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The blue light of his phone screen was the only thing illuminating the dark bedroom, casting a pale glow over George’s face as he swiped up. Another 15-second video, another burst of ambient noise.
My day was so mundane, I don't think I left the house
He knew exactly what he should be doing. Downstairs in his office, his monitor was sitting awake, a Premiere timeline full of unedited footage waiting for him. There was a code to debug, content to plan - things that were actually worthwhile. Yet, here he was, holed up in his upstairs bedroom, paralyzed by the infinite scroll and letting the hours slip away.
Drank a pot of coffee, tried to write, nothing came out
The abrupt vibration of his phone shattered the trance, the TikTok audio cutting out to reveal the incoming call screen.
Dream
George swiped answer, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Dream’s voice came through, a little hurried but laced with that familiar warmth. “Are you busy? Can you come down to my office to pick up Patches?”
George blinked, a small, knowing smile immediately tugging at the corner of his lips. Patches. Right. Because if Dream actually just needed Patches out of the room, he could have easily just let her outside the office door. It was the most transparent excuse in the world. Dream was leaving for his business trip to LA this weekend, and he was already packed and practically out the door. This was a poorly veiled attempt to see George.
“Yeah, I can come down,” George replied, already tossing the blanket aside, the guilt of his unproductive evening instantly evaporating. “Give me a minute.”
“Cool. See you in a bit,” Dream said, his tone lifting slightly before he hung up.
Locking his phone and tossing it onto the mattress, George stood up and stretched. He left his bedroom, stepping out into the quiet upstairs hallway he shared with Sapnap, and headed down the stairs. The unfinished edits and untouched code is his own office. Right now, he was just glad for the interruption as he walked through the house.
George made his way down the stairs, passing the quiet front section of the house near Dream’s bedroom before heading down the long hallway toward the back, where the three offices were lined up.
He pushed open the door to Dream’s office and found him sitting at his desk, though he didn’t exactly look like a man in the middle of frantic trip preparations. Patches was curled up contently on a corner of the desk, blinking lazily under the warm lamplight.
Dream looked up as the door clicked, a bright, genuine smile instantly breaking across his face. The subtle tension in his shoulders from a long day of planning seemed to melt away the second George walked in.
“Hey,” Dream said softly, leaning back in his chair.
“Hey,” George replied, crossing the room and stopping right by the desk. He looked down at the cat, then back up at Dream, raising an eyebrow with a playful, knowing look. “So. You needed me to rescue Patches? Because she looks incredibly stranded right now.”
Dream let out a low chuckle, not even trying to defend his terrible cover story. He reached out, his hand naturally finding George’s hip, tugging him just a fraction closer.
“Yeah, it was getting desperate in here,” Dream murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, private register they only used when the microphones were completely put away. “Thanks for coming down, love.”
George felt a familiar warmth bloom in his chest at the word. He didn’t move away from the touch, letting his fingers brush against the edge of the desk. “The weekend is still days away, Dream. You know you’re allowed to just ask me to come hang out without using the cat as a shield.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Dream smiled, his eyes searching George’s face, already memorizing the sight of him before the chaos of the La trip took over.
The days had bled together, and suddenly it was Friday night. Dream’s flight to LA was scheduled for early the next morning, and the reality of the upcoming week of quiet separation was finally sinking in.
Upstairs in the bedroom, George was trapped in the same familiar cycle: lying on his side in the dark, the rhythmic flick of his thumb sending a blur of TikTok videos past his eyes. He wasn’t really registering any of them. It was just white noise to keep his brain from overthinking.
Somehow, it's the weekend, I'm still bored out of my skull
Deciding he needed a break from the endless loop of the algorithm, he swiped out of the app and opened his messages. That’s when he spotted it - an unopened invite fromSkeppy about a party happening tonight.
George hovered over the screen for a second. Staying home meant listening to Dream do his final packing downstairs, a vivid reminder that he’d be gone in a few hours. Anything was better than sitting with that restless feeling.
He typed out a quick reply:Yeah, I’ll come.
Not even two minutes later, his phone buzzed with Skeppy’s reply.
