Archive of Our Own

George is never going on a date again, and he’s fine with that. Or, he will be fine with it, once he stops fuming in the backseat of an Uber. 

He’s drafting a truly scathing text to the man he met up with today, still undecided on whether or not he should send it or just block him from everywhere and also delete Tinder from his phone. It shouldn’t be so hard to find men that are attractive, single and also decent people, but every person he ends up meeting turns out to be just assholes that he’s about ready to discard the idea altogether. After he decides if it’s even worth it to spend one more second interacting with this man, he will ponder if it’s worth it to moan in Larray’s DMs about his stupid, terrible taste in men. 

It’s as he’s opening his messaging app when the driver pulls a sudden stop, making George almost drop his phone. He makes sure to grab a firm hold of his iPhone, before he looks forward and sees what has forced his driver to stop so suddenly. 

There is… a prince in the middle of the road. 

Of course, it’s not a real prince. He thinks he knows them very well, being from the great UK and all that, and the person interrupting the main street doesn’t look like anything like the King’s sons. Rather, the man looks as if they had plugged one of those fantasy Disney princes from their movie and donned an expensive wedding suit, then dropped him in the middle of LA’s streets. He is gleaming, like he is donned in diamonds weaved into fancy fabric, and he’s about to get himself killed if he doesn't get out of the intersection any time soon. 

Looking closely, George notices on the other side of the road there has been an altercation that he has no doubt this man has probably caused by being a walking reflector moving so bizarrely. George, for some reason, feels bad about the dude, because he truly looks terribly confused and concerned, and George could bet that the taxis and other cars yelling at him from the crash site weren’t helping. The Uber driver looks at George with a what can you do small stare, and they both keep staring at the man in the middle, who’s so ready and willing to speak to every man who stalks up to him, even if their bravado is lost when they notice how tall the cosplayer is.  

However, being a single father raising a kid has clued George in how to notice when a person is two seconds away from crying. 

He spares a small moment to curse his own softened heart, and he asks the Uber to wait for him as he opens the door. The man yells something about a rate as George burrows deeper into his jacket and walks up to the poor soul who probably walked out of a convention, or a madhouse. 

He hears a short, bald man shouting profanities at him and really, George understands being mad, but there’s just no need to speak that way to a stranger, let alone a stranger that seems to just be taking it with tears in his eyes and a pout. 

“Hey, Prince Charming,” George says, and to his awe, the cosplayer responds to the nickname with a frankly incredible mood shift.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” He proclaims, which again, insane, but George is going to roll with it if he can save this man and maybe give him some cab money. Again, curse his soft, really annoying heart. “Do you recognize me, good stranger?”

“Yeah, bro, you’ve had a bit too much,” George says, the best excuse he can come up with to drag him away. “Y’know, Aurora and the girls are waiting for us, we better not make them wait. Sorry, dude.” He barely says to the cab driver, who looks a bit stunned to speak. 

“Aurora? I frankly do not know her,” Prince Charming—his name until George finds something better, he supposes—says, with such a genuinely confused tone that he may not realize what a stupid joke he made. George still giggles. 

At least George is getting something from this small intervention: Prince Charming is hot. Hotter than his failed date at any rate, and hotter than maybe most of his most recent attempts at dating and hookups. He’s tall, as established, towering over George and making him have to look up to lock eyes with him in a way that makes him feel something. His face is both attractive and really cute, the lights of a still awake city creating a halo around his brown, perfect curls that reminds George of ancient gods, for some reason. He has very nice lips, which George notes for no reason at all. 

He reminds himself this man may be gorgeous but he’s insane enough to walk into a road intermission, and George is done with dating. Not that he thinks mental health centers allow their residents to date. Maybe they do. George still grabs Prince Charming’s hand as he walks him away from the noise when he very well could have taken his wrist. His hands are decked in silk gloves. Jesus. 

His Uber driver looks terrified as George gently shoves the man into their back seat. “Are you sure he’s safe?” They whisper, not very quietly. Prince Charming looks, for some reason, to have calmed down. His eyes curiously take in the inside of the car they’re in. 

“Don’t worry, he’s fine,” George lies. “I’ll tip you.” 

The Uber makes no further protests and Prince Charming seems all too fascinated by the street lights to speak. George, rule of three, curses his own heart as it skips a beat with how the man’s eyes shine. 

“That’s one strange carriage,” is all Prince Charming says after George has paid his Uber and they’re left at his apartment building, his top floor suite waiting for him. He stares at the strange man, who really looks even more insane in the insufficient lighting of his street.

Up close, his suit is even more strange. George barely knows about fashion, but one skill he does possess is being able to tell expensive wardrobes. The suit he’s donned must’ve cost hours to produce and weave, on top of being most likely tailor-made to fit him, clinging to the man’s waist and shoulders in a perfectly entrancing way. George wonders for only five seconds how the man looks underneath all that, because he is human and not from some fantasy land where his thoughts can stay pure. But he’s brought back to reality soon enough. 

“Hey,” George begins, but his throat closes when he realizes he really has no plan. The hour is so late that he could maybe hope to order another Uber, but he doesn’t know anything about the man, and small talk has never been his strongest suit. “Um, do you wanna go up?” 

Prince Charming blinks. “Up in the sky?” 

“No, like. Upstairs. That’s where I live.” 

“I don’t see a palace or cabin,” Prince Charming states, looking like he’s worried for George. 

“Okay,” George says, because while some part of him thinks he’s being messed with, the man’s eyes make him believe that he is genuinely unused to the concept of apartment buildings. George should’ve probably left him back then, but he feels like giving him change money and sending him into the Westwood Villa streets on his own would be cruel now. Almost like abandoning a puppy on the street. He sighs. “Okay. Just follow me, I’ll show you where you can crash tonight.” 

“I’ve had enough of crashing today,” the poor man says. 

Thankfully, Prince Charming has enough sense to follow him into the outdated elevator, still creaking and transparent despite all the innovations made to the entire building. It’s sort of charming to George, but he understands why, after such a strange day, that Prince Charming must’ve had in Los Angeles streets, he gets significantly creeped out by the loud noises the elevator makes. It reminds George of Luca, of when he was barely just walking and he would always wail to be picked up whenever they used the elevator, even convincing George a few times of walking the twenty steps so as to not frighten him. He wonders if Prince Charming is just unused to them. 

Talking about him, George really needs to get a name from him, and stop calling him Prince Charming. 

“So what’s your name? Is there anyone I can call for you?” George asks, politely, as the elevator dings and he fishes his keys to his apartment. 

“Oh, I apologize for the rudeness, my name is Dream,” Prince Charming, which really is not that much of a better nickname than Dream, says; and then his face does something truly incredible as it softens, a huge hand holding George’s shoulder. It’s warm where it shouldn’t be, and this close he can tell the gloves are muddied. “And do not fret! I have been sent to this… place by an evil, evil old man, but my one true love, Prince Sam, is coming for me!”

That is. A lot. 

“Sure,” George says. It really is just better to roll with the crazy and hope the guy isn’t an actual nutcase. George’s noticed the sword in his hip already and he’s all kinds of worried, but at the same time, he finds it hard to believe Dream could hurt a single soul. Thank god Luca is having a sleepover with a friend of his. “Is there a number I can call this, uh, prince Sam? Or an address? Anything I can google, really.” 

“He is from the Essempi Kingdom,” Dream tells him easily, as he inspects George’s home and keeps picking up and putting back his decorations. Kind of rude, but that’s what he gets for inviting a strange man into his house, he supposes. “And I was born and raised in the XD forest, but I wouldn’t expect any of the animals to be able to travel this far for me.” 

“Right.” George nods. “Well, you can use your phone and text him to pick you up here, I can write the address for you.” 

“What’s a phone?” Dream, so innocently, asks. 

He doesn’t know what the diagnosis for a mental breakdown is, but he assumes that’s what Dream must be experiencing. Or maybe George is the one with the illness, because he can’t quite shake the way Dream’s clothes, sword, and general fairytale-like appearance confirm the load of insanities that he is maybe saying the truth. 

More or less, Dream’s stupid life—in case it is true, and not a con artist's speech, or a mental breakdown— can be resumed into a fairy tale. 

Abandoned as a baby and raised by animals, Dream had learned how to wield a sword to protect his beloved forest from the King’s greedy forces. He was almost taken out by one of the King’s forces when the heir, Prince Awesam of Essempi, had discovered his father’s vile plans and saved Dream, finding his own true love. This had been confirmed by singing a duet and defeating the evil King. 

“By singing a song,” George deadpans. 

“Obviously!” Dream answers, like George is asking him if the sky is blue. “How else would you fall in love with someone?” 

George decides not to answer, and lets him continue his tale. But it turns out there isn’t much more to it: they were to be married after a day and a half of engagement before Dream was tricked by an old, very ugly man into falling into a well. He’d woken up in the middle of the street, and had been completely lost until George had found him. “All I hope is to return to my beloved soon,” Dream sighs at the end of his tale. 

