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Sunlight filters through one of the windows, giving the kitchen that classic midday glow that makes it look homey. George pours himself a glass of water and swallows a pill without inconvenience. The sour taste in his mouth makes him rather uncomfortable, but it’ll take a few minutes for his brain to kick in so he can do something about it.
He sits at the breakfast bar with a stolen hoodie falling barely past his mid thigh, keeping him warm and cozy even after he’s left the bed. He stares at the half full glass and balances it between his hands, enthralled by the way it refracts the few sun rays that reach the kitchen.
The staircase creaks under the weight of another person. George is stifling a yawn on the back of his hand by the time Dream enters the room.
“Good morning,” Dream says, rubbing sleep away from his eyes. The movement rides his shirt up by his waist, letting a sliver of skin show. “Happy Valentine’s day.”
A scoff falls past George’s lips. “Hi, idiot,” he answers, lazy, and Dream leans down to press a quick kiss to his mouth, like he does on the rare occasion that George leaves the bed before him. “We’re celebrating that now?”
Dream grabs two mugs from one of the cabinets, and argues, “hey, it’s the day of love and friendship. It tracks.”
Dream starts to make breakfast and George chooses not to tell him that when people buy someone red roses or a box of chocolates or whatever it is they give on Valentine’s day, it’s usually with the ultimate goal of having sex, not being friendly. But, hey, what does he know?
Dream speaks over his shoulder while he slices an apple. “Did you take your birth control?”
George nods, even though Dream can’t see him. He rests his elbows on the table and his chin in his hand. “Just did,” he says, for good measure. His eyebrows shoot up. “Why? Have any plans for today?”
“Well, to be fair, you’d have to take them even if I didn’t,” Dream argues, always so technical, cleaning his hands with a rag. By the time George is done rolling his eyes, Dream is standing next to him again, with a playful look on his face. It’s a little early to be having this conversation, but Dream leans in to kiss him one more time, and it doesn’t seem worth complaining. Against George’s lips, he whispers, “but, Georgie, if you must know… I do have plans for today.”
“Wow,” George says back, breaking a smile. “I’m so lucky to be your friend on this sacred holiday.”
Dream snickers, unaffected. “Yeah, guess you are.”
The way he says it is cute, which gives George an excuse to crane his neck to kiss him again. It’s a lazy kiss, the kind that’s becoming common between them again. They cycle through the different kinds every couple of months. They’re in their clingy arc now, for whatever reason.
Dream cups George’s jaw and sweeps his tongue across his bottom lip. George has every intention to deepen the kiss, but right then, he hears a new set of footsteps making their way into the kitchen, and breaks apart with a low noise in complaint.
He’s not alone in the sentiment, but Dream masks it with a shallow giggle, and speaks loudly, feigning innocence. “I’m just surprised Sap hasn’t complained about PDA yet.”
George shakes his head but he’s still beaming, getting in on the joke. “Or people with actual dates.”
Dream squints, humming softly. “Or— consumerism.”
“I don’t think he knows what that word means.”
“Alright,” Sapnap chimes in and the pair breaks apart, bright laughs bubbling out of them. Sapnap is amused, too, even if it’s at his own expense. “Very funny, but you can’t take me down this time, pals.” George grimaces and it makes Dream laugh. “I actually have a girlfriend now. Anyway, if I wanted to complain about any of those things, I have you fuckers to make fun of all year ‘round.”
George would face plant onto the table but he reckons it’d hurt, and it’s not really worth it. He does groan, though, and looks up at Dream, who moves to stand behind him. “He’s actually an idiot.”
Dream does the honors: “We’re not dating, Nick.”
Sapnap rolls his eyes, as usual, while he grabs a carton of milk from the fridge. He points an accusatory finger at them both. “Right, but who are y’all having dinner with tonight?”
George ponders the answer. He knows better than to think there’s something good enough for him to say and not have Sapnap make fun of him for the next five minutes. So, he tells the truth. “Well, we’re not dating other people either.”
“Mhm,” Dream agrees. “That’s what the arrangement’s for.”
“No, your four-year-long arrangement is the reason why you’re not dating other people, not the solution,” their friend argues, plopping down onto the stool across from George with a scowl on his face. Dream kisses the back of George’s head before he returns to a half-whisked bowl of eggs. “Do either of you even try to find someone to date?”
Dream scoffs. “Why would we?”
Disbelief takes over Sapnap’s face, who’s still taking it out on George. George, however, just shrugs as he bites back a smile, taking a sip of his glass of water.
It’s not that he hasn’t considered it. George and Dream are in an unofficial relationship, of sorts. They’ve been having regular, amazing sex for around four years, indeed. It started the year after George moved to America, when they got to a hotel in LA after a boring event that had them finishing their first round of drinks before they were even done with proper introductions. They were both tipsy and touchy and stupid. Soon, George found himself leaning into Dream’s chest, getting dizzier with the smell of his perfume. George kissed Dream’s jaw and then they stumbled into a bedroom and the rest is history. All George can remember from that night is he got fucked so good that all the pent-up sexual frustration he’d been carrying with him since London decided to leave and never come back.
Contrary to popular belief—and by popular, George means any of their friends who also live in Florida and-slash-or regularly visit—they didn’t talk about it the next morning. It took a few more ‘mishaps’ for them to finally address it, which ultimately made the conversation rather short. It was a no-brainer, really—they trust each other, they know each other well, they have fun, and they don’t have anyone else to seek that kind of intimacy with. It just made sense that they’d make it a thing; that way, if they were ever horny or simply wanted company in bed, they’d have somewhere to go.
Their ‘meetings’ became more and more usual, and soon enough they were spending a lot of time together outside of the bedroom—sharing slow kisses and cuddling in common areas in ways that made certain lines rather blurry. Sapnap noticed the shift; it’s not like they were being too subtle. He started asking questions, and because they had nothing to hide, they told him the truth. Sapnap flicked Dream in the forehead and told him that he was an idiot. As for George, he looked at him like a puzzle he was yet to solve. He didn’t say anything until months later, when he looked George in the eyes and told him he’d be waiting for the day when he finally opened them.
George still doesn’t quite get it. His relationship with Dream does make sense. They are extremely close friends who are mildly obsessed with each other and have sex on a regular basis. It’s normal. He and Dream are old enough to know what they want. For the time being, what they want is to sleep together and make people mildly uncomfortable by their codependency and disregard for personal space. Is that really too much to ask?
Sapnap snaps out of whatever trance he was in as soon as Dream leaves the plate of eggs and bacon right under his nose, but George can tell he’s still uneasy. They’re staring at each other and it feels like a competition of some kind. A competition that Dream can’t know about, of course.
“Do we get the house to ourselves tonight?” George asks cheekily, dipping the apple slices Dream cut for him in his glass of apple juice.
George smirks when Sapnap groans. “I don’t need visuals, bro.”
“I’m not giving you any,” George says, shrugging. When he speaks again, he does through a mouthful of apple-dipped apple. “You’re the one visualizing it. Freak.”
“Well, I’m sure y’all don’t want the house to yourselves to play chess,” Sapnap comments, sparing a glance at Dream as he sits by George’s side, chewing a strawberry. “The visual is pretty much implicit.”
Dream swallows loudly, making Sapnap grimace. “George and I would appreciate it if you stopped thinking about us having sex.”
George shrugs carelessly. “Whatever works for him.”
Sapnap threatens to stab him, Psycho-style. Ultimately, he decides against it.
The three of them end up having a pretty chill post-noon breakfast, which hardly happens with how fucked up their sleep schedules have been for the past decade, give or take. George enjoys these rare moments of familiarity more than he’d ever be willing to admit out loud.
Sapnap doesn’t make further comments on their Valentine’s day plans—of which George is still unaware—or the nature of their relationship. He even bites his tongue when Dream feeds George a strawberry and when George tucks one of Dream’s curls behind his ear so it doesn’t get in his face. Still, George can’t be fooled. Sapnap is annoyed, and whatever it is that’s bothering him got to Dream, too; it’s a matter of time before George finds out about it.
Until then, he’ll continue to antagonize Sapnap and enjoy his fruit and not think too hard about whatever’s going on in his best friends’ heads.
Sapnap is the first one to leave the table. “Okay,” he says, putting his dirty plates in the sink like the caveman George knows he is. “I’m showering before I leave. Have fun not dating today.”
Dream stands up, too, with the intention to actually load the dishwasher. “Say hi from us,” he says, and Sapnap leaves before George can joke about not sending his regards to his girlfriend and preferring Sapnap to make fun of her for him instead. It’s a bummer. She would’ve appreciated that more.
He doesn’t make a move to leave. He doesn’t have better places to be and he’s known for spending most of his day by Dream’s side, anyway, even when it seems pointless. He asks for another glass of water and Dream pours it for him while he cleans the controlled mess on the counter. George takes the time to simply look at him as he graciously moves around in the kitchen, humming to himself the melody of a song he’s been working on.
This is their fifth ‘clingy arc’, if George remembers correctly. He doesn’t know what triggers it, but he recognizes it when he starts getting that fuzzy feeling in his stomach around this time of the month. He never tells Dream about it, but Dream notices, because he notices everything that has to do with George. Even the insane, totally unjustified bits. If George feels especially affectionate, Dream will gladly take the opportunity to be all over him and kiss him stupid as much as he can until George eventually gets over it and asks for his independence back.
