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“George,” The brunette drags his blankets over his head, curling away from his shaking, ignoring him in favor of sleep. Dream shakes him more, “George.”
A second more before George emerges from hiding and bats at his hands, “What, Dream.”
“Do you know what today is?” He beams, sitting back on his knees on the bed.
George wrinkles his nose and twists, grabbing his phone and clicking it on. The screen is too bright and he squints, grumbling, “The fourteenth?”
“George, George,” He flops back, huddling against his friend. He twists his fingers around the fabric of George’s baggy sleep shirt and tugs, “Do you remember what you said?”
“Dream,” He frowns, “Can you just tell me already?”
Dream presses his lips together, “You really don’t remember.”
“No,” George’s smile is small, his knuckles pushing against the other’s shoulder fondly, “I don’t.”
“You said,” He captures his hand, “You said that maybe this year you’ll be my valentine. Guess what today is.”
George’s expression is blank for a moment, processing, then he murmurs, “I barely got to Florida a week ago, why would I be thinking about that?”
Dream rolls his eyes, pressing his lips to the back of his hand, “You didn’t answer.”
“You didn’t ask properly,” The brunette counters, smiling a little.
“Will you be my valentine, George?” And he sticks his lip out, puppy eyes and all.
But his friend is stubborn and looks to the ceiling like he’s really thinking about it, “Hm, I dunno..”
“C’mon, I asked nicely,” He complains.
“Fine, yes,” He parts his lips to respond but George stops him with a firm hand over his mouth, “On the condition that we go out today.”
Dream raises his eyebrows, word muffled, “What?”
“No,” George rolls his eyes, “Like to watch all the cringey couples out on their little dates. People-watching, you know?”
Dream pushes his hand away finally, “You wanna people-watch for valentine’s day? I would’ve taken you to dinner if you asked, George.”
“No, that’s weird, Dream,” He smiles anyway.
“Okay,” He huffs, “But yeah, we can go out today.”
“Okay then,” George squeezes his fingers and adds unsurely, “Valentine.”
He laughs at the awkward way it leaves the other’s mouth, “Ew.”
“Whatever,” He’s turned away from again, “Let’s leave in an hour.”
“George,” He complains, slinging his arm around him and pressing close, still separated with covers between them.
“Go away, I’m sleeping,” George grumbles, though he doesn’t shove him away. Dream snickers at that and his fingers find delicate knuckles, brushing over them and remaining where he is. He thinks for the millionth time that he’s grateful that they can touch each other now, knowing that George feels the same way by the way that he allows it.
He’s surprisingly tolerant, even initiating touch often, despite any fronts that he’s bothered. Dream wraps him up in his hold properly, hooking his chin over his shoulder, their cheeks brushing. He gets a hum in answer and shushes him, closing his eyes so they can rest together.
They get up half an hour later, slowly peeling away from each other like it’s painful. Like they don’t have plans to spend the whole day together. Dream goes through plans in his mind on where to take George as he gets ready, changing into a nice shirt and jeans. It’s valentine’s day, he’s not going to look odd among all the people dressed nicely for dates.
George doesn’t get the memo, in a baggy shirt and sweatpants, looking a lot more comfortable. Dream starts making them breakfast before they go, that’s about the time that Sapnap catches that they’re both a bit too active in the house. He emerges squinting in the light, sheet lines on his face, hair flat on one side.
George, at the counter, makes a face, “What are you doing?”
“Seeing what the fuck is happening,” Sapnap rubs his eyes, “Why are you guys up?”
“Valentine’s day,” Dream answers simply, providing no further context.
“So?”
“Dream is a simp, as always,” George hums, a bit happily.
He shoots back with, “George wanted me to take him out.”
“Ew,” Sapnap makes a face of disgust, “You guys are gross, I don’t want anything to do with this.”
With that, he backs out of the room and retreats back behind his bedroom door. George calls after him, “You weren’t invited anyway!”
Dream scoffs. At both of them, really. He makes three plates, setting one in front of George before he leaves to give one to Sapnap, who’s retired to his bed again. When he returns he digs into his own plate, leaning against the counter across from his friend, asking, “So, any ideas on where you want to go today?”
George shrugs noncommittedly, focused on his plate, “Wherever couples go.”
“Uh,” Dream scratches his cheek, thinking, “We could go to an ice skating rink, it’s closing for the year pretty soon.”
“No,” George shakes his head, “I’ll die.”
“But imagine the cringe,” He argues back, stuffing more scrambled egg into his mouth, “Probably can’t even ice skate.”
“I can’t ice skate,” The brunette mutters.
“I can’t either,” Dream admits, “But it’d be entertaining.”
George looks at him for a long time and he smiles sheepishly, shrugging one shoulder. Then his friend sighs, back to being interested in his meal, “Fine.”
He never realized how surreal it would be for George to be in his truck, having never gone out with him since he arrived a week prior. Which is usual for him, to not leave the house. And when he does happen to go on night drives, usually plagued with restlessness, George is on the phone with him. It’s usually his voice filtering in more static-filled from his shitty car radio.
Now, to look over in the broad daylight and see George in the seat next to him. He pauses for a moment, hand hovering over the action of turning the keys and turning on the car. His friend had bundled up, complaining about how the ice rink will be cold, looking content now. Dream doesn’t even scold him for crossing his leg up on the seat, blinking down at him as his smaller hands are rolling the fabric of his jacket restlessly.
George mirrors his little smile, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes that he swears needs to be cut. Dream breathes in the easiness of it, the way the light lays over barely freckled skin, before he falls back into his actions. He throws his arm over the back of George’s seat, backing out of the driveway, thinking through the route in his head. He pretends he doesn’t feel the eyes on him as he does so.