“I guess I always assumed Disney was homophobic,” George mutters more to himself than anything. Dream still hears him, and he’s fascinated to discover that whatever fantasy-land Dream does come from is actually homonormative. The more you know!

But the problem with Dream’s story was that for all that he had a nice voice and his way of weaving a tale catches George’s particularly wandering attention span, he doesn’t give George any landmarks. Dream’s accent is American, and so George assumes he’s from the country they’re sitting in at least, and the mention of swamps surrounding his magical forest naturally reminds him of the horror stories Sylvee has told him about her family back in Florida, but Dream doesn’t recognize the place. He does mention being on friendly terms with the local alligators, which mostly makes George lean into the “escaped from a local madhouse” theory. Still, again, George’s heart twists with sympathy at how lost the poor guy looks. He looks out of place with his wedding clothes, sitting in George’s messy, not-prepared-for-anything-but-a-hook-up living room. And Dream's sad, downturned eyes remind George of the movies he used to watch with his sister, the lost heroine having a heart to heart with the audience about her struggles. 

“Hey,” he tells Dream gently, after trying to google Essempi once again and finding nothing at all. “Listen, I’m going into the office tomorrow. I can ask one of the girls there to look up your place with our corporates’ resources, it won’t take a minute, and then we can send you on your way to your prince, alright?” 

Dream’s eyes turn to George, who notices the moisture there. God, he feels really bad for him. “Thank you, kind sir George.” 

George doesn’t blush at the honorific. “Just George is fine, really. You should, uh, refrain from calling people sir. It’s not common here.” 

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Dream apologizes immediately, his face softening even more, somehow. His lips are jutting out in a very distracting pout. Fuck Disney princes, seriously. 

Then his mind says,  you would like that, wouldn’t you. He simply turns away from the very attractive and very taken man in front of him, going inside his room to gather a few oversized pajamas he owns. 

“Do you need some sleep clothes? I think these could…” He starts saying, but when he comes back, he finds that Dream has contorted himself into a very uncomfortable-looking position on his couch, with his gigantic body barely fitting the slim mattress. His face looks, somehow, peaceful. He seems a lot younger than he did a few minutes prior, all of a sudden. He hadn’t noticed how tense Dream’s face was until this right moment. 

George wonders just how much hurt Dream brushed over in his fairy tale. 

He leaves a change of clothes for tomorrow right next to his face, and fetches one of Luca’s quilts to gently drape over him. 

George wakes up by something that had never managed to wake him before: the light of the sun. His apartment faces the way the sun rises up, and he’d invested very early on in blackout curtains for that reason. 

For some reason, those blackout curtains are drawn wide open, and a flutter of wings disappear from his sight in seconds, going out from his unlocked door—another anomaly—and apparently following the idyllic singing that seems to come from the living room down the hall. These facts don’t strike him as odd right that second. It’s not until he closes his eyes again that his brain reminds him his son was out on a sleepover and was very kindly being driven home early by Larray, who definitely expects compensation in the way of juicy gossip about his date, and who will be arriving any second now. 

He jumps out of bed. 

What he finds in his living room is nothing short of a disaster. Dream has apparently decided to help him out by—bringing all sorts of pests into his house. Worst of all, they seem to be obeying him, all following the commands he’s singing to them. 

Dream’s singing voice is sweet. What a shame he’s fucking insane. 

George stays frozen at the beginning of the hall, listening to the way he’s making up a perfect tune on the spot and leading fucking pigeons to organize his plates. Jesus. Don’t those have diseases? George is pretty sure they have diseases. He’s gonna have to hire a fucking exterminator to make sure they didn’t track any dirt into his apartment. Fucking hell. 

“Sing along, if you cannot sing then hum along…” Dream continues singing, a melody apparently made up on the spot, as he’s dusting the last remains of dust off George’s liquor cabinet, which will really take a hit once Dream leaves and George has to check his bank account and all the last minute payments that will go through it. Still, he hates that his heart still goes all fucking squishy at seeing this man with his wedding suit, pristine and perfectly looking at nine in the morning, cleaning his cabinets with rats dancing around his ankles. 

It does terrible things to his psyche. Terrible. 

“Dream,” he says, making him jump a little in surprise. Cute. The cockroaches that fall from his hand at the movement, less so. “What the fuck?”

“Sir—George! Good morning!” He smiles, his eyes crinkling as he does so. He waves his hand very excitedly. “I could not thank you enough for your generosity, and so I decided to help you clean! You see, I am the main cleaner at my house, but I usually have little critters to help. This town is so different and strange! The only creatures were these small friends,” he says, leaning down to brush with his white gloves a gigantic rat. “They were so helpful. I am exhausted, though. Is there a well where I can bathe nearby?” 

George counts his blessings when he sees the small pests cower under his gaze.  “Something even better. Let me show you the bathroom again.”

He gets rid of the vermin in less than five minutes. It’s almost satisfactory, but he makes a mental note to have a brief discussion with Dream as to why these friends are so different from whatever small, cartoon little friends he has in Essempi land. 

He’s focused on figuring out if the food is safe to eat—it doesn’t look like it was tempered with, but—as Dream emerges from the hallway bathroom. Wearing nothing but a robe George lent him. 

George likes to think of himself as an atheist, and he behaves as such. If there’s someone up there, they have never particularly helped him. But he wishes he had a higher being to beg for mercy for the torture of having such a man naked in his living room, and not being able to do anything about it. He doesn’t think about the water dripping from Dream’s hair to his big shoulders, not where else he could make him sweat. 

“Your clothes are a tad too small for me,” he says, apologetic, and George bites back his impulsive response. Which was more like you look good naked than anything appropriate to share with another human being. Fuck. He needs to get laid before he starts to proposition fairytale princes that appear in the middle of busy LA streets. 

“Um, I’m sorry about that, surely we can find—” he starts, but his voice gets interrupted by someone struggling with the front door and noises he knows very, very well. When he looks at the clock on top of his cabinet, he notices exactly what time it is. Ten til ten am, the exact time Larray said he would drop Luca by so George could take him to school. In his office clothes, not his ratty pajamas, and with a gorgeous blonde naked in his house. He leans toward the door to see it open slowly, like in a horror movie.

It takes two seconds for Larray to cover Luca’s eyes, much to his displeasure. “Pookie! What is this?!” 

“Dream, you can look for clothes in my bedroom.” He says, using his stern dad voice. It’s surprisingly effective on Dream, who simply turns back to find George’s bedroom. “Larray, I am begging you to keep Luca preoccupied and ask questions later.”

“I will just help myself to your kitchen then,” Larray says, with a small frown. He’s probably miffed about not being allowed to dig immediately. “Luca, how’d you feel about getting to eat cookies before lunch?"

George will kill him once he is out of panic mode. 

“What’s this about?” His very smart son answers. Then, he seems to understand the power of Larray being the one to serve him breakfast. “Ohhh, can we get some oreos, please?”

“But of course! Pancakes with oreos sound like a good breakfast,” Larray says, leading Luca away. Before he leaves George’s line of sight, he mouths Sorry baby. George is close to banging his head against a wall, but he needs to get dressed, make sure Dream isn’t about to do another stupid thing inside his bedroom, and eat something. He runs towards the bathroom with never-before-seen urgency. 

When he enters his own room to dress himself, he finds it empty, which is a lucky coincidence before he realizes he can’t find Dream anywhere. He rushes through getting presentable for a meeting with his bosses, which he totally didn’t forget was today with the Disney prince debacle, and he gets to the kitchen to find Dream in a brand new suit that looks scarily close to one of his old green linens, and talking excitedly with his son about what looks to be sports. Not just any, but American football.

Or whatever the Essempi equivalent is, which appears to be quite similar, given how Luca is excitedly explaining something his favorite player—Caleb Williams, George remembers—did the last time he watched him play. He sits down on the table in a daze, barely being able to control his breathing from all his rushing. 

Larray places a plate of very tasty-looking pancakes in front of him, and sits to his right.

“I don’t know how, but they both discovered they like sports,” Larray explains to him, biting into the pancake that he just placed in front of George to be a bitch. George digs his elbow into him but it barely deters him. “And they haven’t spoken about anything else for the last ten minutes. You’re surrounded by nerd jocks, baby.” 

“Dad!” Luca smiles, excitedly. “I love Dream! He was telling me all about how he was the best player in his town.” 

“When your competition is squirrels and deer, it’s quite easy,” Dream says, his expression slightly flustered by the praise. George smiles at him and wonders if he is blushing, too. He’s half tempted to use his hand to check his temperature, the same way he does his own son, and barely restrains himself.  

“So what’s the plan?” Larray asks him, bringing him back to Earth. “I can drop off our little friend at school, but I have plans this afternoon, baby.” He looks apologetic enough, and George can’t find the words enough to thank him. 

