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Dream is a rambler.
It takes him ages to get anywhere. He just talks, and talks, and doesn’t stop talking until he forgets what he even wanted to say in the first place. Then he leaves, and comes back when he remembers, and the cycle begins again.
George doesn’t really mind—he’s quite used to it. He might even find it a little endearing. There is, however, a time and place for everything.
Bursting into his room while he’s playing Valorant, past midnight, and after a long ass recording session is definitely not it.
“Is there something you need to tell me, Dream?” George asks once the round is over, putting an end to his best friend’s endless babbling.
“Yes, sorry,” Dream mumbles, a wary lilt curled around his words, and drags a hand down his face. “Uhm— Okay. My aunt and her husband want to go away for the weekend ‘cause it’s, like, Valentine’s day. And they have a daughter.”
George frowns, eyeing him for a second after buying his shields. Dream stares carefully, his hands behind his back, small and scared like a confused puppy. It throws George off. He wonders what he could possibly want to ask him. Something tells him he won’t be too thrilled to find out. “Okay, and?”
“And, well, they asked me if I could take care of her.” The next round starts, with George barely listening to his teammates. It’s fine. They’re getting their ass kicked. He can’t save them. “I said yes because I thought it’d be the three of us. But, uhm— Nick is— He’s going to North Carolina, also— for Valentine’s, and—”
“Wait,” George cuts him off, shaking his head without looking away from his monitor. It takes a while for Dream’s words to sink in. “Wait, what?”
Dream chuckles behind him. “Yeah, I know.”
“Oh, my God,” he grins, not even trying to hide his excitement. He gets distracted; before he notices, he’s being cornered by two players of the other team. “What the muffin? Oh. Ugh, I died,” he hits his desk, one of his teammates screaming inside his headset. He ignores him, swiveling his chair around to look at Dream. “That’s epic.”
“It is!” Dream’s smile glows with earnest elation. God knows how long he’s been rooting for those two to finally get their shit together. “It’s huge.”
George always got Sapnap’s end, and his friend wasn’t a fan of Dream meddling into his life. He wouldn’t shut up about hypocritical and ironic and look who’s talking and— Yeah, George never really got what he meant. He seemed to be having some issues.
What George did get a part in was a friendly bet with Dream, almost a year ago, still across the ocean. He smirks when he remembers, raising a taunting eyebrow. “Yeah, you owe me a thousand.”
His friend’s face falls, eliciting a loud laugh from George. Beating Dream will never cease to amuse him. “I— That’s what you meant? I thought you were happy for them!”
“I am happy for them,” George corrects and turns back around, focusing on his game again. His… 11-3 game. Oh, well. “But I’m also happy that I won our bet.”
“Okay, whatever,” Dream rolls his eyes, and grabs an extra chair to sit next to George, watching him play—or get absolutely destroyed. That’s more fitting. “About Mia, though—”
“Who’s Mia?” he asks carelessly, his tongue between his teeth as he tries to regain focus. It’s not going great for him.
“My aunt’s daughter!” Dream throws his hands up in exasperation. George bites back a smile. “Keep up, George.”
“Okay, sorry,” George says as the round starts, and his teammate huffs in his ear. If he wasn’t throwing so hard, he’d give the guy a piece of his mind. “So you’re leaving to take care of her?”
Dream chuckles nervously. “No, actually, uhm— She’s coming here.”
George’s eyes widen, and he misses his shot. By a lot. He’s about to scream at his friend, but the guy in his headset isn’t done bothering him. “Dude, can you tell your boyfriend to shut the fuck up?”
George is officially fed up. “Can you tell your mum to suck my dick?”
Dream gasps and swats his arm, absolutely scandalized by his behavior. “Wha— George!”
George scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, I’m not live,” he says, right before getting a very nice kill. “There you go, fucko. You can shut up now.”
“Oh, okay,” Dream mutters under his breath, snorting weakly. “You’re toxic.” George smirks at the underlying satisfaction in his tone.
“This guy’s an idiot.” He shrugs, trying to justify it. “Wait, no. Oh, my God.” He dies, just like three of his teammates, and watches as the idiot in question loses a 1v1. “You’re trash!” he yells, rage-quitting after losing his third game of the night. “I give up. This game sucks.”
Dream shakes his head as he bites back a smile, and pats his back in a futile attempt at comforting him. George scrunches his nose as a reflex, but Dream doesn’t seem to notice.
“Okay, so she’s coming tomorrow around four.”
“Wait, what?” A frown grows on his lips as he looks up at his friend. He doesn’t remember agreeing to that. He definitely didn’t agree to that. “No. Dream, no.”
Dream leans back on the chair, and frowns too, out of sheer confusion. It’s less aggressive than George’s, but just as exasperating. “Why not?”
George gets up and looks down at Dream like he’s trying to intimidate him. “I can’t deal with children,” he says, but his friend doesn’t cave. He still looks like a stupid puppy. A stupidly adorable puppy. “They scare me, Dream.”
If his friend cracks a fond smile, it doesn’t get through to George. It doesn’t. “No, she’s really sweet, George! You met her at my family Christmas, remember?” He gets up too, putting a hand on each of George’s shoulders. George glares at one of them like it’s burning, then back at Dream’s sweet eyes. Somehow, he looks even softer. “You were really good with her.”
George hums in consideration. Dream is also insistent, when he puts his mind to something. Really, really persuasive. So he only has one shot at getting himself out of this. “But— Won’t that be weird?” he tries, cocking his head with shallow innocence. “Us taking care of a child on Valentine’s day?”
Dream’s determination falters, but George can tell he won’t back down. His hands do fall from his shoulders, though. That’s two L’s for George. “It doesn’t have to be.” He shrugs shyly, flashing him a bigger smile. “And, come on. It’s not like we had anything better going on.”
“Ha!” George scoffs, raising his eyebrows. Dream’s smile dies like a flower struck by lightning. “Speak for yourself.”
Dream looks at him like he just turned into a ghost before his eyes. “What?” he chokes out, then clears his throat, always so good at playing pretend. “You— you have a date?”
George tries really hard not to smirk at that tone. He takes his sweet time to walk to his desk and grab his bottle of water, taking a long sip as he sees the desperation in Dream’s limbs reach its peak. When he notices he’s about to burst, he speaks again, in a quiet voice. “No, I don’t,” he says, and witnesses Dream’s deflation. He does smirk this time. “But you didn’t know that, did you?”
Dream scoffs—because, apparently, that’s an excellent argument—and rolls his eyes as he walks a step closer to him. “No, because I don’t care,” he whispers, and rushes to speak before the laugh boiling under George’s tongue has a chance to escape. “Listen, it’s only two days.”
George regains composure, exhaling deeply. Fine, he’ll let that one go. There’s a more important battle in his front that he has to attend. “I don’t know, Dream,” he peers, running his hands through his own hair. Dream pouts and intertwines his fingers, like he’s pleading. Like he’s begging. George groans. “Kids are so much work!”
“George, c’mon,” Dream insists, grabbing his shoulders again. Something mischievous glows in his face, the same color as danger. “You can finally be my Valentine!” he says, but George can tell that wasn’t the final blow. He takes a deep breath before he adds, “you owe me. Don’t forget—you’re my wife.”
George groans louder, covering his face with his hands and tilting his head backwards in exasperation. “Oh, God, it’s weird already.”
“Okay— okay, no,” Dream laughs and grabs his wrists, revealing his face. He’s so touchy, all of a sudden. He must really need George’s help. “Just— please? I can’t cancel on her now, she asked me weeks ago.”
“And you waited until the last minute to tell me so I couldn’t say no,” George deducts, his lips twitching in discomfort.
Dream gives him an embarrassed blush and apologetic eyes, letting his wrists go and hiding his hands behind his back. “I’m so sorry,” he says. George knows he means it. “I really thought Nick would be here. I should’ve told you sooner, though.”
“Yeah, you should’ve,” he sighs, shaking his head lightly. He offers him a faint smile, to let him know he’s not actually mad. Not for now, at least.