George fiddles with the radio absently, quiet. Dream wonders if he got all his comments about driving on the wrong side of the road out when Sapnap picked him up from the airport. Probably, knowing him. There are a lot of people when they arrive, or at least a decent amount of people. Most likely more than the rink gets on a normal day.
George clings to his sleeve as they go, pinching his bicep on accident and making him hiss in pain. Dream brushes his hand away as they get in line, George rocking on his feet next to him. It’s then that it sinks in properly that they’re both awkward recluses, both of them feeling off in a public setting.
There are happy couples chatting all around them, George blinks up at him through his lashes. When he opens his mouth, Dream leans down to hear him better, “Americans are loud.”
He shrugs, “They’re happy.”
“Well, tell them to stop,” George murmurs to him, moving with the line.
Dream pokes his side and grins, “Quit pouting.”
The brunette rubs his eye, “It’s because you woke me up too early.”
“Didn’t think you needed the beauty rest,” His grin widens with his next words, “You’re plenty beautiful as is.”
George groans in disdain and shoves him for that, “I regret everything.”
They don’t realize that they’re at the front of the line until the person behind the counter speaks up, “For two?”
They both instantly snap out of their conversation and Dream dumbly says, “Uh, yeah.”
As he gets out the money to pay, the person says, “Couples get a discount.”
It throws him off for a moment and then he remembers that it’s odd for them two to be out alone on literal valentine’s day. Of course it’d be mistaken for something more. George’s eyes meet his and he chuckles, both of their faces warming as they look away. Dream smiles kindly and declines, “That won’t be necessary.”
They don’t look at each other as they get their wristbands or their skates, soaking in that they’ve doomed themselves to look like a couple for the day. Then George finally breaks it, allowing them to fall back into their normal with, “Should’ve just lied for the discount.”
Dream looks up from where he’s lacing up his ice skates, humming, “No, you’re gross.”
“Thought I was beautiful?” George surrenders to putting his feet up in the blonde’s lap so he can lace them for him, easing his worried mind that it won’t be done properly.
Dream makes sure they’re not too tight, tying them carefully, clicking his tongue, “That too.”
George tugs on his sleeve, leaning forward and pointing subtly, “Ew, look.”
He follows where he’s looking to see a couple already on the ice, leaning against the rail with too much unnecessary PDA. Dream makes a face, pushing George’s feet off his lap, standing unsteadily. He pulls the other up once he’s sure he won’t fall, being clung to. He huffs, “We’re not even on the ice yet.”
“Dream,” George already seems much too wobbly, “I’m going to actually die.”
“It’ll be fine,” He dismisses, guiding them both over. George stays off the ice and watches him step onto it. Dream clings to the rail, unsure of his balance, wincing, “Okay, maybe not.”
George crosses his arms, eyebrows flattening, simply stating, “Dream.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” He waves off, standing upright and being surprised that he doesn’t immediately fall on his ass. He reaches his hands out to his friend, “C’mere.”
It’s rare that he gets to see George truly looking uncertain, dark eyes flicking to his open hands and then his face. But his hands slip into his, squeezing tight, Dream hopes and prays that they both don’t immediately fall. He’s basically got to balance while he’s being pulled on by the brunette, who has one hand in his and one hand on the rail.
But at least they’re both upright on the ice. He looks around at the many couples that have made it onto the ice now, quite a few skating around the middle and holding hands. Some are older and laughing while others are young and brushing hands shyly. It makes him feel incredibly odd, he tries not to let it fall into his expression.
He studies their foot movements instead, looking down at his own. His feet are parallel, unmoved from when he first straightened his posture. He lifts one foot just slightly off the ice, feeling the heaviness of the skate, pointing his toe out. He adjusts the other and George is simply clinging to the railing in front of him.
Dream offers a smile, releasing sweaty fingers to grab the rail. With eyes trained on his feet, he moves slowly forward. He’s nearly bumped by a passing person and he laughs with another beginner that’s against the railing in front of him, he looks back at George. It seems that his attention makes the other look over the crowd, in that nonchalant way that the other does when he feels off.
So they’re both feeling it then, he presses his lips together, smile disappearing. His attention on all of that while consistently trying to move forward makes him realize that it’s easier when he’s not focused on his feet. He straightens his posture and by the time he’s made it all the way back around to George, he’s kind of got it down.
He nearly crashes into his friend, actually. He laughs as he grips the railing on either side of George, their feet getting tangled and sending them both down. It’s the first time he’s fallen and it makes his palms sting from the impact, he hauls himself up with the railing. George remains on the ice, “This was a bad idea.”
Dream helps him up, “It’s easier than you think. Want me to help you?”
“I’m going to fall,” The other complains.
Dream rolls his eyes, “Quit being a baby.”
“Dream.” George says, it’s a warning about his frustration of being on the ice. He looks like a baby deer, uncertain and relying on him for balance. His pale knuckles are practically white with the grip he has on Dream’s jacket, who ducks his chin to catch his eyes.
He moves his hair out of his eyes for him and then hums, “Okay, come on. You’ve got this.” George looks down at their feet, being steadied instantly when he wobbles as he adjusts. Dream hums, fingers smoothing over where they’ve found a place around his elbow, “It’s easier if you don’t look at your feet.”
Then he guides them around, about three times, realizing that he picked it up easier than he thought. The music around them are all cheesy love songs, they’re not even looking at the other people because they don’t want to fall. Dream is the one that dares to drag them both to the middle, George holding onto his hand so tightly that it hurts.
They only fall a few times, it gets easier with each time they go around. George truly eases into the movements when the couple’s skate happens, when everyone slows down to hold hands or whatever. The brunette speaks, “This is still terrible.”
“The couple’s skate?” Dream says, knowing he means the plan to ice skate, continuing anyway, “Didn’t anyone tell you that we’re the couple of the day?”
“You’re so dumb.”