“Don’t worry, I have it figured out. This whole… thing will resolve soon.” He tells him, promising the story for later. Larray accepts it easily, and he goes back to eating his own pancakes. “Thank you for the food, too.”

“Anything for my baby,” Larray smiles, knocking his shoulder into George’s. Dream suddenly gasps, interrupting the small rant match he was having with Luca. 

“Is this your own true love, George?” Dream asks, looking between them with a new, strange expression on his face. It turns to shock when both Larray and George break into laughter. Even Luca seems amused by the question. 

“George wishes,” Larray says, actually cleaning the tears from his eyes. George needs to take a break from laughing to drink a cup of apple juice, lest he actually choke.

“You would say that,” George replies in kind, pushing Larray’s face away when he tries to kiss him. “Dream, he’s lying. We are not like that.” It’s very important to George to say this. That is, before he remembers the pretty, silver band in Dream’s left hand, much more noticeable now that he’s ditched his silk gloves. Dream’s hands are very, terribly attractive, because nothing in George’s life is fair. 

He looks up to see Dream blinking at him, the weird expression from before transformed into something much more gentler, a mellowed version of his burning curiosity yesterday. He looks like he wants to ask something, but can’t find the words for it. 

The moment passes when George’s alarm goes off, and he remembers there’s a kid who very much needs to go to school, and he can’t afford to be fired in these conditions. 

He looks at Larray again, whose eyes are going between Dream and himself in a way George really doesn’t like. “Later,” he grumbles. 

After kissing Luca goodbye and ignoring most of Larray’s pointed glances, he orders another Uber. He doesn't want to suffer through the metro with Dream’s endearing but quite dangerous intrigue, and he is working against the clock for once in his life. He prides himself in being a responsible and integral part of the company, and appearing at almost noon in their office is breaking that carefully constructed projection. 

More so, the gossip will be insufferable after walking in with Dream in arms. “Hey, I need you to listen to me. It’s best if you keep quiet, okay?” 

Dream pays attention to his warnings and swears on his life—a bit excessive, but it works— to stick to George’s side until he can talk to Gia about everything, and he’s quiet and a little cowered as they walk into Munchy offices. The big windows and modern architecture are a familiar and ever welcoming sight for George, but he guesses it’s as odd as the elevator or the big, bright publicity signs outside had been. It strikes him as odd that Dream doesn’t immediately go study the abstract art paintings Bad has insisted the lobby for the fifth floor needed, though. 

Gia looks like the cat that got the cream when George enters the lobby. “Rough Friday?” she asks, like she didn’t leave on read George’s desperate texts about whatever the fuck Essempi is. “Didn’t find anything, by the way. Are you going to introduce me to your pretty friend?” 

“This is Dream. Dream, she’s Gia. I’m paying her to babysit you today for a bit,” he says, rolling his eyes at her offended face. 

“You pay me to make sense of your schedule. You’re giving me a bonus for this.” Then, her entire face changes when she gets a good look at Dream. “Oh my, your suit is amazing! Is that a custom coat? It’s a pleasure!”

Dream seems to come alive once again at Gia’s excited words. “Thanks! I practiced a bit of fancy needlework after moving into the castle. I made it myself,” he says, and twirls in a cute way that makes Gia clap her hands, delighted. George is genuinely shocked to realize Dream has given himself an entirely new outfit in less than an hour. 

And he feels bad about clipping Dream’s wings earlier. But he can’t dwell on it, with his meeting with his boss and their primary shareholders in about… 

“Two minutes. But don’t worry, Bad is coming to collect you. Right now. Like, behind you,” Gia says, and before George can even begin to process what she’s saying, he can hear a familiar voice greeting him. 

“George! You’re here just in time, the meeting is about to start,” Bad laughs. “For a second, I couldn’t find you upstairs. Geez, I was getting worried!” 

“Bad, hi. Sorry, there was—something. The kid, you know how it is,” George says, the lame excuse tying his tongue. He’s all too aware of Dream still talking with Gia to the side of them, worried Bad will notice the 6 foot something anomaly in their floor. 

Thankfully, Bad seems none the wiser. “Oh, I know that’s right! You see, this morning, Rat was all over me, she’s so sweet, but she would not let me get up! Oh, it was infuriating, but super cute,” he says, starting to walk towards the elevator. George scrambles to follow him, dreading the fact that he doesn’t have his notes printed and he will have to make do with his laptop, trying not to get distracted. “But, ah, well, when I arrived that late and didn’t find you, I got worried. You know who’s coming to this one meeting, right?” 

George tries to remember if there was anyone very important attending. He can barely remember the names, but he’s pretty sure they’re accounting for Bad, Sylvee, some of the Spanish branch members and… 

“Skeppy,” he says. Skeppy waves back from the elevator, as Bad takes a harsh step back, as if physically punched. 

“Oh wow, he’s really happy to see me,” Skeppy says, huffing a small bitter laugh. “I didn’t find either of you in the meeting room, so I was planning to snoop.” 

This was what George was forgetting. Their divorce couldn’t have been longer than a month ago, and this was one of the last meetings Skeppy was meant to have until he sold his shares of the company to start his own business. The argument that had broken them had happened in this exact building, less than a year ago. 

Fuck. This was awkward. 

He walks them to the elevator and sends the smallest glance backwards, to check on Dream, who is staring at the paintings in the exact way George thought he would. He lets himself forget all about that situation and his mind goes back to keeping the peace.

The tension in the room is enough to drown them, and the only few reasons he can keep himself from yelling out in frustration is sharing annoyed glances with Sylvee every time Skeppy and Bad find themselves in a meaningless argument, or checking the texts Gia sends him. 

Only you would find someone like this

I’ve tried everything, I even tried to let him browse the web

I don’t think he understands how Google works 

Nothing about Essempi?

Nope

Unless you can help me and tell me if L’manberg is an European city

I lived half my life in Spain and never heard of it 

I don’t think it’s from the UK either 

So you’re fucked 

You’re annoying.

There’s something to be said about befriending your employers. He looks back at Sylvee, who’s staring at him confused, and he opens their DMs as Skeppy goes back to taunt Bad about a deal he made maybe five years ago. George hasn’t been keeping track, and neither has any other executive outside of the bitter couple. 

Instead of a simple question, he finds an accusation. Ansi from legal said she saw you walk in with a very rich dude. Thoughts?

He doesn’t bother to answer her. Instead, he rasps his throat to catch the attention of the only two talking members. “May we move to the next point?” 

Ignoring the elephant in the room works wonderfully. They manage to craft a truly excellent plan of action for Skeppy’s leave of the company, and while George is disappointed to see him go, he’s excited to see what he will make for himself now. Maybe he will ask him for drinks once he fixes the entire Dream thing. He dreads how everything about it will go—he assumed bringing an attractive man with no business relationship was due to spark a bit of gossip, but if it’s reached the Legal department from another floor in the middle of the day, he doesn’t know how he’ll manage with the questions the next Monday will bring. The weekend is only a small blessing when he knows how stubborn Sylvee can be with questions, considering how much he’s treasured his privacy the past few years. 

Dream is an oddity, as usual. A force that shatters the mold. 

Talking about Dream, he finds him sooner than he expected, outside of the meeting room with Gia in tow. 

Sylvee leans into him in a very suspicious way. “Is that your boy toy?” 

George scoffs. “You need to stop gossiping with Shadoune and Ansi.” 

She smiles innocently. “She said you two were holding hands. I haven’t seen you be that affectionate with anyone ever.” 

“She better get better glasses,” George says. Sylvee’s giggles follow him as he makes his way to Dream, but he’s interrupted by the man himself looking their way and being surprised by Skeppy’s many gems. Like a moth to a flame, he is drawn to Skeppy’s diamond jewelry. It makes sense, he guesses, since Dream seems to have had a particular interest in pretty things. He still feels a little scorned for not being the one who Dream walks towards. 

“You are beautiful,” Dream says, and George represses a shiver at how earnest he is. If Skeppy is bothered by the compliment, he doesn’t show it. The one who is annoyed is Bad, who stands next to George and says something angrily under his breath.  

“Huh?” George asks, not wanting to get his eyes away from Dream for a second. He tries telling himself he’s just wary because of the last time he say Dream talking to another man, ignoring that he was fully capable of speaking with Larray without causing any issues. 

“Who’s that guy?” Bad huffs, a little bit louder. 

“It’s a friend. Oh, well, an acquaintance.” George says, cringing a bit at his own words. He’s not known Dream for long enough to call him a real friend. Those are hard to come by. But there’s something intoxicating about Dream, that makes him feel like he’s known him for ages. 

Bad only makes a small, annoyed noise in acknowledgment. George does a double take and, surely enough, his eyes are squinting in a way he’s familiar with. Now that’s juicy gossip. 

