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Ella’s house is beautiful. Small, very old, but it’s undoubtedly her. Dream likes it here, always cozy and always welcome. Plants fill her living room, blankets and pillows anywhere she can fit. Paintings and photos cover the walls, and cheesy motivational signs hang in her kitchen. Her bedroom has a tall double bed always arranged in a nest, now with several of Dream’s shirts. Her desk is covered in mess, as usual, but the floor has been scraped clean and put away.
Dream leaves his duffel bag in her room and meets her in the living room.
“We should have a conversation, right?” Ella asks, perched on the armrest of her sofa.
Dream nods as he sits beside her. “I think we should.”
“I’ve never spent my heat with anyone before,” she admits, rubbing her shoulder. She glances away. “And I haven't helped an alpha through a rut.”
“Have—” Dream blinks. “Have you had sex before?”
Ella shrugs. “A few times?” she mutters. “I just haven't ever had a relationship where I feel okay to… do this.”
Dream smiles and takes her hand in his. “I’m glad to be the first,” he says softly. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Talking her through his rut behaviour is nothing like how he talked about it with George. When he discussed it with George, he got it all wrong, and George had to correct him afterwards. He was laughing as he did so, a soft hand rubbing Dream’s shoulder lovingly as Dream hid behind his hands, oddly embarrassed.
He does everything with her that he did with George their first time. They stock up on Dream’s favourite foods and lots of electrolytes, Dream carefully adds a pillow to Ella’s nest, they have enough conversations to cover every possible base.
Except one.
Dream rarely forgets what happens during his ruts. Though he never really has easy ones; he usually feels like he’s backseat driving while his instincts take the wheel. He gave up fighting it years ago.
However, his last rut was different. An outlier among roughly fourteen cycles since he was 18 years old. He hadn't mentioned it to Ella, sure it was a one-time thing.
He had spent a week in his room, and he remembers none of it. He fell asleep a Wednesday morning, and woke up the following Monday, drenched in sweat. His head was foggy, he was still incredibly turned on and desperate to bite someone, stake claim, and the only thing in his mind was George.
Ella cares for him gently as he goes through pre-rut. It’s always rough, with hot flashes and irritability and all-around being very uncomfortable. But Ella doesn't bat an eye. George didn't either.
“It’s tomorrow,” Dream mumbles Saturday night. He’s laying on top of Ella’s blankets, eyelids heavy and shut, bare-chested as she lays beside him, tucked under the sheets. “We’ll wake up and I’ll be fully in rut.” He groans softly and pushes his face into his pillow.
Ella strokes his jaw. “You’ll be okay,” she murmurs. “It’s only a few days.”
“We’ll be okay.”
George had said it before they spent their first cycle together, and they were both nervous. Dream isn't nervous this time. It just feels weird.
He wakes up Thursday afternoon.
For a moment, nothing makes sense. He doesn't recognize where he is, he can't smell George, or Sapnap, he’s hot and heavy and he reeks, and it’s all wrong.
His head is thick, but slowly, he comes back to his body. Ella’s room, Ella’s bed, Ella’s scent. Ella.
Where is Ella?
Head still foggy, Dream stands on shaky legs towards his duffel bag. He trips as he pulls on fresh boxers, and a soft knock comes a moment later.
“Ella?” he asks.
She walks in, face solemn. “Hey,” she says. Her voice sounds strange. “You feeling okay?”
Dream stares down at himself. “Um.”
She pushes past him to sit on the corner of her bed. “Do you remember what happened?”
Dream shakes his head, causing a painful throb to stab his skull. He closes his eyes and pushes his forehead against a hand. “No,” he grumbles. “This happened last time too.”
“You didn't tell me that,” Ella says.
Dream looks at her. She’s annoyed. Upset. No, she’s mad.
“Maybe we could have avoided this if you did.”
“Avoided… what?”
But the look in her eyes is familiar. Disappointment and dejection. Similar but not the same to when George looked at him after his last rut. When Dream stepped out of his room after a week and George stared at him with soft eyes and a pained smile, he could only imagine what George had heard him say. He never asked.
“You never called me by name,” Ella says sadly, hugging herself. She turns away. “You called me George.”
Dream’s stomach drops.
“I corrected you. You asked for George. I said George wasn't here. You asked again, again, again, so I left.” She looks up with tears in her eyes. “I didn't kick you out of my room, which is what I should have done. I’ve been sleeping on my couch for the last five nights.” She stands, standing eerily still. “I listened to you cry for George, every night and day. When I delivered you food and water, you thought I was George. You were so angry I couldn't bring him to you.”