“Oh, I am, am I?” Dream pulls his hand away and George’s eyes widen. He shows pity though, placing it on the small of his back, satisfied, “That’s what I thought.”’
“I want a divorce,” George comments, eyes jumping over the people skating as the slow song drags on.
“We should get rings, can we be married for the day?”
His friend’s eyes don’t quite meet his but he deadpans, “No.”
A couple is close enough for laughter to carry over the music, they both look over. The two appear to be red in the face, Dream gets that off feeling again. He can’t tell if it’s jealousy or loneliness. Longing? Envy? Bitterness? Whatever it is, he doesn’t think it’s good.
“I hate happy couples,” George tells him then, probably on the same path of thinking, “Why are they like that?”
“Together? Or happy?”
“I-” The brunette furrows his eyebrows, “I hate that they all look picture perfect. They could be bad people and we’d never know it.”
“We could,” Dream tilts his head, hooks his hand around George’s boney hip to comfort him, “We could make up their stories.”
“That person writes poetry about their partner but doesn’t tell them,” He points towards someone, starting without further discussion, “They have eight cats together.”
“Lot of cats,” Dream eyes them, “One is a hairdresser. No, no, construction worker. They build stuff for their cats, like those videos.”
George snorts at that, “Yeah, for sure. Keeps catnip in their pocket.”
Dream laughs out loud at that, “We’re just making the ultimate cat person at this point.”
“Fine, fine,” George looks over the crowd before picking out a younger couple, “They hate each other for sure.”
“They,” He refers to one of them, “Look like they talk to their mom about the other. Personal shit and everything.”
His friend knocks his knuckles against his chest in excitement to add to that, “And their mom fucking hates their partner.”
“Ooh,” Dream sucks in a breath at that, “That’s a tough one.”
George looks to an older couple, directing his attention to them, “They met when they were already old.”
“Like when?”
“Uh,” He thinks about it, the two still steadily going around the rink, “Their 60s? But it’s like a good love story, ya know?”
“Mmm,” He nods in agreement, “And they don’t have any kids.”
George locates a same-sex couple in the crowd, perking up, “Oh, look. How about.. Childhood friends?”
“Yeah, that looks like it makes sense.”
“They figured out they were gay from each other, you know?”
Dream scoffs, “That’s too easy, that’s like any two gay friends ever.”
“Not us,” George points out.
Right. But the taller argues, “We’re not gay though.”
“I,” George presses a finger to his own chest and tilts his chin up in fake smugness, “I am a very straight man.”
“Yeah, sure,” He rolls his eyes, “The blueprint of heterosexuality.”
“How did you know?” George says, still pretending to be smug.
“No idea,” He shakes his head and they both smile.
George bumps their shoulders together, “Why is there an ice rink in Florida anyway?”
“Uh,” Dream moves his arm from where it’s wrapped around him to grasp his hand again. He says it just to make George scoff, “For us, the couple of the day.”
He gets the reaction he wants, making him grin. George twists his fingers a bit, scowling, “Shut up, idiot. Where do you want to go after this?”
“You’re already done?” He winces from his friend hurting him, “We just got here.”
“This takes too much work,” George complains, gesturing with his free hand towards his feet.
“Okay, George,” He rolls his eyes, “Where do you want to go next?”
His friend thinks, eyes squinting at nothing as his lips press into a line. Then he shrugs, “A movie?”
“Oh,” Dream hums, “That’s kind of a good one.”
“Though that might be a bit too gross,” George wrinkles his nose.
“True,” He tilts his head, “But it might be fine, we should look at what’s playing.”
It’s his friend that tugs him to get off the ice, leading the way. He nearly falls when he steps off and Dream’s reflexes are thankfully quick enough to catch him. The commotion catches the eyes of some couple on the sidelines, who smile at him. He burns with the assumption that was made about his hands blindly finding George’s waist, he releases him gently.
His friend sits on the bench while Dream retrieves their phones and shoes, handing over the device for him to scroll through. He unlaces his skates as George reads the titles off to him, not giving many reactions. He slips back on his worn sneakers before George is pulling his feet up onto his lap.
He takes pity based on the other’s wince as he lifts them, undoing them gently. George is still reading titles, letting him tug them off, revealing socks with holes in them. He draws the line at putting on the other’s shoes, pushing his feet off, grabbing their skates to return them. When he returns he holds out his hand, “Okay, c’mon, valentine.”
George scoffs and slaps his hand away, standing without his help. He squares his shoulders but it doesn’t hide his blush, “Shut up, dumbass.”
Dream chuckles as he follows after his quick pace, clasping his own hands together to coo, “Darling, love of my life, Georgie~“
He’s cut off by the other’s shove, thankfully in the parking lot and not making a scene. George hisses, “Do you ever shut up?”
“No,” He hums, laughing lightly at the reaction, feeling that his face is a bit warm too. It’d really just been to make the other flustered and it’d worked but now George is walking ahead of him with his hands shoved in his pockets. Dream eases off, “Did you pick a movie?”
“I thought you were picking one, weren’t you listening?”
Dream fumbles to unlock his truck, the two settling in their respective seats before he admits, “No. We should see something romantic.”
George gives him a flat look as if he thinks he’s messing with him again, parting his lips to argue or insult.
“Because that’s where the gross couples would be, right?” Dream interrupts, then he says quieter, “Or we can go see whatever you want.”
“Okay,” George says simply, looking away. The blonde sighs and starts the car, radio sparking to life quietly. This time there’s no staring when he throws his arm over the back of the other’s seat. He tries not to ramble endlessly to cut through his friend’s closed-off body language, knowing it wouldn’t end well.
He doesn’t understand what he really did wrong, furrowing his eyebrows as they stop at a stoplight. He doesn’t think he said anything he wouldn’t have said over call, does being in person make it mean too much? He glances at the clock, 1pm, figuring that he has a while to make it better.
