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George lifts his forehead off the window and inconspicuously wipes his tears before Dream has to see them as they pull up to the terminal.
He knows the holidays mean everything to Dream, and George going back to London for Christmas wasn’t an easy decision.
The holidays were always a big thing for George too but last year, just two months after he arrived in Florida, he wanted nothing more than to stay by Dream’s side. He doesn’t regret that, not even in the slightest.
Christmas last year was filled with Dream and Dream’s family–baking cookies, exchanging gifts, and Christmas songs. It was perfect.
But this year, he did want to go home.
His mum had called him a month back, begging him to come home for the holidays because everyone was going to their house; his mum and dad, older sister and her husband and his three-year-old niece, aunt and uncle, his cousins, and even his grandmother would be there to celebrate the day.
It felt weird to miss that, even if it meant leaving Dream behind.
Even if it meant separating for three weeks; the longest they’ve been apart since George arrived in Florida.
George had asked Dream to come to London with him–get away from everything here. It would be like a vacation, with the added bonus that they’d still be together for the holidays.
No such luck though. Dream’s sour mood he’s been in the past few weeks just got worse and Dream avoided him like the plague for the last week or so, besides offering him a ride to the airport rather than him taking an Uber.
It was good though, George thinks. He thinks it’s easier to leave Dream behind when he’s not ridiculously and over-endeared by the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles and when he doesn’t catch himself staring at his best friend’s lips.
No .
He can’t think like that–not anymore.
George had always thought their friendship danced a careful line, almost stumbling too far into the more than friends side, or so he thought–but Dream has put a clear line now these past few weeks.
He’s not into George.
That’s so clear and always has been, whether or not George let himself hope for something else. It’s his own fault that he let himself fantasize about the way Dream would wrap his arms around his waist from behind and rest his chin on his shoulder if they were together, or the way he thinks Dream would press a kiss to his forehead and sing his own songs written for George cuddled up in bed before falling asleep.
George did that to himself. It’ll never happen and he needs to stop pretending that some day, it will.
Dream has been living his life since George got here and sure, George has too, but in a different way.
The smaller has gone out and made lifetime friends, like Larray and Hannah and Sylvee, whereas Dream has kissed a variety of men and found hookups across the board.
That’s fine, it does not bother George. At all. Nope, not even a little.
Because George–well, George hasn’t even really tried to find anyone of romantic interest.
He doesn’t want a boyfriend. He doesn’t. He swears.
Even if the opportunity hit him in the face, he’s too in love with Dream to look past those feelings.
So right now, any kind of love interest is out of the question.
It’s too hard anyway, he justifies. George is way too back and forth between Florida and LA to actually be settled down–unless it’s Dream of course, because they do that traveling together. That’s beside the point.
The point is that George wants Dream and Dream doesn’t want him back.
And right now, Dream’s pulling up to his terminal at the airport and is somewhat regretting his decision.
It’s sad to think that they’ll be separated for so long and so, so far apart.
But if he shows how upset he truly is, if Dream sees his tears, Dream will know.
Although Dream has always been emotional, George has not, and any bit of vulnerability will be a dead giveaway.
Dream will realize everything George hasn’t been saying and George’s life will fall apart.
So, George bites his lip to stop himself from letting any more tears fall and clears his throat.
“Alright, we’re here.” Dream tells him with a melancholy tone, lips slightly turned downward into a frown as he parks the car and looks over at George.
The smaller takes a deep breath and nods, “we’re here.” George says, almost trying to stall.
“I’ll–I’ll help you get your luggage out?” He asks, a quiver in his words that George notes as a telltale sign that he’s holding back tears. It makes George’s lips fall into a similar frown but he nods anyway, looking toward the door as he opens it.
Dream gets out too, popping the trunk and pulling George’s luggage out with ease, even though George couldn’t even get it down the steps on his own without struggling. “So,” Dream says. “You ready? Got your backpack?”
George nods and checks his pockets too for his phone and passport. “Yup, I’ve got everything.” He tells Dream and then decides to swallow his pride. “I’ll miss you.”
His friend smiles at him lightly and pulls him into a quick, obviously a bro hug, before letting go. “I’ll miss you too, idiot. Have a safe flight, okay? And tell your family I said Merry Christmas.”
George tugs Dream into another hug, a longer one that’s a little too tight and a tad bit too long to be friendly but Dream lets him without complaint. In fact, he sinks into it as much as George does.
His stomach churns when he releases Dream a second time, regretting his decision to pull his friend into an obviously and objectively too friendly hug. God, Dream must know, right? He has to know.
Huffing, George grabs onto the handle of his luggage just to do something and take his mind off it. If he thinks too hard about Dream knowing about his feelings, he’ll actually throw up. “I’ll talk to you before then, dumbass. Tell me again when we get closer to Christmas.”
Dream rolls his eyes and playfully shoves his shoulder. “Fine, don’t be stupid. You’re gonna miss your flight.”
It’s not true–he’s two hours early and has a plethora of time to get through airport security but he can see the tears pooling in Dream’s eyes. He knows the man is trying to get him to leave before Dream starts to cry.
Since Dream’s tears will make him start crying, he lets Dream push him away for both of their sakes. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’m going.” He says, pulling his luggage over the curb with a bit of struggle, making Dream laugh.
“Text me when you land.” Dream says softly and George agrees, but doesn’t even make it through security before he shoots Dream a text.
–
George’s mother throws her arms around him before he even gets inside the house. She tackles him in a big bear hug right outside the front door. “George!” She yells, arms wrapped around his neck.
He laughs, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in tight. He and his mum used to be super close–when he lived in his flat, George didn’t see her all that often but he kept in touch almost every day–but when he got to Florida, he stopped messaging as frequently.
Even so, he still called her once a week on the weekends and texted her as often as his schedule allowed. “Hi mum.” He says back as he pulls away to grab his luggage and usher them through the door.
The cold used to be something he was a lot more used to but now that he lives in Florida, he’s shivering standing in the freezing cold with just a hoodie. “Oh my god, George, you look so tan!” She says, looking at him and George can’t help but laugh.
He’s really not all that tan but he supposes the sun-kissed peach with freckles that cover his t-zone definitely show he’s been in the sun. “I live in Florida, of course I look tan.” Automatically, he feels his natural British accent sneak in like he’s never left, code-switching accidentally.
She smiles and brings her hands to his cheeks. “You look happy.” Her voice is soft and she hugs him quickly before bringing him over to sit at their counter. A mug filled with tea is unironically sitting in his favorite mug on the marble, which makes him laugh.
George decides not to say anything about how mainstream and English this is for a welcome-home late in the night, rather just waits for her to say something first, knowing by the way her leg bounces in her seat that she has something to say. “How was your flight?”
“It was okay, I slept through most of it.” He tells her honestly. “Oh! Actually, I have to–” He cuts himself off to grab his phone. “I have to just tell Dream I’m here.” George explains, already typing out a text to his best friend.
Before his mum even gets a word in, his father walks through the front door, home late from work, with a smile on his face.
“George,” He says curtly, hanging up his coat and taking off his shoes before walking off their floor mat. George feels his cheeks flush when he looks down, realizing he forgot to take his shoes off at the door, but in his defense, they don’t do that back at home. Dream and Sapnap never really cared and George certainly didn’t, so shoes stayed on most of the time. His dad notices too, following George’s eyes down to his feet and tuts with disappointment, but doesn’t say anything. “How was the flight?”
George nods back, just as curtly as his dad approaches him. “It was fine.”
“And the states?”
Immediately, he recoils from the statement and wishes he got himself a hotel, knowing it’s not a question he truly wants to know–not for a good reason, at least. He never truly got along with his dad, honestly. George’s sister did, better than he did at least, but because George never truly met those unrealistic expectations he was always held to.
George is almost positive his dad wanted a son that was like him; tall and muscular, studying business and something useful, his dad said. He wants someone that could take after his own shoes in the family business, take care of his family–his kids he’s meant to have when he marries the perfect woman.
And George just never fulfilled those roles. He never will.
George fell in love with his faceless best friend in his late teens and thankfully realized that he was gay early enough.
Was that a scary realization? No, not at first, actually.
Being gay was not something he ever discussed with his family when he first realized but that’s because it was never brought up. Or so he thought that was why.
But when his father casually brought it up one day at dinner, that all the dnf bullshit online he was seeing was clearly untrue, George didn’t think twice about it.
He remembers the day like it was yesterday, the day his relationship with his father took a turn. George had told him dnf wasn’t real with the caveat that he kind of wanted it to be. “Well, he might like me, I don’t know.” George had said, taking a bite of his dinner. “I’m not sure we’d try the whole long-distance thing though.”
The words I’m gay never even left his mouth. He didn’t even fucking say the words, yet the disgust on his father’s face has been etched into George’s mind ever since.
At first, George cared. He was devastated and frankly, George tried not to be gay. As if that was something he could change. George knows better now, obviously, but he didn’t always.
He tried to bring home girls when he was in university, let them meet his parents and force himself to enjoy when their lips locked together, because that’s what he was taught was right.
But it’s not. That’s not what’s ‘ right,’ not for him, at least.
After deciding he didn’t give a fuck about what his dad thought about his sexuality, George went down the route he wanted rather than what was expected. He didn’t care if his father thought a computer science degree was a waste of time. George didn’t want to take over their stupid family business, whether or not he studied some kind of finance in school, and certainly wasn’t going to give up his own dream for it. Literally. Pun intended.
George’s mum has always been okay with his identity, being there to listen to his boy problems–his Dream problems–though now he doesn’t get to talk to her about it when he’s almost always around his best friend back at home.
But she knows that he’s been head over heels for Dream for far too long and that’s that.
And his dad? Well, all his dad knows is that George is gay. They don’t talk much at all, let alone about boys.
Even just the thought makes George laugh to himself. His dad would literally have his head if he called just to talk about his boy struggles; like, come pick George up from his house in Florida and drag him back to London by his hair.
“It’s good.” George responds delayed, too lost in his thoughts to give a better response. He doesn’t even want to give a better response, to be honest. “We have a house in LA now, too, so when we travel we don’t constantly have to pay for hotels.”
His dad huffs and George would’ve thought that the statement was a good one; he’s making a financially responsible decision, but of course not. George doesn’t often get praise so he’s not sure why he’s surprised by the disapproval. “So now you have two houses with your friends? George, you’re twenty-seven. Don’t you think it’s time to settle down?”
Okay, fine. George is twenty-fucking-seven. Many people settle down at his age but he’s not most. His life didn’t even really start until he moved to America, and he was still twenty-five at the time.
Besides, he’s settled down. Maybe not in the typical way but still, he knows he’s in a house with people he loves, can trust, and can count on, for at least the next five years.
“I am settled.”
The taller man huffs. “Playing house with your friends isn’t being settled. I mean finding a girlfriend, getting married, having kids, George.”
It’s so fucking frustrating and invalidating. He’s been in their home for literally less than an hour and his father has already created an unwelcoming environment for him. Suddenly, he wishes the decision to stay home with Dream for the holidays had been easier. It sure would be an easy decision to make now, considering he regrets his decision and is about ready to leave London without even opening his suitcase.
“I’m gay, dad, what part of that don’t you understand?”
George’s dad actually has the audacity to laugh. “You’re not gay, you’re just confused.”
“So I’m old enough to settle down but not old enough to know I’m gay?”
When George stands and scoots his chair loudly across the floor, he feels his shoulders sag. He tries to hold them high, feigning some kind of confidence he knows he needs to stand up to his father. “You just need to try–”
Not that any of George’s life is even his father’s business, but he feels the need to defend himself. He has tried. That doesn’t change the fact that he wants Dream. “Dad–”
“Just put yourself out there, George. Go out with a girl, get away from your friends, kid–” George’s anger bubbles in his chest and he tries to take a deep breath. There’s only one possible thing that could fix this or–or convince his father.
“I–I have a boyfriend, dad. I–I–” He spits out the lie with venom, stuttering with a blush when he realizes his own words. His mother gasps too, not wanting to get involved in their fight but surely curious.
“Oh, my Georgie!” His mum says, walking up to him and straight past her husband to put both hands on either side of his cheeks. “I’m so happy for you, sweetie.” She lowers her voice, knowing that his dad will be unhappy but kisses his cheek anyway. “It’s Dream, right?”
George’s eyes shut when her lips press against his cheek, knowing that he’s just made a grave mistake with the fib as he nods. Dream is objectively the worst person he could pick to pretend he’s dating, knowing he’ll be confused and heartbroken when they're reunited. But why does the thought of saying he’s dating Sapnap make him feel sick?
It’s too late now, he can’t just take it back, but it sucks.
His mum shrieks with joy and smiles as she pulls him in for a hug, while his dad walks away heavy-footed through the house before he says anything else.
George gulps when he feels his heart pick up the pace and his mum gives him a sad look. “I’m so proud of you, George.” She says and then replaces the frown on her face with a smile, ushering him to sit back down at the counter. “Now, tell me everything.”
He sighs and fakes a smile, hands wrapping around the now cold mug of tea.
As George starts to tell the story, the fake story, he realizes he doesn’t even have to really lie, at least not that much.
His dynamic with Dream has surpassed strictly platonic, even when Dream doesn’t feel like that for him, so he plays off that. George tells her about their real dates, even though they didn’t call them dates, like cat cafes and sushi and cuddling in Antarctica.
And just like that, his mood is lightened and he thinks it won’t be so bad. A small grin settles over his lips as he gets the chance to gush about Dream, just like he always does, and if he’s also grinning at the thought of being with Dream, well, that’s none of anyone’s business.
–
George doesn’t go downstairs the next morning until it’s absolutely dire that he shows his face. He stays locked in his room until his extended family starts showing up and even then, he takes his sweet ass time unpacking his things into his old dresser drawers with a scowl on his face.
It’s scary being back like this; it almost feels like nothing has changed since the last time he lived here, even though everything has.
The last time he lived in this room was early 2021, well before he moved into his flat and… right after he unknowingly came out to his parents. He had wanted to move for a while already at the time and the silent treatment from his father is what ended up giving him that final push to take the risk to move out on his own.
And sure, George was alone in his flat for almost two full years, but he also always had Dream by his side.
They’d sit on the phone together for everything–work, errands, just mundane tasks. They’d chat, binge-watch shows together, play Minecraft–they literally did it all.
So yes, alone, but also with Dream in his ear with promises of you’ll be home soon and whispers of I love you that never ended up going anywhere when George finally got his visa.
It’s bittersweet being home back, he corrects himself in his head. He grew up here, his family is here, but this is not home. Dream is home. Sapnap is home. Patches is home.
George even packed one of his one-and-a-half-inch pink elephants, wrapped delicately in one of Dream’s t-shirts that he definitely grabbed accidentally from the laundry room.
As George unravels it, he starts to grow unsettled, like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. There’s something about the familiarity of all this, the memories and nostalgia, that make him nauseous.
There’s literally nothing worse than being back here like he never left.
The promise of soon without any real premise. The fights over seeing Dream’s face because he showed Sapnap while he was in this very room alone. Arguments between he and Dream that he can look back on now and realize he had feelings for his best friend before he even knew he liked men.
It’s sickening to feel so small and insignificant in the room that once was his entire world because it was.
His life was sitting at home, recording, editing, talking to Dream.
Even after a good night of sleep and no confrontation with his father, he still wants to go home. He wants to see Dream and Patches and maybe even Stinknap.
George recoils at the thought and laughs a little to himself, trying to fight the stupid tears that are building for no reason. Missing Dream is one thing but missing Sapnap? That’s too far.
He puts his elephant on his end table, where his original one used to sit when he got it from Amazon in 2020, and touches its head lightly.
I’ll be home in three weeks, he chants in his head as he walks toward his bedroom door, dreading walking outside and facing all the family he hasn’t seen in years now. I’ll be home soon, he says and then rolls his eyes at the fact that he’s s-worded himself.
There’s no more reason to stall as George crawls down the stairs at a snail's pace, hand on the railing while mentally preparing for all the random questions he’s about to get asked.
It’s okay, this is his family.
He’ll be fine.
–
George is most certainly not fine.
That’s probably the last word George would use to describe how he’s feeling.
It’s been hours that George is answering to every single person and their mother– how’s Florida? How’s the weather? What about LA? You have a cat? Dream? Sapnap? Larray? What–
Like, jesus christ, he’s been gone for a year, not a decade.
Besides, he knows most of them keep up with his whereabouts between asking his mother and following his socials, so it’s not like they’re out of the loop.
And of course, the last question that gets everyone to look is, “are you dating anyone?”
George opens his mouth, ready to groan and say no, when he gets cut off by his mother. “Oh! Yes, he lives with his boyfriend. Right, George?”
That’s it.
The commotion that’s been almost tame the entire day is now complete and utter chaos. A lot of what George can make out from the number of people talking at once is about how they knew him and Dream were together before George even got his visa, how George has always been so obvious about his feelings, that they’re proud of him for coming out, and all sorts of things.
So there goes his own chance to come out to his family–and now, he has to make sure none of them tell anyone.
“Wait, George–” His sister Lucy says, cutting over the ridiculously loud room. “So you and Dream are like, actually dating? Are you serious?” She asks and George huffs, crossing his arms defensively against his chest.
In her defense though, he probably spoke to her more since moving to the U.S. than anyone else. She’s probably feeling a little betrayed that he didn’t tell her–but in his defense, not that she’ll ever know this, he didn’t tell her because they’re not actually together. Clearly.
“Yeah uh, we–we–yeah.” George stutters dumbly, making Lucy look at him with scrunched eyebrows. “Lu,” he says, sure that she’s still skeptical. “I’ll tell you all about it, I promise.” That has her shoulders relaxing as she leans back in her chair.
“Fine.” He thinks he’s in the clear, until she waves her hand expectantly with the raise of her eyebrows. “So tell me. Tell us the story.”
“What story?”
She scoffs at him and kicks him lightly in the shin. “The story of how you guys finally got together.”
“Oh, I–I don’t think that’s actually necess–”
“No, no, George! Tell everyone, it’s sweet.” His mum cuts in and he glares, silently telling her that she’s making his life a living hell.
So he goes through the entire story again–mostly telling the truth with a few enhancements here and there to make it seem like they’re actually dating–like Dream confessing his feelings first because no one in their right mind would believe George initiated that, and deciding to buy the LA house because they didn’t want to be apart which, true, just embellished to an extent.
Give their story a little flare and they’re basically together.
So now, his entire family thinks they’re dating.
That’s great.
It’s only like, twenty people… which is already twenty people too many.
He doesn’t want to know which extended family members will find out after tonight, let alone within the next two days between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, knowing damn well his mum is too excited to keep it to herself.
–
“I just want to come home.” George says, back flat against the pillow while looking up at the ceiling. His phone is on his chest and Dream’s on the other end.
It’s late here in London, well past two in the morning, but the time difference is just as big as it used to be. It’s only just past nine in Florida. “You’ll be home soon, George.”
