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And time passes us by
Seems like our day’s gone
But I know in my heart
I know I’ll always care for you
And you care for me.
“Once You”
___________
Perhaps it’s unreasonable, or selfish, or misguided, but George never expected Sapnap to leave.
He’s nearing thirty, and Sapnap just turned twenty five, but for some reason, George always had it in his head that it would always be the three of them: George, Sapnap and Dream. Forever together in this home that they’ve created over the past five years—cementing endless memories of staying up way too late and bullying each other over who has to go grocery shopping next.
It was never supposed to change.
This house was supposed to be different, untouchable by the constant turning of the world around them.
Here, nothing matters. Here, they’re safe. Here, there will always be open arms and kind words and an undeniable sense of family .
But Sapnap is leaving.
And though it isn’t really, it feels a little like betrayal.
They’re getting older, he knows. And even though it hardly feels like a day has passed since George first dropped his bags in the front entryway, life is somehow moving on without them.
“Did I do something wrong?” George asks hesitantly, when he’s tired of Sapnap’s announcement hanging dead in the air.
“No,” Sapnap is quick to answer, eyebrows flying upward in concern. “No it’s nothing like that. I just… I don’t know. I feel like it’s time.” A hand rubs at a smudge of dirt on his knee. “We can’t stay here forever, you know.”
George watches, pulling his own knees up to his chest, rocking back slightly on the edge of Sapnap’s bed.
You can, he wants to say. You know we can. Dream has said so himself countless times.
Instead, he says, quiet, and confused, “This is our home.”
And Sapnap’s face falls a little.
When he finally speaks, it’s slowly, and deliberately.
“We can make lots of homes in our lives,” Sapnap says, and George wonders when his friend started to sound so thoughtful, so sure of himself. “And though each one will always be a place to return to, I think it’s important we let some of them go. I just feel like… there’s still a lot out there I want to see and experience on my own. I think it’s time to go try it out.”
“That’s stupid,” George replies, though he doesn’t really think it’s stupid.
In reality, he thinks the sentiment is kind of beautiful, but to tell Sapnap that would be giving up. He does not want to give up.
“Don’t be like that, George,” Sapnap says, delivering a mildly disapproving look. “I’m sure you’ve felt like this before too. You get me, right?”
On instinct, he almost nods.
But the thing is, he doesn’t. George doesn’t get him. Not about this. Not now.
For a good portion of George’s life, home was something flighty and superficial. A word tacked onto one apartment after another, in a blinding parade of off-white paint and worn out carpet. The place where meals were taken, where family gathered, where beds were pushed up against the back corner of the room. Each one came and went in seasons of repetition, as fluid and inconstant as the currents of the ocean bordering his hometown.
The idea of a home was irrelevant. Inconsequential.
Until Sapnap, and Dream.
Until the move to Florida.
Because, as time passed in their sparsely decorated, overly-air conditioned house, George found his roots were no longer shallow, brittle things. They stretched long, and sturdy. He found that somehow, in an unfamiliar neighborhood, in a strange city across the ocean, this was somewhere he truly belonged .
So, even as the seasons changed, he stayed.
And with his two best friends finally at his side, he found home.
“George?”
Sapnap waits, expectant, hopeful.
George turns away. “What did Dream say?”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
A spark of sourceless anger flares in his gut.
He chews on his lip.
“It’s going to hurt him.”
Sapnap doesn’t hesitate in his response: “I know.”
George tugs at a loose string on the sleeve of his hoodie, saying nothing.
Sapnap continues, “I told you first, because you usually understand these kinds of things quicker than he does. You’re more reasonable, I guess.” He shrugs, eyes flicking towards him, then away.
“He’s going to want you to stay,” George replies, words muffled and clipped from where he digs his chin in between his bent legs. “He won’t get it.”
“He’ll come to understand eventually,” Sapnap sighs, adjusting his cap to run his hands through his hair tiredly. “It’ll be okay.”
