Archive of Our Own ^beta

The buzzing of his phone in his coat pocket jars George enough that he wakes up, a dull ache in his head where it had fallen to rest against the cold taxi window.

Dream
Missed Call

Dream
you at the airport yet?

George can’t help but grin absentmindedly, hoping the driver doesn’t spare him a glance in the backseat and notice how undisguisedly happy he is while he slips off his gloves so he can type easily and reply to Dream.

George
Not yet
Close though, I think. I just woke up

Dream
oh ok :) call me when you’re through security and stuff
I can’t sleep too excited

George hates how he can’t stop smiling, how satisfied he feels knowing that Dream is just as jittery with nervous anticipation as he is. The constant thrum of his own heartbeat is impossibly loud while he tries to focus on the softly humming radio inside the taxi and the blur of fast-moving early morning traffic outside. It’s just after midnight in Florida, George realizes, and hopes Dream at least attempts to sleep while George is on his flight and unable to fill time with quick-moving conversation and every possible effort to dodge discussing how nervous they both are.

George quickly switches to a different text thread, their group chat that includes Sapnap, and messages there too letting them both know that his cab is turning into the airport parking lot now. Sapnap replies first with a confetti emoji, and Dream sends a long string of exclamation marks shortly after.

George adjusts his mask and slides a beanie over his messy hair before getting up to fetch his luggage from the trunk, hoping his face will be covered enough that no one in the airport at five in the morning is likely to recognize him. He thanks the driver and waves politely, before taking a deep breath and one last look at London, in all its grey-skied glory.

The airport is quieter than George has ever experienced it before, the sound of his own footsteps loud and echoing while he walks up to check his luggage. Only bringing one bag probably appears confusing, given the one-way flight he’s taking, but he’s already been shipping some things across the ocean for weeks now and his parents plan to send over his other bulkier, more difficult things sometime after he’s settled in at his new home. He’s been too nervous to start moving the things that can’t be replaced, even in spite of his complete confidence that his new permanent home will become something certain in a matter of weeks.

The monotonous process of checking his bags and going through security passes in a haze, George rehearsed his answers to questions countless times on call with Dream just the night before, he barely even needs to think.

This plan—concocted a few months ago, after endless waiting pushed George and his patience to his absolute limit—to fly to America on a ‘temporary’ trip, floating on the confidence that it’ll be approved sometime nebulously soon and he won’t need to worry about the three-month time limit on his ‘visit’, had been Dream’s idea. After copious amounts of research and a conversation with an immigration lawyer, George is certain that there’s nothing illegal about visiting America while his visa is still pending as long as he’s able to prove his ‘nonimmigrant intent’. Essentially, he just needs to prove that he isn’t trying to skip the line and move without a visa—which, technically, he’s not doing.

‘If it still hasn’t been approved by Christmas’ became their frame of reference, the breaking point at which George knew he couldn’t handle the distance anymore. George knows himself, knows that he can’t handle another year of lonely holidays, any more special occasions spent staring at his phone because the family that he chose is still an ocean away.

So, perhaps it’s a needless risk, but George doesn’t think he’s prepared to cope with any more uncertainty. Waiting won’t hurt nearly as much if he’s there, if his life isn’t stuck in a permanent stasis any longer and he can just exist with his best friends by his side.

“To visit my future home for the holidays,” George answers with practiced ease when he’s asked why he’s travelling. He’ll need to return to London at least one more time, to say proper goodbyes to his family and friends and officialize everything, but the idea of going back with his visa finally confirmed and his return to Florida something guaranteed doesn’t fill him with the same despair that the idea of spending even a single further week at home does.

A single further week in London, George corrects himself. Home is in Florida.

Ninety days, he’s reminded, is the longest he’s allowed to stay in America without a visa. George nods easily, unphased. He’s received assurance that his application will be processed sometime within a thirty day window, possibly sooner, and he’s allowing himself to hope that nothing could possibly delay it any further.

He knows he really should’ve applied sooner. He should’ve done his research on what the process entailed before blindly assuming it’d be simple and straightforward, he would’ve been home by now if he’d known better. George can’t go back in time and correct his mistakes, so he’s doing everything right in the present, making sure he’s left no stone unturned and doing everything by the book.

They’ve already promised everyone a Dream Team Christmas. George can’t bear the thought of rescinding that—how disappointed everyone will be, having to deal with the weight of letting his community down on top of his own crushing frustrations. This is the only way, he and Dream had decided one night after far too many hours in a call talking in circles, this was the only possible way to guarantee a Christmas spent together without leaving it up to last-minute miracles.

Thankfully, George is more than prepared to answer everything he’s asked, having meticulously practiced with Dream the night before and making sure he knew what to expect. He’s calm and collected when he’s asked to provide his proof of unabandoned residency in England—his lease that doesn’t expire for another ten months—and explains that he intends to return to London before he moves permanently, even if his application is processed while he’s staying in Florida. It isn’t the entire truth, since he doesn’t intend to return to London for longer than a handful of days at most, but it’s an airtight story that the officer has no objections to.

When he’s finally cleared security with plenty of time to kill before boarding, George sits down at his gate and calls Dream.

“Hey!” Dream picks up on the second ring, he clearly wasn’t leaving his phone out of reach while waiting to hear from George. “Everything good?”

“Everything good,” George confirms, smiling at just the sound of Dream’s voice, the slight shakiness he can hear and the recognition that he’s probably just as anxious for the next twenty-four hours as George feels. “No complications or anything, it was all fine. I’m—I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“That’s good—that’s really good. And I know, this doesn’t even feel real,” Dream says, laughing a little incredulously under his breath.

“You could say it feels like a dream, even,” George replies quickly, deciding it feels easier to keep the conversation light than dwell too heavily on everything he wants to say, but knows he shouldn’t.

Patience, George reminds himself. Soon, he’ll have nothing but time on his side.

“Wow, never heard that one before,” Dream laughs at the terrible, overdone joke, and George grins in satisfaction.

“You laughed anyway,” George points out, envisioning an eye-roll when he scoffs and George can hear the familiar creak of him shuffling in his office chair. “You working?”

“Nah,” Dream answers quickly, “I was trying to answer some emails but I think I’m just too—I can’t focus on anything for the life of me. I keep thinking about how you’re almost here.”

“I’m still—” George pauses, glancing at the estimated arrival time for his flight displayed on a screen in the destination’s timezone and easily calculating the difference in his head. “At least eleven hours away, assuming nothing gets delayed. I don’t know if that’s almost there.”

“Well,” Dream drags out the syllables of the word, and George can hear more shuffling, like he’s fidgeting with something. “Eleven hours is nothing compared to—fuck, how many months has it been?”

“Too many,” George responds, not even wanting to think about it further. “That does remind me, today’s the second day of that window they gave me to expect a response. What if it shows up while I’m on the plane?”

“Text your mom as soon as you land, so she knows you have service, I’m sure she’ll tell you if it did.” Dream seems to have thought of everything, despite the fact that he’s not even the one moving. It’d been his suggestion in the first place for George to change his mailing address to his parents’ house, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about sending them to check his mail while he was in Florida. He’d find out as soon as possible whenever his visa finally arrives.

George hums in agreement, not sure what else to say, and listens to the quiet clicking of Dream’s keyboard while he apparently returns to whatever email he’d been writing before George called. George prefers talking on the phone to discord calls for this specific reason, he likes hearing all the ambient background noise that discord’s noise suppression filters out, he likes being able to picture where Dream is in his room and pretend he’s sitting at his desk beside him, watching him work.

“So, Sapnap is going to pick me up at the airport?” George asks, drumming his fingers against the armrest of the cushioned chair he’s slouched back in. “And then what, do you want to post anything today? Or wait for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, it’d be too risky for me to pick you up,” Dream reiterates the same reasoning they’d previously discussed. “Nick will be there already when your flight lands, he’ll come find you inside. And—I don’t know yet, about posting. I kind of want us to have at least one day just to ourselves.”

“That sounds nice,” George agrees quickly, “I was hoping we wouldn’t post anything right away. We can just exist, we’ll do all the content stuff tomorrow.”

We can just exist. The longer George mulls over the idea, the more surreal the words sounded coming out of his own mouth. He’s in an airport, about to get on a flight to Orlando, to meet his best friends and settle into his future home. He’s spending the holidays—and the rest of his life—with the people he’s been fantasizing about meeting since he was bored and lonely in university and so much about his ideal future was still a question mark.

“Yeah,” Dream sighs quietly, contentedly. “I haven’t really thought about the face reveal stuff. I think I might just post a picture with all of us together, but maybe I’ll film a short video or something.”

“Video would be good,” George tries to think analytically, to give genuine advice because he knows that if Dream is bringing this up, it’s clearly been bothering him. “You have a whole YouTube audience that doesn’t follow you anywhere else, you should probably post a reveal there since it’s your biggest platform. But you could also just post pictures in a community post or something, if a video is too nerve-wracking.”

“When did I say I was nervous?” Dream mumbles defensively, but George can hear the undercurrent of insecurity in his voice even still.

“You didn’t have to say it,” George grins smugly, knowing that Dream won’t have any defense.

“Okay. Well, maybe a little—but it’s like, revealing my face is nothing compared to moving to an entirely different continent. If anything, you should be the one who’s nervous. What if you get here and decide you hate me?”

“I couldn’t,” George answers a little too quickly, and he wonders if Dream can sense the way his heartbeat increases in pace even through the phone. “I mean—I won’t, don’t be stupid. I’m not nervous about that.”

“What are you nervous about, then?”

George internally curses Dream for being able to read him just as easily as vice versa, begrudgingly accepting that he can’t bring himself to lie.

“I think I’m just worried—like, I keep expecting something to go wrong.” George frowns, trying his best not to even consider worst case scenarios, knowing that—as they’ve talked about over and over—it does no good to dwell on them. “This feels too easy, we’ve waited all this time and now I’m almost there. What if this gets ripped away from us at the last minute?”

“Well, no matter what, we are going to meet today.” Dream is smiling, George can tell. “And if, god fucking forbid, something goes wrong—” Dream pauses, taking a breath, and George knows he’s jumping to the same nightmare scenario he keeps having to ignore the possibility for. “—If something goes wrong, then we’ll figure it out. Like, this was already backup plan number 300, and look, it’s worked out just fine! If there’s any complications, we’ll just come up with a new plan.”

There’s one thing we can’t do anything about, George thinks, but can’t bring himself to say. It’s been an elephant in every room ever since the conception of this plan weeks ago, the only factor outside their control, but none of them have had the courage to verbalize the fear.

George’s visa could get denied. He shut down his parents’ concern immediately when they’d asked what he would do in that case—if he had to come back, if he finally got to Florida only to be forced to start the entire process over again, and this time he’d know what he was missing—it was easier not to think about it, to brush them off and say it’s going to be approved and carry on as if it simply weren’t a possibility.

“You’re right,” George says, because it’s easier than talking about what he has a feeling they’re both thinking. It’s easier to pretend to be indestructible. “I’m excited to meet you, I guess.”

“You guess?” Dream scoffs, and George is pleased he succeeded in shifting the subject and tone of the conversation. “I’m really excited, personally. I’m definitely not going to be able to sleep, and I’m going to demand Nick call me as soon as he’s with you in the car—”

“Needy,” George interrupts, and Dream laughs. “I’ll text you as soon as I land. And then my mum, and then Sapnap. In that order.”

“That is definitely the wrong order,” Dream chuckles. “Shouldn’t it be Nick first, since he’ll be waiting for you, then your mum, so she can tell you if there’s any visa news, then me?”

“Wow, sorry for prioritizing you, I’ll never do it again.” George knows it’s an admittance even if he’s couching it in sarcasm. Dream makes a cooing noise, and George immediately regrets being earnest. “Shut up, I’m texting Sapnap first now, I hate you.”

“I think you’re the needy one, George.” Dream sighs happily, like he’s forgotten his previous worries entirely, and George decides he’s content to be teased if it means Dream is at ease like this. “Did you film anything for the video yet?”

“A little.” George reflexively pats the camera in his pocket, reminding himself it’s there. “Just some short clips, so I can do a montage past all the boring parts.”

“Cool,” Dream hums, and George hears him resume typing something.