His lips protest the words before Dream even finishes saying them, not believing he’d possibly say those words to George, the exact words he used to say. “Don’t say it like that, Dream.” George says angrily, sitting up in the dark room and grabbing his phone, clenching onto it tightly. He holds onto it like it’s Dream–like Dream is here with him in London and he’s not stuck halfway across the world in a massive lie with just his family. His breathing starts to quicken and his eyes flit across the room, almost like he’s looking for an escape even when he knows one doesn’t exist. “I–I’m not stuck here, Dream. Don’t say soon. I fucking hate the word soon. It makes it sound like it used to be, like there’s no end date. I’m–I’m–I’ll be home in three weeks, idiot, I–I–”
“Woah, George, woah, okay. Okay.” Dream says slowly, George’s grip on his phone getting tighter. “You’re freakin’ out on me, George. It’s okay, you’re okay.” His best friend’s voice is reassuring but not really reassuring enough. His lips curve downward on his face and he holds his phone close against his chest where he’s sitting up in bed.
“Dream–” His wobbly voice is so incredibly unstable, wavering obviously in a way that makes Dream’s breath hitch from the other end of the phone.
He feels stupid for having tears in his eyes. There’s no reason to be upset. Dream didn’t mean to say the words he said, he didn’t mean them in the way that he meant them all those years ago. George knows he’ll be back in Florida in less than a month, and so does Dream.
There’s really no problem here.
Either way though, his throat tightens as he tries to stop the cry from spilling off his lips and he tries to swallow it down.
“Don’t cry, G. It’s–it’s okay. You’ve got a flight for January tenth and I’ll be waiting for you at the airport, alright? This isn’t– hey.” Dream cuts off his comforting words at the first sign that George’s quivering voice has turned to actual tears. He tries to hold in his small hiccups but it’s already too obvious and he can’t really get them to stop. “George.” He says, softly but sternly to really get his attention. “You aren’t stuck there. You aren’t alone. You are coming home. Hell, George, you can get on a flight right now if you want to.”
George chuckles humorlessly through his tears, sniffling and wiping at his nose as he leans back in his bed again. “Should I?”
Dream laughs slightly too. “No, idiot. You should enjoy Christmas with your family, okay? We’ll talk all day, everyday. You are coming home.” He repeats again, just to make his point clear. Final.
And George knows that. He’s going home but that doesn’t fix the now. All it fixes is that three weeks from now, he’ll be home.
That doesn’t change the fact that he feels trapped here in the same way he used to be, whether or not he’s got a plane ticket home, or the fact that his dad doesn’t accept him, or that he’s got an entire year of lies to tell his whole family.
“I know.” George finally relents, relaxing back into his pillows again. He stares above him, heart still erratic against his ribcage as he feels the familiarity of this all. “I just–I hate this.” He admits quietly. “It feels–it feels the same as it used to. Like I’m stuck here without you.” George has a hard time finding the words, fumbling through what he wants to say. It doesn’t sound great, George not really open with his feelings very often, but he thinks he gets his point across.
Dream sighs gently and takes a moment before responding. “You’re not stuck without me, George. You could fly home right now,” Dream reiterates, “or I could fly there.” He confirms. “We are not stuck anywhere.”
“But it feels the same. Sitting on Discord in the middle of the night because we’re in different timezones, texting you from the corner of my living room surrounded by family, just waiting to go back home.” George lists off the things that freak him out the most about being here.
“That’s the difference, George. Right there.” Dream’s calm, reassuring voice settles deep in his bones. “You’re waiting to come back home. Before, you were waiting to finally be here.”
George’s face crumples in distress, annoyed that Dream’s words actually kind of make sense. “I guess.” He says with nothing better to say.
“Listen to me, okay? Close your eyes.”
George huffs. “What? Why?”
“Just do it, idiot. Close your eyes.”
“Fine.” George says, rolling his eyes before letting his eyes flutter shut. He waits for Dream’s voice to tell him what happens next.
“Are they closed?”
George’s eyes roll to the back of his head again, eyes still closed. “Obviously, you freak. What is wrong with you?”
“Think about me.”
The shorter snorts out a laugh. “You’re so full of yourself, Dream. What–”
“ George!” His exasperated voice shoots through his phone, crackling with the mid-quality of the iPhone microphone. “Just fucking listen, dumbass. Think about me.”
“About what?” It’s a little to annoy Dream, just because the idiot on the other end of the line makes him smile, but also because he’s not really sure what Dream is getting at.
“Picture me in your head.” Dream orders and he sighs, not understanding what the fuck he’s doing this for. George, being the simp he is, does it without further complaint. It’s not like thinking about Dream is a hardship.
He does his best to conjure up Dream in his mind. George thinks of Dream’s light brown curly hair, specifically tucked under his black and white cat beanie that George thinks is his favorite. The stubble on his face at the best length; not long enough to be a beard but a little bit longer than five o’clock shadow.
George thinks about Dream’s size–how Dream towers over him when they stand next to one another and George has to strain his neck to look up at his eyes, how his shoulders are so broad they’re almost double George’s, how Dream’s one hand can cover both of his own.
Dream’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Are you picturing me?”
“Yes, idiot.”
The man across the ocean hums in content. “That’s the difference.” He repeats himself. “You know what I look like, what I feel like. You know what my voice sounds like without a stupid mic, what I smell like–”
Tearing up, feeling overwhelmed by Dream’s very comforting words, George makes a joke to counteract that. His best friend has a point. “Yeah and you smell like shit.” He says, voice clearly wavering again with a quiet sniffle.
Dream’s sad chuckle comes through before he speaks again, although he somehow knows the tears are a lot different than before. “Better?” He asks and George nods, even when the other can’t see him.
“Yeah, Dream.” George says. “Thank you.”
–
He had fallen asleep with Dream in his ear, easily losing consciousness with the promise of Dream’s words.
Dream is right.
George knows Dream. He knows how tall he is, what his shampoo smells like, and what his shirts feel like against the expanse of his own skin.
And he knew Dream before he got to Florida but now he knows him differently.
It’s promising to know that he knows Dream more intimately than he ever did–it helps George differentiate the time periods in his mind. No matter how familiar this all feels because it’s not the same.
This doesn’t change everything, not even close.
He’s still sitting on the floor of his living room with aunts and uncles, cousins from both sides of the family, phone in his hand as he waits patiently for Dream to respond.
There’s a bit of annoyance settling deep in his bones and he tries not to let it bother him. Maybe he’s just overstimulated and there’s too much going on between more family members showing up to the house and asking him about his boyfriend, plus Dream not answering any of his texts and calls all day.
Dream had given him an entire spiel about how things were okay, the holidays would be fine even if they were apart because they’d talk all day like they always do and then–radio silence.
Goddamn radio silence.
He’s kind of a dickhead for ignoring all of George’s texts.
At first, George thought maybe Dream was asleep.
Then, after it hit noon back in Florida he figured he’d shoot Dream a text.
Later at two, he told Dream about how bad their Christmas Eve lunch was in comparison to Dream’s grandmother’s antipasto from the year before.
And finally, George sent his last text to Dream at four, just checking if he’s even okay. It’s odd that Dream just disappeared and today of all days, too.
So now George is sitting on the floor next to their fireplace, blanket wrapped neatly around his shoulders with a glass of wine in one hand and glaring at his phone in the other.
“Right, George?” His aunt says from somewhere in the living room. George’s head shoots up and tries to find her, though he has no idea what she was talking about.
“What? Uh–” He racks his brain for what she had been talking about but he was too deep in his own thoughts to play it back.
“You’re dating that Dream boy, right? The one you went to America for?”
It sounds accusatory and George doesn’t like it, not one bit. He didn’t go to America just for Dream, even though he was a huge part of it. George’s entire life, all his friends, his work–they were all across the country.
“Uh, we–yeah, we’re together but–but–” George’s cheeks flush as he says the words, even though he’s starting to get used to it. “I went to America for a lot of reasons.”
Even though he tries to defend himself, his aunt waves him off. “I know, I know,” She says dismissively. “But love is much bigger than the rest of it, huh?”
George isn’t sure if defending himself is a good idea or a bad one. He decides on the latter, letting his back lean against the wall again to ignore her. “I suppose so, yes.”
And as the entire room coos at him and this made up love story, George wants to run from the room and never come back. It’s awful–telling the lie that he’s with his best friend when they’re nothing close to it even when it’s all George wants.
“He’ll get over it.” George’s dad tells his aunt, then everyone else, as he enters the room for the first time all day. “It’s just a phase.”
George scoffs loudly, rolling his eyes without being able to stop himself with the lack of inhibition from the buzz he’s got going on. His phone starts to vibrate constantly in his pocket– Dream. “Oh yes,” George says sarcastically as he pulls the blanket off his back to stand up. “Because me actually being gay is impossible.”
He stalks across the room, making it to the kitchen before he answers the call. The living room and kitchen are adjoining rooms, so there’s space between him and his family. “Hey, George.” Dream says using his crazy sweet voice and with George’s annoyed state, he clicks his tongue.
“You’ve been ignoring me all day, Dream.” George says, trying to come out stern but falling more toward the whiny side. He side eyes his family–a few eavesdropping very obviously, giving George and one another looks about the fact his supposed boyfriend’s been ignoring him all day.
Dream chuckles and then hums quietly. George’s eyebrows scrunch when he listens closely, hearing wind on the other line. “I got you a present.”
“A present?” George asks dumbly, putting his wine glass on the counter while looking at the front door.
“Mhm,” Dream tells him. “Go outside.”
“What did you get me?” George smirks and fights the urge to make a dirty joke, since his family is surely still listening. He goes around the kitchen counter to go to the door.
“Shut up, idiot. Just go look.”
George obliges easily, buzzed and looking for any reason to spend time away from his family.
He assumes it’ll be something family friendly, Dream surely knowing there was a possibility of others in the house opening it accidentally or seeing it. George starts to wonder when he could have sent it for it to have been perfectly timed and arrive on Christmas Eve.
But when he throws open the door and sees his best friend smiling down at him, all rational thoughts leave his mind.
“Dream.” George’s face morphs into a smile and he doesn’t even think he hangs up the phone before his body slams into Dream. His friend laughs, shaking George’s body but wrapping his arms around George’s shoulders. The taller tucks his face into George’s hair, hot air from his lips with a kiss to his skull, creating a puff of air in the chilly temperature. “What the hell are you doing here?” George asks as he pulls away, hands finding purchase on Dream’s biceps to make sure this isn’t a dream.
His friend shrugs, improperly bundled for the cold, looking down at George with a half-grin. “You were sad.” Dream says, as if that’s any kind of actual explanation. “You spent Christmas with my family last year, I figured I could come here this year. We can switch.” Dream tells him, trying to explain further.
George shakes his head in disbelief, looking up at his eyes again with a wide smile. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know, but I wanted to.” Dream says, body shaking with a chill. The taller pulls him back into a hug and George wonders if it’s because he wants to hug George or if he’s just freezing. “I thought maybe–”
“George.” George’s father calls out and George’s smile drops instantly, looking back into the house. Luckily, there’s no one in his line of sight. “Close the door. You’re letting all the heat out.”
George snaps his head up to meet Dream’s eyes, panicked. Dream’s eyes look a little panicked too, but probably for different reasons.
Dream has never met George’s father. The last time Dream was in the UK, his father was luckily on a business trip. He’s surely nervous to meet the man, considering he was even nervous to meet George’s mother who has had nothing but nice things to say about him.
On the other hand, George has royally fucked up.
He’s told his entire family that he and Dream are dating. Now, Dream is here.
If he tells everyone now that he lied, he’ll look like an idiot. He’ll look desperate. And it will just add fuel to the fire that George being gay is just a phase, as his dad likes to say.
“Fuck,” George says, breath being sucked from his body like he was just kicked in the ribs. “I–I have to tell you something.”
Dream’s face goes from nervous to concern but before he gets to say anything, he can hear someone walking toward the door. “Oh my god,” Lucy says, a smile on her face. “Dream!”
His best friend smiles at his sister, waving. “Hey, Lu. It’s nice to see you again.” His words are very polite in a way Dream doesn’t need to be and it makes George grin, hearing the nickname that’s almost exclusively tolerated when Dream says it.
She smiles at him and stands to the side of the door to usher them in, which they follow inside together. “You too.” Lucy says, a mischievous smile on her face. “I’m so glad you’re here, George’s stories are so fucking boring,” she whines and George rolls his eyes.
“Language, idiot, mum and dad are right there.”
“Okay? I’m almost thirty.” She shoves George’s shoulder and pushes him out of the way to shift her attention to Dream. “You have to tell us how you guys actually got together. We’re pretty sure George is telling us half the story because he’s embarrassed or something.”
Heart sinking to his stomach, his breath catches in his throat when he sees the gears turning in his head. George clenches his jaw and glares at her, looking back at Dream, who isn’t responding and is now just looking down at George with confusion. “Um–”
“I’m not lying.” George chooses to continue the lie even without telling Dream what’s going on, skin burning with modification. He wraps an arm behind Dream’s waist and tries to lead him toward the stairs. “Leave him alone, he just got here. I–I’m gonna let him bring his stuff up.”
George even grabs Dream’s bag by the handle and drags it up two steps before Dream shakes out of his shock, making his way to George again.
The taller laughs, a strained one that George recognizes from years of hearing it but one no one else will notice, and grabs the bag from George. “I’ve got it, George. I’ll follow.”
Dream nods at him and looks him straight in the eyes. George gulps, staring back into green, grimacing and nodding before turning up the stairs.
He takes his sweet ass time, moving up each step as slowly as he can without being suspicious, but they make it to his room eventually. George walks in first and stands at the door while Dream walks past, then he closes it behind the two of them and locks it.
“Dream–”
“What the fuck, George?” Dream hisses breathlessly and George groans, leaning his back against the wooden door. His head bonks against the hard material. “Did she say how we got together?” It’s kind of rhetorical question, knowing damn well what he heard. “She asked how we got together, George. What–what does that mean?”
“I’m–I’m sorry.” George mumbles an apology. “I didn’t know you were coming here, idiot. I–I–”
“So–so you told them we’re together?” Dream asks with a no bullshit tone. George’s eyes leave Dream’s, flitting to the pink elephant on his end table. “Why?”
“They–they were nagging me, Dream, and–and when I said I was dating someone and my mum assumed it was you…” George trails off with a shrug, scrunching his face at his own words. “I don’t know, Dream,” he then says, crossing his arms across his chest defensively.
“But George,” Dream says his name with stress. “Now they think we’re together and we have to tell them the truth.”
George’s panic skyrockets, heart starting to race in his chest. He stands up straight, shaking his head at his friend. “No, no, Dream. We can’t–it’s–we can’t.”
“What the hell do you even mean, George? Don’t tell them?”
“N0, idiot! If–if we tell them, then my dad is going to accuse me of faking being gay and–and–” He cuts himself off, eyes widening trying to take a step back.
That’s the first time he’s actually come out to Dream.
Dream walks up to him then, forcing his own face into George’s direct line of sight. “I didn’t know you were gay.” He murmurs quietly and George nods, cheeks aflame.
“I’m gay.” George confirms to Dream, swallowing the tightness in his throat, but he forces himself to say everything. Explain himself. Beg for Dream’s help, even. “And my dad doesn’t–he doesn’t get it. He thinks–I dunno, Dream–he thinks it’s stupid. That it’s a phase I’ll get over. Like one day I’ll wake up and magically be straight.”
“That’s dumb.” Dream tells him and he rolls his eyes, nodding in agreement.
“He wants me to move out, get a girlfriend and like, get married.” George tells his friend with a groan. “It’s stupid and it’s unfair but–but–”
When George’s voice starts to shake and tears begin to pool in his waterline, Dream cuts him off by pulling him into a hug. “Okay, okay, George. I understand, it’s okay.” He whispers, leaving a kiss to his hair. “So–” He clears his throat, pulling away. “We’ll pretend.”
“What?” George asks, shocked, swiping at the tears just below his eyes.
“We’ll pretend.” Dream says easily with a shrug. “We’ve convinced the entirety of the internet that we’re dating without even trying. This–this should be easy.”
George laughs and pouts, leaning his head into Dream’s chest. “Are you sure?”
He feels Dream nod while his hand rubs soothing circles into George’s back. “Yeah, idiot. Of course I’m sure.” Dream says with a smile and then he pulls away fully, looking around George’s room with a sigh. “So that probably means I should cancel my hotel, right?”
At first, George is confused and then he realizes that Dream is probably right. “Oh um, yeah. Probably.”
Dream nods and pulls out his phone, sitting at George’s tiny desk chair. It looks small when Dream sits in it, even though it looks massive when George does. He refuses to think about the fact that their sizes are so different and sits on his bed while Dream cancels his reservation.
“So,” George starts when Dream’s done on his phone. “I–I told them we were together.”
“Yeah, I know that, dumbass.” Dream says with a laugh. “What else did you tell them?”
George nods awkwardly. “Um, well–so, uh, I–I just–okay, so I was honest with them.” He tells Dream, who snorts and gives him a pointed look. “Okay–shut up–what I meant was that I was honest about like, shit we do. Just–I just said whenever we hung out it was just dates or whatever. Like going out to get sushi and–and the cat cafe and well, I dunno, we got the LA house so we didn’t have to be separated or whatever.”
Dream hums thoughtfully and nods, turning his phone over in his hands. “And how we got together?”
The smaller shrugs, looking sheepishly at his friend. “I didn’t tell them about anything that happened, really, or any details. I just told them that–that you told me you had feelings for me when I moved.”
At that, Dream laughs aloud, falling back into the chair. “Well, okay, that’s kind of on brand, yeah. I know you wouldn’t ever talk about your feelings.”
“Hey,” George pouts, pretending to be offended even though it’s very true and that’s why he said it in the first place. “Don’t be mean to your boyfriend.” George teases, trying to bring back the lighthearted mood.
Dream giggles again, reaching his foot out to kick George’s shin where it hangs off the bed.”Shut the hell up, idiot. You’re not my boyfriend.”
George stands up and reaches his hand out for Dream to grab it, which he does easily with a smile. “Well, you are for the next three weeks.” George says, nodding toward the door. “Ready?”
He nods and they walk out of the room together, making their way down to the packed living room.
Of course, the first person nearest the room’s entrance is George’s dad, William. “Hello, sir.” Dream says politely, sticking his hand out to George’s father. “I’m Dream.”
The man pauses, looking down at the extended hand, before relenting and grabbing his hand. “Ah,” he says, pretending to be understanding but George knows whatever he’s about to say will be fucked. “The boy who’s made my son think he’s gay.”
George frowns and looks up to see Dream’s reaction. It’s not easy to deal with in general, but he’s sure it must be hard if Dream wasn’t expecting it. Dream is good though. The taller doesn’t flinch or negatively react.
All Dream does is release William’s hand and wrap it around George’s waist to pull him close, leaving a kiss to the crown of his head. “You okay?” Dream asks George, looking at him with wide green eyes.
Nodding, he fakes a smile up at his friend and tries to seem like his father’s words don’t affect him.
William says nothing else, just sits next to his wife while they all meet Dream, introducing themselves and giving him a warm welcome into their home. It has George smiling, almost forgetting how much of a dick his father truly is.
When they’re all done greeting his friend, George smiles and nudges Dream with his shoulder. “I was sitting over there.” He points at the tiny corner with his abandoned blanket, wine long forgotten in the other room. “I can sit there and you can sit on the couch over there.” George says, nodding at an empty spot in the room.
Dream frowns and pulls George close again. “Why don’t we sit together?”
George isn’t really sure how it’ll work without forcing someone else to move, considering each spot is far away from one another. “There’s no room.”
Before he even listens to George, Dream is making his way to the spot George was sitting in before the surprise arrival. George pouts, kicking at Dream’s foot once he’s actually settled down on the floor. “That’s my spot, idiot.” He says and then lowers his voice, leaning close to Dream so only he can hear. “It’s far away from everyone.”
