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George doesn’t bring much from London. His suitcase and a singular carry on is all he has, clothes and belongings shoved into them haphazardly. His flat has never been organized, only enough for it to seem put together in front of a camera, but it’s not, and he blames that on the threat of a move hanging over his head for the past year. He’s been waiting for this day, and now that it’s here, he’s not letting anything hold him back. Not physical objects, not sentiments, and not his heart either.
For the most part, George simply abandons his flat. He’s too lazy to deal with it properly, and too excited to do anything besides metaphorically board up the windows and leave, but he does recognize the difference between leaving his possessions to rot, and deliberately stabbing his heart into the floor.
The way he abandons his bed, and his dishes, and his desk chair is nonchalant. A simple thought process of it’ll be easier to buy new things in Florida, but leaving his heart behind is thought out and purposeful.
There is no place for yearning in Florida. Dream takes up that space, and George can not allow Dream and his heart to exist in the same house, under the same roof. Their friendship will not survive. He’s sure of it.
So George takes a rusted nail and drives it through his heart, into the floor of the carcass that is his flat, and he does so happily. He’s saving his relationship with Dream. Dream should thank him. Preferably, in the form of a new desk chair with a built in massage mechanism. He can survive without his heart in his chest, but it will stay in London.
No room for yearning in Florida, George tells himself as he boards his plane, indulging in every luxury this life has to offer him. Today is a good day, and he intends to smile his way through it. It’s going to be perfect. George will make sure of it.
There’s no room for crying in Florida either. Crying makes the yearning worse, is what he’s found. If he gives in to the ache, it hurts and it just hurts more. It’s better to shove it down, to remind himself his heart is still in that boarded up flat, nailed to the floor.
I’m moving to Florida. You’re staying here. There’s no room for yearning in Florida.
There’s a knock on his door and before George can open his mouth and warble a quiet, “Go away.” Sapnap is entering his room.
Sapnap’s been pushing his limits lately, shoving George around, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. He’s been especially pissy about Banter . They have different ideas of how it should be run and Sapnap has so much more motivation than he does. George refuses to admit that he’s wrong. He knows deep down he is, that it’s his lack of motivation that’s keeping them from recording more Banter episodes in person, but he doesn’t want to give Sapnap the satisfaction of being right.
Does Sapnap not get that asking George to go to North Carolina regularly is too far from Dream? He doesn’t want to be too far from Dream for too long. What if something happens while they’re gone? What if the house gets attacked or Dream brings a girl home?
And sometimes, he just doesn’t want to travel. Sometimes, he just wants to curl up on his mattress on the ground and sleep his life away in the same house that Dream is in. He doesn’t even have to be near him. He just doesn’t want a plane ticket to be the thing that keeps him from Dream any more.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sapnap asks, angry.
George sits up and lets Sapnap see the miserable anger in his expression. His wet, blotchy cheeks and bared teeth. “ What’s wrong with you!” George snaps back. “Why would you do that?”
“Do what? Ask Dream for some fucking help? It’s not my fault that he’s the only one who can get you to do fucking anything, George! God forbid I ask you for one fucking thing. It’s frustrating Karl and it’s starting to piss me off, too.”
“Maybe Karl’s wrong, then!” George snaps back, fisting angry handfuls of his comforter. “Maybe he’s being too pushy. Maybe I don’t want to go to North Carolina every fucking week.”
“No he’s right, George.” Sapnap stamps his foot. “This is your job. It is our job to make content and all you do is mope around.”
George is not moping. He’s like—bread dough or something. He needs to rest to rise. His genius needs breaks. Regular content is not his thing. It’s not Dream’s thing either and that’s okay. It’s his style. Sapnap never questions Dream's pace, so why does he get so mad with George for doing something similar?
“It wasn’t fair of you to go to Dream,” George says, low, dark almost, in the same tone a threat would be said in. “Never do that again.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry you got your little feelings hurt because Dream yelled at you,” Sapnap mocks. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you’d communicate with me like a fucking grown up!”
“Dream didn’t yell at me,” George says, voice still low. There’s an irritation growing in his chest and he’s amazed to find it’s mostly caused by the accusation Sapnap’s making. George isn’t even sure Dream could be angry with him, not truly, and Sapnap insinuating otherwise feels blasphemous. “He just told me how big of a baby you’re being about this.”
“Oh yeah? And that’s why you’ve been crying in your room since you left his office?”
Sapnap’s got it all wrong. Dream can get pissy; he has his own anger, but if Dream were to snap at him, George would be scheming in his bedroom, planning how to get back at him in the most passive aggressive, annoying way possible. But that’s not what happened.
Dream’s disappointment hurts more than anything. It’s the fact that Dream seemed so tired, so exhausted in the way that he looked at George, like he wanted George to go to North Carolina and stay there. George has been pissing off his roommate and his long distance friend all because he’d do anything to stay in the same house as Dream. Dream doesn’t see the sentiment, like George is about as important as a desk chair to leave behind in an abandoned flat.
There’s no room for yearning in Florida, and Dream is really teaching him that lesson hard.
George is wanted. He’s wanted by Sapnap who needs to hold his wrist during flight takeoff. He’s wanted by Karl who needs his face on his podcast to pull viewers in. But he’s not wanted by Dream, and that lesson is being taught to him over and over. That’s why he’s crying, because leaving behind his heart in London may have stopped him from doing anything stupid that would put his most prized friendship at risk, but the phantom pains of unrequited love haven’t gone away.
“Go away, Sapnap. I fucking hate you. Get out.”
“You don’t,” Sapnap says, eyes dark beneath the brim of his baseball hat. “You don’t hate me; you’re just bitter because Dream didn’t choose to side with you. He didn’t choose you this time, George. Get, the fuck, over it.”
George stares, clenching his jaw to keep his lips from wobbling. He can’t stop the hot tears that burn down his cheeks. The tears make everything worse. They make the pain worse, they make the yearning worse. Sapnap does too, but George can’t control him. He should be able to control his tears.
Sapnap’s shoulders sink a little. “Okay, talk to me, man. This isn’t like you. Are you—depressed again? What’s with all the no motivation and crying?”
“Fuck you, fuck off. Get out.” George wipes at his cheeks with the rough back of his sweater paw. He’s been wearing his black Dream smile hoodie too much. The fabric is starting to get rougher from how much it’s been washed and dried. He’s worn it to bed almost every night since the Christmas streams, since Dream wrapped around him and George could still smell him on the sweater the evening after. “Stop trying to make me leave.”
“Make you leave?” Sapnap says. “Is that what you think I’m trying to do? I don’t expect you to go live in North Carolina and move in with Karl. I don’t mind you here. I just want you to make content with us. Do something for once.”
“Why does Dream get a honeymoon phase and I don’t?” George asks.
“What?” Sapnap asks, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t get on Dream’s ass for not making content or not leaving the house. Why don’t I get the same allowance?”
“Because you’re different people,” Sapnap says. “Because you can go places without him.”
“No,” George states.
“What do you mean, ‘no’? Yes you can. The whole point is you can make content without him.”
“When have I ever done that?”
Sapnap thinks for a moment. George watches the little wheels and cogs in his brain turn and twist themselves, probably breaking apart as George reshapes his entire perspective.
The truth of the matter is: George doesn’t do much without Dream, and when he does, it is for his audience. It is for his job. It’s not because he really, really wants to. He can enjoy things without Dream. Parts of him exist without Dream, but sometimes he does lack motivation when Dream’s not involved, because he’d rather be spending his time with Dream. Deciding whether he wants to commit to something that doesn’t involve Dream is always a hard decision to make, but with Banter , he convinced himself he could. He thought Banter would fix him. It would force him to bond with Sapnap and Karl and put some distance between him and Dream.
All it’s done is make him miserable again. There’s no room for yearning, but not yearning makes him miserable. He doesn’t even care that Dream doesn’t like him back anymore; he just wants to be near Dream. He wants to bring a smile to his face for as long as he’s allowed to.
“I was—I was trying Banter for you . Because you and Karl wanted me on,” George admits. “I thought I needed the change.”
“And you didn’t?”
“It’s making me sad.”
“ Banter is?”
“Leaving him.”
Sapnap stands there, mouth open like the words have been stolen from his tongue. He stands there dumbly for a moment, like he’s working over George’s words in his mind, trying to sort them out. George doesn’t blame him. It took him a couple years to work them out himself.
“Oh…”
“Shut up.” George slips back down on his miserable mattress on the floor and pulls the comforter over his head. He doesn’t want to see Sapnap’s face when he figures it out completely, and he doesn’t want Sapnap’s pity. “Get out.”
“Okay, uh—yeah. I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought Dream into this. I’ll go. I’ll—I’ll talk to Karl. We can delay our next recording.”
George listens to the sounds of Sapnap’s footfalls over the carpet. George throws the blanket back abruptly with a stir of panic.
“Don’t tell him,” George blurts. Sapnap turns back around. “I—you can’t tell him.”
Sapnap pauses, hand on George’s door knob. “Tell him what?” Sapnap asks, a coy look to his eyes, but there’s promise there too. If there’s one thing George can count on, it’s Sapnap’s loyalty, and at this moment, it’s in his favor for once. “You haven’t confessed anything.”
Sapnap shuts the door when he leaves and George flops back into bed.
He’s so fucked.
Dream’s such a princess.
George means this in a loving way, but it is true. He knows it’s true, because Dream’s sheets are so much softer than George’s, because all of Dream’s hygiene products are neatly organised in his bathroom, and because Dream’s picky with what he eats and turns his nose up at George’s chicken nuggets and ketchup.
“What?” George asks when Dream enters his bedroom and stares at George in his bed.
“Nothing,” Dream says, walking forward. “Just mentally preparing myself for the chocolate stains on my sheets when I roll over onto one of your chocolate raisins in my sleep again.”
Princess.
“That was one time,” George defends, looking down at the cardboard package in his hand. He’s nearly out, but he knows there’s more stocked in the pantry. He’d get up to find some more but Dream’s here now. He doesn’t want to leave.
“But the stains,” Dream says, “will last forever.”
Dream sits down on the end of the bed next to where Patches is curled up. He pets her head, looking up at the TV.
This has become their routine in the last month. Dream will work for hours, locked up in his office and by the time he’s done, he’ll be too tired to eat or shower until he sleeps. So he’ll find his way to George, who’s begun to make himself at home in Dream’s bedroom, and they’ll watch an episode of their show together. Dream only ever makes it halfway through an episode before he’s asleep, but George enjoys filling him in over breakfast the next morning before Dream stows himself away to work again.
“I’ll stop eating snacks in your bed if you want,” George offers, and Dream twists to look back at him with the soft look of surprise he gets whenever George does something that reminds him that this version of George, that sneaks into his bedroom in the evenings, is the same one that used to sleep call with him. In this moment, he is the George that moved countries for him and not the George that put firecrackers under Sapnap’s toilet seat.
“Mm, no. Don’t.” Dream tosses himself up the bed. He lands on his stomach with his face in his pillow, feet disturbing Patches’ rest. He turns his head to the side to look up at George. “I like listening to the sound of you snacking. It’s like—ASMR or something.”
“ASMR,” George repeats, mocking. “You—you do not like my mouth noises. I know you don’t. You hate mouth noises actually. You told me that.”
Dream scoffs. “When?”