George rests his chin on his hand one more time, cocking his head in curiosity. Dream isn’t looking at him, so George doesn’t feel guilty as he scans him shamelessly, wondering if he really does have any special plans in mind for tonight or if they’re having soft, vanilla sex. He doesn’t mind either, honestly. They’ve never been the truly kinky kind; Dream is perfect for him as it is without any ‘help from the outside’, as he occasionally calls it. There’s something inherent to the way in which he touches him that has George’s stomach flipping inside his body within seconds, even knowing that they’ve done it countless times already. It just never gets old.
Which takes George to his next thought: where is this going? It’s a question he usually avoids, given he and Dream haven’t had another one of their conversations since they started hooking up, because they didn’t really deem it necessary. Now, though, George is staring intently at his best friend’s back, wondering if it was Sapnap’s comment that got to him, or that ridiculous idea that they should stop having sex with each other in favor of finding someone else to settle down.
But no, that couldn’t be it. Why would we? Dream had said, and that’s what settled the matter. Why would we? George repeats, feeling the taste of it on his tongue as he moves it around to analyze the way it feels. Why would we— he wonders, —when we already have this?
“So, George,” Dream calls, one corner of his mouth curled up smugly as he walks over to him, caging him between his body and the island. George cranes his neck looking for his eyes, trying to keep his most recent thoughts from distorting the look on his face. When he thinks he managed it, Dream asks, “will you be my Valentine?”
George clicks his tongue, humming as though he’s deep in thought. His hands sneak under Dream’s shirt, which looks rather small on him, and he silently wonders if he isn’t the only one getting their clothes ‘accidentally’ mixed up. “For the fifth year in a row—” George says, pulling Dream closer and pressing his chin to his sternum, “—no. Sorry. You’re gonna have to take the L.”
Dream shakes his head, leaning down to rub their noses together, and then further down to kiss right under George’s jaw. He whispers, “oh, that’s too bad,” in that voice that he knows makes George a little crazy. It’s not really fair. “I was really hoping to have sex with you tonight,” Dream adds, forgoing any sort of decorum.
“Did you, now?” George asks, because he’s always liked to play this game, and Dream’s stubble feels heavenly against his neck. “Mm. Okay, I’m listening. Keep talking, you might convince me.”
Dream’s hands wander down to grip George’s waist, but Dream puts some distance between them to poorly fake a confused expression. “Well, that’s pretty much it,” he says. “I wanna have sex with you.”
George huffs halfheartedly. “Where has the romance gone, huh?” Dream chuckles and kisses his lips, because he’s too used to thinking that it could solve anything. George is in the mood to be a little difficult today. “You have to work for it, Dream, who do you think I am?”
Just a little bit difficult.
Dream does work for it, but George is a gentleman, and it’s not his place to go around repeating the hot words whispered into his ear or the way he becomes oh-so-pliant in Dream’s hands after he touches him in all the right places and then some. He keeps composure, though—because they’re still in the kitchen and because they’ll have as much time as they need to do whatever they want tonight. For now, just the thought of it is enough.
Dream is right. Why would George need an actual date on Valentine’s day when his handsome best friend—and the best he’s ever had—is right here for him? It doesn’t seem logical.
When Dream finally returns to his lips, George devotes all of his energy into deepening the kiss, playing with Dream’s tongue, taking away his self-control bit by bit. He doesn’t let Sapnap’s words get to him, and he’ll make damn sure that they don’t mess Dream up either.
Not today, at least. Today, they have better plans in mind.
Dream likes to cuddle. George just likes to agree with him.
He has freckles on his stomach. George traces them with a finger, with Dream’s hands lost in his hair, beady eyes and blotchy cheeks. He quite enjoys this moment. When they’re both fucked out and a little sleepy, when the room is dark and smells of sex, and all George can hear is Dream’s deep breaths and his slow heartbeat against his ear. He doesn’t mind the sheen of sweat on his warm skin, the damp sheets or the uncomfortable heat, because he’s learned to find peace in hazy moments like this.
“What?” George asks, climbing on top of Dream, who lies on his back, and nuzzling against his jaw. Dream’s stubble scratches the tip of George’s nose, and George nips softly at the curve of his neck, smiling when Dream tilts his head to give him better access.
There’s something bothering him, though. George doesn’t think Dream is stupid enough to believe he can hide it from George much longer. George always notices. Especially if they’ve been intimate, because there are certain rituals that Dream tends to break when his mind is otherwise occupied. He becomes a little bit more distant, a little bit more careful, and George hates every second of it. Every second that Dream isn’t using him as a body pillow, blowing childish raspberries into his neck, gently kissing his mouth until he’s pulled every sound George can make from the depths of his chest.
George swipes his thumb under Dream’s eye, looking for hints, for anything that would give him away. Dream clears his throat, eventually, and confesses. “Do you ever think Sapnap— has a point?”
If George tenses up, he doesn’t let it show. He nibbles the inside of his lip and cards fingers through Dream’s fringe, hiking himself higher until they’re nose to nose. “Not really, no,” he comments offhandedly, and jokes, “Sapnap’s never right.”
“No, but—” Dream gets serious. He frowns, gaze lost, and his grip on George’s waist tightens for a fraction of a very awful second. “I dunno, we’ve— I didn’t realize that we’ve actually been doing this for four years. The— no dating thing.”
He says it in a way that makes George wonder. A way that has George questioning again: where are we going? He and Dream never talked about dating. It was somewhat implied that they wouldn’t go there; that would be looking for trouble. It’s also true that one of the reasons why they agreed to do this was because they often found themselves wanting to have sex with someone, to put it in simple terms, and there would be no one they trusted enough do to it with and know that no details from their private lives would be leaked to the public. It used to be a matter of convenience, rather than residual tension between them that needed to be resolved.
Of course, that factored in, too. They weren’t that blind.
Still, George always kind of assumed that, when Dream felt more comfortable going out and meeting people, he’d start dating again and they could go back to being platonic best friends, just like they used to be. The idea has always seemed a little bitter, but George never dwelled on it. It’s how things were supposed to be. They’d let a sexual joke slip every once in a while and that would be the end of it. No strings attached.
Clearly, this has been going on for longer than George once anticipated. It’s not that he’s mad about it—hell, he allowed that to happen. It takes two people to maintain a long-term sexual relationship, and he never offered any opposition to Dream’s proposals or his own late-night wishes.
They work, is the thing. There’s no need to fix things that aren’t broken, and this isn’t broken. Not for George, at least. If he’s being honest, he’s never been that interested in hookup culture or intimate relationships as a whole, for that matter, let alone a love story. Dream was an easy fix. He was comfortable and hot and good and trustworthy and everything George needed. Everything he’d ever need. To this day, he still is. So if anyone were to put an end to this, it would be Dream.
George tells him such. “Dream, if you ever wanted to date someone else, you could’ve—”
“No, that’s not—” Dream cuts him off, finding his eyes. “It’s not what I’m saying.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but at the last second, he keeps quiet. “Never mind. Forget about it.”
George frowns. “No, what are you saying, then?”
“Okay.” Dream turns them over until they’re both laying on their sides, and pulls George closer. George’s heart picks up in his chest, making him anxious. “Don’t you ever wanna date someone?” Dream asks, lips curled in a half-assed smile. “Have someone to spend Valentine’s day with? To— to call your partner?”
“Why would I?” George repeats, shrugging. “It’s too much work. I have to meet a whole different person and, like, fall in love with them. You know I don’t— I never really cared about any of that stuff,” he says, because he and Dream have had that conversation. How George feels like he’s built differently, in a way. How he’s never truly seen the appeal in a lot of things the people his age seem to crave. “This is fine.” It’s the oversimplification of the century, but Dream doesn’t argue. “You already know me, and I know you, and it’s—”
Dream nods, taking a deep breath, and completes, “easy.”
“Safe,” George corrects. He makes a pause, hesitant. He’s staring into Dream’s eyes, hearts beating in tandem, and he finds it easier than expected to whisper, “enough.”
Dream softens. “I guess all I’m saying is—” He stammers, looking at George so openly. Even so, George can’t help but feel like he’s missing an important detail. “If you ever do want to— do all those things— Sapnap’s right. You’re not gonna find it if you spend all your time in bed with me.”
George scoffs, looking away. Playing pretend. “You wish it was all my time.”
“You know what—”
“Dream.” George puts his hands on Dream’s chest, pushing him away until their eyes meet at a safe distance. It doesn’t do much, given that their legs are still intertwined, Dream’s hands are still on his body, and George can actually see the love bites across his collarbones and that special glimmer in his eyes that always visits him after a particularly good night. One that Dream is lowkey ruining now, if he’s being honest. “What’s this about? Did you meet someone? Is that—”
“What?!” Dream asks, pulling George close again. There’s something there, too. This entire conversation feels like the first crack on a four-year old dam they’ve been nurturing since they met. It can’t portend anything good. Only chaos. “No,” Dream says, for good measure. “No, of course not.”
George speaks to his sternum, tapping fingers on Dream’s side, thumbing over bruises. “Do you want to meet someone?” he asks. “Someone else, I mean.”