Dream chuckles, smiling up at George and grabbing one of his hands. “I know, come sit.”
“Where?”
The taller smirks and pats his lap, making George’s breath catch in his throat silently and he looks around the room. Some of his family is paying attention to the pair while some others don’t even glance in their direction, but his dad’s eyes are directly on the two of them.
George swallows harshly before looking back at Dream, letting his friend pull him closer to the ground.
They’ve sat close before–cuddled even, wrapped up under one blanket on their couch at home, sometimes with Sapnap and sometimes without. Usually though, it doesn’t consist of George on Dream’s lap.
He flops ungracefully onto his friend’s lap, cheeks burning what he’s sure is a dark red as he gets comfortable on top of Dream. Once he’s in the right spot, Dream takes the blanket and places it over both of their laps, wraps his arms around George’s front, and rests his chin on the smaller’s shoulder.
He can’t help but smile, bumping his head purposely into Dream’s, who laughs, too. It feels new but the same–maybe it’s just in Dream’s nature to make him feel like he’s on top of the world.
There are so many eyes on them that he should feel embarrassed but he doesn’t because honestly how could he while he sits on Dream’s lap on Christmas Eve?
It almost feels perfect.
“Aw,” George’s mother coos at them. “You guys are so cute, I’m so glad you guys are finally together.” She says and George hums, pressing his back further into Dream’s chest.
Lucy looks at George and then at Dream, then back at George again. George feels uneasy by the look in her eyes. “Luce?”
His sister looks them up and down then, glancing at where Dream’s arms are wrapped around George’s front. As he feels like they’re being scrutinized, George grips at Dream’s hand to play with his fingers. It’s for show as much as it is to calm himself.
“So Dream,” Lucy says, fully focused on the curly-haired American now. “Tell us the actual story of how you got together. George sucks, he barely told us anything.”
George grimaces and shifts enough that he’s able to see Dream’s face. He can tell by the look in Dream’s eyes that if he’s going to do this, he’s going to take full advantage of it. George knows for a fact that Dream is going to embarrass the hell out of him.
“Well, it was kind of when George got his visa.” Dream starts, letting George tug at each of his fingers on one hand but using the other one to place over George’s. “I mean, we had feelings for each other since way before you moved, right?”
He almost forgets that Dream is telling a fake story about the two of them and only nods when Dream taps the back of his hand. “Oh, uh, yeah.”
“So,” George feels Dream shrug and move below him to sit up straighter. As his buzz wears off and things start to feel more real, George starts to realize how terrible of an idea this is. “It wasn’t like I was confessing anything he didn’t basically already know. It was–it was stupid. George went into his room the night he got home and then a few hours later he was knocking on my door because he didn’t want to be alone.”
George can hear the smile clear in Dream’s voice, surely because that part of his story is very true and something George will never, ever, live down. God, that’s so embarrassing.
In his defense though, being in his room that first night felt like his own personal hell. Like he just traveled across the world after two fucking years of waiting and then he was alone in his room, waiting. Of course he went to go track Dream down that night.
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” George’s mother Beatrice– Bea– says. “I know my Georgie was waiting to be with you for years.”
“Mum, oh my god.” George instinctually responds, slapping his palm to his forehead. He could only hope that Dream thinks she means that he was physically waiting to move to Florida and not the way he knows she means it–that George has been pining over his best friend for years.
Dream laughs and lifts a hand to George’s dark, unbrushed curls, scratching at his scalp. Despite the burning of his skin, George leans back to silently ask Dream to continue. “Yeah,” Dream chuckles. “I told him then and gave him my chain.” Dream explains, hand traveling from his hair to the nape of his neck, right to the chain around his neck.
Now, that’s not true. George poked Dream awake that night until they walked downstairs and they spent the night together chatting and watching Breaking Bad until the sun rose. And the chain–okay, yeah, the chain is Dream’s but Dream gave it to him sometime around the holidays last year as a gift. Dream, George, and Sapnap had all gotten chains when George arrived in Florida, but he was horsing around with Dream in the living room a little too roughly when his snapped. It felt dumb and honestly a little bit stupid to be so upset but he was kind of heartbroken. That was his chain–the one that was his coming home chain.
After weeks of moping around about it, unable to get out of his funk, Dream gave George his and Dream had bought himself a new one. The fact that it’s Dream made it more special because–well… shut up, it doesn’t even matter.
“Oh, so the chain lore is real! It’s always trending on Twitter.” Lucy chimes in and George defensively lifts his hand to grip around the golden links. “That’s actually kinda cute.”
“Shut up, Lucy.” George tells her then, not wanting to give into her mushy, gushy fantasy of what his love life should be.
She ignores him easily. “So why’d you do it that day? There was already so much going on.”
Dream shrugs again nonchalantly and George wonders how he could possibly be coming up with this all on the spot. He privately thanks himself that he didn’t come up with a story and tell it earlier. It wouldn’t have been nearly as good or believable.
“There was a lot going on, sure, but there were so many good things. I finally met George, I posted the face reveal… That was easily the best day of my life.” He purposely avoids mentioning their admission, which makes George feel like he’s being truthful.
George is shocked by how earnestly Dream speaks, telling his family that October 3rd, the day George arrived in America, was the best day of his life. He also told George for the first time; he’s never said that before. George can’t help but ask. “Better than hitting one mil?” George speaks teasingly to break the seriousness of everything and make the question look casual, even though it means the world to him.
He looks backward again to meet Dream’s eyes with a joking look, trying to laugh with his friend, but the sincere look on Dream’s face makes him pull away his finger where it presses on Dream’s cheek playfully. “Better than hitting one mil.” Dream says quietly, like it’s just for George to hear.
It makes everything feel real, even though it’s really not. George smiles brightly at his friend and his cheeks burn so hot he thinks Dream could probably feel it. After a moment of something similar to silence, or maybe it’s loud but all George sees and hears is Dream, George grabs Dream’s hand again to interlock their fingers.
This is real–this isn’t about fake dating or proving a point–this is Dream and George. “It was mine, too.”
Dream smiles and squeezes his hand. The grip on him feels reassuring and he smiles, accidentally letting his eyes drop to Dream’s lips. He’s almost delusional to think that Dream’s drop to his lips too, but they both jump when a pillow lands in their direction.
“Get a room, George.” Lucy tells him, laughing as she’s already standing where everyone is saying their goodnights. “We’re going to bed, you guys should too. Santa’s coming and my daughter will want us all to wake up bright and early.” She says with a wink.
George clears his throat with a blush that seems to never leave but stands quickly to avoid any other words from his sister. “Goodnight, Lu.” He says and then he looks down at Dream, reaching out his hand. “Let’s go to bed, idiot.”
The taller grabs his extended hand and pulls himself up, wrapping his left arm around George’s waist as if it’s second nature. George’s heart races in his chest and he tries to candidly fall under Dream’s arm without making it look awkward or forced or like he’s having a mini panic attack.
Dream, the charmer he is, shakes everyone's hand before they head upstairs together–he even says goodnight to George’s father, which George doesn’t even push his frustration aside to do himself.
Pressed into Dream’s side, he tucks his face awkwardly into Dream’s chest as the taller politely shakes William’s hand and George ignores his father to the best of his ability, allowing Dream to drag him away when he’s done.
Bea comes over and kisses George’s cheek, and then Dream’s, with a whispered thank you into the American’s ear that makes George blush. They almost make it upstairs without a hitch, walking away from the entire group as they head up the stairs first, besides the overexcitement from his mother. “A mistletoe!” She says in a sing-song voice, pointing at the stupid leaves above Dream and George’s head.
George sighs and shakes his head, shutting the idea down as soon as his mom says anything. “No, mum, we’re going to bed.”
His friend grips at the back of George’s hoodie with what George assumes is nerves and rightfully so. She sighs and claps her hands together, putting them up to her lips to cover her smile. “Oh, c’mon boys. Don’t be shy!”
There’s no way he’s going to kiss Dream for the first time, the only time, right here with his entire family staring at him. He can’t ask Dream to do that, either. Lucy cheers them on too, throwing her fist up in the air in a punching motion like she’s rooting for them, and even his grumpy aunt sends him a wink.
“Mum, stop it.” George says, shaking his head. He grabs Dream’s bicep and tries to pull him through the door but there’s a scoff from the kitchen.
George stops trying to pull Dream and looks for the culprit, finding his father shaking his head and laughing, mumbling something under his breath oddly similar to I knew it.
He does everything he can to leave without letting it bother him, blood boiling just below the surface of his skin. His dad just can’t read the room–he can’t just leave George alone or shut the hell up. At least if his dad is going to hate him and not accept him, can’t he at least do it fucking silently? George really doesn’t want to hear it. He can’t change his dad just like his dad can’t change him but he’s sick of it.
“Dream,” he grips onto his friend harshly, borderline too hard, and tugs with every ounce of strength he has. Dream frowns but meets George’s eyes, filled with ice cold determination. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“No.” Dream responds quickly, looking at his fatherWill before turning to look at George. His eyes are cold, filled with determination George has only seen during competition, and George knows.
Dream is going to kiss him.
Ah, fuck.
He should’ve prepared for this.
God, he probably smells like shit. He hasn’t showered since the night he got here and he’s got wine breath for god’s sake and–
Before he can even conjure up another thought, Dream is kissing him.
Dream is kissing him.
His best friend’s lips are soft and slot perfectly into his–wait, fuck, okay, he should–he should probably close his eyes and like, kiss back. Right? Right.
George, after the initial shock of Dream’s lips on his, lets his eyes flutter shut and tries to remember everything he knows about kissing.
With just a tilt of his neck and part of his lips, the kiss goes from simple to perfect in a matter of seconds. Maybe if it were this exact kiss and someone else, it would feel awkward and clumsy and mediocre at best, but this is Dream, and kissing Dream is perfect.
He tries to feel every moment and savor each touch. Dream’s calloused hands rest tenderly on his waist, rough skin meeting George’s where his shirt rides up just a sliver. His lips are just barely cracked from the cold temperature of London and scratch against his own.
Lacking inhibition–momentarily forgetting that this kiss is for show and to prove a point to his family no less, his hands lift to Dream’s knotted locks of their own volition while lifting onto his tippy toes for a better reach. Simultaneously, Dream inhales through his nose and his hand slips from his hip to the small of his back, still skin to skin, to pull their chests close.
It’s not until someone clears their throat–quite loudly and rudely –that George pulls away. He doesn’t look to see who rudely interrupts, not when Dream is looking at him like that, with swollen kiss-bitten lips and a beautiful auburn blush adorning his cheeks.
Someone clears their throat again, this time accompanied with a fake cough that sounds an awful lot like George, getting both of their attention.
They jump apart and George literally sees Dream physically flinch when his fingers get caught in Dream’s unruly curls. George internally cringes, already embarrassed.
George’s hand flies straight to his lips that are still in a grin even though he’s embarrassed, surely looking like a love-struck fool. When he looks at his mother, she’s smiling brightly in his and Dream’s direction, next to Lucy who looks like a combination of both happy and disgusted at the fact that she just watched her brother essentially make out with his boyfriend. It actually makes George laugh but maybe that’s because he’s just generally giddy right now.
It’s a little shocking when he feels Dream’s arm wrap back around his waist but when he sees the look on Dream’s face, he knows why he does it before even seeing it himself.
William looks–god, George doesn’t even know what he looks like.
Pissed off, repulsed, nauseated, and worst of all, disappointed.
“I thought better of you, George.”
George leans into Dream’s side, corners of his lips falling and forming into a frown. He doesn’t know what he expected. This shouldn’t have been a surprise.
They didn’t kiss so he’d accept George, they kissed so he’d believe it.
And maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t.
But it doesn’t matter because it’ll never be enough.
–
George doesn’t remember exactly what happens after that.
He knows Dream coaxed him upstairs with a very gentle, quiet voice while he staggered up the stairs with tears in his eyes.
It feels stupid to be upset. George has known since all those years ago that his dad doesn’t accept him for who he is and that much is clear. A kiss wouldn’t change that. So he’s not sure why he’s so goddamn upset.
All he knows is that Dream’s now rummaging through his drawers to find a pair of pajamas while he sits on the edge of his bed, crying at the shittiness of his father. And god dammit, George can’t even enjoy his kiss with Dream.
His perfectly imperfect kiss with Dream that will probably be their only kiss ever, and his dad is fucking ruining it.
That’s so unfair.
“George?” Dream sits next to him with a pile of clothes in his hands–blue plaid bottoms and ridiculously enough, the shirt of Dream’s he brought accidentally from Florida. “Here, change into these.”
The smaller grabs them from Dream’s hands without a word and trudges to the bathroom across the hall to get changed, only stopping at the doorway to check to make sure no one else is coming.
He all but throws his clothes onto the counter and rests his elbows on the surface, rubbing his face.
Ugh.
The image of his dad’s disgust is engraved into the depths of his brain, burning the backs of his eyelids every time he closes them.
And then the kiss–jesus christ, the fucking kiss. That’s so–so awkward.
It was good. Great. Amazing, even, yet he can’t even enjoy it.
Splashing his face with water and brushing his teeth, George tries everything in his power to focus on something else, to no avail.
He’s too tired, honestly.
It’s not late and because of jetlag, it’s even earlier according to his internal clock, but he’s mentally exhausted. His eyes burn and he just wants to tuck himself into bed and ignore the outside world.
So that’s exactly what he tries to do.
George stalks back to his room clean and in fresh pajamas, face flushing when he enters the room without knocking and Dream is pulling off his shirt.
He is no longer on a mission–he’s no longer thinking at all, really. Or breathing.
Uh, he should–he should probably do that. Fuck, okay, yes. In, out, in, out. “Fuck, sorry.” He says a second too late, looking down at the ground and awkwardly groping for the door handle.
It’s not like he’s never seen Dream shirtless but he’s also never kissed Dream before. Things are different now.
“It’s fine, idiot. Come in. This is your room.” Dream’s voice is soothing in a way George doesn’t think anyone else’s will ever be. It settles his racing heart and slows his breathing, knowing more than anything that he’s okay if Dream is here. Even years ago, in this exact room alone with nothing but his iPhone 7 and Dream on the new Discord app, Dream was his voice of reason and comfort.
George releases the handle and worries his teeth into his bottom lip before looking up to meet Dream’s eyes.
It’s easier this time around considering the man is fully clothed, but George takes the time to check him out. Maybe it’s obvious but he’s also kind of hoping that he can pass it off as looking at his outfit because of the circumstances.
To be fair, it should be a reasonable cause for checking him out because they’re kind of in the same clothes. Dream is wearing a duplicate of the stolen shirt George wears, a vintage GeorgeNotFound Noot Noot t-shirt from years ago. When things had started up and George was in London, Dream would try out the merch and get most of the recalled or misprinted products.
The logo on both shirts is in the corner, mostly faded out on the gray shirt because it’s overworn, especially now that George has decided they share some pieces of clothing on his own accord.
Dream wears black and white plaid pants, his own merch this time, matching George’s similar blue ones. He blushes–it feels very coupley.
“I picked those out on purpose, so we could like, match in the morning.” Dream explains, putting out a hand and waving it between the two of them. “You okay?”
George nods. Even if he’s not okay, what is he meant to say? No? There’s no point in that. “I mean, it’s nothing new.”
“So it’s always been like this?”
“Pretty much,” he shrugs. “I didn’t even–I didn’t know he was like this until like, 2019. I accidentally came out to him, not even giving it a second thought. I would’ve never guessed that–that liking guys was such a bad thing.”
When George settles on the edge of his bed again playing with his fingers in his lap, Dream walks over to him and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Because it’s not, George. You know that, right?”
“I know,” he says earnestly and then snorts, deciding he hates the serious turn this conversation has already taken. “You like guys and you’re pretty okay, I guess.”
“George!” Dream exclaims, putting his hand to his heart as he laughs. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
The drop of topic makes George finally crack a smile again. “Shut up, don’t be stupid.” George kicks him slightly. “I’m tired but–but not sleepy.”
“Me too. That flight kicked my ass. Maybe we can just like, watch a movie or something.” Ah, right, Dream literally flew all the way to London to spend the holiday with him. “I’ll take the floor?”
“No, Dream–”
“Yes, I–I came unannounced. It’s fine.”
George pauses for a minute, feeling the comfortable mattress beneath his hands. “How about we switch?”
Dream hums and agrees to that then while they grab blankets, pillows, or whatever else they might need to make the floor comfortable.
It’s really not that late–it’s early actually, too early, but it’s nice to relax.
When the lights are off and they’re both settled in their labeled spots for the night, a quiet silence settles between them.
George’s mind races, but he’s grateful for the difference in his thoughts between tonight and the night before.
He can hear Dream’s breathing from the floor, his quiet giggles at the stupid movie that’s on, the shuffling of his blankets when he turns. It’s comforting, even when they’re thousands of miles from Florida, they’re at least together.
The fear of tomorrow though lingers in his mind.
They’ve kissed. They’ve kissed, they didn’t talk about it, and George’s entire family watched. George’s father watched.
What the hell was he thinking? To be fair, it seemed like a good idea before it happened. It’s just the look on his father’s face that haunts him and has him second guessing it.
But then he tries to put himself in a different position. If Dream and George were actually dating, would George care? Or would he have kissed his boyfriend without thinking twice about it?
“Dream–”
“So, we–”
They both try to speak at the same time. Awkwardly, they fumble through simultaneous no, you first, and eventually, Dream relents. “We kissed.”
So they’re bringing up the same thing. That’s good. “We kissed.” George echoes.
“Mhm,” Dream says and although George can’t see him, he imagines he’s nervously drumming his fingers on his chest. It’s so endearing that George smiles from his spot on his bed, tilting his head toward where Dream is on the floor. “Was that okay?”
“Yeah, it was okay.” George’s heart flutters in his chest, nervous butterflies in his stomach. It’s stupid–this is Dream, his idiot best friend, and George is treating him like a middle school crush. “Sorry you had to–yeah.” George apologizes, though he lifts his hands up to feel his lips, grinning like an idiot.
“No, it’s–it’s fine. I didn’t have to, I think I just–ugh, George, I don’t know. I want to make a good impression on your family but your dad–I just felt like I needed him to see it. You’re gay and I’m–I’m–I like guys and that’s okay. He should see that.”
There’s surely a personal aspect to this–Dream wants his own sexuality to be accepted, but George still feels like Dream is protecting him. “I think so too, thank you.”
“Do you think that–” Dream’s question is cut off by an odd knock on the door.
“Boys?” His mom’s whisper comes through the door. “We’re putting presents by the tree. Can I come in to grab yours too?”
At first George clenches his jaw, ready to tell her to go away and do it in the morning, but the better part of him just stays quiet. As he’s about to yell back yes, he realizes– Dream.
“ Dream.” He whispers quieter than his mom, chucking something at him. “Get the fuck up here.” The taller sits up with a frown, looking at George with the cutest but most confused expression he’s ever seen. “Hurry.”
George scoots over to one side of the bed, carefully watching understanding fall over Dream’s features. As he realizes what George is saying, he scrambles to his feet with the blanket in his hand and chucks them at George, then pillows next.
They work together to frantically set the blankets into somewhat of a natural position over their laps. Jesus christ, she won’t stop knocking.