Comfortable silence follows, something familiar to both of them, and George watches people shuffle about in the airport just for something to do while listening to the ambient sounds of Dream working in the background, only broken up by the occasional sound of breathing or mumbling something to himself. For months, this has been routine—keeping one another company in the only way they can. It’s hard for George to fathom that in a matter of hours, he’ll be able to do this in person.

Dream will probably hang around while he edits the meetup vlog, maybe he’ll pull up a chair beside George and give input. Or maybe he’ll let George take the reins, trust that for this—probably the most important video he’s ever made—he can have full creative control. He thinks Dream will want to linger around nonetheless, even if he’s not actually doing anything. George imagines Dream is going to be clingy, maybe not at first but once he’s settled into the feeling of being seen he’ll probably be insatiable—or maybe George is just thinking wishfully.

Maybe, in these last lonely moments of stagnance before a plane takes him onward to the next chapter of his life, George can admit that maybe he’s the one painfully eager for closeness. Maybe he’s allowed himself to fantasize, at least in passing, about thighs pressed together on the couch and arms slung easily around shoulders and two chairs crammed close together to fit beneath an office desk. He’s been so close, so many times, to just begging one of his friends to come visit him first—he doesn’t want to admit he might be touch-starved, but it’s how he feels when he thinks longingly about the physical closeness he’s never really had with any friends before, but he thinks it’d be impossible not to have after all the built-up anticipation.

“You still there?” Dream asks after a while, voice cutting sharply through the daze George was in.

“Mmhmm,” George groans, stretching out his legs and sitting up in his chair. “I’ll probably have to board really soon, and then I’ll have to go.”

“Pay for internet on the plane, so you can keep talking to me,” Dream says matter-of-factly, as if it’s a rational suggestion.

“I am not buying 10 hours of internet,” George laughs, “and besides, you’ll actually get work done if I’m gone. You’re like—you’re not doing anything right now, I bet. You’re too busy thinking about me.”

George is joking, but Dream sighs in something that sounds closer to acceptance than denial. “Of course, George, I’m always thinking about you,” he leans into the joke, deliberately darkening his voice. “You’re just so distracting.”

“I’m sure I am,” George plays along, resisting the urge to laugh and break his uncaring façade. “I’ll see you soon, Dream.”

“Yeah.” Dream sounds a little breathless, like he hasn’t wrapped his mind around the fact that this is happening yet. “I’ll see you soon.”

George hangs up with a smile on his face, the knowledge that the next time he speaks to Dream it’ll be in Florida making him a little dizzy with euphoria.

George is taller than Sapnap. He knew it was suspicious that the second a plan was set in motion and flights were booked, suddenly his friend lost all bravado and stopped insisting he’d be taller. Vindication is loud laughter in the middle of the crowded Orlando airport, Sapnap’s rolled eyes do little to distract from how impossibly wide he can’t stop smiling and George can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

He’s waited so long for this. He hugs Sapnap right in the middle of his rebuttal—something about how George is barely taller so it doesn’t actually matter—and Sapnap only takes a second to catch up and hug him back, and then they’re jumping together and cheering in the middle of the airport because George made it.

Finally.

They’re laughing all the way out to Sapnap’s car, George complains about how far he parked and Sapnap argues that it’s his fault for coming so close to Christmas when the airports are so crowded. And when George keeps pushing, unable to let it go, Sapnap elbows him in the ribs because he can do that now, because they’re together. George almost wants to burst into tears again just at the revelation that this is his life, at last, this is his new normal.

The drive home passes in a blur of loud music and facetime calls to other close friends. George had publicly only confirmed that he was going to be in Florida ‘before Christmas’, neglecting to give any specific dates for the sake of privacy and also to avoid being rushed into producing content and announcing his arrival. He’s meeting his two best friends for the first time, the last thing he wants to be concerned with is deadlines hanging over his head.

“Scale of one to ten, how nervous?” Sapnap asks, his voice surprisingly earnest while he turns down his speakers and turns off of the highway.

“Uh…” George hesitates, watching the landscape blur by outside his window and pondering the question for an unnecessarily weighted moment. “I don’t know.”

“That just wasn’t an option,” Sapnap laughs, though he doesn’t press for an answer, apparently accepting that George will open up when he’s ready, if ever. “I’m kind of nervous,” he admits instead, breaking up the newfound quiet, “I don’t even know why. This is what we’ve been talking about for a million years, you know? It’s just crazy.”

“Yeah,” George’s voice comes out softer than he’d meant it, “it is crazy. I’m in Florida.”

“You’re in Florida!” Sapnap cheers, reaching over and clasping George’s shoulder at a red light. His energy is infectious, and George is relieved by how quickly the atmosphere of the car shifts.

When Sapnap pulls up to an isolated, massive house George can’t help but feel like he’s approaching the peak of a rollercoaster, like he’s bracing for his stomach to drop at any minute while the floor falls out from under him.

George gives Sapnap his good camera, but starts recording himself on his phone just to fill the time while he waits for Dream to come outside. He doesn’t even really think about what he’s saying, talking to the camera about how bizarrely warm it is for December, how he’s going to have to get used to the humidity and it doesn’t really feel like it should be Christmas in less than a week. He’s rambling, he knows he’ll probably cut all of this anyway but he desperately needs something to occupy his mind.

When Sapnap walks back out, hurrying to make sure he finds a good angle to film from, George is still talking, just an aimless rush of words. Dream finally walks outside, and George wonders if it’s possible that the entire planet halts on its axis and freezes at a standstill for just a moment.

It’s almost impossible, at first, for George to comprehend that the radiant man standing in front of him, squinting facing the rising sun, is his best friend. He’s—fuck, George realizes—he’s exactly as tall as he’d claimed to be, his hair is longer than George would’ve expected and so much curlier, darker too. He looks just as awestruck as George feels, though he’s at least capable of walking forward while George still stands completely frozen, feet glued to the floor while he tries to connect the face he can’t look away from with the voice he’s spent lifetimes hearing through headphones.

“Hi George,” Dream says shyly, like he can read George’s mind and knew this wouldn’t feel real until hearing him speak.

Dream smiles—he’s beaming, really—and his eyes light up with so much wonder and amazement and it makes sense to George, suddenly. That’s Dream’s smile. He’s unmistakeable now, wide doe eyes and broad shoulders and George runs over to meet him halfway because now he can’t wait any longer, his best friend is standing right in front of him and he’s home.

“Dream, oh my god,” George barely manages to say before he’s breathless and swept up into a crushing hug. Dream practically lifts him off the ground with how eagerly he wraps his arms around George and then starts jumping, and George hears the sound of his own laughter before he even realizes he’s laughing. He’s so happy he doesn’t think his brain can keep up.

George breaks apart from the embrace just to study Dream’s face for another few seconds, up close like this, and Dream seems perfectly content to allow him the adjusting time, an amused smile on his lips while George’s eyes trace across his features.

“You’re here,” Dream says quietly, one of his hands settling on George’s back like he’s afraid to let him go too far, or more likely he’s assuring himself that he isn’t hallucinating, that George is still standing in front of him. “Holy shit. You’re here, George.”

“I’m here,” George repeats, brain-to-mouth, and the weight of it doesn’t settle on his shoulders until the words have already escaped his lips. Dream laughs and George hopes it isn’t obvious—the way his heart squeezes in his chest—and then he’s calling over for Sapnap to join them, and George is squished in the middle of a hug between both of them, and he thinks he’ll remember this moment for the rest of his life.

George doesn’t even need to do much in terms of unpacking, his room is already set up for him with a mixture of old—clothes he shipped from home already folded and organized in the dresser—and new—a desk and PC identical to the one he has at home, bought by Dream and assembled before he even arrived. Dream seems a little nervous while George looks around, hovering in the doorway and insisting that if anything isn’t to his liking it can easily be replaced.

George doesn’t have any complaints, and he urges Dream to come inside instead of hovering when he flops down onto the bed and it feels just as comfortable as his mattress back home, if anything he suspects it’s slightly nicer than the one he’d picked out on a call with Dream months ago. He thinks he’d have been perfectly content to sleep on the floor, as long as it meant he was here.

Dream seems nervous, even when he gives in and sits down on the edge of the bed. He keeps fidgeting with his hands, his eyes dart around the room cautiously before he looks back over at George and catches his lingering eyes. George’s lips curl into a smile, and Dream somehow looks more embarrassed than he feels, despite George being the one caught staring.

“It’s still kind of hard to believe you’re you,” George says, needing to get the words off his chest, an attempted excuse for his inability to look away from his best friend.

“Well,” Dream laughs under his breath, visibly relaxing a little now that the silence is broken, “I’m me. I’m sorry if it’s weird.”

“Why are you sorry?” George’s face scrunches up in confusion, and he sits up to move closer beside Dream. “It’s not weird, it’s just different. Like, seeing your voice come out of a person’s mouth. You look like—you look like yourself, though. I didn’t really have expectations, or anything, but you—you match.”

“I match,” Dream repeats, smiling. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, I think.”

“Good,” George says simply, not elaborating. “What if you just never face revealed? That would be kind of epic, actually. I kind of like that I’m in the exclusive club now, no more showing anyone else.”

“Selfish,” Dream laughs, and he leans over to nudge George with his shoulder. “You’re a gatekeeper, George. I’m going to tweet that you said that.”

“Well, no you won’t,” George immediately retorts, not taking the bait. “You are not going to reveal that I’m in Florida by calling me a gatekeeper.”

“I could,” Dream taunts, clearly neither serious nor expecting to be taken seriously, and he looks a little bit smug when George rolls his eyes and grins, like his only goal had been to amuse him. “It’s really cool—like, seeing you react to me. Is that stupid? I’ve always been able to see you, like, whenever, but it’s different like this. It feels like it was always meant to be like this, like things are just right now that you’re beside me. Sorry, that was kind of—”

“Yeah,” George stops Dream before he gets the chance to backtrack. “I think so too, it’s like—I didn’t hate London or anything, but it was so lonely because I was always so aware of the fact that I should be somewhere else. I always just had this feeling of things being incomplete. That’s gone now.”

“I’m so sorry it took so long.” Dream lifts one of his hands idly before dropping it back down onto the mattress, and his fist clenches like he’s still resisting something. “I’m never letting you be lonely again.”

Dream’s hand moves again, and George decides to make an educated guess—if he knows anything, he knows Dream.

“You’re allowed to touch me, you know.”

Dream’s face instantly flushes, much to George’s amusement, and that’s another welcome change. They’re finally on a level playing field, Dream has always been able to fluster George limitlessly, knowing he can’t hide when he’s streaming with a camera on him. George’s attempts at retaliation were harder to quantify the success rate of, when he had nothing but vocal inflections to judge.

“You’re so—shut up, come here.” Dream wraps an arm around George’s shoulders and pulls him into his side, and George quickly shifts to slip his arms around Dream’s waist and allow his head to rest in the crook of his neck.

It isn’t their first hug, but the quick embrace outside and group hug with Sapnap were nothing compared to this. Dream is so broad, he’s warm and the sweater he’s wearing is soft and George feels incredibly secure in his arms—he’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he finds himself hoping this will be a regular occurrence. George has been so deprived of closeness like this for so long, none of his friends in England are the type he’d feel normal clinging to without an excuse, but Dream is practically made to give hugs, and George hopes he succeeds in telepathically communicating that he’s going to expect this treatment daily, not only on special occasions.

Dream only lets him go when they’re interrupted by the door being pushed further open, and George gasps in excitement when he sees who has joined them.

“Patches!”

Dream immediately crouches down onto the floor to coax her into his arms, and George ignores the way his heart catches in his throat hearing how softly Dream speaks to her, how gentle he is picking her up and swaying her in his arms soothingly when she seems a little disgruntled.

“She doesn’t really like to be held, so she might run away after like a second—”

“Don’t care,” George interrupts, impatiently holding out his hands and Dream just rolls his eyes fondly before placing her carefully in George’s lap, then sitting down beside him again and stroking her head as if to say you can trust him, I’m still right here.

“Hi Patches,” George whispers in a soft voice, leaning down to look her in the eyes. She doesn’t try to shift away from his touch and escape, much to his delight, and Dream laughs quietly while he watches her lean into George’s pets and nuzzle against his hand.

“She loves you,” Dream says, voice low, like he’s afraid of jinxing it. “I knew she would.”