“Please, George,” he repeats, because the other two times weren’t enough. George’s mouth tweaks, but he’s quick to bite it down. Because this isn’t affecting him in any way whatsoever. Dream catches it and smirks, like the annoying man he is. “Please.”
“Ugh, fine!” George grants, feeling his cheeks flush crimson. He turns around to hide it, as he says, “but I’m not changing any diapers.”
“She’s five!”
—
George isn’t the kind to freak out. He never goes crazy, aside from when he’s putting up an act for the camera. He’s a grounded person, a well put-together adult, with very good critical thinking skills and all that.
Well, unless he’s around Sapnap. Or any other person he deems a child.
That being said… George is freaking out.
Okay, he’s not, like, screaming and running around with his hands in the air like SpongeBob and Patrick. He’s more subtle about it. It would take a genius to realize.
Dream looks over his shoulder and frowns lightly, tapping it to get his attention. “Didn’t you wash that plate already?”
Okay, maybe not a genius. Dream will do.
“It’s dirty,” George explains, scrubbing the dish like it personally wronged him and he’s trying to get revenge. He won’t feel bad for it, it helps him calm down. Somehow.
“It’s— it’s not, George.” He knows George, so his words are careful, sheepish. But despite his best attempts, it still doesn’t save him from the death glare George shoots him. He clears his throat, trying to remain unfazed. “You washed it.”
“There’s sauce on it,” he says. Dream bites the inside of his cheek. George looks at the plate and frowns, clicking his tongue before starting again.
“Okay, no,” Dream says, and takes the dish away from his hands. George stares at him and crosses his arms, a silent request for him to give it back, deemed futile against Dream’s unwavering resolution. “Do we need to talk about this?”
George shrugs, dismissive. “‘Bout what?”
“You’re being— weird. That plate is clean. And we have a dishwasher, why are you even—” He cuts himself off with a sigh and shakes his head, knitting his brows before looking at him again. “Georgie,” he tries. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he lies, then tries to turn around to leave. Dream wraps his hand around his wrist and pulls, bringing him back. George shakes him off with a groan. “What, Dream?”
Dream eyes him up and down, making him shift in place. George’s gaze is defying; his guard’s up. A useless move, given that Dream has always been able to read him like an open book. He feels better like this, though, protected. From what, he’s not sure.
A smile breaks on Dream’s lips like a tropical storm. He cocks his head lightly, humming before speaking. “Can I hug you?”
George shakes his head in confusion, taken aback by the sudden request. He used to do this a lot when they first met—ask him before initiating any kind of physical contact. As if he could ever say no after being away from him for so long.
George got it. He always got it.
He doesn’t get it now, though. He switches his weight from one leg to the other, and rolls his eyes to ignore the way his heart is beating right now. “I don’t need a hug,” he chokes out, and crosses his arms on his chest.
“I know.” Dream nods, but moves a step closer all the same. “But I do. Can I?” He wraps his hand around George’s wrists, guiding him to open his arms.
George swallows and peers, confused by Dream’s behavior. He’s lying. He knows he’s lying, why would he need a hug? If anything, George should be the one to need a hug. Which he doesn’t, because he’s fine. He doesn’t freak out. And Dream is—
Dream is hugging him.
He exhales, strong arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders, pressing him flush against an even stronger body.
Well, he can’t do much now.
“Okay, fine.” George’s words crash against his friend’s collarbone, pulling a giggle from him. He hugs tighter, inviting him to hug back. George knows he doesn’t have to, but he might as well. It’d be rude if he didn’t.
Very carefully, very slowly, he wraps his arms around Dream’s waist. He holds his own fist behind Dream’s back, his oversized hoodie and his sweater paws making him feel a lot smaller than he actually is. Before he even notices, he’s melting into the embrace, digging his nose deeper into Dream’s shoulder.
It might feel a little better than doing the dishes, but he’d never say that out loud.
After a while, when the sweet gesture borders on something else, they break apart. Dream’s eyes are golden, like honey. It makes George feel a little crowded. “Better?” Dream asks, in a low voice, taking a step back.
George shrugs and swallows, avoiding his friend’s gaze. “I didn’t need it.” The lie is sour on his tongue. Dream can definitely see it, but he won’t say anything. He never does. “‘M fine.”
“You’re fine,” Dream repeats, and it sounds a little different. Reassuring. Like he’s trying to convince George, rather than prove him right. “She’s amazing, and super chill. No need to be scared.”
George rolls his eyes. “I’m not—”
“Which is great!” he cuts him off, his smile shining even brighter. “Because I know you’re not. You’ll do great.”
George puckers his lips, giving him a wary look. His stomach feels funny, like he just did thirty cartwheels. He’d say something else, but it doesn’t seem worth it.
The doorbell rings.
Dream squeezes his shoulder in reassurance for the last time before leaving to get it. George goes right behind him. Again, it’d be rude not to.
Dream gives him enough time to take a deep breath before opening the door, revealing a blonde, thirty year-old woman, and a child. George kind of hoped it was someone else. The mailman, perhaps.
The woman smiles brightly at him, and it’s scary how much she looks like Dream. “Hi, George, how are you?”
Sick. Dying. Scared of your five year-old kid. Please, get her out of here. “I’m good, Laura,” he says instead, trying his best to return the gesture. “Thank you.”
“Glad to hear that.” She nods and turns to Dream, reaching out a hand to squeeze his arm. “Thank you so much for doing this. I hope I’m not ruining your weekend.”
Well, actually…
“Not at all,” Dream says, ever so polite. He puts on a bigger smile as he crouches, meeting the girl that’s standing idly by her mum’s side. He opens his arms and she instantly hugs him.
“Uncle Clay!” she says before breaking apart, then bumps their fists together. Dream ruffles her hair and George squints, because he does that with him, too. He doesn’t know how to read that.
“He’s a natural,” Laura says, drawing George back to reality. He shakes his head lightly before looking at her. “He’ll probably take over.”
George huffs as Dream gets up with a soft giggle. “No, George will definitely help me,” he corrects, then looks at George with an arched brow. “Right, Georgie?”
“Hi, Geowge,” the child says, then clings onto George’s hoodie, grabbing it with her little fist. George smiles awkwardly at her, moving her hand away.
“Yeah, of course.” He nods, holding his breath. Laura laughs as Dream shakes his head, looking back at her.
“We’ll try our best,” he assures, before hugging her goodbye. “And you’ll be back…”
“Sunday,” she confirms. She better. George won’t spend one second more than necessary in this situation. “Bye, George. Don’t let him take over.”
George forces out a laugh, lightly grabbing the kid’s restless hands to keep her in place. “I’ll— try not to.” He feels Dream’s eyes on him, and chooses to ignore them. “Bye, Laura.”
She waves him goodbye as Dream closes the door slowly, turning around to kneel next to the kid. “Hi, Mia,” he smiles, showing off his dimples. George lets go of the girl’s arms, and she wraps them around Dream’s neck. “George, stop being rude.”
George takes another deep breath as his friend gets up with the child in his arms, a brow raised in indictment. He looks at the girl and smiles, as honest as he can manage. “Hi,” he says. “Remember me?”
Mia smiles back.
Okay, baby steps.
“You came home for Chwistmas,” she tells him, like he doesn’t know. He supposes it’s a thing kids do—point out the obvious.
“I did,” he confirms, because he has to humor her, or she won’t like him. That’s also a thing kids do. (See? He’s good at this.)
“I still can’t say your name,” the kid says, a light frown growing on her lips. “But I twied.”
Something warm spreads across George’s chest. “That’s okay. We can practice later.” His smile grows more genuine, and he turns to Dream for approval.
He nods eagerly, like he’s proud of George for being able to hold a conversation with a five year-old. It’s a low bar, but he’ll take it. He’s already doing better than he expected.
Dream hitches the girl higher and pokes her cheek, getting a giggle from her. George takes notes in silence. “So how did school go?”
—
“George,” George says, sitting criss-crossed on the couch, mirroring Mia’s position.
This has been going on for a while.
She tilts her head with a frown, and tries again. “Geowge.”
“It’s her R’s,” Dream says, leaving a tray with two mugs and a glass on the coffee table. “She sounds British.”
