with the shell.

George walks up to his side, brushes their shoulders together, feeling some type of way when Dream smiles at his knicks knacks like he sees the same thing George does when he looks at his collection of odds and ends.

Dream's fingers come up to brush against the blue shell, delicate. His eyes are focused on it. "Is this… the one I gave you?"

"Mhmm." For reasons George doesn't want to examine too closely, he feels his cheeks warm. But it's important. This was the only thing he could hold on to when he wanted to convince himself that it had been real.

"I found this near home back then. Reminded me of you for some reason…" Dream's voice tapers off into a pensive silence, and George burns with curiosity.

Dream finally snaps his attention away, smiling at him. "I'm suprised you kept it for so long."

There was no way George would have ever gotten rid of it. But it is just as impossible to bring those words over his lips.

"It's pretty," he says instead and shrugs, like that's everything. Awkwardly, George itches the tip of his nose. "Come on. I thought we could have ice cream?"

With a sassy little bow, Dream lets George steer him out of the house. He locks the door behind them, a habit he can't seem to shake, and they fall into step together.

The walk into town is something George has done at least fifty times now, but with Dream by his side, it feels like he's seeing everything through fresh eyes. The houses scattered along the road take on a whimsy feel when Dream points out the colored doors and the mismatched flower pots that decorate someone's garden, and they keep conversation light all the way to the main street.

George wonders if he somehow has stumbled into a fairy tale, with a boy next to him who is magic and sunlight, sparkling eyes and a laugh that tickles George's insides.

And he isn't stupid - he knows already that he could fall for Dream, easily, if he allowed himself to. George doesn't know yet what to do with that.

In a way, seeing Dream stumble over a loose pebble and curse only makes it worse. There's something so real in how he rambles and gets a little lost in his own tangents, the way his voice ebbs and flows and the silence lingers a little before they pick a new topic - despite all the magic that surrounds him, Dream is so painfully human , too, so much that it's easy to let himself get caught up in his smile and the way he keeps sneaking glances at George whenever Dream thinks he isn't looking.

It feels like George is a teenager all over again.

"Where do you want to go first?" Dream asks once they reach the town square, looking around with visible interest.

"Is there anywhere you want to go first?" George asks. The way Dream said it makes him think that hanging out with Sam means on the boat , and not here in the town.

Dream shrugs. His hair is almost dry now, a mess of dark blond, frizzy curls. "What's your favorite place?"

George has to laugh a little. "Umm. Down by the water. We should have ice cream, right? Let's go have ice cream."

"Really? The ice cream shop is your favorite spot?" Despite the light tease, Dream clearly approves of it.

For a moment, their hands brush, almost like Dream wants to tangle their fingers together, and it feels different from when Dream tows him through the waves. There's a weight to it when they're on dry land.

George doesn't clear up Dream's misunderstanding. Instead, he walks close enough to him that their shoulders bump sometimes, and every time the hairs on the back of George's neck stand up in the best way.

Dream smells of ocean salt and sunshine.

George wonders what would happen if he did tangle their fingers together.  

Their fingers keep bumping against each other all the way there. The shop itself is white with its doors and windows painted a pastel teal, the space in front sprinkled with wooden tables and colorful chairs that are mostly empty - Sapnap has told George the town gets a respectable number of tourists during the height of summer, but for now, there is just a family occupying one of the bigger tables.

It's fine by George. He's finding that he would much rather keep Dream to himself anyway.

He watches him walk up to the freezer, eyeing the flavors with visible excitement. "Have you come here before?" With Sam, George leaves out the last part, trying for casual and probably missing by a long shot.

Dream shakes his head vigorously, never taking his eyes off the ice cream offerings. "Not at all. Which are your favorites?"

He can't help but smile. Dream's excitement is infectious and George wants to squeeze him.

“Strawberry. Or anything with chocolate chip. What about you?"

Dream takes a little moment to think it over. George likes how he always gives their conversations his full attention, so he waits, even if usually he would be bored out of his mind. Dream seems to be the exception to a great many things.

"Hmm, I think it's mango," Dream says after a couple of seconds. "Can't really have favorites if you haven't tried that many flavors, right? But I think I like it better than vanilla."

George's smile widens. "Then you should try something new today."

Thankfully, the girl serving them is patient, smiling as they hash out together what new flavors Dream should try this time. They settle on lemon, stracciatella, and butterscotch, and Dream looks like he's vibrating out of his skin as he takes his cone.

George can't take his eyes off his face when they're walking away from the shop. "So?"

"Mhh, this one is epic," he gestures to the butterscotch, tongue poking out to taste it again like he can't help himself, "and lemon is pretty good too."

George nods along, trying really hard to keep his eyes away from Dream's lips. "And the other?"

"Too much like vanilla," Dream scrunches his nose, cute like a kitten. "But not too bad , I guess. All in all, I think butterscotch might be my favorite."

George thinks it's funny how Dream thinks stracciatella is similar to vanilla, but he just grins and doesn't tell him. Instead, he promises to find him a new favorite next time.

They walk away and George wants to reach for Dream's hand. He spends the whole time wishing he had the courage, instead of thinking in circles around what would happen.

At least Dream doesn't seem to notice. He finishes his ice cream with a little noise of contentment, leaving a small stain on the corner of his lower lip - George's entire body itches to reach out and clean it, maybe even kiss it away, and he welcomes the distraction when he spots the little playground on their way.

"Race you there," he practically shouts at Dream and immediately takes off, hoping the exertion will hide his blush.

George actually wins, because Dream runs like a baby deer, long and excited steps that look like he might fall over if he puts his foot wrong. It should have been predictable but is so endearing that George laughs in surprise and gets tackled hard enough that they both almost fall.

"That wasn't fair," Dream pouts, and George giggles, breathless in Dream's hold.

"Come on, I'll show you how to swing."  

"You suck," says Dream, but with such fondness George lets it go with just a grin, guiding Dream towards the swings with a careful hand on his broad back. He feels so solid under his palm. Something settles inside his chest. This Dream doesn't feel like he will disappear so easily.  

No more than two minutes later, George is despairing. "No - you have to lean forward ! What are you doing? That's too late!"

He's tugging on his own hair but Dream is laughing so hard that it looks borderline dangerous, so George can do nothing but laugh along.

"Oh my God, you have no coordination of your limbs! Of anything ! Get out, I'm going to show you."  

"Shut up, I'm learning ," Dream cackles. "You're a shitty teacher."

He manages to almost fall on his ass when he gets up from the swing, clutching at George's arm like a lifeline. He doesn't look like it's a big deal, but to George it's almost like the imprint of Dream's fingers has seared into his skin. Impossible to forget, even after Dream has let go and George has hopped onto the swing.

"I'm not a shitty teacher, it's simple physics ," he says and exaggerates when to lean back and do the opposite with his legs. "Look? Like this . You can feel the tipping point." And then he stops and grins at Dream. "Or do I need to push you?"

"I'm not a child," Dream says, the cute little pout still in place.

Surprisingly, Dream launches himself onto the swing next to George's, the one that's a little crooked, the one land people just know to avoid, but he guesses for Dream it makes no difference. It's quite the sight, but he manages to look challenging instead of completely dumb , cheeky smile lighting up his face as he sways back and forth.

"Wanna see who can go higher?"

There is no way George can let a challenge like that go, and he's pushing himself off the ground before Dream has even finished the question.

The air is tugging on his hair like he's flying, and that one moment where gravity loses meaning and he's suspended, weightless, in the air keeps ripping breathless laughter from his lips.

The last time George felt like this was years ago - here in this same place, with that same person by his side. Light and wonderous and full of joy.

It pushes him high and then a little further up, almost like he could float away if he let go of the swing. Dream's voice rings in the air, egging George on, with some nostalgic quality to it that has him replying with jokes and childish glee - there aren't a lot of people that can rise to George's brashness when he gets like this, but Dream not only matches his energy but also brings it up even higher, feeding into it.

George's face is red from laughing too hard. He thinks he falls a little bit in love with the way Dream's smile carves dimples onto his skin.

They explore the rest of the playground with as much delight, ending on their backs in the grass, pointing out weird, funny little shapes of lonely clouds up in the sky.

It's the best day George has had in years and years, and from the happiness in Dream's face, he's hopeful it might be on the top of Dream's list as well.