“Somewhere in our lifelong friendship,” George claims. “I know you did. I remember. You hate mouth noises.”
“You remember that, but you can’t remember Sapnap’s birthday?”
“I remember Patches’ birthday. Does that count?”
“No,” Dream says, turning his face into his pillow to laugh a muffled sound before turning back to George. “No it does not.”
Nights like this are not good for George’s soul. When nights like this happen, and Dream looks at him with that large amount of fondness in his big eyes, George starts believing things that aren’t true. It’s an optical illusion. Dream doesn’t love him, just like he’s saying he likes the sound of George snacking, but George knows he doesn’t, because George knows Dream.
At first, George thought he was doing a good job at reminding himself Dream doesn’t love him. He’d leave once Dream fell asleep and everything went fine. He kept himself in line and that kept everything safe.
But one evening, George didn’t make it back to his room on his own. One evening, George fell asleep before Dream, and Dream woke him with a shove and a nervous laugh.
“You can’t sleep here.”
“What?” Confused and disoriented on the edge of unconsciousness, lips chapped from breathing through his mouth, George stared up at Dream, blinking away sleep.
“You can’t sleep here,” Dream repeated.
“Oh.”
So that’s that. Dream reminded him and set the boundary in place. George isn’t allowed to sleep in Dream’s bed. There’s a line that Dream has drawn and George can’t cross it. He won't cross it, because Dream is worth more than the risk.
Dream gets up to do his bedtime routine that George has grown familiar with the pattern of while George finds their show and puts a new episode on.
Dream's room, his bathroom, and his closet are sort of like an apartment within the Dransion (This is yet another reason why George considers Dream a princess in the most fond way. Dream has his own wing of the house. He's asking for it.), so George doesn't really notice Dream leaves his space until Dream comes back and throws a new pack of raisins at George's thigh.
“I like your snacking,” Dream says, getting into his side of the bed. “I like you happy.”
George doesn't know what to say to that. It hurts his heart knowing that Dream tries to give him everything, that he doesn't even have to think to go out of his way for George, but he'll never love George the way George loves him. That's not something Dream can choose to get for him and it's not something George can ask for. He can't make Dream love him. That's just not how this works.
There's no room for yearning in Florida. And there's no room in Dream's bed for George after midnight.
♡
George fucked up.
His routine with Dream has become important to him. He doesn't like when it's disturbed. So when George gets sick, amidst the fog and delusion caused by his illness, everything in him wants Dream's bed.
It's cruel, George thinks as he stumbles his way through the house, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his phone abandoned in his own sheets. It's cruel because back in London, when he was sick, he used to fever dream of Dream then too. Now he has more to think about in his feverish state, a face to put to the name, and the knowledge that Dream’s bed is comfier than George’s. His mind is just on Dream, how a hug from him would make everything better because it has to, and how he'd rather be suffering in Dream's bed than on his mattress on the floor.
He's not even sure if Dream's home. He's working on a new project that he's been visiting his family a lot for: some new songs that George knows the fans will love. He doesn't blame them, because George himself always wants to hear what Dream's been writing. He's been the subject of Dream sharing his stories and poems before. George gets all the behind the scenes writing, and he wouldn't change that for the world.
But Dream writing new songs means he's elsewhere a lot. Which is fine. George can handle that. It feels less like a betrayal when it's Dream who leaves and not George who chooses to go. He's been preparing himself for Dream to put distance between them for years.
George isn't upset at the idea of Dream not being home. He just doesn't like the uncertainty of Dream’s whereabouts when he's sick like this.
“Whoa,” Sapnap says as George comes down the stairs. “You okay?”
George shakes his head, fumbling for the railing in a way that has Sapnap shifting uncertainly on the couch, like he's preparing to get up to race across the tiles and catch George if he were to fall. George wants to snarl at him like a wounded dog. He doesn't want Sapnap touch. Sapnap can't make him feel small and held like George wants to feel right now. There's a time and a place for Sapnap comfort, but it's not now.
“Shut up.”
“Are your allergies really kicking your ass that hard?”
Yes. The answer is yes. The allergies have been kicking him down so hard, George didn't even notice when he started to get sick. He didn't notice the symptoms until he woke up all sweaty with fever, chills, and a weakness to his body. He was already too far gone to take care of himself or prepare by then and now he wants Dream. He doesn't believe Dream would go so far as to abandon him in his time of desperate need.
But then again, he never thought Dream would kick him out of his bed either.
George walks past Sapnap and instead of letting go of his blanket to knock, simply bashes his forehead against the doors to Dream's wing of the house. The pain doesn't register. He hurts too much everywhere else to feel it.
“Uh, okay. I don't think he's in there,” Sapnap says, coming up behind him. George wants to sob. Of course Dream isn't. He knows that. Dream's been leaving too much lately.
George turns to Sapnap, frowning. “L.A?”
“No, I—uh. I don't think so.”
George turns forward again and slams his forehead into the doors a second time, miserable. He wants Dream's bed. He has to do their routine. He has to be there when Dream gets home.
It's an offering each time. Dream doesn't know that. He doesn't get that George sitting there is a silent ask of, come home to me every night.
George will never vocalise that offering. He's not allowed to. It just hurts so bad and he doesn't get it. Dream wants to come home to somebody. George knows he does. So why not him?
“Okay, okay hey.” Sapnap's fingers pry at his shoulder. “Don't cry, George. Please, god, just stop crying.”
George isn’t even aware he’s crying. He’s not really. His cheeks are just wet and his eyes sting, but most of his body hurts more than the tears, so he doesn’t notice their inconvenience.
“Would it make you feel better if we go in there?” Sapnap asks, pushing open the doors to Dream’s wing. George has to stand up on his own and blink stupidly at Sapnap, swaying on his feet. “What’s in here that you want so badly?”
Dream. Dream’s bed. Sapnap should know this by now. He knows George’s secret. He should understand.
Sapnap hangs back a little so George can be the first to step into Dream’s space. George immediately turns right and waddles his way straight to Dream’s unmade bed. He rounds the bed and collapses into his side. He’s too sick to cover himself up but it doesn’t matter because the second he relaxes against Dream’s mattress, he feels a thousand times better.
He’s doing their routine, the routine he’s set up with Dream, even though he’s sick. That must count for something. Sinking into Dream’s mattress, he can’t see his desire to continue their routine as an entirely selfless act. Dream’s bed is just so comfortable. It makes him feel better knowing he’s actively placed himself in Dream’s future path. Maybe Dream will see how miserable he is and take pity on him.
“George, bud?” Sapnap asks. He forgot Sapnap was still there. George groans into Dream’s pillow. It’s now shaped more to George’s head than it is to Dream’s. “Do you want me to get Dream?”
“No,” George grunts. He does not want that, because as much as the empty spot in his chest aches for Dream to come scoop him up and baby him, that’s not what would happen if Sapnap were to go find Dream, wherever he is. Dream won’t take pity on him. Dream will get that uncomfortable look he gets in his eyes whenever he suddenly realises George has been in his bed too long for it to be a normal ‘best buds’ thing, and he’ll kick George right out.
Dream’s sick all the time. Way more than anyone really should be. There’s no way he’s not going to try and reason with George that not only should he suck it up and suffer in his own room, but that he’s barely sick. He’s just sick enough that his allergies are making everything feel like hell.
“Okay, I guess I’ll—I’ll uh…” Sapnap trails off and George secretly hopes he’s planning to make himself scarce and go back to watching TV on the living room couch, hopefully forgetting he ever saw George like this, so sick and so irreparably in love.
Sapnap doesn’t leave. He starts tugging the comforter out from beneath George and George goes to snap at him, but when he whirls around to look over his shoulder, Sapnap’s tugging the blankets over him.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m helping.”
“I’m sick,” George whines.
“I know, George. Shut up and sleep.”
George drops back down, his head aching. He doesn’t hear Sapnap leave. He’s asleep before the doors shut.
George wakes up more disoriented than he was before he fell asleep. He’s too warm, too sweaty, but chills make him shake. No, he’s being shaken. There’s a persistent pressure moving his shoulders back and forth.
George makes a quiet noise of pain. “Stop.” Being rocked awake like this is hurting his head something wicked.
“George.” Dream’s voice is somehow both soft, and strained. “Oh my god, how long have you been here?”
Oh. Oh no. He’s in Dream’s bed. Sapnap told him he could sleep in Dream’s bed. He shouldn’t have. He didn’t mean to. Dream doesn’t allow him to. He’s never purposely slept in Dream’s bed because Dream always says no. George was supposed to just relax for a bit, then roll over, turn on the TV and do their normal routine that doesn’t get him immediately kicked out. Stupid Sapnap getting him in stupid trouble. And now Dream’s never going to let him do their routine again.
George kicks with as much strength as he has left in him (which, turns out, is a concerningly low amount) to try to shove the comforter off. He fumbles for the blanket he brought from his room, searching for it by the feeling of the familiar texture of its fabric.
He finds it and tries to tug it with him as he slips out of Dream’s bed half awake, more or less sliding down the side of the mattress. His knee hits the floor and he lays his head against the top of the mattress. He’s dizzy and he doesn’t know if he can stand on his own.
“George,” Dream says again. The mattress makes a compressing sound and George watches through blurry vision as Dream shuffles his way over the bed to him. “What are you doing, idiot?”
“I’m going,” George says, braving the rest of the way to the floor until he’s kneeling against the side of Dream’s bed. Everything hurts and the dizziness is making him nauseous. If Dream gives him enough time, he thinks he’ll be able to inch his way out of Dream’s room and onto the living room couch.
“Are you asleep?” Dream asks in a softer voice.
Is he? Maybe he’s fever dreaming. That would explain why Dream’s not treating him like he’s hard to look at and demanding George get out of his room as fast as possible.
“I’m going,” George repeats, because he knows he’s taking too long to move and Dream must be tired after working and coding all day. He doesn’t want Dream to yell at him. Dream and Sapnap can be loud. George can be too. They’re all loud, but he really can’t take Dream raising his voice at him right now. Dream never yells at him, but recently George has been feeling like maybe that time is coming soon. Maybe he’s losing his importance in Dream’s life and soon his admiration for George will fade. Maybe he’ll start viewing George the same way Sapnap does, and Sapnap yells at him all the time. Dream might soon, especially when George keeps pushing past his boundaries like this.
George pushes away from the mattress and tries to get a foot under him. Instead, he steps on the tail of his blanket and that tugs him the rest of the way to the ground. George collapses.
“George!”
Besides from the pain that strikes in his temples from his body hitting the floor and Dream’s shout, the floor isn’t too bad. He could sleep here. He has a blanket. He doesn’t need a pillow when his head hurts this much anyway.
“I’m going,” George repeats a third time, way too out of his mind to think up anything else to say that could possibly appease Dream enough for him to allow him to stay.
You can’t stay, his aching head reminds him, so he tries to pick himself up again. The blanket just keeps getting awkwardly wrapped in his limbs so he abandons it, gathering shaky legs beneath himself. He makes a very brave attempt at standing but stumbles and nearly falls back to his knees.
He would have collapsed again, but Dream grabs his bicep tightly and yanks him closer to the mattress. Dream’s still on the bed and he’s trying to pull George back closer to him.