“No, she doesn’t.” George shakes his head and looks at her again, wearing his polite smile. He refuses to drop this. “George.”
She squints. “Geowge.”
“You’re saying the same thing, George,” Dream says, handing him one of the mugs. George takes it without looking at him. He sighs as he gives Mia the glass. “If anything, I should be teaching her.”
“‘S not the same,” George mumbles, taking a sip of his… chocolate milk. Okay, he’s one of those guys now. It’s fine. “And she’s not British.”
Dream laughs and sits on the other end of the L-couch so George can see him. “Clearly. But she’s saying it— in British.”
“English, idiot,” George rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. Dream scoffs, and takes a sip. George tries again. “George.”
Mia shrugs, defeated. “Geowge.”
George leans against the back of the couch and groans, getting two soft laughs in return. He’s glad to know his frustration is amusing to someone, at least. “My own kids won’t say my name, will they?”
Something like confusion flashes in Dream’s expression, but it leaves as fast as it came. He peers, lips curling up in a soft smile, and takes another sip. “To be fair, your kids will call you Dad.”
“Fine.” George shrugs, then looks at Mia. “I give up, then.”
“No giving up,” she says, shaking her head like he just gave him an excellent life lesson. George huffs a laugh and ruffles her hair, like Dream did at the door. She giggles this time, too.
George raises his eyebrows and sips his drink. “What do you suggest, then?”
Mia takes a moment to hum in consideration. Then, her eyes light up with an idea. “What’s your weal name?”
Dream chortles, almost choking on his milk. George glares at him and takes a deep breath before looking back at Mia. Something tells him he’ll be taking a lot of those this weekend. “That’s my real name, Mia. George.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders drop in disappointment. George feels bad about it, so he reaches out a hand for her to grab. Instead, she clings to his forearm and drops her weight on the couch, resting her head on George’s stomach.
He panics, for a moment; but when he looks at Dream, he’s already smiling at him. Too many emotions glow on his face for George to focus on that, but it lights up something under his skin. It makes him feel a little safer.
His cheeks feel warmer, for some reason. He clears his throat as Dream shakes himself out of his daze, looking down at the girl with the same smile. “You can call him Gogy.”
“Gogy?” she repeats, throwing her head back to look at George, seeking approval. Her smile grows when she gets a nod, and then she’s looking back at Dream. “Why do you call him Gogy?”
“I don’t,” Dream says gently, and shakes his head. “But some of our friends do.”
“It’s a nickname my friends gave me,” George explains, getting back her attention. “When I was small, like you.”
“‘M not small,” Mia says, leaving George’s arm to cross hers on her chest. “I’m almost six.”
George hums before poking her nose, and she cracks a tiny smile. He’ll admit it, she’s cute. He’s not hating this so far. “Oh, but you are. Embrace it.”
“I don’t know what that means.” She shrugs, sitting up next to him. A soft laugh escapes Dream’s lips.
“That’s okay, Mia,” Dream says, leaving his mug on the coffee table and sitting on the other side of her. “It means ‘accept it’.”
“Oh, okay.” She nods, then turns her head towards George’s side. She pokes his stomach. “Sowwy, uncle Gogy.”
George’s eyes snap open, something moving inside of him. That was unexpected, but not unpleasant. He smiles down at her, pouting lightly.
Dream beams, giving him a reassuring look. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing the kid and sitting her on his own lap. He tickles her belly and she laughs, reaching out her hands to put them on Dream’s face.
Okay, that’s fucking adorable.
The scene is too domestic for George’s brain to process it properly. Between Mia’s words and Dream being at the peak of his boyfriend material arc, he’s having a lot of mixed feelings. He’s not sure what to say right now.
He stays quiet until Dream notices, and tries to shake him out of it. “She calls Nick uncle, too,” he tells him, poking his arm to get his attention back.
Dream was probably trying to be nice, to be encouraging, but George can only frown at that discovery. “Sapnap took care of her too?”
“A few times, yeah.” He shrugs, still playing with the girl on his lap. She doesn’t pay George any mind, too focused on escaping Dream’s embrace.
George puckers his lips, and flexes his legs up on the couch. He hums, then nods with sturdy determination. “Okay, I have to beat him.”
Dream stops in his tracks and laughs. Too loud, if you ask George. He was completely serious. “How— how can you beat him at being an uncle?” he asks through his smile. Mia laughs with him, but George is not sure she knows what’s going on.
“I’ll just be a better uncle than him,” he says, tone way too sober for how lighthearted this conversation is, but he doesn’t care. He’s a man with a plan. He can’t let Sapnap beat him—especially not when it’s regarding Dream’s family. It doesn’t seem right.
Dream shakes his head fondly, looking at him with stars in his eyes. George has been seeing them more often, making his irises glow a new shade of green. He doesn’t know what to think of it. “Alright. If that means you won’t leave me alone with her…”
“Of course not.” George frowns lightly and takes a sip of his neglected chocolate milk. He arches a brow, and a corner of his lips curls up softly. “I promised you, didn’t I?”
Mia’s hands finally get Dream’s attention on her, but George doesn’t miss the blazing look Dream shoots at him before dropping the topic entirely.
It’s gonna be a long weekend.
—
Mia had school today. She likes school, she said. Apparently, she has a lot of friends, and she really likes it when they play outside. Her teachers are nice, and once a month, they watch a movie on the projector.
Her favorite movie is Frozen, because she likes the color palette. (She didn’t use the words ‘color palette’, obviously, but George got it from context clues). She says she wants to be like Anna, someday, because her hair and her dress are cool.
She made George promise they’d watch Frozen the next day. Dream says she’ll forget, but George isn’t entirely sure. He kinda wants to watch it, now that she mentioned it.
He didn’t tell Dream that.
They had dinner around eight and Mia was in bed by ten. She asked Dream to carry her. George didn’t appreciate Dream’s joke about her being “just like you, George!”
Whatever that means.
So, George is doing the dishes. No—George is loading the dishwasher, because he’s not freaking out anymore. He never was, really. He’s an adult. He doesn’t freak out.
“Hey,” Dream calls when he gets back from upstairs, standing behind George, and following his actions with his eyes. “Wanna do something?”
George turns around, leaning back on the counter. He arches a brow. “Bored already?”
Dream shrugs, a sweet smile on his face. He looks soft, really soft. He looked soft all night, but it’s different now. More private, perhaps. “Thought you’d wanna hang out.”
“Okay.” He beckons Dream to follow him to the living room. His hands are tingly, for some reason. He holds onto his sweater paws for dear life.
As soon as they sit, a comment leaves Dream’s lips like a compressed air bullet. “I didn’t know you wanted kids,” he says, then grimaces, like he’s been trying to hold that one in, and failed miserably.
George smiles and frowns, looking at him with curiosity. “What?”
“Earlier, you said something about, uhm— your own kids,” Dream explains, shifting awkwardly in his spot. It’s endearing. “I just— I didn’t know you were planning on having kids, you said you were awful with them.”
“Well, yeah,” George purses his lips, taking a moment to think about it. He doesn’t even remember saying that, to be honest. “But I’d like to think I won’t always be.”
Dream nods, turning sideways to face him better. He looks more curious now, more eager. George should get a penny every time he looks like a puppy. He’d be rich. Richer. “So you’ve always wanted kids?”
“I guess, yeah,” he admits. “I dunno. Every time I think of, like, being old and stuff, I have children.”
Dream presses his lips to contain a laugh, then raises his eyebrows teasingly. “But you’re already old, George.”
“Shut up, idiot,” he scoffs, lightly hitting his arm. Dream laughs with him, leaning lazily on the back of the couch. George peers before asking, “do you want kids?”
“Yes! Kids are epic,” Dream says instantly, his expression brightening up. George bites his lower lip for a split second, looking at him sweetly. “Kids love me.”
George shakes his head. “Of course they do.”
Dream peers, his warm expression never leaving his face. “What does that mean?”
“You’re like— a giant teddy bear,” George tells him. He really is, with his big hoodies and his cat beanies and his overall warm, big presence. He giggles, just thinking about it. “You’re— an IRL Barney. Of course kids would love you.”
