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Dream has loved George for longer than he’d care to admit, even inside the security of his own mind.
He always told himself that it would pass, that it was only a matter of time until he’d find a way to successfully suppress whatever helpless fantasies his unconscious mind kept inventing about his best friend. There was no grand moment of realization, no sudden rush of emotion where his heart skipped a beat and he realized this was it, that he was in love with his best friend. It was a slow, damning progression over time, while what began as one-off out of place thoughts seemed to grow into regular occurrences before he could contain them.
He’d be in a call with a handful of friends, laughter flowing effortlessly through imperfect Discord audio tracks, an easy smile residing on his face the entire time, and yet he’d catch himself straining his ears to hear George the clearest. Despite caring deeply about everyone else in the call, he would gladly tune out his other friends in order to hang onto George’s every word, not wanting to miss a single inflection, a single huff of laughter.
Dream would be scrolling through his Twitter timeline, clicking on hashtags and checking his mentions and attempting to see as much art as he possibly could, and would catch his thumbs lingering for just a beat too long before scrolling away from anything tagged with #dnffanart.
He would be sitting on call with George for however long it took the older man to fall asleep, content just to exist in the same space and hear one another’s breathing. Words weren’t always necessary for the two of them, it was the simple comfort of knowing the other was there that always proved to be enough.
Four thousand miles meant that was sometimes a tall task.
The agonizing months upon months of waiting stretched on from being irritating to unbearable. Dream wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to cope with this longing, whispering “soon” beneath cloudless cerulean skies and hoping that the man listening beneath silver shades of moonlight wouldn’t be able to hear the despondent wistfulness in his voice.
It was always harder to stave off loneliness without the distracting illusion of daylight. Dream didn’t leave the house often, but he’d made a habit of never closing his blinds, letting in as much sunlight he possibly could without actually being able to bask in it. It was easier to look outside and watch puffy white clouds roll by on the gentle breeze and remind himself that even if the brightest source of light he’d ever known was across an ocean, at least he had the second-best option to keep him company.
The moonlight felt harsher, by comparison, oftentimes carrying with it a cruel reminder that sometimes being beneath the same stars wasn’t enough.
Dream used the word ‘love’ easily and without restraint, never shying away from reminding the people he cared about that he, in no uncertain terms, loved them as much as he was capable of putting into words. He wasn’t sure when the word began meaning something different when he said it to George, just that it was beginning to feel impossible to rebuild the dam he’d attempted to stow away his feelings behind now that the floodgates were open.
He’d run out of ways to rationalize it, to delude himself into believing this was nothing more than a longing for in-person contact, pretending that anyone would feel this way waiting to meet their best friend.
Dream started writing down his thoughts almost out of necessity, deciding that if he didn’t put his formless yearning into something tangible he’d never be able to coexist with it. He had no real end goal in mind, knowing he’d never release a song so transparently about his questionably unrequited love for his best friend, but words were comforting. Words had a beginning and an ending, could exist somewhere other than as formless expanses of desire and sadness inside his own mind.
Dream had expected to feel jealous when Sapnap left for England, and he did, but it was far from the searing, crimson-tinted sting he’d expected his envy to take the form of.
He wasn’t jealous that Sapnap was getting to meet George first — they were best friends too, after all, and he knew that what George needed more than anything was just to have at least one of his best friends by his side before the loneliness became too intolerable. What he yearned for, what kept him up at night anxiously waiting to hear from the pair of them, was his displeasure with the fact that he couldn’t be the one to physically be there for George and ease his heavy heart.
George was depressed, George was lonely, George just wanted to be home, and Dream was jealous of the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it in the way that Sapnap could.
When George would text Dream pictures constantly throughout the day, little snapshots of everything he saw and ate, anything that made him think of Dream at all, Dream thought he should feel more satisfied. When George was on the phone with him late one night, after Sapnap had long-since fallen asleep, and told him that he was the happiest he’s been in months but it still felt like something was missing because Dream wasn’t there, Dream thought that — selfishly — he should’ve been glad. He should’ve found solace in the fact that he wasn’t alone in his longing, that George felt it too, the same desperation that seemed to hover menacingly over his every move. Instead, he muted his mic before George heard him choke back the sob that rose up in his throat without warning. He can’t find even an ounce of satisfaction in the potential that George is equally as torn up by the distance between them, in the possibility that perhaps his feelings aren’t as unrequited as he’d believed.