“No,” George says, voice pitching. “Dream.” He was trying to get out. He really was. He doesn’t need Dream to grab him by his ear and drag him out like a misbehaving child. Dream will never let him come back in again if he has to do that.
“I’m so confused. Are you sleepwalking?” Dream’s got ahold of both of his arms now. He’s holding George up against the side of the mattress.
George shakes his head but that makes his entire body throb with the movement. “Awake.”
“You’re awake?” Dream asks. “What’s wrong with you?”
Everything. Everything is wrong with him. He should have stayed upstairs.
“I’m trying to go,” George assures, attempting to tug away from Dream. He can’t. Dream can overpower him on a good day and right now, George’s muscles are cooked noodles. He can hardly hold his head upright. “Let me go.”
“If I let you go, you’ll fall. Just come here, idiot. C’mon, up—”
“No!” George cries, “Stop!”
Dream’s hold on him tenses immediately and George braces himself. He’s really done it this time. Dream was trying to get him up so he could help George leave and George yelled at him for it. Dream’s just trying to enforce the boundaries George broke and he’s being so kind about it but now George snapped at him.
“I’m leaving,” George says firmly, using Dream’s hold on him as added support to stand. He does manage to pull away from Dream this time, but walking around the bed is not so easily done. His knee hits the corner of Dream’s mattress and he nearly falls head first into Dream’s dresser.
“Okay, no. No.” Dream puts a deeper authority into his tone when he grabs George a second time and yanks him back to the bed. “You’re going to hurt yourself. I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing but you need to stop.”
“I’m trying!” George bawls. This is the most pathetic he’s ever felt in his life, in front of his favourite person no less. This is humiliating and the shame that burns in his chest consumes the empty space where his heart should be. “I’m trying to stop. I’m trying to leave.”
“I’m—so confused. You came to my room to nap but you don’t want to stay when I’m here?”
“I don’t feel good,” George whines. Dream has sat him on the end of the bed, but George deems this progress. He’s a little closer to the exit, and an inch closer to his own bed. He’s made progress. He can do it. “I didn’t mean to sleep. I was waiting for you.”
“I—yeah, I know you do that,” Dream says with a tone that tells George Dream does in fact know that, but he has no clue why George does that. It sounds like George’s ‘routine’ confuses Dream more than anything. “But you’ve never tried to run away like this.”
“I was asleep,” George says. That should explain everything. Dream doesn’t like him sleeping in his bed. It makes him uncomfortable. George knows that. He can read Dream better than anyone and he’ll never forget how uncomfortable Dream looked at the sight of George half asleep in his bed.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” Dream says, brushing his thumb over the back of George’s hand.
“Why?” George says. Is Dream just really that kind that he’s apologizing for waking George up this time? Maybe he does feel bad that George is sick. Maybe he’s just too kindhearted, even when George crossed the line he drew for them.
“You were sleeping.”
“In your bed,” George reminds. He feels the guilt drag his shoulders down and he stares down at where Dream’s knee is pressed against his thigh. He can’t bear to see the discomfort in Dream’s eyes again. He made Dream feel that way the first time he fell asleep in Dream’s bed. He never wants to be the cause of that feeling in Dream ever again. “Bad.”
“B—no? What?” Dream makes a little laughing sound. “No, it’s—it’s fine. I mean, I wasn’t—to be fair, I wasn’t expecting it but…”
“I just—I just wanted…” George doesn’t know what he was trying to achieve. He wanted the comfort of Dream’s bed, but part of him also wanted to prove that he could be there for Dream, that even in his sickness, George’s offer was still there. The offer that actively makes Dream uncomfortable, his brain reminds, and George is hit again with the urgency to leave, to try and salvage this.
Dream pulls George’s head forward and presses the underside of his wrist to George’s forehead. He hums a contemplative sound before letting go. George rocks back a little, confused, but he’s met instead with Dream very, very close to him. Dream lips are suddenly on his forehead, just below his hairline and George freezes.
“You’re really warm,” Dream says. He’s still touching George, brushing his hair back. “Did sleeping help?”
George is confused. Maybe he is still dreaming. Dream’s lips were just on his skin. Maybe he’s delirious.
“I—yeah.”
“Yeah?” Dream is using his ‘Patches voice’ and George can’t help but feel that it’s a trap this time around. Maybe Dream’s trying to convince him how nice it would be to go fall asleep in his own bed. Does Dream not see he’s trying? Even making it to the couch would be enough. “Do you want water and an Advil before going back to sleep?”
Water means going to the kitchen and the kitchen is always blindingly bright. George doesn’t think he can handle that.
“I can’t,” George says.
“That wasn’t a suggestion, idiot. That was an offer. C’mere.” Dream drags him up the bed and George gives into his fate. Dream’s offering to drag him to the kitchen. Fantastic. George sort of wishes Dream would just kick him out the doors so George can curl up by them and sleep again. He doesn’t want to be dragged to the kitchen.
George stays tense as Dream rearranges the bed (probably to prevent the blankets from getting messed up when he drags George off of it) and puts both the pillows on his side (Only one person sleeps in this bed, it makes sense that both pillows go on Dream’s side. Even if one is shaped with the indent of George’s head, and has his drool on it.).
Dream fixes the comforter then flips the top corner of it back. He moves George again, up to the top of the bed, and George prepares himself to be tugged up to his feet by his arms. But Dream’s moving his legs instead, slipping George’s calves beneath the blanket.
Confused and still sort of afraid this is a test, George yields as Dream pushes him down. His head hits the stacked pillows Dream placed and he immediately sighs a shaky exhale, sniffling. Dream’s bed is so comfy and it smells like Dream.
Dream tucks the blanket around him like Sapnap had, then retrieves George’s blanket off the floor, tucking that right up against George’s chin. He leaves and returns with a water bottle with a pop up straw and a bottle of ibuprofen.
After George has taken a pill and drank from the bottle as if he had been dehydrated for days, Dream sets the items on his black bedside table.
“When that—kicks in,” George begins to say. “I’ll go.”
Dream crouches in front of him, eyebrows pushed together in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay to? You can stay here. I don’t mind.”
“Don’t,” George says, somewhat annoyed now because why would Dream lie to him when he feels awful like this? Dream has to know that’s cruel. “Don’t lie. Stop.”
Dream frowns. “I’m not lying. Is that why you’re trying to leave? You think I’d be upset if you stayed? You’re not going to get me sick or anything.”
If George had the strength, he’d scoff. He probably is going to get Dream sick. Dream always gets sick at the same time as him. It’s both their faults for constantly being in each other’s space.
“You don’t let me sleep here.”
Dream opens his mouth to object, but snaps his mouth shut. When he does manage to speak, he says, “You didn’t mean to fall asleep here, did you?”
“I told you that!” Why is Dream not hearing him? Does Dream really think George is purposely pushing his limits and sleeping in his bed even when that makes Dream uncomfortable? Are there other things that George does that regularly make Dream uncomfortable? Why is it so hard for Dream to fathom that George treats him differently, that he doesn’t try to piss Dream off like he does with Sapnap?
Maybe the downside to Dream not knowing how much George loves him is his inability to understand just how differently George desires to treat Dream. He wants to treat Dream with kindness and mutual respect. He doesn’t want to upset him. Especially not now when he doesn’t feel good.
“I know, but—why would you come to my room if you feel so bad? Why not nap in your room?”
George can’t answer that, not in a way that wouldn’t cause more problems, so he tries to get up and out again. If Dream wants him in his room so bad, he’ll go. The Advil is starting to kick in anyway.
“No, hey, I’m sorry. I won’t question you,” Dream quickly says, trying to tuck George back in. “Go back to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
George gives in, but only because Dream is telling him to, and Dream can’t possibly be mad at him in the future if Dream’s the one telling him to. George hopes that’s true. Believing Dream would never lead him wrong is easier than believing Dream would turn on him. He’ll trust Dream, just this once.
George should not have trusted Dream.
He wakes up again. He doesn’t know what day it is, what time it is, or which way is up. His throat is so dry it burns. His nose is stuffed and not being able to breathe through his nose must be the cause of his sore throat because his lips are so dry they hurt. He must’ve been asleep for hours.
In the pain and disoriented confusion, George flails around, searching for the water bottle Dream left on the bedside table. He smacks his hand against the corner of the nightstand and cries out, trying to open his eyes in the dark of Dream’s room enough that he can see where he’s trying to reach.
“Hey, hey, hey, shhh.” Dream’s voice comes from behind him and then, Dream’s leaning over him. The mattress dips behind George’s back and he rolls from his side onto his back, confused. Dream’s reaching over him from where he’s propped up on his shoulder, laying beside George. “I’ve got it.”
Water bottle in hand, Dream slips back down and helps George prop up his head. Dream’s one arm slides behind George’s neck, keeping him somewhat up right and the other helps hold the water bottle. If George was in his right mind, he’d probably be embarrassed by Dream hand feeding him water, but he’s too weak to do it on his own, and Dream was most certainly wrong; he does not feel better after sleeping at all.
George pushes the water bottle away when he’s done and Dream leans over him again to put it back. George rolls over so he’s facing Dream, pressing his cheek against Dream’s arm that’s below his head still. Dream lays down again and George has to fight every sick and delusional brain cell that urges him to curl up into Dream.
This sucks.
“Better?” Dream asks, voice low and rough. He’s been sleeping. Not only did Dream not kick him out of the bed, but Dream slept beside him. Dream has an office bed just a short walk away. He didn’t have to stay. “You’re still warm.”
Warm, George thinks, and internally agrees, turning his face further into Dream’s arm. Yes, this is exactly what this is. Warm. Dream’s skin against his nose is warm, Dream’s blankets are warm. His bed is always warm because George gets in it and warms it up before Dream comes to bed for the night, only to walk himself back to his own cold bed with no one to warm it up for him.
Maybe that’s why he does what he does; because he can’t stand the thought of Dream feeling that same bitter loneliness of getting into a cold bed with no warm body to curl up against.
“No,” George grumbles.
“Oh,” Dream coos, like he doesn’t think George is fully mentally present. Dream might have a point there. George really isn’t, but he’s awake enough to recognize that Dream has never treated him like this before, and he certainly wouldn’t coo like this to George when he’s not half delirious. “Big baby, c’mere.”
Dream’s arm settles around his lower waist, not curling around him, not pulling, just putting himself around George, like a shield.
George falls asleep again, half nestled into Dream, wondering why Dream’s okay with this when he would never tolerate it on a normal day.
So George settles in, and sleeps in Dream’s arms.
Being sick in Dream’s bed is the worst three days of George’s life. He’s only awake for a small percent of it, and delirious for the rest, but he can sense Dream’s presence the entire time.
Dream’s a damn workaholic. When he’s passionate about something he’s working on, that’s all he wants to do. Work and work and work and work. He hardly takes care of himself when he does. It’s why George is happy to bring him snacks or go grocery shopping with Sapnap just to go get Dream some of his fancy waters.
Dream’s a workaholic and he doesn’t stop for anything. The only time George has been able to get him to stop is by offering some sort of joint work effort opportunity, like filming a video together for George’s channel or streaming something the fans want to see.
But even that is very rare and it takes a bit of convincing.
George doesn’t mind it. Dream’s bright and he’s brilliant, he burns hot and George is convinced more than half the world has seen his light by now. He really doesn’t mind that Dream’s passionate and work addicted. George can work around that. He can go out of his way to bring Dream snacks or spend time with him in the small hours before Dream sleeps.