She does, predictably, get tired of the attention after a few more seconds and squirm to be released, which George allows. Dream laughs when she investigates George’s bed before laying down square in the middle of his pillow, as if claiming the room as hers. “You might have a roommate, she’s loved it in here ever since we set up your bed.”

“I suppose we can split the rent.” George watches her settle and can’t help but smile, he wonders if Dream has been talking to her about him, telling her this is George’s room and soon, she’ll have to share.

“Yeah, it’s really easy to split zero dollars evenly,” Dream scoffs, and he brushes his knee against George’s teasingly before he gets up. “Let’s go do something with Nick, he’s probably wondering where we are.”

George’s first day in Florida is much calmer than he would’ve expected, and he wouldn’t change a thing.

His mum never answered his text when he landed, which is a little unusual but George supposes she was most likely already at work, and he’s sure he’ll hear from her whenever she’s available. It’s nerve-wracking, knowing there’s at least a chance his visa has already come and is sitting in his parents’ mailbox and he just doesn’t know yet, but he decides to put any thoughts of it out of his mind and focus on the things he can control.

George doesn’t realize how tired he is from traveling until they’re two episodes into continuing their Breaking Bad rewatch, and suddenly he feels like he can barely keep his eyes open. He doesn’t know how he wound up sitting so close to Dream, the couch is massive and there’s an abundance of empty space but somehow their knees keep knocking together and it’s making it particularly difficult not to give into his exhaustion and rest his head on Dream’s shoulder.

“Tired?” Dream suddenly asks, like he’s telepathic, and George practically jumps he’s so startled by it. “Sorry! You were just—like, slow blinking. You looked like you were about to fall asleep any second, we can turn this off if you want to take a nap and—”

“Oh no, it’s okay.” George shakes his head, settling back against the couch and noticing the way Dream’s eyes follow him. “We can keep watching, I am just a little tired, yeah. S’okay though.”

“Are you sure?” Dream looks concerned, too concerned for George’s liking, so he decides to give into instinct and test the waters, dropping a hand onto his thigh.

“Yes, I’m sure,” George insists, and after Dream nods and swallows, he reaches over and wraps an arm around George’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Dream says quietly, smiling when George leans—barely—closer into his side, and somewhere on the other end of the couch George hears Sapnap laugh under his breath. He grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like living in a romcom, but George doesn’t have the energy to ask questions and decides to ignore it.

George’s neck aches when he wakes up, and it isn’t until he blinks his eyes open slowly and the first thing in his line of sight is the setting sun through the kitchen window that he understands why. He fell asleep on the couch, somehow, and now he’s paying the price.

Suddenly, something beneath his arm moves, and George realizes with a start that Dream must’ve fallen asleep too, because he’s still beside him. Or—he’s more beneath him, now, because somehow in his sleep they shifted impossibly closer together and George is now practically in his lap. Dream’s arms are wound tight around George’s shoulders, holding him steady, and George realizes that the movement he felt wasn’t even Dream at all—it was his phone, trapped in the pocket of his hoodie between their bodies, vibrating incessantly.

It takes George a solid ten seconds to build up the courage to detangle himself from Dream, achingly slow as he tries not to wake him and awkwardly confront the fact that they slept for—god, George isn’t even sure he wants to know how long—cuddled together on the couch. The sun is setting, which means he’s somehow slept through the entire afternoon and it’s probably early evening. Sapnap is long gone, the TV off and no sign of life from the living room or kitchen, and George can’t comprehend how Dream is still sleeping. He wonders if he got any sleep at all the night prior, or if he was too nervous the entire time George was on the plane.

Dream mumbles something in his sleep, completely unintelligible, and George suppresses a grin while he gets to his feet and finally fishes out his phone.

His brow furrows when he sees he has several missed calls from his mum, as well as a text from an hour ago apologizing for missing the chance to reply to him that morning followed by a request to call her as soon as possible.

Visa news, George knows, there’s nothing else she’d treat with such urgency.

Before calling back, he makes a snap decision and sits back down on the couch, gently pulling on Dream’s arm to hopefully wake him. He’d want to be awake for this, George thinks, this entire process has been as drawn out and painful for Dream as it has for himself, he’d be sad if George took this call without waking him first so they could get the news together.

“Dream,” George says quietly, shaking his shoulder a little when he doesn’t stir. He mumbles something and then shifts a little, one of his hands blindly reaching forward and almost hitting George in the chest. George laughs, trying not to be too startling, before saying Dream’s name again and telling him to get up.

“George?” Dream’s eyes are still closed, but his forehead creases and his shoulders noticeably tense up. His voice is low, deepened in the way that George used to accuse him of faking. “Not… not real.”

George suppresses the fond laughter he feels bubbling in his chest, covering his mouth with one of his hands and reaching for Dream’s outstretched one with the other. “No, I’m George,” he manages to get out without bursting into giggles, squeezing onto Dream’s hand as proof that he’s corporeal. “I’m here, idiot.”

“Wha—” Dream’s voice seems to give out when he opens his eyes and sees that George is sitting right beside him, still holding onto his hand until he realizes and, a little sheepishly, belatedly drops it. “Oh, fuck. I thought—oh wow, I thought I dreamt that.”

“That I got here?” George fills in the blanks when Dream trails off, staring in wide-eyed disbelief.

“I’ve had dreams like that before,” Dream says, and instantly his face reddens and he visibly winces, like he hadn’t contemplated what he was saying before his sleep-weary mind simply blurted out the first thought in his head. “I mean—like, I’ve dreamt about—you know. The visa getting approved, you being here, whatever.”

“Relax, Dream. I get it, even the unconscious part of your brain is obsessed with me.” George thinks he’ll never get tired of how easily he’s able to make Dream laugh, being able to see his eyes crinkle and the corners of his lips quirk upward is addictive.

“What time is it?” Dream ignores George’s comment.

“Uh, I don’t even know actually, but—right!” George suddenly remembers why he’d woken up, and looks back down to his phone. “We have to call my mum back.”

“We?” Dream looks baffled, still not entirely awake, and George can practically hear the gears in his head turning.

“Well, I have to call her back, but I wanted you to be up, I’ll call on speaker. I think she has visa news.”

“Oh fuck,” Dream suddenly bolts up in his seat, no longer slouching, and his eyes shoot wide open. “No way! Wow—okay, fuck. Yeah, I’m glad you—fuck, hurry, call her already.”

Dream is smiling now, wide and familiar, and George grins in amusement at his impatience. He takes a deep breath while his finger hovers over the button to call, feeling the way Dream is practically vibrating with excitement beside him and letting his reassuring energy push him to finally press down.

His mum picks up before the first ring has even finished, an indication that she was clearly waiting, not letting her phone far out of sight.

“Oh George, thank god, I was starting to worry!” Her voice is a little strained already, and George instantly feels guilty for missing her first several calls. She already wasn’t the most pleased about George moving across the ocean, let alone doing so before his visa was actually confirmed, he can only imagine the earful he’s going to get the next time he’s in London. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes mum, everything is really great, actually.” George answers quickly, maybe a little snarkier than he’d meant for the words to come out, but he can’t help but feel like she was hoping something would have been wrong, that he’d have some reason to move back. Apologetically, he adds, “I’m sorry I missed your calls, I was just taking a nap.”

“Good, good, I’m glad your flight and everything went well.” It’s like she’s stalling, George notices, he can’t understand why she wouldn’t start with whatever she’d been calling to tell him.

“Is there—did something come in the mail?” George prompts, patience running thin, needing to get to the point. Dream’s hand lands on his knee, squeezing in nervous anticipation, then lingers there when George smiles back.

“Oh, yes,” she sounds too somber for George’s liking, and irritation coils in his stomach as he wonders how she possibly could be so disinterested in his wishes, what will make him happy, that she sounds so unhappy about the one thing George has been waiting months for. “It’s—sweetie, I’m sure you know what this is to do with, but it’s—”

“Oh my god, just tell me already,” George groans impatiently, too nervous to really feel guilty for snapping—he’ll apologize later—and Dream’s grip tightens on his knee again.

“George, honey. A letter came for you, about your application, but it’s—I’m so sorry. It’s been refused.”

“What?”

It’s Dream who speaks first, managing to produce a sound while George’s head feels like it’s been dunked underwater.

Refused. He knows he should be asking more questions, asking why, that he should call the immigration lawyer right away and ask what to do next but when he opens his mouth no words come out, and instead a sob rises in his throat before he’s prepared to stifle it.

Dream is saying something, and so is his mum, and the grip he has on George’s knee has gotten so tight it’s starting to hurt, and George doesn’t understand a single word that’s being said because his vision is starting to go blurry and his chest feels tight.

Refused. He knew it was a possibility, but he’d been assured over and over that the chances were so minimal that he shouldn’t let his expectations drop, that the best thing he could do was stay optimistic. He allowed himself to hope, to believe it was only a matter of time, that he’d done everything right and surely—surely, after everything, the universe wouldn’t be so cruel.

Surely, this couldn’t be happening. Dream is eerily calm, his voice even and steady while he’s thanking George’s mum for the call, for telling them, that they’re going to figure something out and let her know what the new plan is as soon as possible.

What is there to figure out? George wants to shout, so appalled by how well Dream is taking the most devastating news he’s ever heard, how he could possibly be so levelheaded about this when they were supposed to be in this together, he’s supposed to understand even if no one else entirely does.

“George,” Dream whispers when he hangs up the phone, and he must notice the silent tears spilling down George’s cheeks when he turns to pass it back to him, because he suddenly deflates and reaches for George’s shoulder, probably to pull him into a hug but George shoves him away.

“How?” George manages, his voice strangled and wet with emotion and he hates that he sounds so distraught but he can’t manage anything else. “How the fuck are you so—this is just a minor inconvenience for you—is it? You’re just going to figure something out while I have to go back to my shitty apartment and rot in it alone for another year?”

“George,” Dream tries again, and he looks like he’s close to crying now, but George is still too angry to think about how much it hurts seeing him in pain—it’s the first time he’s ever seen him look anything but overwhelmingly happy. “George, please, I was just—I needed to know what the letter said, I could tell you weren’t going to be able to talk about it yet. I wasn’t calm, I’m fucking—this is everything to me too—you know that, right?

George nods, swallowing back a sob. His anger dissipates at least partially, a tiny bit of gratitude to Dream for managing to finish the call with his mum before he could completely fall apart.

It’s George who decides he needs a hug, this time, throwing himself into Dream’s arms and finally letting out his sobs with his face hidden away in his neck, and Dream holds him tight even while his shoulders shake because he’s definitely crying too. One of his hands is in George’s hair, scratching at his scalp soothingly and somehow it makes George cry harder.

Dream puts him first—he finished the conversation with George’s mum as soon as he could tell George wouldn’t be able to speak, he forced himself to stay calm until he was off the phone, and even now he’s still focusing entirely on comforting him—he always does, and it’s why the denial hurts so much more.

George can’t lose this. He hasn’t even gotten to spend an entire day with Dream yet, and he’s already having this ripped away from him because he can’t stay here, not permanently, not forever.

He has to go back to London. Not just for a few days, for as many months as it’ll take to completely restart this process and figure out what went wrong and somehow find the courage to risk being denied again. This was the one thing he always said he couldn’t handle, he couldn’t meet Dream and see his new home if he knew it was temporary, if he knew it couldn’t last.

George doesn’t know how long it takes until he runs out of tears, his eyes are painfully sore and he can’t even do more than sniffle when Dream finally seems to collect himself slightly too. They’re still holding each other, George can’t find it in himself to let go, not for the foreseeable future. Maybe he never will, some government officials will have to storm their house and attempt to tear them apart and force George onto a plane because he refuses to ever let go of this—of the home he hasn’t even had an entire day to call his own.

“What the fuck?” Sapnap sounds, understandably, incredibly disoriented when he walks into the room and finds the two of them like this. George isn’t quite crying anymore but he knows his cheeks must be streaked with dried tears and his eyes terribly swollen, and Dream’s eyes are still wet when he lets go of George with a shuddering breath and angrily rubs at them with his hands.

“Uh, George’s mom called,” Dream says, throat hoarse from crying and it sounds like it hurts when he coughs to clear it. “Um—not good news. Clearly.”

“Oh shit,” Sapnap’s face falls, and he walks over to sit down on George’s other side, patting him on the shoulder gently. “I don’t want to pry, or anything, but—are you okay man? Did—did somebody die or something?”