Skeppy > wow! glad you could finally make up your mind :P i literally invited you a week ago and you decide to say yes the day of?? clown behavior!
George let out a faint, breathless laugh, rolling his eyes as he tossed the covers off.
-
An hour later, George was walking through the front door of Skeppy’s place, the heavy thumping bass of the music vibrating right through the floorboards. Sapnap had been thrilled by the sudden change of heart and immediately vanished into the thick of the crowd the second they arrived, chasing down a drink and shouting hellos over the noise.
And I went to a party but only on principle
George, however, did the exact opposite.
He made a beeline to the kitchen, poured himself a single, solitary drink, and then proceeded to cradle it against his chest like a shield. He didn’t take more than a sip or two. He just needed something to hold so people wouldn’t ask him why he wasn’t drinking.
George existed on the absolute periphery of the party. He lingered around the edges of the rooms like a ghost, blending into the shadows by the walls, completely detached from the energy around him. Groups of people laughed, someone spilled a drink near the couch, and a few people tried to wave him over to dance, but he just offered a polite, distant smile and drifted away before the crowd could swallow him up.
His body was in Skeppy’s living room, but his mind was entirely back at the house, counting down the hours until morning.
-
Through the haze of the flashing lights and the dense crowd, the front door opened, and Dream walked in.
He wasn’t dressed for a party; he was wearing a simple hoodie, looking exactly like someone who should be asleep ahead of a grueling travel day. He didn't scan the room for the hosts, and he didn’t look toward the kitchen or the bar. His eyes cut straight through the chaos, sweeping the perimeter until they landed directly on the shadowed corner where George was standing.
George froze. Across the crowded, noisy room, their eyes locked. For a long, heavy moment, the thumping bass and the shouting voices seemed to fade into a dull hum. It was dramatic, intense, and completely unspoken - a magnetic pull that felt entirely too loud for a room full of people.
Empty, look at me
Breaking the stare, Dream began weaving his way through the thick of the party. He didn’t stop to chat with anyone who called out his name, his focus entirely fixed on the corner. When he finally reached George, the frantic energy of the house seemed to stall.
“Hey,” Dream said, his voice cutting through the noise, gentle and grounding.
“Hey,” George replied, his fingers tightening slightly around the lukewarm glass he’d been holding all night. “What are you doing here? You have a flight in a few hours.”
“Sapnap texted me. Said he’s staying the night here,” Dream said, giving George a soft, knowing look. He tilted his head toward the front door. “I’m heading back. Want a ride?”
It was almost uncanny. It was like Dream possessed some sort of telepathic radar, knowing exactly when George had his limit. He hadn’t just shown up to pick up the slack for Sapnap; he had shown up because he knew, without a single word being exchanged, that George needed an out. An excuse to escape.
I'm a zombie in my body, I'm a train off of the track
Dream was supposed to be asleep, resting up for his business trip, but instead, he had driven all the way to a party he had no intention of staying at, just to give George the rescue he didn’t even realize he wanted. He knew George better than George knew himself, anticipating the exact moment his social battery would hit zero and showing up right on cue to save him from the noise.
George looked down at his barely touched drink, then back up at Dream. The relief that washed over him was instantaneous.
“Yeah,” George said softly, a genuine smile finally breaking through his ghostly demeanor. “Yeah, let’s go home.”
-
The hum of the car engine filled the quiet space between them, a stark contrast to the thumping bass they’d left behind at the party. Outside, the world was a blur of muted grays and washed-out streetlights.
Dream kept his eyes on the road, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel, but the slight tilt of his head towards the passenger seat gave away his focus.
“So,” Dream started, his voice soft, cutting through the low rumble of the car. “Why did you actually go tonight, George? You knew it was going to be loud, and you clearly weren’t feeling it.”
George leaned his head back against the headrest, staring out the window. He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know. I just wanted an excuse to leave the house, I guess. Thought maybe I’d have a few drinks. Maybe actually have a good time.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
What George didn’t say - what he couldn’t bring himself to voice - was that the house felt suffocatingly small lately. Every corner of it reminded him that Dream’s departure date was creeping closer. He wanted to escape his own head. He wanted to avoid the looming reality that his light was leaving him. His sunshine. His colors.
