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George has never been one to enjoy crowds; quite the opposite, actually. The noise, the accidental touching, the feeling of always being perceived; he hates it all. That is, except for the crowds that form in music venues. It doesn’t matter to him whether they’re shitty bars or arenas; he’s been in them all. He feels safe, at home, eyes peering up at the stage to witness the music that leaks from it and into the crowd. He doesn’t mind the screaming or when people bump into him; it’s all a part of the experience.
His hands grip onto the barricade, mouthing the words to a song that he’s heard hundreds of times before. It’s one off of Dream’s new album, the one he’s touring for, and George feels like he’s listening to it in a new light every time he hears it. Love, secrets, a dozen metaphors and meanings that he still feels like he’s decoding even though it’s been a year since he first heard it.
“This is going to be my last song,” Dream says into his microphone, walking to the side of the stage and grabbing a water bottle. The arena erupts in conflicting applause, ready to hear the last song, but not yet wanting the show to end.
George grins, removing his hands from the metal bar in front of him to clap along with the thousands of other people in the room, cheering on the singer.
George watches in awe as Dream cues the band in and starts the song, putting everything he has into the performance. He runs across the whole stage, jumping along to his own words, doing little dances that George would call cringe in any other situation. Dream makes the stage his own, and the crowd reciprocates by singing and dancing along to each word he utters into the microphone.
Dream runs towards the stage where George stands, singing to the crowd, and George holds his breath as he swears Dream stares directly at him.
“But you’re my favourite place,” Dream’s words shoot at George as their eyes meet. His stomach churns, twisting in knots as he holds onto the lyrics. Dream walks away from the area quickly, heading towards the other side of the stage, but George just stands there, grinning as he replays the familiar words in his head over and over again.
The last chorus is sung, with confetti flying into the air, and the crowd erupts into applause as Dream stands on stage, smiling out at the crowd.
“Have a good night, Miami!”
Dream, in all his sweat, still looks ethereal to George. Dream’s grin seems to be permanently plastered onto his face as he brushes his curls back with his hand, messing his hair up even more. A sight that George wants to capture in his mind forever.
He places the mic onto the ground and jumps down from the stage, holding out his hand to the crowd as he walks down the barricade. He pauses at George for a split second, giving him a small look that George doesn’t really know how to decipher, and then continues down the barricade.
The crowd clears slowly when Dream makes his way backstage, and George continues to stand at the barricade, this time leaning back against it as he watches people scoop up confetti from the ground and stay back to take pictures with the stage. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking for any notifications that seem important. He scrolls through one by one, reading, but not replying.
“Excuse me.” George looks up, prying his eyes away from his phone screen. “Come with me.”
George peers around and sees that the staff have started to clear people out of the venue, ushering everyone towards the door. Instead of following the rest of the crowd, George walks with one of the security guards, following him towards the backstage door.
George stuffs his phone back in his pocket as he walks, trying to keep up with the pace at which the venue security is walking. Which, fuck, he was not expecting to be practically speed-walking to catch up to the man.
The man stops at one of the few doors in the corridor, knocking lightly on the door and waiting until a muffled “come in” is heard from the other side.
The man nods at George before walking off and talking into the earpiece in his ear. George snaps his eyes away from the man and towards the door, pushing it open to see a dressing room. It’s large, fitting a couch and coffee table in the middle of the room, and there, sitting at the vanity, is Dream, wiping his face with a cloth.
“Dream,” George breathes out.
Dream snaps his head up, perking up at his stage name being spoken.
“That was such a good concert,” George continues, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
“Yeah?” Dream asks, smiling. His eyes light up in a way that makes George dizzy for a few seconds.
“Stop fishing for more compliments.” George rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back against the closed door. He watches Dream as he puts down the wipe and stands up from the chair, stepping towards George.
“Not gonna praise me for the genius popstar I am?”
“Your ego is getting too big,” George scoffs.
“You love it, baby.” Dream takes one more step and closes the gap between them, leaning down and capturing George’s lips. George melts into the feeling, feeling like putty as he lets himself be encased in Dream’s warmth. Dream’s fingers wrap delicately around George’s waist, tugging him closer as their lips move with each other’s, dancing a familiar dance.