“What?”

George can’t help it—he bursts into laughter. Something about Sapnap’s completely earnest lack of understanding, combined with Dream’s utter disbelief at how badly he’s failed to connect the dots, is just too ridiculous and George finds himself gasping for air, laughing so hard he can’t breathe. Dream starts laughing too, shaking his head fondly as he looks between Sapnap’s much more confused expression and George’s contagious hilarity.

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck is going on?” Sapnap whines, and George only laughs harder.

“Think about it for a second,” George offers, rolling his eyes while he tries to collect himself. “Who was getting all my mail for me while I’m here, in case anything important shows up?”

“Your parents, right? Oh, fuck—” It seems to click for Sapnap, and George sighs heavily, exhausted despite sleeping for most of the day. “You said—not good news?”

“Denied,” George manages, and it’s the first time he’s even said the word aloud. The whole time they were planning, he refused to even verbalize the possibility, not wanting to jinx it, and it’s an admittance and a defeat all at once.

“Not—well, yeah. It was denied. But it could’ve been worse, they didn’t outright say you’re ineligible, just that your application couldn’t be fulfilled.” Dream adds, slipping effortlessly back into the calm, rational voice he’d used on the phone, and George hates it immediately. He’s glad they aren’t crying anymore, but he isn’t prepared for this either. “Which means we just need to to talk to your lawyer again, we can do that right now actually, we shouldn’t waste any time before we—”

“Dream, stop,” George doesn’t think before the words have already come out, and he cringes at how much colder they sound than he intended. Dream freezes, his mouth open and brow furrowed like he can’t understand what he’s done wrong. “I don’t—I don’t want to think about this yet.”

“We have to think about this, George.” Dream sounds frustrated, his tone bordering on condescension, which only serves to anger George more. “We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, we need to re-apply as soon as possible unlike the first time.”

“Let the fucking dust settle first, dude,” Sapnap butts in, shocking even George by taking his side. He’s so relieved Sapnap is backing him up that he could cry, if he wasn’t still reeling from Dream’s comment.

“Unlike the first time? Oh, because that was all my fault, right?” George stares directly at Dream, watching his face contort in something that looks like hurt for just an instant before he composes himself again. “Because I took too long to apply, I probably filled something out wrong, I’m probably the reason it got denied too, right?”

“George,” Dream pleads, his eyes softening in an emotion George can’t place, not yet when he’s barely known what his best friend looked like for half a day. “I’m not saying any of that. All I’m saying is that we can’t procrastinate about this, the sooner we reapply the sooner it’ll get approved—”

“And that’s what you said last time.” George scoffs, shaking his head and breathing in sharply through his nose. “You said I needed to hurry last time, but I guess we didn’t look over everything carefully enough when we were rushing to get it all done, because clearly we missed something. And now look where we are.”

George gets up before Dream has the chance to retort, the last thing he wants to do is keep fighting when he’s already so emotional and knows he’s going to say something he’ll regret if he doesn’t get away. For a single, terrible moment, he almost wishes he was still on the other side of the Atlantic, and he could just hang up a discord call instead of having to find a room to retreat to.

“George,” Dream calls after him, following him down the hallway toward his bedroom. “George, please, we can talk about this later. Just, I don’t want to drop this on that note—”

“I just need time to think,” George insists, as firmly as he can manage, his hand already against his ajar door and pushing it open. “We can—we can talk later. I think I need to be on my own right now.”

Dream opens his mouth to say something else, and he looks so deeply mournful that George thinks he might’ve caved and turned around if he’d gotten the chance to ask again, but Sapnap calls for him to come back to the living room. “Give him space, Dream.” George hears him say, and Dream listens.

George allows himself a few hours to wallow in self-pity before he texts Dream, because in spite of himself he’s already started to feel lonely again. He texts back within seconds, and within a minute there’s a knock at George’s bedroom door.

“Hey,” George says, voice weak, when Dream slips inside and shuts the door behind him. George knows he must look pitiful—his eyes are probably still swollen, his skin is probably all red and uneven—but Dream still smiles warmly and doesn’t react at all, to his credit.

“You showered,” Dream says instead, and he looks relieved. “Do you—do you feel any better?”

“I guess,” George shrugs, and it’s almost unnerving how closely Dream seems to be watching his face for any trace of discomfort. It would be unnerving if it were anyone else, anyone other than Dream, but George thinks he’s always been too comfortable with him for his own good.

“Good,” Dream nods a little solemnly, and George can practically feel his best friend’s heavy heart as if it’s cradled in his own hand. “I didn’t—I’m so sorry, about earlier. I thought I was helping, but I wasn’t listening to you. I hate fighting with you like that, and it was my fault. I should’ve realized I was hurting you without needing Nick to tell me off.”

George snorts, his words caught in his throat and his desire to make a joke and avoid needing to face this head-on undeniable. He knows Dream likes to talk through things, though, and he doesn’t want to leave this lingering over their heads for the rest of his trip—however long that may be.

“I’m sorry too,” George manages, and apparently that’s all Dream needed to hear before he’s content to go back to normal, because the immediate release of all the tension in his shoulders is palpable. Dream practically collapses as he throws himself down onto the bed, lying on his back beside where George is sitting.

“I promise, we can do things at your pace no matter what,” Dream offers, looking up at George with his wide, reddened eyes. “I’m never going to tell you what to do again.”

“Dream, it’s okay,” George sighs, relieved more than anything that he’s already gone back to his normal, overly eager to please self. “I shouldn’t have been so mad either. I was just—” George pauses, struggling to find the right words. He’s never been as good at this as Dream is, it isn’t for lack of trying but rather that he’s just always preferred showing how he feels rather than having to spell it out. He tries anyway, for Dream’s sake. “I was just upset. This is like—worst possible case scenario, I just needed something to blame.”

“It’s not the worst case scenario,” Dream tries, and George glares at him for a second. “I’m serious! It could be worse, they could’ve said you don’t qualify for the visa at all. Whenever you feel up to it, we’ll talk to your lawyer, and we’ll figure out what went wrong. And then we try again—and if it gets denied again? I’ll fucking—I don’t know. I’ll marry you.”

“Stop,” George scoffs, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m serious,” Dream says, in a very convincing portrayal of sincerity. “I will get down on one knee right now, if it helps. I swear on my life, if you do not have a visa yet by this time next year we are getting engaged.”

“You’re so dumb,” George shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “I missed you, isn’t that stupid? We didn’t talk for like, two hours. And I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” answers Dream, earnest and unguarded. “You can—you can stay, right? At least for the holidays?”

George frowns, admittedly having not thought that far ahead. He wonders for a second if it’d be easier to just book the soonest flight back to London before he has a chance to get used to this. He’ll have so much more to miss, the longer he stays.

“I don’t know yet,” George answers honestly. “Maybe… maybe just until new years, then I’ll go back. I just—I don’t want people to know I’m here. It’s embarrassing, having to admit we fucked this all up.”

“That’s okay,” Dream says quickly, before he seems to pause and think about it more. “We’ll—we’ll just tell them the plan changed, there was an issue outside our control, so you weren’t able to make it just yet. We’ll tell them it’ll be another while, so they get off your back about it a bit, hopefully.”

George nods, and Dream seems to sense that he’s still reluctant to have any drawn out conversations about this and charitably changes the subject.

“Did you want to just chill tonight? We had like—we bought all these fireworks and shit, but it just… I don’t know. I don’t want it to feel forced.”

George thinks about it, and his heart pangs as he longs for the uncomplicated joy of being able to turn off his brain and pretend everything is as it’s meant to be. He’s home, for the time being, and he wishes he could celebrate like they’d planned and forget the sinking feeling in his chest every time he remembers that this can’t last.

“I don’t know,” George says quietly, staring at the floor. “I keep—sorry I just keep saying that to everything.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dream’s voice suddenly moves closer, and then George feels arms wrap around his shoulders before even noticing Dream sat up. “I’m glad—” his voice breaks, and George feels the way his throat bobs when he sniffles and laughs quietly. “I’m glad you’re here. This still really fucking sucks, but I’m glad you don’t have to be alone while you’re going through this.”

George doesn’t know how to respond, but he relaxes against Dream and turns to wrap his own arms around his best friend’s waist, burying his face into his neck and hoping he knows—believing he must know—how badly he’d like to stay frozen in this moment for an eternity.

There are no fireworks that night, George ultimately decides he doesn’t feel up to it. He doesn’t want a pale imitation of the celebration he was supposed to have, permanently tinged with bittersweet resentment now that there’s hardly anything worth celebrating.

Instead, he settles for an understated night watching a few more episodes of Breaking Bad and then playing chess against Sapnap for far too many hours, while Dream is simply content to watch and intervene whenever their competitive arguing turns destructive.

When Sapnap gets tired and announces he’s heading to bed, George opens his mouth to mock him for turning in so early before conceding that he’s tired too.

“Are you—going to be okay for the night?” Dream asks gently, his voice so soft it almost makes George want to cry. His hand finds George’s wrist somewhere beneath the blanket he stretched over himself, and George blinks rapidly before standing up and shrugging off the contact.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” George tries for lighthearted dismissal, knowing Dream will see right through him nonetheless.

“I just—I don’t want you to feel alone. If you want to—”

“I’ll be fine,” George insists quickly, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. “You don’t have to babysit me.” Something inside him shatters when he sees the way Dream’s face falls, the way he’s entirely incapable of hiding his disappointment. George flees to his bedroom, needing to escape before what’s left of his resolve crumbles.

He can’t do this—not when he has to leave.

Dream is kind. Dream is warm, and gentle, and George has watched him grow into an entirely different person in all the years he’s spent by his side, and he’s been in love with every version of him. George has been in love with him for so long that he doesn’t need to remind himself what he has to lose, why he knew he couldn’t meet him if it was only temporary.

Maybe years ago, when Dream was still a teenager and George felt foolish hoping for anything more than a few nights in a hotel room before tearful goodbyes in an airport, he would’ve been braver. Before either of them had ever thrown out the idea of forever, before Sapnap was old enough to realistically talk about moving anywhere or they were anything close to successful enough for the idea of buying a house to be more than a fantasy, maybe George would’ve let Dream hold his hand and offer to spend the night with him. Maybe that younger, bolder George would’ve kissed Dream the instant they first locked eyes, if he wasn’t burdened by the knowledge that he needs Dream, in whatever capacity he can have him.

He’s not willing to take the risk, not when he still remembers how it felt to be helpless, to pine after someone an ocean away and seemingly unattainable for every conceivable reason. Now, George has Dream within reach—this was supposed to be forever, this was supposed to be home. He was supposed to have unlimited time on his side, to wake up under the same roof for the indefinite future and slowly settle into a life together, and George hoped.

George hoped, and finally got a glimpse of the life he’s desperately longed for since it felt stupid to believe was even a possibility, and then it was ripped away from him.

He can’t stay, and he isn’t naïve enough to make the same mistake of hoping again. Dream texts George something before he falls asleep, he’s just barely able to make out the contact name lighting up his screen through his blurred tear-streaked vision, but he flips his phone over and doesn’t read the rest.

George wakes up to the feeling of something buzzing in his coat pocket, and his head uncomfortably bumping against a cold taxi window.

Wow, he thinks bitterly, this is just fucking cruel.

Sure enough, he pulls out his phone and glances at the time, unsurprised to read 24:00, December 20th. Even the text from Dream is identical, along with the missed call. George doesn’t know what cruel trick his mind has decided to play, forcing him to remember the stupid, childish hopefulness he’d felt only yesterday, but he’s immediately anxious to wake up and be done with it.

He tries all the cliches—pinching his arm, knocking his forehead lightly against the window, biting his tongue. George usually wakes up pretty quickly as soon as he notices he’s asleep, but for some reason his stubborn consciousness refuses to be jolted awake. The taxi driver looks at him in confusion, needlessly realistic, but George ignores him and scowls bitterly at the texts on his screen instead.

Dream
Missed Call

Dream
you at the airport yet?

George
Obviously not, just like I wasn’t when you asked yesterday

Dream
??? what
did I miss something ?

George hates the way his sense of guilt is immediate, that even though he knows none of this is real he wants nothing more than to reassure Dream that everything is okay so he isn’t concerned. He remembers how exhausted Dream had been, falling asleep on the couch for hours like he hadn’t slept at all the night prior—he knows how stressed Dream already was, he doesn’t want to make it worse even for this pretend version of his best friend.