I feel dirty, I feel rotten,
To George, the world had always been a frustratingly dull palette. But ever since Dream had been around, it felt like the saturation had been dialed up. It was a stupid, poetic metaphor for a colorblind guy to have, but it was the truth: without Dream, everything just felt gray.
and the colors are all flat
George swallowed the lump in his throat and cleared it, changing the subject before his thoughts could spiral any further. He turned his head to look at Dream’s profile, illuminated by the dashboard glow.
“Hey,” George said, his voice a little smaller now. “Can we.. share a room tonight? Like we used to?”
I'm a sad shell of a woman and I've got maggots for brains
Dream paused for a fraction of a second, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face. He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, G. Of course we can. I’d like that.”
-
An hour later, the quiet of the bedroom felt entirely different from the heavy silence of the car. It was warm, safe and familiar.
They lay tangled together beneath the heavy duvet, the space between them completely gone. Dream’s arm was draped securely over George’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. George buried his face slightly into the crook of Dream’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and something uniquely him.
But that's just a thing that happens when my
Dream’s fingers made slow, lazy patterns on George’s back, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere tonight. George let his eyes close, finally letting go of the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders all evening. Here, wrapped up in the warmth, the gray edges of the world faded away. He didn’t have to worry about tomorrow, or the suitcases, or the airport. For now, the sunshine was right there.
-
The heavy weight of a 5:00 AM alarm is brutal enough on its own, but it’s a hundred times worse when it signals the end of a fleeting few hours together.
When my baby goes away
George’s quiet pout speaks volumes. That reluctant, heavy ache of watching someone you care about rush around a dimly lit room, packing up pieces of a reality you’re not quite ready to let go of yet, is a very specific kind of heartbreak. It’s the contrast between the quiet, soft bubble they share and the sudden, loud intrusion of the real world.
When my baby goes away
The line they always danced - that blurred boundary of effortless flirting, pet names, and magnetic tension - is a comfortable, intoxicating space to be in. It makes perfect sense why George wants to pull the covers up, freeze time, and keep Dream right there.
He goes away
The final routine - the lingering kiss at the bedroom door and the bittersweet consolation prize of a left behind pillow - captures that exact feeling of holding onto someone’s warmth long after the door has clicked shut.
The timeline on the screen was a colorful mess of cuts, audio tracks, and transitions, but to George, it might as well have been blank. He clicked his mouse aimlessly, moving a clip forward two frames, then back two frames, before letting out a slow, defeated sigh. Usually, this was the part of the day where he’d spin around in his chair, text Dream, and demand he come look at this funny edit. Or Dream would just wander in on his own, leaning over the back of the chair to rest his chin on George’s head, radiating warmth.
Now, the silence in the office was deafening.
George’s eyes drifted to the small mini-fridge in the corner of the room. A mental note flickered across his brain: ‘Clean out the fruit bowl.” It had definitely crossed the line into biohazard territory by now. But the thought of standing up, walking over there, and dealing with it felt like trying to run a marathon through wet cement. He remained firmly glued to his chair, his gaze dropping back into the glowing monitor, staring at the frozen frame of his own face. Everything felt dull. A total waste of time.
Everything feels moldy like the fruit that's in my fridge
Seeking an easy hit of dopamine, he unlocked his phone and opened TikTok. He scrolled for less than thirty seconds before a ridiculous video made him huff a quiet laugh. Instinctively, George’s thumb hovered over the share button, his mouth already opening to say, “Dream, look at this-”
The words died in his throat.
The realization hit like a cold splash of water. He couldn’t just walk across the hall. He couldn’t toss his phone onto Dream’s lap and wait for that wheezing, breathless, beautiful laugh that always made George feel like he’d won a prize. Dream was gone. The humor drained out of the video instantly, turning it gray and pointless. George closed the app, and locked his phone, tossing it onto the desk with a hollow click. He didn’t want to share it anymore. If he couldn’t see Dream’s reaction, it wasn’t funny.