Dream gushes some more about Skeppy’s jewelry, which Skeppy blooms under. George can understand; it feels good to be complimented by such a gorgeous man. He ignores his desire to intervene and take Dream away from him, because it wouldn’t be a nice thing to do. He grinds his teeth and lets it happen, . 

“The man you love is very lucky to have you,” Dream says. George’s blood goes cold, and he can feel Bad tense next to him. 

Skeppy’s smile turns sour. “Well, you should tell him that.” He points his head in Bad’s direction, who does a very bad job of pretending to not be listening. 

Dream’s face falls. It’s almost comical. “Is he not aware? Are you not his husband?” 

There’s a moment of tense silence, when Bad’s mouth sets into a hard line and he stares at Skeppy like he’s the key to everything. George feels sweat pooling in the back of his neck, nervousness unlike anything he’s felt this entire day. 

“Well, not actually!” Skeppy says. He looks annoyed now, and Dream’s face falls even further as he lets go of Skeppy’s hand gently.

George hurries to Dream’s side and drags him away immediately. “Oh my god, Dream, why the fuck would you say that to him! They just got divorced!”

“What?” Dream asks, his face twisted into a pout. It looks wrong. He isn’t meant to look sad. “What do you mean?”

“They separated. They aren’t married anymore.” George hisses. 

Dream looks even more confused about that. “For how long?” He asks, his lip quivering. 

“Forever, duh,” George answers, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t believe the explanation is needed until Dream bursts into tears right in front of him.

He can vaguely hear the gasps and comments behind him, the small “oh, muffins” and chaos. His mind zeroes on Dream, whose pretty face is muddy with tears and small sobs. 

“I'm, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles; Dream’s deep voice is broken. “It’s just so sad. So sad.” 

Dream steps away from him and runs towards the stairs. George doesn’t think about following him. 

In the end, he finds Dream sitting beside a wishing fountain placed at the center of their nearest park. He’s quiet as George approaches him, and George already misses his voice. The park looks desolated, like Dream’s mood has quietened every bird and passerby. 

He doesn’t know how to start the conversation. Luckily, Dream does it for him. 

“Will you tell them I’m sorry? It’s terribly embarrassing that they saw me like that,” Dream says. George sits next to him. 

“Of course. You’re good,” George says, awkwardly. There’s something that doesn’t make sense in his brain, and the need to know who Dream is, what makes him so fantastic is irresistible. “...Is, uh, divorce not a thing where you come from?”

“No,” Dream grumbles. “Love is for forever.” 

That is a lot. 

“Is it?” George can’t help but to ask. 

“Of course! When you find your one true love, you’re meant to be with them forever!” Dream sounds more than upset now. The air whistles almost angrily in between the leaves, making the trees crackle. “I—I don’t understand it!” 

“Well, it’s not that odd. People divorce all the time. Love isn't forever, usually.” George says, in the kindest voice he can find. Dream’s eyes find his, and he looks wild.

“But I found my true love. Prince Sam is perfect for me,” Dream pouts and George’s heart has to calm down, take a step back. This man has a fiance. One he’s very much in love with. No matter how gorgeous and funny George finds Dream, he’s already promised his heart to someone else. The thought fills him with familiar bile. 

Then he remembers where Dream comes from, how he and Sam fell for one another. “It doesn’t work that way here. There’s no—perfect song that tells you who your soulmate is. We just go on dates and stick to who makes us happier.” 

“Well, I hate it here!” Dream says, throwing his arms up. “I don’t like this—this strange place!” 

“Me neither,” George rolls his eyes. “But that's all we have.” 

Dream crosses his arms, and his sad growing pout makes George laugh quietly. He’s terribly cute, it’s bad for George’s health. 

“I find it hard to believe nothing has ever annoyed you before,” George says, strangely fond. It’s not hard, like that, to dissolve Dream’s anger.

“Of course I’ve been angry before. It was hard for me and the critters to defend our forest. We had to employ our best warriors, and the soldiers were vile and cruel…” Dream replies, easily. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “But I thought all that evilness would disappear once we defeated the King. Now I find there’s evil and suffering in every place here, and it’s overwhelming. I want to help the diamond man and his husband, and I want to come back to my home, and find Sam and… there’s just so much to do.” 

“Ah well, that’s relatable, I think,” George says. His hand finds Dream’s lax one, and he gives him a firm squeeze. “But there are all kinds of things we can do every day to make it better. You don’t have to take it all on your own.” 

It shocks Dream. His lips fall into an O shape and it takes almost all of George’s will not to let his eyes linger there. But most importantly, he wonders if anyone has ever told Dream he doesn’t need to be the hero every time. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, quietly. George nods. 

“C’mon, I have the day free anyway,” he says. Because there’s no way I’m going back to the mess that will be the office, really. “Let me introduce you to McDonalds’ McFlurrys. They always cheer me up.” 

Dream doesn’t like sweet things, it turns out. Once that is cleared up, he asks George if he can get him a hamburger from the “sweet man in front of the box”, and George obliges. The guy smiles at him when he tells him the order.

“First date?” He asks, politely. George’s shoulders tense as he’s placing his card into the reader. 

“Uh, no. It’s not like that,” he rushes to say. The man’s eyes widen and he looks embarrassed. 

“Oh, my bad, dude. Have a great day regardless,” the worker says, and George tries to forget about it right away, but the thought sticks to his brain like gum. 

He wouldn’t have a first date with a guy like Dream here—well, he wouldn’t have a first date, period, in a McDonalds, least of all the one next to his son’s school, which has seen the worst of his work as a single dad and too many meltdowns to count. Dream deserves something nicer, more considerate. He looks like he enjoys meat, with how he’d asked if George could get him a triple slice one. It’s certainly proper of a warrior, of someone who is as strong and big as Dream is. So he would take him to a restaurant with very nice steaks, and maybe very nice wine. Did the strange land from whence Dream came from have alcohol? Surely they have fermentation. He finds himself wondering what Dream has tried and what only exists on the Earth George is used to, if Dream knows how to cook rare, strange dishes as much as his entire existence seems to defy reality. 

He brings the paper bag back and signals to Dream to follow him, the noise and clatter from the secluded place irritating him, and the man follows easily. He’s such a sight, surrounded by artificial yellow and white, that George can’t help but picture him as part of his routine. Helping him pick up Luca after a long day at work, when he doesn’t feel like cooking and just wants to chill with them watching TV. Luca got along with him so well, in a way nobody has with such ease. He could see Dream becoming an integral part of his life and it’s terrifying. Because George wants it badly, the way he shouldn’t want a man that barely knows him; a man that will leave soon. 

A man that is meant to have a happy ever after far away from the busy streets of LA. 

“Help me carry the bags? You can eat your burger on the way,” George says, pretending his world isn’t shattering. “I need to pick up Luca and then we can go home.” 

Dream does as told easily. He tells George how much he likes the food, how he’s never had anything like it before, and George laps it up like he was the chef. At some point, his excitement becomes so great he sings about it, and George can’t even be mad at how much attention he draws, just guides him giggling. He barely wonders how every street musician they stumble into seems to know the notes.

It’s the best non-date he’s had in his life. 

Luca is delighted to see Dream wasn’t a product of sugar-high delusions, and he expresses this by squealing and running to hug Dream before his own father. “Traitor,” George mutters while Dream spins him lightly as a hello. His son giggles about it. 

“I thought I would never see you again!” Luca says, excitedly climbing up Dream’s arms. George frets about it for a second, before Dream—with the familiarity of someone who has grown up with younger siblings—holds him correctly, their faces in front of each other. “Are you a friend of my dad?” 

“Sure am! Your dad and I are the best of friends,” Dream says, beaming down at him. “He’s helped me so much these few days!” 

“Dad doesn’t have many friends aside from Uncle Larray,” Luca says, pretending he’s being subtle by hiding his mouth as he speaks with Dream. George can’t help the small smile the admission brings him, even though he thinks he could die from the embarrassment. Dream doesn’t look particularly impressed by the admission. 

“I don’t have many friends either,” he says back, sending a small smile in George’s direction. “Only the animals of the forest, Sam, and my brother, Sapnap.” 

His smile turns sour. “Oh, how I hope they’re alright.” 

“Are they looking for you?” Luca asks, worried. “Dad says if I’m lost I need to find an adult, but I don’t know what happens if the adult is lost.” 

“Don’t worry, they surely are, but it’s always good to stay in one place and wait to be found,” George says, brushing Luca’s messy hair out of his face. “And that’s why we’re having a sleepover with Dream today. And we got McDonald’s.” 

“Let’s go!” Luca celebrates, and he jumps from Dream’s arms to George’s, who struggles a lot more in holding him up and making sure they don’t fall. Dream is quick, predicting how George’s overcompensating body will move and grabs onto George’s shoulders with ease. Luca doesn’t look frightened in the slightest, too excited to care about the way their bodies almost fell to the ground. “Can we go to the park tomorrow with Dream? I want to play with him!” 

