Work Text:
Hey there, bud, hi, how'd it go last night?
I saw you at the bandstand lookin' pretty slammed.
Did you see me feedin' all my drinks to Cam?
Probably not, I guess, you were quite the mess.
It wasn't that George didn't like parties. He enjoyed them, liked the social aspect through his friends and the numbness that came with crossing a few too many bad habits. He had gone to plenty, as a typical university freshman and even now, getting to his last few years in his degree, and weeded out the few people who threw the best ragers. For some awful reason, the scrawny blond kid named Tommy always hosted the ones that ended with the best stories.
However, this time George wasn't having fun. He really should have been, what with all the drinks he was offered. He pawned every single one off to Sapnap, carrying the open can until it was just a little more than lukewarm and then finding the boy with the bandana. It wasn't quiet in the house either; Tommy was renting it out with a few other people because it was close to campus, and it was packed to the brim of writhing bodies and voices pretending they knew the lyrics to Sam's shuffled playlist. Typically, it was his perfect scene.
But typically, Dream was beside him. Typically, they would have walked from their shared dorm to Tommy's, maybe joke about the rolled joint tucked behind George's ear and the case of them in his pocket. Typically, Dream was in his space at the beer pong table or crashing over him on the couch.
Typically, Dream wasn't standing by the kitchen table with a pretty girl standing by him.
It's stupid, and George knows it is. He has no claim to Dream, not anything more than his roommate and bestfriend. Maybe not even that, for Sapnap was floating around and had no qualms about chatting with Dream and his newfound partner. George thinks she looks familiar, but really she looks like any other typical brunette he'd find on campus.
He purses his lips and takes a sip from the can in his hand just for something to do. Karl had told him to hold it, and wouldn't mind a stolen sip. The couch he had found was tucked near the back of the house, a breeze coming in through the open patio doors where people kept forgetting to close them. He didn't mind; it was hot in the house with the number of bodies packed in it and it felt nice on his legs.
That was another thing; he really thought that maybe, just maybe he could change their relationship tonight. Karl had hyped him up in his and Quackity's dorm, urging him to put the damn skirt on and wear it out again. It wasn't the first time he had; they looked nice on him and he liked how they felt around his thighs. He had rolled his eyes at the time, pretending he wasn't excited to wear it and see Dream's reaction. He had pulled it on, stepped out of the bathroom and blushed at the friendly catcalls he received. He had felt good.
But now, sitting alone on a ratty couch in a navy blue skirt and Dream's black sweatshirt, he felt more than ready to just leave.
George sighs, and set Karl's drink down beside the couch. He wasn't coming back, not if that arm Sapnap had wrapped around his waist said anything about it. George taps the toes of his sneakers together and looks up again to find Dream.
It isn't hard, not with years of practice under George's belt of finding the man in a crowd. He really hasn't moved, but he's laughing now, downing another shot and making a face at the taste. George smiles despite himself; he really is a handsome guy. Anyone would be lucky to lay eyes on him, with his golden hair and bright eyes (George knows they're green, but he wishes he had the money for Enchroma glasses to really experience them for himself). He looks good tonight, wearing a dark shirt and darker jeans. He runs hot, George remembers, which explains the lack of a coat, and watches as that girl lays a dainty hand on his bare arm. His chest hurts. Dream grins at her and she sways, and that arm wraps around her to catch her before she hits the counter. They both look like they're having fun, drunk and intimate and happy.
George stands and walks outside. He reaches in the pocket of his skirt for his lighter.
"George!"
He hears his name just as he closes the door, and doesn't bother turning around to see who it was. He plucks the joint out from behind his ear and leans against the side of the house. There's people in the small backyard of the house, drinking, smoking, laughing. George feels detached from them, and cups his hand around the flame so it doesn't go out. He inhales, and watches with a morbid curiosity as someone runs past him to throw up in the bushes. More laughter rings out and George exhales something sweet and sickly.
He should really just go home, but home means seeing Dream again, and probably seeing her, too. George shivers, bare legs exposed but not exactly cold. He fiddles with the white collar under his shirt, and takes another hit. He just wants to get high enough to not remember the look on Dream's face when he looked at her.
God, what a tool he is. George doesn't even know her name, what she's like. She could be amazing, and probably is if Dream's the one keeping conversation. Maybe she's sweet, blushes at the jokes he cracks and doesn't snap back something crude at the slightest push. Maybe she likes talking, long conversations that keep Dream's attention longer than the stupid romcoms George watches.