For a second, George is terrified Dream will say yes. It’s an unwelcome feeling, one he’s never felt before, and he hates it. It settles low in his stomach, venomous, and puts a sour taste on his tongue. He’s not sure at what point the idea of losing this became so scary; he supposes it makes sense, though. Dream is his best friend. This almost seems like the most honest thing he has.
“No,” Dream says, sounding more certain than he has all night. George wonders if his worries got to him, too. If he’s been reading his mind again. “No, I don’t.”
“Drop it, then.” George hopes he doesn’t sound as relieved as he feels. “Stop with all this dating talk, it’s boring me,” he says, getting his edge back, hooking his leg behind one of Dream’s and playfully biting around his nipple. “We should do something more fun. Like— each other, for example.”
Dream laughs deeply, turning over until he’s laying on top of George again, hands on either side of his head. “You’re insatiable,” he whispers, hot against his ear.
“You’re too good,” George indulges, moaning when Dream licks a stripe up his neck. His hands get lost in dirty blond hair, and he asks, “where will I ever find someone like you?”
“Alright,” Dream croaks, “you don’t have to do that.”
“Mm. But you like it.”
Dream starts kissing down his chest, his stomach, and it’s not long until he comes face to face with hard evidence of George’s interest and the whole matter is forgotten.
At least, Dream seems to have forgotten. George can only do what he knows: he can wrap his legs around Dream’s hips, scratch red marks down his back, moan into Dream’s mouth when the angle is just right. He can bare his neck for Dream’s tongue and focus on flesh, hands, hot, hot, hot.
No one has to know about the mess unraveling underneath. That’s up to him to figure out, once he’s not coming undone in his best friend’s sheets.
It’s not that they stop doing it. Their sex life is active, healthy. They have incredible sex a decent amount of times a week, end up sharing the bed at least half of those times, and it’s fine; it’s normal. It’s perfectly normal for friends with benefits like any other.
Eventually, George realizes that that’s the problem. It’s not like he would do it, but if he were to describe the situation to any of his friends and ask for their input, they wouldn’t find anything wrong with what they have now. If he said there is something wrong, they’d probably tell him that it’s all in his head and that they seem to be better than ever.
They’re not better than ever. George would know; he remembers what it’s like to be better than ever. When they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, not only when they were in bed, but outside of the bedroom, too. When they’d sneak off to make out just for the sake of it, or steal nervous looks across crowded rooms on the rare occasion that they were not attached by the hip, and had to keep up appearances. It was around the time all of their friends collectively decided to ask if they’d finally gotten their shit together and started dating ‘for real’. George found himself clarifying the nature of their relationship more often than he’d like to admit, but aside from that, things between him and Dream were great.
Now, though, he and Dream are fine. Not even good. Just fine.
On some level, it feels like they’re back in the earlier days of their relationship, when things were kind of uncertain and they weren’t sure where the lines were, if they even existed. When they knew that they could come to each other if they ever wanted to do stuff, but they wouldn’t lock themselves up in a room often enough to consider it a habit. It was tentative, casual, and it was okay, but they shaped up rather nicely as they became more comfortable with what they were doing, and George was happy with it. He was happy knowing that, if he wanted to nap, he could go do that in Dream’s office and he would have company when he woke up. Or knowing that, if he sneaked into Dream’s room in the middle of the night, it wasn’t a given that they were going to have sex, but if they did have sex, it was a given that he’d stay the night.
Things are more blurry now. More messy. More casual.
George has grown to dislike casual.
Alas, they’re still within the bounds of their arrangement. It’s not Dream’s fault that George has been feeling especially clingy, craving his presence and his contact and his warmth more than he used to. It’s not Dream’s fault that George has been feeling more drawn to him, that there’s a little voice in his head complaining about the time they spend apart. It’s not Dream’s fault, so George can’t really say anything. Not as long as Dream’s still wonderful to him and keeps acting normal, toeing a line that was never supposed to be there in the first place.
It bums George out, but he doesn’t think he has the right to complain, and so he doesn’t. They’ll be okay.
They have to be.
Dream picks a bad day to sneak into George’s room. He’s shy as he pushes the door open and then closes it behind him. He doesn’t look like he thought it through when he lies by George’s side, head propped up on one elbow, and he reaches out his free hand to tug at George’s shirt, pulling him closer.
George studies him with a frown on his lips. He looks tired, worn out. He’s been editing for the past day or two, and hasn’t said much to him since. He looks vulnerable. It only adds to the reason why George doesn’t want to sleep with him tonight. Not like this.
“Hi, dummy,” George whispers, cradling Dream’s face with one of his hands and thumbing at his cheek. Dream leans into the touch, and it makes George’s heart ache. “What’s up with you?”
Dream doesn’t reply. He kisses the palm of George’s hand, then moves up to his wrist, to his forearm, the inside of his elbow. He kisses him until the air is cool against his neck, until Dream’s teeth graze the soft skin of his cheek, then sink into the plush of his bottom lip. George kisses back. He kisses back with that voice in the back of his head telling him not to. With a twisted feeling in his stomach that only gets worse when Dream’s thumb finds the dip of his hip.
George gently nudges him away.
“Don’t feel like it,” he explains, curling his fingers around his best friend’s wrist, moving his hand up. Something akin to understanding grows in Dream’s eyes, but George doesn’t think he really gets it.
Still, Dream says, “that’s okay. I’ll go.”
George scrunches his nose, letting Dream’s hand slip away. He decides that he’s not taking it tonight. “My stomach’s a little weird, I just—”
“Hey,” Dream cuts him off, breaking a small, honest smile. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I’m sorry I showed up without asking.”
“You can— you can do that, though,” George says, barely above a whisper. There’s a frown on his lips, brows knitted in confusion. “We always do that, you don’t have to—” He sighs when Dream ignores him in favor of carding fingers through his hair, looking at George in a way he hasn’t in a while. George never learned how to resist it. “Stay,” he says, so low he can’t quite believe it when Dream’s hand stills, and he shoots him a puzzled look. “You can stay.”
Dream cocks his head. “You sure? I can leave, George, I don’t wanna—”
“Stay,” George insists. “Can we just— just stay. I’m too tired to fuck, but— you can sleep here. I wanna sleep with you.”
Dream hesitates. George’s eyes convince him, eventually.
George turns over so Dream can hug him from behind, his chest pressed flush to George’s back. He hides his face in the crook of George’s neck and his breath is warm against his skin, lulling George to sleep. Dream’s fingers are laced with his own and he’s thumbing at the back of his hand, so gently it feels almost too intimate.
“You said your stomach’s weird?” Dream asks, after a while, when he notices that despite George’s proposition, they’re both wide awake. This unspoken thing between them will end up breaking them, George knows. It hasn’t been long since he realized, but now it seems unavoidable.
He can only hope for the best. “Yeah,” he mumbles, turning to kiss whatever bit of Dream’s skin he can reach. He wants Dream’s lips on his again. He wants to stop thinking. “I’m just— a little nauseous. It’s probably nothing.”
“Are you taking your birth control?” Dream asks. There’s a certain shyness to it that throws George for a loop. Dream asks him this same question every single day, religiously, no matter where they are or what they’re doing. He keeps a better track of it than George himself. George has always found it sweet. “Or did you eat—”
“Yes, I’m taking it. Nothing weird there,” George promises, bringing Dream’s hand up, still intertwined with his own, and kissing one of his knuckles. “I— might’ve eaten something bad, I dunno. It doesn’t hurt a lot, though. I’m just tired.”
Dream hums and kisses the back of George’s shoulder. He lets George’s hand go to sneak his own under his shirt and sprawl his fingers across George’s stomach, rubbing it so softly George thinks that whatever it is that’s bothering him might go away in the morning. The palm of Dream’s hand is like a little radiator; it’s a good thing that he runs hot.
George breaks a smile. “What’re you doing, idiot?”
“Healing you,” Dream answers, kissing his shoulder again, and then the curve of his jaw. George missed him. “It’s my magic hand.”
George scoffs, leaning further into him, nestling in his arms. “Your magic hand?” George repeats. “Bro’s making stuff up.”
“Shhh.” George can hear Dream’s smile. It makes it easier for him to relax and believe that, whatever it is that they’re going through, it’ll pass. “Sleep, idiot. Or I’ll leave.”
George shakes his head. “You wouldn’t,” George says, but he still puts his hand on Dream’s to keep him in place, just to be sure.
“No,” Dream whispers, kissing him one last time. “Of course not.”
Dream keeps his promise.
By the third day, George is starting to lose his mind.
The night is chilly and slightly darker than usual. George often finds himself going outside to look at the stars, especially when something’s bothering him. He finds it much easier to search for patterns in the sky, rather than his own, convoluted thoughts. Dipping his feet in the pool brings him peace in a way that the house never could. It’s not that he doesn’t love it there, but it’s his family house now. His forever home. George is the kind of person that needs to be isolated from his roots in order to go back to them. It’s why he was so eager to leave London, and why he has a better relationship with his family ever since he did. He needs the space, sometimes. Right now, with everything that’s on his mind, unaddressed, he could make good use of it.
Dream finds him, eventually. It’s a superpower he has.