Dream giggles and tilts his head, scooting a little closer to squeeze George’s arm. His hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary. “That’s sweet, thank you.”
George shakes his head, biting back a smile. “It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Yes, it was,” he raises his brows, ever so annoying.
“Well, it wasn’t meant to be one.”
“Alright, fine,” he says, lowering his voice and leaning forward. He shamelessly scans George’s face, no trace of the shyness he’d been wearing all morning. “But I’ll take it as a compliment.”
George shrugs, trying to be dismissive, but he can’t shake the lovestruck expression glowing on his face. He melts lazily into the back of the couch, averting his gaze before his cheeks get too warm. “Suit yourself.”
Dream giggles, laying back next to him. Their arms graze when he moves; he feels the body heat emerging from his skin. It might be an unusual thought to have, a strange thing to notice. But he does. He feels Dream beside him.
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, until Dream talks. “I don’t think you’re awful with kids, by the way.” His voice is hushed, like he’s scared he’ll break something by speaking louder.
George turns his head to look at him. “I am.”
“No,” Dream looks back, and they’re close, for some reason. George could name every freckle on his face from this distance. He won’t, but he could. “You were great today. Mia loved you.”
Sweet words settle on George’s stomach, warm and bright, like a candle. “How would you know?”
“She told me,” he says simply. “When I took her to bed.”
George blinks, taken aback. He didn’t expect any declarations. He shakes his head, looking away with embarrassment. “That’s because she’s your family.”
Dream sits up a little bit, lips threatening to curl up. “How so?”
“Okay, first of all, everyone in your family loves me,” he says, a hint of pride coating truthful words.
Dream scoffs with no bite. “Okay, that’s true.”
“And she’s like— she’s like a mini-you,” he continues, only now turning to look back at him. Dream can’t help his smile anymore, unsurprisingly satisfied with that comment. George’s point stands. “That’s easier than regular children.”
Dream’s smile turns more taunting. “Regular children?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Like, children that aren’t related to you.”
Dream takes a moment to think, something warm spreading across his face in the form of a light blush, buried as deep as the true meaning behind George’s statement. George puckers his lips as he waits for him to gather his thoughts. “So it’s easier for you because she looks like me?”
“She doesn’t just look like you, Dream. She talks like you, too.” He shakes his head, shifting in place and turning to face him fully. He sits on his ankles and looks intently at his friend, who simpers. “She makes the same dumb jokes you made when we met. And you were essentially a kid.”
Dream can’t even turn off his smile to protest. “Okay, I was sixteen.” His voice is sweet, too sweet. George can taste it from here. He’s absolutely delighted with this conversation, looking at George with sheer adoration.
George shakes his head again, for lack of a better response. “Exactly. A child.”
Dream rests his elbow on the back of the couch, and his face on his hand. He squints at George, his expression blurry, and lowers his voice. “Well, I’m not a child now.”
George swallows, averting his gaze for a split second. “Clearly.” Dream flashes a smug smile, and his friend wants to slap it off him. “But— I don’t know, she just sounds like you. It’s like— When you have kids, it’ll be easier, too. They’re just mini versions of you,” he shrugs. “I can deal with you.”
George doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dream smile this hard. He looks stupid, with his pink cheeks and his glossy eyes and his puckered lips. George doesn’t know what got into him tonight.
He pokes George’s ribs, and for some reason, it feels like he just gave him an electric shock. He smiles awkwardly, trying to shake it off. Dream doesn’t give him time, scooting even closer to lean his head on his shoulder. “Well, your kids will love me, too,” he whispers through a smile, then looks up at George. “If they’re anything like you.”
George peers, drunk and dizzy with closeness. It’s not precisely unusual for them to be like this, but today was… an emotionally charged day. Dream isn’t helping in the slightest. “That’s— no,” he frowns lightly, aware of the teasing grin Dream pointlessly tries to hide. “You’re setting me up.”
“You love me, George,” he twinkles, craning his neck a little bit. His words trace warmth on pale skin when they crash against it.
George shakes his head, smiling down at Dream as flowers bloom on his cheeks. He’s so close, and he looks so soft, and George feels drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. This isn’t his usual behavior. “No, I don’t,” he lies, flicking Dream’s forehead. Dream grimaces, moving away. “And neither will my kids. They’re gonna hate you.”
He moves a hand up to his own chest, and grabs it dramatically, gasping like he just heard the most ludicrous thing in the world. “So you want their favorite uncle to be— Sapnap?”
George hums in consideration, then shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Dream raises a taunting brow. “Who, then?”
“I dunno,” he says, peering as a joke grows on his tongue. “Bad.”
Dream guffaws, throwing his head backwards. When he looks back at George, he does with a triumphant smile. “Oh, they’ll definitely love me. I’ll teach them all the curse words.”
George gasps, swatting his arm. Dream falls to the couch, still laughing, and George hits him again. “Oh, my God. Stop corrupting my imaginary children, Dream.”
“Okay, fine,” he sighs, regaining composure. He pokes his ribs again, like he couldn’t handle a longer touch if he were to initiate it. “We’re dropping this until we have children.”
George snorts, a playful blush creeping into his face. “Oh, now we’re having children?”
Dream’s eyes snap open, and it’s George’s turn to laugh. “Okay, you— shut up, idiot. You know what I meant.”
“Fine, I’ll do it,” he taunts, sighing with fake resignation. “I’ll carry your children, Dream. If you insist.”
Dream’s cheeks glow a new shade of red, and that’s coming from someone who can’t even see red. “You’re— oh, my God,” he scoffs in sheer embarrassment, averting his gaze. It’s amusing. “Stop. That’s— not possible.”
“Obviously, I know that.” George rolls his eyes, falling next to him again. He pokes his arm, and when Dream turns to look at him, he blows him a raspberry. “I was kidding. You silly goose.”
Dream’s face brightens up, as he shakes his head with endearment. He leans in once more, because he has no regard for George’s sanity, and whispers, “ha. Kidding. Get it?”
“Oh, my God,” George groans and drags a hand down his face, eliciting another laugh from Dream. “Could you stop thinking about children? You’re actually scaring me.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, sitting up with exertion. George gives him a puzzled look before he gets up from the couch. “That’s enough for tonight. Let’s go to bed.”
George has to bite his lip to hold a joke about how inconvenient that wording is. He doesn’t think Dream would appreciate it. So he nods instead, and gets up too. “Fine. Wake me up when Mia’s up.”
Dream nods back with a soft smile, reaching out a hand to squeeze his arm. “I will. Thank you.”
George cocks his head. “Why?” Dream looks at him, but doesn’t say anything. He looks softer again, like he’s made out of cotton candy. He’d probably taste just as sweet. George bites his lip at the thought, trying to kill it before it can fully form, but he can’t stop the warm feeling spreading inside his chest. “Good night, Dream,” he whispers, before it gets the best of him.
Dream nods. “Good night, Georgie.”
—
Mia’s beaming. “I won!”
Dream wraps his arms around her. Their laughs spill like music into the air as they swim around in the pool, pulling from George the most idiotic grin he’s ever flashed.
They’ve been in the water for almost two hours. He lost count of how many times they’ve raced, but Mia was crowned champion of over ninety percent of them. (Of course, Dream had to win a few, or she’d get too suspicious. And, well, to feed into his ego.)
George never thought in depth about being a parent. Not until recently, at least. He always assumed he’d eventually have children—if he found someone good enough to share his life with—but he’s not in a rush.
He didn’t even know he wanted kids in the first place, he thought he just… wasn’t against the idea. But yesterday and today’s events have realigned his brain chemistry forever.
Okay, he knows it doesn’t really mean anything. He knows that spending two amazing days with his best friend and a child doesn’t mean that he’s suddenly cracked at parenthood and that he’s ready to be a father. He definitely isn’t. It’s just the first time he can actually see the appeal in it, and thinks that he wouldn’t mind having a kid of his own one day. He’d be totally okay with that.
He’d love that, even.
Especially if his future partner is anything like Dream—so thoughtful, fun, loving. He wouldn’t mind having that, either.
His thoughts bounce all around the pool as he looks at the two blonds from a distance. He’s glad no one here is a mind reader, because that would be embarrassing for him.