George
Don’t worry
I fell asleep in the taxi and just woke up sorry

Dream
oh ok :) call me when you’re through security and stuff
I can’t sleep too excited

The texts are identical to the ones George received in real life, he realizes, the unpleasant sense of deja-vu settling in the pit of his stomach. He needs this to end, he doesn’t want to be reminded of how different everything had been before his visa was denied, how perfect everything had felt.

It’s cruel, and mindless, and George goes through the motions anyway. He arrives at the airport and checks his bag just like he did in reality, he waits in line for forty-six minutes and watches the hands tick by on the wall clock, knowing he’s called up to speak with the same officer at what he assumes to be the exact same time he was before.

He answers each question the same way he did the first time, though with admittedly less enthusiasm. He’s let through without any complications, the officer’s responses matching perfectly with what he remembers.

Maybe, George thinks, this is a chance to live out the day he wishes he could’ve had. Maybe, if he lets his phone battery die, and never picks up the call from his mum, he can live out the rest of this dream in blissful ignorance and even if it’s not real, even if he’s going to wake up and be back in the reality where his visa was denied and he’ll have to go back to England sooner rather than later, he’ll get to pretend. He’ll get to spend at least one day living out the homecoming he deserved.

Fake-Dream is just as attentive and caring as his real self, he latches onto George’s side and doesn’t let him out of his sight for the entire day.

George’s phone dies a few minutes after he gets to the house—gets home—and he makes some excuse about plugging it in whenever he unpacks his charger before throwing it to the bottom of his suitcase and leaving it far out of sight.

When he’s back downstairs, and Dream makes the same offer to cuddle into his side on the couch, dread coils in George’s gut because he knows if he falls asleep, surely he’ll wake up back in reality. Dream must notice his hesitance—of course he does—because he quickly gets up and offers to move to the theatre room instead. George agrees, happily accepting the divergence from the day he’s already lived once, and the rest of the afternoon is different.

Instead of falling asleep on the couch, they turn on some loud movie they pay very little attention to before Patches joins them and George records their first meeting for his video. Sufficiently distracted, somehow he winds up playing table tennis against Sapnap until a paddle flies out of the younger man’s hand and leaves a dent in the wall, making both of them laugh so hard George’s eyes water.

Dream is furious for all of twenty seconds, until his eyes meet George’s and like he can’t resist, his appalled scowl is replaced by a grin.

Something George didn’t really get a chance to appreciate in reality is how clingy Dream is, the way he follows George around like a lost puppy and seems incapable of leaving his side. George almost wonders if this isn’t realistic, if he’s just wishfully imagining a more affectionate version of Dream than what he’d encountered in reality, but there’s something a little too real about the way he keeps finding Dream’s eyes on him, the way he keeps checking in and asking if George is comfortable.

George knows he can tell something is wrong, that Dream is so fine-tuned to his mannerisms it would be impossible for any version of him not to notice the way George has been avoiding his phone and seems to be weighed down by something unspoken. Thankfully, he hasn’t put him on the spot about it, probably rationalizing his concerns as paranoia and George almost feels guilty for not communicating until he reminds himself none of this is real, despite how terrifyingly possible it all feels.

He hasn’t had a dream this vivid, this plausible, in as long as he can remember. Usually in dreams, something is at least partially off, he’ll wake up and realize someone’s face didn’t look quite right or what he thought was his house was actually a supermarket or something was just intrinsically wrong, but this dream has maintained complete picture-perfect accuracy to everything he remembers, and he’s never stayed asleep for so long after noticing he was asleep before. George wonders if maybe he’s losing his mind, if maybe experiencing so many heightened emotions back-to-back caused something to snap and now he’s gone well and truly off the deep end.

George zones back into the conversation Dream and Sapnap are having just in time to hear something about fireworks after dinner, and he swallows back the lump in his throat. Apparently, whatever cruel delusion he’s trapped in is determined to show him everything he missed out on.

“You need to be more careful,” Dream scolds gently, his voice too soft to be convicting while he shuffles through the cabinet under the sink until he finds a first aid kit.

“It’s not even a big deal,” George argues just to watch the crease between Dream’s eyebrows deepen when he turns back toward him. George can’t help the way he grins, pleased by how predictable Dream is, and Dream rolls his eyes with what George can only describe as fondness within them.

“It’s your first day here and you’re already injured.” Dream sighs, before pressing a cold compress to his bare shin where his skin was lightly singed by the firecracker.

“I’m not injured,” George scoffs, fidgeting to get more comfortable where he’s sitting on top of the counter. “It’s like—I wouldn’t even call it an actual burn. It grazed me.”

“You said it hurt,” Dream frowns, and George ignores the way he almost folds beneath his stupid doe-eyed stare. “I just want to make it hurt less.”

“You already do,” George blurts out without thinking, but when opens his mouth to paraphrase and take back how vulnerable he knows he must sound, he notices the way Dream’s entire face has softened and the words die in his throat.

“George.”

“Stop,” George shakes his head, pressing his lips together to hide how hard he’s smiling.

“I—” Dream starts before looking back down at George’s leg, distracting himself by removing the compress and then pulling out a bottle of aloe vera from the first aid kit. “I’m not letting you take that back.”

The lotion is cold when he presses his fingers carefully to George’s skin, so careful that it makes George wonder why he isn’t doing this himself, why Dream had acted like this was something he urgently needed to handle and rushed him inside. George thinks about how many times he’s given himself minor burns doing mundane things, how many times he’s not bothered to do anything more than run his skin under cool water and then let it heal on its own.

Dream acting as if George needed urgent medical care because he complained about just barely jumping too close to the firecracker is definitely an overreaction, but George is mesmerized by how naturally this comes to Dream, taking care of him.

I just want to make it hurt less, Dream said. George catches himself blinking back tears, thankful Dream is too distracted fishing through a box of bandages to notice. You already do.

Everything about Dream is gentle, like this, George can’t help but notice the deep breath he takes to steady his shaking hands before he presses the bandage against George’s skin. He looks up at George and the moonlight pouring in through the open windows catches in his eyes, and George wonders how neither of them thought to flick a light switch when they came inside, or how he’s only noticing now after seeing Dream’s eyes flash like starlight to contrast the dimly-lit kitchen.

“Better,” Dream says quietly, conclusively.

Something about the low lighting and the way Dream is just watching George like he’s studying his microexpressions for any possible signs of discomfort makes George ache for physical contact, and he gives into impulse and reaches for his hand to pull him closer before he can stand to be even centimetres apart for any longer.

“Thank you,” George says quickly when Dream makes a surprised noise, standing up to full height between George’s legs and allowing himself to be pulled into the hug that George desperately needs. “I just—I needed this.”

“What?” Dream sounds confused, understandably so, and George just shakes his head and wraps his arms tighter around Dream’s shoulders. He doesn’t want to explain, to ruin this illusion of the perfect day he dreamt of when he booked his flight. Dream seems to accept the lack of explanation regardless, breathing in deep and resting his head against George’s shoulder.

George knows this isn’t real—this isn’t his Dream, despite the perfect resemblance and identical mannerisms he had less than twenty-four hours to become accustomed to, yet somehow his brain can effortlessly imitate for this lovestruck delusion.

“It’s—a long story, sorry.” George mumbles, not wanting to ruin the moment but not wanting Dream to be concerned either. This isn’t real, but it feels like it is, and George hates the idea of letting any iteration of Dream worry about him. “I’m okay, I’m sorry for being weird.”

“Not weird.” Dream moves to let go and step back but George stops him, fingers bunching in the fabric of his shirt and Dream doesn’t push, instead wrapping his arms back around George’s waist and laughing under his breath. “Nice.” He adds, less of an afterthought and more of an amendment. “Unexpected, but nice.”

George hates that it’s impossible to separate this Dream from the one he met only yesterday, that his heart quickens even though he knows all of this is inconsequential.

This isn’t real, and George is going to wake up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room that he’ll never get the chance to think of as home because he has to leave. He’ll be forced to face a Dream that can’t even make eye contact with him without being on the verge of tears, whose devastation almost hurts more than George’s own because he feels helpless, there’s nothing he can do to lessen his best friend’s pain when he’s the cause of it, albeit unwillingly.

George knows this isn’t real, but he allows himself to indulge in it anyway, to memorize the feeling of Dream’s arms holding him tight and imagine that this never needs to end, that this could be his forever.

When George opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the darkened London sky through a taxi window.

There’s just no way.

He reaches for his phone, narrowing his eyes at the screen and sure enough, just as expected, Dream’s text and missed call immediately after midnight.

It’s still December 20th.

Surely, George can’t still be dreaming. Watching the familiar cityscape blur by outside the taxi window, George thinks over everything he can recall about the last forty-eight hours and accepts that whatever this is, three times is a pattern. Three times is proof there will probably be a fourth, and he’s trapped in some twisted loop that seems determined to make him cyclically relive the best and worst moments of his life.

Maybe, like a cliche movie, there’s some lesson he needs to learn to break the loop—some cosmic wrong he needs to make right.

George thinks about his visa, how apparently avoiding having the news broken wasn’t the solution. While typing out a lazy reply to Dream, a test to see if his theory is right—it is—and Dream’s responses will be identical to the first and second time, George wonders if maybe there’s some way he can prevent his application from being denied, or at least put it off a little longer. Maybe, if he can reach someone from the embassy before he gets on his flight he’ll be able to get any information at all about what went wrong, and fix it before it’s too late. Maybe, he can convince them to approve him after all.

Daring to feel optimistic, George calls his immigration lawyer as soon as he gets out of the taxi and finds a bench to sit down outside the terminal.

The conversation is short. George asks—begs, really—for any insight into what could possibly be missing from his application, any reasons why it would be denied that he could potentially get ahead of, and he knows he probably deserves the befuddled concern he gets in response. It’s well after midnight, his lawyer is more confused about what provoked this sudden paranoia that his application will be denied rather than providing George any of the answers he hoped for, but he reassures George that he’ll take another look at all his documents in the morning when he’s more clear-headed and get back to him.

George knows it’s unlikely there’s anything he can do. It’s too late, already, to get ahead of the problem. Reality sinks in when he settles into a seat near his gate, stretching his legs out in the cushioned chair and staring out into the dark abyss of the airport window for the third time. Even if his lawyer is able to find the problem, the denial will already be long-since determined by now. He can’t get ahead of anything when he only has one day.

Like he often finds himself doing when he feels directionless and in need of easy comfort, George calls Dream.

“George!” There’s something heartbreaking about how effortlessly happy he sounds like this, George finds himself longing desperately for the same contagious joy he’d felt only days ago.

“Hi Dream,” George coughs to clear his throat when he notices how shaky his own voice sounds, furiously attempting to get it together.

He lets Dream lead the conversation for a little while, talking mindlessly about how excited they both are to meet, and with every lie he tells George’s dread grows thicker where it settles unpleasantly in his throat. Every insistence that yes, everything is fine—because somehow Dream seems to notice just from his voice that he’s on edge about something—becomes harder to swallow.

“Can I—can I tell you something?” George doesn’t even mean for the words to come out until he’s already said them, and before he can redirect the conversation Dream is already reassuring him that of course he can.

“Um—” George hesitates, not sure how he would even begin to explain any of this, or what he hopes to accomplish by telling Dream anyway. It’d just be nice not to be alone with this burden, even just for one day. He thinks maybe telling Dream will alleviate at least some of the weight on his shoulders, if nothing else just so that he doesn’t need to perform the same happiness everyone expects from him when they’re in private.

“This is going to sound really stupid,” George tries again. “Promise me you’ll just—take me seriously, okay? I’m not—like, this isn’t a joke or something.”

“Okay,” Dream answers quickly, and he sounds like he has more he wants to say but restrains himself.

“My visa is going to be denied today,” George says before he can talk himself out of it, and rushes to continue before Dream can ask questions. “I know for sure, I’m not—like, guessing. I know because I’ve lived this day before.”

“You’ve… what? That’s not—that’s not possible, George. I don’t understand—did you like, have a nightmare or something? You can’t see the future, there’s no way you know that.”