He grits his teeth and takes a deeper pull. It burns on his tongue, and a group of people exit the house. They're talking about something to do with zoos and fish, and George can hear the bass of that one shitty speaker giving it's all to play Post Malone. The door stays open, and George looks over at the light coming through it. He wants to go back in, he wants to go home. He wants Dream.
George finishes his weed quickly, faster than he should have perhaps, and ducks through the doors again. He doesn't close them.
It's easy enough to pick out Karl from the crowd; he's sitting on the kitchen counter, giggling at something Bad is saying and playing with the strings of a hoodie that belongs to Sapnap. Dream is still there, and so is that girl. She's leaning on him now, and his arm is around her waist. His hand looks big against her shirt, and George realizes that she and himself are very close in height.
Something rises in him, but he can't tell if it's malice or confidence or bile. Whatever it is has his feet moving to the kitchen, wincing at the bright lights and swallowing the dry taste in his mouth away. Karl lights up when he sees him and hops off the counter to tackle him in a hug. He smells like cologne and alcohol, and George finds himself suddenly very thirsty.
"George! Where've you been, I've missed you!" Karl lands a sloppy kiss on his cheek and George grins.
"Was smoking, but I'm back now." George's gaze slides over to Dream, automatically goes to include him—
And Dream's not even looking.
Not his smile when George approaches, not the grabby hands because Dream thrives off touch. Not his gleeful tone when he cries out George's name in public to get a rise from him, and not any of the attention he normally gets. He hates it. George hates it.
He's looking at her, smiling at her, laughing at something she's saying. He's leaning down, letting her whisper in his ear with a sly little grin and a hand that flits around the necklace on his collar.
George wraps an arm around Karl and whispers in his ear, "It's time to get fucked. Where's Tommy hiding the good stuff?"
———
He's so high.
From when Karl started pouring shots of something clear to when Tommy brought out a creamy liqueur that George got his hands on to when he got upstairs and out on the roof, he has never been so high. He's alone, too, and was alone when he told Sapnap he was leaving and retrieved his lighter from Skeppy's grabby hands. They were pretty slammed too, and bid him farewell without a second worry.
See, typically George wouldn't be alone. He'd be leaving with Dream.
He's so high, walking down the street and kicking rocks. George is humming to himself, placing one foot in front of the other on the street and concentrating on not letting the tears fall until he's in the safety of his room.
Dream was drunk too, and wherever he seemed to be, so was she. George thinks that Sapnap caught on fast, and while he tried to keep George from drinking his sorrows away, his friend seemed to understand. George assumes he still thought he was leaving with Dream, if the constant buzzing of his phone in his pocket is anything to go by. Sapnap cares deeply about his friends, loves them with his whole being, and is probably gonna tear George a new one when he tells him he walked home alone tonight.
George is just far enough that the street is now quiet; the dorms aren't far from Tommy's party but it seems so much longer when he's inebriated. It's stupid, but now he has all the more time to think about Dream.
And her.
He really should have known, shouldn't he. He should've realized it was always going to end like this, with him heartbroken and alone and Dream with a pretty brunette that wasn't him. His eyes burn. Dream would look good with her, and did even under the shitty glow of the kitchen lights. He always told Tommy that they were bad bulbs. George takes another sip from the bottle in his hand. He looks at it; he didn't realize he took it with him, oops.
George giggles. The sound is harsh against the empty streets, where nobody ventures this late into the night. Of course it ended like this. Tommy's parties were supposed to be good, not like this.
Well, George muses as he takes another sip.
"I'll be fine."
It wasn't like Dream ignored him the entire night. He had seen him, ducked out of a conversation quick enough to wrap a large hand around George's shoulder and whisper a slurred hello into his ear, and then that hand was gone and so was Dream. George had taken two shots right after that, and pretended the tears in his eyes were from the burn of the alcohol. Karl had just smiled but his gaze had flitted from Dream and back and George knew he was caught.
George passes the entrance to the little park. He stops, and changes his path.
It's a blur, but the swing set seat is cold against his thighs and his heels dig into the sand under him. He doesn't look up, not wanting to risk falling now, and drinks from the bottle. He thinks it tastes like cherries, but he's so high so he really can't be sure.
"I'm supposed to be fine, this is so stupid."
This is a mess, he thinks, and leans his head against the chain. His phone has stopped buzzing, and when he takes it out the messages are blurred lines. He does see, though, that there's no text from someone with a yellow heart. George stares at his phone until it goes dark, and chuckles to himself.