Despite not feeling particularly okay himself, George hums passively, nodding slightly.
“I hope… I hope you’ll understand too. Even if you don’t right now. I know it’s a big thing to uh- ya know. Process.”
Another nod.
Sapnap goes still for a while longer, and George can feel his gaze on him.
Finally, a hand rests solidly on his shoulder, squeezing once.
“Love you, man,” Sapnap says, thickly. He hesitates, like he wants to say something else, but any other assurances fall away.
Instead he pats George on the back, and clears his throat, with some difficulty.
And without another word, he leaves.
***********
The moment Dream enters the kitchen, days later, George knows Sapnap must have finally mustered up the courage to talk to him.
Dream is practically scowling, with the way his brows knit together, pointing toward the downward turn of his mouth. There’s no heat though. No fire in his eyes. Only dim pools of despondency.
When he sees George, he startles, pinched expression falling away into something smoother, kinder.
Dream blinks.
“Oh. I didn’t know you were in here.”
George wraps his arms around himself, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
Both of them fade off into silence, gazing at the floor disinterestedly.
He hears Dream move before he sees him.
The fridge at George’s right opens, and Dream starts to rifle through it with little purpose. Privately, George thinks it’s so he doesn’t have to look at him.
“So you already know?” Dream asks, upper body obscured by the stainless steel door.
George nods, then remembers Dream can’t see him.
“Yeah,” he says flatly. “Told me a couple days ago.”
Dream makes a low sound in the back of his throat.
“Hm.”
“Yup.”
The fridge closes.
He wants to ask what Dream thinks about it. He wants to pull him in close and tell him it’s okay to feel sad, and that Sapnap is still their best friend even if he lives somewhere else, and that they’ll be alright, just the two of them.
But as Dream finally looks at him, all of those thoughts, along with George’s brief spell of courage, dries up.
“You going to bed soon?” He says instead.
Dream almost looks relieved.
“No. Slept in too late,” he answers, rubbing his jaw absentmindedly.
George clears his throat. “Want to go log on to Minecraft or something?”
Dream sighs, shakily, and offers a small smile. “Sure. That sounds… yeah. Great.”
George nods, resisting the urge to place a hand on the small of his back as he walks past him. “Okay. C’mon idiot.”
Dream follows, until they reach the entrance to the living room, branching off.
George hovers at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, confused. Then, as he watches Dream silently pull out two console controllers, it clicks.
For anyone else, it might have been a meaningless adjustment, just Dream not wanting to make the journey upstairs, or wanting to switch things up from their usual routine.
But George knows him like he knows his own soul.
And he knows that this means Dream wants closeness.
One screen over two, a shared space on the couch instead of separate chairs in separate rooms.
He’s lonely, unsure, hurting.
Without hesitation, George pads around the side of the couch, and sits.
Dream seems thankful, handing him a controller and relaxing into the pocket of space next to him.
Their elbows bump once, twice.
George swallows.
As gentle piano music washes over them through the speakers, Dream loads up a new world, watching the three white dots appear, then disappear.
And strictly because he knows he’s in pain, George ever so carefully tips his head against his friend’s shoulder.
Dream’s bottom lip trembles.
He sucks in a breath.
“Let’s build a house, George.”
***********
It’s not until the day before Sapnap is supposed to leave that George starts to doubt.
Unbidden thoughts creep into the shadows of his consciousness, whispering questions he’s put off for months, prying into the worries and insecurities that reside there until he’s tossing and turning beneath his bed covers, unable to sleep.
“He probably wants you gone too.”
“It’s time isn’t it? It’s been five years, just like you planned. Sapnap is just keeping up his end of the deal. Shouldn’t you?”
“Dream is just too polite to say anything.”
“This is his home, not yours.”
“He probably wants to find someone else. A real partner. A wife. Someone besides his annoying best friend to share his life with. Aren’t you tired of holding him back?”
“Did you really expect this would last forever?”
George grits his teeth, huffing out a sigh of frustration.