George seems to be more energetic when they get in line, bouncing on his heels and wincing. Dream asks, cautious about speaking at all, “Do your ankles hurt?”
“A little,” George hums and doesn’t elaborate.
“Look,” Dream tugs on him and points, some couple with their sides glued together, “What’s their story?”
George looks at them for a long moment and says, “They met in a library probably, they have the same favorite book.”
Dream nods, ready to agree with anything, “Fair.”
They’re at the front of the line now, he looks to George for which movie they're seeing. The brunette asks for two tickets for a title that sounds suspiciously like a rom-com. Again, the proposal of a couple discount. George smiles widely, lying through his teeth, “Yes, it’s our one year anniversary today, actually.”
The worker brightens and congratulates them, George twisting their fingers together like the fucking liar he is. Dream scoffs at him and smiles, paying just to get out of the situation faster. The brunette giggles the moment they’re out of earshot, making him shake his head in disdain.
The laughter drops the moment they get inside, George’s eyes widening as he takes in the large colorful room. Dream tugs him along to present their tickets, “C’mon, honey.”
George doesn’t even seem to hear the jokingly used name, still gawking at the lights spelling out the theater’s name. Finally he says, “This is so American.”
Dream laughs at that, fingers still in his grasp being squeezed, “You want popcorn?”
Turns out, it is a rom-com. George settles next to him and wrinkles his nose at the fact that a couple is making out next to him. The movie hasn’t even started yet. Dream laughs at him for it but switches with him anyway. The movie is dumb and cheesy, he snickers about multiple parts that make him wince.
And George just keeps looking at him, he can feel the gaze tracing over his side profile. Their hands are constantly brushing in their efforts to get popcorn and he can’t help but feel that it’s somewhat intentional. Eventually, he looks back, seeing George huddled up in his jacket like he’s cold. Dream tugs on his sleeve caringly, glancing around for a moment, “C’mere, George.”
It feels forbidden, especially with the look that George gives him, to pull him so they’re squished together on the same seat. The press of their sides is warm, too warm, Dream tries to get comfortable. He turns slightly, George leaning to press his mouth against his shoulder for whatever reason, “What are you doing, idiot?”
“You’re cold,” Dream explains quietly to him. His lips curve up then to tease, “What, ‘d you think I was gonna give you a handy in the movie theater?”
George bites him for that and he hisses, laughing as he shoves him hard. It’s a fight of their hands in the small space between armrests, shoving each other, before Dream catches both of his hands in his larger ones. He presses them to George’s chest, trapping them between the two of their bodies in a tight hug. His friend says for the second time that day, “I want a divorce.”
His words tickle his skin, he squeezes slightly, their focus off the movie in their quiet whispers, “Can we be a married couple next time the couple thing is brought up today?”
“Mmm,” George hums in contemplation, not as opposed to being held as he acts, cheek pressing against his chest, “No. We don’t have rings.”
“I might have some in my truck,” He counters, glancing at the screen.
George simply hums again and Dream feels that he rolls his eyes along with it, he pinches his side in retaliation. They move so that they can watch the movie again then, it’s barely getting to the good part. They watch the two love interests realize they like each other. They kiss and all that, blah blah, Dream can’t really focus on much more than cold fingertips rubbing circles on his bicep.
The sun hurts his eyes when they leave the theater, making him squint. George has a content look on his face, smiling slightly to himself, and Dream asks, “Did you like the movie?”
“What?” George turns to him, looking up at him through his eyelashes as they walk, he shrugs, “I guess.”
“Hm,” Dream answers, their shoulders almost bumping, “Where do you want to go next?”
“The beach?” George requests, “I haven’t been there yet.”
“You’re just using today to your advantage,” He grins, unlocking his truck and thinking through where to take him.
George settles in his seat, brushing the hair on his forehead to the side, “Well, I did get you out of the house.”
He shakes his head at that, clicking his tongue. They have nothing more to say as they go, the sun harsh. Dream has the thought to look through his backseat for sunscreen but he doesn’t think he has any. George is impatient to get out on the sand as soon as they park, eager hand on the door handle before Dream grabs his sleeve, “Take off your jacket, you’re going to overheat.”
George shuffles out of said piece of clothing as told, the blonde looks for a bottle of sunscreen with little hope. To his surprise, he finds one, instantly pressing it into the other hands. George looks down at it blankly before he sighs, opening it. Dream loots through his center console for those rings, knowing that he wore them out and got overstimulated by the weight of them and took them off.
He manages to find plain enough ones, one that fits his ring finger and one that fits his pinkie. They’re close enough to pass as matching, smooth silver that he’s worn a million times over. He asks, “George, gimme your hand.”
George offers his right hand like an idiot and he bats it away, grabbing his left. He slips the one that fits his pinkie onto his ring finger, hoping that it’ll fit. It’s a bit loose but not so much that it’s anything to worry about, his friend holding his hand out so they can both observe the fake wedding ring.
“Now you’re stuck with me,” Dream snickers, thinking that the ring looks particularly nice on George. Delicate skin makes the ring look delicate in turn, whereas on Dream it always looked more rugged. George grabs for his left hand then, snatching the ring out of his palm, sliding it onto his finger.
It sends tingles through his entire body to have George putting a ring on his ring finger, making a lump form in his throat. It’s fine, he asked for this, didn’t he? He manages a weak strained smile and his friend hands back the bottle of sunscreen. Dream doesn’t bother, too used to being sunburnt that he doesn’t particularly care about his mother’s lecture on it anymore.
George gasps at the heat of the sand, both of them having taken their shoes and socks off. Dream laughs at him, breaking into a jog towards the water which quickly turns into a sprint when George chases after him. He stops at the edge of the water, George splashing right in and soaking both of their pants.