“Hey,” he says, in a soft voice. George knows it all too well. Dream approaches him slowly and stands right behind him. George leans back against his legs as his eyes fall shut. He breathes, letting a few seconds go by. “You’ve been a little distant,” Dream tells him, eventually, in the same tone. It’s scary when George needs it the most. He doesn’t feel like talking; he doesn’t feel like being asked— “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” George says, hiding his worries. He leans forward again. “Just— my stomach’s still acting up.”
Dream sits by George’s side and lets his feet hang from the edge of the pool, too. He leaves two dry towels by his side and takes off his shirt. “You should get it checked out,” he comments, dipping his hands in the water, reluctant to catch George’s eye. His inquiries are sharp, nonetheless. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” George lies. He imagines a world where he tells him, when he opens up, and he feels sick again, for different reasons. He sinks his teeth in his lip, squeezing his hands under his thigh to keep them from shaking. “Just drop it. It’s not important. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“If you don’t wanna talk about it,” Dream insists, “that means it is important.” George finds his gaze and holds it, defiant. Dream deflates. He should’ve known it wasn’t worth it. “I don’t wanna push you. If you don’t wanna tell me, that’s okay.” Dream is sweet when he reaches out his hand to grab George’s jaw. He looks at him knowingly, even though there’s no way he knows. He would’ve asked by now. It’s not the kind of thing Dream would simply ignore. “Just make sure you tell someone, yeah? Don’t act tough.”
George’s lips part with the urge to speak out. To explain. George’s stomach twists inside his body just by thinking about it. The possibility alone is too much to handle. Dream continues to look at him, expectant, and George studies him like he hasn’t since all those years ago, when they saw each other in person for the first time. He looks at his eyes, at the line of his nose. He remembers he has three years on him. That Dream isn’t even thirty yet.
He’s so young.
“Dream?” George whispers, voice so thin he wonders how it ever left his throat in the first place. “Can we not talk about it?”
Dream sighs, letting his hand fall. “I won’t ask, George, I told you—”
“I know, I mean—” George cuts him off, averting his gaze, focusing on the movement of the water when he kicks it with his feet. Shyly, he asks, “can you stay?” and it feels like déjà vu. It feels like they’re going in circles. “You can stay. Just—”
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, George, but—” Dream takes a deep breath, and George wonders how he’d react. Deep down, he thinks he knows. Maybe that’s what’s so terrifying about this. “You know that you can always count on me, right?” Maybe that’s why he needs to keep quiet. Until he knows, at least. Until he knows for sure. “No matter what our relationship is—”
George can’t help but ask. “Are we okay?” Dream stills by his side and tries to disguise it. George feels it. “Did— did something change that I don’t know of? Is it what Sapnap said on Valentine’s about—”
When Dream jumps into the pool, George is worried he’ll simply ignore the question. Instead, he swims until he’s floating between George’s legs, holding onto his knees. The moon casts a nice glow around his figure, framing him nicely. It bounces off the few water drops that got to his hair, woven with his curls like fireflies.
“I’m not concerned about that. I told you, I don’t want to see other people right now.” Right now stings more than it should. Their future could look so different. George fights the urge to put a hand on his stomach to protect something he’s not sure exists. “If I made you feel like you had to take a step back, I’m sorry. I like what we have, too, and I wanna keep doing it,” Dream says. “I love being with you.”
George cups Dream’s face. He’s glad they’re having this conversation here, now. Outside, in the shadows. He’s glad Dream doesn’t notice that his eyes are getting red. That there’s a lump in his throat that barely lets him speak. “I don’t want things to be weird between us,” George says, eventually, gently caressing Dream’s cheek. “This— we’ve always worked. What changed?”
“Nothing,” Dream vows, sliding his hands up to George’s hips, squeezing lovingly. “Nothing changed. I’m sorry.” It’s hard to know why he’s apologizing. For allowing things to cool down, maybe. For not insisting. George knows that’s mostly on him, not Dream. Still, he lets him have it. “We’re good, George, I promise. Please, don’t run from me.”
George loses his fingers in Dream’s curls, scratching at his scalp, bringing him closer. He leans down and presses their foreheads together, looking straight into Dream’s eyes. “I won’t,” he says. “I can’t,” which sounds more honest. “I just want us to be okay. I would kill myself if we ever—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dream says, cutting him off as he breaks a smile. “We’re okay, George. You can’t lose me. Ever.”
Dream kisses him. George manages to count to five before he breaks apart and finds his eyes again, something warmer simmering underneath. Dream props himself up on the edge of the pool and finds George’s mouth again, to kiss him harder, longer, deeper. George kisses back with the same intensity, squeezing Dream’s sides with each of his legs.
He’s panting when they break apart. The same twisted feeling that’s been tormenting him takes hold of his self-control once again. Dream clears his throat, oblivious, and asks, “feel like swimming?”
“Mm. Don’t think so,” George answers, holding his breath, shaking his head slowly. “‘M tired. I think I’ll go talk to Sap and then I’ll just— go to bed.”
If Dream is thrown off by George’s reply, he doesn’t show it. George is glad he doesn’t ask what they’re gonna discuss. He’s not good enough on his feet to make up excuses right now. “Alright,” Dream says, smiling. “Good night, then. Call me if you need me.”
George stands up and grabs Dream’s spare towel to dry off his legs. When he’s done, he hangs it over his shoulder.
Dream calls for him before he can leave. “Come here one second,” he says, perched once again on the edge of the pool. George obliges, squatting to meet his eyes. Dream leans forward to leave a kiss on his knee, looks up at him with his head cocked to the side, and whispers, “I love you.”
George grants him another kiss before he’s on his way. The weight of the words doesn’t make it any easier to bear his secret as he walks up the stairs.
George barges into Sapnap’s office with his heart beating in his throat. “I have a problem.”
“Dude!” Sapnap screams, pushing himself away from his monitor and throwing his headset on his keyboard. He turns to face George with a scowl on his face. “Knock,” he says. “Jesus.”
“Sapnap,” George insists. Just by looking at his setup, he can tell that he’s not streaming; which is why he feels no shame when he confesses, “I think I might be pregnant.”
To say that Sapnap’s eyes widen would be a massive understatement. “What!?” He gets up to pull George onto the couch and sit by his side, scrutinizing him like he could somehow tell just by staring at him. By the looks of it, he’s not successful. “George, don’t fuck with me.”
George huffs, falling backwards and swatting Sapnap’s arm in the process. “I’m not fucking with you, I’m fucking with Dream and I think he might’ve gotten me pregnant.”
“Okay.” Sapnap takes a deep breath, running nervous fingers through his hair. “Okay, uh— okay, sit up, first of all.” He pulls George up again, still hesitant as he meets his eyes, as he looks around the room like someone’s about to come out holding a camera and tell him that it was all a bad joke. “What— why do you think that?”
George’s leg bounces anxiously. “I’ve been nauseous and tired and— I dunno, sensitive,” he lists, balling his hand into a fist so he doesn’t instinctively put it over his stomach. He’s not sure how he’s keeping it together right now. “And I have to pee, like, all the time.”
“Shit,” Sapnap mutters. He almost stops himself before he says, “I thought you were taking birth control,” and, to be honest, he probably should have.
“Of course I am, nimrod,” George replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “But it’s not— it’s not a hundred percent effective. There’s still a chance that I will get pregnant.” He looks away, scrunching his nose, and lowers his voice. “Dream stopped— we kinda stopped using condoms after I started taking them.”
“Okay, ew, I don’t need to know that,” Sapnap cuts him off, waving his hands in the air like the baby he is. George pulls his legs up onto the couch and wraps his arms around them. Sapnap looks at him again. “Well, dude, I don’t know what you want me to do. Did you take a pregnancy test?”
George shakes his head. “No. I’d know by now.”
“Well, then— take one.”
“I’m scared, Sapnap,” he admits, and as he says it, he can feel his heartbeat picking up, drumming against his ribcage. He only started to consider—really consider—this possibility a few days ago. He hasn’t had time to process it yet; not with everything going on. Not with his fear of losing Dream clawing at his skin, threatening to snag it. He’s not sure what he’d do if he really— “What if I am? This was not— this isn’t the plan. We have our entire lives ahead of us, we’re not even dating, and—”
Sapnap gets up, exasperated. “George, for the love of God. Don’t—” He’s pacing around the room now. George’s gaze is lost somewhere interesting on the floor. The pattern of the carpet. The furniture. He tries to keep a cool head, and Sapnap puts a hand on his shoulder. “Bro, it’s okay,” he tells him, tone softer, more careful. “It’s gonna be okay. Do you, like, have a test or do you need me to go buy one for you?”
“I ordered some today,” George whispers, fidgeting with the cuff of his sweats. “They’re at my bedside table.”
“Okay, go get them. You’ll take it and I’ll be here and then, if you’re not pregnant, we can forget this conversation ever happened.” George looks up at him, but he doesn’t find it in himself to ask— and if I am? What do we do then?
Sapnap doesn’t wonder, either, but he’s the one who ends up going for the tests and brings them back to his office. He finds patience in some forgotten place of himself. It’s quite impressive, actually, but George has bigger things to focus on when he steps into Sapnap’s en-suite and simply stands there, like a Sim with no instructions queued.
Sapnap obviously isn't there for the first part of the process. He’s trying to offer his support from across the closed door, but George can’t hear him that well through the soundproof walls and the buzz in his ears. It hasn’t fully sunk in yet.