“Will you just be quiet? ”
The question goes unanswered, whispered to an empty room.
He yanks heavy blue covers over his head, immersing himself in darkness.
It’s far too warm underneath the blankets, and at this point, they’re twisted beyond recognition. Still, George stays hidden, forcing himself to breathe normally. To listen.
As the nonexistent voices disappear temporarily, he closes his eyes, taking in the gentle tapping at his window.
Raindrops, light ones.
George sighs.
He strains his ears further.
The house creaks softly, settling against the wind and rain outside. It’s comforting.
Beyond that, the sound of subtle movement from the hallway, and a quiet meow at his door.
He emerges from the twisted sheets, waiting.
Another meow.
George smiles.
Crossing the floor, he lets Patches in with a whispered “Hello you,” watching as she snakes between his legs happily before picking her up.
Admittedly the two of them had not gotten along at first, what with Patches hiding the first second he entered her range of vision. But over time, she had gotten used to him, seeking him out nearly as much as she did Dream.
“You can sleep with me, baby,” he coos softly, holding the cat to his chest as he climbs back in bed. “As long as you don’t tell Dream. He’ll get jealous.”
The joke is an attempt at some lightheartedness, but as soon as it passes his lips, a small pang of sadness resonates once again within him.
Why, he isn’t sure.
As if sensing his distress, Patches nudges the space under his chin, and places a tiny paw over his chest, near his heart.
George adjusts to rest his hand over the small white paw.
“Don’t worry Patchy,” he mumbles, kissing the top of her head. “I know. I won’t leave you. I promise.”
Though he’s certain she doesn’t understand a word he’s saying, George takes comfort in the mewl that escapes the creature in his arms before she curls up next to him. A confirmation, of sorts.
She will miss him, at least.
“Goodnight, pretty girl. Sleep well,” he says, leaning back into his pillow.
And as his hands card through the cat’s soft fur beside him, George finally allows himself to drift off to sleep.
***********
Together, they help Sapnap load up his car.
Together, they embrace him, so tightly it hurts a little.
Together, they watch him pull out of the driveway, and disappear.
Sapnap isn’t moving far—he’s only a phone call away—but his absence leaves a gaping hole in George’s chest. He feels like crying.
Dream doesn’t cry, but he stands close enough to George that their shoulders are brushing. As long arms hanging limply at his sides, he leans into him.
George doesn’t comment on it. Neither does he touch him in return. Even when their knuckles knock together he doesn’t hold his hand, even though he wants to.
They stand in the driveway for a while, until the post-rain humidity starts to become suffocating. It sticks to George’s neck uncomfortably, and he resists the urge to tug at his shirt collar.
He waits.
Then, Dream takes his hand, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
George feels his throat close up.
He closes his fingers over Dream’s.
And together, they walk inside.
***********
“Let’s do something fun.”
George looks up from his phone to stare at Dream, who strides forward to scoop Patches out of his lap, twirling her around a few times.
“Fun, like what?” He asks the blond, tilting his head curiously. “Who’s to say I’m not enjoying myself perfectly fine just sitting here?”
Dream rocks back and forth in a sort of dance, keeping a hold of his cat as she squirms. “I mean something really fun. Like, something we don’t normally do.”
George returns his gaze to his phone. “You could leave me alone, that would certainly mix things up from our normal routine”
“ George .”
“Okay, okay, fine. But I’m not gonna do something dumb.”
Dream gives an amused smile. “What classifies as dumb?”
“I don’t know,” he huffs. “How am I supposed to name every stupid idea you’ll probably come up with? There’s an infinite amount.”
Dream butts in, gleefully, and says, “I think we should have a sleepover.”
A sleepover.
Quite frankly, he hadn’t expected that one.
George levels him with an unimpressed stare. “See that– that’s dumb. For so many reasons.”