He thinks he can’t be blamed. Dream and Mia are throwing water at each other, their expressions flooded with mirth and elation and every positive word in the dictionary. He’s never seen Mia so happy—which might not seem like a lot, considering he’s only interacted with her a couple days at a time, but it doesn’t make it any less true.
Dream, on the other hand… He’s not sure how to describe him.
Water drops look like pearly glitter in his hair, reflecting light differently with every shake of his head. They fall on his back and shoulders almost gracefully, like he’s been showered in stars. George can see every line of muscle, every darkened freckle, every inch of skin.
Dream doesn’t even know he’s staring, which makes matters even worse, somehow. Because he’s not trying to show off; he’s not trying to impress. He’s just standing in a pool, looking effortlessly beautiful while he plays with his cousin who, for some reason, calls him uncle.
It’s an age thing, he gauges.
It’s cute.
If George didn’t know them, he could believe she’s his daughter. She looks at him with so much adoration, and Dream is so nice to her, and they look so fucking similar. Same blonde hair, same green eyes, same bright smile.
Dream will be an amazing father, he’s sure. It’s like he was born for it. George hopes he gets to see it, someday.
“C’mere, uncle Gogy!” Mia calls for him, unable to escape Dream’s embrace. She laughs loudly, trying to swat his arm so he’ll let her go, but it’s fruitless. “Save me!”
George takes a deep breath, putting on a gentle smile before approaching them slowly.
He avoids Dream’s gaze the best he can. He’s not sure he can handle him right now—golden eyes, golden freckles, golden hair; hypnotic under the sun, like it was custom made.
It seems unfair.
George stands next to them, and looks down at the girl. “What’s the problem, young lady? Is this man bothering you?”
“Yes,” Mia giggles, and it merges perfectly with Dream’s gasp. “He’s a bad guy. Help me.”
“Oh, well.” George clicks his tongue, finally looking up at Dream. His cheeks look darker from this distance; George smirks to hide his nerves. “What are we gonna do with you?”
Dream shrugs, a wide smile growing on his face. “I’m gatekeeping her.”
“I see.” He hums, peering at him for a moment. Then, he moves closer to the girl, and whispers. “Mia, escape.” And right then, George’s hands fly to Dream’s waist to tickle him. It’s cheating, he knows, because Dream is way too ticklish for his own good, but he deserves it.
Dream starts laughing and squirming instantly, and it’s not long until his embrace feebles, allowing the girl to swim away. She laughs too, from a distance, cheering for her savior.
“That’s— George!” Dream laughs, and George does the same, sneaky hands moving all over his back and neck. In a heartbeat, Dream regains composure and turns to him, grabbing each of his wrists in his hands. “You little—”
George raises his brows, smiling up at him. “What, idiot?”
His breath is ragged, and he eyes George restlessly, his gaze jumping from one place to another, like he’s studying him. Ultimately, he settles for his hands, and lets go of them slowly. “Nothing.”
George frowns lightly, shaking his head in confusion. His friend gives him a polite smile before swimming past him and towards the kid, like nothing happened.
It’s when it hits George, how strange Dream’s been acting since last night.
No, it was before that. He’s been acting strange since he unpromptedly hugged George in their kitchen. He’s not sure what that was about.
To be fair, George has been acting strange too. But he’s allowed that—it’s a totally different situation. Because George may or may not have just realized his best friend is the textbook definition of boyfriend material. The fact that he’s, like, amazing with kids is not helping. And he’s pretty, but he already knew that.
It didn’t seem so life-changing before, though.
It’s not a big deal. It’s temporary. It’ll go away. He’s just soft because it’s only them in the house, watching Frozen and playing in the pool and sharing meals like a little family.
Oh, God.
No. Absolutely not. He did not just think that.
He’s going insane. He has, like, baby fever. It’s ridiculous. He’ll recover. Surely, he’s just being stupid, and everything will go back to normal on Sunday, when that child leaves.
He’ll go back to his normal life of not pining for his best friend, and not falling for his talent with children, and not being utterly crazy and unreasonable.
He only has to make it through one more day. It’s not that hard. He can do it.
He snaps back into reality when he feels a steady hand on his lower back, and a sweet voice next to his ear. “Wanna race us, Georgie?”
Okay, maybe he can’t do it.
“No,” he says, way too quickly, causing Dream’s hand to retreat. Dream frowns and George shivers, scoffing lightly to dissimulate. “Uhm— I’m kinda tired. I think I’ll just go shower, but— you can stay here and then we’ll have dinner.”
Dream relaxes a little bit and nods, eyes shy and lost in the water, the sky, and everywhere but George’s face. “Okay, yeah.” He nods, then swims backwards, putting some distance. “Tell me if you need anything.”
“In— the shower?” George asks, his tongue moving faster than his brain. A hint of panic tints his voice, but he tries to hide it behind a weak huff.
In a heartbeat, Dream’s eyes go from nervous to teasing, and he arches his brow with a sly grin. “No, idiot,” he says quietly, as George feels heat pooling under his skin. “With dinner.”
“Oh.” He scoffs, playing dumb, like he didn’t just have a heart attack. He gives Dream a pointed look when he notices he’s biting back a laugh. “You’re funny, actually.”
Dream grimaces. “How am I funny?”
“You think I’m making dinner,” George says, smiling warmly.
Dream sighs, but the fond expression doesn’t leave his face. “Of course I am.”
—
“Uncle Gogy, that’s yellow!” Mia scolds, kneeling on her chair to reach for the mouse.
George sighs, throwing his head backwards in exasperation. “I’m colorblind,” he tells her, poking her cheek with a finger.
The kid frowns up at him, the task of fixing his mistake fading into the background. “You’re blind?” she asks, waving a hand in front of his eyes, as if she’s trying to check for herself.
George giggles and wraps his hand around her wrist, stopping the movement. “No, silly. Colorblind. I don’t see colors like you do.”
“Oh.” She hums and nods, then cocks her head as the frown vanishes from her face. “How?”
“Like— Okay, look.” George opens his creative inventory, putting yellow and lime wool in his hotbar. He flies away from the house he and Mia were building, and places one of each on the grass. “These look the same to me.”
“But they’re diffewent!” Mia tells him, pointing at the screen, like that will help George see it. “That’s green, and that’s yellow.”
George giggles, ruffling her hair. “Yeah, but I can’t see it. To me, they look the same,” he repeats, watching as thoughts turn like gears inside the girl’s brain. “It’s like— you know those pink sunglasses you have?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“When you wear those, doesn’t everything look— pink? Don’t you confuse colors sometimes?”
“Yes, it’s messy.” She grins, nodding eagerly with her eyes closed. “But I like it, ‘cause it’s pink!”
George smiles, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, well. For me, green looks like yellow,” he says, pointing at the two wool blocks again.
She hums, dropping her shoulders. “I’d like evewything to be pink,” Mia says, and George wisely chooses not to tell her he can’t see pink, either. She’d be crushed. “But then—” She frowns again, looking at him. “—how do you know what’s what?”
“I can, sometimes, but it’s hard. I have special glasses that help.” He turns to look at her, and flashes a warm smile. “Or I just ask your uncle Clay.”
Mia giggles, content with the answer. “He says you always ask him for stuff. And that he can’t say no to you.”
George twinkles at the confession. “He said that?” he asks, and she nods. He gauges a five year old won’t know the meaning of the word ‘simp’. “That’s ‘cause he loves me.”
“Oooh, okay,” she nods again in understanding. George is not sure she got what he was trying to say. “And do you love him?”
George scoffs, heat pooling under his cheeks. This is exactly why he doesn’t talk to kids. He gapes dumbly, but no words come out of his mouth.
Just when he’s about to divert her, a loving voice comes from the door. “I’d like to know, too,” Dream says, walking into the room with a cocky smile and wet hair. He just came out of the shower—his sensitive skin blotchy because of the hot water, merging beautifully with his sunburns from earlier today. Enticing.
George scoffs. “Were you eavesdropping?”