Yeah, he really should've known.
Oh, the stars are really pretty tonight.
She was also really pretty.
George closes his eyes, and the bottle slips through his fingers. Tommy might be mad about that one, but George can't find it in himself to care.
"It's supposed to be fine..."
———
When he wakes in the morning - or afternoon, who knows - George immediately feels sick. There's a red and white bottle sitting on his nightstand and his shoes are covered in sand on the floor. He sits up, clutching the blanket to his chest. His phone is dead, the little pill bottle that held his joints safely was full last night but now only holds one, and he's very, very unaware of how he actually got into his bed in one piece.
George groans, and reaches out blindly for his charger. His phone makes a little sound and he rolls over, head pounding and mouth drier than the fucking desert.
Fuck Tommy's parties.
He's pretty sure his water bottle is on his desk, but he doesn't feel like getting up. He can't hear Dream in the room adjacent to his, and he doesn't want to get up to check.
...but did he make it home safely?
With the most effort he's used in a while, George drags himself up to a sitting position. His water bottle is on his desk, but he ignores it for inching his skirt off and reaching for the pair of sweatpants on the floor. They're Dream's, he realizes, and clenches his jaw as he tightens the strings around his waist. He glances at himself in the mirror and winces; there's dark circles that normally only show up during finals season, and his hair is a rats nest. George pulls his two shirts off — seriously, how did he get home? — and pulls the black sweatshirt back on.
He snatches the bottle off the desk before exiting his room, casting a forlorn glance in the direction of the toilet just in case. His stomach rolls, but he doesn't seem in danger of puking just yet. Maybe he threw up last night, but he doesn't remember throwing his guts in the bushes.
The rest of the dorm is quiet; Dream's door is closed, which is normally how it is when he's sleeping, so George just walks towards the little coat area to check for his shoes. That's normally the best way of seeing if Dream's home, since the man only owns one pair of ratty sneakers. George huffs to himself, and make a mental reminder to try and convince him to get another—
Dream's shoes are there. They're sitting haphazardly in front of the door, like they got kicked off in a rush. It's not really that uncommon, but Dream only owns one pair of shoes, and George doesn't own white Airforces.
"Heh," George breathes. For some reason, this hurts more than any half-assed greeting Dream could have given him. He gets that Dream gets distracted, forgets to tell him things or does things without thinking. But he's never ignored telling George he's bringing someone home. Actually, he's never told George that at all, because Dream has never brought anyone home before.
Typically, it's just George. Typically, it's George stumbling in and kicking his shoes off and Dream laughing at him as he straightens them by the doormat. Typically, it's Dream who gets George home in one piece and puts him to bed, with a soft goodnight and a see you in the morning, Georgie.
Typically, his phone is charged and his water bottle is on his nightstand.
George presses his heels to his eyes. He doesn't want to throw up, he doesn't want to eat. He thought he wanted to go home, but now it seems that he was wrong about that too. He thought he would be able to cry at home, but now there's a pair of shoes he's never seen next to his. He just wants everything to be fine and nothing is fine. He trembles, feels it in his hands and his lip, and sucks in a harsh breath.
It takes less than a second for him to wipe away any offending tears that might have escaped. He turns on his heel, doesn't bother muffling his steps as he walks by Dream's closed door. He walks into his room, grabs his barely charged phone and wallet and shoves them in his pocket. He slides on those stupid Birkenstocks that Dream told him he should get and turns back to his door—
"George?"
Dream.
Oh, no.
George can't. He can't look at him, not sleep mussed and docile as he stands in the doorframe of George's room. He's wearing sweats, George notes as he keeps his gaze firmly down, and a thin shirt that George loves to steal.
"Hey, are you alright? You—"
A tan hand comes into view as Dream reaches for him, and that's the last straw. George pushes by him, lip trembling as that hand brushes past his shoulder when he goes by. George doesn't look at him, can't if he wants to keep it together, and heads towards the door.
Dream follows him; George can hear him right behind him. He doesn't reach for him and George doesn't know if he wishes he would. "What the hell, wh—“
"I'm going to Karl and Alex's, don't wait up." George doesn't bother with a jacket, just kicks Dream's shoes out of the way of the door. They don't go so far as to hit hers and George wishes that they would've.
"George!" Dream's hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him around, and George can't.