Having wet jeans wasn’t part of the plan but he can deal, sighing. They walk along, searching for shells, George picky about not putting any broken ones into his pockets. Well, Dream’s pockets since he’s the only one that has them. A lot of sand probably joins them but he can’t bother to care when his friend looks so excited when he finds another one.
Dream allows every smile to be shared, slowly leading them down to the busy pier, knowing that there will be a lot there for George to look at. This little people-watching trip has turned into simply hanging out, at least he thinks so. Hanging out while pretending to be a married couple, a totally normal thing for best friends to do.
The pier is old but full of little shops, practically a little marketplace, George appears amazed by all of it. Dream twists their fingers together so they won’t be separated and lets the other lead the way. Eventually, after looking over many different booths, George slumps into his side and complains, “It’s so hot here.”
“It’s because I’m here, of course,” A smile pulls at his lips and the other scoffs at him. Then he says more seriously, “Do you want to sit down?”
George’s cheeks are rather flushed from the heat, curve of his jaw glistening with sweat from all their walking. He shakes his head though, asking in a less sure voice, “Can we get ice cream?”
He knows, deep down, that George truly doesn’t ask him for much. Doesn’t like to, he thinks, something about pride maybe. Dream nods, tugging him along instantly to his vague memories of where the booth is at. It’s bright and colorful and he finds it before long, stepping in line with all the other people who have deemed the heat to be too much. Dream presses the back of his hand to his friend’s cheek, feeling the heat on his skin, “You okay?”
His eyebrows are flattened worriedly and George nods, “Was just getting to be a bit much.”
Their palms are sweaty pressed together and for the first time in possibly an hour, he releases his hold. George’s hands instantly come together, twisting the ring on his finger, drawing Dream’s gaze. Something warm settles in his chest at the action, he tries not to let his voice come out strained, “What flavor do you want?”
“Vanilla,” George requests, still twisting the ring on his finger.
Dream nods, thinking the flavor to be a bit plain but who is he to judge really, “Alright, sweetheart.”
George instantly sputters, “What- Why would you say that?”
Dream smiles hard at the reaction, “You are kind of my husband, George.”
“What’s wrong with you?” George wrinkles his nose, though his face goes more pink than it already was. Dream laughs, finding great joy in the other’s embarrassment. Though the ice cream makes up for his words, he figures, based on the way George focuses on it pointedly. The wind is picking up now, drawing harsher waves to the shores, they watch over the railing as sparse surfers catch them. George points at one, “Why don’t you surf?”
“Didn’t know it was a requirement,” Dream presses a hand to his chest and fakes being hurt, “Am I not good enough for you, George? Didn’t know surfers were your type.”
He’s shoved, George scowling, “They’re not. Just thought you’d want to be talented for once, it was a suggestion.”
“Ouch,” He pokes the other, pouting before he says, “You better learn how to surf now with all that talk.”
“I’m talented in other ways,” George turns his chin up, eating a scoop of his ice cream.
“Yeah, at getting on your knees,” The words make George choke, a fit of coughs that almost makes Dream feel bad for his joke. But then he’s elbowed hard, making him laugh loudly, the look on George’s face murderous. The blonde steals a scoop of vanilla ice cream, still snickering, “I’m just saying.”
“Well quit,” George steals a spoonful of his caramel ice cream in return, shoulders tense and face red. Dream laughs again at that, his friend’s scolding glance becoming more amused now. Their shoulders bump as they return to their browsing, hands too occupied with the cold treat to be grasping each other.
Dream finds a bracelet with a little silver moon charm as George is occupied with something else. He buys it, throwing away his finished ice cream, walking up to his fake husband. His friend has finished his cup of ice cream too, Dream wraps his fingers around his wrist to get his attention. Then he clasps the bracelet onto him, muttering, “Saw this and thought it was pretty, reminded me of you.”
George goes scarlet at his words, tugging his wrist away once it’s secured, looking at the charm. Dream didn’t mean for the words to fall out of his mouth as genuinely as they did but he doesn’t play it off.
Instead he dips down to press a kiss to the brunette’s cheek, asking him, “I’m tired, wanna go home?”
George doesn’t acknowledge the action at all, avoidance obvious, commenting, “Where’s my valentine’s day dinner?”
Dream checks the time on his phone, seeing that it’s about 4pm, “Isn’t it a bit early?”
“Can’t we just pick something up to eat at home?” George is twisting his ring again.
Dream stops the action by grabbing his hand again, their fingers intertwining like they’ve been doing it for years, “Yeah, whatever you want, sweetheart.”
He gets an eye roll in response to the name, smiling to himself as he leads them back the way they came. George finds more shells on the way, not separating their hands and simply dragging Dream along to retrieve them. His pockets are full by the time they make it back to his truck, George humming something contently the whole walk until they get there.
They get McDonalds, George deciding that instead they should just eat in the parking lot. And Dream would do anything he asks, so that’s what they do. He doesn’t get upset like he usually would as George puts his feet up on the seat, simply watches him shift to get comfortable. They listen to the radio, humming along occasionally, eating wordlessly. Then Dream points out, “We didn’t even get to use our marriage thing.”
George extends his left hand in front of himself, looking at the ring on his finger, humming, “Yeah.”
“Kinda disappointing,” He frowns, lifting his own hand to look at the silver against his skin. George presses their hands together, looking over the difference in size, before their fingers thread together. Dream muses, “Was I a good husband at least?”
“Mmm,” George thinks it over, taking a bite of his cheeseburger, taking his time with his answer just to be annoying. Then he says, their held hands resting on the center console between them, “I didn’t even get a proper proposal so I dunno.”
“Don’t challenge me,” Dream huffs, squeezing his hand.
“Really?” George’s eyes jump from where they rest on their hold, “You’d actually do that?”