Dream giggles, grabbing a third chair to sit with them in front of the computer, by Mia’s other side. “Pfft, no,” he says, but George knows he’s lying. He gives him a knowing look, and Dream shrugs. “Just answer the question, George.”
Mia looks at him, expectant, with the same smile Dream wears every time George says something mildly incriminating. It’s unsettling, really, how similar they are.
He ignores the ache in his chest as he looks up at Dream. “No,” he deadpans, pressing his lips into a line. “You don’t get to spy on us and demand things, Dream.” George gets up from his chair, walking to stand behind him. He lets one of his hands fall on Dream’s shoulder, and squeezes lightly. “I’ll go get water,” he says. “I expect an apology at the time of my return.”
Dream huffs out a laugh, swatting George’s hand, pulling a soft smile from him. “Whatever, idiot.” He shakes his head, turning back towards Mia. “We’ll be having fun. Right, Mia?”
She nods eagerly, pointlessly trying to reach out for the mouse. Dream grins as he puts it in her tiny hand, ruffling her hair too.
George figures she’ll get tired of it after this visit, but he still smiles at the scene, hidden from Dream’s gaze, and sighs softly before leaving to get his water.
He takes longer than necessary on the way there and back. He gulps down an entire glass while in the kitchen, and pours himself another one because he knows he’ll need it. His throat feels dry already.
The glass is cold beneath his fingertips, and his skin feels way too warm given how low Dream likes the A/C. He’d never been so aware of the Earth’s rotation, dizzy as the ground shifts and moves under his feet.
All his senses are heightened and his brain can’t catch a break.
Dream managed to etch himself into his heart and stomach, and no matter how hard he tries to burn or drown or shoot the feelings growing inside him, he’s starting to think that any attempt will be deemed fruitless.
He keeps telling himself he just needs to rest. It’ll go away.
When he gets to the top of the stairs, he sees their giggles floating in the air, drowning the hallway in yellow light. It surrounds him as he walks to the office, hands a little shaky, breath a little ragged.
He plops into the chair without saying a word, shifting awkwardly on the spot. It’s his old chair, because Mia staked her claim on the new one. George didn’t get a say in that.
He snaps into the conversation when he feels a tiny hand fall intently on his forearm. “Uncle Gogy,” she calls softly, like she can read the tiredness in his eyes.
George blinks once, twice, then wraps an arm around her little shoulders and squeezes lightly. “Yes, Mia?”
“Mia wants to tell you about her favorite animal,” Dream chimes in, bright eyes trained on George’s arm around his cousin.
“Oh!” George puts up a smile, looking back down at the kid. “What is it?”
“A panda,” she says, proudly.
George hums and nods, curiosity giving him his glint back. “Yeah, I guess pandas are kinda cool,” he approves, then shifts slightly to face her better. “What do you like about pandas?”
The girl doesn’t hesitate. “Uncle Nick likes them.”
“Okay, no.” George’s face falls, and he glares at Dream when he notices the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “That’s not a good reason.”
“Why not?”
“Because… Cats are better. Or penguins. They’re the same color as pandas, but way cooler.”
Mia hums, seemingly considering it, but she ends up shaking her head. “I think pandas are cool,” she insists. “Uncle Nick says they are fluffy and adowable.”
George sighs, then pokes her nose with his index finger. The girl scrunches it, but he can tell she found it amusing. “Well, uncle Nick doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
To that, Dream finally breaks, letting go of a loud laugh. George is about to tell him to shut up when Mia starts laughing as well, throwing him off. She falls backwards on the chair and points at him rudely, her eyes crinkled and watery.
George glares at Dream. “Oh, you made this happen,” he accuses, pointing his thumb at the kid as he tries hard to remain serious.
Dream laughs louder and high-pitched, like he does when something makes him hysterical. It drives George insane in ways he can’t explain. “You got so upset!” he mocks, starting to tear up. “That’s a kid, George!”
George takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for effect. He looks at the girl with an exaggerated smile, bringing his own hands together in front of his mouth. “Mia, wanna paint?”
She sits up, struck with excitement, and nods eagerly. “Yes!”
“Okay!” George takes her in his arms and makes her stand on the floor, pointing at the door. “Go grab the paint and draw on Clay’s clean shirts! Isn’t that fun?”
“Let’s go!” she cheers, turning to run towards the door, but she crashes midway into Dream’s extended arm.
“Okay, okay. No,” Dream says, lifting her off the ground, hitching her up in his arm. “Come here, you little demon,” he tells her, pulling a giggle from her. Mia wraps herself around Dream’s neck, burying her face in his shoulder. He takes two steps towards George. “And you—”
“What?” he asks, craning his neck to look into his eyes. Okay, he’s tall, and standing a little too close. It’s fine, he can handle it. He won’t shy away from it.
Dream’s smirk is shaped like his thoughts. He ruffles his hair; George can tell it’s his way of trying to assert dominance. “You’re also a little demon,” he says, in a low voice, painting red across George’s face.
He huffs a laugh, shooting him a blazing look. He arches his brows, for effect, and notices a hidden glimmer in Dream’s eyes that he wisely chooses to ignore. “Don’t treat me like a child.”
“Not a child.” Dream shakes his head, and carefully puts one of George’s curls back into place, behind his ear. “Just a menace.”
George bites his tongue and swallows, feeling all kinds of heat pool under his skin. It’s embarrassing, really, how vulnerable he is to his best friend’s actions. How pliant.
Dream seems to snap out of it right on time, tapping the kid’s back to catch her attention. “You need to shower,” he tells her, and Mia pouts.
“Come on, Dream.” George rolls his eyes, clasping desperately at his self-restraint, and trying to get back his confidence. “We were having fun. Right, Mia?” he asks, smiling at her, and she nods eagerly. “Your uncle Clay is a party pooper.”
Mia smiles brightly, turning her head towards Dream. “Ha. Pawty pooper,” she repeats. “You poop.”
Dream presses his lips, and George has to bite back a laugh. “Okay, I’ve had enough of you two,” he says, only looking at George for a split second before looking back at the kid. “You need to shower, and then we’re going to bed.”
“You’re wude, Clay,” she complains, pulling away from Dream to cross her arms on her chest. “You’re a pawty pooper. Em— Embwace it!”
George’s face lights up, and he points at her with excitement, as if trying to ask Dream, did you hear that? See what she did?
Dream smiles, despite himself, and tickles her lovingly to make her laugh.
“Let’s go, Mia!” George cheers, moving closer to them again and reaching out one of his hands. “Give me five!” And Mia does, pulling an even bigger smile from both adults, who drop their endless bickering to share a proud look.
Dream uses his free hand to squeeze George’s shoulder reassuringly, his expression coated with a feeling he can’t quite place.
You did that, he translates. She learnt that from you.
George’s heart grows ten times its size, his skin taut around it, chest pounding to its fast beating. A spark in his stomach lights everything else on fire.
He looks back at the kid sweetly, Dream’s gaze burning holes into the side of his head. When he talks again, his voice is spent, like the only thing he can utter are his deep buried secrets. “Alright, go shower now,” he tells Mia, eager to get some time for himself, to take a step back from this situation Dream dragged them into. He smiles softly, hiding his wounds. “We don’t wanna anger the party pooper, right?”
Dream sighs as he shakes his head, attracting George’s gaze with the movement. Once more, his cat tendencies take a toll on him. “Stop calling me that,” he asks, a little better than George at playing pretend. There’s a first time for everything.
“We’re having a private conversation, Clay,” he says, his tongue sharp against his teeth. Dream’s smile grows, and a slight pucker of his lips does nothing to hide it. “It’s rude to interrupt, you know?”
“Yeah, Clay,” Mia chimes in, to George’s delight, and looks at her uncle with indictment. “Don’t be wude, or I’ll tell mom.”
They don’t share a mother, that’s what’s funny. Mia’s threat is empty, but Dream capitulates all the same. He’ll let her have this one, if that means he can walk out of this conversation with nothing but a few scratches. “Okay, sorry,” he grants, raising his free hand in surrender. “‘M not rude, I promise.”
George smiles fondly, softened by his twenty-two-year-old friend’s acquiescence, accepting defeat to make a child happy. He shamelessly chooses not to add that to the list of things he does for him too.