He looks up at Dream, and Dream looks at him. There's sleep lines on his cheek, his hair is messy like he'd been running his hands through it, and those golden eyes are filled with worry. He's looking at George, and George can't find it in himself to really care. At least he's finally looking. George feels the heat of his hand, the way his fingers flex around his wrist, and his eyes are burning again. This time there's no alcohol to blame, and Dream's gaze widens as one hot trail of heat slips down his cheek.
George looks down at their hands. "Just let me go." His voice breaks, and Dream flinches. George doesn't know if that makes it hurt more, but his heart jerks.
As if the universe wants to make it worse, soft footsteps echo in the direction of the bedroom. Dream's grip slackens as he turns his head away, so he can look towards her and George takes his chance. If he couldn't see Dream, then there's no way he can see her, not in their space, not in their little home.
The door slams behind him and George is in the stairwell by the time he hears it open again.
———
"So what you're telling me is you have no idea—“
"Yes."
"And Dream—“
"Uh huh."
"And you just—“
"Pretty much."
"Jesus, big man."
George just nods. He's sitting on Karl's bed, and Karl is sitting beside him playing with his hands. George kind of relishes in the contact, even if it makes him want to cry more. He defintely scared Quackity when he opened the door, bleary and half asleep until he registered George with tears streaming down his face. He had been ushered in, checked over for bodily damage until George had spoke in a soft voice that it was just Dream.
Quackity leans back in the desk chair, eyeing the way George is slumped. "And you still don't know how you got him?"
George shakes his head. "The last thing I really remember is being in the park, but I probably could have gotten home myself after."
"We should have come with you," Karl murmurs, "Sap would've walked you home no problem, nimrod."
The brunette just shrugs and silence fills the bedroom. That is, until George can't help himself.
"Do you think she makes him happy?"
The question hangs. George looks down at his hands and his phone. There's been a few texts from Dream, but he hasn't read them or wanted to respond to them. Karl mentioned that he got a text from Sapnap just after George calmed down, wanting to confirm that George was actually safe in the dorms. Sapnap's next text had read that he told Dream to shove it and learn to care when it really mattered. George didn't think it was fair, but Sap and Dream have always been like that, so he wasn't worried.
"We don't know they're dating, George." Karl says softly, "I've literally never seen her before tonight, so it could be something random."
George just hums, and picks at his nails. Quackity sighs, and pats his knee.
"Do you wanna get brunch? I know you definitely haven't eaten, and this way you don't have to go back."
A shrug.
"Good enough for me, get your ass up and moving, Gogy."
Brunch finds them at the little restaurant close to campus. Niki is working today, and she smiles softly at George as she takes their orders. He probably still looks a mess; he washed his face at his friends' dorm, and borrowed some of Karl's deodorant before leaving. His sweatshirt still smells like Dream, though, and it makes his chest twinge.
The table is quiet, but it's not uncomfortable. Karl is texting Sapnap, and Quackity is playing some game on his phone. George thinks it's Minecraft. George's phone is silent, but it's open to his conversation with Dream:
From; dweam<3
where did you go?
pls just let me explain
im sorry about last night i dont know what was wrong with me
george?
george please
There's a pause in messages, and then they start up again.
From: dweam<3
i asked nick where you were and he gave me shit so obviously youre safe
let me know when youre coming home, i want to be there
i just want a chance to explain, im so sorry george
George sighs, and eyes the keyboard.
From: gogy
im with karl and quackity, dont know when ill be back.
He sends the message, and jumps as Dream almost immediately starts typing.
From: dweam<3
okay, ill be here when you do
promise
That kind of hurts, because Dream isn't one to break promises. He never has, and George feels like he can trust him on that one. He just hopes that she isn't there when he decides he wants to go home. He doesn't have the time to think about it, because Niki is back with three steaming plates of hangover cures and a soft smile to match.
The food seems to animate them, and they start talking about the stupid things that happened last night. Apparently Ranboo was babysitting Tommy at his own party for most of the night, and on Bad's stumble home, Skeppy had puked up all the beer he'd drunk. Somebody had cooked bacon and all the stoners had flooded in from outside, salivating and hungry, and Sam had added more atrocious songs to his playlist that Sapnap had recommended. Karl had thrown up, but Sapnap had made sure he got home safe with Quackity before heading back to his own dorm, and George still didn't know how he got home last night.