“Ella—”
“Why didn't you tell me you slept with him?” Ella snaps, a tear streaking down her face as she yells.
Dream freezes, hands raised in front of his chest. He’s never heard Ella raise her voice. “I— didn't think it was important.”
Ella looks at him like she’s never heard anything stupider. “You didn't think I should know you slept with your best friend? The one you still live with? The one I was irrationally jealous of because I would never be able to have you like he has you? Even while in a relationship with you?”
Dream flinches. His head pounds.
“Ella, can we talk about this later?” he whispers.
“Did you love him?” Ella ignores him.
Dream looks up at her. Her scent has gone from flowery to dangerous. She’s heartbroken, and he can't lie to her. Even if he wants to, to protect her, in the long run it will only hurt more.
“I never stopped,” he admits quietly. He looks at the ground, unable to meet her gaze.
She stares at her carpet. A tear falls. “I’ve always been second place,” she mutters. “I convinced myself you loved me, that I was what you wanted. And then I let you stay in my room, in my house. I listened to you cry and call for another omega.” She pauses to wipe her eye with the butt of her palm. She looks up at Dream finally. “I felt useless. I felt disgusting. Expendable, even. Do you know what that feels like?”
“I’m sorry, Ella,” Dream says. It’s all he can say.
She shakes her head and takes the few steps to the door. “Just leave,” she whispers. “Go see George.”
She closes the door as she exits.
Dream was supposed to spend another few days with her. They were supposed to recover together, laugh and order in and watch movies all day. But Dream had kicked her out of her own nest because she was too nice to send him back home.
He packs up quickly. He drives himself home, still exhausted and woozy, and he really shouldn't be driving, but he makes it home okay. He pulls into the garage, hardly noticing Sapnap’s empty side.
The second he steps into the house, all he smells is George. And the second he smells it, everything becomes so overwhelming. He remembers, out of the blue, fucking his own fist as he craved George beneath him. Days spent calling George’s name, on the chance he’d appear.
George’s smile behind his eyelids as he slept. George’s laugh in his ears instead of music. It’s always been George, even when he thought differently. Especially when he hoped differently.
“Dream?” George calls from somewhere in the house.
“I’m here!” Dream replies. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, trying to stay steady. He abandons his duffel at the base of the stairs to haul himself up the stairs. He’s still weak, having just gotten out of rut. He needs rest, but he wants George more.
George finds him in the hallway. He looks frenzied, exhausted, and he smells so good.
Dream stands, rushing to collapse into George’s arms. George complains about how heavy he is and “get off, Dream,” but to no avail. Dream’s nose presses against George’s scent gland and he breathes in, sighing happily. George smells like warm cookies and rain, and Dream has never been so happy to smell it.
“Did you just finish your rut?” George asks, surprise in his voice.
Dream nods into his shoulder. “Ella kicked me out.”
“ What ?” George exclaims. “Why would she do that?”
“I deserved it.”
Dream presses closer still against George, who grunts underneath him. He suggests the couch, and half-drags Dream through the house. They don't make it; Dream slumps against the wall beside the bathroom, on the brink of sleep.
“She made you drive like this?” George mumbles under his breath. He crouches in front of Dream with a hand tilting up his chin. He continues muttering as he hurries off to the kitchen, returning with a small pack of Ritz crackers and a plastic water bottle.
He opens the packet and feeds Dream two. Once he swallows, George opens the bottle and holds it to Dream’s lips.
“‘M not a child,” Dream grumbles, taking the bottle. He drinks half of it.
George sits in front of Dream, both of them criss-crossed on the floor. “What happened, Dream?” he asks.
Dream shakes his head, fiddling with the cap of the bottle. “My rut didn't go as planned,” he says, exhaustion stumbling his words. “She got really mad at me.”
“How didn't it go to plan?”
Dream hums. Tears well in his eyes. He looks up at George, staring at him patiently but eyebrows turned in concern. Something in his gaze tells Dream not now.
He shakes his head. “I can't tell you now,” he says.
George huffs softly. “But you will when you feel better?”
“Promise,” Dream says, smiling.
George returns it.
He helps Dream to his room, to his bed, and he’s never felt so happy to see it. He collapses down, groaning comfortably as he lands against the sheets. It doesn't smell like Ella here. It was almost choking him at her house. Here is familiar. It smells like—
He tilts his head up at George. “Did you sleep here?”
George looks away. “You're an idiot.”
His face is flushed red, and it’s so cute how he gives himself away so easily.
Dream grins widely, feeling his heart race at the thought of George sleeping in his bed. “You can admit it, Georgie, I don't care,” he says. “I’m just disappointed I wasn't there to see it.”