He’s not sure how, but he gets it done, and before he even notices, he’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet and playing with his fingers during the longest five minutes of his entire adult life. Sapnap’s sitting on the floor, something George would usually be against—especially if it’s Sapnap’s bathroom floor—but once again, he doesn’t comment on it. He appreciates the company and the sound of his friend’s deep breathing. It breaks the stale quietness that’s inherent to stuff like this, that drives a human being crazy during the most important, decisive moments of their life.
George hasn’t had many of those. The last he remembers was four years ago, in Dream’s bed. Ironic, isn’t it? It was one of those rare cases where George was waiting for him to wake up, and not the other way around. His hands were in Dream’s hair and Dream’s head was on his chest, susceptible to its rise and fall, to the rhythm he set with each intake of air. The floor was covered in sunlight and the clothes they wore the night before; it was the morning after the first time they slept together. George was sure that they were gonna talk about it. He thought they just had to. Looking back, they probably should have.
They didn’t. Dream woke up and smiled at him and asked if he wanted a glass of water. George had to say something. Anything, just so he could put his mind at ease. He blurted out that he’s a carrier and that’s why, despite knowing they were both clean, he had to ask Dream to put on a condom the night before. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have, he said, and Dream blushed so hard George thinks he discovered what red actually looks like. He doesn’t remember what Dream’s response was, but he does remember that they ended up doing it again the week after that. And the one after that. It was only a few months before George got an appointment with a doctor so he could start taking birth control pills.
For a while, they used both methods, like everyone suggests. Then, they just… didn’t.
Maybe, he did this to himself. He’s nervously biting his nails and nibbling on the skin of his lip and cracking every single one of his knuckles and it’s his fault, for being a fucking idiot who should’ve been much more careful if he really wanted to avoid this. He tries to picture it. He tries to imagine a world where he tells his best friend that there’s a little problem with their arrangement, and it’s that George is just desperately in love with him like he hasn’t been with anyone else in his entire life. He should’ve realized, he thinks, as soon as he had Dream’s mouth on his for the first time and lost all rational thinking capabilities and sense of self. When he thought his heart was about to beat itself out of his chest when Dream held him just a little bit tighter before he fell asleep in his arms. When he almost blurted out a ridiculous confession just a few minutes ago, when Dream looked at him like that and told him that he loves him, like he always does, oblivious to everything that crosses George’s mind whenever he hears it.
George doesn’t know how he could ever have the talk with him. He doesn’t know how he could look him in the eye and say ‘you’re gonna be a father’ or ‘I’m pregnant with your kid’ or ‘sorry for ruining your life. Can you promise me you don’t hate me now? I think I would die if you did.’
The timer beeps, bringing George back to life. Sapnap’s not on the floor anymore; he’s hugging him. He’s telling him not to worry, not to cry, and George didn’t even realize he was crying in the first place, but he supposes that it checks out. It’s not every day that his life takes a totally unexpected turn that could cost him the only person he’s ever really loved. He thinks he’s entitled to a tear or two.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t make the weakest attempt at letting go of Sapnap’s arm or bite back the sob that rips out of his throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t— I don’t even know why—”
Sapnap puts his hands on George’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes with the warmest smile he can muster. “George, we’ll figure it out,” he promises, and it should be so easy to believe him when he says it like that. “You’re not alone.”
“Can you—” George looks at the two tests that wait for him on the counter, and he swears that his future flashes before his blurry eyes. He holds Sapnap’s gaze. “Can you look for me?”
“Of course, bro.” Sapnap walks up to them and cranes his neck to check. The scene would be almost comedic, if not for the words he utters next. “What does two lines mean?” George curses out loud. “Okay, I’ll take a wild guess.”
“This seriously can’t be happening,” George whispers under his breath, putting both his hands over his mouth, shaking beyond his control. He has a baby growing inside of him. A baby. “Oh, my God. What the fuck am I gonna do? I can’t— I can’t.”
Sapnap puffs his cheeks for a second. He leans down next to George, holding on to his knees, and then asks, “do you wanna— y’know,” because the only thing that he lacks even more than patience is tact.
George does cover his stomach this time. “No!” he bellows, shaking his head in borderline horror, like he could make it happen just by thinking about it. He stops himself to gape, to breathe. “Maybe, I— I don’t know.” He doesn’t. He absolutely does not want to— “I can’t— I can’t just make that decision by myself, what if— I can’t.”
Sapnap sighs, standing up. “C’mere, bro.” He pulls George into a hug again, resting his head on top of George’s. He’s soft with the way he holds him, with the way he kindly rubs his back until he’s mostly calmed down. “You need to tell Clay, dude,” he whispers, eventually. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. I know it’s, like, scary as fuck right now, but maybe if—”
George stops listening. He stops functioning altogether, if he’s being honest. He can only hear his own heartbeat and the unbearable noise in his head. His blood rushing through his veins. The floor shaking under his feet. He can hear all the clocks on the walls, ticking, ticking, ticking. Torturing him as he breathes, as he leans further into Sapnap’s embrace, even though it’s not where he’s supposed to be. He’s not sure where that is, either.
He doesn’t know if Sapnap’s still talking or not, but he gets up to grab the two pregnancy tests, both positive, and walks to his room. He puts the caps back on and hides them in his bedside table, in an empty drawer he never opens. He sits on his bed and it feels so cold, so lonely, that he has no choice but to get up and go to Dream’s room. Dream, who’s smart and beautiful and so young and he’s still swimming like nothing’s going on in the world. Like George doesn’t have life-changing information in his hands right now. Like he’s not falling apart from trying to keep it together.
George hides under Dream’s covers, seeking the smell and the warmth that made him so addicted to them in the first place. He slides his arms under a pillow and buries his nose in the fabric, craving his best friend’s presence and comfort and peace like never before. It seems impossible to fall asleep without it, but he almost manages it. He pretends he does, at least, an hour or two later when Dream finds him there, intruding. Overstepping.
George just… really needed him. Even if he can’t talk yet.
He feels the weight of Dream’s gaze on him. He senses his calculated moves as he sneaks into his en-suite to take a shower and then comes back to put on sleeping clothes. He feels him linger by the side of the bed George is in and lean down to press the longest, most loving kiss anyone’s ever left on George’s head.
George stirs, blowing his cover.
“Hi,” Dream whispers, an innocent smile evident in his tone, a hand resting on George’s waist. “Didn’t mean to wake you up,” he adds, and kisses the side of George’s face one, two times. George has to stop himself from crying again. “Are you okay?”
George doesn’t open his eyes. He just nods to the best of his ability, and nuzzles further into the pillow. “Nightmare,” he lies. “Missed you.”
Dream gets into the bed with him, and holds him as tight as he can until the next morning.
Two days later, they’re lying on the couch in the living room. Dream’s head is on his stomach. There’s a movie playing in the background but neither of them are paying it any mind—Dream because he’s fallen asleep; and George because he hasn’t been able to focus on too many things recently. He’s been quiet. Absent, even.
It’s why Dream kidnapped him today. They have the house to themselves again, after a few weeks of not spending that much time together. George regrets it. Dream is virtually the only person who can keep him tethered to the ground, alive, steady. George sinks his hands in Dream’s hair and feels a rather familiar rush of energy coursing through his veins. It’s so strong he can almost forget. He can curl his legs around Dream’s and massage his scalp and relax under his warmth and his soft snores and everything that turned this house into a home… and forget.
Dream looks prettier than ever, and that’s considering that George should be the one with the pregnancy glow. He can’t help it, though, when he looks at Dream. He can’t help but imagine what their little one will look like. Whether they’ll have Dream’s messy curls or George’s tamer ones. If they’ll like video games and math and fashion and to pester Sapnap’s kid when they grow up. He imagines a child with Dream’s freckles and his own, big, brown eyes, that Dream always says drive him crazy and could get him anything he wanted. He thinks of a blond head and small hands, full lips curved into a smile so bright it will blind the entire neighborhood.
He goes back. He fantasizes about Dream’s hands cradling a round belly, praise curled around his friendly tongue and words so soft they make George dizzy. He imagines Dream speaking in the same tone he uses with the kitties sharing their house, or his youngest cousins in his family Christmas. He pictures family Christmas next year. When he’s visiting Dream’s mother again, and she welcomes him with a bright smile and open arms, like she always does, inviting him into her house, not as Dream’s friend, but his partner. The one who carried his kid, the one he shares his life with. You all know George, she’d say, because it’s true—they all know him. Dream has already made sure of it. We’re all very happy to have him here again, and the newest addition to the family. Meet—
He goes forward. He wonders what life between them will be like when Sapnap inevitably moves out. He’s mentioned it already—wanting to start a life with his girlfriend, because they’re happy, because they’ve been dating for only a year but they’ve known each other for way longer, and they think they might be ready. He asked George not to tell Dream, at least not yet. Not until it’s definitive. George’s pregnancy will speed up the process, he’s sure. They’ll need space, and so will Sap, but he doesn’t doubt that they’ll help whenever they can.
It’s a matter of time until they’re alone. Until George is too big to move, and Dream is too sleep-deprived to get things done, and everything turns messy, hard to handle. Sapnap promised he wouldn’t be alone, and George believes him. It doesn’t take his fear away, though. The crippling anxiety will remain wrapped around his heart until he manages to tell Dream. Until he figures out how to confess his undying love for him, and all the family-centered ideas that snuck into his head without a warning, enfeebling the very foundations of everything he thought he knew about himself. Everything he thought he wanted. Everything he once thought they’d be.