But this is interesting, and George is struggling to make sense of it. Every time George wakes up, Dream’s there. Sitting up in bed on his phone, laying down watching TV, nudging George awake to try and get him to eat. Dream’s just there and he shouldn’t be.
George is certain there’s married couples who don’t do this, who don’t take time off work just because their partner has a fever. It wouldn’t be viable, or reasonable, society wouldn't survive if this was the standard. Dream has no obligation to stay with a sick George who is not his partner, nor his responsibility.
“Morning,” Dream says when George wakes up on what he assumes is the fourth morning. “Feeling okay?”
George’s head sort of hurts but he can tell which way is up and that he’s on the wrong side of the bed. He’s on Dream’s side, with Dream’s pillows under his head.
“Ow,” George says, but Dream just smiles. George lifts his head to look at him, to examine Dream’s face. He has to make sure Dream’s not getting sick now too, not when George has been getting all sorts of George germs all over Dream’s bed. “Hi.”
“Hi, idiot.” Dream sets his phone aside. “You really had Sapnap scared.”
“I’m w-itterally fine,” George mumbles back. He loves Sapnap with his whole heart, but sometimes he wishes he was invisible, so Sapnap can’t see him when he’s not being how he wants to present himself in front of Sapnap.
To Sapnap, George should be untouchable, unaffected, and constantly unserious. Like a little brother or something. He loves pissing Sapnap off, but he does not like when Sapnap sees him all sad and droopy and crumbling. He doesn’t want Sapnap to see him vulnerable, so sometimes he wishes he could turn into a ghost and phase through walls so Sapnap doesn’t have to see him when he’s moping, or crying or god forbid: yearning for someone he can’t have.
“W-iterally fine,” Dream mocks, rolling onto his side to face George. “So fine you had to be sick in my bed?” Dream’s teasing, but an ugly feeling rolls in George’s stomach. It’s like Dream’s rubbing in it. George knows he’s not supposed to sleep in Dream’s bed. That’s the line and he crossed it.
“I tried to leave.”
“No, you tried to drag yourself across the floor. That was not leaving.” Dream reaches out and taps the tip of George’s nose, whispering a quiet, “Boop.” George recoils and Dream’s quiet smile falls. “What?”
“I’m—going.” George sits up, annoyed to find he’s still dizzy. Maybe he’s dizzy now because the only things he ate or drank while sick were the things Dream managed to hand feed him. The hazy memories of Dream holding his arm and walking George to his stupidly large washroom hits him hard, the embarrassment swelling in his stomach.
“Okay,” Dream says, but the fallen and puzzled look on his face says he’s confused. George isn’t sure what there is to not understand. Dream doesn’t treat him like this when George isn’t sick; he doesn’t go around ‘boop’ing George’s nose, so George needs to put an end to it before Dream realises what’s happening. “You can make it this time, right? Because when you were sick you—”
“Can we not talk about it?” George asks, turning his head away as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, fumbling for his blanket to take back to his room with him. He doesn’t even have his phone for god’s sake. He spent four days in Dream’s bed, half sleeping, half watching TV pressed against him. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not with the shame of knowing he actively broke Dream’s silent boundaries because he was selfish and wanted to be close to him.
This was the sort of stuff leaving his heart in London was supposed to prevent.
“Yeah,” Dream says. He sounds sort of disappointed and George doesn’t understand why. “Okay.”
“I can’t,” George starts to say, his back turned to Dream. It’s easier to speak to him when he can’t see Dream’s face, when he can imagine he’s back in London, talking to Dream over the phone. He spent so much time talking to Dream with a Hypixel parkour course in the background. It was easier to communicate then than it is now. “I can’t keep doing this to you.”
“Oh,” Dream says. “Yeah, I guess.” He’s being unnaturally wordless about this, but George can hear his brain working. He’s thinking it over, and George is sure he’ll come to the same conclusion soon. George can’t keep forcing his way into Dream’s bed. He can’t wiggle and shove his way into Dream’s heart when it’ll never beat for him the same way George’s heart beats alone in London, waiting to meet Dream.
It can’t, because it’s not allowed. It’ll make things worse.
“I guess I’ll, um—see you in a few days. Whenever you take your next break from coding.” George doesn’t turn back to look at Dream when he leaves. He orders a paper planner that day, to keep in his bedside drawer. It’s motivation to stay in his own room, counting the days he manages to spend away from Dream’s bed.
A couple months pass. George goes through the withdrawals of not having his routine with Dream anymore. They travel. Dream’s working on music. Sometimes George goes with him. Dream’s supposed to come with him to visit London, but he gets sick before he can, so he goes back to Florida before George does.
That, in George’s mind, is probably for the best. He knows his heart is locked up somewhere in London Dream will never go, but he doesn’t want Dream anywhere near it. Just in case.
Things happen. Life happens. There’s a new thing every few months that all three of them (Sapnap included) have to get through and work through together. Like speed bumps to stop them from progressing too fast. George braces himself and waits for every hit.
He learns that life can be hard, but he can love Dream at the same time. Life is hard, but that doesn’t stop the existence of his love.
His planner is full of nothing but days crossed out with a blue marker. Every day he doesn’t cross Dream’s boundaries is a good one. Every day that he doesn’t let his heart escape London is a successful one. He gets through the day, he keeps Dream’s friendship and he keeps his feelings hidden in the empty hole inside his chest.
April is hard. April is quiet. April breaks George.
It’s like London again. Sapnap’s working on something to the same extent that Dream is. George hasn’t seen either of them much in the past couple weeks.
It’s not because Dream and Sapnap are mad at him. Sapnap may have said a couple things, but at the end of the day, George knows he’s just disappointed in George, not done with him. He still loves him. And Dream’s not mad at him, he’s just scared. It’s not a situation he wants to be in, and he’s had to make decisions George never wanted to put on him.
So they’re not mad at him, they’re all just doing their own respective things and that’s—fine. George is fine.
George is not fine.
It’s like London again. George has decided it is, because it’s the same feeling of not knowing what’s going to change next or where his friends are. It’s the same lonely feeling except now, he’s not doing anything. There’s no hectic Among Us games with his friends or late night Jackbox lobbies. He’s not syncing his sleep schedule with Dream and sleep calling with him nightly to chase away the dark. There’s just this large house and the emptiness in his chest.
He feels empty. He doesn’t know what to do.
George holds out for a week or so. He gets through March. He gets halfway through April. It’s hard hurting while not feeling like he deserves to be hurting. It’s even harder to hurt alone in a house this large.
“Dream?” He did knock on Dream’s office door, but he’s pretty sure Dream didn’t hear him. There is one good thing about the Dransion, and that’s how amazingly soundproofed it is. It’s a good thing most of the time, but sometimes when George is sitting in his room and he pauses to listen, even a wall away from Sapnap, he still can’t hear anything to confirm that someone’s there, and that scares him. “Dream?” George gives up and pushes the door open.
Dream’s in his chair, swivelling back and forth slightly. He doesn’t do that when he’s gaming. He only does that when he’s talking to someone or thinking. He’s too focused when he’s gaming to sway, and George only knows that because he’s now spent enough time with Dream in person to know, but also because he used to listen to the creak of Dream’s old office chair swiveling over the phone, and know for sure that Dream was giving him his attention instead of gaming. It used to feel like a good thing. Now, seeing Dream thinking has George almost nervous. He’s waiting for the day Dream reconsiders the choices he’s making, and the choices George has made.
George comes up behind his chair and taps Dream’s shoulder. Dream doesn’t startle, just slowly turns to George with tired eyes. Just by looking at him George knows he’s exhausted.
“Hey,” Dream says, pushing his headphones off his head. “You okay?”
That’s the other thing. Dream’s started doing this thing now where when he sees George, he asks that first. It’s like he knows to wait for George to break, like he’s bracing for it. That would be fine, if George knew what Dream would do when he does.
“Fine, just—house is quiet.”
“It is,” Dream agrees, turning back to his computer screen. There’s really old video footage pulled up in the editing program in front of him. This is what Dream does now. He edits videos, then never posts them. George suspects it’s some sort of calming thing for him, editing without pressure.
What’s strange though is Dream doesn’t have music playing in the background.
“Are you—watching this?” If Dream was more watching than editing, that would explain the lack of music. George leans over Dream’s shoulder and reaches for the mouse, clicking play before Dream can stop him. George picks up Dream’s headphones and holds the one side of them to his head.
“Come with me! No, come with me! What are you doing? Dream! Dream! Stop! Idiot. Dream!” Past George is yelling at the past version of Dream in the video. It’s unposted footage of the ‘Minecraft but my Bestfriend is an Allay’ video they filmed off of a fan suggestion.
Past Dream’s giggles come through the headset. “I’m getting you things! I’m retrieving, George. It’s what I do. I’m going to get it for you!”
“Stop!” The allay that is Dream is flying across a pit of lava to get a ghast tear from a ghast that George shot down with an arrow. He hadn’t expected Dream to fully commit to the allay bit of fetching items for him. “You’re going to die!”
“I like filming those videos,” present Dream says. “We should film more.”
“I’m not posting right now,” George reminds, though Dream knows that better than anyone. He’s not even sure if he’s planning on coming back. Dream knows that too.
“I don't mean to post,” Dream says. “We should just—film. Me and you. Delete the footage after.”
“What would be the point in filming then?” George asks.
Dream closes down the editing program. “No point. I just want you to talk to me like that again.”
George’s chest squeezes, like it’s seizing around the empty space behind his sternum. “Like I’m annoyed with you?” he tries to tease. He hasn’t joked around with Dream much in the last few weeks.
“Like you’re annoyed with me but—you never stay that way. You’re annoyed with me, but you’re trying to keep me safe. I don’t know. It’s stupid. I’m being weird.” Dream tries to backpedal so fast, like he’s worried George will find him strange for feeling that way, but George doesn’t. He gets it.
“Not weird,” George says. “I’m playfully annoyed with you but I know you need me.”
“I wish—I wish I didn’t sometimes,” Dream says and George knows they’re no longer talking about Minecraft. It hurts to hear that Dream would rather not need him, but George decides it’s fair. Life hasn’t been easy on Dream, and while George tries his hardest to be there for Dream, he knows their attachment to each other is dangerously codependent. It’s not always a good thing, especially when there’s no commitment keeping them together.
George likes being dependent on Dream. He likes knowing Dream would drop everything for him and he does have an endless amount of gratitude for Dream’s grace and forgiveness, but he does know someday soon there will be a time where someone will naturally come between them, and George will have to step back and watch Dream adore someone else even more than he loves George.
“Is that okay?” Dream asks, turning the chair around to face George.
“Yeah, obviously,” George says. “You’re allowed to—not want to. That’s fine. I’m not hurt or anything. I get it.”
“No, is it okay that I do?”
“That you—need me?”
“Yeah.”
Oh, George thinks, somewhat surprised. What? He’s now confused. He thought Dream was saying he wished he didn’t need George because then he’d be easier to get rid of, but now Dream’s asking if it’s okay to need him with the same apologetic sadness to his tone.
“I don’t mind it,” George admits, trying not to sound too eager. It is nice to know Dream views him as irreplaceable, that their years of friendship mean something.
“Okay,” Dream says, rubbing at his eyes. He really is tired. George can tell by the general droopiness of him. “Sorry.”