And everything that's funny, I wish I could tell to him
A dull ache in his stomach reminded him that it was well past noon and he hadn’t eaten a single thing. Grumbling, he finally forced himself out of the chair, his socks dragging against the floor as he made his way to the kitchen.
The counters were clean, the air was still, and the stove looked cold. George pulled out a pan, setting it on the burner. As he waited for it to heat up, his mind drifted down a dark dangerous path. He looked at the heavy metal pan, thinking about how easy it would be to be careless. To let his hand slip. If he accidentally burned himself… Dream would know.
And sometimes, at a low point, I even wish for tragedy
Dream would find out, and he would drop whatever he was doing. He would come running back, frantic and worried, helping George with his bandage changing, murmuring soft assurances, taking care of him.
'Cause I know he'd come over
For a split second, George thought he wouldn’t even mind the pain if it meant having Dream back in the room. If it meant having his colors back. Just as an excuse to see him. An excuse to be the center of Dream's universe again.
and take real good care of me
George caught himself, shaking his head rapidly to clear the fog. ‘No. That’s stupid.’ He gripped the handle of the pan safely, a wave of guilt washing over him. He would never actually do that. He wouldn’t dare spoil Dream’s trip or ruin his fun just because he was throwing a silent, pathetic pity party at home.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat, staring down at the empty pan, feeling smaller than ever.
The bright studio lights of George’s setup bounced off his facecam, casting a sharp, crisp glow over him that completely hid the exhaustion swirling in his brain. On screen, he looked exactly like he always did: perfectly put-together, slightly sarcastic, and ready to entertain the tens of thousands of people currently flooding his Twitch chat.
It's so weird,
But beneath the desk, his foot tapped a restless, anxious rhythm. Streaming was supposed to be a distraction. It was supposed to force him out of the gray, unmotivated fog that had settled over him since Dream left.
he's not here
Then, the distinctive bloop of a Discord call joining echoed through his headphones.
“What is up, everyone?” Dream’s voice boomed through the stream, clear and bright, immediately sending the chat into an absolute frenzy. He didn’t have his facecam on - he rarely did for the digital space instantly. “I saw you live and figured you could use some carrying, George.”
George blinked, a genuine, completely unscripted shock freezing him for a second. It was almost uncanny. It was like Dream had some sort of internal radar that pinged the exact moment George’s loneliness reached a tipping point.
I'm a zombie in my body, I'm a train off of the track
“Dream?” George asked, quickly recovering his signature deadpan tone for the camera. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in important business meetings or something?”
“I am in LA for business, yes,” Dream chuckled, his voice dropping into a slightly lower, warmer register that always made George’s chest tighten. “But I had a break between meetings and I saw my favorite streamer suffering. I couldn’t resist.”
I feel dirty, I feel rotten, and the colors are all flat
Looking at the empty yellow - green - Discord icon on his second monitor, a sudden, devastating wave of longing hit George right in the gut. He stared at the little glowing circle and silently wished, more than anything, that he could just reach through the glass. He wished he could pull Dream right through the computer screen, out of that sunny California house and back into this house. He wanted to be wrapped up in Dream’s arms, feeling the heavy, grounded weight of his chest against his back, safe and warm. He wanted him here, in person.
But he wasn’t. He was three thousand miles away.
And George was live.
The chat was scrolling at lightning speed, analyzing his face, reading every frame of his expression. He couldn’t falter. He couldn’t let the mask slip, not even for a fraction of a second. When his brain went crazy during a stream - when the intrusive, aching thoughts threatened to spill over - George had an ironclad rule: lock it down. He had never let the viewers see behind the curtain, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now.
“Sure, Dream. You’re definitely the one carrying,” George rolled his eyes dramatically for the camera clicking into Minecraft. “Let’s just beat the game. I don’t have all day.”
As the familiar pixelated world loaded, they fell into their usual on-stream dynamic. But George was horribly, terribly distracted. His mind kept drifting back to the empty hallway downstairs, the quiet kitchen, the lingering scent on Dream’s pillow.