“If Dream isn’t too busy,” George says, worried about Dream’s plans to leave. They have no clue where he comes from, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the man was ansty to get back to his world. Offering Dreamshelter again was hardly needed when George could pay for a hotel stay for his privacy. If Dream minded it, he didn’t show, smiling brightly at George from where he was still holding him up, above his shoulders. 

“Not at all!” Dream insists. “I haven’t had someone to play with me in quite some time.” 

Luca starts to squirm, which means he wants to run, so George lowers his body gently. “It’s settled, then,” George says as Luca smiles and runs circles around their bodies, before grabbing George’s hand and insisting he walk faster to their apartment, knowing the way by heart. The only difference is that Dream holds both their takeout bags and pays attention to every word that comes out of Luca’s mouth. The late afternoon light makes his suit look a pretty shade of brown, matching Luca’s favorite shirt, and anyone seeing the three of them together could assume. They could think. They could guess, but they would be wrong. 

George doesn’t know how he’ll explain to Luca that Dream has to leave, too. That great things like him happen, and then evaporate like smoke, leaving barely any trace behind. 

The thought follows him deep into the night. He can’t enjoy the lullaby Dream sings to Luca, the way they both look like they belong together, because the metaphorical expiration date of this small miracle is killing him. 

He hates being left in the dark. But it’s not like Dream is doing this to him for fun, so he just needs to ask. 

He can ask. He has to ask. 

“Are you certain this… prince is coming to get you?” He says, after Dream had settled into one of the bigger pajamas George owned, which was still a little tight on Dream’s shoulders. George didn’t think about this as he handed him a cup of herbal tea, a leftover habit from difficult discussions with his mother. Dream accepts it, though his face—never one to hide his emotions, that one—shows his confusion. His light eyes shine under the soft lights of George’s living room. 

“Prince Sam? But of course!” Dream replies, with a small smile. “He must be finding the way to the wishing well as we speak, maybe gathering a small army to come save me.”

His sigh is Disney-princess worthy. It makes George laugh. He hates that everything Dream does is cute, funny, and charming. He’s manufactured to be perfect, and he doesn’t belong here, but George wishes he could. That people like him existed in real life.

“I just hope everyone is alright,” he says, his eyes dropping. There’s the soft whistling of wind right outside George’s windows, a small bit of the curtains still open from where the city’s lights creep in. 

But it isn’t enough to hope, George knows. “And what is your plan if they aren’t coming?” He asks, firmly. 

Dream seems to be taken aback by the words, or perhaps the tone in George’s voice. But he’s in charge of plans of action in his line of work. His entire life depends on being certain things will happen a certain way, or at least, having reasonable belief of a plan succeeding. 

“But they are,” Dream replies. He doesn't look into George’s eyes as he says this, and for some reason, it annoys him. Dream is someone confident, that can say what he thinks without letting things such as shame stop him. He holds himself up with pride. 

George wants to see how much it can hold up. “But what if they aren’t? Have you even considered that?” 

“No, because he’s coming to get me. I was—tricked, and they must have a search party for me. They have to.” Dream insists. His voice is heavy with frustration, and something near hurt. 

George sits on his knees, searching Dream’s eyes. When he looks into them, he can see the stray tears falling down his face. His chest turns with something ugly and painful, making him suffer. If he was a better person, it would stop him, give him a peaceful goodnight and worry on his own.

But he cares about Dream now, in a stupid, twisted way. And he needs to protect himself by knowing when he will leave. He can’t let himself believe Dream will stay and keep making clothes out of linens and help him carry groceries. He just can’t. He can’t let this affection grow, and the more perfect Dream is, the worse it gets for George. 

“Dream—what if you’re alone?” He asks. He knows the words bite before they leave his mouth, and he still says them. “What if your well is closed, or if they think you’re dead, or—”

“Why are you so miserable?” Dream yells, his knuckles turning white where they are holding onto his pajamas. George bites his tongue not to shush him, but it’s a near thing. 

“I’m not miserable,” George says, mellowed. “I’m a realist. Dream—I want to help you. And that means that we need to think what will happen if they don’t come for you.” 

“I-I,” Dream sobs. The tears fall from his face faster than he can clean them, and George kisses sanity goodbye as he lets go of his inhibitions and leans closer, his hands coming to cradle Dream’s face and brush away the tears he can’t get to. The gesture makes him sob harder, but before George can scold himself and lean away, Dream is holding onto his shirt and falling into him, a small mess of George’s creation yet still looking for him to comfort. The guilt eats at his tender, stupid heart.

“I can’t be alone anymore,” Dream sobs. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“You’re not,” George soothes, pathetically. “You’re not. I’m here. I can help.”  

They stay like that until Dream quietened, finally sleeping. 

The morning welcomes him with the window wide open. His head aches from the turns and twists his body had made last night, and the argument that happened between himself and his most esteemed guest, deep into the hours of the night. He groans as he recalls what he’d said, what he’d tried to do. Embarrassing as fuck, George thought.

George dreads, a lot more than any other Saturday, to get up. But he still does, afraid of Luca attempting to trick his way into more cookies in the morning. And he’s an adult, and he’s supposed to face his lack of skills in talking to other people head on. Set a good example for Luca or whatever. 

He expects the kitchen to be a chaos brewing, like the day before. What he finds, however, is much softer. Luca on top of the kitchen table, directing Dream on how to make George’s famous “1, 2, 3” pancakes. Their stove and tabletop look messy in the way learning manages to complicate things, but they’re both quiet as mice under the morning sunlight that spills from their big kitchen window; Luca instructs Dream very gently on how to pour the mix into the frying pan. 

“We have to wait a few seconds, or else it will be ruined,” Luca says, and the serious nod he receives from Dream is nothing short of adorable. George disrupts the scene with a small snort. 

“Luca, baby, you forgot to use the non-stick pan,” he says. Luca’s groans turn George’s quiet amusement into a belly laugh, and he can hear Dream join in his giggles. 

George takes over easily. It is, after all, his family. Dream passes him the pan and, without asking, opens their refrigerator and takes out the containers of berries. While George repeats his steps out loud so Luca remembers them well the next time he wakes before George, Dream takes to preparing an assortment of cut fruits for them to have. Luca sets the table for three. George’s easy breakfast method works best for only two servings of pancakes, so he whips up a few more and serves them all together. Luca’s eyes light up in joy, probably because he’s gotten to have pancakes for two mornings in a row. 

Dream doesn’t bring up their conversation, but there are eye bags under his eyes George can’t help but notice. He isn’t any less pretty—it really feels like there’s magic coming from him, that makes people burst into song in sync with him, that makes you want to make him happy all the time, that makes him look gorgeous under every lightning—but he looks dull. A bit worn. Like it’s hitting him all at once where he is, the kind of broken spirit that happens to people in their early twenties. Still, he listens to Luca attentively, and makes jokes at George’s expense without any malice. It’s nice, and it’s comfortable. George uses this time to think of an apology for Dream, and he’s about to ask him to step aside for a quick chat when there’s a knock on the door. Then, very insistent knocking on the door. 

George stands up by force of nature, used to stray Amazon packets dropping by. But once he gets to the door, he barely has any time to twist the handle before it bursts open, and a small, furry thing runs into the apartment between his legs. He can barely make shape of a tail and he has half a mind to curse Dream’s tendency to attract small beasts into his home. 

“What the—?” He exclaims, then two very pointy and regal-looking swords are pointed at his throat. 

“Where’s Dream?” Two men yell in unison. Their swords click together as they press it against his skin, showing no hesitance. George immediately notes how they’re dressed in similarly ridiculous and fancy attire as when he met Dream, one donned a wedding gown not too different from the one his prince wore that first day. 

George’s instincts make him raise his hands in defeat, and his head snaps back to check where Luca is. He steps back slowly, giving them no reason to harm him, or god forbid, try to do something to his kid. “He’s inside. Calm the fuck down, he’s fine.” The tension is tangible, and he curses the way every person from this strange word carries deadly weapons for fun.

Dream appears from the back, and both men drop their words in shock. He’s holding Luca, and there’s a small cat curling up in his other hand. “Guys, calm down!” He laughs, walking towards them. 

“Dream?!” They both yell, delighted. George gets out of their way as fast as he can.

“Sapnap, Sam! You came!” Dream smiles, and lets go of Luca gently to hug both of them. They look kind of uncomfortable, being tucked into Dream’s taller form, and the cat he’s holding in starts yowling in protest. “You too, Patchy, thank you.” 

Then, it meows some more, and Dream holds it by its small chest, utterly confused. “Why aren’t you speaking?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” George says. The cat looks at him with what would be a small frown, very communicative for what a cat should be. Maybe it does speak, fuck. Then, he realizes what names Dream mentioned. 

One of these men is Prince Sam. The one Dream has been yearning for. It isn’t difficult to tell—Prince Sam is wearing the best clothes out of the two, and his eyes melt in a way no human should as he looks at Dream. It’s all too much, in George’s opinion. He doesn’t feel a sick dread grow inside his guts as he understands exactly what is going to happen inside his living room. 