George stares at him, as if wondering. He steps closer. “Can I join you then?”
Dream’s smile quiets. “Please,” he says, a little too pathetically for his own taste. His desire is steadily crawling up his throat. He’s really trying to ignore it.
George smirks and kneels against the mattress. He adjusts himself painfully slowly, laying himself directly in front of Dream, careful to not touch. Dream watches his eyes, his lips, craving. Always craving.
They lay face-to-face, breathing, wanting, watching. Dream can smell it on George, how badly he wants. He’s sure George can smell it on him.
“Can I touch you?” Dream whispers.
George blinks, twice, and nods.
Dream’s fingers move slowly. He touches George’s face, tracing his bone structure, feeling the contour of his skin. It’s familiar, almost like home. He drags his fingertips down George’s neck, touching his scent gland and collarbone, pushing down his chest. And the entire time, he stares into Georg’s eyes.
His hand wraps around George’s waist, tugging him closer. He leans forward, pushing the crown of his head into the crook of George’s neck. He lets George’s scent dance around him, allows his eyes to grow heavy.
George’s hands stroke his hair and his shoulders as he whispers in Dream’s ear. “I’ll be here,” he says. “Always. I won’t leave you. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”
—
He wakes up hours later, still tucked against George. His head lays on George’s chest, and he listens to the heart thumping softly under his ear. George’s fingers are tangled in his hair, and one of his legs is hooked around Dream’s waist.
Dream never wants to move.
He lifts a hand to brush George’s hair, enough to make George's eyelashes flutter. He presses a kiss to George’s chest, then his collarbone, then a greedy nibble of his neck, beside his scent gland.
George blinks awake. “Dr’m,” he murmurs.
Dream hums, kissing higher against his neck. “Hi,” he says.
George sighs and leans his head away, stretching his neck. Dream’s lips drag against George’s skin, desperate to taste after being depraved. He tastes exactly as Dream remembers.
He’s careful to not leave marks, no matter how badly he wants to. He pulls back as the rise and fall of George’s chest quickens, leaving a slow kiss to his jaw before sitting up. “Can we talk now?” he asks, brushing George’s hair.
“Fuck, give me a minute first,” George breathes.
Dream smiles. He sits up, giving George the space he needs to catch his breath and face Dream, knees brushing like they did yesterday by the bathroom.
“So, what happened yesterday?” George asks.
Dream doesn’t answer. He looks at George instead. He takes in his whole face, his body, everything set in front of him. And he thinks back, wondering if there was ever a time he didn’t love George. It feels like he’s always been there, even when he wasn’t.
“I kept saying your name during my last rut, didn’t I?” he asks.
George flushes pink and looks off to the side. “I thought you remembered,” he says. “And I thought you were deliberately ignoring it since we had broken up.”
Dream shakes his head. “It was the first rut I have no memory of, besides wanting you,” he says gently. “And then I went to Ella’s, didn’t tell her, and refused to let her touch me during my whole rut.” He frowns down at his bedsheets. “I called her by your name, I cried for you as she slept on her couch, I— it was always you. I didn’t think it was anymore, but clearly, I was wrong.”
He looks back up at George. They watch each other for a moment.
“Okay, fine,” Dream says suddenly, throwing his hands up. “I still love you, George. I never stopped, I never will. I know you stopped. I tried to get over you, and it was unfair to Ella, but I will never stop loving you.” He crosses his arms. “So, like, get used to it.”
George breaks out into a grin. It gets bigger, wider, more real. And then he grabs Dream’s hand and squeezes four times.
I love you too.
“Maybe you should apologize to Ella,” he says. “Again. Repeatedly.”
Dream’s lips thin. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I feel like absolute crap I did that to her, even unintentionally.”
“You did break up with her, right?” George asks after a moment of hesitation.
Dream blinks. “Um. I think?”
—
The next day, when George determines his post-rut finished, Dream drives back over to Ella’s house. The flowery smell still comforts him, but he can’t help that it’s nothing compared to George’s jasmine green tea.
Ella lets him sit down as they converse. He apologizes repeatedly and earnestly, for several things, and then the same things again. She listens quietly, nodding when appropriate and smiling softly. They end their relationship mutually, both of them agreeing Dream would be happier back with George. He collects all of his shirts back, as well as anything he left here by accident in the past.
When he returns home, he finds George in the kitchen. He hurries over and George yelps as Dream touches his shoulders. While he’s being cursed out, Dream turns him around and kisses him. The kitchen goes quiet, but tea and old book-smell mingle in the air, an odd combination in retrospect, but somehow, they fit perfectly.