It isn’t fair, his mind screams as he puts all of his anguish and heartache into writing.
Love isn’t going to suddenly dissolve the ocean between them, isn’t enough to convince the U.S. Embassy to suddenly approve a visa application.
The sky is a pale tangerine that’s just barely begun to show hints of shifting to blue as the sun settles into its position, having only just climbed above the horizon when weeks later, Dream is woken up by a phone call.
He doesn’t even hesitate when he reads George’s contact name through blurred sleep-weary eyes, pressing the button to pick up before pulling himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes and taking a sip of water. George wouldn’t have called if it weren’t something important, well-aware of the fact that his calls bypass all of Dream’s ‘do not disturb’ settings.
“Dream,” George’s voice sounds somewhat choked as soon as the call connects, and if Dream weren’t awake yet he certainly is now.
“George, hi,” he mumbles wearily, attempting to clear his throat after hearing the sound of his own scratchy voice.
“Dream!” George repeats, and Dream hears what sounds like rustling of papers and then what he assumes is George’s phone being set down abruptly on his desk. “Dream, I got it.”
“George?”
Dream thinks he feels the entire planet stop spinning on its axis.
“Dream, I got my fucking visa, I’m holding it.”
Dream can hear George’s voice shaking, and wonders if he’s crying. His heart squeezes at the thought, and he doesn’t even notice there are tears streaming down his own face until he laughs out loud and it sounds more like a sob.
“Oh my god,” he gapes at his screen, his mind racing, “It’s finally happening?”
“I need to pack, like, right now,” George suddenly sounds frantic, and Dream laughs harder when he hears George’s chair squeak as he apparently stands up. “I need to-I need to leave, like, tomorrow. I’m coming tomorrow.”
“George,” Dream chokes out between gasps, beaming so hard his cheeks burn, “You can’t leave tomorrow, you’re such an idiot. But… um, yeah. Pack now.”
“‘You’re such an idiot’”, George parrots in a nasally imitation of an American accent, “Yeah, I’m the idiot, congrats. I’m still coming tomorrow. Book my flight right now.”
Dream wipes the tears from face with his hands, shaking his head as he composes himself after the rush of every single overwhelming emotion at once.
“I’m going to book your flight for, um-”
Dream pauses as he gets out of bed, crossing the room to take a seat at his desk and quickly turn on his PC. He taps his fingers impatiently against his desk as he listens to the rustling from George’s end of the call, presumably taking his request to start packing right now very literally. When his screens light up he quickly opens a new window, the search engine auto-completing “Heathrow to Orlando International flights” immediately given how many times he’s checked prices ‘just out of curiosity’, so he’d be ready when the time came.
“-Uh, how does Thursday sound? Is that enough time for you to get all your stuff together?”
George scoffs from what sounds like across the room, his voice moving closer while he speaks, “That’s more than enough time. I’m basically ready, I’ve packed like, everything that I don’t use on a daily basis already anyways.”
Dream feels a little bit lightheaded.
George is going to be here in less than a week. George is going to be here.
Dream finishes writing the song that was never meant to grow into a fully-formed cohesive whole in the middle of the night, one day after George’s visa was approved.
He’d meant for the song to be an expression of his long-distance feelings and insatiable loneliness he felt powerless against, of his unresolved desperation to be there for George in all of the ways he couldn’t — and then George got his visa.
Now, the song was a lot sappier than it had sounded two days ago. Suddenly, there was an element of hopefulness to the lyrics, an insistence upon actually being able to tell the object of his affection how he felt, of not being able to contain it any longer after all of the obstacles in their way had been eviscerated.
He wasn’t sure how truthful any of it was, if he would ever actually manage to verbalize any of these feelings to George as easily as he could write them down, but he dared to feel hope regardless.
George’s flight was in four days. He was going to meet George in four days. Everything else was confetti.
Dream barges into Sapnap’s room sometime while the sun is at its peak brightness, the third day before George’s flight. He’d woken up with newfound resolve, deciding as he unlocked his phone to the notes app page where he’d finished writing his accidental love song that he needed to tell someone, to get his emotions off his chest before he just blurted them out the second George was in front of him in his impulsive nature.