There's a moment where George turns on his side and catches Dream already staring at him, eyes full of the same hopeful something George can feel tickle in the back of his throat. In a feat of courage, he closes the distance between their fingers, barely brushing the back of Dream's hand - it feels like he crossed a monumental distance, much bigger than the miles separating him from his parents or even Larray - and he has a moment to wonder if it was a mistake before Dream tangles their fingers together.

It feels good - for maybe three seconds, and then Dream is sitting up in a hurry.

"Oh - oh no." Dream's eyes widen, looking down at their hands. "Does my hand - it feels weird, right? Shit. I need water."  

George's heart plummets in his chest with a spike of unstoppable fear that wipes away everything else.

"Right now?" he needs to know, breathless and dry-mouthed, already scrambling to his feet.

"Yeah, I think - don't look so worried," Dream laughs, even if he gets up on his feet in record time. George isn't fooled - he knows Dream is worried. "I didn't realize the day would be so hot. C'mon." And here, he takes George's hand into his own, pulling him along as he starts to rush out of the park. "Let's go to the beach."

Dream's laugh eases some of that worry gnawing on George, though his rapidly beating heart doesn't calm down as they're running together, just like a pair of kids. The hand in George's is dry, and when he looks closer, he can see it too - not quite blistering yet, but looking dry and itchy, and all George can do is hope he's not hurting .

They make their way to the shore in record time, and as soon as he can, Dream splashes into the ocean, shoes discarded on the sand. He walks until water laps at his knees, bending down to dip his hands into the gentle waves. The expression on his face is of relief, the type George sees on his own face when he stretches after a long while hunched over his computer, and it makes him wonder how it actually feels to be away from the water.

He has never asked, not really. Maybe it's time.

"I'm fine," Dream says after a few moments, bending back up but keeping his feet in the water. "It was really dumb of me to just… lose track of time like that. Sorry we had to rush, I'm usually better at this."  

"It's fine."

George kicks off his own shoes and follows Dream, the cold ocean lapping around his ankles. His heart rate is calming slowly, but he still feels jittery, like the water could carry Dream away in the blink of an eye.

George looks up and studies his face, itching to reach out.

"How long…?"

"I can stay out for a few of hours as long as I remember to keep myself hydrated," Dream says and then pauses, almost like he's doing the math in his head. "Longest I did was half a day, but it gave me a pretty nasty headache so I try to be, like, mindful about it - today was the exception, of course."

George tries not to think too much about the implications of that , he really does. His mouth is dry and he has to lick his lips.

"Do you… have a headache now? Your hands were getting, like, all rough."

Some of his concern must shine through because Dream crosses the small distance between them, smile going all soft once again. "M' fine, Georgie. See?" He offers his hand, tangling their fingers together one more time. "It's all good now. I just need to stay in the water for a little bit and then we can go back to the park if you want to."

Despite the reassurances, George guides Dream's hand up and looks down at it, giving it careful consideration and lightly rubbing his thumb over his knuckles - just to be sure .

"Let's just stay here for now," he finally responds, not quite daring to raise his gaze and meet Dream's again.

Dream keeps playing with their fingers, his much bigger hand delicate in how he holds George's palm. "Were you worried?"  

George scoffs quietly. "Of course I was worried."

No use in denying that, he figures - or has Dream really not seen it?

The thought makes him glance up, and maybe that was a mistake. He catches Dream's bright eyes and his heart flips. They're like sunlight on seawater, and his hand is so tender around his own.

George has never felt his knees go weak - never thought they could .

They do now.

Heart on his throat, he sees Dream tip his head forward in a telegraphed move, giving George all the time in the world to avoid it, but he doesn't move away - and even with all that warning, all the buildup, the entire afternoon leading them to this moment - it still catches him by surprise when Dream's lips find him in a soft kiss, one light like the breeze and sweet like tangerines, warm as the sun that's gracing them from the blue sky up above.

It's a wonder, a kiss out of a fairy tale, and maybe all this is a dream after all. A long one, a great one, a happiness reserved for the fleeting bliss of sleep.

George's breath hitches and he surges up, arms slinging around Dream's shoulders like he could slip away from him. Always, always slipping away - but somehow, right now, still here.

Dream's arms feel wonderfully solid around his waist, warm and real . It's all very human when they part to catch their breaths, George barely allowing them any distance before he's sliding their lips together again, giddy with the way he can feel Dream trying to smile in between their kisses.

The water laps gently at his calves, grounding him from floating up. He thinks he's never been so aware of his body before. He could easily become addicted to this, and he tries not to think about that - tries not to think about anything .

They're here, right now. And George will not let go.

Eventually, he can't kiss anymore from smiling so much, and he presses his cheek against Dream's hair instead, blinking in the light reflecting on the unsteady water. A laugh is bubbling in his chest and he doesn't fight it, lets it out, and just hugs Dream tighter.

"You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this," Dream says with a little laugh of his own. He kisses the top of George's head, so achingly tender it doesn't feel like half an hour ago George was still trying to ignore how his heart skipped a beat whenever Dream as much as looked at him.

"No way." George shakes his head, the tips of Dream's curls tickling his cheek. He's afraid there might be something wrong with his heart with how crazily it's going. " How long?"

" Soooo long ," Dream pouts dramatically, brushing their noses together in a move that is so sweet it chips away a part of George's heart. "You should kiss me again to make up for it. I waited forever for you."

And George's heart aches and his eyes sting, because he has, hasn't he? George left him (had to), and Dream -

He can't have expected George to ever come back. Not after years. But maybe, some part of him has , nurtured by a hope that was impossible to extinguish.

Maybe the same sliver of hope that made George return.

He wants to say how sorry he is, how much earlier he wishes he could have come. George kisses him instead like he asked, because otherwise, he might cry, and no one wants that .

He pours everything into this kiss like it's their own little language, holding onto his back as emotion washes over him. There's a knot in his throat, strands of relief and admiration tangled together with the regret he feels, and he tries to make Dream understand by sheer force of will how happy he feels whenever their eyes meet - whenever Dream holds his hand or smiles at him with eyes glittering like a forgotten treasure.

Dream is something precious, something George wants to keep . He hopes he will be allowed to.

-----

Sunset arrives too fast. George's lips are all tingly from having kissed Dream as much as he could get away with - which turned out to be a lot , his shy advances being met right in the middle - but even so, there's still a pang in his chest when Dream looks at the dying sun and sheepishly tells George he has to go. They talked a little about his life underwater, and George now knows that Dream's home is a little further away than he imagined. He will have to swim for a while to get there, and doing so at night isn't as easy, especially if he's by himself.

George also learned Dream lives mostly alone. He is the odd one out seeking roots where most of his peers crave the freedom of the changing tides, and George wishes he could go with him when he starts walking towards the water, if only so he wouldn't have to be alone.

George knows what that's like. He hates it.

"See you tomorrow, right?" Dream asks, stealing a little kiss, warm as the sun. "Or is that too soon?"

"Too soon ?" George knows his voice sounds incredulous, so he just tips his head up and kisses Dream again. Silly. Isn't it obvious that he doesn't want him to leave at all?

"I don't know." Dream shrugs. "Don't want you to get bored of me."

"Don't be stupid ."

But Dream just laughs and tips his head down to kiss him again, like he already knows how - and George's toes curl, and he knows that Dream will be back in the morning.

Chapter Text

George wakes up to the rolling rumble of thunder and rain lashing against his window.  

At first, everything is foggy. He feels a twinge in his arm from where he slept over it, bladder uncomfortably full. He rolls onto his side, not ready to really wake up yet, but there's a flash from outside that paints his walls blinding white, and the following noise is way too loud to be ignored.

It's been months, but this is the first time he's seen an actual thunderstorm hit this little village. It feels almost unnatural to look out of his window and find only steel-gray instead of the usual ocean blue, inky clouds hanging heavy in the small patch of sky he can see between the heavy curtains of rain.

Something eerie settles in the back of his mind as he blinks himself awake. It's almost like he's stepped into a different reality than the one he has fallen asleep in.

There is no way he can go back to sleep, so he gets up instead. Makes tea while the rain pelts against the glass of his kitchen windows, where he can see the ocean - a slate gray, angry mass, peaks crowned a foamy white.

George feels a little queasy.

It's still early. The wind is howling in waves outside, and every part of him is glad that he doesn't have to step a foot out there right now. It looks dangerous.

But then… it would be for Dream too, right?

It dawns on him that he has no way of knowing. Dream could get hurt and George would be none the wiser, forever stuck in the dark. Do storms even reach the bottom of the Ocean? Are they worse than what he can see here at the surface?

