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Dream’s family’s house somehow always feels the same. His mom makes sure of that, makes sure to dust the shelves and leave the books in the library exactly the way they are just before he comes over so that it’ll still feel like his. It always does feel like his. It’s a peculiar feeling at the pit of his stomach when he takes George here. His future, right in the middle of his past.
Sapnap is spending time with Punz and Sylvee for the weekend, they have a bunch of streams planned. They were supposed to be there too, but George suggested staying behind to spend some time together, and Dream has never once considered not taking George’s advice.
George has been here before. They’ve spent Christmas here together. It was by far the best Christmas Dream ever had. His parents got to know the most important person in his life, and there was nothing that could come close to the feeling in his chest when he got to see George make jokes with his parents and mess around with his sister and just effortlessly become a part of his family. George is inexplicably good at this, good at caring when he knows it’s important to him. Dream gets to see all the soft parts of him that no one ever sees, and it’s a special honor that he’s keen on holding onto forever.
“What’re you thinking of?” George asks, his eyes half-lidded from not sleeping. They’re sitting on the worn-out couch in his room before dinner, even if they said they’d unpack and rest a little in their own rooms. It’s hard to try to stand to be apart, because Dream would much rather be glued to him at all times.
Dream has a lot on his mind. George softly squeezes his thigh, and then he has nothing on his mind. “Nothing,” so he says.
“You’re thinking of something,” George rebukes, and Dream wishes he could be surprised. “I can feel it.”
“I know you can,” Dream says. They’ve talked about everything that has been going on a hundred times already, and he thinks he probably has that same drained look on his face that George has memorized by now. “It’s just — you know. It’s been stressful.”
“Dream,” George says, like a warning not to go there again.
“I know, Georgie,” Dream says before George even gets a chance to continue. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”
George makes a sound. “You think too much,” he says. Dream always feels so seen by him. “Thought we were going to leave all that behind this weekend.”
“Yeah, yeah, we are,” Dream barely manages.
George rubs his back, and he presses a kiss to his cheek quickly. “C’mere,” he says, and then he pulls him impossibly closer to kiss his mouth.
They’ve been doing that, too. They haven’t really talked about it. They haven’t laid down ground rules or discussed labels. George kissed him one night when they were talking sweetly about nothing in particular, and Dream pressed his mouth against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
George kisses Dream like he can’t get enough. Dream has noticed it the first time they were mouth against mouth, when George was biting into his lip, taking his breath away, not that Dream ever really knew what it felt like to be able to breathe when he’s close to George. George’s mouth against his is just addictive, it’s a type of closeness that he thought he couldn’t ever have when they were continents away.
“George,” Dream is breathless, his lips are raw against George’s, trembling with just how much he wants to keep going. The weight of his want feels crushing. “Baby.”
“What?” George asks, impatient, thumbing at his chin like he can’t wait to kiss him there and then everywhere else. Dream is losing touch with his ability to just think.
“Dinner,” Dream reminds him, it’s the last thing he wants to do. “You can kiss me later.”
George groans and presses his forehead against his, breathes faster. “I want to kiss you now.”
Dream laughs, a little mesmerized. “You’re so needy.”
“I’m allowed to be needy with you,” George states. “I’m allowed to.”
Dream knows what he means when he says he’s allowed to. He’s allowed to want to be close when he finally can be. The days of can’t are left behind, and so George is allowed to want to keep him close forever, with his entire being. They’re both like this with each other, obsessive, like the world would stop spinning if they don’t get enough.
They never, ever get enough.
⁂
At the dinner table, he can’t stop thinking about how he knows the taste of George’s breath mingled with his own, and it’s getting slightly distracting when George is sitting right across from him. His mom is there too, and it just makes it worse, because he can barely keep up with the conversation.
“Yeah, I mean, it is kinda the first time Clay has brought a guy home,” his mom’s voice snaps him back to life, and it’s like she did it on purpose. “Second, if we’re counting Christmas.”
“Mom,” Dream scoffs, and George fucking laughs across the table like he’s enjoying this. “C’mon. It’s George.”
“It is George,” she furrows her eyebrows at him, a silent scold. “And I’m telling the truth, honey.”