As George finally yells come in, Dream throws an arm behind George’s back and tugs him into his chest. “ Oomph.” George is surprised and caught off-guard but tries to focus, hand resting on Dream’s chest, nowhere near naturally. It’s so bad that he actually moves it as his mom walks in.
“Oh, you guys are just too cute.” She says with a smile, looking around. “Is this the pile?”
“Yeah, it’s–yeah.” George says, pointing to the corner stacked with wrapped gifts that Dream definitely helped him pick out and wrap before either of them even knew they’d be together for Christmas. It’s perfect, they’ll just be gifts for everyone from the two of them. Like a couple.
Dream rubs his hand up and down his side, though George can tell it’s forced and anything but natural. Hopefully his mom thinks it is. “Can I talk to you guys?” she says, throwing all the gifts in a big gift bag and sliding it to the door. George groans and nuzzles his face into Dream before looking up at his friend’s face. “Oh, don’t be so ridiculous. I’ll be quick.”
“Of course, Mrs. D–”
“Oh, Dream. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bea?”
Dream’s smile is blinding and charming as always. “Of course, that’s right. Bea.”
She sighs then and puts a hand around Dream’s ankle where it’s covered by the comforter. “I just wanted to apologize for my husband, Dream. And George, you know how your father is.”
“Mum, please, I don’t–I don’t want to talk about it.” George is not in the state of mind to talk about his dad, he doesn’t really want to hear what his mother has to say in his defense. It’s not okay, it never will be okay.
“Sweetie–”
“Don’t defend him, mum. Just don’t.”
“I’m not going to defend him, George. I just want to apologize and say that you two are welcome here, no matter what.”
It’s enough for now. Her words don’t change anything, or do anything. He’s accepted by her and that has never been a doubt for him. “I know, mum. We know.”
He tries to be strong; keep up the act that this is not enough to tear George down. To be fair, it’s not. George will never, ever, allow his father to control his life. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s heartbreaking to be a disappointment to his father and in some aspects, he doesn’t care. Being here in London for the holidays though, seeing his father’s awful look at him on Christmas Eve–it feels like coming out to him all over again.
When tears build in his eyes, he fully tucks his face into Dream’s chest. There’s no mystery that he’s upset or as to what’s affected him so much but that doesn’t mean he wants his mother to see him cry about it.
Dream’s grip on his shoulder tightens and he turns to kiss George’s temple. The comfort and safety of being with Dream keeps him grounded, so he tightens his arms around Dream’s back. Although Dream may keep a tough exterior, that doesn’t mean this doesn’t bother him. How could it not?
“Thank you, Bea.” Dream tells her his appreciation, George hopes she knows how grateful he is for her too.
They lower their voices, as if George can’t hear every word they’re saying. “Will he be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ve got him.” Dream says, rubbing George’s back. “We’ll be down in the morning.”
George thinks she pats his leg and he feels her hand comfortingly rub his own shoulder once before she stands. “Okay, I’ll bring these gifts downstairs then. If Olivia comes to get you early, which I’m sure she will, we’re not starting until eight, okay? Nothing earlier. She can go downstairs and look, if she’s really bugging you.”
The thought of his younger niece coming in his room before the sunrise, excited for Christmas, at least turns the corners of his lips upward. Dream knows it too so the taller pokes George’s side with a laugh, trying to make George keep his smile.
And of course, Dream is so annoyingly endearing that George giggles and pushes him enough that they’re laying down fully again, George half on top of his friend. “Thanks, mum.” George says then with a smile, lifting his eyes just to see her as she walks out the door.
Thankfully, she smiles back and nods before leaving.
Dream and George both sigh when she leaves but neither of them move, comfortable where they are. “You okay?”
George nods, listening to the gentle thud of Dream’s heart in his chest. “Yeah,” he says sadly. “Can’t wait to go home.”
The taller laughs and it shakes George gently. “You are home.”
“No,” George lifts his head and looks up at Dream, digging his chin into the center of Dream’s chest. “Florida is home. This–this is where I grew up.”
His best friend doesn’t react; not even a shift on his face or words, so George lets them sit in silence. He turns his head back around so his ear is comfortably settled against one of Dream’s pecs.
George feels his eyes start to flutter, listening to the calming breathing of Dream that’s oh-so-familiar after years of sleeping on the phone together. Dream’s breaths slow too, in and out, getting deeper and longer.
It’s quiet in the room aside from their breathing and the very muffled shuffling of his family downstairs setting up cookies for Santa and presents under the tree.
“I–I’m falling asleep, George. I have to get up.” Dream’s voice is quiet, careful not to startle George. His large hand makes its way into George’s curls, scratching at his scalp to rouse him.
“Just–can’t you stay?”
“What? Like, sleep here?”
Maybe the sleepiness or the stress of today is making his heart rate stay low, thoughts not even racing. Maybe it’ll be a problem for tomorrow, or he won’t really give a shit.
They’ve fallen asleep together on the couch. Is there really a difference here?
“Yeah, just stay.” George says, arm wrapping around Dream’s waist. “I’m comfy.”
His best friend just laughs but agrees, reaching slightly to turn off the light that George wouldn’t have been able to without standing up. The size difference means nothing to him. At all.
–
“Uncle Georgie!” It’s a very, very loud whisper accompanied by a knocking on the door. George groans and shoves his face into whatever he’s touching. “Uncle Gogy!” George muffles and stretches his arm, trying to fall back asleep.
It’s not enough to wake him up, at least until the thing beneath him moves and shakes. “Did she just call you Uncle Gogy?”
When George snaps his head up, temporarily forgetting where he is and what he’s doing with his head on Dream’s chest, he smacks his head into what’s most certainly Dream’s chin. “Fuck, ow, sorry.” George says, reaching up and grabbing the spot he just smacked. Then, he looks up at Dream who’s rubbing his chin.
“You’re an idiot, George.”
“Shut up–”
“Uncle Gogs!” God, another nickname. He wishes his family wouldn’t call him every stupid name he’s been given by his friends. That’s the downside of having a sister that actually watches his and his friends content.
“What time is it?” George groans, trying to look around in the very dark room. No light peaks through the blinds aside from a little glimmer from a streetlight. “Can you open the door?” He croaks, hoping Dream can get the door without getting up like he could with the light.
He does, George thanking his lucky stars he doesn’t have to get out from underneath the comforter right now.
Checking his phone, he squints at the bright light and swats at Dream to close the door behind his niece, annoyed by the hallway light.
“Liv, it’s–it’s the middle of the night.” George’s voice is filled with sleep, heavy eyelids as he at least picks his head up to see Olivia over Dream’s body. “What are you doing?”
“It’s Christmas!” She says, gliding her r to a w to sound like Cwistmas, patting the bed. “Uncle Gogy, I saw–” The little girl gasps when she sees Dream move. “Who is that?”
“Hm? Oh, this is–this is Dream.” George tells her, leaning all his weight onto Dream as he stays sitting up to see her. It’s too late or–or too early for this.
She looks between the curly haired man and George, gears turning. She was asleep by the time Dream showed up last night.
Olivia looks at George and back at Dream before whispering loudly. “Is–is Dream from the North Pole?”
His head falls with a laugh and he can hear Dream laugh too. “No, he’s not from the North Pole, Liv. He–he’s from Florida.”
“Florida?” She tilts her head cutely, dropping the l and the r becomes a w again. “Where’s that?”
“That's where I live.”
“Ohhh,” she responds, tapping her chin thoughtfully like she knows where Florida is. “So he lives a plane away.”
It’s too late to explain anything further than that honestly, and George decides she’s not wrong, so he just nods along. “Yeah, he’s a plane away.”
“Hello.” She shifts her attention to Dream, the words coming out more like hullo and very British. “My name is Olivia.”
“Hi Olivia,” Dream’s voice is low and raspy, perfectly sleepy in a way that makes George swoon. “I’m Dream.”
She hums and pokes at the taller’s leg. “I like your name.”
Dream snorts and without even looking, George can tell he’s cheesing at the girl. “Thank you, I like your name, too.”
As she starts to get shy, small hands to her chin, she rocks back and forth. “Can I tell you a secret?” She whispers to Dream who nods, all while side-eyeing George. “My cool name is Ollie. Only people with cool names get to call me that.”
“And I have a cool name?” Dream asks.
“Mhm.” She nods, crossing her arms. “No one here can call me Ollie, though. Just you.”
Dream nods and blinks himself awake further, George still leaning over his hip. “Okay, I’ll call you Ollie.”
“Liv,” George tries to bring attention back to the issue at hand–that it’s the middle of the night. “Your mum said we can’t get up until eight, you have to go back to sleep.”
“Nuh-uh.” Olivia stomps. “Our elf is gone and–and I saw that there are gifts, Uncle Gogy. I think Santa came already! I can’t sleep now. ”
He huffs, looking at Dream with a look of desperation. It’s too late, he can’t think straight right now. “But mummy said–”
Dream cuts him off with a nudge. “What if Santa didn’t bring everything yet? I heard Santa sometimes comes back before morning. If we go downstairs now, he might not come back and you won’t get all your gifts!”
Olivia’s face is priceless, jaw dropped with wide eyes. After a second, she walks close to the bed and slaps Dream’s leg. “But–but–but what if–what if he already tried to come back and I was awake?”
“He didn’t, don’t worry. It’s not time yet but you need to go back to sleep now.”
Sadly, she looks around the room and her little fingers squeeze at Dream’s thigh through the blanket. “Can I–can I stay here with you guys?”
George looks up at Dream with the question in his eyes and Dream nods with little hesitation, tapping at George to lay back in his spot. It’s cold over here from where he was prior, sleeping on Dream’s chest. Maybe it’s better this way.
Dream groans playfully as he picks Liv up and sets her gently between them. She giddily smiles and tucks her feet under the sheets, shuffling so it comes up to her shoulders.
“Why are you in Uncle Georgie’s room?”
Simultaneously, the boys both snort and George can feel heart rush up his neck. “Dream is–Dream’s my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Oh god.” George mumbles under his breath, head falling to his palm.
Dream thankfully decides to jump in. Good, he seems to be a lot better at this whole thing than George is. “You know how Emily shares a room with Linc?” Emily is George and Lucy’s older sister, and Lincoln is her husband. Dream met them when he visited back in the summer but they’re spending Christmas Eve with Linc’s family and can’t come until tomorrow. “It’s like that.” Dream tells her, turning to face her and George.
“Oh, are you–are you aunt Dream, then? Since Uncle Georgie is my uncle?”
George bursts into laughter at that, startling Olivia, but Dream is right there with him. It’s a fair question and very innocent for someone who has been taught that an aunt comes with an uncle. She was never taught otherwise, considering their family dynamic. George hopes he can use this as a learning opportunity. “No, no, Ollie, I’m not Aunt Dream.”
“What? Why not?”
“Liv,” George’s voice is exasperated and he can tell by the look on Dream’s face that he’s letting off that he’s frustrated. It’s just too fucking late for a full family lesson. He relents and tries his best anyway. “It’s–”
“Are you Uncle Dream then?”
With very little patience and no way to explain, he just tells her yes. She smiles widely then. “Cool! I have two uncles.”
It’s cute and he thinks it might bite him in the ass, but he sees her start to fall asleep with a smile on her face so he doesn’t really care.
He falls asleep too.
–
“Uncle Dream, can’t we just go downstairs?” George hears a quiet voice ask with slight shuffling, waking him up again.
“Not yet, Ollie. Look, Uncle Gogy is still sleeping so we have to stay very, very quiet.”
George tries not to shuffle or move in fear of setting Liv off, ready to jump upstairs and open gifts. If it was time, George is positive that Dream would’ve woken him up and taken Liv downstairs by now. “But I’m excited for presents.”
“I know but it’s not time yet.”
“It’s almost time.” She says back without even taking a breath. “You said it, you said it’s almost time. Santa came back already. Let’s just go look. ”
Dream sighs and shifts. “One more hour and then maybe we can go see what Santa brought. We have to wait for your uncle to wake up.”
“But you’re my uncle and you’re awake.”
George hears Dream giggle but he sighs. “I mean your Uncle George.”
“Do you love my Uncle Gogy?”
Even while actively trying not to react to the sudden and out of pocket question, his breath hitches in his throat and he literally thinks he stops breathing. He’s convinced Dream knows he’s awake but it doesn’t really make a difference, does it? He still has to answer. “Of course, I love your Uncle Gogy.”
“You do?”
“Yes Ollie, I love your Uncle George.” He repeats.
“Do you think he loves you?”
Dream hums and George tries to breath out casually–not too loud or too fast or too anything that’ll give away that he’s awake, if Dream doesn’t already know. “I do, Ollie, yeah.” Dream says quietly.
Liv laughs, doing her really bad whisper that’s really just her normal voice with a different timbre. “ I think he would want us to go downstairs because he loves us.”
George breaks into a smile then, just finding it a little too funny not to, and Dream snorts. “I think your Uncle George is an eavesdropper.”
She doesn’t know what that word means but George laughs out loud then so she at least knows he’s awake. “Can we go downstairs, Uncle George?” Olivia is excited and he hates to kill her mood.
When he looks over though and sees the time is five in the morning, he sighs. “Liv, if we go downstairs to look at the gifts, we can only look and then we have to go back to sleep.”
“Really?” She’s already sitting up in their bed, clumsily stomping over the covers and trying to toss herself over Dream’s body so she can reach the floor.
Dream laughs and grabs her so she doesn’t fall, throwing his own feet over the edge. “Alright, let’s go.” Dream says, standing up with her in his arms. “Ready George?”
Groaning, he pulls himself out of the warmth of his side of the bed and stands, following them down the stairs.
The house lights are off but the Christmas lights shine brightly in the den, gifts in pretty wrapping paper scattered across the room. Cookies are half eaten, a note next to the half-drunken milk, and there’s a little empty elf chair beside it.
Olivia squirms out of Dream’s arm and he lets her down, with an added warning not to touch anything. She’s in awe, eyes reflecting the shimmering lights of the tree with a dropped jaw and crazy smile on her face.
As much as George has wanted to go back home, he’s glad to be here, too. With Dream by his side, his father is almost bearable. Or–maybe he’s not bearable but the situation is–his mother and sister and niece, they all make it worth it.
The look on Liv’s face is priceless and it’s more of a Christmas gift than anything.
“Hey,” Dream says, a sleepy but content grin on his face, outstretching an arm. “C’mere.”
He doesn’t have to ask George twice. Instantly, George is wrapping himself around Dream into a hug. Face squished into Dream’s chest, George tangles his fingers into Dream’s shirt as the taller presses his lips to the crown of his head, rocking them side to side. “Merry Christmas, Dream.” He mumbles.
“Merry Christmas, George.”
“Merry Christmas!” Olivia yells next, skipping over to them and wrapping her arms around their legs.
“Oh my god, Ollie, what did we say about being quiet?”
She looks up at them, arms still tight around the two of them, and says, “sorry, sh!”
Dream can’t help but laugh, pulling out of the three person hug to pick her up. He lifts her up, way above her head, making her giggle and squeal before he brings her back down to his chest. “It is time for bed, missy.” He chides and she frowns then, pointing behind her at the tree.
“But it’s so pretty!”
“I know it is, but we’ll see it in the morning.” Dream tells her and she leans into his chest, pouting.
“Can we just sleep on the couch?”
Dream looks at George and George looks at him, sighing in sync. “Fine,” George says. “But like, actually sleep, Liv.”
She agrees, though he’s not sure she’ll actually sleep or if she’ll just stare at the lights and nicely wrapped gifts.
Lying back on the couch first, Dream gets himself comfortable with Liv on his chest.
He looks down at them and at the other couch, leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Goodnight, Liv. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As he pulls away to stand straight, she swats at him. “Kiss Uncle Dream, too.”
George feels as if he’s being scolded, skin flushing at the words, but he doesn’t argue. Not enough sleep and too late in the night, he just leans down again and kisses Dream’s forehead.
He’s sure Dream’s cheeks match his own, auburn and hot with a little bit of embarrassment. George ignores it though and straightens his spine again. “You’re not gonna stay with us?”
Looking at Dream, his friend sends him a lopsided smile and shrugs before scooting to the outside of the couch to make room.
It’s not a hard choice.
George flops himself into the open spot between Dream and the backside of the couch, half on top of Dream and face to face with his niece. “Night Uncle Dream and Uncle George.”
They don’t talk after that, not even a single word, but Olivia’s hand stretches out and sits on top of George’s, where it rests on Dream’s chest.
–
“Oh, this is so sweet.” George hears a woman’s voice say–one that starts to clear up as he starts to wake up. “How long do you think she kept them up?”
“Quite a bit if she’s still asleep. It’s already nine.” Bea’s voice says next from his feet.
George groans. “She got up twice.” He mutters into Dream’s chest, turning his face into Dream’s shirt. Dream moves then too, tightening his arm around George.
“Is she awake again?”
“No,” George says, lifting himself up on one arm to look at the two of them. The sight makes him smile, Olivia still curled up on his chest with a hand curled around his shirt. “Everyone else is though.”
Dream blinks awake then, looking at George with a confused look falling on his features before shifting to look at George’s family. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “She was excited about Christmas so we took her downstairs to see if she’d sleep after seeing the presents under the tree.”
“Oh god, it’s okay. Thanks for doing that, I know how she gets on Christmas. I’m surprised she slept at all.” Lucy says, smiling.
When George hears loud footsteps thud from the kitchen, he lets his head drop back down on Dream’s shoulder. He’s really not ready to deal with his father yet today, or ever.
“Ugh.”
“You’re okay.” Dream tells him immediately, dropping an annoyingly casual kiss to his head. Is this going to be a thing now? George tries to imagine what their dynamic will be like when they get home.
Fuck it. He relishes in it while he can. “I don’t want to see him.”
“It’s Christmas, George.” Dream scolds him, though Ollie starts to wake up on his chest. His large hand comes onto her back, spreading wide across her shoulders and coaxing her awake.
“He was okay this morning.” Bea tells them, perching on the armrest of the couch. “Will saw you guys this morning and–and didn’t say anything.”
George scoffs but doesn’t reply, looking to Lucy for confirmation of his mother’s words. No reply isn’t good. It’s not ‘okay,’ as his mother put it. Lucy meets his eyes, and while he can see the sympathy in her gaze he can also feel an undertone of pleading. “Listen George, can’t you just put it aside for one day? It’s–it’s Christmas.”
There’s something dismissive about her request. Lucy will never understand what George is feeling because she lives the beautiful, expected life that their father wanted her to. Married to a man with a beautiful daughter.
George’s life, no matter how perfect and beautiful in its own way, will look different than what his father wanted for him. Which means he is a disappointment.
And you know what? George is even willing to put that aside for Christmas, if that’s what they want. What he’s not willing to do is allow him and Dream to be looked at or spoken to like they were yesterday.
Dream hums and interrupts his train of thought, probably to avoid a fight. “Good morning, Ollie.”
She lifts her head, dark brown curls unruly and similar to the way Dream’s sit on his head, blinking slowly. It’s like something shocks her awake though and she gasps, brushing the ridiculous mess of hair out of her face. “It’s Christmas!” She exclaims, smiling and pushing Dream’s chest with all her might to sit up. “Uncle Dream, it’s Christmas!”
The American’s smile is genuine, even with the early hour and already rocky start in George’s opinion. Thank god. It’s one thing that his father will ruin his Christmas but he’ll be damned if his father ruins Dream’s. “It’s Christmas!”