They even asked around to a few trusted friends; Techno had no clue, and Puffy said that she went the other direction and didn't even see the park. Foolish said that he remembered seeing George leave with a half bottle of cherry liqueur and thought Dream was with him, but as soon as he texted Dream he saw him in the other room with some girl. Jack had said the same thing, and as Quackity read out the text, said that Dream left pretty soon after George disappeared. George just stuffed his mouth full of hash browns and said that that was enough digging.
Did him getting home have something to do with Dream? Was that why he was so adamant on talking to him? Maybe it was just so he could explain his behavior last night, because even if George wasn't being jealous or alone or needy, you don't just ignore your friend like that. Hell, your bestfriend, because him and Dream do everything together.
Whatever. He can wallow later, but now he needs to finish his stupid pity brunch.
He doesn't want to go back.
———
"Should I go back?"
The question bubbles out of George on their walk back to the dorms. Karl and Quackity are on either side of him, chatting about mundane things and only stop when George speaks.
"Well," Karl says carefully, "Do you think you should?"
George shrugs, but he feels more sure than before. "We've never fought before, and I did storm out on him. Besides, I live there. Can't avoid him forever."
Quackity hums. "What are you gonna say."
"I don't know." George blows out a breath and kicks a rock, "I guess I want to know why I got brushed off last night. That's it."
"Really?" There's something in Quackity's voice that makes him stop. George looks at his friend quizzically, and the shorter of the two holds out his hands. "You don't want to know who that girl was? What she was doing with Dream?
"Ale—“
"No, dude, this is your chance. Believe me man, Dream won't give you a good answer unless you force it out of him, and that means covering all bases." Quackity checks off on his fingers. "Who the fuck is she, where the fuck did she come from, who the fuck is she to you, and how the fuck do you feel about me?"
George gapes. "I can't ask him that! He doesn't—“
"Blah, blah, he doesn't like you like that- bullshit! You didn't even see last night how much she looked like you, George, how he interacted with her!" They're yelling now, standing in the middle of the sidewalk outside the goddamn park and yelling. "I don't know how high you were but he wasn't having fun, man! Not like he would with you, and you need to find out what was going through his stupid green head that made him not walk right out of that conversation and to you. Got it?"
George fumbles, but Quackity is right; he really needs to find out what was up with Dream last night. He wasn't acting right, and he needs answers even if those answers are gonna hurt him.
"Fuck you."
"I love you too, now go home and interrogate that stupid bitch, we're gonna help Tommy clean up like the nice citizens we are."
"We are?"
Karl gets dragged back down the street, but surrenders quickly and waves George away. George grins back, but it drops quickly as nerves hit him. God, this is such a mess.
From: gogy
im omw home.
From: dweam<3
im here
George takes a leap and sends the text before he can stop himself.
From: gogy
is she there too?
From: dweam<3
no, its just me
promise.
His front door appears faster than he would have liked. Really, he could have gotten himself home just fine but there's still that unknown suspicion. George has never hesitated before his own door like this before, and he doesn't like it. George sighs, and reaches for the doorknob. It turns under his hands, and he pushes it open. He looks up.
Dream is sitting at the little table in the main area, leg bouncing and phone open on the surface. Even though it's been hours, his hair is still a mess and he hasn't changed out of his clothes from sleeping. Normally, Dream showers as soon as he gets up after a party. The Dream in front of him has his fingers laced together, rubbing at the ring on his finger in an anxious tick that George recognizes right away.
George toes his shoes off; he notes that those white sneakers are gone, but Dream's shoes are left right where he kicked them away.
"George," Dream says, sounding hushed. His voice is rough, and George sees the dark circles under his eyes are red, like he'd been rubbing his eyes.
George stands by the door, unsure of what to do. He's never felt so out of place in his own dorm. "Dream."
The younger of the two stands, and George watches him carefully. "I just—I—" Dream runs a hand down his face — George had been right then — and swallows. He smiles at George, but it's weak and makes George's chest ache. "Do you wanna sit?"
George crosses his arms over his chest. He's painfully aware he's dressed head to toe in Dream's clothing. "I think I'll just stand."
"Ah. Okay, that's okay."
Dream seems like he's buzzing. He's fiddling with his ring, his fingers, his hair. George hurts.
"Clay." Dream jerks, like he'd been caught. He freezes with fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt. George tilts his head softly and approaches him. He probably shouldn't. "I'm not going anywhere, it's okay." He does, and gently pulls Dream's hand away from his shirt and holds it. It's the hand Dream grabbed him with this morning, and the taller seems to relax just the slightest bit under the touch.