Dream wants to be buried alive, palms digging into his eye sockets. This is the worst conversation ever.
George grins, an intriguing look spreads across his face. “So Dream has brought girls home before?”
“Yeah, I mean, a couple. He hasn’t even talked about them as much as he talks about you.”
“Mom,” Dream warns again.
George raises an eyebrow, still looks at his mom and barely shrugs. “Yeah, well, I’m more important than them.”
“There’s no doubt about that,” she smiles, that all-knowing inscrutable smile. “He was like this when he was younger too. I was pretty convinced he had a crush on you. But he never said anything about it, so I never wanted to bring it up.”
“Oh, really?” George laughs “You thought Dream had a crush on me?”
She laughs. “We all did. He was just talking to you all the time. I remember he would be late to dinner because he was on the phone with you, and when he came downstairs, all he ever talked about was you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dream sighs, red from the tips of his ears. “Can we not do this right now?”
“He’s shy,” she whispers to George, and it pulls a laugh from the back of his throat. “You don’t have to be shy, Clay.”
“Yeah, Dream,” George enables her — of course he does. “Just admit it.”
Dream scoffs lightheartedly. “What is this? You’re all, like, ganging up on me.”
“Calm down. We’re joking,” his mom says, but it really does not feel like it. “Finish your food.”
⁂
“Sorry about that,” Dream apologizes once they go back upstairs to his room. His mom asked them if George was going to stay in the guest room, but they assured her there wouldn’t be a need. She whispered something along the lines of I figured under her breath, and Dream shook his head because she’s never been more predictable.
George settles on the bed, fiddling with Dream’s chain. “What are you sorry for?”
Dream can barely hold eye contact with him. “That entire conversation. It was uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t mind it,” George shrugs. “It was kind of funny, actually. Just didn’t know you brought girls home.”
“Not important,” Dream brushes it off. “I was young.”
“After we met?” George doesn’t seem like he wants to let it go though, looking at Dream with slightly narrowed eyes the way he does when something is on his mind and he wants to get to the bottom of it instantly.
“George,” Dream glares, and he can tell there that George is going to keep poking him about this.
“What?” George scoffs, one hand pulling at his chain lightly. It pulls Dream’s soul in some sickening way. “I wanna know.”
“Why?”
“I dunno, I just do. I thought we told each other things like this.”
“It was nothing worth telling you,” Dream says, and he sounds honest, but George still wants to know. “Nothing serious. I tell you everything that matters.”
“That’s dumb,” George replies. “When?”
Dream makes a sound. He can’t even bring himself to be surprised by his insistence, because that is just George in every way. “Why do you even wanna know?”
“Cause,” George brings his legs into his chest, face a little red as he says it. “You’ve had sex.”
Dream makes a sound. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Was I supposed to?”
George shoots a look at him, and the look in his eyes definitely says yes. “I dunno, Dream. I’m sure you would be over the moon if you found out that I’ve been fucking people, fucking strangers and not telling you?”
“You haven’t been fucking anyone,” Dream declares confidently. “Right?”
“I mean,” George lowers his voice, his words restrained with some sort of implication.
“You’re messing with me,” Dream feels something heavy weighing down his chest. “Who?”
“No one you’d know,” George shrugs. “A guy.”
“A guy?” Dream’s voice raises in pitch, and George would think he woke everyone up if he didn’t quiet down immediately. “A guy, George?”
“Yeah,” George replies. “It wasn’t anything worth telling.” He’s mocking him now, turning it around because he knows just exactly how to push his buttons.
Dream fucking hates it, and George revels in it. “How? When did you even – where ?”
“Bathroom of a stupid birthday party,” George answers nonchalantly, like he’s replying to a casual question.
“What?” Dream breathes out. “In a – in a fucking stall?”
George nods. “How do you feel about that?”
Dream scoffs. “You know how I feel about that.”
“I don’t care,” George pushes again, always so impossibly stubborn until he gets his way. With Dream, he always does. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t like it,” George says, scrutinizing his face intently. “Say it.”
His room is darker now, and he can barely even see anything other than George. The pictures on the wall gape at him from the corner of his eyes, reminding him of the absence of someone incredibly hard to miss.