“I know it doesn’t make sense, I don’t get it either.” George sighs, trying to figure out how he can possibly convince Dream that he hasn’t just lost his mind. “I’ve just—I’ve already met you. Twice. I’ve already—I’ve woken up in a taxi in London on my way to the airport three times now.”

“But—how?” Dream isn’t dismissive, even in his confusion. He’s not making fun of George, or calling him crazy, even when he’s at a complete loss. George doesn’t know how he got so lucky, having someone in his life so eager to understand him even when it defies all logic. “You already met me?”

“Yeah,” George smiles despite himself, thinking about how weird it is that Dream—this version of him—has never met George in person, even though George has spent the last two days with him. “I know what you look like, I can picture your face when you’re talking now. It’s weird.”

“What?” Dream sputters, and George bursts into laughter. “I didn’t even think about that, okay, no way. You can’t already know what I look like.”

“I do,” George insists, smiling when he can picture Dream’s stubborn pout. “You’re tall. Taller than I expected, and your hair is darker than you made it sound. It’s really curly, and soft. You look—you look soft, in general. You have these huge eyes that get really wide when you pout—which you do all the time—and you have this aura about you that’s really… I don’t know. Bright, I guess.”

“George,” Dream interrupts him, and George knows his face must be furiously red when he realizes how long he’d gone on for, how much more he would’ve said if Dream hadn’t stopped him. “You’re—that’s, like, impossible. You’ve actually seen me?”

He sounds breathless, George thinks, and he wonders for a moment if it’s from more than just disbelief. He almost sounds flustered, which George quickly dismisses as his own wistful mind hearing what he wants to hear.

“I have,” George confirms. “For the record, it’s—it’s like, really nice. Being together in person, even though it’s bittersweet. It was worth the wait, and stuff.”

“I’m like, going to cry,” Dream says shakily, sniffling as if to punctuate the statement. “This is so weird, I don’t even really get it, but I—I believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“It gets denied?” Dream asks, suddenly sounding much smaller, like it’s the first time that piece of information has properly sunken in.

George nods, before remembering he can’t actually see him, and hums in affirmation. “It’s not—like, I don’t even know, I honestly didn’t pay that much attention because I was busy—um, being upset about it. But apparently it could have been worse, apparently it’s not a full denial, I’m not ineligible for a visa. I just have to apply again, probably change some stuff.”

“Fuck,” Dream whispers. “That really—that fucking sucks. You’re sure there’s nothing we can do? Like, can we figure out what the problem is and just resend some documents or something?”

George smiles bitterly, amused by how similarly the two of them think.

“I don’t think so, I called my lawyer already but it’s late here and I doubt there’s anything we could change when it’s already decided. I don’t understand why I’m stuck in this—this stupid loop, when it’s already too late for me to do anything about it.”

“I wish…” Dream starts, then trails off.

“Wish what?”

“It’s stupid,” Dream says again, and George hears the ambient sound of him shifting in his chair. “I wish I was in the—in the loop, or whatever it is, with you. So I could help you figure it out.”

George hates that there’s a lump in his throat when he murmurs in agreement, that he’s dangerously emotional just at the thought of having Dream here with him and not having to wake up alone, over and over.

“I didn’t even know it was a loop until today,” George explains, swallowing hard and shrugging even though Dream can’t see him. “I thought I was dreaming or something yesterday, but then it went on for way too long. And then I woke up in London again, so I just—I don’t even know. Maybe telling you will break me out of it, maybe this time is the real one.”

“I hope so,” Dream says quietly. “I can’t wait to see you. Even if it’s not really—like, exciting for you anymore.”

“It is,” George admits. He considers pushing further, admitting more than he ever usually would, since he knows he most likely is going to repeat this day yet again and none of this will have any consequences—but the tiny voice in his head reminding him this could be real, this could be the reality he’s stuck in, gives him pause. “It’s still exciting for me.”

He stays on the phone with Dream a little longer, slipping into ordinary conversation as if George hasn’t just warned him of the impending destruction of their livelihood. George knows Dream doesn’t fully understand, that maybe he still secretly thinks George has just been having extremely vivid nightmares and the visa denial won’t actually come to fruition. He’s charitable enough not to say as much, and George wonders if he’s mainly just avoiding confronting that potential reality for his own sake.

George decides while he’s boarding the plane that he’ll make sure he’s alone when his mum inevitably calls to break the news. Maybe, if he never reminds Dream of this conversation, if he pretends to simply never find out about the denial, Dream will be allowed to have at least one good day and think George was just delusional and paranoid.

On George’s third first day in Florida, Dream seems insistent on treating him like he’s made of glass. He has to practically beg to be left alone when his phone rings and he notices it’s his mum, making the excuse that he’s too embarrassed to take the call in the living room despite Dream’s reluctance to leave his side.

He doesn’t cry, not this time. He knows his mum doesn’t really get it, and he’s more humiliated than anything that she has to be the bearer of this news, to know the one thing he’s talked about working towards for the last two years went so horribly wrong. She reassures him that maybe it could be for the better. She suggests that he should live in England—at home, she calls it, as if it’s the only one he’s ever allowed to have—a little longer and stop being so focused on trying to leave. George ends the conversation less than a minute later, needing to be left alone.

She doesn’t understand, and never has, why moving to America was so important to him. He knows it’s for naught to make any attempts at explaining now, when it’s too late, when he has no idea whether or not any of his actions are consequential.

“Hey dude.” George is surprised to hear Sapnap’s voice outside his door, followed by a series of knocks. “You alright?”

George is frowning when he opens the door, not bothering to hide his confusion at the apparent intervention. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re just—I dunno. You’ve been in your room a long time, I just wondered if something was wrong.” Sapnap shrugs, and guilt washes over George at the realization that he hasn’t told his best friend anything, and he’s just earnestly wondering why he’s spent most of the day dodging questions and keeping to himself. “I thought we’d like, hang out more. Since you’re finally here, and stuff.”

“Sorry,” George says, deciding he needs to be sincere. “I’m just really tired, I didn’t mean to be so weird.”

“All good man.” Sapnap smiles reassuringly, and George’s guilt only grows. He hates lying, even by omission, even when it’s for Sapnap’s own good. “Dream’s been kinda weird too, I was just worried something happened.”

“Weird? How?” George can’t help but ask.

“I dunno, he’s just like—he’s hovering, more than usual.” George knows his expression must betray his fear, because Sapnap rushes to elaborate. “I guess you aren’t able to tell because you haven’t seen how he normally is but it’s just kinda… weird. He just seems like he’s on edge about something.”

George’s heart sinks, knowing it’s his fault. Dream is probably waiting for George to break the news that he got the call, that his visa was denied. George almost wants to just tell him—to rip the bandaid off and get it over with—but he thinks that would be worse, it’s kinder to keep up a lie, to bear this burden on his own.

“Let’s go do something.” George grins, eagerly following Sapnap back downstairs to the living room and finding Dream on the couch staring emptily at the blank TV screen, like he’d just been waiting for them to come back.

“Hey,” Dream greets George with a nervous smile, patting the cushion beside him.

George sits down beside him and tries his best to put aside his own inner turmoil, to focus solely on letting Dream hear what he wants to hear.

“Everything good with your mom?” Dream asks, and George knows what he really means. Did she tell you your visa was denied?

“Yup,” George answers plainly, taking a deep breath before meeting Dream’s gaze and nodding. “Nothing too exciting, she just wanted to make sure my flight went okay.”

“Oh—oh, okay,” Dream smiles widely and George is able to see all of the tension relieve itself from his shoulders, the way he visibly settles more comfortably into the couch and widens his eyes, watching George carefully as if to silently ask really? When George nods again, his impossibly bright smile only grows. “That’s—that’s good,” his voice shakes, and George thinks that no matter how much his own heart aches, he’s doing the right thing.

The fireworks aren’t as bright the second time around.

George is more careful, too, he jumps higher and avoids burning himself. He thinks if he was left alone in the kitchen with only Dream and the moonlight for company, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from admitting the truth, from selfishly ruining the illusion of normalcy he wants to preserve for Dream’s sake.

George avoids being left alone with Dream at all, knowing he’ll ask about the phone call and knowing he won’t be able to lie to him—not directly, not about something so important.

When they run out of firecrackers, he excuses himself to his room with something about jet lag and needing rest. He can’t stop picturing Dream’s furrowed brow and cautious but reassuring smile the entire time he struggles to fall asleep.

When George wakes up in a taxi for the fourth time, he’s just fucking angry.

Officially out of creative ways to subvert his course, he decides to just tell both Dream and Sapnap the truth, figuring that there isn’t much else left for him to try. He doesn’t expect anything to change, but maybe it’ll make the day at least a little more tolerable.

The early morning sunlight feels harsher than usual when he’s walking back to the car with Sapnap, beating down on him relentlessly like a suffocating reminder that he’s been here before, he’s watched this same sun rise and set three times already.

When Sapnap turns his music down to a low volume and their conversation lulls, George decides to take the opportunity and not waste any time.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, cringing when he realizes how weird it must sound as a sudden declaration. “It’s not, like, a joke. Just please take me seriously for five seconds.”

“Okay?” Sapnap spares him a confused glance before looking back at the road, and George scoffs at his inability to just say sure.

“I’ve been living the same day over and over,” George says plainly, prepared for the predictable disgruntled look he gets in response. “I’m not—I’m not, like, making some dumb joke. I have literally met you and Dream three times already, I just keep repeating the same day.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Sapnap narrows his eyes at George during a long straight, glaring as if attempting to discern any trace of humour in George’s blank expression.

“I’m not,” George insists, keeping his voice even and tone deadpan. “I know everything that’s going to happen, mostly, the only difference is stuff I do differently and then, like, cause and effect or whatever.”

“You’re for real?” Sapnap’s voice raises in pitch, sincere curiosity clear in the way he keeps glancing back over at George in the passenger’s seat. He looks like he’s seen a ghost in the way his eyes keep darting back over, almost like he expects him to suddenly disappear.

“I’m completely serious,” George affirms, almost laughing at how little convincing it took for Sapnap to seem open to the possibility.

“That’s like—it’s like that one movie,” Sapnap continues, brows furrowing in deep thought.

“Happy Death Day?” George offers the first example to come to his mind.

“I was thinking, like, Groundhog Day.” Sapnap laughs, contagious and easily amused. “Whose first example is Happy Death Day?”

“I’ve never seen either of them, I don’t know!”

“You’ve never seen either of them but you thought of—”

“Oh my god,” George laughs harder, rolling his eyes. “I get it, how is that the part you’re focusing on right now? And not the fact that I’m literally stuck in a time loop?”

“I’m still processing that part,” Sapnap snorts, and George is relieved he’s taking this so well. “Have you told Dream?”

“Not yet.” George sighs. “Well, not today, not yet. I told him yesterday—the uh, the version of today that was yesterday.”

“That’s so trippy,” Sapnap frowns, and George almost laughs out loud at the concentrated determination to understand on his face.

“I haven’t even told you the worst part,” George adds, smiling bitterly. “My visa gets denied.”

Sapnap almost misses a red light, gaping at George in confusion before having to slam hard on the brakes. “No fucking way.”

“Every time.” George nods, biting down on the inside of his cheek when Sapnap’s face falls. “It’s—there’s nothing we can do about it, I tried that already. It’s going to get denied no matter what, we just have to—live with it, I guess.”

“That’s—that’s so fucked, there’s no way that’s just it,” Sapnap pouts, shaking his head. “Maybe that’s why you’re stuck in some loop—you have to, like, solve this.”

“There’s nothing for me to solve,” George groans, irritated that Sapnap completely ignored the part where he mentioned he already tried.

“I know you can’t stop it from getting denied,” Sapnap sighs, trying again. “But like—maybe you have to come up with some other solution, maybe there’s a different type of visa you need to apply for or something, and we have to figure it out before midnight.”

“There’s not going to be anything we can do today.” George knows it isn’t Sapnap’s fault for being hopeful, and he tries not to direct his frustration at his friend for being much more optimistic than he feels after failing multiple times already. “We can look into it, I guess. But I just—I don’t know. I feel pretty thoroughly stuck.”

For better or worse, George is right. There’s no miracle solution, let alone anything the three of them can come up with that would make any tangible difference that same day. It’s ultimately a waste of time—they were so thorough in their preparations, George would’ve known by now if there were any magical problem-solver.