"Okay... okay"
They move to George's room even though Dream's door is open. There's blankets all over the floor, and George furrows his brow at the pillow laying on top of it. He glances over his shoulder at Dream, but he just smiles softly and motions George in. The brunette sits on his bed, and Dream sits beside him. George's sneakers are still on the floor. They're close, but not close enough to really touch. George still has Dream's hand.
"I don't know how to put this any other way, but I'm so sorry, George. Last night—" Dream hesitates, and his voice wobbles. "I was a jerk, and there's no excusing that. I don't even really have a reason, but it just ended up happening—well. No. I do have a reason."
George stays silent, just plays with the ring on Dream's finger.
"It's not really an explanation, but I was reamed out by a few people telling me to be more honest," Dream chuckles, but it's not a happy one. His fingers twitch. "I was distracting myself with her, trying to keep my attention off you."
There it was. The hurt. "Why?"
Dream inhales. It's shaky. "I guess I could say I was ignoring my feelings. I got scared of them, scared of what they meant. I didn't mean to hurt you in the process, and for that I'm sorry."
George turns towards Dream and their thighs brush. His eyes are burning but he pushes through them to look at his friend. "Scared? Scared of what?"
Those golden eyes don't meet his gaze, and George furrows his brows. "Clay, what were you scared of? Me?"
A soft huff, and Dream turns. His eyes must be burning too, because he reaches up and wipes at them. "Yeah, I think I was scared of you."
"Oh."
He was scared of George? What? H—
What was there to be scared of in him?
"I'm confused," George says, and Dream nods.
"I know, I'm sorry, I just couldn't do it anymore when I found you and you-"
"Wait, what?"
Dream looks at him, sees him. George is so fucking confused.
"I found you. At the park."
Oh.
"You brought me home?"
"Of course, I wouldn't leave you there."
George feels warm, and now, if he tries hard enough, there's flashes of a memory. Him, glaring at golden eyes. Him, smacking at a hard shoulder and crying. Hushed voices, one feminine and one deeper, worried voices, and a large hand brushing away the wetness on his face in the dark.
George smiles weakly. "You didn't put my water bottle on the nightstand."
"I tried," Dream croaks, "You were crying too hard to drink anything."
"She spent the night."
"I slept on the floor. Her roommate had a girl over, and I couldn't kick her out."
"You—" George swallows, and heat runs down his face. Dream hesitates, but still wipes his hand over George's cheek. His eyes are wet now, and he's chewing his lip in that way he does when Dream feels a little too much. "You didn't walk me home."
"I promise I won't let you leave alone ever again."
George breaks, leaning into Dream's side and accepting the comfort offered. Dream doesn't shush him, doesn't coo nothings in his ear. He just lets him cry into his chest; a chest that heaves with heavy breaths and sniffles above George's head.
"I was scared of how I felt about you, George, how I feel about you. I didn't know what to do, so I picked the closest lookalike and found out that there isn't anyone who could replace you. Pretty stupid, huh?" Dream says to the air, and George hiccups. "I'm sorry, George, I didn't want to make you feel like that, not now, not ever."
The words stop, and George wipes his hand over his face before pulling back. He's sure he looks a mess, with blotchy cheeks and a runny nose, but Dream looks at him like he doesn't want to be anywhere else. His hand cups his cheek, and George leans into it. He grabs Dream's wrist, and boldly presses a kiss to his palm. Dream smiles.
"I'm sorry for running out on you."
"It's okay."
"I'm sorry for not listening."
"That's okay, George, promise."
"Sorry about your shirt."
"I can always get a new one. I've gotta shower anyways."
"Yeah, you stink, what the hell."
George pushes at his chest with his free hand and they laugh, through tears and smiles alike. George's chest feels tight, but it doesn't exactly hurt. Dream stares at George, and George feels his brows drop. This is the final point, and it's time to push.
"I feel the same about you, if you don't know already. That's why I was so upset."
Dream nods, smiles sadly. "I see that now. I was being stupid."
"Promise not to be stupid again?" George breathes, and leans closer to Dream. Dream inches down, presses their forehead together. He's close, so close, and when he speaks, George can taste it on his lips.
"Promise."
Tommy's parties always have the best stories, and even if it takes a bit, they still have the best endings. George doesn't want every single one to end with a tear-slicked kiss, but as long as they end with Dream by his side, he's fine with not knowing until he gets there.