“We’re leaving now,” Dream repeats, like he’s trying to convince himself, rather than make an announcement. “Say bye, Mia.”
“Ugh, fine,” she mutters under her breath, and George smiles even fonder. The way stuff rubs onto children is fascinating. He wasn’t wrong when he said she’s a mini-version of Dream. “Bye, uncle Gogy.”
“We can come back later,” Dream says quickly, like he just remembered it. He looks at George pointedly, spreading him open like a book. “If— that’s okay.”
George hums in consideration, but ends up shaking his head. “I think ‘m gonna go to bed,” he drawls out—to Dream’s disfavor—and forces out a weak yawn. “‘M tired of your BS.”
Dream’s eyes snap open. “George!”
“What?” He giggles playfully, and shrugs, to annoy him even more. “I didn’t say anything.”
Mia’s confusion puts her innocent thoughts into words. “What’s BS?”
“Oh, my God,” Dream mutters, cheeks burning red. He turns to walk away before George’s banter loses him his babysitter privileges forever. “Say bye, Mia.”
“I alweady did!” she complains, her frown growing on her lips. Dream looks at her coyly, almost out the door, and she sighs before doing as told, albeit reluctantly. “Bye, uncle Gogy.”
“Goodbye, princess,” George replies easily, waving his hand in the air. A joke grows in his head, pulling his lips up into a smirk. He stifles a laugh at Dream’s back, before adding, “and bye to you too, Mia.”
Dream doesn’t stop, but George’s expert eye catches the quiver in his next step. Mia’s giggle softens the blow, and vanishes with Dream’s stubbornness into the hallway.
—
George’s hand is bleeding.
He doesn’t remember exactly how it happened. One second, Mia was grabbing a pair of scissors from their kitchen drawer. The next, he’d taken them from her, and was hissing in pain with a wounded hand.
The girl didn’t seem too worried for her own safety. Or George’s, for that matter. She was just playing, after all. If George hadn’t gotten involved, it’s likely no one would’ve been hurt.
He doesn’t know what hit him. Mia’s mother was five minutes away; everything had gone perfectly. He was so close to getting out of this unharmed, to deem the weekend a success, and he fucked it up. Last second.
Laura was very nice about it. She thanked him for protecting her kid, smiling like she always does, but George could tell she secretly thought he was an idiot.
That’s fine. He agrees, actually.
“Fuck, that hurts,” he hisses as Dream presses a piece of cotton to his palm, soaked in alcohol. He’s relieved that he can finally curse again. It was starting to feel like a three-day subathon.
“I’m almost done,” Dream tells him, then grabs a small bandage from their first aid kit, and covers the wound with it. “There you go.”
George falls backwards into the couch, eyes shut, groaning in frustration. Dream places a hand on his knee and squeezes softly to calm him down.
“I feel like an idiot,” George confesses, peeking through one eye to find his friend’s gaze.
He smiles softly. “Why, George?”
“I, like, freaked out. She had a stupid pair of scissors, not a nuke.”
Dream giggles, grabbing his good hand to pull him back up. “That’s parenthood.”
“She’s not even my kid,” he scoffs, averting his gaze shyly. He doesn’t feel like talking about parenthood with Dream, of all people. “It was dumb. It was impulse.”
“It was instinct,” Dream corrects, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “It takes some time. You just— you need to learn how to control them.”
George shrugs, shifting in place to lean back down against the couch. Dream mimics him this time. “Whatever. I won’t have children anytime soon, so I don’t care.”
Dream hums, but doesn’t talk. They fall into comfortable silence, sitting besides the other as the most recent events keep sinking in.
George’s hand stings. He probably won’t be able to game properly for a while. The fans will be thrilled about that, he’s sure.
At least, Mia seemed happy. She told her mum she had a great time, and said she didn’t want to leave. It’s the only thought that offers some comfort.
Despite everything, George is almost certain he made a good impression. It’s not like he’d offer to babysit ever again, but it’s nice to know that Dream’s family trusts him enough with that responsibility.
Two days ago, it was an entirely different story. He would’ve hardly agreed to take care of a clay doll.
The only reason why he plowed on was Dream. He couldn’t let him down. Sure, he tried to get himself out of it, but if Dream really needed him; he would’ve never left him alone with a kid to deal with by himself. He’s not an asshole.
Now he thinks he might regret it. Don’t get him wrong, Mia is absolutely adorable and a lot like Dream, hence, easier to take care of than most kids her age. She’s funny and nice and she was comfortable around him right away.
The problem isn’t Mia. The problem is himself. He’d been pushing down a lot of feelings without even realizing, and having to focus on something so adult forced him to leave that matter alone for a few days.
He thought they’d be fine unsupervised, but as it turns out, feelings are just like children. They can be chaotic, messy, annoying; and if you don’t learn how to deal with them, you end up hurt and overwhelmed and wanting to kill them. Figuratively.
George doesn’t remember a time in his life when he’s felt this frustrated, which makes matters even worse, because he shouldn’t feel so terrible about it. He did a good job—he’s sure he did. Mia wasn’t hurt, she didn’t cry, she had fun. So why does he feel so fucking stupid?
“Hey, are you okay?” Dream asks, in a tone that makes George think it’s not the first time he’s spoken.
George shrugs and presses his lips, which feel salty and wet. He’s crying. That doesn’t make sense.
“What’s wrong, George?” he asks again, a big hand falling on his shoulder. He gives him the puppy eyes—the ones he always uses when he needs George to speak, to open up. It’s not so common. More often than not, Dream can tell what’s wrong without even asking.
“I don’t know,” he lies, averting his gaze so his friend won’t notice. “‘M just tired, I guess.”
Dream puts a comforting hand on his chin, angling it back towards him to connect their eyes again. “You know you did great, right?”
“‘S fine, Dream,” he says through the lump in his throat, and leans his head on the back of the couch.
“Mia loved you, she had so much fun with you,” Dream insists, as if he didn’t know that. It’s still nice to hear, though. “I’m sorry you hurt your hand, that’s frustrating.”
“Yeah,” George agrees in a thin voice. He presses his eyes shut, letting a few more tears roll down. He’s not sure this is how crying goes. He’s so calm, so quiet. No one would notice if they couldn’t see him. “I still feel like an idiot.”
“Why, though?” Dream asks again, and George feels him shift beside him. His knee presses to George’s thigh. “George, look at me.”
He obliges. His eyes feel glossy; his eyelids feel heavy—but Dream looks at him like he’s precious. It only adds to his problem.
“What’s wrong, George?” His voice sounds softer each time. He hesitates before reaching out a hand and cupping George’s face, who hums softly as he nuzzles into it. “You did so good, baby.”
George presses his eyes shut. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t get it,” he mumbles, sinking deeper in his place. He looks at Dream again, finding a confused look cradled by furrowed brows. Dream thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away some tears.
“Is this really about Mia?” Dream asks, but it’s not a question. It’s more of a realization.
George’s heart starts pounding rapidly, and he leans forward to hide his face in Dream’s chest. Dream’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t call him out. It only takes him a moment to relax into it, moving the hand on George’s face to wrap it around his shoulders and press him closer.
“You have nothing to worry about, George,” he speaks quietly into his ear, then leaves a faint kiss on the top of his head. “You’ll be a great parent someday.”
George hums in acknowledgement, nodding lightly against his body. He knows it’s Dream’s way of letting him off the hook. “You too,” he says regardless, but means it wholeheartedly. “You just— you’re cracked at it,” he breaks apart, looking into his eyes, his lips slightly curled up. “It’s impressive.”
Dream beams. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I was watching you yesterday and—”
“You were watching me?” Dream asks, cocking his head with endearment. His hand slides down George’s arm until it reaches his fingers, mindlessly toying with them.
George’s cheeks are flushed crimson, but at least he’s not crying anymore. “No, I— at the pool, I mean,” he clarifies, worrying his lip. “I don’t know, you’re just— good with her. It’s, like, wholesome.”
“Aw, George,” he coos, scooting a little closer. “You think I’m wholesome?”
George shakes his head with a faint smile. “Your parenting skills are.”