“I don't like it,” Dream caves in one breath. “You happy?”
“Yeah,” George smiles, and Dream can see the mischievous look on his face. “Cause I made it up.”
Dream stares at him widely. “George. You – you made it up?”
“Yeah, I made it up. I didn’t fuck a guy in a stall, Dream.”
“You’re fucking stupid,” Dream sighs, shaking his head. “Why would you do that to me?”
“Doesn’t feel very nice, does it?” George pushes his eyebrows up, and it’s then that it clicks for Dream. George is jealous. It’s a little funny, that he even thinks there was something to be jealous of, because no one has ever compared or will compare to what George means to him.
“George,” Dream scoffs, exhausts his name from just how many times he has said it. “C’mon. You can’t be mad at me for that.”
“I’m not mad,” George feigns a careless look, but he’s sure that Dream can tell from the corners of his eyebrows that he is certainly not happy. “You just – you never told me. You’d always tell me you were going home. It’s just dumb. I don’t know why you didn’t tell me.”
“It was years ago,” Dream responds. It’s hard for him to even remember a time they weren’t close. George’s entire life is Dream, it feels like it always has been. “It was different back then, George.”
George stares for a second, and Dream would do anything to know every single thought that crosses his mind. “Were you in love?”
Dream laughs at how blunt he is. “You just wanna know everything don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do,” George doesn’t even try to cover it up. “I wanna know everything.”
“I don’t think I was,” Dream replies. “I don’t know. I guess if I have to even question it, the answer is no, isn’t it?”
George looks at him carefully. “I guess so.”
“Well,” Dream smiles at him. “There you go.”
George shifts in his place. “Any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?”
“Eh,” Dream shakes his head with a smile so wide that he can’t even attempt to hide it. “Are you asking me if I fucked anyone in a public bathroom?”
“Considering your reaction, I’m hoping the answer is no.”
Dream laughs under his breath. “Didn’t exactly have that opportunity, no.”
“Good,” George says. “That’s good.”
“Soon, maybe. Who knows?”
“Yeah,” George replies. This is something like a challenge, how unreal George looks sitting on his bed under the yellow light, how he smiles like he knows that he’s the reason Dream can barely breathe. You’re going to kill me one day, he thinks. “Maybe.”
⁂
Dream closes the curtains early in the morning, because George hates waking up with the sun in his eyes, and Dream hates all the things that George hates. He’s still asleep when Dream leaves and quietly closes the door after him.
His sister is in the kitchen, making coffee for herself, and Dream groans at the smell as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Oh,” she says when she turns around and notices him. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he hums, voice thick. “Why’re you up so early?”
“Why are you up so early?” She questions with a smirk. “George talking in his sleep or something?”
Dream nearly spits his water out. “How – How do you even know he’s staying in my room?”
She laughs. “I’m not dumb, Clay. I know.”
“You too?” he groans. “Mom is already giving me a hard time.”
“Well,” she shrugs. “I don’t blame her. This is really big for all of us.”
“You’re all acting ridiculous. You weren’t acting like this when you first met Sapnap.”
“That’s different,” she considers it for a second, like she’s solving a math equation inside her head. It clicks fairly quickly. “Very different.”
Dream makes a face at her. “How is it different?”
“You know why,” she grins.
“Why’re you smiling like that?” Dream questions. “I hate you.”
She hums with another smile, just as evil. “You’re a dumbass. I’m glad you’re happy.”
She doesn’t have to clarify further for Dream to understand what she means. She’s older now, and she’s good at picking up on every little thing that she learned when she was growing up with Dream by her side. Dream hasn’t told her anything about George. But she knows where the line is between best friends and whatever he has going on with George. He can’t hide anything from her, and he finds out that it’s a curse and a blessing all at the same time.
Dream is about to snap back with something when the stairs creak and George walks downstairs, a sleepy smile on his face. He looks disgustingly cute like this, Dream thinks his smile reaches all the way to his ears.
“Morning,” George waves at his sister. He’s still a little awkward around his family, and it’s so sweet that it almost makes Dream’s chest hurt.
“Hey, George,” she smiles. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh, really?” George grins, and just like that, that glint of his eyes is back. “What were you talking about?”