They all get up and rush upstairs to get decent enough for gift opening–brushed hair and teeth, but that’s basically the only thing they have time for according to Olivia.
George and Dream are the last two down, Liv jumping up and down impatiently by the tree. They barely even get to greet George’s other sister, Emily and her husband Linc.
As soon as they’re in her view, she starts tearing into presents.
She gets a bunch of neat things–a fake kitchen set, doll house, a set of teddy bears, and even an echo microphone. Someone gets her a xylophone, rainbow colored, and Dream makes a comment about how it’s pride. William scoffs and makes an off handed comment but Dream distracts George enough that he doesn’t get the chance to say anything.
He just moves on and shows their gift to her, though it feels a little lame after all the other ones.
It’s a book, just a single book, with an app that detects voice and adds sound effects as the book is read aloud.
The Serious Goose.
It’s a silly book, funny, even to George.
Dream reads it to her because she begs and begs. He relents because he needs to show Lucy and her husband how to use the app anyway.
It’s cute, the way Dream sits on the floor and shows her the pages.
When he says the line, even if you order a pizza topped with delicious snails, no smile! Italian music starts playing in the background that makes her giggle and point at the page.
She makes silly faces into the book’s mirror when Dream says, but go right ahead. Look in the mirror and give it a shot.
Olivia is belly laughing by the time the goose in the book starts to laugh, thinking she is the coolest and silliest kid in the world, with laughs and quacks and gavels in the background.
And something about it–Dream laughing with his niece on the floor, reading a book and Liv begging for him to read more–makes George fall even harder.
It’s beautiful and special in a way he didn’t even know was possible.
The one of a kind moment is perfect besides the bittersweet ache in his chest, knowing damn well that he’s only got a few weeks of Dream like this–his loving, carefree, boyfriend. He already mourns the loss of his time with Dream, prematurely but aching for it before he even loses it.
After that, his smile drops a little as adults start to exchange their own gifts.
His mother gets new pots and pans for her kitchen, Lucy gets some housewarming gifts for their new home, and Emily gets a bunch of baby’s first Christmas things for her newborn. Dream and George get housewarming things too despite being there for a year now–luckily gifts for George often tie into Dream because no one had planned for Dream’s presence at Christmas.
Even George doesn’t have his present for Dream here–a new PC monitor because he won’t stop complaining about the scratch on his current one and a new microphone, one that won’t change the timbre of his voice and cause every comment on his videos to be about how he sounds different.
It’s home–already wrapped and ready to be opened somewhere in his room, but he settles for shoving pictures of the gifts into an envelope because having Dream here is better than giving him the physical gift with him.
“Here, idiot.” George shoves the card in his hand. “It’s a picture of what I got you because it’s back at home.”
The family is quietly talking amongst themselves, so George decides to exchange with Dream so no one is watching. “I can just wait, George–”
“No, just open it.” George insists that Dream look at the gift so he can at least feel like he participated. He doesn’t want Dream to walk away empty-handed.
When he opens the card, he laughs. It’s comical because it’s a dumb but homemade card. He didn’t have one for Dream but he wrote one with a joke and asked his mother for an envelope.
It’s a printed out picture of a black cat and golden retriever, the kitten swatting at the dog and the dog having an awfully sad look on his face. Black cat and golden retriever, he wrote. Then, on the inside, a picture of him and Dream from Madrid. Spot the difference.
Then at the bottom, sincerely, he wrote, thank you for coming and making my Christmas. I love you.
As stupid as it is, George can tell Dream starts to get emotional, looking up with watery eyes. “I love you, too.” He whispers, bumping their shoulders together and folding the card back up to open the sheet with the gifts on it.
“Oh my god, thank you George.” He says, wrapping him up into a hug.
“It’s more for me than you,” George says, easing them back into their usual vibes. George can’t stand to truly be emotional. “If I have to hear you complain about that stupid scratch or read one more comment about your mic, I’m gonna lose it.”
Dream laughs loudly at his joke but the genuinity in his smile never leaves, even as he ruffles George’s curls and reaches for his gift to George.
“Okay, I–I hope it fits.” Dream says, handing him a small box. George looks at him oddly as he takes the box in his own hands, ripping the paper immediately.
When George opens the box, he recognizes the brand immediately. David Yurman.
“Dream.”
“Shh, just open it.”
George’s shoulders fall as he looks inside the box, finding exactly what he knew would be inside.
“Jesus christ, Dream.” His whisper falls from his lips as he stares at the ring. It’s Dream’s ring–the exact one he wears on his pointer finger all the time. George searched for this ring for himself for months, though it never came back in his size, and then it just went out of stock. “How the hell did you find this?”
Dream ushers him to take it out of the box and try it on. “I–I reached out to the company.”
Staring at the box in shock, Dream huffs. He reaches over to grab the ring out of the box and George’s hand in the other. “Here.” Dream pushes the ring on his pointer finger, though the fit is a little tight. His friend frowns and pulls it off before trying it on other fingers.
Awkwardly enough, it fits on his ring finger and George stares at it with a tilted head. It looks pretty on that finger and to be fair, it does fit on the other ones. It just fits the best on his ring finger.
“Thank you, Dream.” George says, fanning out his hand to look at it. “I love it. I–I can’t believe you remembered that I wanted it, or that they had it.”
Laughing, Dream grabs his hand and looks at it too. “I ordered it so fucking long ago, you have no idea.”
“Shut up, oh my god.” Lucy says, making them both look up at her. “Did you just get engaged?”
“What?” George asks, genuinely confused until his mind catches up. “Oh, no.”
She giggles. “Are you sure? It–it kind of looks–”
“It’s a promise ring.” Dream says, forcing a smile at her and throwing the same fake smile at George. “Right?”
“Um, yeah, it’s–it’s a promise ring.” George knows it’s not true. The story is made up for his family to believe and this ring is nothing but a friendly, platonic gift that George really wanted but he looks at the ring differently after Dream says it.
It feels like it actually is a promise ring and maybe, in its own way, it is. A promise to be there for one another, friends, lifetime partners forever. Even if none of that is romantic.
“Georgie.” Bea says and doesn’t say anything but nods her head toward Dream with a silent urge, waving her hand at him like he should be doing something.
He looks at Dream, not sure what his mother is expecting but Dream’s face is dark. His eyes don’t meet George’s and–he realizes.
She wants him to kiss Dream.
Even when he doesn’t think it’s necessary, even for show considering what happened the night before, George wants to. If not just to kiss Dream, but to prove a point to his family–his father.
George grabs Dream’s hand with his own left hand now decorated with a ring, and his friend looks up at him. With a smile that’s more for show than anything, his eyes drop to Dream’s lips again just like they did yesterday.
With a nod, a go ahead, George reaches over to kiss Dream lightly. “Thank you.” He mumbles again, this time right as his lips leave Dream’s, lips brushing up against one another before pressing them against Dream’s. It’s quick–much shorter than the night before, but it’s flawless in its own way. There’s something about the familiarity of Dream’s lips this time and the domesticity of this entire day that etches deep into George’s skin.
He loves this man, head to toe, and could only wish this were his every day.
–
George can handle quiet mumbles under his father’s breath when he’s shoulder to shoulder with Dream. Grumblings when Dream mentions something about pride or scoffs when they kiss– fine.
What he can’t handle is blatant, nasty words said straight to his and Dream’s face.
“What happens when one of you finds a woman that you actually want to be with? What then?” Those are the first words William speaks directly to Dream or George all day while they’re around the table, eating lunch.
“Dad, stop it.” He orders, fingers white-knuckle clenching at the wood table.
“No, honestly, George. It’s an honest question.”
He huffs and tries to respond as civilly as he can manage. “Well, I’m telling you not to ask me that.”
“Why?”
“Because I won’t find a woman I want to be with and–and–” George decides not to speak on Dream’s sexuality, not knowing if he’d be comfortable with it. “It’s none of your goddamn business.”
“It is my business. It’s my fucking business when you walk around this house with–with a man–”
George chooses not to hear the rest, chair screeching loudly and obnoxiously against the floor as he stands. Dream next to him stands as well, towering far over George. “Sit, George.” Dream orders–it’s his no bullshit voice. It’s the voice he used when he used to lead his MCC teams to victory, the voice he uses during challenge videos, his lore voice.
He’s not stupid enough to ignore that when it leaves Dream’s mouth, so he sits. His blood boils and he scratches at his forearms, itchy with frustration and repulsion at the way his father acts.
“Sir, I’m not sure what expectations you have for George but you seriously need to reevaluate.” George watches Dream’s face, jutted jaw and tense neck. “I get that you may have seen his life going one way in your head but things never turn out the way we plan. George is amazing, he’s kind—kinder than people deserve and—and he’s successful–hell, he’s more successful than most people dream to be, and he has me.”
Sitting back and trying to stop from fidgeting, George just listens carefully. “Maybe this isn’t what you thought George’s life would be like but–but he’s happy. Isn’t that what matters?” The question is rhetorical and even his dad doesn’t bother to argue with Dream when he’s like this. “I love him, more than anything in the world.” George tries to inspect his face as he says it, face burning hot with slanted brows and frown on his face. “I would do anything for him.”
It shatters George’s heart that Dream is here, defending him to his father, and is being truthful. No matter what, fake dating or not right now, he knows that Dream is being honest because George feels the same.
If they weren’t in this, in it together, they wouldn’t have one another. They are ridiculously intertwined–friends, family, life, work. Everything each other does is related to them both in some way.
George can’t sit back anymore quietly so he lands a hand over top Dream’s that rests on the table. “Why do you care more about who loves him than how he’s loved?” His tone finally drops and his shoulders fall, showing George that he’s said what he’s needed to. “If you have any reason to believe that I’m not treating him right, you can be mad. You don’t get to be mad about this, you don’t have the right to be mad about this.”
William doesn’t say anything, rather he pretends that Dream never spoke to begin with and starts grabbing something from the table to add to his plate. The rest of the family, they do the same, except this time with scared expressions, not so casual glances at William, and sympathetic looks at George.
Dream doesn’t sit again. After a few seconds, George hears him take a deep breath before bending over and dropping a kiss on his head. “‘m gonna take a walk.”
Dropping the food George was going to pretend to want, George nods and stands. “I’m coming with you.”
The pair walks to the door and grab their coats, even throwing them over pajamas, before heading down the street.
Usually busy sidewalks are empty, roads packed with parked cars in the shoulder rather than driving loudly across pavement, but here they are, Dream and George pressed up against one another’s side.
“I’m sorry.” Dream says finally, shattering the quiet they’ve made as they reach the corner of the second block.
The taller stops walking and George doesn’t notice until he’s a few steps ahead, turning around to look at his friend. “Why the hell are you sorry?”
“Because I dunno, I yelled at your dad. I ruined Christmas?”
George scoffs and starts to close the separation between them. “I should be saying thank you, idiot. I–I could’ve never said that to my dad.”
“But is that because you don’t want to? Or because it’ll make it worse?”
“Could it really get worse, Dream? Like, seriously.” A foot away from his friend, he pouts and holds out his arms. It’s an invitation but not a force. “Someone needed to say it.”
Dream shakes his head but lets George pull him into a tight hug. “You shouldn’t have to say it. He should just know it.”
“I know.” George tells him because it’s true. He shouldn’t need to beg for acceptance or anything of the nature. His parents should accept him and love him how he is, no questions asked. “If anyone ruined Christmas, it’s him. Besides, Christmas isn’t ruined. We had an amazing morning and we’ll have a great dinner.”
“What about your dad?”
“Mum will let us take some food upstairs,” George tells him with a smile, “we can watch Elf and you can sing me Christmas carols.”
Dream finally cracks a smile then and George’s shitty joke. He pushes George, just enough to make him step back. “You’re so annoying.”
George feigns offense, jaw dropping and a hand to his heart. “You’re so mean to your boyfriend, Dream. Wait until Twitter gets a load of this.”
Dream’s arm wraps playfully around the back of George’s neck and pulls the smaller under his armpit, scruffing up his hair. “You’re such an idiot, George.” Dream laughs. “You know I meant it, right? That I care about you and love you.”
The insecurity in the man’s voice is clearly vulnerable, looking for reassurance. It’s sad seeing Dream so far down like this. He’s been through a lot. The last thing his best friend needs right now is some kind of doubt about George.
“Obviously.” George tells him, letting Dream guide him down another block with his arm around George’s shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, ‘cause I feel the same.”
Stopped in his tracks again, George grunts. He wanted to take this walk and in no world does he want to go back home for the people, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t absolutely frigid outside. “You do?”
“Do you think I would’ve flown across the world for you if I didn’t?” He grabs Dream’s hands and interlocks their fingers. Warmer no doubt, George refuses to acknowledge that it’s probably from the rush of blood through his veins and has nothing really to do with Dream’s chilly fingers touching his.
Locked together, George sees them. Matching rings, George’s much smaller than Dream’s by a landslide, and he feels that pang of sadness again as he constantly reminds himself they’re not actually together.
George supposes he never really needed to lock their hands together because no one is watching, but he did it and Dream didn’t pull pack. That’s at least a win.
“Sounds like you’re a little bit of a simp, George.”
“Oh, really?” George feels suddenly back in their element, throwing in their usual jokes. “Where are we right now?”
“Uh,” Dream’s caught off guard, looking around for a street sign. “I don’t know, some random street in London?”
George nods thoughtfully, mischievously looking at Dream again. “And why are you in London, Dream?”
It looks like Dream actually fell for it this time, shoulders bouncing as he laughs on his way down the street. “I hate you, George. I like, actually hate you.”
“Shut the fuck up, no you don’t.”
He doesn’t, they both know it.
They take a few wrong turns but George gets to show him his favorite shops on the way, a little extra time to get back home, and George’s heart only races the entire time because their fingers never detangle.
–
“Oh, boys!” Bea’s excitement rings through the home as they walk in and hang their coats on the rack by the door. “It’s freezing out there, I was getting worried.”
“We just walked by some of the shops downtown, I showed Dream my favorite one with all the little knick knacks or whatever.” George excuses them, though he doesn’t think they really need to make one at all.
“I saved you some lunch, if you guys are hungry.” She tells them from behind the kitchen counter, shoving over plastic tupperware of food.
When George shakes his head, Dream does the same. “No thanks, Bea.” Dream says, trying to shine her a reassuring smile.
She throws him a sad one back and George wishes that he never came to London to begin with. He knows better now. George won’t come back for the holidays, not this one. Maybe he’ll spend Christmas with Dream and his family like he did the year prior and come visit over the summer. “I’m so sorry.” She apologizes.
“Mum, you don’t need to be. He should be.”
“He is, sweetie, he is .” She tells the pair.
Lifting his hand up, George very clearly cuts her off and stops her from saying anything else. He changes the subject completely to steer the conversation away from his father. “Is it time for the cookies yet?”
George’s mother sighs but looks behind her, grabbing the rack filled with different shaped sugar cookies. There are even a few Dream Team ones from cutters they sold for the season. “Yup, we were just getting ready to ice them.”
“ You ice cookies?” Dream snorts, clearly thinking of their cookie making stream last year.
“Shut up, Dream.” George says, clearly offended.
Every year, the family ices sugar cookies together and every year, he loses. Even though it’s not actually a competition, it feels like it should be. So he makes it one, and still loses every time.
His mother giggles. “He always does a pretty nice job, I think.”
“She’s being nice.” Lucy interrupts, making them jump as she walks into the kitchen. “His cookies always look like shit.”
“That’s not true, Luce. You just have no taste.” He argues, standing closer to Dream as he laughs. “Dream and I will be a team this year.” George declares, not bothering to ask his friend. He needs the help and–and it’s only fair. Lucy usually has her husband, Emily has hers, George’s parents–now George finally has a partner, too.
As Lucy makes a face with mock disgust. “Even Dream can’t fix what you do to those cookies, it’s vile.”
They all laugh along as the others start gathering around the kitchen, things starting to feel a little bit less tense as they talk about something completely opposite. Luckily, everyone else in the room pretends it never happened–that William was never an asshole and they never left the house mid-Christmas lunch.
His father doesn’t come back downstairs to the kitchen so they start the icing without him even though it’s family tradition. It seems like maybe they’re all on the same page that they don’t particularly want him here.
“George, what the hell are you doing to that cookie?!” Dream yells, pointing at his George plush-shaped cookie.
George grimaces at his cookie, trying to find the creative process he originally intended.
He glowers at Dream, even though the man is right–the cookie is, well, to put it nicely, terrifying. There’s no face, not really–it’s yellow with two blurry dots for the eyes that have blended into the color and smile, making something that barely resembles a person. The shirt is blue at least and the shoes are appropriately colored with gray. “I’m trying, Dream.” He huffs.
Looking over, Dream has perfected his own little Dream blob cookie, but that’s not fair. George has to ice an entire little guy whereas Dream just had to throw on some white and draw a smiley face. “Try harder, George, that–that’s awful.” Dream tells him, walking up from behind George to watch him ice the cookie.
Heart thudding in his chest, his icing skills grow significantly worse than they already were from shaky hands and nerves, since Dream is so close to him that he can count seconds between each breath.
Does he really have to be that close? They’re pretending to date, sure, but no one’s watching and this isn’t really a close proximity task. It’s like last year all over again–Dream is just touchy.
“Dream, you’re–you’re making me nervous by watching.” He admits, looking over his shoulder. They’re so close when George turns that their noses almost brush. George is startled but Dream just grins, not even seeming to notice their closeness. “Oh.” George breathes out, staring deep into marble textured green, pretty and dancing with flecks of different colors.
“Hi,” Dream says casually, hands grabbing onto George’s waist from behind. “Your dad just got down here.”
There it is.
It makes sense now.
Dream is touchy but this felt like a lot, even for the two of them. Arms slip to the front of his stomach, butterflies dancing inside him with warm hands reaching to his front.
Tension rises in George’s chest, building and creating a knot in George’s throat.
He’s not sure if he wants his father to see he and Dream, or never look in their direction again, but he doesn’t really have a choice now, does he?
“Your cookie sucks, idiot.” Dream tells him casually in an attempt to get his mind off his terrible dad.
“Fuck you, no it doesn’t, yours was just easy. Look!” George thinks he’s making a point by referring to Dream’s perfect, two-colored and very little detailed cookie.
His fake boyfriend laughs, pink settles on the tips of his cheeks, and fondly shakes his head. “I think you might just be bad at this.” Dream tells him. “Besides, maybe you’d do better if the icing actually went onto the cookie?”
The words are innocent and said cutely enough as he talks about the catastrophic mess he’s made. There’s color everywhere–on his cookie, on his plate, around the counter top. “Shut up, it’s–it’s called making a masterpiece, Dream. You wouldn’t know anything about it.”
Grabbing a towel, George starts to wipe down the mess on the marble counter free of icing. “We didn’t even work together, George, and now we’re gonna lose.”
“It’s not a competition!” Bea scolds them, but Dream and George are both too competitive. It’s a competition and they all know it.
They both just giggle, avoiding looking in her direction because it’s the same as William’s, who has now fully joined the cookie decorating silently.
“George, you’re literally just making a bigger mess.” Truthfully, he’s trying to clean but Dream is right that all he’s doing is spreading icing around the counter.
“I don’t care, Dream. Look.” He says, grabbing a tube of icing and squeezing some more onto the counter to spread it, making a bigger mess. It’s unironically green and blue icing on the marble. “I’ll make an even bigger mess.”