Realization comes in pieces. There's no address, no common friends, no phone or anywhere George could even look for information - not like he could if this were Larray or even Sapnap. If something happens, Dream is all alone down there to fend for himself. The mental image is sickening.

Dread twists his stomach and poisons his insides, makes him step closer to the windows - like that will make any difference at all. Dream isn't here. George can't help him.

He drinks his tea in tiny sips, still at it long after it's gone cold. And then he makes another one because the hot weight in his hands grounds him. Time passes, and George pulls the couch blanket around his shoulders.

The storm keeps going. A few times George thinks that it's abating a little, and then he's sure he has only imagined it. Because the rain keeps falling and the wind keeps howling.

At one point, he contemplates picking up work just to distract himself. But it's Sunday , and his mind is going in anxious circles, and he knows he wouldn't get anything done anyway.

But the longer Dream doesn't come, the more unreal it all feels.

It feels impossible that someone could live out there exposed to the whims of the wheater - that someone as magical as Dream could ever be allowed to exist when the reality of everyday life is so much duller. Much like George can't know for sure Dream is okay, he also doesn't have anyone he can talk to about him, and that's a realization that rots his stomach and allows for paranoia to fester.

Is Dream a secret or a figment of his imagination after all? Did all those years of secretly hoping the boy from his childhood was real erode his sense of reality to the point of fabricating an entire reality where he was real?

No, that is dumb. He hasn't dreamed the past few weeks - the past day, the sunlight and ice cream and grass beneath his head and sand between his toes and the ocean washing their feet as they kissed and kissed and kissed -

George stares at the way his hands are shaking and realizes that his chest feels like it's growing smaller and smaller. You can't forget how to breathe, can you?

He's so busy trying to get his breathing under control that he only picks up on the faint buzzing coming from his phone when it manages to vibrate onto the floor, falling with a thud against the carpet. He's gasping for air and he feels weak, disoriented.

Through his hazy vision, he sees Larray's name lighting up the screen.

George scrambles for his phone with shaking hands, clutching it like a lifeline as he holds it up to his ear.

"Larray?" he manages to get out through his constricted throat.

"Baby! Oh my god, it's been ages." Larray's voice is almost too bright, piercing through the fog around his brain like a dagger. George is still struggling to breathe, loud and gasping, and some of it apparently makes it over to Larray's end because he asks, "Wait - what's wrong? George?"

Shit - can he even talk?

George desperately tries to wrestle back control over himself, but he doesn't know how. Everything feels unreal.

"Just - talk. Please? Tell me - something?" he somehow manages to get out, eyes pressed shut as he sinks back onto the couch and concentrates on his friend's voice.

"Okay, just - breathe with me, alright?" Larray sounds eerily calm, taking an audible breath that George struggles to follow along. "Good, that's good, boo."

He can barely process whatever the fuck Larray is saying, but the cadence of his words helps him settle back into his skin. Larray's voice is kind, soothing, lacking the usual high-pitched teasing whenever he mocks his co-workers, but George is thankful nonetheless. There are a few names that he recognizes and he clings to it, forcing his mind to focus on whatever office drama happened this time at work instead of the toxic cloud settled inside his lungs.

After a few moments of deliberately inhaling and exhaling together with Larray, the vice around George's throat starts to ease off. His heart beats so fast it's almost like he ran a marathon, and a wave of tiredness washes over him once his body relaxes back against the couch.

"George? Are you there?" Larray asks after he finishes whatever story he is telling him, checking in a way that vividly reminds George of the few times he had allowed himself to be dragged to a club with him back in the city. "Want me to keep going?"

"Mh. It's fine," George mumbles. He's tired as hell, now that his body seems to have calmed down, exhausted in a way that's different from what he knows. Slowly, he curls himself up and pulls the blanket over himself. Outside, rain is still falling, but it doesn't feel as violent, as harsh as before. "M’ okay."

Larray sighs. There's some rustling on his end as well, and George wonders if he's also getting cozy on his couch. Suddenly, George is hit with the force of his own longing, wishing he could be tucked under Larray's fluffy comforter in his familiar room.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asks in a serious voice, worry evident now that the worst has passed. "I may or may not be looking up how to get there just to check up on you."

George doesn't say anything for a moment, because right now, he wants nothing more than for his friend to be here, with him. The gratitude that comes with knowing Larray would, in a heartbeat, is bigger than anything he could ever put into words.

"There's a storm outside," he says, eyes going to the windows and the drops sliding down the planes. "I - hm. I think I had a panic attack."

"Mhn, yeah, storms can be scary," Larray agrees. "Are you safe? I know the house you got is a bit old."

"It's fine. All good. It wasn't -" George swallows, because just like that, the thought of Dream is back, and with it, the bitter aftertaste of fear. It's like copper in his mouth, and all the hairs on the nape of his neck stand in discomfort. He shudders. "This is going to sound weird but - I don't know sometimes what's real."

There's a confused little noise from Larray's end. "What do you mean? Are you, like, taking anything? Georgie, you gotta be careful -"

"Shut up, I'm not taking anything," George huffs, even though he does know how it sounds. He bangs his head against the couch cushion in frustration. "My parents told me I had this… imaginary friend when I was a kid. Like… a merboy friend. Here. When we were on holiday."

"Cute," Larray coos like he can't help it, some of the worry melting from his voice as he gets distracted. "Did you, like - get nostalgic about it? Do you miss your parents?"

George lets out a small laugh that's mostly humorless. "They told me he didn't exist for months. Got kind of angry when I kept insisting I wasn't making him up. So I stopped eventually. But I -" He swallows around a throat that's dry and stale. "You don't understand how sure I was that he was real."

It's clear Larray is trying his best to understand but he's missing some vital pieces of information George is trying his damn best to talk around. "What does that have to do with anything, though? If you don't want to talk about it, we can just move on, you don't have to say all that and -"

"I am talking about it." His heart is hammering in his chest again, enough that he's starting to feel a little faint. Why is he doing this? Hasn't he learned his lesson? "That's why I came here. Because some - some part of me still thought I was going to find him. And I did, or I think I did, because he said he'd be here today but he's not, but there's the storm, so that's got to be the reason, but what if it isn't and I just made him up again ?"

There's silence from the other end. George squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep his breathing steady, fighting the wave of nausea that crests inside his stomach. His sanity hangs by a very thin thread right now, he can't imagine what he'll do if Larray hangs up and he is left by himself all alone again.

"You think… you found your imaginary friend?"

George lets out the breath he's been holding, and for a moment, he thinks he might cry. "Yes. If he's not real, Larray, you've got to - I don't know what, but then I'll have truly lost my mind."

"And he's a mermaid? " Larray asks in a very measured voice. "Like - Ariel?"

A part of George wants to break out into hysterical laughter - he doesn't understand how this is his life. Angry, desperate tears are making their way down his cheeks now. "I'm - crazy. It's fine, just say it. I've always been, apparently."

"I'm not saying you're crazy, boo, but also - god, a mermaid? Imagine if I was the one telling you this, you'd be making fun of me from the get-go," Larray says with an audible eye roll, and George deflates, even if just a little. He does have a point. If their roles were reversed, he sure as fuck would not be as chill as Larray is being right now.

He takes a deep breath, trying to blink the stupid tears away.

"Okay. Putting a pin on the mermaid thing because I cannot deal with that right now," Larray says with a huff. "You're worried because your friend didn't show up, is that it? And - if he's real or not?"

"Yeah," George says, wishing his voice were steadier. His gaze goes back to the window and to the drops on the glass. "Because of - of the - I don't know, I think it just messed with my head. You grow up and you think, 'Oh, maybe you really were just a stupid kid with an overactive imagination,’ and you discard the whole thing but then yesterday - Yesterday happened, I'm so sure, but - I don't know how to trust myself anymore."

George feels his throat close up again and he tries to swallow the knot of anxiety there. He can picture Dream's smile so well, the timbre of his laughter. There's no way George would have imagined all that, right?

"You are not crazy," Larray says with so much conviction. George wants to believe him so badly. "Okay? I don't know how to explain the - the mermaid thing, but you are not crazy. What exactly happened yesterday? Maybe - the more details, the better."

What did happen? George tries to focus on what he does know, or at least what his memory tells him.