I'm a sad shell of a woman
Because of it, his gameplay was completely tragic. He missed a crucial jump across a ravine, nearly falling into a pool of lava, and completely walked past a vein of iron three times in a row.
and I've got maggots for brains
“George, what are you doing?” Dream wheezed, his laugh bubbling through the headset - that beautiful, breathless sound George had been starving to hear all day. “Are you playing with your eyes closed? You just stared directly at that skeleton and let it shoot you. Do you need a map? Do you need me to hold your hand?”
The chat was exploding with LMAO and ? emojis, loving the banter.
George felt a flush of heat creep up his neck, but he quickly bit back with a sharp, defensive grin. “I was checking chat, idiot! I don’t need you to hold my hand. I’m literally moving faster than you. You’re just slow because of the LA lag.”
But that's just a thing that happens when my
“Right, the LA lag,” Dream teased, his voice dripping with fondness that the audience probably took as standard trolling, but George felt it right in his bones. “Whatever you say, G. Just try not to die to a literal zombie while I’m gathering pearls.”
When my baby goes away
George retorted with another sarcastic comment, pulling off a flawless clutch save on screen to prove his point. He forced himself to laugh, he forced himself to focus, and he played the part perfectly. But every time Dream laughed into his ear, the digital barrier felt a little more cruel, and the distance between them felt a little wider.
-
The bright “Stream Ended” screen faded to black and George immediately let out a long, ragged breath, the rigid posture he’d maintained for hours instantly collapsing. He reached up, tearing his headphones off his ears and tossing them onto the desk. The silence of the office rushed back in, heavy and suffocating.
But before he could spiral into the quiet, his phone on the desk lit up, It was a FaceTime call from Dream.
George hesitated for a second, rubbing his eyes, before pushing his hair out of his face and clicking answer.
Dream’s face filled the screen. He was sitting on the edge of his LA house bed, the warm California sun streaming through the window behind him, but his expression wasn’t bright. He looked tired, the cheerful, high-energy persona he’d just put on for the stream completely gone.
“Hey,” Dream said softly, his eyes immediately searching George’s face through the camera.
“Hey,” George replied, keeping his voice carefully leveled, leaning back in his chair with a lazy shrug. “Good stream. Thanks for the carry, I guess.”
Dream didn’t bite at the banter. He just kept looking at George, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “I miss you, G. Like, really bad. It sucks being here without you.”
George felt a sharp pang in his chest, but he instinctively clamped down on it. He wasn’t ready to let the walls drop yet. “It’s only been a few days, Dream. You’re being dramatic. You’re in LA, go have fun.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” Dream murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, heavy register that always stripped away George’s defenses. “It’s quiet here. I keep looking around the room expecting you to be there, or waiting to hear you yelling at your monitor down the hall. It feels wrong.”
When my baby goes away
George stared at the screen, looking at the familiar curve of Dream’s mouth, the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at him. And just like that, the facade he’d been maintaining all week, the mask he had worn so perfectly on stream - completely shattered. The weight of the empty house, the rotting fruit, the dull edits, and the agonizing longing all crashed down on him at once.
His shoulders dropped, and he let out a fragile, defeated sigh, unable to look Dream directly in the eye anymore. “Yeah,” George admitted, his voice cracking slightly, going small and honest. “Yeah, it sucks here too. Everything is just… gray. I hate it.”
Dream’s expression melted into pure tenderness, his hand instinctively reaching toward his camera as if he could touch George through the thousands of miles of fiber-optic cables. “I know, love. I know. Hey, look at me.”
George forced his eyes back up to the screen.
“I’ll be home in a little less than a month,” Dream reassured him, his tone grounding and firm, trying to anchor them both. “The meetings are going fast. I’m going to get through this as quickly as I can and get right back on a plane.”
He paused, a wry, bittersweet chuckle escaping his lips and he looked around his room. “It’s weird, though. We used to do distance for years, right? We went years and years without seeing each other in person, and we handled it. But this time.. It feels way harder. Like, exponentially harder.”