“No sorry, idiot. Have you drank anything?” There’s an empty water bottle on Dream’s desk but it doesn’t tell George whether or not Dream’s been drinking enough. Dream shakes his head so George turns and grabs a water bottle from Dream’s fridge.
His heart may be left behind in London, he may be hurting, but that doesn’t mean he can’t love Dream a normal, caring amount. He’s not sure he’d be ‘George’ without that part of him, the part of him that wants to be there for Dream.
“Are you done for tonight or—”
“No,” Dream says, turning back and wincing at the brightness of his computer screen. “I’ve been putting off DB management emails and I can’t let them rot in my inbox anymore.”
“Merch stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I—stay here for a while maybe?” George retreats to the office bed after handing the water to Dream. He hops up onto the end of it, watching for Dream’s reaction before fully getting comfortable. Dream eyes him for a moment, like he’s trying to understand what George is up to, but George’s motivation is only the simple fact that he needs Dream as much as Dream needs him. “It’s too quiet in my room. Not enough idiots annoying me.”
“Sure,” Dream says, “I’ll be done soon.”
George immediately climbs further up the bed and burrows beneath the blankets. Dream’s office bed is cozy with the way it’s pressed up against the wall like neither of their main beds are.
George props his head up on a pillow to watch Dream’s silhouette. The lights in Dream’s office are off, the only lighting is the white light of his computer screen. The sound of Dream typing is nice to listen to. George likes the noise of someone being there, because it means he’s not alone in London.
He’s half asleep when he feels, rather than hears, Dream. The bed dips and George stirs, ready to get up and run before Dream can kick him out. This is the thing his planner is supposed to prevent. He’s been scratching off the days and yet here he is, already toeing the line.
But Dream doesn’t tug him out. He slips under the covers and into bed with George. George opens his eyes to darkness, no more computer screen shedding blue light across the room.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Dream says softly into the dark. He’s managed to find his way right up against George, sandwiching him between Dream’s chest and the wall behind his back.
Don’t get rid of me, everything in George begs, but he can’t say that, because it would sound too much like a plea. Dream will try to give him everything but George can’t ask that of Dream. He can’t demand that Dream keeps him. He’s lucky Dream’s kept him this long.
“I’m not okay,” George admits, because the house is dark and quiet. There’s no Sapnap to hide from, and he can’t see the look on Dream’s face. “I don’t want to be alone.” He’s said that one before, mocked it even. He thought he could do this, but he can’t. He just needs—
“You’re not. I’ve got you.” Dream’s arms close around him and George doesn’t just melt into it, he shoves his way in, curling against Dream as tight as he can. He’s never been allowed this. He’s never cuddled Dream, but that’s what this is, isn’t it?
Dream holding him this tightly is the safest he’s ever felt and he tries to fight off the warm feelings that hit him in the chest. It feels traitorous to be finding some sort of romantic happiness in Dream simply being a good friend and comforting him. He doesn’t want Dream to ever find out how selfish George has been, how he’s twisted Dream’s actions into something they’re not.
“I love you, okay? You’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere.”
But Dream will. Someday he’ll go. Probably the day he finds out why George left his heart behind in London, maybe sooner if George keeps doing this, crossing the line, cuddling into Dream the moment he feels too weak to withstand the pressure.
Dream doesn’t cross the line like this. Not as directly as George at least and not in ways that would ever make George uncomfortable. He never could be uncomfortable, not with Dream.
Sapnap may be smarter than George likes to think he is. Sapnap’s maturity is a hard reality for George to swallow. Sapnap is, unfortunately, wiser than he seems.
Something loud crashes against the house and George shrieks, jolting in his bed. Breaking Bad is playing on the TV. It’s a random episode from a random season because George didn’t care to look further than quickly pressing the play button. He threw on the show to make himself feel better, but every time he begins to relax, the wind screams outside his window or the hurricane crashes something heavy against the house.
Dream is the only thing keeping him from panicking completely. Since Sapnap abandoned them, Dream’s been calm. He sent Sapnap away with a routine hug, laughed when Sapnap made a joke about Dream being stuck babysitting the cats in his absence and George had stood there, clutching at his own fingers within his sweater paws.
“Just come with me,” Sapnap had offered prior to leaving. “Just a you and me trip. Dream can watch the cats.”
“Leave Dream here alone?” George asked in return, appalled. “What if something happens?”
“We’re not totally in the path and he’s—like—Florida raised. He’ll be fine.”
Sapnap seemed so casual about the idea of leaving Dream, but George, even while terrified of the storm heading their way, could not fathom leaving Dream behind. His choices were to either ride out the storm with Dream, or sit anxiously in Texas waiting for an update while Sapnap ruthlessly mocked him for being paranoid.
“It’s not para-noi-ance,” George tried to argue. “I’m just not abandoning him, like someone.”
“Paranoia,” Sapnap corrected, his maturity once again a thorn in George’s side. “And you can’t say you’re not paranoid. You’re incapable of leaving him even when there isn’t a hurricane.”
So fine, George will admit, he’s paranoid of things he can’t avoid, but instead of those things being love, they’re Sapnap’s ever growing wisdom and a massive hurricane. He’d choose standing by Dream’s side in the face of danger over Sapnap being stupidly mature and interrogating him about his feelings for Dream any day.
More flying debris clatters against his bedroom window and George sends another text to Dream.
Are we ok
Why did I do something???
George scoffs, Dream’s stupidity bringing a smile to his lips. At this rate, Sapnap will be the smartest Dream Team member in no time.
Not like that idiot. Is the storm going to kill us
Come here
When George gets out of bed, the temperature of his room is cold against his bare calves and it reminds him of Sapnap's absence. Sapnap's not here to control the temperature when it gets too cold in their wing, so George does so on his way down, pressing buttons on the thermostat until he's content.
He doesn't know where Dream is, but he doesn't wonder for long because the second he reaches the top of the stairs, Dream's there, sprawled out on the living room couch. His office would probably be more secure. There's no windows, an available bed that George knows is rather comfy, and a working mini fridge, but Dream's here instead, drowning in a white hoodie that makes him look small. He looks comfortable and casual but all George sees is his favourite human, who really should be tucked away somewhere safe, cuddled up on the couch.
“Hey,” Dream says when George descends the stairs. The second George's foot hits the ground floor, something clatters and scrapes against the front door. George flinches, wrapping his fingers around the remainder of the railing like he could hold onto it if the wind were to break down the door and try to sweep him away. Dream just looks at the door, hums in a sort of contemplative way, then glances back at George. “Hungry?”
Hungry? George is not hungry! There's a cold feeling in his blood that strikes like fear, like he's trying not to bolt out the door and run for his life. He just gives Dream a wide eyed look because Dream should be getting it. He should be reading George’s mind.
“I don't think anyone's delivering in this weather so if we want to cook, we should do it before the power goes out,” Dream continues to say, tapping at his phone.
The chill hits George harder. He forgot the power going out was a possibility. He had storms in London too. He lost power alone in his flat and he handled it fine but something about Florida storms seems ten times more intense. He's never had to fear the possibility of evacuation before.
Slipping his hand from the railing, George slinks to the kitchen. Dream doesn't question his silence. He's learned over the years that George's silence exists bigger than words. George's silence isn't the absence of words, it's feelings too complex for words to frame. Dream doesn't take his silence negatively or with confusion. Sapnap sometimes does, but Sapnap is still learning how to understand George's language.
George isn't in the mood for something cold to match the fear in his veins so he grabs a dry snack from the pantry, shoving Sapnap's protein bars aside for one of the yogurt granola bars. It confuses him how yogurt can be solid but the granola bars are good so he’s never questioned how they work, just that they taste good.
Turning the package over in his hand to make sure it's the flavor he wants, George considers that maybe, that's how he loves Dream.
All the romance stories, the fairy tales, they don't show love like this. Love that goes unheard because it's been unspoken for years. In the movies, there's always a big moment of confession just an hour in, the climax of the plot George supposes, and then there's happily ever after. And that is love, obviously.
But this is different. This is like solid yogurt. George doesn't know how his love works, some days he even questions its intent (there's a fine line between platonic and romantic and he's been using it like a jump rope with Dream for years) but he's never questioned if it's good or not, because he knows it is. That's never been a question. His love for Dream is undeniably good, not just in intent, but how it feels.
“People are stupid,” George says, unwrapping his granola bar and tossing the wrapper onto the island. Dream looks at it, then looks at George.
“Really?”
“What?” George says through a mouthful.
Dream sighs, heavy enough that George can see the rise and fall of his chest from where he’s standing, twenty or so feet away from Dream. “Fine, okay. Why are people stupid, George? Lay it on me.”
Well, for one, there's the people on the coast that George has seen on TikTok refusing to leave. With that, he assumes, there may be more layers. Maybe there are people who financially can't evacuate. Maybe they don't have the means too, or maybe they can't take their pets so they're staying behind for them. At first, George had seen it as stupid, but then Sapnap offered to take him with him to Texas and suddenly, George had understood. There's reasons to stay sometimes, even if other people see it as stupid.
“Homophobia.”
Dream blinks at him. “Yeah?”
George hums, leaning his hip against the island. “Yeah.”
George has known Dream for what feels like a very long time. For the most part, he got to experience Dream growing up, and Dream growing up came with a lot of challenges. Dream is the most determined person George knows. When he puts his mind to something, he accomplishes it. He wanted to learn how to code, so he did, with or without George’s help. He wanted to lose weight, so he did. He wanted to be a Youtuber, so he did. Dream can throw around his appreciation for his friends all he wants, but George knows he would have made it no matter the circumstances, no matter how many or how little people he had standing by his side.
But there were things that came with growing up that Dream couldn’t simply will in or out of existence, things about himself that just come with who he is, things that George wouldn’t ask Dream to change.
“Do you remember when you came out to me?” George asks.
Dream scoffs a laugh. “I thought I was going to fucking die, George.”
“So yes?”
“Obviously.”
“Do you remember what I said?”
“Which thing?” Dream asks, setting his phone aside. He told George he read somewhere once that even holding a phone in a conversation with someone makes it seem like he’s listening less, and ever since he’ll set his phone aside to listen to what George has to say when his tone shifts into something serious or sentimental. It’s the little thoughtful things that Dream does that make the empty spot in George’s chest ache. “The thing about—”
“Okay, if you don’t know, don’t speculate, idiot.” George said a lot of things during that conversation, mostly out of desperation. It was a conversation he was expecting but somehow, he hadn’t expected Dream to be even the slightest bit worried about it. He never considered the possibility that Dream would be scared to tell him. So George said a lot of things, half frantic, just trying to assure Dream that George’s affection for him ran deeper than anything Dream could confess to him.
“How am I supposed to get it if you don’t let me guess?” Dream asks, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as George flops down on the couch across from him. This is a conversation he needs space for. He pulls his phone from the waistband of his basketball shorts and tosses it across the couch, a similar gesture of attentiveness.
“If you mention anything other than what I’m thinking of—I’ll like—implode or something! I’ll actually die, Dream.” He really does not want Dream echoing all the sappy things George said to him over the phone back to him. He meant those things and they’re not any less true now than they were back then, but he might die internally if he hears Dream repeat them back to him.