Dream stirs. He’s hugging George by the waist and nestling into the fabric of his hoodie, humming softly as he awakes. He blinks his beady eyes open and looks up at George with his lips curling up in a lazy smile. His face is flushed a soft pink, and it’s so ridiculously cute George seriously wants to chew on bricks when he sees it.
“Hi,” Dream mumbles, burying his face in George’s stomach once again. He hopes the baby has more fun than him with the butterflies it brings to life. It must be a whole ass party in there. “What time’s it?”
“It’s noon,” George lies, still playing with Dream’s hair, just barely obsessed with it. Dream hums again, content. “Yeah. You slept fifteen hours.”
“Oh. Sorry,” he says. George knows that he doesn’t mean it one bit, and maybe that’s why he loves him so much. Why he’s so determined to keep holding him, to keep messing with him when they wake up together and he’s lost and just a little silly. “Noon?” he repeats. “Did you, um— take your birth control yet?”
George smiles. “I lied, idiot,” he answers, melting, and flicks Dream in the forehead. Dream pouts, hiking himself higher so that he’s lying on George’s chest now. George kisses the top of his head, and whispers, “it’s eleven pm. You only took a goofy nap.”
“Boo,” Dream protests, breathing in a lungful of George. He turns his head and presses his lips to George’s sternum. It’s one of those days. “Did you watch me?”
“Yes, I did,” George answers truthfully. “I took care of you so no one would kill you in your sleep.”
“Good.” One of Dream’s arms is bent in an uncomfortable angle. George shifts until Dream is properly slotted between his legs, and tightens them around his hips to keep him in place. Dream mumbles again, delirious. “Yeah, you do that.”
George chuckles under his breath. He thinks of the people who call him spoiled and clingy and bratty, wondering what they’d think if they could see Dream right now, being such a baby. “D’you wanna go upstairs?” he asks, sheer fondness dripping from his tone in the form of short-lived kisses to his best friend’s head. “Bet your bed’s slightly more comfortable than the couch.”
Dream shakes his head. “Maybe. But you’re not in my bed, so I’m not interested.”
“I could be,” George mumbles, curling a strand of blond hair around his pointer finger. Dream’s hand gets under his shirt, long fingers sprawled across his back. Lower, George adds, “I would be.”
“C’mere,” Dream says, but he’s the one who props himself up to chase after George’s lips in a slow kiss that gets more and more hungry with each second that goes by. George’s legs fully wrap around Dream’s hips and he presses at the back of Dream’s head, urging him closer, deeper. He almost shudders from the intensity of it. He almost wants to cry. To scream his lungs out. Dream cups his face, and whispers, “you’re so beautiful in the mornings.”
George has half the mind to fight back. “Told you it’s not the morning.”
“Don’t care,” Dream argues, kissing him again, and again, and again. “You’re still beautiful. I can’t believe—” He looks at George, then. He looks directly into his eyes, breathing heavily into the reduced space between their mouths. He’s holding George’s waist, a crease between his brows, teeth buried in his bottom lip. Then he’s pressing his forehead to George’s and speaking so low George is certain that he wasn’t supposed to hear. “I still can’t believe it.”
It breaks him, in a way. “You’re sleepy,” he says, swallowing hard, putting up walls. Dream shakes his head, insistent, but George needs to protect himself. He’s an expert at that. “You’re talking nonsense again.”
“I missed you,” Dream corrects, a desperate quality to his tone. Something clawing at George’s throat, making him bite back more words than he should. His thoughts spin around his head, restless. “‘M not sleepy,” Dream promises. “George,” he calls, cocking his head, almost pleading. “I just miss you.”
“Dream,” George breathes, eyes falling shut when his best friend starts tracing a path down his neck, lips attached to his skin. Dream rides George’s hoodie and shirt up higher, baring his stomach to the cool air of the room. It twists in his chest, this urge to let everything go, to fly. Dream bites his collarbone, and George’s hands fall to Dream’s shoulders. His lips graze Dream’s ear when he asks, “can you make love to me?”
He feels Dream breathe, smile, relax. He sees him break apart, move his hand to cup the back of George’s head, rub their noses together. He pecks his lips. “I always make love to you.”
George pays attention. He kisses Dream and pays special attention to the way he licks into his mouth, to how he pulls him in, how he helps him get up. He wraps his arms around Dream’s neck and allows him to take him to the bedroom, to the bed, where he gets on top of him again, eyes filled to the brim with nothing but the same kind of admiration he’s been witnessing for years. George feels loved when Dream leaves him in nothing but his underwear, but takes his time to explore his entire body before things can really escalate. He feels loved when Dream’s hand is sprawled out across his stomach even though he doesn’t know what it’s hiding. He’s just so reverent without even trying, so vulnerable to the way George reacts, to the way George responds.
I always make love to you, Dream said, and George sees habit written all over his mouth, routine engraved onto his fingertips. Dream opens him up slowly, nipping gently at his neck, at his cheeks, at his lips and his ears and any skin he can find. He loves him in a way George has never been loved before. Unspoken. He’s too scared to put a name to it in case he gets it wrong, but it echoes. Dream loves him when he refuses to look away as he lines up their hips and comes home. Then he’s lacing their fingers, pinning one of George’s hands next to his head, leaning down to kiss his lips again. And George is clawing at his back with his free hand, and moaning his name under his breath, against his ear, and Dream is kissing him again. And George wants to cry—how could he not?
Dream has a smile on his face when he brings George over the edge, when he swallows every noise he makes, fucking his own release as deep into him as he can and whispering praise against his temple and kissing him again. And George cries, just a little bit. Dream doesn’t realize. George presses his lips to Dream’s bare shoulder, and he almost comes undone with everything he needs to tell him. Things like your first kid is inside of me right now and oh, you’re gonna be such an amazing father and I’m so in love with you it’s hard to breathe, sometimes.
He bites it all back and simply closes his eyes as they come down from their high, as they gather their bearings. Dream drops his weight on top of him and George wraps his arms around his neck, addicted to how warm he is, how heavy, how all-consuming. He feels like being buried under him, with him, inside of him. He wants to remind himself that he’s everywhere, that he doesn’t plan on leaving, that he’s still holding his hand. Maybe, that way, he’ll be able to spell out all those things he’s forcing himself to keep hidden. All the secrets that will bubble out of him, eventually. That will put him to the test.
For now, George can only go to sleep, with his baby, with his baby, and pray that none of it rots inside of him. He can only hope to make it out alive.
“Dude.” Sapnap bursts into the room, slamming the door behind him. He looks at George, who’s sitting on his bed, pointing an accusatory finger at him.“You’re seriously gonna need to tell Dream if you can’t control those goddamn mood swings.”
Within five minutes of waking up, George was throwing up in the toilet of his en-suite, striving not to bang his head against the nearest wall. He had a nightmare—for real, this time—and couldn’t go look for Dream because the idiot was in LA for a week and didn’t come back until noon. He didn’t wake him up when he arrived, either. He waited for George downstairs, and George really thought things would look up when he saw the father of his child and that pretty smile he always carries around. When Dream finally pulled him into his arms, carding fingers through his hair, kissing the top of his head. When Dream pecked his lips and said ‘I love you’ and told him how much he’d missed him.
George thought it would be okay; and it was, but just for thirty seconds. Thirty short, perfect seconds. Then things went downhill again.
“It’s not the mood swings,” George mutters between gritted teeth, striving not to kick the air with his feet, like a little kid throwing a tantrum. He’s staring at Sapnap’s ceiling with a frown on his lips and Dream’s heart in his hands. “You’re an idiot. If you’d just told Dream about the sushi thing—”
“How could I possibly tell him that without him finding out?” Sapnap screams, swinging his arms in the air. George glares at him momentarily, but it holds no ground when he realizes that Sapnap is probably right for once. “He’s not that stupid, you know?”
It all started when Sapnap stomped into the kitchen holding a plastic bag. Obviously, Dream wasn’t there when George made a whole event out of telling Sapnap not only that he can’t have it, but also that the baby is clearly a sushi anti and the smell alone makes him incredibly sick. So, when Dream said that he’d ordered sushi for George because he loves it and they haven’t had it in a while, Sapnap had no valid excuse to call him an idiot to his face like George would have suggested. It would’ve prompted questions that he couldn’t answer.
George made the unfortunate mistake of asking Sapnap to take it away from him unless he wanted George to throw up again. Dream focused on the use of the word ‘again’, and told George to go to the doctor one too many times. George screamed at him that he was fine. He told Dream to back off. Back off—actually the last thing he wants right now. He hated himself as soon as the words left his mouth, before he even had time to gauge Dream’s reaction. His face turning red, his eyes wide open, burning into George’s. It was quiet. Stale, even.
Sapnap invited George to go wait upstairs. Any other day—any other day—and the nicest thing George told him would still get him canceled on Twitter and cost him his career. Today, however, he didn’t feel so belligerent. Not when Dream was looking at him like that, like he couldn’t even recognize him after spending one week away.
George closes his eyes and replays the scene in his head. He feels like the biggest idiot in the world.