“For fun,” He justifies with a shrug, “Why not. I’ll propose as long as you cry when I do.”
That draws the laugh he was aiming for out of George, making his heart beat painfully with the want to hold him close. His hand is released after a squeeze, “Can we go home now, valentine?” It’s rare that he gets this type of teasing from his friend, the amused, “Husband of mine?”
Dream nods, snorting at the names and how somehow they don’t sound that awkward leaving George’s mouth anymore, “Sure, love.”
They’re walking up the walkway to the front door when George stops him with a hold on his arm, looking up at him and saying, “Okay, propose to me.”
“What- Here?” He blinks at the other, “It’s not even, like, special.”
“Where would you do it then, hm?” George crosses his arms.
“Like- The beach probably,” He thinks it over, “Somewhere better than this, I dunno.”
“I didn’t take you for being a romantic,” George squints at him then says, “Now propose to me, idiot.”
“Seriously?” He raises his eyebrows but George doesn’t waver. He sighs, holding out his hand for the ring. It’s placed delicately in his palm and he drops easily, because he’ll do anything George asks of him, on one knee. He looks up, holding the ring, and says, “Marry me, George?”
“So romantic,” George rolls his eyes.
Dream sighs, hands dropping for a moment, rolling his eyes back in annoyance. Then he holds it again, requesting more gently, more honestly, “I’m stupidly in love with you so please, George, marry me.”
George looks at him for a long moment before he steels, holding out his hand, “Fine.”
And it’s stiff and so painfully George, who never allows any form of fondness to show. Dream is glad just to get off his knee, slipping the ring on his finger, exclaiming, “Let’s gooo.”
“You’re so dumb,” His friend shakes his head and Dream wraps him up in his arms, lifting him from the ground.
He’s fought against and he demands, “Now tell me you love me.”
“No, Dream, let me go,” George pushes at his arms.
“Tell me,” He demands, holding him tighter, “Or I’m taking back my proposal.”
“It wasn’t real anyway, I don’t care,” George says, laughing a bit now.
“Ugh, fine, I didn’t want to marry you anyway,” Dream lets him go, twisting their fingers together despite his words, finally walking into the house. He’s tired, dragging George along to his room, who doesn’t say a word of protest. His friend falls into his arms easily on the bed, Dream calling to Sapnap that they’re home. Then he turns to the brunette, tucking his face into his shoulder, “Are we going to tell Sap that you’re my wife now?”
“Ew,” George says, pushing at him, “You’re gross, I’m leaving.”
“No, George,” He clings to him, “Don’t go.”
“I wanna take a shower, I’m sandy,” He drags his fingers through Dream’s hair, pausing his movements to do so.
“Take me with you,” He pleads jokingly.
“No, you’re so clingy,” His shoulders are pushed, “Get off me, idiot.”
He pouts and George rolls his eyes, no mercy as he shoves him away. He rolls out of bed and Dream calls, “Leave the door unlocked for me, yeah?”
George flips him off but says nothing, making him grin about the other being most likely flustered. Too easy, it’s just too easy. But his smile is wiped off his face when George calls from the hall, “You better join me then.”
Dream stubbornly shouts back, “Bet.”
“Then c’mon, idiot,” And he shoves himself hard off his bed, walking after the voice.
He peeks his head in and asks, “Seriously?”
“You can,” George doesn’t look at him, carefully avoiding his eyes as he shuffles through his closet, “If you want.”
Dream squints at him, “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
Eyes hold his for a moment before falling away, “Don’t make it weird.”
“In your bathroom or mine?” He asks gently, still lingering in the doorway. He gets a shrug and hums, “Mine, then.”
His shower is definitely bigger, he thinks so at least. He leaves George to grab his clothes, starting up his shower to start letting the water get hot, searching for his own clothes to change into. George slips into the bathroom just as he goes to retrieve an extra towel, Dream somehow can’t find it in himself to be nervous about them taking a shower together.
It’s just George, with his endearing coldness about situations like this. He almost can’t fathom why the other allows things like this to happen, but he supposes it’s the same as his faked distaste for being touched. The brunette is already under hot water when he steps into the bathroom, hidden behind frosted glass.
That’s when the slight shakiness falls into Dream’s hands, he places the towel down on the counter without a word. George is humming lightly, as if ignoring his presence. Because of course George would do that. The blonde tugs his shirt off, shoving off his jeans with the pockets still full of shells, stripping easily. Because it’s just George, after all. He sets his fake wedding band with the other on the counter.
He supposes that he didn’t think about the size of his shower in terms of two people, it’s obvious when he steps in and is forced near. George faces away, hair wet and curling upwards at the ends, Dream keeps his eyes above the smooth pale shoulder blades presented to him. He asks, “Can I wash your hair?”
A nod is all he gets, George not looking at him once. Citrus fills the air around them as he pours the shampoo into his hand, rubbing his palms together before sinking fingers into dark hair. He gets a sigh, shoulders falling from their tense place, George tilting his head into the touch. He’s gentle to lather it in, working his hands over the knots in his shoulders too, caringly soothing.
“Turn,” He requests, voice just a murmur, when he’s got George compliant under his touch. A moment of hesitation before his friend does as asked, facing each other for the first time since being in the shower. Brunette locks lay nearly over his friend’s eyes and Dream huffs, pushing his hair back, “Maybe you do need a haircut.”
George rolls his eyes, lets him massage gently over his temples. Drops of water cling to his dark eyelashes, gaze raking over Dream’s face, drinking him in like it’s their first time meeting again. As much as George acts as if he only tolerates him, he allows his head to be guided back to rinse without much resistance. Instead he asks, “Can I wash yours?”
Dream nods, focused on making sure no soap gets in his eyes, agreeing. George pushes his hair back out of his eyes once all the shampoo has been rinsed out, grabbing for the bottle. The blonde snickers when he leans down to allow the hands to reach properly, eyelashes fluttering against his will at the blunt nails dragging over his scalp.