“Obviously,” Dream says again. He considers for a moment while the wind whistles and screams outside. Patches wanders out from her room beneath the stairs and George tries not to think of all the stray cats that could be out there in that storm with nowhere to go. To Dream, the storm might as well be background noise, and that is why he’s not getting what George is saying. “Is there something I should be thinking of?”
“Not really, I guess,” George says, folding his one leg under him. Patches jumps up onto the couch and wanders over to him. Often George wonders what she thinks of him and what goes on in her little cat brain, if she loves him the way she does because she can sense the way Dream loves him, or if she really does just love him for him. “It’s just ironic.”
Dream’s eyebrows furrow. He’s really trying to figure this out. Maybe out of their whole conversation they had back then, this is the only sentiment Dream has forgotten.
By his side, Dream’s phone begins to go off. George’s first thought is a phone call, but then his own phone begins to vibrate on the cushion near him. George reaches and picks his phone up at the same time as Dream does. Dream sighs before he even sees the screen, like he already knows what he’s going to see.
George’s phone screen flashes with a warning, a weather alert for their area demanding he seeks cover immediately. Dream tosses his phone away while George scans the text for any order to evacuate. There isn’t one, so George assumes they won’t be going anywhere any time soon.
The weather alert seems to be the thing that has Dream realising.
“You’re in this with me,” Dream says and George just stares at him, not confirming or denying.
I’m in this storm with you, is actually what George had said, because Dream had been stressed, anxious, quite literally freaking out, not just because he had to tell George, but because in his mind, he had to tell everyone. In Dream’s mind he had the whole world to tell, his whole world, his family, everyone. But there was never a second, before or after Dream came out, that George could even fathom not being beside Dream. So if Dream wanted to come out to his family, George would be there, and if Dream wanted to Reddit himself out of the closet, George would be there proof reading.
“Did I get it?” Dream asks.
“I just think it’s stupid. People are stupid. How can you—” George cuts himself off because the words get stuck in his throat and it’s frustrating because what he wants to say is true, and he means it, and he stands by it with his entire being, but it’s still hard. “How can you love someone and actively choose to not—to not—even if I didn’t support you I wouldn’t have—it—” George hisses through his teeth, frustrated.
“People are stupid,” Dream agrees. “It doesn’t mean they’re not good people, though.”
“I still can’t comprehend it. I can’t justify it. It’s actually awful.”
“Homophobia?” Dream asks and George gives him another look. He doesn’t need to nod or say yes because Dream can read his eyes. He’s fluent in it and George wonders if that’s another thing Dream put his head to, if he was determined to learn George’s body language the second he arrived in Florida. “Okay, what’s got you on this?”
The fact that George can’t look at Dream without experiencing a wave of fondness is what has George on this. Nothing in him recognizes his love for Dream as wrong. It’s just natural, nearly innate, and George has a feeling, in one flavor or another, his love for Dream will always exist.
George holds out what remains of his granola bar as an explanation without words and Dream looks at it and snorts a little laugh.
Something heavy crashes into the patio doors behind George and George screams, jolting upwards and startling Patches off the back of the couch. Her claws are loud when she takes off, scrambling for grip on the tiles as she runs for her room beneath the stairs.
Dream’s amused smile is gone. He’s frowning, not at the storm but at George. “Is that why you didn’t go with Nick?”
“Because of homophobia?” George asks, trying to compose himself enough to sit back down and consume the rest of his granola bar.
“No, because you’re with me in the storm.”
“Maybe I just hate Sapnap,” George says, trying to bring the smile back to Dream’s face. “I’d actually rather face a hurricane than spend time with him.”
There’s a couple things that lessen the weight on George’s chest when he thinks about Dream ending up with someone else, facts that make the ache hurt less. Someday, Dream will have someone who can sit down and have sentimental conversations with him without acting like they’re being tortured. Someone out there will be able to tell Dream all the sweet things he deserves to hear, and while it hurts, George does want to see that day come for Dream’s sake.
Dream does smile, because he’s used to George’s shenanigans and he must somewhat like them if he’s kept George around this long.
“Sure, George,” Dream says. “Is there any more yogurt granola bars left or did you eat them all?”
“All the blueberry ones are gone,” George says, smug. The blueberry ones are his. Dream should know that.
“Of course they are. Strawberry?”
“Gone.”
“George!” Dream says his name through laughter. “What’s even left, vanilla?”
“You would like vanilla wouldn’t you,” George teases, getting up and heading for the kitchen. He can get Dream one of the remaining granola bars (and another one for himself while he’s at it).
“That’s—that’s the only kind left!”
George is inside the pantry when the power goes out. He’s fully in it because he’s pretty sure he hid one of the strawberry granola bars behind some boxes somewhere to keep them safe from Sapnap but he knows Dream likes the strawberry ones so he’s determined to find one for him. He’s searching for it when the power goes out. Everything powers down with a whir of fading electricity and the lights flick off.
George makes an embarrassing squeak of panic, trying to back out of the pantry in hopes outside of the closet will be brighter, but everything is dark and his eyes are failing to adjust as fast as he thinks they should in a time like this.
“Okay, hey.”
George whirls around and Dream’s standing there with his phone flashlight pointed at the ground. He must have followed George after George stood up.
“You’re fine,” Dream says. The light reflecting off the floor casts shadows on his face and the worried pinch of his expression. “It’s okay. Did you get a snack?”
George is clutching a granola bar but it’s the vanilla one he got for himself and not the strawberry one he was searching for for Dream. “What now?” George asks.
“What do you mean?” Dream's shoulder brushes George's as he steps around his side. George is nearly certain it’s a purposeful gesture of comfort, but then again, he may just be reading too far into Dream’s actions.
“Like, do we—what do we do?”
“Nothing, unless you can stop a hurricane,” Dream jokes while he searches through the pantry with his phone flashlight. He comes out with the stupid strawberry yogurt granola bar that George hid and it occurs to George that while Sapnap may be annoyingly mature, he doesn’t know him like Dream does.
“Aren’t we supposed to hide in a room with no windows or something?” George asks, nervously picking at the end of the granola bar wrapper.
“The power going out doesn’t signal the storm being closer or more powerful or anything,” Dream says with complete confidence in his tone but then he turns around and sees George’s face. Whatever he sees in George’s eyes, his expression softens. “Do you want to go hang out in a windowless room?”
George hesitates. He’s not a baby and if this were Sapnap asking, he would’ve immediately scoffed and said no. Letting Sapnap see he’s scared is not an option, but he’s pretty sure Dream already knows he is.
“We could hang out in your office or something,” George says.
“Okay, yeah. Let’s do that.”
Dream stays behind to gather snacks while George retrieves his phone off the couch. The couch is as far as he makes it without Dream. He waits until Dream is done collecting his snacks, because letting Dream out of his eyesight is not an option.
They walk to Dream’s office together and George ducks inside first. Dream shuts the door behind them and dumps his armload of snacks onto the seat of his desk chair. George tosses himself onto the end of the office bed and throws his arms over his face, groaning. Why couldn’t he have befriended someone who lived in the middle of a desert? Not someone who lives on what’s practically a floating outcrop surrounded by a furious ocean.
“Why didn’t you go with Sapnap?” Dream asks, sitting down further up on the bed. “Only one of us has to stay to watch the cats.”
George lowers his arm to glare. I’m in this storm with you.
At the time, George meant it as a sentiment of whatever you’re about to face, I’m by your side, but now it feels more like a declaration of George’s attachment to Dream. He’s practically sworn himself to Dream. He’s not going to leave and go where Dream isn’t, only to worry if Dream’s okay or not.
Dream laughs a little at George’s glare. “Okay, fine. Have your secrets.”
George’s secrets wouldn’t be secrets if Dream wasn’t so oblivious, but maybe it’s a good thing Dream is. The secrets George holds in the place in his chest where his heart used to be are secrets he keeps to keep their friendship safe. Having Dream like this is way better than not having Dream at all.
It hurts, though. It hurts a lot.
“You should probably sleep in here,” Dream says. “It’s better than being upstairs and I can get to you faster if we do have to evacuate.”
Dream does have a point. Dream’s office is somewhat close to his room. It would be quicker for him to run to his office than it would be for him to run up the stairs to George’s room.
“Okay,” George agrees, trying to figure out if sleeping in Dream’s office bed counts as a day scratched off in his planner or not. He’s only sleeping in Dream’s bed, not sleeping beside him, so that’s fine. Right? “Do I get to use your bathroom too?”
Dream snorts another laugh. “Sure.”
For the next few hours George plays games on his phone while he listens to Dream talk about the project he’s working on. Sometimes (most of the time, if George is being honest) Dream’s ability to talk and talk works in his favor. It’s entertaining now. Dream talking gives him something to listen to while the storm rages on outside.
Dream’s office muffles the sound of the storm and for the hours George spends in Dream’s office, it’s almost like the storm doesn’t exist at all until Dream drags them both out and forces George to brush his teeth with a spare, unopened blue toothbrush Dream magically produces from beneath one of his sinks.
They didn’t eat dinner besides the various snacks Dream grabbed from the pantry, but George doesn’t mind. It sort of feels like a sleep over, eating snacks in Dream’s bed while listening to him talk about his project.
Dream’s washing his face and George is sitting cross legged on his bathroom floor waiting for him, texting Sapnap while he waits with the little bit of battery power he has left in his phone. The storm blows more debris against the window above Dream’s bath. Dream looks at it, looks at George, then sighs. He’s not bothered by the storm but he knows George is.
“Maybe—maybe we should take turns sleeping in the office,” George suggests and Dream sends him a glance, like he’s suspicious of George’s nervous behavior. “One of us can like—make sure we don’t have to evacuate while the other can sleep.”
“We’re fine. We’re hardly in the path.”
“We weren’t in the path at all yesterday!”
“Nothing is going to happen to us,” Dream says, putting his hygiene products away. His phone is propped up on the counter and being used as a flashlight but when he goes to check it, the bathroom falls into darkness again. George is strongly considering purchasing some emergency candles once this is all over. If they survive.
The wind whistles outside Dream’s bathroom window and George swears he hears the window panes rattle in their frames. Or maybe it's the sound of the rain careening against the glass that’s making that sound. Whatever it is, it’s unnerving.
“What would make you feel better?” Dream asks after checking his phone. “Do you want me to stay with you in the office?”
Yes.
Dream matches George’s blank stare. George won’t say no, because he doesn’t feel like lying, but he won’t say yes either because then it’ll be his fault if Dream ends up in bed with him again.
“Okay, fine,” Dream says. “C’mon, let’s go.”
George gets off the floor and follows as Dream lights the way to his room. He grabs one of his pillows off his bed then they return to the office, navigating through the strangely dark and silent house. Dream leaves the door of his office cracked open for the cats and throws his pillow onto the bed.
Dream’s office is strangely silent without the hum of his computer and the material on the walls absorb any other kind of sound. The only sound is Dream’s breath and the huff he lets out when he gets into bed. George climbs in too. Today, George decides, is a cheat day. If he only crawls into bed with Dream when there’s a crazy hurricane, that’s probably okay. Florida has a lot of storms but in the time that George has lived in Florida, there’s only been one that has scared him like this.
Dream lays on his back with one of his palms resting on his chest. His other hand is halfway down the bed, clasped around his phone so that the flashlight beams up at the ceiling. George sneaks in beside him, in between Dream’s shoulder and the wall.