Sapnap huffs. Through the corner of his eye, George sees him pacing around the room. “Dude, tell Dream. Seriously,” he insists. He’s not looking at George. “I can’t keep up with this anymore. I’m picking up your shit just because you’re too much of a coward to—”
“I can’t,” George finally says, fed up with it, and sitting up to meet his eyes. “I can’t tell him.” He tried. Twice, actually. He ended up running away the first time. The second, well… they got distracted. It’s beyond the point. “Why can’t I tell him?” George asks. “Why haven’t I told him?”
Sapnap seems to notice the frustration in George’s tone. It’s probably why he exhales to relax, why he gives up putting up a fight. He sits by George’s side and says, “I don’t know, bro,” while he puts an arm around him and pulls him into a hug. George frowns, but he can’t bring himself to complain. “Sorry I’m being an asshole,” Sapnap says. “This isn’t about me.”
“It’s fine,” George promises, shaking him off. He hates that the pregnancy makes him act a bit differently, but he hates it even more when Sapnap acts differently around him because of it. He doesn’t want special treatment. All he wants is for this to be over. “I— I can’t tell him, I can’t. Every time I’m with him I’m like— ‘I need to tell him. I need to tell him right now’, and then I chicken out. It’s the stupid baby making me stupid.” George stops himself. His frown deepens as he looks down and says, “sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that.”
Sapnap grants him a sad smile, patting his back. Then he’s serious again, all too soon. “George, he— he’s gonna be a dad. A dad to your kid, you need to tell him,” he insists. “You have nothing to worry about, he’s gonna be thrilled.”
“Yeah, exactly!” George tells him because it’s true, he knows that. “I’m gonna tell him and he’s gonna be all— Dream about it. He’ll start reading parenting books right away and designing the nursery and buying them stuff and being all over me and I can’t, I can’t do any of that, not when—”
“When what, George?” Sapnap pushes, dragging his hands down his face. George falls back down onto the bed, stealing a pillow to scream into and alleviate his frustration. “What could possibly be so terrible about him—” He stops. He stops, and George chooses to think that he’s not imagining the same things he does. George in six or seven months, so big and a little insufferable but bursting with joy all the same. Dream kissing his belly and calling him sweet names and loving him. A picture perfect family. Unattainable. “Is this about your arrangement bullshit?”
George grits his teeth. “Four years,” he mumbles, and bites back his sorrow. He sits up again, looking down at his lap. “D’you have any idea how long that is? All this time, it was supposed to be sex. Just sex.” George feels stupid as he says it. That train left the station a long, long time ago, but he can’t help it. “No stupid feelings. No— pregnancy-induced mood swings, not a family.” He looks at Sapnap, then. Sapnap is shaking his head. He looks at George like he pities him. “I’m serious. It’s not what we—”
“If you say that it’s not what you planned—” Sapnap cuts him off, “I’m gonna bump you in the head.” He puts a hand on each of George’s shoulders, forcing him to look at him. Properly. In spite of the tears welling up in his eyes, George manages. “Oh, my fucking God, it was never gonna be just sex. You’ve been, like, actually insane about each other since you were stuck in London and he drove me up the fucking wall talking about you.” He pulls a face that almost gets George. That almost has him picturing Dream going just as crazy as he was. It feels so long ago. Longer than he ever thought he’d get. “And this whole fucking time you’ve been exclusive. You know how I know that? Because I know Dream, and he would’ve killed himself already if you’d hooked up with someone else. What the hell are you talking about, just sex?” Sapnap asks. George bites his tongue. “Dream loves you, dude.”
It doesn’t stop him. “Not like I do.”
“Exactly like you do!” Sapnap argues, desperate. It’s jarring. George isn’t sure what drove him to argue, but his heart is beating so fast in his chest that he doesn’t think he really meant it. Sapnap doubles down. “George, he’s in love with you, you stupid idiot. He’s gonna be jumping around all goddamn week after finding out he’ll have a kid with you, are you dumb?” Maybe he is. Or maybe Dream is, and this is all just— dumb. All of this is dumb. George balls his hands into fists. Dream always tells him that he’s a little too stubborn for his own good. He might be onto something. “There’s literally no one else for him, dude. You’re, like— I don’t even know, you’re George. You’re his soulmate or some shit.”
George does kick the floor this time. “Okay, then why aren’t we together already?” Even the word feels foreign on his tongue. He fights the urge to run to Dream’s arms right now and get it over with. “On Valentine’s day, why was he talking about a hypothetical scenario where we want to date other people or not have this anymore or—”
“Because he’s also stupid,” Sapnap answers. “Easy. He’s just as thick as you, and just as scared for literally no reason, whatsoever. The only difference is that he’s not—” The idiot awkwardly waves his hands around George’s still nonexistent belly and says “—with child.”
George sighs. “I can’t risk it,” he says, doubtful, and puts his hand over his stomach, rubbing it slowly. He’s gonna be a parent. He can’t just— “Especially not now.”
“What are you gonna do, then?” Sapnap pushes. “Are you gonna, like, hide your belly for eight more months and raise your kid in secret? Are you gonna have me reading pregnancy books the rest of the year?” George quirks his lips. It doesn’t sound like a plan. “George, you can’t just— take that away from him.”
He frowns. “Take what away?”
“Being a dad.” George blinks. He’d like to interrupt, but he has nothing to say. Sapnap takes it as an invitation to go on. “He was born for it. You can’t just deprive him of, like, being with you during your pregnancy. Mood swings, morning sickness, and the whole ass deal.” He lowers his voice and looks George dead in the eyes. It’s one of those rare times when George looks at him and doesn’t see the kid he once met; he doesn’t see his younger best friend. He only sees Dream’s brother. It’s rather intimidating. “You’re gonna break his heart. Do you even know how happy he was when he found out you’re a carrier?”
George tenses up. He’s not sure why. He and Sapnap have never talked about it; George authorized Dream to tell him so he just kind of assumed that he’d done it and that was it. It’s not that he has a problem with it, but it just never came up. Now, however, George is curious. “Why d’you say that?”
“Because it’s fucking true. He’s always wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. And then he found out it was, like, biologically possible for a mini-you to exist. He was over the goddamn moon.” George’s stomach does that funny thing. The one that makes his heart jump, that he feels right after Dream sneaks an ‘I love you’ in between a kiss. When he looks at him a certain way. Sapnap softens, like he sees it. Like he’s been there. “You both want this, dude. I don’t know why you’re being so difficult. Unless what you’re scared of is— being happy.” He shrugs. “And having everything you’ve ever wanted since you’re, like, twenty.”
So long ago. He’s lived a million lives since then. He’s been in Florida for almost five years. He’s had Dream in his bed for over four. He’s been kissing him every day for three and a half, and he’s been pregnant with his kid for barely over a month.
He’s been in love with him since he’s twenty.
“That’s ten whole ass years ago, by the way,” Sapnap says, squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t mess it up.”
George looks at him with a lonely tear rolling down his cheek. That’s all he has to say on the matter.
George makes a quick visit to his bedroom before he goes to Dream’s office. Soon enough, he’s knocking on his open door.
“May I?” he asks, refusing to give up courage when Dream looks up at him with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. George’s heart stutters, but he doesn’t back down.
Dream replies, “always.”
George walks in with a hand behind his back, and uses the other one to close the door. He sits on his office bed while Dream takes off his headphones, leaving them on the desk instead of letting them sit around his neck. George reminds himself not to focus on the unimportant, and rushes to say, “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Dream nods. “That’s okay.”
It’s not, is the thing. Otherwise, George wouldn’t be here to make it right. “We should probably talk.”
It takes Dream exactly three seconds to sit in front of him on the bed. He looks relaxed, patient. Maybe too much for George’s liking. Maybe he would prefer that Dream wasn’t so lenient all the time. Or maybe it’s one of the things that George loves the most about him. That tell him that, not too far from now, some kid will be really lucky to have him as a father.
Dream makes a gesture with his head, urging him to go on. For good measure, he says, “I’m all ears.”
George starts from the beginning. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For being so emotional. For being clingy then distant then clingy again and— I dunno.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner what was going on, for— for avoiding you.”
“You’re not—” Dream says, clearing his throat after choking on the words. He forces himself to say it. “You know you’re not obligated to tell me anything.”
“I kind of am, this time,” George confesses. He looks down at his free hand, striving to keep still, to not reach out. They always touch, in some way. This distance makes George ill, and Dream seems to know it. It’s him who holds it. It’s him, and George appreciates it. “A few things, actually, um— I guess the first is that I can’t— I can’t keep doing our arrangement. I can’t be that anymore, I can’t—” Dream threatens to pull back, but George intertwines their fingers, finding his eyes. Pleading. Whispering, “I can’t settle for that. Not anymore.”
Dream’s eyes carry too many feelings. Fear, wonder. A flicker of hope. Care. Love. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I can say it,” George mutters, hating himself for it. His throat is tight around two life-changing things that beg for release. The hand that hides behind his back is clenched so tight he feels his nails digging deeply into his palm. He squeezes Dream’s hand, too, and clarifies, “not— any more than I already have.” Dream’s head perks up, and then George simply says it. “Dream, I don’t need anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. You understand that, right?” he asks, voice faltering, full of doubt. Dream must know, right? “That I’m not worried about meeting other people or— falling in love again because—”
Dream echoes, so faint, “again?”