He can barely stop his scoff as Sam kneels in front of Dream, holding onto his new, baby blue, modern cut suit and smiling up. “Dream, love!” 

Dream looks pleased. “Prince Sam!” He replies, as he grabs the man’s gloved hands, trying to push him up. He isn’t very successful.

Then, Sam starts singing. Which is really just perfect. It really is what George needed. Unlike Dream’s melodies, which seem to work because his tone of voice is perfect, and there always seems to be some kind of melody around to support him, Sam sings into the air on his own. It is awkward as hell. 

“I’ve been dreaming of a true love's kiss, and the prince I’ve begun to miss,” he says. His voice is rich yet grating in the silence. “Pure and sweet, waiting to complete my love song…” 

Dream’s smile turns horribly awkward, and he spares a single glance to George before going back to look at the prince. He hears Luca failing to disguise his laughter with a cough, but George won’t pretend he’s particularly enjoying getting to hear this. He remembers this melody, though, the one that Dream sang for Luca to sleep yesterday, and it makes sense that such a sweet song belongs to this couple. He’s just feeling awkward because he wasn’t expecting to be ambushed by true love this morning. Or ever, really. 

It falls even more flat because the moment it looks like Dream should follow up, continue their duet, he stays still, his smile placid and nothing more. Sam’s mouth presses into a straight like the longer it takes for Dream to say anything. 

“I think he’s waiting for you!” Luca, bless his heart, interrupts them. Dream seems to come back to life at his words. 

“For me? To do what?” Dream asks Sam, his eyes wide. Sam smiles a little bit wider, and George doesn’t scowl. It’s a near thing. 

“To sing with me, dear.” Sam says. 

“Oh!” Dream laughs, as if he was embarrassed. “Sorry I was, um, thinking. This is all so sudden. I didn’t think you guys would find me.”

Because of me, George thinks. I made him doubt. He’s never liked the way guilt makes him feel almost sick. And it’s terrible, because there’s not a trace of resentment in Dream’s voice, just a distracted tone, like he truly was away from the moment. No doubt wishing he could leave that exact instant.

He hopes he has the chance to apologize before Dream leaves. He hopes they can talk it out and that George can give him a proper send off, that Dream realizes he will have him to rely on if he ever finds himself in this strange place. Maybe he can get Dream one of those phones that only text and call; he wonders if the reception will carry enough. His own calls home drag an air of sadness inside his huge apartment, he doesn’t want to know what being able to only listen to Dream’s voice will make him feel. 

Perhaps it’s unwise to keep that window open. Dream would be like a shooting star, gone in the blink of an eye. 

“I would like to go on a date,” Dream says. 

“A date?” Sam asks. 

“A date,” Dream insists. “To know each other better. Before returning back to… to the kingdom.” 

“Oh, for sure. Anything you wish for,” he says, finally standing up. He brushes his pristine, white pants. “And what is a date?” 

“Um,” Dream’s lips press together, deep in thought. He probably didn’t get that far ahead. “We go places. And we talk a lot. And you ask questions about me, and I ask things back to you.” 

“Sounds fun,” Sam replies. He extends his hand to Dream and he takes it with ease. 

They leave the apartment without a single glance back. George watches them leave, his heart fighting not to break under the pressure of his feelings. His hand reaches out in a hopeless movement, but he spares himself the embarrassment once he hears his heavy door slam shut.

The moment is broken by the cat meowing at Luca, very upset about not being understood still. The other man with the sword, who looks more like an artisan than any important figure, smiles at her, and only then does George realize he’s been left with a stranger for no good reason again. 

“Patches, chill, we’re fine,” he says. Then, he looks up to see George’s frown. “Um, sup, man?” 

Sapnap, George discovers, is Dream’s childhood best friend and second in command, meant to be named Head Guard once the wedding was done. And he behaves much more like a normal human being than his two friends. He didn’t have Dream’s charm, for sure, and Luca was still wary of him to truly talk, so he’d told his kid to stay inside as he went to the shops to pick some takeout for the three of them. He wasn’t in the mood to cook, after all. 

But he’s surprised when the man foots his own sandwich with real money, not a trinket or invaluable item. Sapnap laughs at him when he questions how he knows the way money works. “We have exchange in Essempi, it wasn’t hard to figure out. Sam swapped some of his gold coins for a few of these papers, and we’ve been good. We just see the numbers and guess.”

Which… duh. Dream could’ve probably realized the same thing if George hadn’t kept paying for him constantly, just out of precaution. Sapnap continues, clearly excited about getting to brag about how he totally knows what’s going on. 

“The hardest thing was to escape the guards. They saw us with swords and freaked out, chased us for a few miles. But we were faster, and Prince Sam totally charmed those dogs, they wouldn’t bite us. Patches was so smart too, distracting them. It was super awesome,” he says, giggling about it. George nods.

Curiosity burns at him. “And how is he, Prince Sam?” 

Sapnap takes another bite of his sandwich while they walk back, thinking about it. “He’s nice, I guess,” he says, mouth full. George barely resists the need to scold him for doing so. “I haven’t talked to him much. He and Dream had their whole story together the one day I wasn’t around, but he’s totally over heels for Dream, so that’s good. He deserves a perfect love like that.”  

“I see,” George says. “And you know nothing else about him?” 

“I mean, I’d say we’ve gotten pretty close trying to find Dream and all of that. Patches kept freaking out about something and he was the one who took his time to understand her. It’s so weird not to see her talk, man,” Sapnap says to him, like George should find it insane too. He nods to keep the conversation going, checking his keys in his pocket to get home faster. He’s kind of worried about what his neighborhood will think with so many crazy guests.  

“So he’s good for Dream,” George gathers. It makes sense. George had hoped to find flaws in him, ways to keep Dream with him for a little longer so he’d reconsidered, but. “That’s good. That’s good.” 

“Dream said he’s never felt as close with anyone else,” Sapnap recalls, twisting the knife some more. “They sang together. I’ve never felt that with anyone else. It must be fate.” 

It all came back to singing. 

George was probably tone deaf. He’d never given himself the chance to sing.  

It’s hard to coax Luca out of his room with strangers, usually, so he lets Sapnap to his own devices and goes to check on his son. He finds him curled up in his bed, with the cat that had greeted Dream before anyone else curled up in his arms.

“She’s so warm, Dad,” Luca says to him. George smiles. She really is cute; he thinks Dream must love her so much. 

“I can imagine,” George says, carefully sitting beside Luca and extending a hand next to Patches small nose, for her to decide if he can touch her. Patches gives a small sniff and then presses her head to George’s fingers, asking for pets. George delivers. “Look, she loves me, too.” 

“She does! Can we keep her?” Luca asks, his light brown eyes huge as they always get when he’s asking for something. George smiles.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. It’s Dream’s pet.” George says. Patches meows something in disagreement, and George realizes this small fur creature comes from a land where she can express herself perfectly. “Dream’s pal?” He corrects softly, which makes her go quiet again. “Either way, it’s not up to us.” 

Luca’s face falls even more. “Is Dream leaving?” 

George doesn’t like lying to those he loves, so he doesn’t. But his heart softens at his small, sad face, so he lets his arm fall over his son’s shoulders and cuddles into him. “I’m afraid so, sweetheart. But that’s what happens when you’re found, you get to come back home.” 

“I guess… but I will be sad,” Luca says. He starts petting Patches’ head, who purrs in response. “I wish he could stay.” 

He’s barely able to be honest with himself, but it’s important Luca understands he isn’t alone. “Me too. But sometimes doing what’s right will make us a little sad, and that’s okay.”

Luca digests these words carefully, Patches purrs filling an otherwise quiet room. George’s heart breaks for what feels like the millionth time today, past any other ache. He wouldn’t take the last two days back for anything in the world, and still, he wishes he could take away all of Luca’s pain for what is coming. 

After a bit, Patches meows again. Growing up with cats, he luckily recognizes how they sound when they are hungry. He shakes Luca’s hair gently. “Welp, the lady said it. Time to eat.”

Luca giggles. “Dad, Patches doesn’t speak!” 

Patches yowls in protest. She sounds terribly offended, but she still allows Luca to carry her back to the living room.  

Sam and Dream return as they’re finishing lunch, and Sapnap has finally managed to say something properly funny. They enter the house without knocking, and almost give George an early grave by startling him so bad he ends up choking for a bit. Even more startling is Dream, who rushes to his side immediately and is ready to perform a Heimlich, apparently, to save him. To George’s disappointment, he stops choking on his own. 

Luca stares at him with guilty eyes. “I told Dream about the secret code. I hope you won’t be mad,” he says, quietly. “It’s for him to come back if he wants to.” 

George feels the sudden urge to cry. Dream kneels beside Luca, and smiles at him softly. “It’s alright. I shall come visit.” 