"He came here, and we walked around town. Went to the ice cream parlor first - he tried out new flavors he'd never had before. He said butterscotch is his new favorite." The ghost of a smile flickers over George's lips and he realizes that his heart has calmed down a little. "We went to the playground, messed around with some stuff. Lay on the grass, until he had to get back to the water. We were by the beach all day." His cheeks warm at the memory. "Kissed, like, all the time ."

"You guys kissed? Why is it the first time I've heard about this man?" Larray whines a little, clicks his tongue in light disapproval. George is so fond of him. "What's his name? What does he look like - he's gotta be cute, George, I won't accept anything less."

A soft little laugh escapes George. He feels warmer suddenly than he has all day, cradled by a feeling of familiarity and support, and it makes him miss Larray's presence something fierce.

"He's really sweet. Super tall, kind of… dark blond with these curls." A small giggle escapes him. "His name's Dream."

"Of course it is."

They laugh together. Somehow, Larray works his magic and gets some more details out of George. It doesn't feel like an interrogation or someone trying to poke holes into his story. Instead, it reminds him of mornings spent together gossiping over brunch. Larray asks what color Dream's eyes are, how they managed to meet after so many years apart, if they've slept together yet, and it's so good to be able to gush about Dream that George doesn't even notice the minutes tick by, feeling a little more alive after his rant is over.

"Okay, he does sound very sweet," Larray concedes with a little laugh. "I would say he's, like, too good to be true but you're you so I'm not surprised you managed to bag someone like that. Next time you see each other, you have to take a picture so I can judge for myself if he's really as handsome as you say, but I wouldn't worry about - everything else. It sounds very real, baby."

It hits George out of the blue right then that Larray is right. He can take a picture. And then he will always have proof that Dream is real.

"I'm so dumb," he groans and face-plants into the couch. "I forgot that I can take pictures."

Larray chuckles. "You're lucky you're cute," he teases. "You owe me sooo many pictures - not only of your fish boyfriend, but of the town as well. You've been real quiet lately, I was worried you had joined a cult or something like that. Don't disappear like that, okay?"

His conscience stirs, and George realizes that Larray is right. He sighs and turns onto his back.

"I've been so, like… caught up in all that. Trying to sort out my memories and what was real. I will send you pictures, I promise. We can do a virtual house tour, if you want?"

"Yes! Show me everything!" Eagerly, Larray switches their call to video. His beaming face greets George, the image a little crunchy but welcoming all the same. "You look awful. Maybe we should do face masks, too."

George wishes, again, that his friend was here. That he could lead him through his new home the way he does now, carrying the camera in front of himself, but with Larray actually here. That they could sit together after, like they used to, and make silly faces at each other with face masks on (which George didn't own but Larray made him do with him anyway). His couch would feel less empty, and the storm much less oppressive, if he had his friend by his side.

But he will take whatever he can get. And what he gets is a lot - by the time they hang up, George feels tired but lighter, the rain has quieted to a drizzle, and when he drifted off into a nap, he isn't scared of the disorientation of waking up.

He will be fine. No matter what - he’ll be fine.

He's lulled out of his slumber by a noise, way too faint to truly register in his brain. He turns onto his side but his puffy eyes are crusty from all the crying, so he floats in that liminal space between sleep and wakefulness. There is a knock and the noise of his patio door sliding open - the one that's a bit jammed, that clacks every time it's pushed open - and that is more than enough to have George squinting his eyes open.

The rain still falls in heavy curtains outside, but there stands Dream, soaking wet and waving shyly at George, the green shimmer of his skin impossible to miss.

The sight zings through George's body like an electric current. He's awake and on his feet in the blink of an eye, rushing through the room to fling himself at Dream with abandon.

He hears a surprised little "ouff", and yet Dream catches him like it's instinct. He's entirely wet and also naked like he couldn't spare a minute to get here, and George doesn't mind, can't even think about it - he feels so real under him, and George just holds him closer.

"Dream…"  

"Sorry m' late," Dream murmurs quietly. His hands feel cold when they come up to his back, but George doesn't pull away. "There was a big storm."

A laugh fights its way out of George's chest. He buries it against Dream's shoulder.

"Yeah. I noticed."

But all that doesn't really matter anymore. Dream is here, and he smells of salty ocean water and a little bit like a storm, and George wants every bit of him.

"Just tell me you're real."

"George," Dream huffs a laugh, one George can feel vibrate in his chest where he's still pressed against him. "Of course I'm real! Why?" Here, Dream pulls back just enough to look at him.

George doesn't want to let him go, but Dream is gentle, coaxing him out of his hiding spot. He brushes his thumb under George's eye, frowning a little. "Did you have a nightmare or something?"

George really, really doesn't want to talk about it again - at least not right now. Dream probably deserves the truth, and he will tell him. But right now, there are more important things, as far as George is concerned.

So he shakes his head and reaches up to brush the soaking wet curls out of Dream's forehead.

"Just… the storm. I was worried. Can you come inside? Can I, like… Is it okay if I towel you dry?"

Thankfully, Dream doesn't put up any kind of fight. It's clear he wants to ask, but he lets George herd him inside and into the bathroom without a fuss, keeping them tethered together by their intertwined hands. Under any other circumstance, he thinks the wet footprints Dream leaves behind on the floor would bother him, but it never crosses his mind to complain. They're proof he's not alone. If he could, George would probably frame them.

Dream sits on the lid of the toilet, blinking huge eyes up at George. He tries to ignore how tantalizing the wet line of Dream's collarbones looks from this angle, the hint of a green shimmer down his stomach like a mythical happy trail.

Instead, George takes the biggest, fluffiest towel he owes and drapes it around him, dragging only the edges up so he can gently towel Dream's curls dry.

Their gazes meet, and George is nearly overwhelmed by the wave - of everything he feels.

"It feels funny," Dream laughs a little, not helping at all with the tangled mess of feelings twisting inside George’s chest. He looks so soft. George wants to keep him. "Smells a little like you, though. I like it."

George flushes for absolutely no reason and lets the towel flop down over Dream's eyes. Dream, of course, laughs, and George needs a second to sort his brain enough to form words.

"Have you never toweled yourself dry? Ever?"

Dream shakes his head, all puppy-like and adorable. George's heart skips a beat and then another, losing its rhythm when Dream buries half his face in the towel, rubbing it against his cheeks.

"George, I live underwater. There's no point in getting dry," he says with a teasing eyeroll. "And beach towels do not feel like this at all. This is amazing."

There is a half-formed tease already on his tongue, but George doesn't manage to get it past the fond smile that insists on living on his face. He rolls his eyes instead and begins to pat Dream's chest dry.

"Uhuu. Well, you're not getting my sofa wet." And before he gets into dangerous territory, George takes a step back. "You, uh… finish with that. I'll get you some clothes."

He sees the way Dream's smile turns a little curious and rushes away, cheeks warm. He does not think about the span of Dream's shoulders more than he has to. He finds a baggy hoodie that will probably fit him and a pair of shorts that are big on him; these are all clothes George has worn a million times but it still takes his breath away when Dream comes out wearing them.

George cannot look away. The deep blue of the fabric settles against Dream's skin so nicely he wants to take a bite out of his Adam's apple, knows it'll taste sweet. Where on him it usually sits comfortably a size too big, on Dream the hoodie fits perfectly down to the way it hugs his waist, and while George misses all the naked skin, there's also something to be said about the way Dream looks so at home in his clothes.

"What? Something wrong?"

No - not at all. In fact, if everything stayed as it is, right now, George would be happy for the rest of his days.

But he can't say that. So what George does instead is to cross the distance between them and drag Dream down to him into the kiss that has been burning in his chest ever since he laid eyes on him again.

Dream parts his lips with a little sigh, steady hands holding George's waist as he surges up into the kiss, makes it a little desperate. The only thing left from the dreadful morning are memory wisps of his panic, but with Dream pressed so close to him, there's no space for bitterness. He kisses him for the sake of proving he's right there and then kisses him some more just because he can.

His hands wander up to the damp skin of Dream's neck. The faint scales he finds there feel blunt against his fingertips, make Dream shiver slightly when he presses with a bit more pressure, and George tucks that information away with barely disguised glee.

He only pulls away - has to - when he's out of breath and starting to get dizzy, his fingertips digging into Dream's skin, the fabric of his sweater. Dream's eyes are so vibrant when they meet his, it makes George want to drown.

A smile flickers over his face, and when Dream answers it, it sparks delight under George's skin.

"Hm. Did you have any… plans? For today?"