Dream turns to his sister, glances at her with a warning look in his eyes. He doesn’t think he’ll ever hear the end of it if she tells him what they talked about.
“We were talking about how much of an idiot you are, actually,” she says. Dream almost lets out a heavy sigh of relief.
George scrunches his brows at her. “You should start questioning your brother’s taste, then.”
“George,” Dream scoffs, says his name with a fumbling pointedness.
His sister bursts into laughter. “And you tell me I’m acting ridiculous,” she shakes her head. “Have fun, Clay.”
Dream doesn’t even know what to say when his sister heads out of the kitchen to go back to her room.
George grins at him silently, and Dream thinks couldn’t love him more if he tried. “You’re literally horrible.”
“Yeah, I know,” George wraps his arms around his back, sleepiness written all over his eyes. “You left me. Our bed was cold.”
Our bed, Dream’s chest feels too small with the implication that any bed he sleeps in is naturally theirs, that it could never belong to only one of them. It has been like this from the first day George stepped foot in Florida and they never bought him that stupid mattress because they never needed to when Dream’s bed had a George-sized space reserved for years.
“You like it cold,” Dream says matter-of-factly. “You made me turn it down last night, George.”
“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re warm,” George says, indifferent. “It’s a nice balance.” They’ve slept on the same bed more times than he can count, but it still feels just as new sometimes.
Dream can’t catch a breath if he tried to. “You’re just counting on sleeping next to me every night?”
“I mean,” George shrugs. “I’m just telling you what’s going to happen. Am I wrong?”
“I guess you aren’t,” Dream murmurs. He is as clear as day, he thinks. George gets whatever he wants, because Dream is just so in love with him, and things have always been as simple as that with them.
⁂
When they go back home, George doesn't leave his side. Not that Dream would have it any other way.
Dream is going to L.A tomorrow. He hates to be away from home, but he loves making music and he loves showing George everything he’s worked on. George loves it just as much as him, even if he hates the distance, he loves hearing his songs, especially the ones that are written about him. It’s between the two of them. Just like always.
He kisses the top of George's head like he's worshipping him before he leaves, and he knows George will get upset that he didn't wake him up, but he really can't bring himself to.
Love you, he whispers when George is still dreaming.
⁂
George wakes up when Dream is already gone.
His side of the bed is empty, sheets wrinkled, and George’s gut twists because he misses Dream’s warmth and his stupid messy hair, the way his eyes look so small when he wakes up. He’s actually kind of glad that he didn’t get to say goodbye, because he doesn’t think he would be able to. It gets harder and harder every time. George hates goodbyes, especially when he just got hello’s not very long ago.
George - 11.34 a.m
You should’ve woken me up
Dream - 11.36 a.m
i couldn’t
sorry georgie
George - 11.36 a.m
Call me when you’re free?
Dream - 11.36 a.m
i will
miss u
George - 11.37 a.m
Always miss you
They always make it work. It’s not ideal, but they’ll make it work. Nothing comes close to being close to Dream and seeing his stupid messy bedhead the first thing after he wakes up, but he’ll still selfishly ask for him to send selfies, and Dream will never say no to him. George will say something short like you look dumb, but he will hold the phone close to his face and stare pathetically at his photos until he stops missing him.
He never stops missing him.
George gets stupid with Dream, he realized that fairly quickly. It’s almost ridiculous, because he has never been like this with anyone, but he guesses he never has had someone like Dream in his life before. Dream is something entirely different, and George kind of feels like he has never known love before him.
⁂
Dream calls him later that day, and he sounds exhausted out of his mind. They’re chatting for a little while, and George is sleepy on their bed, listening to Dream talk.
“—so, I just went anyway. And someone was, like, hitting on me, I think. It was so awkward – I didn’t even know what to say.”
“Someone was what ?” George interrupts, straightening himself against the wall, and it sounds much more bitter than he had intended it to. “Who?”
“Just some guy at the bar — he asked me out. He didn’t know who I was, I don’t think.”