Then, his eyes find George’s. They’re firm. And beautiful. “I’m afraid I have to abuse your hospitality once more. Sam and I had a lovely date, but… I want him to try the burger shop you showed, and it was closed. They’re staying in an inn not too far away, and I’ve found your couch delightful.” 

George can’t say the words fast enough. “Yes. Yes, of course.” 

Sapnap stares at them weirdly. “Why don’t you just get a room with us, brother? I’m sure they can fit you in.” 

“Shut up, Sapnap,” George says, before he can think better of it. But then his eyes go back to Dream’s, in terror, afraid he’d overstepped into the easy familiarity family has. He’s nothing of the sort with either of them. 

To his surprise, Dream laughs. It’s not a charming, perfect laugh. It’s silly, and George takes it in like he’s never seen a person be happy before. He can’t help it: the way Dream laughs, truly laughs, is wonderful to him. He wheezes, a captivating sound and his entire body twists to let it happen, his head thrown forward with the force of his happiness. “Oh my gods, that was too good—” he says in between little giggles. 

“Hey!” Sapnap complains, his entire face embarrassed. It just drives Dream to laugh louder. 

“He got you so bad,” Dream insists. The longer he’s laughing, the harder it is for George to contain in his giggles. There’s something about the way that he laughs that makes everything about the situation funnier than it should be. 

“He really did,” Sam cuts in. They all giggle for a bit about something truly nonsensical, and it feels good for once. Maybe after they leave, he can have more people than just Larray over. He should invite his mother to visit them. He wants this to be a happy place, not just the bare minimum of decency. He wants Luca to look back and think of this as one of his best homes. 

Patches climbs up Dream’s shoulders from where he is still kneeled beside Luca, and she starts meowing really loudly. To everyone’s shock, Dream falls silent immediately. 

“Are you serious, baby?” He asks his cat. George would think it a joke if every piece of Dream’s face hadn’t just hardened.  

“You truly understand her?” Sapnap asks, in shock. 

Dream holds Patches protectively, like Sapnap’s words would deal her great harm. “She’s my daughter. Of course I understand her.” She, somehow, looks smug at Sapnap’s stuttering apologies. 

Patches keeps meowing in Dream’s arms, and Dream’s face grows more and more serious as the time passes. It would look ridiculous to anyone, and it probably should to George too, but he’s just fascinated by the new facets of Dream he’s discovered in such little time. He keeps his heart in his sleeve, upfront about everything, even when it’s bad. This serious man that he discovers looks like a leader, a person capable of taking an entire army on his own to protect his home. 

“So I see,” he finishes. The room is suddenly small, becoming limited to the way Patches and Dream look at each other. It truly feels like they’re communicating something profound. “My most sincere thanks, Patchy.” 

“What’d she say?” George asks. Whatever it is, George wants to help. He’s realizing he would do anything for this man's safety, and he isn’t half as scared as he should be about it. 

“I would rather not say,” Dream says, giving a small scratch to Patches. “I believe it’s best if we all go to sleep. I’m not looking forward to the journey tomorrow,” he says. It’s a voice that leaves no space for argument, and even the soon to be King and his Head Guard nod their heads at the order, leaving quietly. 

Luca yaws, too. “I’m sleepy. Can you tuck me in bed, Dream?”

Dream smiles. It’s soft, and endeared. “If your father doesn’t mind, I will, Luca.” 

“Of course I don’t,” George says, standing up despite the way the last few minutes or so make him want to lay down from the confusion. What does it all mean? What could’ve possibly Patches had said that Dream had to harden himself, that he looks like he expects everything to blow up on his face any minute? “Go ahead, I’ll clean up here. Don’t forget to brush your teeth, kiddo.” 

Dream finds him again outside of Luca’s room, with him already snoring softly in his bed. 

“Hello,” he says quietly. George can barely see him in the darkness of the hallway, but he thinks he might be smiling. The lights still up from the living room create a soft halo against his curls, which George has yet to touch. Which he will live and die curious about if they’re as soft as he thinks they are. 

“Hi,” he says back. “Thank you for that.” George nods at Luca’s room, his small star-shaped night light shining. 

“It’s a pleasure,” Dream whispers, reaching over and holding George’s hand to guide him to the living room. “He’s lovely.” 

They can talk a bit louder here, but George doesn’t want to break whatever little bubble they have found themselves in, the way it feels like the entire world has disappeared. He knows it hasn’t, he can hear his clock turn and click perfectly well, yet it matters very little when Dream’s gaze rests on him. He’s become addicted to how intensely Dream looks at him, like he can’t bear to miss a single detail. Though, George thinks, it might be just me who feels that way, and I’m just projecting. 

He still eats the attention like he’s a starved, small animal. 

“He really is,” George agrees, because he’s proud of his son. He loves him more than anything in the world, and it feels good that someone like Dream knows it too. “I’m so thankful for him.”

"I've realized he’s grateful for you. I’m… so happy you two have each other,” Dream says. His voice turns wistful, a small change of tune that nevertheless brings George back to the present.

“Thank you,” he repeats, softer. His entire core turns to Dream, who twists into the couch like he’s trying to become smaller. 

“I… Sam and I spoke about many things today. There are so many things about royal life I had no idea about,” Dream starts. He’s heard him for long enough that George knows he’s gearing up for a rant, and as much as George’s heart is breaking, he can’t bear not to hear what he has to say.  “It’s so—confusing. I knew being the next king consort would come with challenges, and that many of my ideas wouldn’t be well received, but it is all more complicated than I could ever have imagined. And Sam… please don’t take this the wrong way, he’s lovely, I’m enchanted by him the way no other—well, I had never been taken by anyone else like I was with him. But he and I have very different ways of thinking . I believe I’m just confused, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m making a mistake. If maybe it’s not… if I should just wait.”

“Wait for what?” George asked. His heart suddenly flips inside his ribcage, like it’s trying to get away from him, and reach this man. 

“I don’t know. To get married?” He says. Even the word sounds unsure and fragile coming from Dream’s mouth. “I realize there’s so much of the world I haven’t seen, even in Essempi, I could barely tell anywhere outside of the forest.” 

“I think maybe you need to sleep on this,” George says, kindly. His mouth is faster than his mind, offering up something to comfort him. “You can have my bed for the night, maybe it will help.” 

“I couldn’t possibly,” Dream replies, cleaning up barely visible tears from the corner of his eyes. “This is more than I could ever ask for. You’ve been incredibly kind and attentive, George.” 

“It’s fine,” he insists. Suddenly, he can bear the thought of Dream contorting his big body to fit the couch. “My bed is much more comfortable, believe me.” 

“I really couldn’t,” Dream says. 

George doesn’t think. For the first time, he just acts. “We could share,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Dream is surprised into silence. George stays quiet, and his face feels suddenly so hot. “I just think—” 

“I’m taller than you,” Dream says. Somehow George knows exactly what he means. 

“It’s a big bed. It can fit us.” 

They walk quietly to George’s room. Getting under the covers is the easiest thing to do. 

George’s face ends up, somehow, looking directly into Dream’s face. He’s as pretty as he was in the middle of an intersection. He will miss him terribly. 

“Is it comfortable?” George asks, just to hear him say something. 

Dream obligues. “It’s nice. Thank you so much, George.”

The way he says George’s name is insane. Everything about this is insane. It isn’t only that there hasn’t been anyone in his bed for a long time, but that everything feels miles better with this one man next to him. Everything is wonderful. Magical. 

He breathes Dream in. There’s so much he wishes he would say in this small pocket of night, the last time he’ll ever have Dream, without holding him at all. 

“You’re welcome,” he says. It sounds like thank you, I’m sorry, thank you. 

On Sunday, right after Dream leaves, Bad calls him. 

Dream leaving had been a quiet affair. He’d hugged them both goodbye, and Luca made him promise to return, and George bit his tongue about how unlikely it was. Sometimes, small hope keeps the memory of someone you loved alive. Luca had lost so much already—George would let him keep the memory of Dream alive. 

His mind has been wandering ever since, trying and failing to keep it off Dream’s journey. Had they reached the well already? Were they jumping in, hand by hand? George hadn’t even asked where exactly the portal was; it felt like tempting fate, like having a way directly to Dream would make his body follow him disregarding logic and responsibilities.

He’s not one to answer job calls during the weekend, but it isn’t his boss who contacts him for requests, it’s Gia. In fact, he can’t recall a time where Bad had taken his time to talk to him directly outside of the office, and his curiosity is immediately prickled. With Luca busy with his homework, it’s the perfect time for gossip, if that’s what Bad is looking for. 

Instead, Bad greets him by asking: “Are you with Dream right now?” 

George’s heart skips a beat at being reminded of the man so soon after the heartbreak. “No, he’s, uh… gone, for the moment.” He can’t bear the thought of explaining that Dream wasn’t going to stick around. He figures it’ll become obvious in the way he’ll fade into the background of George’s life at the office, when gossip dies down and the next interesting thing happens. 