"Only seeing you." Dream kisses him again, bumping their noses together. "I thought we could go for a walk, but with the rain…"

"Just be on the sofa with me." George steals another kiss, small and slow and way too sweet. He has to laugh about himself, presses it against Dream's shoulder. "Can we cuddle ?"

"Mhn, can we?" Dream laughs, rolling with the pathetic punch George aims at his shoulder. "C'mon - I'm not letting go of you."

George likes the sound of that.

They make their way to the sofa in a tangle of limbs. George can't stop smiling and Dream keeps looking at him with eyes so soft he feels like his insides have been replaced by marshmallows. Everything is warm and good once they settle with their legs tangled together and George's head shamelessly buried against Dream's chest. It feels nice to be held like this, to the sound of Dream's heartbeat under his ear.

George remembers that he wanted to take a picture - so he does. Dream is curious about his phone, bemused until George shows him the result - the two of them, cuddled together, the picture skewed but both of them radiating a quiet happiness that's impossible to miss.

Dream loves it more than even George thinks he could.

"Take another, c'mon," he asks, voice betraying how excited he is. "Now, let's - I want one of me kissing you."

George can't say no to that request. They end up with rows of pictures in his camera roll - of Dream kissing his cheek, of George doing the same, one with them making funny faces at the camera and a glorious one where George catches Dream mid-sneeze - and he feels his heart squeeze at how much he likes this. Likes Dream.

If all this is a dream, he's screwed. But with every picture taken, with every proof he will be able to look at in the morning, and next week, and next year and in ten, George believes a little more.

The hours fly like this, with Dream's laugh and his warmth and the safety of his hugs. George makes them food eventually, a simple pasta dish that still intrigues Dream to no end, and George loves it. He tells him how there are mermaids in popular media, and Dream doesn't believe him until George puts on The Little Mermaid, and Dream is so enthralled that George is already making a list in his head of anything mermaid-related he can show him.  

Dream huffs whenever the fish do something funny and he makes sure George knows all the crabs are insufferable little idiots and none of them - as far as he knows - can sing or even talk.

It's so endearing. George has a hard time keeping himself from kissing Dream's little pout.

Once the movie is done, Dream hugs him tighter against his chest before he starts to move, sitting up to get on his feet. Something unpleasant stirs in George's chest, but he tries his damn best to play it cool.

"Alright," Dream says and stretches his arms up, shooting George a smile before he looks away. "Looks like the storm stopped, hm?"

As much as he hated it before, now George is reluctant to glance to the window. It's dark outside now, so he doesn't actually see anything, but there's no pitter-patter against the glass anymore, no wind howling around his cottage.

His mouth is uncomfortably dry when he murmurs, "You have to leave, huh?"

"I need some water, yeah," Dream says with a little frown, shaking his fringe away from his eyes. "I could… come back, if you're not tired of me yet. I know it's late, so I get it if you want to go to sleep - wouldn't want to intrude."  

George's head snaps up, a surge of hopeful elation chasing away the cloud that was starting to settle over him.

"You're never intruding," he says, trying to keep his heart from spilling out of his mouth. "You could - umm. Do you… How do you sleep…?"

"What do you mean?"

George awkwardly scratches the back of his head. "I just thought - You could sleep here if you want, but… I don't know if you need to sleep in water or whatever…"

Dream is shaking his head before George even finishes speaking. "I don't have to sleep underwater. It's fine if I, like - go now, and then go again tomorrow morning," he explains, much to George's relief. His eyes are doing that thing where they practically sparkle, a coy twist to his smile that's rarely ever there. "So… is that okay? Can I come back? I promise I'll dry myself after."

George absolutely cannot do anything but stand up and kiss him again. He loves how Dream's hands find his hips on instinct, how it doesn't take him even a second until he reciprocates, gentle and sure, and George's legs are so weak.

"Yes please," he says once their kiss wears off, but they stay close, and he puts his forehead against Dream's. "Please sleep here. Can I - hm - can I come to the beach? While you swim?"

"Mhn, wanna make sure I don't sell my voice to some dumbass sea witch, is that it?" Dream laughs softly. They're close enough that it tickles George's parted lips. "For the record - I would never. I'd probably die if I couldn't speak."

George huffs, because he can imagine that, but he still feels unsteady, off-kilter. His fingers tighten in Dream's hoodie, and he tries not to think about how much the thought unsettles him - that Dream leaves, and everything is weird again.

"Yeah… someone's got to make sure. That you don't do anything stupid."

He does his best to play it cool, but something must show in his face, or maybe it's the combination of his still puffy eyes with the way he can't bring himself to allow more than a couple of inches of space between them. Either way, Dream kisses his forehead with so much tenderness it chips away a little piece of George's heart - or maybe it glues it back together.

"C'mon, I'd love some company." Dream steers George towards the door, sliding their hands together. "Have you ever gone for a night swim?"

George shakes his head, his hand holding on to Dream's tightly. His heart is still fluttering nervously, but Dream's presence is steady next to him, warm and reassuring, and George never wants to have to miss him again.

They take a towel with them - one of the fluffy, big ones that Dream enjoyed so much earlier. It's dark outside, but the thick layer of clouds has started to rip apart in places, allowing glimpses of the stars.

The breeze is still cool, making George shiver a bit even in his hoodie, so he doesn't end up going for a night swim after all. But that's fine - Dream kisses him on the beach, and George gets to sit in the sand and watch as he strips, body laid bare unapologetically, how he splashes into the water and whoops like a child.

George might be a little bit in love with him.

He clings to the hoodie Dream has been wearing, making sure to keep it away from the sand. Dream never disappears for too long and George is thankful for that, even if it might be just some lucky coincidence. He twists and floats on his back, profile made silver by the faint moonlight peeking in through the clouds.

The sound of the ocean is a little hypnotic, ebb and flow and then ebb again, waves lapping against the shore in such a peaceful way it's hard to reconcile with the violence of the storm just this morning.

He wishes he could forget all about it but he can't ignore how fear still lurks deep in his belly.

Before he can fully spiral, though, Dream walks back to him, body glistening in the moonlight. He grins at him and pulls George up, cupping his face in his damp hands and kissing him with lips that taste of salt, peppering his face in them until George laughs.

"Did you miss me?" he asks in between, bumping their noses together.

"Maybe," George admits only because he feels so damn soft and can't keep the smile off his face. Another kiss, and another, and then he wraps Dream up in the towel, delighting in the way he pushes up into the touch like a happy cat. He feels cool under George's hands, chilled by the water, but looks happy, and George already knows that it won't take long at all until Dream is warmed up like his own personal water bottle.

Dream slips back into the sweatpants but keeps the towel wrapped around his bare torso, looking way too adorable for a man who towers over George so easily. They trade a couple more lazy kisses and George's chest feels so full he never wants to stop - between his ribs, there's a space carved exactly right to fit Dream's size. George only hopes he makes a home there.

Dream's hands come up to cradle his face again, his thumb brushing against the puffy skin under his eyes. He kisses the tip of his nose, eyes roaming all over his face. "You look happy now."

It feels like Dream can see right through him, and for a moment, it feels like too much - like he's too exposed, too laid bare, by Dream's eyes on him alone.

It doesn't scare him though. Not like it should.

"I am," he admits instead, fingers curling tenderly around Dream's wrist.

"But earlier there was something wrong, right?" Dream asks quietly. "Not just the storm."

It doesn't surprise George that Dream just knows - he wasn't particularly subtle about it either, he supposes. With a sigh, he lets himself sink forward into Dream's hold and takes comfort in the way Dream's arms wrap around him without pause, holding him gently.

"It's a longer story. I think," he finally admits against Dream's shoulder. "Let's go back and I'll - I'll tell you?"

Because if there's anyone who deserves to know, it is Dream.

They don't really talk much on the way back but the silence isn't heavy, at least George doesn't think so. Each step they take in the damp sand makes him realize that the idea of talking is simply unpleasant rather than outright terrifying. It's a relief, as small as it is. He doesn't want to choke and leave Dream hanging.

Once they are back, they wash their feet in the little tap by the side door before coming in. George splashes Dream's ankles with the hose and they laugh together, but Dream is careful to not escalate it any further. He looks at George with curious eyes - worried eyes - and while he remains quiet, it feels like George's stalling has run its course.

So he talks - haltingly at first, but then finding his footing. It helps, he realizes, that he told all this to Larray only a few hours ago. It makes it easier to figure out where to start - even though it's still different, to tell it to Dream. Larray wasn't the one whose existence was in question, after all.