“Well, yours too,” he says, easily. “When you were playing Minecraft with her.”
George groans in embarrassment, using his free hand to cover his eyes. “I knew you were watching.”
“How could I not? It made me happy,” he whispers softly, finding George’s gaze again. He smiles openly, letting him know he means it.
George simpers. “Really?”
“Yeah. You were so scared the day before but you got the hang of it so quickly,” he praises, wrapping an arm around his shoulders again to pull him closer. George doesn’t resist it, falling comfortably into his chest. Dream kisses his head for a second time, and mumbles sweetly against his hair. “I love how well you get along with my family.”
“Yeah, your family loves me,” he agrees, a prideful lilt coating his words.
Dream lets it sink in for a moment that feels eternal. It rings something in George’s head, making him frown.
Then, Dream sighs, and squeezes him tighter. “They do.”
George blinks once, twice. He lets silence wash over them as he thinks. He wiggles his hand in Dream’s, and Dream doesn’t waste a second before tangling their fingers properly, hugging him even tighter.
George feels a little dizzy. He hears a clicking sound, of pieces falling into place.
Dream kisses his head again.
Oh.
Oh.
Very quietly, very slowly, George breaks apart. “You love me,” he says, staring directly into Dream’s eyes.
He frowns like someone who’s getting old news. “Of course.”
“No, Dream,” George insists, eager, kneeling on the couch and cupping Dream’s face with his hands. “You love me.”
“I— well,” he chuckles nervously, placing his hands on top of George’s. His cheeks glow pink as he knits his brows. “Yeah, I— I do.”
George beams, melting into the cushions. He thumbs at Dream’s cheeks, a curious glimmer in his green eyes. He looks busted, like George just caught him red-handed doing something he shouldn’t. “You actually love me,” he chokes out, voice hushed, huffing in disbelief.
Dream chuckles again before rolling his eyes, and drags his hands down George’s forearms to wrap his fingers around his elbows. “I’ve been saying that.”
George snickers. “No, you— you didn’t say that. Not that.” He shakes his head, but he can’t do the same with the fond smile glowing on his face. His heart feels like it’s going a million miles an hour.
“Well, there you go.” Dream shrugs, like it’s simple. And maybe it is. Maybe George has been tormenting himself for three days straight for no fucking reason. “You guessed it. You win.”
“What do I win?” he rushes to ask, feeling Dream’s hands as they wander down to hold his waist. He doesn’t mind feeling like an idiot this time. He doesn’t mind it at all. “What do I win, Dream?”
Dream smiles widely, leaning closer to nudge their noses together. “What do you want?”
“Same thing you want,” he whispers, looking deep into his eyes.
“Okay, then,” he nods. “Collect your prize.”
George twinkles. “I will.”
“Well, go ahead.”
“Stop rushing me,” he complains, moving to sit on Dream’s lap, one leg on each side of his hips.
Dream’s hands squeeze his waist as he frowns, acting blasé, like he’s not dying to kiss him. George can’t be fooled. “I’m not rushing you.”
“Yes, you are,” George jokes, nodding with his eyes closed for effect. His hands fall to Dream’s shoulders, and he tilts his head. “I might change my mind.”
Dream groans, wrapping his arms fully around him and pulling him closer. “Will you fucking— kiss me, please?”
George smirks, tapping his chest once, twice. He nudges their noses together for a second time, and whispers softly against his lips. “Say please again.”
“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Dream’s hand flies up to grab his face before he crashes their smiles together.
It’s sloppy at first, giggles spilling messily in the way of their mouths, but it erupts bubbles inside George’s chest all the same. Their lips move fast, eagerly; and their bodies are pressed together like they’re trying to make up for all the self-control of the past few days, all the distance of the past few years.
It’s not heated; it’s not lustful. They kiss like they’ve been doing it their entire lives. They kiss like they dance, like they work, like they talk. They kiss honestly, openly, sometimes a little rushed, pouring the best of themselves into each other.
George’s tongue is the brave one, licking Dream’s bottom lip to ask for access. When he opens up, pliant, George doesn’t waste a second before he slips in and starts exploring.
Dream has always been his favorite project, his favorite assignment. He’s always been eager to learn him, to study him, to become an expert in the art of knowing him.
Dream makes it so easy for him, giving himself away on a silver platter. Like he’s no owner to such knowledge, like he’s only keeping it safe for George to take when he’s ready.
George melts lazily into his arms, and Dream unlinks their lips to shower his entire face with kisses. George giggles when he pecks his nose, and moves to hug him by the neck, burying his smile in his shoulder. Dream’s lips find his neck, and George feels like he’s floating, surrounded by warmth and light and snow white clouds.
He thinks he could die right here. It’d be a nice way to go.
“All fucking weekend,” Dream says against his skin, warming it up with his breath. “I’ve been meaning to do that,” he interrupts himself to press another kiss. “All weekend.”
George giggles, breaking apart to look into his eyes again. Shiny green coated with fondness, and pink cheeks burning under his gaze. “Tell me about it,” he concedes, pecking him again.
“You drove me crazy,” Dream confesses, physically unable to move an inch away from him. “With your dumb baby talk, and the way you laughed with her, and I just wanted to— I dunno, squeeze you or something.”
A sweet laugh makes its way out of George’s lips before they meet Dream’s again, insatiable. He feels like he could kiss him forever, become addicted. He doesn’t know how the hell it took them so long to get here.
“You were like a puppy,” George jests, pulling a snicker from him. “You’re in your boyfriend arc,” his good hand tangles in Dream’s fringe, and he looks at him sweetly. “And, like— a dad.”
“DILF?”
George bursts out laughing, and Dream shortly follows. He pecks him once, twice, his cheeks starting to ache with how hard he’s smiling. “Yeah, maybe,” he whispers, only half joking.
Dream shakes his head as their lips meet again in a much longer kiss. This one is slower, deeper, more delicate. This one ignites a flame beneath George’s ribs, and blooms flowers in every crevice of his body.
When they break apart, George presses their foreheads together, breathing heavily against Dream’s mouth. “I feel crazy,” George drawls out, moving his hand up to thumb at Dream’s jaw.
His best friend huffs, and pecks him again. “Yeah. Who would’ve known children made you all soft?”
“‘S your fault.” He feels drawn to Dream’s lips like a moth to a flame. He’s so clingy, all of a sudden. It’s a little embarrassing. He didn’t know he had it in him.
Dream hums in contentment. “Boyfriend arc?” he echoes, and George nods with a soft smile. “Can I?” Dream whispers, granting another kiss. “Be your boyfriend, I mean.”
George beams, his heart warm, surrounded by a million butterflies. He tries to act casual, he really does; but his blazing emotions are way too evident to keep his tone at bay. “I guess,” he agrees, tangling fingers in soft blond hair.
“Yeah?” He smiles back, bright and wide, his hands hooked in the hem of George’s shirt.
George simply kisses him again. And once more, and another time, for good measure. He only stops when he notices Dream’s frown, and gives him a questioning look. “What’s wrong?”
“We missed Valentine’s.”
George blinks once, twice, incredulous. Is he fucking serious? He swats his arm playfully, and notices the way his lips curl up. “God, you’re so stupid.”
“But George!” he insists, trying and failing to bite back a giggle. “That’s, like— tragic.”
“I don’t care about a stupid date, Dream.” He rolls his eyes, a fond smile still present on his face. Dream gives him his best puppy eyes, and George… George is a weak man. “Ugh, fine. We can make an exception.”
Dream raises a brow, a sign that he’s listening. “What kind of exception?”
“Valentine’s for us will be on the fifteenth,” he determines, giving Dream a peck, as if to seal the deal. “So we’re not a normie couple.”
“But then our anniversary—”
“Dream,” he cuts him off with a frustrating groan, and squints to the amusement in his boyfriend’s eyes. “Take what I’m giving you, baby.”
Dream’s cheeks turn vermilion in an instant, as a bright smile coated with shy excitement grows on his lips. “Yeah, okay,” he nods, then cranes his neck to kiss George again. When he breaks it, he looks slightly more collected. Just slightly. He nudges their noses, and whispers through a smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
George smiles back. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dream.”