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Dream’s office is colder than his, and purple rather than George’s dark blue from the LED lights framing the ceiling.
He has his headphones on, his eyes no doubt fixed on the portion of the video he’s in the middle of editing, and it’s probably because of this that he doesn’t notice George coming in.
George closes the door behind himself and steps closer to the desk. It takes him one look at the monitor to Dream’s right to see that he still has X open, still showing the black screen of the stream George just ended. So he was listening. George smiles a little at that; he had a feeling Dream probably stuck around after he stopped texting him.
He touches the top of the chair, and Dream looks up quickly.
“Oh, hey. You scared me,” he says, but he’s smiling. He pulls his headphones down to rest around his neck.
“Sorry,” George says, letting his fingers slip into Dream’s messy curls. “You stayed for the whole thing?”
Dream nods, stretching. “I did. It was nice.”
He reaches out and strokes his hand across George’s lower back, over his t-shirt.
“You should start a podcast or something. You’d be good at it.”
George shakes his head, managing to suppress his smile even as Dream starts to laugh.
“Idiot,” he says, pinching Dream’s nape just lightly. He deserves it. Kind of.
Dream responds by leaning backwards in his chair and grabbing hold of his spare office chair, pulling it closer for George to sit.
“Sit,” he says. “I’ve missed you today.”
It makes for an easy decision – George’s favorite type of decision, coincidentally.
He sits, using his feet (and great effort) to roll the chair closer to Dream’s, and placing his legs in Dream’s lap, having to bend his knees over the stupid armrests to make it possible. It’s suboptimal, for sure, but it will have to do.
Both of Dream’s hands instantly come to rest on his calves, squeezing once.
“Tired?” Dream asks, gazing at him openly.
The look in his eyes, and his whole demeanor, really, tells George that out of the two of them, Dream is easily the one who is the most tired. But Dream is right, too – George is a little exhausted.
He closes his eyes for a moment, nodding. When he opens them again the world has gone a little blurry from his bleariness.
“Yeah, a bit,” he says
Dream encloses his hands around George’s ankles, his palms warm against the tiny sliver of skin between George’s sweatpants and his socks.
Looking at him now, George realizes that Dream looks… good. Like, in a noticeable way – a level of good that exceeds his usual level which George has gotten somewhat used to and somewhat less abnormal about. Somewhat. The second thing he realizes is that he doesn’t recognize the hoodie Dream is wearing. It’s dark gray and expensive looking. And nice. It makes Dream look really nice.
“I like your hoodie,” George says, because he does.
Dream looks surprised, but only for a split second before a smile takes over his features. He sounds a little suspicious, though, when he says, “Thanks.”
“Is it new?”
Dream nods, sparing a quick glance down at it. “Uhm, yeah. I think so, anyway.”
George clicks his tongue. “Trick question, I already knew it was.”
He did – Dream has many hoodies, but none in this shade of gray. As the Dream expert, George thinks he’s pretty much qualified to be certain of these things.
Dream laughs. “You are so weird.”
George doesn’t let it faze him. “I know every single piece of clothing you own,” he says instead. Because he does.
“Wow, so impressive,” Dream says, still laughing.
“It is,” George agrees, pressing his lips together solemnly. “I have an archive.”
To this, Dream nods slowly, which George appreciates. His detailed cataloguing of Dream facts should be admired and applauded, most of all by Dream.
“Alright, I’ll make sure to tell you next time I buy something, then. For your archive,” Dream says, not sounding entirely earnest, but George will take it.
“For my archiving purposes,” he echoes. “Yeah, you better.”
Dream just looks at him then, smiling through to his eyes. And George knows that face, would know it anywhere. He knows exactly what Dream is thinking. He narrows his eyes.
“I’m not kissing you.”
It makes Dream laugh, again. “What? Why not?”
“You’re gross.”
Dream snorts.
George smiles. “I don’t know where your lips have been. You might’ve licked the toilet since I last saw you for all I know.”
His ankle gets a gentle squeeze. “If I tell you, will you kiss me?”
“No.”
Dream raises his eyebrows. “Fine. I guess you hate me.”
It’s not that he means it, of course – he’s being an idiot, actually – but George won’t stand for such accusations. Especially not after Dream has said he missed him today, and especially not now that he’s wearing this hoodie which makes him look so extra kissable.
George leans forward, closing the short distance between them, and pecks Dream on the lips. One second and then it’s over, but Dream’s immediate smile is proof that it did in fact happen.
“I knew it,” he says.
George laughs, shifting closer to him subconsciously. “Knew what? That you’re an idiot?”
Smiling like he’s won, Dream only shrugs. “I just knew it.”
Luckily for him, George is not above kissing him again to get the answers he needs.