When George’s mum calls, it is a relief that he doesn’t need to make any excuses to leave the room, he just nods solemnly when Dream raises his eyebrows, a silent confirmation that this is what he knew was coming.

He tries to wrap the call up quickly, but it’s almost worse having the news broken while being able to feel Dream’s eyes bore into the back of his head. Sapnap stays in the room too, listening in from the other corner of the couch and staring down at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Dream says as soon as George hangs up, a hand settling on the small of his back and lips pressed into a firm line.

“You don’t need to be,” George shrugs. “It isn’t—it’s like, I’m almost numb to it now.”

“That’s even worse,” Dream laughs sadly, his mouth curling into a watery smile. “This timing is like—fucking ridiculous. We really don’t even get to have one fucking day.”

George blinks back the sudden tears forming in his eyes, sighing heavily and clearing his throat. Every previous version of Dream has been so focused on George’s feelings, George’s pain, this is the first time he’s heard Dream actually express his own disdain instead of trying to compartmentalize and be the rational one. It’s a knife directly to George’s heart.

“It’s not fair,” Dream reiterates, and his head drops onto George’s shoulder as he slumps back into the couch. George knows he must stiffen up, caught off guard, but he quickly tries to force himself to relax and be comforting for Dream’s sake. He places a hand on top of Dream’s where it sits loosely on his own thigh, pleased when it seems to work—he can feel Dream inhale slowly, methodically.

“It sucks,” George agrees weakly, not sure what more he can say.

“At least—I mean, it’s better that you were able to come here first, sort of,” Sapnap adds gently, standing up like he can sense the two of them may need a moment. “At least now—you know, we get to be together at least for a little while. It probably would’ve been worse to have to wait another—”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Dream whispers suddenly, his voice breaking like he was only barely able to get the words out.

George squeezes his eyes shut to steady himself instead of completely shattering, pulling Dream closer and letting him sob into the fabric of his t-shirt. He’s heard Dream cry before, but never like this, full-body sobs that sound painful and he’s certainly never felt the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, or the weight of strong arms clutching onto him so tight he thinks maybe he’ll break the time loop through sheer force, Dream won’t ever let him go anywhere.

“I know,” George whispers, running his fingers through Dream’s hair and doing the best he can to soothe him, not sure what more he can say. No amount of pretty words will change their cruel reality—George can’t stay. In every timeline, every cycle, their fate is the same. He knows that Dream won’t want to hear any empty platitudes or vague reassurances, not when he’s experiencing the same hopelessness that George felt on his first December 20th, when he’d been so aggravated with Dream for attempting to force optimism.

“I don’t know what to do,” Dream sobs, his voice so low George is only barely able to understand. He thinks Dream might not even really be talking to him, more likely just expressing his own disbelief and sadness out loud out of necessity.

George hushes him gently, mumbling soft affirmations into dirty blonde curls when Dream’s grip loosens slightly, and his breathing seems to grow steadier.

“I’m sorry,” Dream whispers hoarsely, and George shushes him again.

“I already told you not to be sorry,” he manages to say, gently leveraging the way Dream is still slumped against his side to lie back on the couch, hoping Dream will willingly follow—he does.

Dream rolls off of George onto his side, not retreating away from him but just taking his weight off of George, presumably noticing he’d almost lied down directly on top of him. George wouldn’t have complained, but he can practically see the paranoid gears turning in Dream’s brain as he seems to contemplate whether or not he’s allowed to touch George now that he’s no longer crying, now that he no longer ‘needs’ comfort as an excuse for contact.

“Come here,” George prompts warmly, too impatient to watch his best friend work through an entire internal conflict over whether or not he needs an excuse to cling to George the way he clearly wants to.

He’s rewarded in the form of a genuine, relieved smile that lights up Dream’s entire face. It’s only been four days—or one, if he’s being technical—but George already can’t believe there was ever a time he lived without knowing how Dream’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.

George feels bolder, knowing it’s unlikely he’ll need to deal with the repercussions of his actions after midnight passes, so he wraps an arm around Dream’s waist tentatively and leans into his chest. Dream inhales sharply in surprise but doesn’t resist, he’s quick to wrap an arm around George’s shoulders and let him lie back comfortably.

“Are you tired?” Dream asks quietly, carefully, like he expects George to suddenly pull away if spoken to.

“No,” George answers honestly, not taking the excuse for his clinginess even when offered the chance.

Dream doesn’t say anything in reply, but he hums in contentment and his arms tighten around George’s torso.

George knows he’s being indulgent. He knows this won’t last, he’ll be back to square one tomorrow and have to work through all of the day’s infuriatingly complicated emotions all over again, but he dares to pretend nonetheless. He allows himself to fantasize about forever, even when he knows he only has a matter of hours left.

The rest of the day, he glues himself to Dream’s side even when it earns him more than a handful of weird looks from Sapnap. He’s taking advantage of the little time he has with this Dream, this version of his best friend that has no objections to George’s constant search for contact and seems to need the comfort just as badly, while he’s able to provide it.

George is more than prepared for the unpleasant cold feeling of his cheek brushing against a taxi window, but his eyes fill with irrational angry tears nonetheless. He’s more exhausted than anything else, tired from the emotional peaks and lows being experienced so sequentially, in an endless cycle.

It’s a half-formed, deliberately spiteful and irrational thought when it first occurs to him. He could choose not to get on the plane, not go to Florida at all.

It bounces around in the back of his mind while he dryly replies to Dream’s texts, not even pretending to sound enthusiastic while he allows the idea to ruminate a little longer, properly letting himself wonder what would happen if he did stay in London.

It feels childish, above anything else, like he’s letting some higher power that’s determined to take away the best moments of his life win by trapping him here. He wonders, though, if that’s why he’s reliving this day over and over. George thinks about what Sapnap said—maybe he needs to right some cosmic wrong.

Maybe, since the intention was always that George wouldn’t visit Florida until he could stay forever, this is punishment for his greed. He isn’t meant to be in Florida, not yet, so maybe the only way to break the loop is correcting his mistake and staying in London.

George has already made up his mind by the time he’s getting out of the taxi and waiting for Dream to pick up his call.

When Dream picks up, sounding as cheerful as always and excited he got through security so quickly, George winces.

“Dream,” he interrupts, impatient but gentle. “I—um, there’s a problem.”

“What?” Dream’s voice falters, and George hates that he’s able to picture his reaction so clearly in his mind, the crease of his forehead and nervous twitch of his lips when his smile lessens. “We can figure it out, right? What’s up?”

George clears his throat bitterly, biting down on his bottom lip and breathing in slowly through his nose. “We can’t. There’s—there’s nothing we can do. My application got denied.”

“What? No it didn’t.”

George blinks. “It—it did, Dream.”

“I don’t—I don’t understand. Did the—like, the airport security tell you? How did you just find out right now, it’s like, midnight?” Dream is talking quickly, stumbling over his words like he does when his brain is working on overdrive, and George swallows hard.

“It’s—it’s complicated, Dream, I didn’t know how to tell you,” he fumbles, knowing there’s no point in telling the truth, not when it makes even less sense and would only lead to more questions. “I thought I could deal with this on my own, but I can’t. It got denied, and I’m not coming.”

“You’re—George, what the fuck?” Dream sputters, his voice raising in both pitch and volume. “You can still come anyway, just to visit at least. We can still—we promised everyone Dream Team Christmas—”

“I don’t really care about Christmas anymore,” George snaps, caught off guard by his own anger. He didn’t notice his own frustration building until he couldn’t keep it inside anymore, needing to stop Dream from making him feel worse. “I can’t just—I can’t fly over and pretend like everything is perfect, there’s no use.”

“And you decided it was useless before telling me,” Dream mumbles bitterly. “You kept this from me for—how long? How long ago did it get denied?”

George tells the closest thing to the truth. “Five days ago.”

Dream curses under his breath, and George hears the sound of something on his desk being gracelessly shoved over and rolling onto the floor, probably a water bottle. “Even if you can’t stay, we’ve still—we’ve already waited so fucking long, why don’t you just come anyway? It could be—it could be another year before you get a visa at this rate, I just… I just want you here. Even if it’s temporary.”

“This isn’t fair, Dream,” George manages to choke out, despite the lump in his throat. “You know how badly I want to be there, but I can’t—I can’t just keep doing this over and over. I can’t just pretend everything’s going to be okay and keep expecting something to change, it never changes.”

“I don’t understand—”

“You can’t,” George interrupts again, realizing he said more than he meant to, he’s only going to confuse him more. “You can’t understand, it’s—it is what it is, Dream. I’m not coming.”

“George, please.”

“Stop,” George shakes his head reflexively, unable to handle this conversation if Dream is going to make this even harder.

Dream is crying, he can tell, his voice broken and nose stuffy and George needs this call to end before he caves and walks back inside the airport just to spend another ten miserable hours on a plane waiting to push his own feelings aside and play pretend yet again.

“George, I want to understand,” Dream keeps trying, earnest and careful. George’s mouth tastes metallic when he bites down so hard on the inside of his cheek it bleeds. “I don’t want to fight, I just want you here, more than anything. And I don’t want you to make choices like this without me.”

“I can’t do this.” George starts to lift his phone away from his ear, wishing he couldn’t hear the way Dream sniffles and starts to say something else. “I can’t, Dream. I can’t come to Florida today.”

He hangs up and silences all notifications, having to manually turn off alerts for calls and texts from Dream since he’s already immune to every do not disturb setting. He books a ride home, and manages to make it all the way back to his apartment before he allows the tears to spill over.

It’s only after an entire day spent wallowing and ignoring calls from both Dream and Sapnap—and his parents, too—that George realizes if he was right, if he’s found a way to break the cycle, this is the reality he’s going to be stuck with.

It’s the push he needs to finally call his mum back, to tell her that he isn’t in America at all. He lies and says his flight was cancelled. She somehow sounds relieved, like the news she was calling to break to him will be easier to hear from his shitty London apartment instead of the place he should be calling home. In a hollow, twisted way, it almost is.

He’s thankful she’s so distracted by trying to look on the bright side that she doesn’t ask him why his flight was ‘cancelled’, and he hopes she never thinks to look it up. If she does, it’s a problem he’ll deal with another day—assuming there is one.

Deciding how to approach Dream is harder, because George’s worst fear is that any conversation will only devolve into another argument. He doesn’t have any fight left in him, he just wants to be able to talk to his best friend without having to lie and tell half-truths that will only hurt both of them.

George nearly cries when he opens thirty-something unread messages from all throughout the day, most of which are just some variation of I hope you’re okay and I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk. He has another handful from Sapnap, most from right after he’d gotten off the phone with Dream asking what they were fighting about. There’s a long gap after, George assumes he must’ve talked to Dream and gotten a summary from him. He shakes his head in distant irritation at the implicit reminder the two of them are together, they can easily talk in person without the barriers of technology George has never gotten the chance to adapt out of using.

When he finally finds it within himself to send a message to Dream, it’s no surprise that he gets a response in a matter of seconds. Before even waiting for another reply, George’s phone starts ringing.

“Hi,” Dream says the instant he picks up, his voice sounding hoarse. George wonders if he’s been sleeping or crying, and wishes he didn’t know which was more likely. “Hi George, I’m glad you—I’m glad you’re um, up.”

“I’ve been up for a while,” George answers truthfully, “I left my phone off all day, though. I um—I just, I wasn’t ready to talk about this anymore, I guess.”

“I know, it’s okay,” Dream says quickly, forgiving him even though George hadn’t yet gotten the chance to apologize. Dream’s good at that—seeing right through him, knowing all the words on his mind and sparing him the ordeal of needing to vocalize them. “I just—I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. It’s your decision, and I shouldn’t have tried to change your mind.”

“You weren’t wrong,” George admits. “I should have talked to you before I made up my mind about it, I just—I didn’t know how. And I hate fighting, I wish I didn’t get so upset.”

“We should never fight like that,” Dream says quietly, and George can hear the frown in his voice. “I mean, obviously everyone fights sometimes, but I never want to fight with you like that. I knew we were just—we were just making it worse, both of us, but I couldn’t stop.”

“Stop blaming yourself.” George realizes that he might have a little bit of the same sixth sense Dream has, the innate ability to hear words he doesn’t say. “You’re like—you feel so guilty about this. Stop it.”