Mine, George wants to scream with his lungs. Mine, mine, mine. He’s the one Dream will come home to. He’s the one Dream will steal the covers from when George makes a shitty excuse to sleep on his bed and pretend like he isn’t a mastermind who orchestrated this. He’s the one who takes all of the mugs from the cabinet and hoards them in his room until Dream eventually comes to scold him for it so that he can pull that laugh from the bottom of his stomach, and suddenly nothing else matters at all.
“Are you gonna go?” George pulls his knees closer to his chest as he questions him. He doesn’t know why this getting to him so much. “You’re not gonna go, right?”
“Don’t know,” Dream says quietly, like a test. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t go?”
George wants to yell. The reason is right here — on the phone.“It’s just stupid. It’s a stranger, Dream. What are you gonna talk about with a stranger?”
“You were once a stranger,” Dream points out. George doesn’t register a time when he was a stranger to Dream.
“Are you saying they’ll replace me?”
“What – George, come on. When did I say that?”
George’s legs are still against the mattress. “You literally did. You literally said it.”
“George,” Dream scoffs. “You’re stupid. I didn’t mean it like that. My point is, you have to talk to strangers to get to know them.”
“You don’t need to get to know anyone,” George says. “Why do you want to get to know someone else?”
They're silent for a second. There’s an edge to Dream's voice as he repeats it, "Someone else?”
“Yeah,” George admits. “You have me. Is that not enough?“
“George,” Dream says quietly, like he’s tiptoeing around that dangerous line. “Do I have you like that?”
“You do,” George confirms, because he does. They don’t need labels or formalities to know that they belong to each other. “Course you do, Dream.”
Dream hums. “It’s good that I said no, then.”
George lets out a breath, the knot in his chest replaced by his name. “Dream.”
“You really thought I was gonna say yes?”
“I don’t know. You talked like you were going to say yes, idiot.”
“Well, I turned him down.”
George almost wants to laugh. “Not your type?”
“Not you,” Dream says in one breath. “He’s not you.”
George blinks, his grip on the phone a little shaky now. He wishes Dream was here so he could see him instead of settling for just this. “Dream.”
“It’d just — It’d be stupid,” Dream says. “He’d try to kiss me by the end of the night or something, and it wouldn’t be fair to say yes when my heart wasn’t in it in the first place.”
I’d kiss you better, George thinks. George can kiss Dream into silence. George can kiss Dream and make him see stars and bite into his bottom lip just enough to pull a sound from the bottom of his stomach. They would be so good together, Dream would be gentle against him and George would tell him to just take until they become one, tangible, mess.
“You’re scared he’s that bad of a kisser?” George jokes.
“Eh,” George can hear Dream’s smile from across the line. "I mean, it wouldn't really be fair to compare him to the best kiss I've had. He wouldn't stand a chance."
George laughs, but his heart expands furiously in his chest. He takes pride in knowing that no one else other than him is responsible for that. “You’re so dumb.”
⁂
The day Dream is coming home, George waits up for him.
His flight is late, and George is getting sleepy, but he still waits because the alternative is not feasible. He will always wait, no matter what time it is and how late Dream comes home.
“Georgie,” it’s the first thing he hears when the door unlocks, half-delirious from how sleepy he is, and he thinks he could almost break down by just how much he missed him.
“Dream,” George breathes out. This is a type of relief that only comes from loving this much, loving without limits.
“Fuck, George,” Dream clings onto him, and George’s hips give one tiny push up into him, like he’s trying to get even closer. They’ve crossed oceans, but close still doesn’t feel close enough. “I didn’t think you’d be up, baby.”
George slides one hand up the nape of his neck. “Was waiting for you.”
“You didn’t have to,” Dream says, but he knows George would’ve waited anyway. He has waited years. If anyone knows about patience, it’s him.
He runs his finger against the dimple right under the tip of his nose, his name passing in between low exhales.
“How was L.A?” George asks when they settle on the couch, close to each other.
“It was okay,” Dream simplifies it to three words. “Missed you.”
“I missed you too,” George scoots even closer to him. “Sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart ?” Dream laughs, surprised. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.”
George scoffs, airy. “You are a sweetheart. I’ve always thought you were."