George let out a wet, breathless laugh, nodding his head against the back of his chair. “Because we live together now,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Dream agreed softly, his eyes full of a profound, aching realization. “Because now I know what it feels like to wake up next to you. I know what it feels like to just walk into the kitchen and see you there. Going back to a world where I can’t just reach out and touch… it feels a lot worse now that I know what I’m missing.”
He goes away, oh
George swallowed hard, gripping the edges of his desk. Hearing Dream voice the exact, heavy thoughts that had been paralyzing him all week felt both like a relief and a heartbreak. They weren’t just two friends dealing with a temporary business trip anymore; they were two people whose lives had become completely, beautifully tangled, making the distance feel less like a temporary pause and more like a missing piece of themselves.
The next afternoon, George was right back to where he started: a zombie in his own body, staring blankly at a Premiere timeline that hadn’t moved an inch since yesterday. The echoes of Dream’s voice from their late-night call were still bouncing around his head, making the quiet of the office feel twice as heavy.
What can I do
BAM.
The office door didn’t just open; it practically flew off its hinges as Sapnap kicked it forward, holding a giant, ungodly large bowl of heavily buttered popcorn in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other.
“Alright, that’s it,” Sapnap announced, his voice booming in the small room like a flashbang. “Get up, We’re watching a movie.”
George flinched, squinting against the sudden intrusion of energy. He didn’t even turn his chair around, keeping his eyes glued to his monitor. “No. Go away, Pandas. I’m editing.”
But think of you?
“You’ve been ‘editing’ the same three-minute clip for four days, George, I can see your screen from here,” Sapnap scoffed, marching right up to the desk and planting his free hand on the back of George’s chair. Without an ounce of hesitation, he gripped the plastic and physically spun George around to face him. “Look at you. You’re literally rotting in this chair. You look like a Victorian ghost.”
“I do not,” George shot back, a flash of his usual irritation returning, though his voice lacked any real bite. He tried to grab the wheels of his chair to spin himself back toward the desk, but Sapnap blocked him with his leg.
“You do. You smell like old fruit, your eyes are bloodshot, and you haven’t left this hallway since Friday,” Sapnap said, his tone shifting from purely teasing to something a little more grounded, a little more observant. He nudged George’s shoulder with the edge of the popcorn bowl. “Come on. The new horror movie just dropped on streaming. I’m not watching it alone, and you need a life. Let’s go.”
George looked from Sapnap’s stubborn, determined expression down to the warm popcorn. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to stay in his cave and wait for a text notification to light up his phone. But a small, reluctant part of him realized that if he stayed in this room for another hour, he might actually go crazy.
With a dramatic, deeply exaggerated groan, George let his head fall back against the headrest. “Fine. But if it’s stupid, I’m leaving halfway through.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, complainer. Move it,” Sapnap grinned, already turning on his heel to lead the way out.
George stood up, his joints popping from hours of disuse, and followed Sapnap down the hall to the living room. The large couch felt entirely too big with just the two of them sitting on it. Usually, the three of them were a tangled mess of limbs on this sofa - Dream taking up the middle, radiating heat like a radiator, with George practically glued to his side while Sapnap threw his legs over the armrest.
But think of you?
Now, there was a gaping, empty cushion between them.
Sapnap tossed George a blanket, tossing the TV remote onto the coffee table. As the opening credits of the movie started to roll, casting eerie shadows across the living room walls, Sapnap took a loud handful of popcorn and casually spoke over the audio.
“He’s only been gone for a few days, you know,” Sapnap said softly, keeping his eyes on the screen.
George froze, his hand pausing halfway into the popcorn bowl. He tried to play dumb, pulling his features into a scowl. “Who?”
What can I do
“Don’t do that,” Sapnap chuckled, shaking his head. “You and Dream. You’re both pathetic. He called me last night from LA just to ask if I’d checked on you today, and now I walk into your office and you’re practically wearing a black veil mourning him.”
George felt a sudden warmth creep up his neck, a mix of embarrassment and a strange, aching comfort that Dream was worrying about him from three time zones away. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, burying his chin in the fabric.
But think of you?
