Work Text:
Being married doesn't feel any different than not being married, and George doesn't know how to feel about that. He's gone through the entire day - week - month, really - feeling like the numbness in his heart is a secret he needs to hide and protect.
He's not numb toward Dream. He loves Dream, stubbornly and without reserve. He loves his life with Dream. He loves the life they had yesterday and the one they'll have tomorrow.
And that's it, really; that's the secret.
That in his heart, he doesn't think that life would be any different without the ring on his finger. Even now he looks at it, gleaming in the yellow glow of the plane's reading light, and he feels nothing toward it.
He thinks about the wedding itself, and there's nothing there, either. The food was good. Seeing his friends was fun. But it could have been a birthday party or just a get together for no reason at all, and he'd have been just as fine with it.
He looks over at Dream and sees that he's scrolling through pictures from the day they've just had. Dream sees him looking and tilts his phone to the side so George can see the photo of the two of them having their cake, the way George had smushed it against Dream's mouth.
It does make him smile. "You wasted it," he says. "You spit it out."
"It was too sweet," Dream says. "You picked a piece with basically just icing."
"The best part," George says.
"Well, then you should have eaten it instead of getting it on my face," Dream says.
His jaw is set in such a cocky way, so much challenge in his eyes, that George has to laugh as he says, "I regret nothing."
-
The first class suite Dream booked for them is probably the most luxurious one George has ever seen on a plane, but it's still a plane and even as he lies in the relative dark with Dream beside him he's aware of the sounds of other people only feet away.
He's focusing so hard on it that he jumps when Dream's hand lands on his arm.
"Hi," Dream whispers.
They're both trying to sleep. Thirteen hours is a long time, and rest has been hard to come by the past few days. There was too much to do, too much to plan, too many people around that they don't get to see often enough.
"Hi, idiot," George whispers back.
"Idiot that you married," Dream responds, and George's stomach clenches again.
He hopes it's dark enough that Dream can't really read it in his expression, but he has a feeling by the way those eyes stay heavy on him that it's not.
-
Bali is gorgeous, and they sleep the entire first day.
George wakes up first. He sits cross legged on the bed and looks down at Dream, asleep on his stomach with his arms splayed out and his mouth open.
He looks ridiculous. George strokes his hair back from his temple and watches as it springs immediately right back into place.
Dream is nice to look at, but George's stomach is growling. He puts on shorts and a t-shirt and slides his feet into his shoes.
He ends up in a cafe that sells breakfast and coffee. The walls are covered in photos of cats and there are pink velvet chairs to sit in.
One wall has a wooden sign with a quote about laziness and dedication without productivity, one that leans into the side of the lazy. George hums and opts to take it as an affirmation.
The other wall says "hello, sweetheart" in neon pink. He takes a picture and sends it to his mum.
When he walks back to the resort, he does so carrying a bag heavy with plates of pancakes, omelets, crispy toast, and shakshuka. It's the smell that stirs Dream more than George's entrance.
"What is that?" Dream asks, sitting up. The sheet he'd been wrapped in falls to his waist, a sea of white against the pale peach and faded-scar purple of his waist.
"Food," George says. "Just for me, though. None for you."
It's an obvious lie as he pulls out the dishes and spreads them across the table. Dream is completely naked as he gets out of the bed and walks over, investigating things.
-
They have sex.
It’s good, sweaty, enthusiastic, laughter-filled sex. George comes twice in an hour and Dream looks as smug as he ever gets, which is pretty fucking smug, actually.
Afterwards they bathe in a bath bigger than their hot tub back home, full of whatever expensive salts and bubbles the resort provided for them. Dream’s the one that runs the bath; and he’s the one that wants to stay in it longer after the appeal of sitting still and quiet together has worn off for George.
He doesn’t feel maudlin. He feels like he’s on a really good holiday right now, especially when Dream suggests they go out for dinner and do a little shopping, his treat.
“It’s always your treat,” George points out, but it’s more of his own brand of smug than anywhere near a complaint. “Simp.”
“Well,” Dream says, and kisses the two-day stubble on George’s cheek. “I did marry you, after all.”
It’s obvious how much and often Dream wants to say those words. George shoves down the squirminess of guilt in his stomach and catches Dream’s mouth in a kiss back.
-
Dream buys him enough new clothes to need a new suitcase, and then Dream buys him a new suitcase, too.
George repays him by blowing him in a Bali dressing room at a shop so expensive that no one says a word when they walk into the changing room together, and walk back out ten minutes later looking disheveled.
They have the stuff they’ve bought sent directly back to the room so they can take a walk along the beach hand in hand.
Dream hasn’t stopped smiling in hours.
“Doesn’t your face hurt?” George asks, touching Dream’s cheeks.
Dream laughs and shakes his head. “Nothing hurts, baby.”