He knocks after he’s already swung the door open, realizing sheepishly that he probably should’ve done so first, but Sapnap is thankfully just sitting at his PC.
“Are you okay?” Sapnap asks as he slides his headphones off his ears and places them down on his desk, narrowing his eyes at Dream, “You look kind of… kooky.”
Dream snorts loudly, “Kooky?”
“You have, like, crazy eyes right now,” Sapnap explains, gesturing vaguely with his hands.
“I’ve been thinking,” Dream sighs, ignoring the way Sapnap pretends to gasp as if this is shocking news. “With George’s visa getting approved, and everything, I’ve just been thinking a lot about how my friendship with him is, like, different, you know?”
Sapnap nods along with him, amusement dancing in his eyes as if he’s already predicted where this is leading.
“I guess I’ve just realized that I, you know-”
Dream hesitates, watching Sapnap’s expression as he grins encouragingly, and he reminds himself that this is Sapnap, this is his best friend, that there’s probably nothing he could say that would phase the younger man in the slightest.
“-I’m in love with George. I think.”
“Yeah, and the sky is blue,” Sapnap deadpans.
Dream rolls his eyes, realizing this is probably the exact response he should’ve expected, but in the split-second he looks away Sapnap has gotten up and immediately ran over to him, crushing him in a hug so forceful it almost knocks him over.
“I could’ve told you that, like, two years ago. But I’m still proud of you,” Sapnap mumbles against his chest, and Dream thinks he feels tears forming in his eyes that he frantically tries to blink away while he embraces the shorter man tighter before letting go.
“You’re going to tell him as soon as he gets here, right?” Sapnap studies him as he takes a step back, and Dream shakes his head.
“Dude, no, I’m not assuming he thinks about me like that. I just-”
“Okay, you’re joking, right?” Sapnap cuts him off, an astounded look in his eyes. “Bro, you didn’t have to hear the way he talked about you when I was in fucking England.”
Dream blinks at him several times, officially feeling lost in this conversation. “Like what?”
“Like, I don’t think he went an entire ten minutes without mentioning you once. And not just in an ‘aw man, I wish Dream was here’, type of way. He kept asking me about you, asking what it was like living with you, if you were touchy, if you gave good hugs? Like, who even asks that?”
Dream flushes, covering his face with his hands, “I’m pretty sure I literally asked you that about him.”
“Do you see my point now?”
Dream looks over at Sapnap through the gaps between his fingers, feeling his cheeks burn as he attempts to process what he’s implying. He sits down on Sapnap’s bed, feeling somewhat dizzy.
“Even if you’re right, I don’t know how I’m supposed to, like, bring it up without it being weird? I’ve never felt this… I don’t know,” Dream trails off, and Sapnap sits down beside him and rests a hand on his back reassuringly. “It’s just so overwhelming. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I literally wrote a song, that’s how desperate I was to try and find the right words for it.”
“Oh my god,” Sapnap gasps, and punches Dream in the shoulder excitedly. Dream expects he’s about to be made fun of for his cliché ‘writing a song about his crush’ moment, but instead Sapnap is just grinning at him completely earnestly. “Dream, just send him the song. That’s like, romcom-level perfect.”
Dream contemplates it for a second, the idea of letting George hear what is by far the most vulnerable thing he’s ever written. The song is, technically, being addressed to him anyways, but he hadn’t exactly been writing it with the intent of ever letting another person hear it. On the other hand, it may admittedly be easier and more heartfelt to confess through something he’s already written, not needing to find any new words and instead using this encapsulation of all of his months of yearning that probably captured what he felt better than anything he improvised could.
“Stop thinking so loud,” Sapnap waved a hand in front of Dream’s face, gently pulling him back to reality. “It’s a good idea. Listen to your genius friend Sapnap, and go text one of your producers and tell them to speedrun an instrumental for you.”
Dream’s eyes shot to his phone in his pocket, guiltily accepting he didn’t entirely hate the idea. “Maybe,” he looked back at Sapnap with a sigh, “I’ll see if anybody can make me a quick instrumental or something, and then I’ll see how I feel.”
He’s sent an MP3 file containing a piano-only version of his song two days later, hastily put together after Dream had insisted that it “didn’t need to be super polished, just something simple to capture the feeling of the lyrics”.