“The only person I need,” George continues, “is someone I already have.” George looks down again, simply because he refuses to meet Dream’s eyes as he says, “assuming that I do— have you. I know we’ve been— doing this for years, but I can’t go one more minute without making that clear. I can’t keep pretending to have just sex with you, I need to know that this is real. I want to be with you, I want—”
Dream is kissing him. Dream is kissing him, and the knot in George’s chest isn’t so tight anymore. The fears clawing at his skin don’t burn as much, and he still wants to cry, but he’s not all that desperate. He kisses Dream and that’s one less thing out of the way, at least. One thing he’s allowed to have.
He hopes it doesn’t change when the other thing he came here to say is finally out in the open.
“I want that, too,” Dream says, smiling, red, brushing their noses. George smiles but he’s still tense, at his core; he’s still scared and he can’t shake it to fully enjoy this. “I always have,” Dream says, determined to change that. “When I told you that, it was— Sapnap freaked me out. I wasn’t sure that we were on the same page and I didn’t want to feel like I was— I dunno, forcing you or— trapping you in a situation you didn’t want or—”
“Never,” George assures, leaving Dream’s hand only so he can cup his cheek, so he can press his thumb to the skin right under his eye, wet and pink and soft. Dream turns to kiss his palm, and George insists, “you didn’t, you— couldn’t. I just thought— I didn’t know that’s what you wanted and it was fine at first, but then— it just stopped being enough, at some point. And it’s not like I could’ve said anything—”
A crease grows between Dream’s eyebrows, even though he’s still smiling. “To be clear, you could have—”
“Shut up, I—” George chuckles wetly, resting his forehead on Dream’s, who’s drawing circles on his knee. So gentle. George sighs, letting his hand fall. “Point is, I stayed with you because I wanted— any part of you I could have. I just wanted— you. I wanted you.” He doesn’t give Dream time to make the joke he’s clearly about to make. He simply rolls his eyes and clarifies, “I— still do. Obviously.”
“You can have any part of me you want,” Dream vows. “You can have all of it, I’m— I’m yours, George. I always have been. I’ve always known I would always be yours, too.” George fails to blink back tears. Dream helps him wipe them away, then kisses the tip of his nose. “What’s the other thing?” he asks, lower. “I know that’s not it.”
This time, when he says that, he glances down at George’s hand and whatever he’s been hiding the entire time he’s been here. He’s not an idiot. “It’s not,” George admits. He’s imagined this moment a hundred times. The words he’d say, the tone he’d use. When it comes to it, there’s only one thing he can do and that’s to ease Dream’s worries. It’s to tell him what he wants to hear. “I did make a doctor’s appointment for my stomach. It’s still— y’know, it didn’t go away. I don’t expect it to go away anytime soon.”
Dream’s hand squeezes his thigh reassuringly. He knits his brows in concern, scooting a little closer. “Is— is everything okay?”
“I have an appointment tomorrow,” George says, “and I was just gonna go, but— it doesn’t feel right to go without you.”
He’s visibly confused. George didn’t expect any less. With a little luck, the baby’s enjoying this, somehow. His stomach twisting and his heart freaking out. “Uh— of course,” Dream says, because of course he does. George smiles and calms down. He calms down, for once, knowing that the die is cast already. Knowing that Dream is the best person in the world to do this with. “Yeah, I’ll go, but— George, are you—”
Knowing that Dream loves him just as much as he loves him. “It’s an ultrasound,” he says, finally showing his hand, clutching one of his positive pregnancy tests. He gives it to Dream, who seems a little dazed. Finally, George breathes out, “I— I’m pregnant.”
George lives the following seconds in slow motion. The way Dream’s face shifts from confusion into something so pure, so beautiful. George takes in the wrinkles around his eyes, becoming more accentuated when he smiles. His eyes; his beautiful eyes. Green and happy and a harbinger of joy, of George’s future. Of George’s kid, George’s son or daughter who’ll be so lucky to have Dream as a father. So lucky to be a part of a family like theirs. It’s hard not to cry when he’s faced with a picture like that; when Dream pulls him into his arms, onto his lap, and hugs him so tight George thinks he might break. He wraps his own arms around Dream’s neck and closes his eyes as he lets all that anxiety slip away. As he allows Dream to have him; as he allows himself to have Dream. To really have Dream, once and for all.
George knew Dream would be happy about being a dad. He knew he’d love that kid since the second he knew about them, and he knew that he’d be wonderful about the whole thing no matter what. It’s still so different to truly see it. To watch as tears well up in Dream’s eyes one by one, as pure joy overcomes him and gets rid of his speech and his ability to breathe properly. To watch the exact second in which all the domestic scenes George has been picturing for the past two weeks flood his mind, too. To watch him fall in love with them, too. It’s the most wonderful thing George has ever seen.
“Oh, my God,” is the first thing Dream says, smiling through his tears, pressing his forehead to George’s. “Oh, my God,” he repeats, and then he’s kissing his lips and his nose and all over his face. George can only giggle as he cradles his face, as happiness envelops them. “A baby?” Dream asks, still disbelieving. “You’re having a baby?”
“We are, idiot,” George corrects him, as soft laughter bubbles out of him, dying in Dream’s lips. “That’s the— it’s your baby, obviously. Our baby.”
Dream is crying, too. George’s hand settles on the nape of his neck, and then he’s kissing all of Dream’s tears away, pressing his lips to every freckle and every inch of skin. He closes his eyes and breathes against Dream’s face; Dream keeps his hands in George’s waist, holding him close. It’s all so perfect. All so intimate.
“How long have you known?” Dream asks, eventually. Not too long after, but long enough that the silence has settled deep into George’s bones, filling him with a sense of peace that he hasn’t felt since he found out he’d gotten his visa.
“I took the test a few days before you left for LA,” he says, “but— I’ve known for a little longer. I’m guessing it was around Valentine’s.” He smiles and prods, “y’know, when you basically told me to date other people. I guess it was good for baby-making.”
Dream scoffs. “I did not—” He scrunches his nose, amused. George kisses it. “Sapnap freaked me out, I would never—”
“Oh, yeah,” George says, drawing circles on Dream’s back. “Sapnap knows. He was actually— pretty great about the whole thing.” Dream beams. He looks pleased with it. He supposes it’s sweet. “I was kind of having a breakdown. I didn’t know how you’d take— I didn’t know how you’d take the first thing I told you,” George admits, “so. That kind of— conditioned the other one.”
“Oh, George,” Dream says, pouting innocently, leaning in to kiss him. One of his hands moves up. With his index finger, he moves George’s hair away from his forehead and kisses him there, too. “Baby, I can’t imagine my life with anyone else,” he whispers, so raw, so honest. George nods, simply agreeing, relieved. “I don’t even want to. This is— the best news in the world, I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am.” George closes his eyes and hides in the crook of Dream’s neck when he thinks he’s about to cry again. Dream holds him through it, like he always does. He shares the weight of it. “We’re gonna be parents.”
“We are.” Dream manages to find his lips again. He pours everything he’s feeling into the kiss. George feels his love burning bright, infiltrating into his veins, into his bloodstream and every inch of his heart. He remembers every second he spent loving Dream. There’s been so many. So many, he can’t help but whisper, “I love you.”
Dream laces their fingers and brings George’s hand up to kiss the back of it. His lips are quirked into a childish smile. He tilts his head to the side, and funs, “thought you said you couldn’t say that.”
George swats his arm. “You’re an idiot,” he says, laughing through all of these emotions he’s been buried under. He scrunches his nose and flicks Dream in the forehead. “You could just say ‘me, too’, you know? You don’t have to be so—”
“I love you,” Dream clarifies, leaving a loud kiss on George’s cheek. His face is flushed a pretty pink; a lovely glimmer in his eyes, one that won’t be leaving him in a long, long time. “I love you so much, so much, you’re—” He makes a pause, letting any sort of banter slip away. Letting the seconds tick. Letting George bask in it. The peck Dream gives him lingers, so George braces himself. “You’re the love of my life,” Dream says, stealing all of the air from George’s lungs. He puts a hand on George’s stomach and it feels electric, it warms him up to know that it’s the first time he’s doing it knowingly. That he has something to look for there. “One of them,” he says. George puts one of his hands over Dream’s, and uses the other one to bring Dream closer by his neck before kissing him again. They can’t stop smiling. They can’t stop crying, either; especially after Dream whispers, “thanks, George. Thank you for this.”
George looks down at their hands. At this bridge between them, this promise of a family, this first peek into what their lives will look like from now on. Something that keeps them together forever, something else they can share. Ten years. Ten years, George remembers, letting his eyes fall shut. It’s been ten years, and look at us now.
When he opens his eyes, Dream’s hand is still in his, warm and comforting, ever so grounding. It’s like time hasn’t gone by at all. It’s like he’s always been there. Dream kisses his head when the doctor says that the baby is healthy and that they look like a lovely couple and that she’s sure they’re gonna be a beautiful family.
George closes his eyes, still trying to get used to it. Dream helps by whispering ‘I love you’ against his hair. Time stills before he can reply.
Then everything comes to life all at once.
It’s George’s time to whisper, “thank you,” while he kisses the back of Dream’s hand, getting lost in the sound of their baby’s rushed heartbeat bouncing off the walls.