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” Bad says, his voice soft. “I really wanted to thank him.” 

“Thank him? For what?” George asks. He feels his face twist as he tries to remember how much Bad and Dream spoke, if he’d missed some key exchange or song between the two of them. 

“Oh, well, he was just so nice to Skeppy, wasn’t he?” Bad sighs into his microphone. Now he understands why his voice is so uncharacteristically fond: he hadn’t heard him in love for weeks. It’s strange how you can forget something that was permanent once. It should’ve been obvious that it all had to do with Skeppy. Bad continues, oblivious to George’s realization. “I felt bad about it, and I didn’t know why, but it was because I hadn’t been very kind to Skeppy. I missed his smiles, the way he lights my entire world up. And Dream saying all those things made me realize what I was losing when we signed those papers. So I chased him! Can you believe that was all he needed? For me to seek him out? He missed me too.”

“Oh, wow,” George says. His mouth feels dry. It’s hard to see, for a second, his eyes blurry before he composes himself. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

“He really has that effect on people, doesn’t he?” He mumbles, not quite knowing what to say. 

“He’s truly a gem. You’re very lucky,” Bad says. He can hear the happiness blooming from him. “Please, regard a message. And invite him to the next event! Last time we were a bit too distracted to give him a proper reception.” 

George says void pleasantries before hanging up. 

The streets are cold, and George barely knows what he’s doing. 

He’d used a city map to track where he thinks he found Dream, but the weather forecast had missed to note it was about to storm all over the place. His windbreaker was his only line of defense. He was fucking cold, but he’d gone out now, so he wasn’t going back without at least trying. He’s not even sure what he’s attempting, but it mattered to reach Dream before he left forever. 

The streets are empty due to the upcoming storm, miles upon miles of cement, expensive stores and fancy billboards. He can feel rain and heavy wind nip at his face and he misses the sunshine from all the days before, the warmth of Dream in his bed. George doesn’t know what he will say to him, but he’s sure it will be too honest and embarrassing. At least, Dream has taught him to be more like him. 

He arrives just in time. Before him, he can see the silhouette of Dream, in the last suit he’d made under George’s roof. It was fancy, and modern, as such that nobody could guess Dream wasn’t from this world in general. The contrast between him and his two companions was clear. 

“Dream!” He yells, before he can think better of it. 

Immediately, Dream turns around. “George?” He asks, a smile growing on his lips. Sapnap and Sam turn around after him. 

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” George says, finally standing in front of Dream. A particularly sharp wisp of wind makes him shiver, not the way Dream stares at him. “I had to tell you something.” 

“George, are you cold?” Dream answers, quite nonsensically. George is flustered to silence when his big hands come to rest on his shoulders, spreading warm. “What are you doing here?”

“I—told you. I have to tell you something,” George insists. The longer he stays in Dream’s radar, the warmest he feels. It should be impossible with the way the wind keeps on moving his windbreaker and hair, but he even flushes, comfortably warm. And it isn’t any heat. Inside his heart he knows this is how Dream’s warmth feels. 

“Okay, tell me,” Dream smiles. The world becomes just the two of them, once again, like it keeps happening. George doesn’t believe in fate, nor magic, but after being proved once and once again that the impossible can happen when Dream is involved, he’s sure of what he feels. 

He’s, somehow, fallen in love with Dream. He loves him, in a way he’s loved very few people before. His stupid, stubborn heart is set on Dream, no matter what. 

“I—I,” he begins, nervous. Dream’s body feels closer, his thumbs pressing comforting circles into  his shoulders. 

“Yes?” Dream insists. His gaze is expectant. Curious. 

“I think you shouldn’t leave,” he says, wincing at himself. Dream’s reaction is instantaneous: he blinks in confusion. And George knows he can’t leave it there, so—”You shouldn’t leave because I—” 

A voice speaks from the clouds. “Nobody is leaving.” 

“What the—?!” Sapnap exclaims, 

“I sent you,” a man, covered by a dark cloak and surrounded by what looks to be mist and dust, “here because you intervene enough in our world. You do not deserve to come back, and your little manipulation tactics that made Prince Sam stray from the good path will not work on me!”

The figure turns to Sam, his voice completely changing. “Please, my Lord, reconsider. I’m sure your father will forgive you if you realize the wrong in your ways and ask for forgiveness. You two can rule the lands together!” 

There’s a dramatical silence upon them. Then, Sam laughs. 

“Is this who I believe it is?” He says, still giggling. “Advisor, I had disagreed with my father’s methods long before the war. Dream just gave me the push to fight against him, I have no desire to return to him, or his old colleagues, for that matter.” 

The advisor scoffs. “You’re committing a grave mistake. History will not take kindly to you being manipulated by this minstrel.”

“I have a name, you know,” Dream says, the twist of his mouth turning unhappily. 

“You have no right to interrupt!” The man squeaks. 

“I have every right, you liar!” Dream yells back. “You interrupted my wedding day!” 

“I did, for the good of my kingdom,” the figure said. George could barely make out his features with the way rain clouds surrounded him, but his clothes screamed Disney villain. “And I will do it again, so long as you stay away! 

He holds a large scepter and shoves it up in the sky. There’s a crackling noise, and the lightning inside the clouds seems to be attracted to the huge circle of it. He makes for a terrifying sight, and all three men unsheathe their swords in preparation for a fight. But they don’t get very far, because the man immediately points the scepter down, locked into Dream.

The lightning ray hits his chest, who pushes George out of the way despite the attack coming in his direction. George lets out a cry as Dream’s body collapses into the floor. 

He kneels immediately next to Dream, holding his head and yelling at him to answer. Dream doesn’t look like he’s in pain, or suffering, but rather asleep gently, much like George saw him this morning. Still, it’s unnatural. 

“Whatever did you do?!” He asks the man. Whoever it is, it’s acting so cartoonishly evil that George knows immediately it’s from the fantasyland all these other guys come from. 

“He’s ruined everything, so I made sure to ruin his life for once,” he says, a stupid manic energy to his voice. “He will never make it home to anyone! He will be asleep forever, regretting his decision to ever interfere with my plans. Because I am the greatest, I am—”

Whatever his name is, he doesn’t get to say because he slips on his own cloak and the weight of his scepter drags him to the edge of the building, falling backwards with a muted cry. They can all hear a thud of a weight falling out of their line of sight, which is terribly convenient. 

“Please tell me he died,” Sapnap asks. “That’d be so fucking funny.” 

“Sapnap,” Sam scolds, but he doesn’t necessarily say anything in contrast. His eyes, much as George’s, are glued to Dream. He’s snoring softly, the rise and fall of his chest the only certainty there’s still a chance to bring him back. And George knows this part—everyone knows this part about the fairy tales. 

“This is where his true love kisses him, right?” George asks, muted. He feels hollow, his butchered attempt at a confession being what doomed Dream drowning him in a sea of regrets. He looks up at Sam, almost angry. “Can you please hurry up?” 

Sam stares at the two of them, at Dream laying on George’s lap, and shakes his head no. 

“You should try,” Sam says. There’s a pinch of pain in his expression, but his voice doesn’t waver. “I think—I believe it’s our best chance, at the moment.”

To George’s gaping, he continues. “I know what you were about to say earlier. I’d be a shame if he never heard it.” 

George doesn't hesitate. He grabs Dream’s head, gently caressing his curls, which are as soft as he’d dreamed them to be. His beard is a bit prickly in his hands and, this close, he can taste his scent, an electrifying mix of sweet and lemon. Leaning in is as easy as anything. 

He thinks of Snow White’s prince, kissing the love of his life goodbye. He thinks of Sleeping Beauty’s man, who didn’t even know they were betrothed, who was charmed by her dancing in the forest and singing about love. He thinks about Cinderella, being found by a destined lover in the most unlikely of places. He thinks of how Dream has changed this life, how he’s ever fallen this hard or fast. 

He presses it all to his cold lips, wishing and praying to whatever magic Dream seems to be made of. He leans away, fear and hope making him nauseous.

It’s a tense second. The next moment, Dream’s eyes snap open. 

He stands up with force, grabbing George’s arms and pushing him closer into his orbit. “Are you alright? What happened?”

George is just too happy to speak properly. “You love me,” he whispers, awed. 

Dream’s face, from where George is still cradling him, feels hot to the touch. There’s about a million expressions that pass through his face, settling in a mix of embarrassment and happiness. “I do,” he admits, shy. His eyes track George’s face, like he expects something other than love to come from him. 

“Are you an idiot?” He says, not unkindly. “True love’s kiss can’t be unrequired, dummy. This is your world’s rules.”  

It’s like Dream comes alive again. He jumps to hug George, giggling loudly. The world is reduced to just the two of them, once again. They kiss over and over and over. Each time is as magical as the last, and the sky clears but they’re too busy to notice.