“You don’t have to stay,” George says, rolling onto his back to match Dream’s position, mostly so he doesn’t have to see Dream’s expression. “I’m fine, just—”
“You don’t want to be alone,” Dream interrupts. “You told me that in here so if you want me to stay, I’m not going anywhere.”
George swallows the question of ‘why?’ in his throat. He doesn’t get why Dream doesn’t just tell him to get over himself or tell him he should have gone with Sapnap if he’s so scared. Dream doesn’t make fun of him and if he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it.
“Okay,” George whispers to the ceiling.
George nearly falls asleep in the silence. His phone is almost dead so there’s nothing for him to do and Dream’s phone is serving as a flashlight so he’s not on his either. There’s only the sound of Dream’s breathing and George’s thoughts to lose himself to, so it’s not surprising when he starts to feel drowsy.
Dream moves around beside him while George’s eyes are closing, like he’s rolling onto his side to face away from George and sleep. That’s why it’s so surprising when something brushes George’s chest.
George jolts, eyes flashing open. Dream’s hand retreats, pulling back to his own chest.
“Sorry,” Dream whispers. So quiet and small in comparison to how tall he really is, how grown up he is now compared to when George first met him.
“Uh—no, it’s—it’s fine.”
Dream has slipped down a bit in the bed and he’s looking up at George with uncertainty. George swallows and turns back to face the ceiling, the imposter heart in his chest beats a little faster than normal. He’s not even sure what Dream just tried to do.
Dream reaches and turns his phone flashlight off. George hears it hit the floor. Dream is, undeniably, not careful with his phone. He drops it out of his pocket all the time and still refuses to get a phone case for it. George is thinking about how careless Dream is with his phone when Dream’s hand is set on his chest again.
George freezes, breath stalling, like if he were to breathe he’d exhale Dream’s touch right off his chest.
Dream’s fingers curl into a fist that slowly inches across George’s chest towards his sternum.
“Dream?” George asks, cursing himself for how breathless he sounds.
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
Dream pulls his hand away again. “Nothing.”
The second Dream’s hand is off his chest, George misses its gentle weight.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” George complains, nearly smiling when Dream intakes a quick breath, like he’s surprised. “You can—do that, if you want.”
“Okay,” Dream says, still quiet. A moment passes where nothing happens before Dream seems to find his bravery again. He places his fist on George’s lower chest then inches his entire body closer. George keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t say anything more that would scare Dream off, just controls his breathing as Dream lays his head on George’s chest, right beneath his chin.
Dream’s hair brushes George’s skin and when George takes a deep breath he fills his lungs with the smell of Dream’s shampoo and face wash. There’s something about Dream putting his face on his chest that makes him ache. Dream’s cuddled up to him like he’s the smaller one and George has to dig his fingers into his palms to fight off the urge to just hold him.
Dream exhales a happy, little sigh and George doesn’t know what to make of that.
“Your heart is like—speedrunning,” Dream says, ever so slightly rubbing his cheek against George’s chest. “Are you really that scared of the storm?”
“I—yeah, I don’t know,” George replies, trying to relax before Dream realises it’s him making George nervous. Not the storm. George’s heart is pounding so hard, Dream can hear it beating in London all the way from Florida. “Maybe.”
Dream adjusts until his upper half is comfortably positioned on George’s chest while George fights the want to hold him. He waits until Dream’s silent and still for what George assumes is around twenty minutes, then slowly curls his arms around Dream’s ribs. Dream doesn’t react and George decides it would be strange of him to curl up on George’s chest then be offended by George simply putting his arms where they’re most comfortable. If Dream wanted space, he could’ve built a pillow wall between them and enforced that space. Instead, he’s the one rubbing his face against George’s chest and listening to his phantom heartbeat, so George can’t be blamed for resting his arms on Dream’s back.
Dream’s shoulders move beneath his arm when he takes a deep breath and George subconsciously squeezes tighter, like he’s trying to tuck Dream into the empty space behind his ribs.
With Dream sleeping on his chest, George decides he wouldn’t mind if the hurricane destroys the house around them. He wouldn’t move an inch if it meant not disturbing Dream’s rest, if it meant being able to hold him for just a moment longer.
George falls asleep content, feeling safer than he’s ever felt, but a quiet alert ricochets around his head like a red flag popping up, an alarm beginning to blare. The same quiet thought repeats over and over and he squeezes Dream as much as he wants to try and fight the thought away.
This is starting to hurt.
“So,” Sapnap says, somewhat deep in thought. He’s sitting on the L shaped couch in his office, Naomi by his side. “So—so what you’re saying is…” Sapnap trails off, a frown tugs his lips downwards.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” George says. He’s sitting in Sapnap’s desk chair, legs brought up to his chest with his arms wrapped around his knees. “I think I need to move out.”
“Where would you go?” Sapnap asks, sounding unbelievably sad for someone who’s fallen for at least five of George’s best pranks in the past month, and that’s just the ones he’s happened to stumble upon so far. “Would you buy a house near us or…”
“I don’t know,” George says, resting his chin on the top of his knees. He doesn’t know. He knows he needs to leave. He can’t be trusted to have full access to Dream anymore. He just can’t. It’s gotten harder now that he knows the shape Dream makes in his arms when he sleeps on George’s chest and the way he smells, the way he wakes up, the quiet noises that accompany him in the early hours. He can’t even meet eyes with Dream anymore and he’s pretty sure Dream’s beginning to catch on. “I just need space from him. I need to…”
“I don’t think you’re asking to move out,” Sapnap says. “It’s like you’re trying to instigate a friendship break up. You want space from him, you don’t want to see him…”
“It’s not that I want that!” George exclaims, raising his head. “I want the opposite of that! That’s the problem. I can’t have that so I need—I need to recreate London. I need to—to go back.”
George needs his heart back to function properly again, to be able to love Dream and not hurt, but he can’t have his heart back and be in Dream’s space at the same time. He’ll do something that will ruin them completely and then he’ll have nothing of Dream, just memories.
“You really think that would be better than just—telling him? Even if he rejects you it’s not going to be bad. It’s Dream.”
Sapnap’s probably right. There’s not a strong chance of Dream hating him. It might be awkward for a bit but they’ll go back to normal. Back to normal where George’s heart will still feel like a ten pound weight in his chest and every adorable thing Dream does will only make it heavier.
“I think it’s just better I go now,” George says. “Or soon. Before he—before he knows or…” Before someone else comes and takes Dream from him and George has to sit and watch it happen. It’ll be better if George is in another house, where he can hear about all of Dream’s adventures over the phone.
“This is kinda selfish, George,” Sapnap says, scratching the underside of Naomi’s chin. “He’s going to be confused and hurt if you just leave.”
“I know.” I hate it too. “Maybe I’ll just go back to London for a while.”
“Don’t leave without telling him,” Sapnap says with a scolding look. “If you just up and leave and don’t say anything—”
“I wouldn’t do that,” George interrupts. He feels sick enough at the thought of simply moving out and if there’s one thing Sapnap should be able to count on, it’s George talking with Dream. “I’m not cruel.”
“This whole thing is cruel,” Sapnap grumbles.
George can’t help but feel like he might be right.
“Can we talk?” George asks, entering Dream’s office.
Dream takes his headphones off and spins around in his chair. He’s normally happy to see George but something about Dream’s expression is nervous, wary.
“Yeah, of course.”
George sits on the corner of the office bed, holding his hands in his lap. “Okay, uh—I’ve been thinking about—the house and stuff.” Dream nods along and George continues. The phantom pounding of his heart is unbearable. He knows Dream’s not going to like this and that makes it harder to say. “And I—I was thinking—maybe it would be better if I went back to London for a bit.”
It’s nearly comical how quickly Dream panics. The shift in his face is instant, his eyes widening.
“What? No! George! Why—”
“I know—I just—I think it would be better if I went back for a bit. I have some things to deal with and maybe—maybe I could come back in a year or—”
“A year!” Dream interrupts. “George, I—”
“I just think it’ll be better for us in the long run,” George says, trying to remember the words he practiced in the shower the morning before. “And I think—”
“Okay, no. No.” Dream rolls his chair over, scrambling to be nearer to George. For a moment it looks like he tries to take George’s hands into his but stops himself. “If this is because of—I’m really trying, I swear. I am. I know it maybe doesn’t seem like it and I keep—fucking up but I am trying.”
“What are you talking about?” George asks, confused. None of this is Dream’s fault.
“I know you know. I know—I know you’ve been avoiding me and that’s okay! It’s okay. I thought—I thought maybe that made you feel better about it.”
“About what, Dream? This isn’t because of you.”
“It is,” Dream says, denying George’s claim. His eyes are a little shiny, voice tighter than normal. “And that’s okay. I’m sorry I haven’t been—I thought I was doing a good job. It’s okay if I wasn’t. I can—I can be better. I tried—I tried, but you—I didn’t know what you wanted from me.”
“Dream, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” George is trying to tell Dream this but Dream’s expression says he doesn’t believe George. The look in his eyes is an emotion bordering on self-disgust. This isn’t what George expected. He expected Dream to be confused, but he also expected Dream to demand an explanation, not turn the cause on himself.
“I tried at the beginning. I tried to give you space from me but you didn’t want to leave. I tried to keep you from sleeping in my bed because I didn’t want you to find out about everything one day and view our time together differently. And then—and then you said you couldn’t keep doing this to me and I thought—I thought we were done. You stopped coming to my bed and I thought me taking care of you was enough for you to figure it out. Then you came to me for comfort and I couldn’t not comfort you. I want to hold you—I always do—and you didn’t push me away.”
George’s mind is spinning trying to figure out what Dream’s saying. Did he figure out how George feels about him on his own?
“I’m so confused,” George says.
“During—during the hurricane,” Dream says, casting his eyes downward. “Did I—did you not want me on you? Was that what finally made you realise you need to stay away from me?”
“Dream—”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I am—I don’t—I’m trying. I was trying to stop. I’m trying.”
“Stop what!” George finally gets out, more exasperated than anything. Dream talks and thinks so fast and he’s simply not letting George get many words in. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”
“You know I love you,” Dream says, somewhat wetly. “You know I’m in love with you. You know and that’s why you’ve been avoiding me. That’s why you want to leave.”
George stares at Dream, trying to figure out what sort of uno reverse card has been thrown onto the table here. Dream watches him too, sniffling until he has to roll his chair back to his deck to get a tissue for his nose. He comes back to George after, head still ducked like he’s being dragged down by guilt.
“I—didn’t know,” George says.
Dream frowns. “What do you mean you didn’t? Yes you did. You—you did. You do.”
George shakes his head. “No.”
The panic that Dream initially had returns to his expression. “You didn’t—didn’t know…”
“I didn’t know.”
“Uh,” Dream says, “Surprise?”
There’s a pause of silence and a Discord ping from Dream’s computer that’s so loud, George can hear it come from within the headset laying on the desk. Dream doesn’t pay attention to it, he’s still staring at George like he’s trying to figure him out.
“I thought it was obvious. Sapnap figured it out before you even got here,” Dream says.
“Sapnap—Sapnap…” That bitch. George is going to kill him. Lovingly kill him, but he’s going to kill him all the same. Sapnap could have told him this months ago and he didn’t. He was about to let George move out for fucks sake! “Sapnap’s an idiot.”