George can't even bring himself to feel embarrassed about it though, as far-fetched as all that seems now that they're both here. It was something that haunted his childhood, his teenage years - all his life, really. And he's not scared that Dream won't understand.  

There's never pity in Dream's eyes, but he does look sad as George explains his fears and the stupid way he spiraled this morning, even looking a little guilty when George’s voice gets a little choked up. Dream keeps rubbing small circles on the back of his hand, nodding whenever George asks a rhetorical question, and being so damn supportive and lovely George finds himself falling even harder than before. They're sitting together in his bed - in this house George only chose because it was close to the ocean, in the town he had spent barely a couple of weeks in before calling it his new home - and he wants to pull Dream onto him and let him fill all the empty spaces left behind in his chest those words used to occupy.

It's a surprising relief to get everything out there.

"M' sorry," Dream breathes after a few moments when it's clear he has finished saying his piece. "I had no idea - should've tried harder to come see you today."

"No," George shakes his head vigorously, hand tightening around Dream's. He searches his eyes. "I don't want you to take that away from all this. Like - you shouldn't put yourself in danger like that." A small, humorless laugh escapes him. "I've dealt with this all my life, I'm a pro at it."

"Nuh-uh, not anymore," Dream says with a little shake of his head, stubborn as George is learning he can be sometimes. "You don't have to feel like that anymore. I'm - I'm here, and I want - I'll do anything to help you. Anything that helps you believe in - me, or whatever - you tell me, okay? Please?"

And George can't help himself - tears are shooting into his eyes despite the smile that's on his face. He can't be real, not for the fact that he's a merman, but just for how amazing he is - so sweet and attentive that no man on earth could probably compare.

"I do. Believe in you."

Dream grins, chest puffed out, and he pulls George into a much-needed hug where he practically climbs all over Dream's body, toppling them back against the sheets in his haste to get them as close as humanly possible. Dream's chest vibrates under him with his laughter and he helps George get settled without a complaint, wiggling against the sheets until he's propped against a pillow.

"So… you told your friend about me?" he asks, curiosity evident. "Did you send him that picture we took?"

"Actually, no." George shifts just enough to get his phone out, his head still nestled into the perfect crook of Dream's neck. "Which one should I send?"

"Mhn, the one where I'm kissing you," Dream says without missing a beat, hiding a small yawn in the crown of George's head.

George smiles and says nothing, and pulls up the picture (because he knows exactly which one Dream meant). He sends it to Larray without comment and then shows it to Dream with a smile.

Dream looks so pleased that George has to kiss him, his heart fluttering like an excited baby bird.

"I mean it though," he murmurs once they have settled down again, his head back in the crook of Dream's neck. "I don't want you to feel like you have to, like… be here all the time, like I'll lose it if you're not."

"Maybe I want to be here, hm, have you considered that?" Dream's smile is evident in his voice, and he slips his fingers between George's hair, petting it carefully. "Like I said, I don't want to impose but I - I like spending time with you."

It makes George crane his head back so he can look up at Dream, contemplating how anyone can feel like this and stay normal. He feels like he's already entirely crazy for Dream - more than he already has been all his life.

"Okay," he says, a grin blooming on his face. "Glad we've established this."

He gets a kiss on the tip of his nose. Dream wiggles down the bed and they stay cuddled together until they fall asleep. For as tired as George is, he tries to keep himself awake for as long as he can. He watches Dream's eyes flutter close and how his mouth parts around a yawn, breathing evening out as slumber takes over. The soft little puffs of air that fall from his mouth tickle George's cheek and he smiles to himself. He falls asleep not too long after that.

Chapter Text

It might be his imagination, but George would swear to anyone that he has never slept as good as he does that night. The warm solidity of Dream's chest at his back is a comfort beyond measure whenever his mind stirs even subconsciously, and his dreams are sweet.

Before the sun is up, George feels Dream press a soft kiss to his temple and slip out of bed. He doesn't get anxious even for a second because he knows where Dream is going, and that he will be back. So he only hums and snuggles into the warmth Dream leaves behind, to fall back asleep again.

When he wakes up for the second time, he does so curled in Dream's arms, the solid line of his chest pressed against his back. It's been so long since George had anything like this that he pushes back a little, loving how he can feel Dream's arms curl a little tighter around him.

There are soft kisses pressed to the back of his neck and an even softer "Good morning" whispered against his shoulder. Dream's curls tickle his skin and he lets himself be tugged around until Dream can place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It makes George smile, like the simp he is, and he buries his head against Dream's neck to hide it, so happy to be snuggled and held and warmed, the scent of the ocean on Dream's skin.

"Mhhh… morning. Good swim?"

Dream hums, nodding his head like a puppy. It doesn't surprise George at all that he seems to be a morning person. It fits with Dream's brightness.

"Lots of stuff resurfaced because of the rain. Found some cool shells for you," he tells George in a voice full of pride. "Didn't clean them yet but I thought - maybe they could go together with the other one."

George's hold on Dream tightens and he hugs him close, overwhelmed yet again by the sheer force of his adoration for him. "Thank you," he says and presses a kiss to Dream's jaw. "We'll put them up together."

They trade a few lazy kisses in bed, warmth slowly kindling in his belly from the hypnotic way Dream's hand roams over his back. He thinks he could do this whole day - the entire morning for sure - when a knock pulls him out of his bubble.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Dream asks, pulling away to cast a curious look towards the living room.

"No… Probably my neighbor." George is incredibly tempted to just ignore it, stay here in bed with Dream - but Nick and Iris are always great to him, and George would genuinely feel bad. So he sighs and presses another small kiss to Dream's jaw before peeling himself out of bed. He only pulls a sweater over his boxers to make up for the cool morning air and walks to the door, haphazardly trying to fix his hair as he goes.

He opens the front door, but it's not the sight of either of his neighbors greeting him.

"George!" Before he can even comprehend that Larray was the one knocking, he's being pulled into a fierce hug, Larray's familiar perfume enveloping him. "I was so worried! Did you not see my messages this morning?"

"Uhh." George hugs his friend back, moved that he was so worried he apparently has taken it upon himself to come here in person , just to see if he's okay. George really does love him something fierce.

And at the same time, he can't suppress a laugh. "I might have been too busy to look at my phone."

"You're the worst, " Larray fake sniffles into his shoulder, pulling back and completely ignoring George's words in favor of fussing over him. Worry bleeds through Larray's gaze as he looks George over, hands pushing back his fringe almost like he's checking for a fever.

"You were such a mess yesterday, baby… The minute we hung up I started looking up how to get here," he tuts, finally done with his inspection. He picks up a sizable bag from the floor and hikes it up on his shoulder, clearly intent on staying. "C'mon - show me the guest room and then we will talk , I still can't wrap my head around your fish boytoy."

"Your what ?" George hears, muffled, from somewhere behind him, and he gets to see how Larray's mouth falls open, gaze snapping to him in question.

George can only laugh .

Larray gives George a look but then Dream walks out of his room - clad in one of George's oversized shirts, the sight of it doing undisclosed things to his heart - and George feels how his stomach flutters with a thousand butterflies, immediately drawn to him.

"Is this him? " Larray asks in a high voice, eyes as round as Dream gives him a little wave, all shy and cute. "Oh my god. Oh my god . George ."

"I know," he laughs, and then steers Larray inside so he can finally close the door. His friend is still staring in obvious delight, then gives George another look , before he drops his bag on the ground and walks over to Dream. George can practically see him vibrate.

"Hi there! You've been taking care of my boy here, huh? It is great to see you, let me tell you."

Dream preens, offering his hand for Larray to shake. The gesture is a little old-fashioned, and George wonders where exactly Dream picked it up, but Larray is nothing but charmed, grinning from ear to ear. It's such an unexpected sight to see them like this it almost feels surreal, both sides of George's lives clashing together right in front of his eyes.

"It's great to meet you too." George watches the way Dream's arm glints in the morning sun, a lovely pearlescent sheen to his skin. He's so distracted he almost misses the way Dream's grin turns mischievous. "I'm Dream, George's fish boyfriend ."

George should laugh and tease them both back, really. But instead, his heart does a thing when he hears Dream say that, something that makes him quite weak at the knees. So he just listens when Larray says, "Are you actually a merman? Like, actually ? This isn't something you hear every day, you get me?"

"Yeah, I get that. We mostly keep to ourselves, but I could show you," Dream says easily, flickering his fingers towards the ocean outside, but it does make George bristle a little.