“George, c’mon-”
“For one, I literally– like– live here already. If you think about it, every night is a sleepover. And secondly-”
“It’ll be fun ,” Dream interjects, tone sickly sweet. “We’ll do it like we did when we were kids. Build a fort and order pizza–”
“Dream, we are nearly thirty years old.”
“--and play games, and watch a movie and-”
“This is dumb. This is the dumb I was talking about.”
Dream finally pauses, setting a wiggling Patches down before putting his hands on his hips.
“We’re doing it,” he says decidedly.
George pouts. “It’s gonna be lame.”
“It’s gonna be awesome , and get you out of your ‘ no Sapnap-emo-funk .’”
“Okay, that is not at all what's happening. I’m just bothered I have to hang out with you all day. Idiot.”
Dream steps forward and claps his hands, close enough to George’s face to make him jump.
“Go get ready. I’m calling Dominos.”
George swipes at him. “Fuck off!”
Dream dances away before he can get his hands on him. “I’m gonna wear my cute pajamas so you absolutely cannot wear that ,” he says.
“Are you calling me ugly? Now that’s just messed up.”
Dream shakes his head, expression softening. “Never.” A pause. “Now go. Change.”
Before George even has time to blush at the sort-of compliment, Dream is gone, leaving George slightly flustered, gaping indignantly.
“I’m not helping build your stupid fort!” He calls out, finally, but predictably, receives no response.
Aware that this is a losing battle, he sighs, glancing down at himself– taking in the worn hoodie and sweats briefly. He’s not even sure he has a matching pajama set, let alone something cute.
But this is Dream’s plan, and though he’d never admit it, George tends to make the impossible work when it comes to Dream.
So, with a great deal of grumbling, he climbs the stairs, throws open his closet, and picks out a slightly faded pink shirt, along with a pair of gray flannel pajama pants, then puts them on.
George looks in the mirror.
“Are you calling me ugly?”
“Never.”
He pushes the thought away.
Why does he care anyways, if Dream finds him attractive, in any sense?
It’s stupid. Dream is so stupid. And annoying. Why the hell did he even change in the first place?
Dream is stupid, and George spends an extra few minutes fixing his hair in the mirror anyways.
***********
George is a liar.
Because Dream is in the kitchen, dishing up pizza, and for some godforsaken reason, he is in the living room. Building a fort. Alone.
It’s ridiculous, truly.
He’s a grown man, and he’s in a bright pink strawberry milk shirt because he wanted to look cute for his stupid best friend and he’s duct-taping blankets to their expensive lamp because said best friend wanted to build a fort. For a sleepover. For their grown-ass-adult sleepover.
Fuck all.
“Two slices, George? Or three?” Dream calls from the other room, as George balances on a stool to reach the top corner of their bookshelf
“Can’t you just fucking– ugh– make your tall ass useful for once and help me?” George grunts in reply, nearly slipping once again.
After a moment, Dream appears around the corner, two plates of pizza in hand.
“I got you three.”
“ Do something!” George whines, gesturing to the blanket in his hand with his chin.
Dream chuckles, setting the food down in favor of pulling a stack of books down from the shelf.
“These will probably work better than the tape,” he says calmly, holding them up for George to take.
He does, disgruntledly.
Finally, with Dream stabilizing the stool, he sets the heavy books atop a large portion of the blanket, allowing it to drape freely down the sides.
“Perfect!” Dream says, offering George a hand down.
George stares at it for a moment before turning Dream around by his shoulders, so he’s facing away from him. Instead of taking the open hand, he clambers onto his back, legs locking around his waist.
Dream stumbles once, laughing in surprise. “What are you-”
“I’m tired. Carry me.” George deadpans, tapping the top of his head. “I’ve been working myself to the bone for you, you know.”
Dream steps away from the bookshelf, holding him up by the bottoms of his thighs.
“For me?” He asks, a little too eagerly.
George ignores him. “You’re doing the rest. I’m not lifting another finger for tonight. It’s pizza time.”
Dream snickers, opening his mouth to speak just as George claps a hand over it.