He doesn’t think he’s had his hair washed by anyone else since he was a child, it’s surprisingly tender. At least when George is the one doing it. He lets the motions make his eyes heavy, leaning further into it. A hand on his arm guides him to turn around, fingers digging into the shorter part of his hair and down his freckled shoulders.
It sends tingles through Dream’s entire body when fingers drag smoothly downward, curious, lingering on his back dimples. It’s as if George is studying him for a moment, memorizing, forehead resting against his shoulder. Then George steps away entirely, saying, “Rinse.”
Dream has to practically lean over him to do so, their eyes meeting before quickly moving anywhere else. He pretends he doesn’t see the way brown eyes glance at his mouth, it’s really none of his business if he imagined it or not. That’s for George to figure out, he knows his stance quite clearly already. Instead he hums, “I don’t suppose you’ll let me wash you?”
“Let you?” George raises his eyebrows, “You say as if you want to.”
“Of course I do,” He rolls his eyes, still close, teasing with a grin, “What’s wrong, scared you’ll like it?”
“No, worried you will,” He counters, lips upturned, “Don’t think we’re close enough to handle awkward boners.”
“You think so highly of yourself,” Dream snickers.
“What can I say, I’m beautiful,” George shrugs, turning away to grab the body wash. He still lathers it over his hands, pausing, saying more gently, “Can I?”
“Of course,” Dream hums back just as seriously, curving his hands around his friend’s jaw caringly. Just so George will look at him again and see his honest agreement. Their gazes hit too heavy and the brunette’s hands rise, rubbing soap over his shoulders before sliding back. He didn’t expect the other to make such a close move, definitely imagined himself capable, but he’s not complaining when he’s hugged around the neck.
Their chests press together and Dream hunches so the other isn’t uncomfortable with the height difference. His brain rattles to a stop, blank at the smooth wet skin against his. His hands hover, unsure where to touch to return the hold, pressing his cheek to George’s temple. The brunette mutters to his collarbones, “I’m tired.”
Dream’s hand rises to sink into his hair, soothing, “Then hurry up, dummy, so we can go to bed.” George presses his nose against the underside of his jaw, humming at his words but not leaving the embrace. Dream’s other hand rubs over his back, he asks again, “Let me, George.”
The other’s weight sags against him, the blonde can just imagine him making a face, “Can we not?”
They’ve been under the water for a bit, enough to wash the sand off but not be completely clean. There’s always morning showers, he sighs, “Okay, rinse then.”
George rinses for only a moment before he’s stepping out, leaving Dream there to wash away the soap over him from the other’s hands. He’s dressed by the time he gets out, brushing his hair in the mirror and humming again. Why does he hum so much? Never any songs that he recognizes either, he pulls on his clothes while still half-wet and dries his hair with his towel.
George twists from where he is, in his baggy sleep shirt with domestic wet hair, Dream draws close to let the other brush his hair for him. He can barely wrap his mind around that they really just took a shower together, were naked in a small space together. Small palms find his cheeks, pulling his gaze to meet, “You didn’t even dry off properly, idiot.”
“I practice the art of air-drying,” Dream chuckles at his own words, “C’mere, are your ankles still hurting?”
“A little bit,” George hands him the answer from earlier. Dream realizes a lot of things about him, knows a lot of things about him, an extension of each other. He has the thought to know that it’s a lie, that in the same way he supposedly hates touch, he minimalizes his needs. Dream might love him genuinely, never sure where he ends and the other begins, while George loves him secretly. In smiles and the palms on his face and his names. Wordlessly.
He grasps the silver rings, nearly forgotten if not for the burn in his heart, presenting the smaller band. George offers his hand instantly but he explains away anyway into the space between them, the breaths between them, their heartbeat, “The day’s not over yet.”
“I guess,” The brunette rolls his eyes, smiling anyway. Dream thinks it’s sweet, slipping on his own ring. He wraps his arms around him, lifting him. Despite complying instantly, the hands on his shoulders and the legs on his hips as he carries him along, George laughs, “Ew, you’re so wet.”
“That’s what she said,” He says instantly, fingers splayed to bunch up the loose fabric on his friend’s waist, dropping George on his bed without mercy. He raises his eyebrows and corrects, “That’s what your mom said when she was here last night.”
George scoffs, shuffling to get under the covers, “You’re so dumb, go to sleep already.”
Dream flicks off the lights, making his way to shuffle under the covers. They haven’t done this yet, not touching, both of their minds circling through their sleep calls. It’s different, to feel the bed dipping down next to him. To have George’s chest rising and falling under his blankets, head on his pillow, smelling of his shampoo. His heart aches with longing for the moment, as it has many times, despite the moment happening.
“Dream,” George turns over, the blonde turning to trace his eyes over the line of him. Hands are tucked under the pillow, he’s barely able to see eyes in his direction, feels the gaze more than anything. The other doesn’t continue, waiting, he makes a noncommitted sound in response. George shifts, just the slightest bit closer, “It’s dumb but..”
He trails off and Dream prompts, “Tell me anyway.”
“Humor me,” George sounds somehow exasperated, turning over again to face the ceiling, “But what would it be like if we were actually married? I dunno, I’ve just been wondering all day, because it’s been so weird. You know?”
Dream doesn’t know, tracing the delicate side profile gifted to him from the moon. He thought everything has felt completely natural all day personally, in an unsurprising way. He knows his thoughts and opinion on the matter, his wants and desires and secrets, but his tongue is too heavy, “I don’t know, however you want, I guess.”
“However I want?” George asks the ceiling, the empty air, “You wouldn’t have any opinions?”
“You’ve never asked anything unreasonable of me before,” He shrugs, because he’d give the other anything for a proper ring to stay permanent on their fingers.