Shit. Should Dream even be telling people who he is? George has no idea what's allowed or not, but his hackles rise against any potential threat towards Dream.

"You can't tell anyone, okay?" he finds himself saying, catching Larray's eyes. "Dream is - this has to be a secret."

"Augh, sweetie." Larray crosses the distance between them and pulls him into a warm hug, his face full of sympathy. He squeezes him affectionately and then pulls back to put both hands on George's shoulders. "Your secret is safe with me. Cute little fish boyfriend has no actual fish relation."

"I actually have a tail. And a fin," Dream pipes up from George's side. "It's pretty cool. George looooves it."

"You're making me sound like I have some sort of kink ," George whines while Larray laughs wholeheartedly beside him, so much that George has to elbow him away.

"What's a kink?" Dream asks all innocent which only makes Larray guffaw , bending over his own stomach from the force of his laughter.

"Don't worry about that," George shakes his head, his face flaming, and steers Dream towards the kitchen. "We need to make breakfast. Who wants a coffee?"

George shepherds them into the kitchen, more than glad to shift the conversation onto Larray as he waits for coffee to be ready. Larray wastes no time in launching into a story about his latest fling, surprisingly patient whenever Dream timidly asks for some extra context on what exactly club etiquette is.

It's a far cry from what George imagined his first morning with Dream would be - for starters, there's a lot less kissing involved - but it's still undeniably nice to sit at his small kitchen table and listen to Larray's woes about life in the city, shooting Dream a smile every time their eyes meet.

George really wants to hold his hand.

It's a couple of hours later that Dream murmurs to him that he'll head out for a dip, and George feels his face flush when, after he nods, Dream presses a sweet kiss to his cheek. He heads out with a wave, and Larray watches him with his head propped up on his hand, a bright smile on his face.

The moment the door closes behind Dream, Larray clasps his hands in delight. " Baby , he's wonderful!"

"He's an idiot," George says because the alternative leaves him feeling too raw, but fondness still drips from his voice like honey. His smile is too big. It's obvious how he feels about Dream even if he can't outright say it. "He brought me a seashell yesterday," he boasts, picking it up to show it to Larray. "Cute, right?"

"Aww." His friend studies the shell closely and then gives George a look, glee and delight all over his face. "That's so sweet. This whole thing still sounds unreal , Georgie, I'mma be real. So he's just… out there having a swim now? How does that even work, he just, like, grows a tail ? I'm surprised he's got legs at all." Larray clicks his tongue and gives him a contemplative look. "He does have a dick too, right?"

"Oh my god, Larray," George cackles, face warming up like a flame. He hits his arm as they both laugh together, chest warm from how much he missed this.

That's what makes his tongue a little loose. "Not that is any of your business but - he does have a dick," he fake whispers, loving how Larray's eyes widen. "It's, hm - from what I saw it's pretty nice."

"From what you saw?! Come on,you can't leave me hanging like that!"

"Dream doesn't really do clothes ," he says, just to drag it a little further. "He showed up here all naked yesterday, and whenever he turns back to human he's just… like that."

"Oh my god !" Larray has a hand half covering his open mouth, but the spark in his eyes betrays just how delighted he is. "I mean I guess it makes sense? Shit, did I drop in on you in an inconvenient moment this morning? Are we already in that territory?"

George kind of wishes they were, but at the same time… it feels a little more special like this, doesn't it? At least, this feels much more meaningful than a hookup in some bathroom in a random club.

There's also another little thing to consider - something that hadn't even crossed his mind up to this point.

"I don't even know if he's into that," he shakes his head, falling back against the cushions of the couch with a dramatic sigh. "God. I hope he is."

"Aww, pookie." Larray wraps an arm around his shoulders and hugs him close, and George finds himself grateful, for a change, for his friend's constant urges to provide physical affection. "I'm sure he is, how could anyone not want a piece of that fantastic ass of yours?" he grins and squeezes George close. "How do merpeople have sex at all? Wait, maybe I don't want to know. You can introduce him to the pleasures of human nastiness."

"You're gross. Actually disgusting," George wrinkles his nose, trying and failing to keep a serious face. "Enough about that. Tell me about your nasty human adventures. Dream will be back any minute."

"Fine," Larray laughs, leans against his shoulder, and dives straight in.

Today is a good day.

The sun is shining bright, finally here to stay after two nights of non-stop rain - nothing like that first night, thank god, but still annoying enough to have Larray stuck inside George's house for two days straight.

At least, Dream also stayed with them.

They already began to settle into this rhythm, where George's days start to shape around the times Dream goes out for his swims - some shorter, like those right before and after sleeping, but also the more extended one over midday. George's very flexible coding hours would also come in handy for them. He took that Monday off though, since Larray is still around and will only leave the next morning.

That Monday is also Iris' birthday. On the weekday, she doesn't want to do much, but she still invited George over when they last talked, and when George warns her that he has guests himself, she tells him to just bring them along. Larray is on board, of course. Dream gets a little shy about it, but George can tell that he would love to go as well.

He manages to convince Dream with the power of his own pleading eyes and a new shirt that George got for him in town earlier that day. It's green and soft, brings out Dream's eyes in a way that makes them even brighter, and George can't help but kiss his cheek when he steps out of the bathroom looking all handsome like that.

They arrive at Sapnap's place hand in hand with Larray following close behind. Iris looks cute in her dress, a deep blue that matches the silly party hat that's perched atop her dark hair, and she grins so warmly at all three of them he can feel Dream relax by his side.

"Happy birthday!" George whoops a little lamely, but it does make her laugh so it's all worth it. "This is Dream and that's Larray - he's from back home."

"Welcome, welcome, come in everyone!" she beams and waves them inside, but George sees how she doesn't miss the way their hands are tangled, and then how she gives him an incredibly curious look.

"Happy birthday! I'm Georgie's best friend, still can't believe I lost him to this place. I brought chocolate for you!" Larray is his typical self, proceeding to make friends with Iris and then going to chat with Nick, while Dream is much more shy. He doesn't leave George's side, but he's being so incredibly sweet when he offers Iris a beautiful, pearlescent shell that George is getting cuteness aggression from it.

He reigns in the need to kiss Dream stupid, but it's a near thing.

George watches from a distance as Dream slowly comes out of his shell. Iris is visibly taken by him, especially when one of their kittens comes out of her hiding place and timidly sniffs Dream's calves, purring quietly at him until he picks her up - he looks delighted, such a gentle smile in his face that makes George's heart hurt from watching the scene unfold. He might be making a mental note to find Dream a cat of his own as soon as possible, but that's no one's business but his own.

"George!" Iris whispers, showing up out of nowhere next to him while Nick offers, all excitedly, to introduce Dream to their boy cat as well. "He's such a gem! Is this a new thing? You and him?"

George laughs. Dream has been living in the corners of his mind for so long that he doesn't even know how to answer that without sounding stupid.

"It's pretty recent, yeah," he ends up saying, watching Dream light up when Sapnap manages to coax their second kitten onto his lap. "It was… I didn't see this coming at all."

Iris coos happily and clasps her hands under her chin, her dark eyes shining with excitement. "That's amazing, I'm so happy for you. You'll have to tell me all about that some day, will you? I don't want to put you both on the spot today."

"If I get to hang out with the kittens, sure," he bargains, knowing it was a given anyway. Iris agrees easily and together they watch Sapnap and Dream talk amongst themselves, the kittens perched on his lap as Sapnap distracts them with a piece of yarn.

George's chest squeezes at the sight, especially when Sam joins them. There's a warm smile on his face when he claps Dream on his back, and he has to wonder if Sam is surprised to see Dream out of the water.

"Stinknap better not be trying to scam him," he says after not even five minutes have gone by, looking back at Iris. "We should go there just to make sure."

Iris rolls her eyes at him, but the corners of her mouth are twitching, and her gaze is too knowing . So George hurries over to escape it, and he's being validated when Dream beams at him.

"Hey," he greets him quietly, never taking his eyes off George even as he keeps brushing his hand over the kitten in his lap, the sister dozing against his stomach. "Look at them - they're so sweet ."

George smiles at him, sitting down as close as he can get away with before Larray is back to call them clingy. He just - he can't help it. Dream is like the sun and George is helpless to fall into his orbit.

"Didn't know you were a cat person. I feel like I should have seen this coming," he says in the same hushed tone of voice, ignoring Sapnap's eye roll. "Do you have any pets I don't know of, hm?"