George turns his head to the side and inhales sharply. Dream’s hands find his hips and squeeze gently, reassuring. It burns inside George that Dream might understand George needs reassurance right now, even when the doubt comes only from inside himself.
He loops his arms around Dream’s neck and hugs him tight. “I love you,” he whispers. .
“I know,” Dream says, laughing in his ear. “That’s why you married me.”
George squeezes tighter.
-
They’re in Bali for a week.
Dream offered longer, but George is the sort of person that misses home when he’s been away too long.
That wasn’t always the case. There was a time when home didn’t feel like anything at all. Even for a time after Florida, when life felt confusing and untethered. But now, with Dream, he’s put down roots that don’t feel like work to tend to. They have a cat, and he has standing dates to get boba with Dream’s sister, and he likes his gym routine with Nick and Tony. They grocery shop sometimes on Sunday mornings before everyone else has even woken up. It’s like a secret they carry that it’s usually the end of their day, not the beginning.
Maybe he also just knew he’d miss normal, and want away from this strange spotlight on ceremony.
-
On the fourth night there, George takes Dream to a cafe he found on the first day. They get local beer with their food and George lets them go straight to his head with no resistance.
Dream has twice as many and barely feels swayed. His tolerance has grown with age and experience. Just like his shoulder width, George thinks, and gets distracted looking at the span of him.
“You’re so good,” George blurts out.
Dream’s smile is deep and soft. “I’m glad you think so. Otherwise, this whole marrying me thing would be pretty awkward, wouldn’t it?”
George’s stomach sours. “Yeah,” he mumbles and looks down.
Dream kicks him under the table. “Do you want to go for a walk again after this?”
“Dunno,” George says.
“Or we just go back to the hotel, and…”
“Play chess?”
Dream laughs loud enough that the woman behind the counter glances over at them.
“Exactly,” Dream says. “I love playing chess with you so much.”
“Of course you do,” George says. “I’m the goat at chess.”
“You’re the goat at a lot of things,” Dream says.
“That’s right.” George cheese for him, a ridiculous expression on his face just to make Dream laugh again.
This is the part he doesn’t mind. That he gets to make Dream laugh forever.
But if they hadn’t gotten married, wouldn’t that have still been true?
Or was there some sort of expiration date on it in Dream’s mind? Was there a point where he’d have said okay, time to move on, I need someone that does care about this ring I have in my sock draw?
George grabs his beer and finishes it off.
-
They do not go on a walk after. It’s just Dream helping George back to their hotel, and tucking him into bed.
George has to get up half an hour later to puke. He already feels like shit. Why is it that the older he gets, the worse drinking makes him feel? He didn’t take advantage of being in his early twenties nearly enough.
Dream gets him water and wipes the cold sweat off of his face.
“You can’t tell anyone about this,” George says.
“I’m telling everyone about this,” Dream promises. “I took pictures, too.”
“I hate you.” George glares lightly.
“Well, tough shit,” Dream says. “Because you’re legally obligated to me.”
Dream probably doesn’t know why that makes George roll over and bury his face in the pillow. But he does rub the center of George’s back in a way that feels soft and loving.
“George,” Dream whispers. “Are you crying?”
George only realizes a few seconds later that it was the shaking of his shoulders that gave him away.
Since he’s already caught out, he rolls over onto Dream and buries himself in the curve of Dream’s neck, letting Dream take his tears away.
-
He wakes up the next morning feeling like he’s been hit by a lorry.
“Got you some food,” Dream says. “Eat and then shower, okay? And then we’re gonna talk about it.”
It’s more the threat of talking about it than the hangover that has George stumbling toward the toilet.
He showers first, just for the escape, and when he comes out Dream makes him eat a couple of slices of toast. “You need to absorb some of the acid,” Dream instructs.
George doesn’t know if that’s bullshit or not, but he’ll trust Dream.
Dream lets him have some recovery time before he says, “Okay, can we talk now?”
George looks at the window. It’s pretty close to the ground. He could definitely jump out of it, then probably pull off some kind of tuck and roll, and then just head toward the city. Maybe there’s a bus he could get to the airport? And then home, so he can hide under his bed for eternity.
“About what?” He asks.
Dream sips on something that’s green and frothy. “Last night.”
“I don’t remember last night,” George says. It’s not entirely a lie. He just remembers bits and pieces. He’s sure there are things he’s forgetting. “Can we sit outside?”
“Yeah,” Dream says. “Do you want your smoothie?”
The idea of something cold and smooth going down his throat sounds heavenly. “Yes,” he says, then adds an awkward, “Please.”
Dream pulls it out on the mini-fridge. George takes a drink immediately. It tastes sharp, like fresh fruit, berries and banana. He makes a soft, grateful sound.