George pulls slightly, his breath fanning over Dream’s mouth, “Speaking of fishing,” George says. Dream laughs, pulling away and breaking their moment.
“One more show left, then my days are yours.”
“Damn right,” George grins, wrapping his arms around Dream’s neck and pulling him closer. He traces the freckles on the other’s face, connecting each dot in his mind like constellations. God, he doesn’t want to move away from his boyfriend; he’s content standing there and memorising every inch of his face if it means he doesn’t let go.
“We’ll be back in Orlando tomorrow if you let me change and pack up,” Dream says, leaning down to press a quick peck to George’s lips. “Need to be up bright and early.”
“Fine!” George whines, letting go of Dream.
“I’ll be quick.” Dream grins, stepping away and towards the vanity once again. George huffs, walking over to the couch and collapsing on it as he watches Dream change clothes and pack up the things that he’ll be personally bringing back to the hotel. His touring staff will handle everything else and make sure it’s in Orlando for tomorrow night’s closing show, but for now, all Dream needs to worry about is a small bag of his essentials that he swears he needs to bring to every show.
“Alright,” Dream mutters, looking around the room for anything that he needs to bring with him. “Ready to go?”
“I guess,” George says, his voice trying to sound uninterested, but Dream just smiles, paying no attention to the fake disinterest. “How are you going to sneak me out this time?”
George stands from the couch, stretching. He’s excited to hear how Dream plans to get George in the same car as him without any of the fans seeing them. It’s a game they like to play while on tour. If they’re going to be a secret, then might as well make it fun.
He takes a few steps towards the door, but turns to see Dream still standing in place, deep in thought as he stares into space.
“Clay?”
“Hm?” Dream looks up, his eyes meeting George’s.
“What’s the plan?”
“I was thinking,” Dream speaks, quieter than usual, “I– Maybe we don’t sneak you out of the venue tonight.”
“What?”
“Well, okay. Just–” Dream pauses, his eyes focused on the carpet beneath them rather than George’s own. “Okay, so, we could test the waters.”
“Test the waters?” George questions. In the two years of them dating and Dream’s career blowing up, there was rarely ever any talk of hard-launching their relationship. There were many reasons for this, of course, but the two main reasons they fell on were that George wasn’t famous and he didn’t want any public attention, and that Dream was not yet wanting to come out of the closet yet, which George always joked was glass.
With both their reasons, neither ever brought up the possibility of being public with their relationship. It just wasn’t a thought–well, for George at least.
Dream steps around the dressing room, pacing in a small area.
“I– Well, okay. I’ve been thinking. Just recently. You work from home now, so you don’t really need to deal with the public, and I don’t know. I have thought about coming out for a little bit now. And maybe, well, if you’re fine with it, we could slowly come out. Like, super slowly. I want people to know I’m in love. I had a thought that–Okay, um–”
“Clay, you’re rambling,” George interrupts.
Dream pauses, standing still and looking up at George. He closes his eyes, letting out a breath, and opens his eyes again. “We could hard launch the relationship before the whole gay thing.”
“The gay thing,” George chuckles. He steps back and leans against the wall, shaking his head and smiling at his boyfriend. Dream opens his mouth, ready to defend his words and over-explain, but George speaks again before he can. “How would we do that?”
Dream looks around the dressing room, spotting his oversized jacket on the armrest of the couch. He quickly picks it up and brings it over to George, who takes it without any protest. He watches Dream walk around the room, looking for whatever else he wants to dress George in.
There wasn’t much in the room. Just a few random pieces of clothing that Dream owned that he toyed with wearing on stage.
“Wait,” Dream breathes out, walking back over to his bag that rests on the counter, he digs through it and pulls out a scarf that he wore to the venue this morning when it was cold. George remembers watching Dream wrap it around his neck from the hotel bed this morning when he rushed back in, exclaiming it was cold outside.
“Here, your outfit.” Dream holds out the scarf to George. With a laugh, George slips the jacket on, the piece of clothing drowning him with how big it was on him, and then takes the scarf from Dream’s hand and wraps it around his neck, pulling it up over half of his face and then flipping the hood up.