“It’s just different now,” George admitted quietly, the words slipping out before he could lock them down. He stared at the flashing lights of the TV, the colors feeling just a little less flat with Sapnap sitting next to him, but still missing their true brightness. “We used to do this all the time before I moved here. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
Sapnap went quiet for a moment, the heavy bass of the horror movie score filling the room. When he spoke again, his voice was surprisingly gentle. “Yeah, well. Before you moved here, you didn’t have to look at his empty shoes by the door every morning. It’s hard to go back to being long-distance when you’ve already figured out how to be a ‘home.’”
But think of you?
George swallowed hard, the truth of Sapnap’s words cutting right through his defenses. He didn’t reply, but he didn’t argue either. He just leaned back into the cushions, letting the mindless jump-scares of the movie wash over him, grateful for the loud, solid presence of his friend keeping him anchored to Earth while his heart was somewhere in California.
Two weeks crawled by like molasses. The movie day with Sapnap had been a temporary lifeline, but it hadn’t cured the underlying ache. Now, it was a quiet Tuesday night, and the separation was wearing George down to the absolute bone.
I'm a zombie in my body,
They hadn’t even been able to call for five days. Dream’s schedule in LA had gotten completely choked with back-to-back corporate meetings, networking dinners, and production overhauls. A few scattered, brief texts here and there were all George had to live on, and it wasn’t enough. Not even close.
I'm a train off of the track
George sat on the edge of Dream’s bed, the heavy duvet pooled around his waist. He was staring at his phone, his thumb hovering over Dream’s contact name. He wanted to call. He needed to hear his voice, just a few seconds of that low, grounding tone to stop his brain from spiraling. But he didn’t want to be a burden. He didn’t want to interrupt an important meeting. He was right at the absolute end of his wire, completely spent, drowning in a house that felt too big and a world that felt entirely too gray.
I feel dirty, I feel rotten, and the colors are all flat
Then, the phone in his hand suddenly burst to life, vibrating violently.
The FaceTime screen lit up the dark room.
Dream.
George’s heart leaped into his throat. It was uncanny, terrifyingly precise - like Dream possessed a literal radar for George’s breaking points. He swiped the screen instantly, pressing the phone in front of his face.
The camera connected. Dream was sitting in the backseat of an Uber, the passing streetlights of the LA night casting sweeping shadows across his face. He looked exhausted, his hair messy beneath his hoodie, but the second his eyes found George on the screen, a tired, breathtakingly soft smile broke across his face.
“Hey,” Dream murmured , his voice a little rough, carrying that quiet, private warmth George had been starving for. “I finally got a break. I’ve been dying to call you all day.”
George swallowed hard, his throat tight. He tried to muster up his usual sarcastic armor, but after five days of silence, he didn’t have the energy to fake it. “You took forever,” he whispered, his voice small, completely stripped of any playful bite.
I'm a sad shell of a woman and I've got maggots for brains
Dream’s smile softened into something deeply apologetic, his eyes scanning George’s face through the lens, taking in the tired lines around his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, love. Trust me, I hated every second of it. These meetings are driving me insane. I just want to come home.”
Hearing him say home - knowing that meant the house, meant them - made a knot of tension loosen in George’s chest. They talked for a long time, the digital distance fading into the background as they swapped stories. George complained about Patches stealing his chair, and Dream laughed, that beautiful, breathless wheeze echoing through the phone speaker, pouring liquid color back into George’s dull room.
But that's just a thing that happens when my
As the uber pulled up to the LA house, Dream leaned his head back against the headrest, staring into the camera with a sudden, intent focus.
“Hey,” Dream said softly, a spark of anticipation in his eyes. “When I get back next week.. Let’s go out. Just the two of us.”
George blinked, shifting against his pillows. “Go out where?”
“A sushi date,” Dream said, the word date rolling off his tongue easily, naturally, completely ignoring the “line” they always danced around. He smiled, his tone a mix of a promise and a plea. “That place downtown you like. We’ll dress up, we’ll get a private booth, and I’ll let you order whatever you want. No streaming, no phones, no distractions. Just a proper date the second I get off the plane. What do you think?”