Dream reaches for the icing in his hand, pulling and making George screech loudly as he tries to get away. “No! Dream! Stop it!” He yells boisterously, mixed with laughter and smiles as Dream is amused right with him. After breaking free, he holds the icing over Dream’s shirt and squeezes the sugary goo straight onto his shirt. “There.” George’s voice sounds final, crossing his arms and hiding the icing.
“George, you’re gonna get it.” Dream’s eyes are icy, yet filled with amusement as he grabs the other tube of icing. He gets George into a tight hold in his left, right hand over George’s face with threatening food. “What are you gonna do about it?”
No response comes from George, though his snicker is enough for Dream to pull the trigger. He squeezes the frosting out and it comes down on George’s face, swirling around his nose. George gasps and tries to wiggle from Dream’s grasp. “Dream, no!”
Dream lets him go then, doubled over while he cackles and George breathes through his mouth. His hand goes under his face so it at least doesn’t spill on the floor. George yells again, “ugh, Dream.” Even with icing in his hair and up his nose, his voice still sounds so fond. If it were Sapnap who poured icing on him, well, they’d have a massive issue.
But this is Dream.
His best friend’s laughter dies down into a chuckle and he grabs a paper towel, whispering “I’ve got it,” as he wipes George’s face off. Gentle as ever, Dream pulls the clump of frosting from his face and then uses a fresh one to truly wipe down the small remnants on his skin.
It makes George flush, feeling intimate and very couple-y, even when it really isn't. Or it shouldn’t be.
He reaches for the paper towel and tries to finish cleaning his face off alone.
“You still got some on your face.” Dream breaks George’s train of thought as he finishes, wiping at his cheek.
Dream hums with the shake of his head, “no, no, other side.”
George wipes at the other side and Dream’s eyes roll to the back of his head with endearment. “Just tell me, idiot.” He wipes with way too much force on both sides of his face until Dream stops him.
“Here,” Dream says, wiping the edge of his lip with the pad of his thumb. “Got it.”
To make things worse–George’s heart drops as Dream leans in and kisses his cheek right where the frosting was.
Blood thrashes through his ears, roaring loudly over even George’s thoughts, anxiety bubbling in his chest.
When Dream’s eyes fall to his lips, George almost thinks he imagines it. It’s so brief, so miniscule, that George can’t believe his eyes or his mind. He thinks he just wants to kiss Dream badly enough that his body is playing tricks on him.
But he does it again and this time, Dream’s eyes flicker off to where George’s dad stands awkwardly on the other end of the kitchen, and George understands.
He silently agrees, giving his friend permission, and they’re kissing. Again.
It’s good, great even, because how could it not be when it’s with Dream? The only thing though–something’s missing.
The kiss is short. Quick and their lips just press together. They don’t slot between one another, hot breaths aren’t exchanged. It’s short, it’s domestic, it’s sweet.
But George–he’s waiting for something.
It never comes.
The grumble of his dad’s voice, a scoff of annoyance and breath of irritation–it never comes.
Even the most miniscule, seemingly insignificant difference–something that George should’ve never even had to realize in the first place–is so relieving.
It doesn’t mean anything, not really. His dad might just be reeling about him and Dream silently. Actually, George is sure he is rolling his eyes and mumbling in a way that he just can’t hear but honestly, baby steps.
George smiles at Dream, like a thank you. He wonders if Dream hears the difference in the air, too.
–
“Uncle Dream!” Liv screeches as they huddle around the fireplace, another Christmas movie playing in the background after Christmas dinner, which was awkward but uneventful to say the least. The American is tickling her sides, giggling as he watches her squirm playfully.
When Dream lets go, Olivia smiles and looks away, peeking at Dream through the corner of her eyes with a residual giggle. His best friend has his hands brought up in her direction, fingers wiggling as a visual threat to tickle her again. “I’m gonna get you, Ollie.” Dream says.
Another laugh escapes Ollie, dark curls bouncing when she shakes her head. “No!”
“Yep, it’s comin’, see?” Dream tries to peer at her through the sides of his own eyes, mimicking her stance. His hands get closer to her and she’s already laughing, leaning away with her eyes locked on Dream’s fingers with amusement.
One second, then two and he reaches for her again. She squeals as his hands wrap around her sides, tickling her and tugging her closer to him. The two of them laugh loudly, freely in the room filled with family as they wait for dinner time.
George is by Dream’s side, getting nudged every so often when Liv squirms extra hard. Even when he’s feeling so shitty on Christmas with his father’s eyes on him and Dream from across the room, feeling Grinch-y with a heart two sizes too small, the carefree and merry smile on Dream’s face has George growing warm.
He feels fuzzy inside, not from his favorite wine or the electric fireplace, but from the beauty of his friend and niece. George tries to hide his lips behind his glass, not wanting to give away how fond of this he truly is, but he’s sure his smile is too wide.
For a second, just one measly second, George forgets their reality. Instead, he’s watching his boyfriend and niece giggle together on the living room floor and his dad is smiling at them rather than the television.
Tumbling forward, his loss of reality morphs into future wishes of Dream one day being something more than a boyfriend–a husband with a little girl of their own. One with brown ringlet curls not quite as dark as George’s but not as light as Dream’s, hopefully with evergreen eyes with spots of gold just like Dream’s.
Up until now, George had never really seen himself as the family type. Yes, he loves his family but he never imagined himself as the kind of guy with his own family but here on Christmas Day, he couldn’t want anything more.
He envisions a little boy coming a few years later–maybe a little more rugged but a lot more like George. Dark brown beachy curls with cocoa colored eyes.
George wonders if they’d be more like him or Dream. Naturally witty and incredibly smart with such determination that nothing could stand in their way. Courageous and confident, standing up for what they believe in and always learning to better themselves.
“George?” Dream asks, turning around with concern written all over his features, Liv with Lucy across the room.
Even George knows that maybe he was far too deep in his thoughts so he shakes them away–impossible and unattainable. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
George nods then and smiles, bringing the now empty glass away from his face and slides it on the ground toward his friend. “Could you get me another one?”
He flashes Dream a smile, who rolls his eyes even though he has a grin on and grabs the glass. “No, George. Get it yourself.” Dream tells him as he literally gets up off the ground to make his way into the kitchen.
“You’re a simp.” George rebuts, watching him leave the den.
There’s no rebuttal from Dream as he walks over to the kitchen and George just watches him go. And no, George does not check him out.
“George.” His mom says, getting his attention. She’s next to his dad and he’s really not all that thrilled to be even looking in their direction but he does it for her. William stands up anyway and walks out of the room, which improves his mood tenfold. “He’s good with Liv.”
Nodding, he looks over at Dream in the kitchen with a smile–only faltering a little when he sees his dad entering that same room. He wouldn’t dare be a dick again, would he? For no reason, nonetheless, straight to Dream’s face. “Yeah,” he says half-heartedly to her, trying to focus on their conversation. “He really is.”
“She hates being called Ollie.” Bea points out with a pointed look.
“Liv asked him to call her Ollie, ‘cause that’s her cool name and only people with cool names get to call her that.” George explains his niece's logic.
Even though it makes little sense, Bea nods and says ah as if she fully understands. Maybe she does, who knows?
George’s eyes flicker over to Dream who pours the glass of wine, eyebrows slanted on his face and looking frustrated as he glares down at the glass. Squinting his eyes, George can see enough that his dad is definitely talking, and Dream’s the only other person in the room. “Dream.” George says loudly enough to get their attention, throwing his father a dirty look and flicking his head as a gesture for Dream to come back.
What he doesn’t expect though is Dream to throw him a half-grin and hold up his pointer finger as if to wait before turning around to talk to William.
He starts to feel nauseous, stomach churning while his mind runs wild with the awful things his dad could possibly be saying to Dream right now. His dad has done enough damage, he doesn’t need to do anymore. Especially not to Dream.
“Do you think you and Dream will get married?” His mother asks then out of the blue and he chokes on his own spit. The uneasy feeling in his chest feels heavier, like something sitting on his chest, heart speeding up with quick and short clenches below his ribcage too fast to be normal.
“I uh, I don’t know, mum.” He says, probably not being all that convincing with the worry written on his face. It doesn’t help that she’s kind of killing his mood.
All he wants right now is for Dream to be back by his side while he can blissfully daydream up the life he wishes they had and–and his parents are ruining that.
“Do you think you would propose to him? Or would he propose to you?”
“What? Mum!” His cheeks were certainly already pink from the heat of the fireplace and buzz from the wine but now they’re pooling with blood as it rushes from his neck and to his face.
That drags attention of others, Lucy and Ollie in particular. “You and Uncle Dream are getting married?” Ollie asks, head tilted cutely with her beautiful eyes glossed over with excitement.
The panic, the fear, the guilt claws up his throat, smile dropping just a little. What happens when they realize this is all a lie? He’ll have to tell them eventually–or at least fake a breakup, right? And he’ll be breaking more than just his own heart, now–even just over the span of two days, his family has taken Dream in as another one of them. And George has to destroy that.
“No, Liv. Not–not right now.” He breaks the news to her, making her frown.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re–we’re not ready for that yet, I don’t think.” He excuses, clearing his throat and looking toward his mum when she starts to talk.
George watches Dream frown and drop eye contact with his dad, speaking in a manner that doesn’t look happy nor mad. He’s not really sure what the look on his face means and–and George doesn’t like that.
The smaller knows every face he makes. George knows when Dream is excited and nervous, happy and mad, frustrated and sad. But this? This face is new– different.
He decides he hates that.
His mother is definitely talking but George lets it in one ear and out the other, standing up and letting the blanket drop to the ground carelessly to walk over to the men in the kitchen.
It’s a courage he didn’t know he had; he’s almost never brave, to be honest, but in this situation, he will be. He needs to be. Dream was brave for him, he can be brave for Dream. And a little bit of liquid courage never hurt anyone.
“Hey,” George gets Dream’s attention as he enters the kitchen, effectively cutting him off from whatever he was saying to William. He blatantly ignores his father and refuses to look in his direction–honestly, he wants to get Dream away from William and also kind of wants to piss him off. Maybe it’s the wine talking mixed with a bit of exhaustion from the lack of sleep that gives him the strength to take the risk he does. “It’s cold without you.”
He reaches out for Dream’s hand who lets him take it easily, interlocking their fingers. “I’ve been gone for five minutes, baby .”
The nickname stops George in his tracks, face burning as blood settles just below the surface of his skin. He can see Dream’s cheeky grin expand, silently laughing at his reaction as he watches George.
“ Ten.” George corrects, closing the space between their chests. Dream flashes him a real grin, which he returns, raising his chin to rest on the boy’s shoulder. “Come back,” he encourages. “I miss you.”
Purposely snubbing his dad, forcing him to watch their interaction–one that is overly touchy and romantic–he gives himself a tally on the winning side. There’s no competition. No one wins here–him or his dad. He still wants a point anyway. “Here,” Dream says, handing him the filled cup of wine. “I’ll be right in, okay?”
George fakes a pout, or maybe it’s real, and grabs the stemless wine glass in both sweater covered hands to take a sip and puts it back down. “Be quick, okay?”
Dream nods. “I will.”
His eyes fall and he doesn’t think about it before doing it. Up onto his tippy toes he goes and kisses Dream’s soft, plump lips that taste just like the nasty beer he sips from the can.
Even though he hates that beer and its taste, the kiss is still sweet and he craves another because it’s Dream. Laughing at himself, he tests his luck and kisses him again.
Dream doesn’t leave him hanging because he never does, kissing him back with the same fervor George gives.
It’s–it’s almost good. He almost walks away unphased–untouched by all of this.
But when he grabs his wine glass, his dad says his name completely unexpectedly and out of the blue, George flinches.
The unstemmed wine glass in his hand drops onto the counter and of course his first instinct is to try catching it, which is a massive mistake. George’s hand grabs onto the glass as it smacks loudly onto the edge of the counter, essentially shattering in his hand.
His hand pulls back as a shard slices his skin, glass shattering around him and at his feet. “Oh, fuck.” George says, cradling his hand to his chest. He automatically goes to step back but large hands stop him from moving.
“Hey, wait.” Dream says from beside him, hands landing on either side of his waist from behind. “You don’t have shoes on. I don’t want you to step in it.”
The smaller juts his bottom lip at Dream over his shoulder, almost wobbling with tears because he’s tipsy and this fucking hurts. “Dream,” he whines, moving to draw attention to his hand. “I think I’m bleeding, I can’t just stand here.”
“I’m wearing shoes.” Dream tells him, hands sliding to George’s hips reassuringly. “Here.” The last thing George expects Dream to do right now is what he does; his best friend walks around so George is facing him and wraps careful hands all the way around George’s lower back to lift him and set him on the other side of the counter next to the sink. “Let me see.” Dream whispers, grabbing at the hand cradled against George’s chest.
George holds his hand out then, a little bleeding but nothing too deep or stitches worthy, and Dream breathes out with relief. He turns the faucet, cold water streaming out lightly to stick George’s hand under the cold water and then swipes the hair out of George’s eyes, making him look up to make eye contact. “Where do you keep bandaids?”
“There are some in this cabinet.” William says, wide-eyed and pointing to the cabinet behind him. Then he awkwardly scrambles to grab some where they keep a few first aid items inside.
He hands it to Dream who then opens the ointment and spreads it over the cut once his hand is dry, peeling open a bandaid and wrapping it neatly. “Better?” Dream asks.
George nods, “thank you.”
When Dream brings his hand up to his lips to kiss the bandage, George’s cheeks burn. Once both of his hands are free again, he pushes them against the heat of his cheeks to try to cool them down with cool fingertips.
His fake boyfriend takes the broom from the pantry as directed, swiping up every itty bitty piece of glass that has fallen on the floor, all while William is an onlooker. “Okay,” Dream breathes, relieved, looking around the kitchen. The taller walks over to George and tucks himself between George’s knees, still sitting on the counter. “How are you feeling?”
George lifts his finger and twists it around before nodding. “Feels fine, I guess. Thanks for helping me.”
Dream kisses his head just like he always does and then grips his waist the same as before to set him down on the floor. “Good as new, right?” Dream jokes and George giggles, even though it’s an awful joke.
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m the goat.” George headbuts Dream’s chest, attempting the joke though it doesn’t land.
“Sure you are,” Dream tells him with humor in his voice. “Do you still want another glass of wine?”
Blowing a raspberry with his lips, he debates and ultimately decides no but when he goes to leave Dream’s side, George hesitates. “Can you–can you come sit with me?”
Dream gives William a look and his father just nods, walking away with a pat on his friend’s shoulder as he goes.
George is too caught up in his mind to clearly see that it’s weird, not even really noticing it.
By the time he realizes the previous tension in the air is lessened, he’s half asleep on Dream’s chest while everyone chats around him, even his dad, who engages with Dream like it’s almost, somewhat typical.
They go to bed, say goodnights, and by the time George reaches upstairs he’s dead on his feet.
He launches himself into bed, spread eagle across the entire thing, humming with content as he hugs his pillow close to his face. “George, go get changed and ready for bed.”
“No,” George denies, sticking his face further into the softness below him and kicking his feet like a child. “I never changed out of my pajamas this morning so I’m fine.” He mumbles, barely intelligible.
“You walked around the city with those.” Dream chides and something lands on his back. Probably a shirt. A warm shirt, nonetheless. Dream’s shirt–
His brain short circuits.
He reaches behind him and brings the shirt to his face, making Dream laugh. He hopes that it just looks like he was taking it–jokingly stealing it, because that’s–that’s something he’d normally do, right? Like, if he weren’t sleepy with a dwindling buzz, he’d still steal Dream’s shirt. He thinks.
George inhales, trying to breathe in the scent to see if it’s Dream’s and of course it’s Dream’s. “You’re not getting this back.” George tells him.
“You’re so stupid.” Dream’s fond voice is already lulling George to sleep, with the comfort of his bed and Dream’s smell in his nose.
The American walks over to the bed and carefully removes one of the extra blankets from underneath George’s body. He doesn’t think much of it, just grunts when he’s bothered.
He grabs the other one. George frowns.
When he lifts his head, pillows have been thrown to the floor with some blankets. “What are you doing?” George asks before he can stop himself, rolling onto his back.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“But–but why?”
Dream looks at him and maybe George is a little more buzzed than he thought because his eyes fall to Dream’s lips accidentally, thinking he looks cute as fuck like this. Messy curls, playful frown and droopy eyelids. “So I can sleep?”
“Was–was sleeping with me that bad?” Dream is still close enough that George can see as his eyes focus and unfocus, watching different expressions pass across his face as he thinks.
“No but…” Dream trails off carefully, toeing at a blanket he’s set on the ground.
“But…”
Dream fully kicks the blanket on the floor then, messing up where it’s neatly placed. “But I’m not gonna ask to sleep in your bed, George.”
His face wrinkles at the thought and he rolls onto the side he slept on yesterday, innocently looking up at Dream with raised eyebrows like a quiet invitation. Dream responds like it’s a silent conversation, his own brows shooting up to his hairline, waiting for reassurance. George nods and pats the bed next to him, Dream climbing in without wasting another breath.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion or the residual tipsiness but George rests his head on Dream’s shoulder, getting closer than they ever would back at home. George thinks that maybe he’ll try to continue this at home–the hugging and touching and cuddling.
It’s not far-fetched, in all honesty. They don’t need to cuddle now but they’re doing it anyway. Why would Florida be any different?
Sure, maybe it would be a lot to explain to Sapnap or–or–okay well, maybe they’ll hide it from Sapnap. That’s probably the best solution there.
Okay, so keep it a secret from Sapnap. And the rest of their friends.
They can sneak it once in a blue moon. That’s better than nothing.
As much as they are deep in a family-wide lie, George hates that they’ll have to give this up. Even though he has his father here–
“Wait,” George looks at Dream. “What were you talking to my dad about?”
“Oh, nothing really.” Dream replies, not making eye contact. “We didn't really get to finish talking.”
It seems sketchy, honestly. Dream doesn’t have that great of a poker face. “Dream, just tell me.”
“Was he being a dick to you?”
Dream shakes his head, “no, no, nothing like that. Actually, it was kind of nice. He was–yeah, it was good.”
“What do you mean? That–that he was nice or–or just not an absolutely fucking–”
“George, relax. He was fine. He was actually being nice for– George.” Dream stops mid sentence, taking the smaller’s wrist in his larger hand to stop him from getting up. “Stop. He’s being nice. This is what you wanted–what we wanted. Isn’t it?”
George huffs and stops fighting Dream’s pull, letting himself fall into Dream’s chest again. “I want him to be like, an actual father to me. Not some homophobic dick–”
“He wasn’t being–”
“But he is, Dream. He is. One nice conversation doesn’t change that, he’s–he’s–he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like gay people, or gay relationships–or–” George’s voice wavers, starting to get choked up. He hates that he gets upset by this; William does not determine anything about him.
It doesn’t change who he is, or who he wants, or who he loves.
“Okay, okay, come here.” Dream scoops him into his arms, George basically on top of him, letting tears flow down his face. There are definitely tears soaking into Dream’s fresh and clean shirt but Dream doesn’t seem to mind so he doesn’t bother moving. “I’m just trying to be like, civil, George. I can’t–” George sniffles, shaking his head to interrupt Dream. He doesn’t want to hear it right now. “Alright, you’re right. Let’s just go to bed.”