“There, a very ambiguously gendered person for you to take to the car that’s been waiting out there for too long now,” George says with slightly muffled words towards Dream.
“Idiot.” Dream grins, grabbing the tote bag off the vanity and reaching out to hold George’s hand with the other. “Let’s go.”
The two walk side by side, fingers laced and arms swinging back and forth as they make their way to the back door of the venue, where a car is waiting to take them to their hotel. What is also expected to be waiting there are fans, and a lot of them. Dream squeezes George’s hand as he bids his goodbyes to the touring crew and stops in front of the door that will lead them to the public.
Dream’s personal security guard is standing there, waiting to escort them to the car, and George can’t be more thankful than in this moment. Okay, he’s slightly terrified. Only a little. He’s allowed to be. He’s sure that the fans are going to try and peek at every inch of George to see who he is, and the thought of that alone makes his skin crawl.
The guard, who’s nicknamed Bonk, opens the door and lets the November air hit them. The fans' screams are loud. George keeps his head down and hands tightly locked with Dream’s as they make their way through the crowd. Dream’s security guard makes sure they make it through the crowd without any handsy fans grabbing onto either of them, thank God. The last thing George needs right now is for people to try to touch him.
“Alright, in you two,” Bonk says, opening the car door and ushering them both inside. George keeps his head down the whole time, not once looking up in case a fan sees. Maybe he’s slightly paranoid, but fuck. This is the first time they’ve been in a crowd like that, where everyone knows who Dream is and will want to know everything about George. He has to get used to that, he guesses.
It’s not like he wants to stay secret forever, but that whole fifty-foot walk to the car felt way too claustrophobic. He’ll have to get used to it, he supposes.
“Holy shit,” Dream breathes out, relaxing now that the car has started to drive. “That was crazy, but, like, I feel like I’m pumped up on adrenaline. It felt kind of good.”
“I don’t know if I’d say that felt good, but it wasn’t…” George pushes the hood off his head and the scarf down from his mouth. “It wasn’t the worst thing,” he decides, reaching up for the seatbelt and clicking it in.
“Thank you,” Dream says, the smile evident in his voice. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” George whispers, smiling.
–
George lies, slumped in a pile of blankets and pillows that he can’t be bothered tidying up off the couch. His phone in one hand, opening Twitter for the first time since they got back home a few hours ago. He flicks through his timeline, scrolling through what everyone is talking about, and then he sees it. An article. One that clearly has the thumbnail picture of him and Dream. Well, Dream and a “mysterious” person. He clicks on it without thinking twice, reading through the little information that this journalist has.
‘Is this Dream finally revealing his girlfriend to the world?’
Well, the incorrect information.
“Clay!” George shouts, peeking over the couch to try to spot where his boyfriend has run off to.
“Yeah?” he receives a shout back, coming from the direction of their laundry room.
“Come here,” George replies, flopping back to his spot on the couch, waiting for Dream to come to him.
“What’s up?” Dream asks, peering over the couch and down at George.
“Have a look at this,” George says, shoving his phone up towards Dream. He takes it, scrolling for a few minutes. George watches his face, waiting for a reaction to the article.
“Hm,” Dream hums, passing George’s phone back. “You’re famous now. My famous girlfriend,” Dream grins, huffing out a chuckle at his own joke.
“Whatever,” George scoffs, clicking out of the article and scrolling through the replies.
“This is what it will be like,” Dream says suddenly, interrupting George’s stalking of the comments. “But, like, ten times this, probably. The articles, the comments, the news. When we come out, that is. It will be constant.”
George looks up, turning his phone off and letting it rest against his chest.
“As long as I’m with you, then it’ll be okay,” George says, reaching up towards Dream, who gives him his hand.
“I love you,” Dream says in earnest. George grins, eyes creasing as he stares up at his boyfriend, eyes gleaming with happiness at the three words spoken.
George doesn’t need to say it back for Dream to understand. The look George gives him is enough to say it back for a million lifetimes.