When my baby goes away
George stared at the screen, looking at the earnest, hopeful expression on Dream’s face. The thought of it - sitting across a table from him, being able to reach out and actually touch his hand, eating food that didn’t taste like cardboard, having Dream’s undivided attention in the real world - made his heart do a heavy, violent thud.
“Yeah,” George said, his voice thick with a sudden overwhelming rush of relief. “Yeah, Dream. I’d really like that. It’s a yes.”
The dim, ambient lighting of the sushi restaurant cast a warm, golden glow over their private booth. For the first time in a month, the world didn’t look gray. George sat across from Dream, tracing the rim of his glass, his eyes completely fixed on the man in front of him. Dream looked incredibly handsome, dressed for the occasion, the exhaustion of travel entirely overridden by the sheer, unadulterated joy of finally being back.
What can I do
Between bites of food and quiet laughs, Dream reached across the table. His larger hand slid over George’s knuckles. The heat of the touch was instantaneous, a sudden, violent spark that made George’s breath hitch.
“I missed you so much, George,” Dream murmured, his eyes locked onto George’s with an intensity that felt so entirely too loud for the quiet restaurant. “Seriously. Being in the LA house alone every night was miserable.”
But think of you?
George squeezed his hand back, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips. “I know. The house was too quiet.”
“When we get back tonight,” Dream continued, his voice dropping into that low, private register, “We’re sharing a room. No question.” He paused, his gaze softening, becoming deeply earnest. “Actually… I think we should just share a room every night from now on.”
George blinked, his heart skipping a dangerous beat. He tilted his head, trying to keep his voice light despite the flutter in his chest. “Every night? What do you mean by that, Dream?”
But think of you?
Dream didn’t back down. He leaned in a little closer over the table, his fingers tightening securely around George’s hand. “I mean exactly what it sounds like. We’ve been dancing around this line for so long, George. We act like it, we feel like it, and being apart for a month just made me realize how stupid it is to keep pretending.” He swallowed, a rare flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. “We love each other. I know we’ve never cared about rules or definitions, but… maybe it’s time we put a label on it. I want you to be my partner. Officially.”
Partners.
The word echoed in George’s mind, heavy and beautiful and absolutely perfect. The final wall inside him crumbled. The restless, agonizing longing of the past month instantly evaporated, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming rush of euphoria.
“Yes,” George said, his voice breathless but fiercely certain. A bright, ecstatic smile broke across his face, his eyes shining under the restaurant lights. “Yes, Dream. I want that too.”
What can I do
The drive home was a blur of electric anticipation, and the second the front door of the house clicked shut behind them, the distance between them ceased to exist. They didn’t care about luggage, or the quiet hallway, or anything else. Dream gripped George’s hip, pulling him flush against his chest, and guided him straight down the hall to his bedroom - their bedroom.
The door shut, and they tumbled onto the mattress, melting into a deep passionate makeout session. It was frantic at first, a desperate release of a month’s worth of built up tension, hands tangling in hair and clothes, pulling each other as close as humanly possible. Dream’s grip on George’s waist was bruising and possessive, anchoring him to the bed, while George poured every ounce of his hidden ache into the warmth of Dream’s lips.
Slowly, the frantic energy softened into something incredibly tender. Dream pulled back just a fraction, hovering over George, his breath hitching as he rested his forehead against George’s.
But think of you?
George let out a soft, shaky exhale, his hands coming up to rest on Dream’s chest. He looked up, using the faint moonlight filtering through the window to truly admire the man above him. He took in the familiar, beautiful details of Dream’s face, his gaze settling on his eyes. In the dim light, they were a stunning, warm honey color, bursting with a depth and affection that was meant entirely for him.
George took a deep, grounding breath, letting the reality of what they were now finally sink in. There was no more long-distance. There were no more blurred lines or unspoken boundaries. They belonged to each other.
But think of you?
A profound, radiant happiness washed over George, deeper than anything he had ever felt before in his entire life. That flat, dull palette he had been trapped in for weeks was entirely gone. His sunshine was truly his now. And as he smiled up at his partner, the colors of the world were finally, beautifully vibrant.