"There are seals I love to play with," Dream whispers back and then steals a quick kiss to George's temple that leaves him flushing with warmth. "I'll have to introduce you."

The mental image of Dream playing with seals almost takes him out, but he manages to survive it by squeezing Dream's hand. He takes note to not forget about this - maybe they can go swimming one of these days again.

Larray also stops by to coo at the little kittens, and soon enough there's a slight crowd hanging around them. Dream excuses himself to go to the bathroom, probably to wash his face and wrists like he had talked about before leaving the house, and George catches how Sam looks at him knowingly, helping him get the kittens transferred from his lap to Sapnap's without too much of a fuss.

The girl kitten doesn't want to stay though and slips away, and when Larray and Sapnap start playing with her brother, George gets up and makes his way over to Sam, rubbing his hands a little awkwardly because he's got nothing else to do with them.

There's a mildly amused look on Sam's face when George fails to actually say something right away. Thankfully, he puts him out of his predicament a moment later.

"I met him two years ago," he says with a little smile, quiet enough that no one else should hear them. "Out there."

"Did you know he was…" He draws a blank on how to say it, especially because they aren't really alone. "Was he the first you saw?

But Sam nods, a fond look on his face, and that does make George feel a little better. "I really think he isn't supposed to, as far as I can tell. But I think he's too curious and friendly for all that secrecy."

It's impossible to keep himself from smiling. That does sound like Dream.

"I met him when I was kid," George finds himself saying. He realizes he kind of wants to tell the truth here, especially after fumbling for an answer when Iris asked. "My parents were vacationing here, and we just… became friends. For years I thought I only imagined him."

Sam looks at him with surprise, and then his expression morphs into sympathy. "Huh. That's one hell of a thing to carry around with you. Is that why you came back?"

He shrugs, kicking a loose pebble toward a bush, something to distract him from the itchy feeling of letting some of his walls down, even if just a little. "We met by chance, actually. I wasn't, like, expecting to run into him again."  

Sam hums, but the way George catches him looking at him makes him think he might not believe that entirely. He doesn't put George on the spot about it though, just says, "But maybe you hoped," with a kind look on his face, and gives him a smile. "He's quite special. It's good to hear that you found each other again."

George nods. He's been so swept up by Dream he never put in the effort to really get close to anyone other than Sapnap, but Sam's kindness makes him regret that a little. Maybe, moving forward, he can try branching out more.

"We got lucky," he says, cringing at himself at how soft he sounds. Sam doesn't call him out on it though, which earns him even more points. Sapnap better be careful, or he will steal his spot as George's favorite person in town.

It's a weird feeling that hits George right then, looking around and seeing these people that have taken him into their midst, that he likes to be around.

He could just stay here. Actually stay. And be happy.

That's when Dream reappears, his face lighting up when he finds George, and he beelines towards them. "Hi!" he chirps, and Sam grins back at him, and George just wants to kiss him all over again. "Fancy seeing you two here."

Dream fits seamlessly to his side, like he was always supposed to be there. It's another little realization that leaves him feeling all warm inside - if he allows himself to picture a life in this little town, Dream is the first thing that takes shape in that fantasy, bright and warm where he would meet George after one of his swims at the beach.

He could stay. He might want to.

George lets his head sink against Dream's shoulder and listens to him and Sam talk, affectionate and happy around each other, and a feeling of warmth spreads slowly in his chest until it has reached the very tips of his fingers. The faint hint of salt from Dream's skin underlines every breath George takes, and he feels… 

Home. This, here, is home.

Maybe it always was.

Dream leaves them alone the next morning with a kiss to George's forehead and a promise to meet up by the beach later. For as much as he loves Dream's company, George appreciates the privacy - it's already embarrassing enough to be holding back tears with only Larray as his witness, he would actually die if Dream was there too.

"You have to come back," George whines, hiding his face in Larray's shoulder when they hug goodbye for the seventh time. "Leave your stupid job and move closer."

His friend laughs in his ear and squeezes him tightly. "You were the one who left me. But I get it now." He presses a kiss into George's hair and then moves back just enough that he can put both hands on George's shoulders and look him in the face. This time, his smile is a little softer, warmer. "I'm not going to ask you to leave what you've found here."

George pouts, squirming under Larray's scrutiny. It's good Larray isn't asking him to come back - he doesn’t think he would be able to leave. "I'll come visit. Sleep in your bed and everything. Won't get rid of me that easily."  

"As if I'd ever let you get away from me." Larray pulls him back in so they can hug tightly and George feels near overwhelmed with gratitude for his friend. "We're calling once a week, I want to be kept in the loop of all the hot gossip about your fish boyfriend and also everyone else."

"Fine. I guess I'll share," he agrees easily. Larray looks so proud of him that George kind of chokes on his own feelings. If Larray doesn't leave soon, he will start crying again. "Shoot me a message when you get there, okay?"

"Of course. I'll talk to you soon, Georgie," Larray says and squeezes him again quickly because the uber they called for him is just pulling up.

His bag is loaded in a matter of seconds, and then George watches as his friend is driven away, waving at him until they're around a corner and out of view.

George’s heart aches as soon as he closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, his house feels too quiet without Larray's bright voice calling out for him, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on it. There's someone waiting for him out there in the ocean.

George makes quick work of changing into his shorts and a lighter shirt, feet carrying him outside and to the warm sand in just a few minutes. The sun greets him like an old friend, warm against his face, and in the distance, George can already see something moving in the water.

He breaks into a sprint, splashing water everywhere as he heads towards Dream. The water flies around his feet in cold, foamy bursts, but George can't help but feel like he's getting used to it. Like somehow, it will also be a small part of him eventually. He jumps into the vast blue fearlessly, swimming out into the open ocean like no sensible person ever should.

Only he knows that he's safe. That the ocean is his friend, in the form of a beautiful boy with dark blond curls and the most wonderful smile.

The salt stings in his eyes, but he opens them underwater anyway, diving forward. And then, there he is - a blurry shape, but unmistakable, with his pretty tail and the little fins, a halo of hair, and that wonderful smile drifting close until the tips of their noses bump.

When George breaks the surface for air, Dream's head pops out right after him. George reaches out to push his wet fringe away from his eyes, fingertips brushing against the green-ish scales that line his forehead.

"That tickles," Dream chuckles but lets George do as he pleases, even tilting his head sideways to bask in the touch. "Was everything okay with Larray?"

"Yes," he says but pouts anyway. "I'm going to miss him."

Dream's face morphs into one of sympathy and he leans forward to press a kiss to George's forehead. George leans into him, hooking his arms over his shoulders to allow him to keep them both afloat. His legs are tugged up and around Dream's waist as they sway with the gentle waves. It's really peaceful out here, the sun not yet as hot as it could get around midday. There are no boats or other swimmers around them for as far as George can see, only Dream and his shimmering tail coming up to playfully splash him from time to time.

"I like your friend but I kinda missed swimming with you," Dream says after a little while. "Our next date should be something like this."  

"Something like this?" George feels so comfortable here, wrapped around Dream, out in the open ocean with the beach a small strip in the distance from here. He nudges his nose against Dream's cheek and smiles. "You'll show me your world?"

Dream nods, a lopsided grin taking shape on his lips. "I'll even do, like, a whole production about it. Sing a song like that movie we watched."

The thought makes George cackle, and he presses his face into the crook of Dream's neck. There's a serenity swirling in his chest, lazy and warm, a happiness that fills every single one of his cells.

He's so, so incredibly happy.

"You should. It'd be very romantic ," he grins, hikes himself up a little higher on Dream's hips, and beams down at him. "And now you should kiss me."

Dream squeezes his waist and gives him a peck that ends way too soon. George is about to complain when he steals another quick kiss. "Mhn, how about a race? Winner gets a kiss?"

"That's entirely unfair on the basis of you having fins," George steals another kiss, "and also completely unnecessary because," and another, "we can just kiss right here, right now ."

"Maybe," Dream says right against his lips, "you're just afraid?" Another kiss, this time a longer one, enough for him to taste the salt straight off his lips. "Have you thought about that, mhm?"

The next kiss is longer, deeper, and George can't help but think he will want forever more. And the best thing is - he thinks he might be allowed more, forever.

"Nope," he says when they part. George reaches up to caress the side of Dream's face, taking in this boy turned man he had missed for so long . "Not afraid of anything."

Not anymore.