“No, don’t make the pizza time joke. Haha lol Spider-Man reference, I know, I’m a genius, moving on,” he rambles, just as Dream, rather obscenely, licks his hand.
“Ew!” He hollers, yanking his arm back, and nearly falling off Dream in the process.
“That was totally your fault!” Dream protests, leaning forward hurriedly before George can topple to the floor. “You were asking for it!”
George returns to clinging to his neck. “No I wasn’t you creep! You’re literally disgusting!”
“You didn’t let me make my Spider-Man joke!”
“That’s because I already made it, and you were gonna ruin it. Also you’re a freak. Who licks their friends??”
Dream’s shoulders shake, once, twice. Then, his voice starts to quiver and tense up in that stupidly endearing way it does when he’s is about to say something he thinks is incredibly funny.
George purses his lips, already preparing for it.
“ You probably want to lick your friends,” the blond barely gets out, trying not to lose his composure. “Me in particular.”
George is already rolling his eyes.
“In the mouth,” Dream adds.
George scoffs. “That was so dumb,” he replies, feigning disgust, even as Dream bursts into giggles. “And untrue. I don’t want to go anywhere near your mouth.”
Dream leads them to the couch, dumping George on it with a grin.
“Lies. You want me so bad.”
George folds his arms stubbornly. “I don’t.”
“You do.”
“You’re just obsessed with me.”
“Maybe I am.”
“You definitely are.”
Dream smiles, in a way that’s far too fond for this silly argument they’re having, and shrugs his shoulders. “Okay fine,” he relents. “I’m obsessed, and you want to kiss me, and I knew you liked the fort idea. Ratio.”
George sputters, trying to form words as Dream walks away to hang the last couple of blankets.
“That’s– you’re-”
“Also your pajamas are cute.”
George buries his face in a pillow, already feeling the blush creep up his neck. “Stop. I hate you.”
Dream hums contemplatively.
Then, ever the daring one, he replies, “I don’t care if you hate me, cause I love you.”
Instead of coming up with a retort, George, mortifyingly, finds himself going quiet.
Because what is he supposed to say?
To make matters worse, Dream does too.
Where there had once been easy banter, there is now silence, thick with awkwardness and tension.
It’s strange.
Because really, there’s no reason it should feel like this. It’s not the first time Dream has said that. And it most definitely won’t be the last. It’s not the first time they’ve flirted, or egged each other on into making romantic, or even sexual comments to each other.
But for some inexplicable reason, this time it feels different.
He wonders if Dream feels it too.
Maybe it’s just Sapnap being gone. Or the fact that they’re a little delirious on lack of sleep.
Or maybe, most terrifyingly of all, it’s because it’s starting to sound a little too truthful.
You want me.
You want to kiss me.
I love you.
George tightens his hold in the pillow, trying to stamp down his hopes faster than he can feel them rising.
Dream doesn’t feel like that. George doesn’t feel like that. This is joking, nothing more. The same as it has been for five, six, seven years.
“But best friends don’t say ‘I love you’ like that ,” his mind supplies, “ best friends don’t want to grow old together, sharing a home the way lovers do.”
Dream clears his throat. “Um. Pizza’s gonna get cold soon,” he says, quieter than before. “I’ll go… grab the drinks. While you eat. Okay.”
Without another word, he disappears into the kitchen.
George doesn’t move for a while, pressing his cheek to the soft fabric of the pillow.
He tries not to think about Dream.
It doesn’t work.
In fact, it doesn’t work the entire time they’re eating, or when they’re adding the finishing touches to the fort, or when they’re playing chess underneath the swathes of haphazardly placed fabric.
For what’s certainly not the first time in the past five years, George can’t get Dream out of his head.
Dream recovers more quickly, or at least seems to, falling back into his usual easy-going self as they continue the activities of the night.
It’s only during the movie, tucked together under the comforter dragged downstairs from Dream’s bed, that the facade starts to crack.