His eyes get watery when he listens to the instrumental, it’s somehow a perfect representation of what he’d envisioned, despite being composed in less than 48 hours based off of an extremely rough phone recording of himself singing the lyrics to the approximate melody he’d imagined. He tips them triple their asking price.
He records the vocals properly later that day, and then decides to just put the track together himself using his amateur knowledge of production software, not wanting to risk it taking too long if he sends it to anyone else. He doesn’t need it to be flawless anyways, just a clear enough representation of his feelings that he can at least consider sending it to George without cringing.
He listens to the song back when he’s finished, and despite still feeling a little bit embarrassed by the unflinching honesty of it all, he realizes he wants George to hear it.
George wakes up around an hour after he finishes the song, calling Dream immediately to complain about how early he needs to get to the airport to make sure nothing goes wrong. Sapnap joins after a while, hearing Dream talking on the phone and spam-texting both of them demanding they switch to Discord, and the three of them talk excitedly about everything they’re going to do as soon as George lands. George records a clip of their conversation for his vlog, wanting to document his entire process of getting ready and going to the airport, which of course includes the three of them staying on call as long as they possibly can.
George hangs up when he gets to the airport, promising to call back as soon as he’s through security and talk until he actually gets on the plane.
Dream paces around his room the entire time he’s left waiting, terrified that there’s going to suddenly be some kind of problem with his visa. Sapnap knocks on his door after twenty minutes, saying he could hear his heavy footsteps through the floorboards, and demanding he come downstairs and watch TV or something, force himself to breathe.
Dream doesn’t have a clue what Sapnap puts on, choosing to stare out the window at the cloudy sky instead, wondering if the early-morning overcast weather will lighten up before George arrives, and hoping his first impression of Florida won’t be rain and humidity.
George finally calls them back after what may as well have been centuries, and Dream picks up before his phone has even finished ringing once.
George jokes about how this is the last hour he’ll ever spend as a resident of England, and the three of them fall into an easy banter-filled conversation about why Florida is objectively superior (with all of their reasons ultimately boiling down to ‘well, we’ll be together here’), and Dream relearns how to breathe at a steady pace.
When George announces that his flight is boarding and that he should probably hang up, that the next time they talk he’ll be in Florida, Dream shoots Sapnap a look that he hopes conveys "please leave the room for a second so I can say something embarrassing”. Sapnap definitely does not get the message, shaking his head at Dream in bewilderment as if he’s just grown a second pair of arms, and Dream sighs and accepts that he’s just going to have to do this with an audience.
“George, before you hang up!” Dream rushes out, “I’m going to send you something. It’s um, just something I’ve been working on, uh… for you. Don’t listen to it until you get on the plane though, trust me.”
Sapnap looks ecstatic, clapping his hand on Dream’s shoulder and shaking him excitedly as if he just won the lottery. Dream feels like he’s going to throw up.
“Oh, okay?” George sounds extremely confused, and Dream can’t exactly blame him.
“It’s not-It’s nothing big. It’s just, uh, something I wanted you to hear before you get here, I guess?” Dream doesn’t mean for it to be phrased as a question, but Sapnap meets his eyes and gives him a thumbs-up, and he’s thankful for the reassurance anyways.
They talk for a little bit longer, exchanging remarks about how excited they are while George gets in line to board his flight, and then George has to go.
“You finished the song?” Sapnap asks as soon as he hangs up, and Dream nods, staring down at his phone in his hands as if afraid it’s going to attack him.
“I’m so fucking scared,” he mumbles, but he opens his conversation with George anyways, opening the attachment with his song and hovering his thumb over the ‘send’ button.
“Dude, you have his entire nine hour flight to reflect on your decisions, you need to send that shit now before he turns on airplane mode,” Sapnap elbows him in the ribs affectionately, sitting down directly beside him and watching the phone in his hand pointedly. “And you have literally nothing to worry about, for the record, he’s going to love it and probably cry or something and then when he gets here you can kiss-”
“Okay, stop,” Dream groans, “I’m sending it.”