“You’re welcome,” Dream says, laughing.
He doesn’t look upset, or angry, George notes. That seems like a good sign.
They move outside and sit at the covered table, facing the water.
“I’m going to ask direct questions,” Dream says. It’s embarrassing how gentle his voice is. “All you have to do is answer, okay?”
George drinks his smoothie.
“You were crying last night,” Dream says.
“That’s not a question.”
Dream laughs. “Okay, idiot. Do you know why you were crying?”
George shrugs.
“You said some stuff too,” Dream says.
If it’s possible for all the blood to leave George’s body at once, then that’s probably what happens to make him feel ice cold all over. “I don’t remember,” George says, and that at least is honest.
“You kept apologizing,” Dream says. “And saying you love me. So - just be honest, okay? I’m not gonna - well, I might be - I don’t know how I’ll feel. But I love you, okay? And I know you love me. So if something happened with, with someone else, that you need to tell me about-”
“No,” George says, immediately and firmly. “Dream, no.”
“Because if it did-” Dream keeps going. “We’re both human, okay? Shit happens. I get it-”
“Dream.” George reaches out and slaps the back of his hand. “Shut up. I didn’t cheat on you.”
Dream lets out a noise like a deflating balloon and then covers his face with his hands. “Thank fucking god. I did not want to think about how much more therapy I’d need for that.”
“I didn’t,” George says, and fuck, his voice already sounds shaky and wrecked. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. You’re like… it for me.”
“Then what?” Dream asks. “Why were you apologizing?”
“I just-” George pushes the smoothie away, and starts to grasp his own hands. Somehow he ends up holding onto the ring and twisting it around and around until his flesh starts to burn from it.
“It’s okay,” Dream says. “Look, if you didn’t cheat on me, and you’re still in love with me, I think I can handle pretty much anything else.”
“I just… don’t care about being married,” George says, then waits with every cell of his body clenched for Dream’s reaction.
Dream just looks slightly confused. “What?”
“Or like. I don’t understand it, I guess,” George says, and then makes himself keep talking, even though he doesn’t really know what he’s saying or if it’ll help. “It’s like, so important to you, and I guess I just - I don’t get it.”
“That’s it?” Dream asks.
“It’s like… so important to you,” George repeats.
“I mean… yeah,” Dream says. “But it has to be a little important to you, since you agreed to it.”
“You’re important to me,” George says. “Not being married to you. I just want to be with you. I didn’t need anything different than what we already had. But you did.”
“I didn’t need it,” Dream says. “I wanted it. There’s a difference.”
“But it was important to you.”
“Yeah,” Dream says. “It was. It is, I guess. I love getting to say I’m your husband. And what you’re saying is that you don’t, really?”
“I don’t hate it,” George says. “I just don’t feel like saying you’re my husband is any different than saying you’re my… Dream. And you already were that.”
Dream smiles. “George. Do you realize that’s actually… sweet?”
Now George is confused. “What?”
“You’re basically saying we were already married, to you.”
“I guess,” George says.
“And you don’t actually care about it, but you were still willing to go through months of wedding planning, a whole ceremony, a huge reception, and let it take over your life? Just because it made me happy?” Dream gets up and walks over to George, then knees beside the chair George is sitting in. “That’s actually a stronger commitment than being married.”
George looks away. He doesn’t feel cold anymore. His face is hot, actually. “Shut up,” he says weakly.
“George.” Dream cups his face and leans up to kiss him. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” George says, and lets himself fall into the kiss. When they part he whispers, “But I’m still really hungover. Can we go back to bed?”
Dream laughs. “Yeah, we can.”
-
George takes his ring off of his finger the next day. They talk about it. George isn’t embarrassed to say Dream is his husband. But he doesn’t need to shout it from the rooftop, and he’s never really liked the sensation of anything on his fingers.
He puts it on the chain around his neck instead. Somehow the weight of it feels different there. It’s there for him, and tucked close to his body. The symmetry also just feels nice; Dream’s ring on Dream’s chain.
Dream keeps his ring on. The word husband continues to fall easily off of his tongue. He tells people in the airport about the type of cake they had. He has the flight attendant bring them champagne because they’re newlyweds.
In a quiet moment, in their little cocoon away from the rest of the travelers, George picks Dream’s hand up. He strokes his fingers over the smooth metal and smiles.
“What?” Dream asks.
“It looks good on you,” George says, and raises Dream’s hand to his mouth to kiss it.
“Simp,” Dream says.
George laughs and shoves Dream’s hand back into his own lap. Dream fights him, grabbing George’s hand in retaliation, and the squabble settles into their fingers entwined over the armrest. George stares down at them, Dream with his ring and George without, then back at Dream’s face free of all the things George had feared might be there.
Instead it’s just… Dream. His best friend, his partner, his person for life.