It’s while they’re watching some old Disney movie George has never seen, that he notices Dream fidgeting, hardly paying any attention to the screen before them.
“Hey,” George finally musters up the courage to whisper. “Are you okay?”
Dream flinches in surprise, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes before schooling his expression again.
“M’fine,” he answers quickly, and George’s heart twists.
“Don’t lie,” he says softly, then adds, punctuating his point with a gentle poke to Dream’s chest, “not to me. I know something’s up.”
Dream’s brows furrow, and his lip curls downward.
George looks at him intently, attempting to read his mind like he sometimes can. He shuffles closer.
Dream doesn’t move away, but keeps his fluttering hands at his sides. He takes a breath.
“I was just–” He pauses, eyes flickering to George’s.
George searches them, trying to find some sort of meaning or explanation.
Is he stressed about the conversation earlier?
Does he think we crossed a line?
Dream chews on the inside of his cheek. “I’ve been thinking about a lot since Sapnap left.”
George feels the air momentarily freeze in his lungs.
“About, like, my future, I guess.”
His stomach drops.
Oh .
He’s… oh.
In an instant, all the creeping doubts dart back into his consciousness.
So they’re doing this now.
George rolls subtly away from him, lying on his back instead of his side.
“You have?” He gets out, unable to keep the concern out of his tone.
Dream nods. His Adam's apple bobs.
“I have.”
And though George doesn’t really want to, he asks, “What about your future?”
That you don’t want me in it.
That it’s time for me to leave.
That I’ve gotten the wrong idea, and I really ought to stop thinking about kissing you.
“Well, I guess I was just thinking about, like, marriage. And maybe kids. And what I want to do with my life. Who I want to spend it with.”
George closes his eyes, desperately willing the tears pricking behind them to leave.
“Mhm,” he mumbles, trying to hide the way his hands tremble.
“Not you,” his brain chants, like a mantra. “Not you, not you not you.”
Dream shifts. His voice sounds closer now.
George keeps his eyes firmly shut, knowing he’ll lose his composure if he sees him.
“I just kept trying to imagine someone, anyone but you being there-”
Anyone but you . George bites his lip to keep from crying. You see? He wants anyone but you.
Dream inhales, shakily. “And I can’t.”
George pauses.
The air is still.
He opens his eyes.
“What?”
Dream has his face turned downward, into his pillow.
“I don’t even– I don’t know how to feel, George, and I don’t know how you feel. About me, that is. So I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable– I would never want to make you uncomfortable. I just… I couldn’t not say something any longer. Not when it was just us. Not when I was going crazy every second we were in the same room.”
George stares at him, opening and closing his mouth a couple times before blinking hard, forcing himself to say something ,
“You… have feelings for me?” He finally asks, still in shock.
Dream winces, glancing at him nervously. “I… think so. I still don’t– you know how I am about sexuality stuff– it still confuses me a lot, and for so long I just thought this was just us . I kind of figured that all the closeness and flirting and everything else was just how we are. And it is, in some aspects– like, you’re still my best friend, and I will always love you as a friend, but I think somewhere along the way I started to want more than that?”
George’s eyes widen, and Dream flushes, hurrying ahead.
“And I thought that was just part of it too, but then when it came down to it, I realized I really don’t want that with anyone else. Not when I have you. Well not have you, I mean, like it’s still your life, and I don’t even know if you–”
“Just stop talking for a second, Dream,” George interjects, trying to process anything with the way his heart is pounding in his ears. “Please.”
Immediately, Dream goes silent, muscles tensing.
He looks as if he’s been yelled at, worry written all over his face.
Realizing his mistake, George quickly reaches out, cradling his cheek with one palm.
“No I’m not– sorry– I’m not upset or anything,” he says. “I’m just… trying to understand.”
Dream’s hand comes up to rest lightly over George’s.
“Right. Of course,” he assures. “Sorry, I know this is a lot.”
