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George hadn’t meant to wake up so early. Something inside him stirs before the sun has even thought to rise. By the time he rolls out of bed, his limbs feel heavy, his mind fogged over with that weird quiet that comes after wearing a mask for too long, spending too long pretending everything’s fine.
He pads softly down the stairs in his socks, hoping for the comfort of some sugary cereal, or even some apple juice. The air in the house is cool and still, almost peaceful—until he passes Dream’s door.
Giggling.
Soft music.
And her voice.
It shouldn’t surprise him. It isn’t new—Dream had been spending nearly every waking moment with her for weeks now. But hearing it… that was different. It turns something over in George’s stomach, something sharp and cold and achingly familiar.
He ignores the empty feeling in his gut, the one he initially hoped to fill with comfort food. He keeps walking. Through the front door. Out into the dark.
The streetlights are still on, painting everything with that washed-out yellow. George doesn’t care. He grabs his keys, slides into the car, and presses the ignition. Before he backs out of the driveway, he hides his location from his best friends. He can’t remember the last time he felt the need to do that, but he can’t bear the thought of being found right now.
He drives without a destination in mind, driving just for the sake of driving. His mind is racing with incomprehensible thoughts. He continues to drive, as if on autopilot. Eventually, he finds himself turning down a narrow dirt road, heading towards his newest fishing find. This fishing spot wasn’t on any map his friends had. A quiet dock tucked behind a grove of mangroves, far enough from the city that the stars hold on for a little while longer before sunrise chases them away. George parks the car, sets up his rod in silence, and takes his usual seat at the edge of the dock.
His eyes set on the horizon.
Years ago, Dream had said he couldn’t wait to see George’s first sunrise. Even when the colorblind glasses turned out to be a scam, Dream had reassured him that he would describe every little detail, to make sure he wouldn’t miss out on the sunrise’s beauty. He said it like a promise.
They never did get around to watching that sunrise.
George swallows against the ache in his throat. He tries to imagine colors he can’t see—tries to feel them instead. He imagines the sky being filled with warm hues, like the feeling of sinking into his mum’s lap when he was little, her fingers combing through his hair. Hot cocoa with Sapnap, the two of them throwing marshmallows at each other, burning their tongues and laughing until they couldn’t breathe. Dream’s arms around his waist, pulling him in close.
He shakes the thought away like it’s something shameful.
The sound of footsteps creak across the wooden dock, pulling George from the swirling sea of his thoughts.
George turns slightly, expecting the usual middle-aged dad with a cooler and a coffee thermos. He prepares himself to make idle small talk, the typical, yes I have an accent, no I’m not from here. But the person walking toward him isn’t like that at all. He’s tall, lean but strong—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His tawny hair is tousled, catching faint hints of gold from the light that has just started to seep into the sky. But it’s his eyes that catch George’s breath—somewhere between blue and grey. Like the sea during a storm.
The guy doesn’t say anything. He quietly sets up his fishing rod and sits down a few meters away.
George looks away, unsure if he can handle the company.
A few moments pass. His gaze is locked on the water below him, watching the dark pools and ripples brighten with the sun. Unexpectedly, he feels a light tap on his hand, the one resting on the dock.
“You okay?” the guy asks softly.
George blinks, startled. “I’m fine,” he says quickly. He cringes at the speed in which he responds.
The guy doesn’t press. He tilts his head slightly and hums. “You’re crying.”
George reaches up to his cheek. Wet.
He hadn’t even noticed.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” the guy reassures gently. “We can just watch the sunrise.”
George swallows, his voice rough. “I’m colorblind. I can’t… really see the sunrise.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Then tell me what you do see,” the guy says.
George pauses, digging canines into his lower lip. Then, with a quiet breath, he tries. He describes the way the light shifts, how the pale grey turns to something almost golden. The way the sky brightens, as if it’s waking up slowly with a smile. The way it feels warm, even if he can’t see the reds and oranges.
When he stops, he turns towards the stranger. He’s looking at George intensely. George feels warmness rise to the tips of his cheek under the other’s scrutiny. He’s about to apologize for rambling when the guy nods his head.
“That might not be what most people see,” he says. “But what you described? That’s beautiful.”
George blinks, unsure of what to say.
The guy smiles, soft and sincere. “You seem like the kind of person who sees the best in everything. Finds beauty, even in the darkest moments.”
It feels like a punch to the chest. In the best and worst ways.
The guy holds out a hand. “I’m Allen, by the way.”
“George,” he replies quietly, hesitantly reaching out and shaking the hand offered to him.
They sit in silence as the sun continues to rise. Not an awkward silence—just quiet. Peaceful. Every so often, their shoulders or knees brush as they adjust their gear. They turn to each other with encouraging smiles every time the other makes a catch.
Eventually, George’s stomach rumbles. He’s reminded that he didn’t stop by the kitchen on his way out.
He flushes.
Allen chuckles softly, “Didn’t eat?”
George shakes his head. “Wasn’t thinking.”
Allen hesitates, then says with a hopeful twinge in his voice, “No pressure at all, but… you seem like you’ve had a rough day. Let me take you out to lunch? There’s this tiny sushi place nearby. Family-owned. Quiet. I love it.”
George doesn’t answer right away. His gut feels empty, but his mind is still heavy. Still too full.
Allen smiles again, softer this time. “I won’t make you talk about anything. It’s just lunch. You shouldn’t be out here alone. You deserve to have something nice.”
He stands up and reaches a hand out again. He has a hopeful grin on his face, bright and crinkling at the corners of those storm-colored eyes.
And this time, George takes it without hesitation.
He smiles back.