“Kids?”
“Okay,” A laugh rises in his throat, “That’s the exception, no kids.”
“Good,” George hums, “I wouldn’t want any either.”
And it sounds honest. Dream thinks it over, “Would we have a dog then? Cat?”
“How about..” His friend thinks then proposes, “Two dogs and two cats?”
“Why two?”
“So they don’t get lonely,” George shrugs and Dream can’t stop his smile.
He argues, “What if the cat and dog are friends though?”
“Fair,” His friend admits defeat.
“Would we even get married properly?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, legally?”
“Oh,” George blanks for a moment, then smiles, “Yeah because then I’d get to stay here forever. Visa secured, you know?”
“Wow,” Dream knocks his knuckles against the brunette’s boney shoulder, “So what am I now? Did you not want to stay here that badly?”
George’s hand grasps his, finds the fake wedding ring and fiddles with it, twisting in the way he had his own, “I do, wanna stay here forever.”
“Really?” Dream asks, their eyes meeting in the dark again.
“Yeah,” George tells him, short like he doesn’t plan on elaborating. Then he relents, “Today was fun.”
“So glad it’s our one year anniversary,” Dream snickers, pulling his hand away to urge him closer. A cheek lands on his chest and George is warm against his side, shirt getting wet from hair that’s still drying. He muses, “Would we just, like, kick Sapnap out? Or would he be here just stuck with us?”
“Whichever he would want,” George mutters, fingers finding his ring again to twist, “But imagine how much we could annoy him though.”
Images flash through his mind at the other’s permission. Kissing in the kitchen, the couch, pressing too close during movies, waking up with the other. He watches their life pass by behind his eyelids, behind his glossy gaze on the ceiling, voice dropping, “Yeah.”
“Dream?” George shifts, touch pulling away in favor of them sinking into each other’s warmth. He hums, not particularly feeling like answering properly. He gets quiet words, so much quieter than a mic could pick up, quieter than he’s ever heard his best friend before, “Thanks for being my valentine.”
“And your fiance,” He adds, hand running through the hair at the nape of his neck before rubbing down his back. George relaxes into the touch, sighing, and Dream is foolish enough to press a kiss to his head. It seems that George is foolish enough not to comment or complain or pull away. The blonde rubs his back, “Now go to sleep, George.”
“You’ll be here when I wake up?” It’s a dumb question said in a way that’s stupidly small.
“Of course, you know I will.” He soothes, gentle. He gets a sigh against his shoulder and lets his eyes close, breathing in measured counts. Just out of fear of disturbing the other before he sinks into sleep. The moon paints his eyelids with their life again and he relaxes into unconscious imaginations. False memories. Love in a foreign way.
Despite their busy day and the ache in his body from it, he rises too early. He’s bleary and warm and he’s got possibly the love of his life still drooling on his chest. He’s reminded again of their sleep calls, this is usually the point where he hangs up. Instead he shifts, against the asleep grasp that tightens on his shirt.
He carefully removes them, pressing kisses to knuckles in apology. George is heavenly in the morning, when his feigned dislike for any company is smoothed over with unknowing actions to tug Dream closer. His mouth is slack, eyelashes light in the morning sun, beauty marks apparent.
Dream brushes a thumb over the scar that cuts through his eyebrow and then pushes the hair away from his closed eyes. His kiss against his forehead lingers against his will, eyes tracing over a sight too angelic for his undeserving exposure. But hunger sits in a pit at the bottom of his stomach and he rises from beneath the covers anyway.
The house is silent as he feeds Patches, murmuring nothing much to her as he rubs a hand over his fur. She seems to appreciate the sound of his voice anyway. He hears no sound from Sapnap and wonders idly how long the other was awake the previous night. He makes scrambled eggs because it’s the only thing he can ever think to make in the morning, mind empty as he runs on autopilot.
He mulls over the previous day, occasionally glancing at the ring on his finger that catches on the sun from the window. It makes an ache in his whole being to inevitably take it off later, wanting to hold onto the fantasy for a while longer. Socked footsteps interrupt his frowning, George looks like he’s been through hell since Dream left him alone. He sits up on the counter, swinging his hooked ankles, voice low from lack of use, “Thought you wouldn’t leave me?”
“Sorry,” He offers a sheepish smile, “Got hungry.”
George is never up this early, his absence must have really taken a toll on his ease. His hair is a mess from sleeping with it wet, no more words to be exchanged between them. It’s silent for long moments that Dream doesn’t know what to do with, turned with his back to the other. Feet hit the floor and George asks behind him, “Can I ask something unreasonable of you?”
Dream’s head spins with the fact that he’d been thinking of their previous conversation. That he was sitting and thinking about their tired talk about marriage. One that isn’t real, one that they still have the rings on their fingers for. He expects a big talk, turning off the stove and turning around, mouth open to flatly explain it was all a joke.
But George curves fingers around his jaw in that way that shouts they’re in love, pressing close and dragging him down. It’s odd for their lips to press together, the scratch of their stubble uncomfortable, Dream unmoving just from stubborn denial to let himself believe the moment is happening. Their moment is happening, his hands unsteadily find the small of George’s back, leaning more willingly to push closer. He swears he’s dreaming, pulling away to say, “Nothing about that was unreasonable.”
“Marry me for real,” George says, their noses brushing and Dream can feel his smile against his mouth.
“Oh,” He says back dumbly, brain too slow to catch up with new revelations. Old revelations coming to light. Wants, needs, desires, all laid out as possibilities.
“Not now, overeager idiot, not soon either,” George presses a kiss to his cheekbone, lingering, “Just.. eventually, okay?”
“Okay,” He vows, pressing their lips back together, falling into it. He squeezes and holds on, “That wasn’t unreasonable either.”