George finally meets his eyes. “It’s– okay. Okay.” He breathes. “So you’re telling me the reason you’ve been acting weird is because you want us to be together, not because you want to kick me out of the house?”
Dream stares at him in sheer confusion. “Kick you out of the— George what ? Are you crazy?”
George huffs, tugging him closer. “Just answer the question.”
“Yes I want to be with you, and no I’m not kicking you out. Now will you please tell me if you’re going to reject me or not?”
As soon as the words leave Dream’s lips, all the tension that had been in George’s body releases. Unable to help himself, he laughs.
“I can’t believe this.”
Dream frowns. “Don’t laugh! I’m being serious, George.”
George drags a hand down his face. “Oh my god, you are an idiot , Dream.”
“You’re freaking me out. Seriously, answer my question before I cry or shit my pants or something. I will cry, George.”
With a grin so wide it hurts, George wraps his arms around Dream, pulling him close.
It’s awkward, with half of Dream’s weight slumped on top of him, especially with the man’s chin digging into his collarbone, but he doesn’t care.
“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” he finally says in reply. “And I think I have been for a long time, even when it… wasn’t this. And yes I do want you to kiss me. How’s that for an answer?”
Dream lifts his face from George’s neck, eyes bright.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“So like– you would be okay if I kissed you now? Because I would like to. Very much.”
Without any further hesitation, George pulls Dream in by the collar, kissing him hard, like his life depends on it.
“Idiot,” he mumbles in between hurried kisses, and Dream pulls away for a second, to reply with a breathless, “No you,” before George is capturing his lips once again.
By the time they reluctantly break apart for air, the movie is rolling into the credits, Dream’s hair is a complete and utter mess, and George’s shirt is rumpled beyond recognition, pushed halfway up his chest, skirting along his ribcage. A little embarrassed, he tugs it back down, then delicately pushes the hair away from Dream’s eyes.
“I can’t believe you confessed your love for me before we even kissed,” George breathes, panting lightly.
Dream groans, dropping his forehead on George’s chest. “Shut up.”
George laughs, holding the back of his head and running his fingertips along his scalp.
“And you called me cute.”
“Did not,” Dream mumbles. “I called your pajamas cute.”
George rolls his eyes, pinching his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be annoying. I knew what you meant. You’re so obvious.”
“Says the guy who thought he was getting kicked out and instead got confessed to. Obvious my ass.”
George feels himself flush red, and pinches Dream harder, who swats at him this time.
“That doesn’t count. You were being confusing. I was scared and psyching myself out,” he insists, and Dream stills.
“I’m sorry,” the blond says, in a warm puff of air against his neck.
George holds him closer.
“It’s okay. I’m okay now. I’m not scared anymore.”
Dream presses a gentle kiss to his collarbone, before rising up onto one elbow to look at him.
“Spending forever with me doesn’t scare you?” He asks, softly.
George thinks about it for a while, brushing his thumb tenderly across Dream’s cheekbone.
“No,” he replies, honestly. “I mean I feel like there’s a lot that we both still need to figure out still. And I can’t promise it will all go perfectly. But I’m not scared.” He exhales. “I think I’ve always known it would be you. Like you said. I couldn’t picture a future with anyone else.”
Dream nods in understanding, dipping his head to kiss him, slowly and deeply.
After another moment, George mumbles against him, “A lot of my future is your future,” and Dream pauses.
“What?”
George smiles, pressing his lips to the corner of Dream’s mouth.
“You said that once. Like a thousand years ago. About us. Simp.”
Dream smiles, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did it take me this long to know?” He mutters, and George laughs lightly.
“Like I said, you’re an idiot. I was right all along.”
Dream scoffs, dragging his lips along George’s jaw.
“You’re a bigger idiot then, cause you fell in love with me.”
George sighs, turning his head so their lips meet again.
“I guess so. I think I’m okay with that then. We can be idiots together.”
“Together forever,” Dream hums eagerly against him.
George nods, smiling blissfully into the kiss.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”