They fall asleep just like that, Dream under George, drying tears crusting on the smaller’s face and soaked up by his friend’s shirt. The two of them even forget to turn off the lights, which makes their lives miserable when they’re woken up in the middle of the night.
Knock, knock, knock.
George grumbles and rolls off Dream, landing harshly on the bed beside him to face away from the door. Dream huffs and rolls with him, hands locking together in front of George’s front. He tries not to let himself be happy at the comfort of Dream against his back, afraid it’ll break his peaceful sleepiness and make it hard to go back to bed, but he fails.
He snuggles further back, as far back as he can possibly go, holding Dream’s hands in front of him.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Ugh, Dream. Who is it?” George asks.
Dream sighs loudly in his ear, brushing across the hairs on the side of his head and tickling him. “How should I know?”
“ Ask.”
“No, idiot. Just–let’s wait ‘til it goes away.”
George frowns, fully awake now with the need to pee and bright lights in his eyes. “I can’t go back to sleep now. The lights are on and shit.”
He stumbles out of bed, squinting at the brightness that burns his cornea’s more than it probably should, blindly feeling around for the bathroom.
All he needs is to take a piss with the lights off and wash his hands. Hopefully by the time he walks out, Dream has solved their problems and the person knocking will have left already.
When he gets out of the bathroom, there’s a momentary breath of relief. “Thank god–oh.” George says, squinting into the room with the dark bed. “Liv?”
“Hi Uncle George,”she says, tucking underneath the comforter beside Dream further, almost like Boo does in Monster’s Inc. Honestly, George kind of feels like Mike Wazoski. He’s cranky and grumpy and as much as he loves his niece, he’s tired as hell. “Uncle Dream said I can come stay with you guys.”
“Oh, did he now?” George asks playfully, though he hopes Dream can read between the lines a little.
She nods as George gets into bed, smiling an energetic grin at him. “I was having nightmares again.”
“Again?” George turns toward her to talk to her but she stays on her back, while George and Dream both face her.
She nods carefully and George laughs at old GeorgeNotFound plush she’s found from years ago, deciding to latch onto it for her stay. “Yeah, I get them a lot.”
“A lot, Liv?” George asks another question, slowly moving to put a comforting hand on hers without startling her. “How much is a lot?”
“Every day, I think.” she says, not missing a beat. “I wake up at night.”
“Does your mommy know about them?”
The little girl shakes her head. “I don’t want to wake her up.”
This makes George’s chest ache, not really knowing how to reply. His sister would much rather know her daughter is having nightmares than not be woken up. “Well, Ollie, we can tell her tomorrow together. So you don’t have to wake her up.”
“Really?”
“Of course, silly.” Dream tells her, dropping a kiss to the curls on her head. “Now let’s try to sleep.”
She groans and leans far back in the pillows, kicking her feet a little under the blanket. “I can’t sleep, mummy always sings to me before bed.”
“Liv, just close your eyes. See? Like this.” George tells her, demonstrating by closing his eyes.
After four seconds, Liv says, “nope. See?”
George laughs at her a little and so does Dream. “That’s not long enough. Try again.”
“No!” George is frustrated already, tired from the night before. Luckily she had been so excited about gifts that she just fell asleep with ease.
“Here, Ollie. I’m gonna sing to you, okay? Close your eyes.” Dream says quietly, letting her hand grab his and wrap around his pointer finger.
She giggles a little. “Mummy always sings Rapunzel.”
“Like, from Tangled?”
Olivia nods, getting herself comfortable. “Mhm. The one with the pretty lights in the sky.”
George’s insides warm and he closes his eyes too. He hears shuffling from the other side of the bed and assumes Dream is pulling up the lyrics. His little sister loves Tangled so he doesn’t doubt that Dream knows the song, at least for the most part. Even if he’s not the biggest Disney fan.
All those days, chasing down a daydream.
All those years living in a blur.
All that time, never truly seeing, things the way they were.
George smiles to himself, listening to the lyrics of a song he’s heard so many times between his sister and niece. It’s embedded in him.
Something hearing it with Dream’s raspy and sleepy singing voice has him swooning for his best friend, feeling like in some world this song describes them.
It does really apply.
They spent years separated, chasing their dream with repeated attempts, lots of money, many hardships to get here.
The days they were together both went by so slow and blurred together; the same thing, every day, for years. It got hard to differentiate.
Now she’s here, shining in the starlight.
Now she’s here, suddenly I know.
If she’s here, it’s crystal clear, I’m where I’m meant to go.
It’s truly like Dream sings to him, his lids getting heavier although they’re already closed. His body morphs into the bed as he starts to get sleepier.
Things were eye-opening to both him and Dream when George finally got to the US, even though they looked at things differently.
Up until this trip, their boundaries were clearly stated and set by Dream. They were not together. They were nothing but friends.
He had his own realizations when he met Dream for the first time, however were completely opposite. George realized his feelings were in no way even close to platonic. They were deeper than a middle school crush, meant more than casual.
Things cleared up then.
And at last I see the light.
And it’s like the fog has lifted.
And at last I see the light.
And it’s like the sky is new.
And it’s warm and real and bright.
And the world has somehow shifted.
All at once, everything is different.
Now that I see you.
The last thing George can think of before he falls asleep is that being in London with Dream, fake dating Dream, has been incredibly cleansing to his own mind. It’s been very difficult but again, he’s learned a lot about himself and his feelings in the process.
Everything until now has been hypothetical but–it’s not anymore.
Right?
Fuck, if George knew he’d have it all figured out already.
He lets his eyes flutter shut as Dream’s voice tapers off, already hearing the steady sleeping breaths of the three-year-old, falling asleep with the thought of Dream on his mind.
–
They spend days with George’s family without a hitch.
Dream and George go out with Lucy and Emily, their husbands and children usually joining for the endeavor. It’s fine, easy, nothing happens.
The two of them share George’s bed each night and just last night, Dream didn’t even bother setting up a fake bed on the floor. He just made sure George was willing to share again and then easily slid himself under the covers.
Even William doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t say anything particularly positive about the boys but he doesn’t say anything negative either, which is about as much of a win as George could have expected.
George has spent the last few days after Christmas relishing in his time with Dream as his boyfriend, knowing it really won’t last all that much longer. It’s perfectly appropriate because Dream seems to do the same–his motives being different doesn’t really matter all that much.
That’s exactly why when Dream is sitting on his bed, rosy cheeks and glossy eyes right around the time they go to bed, George is shocked to say the least. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” George asks, plopping himself down beside Dream. It’s close, too close maybe, but he doesn’t try to separate from Dream.
“This.” He says, motioning his hand between them. “The–the faking, the lying. I–I can’t do it anymore, George.”
It takes him a bit to process it, eyes widening as he looks up at Dream’s face. “What? What do you mean?”
“I mean that–that I can’t keep doing this. I–I don’t know if you want me to go home or–or if we should fake a breakup or just tell them, George, but I can’t fucking lie to them anymore.” Dream tells him.
“I thought–I thought this was fine. You said you were fine with it.” George tries to keep his voice from shaking but his emotions crash into him like he’s being trampled by a wave. He tries to keep his head afloat.
Dream shakes his head. “I–I was but I’m not anymore.” The taller stands up and sits back down on the bed, a foot away. “I’m sorry, George.”
It’s near impossible not to think of everything that could’ve made Dream feel like this. Is he too much? Is he not enough? Is he being overbearing? God, what if Dream figured out that George has feelings for him–their fucking friendship would be over. “Is it me? What–what did I do that–?”
“No,” Dream stiffly replies. “Nothing. They just–don’t lie to them anymore.”
George feels like he’s losing his stability, head bobbing just above the water. This is completely from left field–no explanation and no fucking warning whatsoever. “What happened?” George demands. “Was it–was it my dad? Because I swear to fucking–”
“No, George, no.” Dream’s curls pass his ears, shaking with his head as he sighs in defeat. “They just–they love you, so fucking much. You should be honest with them and–and when you’re in a real fucking relationship with someone that you actually love, they will be so fucking proud of you. Stop–”
It’s overwhelming–it’s honestly too much. The wave of emotions goes from sad and feeling rejected to honestly pissed. “You mean to tell me that you’re doing this because my family loves me? How could you think that? My dad–”
“I’m not talking about your dad, George, and to be honest, I spoke to him again and he–”
“Oh, you spoke to my dad? About what? Did you already tell him that this was fake?” George knows he’s being dramatic and a bit over the top but he’s hurt, he’s stressed, he’s pissed.
“Of course I didn’t, that’s why I’m telling you. This needs to–this needs to end.”
George bites his wobbly lip and swallows down the cry in his throat. “I don’t understand, Dream.” He says flatly. “If we tell them we were lying, I’ll never live it down. My dad will literally never believe that I’m gay and I’ll never–”
“So we can just–break up. While we’re here.”
“Dream,” George tries to say with a determined voice but it falls from his lips as a whine. “I’m–”
Knocks at the door cut him off. “Boys?” His mother’s voice is shrill through the door. “Are you okay? I heard yelling.”
George glares at his friend for a moment and grabs one of the blankets from the bed. “Now’s our shot.” George tells Dream curtly before walking over to the door.
“ George!” Dream hisses but George doesn’t bother turning around.
His mother is standing at the door, startled by the sudden opening of it, and George storms past her down the stairs.
Hopping down the flight as quick as he can, he flings himself to the couch and under the blanket.
He reels about it in his head for a bit, tossing and turning, throwing the TV on for something to shift his attention to but it’s no use. He left his phone in his bedroom and there’s no way in hell he’s going up there to get it. No fucking way.
After even longer as the adrenaline wears down, he starts to realize he’s really just heartbroken. Dream doesn’t want him, not even in a fake relationship, and George can’t even really be mad. He doesn’t have the right; they were never even really dating. Sharing bed and kisses all felt very real to him but it never was–not really. Not to Dream.
The rest of the night is spent thinking about their breakup.
–
“We’re still going to the shops, right?” Dream asks him the next afternoon. They’ve finally crossed each other’s paths again, since George came upstairs to finally brush his teeth and get dressed in fresh clothes. Or–fresh pajamas at least.
“No.” George tells Dream like the whole thing doesn’t really bother him.
“No?”
“No,” George repeats himself, sifting through his drawers for new clothes with Dream behind him. “I’m gonna stay here. You go.”
Dream laughs a little like it’s a joke so George turns around so he can see the seriousness on his face. Dream’s smile falls instantly. “What do you mean you’re staying here? It’s your family.”
“This will be like, the start of our breakup or whatever.” George pretends it’s easy to say, turning around to hide how much he’s affected. “I’ll stay here so it starts to look weird that we’re like, arguing.”
“I don’t want them to think we’re fighting.”
“But we were fighting last night and my mum saw it, so it’s not really that much of a secret.” George finally picks a shirt, pulling it out with the pants he’s wearing for the day. “I slept on the couch.”
“I thought you needed space.” Dream’s voice lowers and he sounds guilty.
He pretends it’s all fine– he’s fine. “I did.” George closes all his drawers and turns around again. “I’m going to shower.”
“Wait, you’re really not gonna come?”
“No, idiot. I’ll see you later.”
Dream’s eyes are suspiciously watery, just like his were last night. “I don’t want this to make things weird between us or like, ruin our friendship.”
“They’re not.” George speaks the truth, but only part of it. In the long run, this won’t make a difference. In a year, they’ll laugh about it. In two years, Dream will forget about it. Right now though, he needs some time to process it and get over his feelings.
“You seem mad.”
“I’m just worried about telling my dad, that’s all.” George throws Dream a fake reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”
Dream sighs and stands, shoving his hands deep in his sweatshirt pockets. “Your dad will be fine.”
“Fuck off, Dream.” George can have patience with Dream but not about that.
He walks away.
–
“Uncle Gogs, we had so much fun at the shops!” Liv yells from Dream’s arms as his family walks inside, still bundled in a light purple jacket and matching mittens.
I love him, George thinks–then freezes and looks away. A wave of nausea floods through him as the realization dawns on him. He’s in love with Dream, and that’s so fucking unfair. He gulps, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he looks over at the pair again.
His best friend kneels to put her gently on her feet, unzipping her coat for her and tugging off the gloves. It’s so fucking cute George might actually implode.
Fuck. He’s not allowed to think that.
He thinks of how he’s mad at Dream instead, and that does enough.
George flashes her an ingenuine smile. “I’m glad you had a good time, Liv.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” She says, running over to hug George’s legs as Dream pulls off his own winter attire. “We missed you!”
George hums, giving her an awkward hug from where he towers over her. “I’m sure.”
The sarcasm in his voice isn’t picked up on by her as she detaches herself from George’s legs and heads into the living room but to be fair, it isn’t meant for her, it’s meant for Dream. He notices it easily. “We did miss you, isn’t that right, Ollie?” Dream calls out to her. She doesn’t respond, too caught up in something else.
The nickname Dream has for his niece that’s usually endearing sends a chill of annoyance down his spine. He glares at his fake boyfriend, soon to be fake ex- boyfriend. “Too mad to want me to come but not mad enough to not miss me?”
It’s petty, it’s dumb, and quite unnecessary. It doesn’t stop him from doing it though. It’s the perfect time, isn’t it? His mother is right there, his sisters and their husbands. The only person missing is his father, who George doesn’t want to see this anyway. “I wanted you to come.” Dream says quietly but angrily. “I asked you–no, I begged you to come, George. Don’t act like that.”
“But you didn’t really want me to come, right?”
“George.” Dream’s voice is cold and warning, unwavering in his threatening tone.
He scoffs. “What?”
“Stop it.”
George’s cold demeanor melts a little, shoulders barely falling before he stands straight up again. “No, if you want to br–”
“ George!” Dream’s pissed, cutting him off with fire in his eyes and frustration written across his face.
He doesn’t care. George is pissed too. “Just do it, Dream. Just break– what? Dream, let go of me!”
Dream walks up to George and grips his bicep tightly; too tight for George to break out of his grip, and the smaller squirms as Dream drags him along, up the stairs, and to his room.
“Get the hell off me, you idiot.” George yells at Dream, scowl on his face when he stumbles forward as his friend harshly releases him. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dream asks, closing the door behind him.
“You said you wanted us to break up, right? So I was doing it.”
His friend looks just as puzzled as George feels, but it doesn’t add up in his mind. “We don’t have to do it like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re fucking pissed at me.” Dream tells him, angrily crossing his arms across his chest.
“What’s the difference?”
His friend shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s in the wrong. It’s true. Their fake relationship doesn’t have an agenda. There’s no rule book to this.
George just wants to do it.
Clean break.
“I wanted to do this so we don’t upset your family, George. Screaming at each other and breaking up in front of them isn’t fixing it. That’s doing the same exact thing, just in a different way.”
“Why the fuck do you care about how they feel more than how I feel?” George accuses. “Why are you so scared to hurt them but not me?”
Dream flashes with trepidation. “I’m not trying to hurt you, George.”
“But you’re hurting me anyway.” George really doesn’t want to fight and the closer they get to talking about this, the closer George gets to being found out. “Whatever, Dream.”
“It’s—it’s not whatever, though. I don’t want to hurt you, I just don’t know what to do.”
He wants to know why Dream is suddenly keen to pleasing George’s family and why he’s siding more with them than with George.
Dream is kind-hearted and loving in a way that most people aren’t on their best day but George also feels betrayed. Usually, Dream puts George first. George comes before and above most other things in the world–so why? George doesn’t completely understand why Dream is breaking up their fake relationship when all that will do is cause George inner turmoil and more fights with his family.
“Just break up with me. Whatever.” He repeats his nonchalance. “We can just pretend to break up now and tell them tomorrow at dinner.”
“But George–”
“ What, Dream?”
“I hate that you’re upset. Why–why are you so mad about this?”
George thinks about it before responding. He tries to think about why Dream is doing this and why George is so mad about it in the first place. They’re not actually dating, obviously, so what’s the big deal?
Part of it is surely because George has feelings for Dream, but that’s not all of it. George can take himself out of the equation and look at the situation. Something else about it bothers him.
Maybe it’s the feeling of betrayal. Logically, George knows Dream hasn’t actually betrayed him; not even in the slightest. However, it does feel a little bit like George’s feelings have been brushed under the rug.
Everything they’ve done, hugs and cuddles and kisses, have all been for nothing.
This plan started with trying to prove himself; show his family–his dad– that he’s very much gay and very much proud of that. He doesn’t have an issue showing off his boyfriend and does in fact like men.
Breaking up counteracts all of that. The last days of acting like a couple, giving and receiving shared gifts, are all for nothing.
George’s father will take this as a win in his book. He’ll see it as a failed relationship because Dream is a man, not because things just fall apart sometimes. William will look at George and see it as his final wake up call; that George doesn’t actually like men like he always thought.
And although George knows none of that’s true and is comfortable with his sexuality, it’s still dismissive. It’s still discouraging.
“Just tell me this.” George starts, picking at an already low cuticle on his thumb nail. “Why? What made you upset enough that you want to do this?”
He w0n’t beg Dream to stay as his fake-boyfriend, or stay in London at all, but as George tries to process this, he thinks he’ll better be able to process if he understands.
Dream’s eyes swim with guilt and after his friend shuffles on his feet, George knows his answer. He’s not going to tell George and doesn’t plan on it. “Forget it.” George relents, not wanting Dream to have to awkwardly lie or make up a story.
The taller just nods, another apology hot on his tongue as he walks out the door, mumbling something about giving George space again.
He’s not sure that’s exactly what he really needs or wants, but he takes the time to think and think and think.
All he knows is that he was right days ago–he’s too far deep in it now.
George loves Dream.
–
George is about to start his trek back home the next evening from downtown. He’s taken the train all the way into the depths of the city and now he’s on his way to the house for dinner.
His mum texted him, Dream texted him, and they’re waiting for George to arrive before eating. So naturally, George is whining to Sapnap on his way home.
He’s actively been avoiding Dream since their argument yesterday. Dream was right, he just needs some space to think and get over it.
He thinks the taller must have entered the bedroom at some point while George slept the night before to change because he’s wearing different clothes, but that’s besides the point.
They’ve barely crossed paths since their argument; Dream hangs out with George’s sisters and nieces while George just… sleeps and walks around town.
Now that’s a new feeling of nostalgia. Walking around London completely alone; no Dream in his ear or friends by his side. It feels like 2020 again when he and Dream got into that fight about the face reveal on stream.
By himself and whining to his other best friend, wandering around the city.
He doesn’t want to go back.
“Wait, dude, so you and Dream are like–pretending to date?” Sapnap asks for clarification, incredulity in his voice.
“Yes, Sapnap.” George says, exasperated and rolling his eyes, even though his friend can’t see him. “Are you not listening? Or are you just stupid?”
“Shut the fuck up, George.” Sapnap huffs. “I’m just asking again because it sounds fucking ridiculous.”
George wants to punch him. “I hate you.”
“Fine, George, be a bitch. I don’t care. You’re the one that called me.”
It’s annoying that Sapnap’s right. George called his friend for–well, he doesn’t know for what exactly. He wanted someone to talk to, maybe get some advice. Who knows? And now, he’s kind of regretting it. “Yeah and it was a mistake.” George spits out. “Thanks for nothing, Sap.”
“Shut up.” Sapnap says again, though the anger in his voice is a lot less. “I’m trying to help.”
“You’re definitely not helping.”
“George, he’s your best friend.” Sapnap pushes through George’s insults. “Just talk to him.”
Stepping onto the train and finding a seat, George lowers his voice. “He’s pissed off at me.”