George’s hand is on Dream’s thigh, resting, and he doesn’t exactly remember when or how it got there. His skin crawls, stretches towards Dream’s warmth, chasing to be molded into one. George doesn’t have to bend his neck to feel the moment Dream looks at his hand, the weight of his gaze heavy on his skin.
“We've known each other since we were teenagers,” Dream says, mapping out invisible years, and it dawns on him just how long they’ve known each other. “Can’t wrap my head around that.”
Dream was a teenager when George met him, and George remembers how new it all felt. He didn’t know back then, that Dream was the rest of his life, his past and future and everything in between, but he had a feeling at the deepest part of his heart. Something important. Dream was important, from the first day he walked into his life and opened the doors for the rest of his life.
“Yeah,” George understands exactly what he means. “I know.”
“We were just kids,” Dream says in amusement, his mouth curls into the warmest smile. “I was chasing after you like a lost puppy.”
George smiles, he remembers it well. Just like yesterday. “You changed my life. I wasn’t – I didn’t want to be anything before you.”
“You were meant to be something,” Dream says, gazes at him like he never wants to look at anything else. “You were always meant to be something for me. I just – I loved you so much.”
“Dream,” George exhales his name. “I would’ve followed you anywhere. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Dream leans onto his side. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
It feels close to impossible to imagine a world in which George could exist without Dream. He knows Dream can’t either, because he’s holding his wrist between his own hands and his thumb is soothing his wrinkles softly like he never wants to let go. This is one of a kind, they are one of a kind. Their love is something like no other, and George isn’t religious, but he thinks what they have is greater than any fate out there.
“Keep doing that,” George says when his thoughts are too loud for his mind to contain, and it’s just so easy to let it slip from his lips instead. “I like your hands.”
“Yeah?”
“I knew I would,” George takes Dream’s hand idly, interlocking it with his. There’s the fondest smile on his face. “It’s different when I can actually touch you.”
Dream hums, playing with his fingers, and he can barely stop the shake of his shoulders. “You like that.”
“I’m not the only one who does,” George smiles, watches the shake of Dream’s shoulders unashamedly with every breath. “You’re breathing a little fast, Dream.”
“You’re touching me,” Dream says, a look in his eyes that tells enough. George understands effortlessly, something like — how can I breathe when you’re touching me and I’ve only ever dreamt of what it would feel like?
“Want me to stop?” George challenges.
“I’ve never wanted you to stop,” Dream tells him, his admission unmistakable.
Something burns within George, something warmer and brighter than the blinding Florida sun. When his plane landed, he had felt it in his bones for the first time, but somehow it didn’t even come close to the scorching warmth right in his bone marrow when he touched Dream for the very first time. Then he touched him again, his hair, his cheeks, his thighs. Mapped him out like his favorite town. George has never loved learning anything as much as he loved learning Dream, in all of his physicality.
“George,” Dream’s relaxed eyebrows sharpen. “You good?”
“Yeah,” George plays with his chain again. He loves doing this. Loves being reminded that they belong to each other like this. “Just love you.”
Dream smiles stupidly. “What made you all sappy?”
“Sapnap’s stupid beer,” George barely manages. “I feel like throwing up.”
Dream’s hands are on him instantly, rubbing his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and it warms his heart just a little. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
George melts into his touch, makes a contented sound like a cat under the sun. "No, I'll be fine in a minute. Just stay with me, Dreamie."
“You shouldn’t drink by yourself,” Dream says in that scolding tone, but his eyes are all soft as he looks at him, hand gentle against his back.
George pulls him closer, breathes against his face. “Then don’t leave me again.”
“Don’t have a choice,” Dream kisses his forehead gently. “Come with me next time.”
George grins. “Oh, I will.”
“Shut up,” Dream kisses him into silence, tongue against George’s. George is going to memorize this until he drowns in it. “Missed you so much, Georgie.”
“You said that already,” George says breathlessly.
“I’ll say it again,” Dream pushes further. “I missed you.”
George scoffs under his breath. “Then kiss me.”
“I am kissing you,” Dream says against his mouth.
“Kiss me again,” George demands, and Dream does. They never stop. When it’s them, it’s endless, infinite. George will shield this forever, no matter what happens, they will still have this.
Dream will always come home to where he belongs, to George.