“And you’re saying he figured it out even before you did, so what does that make you?” Dream fires back but there’s still that soft, delicate layer to his tone that bleeds anxiety and fondness. He loves George and he’s terrified to lose him. That much is clear now. Dream fixes his voice. “Is there something I can change? Now that you know, you can tell me off. You can tell me what makes you uncomfortable. I’ll stay away.”
“Dream,” George says, choking on the lack of air in his lungs and Dream’s sentiment. “I wasn’t leaving because you love me or because I’m uncomfortable.”
“Oh,” Dream says. “But then—then why—why are you leaving?”
“I have a secret for you. Come up here.” George pushes himself back, crossing his legs. The flutter in his chest that he’s desperately trying to contain may be his heart returning to him, fluttering on fragile butterfly wings that got his heart all the way across an ocean.
Dream rolls his chair closer but George pats the bed, so Dream gets up on the mattress, still seemingly nervous. He sits with his knee bumping the top of George’s and his hands held carefully in his lap.
To George, this is it. There’s no one he’s ever loved like Dream and he’s not sure recreating this kind of love is possible. It feels rare, like it’s something special, but he may just be in love.
“I really thought you knew,” Dream says quietly, eyes still begging George for forgiveness.
There’s no room for yearning in Florida, but maybe that’s because Dream’s been taking up enough space for the both of them. Dream and his big heart and the love he pours out without taking his own heart into account. All he ever cared about was if he was making George uncomfortable.
“If I knew, I would have done something about it,” George says, almost like a taunt. He leans closer, nose scrunched like he’s trying to take Dream in and Dream leans back, still uncertain. George fights to hold a straight poker face. He’ll prank Sapnap to hell and back but with Dream, he’ll just toy with him. George clicks his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, Dream. How selfish of you, keeping your feelings to yourself.”
“George.” Dream drags out his name into a near whine. “Don’t—don’t mock me.”
George leans closer and Dream reaches his limit of how far he can lean back before he topples over. He has to place his hand behind him to support himself and George finally cracks a smile. His smile seems to make Dream less anxious because his expression softens into something more comfortable.
“I’m not, idiot. I’m telling you a secret,” George says, proud in a way that confuses Dream.
“I’m not hearing one.”
“It’s not a word secret. You can’t hear it. It doesn’t make noise.”
“Oh,” Dream says. “No?”
“No,” George agrees. “I could maybe tell you if you came a bit closer.”
Dream takes a shaky inhale and pushes himself up right. His nervousness is palpable. It’s rare for Dream to show his nervousness. He’s always so confident when he needs to be but he’s nervous here and something about that sends a thrill through George. His heart, his real heart, pounds in agreement. He’s excited, nearly as excited as the day he flew to Florida.
“A bit closer,” George encourages, watching Dream struggle to obey him. He doesn’t seem to understand what George is asking and that somehow makes it cuter. When Dream’s near enough, George leans in and presses his lips to Dream’s.
It’s a quick kiss, nothing longer than the way Dream had kissed his forehead when George was sick, but the sound Dream makes in response is hallowed by it, equal parts of surprise and desperation shape the sound of his surprised hum into something unbelievably wanting and George smiles when he pulls back, enjoying the way his heart is jumping in his chest.
For the first time since he moved to Florida, his heart is home.
“No, no.” Dream scrambles to grab ahold of him, fumbling for George’s wrists, for the sleeve of his hoodie. “George.”
“What?” George laughs. “Did you not like my secret?”
“Shut up,” Dream says. “Shut up right now and kiss me again.”
George wants to. He’d happily fulfill Dream’s request but it’s a bit hard to kiss Dream when he’s still smiling unbelievably hard. He’s been waiting for years to kiss Dream. He’s been so patient and it seems Dream has been patient too, though the way he scrambles to cling to George now is anything but patient.
“You’re joking,” Dream says, still unbelieving. George isn’t sure how he could still be doubting, not when George is tilting his head, offering more of his face for Dream to press gentle kisses too. He’s not shoving Dream away. That should be proof enough. “Come on, George. You’re joking. You’re memeing me.”
“Nope.”
George used to wish he was. The thought that he’d be forever in love with Dream used to feel like a cruel joke, a prank that George was patiently waiting for the end of.
“You love me?” Dream asks and George knows he probably needs nothing more than a nod of confirmation but George gives him more than that because if Dream has gone through the same pains of unreciprocated love that George has endured for the past five or so years, he can find it in the endless pit that is his unending love for Dream, to tell Dream he does love him.
“I love you,” George says and that’s what finally seems to knock it into Dream. Dream kisses him again and George laughs when Dream pulls back, knocking his forehead against George’s. “Love you.”
“I love you,” Dream returns. Then, to George’s dismay, Dream’s eyes light up with an idea that has nothing to do with kissing George. “I’m going to tell Sapnap!”
“No, Dream, no!” George catches his sleeve before Dream can get fully off the bed, pulling him back. “Sapnap thinks I’m moving out to get over you.”
Dream’s eyes get a little sad again, like he’s remembering what George had initially come to tell him, but his frown is quickly soothed by George rubbing his thumb over the back of Dream’s knuckles. Dream focuses in on that instead of looking towards the door.
“Okay? But you’re not,” Dream says.
“I think we should pretend I’m still moving out,” George says. “To get him back for not helping us out.” While Sapnap’s loyalty to Dream is very honorable, George can’t get past the fact that Sapnap nearly let this end in disaster. He’s a little bit interested to see how far Sapnap will let it go before he steps in and really tries to stop George.
“Okay,” Dream agrees. “But I still get to kiss you, right?”
“Yes,” George agrees, mostly for his own benefit. “As much as you want.”
“Epic,” Dream whispers, as if he’s talking to himself. He pulls George back onto the bed. George laughs as he goes, feeling lighter than he has since he moved to Florida. Maybe it’s because of the way his heart has been returned to his chest or maybe he’s excited at the chance to really prank Sapnap. Whatever it is, George is happy, and his heart is too.
Sapnap holds out for a week.
It’s impressive, actually. Sapnap holds out well for how earnestly both Dream and George commit to the bit. George starts collecting cardboard boxes from merch shipments and filling his room with them, as if preparing to move out, and Dream buries himself in work, pretending to mope.
Behind their little act, George sneaks into Dream’s office when Sapnap’s streaming so he can sit in Dream’s chair with him while Dream works, his arms around Dream’s neck, kicking his feet from where his legs are threaded through the gaps beneath the arm rests of Dream’s office chair. Dream rests his chin on George’s shoulder while he works and if he ever needs George to look at something, he just swivels the chair around so George can see the screen.
Their dynamic works really well in secret but George is secretly hoping Sapnap breaks quickly because he’s getting tired of only loving on Dream in private when Sapnap just so happens to stream. He’s been waiting years to have Dream and he needs Sapnap to break already so he can love Dream thoroughly, out in the open.
Sapnap finally does one day when Dream starts an argument with George in the kitchen. It’s not even a fake argument for the act they’re putting on. It’s a real, gentle argument because Dream is tired of George leaving empty boxes in the pantry.
The argument isn’t heated. It’s just Dream nagging at him. Sapnap’s on the couch, trying to watch TV while they’re arguing in the kitchen.
“It’s not that hard to recycle, George,” Dream chides, making a big production out of taking the granola bar box apart and putting it in with the rest of the paper recycling under the sink. “See, easy.”
George sticks his tongue out at Dream and Dream’s eyes sparkle with poorly hidden mirth. “It’s fine. When I move out you’ll miss my empty boxes.”
“I won’t!” Dream argues, mostly because it’s true. Dream won’t be missing his empty boxes because George isn’t going anywhere and neither are his empty boxes. At this point, George wouldn’t be surprised if Dream’s stuck with empty cardboard boxes left in his pantry for the rest of his life. “I’ll be glad, actually.”
“Oh, will you?” George tests and Dream rolls his eyes. “Well, I won’t miss you when I move, that’s for sure!”
That statement is also partially true because George is moving. Except, instead of moving houses, he’s moving floors. He is planning on moving but only because he’s planning on moving into Dream’s room. He still plans on keeping his office upstairs and his current room for extra space, but he’s already scheming on how to move all his trinkets into Dream’s wing of the house and where he’s going to put all of his fishing shirts in Dream’s closet, right beside Dream’s Sooners merch.
“Okay!” Sapnap jumps up off the couch and Dream startles when the remote he was holding goes flying and crashes onto the floor. George steps nearer to Dream, knocking his hand against Dream’s behind the cover of the island. Discreet comfort similar to the way he’s been stealing Dream away when Sapnap has his back turned. “I can’t take it anymore! I can’t! You stupid bitches!” Sapnap shouts and George’s eyebrows raise, astonished. He’s been waiting for Sapnap’s blow up but he didn’t expect it to be this dramatic or nearly half this loud.
“Excuse me?” Dream says with a small cough, like he’s trying not to laugh.
“You love each other!” Sapnap shouts, exasperated. “You love each other, oh my god! It’s so damn obvious half the internet can see it! How are you both this blind?”
“I’m colorblind,” George says, tone even, and that’s what finally breaks Dream. He bursts into laughter so hard he has to place his palm on the island to steady himself as he bends over. With how he’s laughing, he might collapse another lung.
“George,” Sapnap says, clearly stuck between being frustrated and absolutely done with his ridiculousness. “Dream loves you. You can’t leave.”
“I know he does,” George says, cocky. Dream’s still trying to catch his breath. “That’s why I’m packing up my room. I’m moving down here. I’m moving downstairs.”
“You’re…” Sapnap trails off. He seems to be beginning to realise he’s been played. Like a violin, George might say. “What?”
“I’m moving in with Dream,” George declares. “Because we’re date—ing.”
“You are?” Sapnap looks to Dream for confirmation, like he can’t trust George to be honest or serious. With how much despair being helplessly in love with Dream for years has caused him, George wouldn’t joke around declaring he and Dream are dating. Dream gives Sapnap a nonchalant shrug and goes back to cleaning out the pantry. “What the fuck? Since when?”
“Since your mum—”
“George, oh my god,” Dream interrupts, setting a new box of granola bars down in front of George, then three separate plastic containers for George to sort the flavors into. “Since a week, Sap. Not long.”
“You guys have been acting sad and moping around for a week to prank me?” Sapnap asks. He actually sounds sort’ve impressed. “Wow, if you guys commit that hard to your relationship, this might actually work.”
“It’s going to work,” George states and Dream scoffs playfully but he knows just as well as George does. They’ve talked about it already, all the fine details of their relationship, present and future. They’ve talked about Dream’s concerns and George has dredged his feelings up from the lock box inside of his chest for Dream’s sake. They’ve talked and George can’t see this not working. He’s confident in them. Dream has his whole heart. He always has. “Like the way solid yogurt works. It just works.”
George doesn’t bring much from London, but as it turns out, he never had to bring much in the first place. The only thing he had to bring from London, was the one thing he chose to leave behind. The only thing George ever had to bring with him to Florida was his heart, and along with it, his love for Dream.
George abandoned his heart behind once before but now he knows for sure he’ll never do it again. His love for Dream will remain in his chest, carefully and earnestly kept, and Dream will hold the same amount of love for him in return.
George’s heart belongs in Florida where there’s plenty of room to love Dream and for him to be loved in return.