“He’s probably hurt, George, but you know him. All he wants is an apology and he’ll get over it.”
“He’s hurt? He hurt me, I–I didn’t even do anything.”
Sapnap seems to think about it carefully before speaking. “George.” He says his friend’s name, very matter of factly. “You’re like, fake dating.”
“Okay? Everyone online thinks we’re dating. It’s literally the same thing.”
“It’s not. It’s so different in person and you know it.”
George juts out his bottom lip, willing himself not to cry. Obviously it’s different–they hug, they cuddle, they kiss. It’s incredibly different. “I fucked up, Sap.”
“You did.” Sapnap tells him bluntly. It’s true but it makes George snort, rolling his eyes. “Why’d you do it?”
“I dunno, because my dad’s a dick? Because I want him to believe me and stop trying to force me to be someone I’m not?”
His friend hums thoughtfully. “And your solution to that was fake dating your best friend, George? I know Dream going to London was a surprise but you know he would’ve seen your family again at some point. Why Dream?”
“Oh, come on.” Sapnap has teased George enough times that he’s sure his friend knows he has feelings for Dream, or suspects them in the least.
“What?” His raven-haired friend asks.
“Who else would I pick? Like, Dream is the perfect option.” George tells him, as if it’s obvious. It is to George, at least. “Everyone already thinks we’re together and–and Dream and I are just–we’re different. I’m different with him, Sap. You know that.” The confidence in his voice dissipates as he gets awfully close to the truth he never wanted to admit.
“Wait, George, you don’t mean…”
As his heart races in his chest, cheeks burning with embarrassment, he simultaneously feels relief that Sapnap will know. That someone will know. “Sapnap.” George says his friend’s name almost like a plea.
“Oh, George.” Sapnap says sympathetically, reading the lines between George’s words. “I didn’t know.”
Laughing without humor, George shakes his head. “It’s embarrassing.”
“How? I mean, you know Dream–well, you know. You must know.”
“Know what?” George asks and Sapnap stutters before speaking.
George’s friend hums. “He loves you.”
Of course Dream loves him, just like Sapnap loves him. They’re best friends. Dream loves them both. “Okay? And he’s the one who wants to fake our break up so…”
“George, you know I love you but you need to open your eyes. He loves you differently.”
George scoffs angrily, ready to be done with this conversation now. He doesn’t want to hear Sapnap’s shitty assumptions just to get George’s hopes up. “Thanks for nothing, Sap.” George’s only responses are riddled with crankiness and sarcasm, overly frustrated that his friend can’t help and George can’t do anything to fix this. “Sorry, I’m being a dick.”
Nothing will fix things with Dream. It’s George’s fault, anyway. “You are,” Sapnap agrees. “But I forgive you. Just–think about what I said, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” George replies dismissively. “I gotta go.”
He hangs up the phone before hearing his friend reply, getting off at the next stop to walk the rest of the way.
It’s not that far but it’s just long enough that he gets a few extra minutes by himself before he arrives home.
They’re all surrounding the dinner table when he walks in, just starting to serve food and fill their plates. George almost cracks a smile when he realizes Dream’s filling George’s plate for him with all his favorites.
At least there’s hope that when they get home, things won’t be weird. Or, they won’t always be weird. They’ll get through it, eventually.
He walks silently over to his seat, Dream pulling his seat out for him, making his eyebrows scrunch. George doesn’t mention it though, just lets Dream be kind. It’s not like they’re not going to be friends after this. It’s not weird that they’ll be friendly with one another after their break up. Their lives and jobs are intertwined. They’re best friends. George’s family will probably suspect that they’re friends after all this.
Conversation erupts around him and he listens quietly. Emily’s daughter gave a huge smile this morning that George missed, Ollie asked Uncle Dream if she could visit in Florida, and for the first time in years, actual Christmas carolers showed up to their house.
George doesn’t participate in the conversation, deep in thought, when everyone starts to wrap-up. This is his chance.
“So, um–” George says, lifting his eyes from the empty plate in front of him. “Dream and I are–”
“We’re going home a little early.” Dream cuts in, interrupting George’s announcement. George’s eyes snap to Dream’s, looking in his eyes for any sense of humor. “Just one day. We–we have to make it back for a meeting.”
“What?” George asks, puzzled as to why Dream would say that right now. Does he not realize what George is trying to do? “No, I–I was trying to say–”
“George–”
“Dream and I–”
“Are engaged!” Dream interrupts again and George’s jaw drops stupidly, eyes bugging from his school.
Chaos erupts around them, everyone standing with congratulations and hugs and smiles. “George–” Dream says, green eyes frozen in fear. “I–I’m sorry.”
George frowns, letting Dream wrap a hand behind his lower back as they get tugged into tight hugs by the entirety of George’s family.
There aren’t any thoughts in his head left–he just blindly smiles and nods while reciprocating hugs, heart drumming in his chest.
What the fuck is he going to do now?
–
He doesn’t talk to Dream all night.
George goes to bed early, complaining about a headache before retiring to his room before the clock even strikes nine.
When Dream enters some hours later, George has already fallen asleep but wakes to the slight creak of his door and sliver of light that sneaks in from the hall.
“George?” Dream whispers, closing the door behind him quietly.
He decides to be civil; hear Dream out. “Yeah?” He asks sleepily.
“I’m sorry.” Dream apologizes.
Well, at least he cut to the chase. “What the fuck?” George breathes out.
“I panicked.”
George rolls onto his back instead of facing away from Dream so his friend can see his face, staring at the ceiling above. “I just don’t get it, Dream.” He says, frowning. “You wanted to break up and now we’re engaged? Do you know how much harder that makes it to actually tell them we broke up and stay on good enough terms to live together?”
“I know, I know, but–”
“ Do you know? Because I’m fucking confused, Dream.”
His friend sits on the bed, edge dipping down as he settles down on it. “Do you want to know why I thought we should tell them we broke up?” Dream asks, though it’s a rhetorical question considering Dream doesn’t wait for George’s reply. The taller digs into his jeans pocket, pulling out a box. When he opens it, there’s a ring inside. “Your dad gave this to me.”
“My dad?” George asks in shock, jumping out of bed to sit up and look at it while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The velvet box is black, beautifully jeweled ring inside. For a moment, he almost forgets what Dream did to upset him to begin with.
Dream nods. “Yeah, your dad.” Dream tells him, handing the box over to George. The smaller takes it into his own hands, inspecting the ring inside. “It’s your grandfather’s.”
“My grandfathers?”
The taller nods, scooting closer to George. “He apologized to me and he said that I was–I was right. Like, if you’re happy, why should he care who you’re happy with? You know?” George looks up at his friend’s face, flushed dark as George takes the ring out and plays with it. “And then he gave the ring to me–so I could propose to you with it.”
“My dad said that?” George asks again, not believing his ears. His father gave Dream his grandfather's ring to propose with?
Dream nods again. “It just felt like I was taking this away from you.”
George’s lips turn downward, turning the ring in his hands again, looking at the beautiful piece. “You’re not taking anything away from me, I asked you to do this.”
“I know but still. You asked me to help convince your dad, we did that.”
“I guess we did.” George agrees, still not even believing it. He thinks he might have to hear it to believe it. “So why’d you change your mind? That was–that was our chance.”
With a laugh, Dream reaches out to stop George’s hand from turning again in his lap. “Well…” Dream says, dragging out the vowel. George looks back up at his face, half-grinning and half filled with nerves.
George peers at his friend through squinted eyes. “What?”
“Well,” Dream repeats, eyes darting away from George’s. A nervous habit George has noticed over the last year of knowing his friend. “A little birdie told me that maybe I’m not taking this away from you?”
Instantly, George’s face falls. Sapnap. “Sapnap’s a fucking dickhead.”
“Wait, George–”
“No, idiot, I’m gonna fucking kill him.” George says, shuffling away from Dream to give him space. “I–I knew I shouldn’t have told him, I’m sorry. I don’t know why he’d ever tell you–”
“George, it’s okay.” Dream tells him, reaching over to close the space between them. “He–he told me because he knows I’ve had feelings for you since like, god, I don’t even know when.”
George’s mind short-circuits, staring back at his best friend with wide eyes. Dream has feelings for him?
“Shut up.” George says, cheeks on fire feeling humiliated. This must be a cruel joke, right? “That’s mean.” He adds on as an afterthought.
“How is that mean, George?” Dream asks.
“Because it’s not a funny joke.”
Dream tilts his head with a lopsided grin. “I’m not joking.”
“Dream.” George warns him.
“George.” Dream says back.
“What the fuck do you mean?”
The taller laughs and moves toward George again, sitting further onto the bed. “Do you think I’d fake date anyone else?” George tries to imagine Dream dating Sapnap and physically recoils, though he knows Dream well enough to know he’d do anything for his friends.
“You’d do anything for me and Sapnap.”
Dream laughs and nods. “Well, okay, maybe I’d pretend to fake date him if he needed me to but–but do you think I’d kiss Sapnap?”
George makes an awful and disgusted face, not even meaning to but unable to stop himself. It makes Dream giggle. “I hope not.”
“I wouldn’t,” Dream reassures. “But I’ll kiss you.”
“Obviously.” George jokes, just to be a dick and lighten the mood.
Dream leans forward with a smile, brushing their noses together. George tries to smile back and hold his ground, but his eyes flutter shut on their own accord. “Should I kiss you, now?” Dream asks teasingly.
George doesn’t have the self control to laugh or reply back sarcastically so he nods, letting their lips brush as he does.
He holds his breath for the second Dream doesn’t lean forward but luckily, the taller doesn’t make him wait long. Dream connects their lips lightly, perfectly, slotting together like they’ve done it thousands of times before.
They’ve kissed a few times before, yes, but in front of other people and out of necessity.
This is nothing like that and George can tell there’s a difference.
Dream’s lips move with a purpose, but one of his own. The taller’s lips part more than they have in the past, tongue swiping George’s bottom lip like it never has, hum of content and hot breath fanning across George’s face every time they part and reconnect.
At first, George thinks he’s in shock.
Then, he thinks he’s imagining it because what the fuck?
“George?” Dream asks out of breath, pulling away. His features scream concern and not euphoric like George is feeling right now.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?” Dream checks in because of course he does. “You seem distracted.”
George’s eyes flicker to Dream’s and then back down to his lips. He nods and leans into Dream again, slotting their lips together once more.
It’s nothing like their previous kisses. “You’ve been holding back.” George mumbles with a giggle against Dream’s lips. His friend smiles too, kissing him back.
The kiss starts to become nothing but clashing teeth between smiles and laughs, but it’s perfect. Better than their first, and second, and even their last. “Well, yeah, idiot. Every time we’ve kissed, we were in front of your family.”
Even though there are questions he needs answered and so many different things they’ll need to discuss, George pushes it aside for now. George laughs with his head thrown back before tangling his fingers into Dream’s silky curls. “Kiss me again.”
Dream bursts into laughter, a hint of his old wheeze sneaking its way into the air, before leaning in and kissing George again, pushing him to lay back into his pillows.
He falls gently into the sheets below, Dream hovering over him. Dream’s body covers George’s in its entirety, clothed chests pressed together as the taller lips his tongue inside George’s mouth again.
The heat of his tongue drives George wild, swiping across his lips and tangling with his own.
Dream’s the first one to pull away, resting his forehead on George’s. The smaller just scratches at Dream’s scalp, looking between Dream’s eyes as he waits for Dream to say something.
“So.” Dream says.
George raises an eyebrow. “So?”
“Your whole family thinks we’re engaged.”
George snorts at the idea now, finding it much funnier and heartwarming than he did earlier. Before, it felt cruel and unnecessary. Now, it feels a little silly. “Yeah and whose fault is that?”
His friend rolls his eyes, leaving a chaste kiss on George’s lips. “Yours, mine, your dads. I don’t know.”
“Yours, I think.” George says and then just to piss Dream off, he sarcastically asks, “where’s the ring?”
He thinks Dream will have a grand reaction; stupid and overdramatic, yelling at him and calling him an idiot. He doesn’t though.
Dream grabs the ring box where George dropped it on the bed and shows it to George, pulling out the ring. “Hold out your hand.”
“What?” George asks dumbstruck, dropping the joke but lifting his hand. “Dream–”
“Sh, sh–just wait.”
George’s heart feels like it’s hammering so hard that he’s a little light headed. “We’re definitely skipping some steps, here, Dream.” George chokes out, voice tight with stress. He loves Dream, he does, but this is–this is a lot.
“Shut up, we’re not–I won’t actually propose to you right now, dumbass.” Dream says, grabbing his left hand in his own. George finally breathes, not even realizing he was holding his breath until his lungs fill with oxygen again.
The curly-haired man brings George’s hand up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles before taking the ring and slipping it onto George’s hand.
The ring is stunning–matching the new one Dream just got him for Christmas. Diamonds around the top and bottom, the center in a chain-like pattern.
His breath leaves him and he feels like he was just punched in the chest–breathless, like the wind has been knocked out of him. “A promise.” Dream says. “That we’ll try this. We’ll care about each other, and take care of each other, and love each other.”
When his eyes get watery, he bites his bottom lip in hopes to distract himself and stop the tears. “We already do that.” George tells him, though it lacks the bite he really wants. Frankly, it comes out weak and quivering like he’s about to cry.
“I know we do, but now we’ll do it differently.” Dream says, a warm peck to George’s lips again. “Don’t cry.” He tells George, a hand coming up to swipe below his eye as a single tear falls.
George rolls his eyes and sniffles. “I’m not crying, my–my eyes are sweating.” George tells him dumbly and for a split second, he’s embarrassed. Then, Dream laughs and he realizes that his best friend, no matter the changes, will always be his best friend.
“You’re such an idiot, George.” Dream rolls over, simultaneously grabbing George so when he flips, George hovers over him. George leans in immediately to kiss him. “I do love you, you know.”
The smaller nods, tears now falling directly on Dream’s cheek. “I know, Dream.” He says, struggling to say it back but he gets it out. “I love you, too.”
“You love me?” Dream asks, incredulous. “I mean, maybe we are engaged.” The words are said jokingly, his friend winking at him from below.
George slots their lips together, humming as he thinks about Dream’s words.
They’re skipping steps, yes. But what does that really mean? To be engaged? That they know each other, love each other, care about each other? That they want to have a life together, grow together, and get married? Have kids, build a life, a family?
The two of them already have most of that, they’re already doing most of that. They’ve already done those steps, even if done untraditionally. Everything about Dream and George is untraditional. “Maybe we are.” George tells Dream, though he says it as seriously as he can muster.
Dream must notice the seriousness in his tone because his smile falters. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” George states confidently with a single nod. “You’re my idiot, now.” George says and then, “idiot.” One more time, just to make it final.
Dream kisses him as a response. “I guess we’re engaged or whatever. I guess you’re my idiot, too.”
And somehow, the rest of the night is spent wrapped up in each other’s arms. They barely sleep, giggling and laughing and kissing like they have an entire lifetime to make up for. They do in a way–the last few years that they’ve spent secretly pining and the year of learning one another in-person with nothing but platonic friendship.
George’s heart is sore, knowing they could’ve been together all this time but then he realizes, they have a lifetime to make up for it.
Then, it doesn’t seem so bad.
–
The morning Dream and George leave London as fiances, George is bouncing with anticipation to get back home.
As much as he has enjoyed being home and the changes to his life this trip has made, he’s ready to go back.
He misses Patches and oddly enough, Sapnap, too, and wants to get back to his regular routine.
That may change, yes–actually, he knows it will, considering he’s already spoken to Dream about moving rooms, but he wants that. He wants to start the rest of his life.
George wants to be engaged to Dream at home. It feels like a trip here, like a secret, like it could change at the snap of a finger once they go home.
Logically, he knows it won’t. George knows that Dream wouldn’t do that to him, nor would he do it to Dream, but he just wants to be there.
Although he doesn’t want to make it public, he wants to tell Sapnap and Larray and Hannah. He wants everyone to know–at least everyone that matters.
“You seem happy, George.” William says to George on their last morning when he gets downstairs, Dream already sitting in the den with Ollie. “I’m–I’m sorry I didn’t support you.”
George nods, reluctant to say the words it’s okay because in all honesty, it’s not. But he doesn’t want to deny him the ability to be in his life. If his dad is going to try and turn a new leaf, George can be a part of that. George wants to help teach and educate his dad, make a change in their family dynamic.
And George would be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking about his own dad at his wedding or in his future kids’ lives a lot more than he ever has before.
He wants that. He wants his dad in his life.
“Thank you for having a change in heart.” George decides to reply.
William nods and puts his hand on George’s shoulder briefly. “He’s really good to you.” His father says. “I’m sorry it took me so long to understand but I’m glad–I’m glad I get it now. I’m not saying I’ll be perfect but I want to support you. I want to be in your life and–and I want to come to your wedding, if you’ll have me. And be a grandfather to your kids, one day.”
It’s a lot–it’s overwhelming, though George assumes that the engagement has taken them all for a loop. Things that seemed so far out of the range of possibilities when he first got to London–marriage, kids–those aren’t just possibilities but are in-sight, now. Not just for him, but for all of them.
George can’t help but grin stupidly at the thought of marrying Dream. “We’ll keep in touch more often, yeah?”
William nods, a relieved smile on his face. “I’d love that.” He tells George, slapping a hand on Dream’s shoulder too as he approaches.
“William.” Dream greets, holding out his hand. George’s fight-or-flight response kicks in and all he wants to do is flee the room.
Things have gotten better, though this is the first time George has willingly spoken to his father since Christmas, even though it’s a couple weeks later and he’s supposedly changed. George just needed some time to think things through.
George’s father waves off the handshake and pulls Dream in for a half-hug. “Welcome to the family, son.”
Shell-shocked, George’s eyebrows fly to his hairline and his jaw drops to the ground. “What the fuck?” He mutters under his breath as the two of them hug.
When they pull back, Dream’s beaming as they break into their own conversation.
“Dad,” George whines, embarrassed, when William asks Dream when they’re getting married. “We have no idea. It’ll be a while, probably.”
“We’ll keep you updated.” Dream says, nudging George and then putting an arm around his waist, kissing the crown of his head.
William smiles, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Thank you, Dream.” William shows his appreciation and just as George is about to huff about the fact that he will call his own dad to update him, the man clarifies. “For helping me realize that I was wrong. For making sure that George is happy–for taking care of him.”
Dream smiles genuinely at his soon-to-be father-in-law and George tries to keep track, though he watches Dream talk. “Thank you for supporting us, now. We make each other happy and I can’t imagine my life without him.”
Bea coos from the other side of the room and George accidentally does it too from Dream’s arms. That’s embarrassing.
After more kind words are exchanged, like I appreciate your help, thanks for keeping George happy and healthy, I’m sorry, they’re ushered to say their goodbyes.
The hardest is Ollie, crying that her new best friend and uncle with the cool name is leaving, though she relaxes when Dream promises to fly them all out to Florida.
George kisses them all on the cheek and Dream throws around hugs to everyone before they leave, bags already on the porch.
As the door to George’s London house closes behind them, George takes a deep breath as the Uber pulls into the driveway.
Dream holds out his hand for George’s and immediately, the smaller grabs it.
“To new beginnings.” Dream says, grinning at George.
He lifts their locked fingers to look at them, seeing the beautiful engagement ring on his left ring finger as they walk down the driveway.
“To new beginnings.”