What do you see
When you’re lit up next to me
But you feel so far
And it’s all so strange
That you never saw the change
You just felt something go missing in the dark
I wanna write you a letter
I wanna write you a song
I wanna make it better
For when the nights get long
A couple of words
Lit up on a screen
Yeah it’s all just make believe
And from what I’ve heard
There’s miles between
What we say and what we mean
So I told myself if I’m given the chance
I won’t hold back anymore
I’m not gonna keep it all in
Then I close my eyes and try to hide
But all of a sudden
It’s you and me in the middle of it all
So I wrote you a letter
I’ll turn it into a song
Does it make it better
When the nights get long
Dream attempted to sleep at least five separate times before Sapnap left for the airport, not a single one being successful. He’s back to pacing, around the entire house this time, cleaning things frantically in his wake as if he hadn’t made sure their place was kept spotless for the last entire week.
Patches seems unsettled by the constant movement, following him around from room-to-room until he notices that she seems displeased and sits down on the floor, comforting her and making sure she knows he hasn’t completely lost his mind.
Sapnap texts him that he’s with George, that they’ll be home soon, and Dream feels a bit delirious. He glances at himself in the mirror, and finds that he thankfully doesn’t look as exhausted and mildly unhinged as he feels. He definitely should’ve slept.
He finally accepts that the house is as clean as it is going to get, and settles down back in the living room, watching as the sun begins to set. The shifting of hues from vibrant cobalt to a soft lavender is somehow calming, and Dream is glad the weather cleared up after such a rainy morning. The sunsets on rainy days are always the prettiest, and even if he can’t quite see it the same way Dream can, he hopes that George’s first sighting of his new home will be beneath this acrylic-looking sky.
Dream hears the sound of a car door closing outside, and immediately jumps up to wait by the front door.
George is going to ring the doorbell, or knock, or just open the door himself, in a matter of moments. George, who he’s waited what may as well have been an entire lifetime to meet, who he just indirectly confessed his love to, is about to be standing on his front porch.
He hears knuckles rap against the wood, and his hesitation fades all at once.
He swings the door open so hard the hinges whine in protest, and George is there.
George is there, standing in his doorway silhouetted by the sun setting behind him, his eyes wide and unmoving from Dream’s face, his lips parted in an expression Dream doesn’t know how to read, but he’d hazard a guess is something close to amazement.
“Hi,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper, shy beneath George’s unwavering gaze. “How was the flight?”
George doesn’t answer, instead he surges forward and embraces Dream with all the force of countless years of waiting, and Dream loses the ability to think.
He wraps his arms around George so tightly he definitely lifts him slightly off the ground, so relieved to finally, finally know what it feels like to hold him and he concludes that if it were up to him, he’d never let go. He feels the vibrations of George laughing against his chest, and he thinks maybe he starts laughing too, but it’s possible his shoulders are just shaking because he’s crying.
He’s definitely crying when George pulls back slightly, not releasing the grip he has on Dream’s waist but just enough to look at him again, their eyes meeting and he realizes that George is also teary-eyed.
“Did you really just ask me how my flight was?” George’s nose scrunches up when he laughs, and Dream thinks he might pass out. George reaches up and tentatively places a warm hand against Dream’s tear-stained cheek, and Dream can’t stop smiling as he leans down just slightly, hoping George never pulls his hand away.
“You’re a real person,” George says matter-of-factly, his smile only growing when Dream laughs softly against his touch.
“And you’re here,” Dream whispers, and George just nods, moving his hand to the back of Dream’s head and feeling his hair, then pulling him into another hug.
Dream melts into George’s embrace for the second time, closing his eyes and deciding that this is enough, that even if his feelings aren’t reciprocated, even if George were to fly back to England tomorrow, this is already enough to keep him going for another decade, at least.
Sapnap clears his throat and Dream pulls himself out of his George tunnel vision, opening his eyes and watching as Sapnap puts George’s vlog camera down on top of his suitcase before running up the porch steps.
“Okay, you got your moment, please stop ignoring me now,” he whines dramatically, though he’s beaming at them, and Dream rolls his eyes but immediately releases George enough that he can pull Sapnap in too, turning this into a group hug.
“I can’t breathe,” George complains, “Sapnap, you’re crushing me.”
“That’s literally not even me, that’s Dream!”
“Well, I could breathe a second ago before you were involved, so it’s your fault.”
Dream bursts out laughing, amazed by the fact that George hasn’t so much as crossed the threshold yet and somehow the two of them have already found something to bicker about. He reluctantly lets go, taking a step back as he remembers they’re still standing in the doorway.
“Come on, let’s bring your stuff in,” Dream says to George, trying not to get caught up in the way George is staring at him again.
George shows no signs of moving, and Sapnap just scoffs as he watches their prolonged eye contact with a fond smile. “I’m gonna give you a few minutes,” he wiggles his eyebrows at Dream as he says it, stepping past him to walk inside.
George nods, watching Sapnap walk inside and shut the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone on the porch with only the slowly-appearing moon and stars for company. He looks back at Dream a moment later, studying him again as if attempting to memorize his face.
“Hi, George,” Dream begins, feeling his cheeks turn red beneath all of this attention, “You never answered me about how the flight was?”
George’s eyes flash with something unreadable before he responds, “It was fine, other than the fact that I spent nine hours and twenty minutes looping the same song, trying to figure out if it means what I think it means.”
Dream’s face immediately flushes, he’d honestly almost forgotten about that. “Do you think it… means what you want it to mean?”
A crease forms between George’s eyebrows quizzically, and he laughs softly as he nods his head. “I think that you’re ridiculous for waiting until I got on my flight to tell me what I think it’s supposed to tell me.”
“I was scared,” Dream whispers, his voice falling so quiet he actually worries George may not even hear him.
“Dream,” George takes a step toward him, and reaches out and takes his hand. Dream intertwines their fingers effortlessly, George’s smaller hand fitting perfectly, like they were made to be joined together like this. “I loved it, but I really hope you never release it. I want this one to be exclusive just for me.”
“I wasn’t planning on releasing it,” Dream laughs at George’s pleased expression. “I actually wasn’t even planning on finishing it, originally. But, I thought… I wanted you to hear it. Since it’s, you know, about you.”
“And it means what I think it means?” George asks, and he’s still smiling but there’s the slightest trace of a quiver in his voice, and Dream realizes he’s nervous too.
Dream doesn’t want to keep dancing around this, not when they’ve both already done so much waiting. He takes a deep breath, grounding himself, and finds the courage to look directly into George’s eyes.
“Well, if what you think it means is that I’m kind of in love with you, then… uh, yeah.”
George doesn’t even allow him time to panic, immediately cupping his chin with his unoccupied hand and pulling him closer so he can kiss him.
Dream’s brain takes a second to catch up, to process the fact that he’s kissing George, but his lips feel like they’re on fire when he finally comes to his senses and slides their mouths together more firmly.
George kisses him like he’s thought about this for as long as Dream has. Dream uses his empty hand to grasp at the material of George’s hoodie, pulling him closer and silently begging him not to let go, to stay like this forever. George steals all of the air from his lungs and when he separates their lips just for a moment to take a breath, George exhales softly as he chases his lips, blushing when Dream’s eyes widen in fond amusement.
“I love you too, obviously,” George whispers, meeting his eyes and breathing in shakily, and Dream reaches up to hold the hand George still had beneath his chin, pulling it forward so he can press his lips against his knuckles, then leaning in to recapture his lips.
The next time they break apart for air, Dream forces himself to resist the temptation to immediately kiss George again. “We really do need to bring your stuff inside,” he laughs, and George groans as if this is a horrible inconvenience.
“Can’t we just make Sapnap do it?”
Dream presses a short, chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth, “I think Sapnap is going to go through enough, having to be the third wheel now, I’m not going to ask him to be a bellboy too.”
George scoffs, “I mean, if you paid him he’d definitely do it.”
“I am not paying Sapnap to bring your luggage inside!” Dream laughs incredulously, kissing George’s cheek when he just scowls at him. “You’re actually ridiculous.”
“And you love me anyways, so you’re ridiculous by association,” George manages to maintain a completely serious expression, corners of his mouth downturned as if he’s truly going to continue arguing against moving his own suitcases about five metres forward inside the house, and Dream is so, so in love with him.
Dream ultimately ends up moving George’s luggage himself, because he’s in love with him, though he attempted a deal of offering to kiss George if he helps him and then was utterly defeated by George’s flawless logic of “you’re going to kiss me anyways, so I have nothing to lose by not helping.”
The sun has long-since settled beyond the horizon when they do make their way inside, but the pearly shine of moonlight feels much less cold and unforgiving when the brightest light source Dream has ever seen is right beside him, putting the entire galaxy to shame.