Dream laughs, warm with disbelief even though his throat still sounds scratchy. “We’ll be okay,” he says, and George smiles for the first time all day. “With everything, I mean. The visa, whatever. We’re professionals at waiting already, we can handle a few more months.”

“What if it’s years?” George asks, worst-case scenarios flashing before his eyes. “What if it gets denied again?”

“Then we’ll wait years, or—or think of something else entirely.” Dream is confident when he answers, his voice unwavering and steadier than he’s managed to sound all day. “We’ll try again, and we’ll get it eventually. We’ll get you here.”

“I hope so.” George nods, even though Dream can’t see him. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

Somehow, George is still caught off guard when he wakes up in a taxi in London.

He’d been so confident he finally did what he was meant to do, that he’d found the solution he was being guided toward, it’s both jarring and infuriating when he finds himself back at the beginning all over again.

What else is there left to try?

George tries desperately to think about what he’s doing wrong, what more he could possibly try to change. He watches Dream’s texts appear on his screen, just as they always do, and there’s an aching feeling that settles in his chest, a longing for the same contagious hype he’d felt less than a week ago.

Dream
oh ok :) call me when you’re through security and stuff
I can’t sleep too excited

George thinks, while waiting in line once he’s inside the airport, that maybe this stupid loop has something to do with acceptance.

All week, he’s been trying to come up with solutions that involve change, diverging from the path he’d followed on his first December 20th. Maybe, the only way to get out of this cycle is to stop trying to change anything at all, to embrace this complicated reality and stop pitying himself for it. Life won’t move on until George is ready to move on, maybe that’s the deal.

George is buzzing with excitement in the car, feeding off of Sapnap’s contagious energy. It’s bizarrely easy, settling into the mindset that he was in six days ago, allowing it all to feel new again. He’s meeting his best friends, he’s spent years fantasizing about these moments, this day. He knows what to expect—but he embraces it, he takes it all in stride.

“You nervous?” Sapnap asks, turning into the driveway.

“A little,” George answers, surprising even himself when he realizes he’s telling the truth.

“Dream’s totally just going to cry or something, relax,” Sapnap laughs, punching George lightly on the shoulder before unbuckling his seatbelt and moving to get up. “I’ll go get him, you wait out here.”

George isn’t sure how long it takes for Sapnap to get Dream, but it’s long enough that by the time the door reopens, his hands are sweaty and he feels dangerously close to tears just from the relief of seeing Dream.

It’s supposed to be their first meeting, but running forward into Dream’s arms really just feels like returning home. He buries his face in Dream’s shirt, and mumbles a faint ‘no’ in a blatant lie when Dream asks if he’s crying.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Dream whispers, his voice honeyed with fondness and his hands shaking when they break apart.

“Me neither.” George shakes his head, his smile unfaltering. He promises himself that this is the last time he’s going to experience Dream’s eyes tracing across his features up close and in person for the first time, and the rush of his heartbeat in his ears manages to feel new all over again.

George walks into the living room, Dream behind him wielding the camera, and finds that Patches is staring at him weirdly. Her eyes follow him when he walks around the couch and crouches down in front of her, amused by the way she seems intrigued, but not enough to get up and investigate herself. She waits for George to approach her, like she’s testing him.

“She sometimes takes a little bit before warming up to people,” Dream says quickly when George reaches out his hand with the intent to pick her up, fascinated by how she doesn’t resist or move away. “You probably shouldn’t—”

He ignores Dream, only encouraged when Patches stands up and leans her head closer to George’s face, sniffing his nose and stepping onto his hand.

“She usually hates when people touch her paws,” Dream whispers in amazement, and George laughs softly when she doesn’t jolt away even when he rubs his thumb against the side of her paw, melting at how easily she seems to accept him.

“She knows she can trust me,” George whispers, “right Patches?”

“She’s never like this with new people,” Dream mumbles, watching in disbelief as she allows George to pick her up, holding her securely in his arms and stroking the back of her head in the spot he remembers she likes. “It’s like—it’s like, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s like she’s already met you.”

George looks directly into Patches’ wide dark eyes, imagining that he’s able to share some type of telepathic communication with her and wondering if it’s possible that she somehow remembers him. She accepts George’s touch for even longer than she did the actual first time he met her, and he allows himself to wonder if maybe she really does already know him, that somewhere in the back of her mind she’s already begun to think of him as family even if it’s inexplicable.

“She might recognize your voice,” Dream suggests, his voice still lowered in awe, and when George turns to look back up at him the smile on his face is so fond that his heart stutters.

“Maybe,” George agrees, turning his attention back to Patches and laughing quietly when he notices she’s still watching him intently. “Are you listening to us? Are we talking about you?” She shifts slightly in his arms, and he moves one of his hands to support her better, practically cooing when she purrs and nuzzles closer into his chest, her eyes closing.

“This is ridiculous,” Dream whispers, suddenly much closer than George remembers him being. George notices that he’s stopped filming, and he’s sat down on the couch right beside them to get a closer look. “She’s like—she’s going to fall asleep!”

“We’re best friends.” George grins, scared to move too much and disturb Patches now that she’s so comfortable.

“I knew she’d love you,” Dream says, reaching over to stroke behind her ears right beside where George’s hand rests, brushing his pinky against George’s only barely, though George can tell the action was deliberate.

George doesn’t wait for his mum to call, he dials her number first when he knows she’ll have just gotten home from work. He takes the call in his room, sparing Dream and Sapnap the confusion of witnessing how calm he is, how the denial feels more like salt in a wound than the infliction of a new blow.

He’s steady and reassuring when he breaks the news to the two of them. George reaches for Dream’s hand and holds it between both of his own while he blinks back tears, nodding and swallowing the lump in his throat when Dream just keeps asking over and over if he’s serious, if there’s really nothing they can do.

He doesn’t put off the difficult conversation about future plans, for once, he decides to get it over with so that they can actually enjoy the rest of the day, the rest of the holidays. George tells them he’ll stay until early January, if not longer, he’ll get to spend at least a few weeks at home and they can still go through with all their holiday plans. Once he’s gotten all his documents in order and properly planned out his re-application, he’ll be able to go back to London with at least a little less weight on his shoulders.

“It could take another year,” Dream groans, burying his head in his hands.

“It could,” George sighs sadly, digging his nails into his own palms until he gives in and places his hand on Dream’s knee.

He doesn’t know what else there is to say, but he thinks Dream must know, nonetheless, what he means. I’m still here, George thinks, smiling so that when Dream meets his gaze his mouth curls into one too. For now at least, let’s just be here.

“We should announce that I’m in Florida,” George blurts out after beating Sapnap at pingpong by a landslide, needing to quit while he’s ahead.

“What?” Dream almost drops the water bottle in his hand, leaning against the railing from where he’d been watching and taking a video of George’s slight overreaction to winning. “I assumed—you know, since you can’t, like, fully move yet—we wouldn’t say anything yet.”

“People are going to be asking non-stop, we told them I’d be here for Christmas,” George shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek. He’s had long enough already to think this over. “It’ll be better if we just tell them, we don’t have to mention—like, the denial or anything like that. We can just say I’m visiting for a few weeks, since the visa was taking too long.”

“They’re going to know something’s up,” Sapnap points out, waving his pingpong paddle around while he talks in a way that’s difficult to take seriously. “We’ve been saying you can’t come here until you can stay forever for like, months, they’re not going to just accept that we randomly changed our minds.”

“They’ll conspiracy theorize no matter what we do,” Dream scoffs. “If we say there was a change of plans and George couldn’t come yet, they’ll just keep asking us constantly for the next—well, forever, until he gets here. George is right, we should probably just tell them he’s here and deal with the confusion.”

“We can always tell them the whole story eventually,” George adds, looking between the two of them. Well, not the whole story, George thinks, to his own amusement. “We just shouldn’t mention it getting denied, not until later once I like, actually have a visa.”

“You’re being really cool about this.” Sapnap narrows his eyes at George almost suspiciously. “I would’ve expected you to like—I don’t know. No offence, I would’ve totally got it if you were, like, freaking out. You’re just, like—you’re being so mature. It’s weird.”

“I’m always mature,” George retorts with a shrug, earning an eye-roll from Sapnap and even a snort from Dream. “Seriously though, it’s fine. It’s like—it is what it is, I guess. It could be worse, and it’s—it’s fine.” George blinks, realizing he doesn’t want to dwell on this any longer, he just wants this to be a good day. “I’ll just be even more excited to get back here, since I know how goated I am at pingpong now. I’ll miss destroying you.”

“You’re so annoying,” Sapnap laughs, bouncing the ball against the table absentmindedly. “Are we playing another? Or are we actually announcing you’re here, like, now?”

“Now?” Dream protests, glaring at Sapnap with wide eyes. “Wait, okay, I didn’t realize we were doing this, like, already.”

“Would you rather wait?” George asks, noticing the way Dream is immediately more tense, the way he’s fidgeting with his hands and not making eye contact with either of them. “There’s no rush, I just figured it might be good to get it over with.”

“It’s up to you,” Dream sighs, dismissive. “You decide, it’s not like it’s about me.”

“It… kind of is,” Sapnap adds lightheartedly, and George nods.

“This part is all you,” George agrees, keeping his eyes trained carefully to Dream’s face and watching as several conflicting expressions cross it all in succession.

“I… I mean, I did record a video and stuff,” Dream shrugs, and George sees straight through his attempts at appearing neutral. He’s really nervous, he notes, and he’s terrible at disguising it.

“Do you feel ready?” Sapnap asks.

“I thought I did.” Dream stares down at the floor. “I am ready, I want this entire phase of my life to be over, I want to be a normal person already. It’s—I don’t know, like, it’s just weird. I wish it wasn’t going to be this big thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” George points out, scoffing when Dream glares at him in indignation. “I mean, like, obviously people will make it a big deal anyway, but you don’t have to see it, it doesn’t have to be your problem. You can—you can just post, and then no phones for the rest of the day. For all of us.”

“This is about you starting the rest of your life, dude,” Sapnap agrees, walking over to Dream and placing a hand on his shoulder. “But literally zero pressure, if you’d rather wait another few days it’s chill.”

It takes another several hours of indecision and distractions, but Dream eventually decides he wants to get his face reveal over with, to announce that George is in Florida.

They post a series of tweets—George first, announcing where he is, which is immediately assumed to be a joke until it’s followed up by Dream announcing that his face reveal will be uploaded soon, followed by George’s vlog in a few days, as soon as possible. They agree to record a clip for George’s video at some point explaining that he doesn’t technically have his visa yet, so he’ll be returning to the UK for the foreseeable future after the holidays, but George doesn’t particularly feel up to explaining their predicament to a camera just yet, they decide to leave it at least until tomorrow.

“I think I’m going to throw up.” Dream violently spins his chair to face away from his monitor, muting his sounds so he doesn’t have to hear the premiere countdown music while his video is only seconds away from going public.

“You’re not going to throw up.” George shakes his head, his hand settling on Dream’s knee, rolling the spare chair closer. “As soon as the premiere ends, computer off, remember.” George glances at the screen, making sure chat is still minimized and ensuring the video has started playing without issue, no technical difficulties in sight.

“George, I’m going to throw up,” Dream repeats, glaring at him and—true to his word—honestly looking a little queasy.

“Deep breaths, idiot,” George laughs softly, grabbing one of his hands to stop him from picking at a thread on his sleeve and successfully pulling his attention, the computer screen entirely forgotten. “Let’s talk about something else. Like—um, Christmas.”

“Christmas.” Dream whispers the word like it’s in a foreign language, the syllables awkward on his tongue. “I—I forgot that you’re going to have to meet, like, my entire family.”

George laughs, pleased by how little effort it took to distract Dream, how even though he’s still tense, there’s a newfound lightness to the sheepish look in his eyes. “It’ll be fun,” he says honestly, squeezing Dream’s hand to punctuate the assurance.

“It’ll be weird, you’re going to be like, interviewed. By my mom, or my sister, or both.” Dream stares down at their intertwined hands, rubbing his thumb against the back of George’s like he’s mesmerized by the feeling of skin against his own.

“You can help me prepare,” George nods when Dream raises his eyebrows, pressing his lips together to suppress the embarrassingly satisfied grin he can just barely resist forming. He knows, whether or not Dream will admit as much, that he’s secretly looked forward to this for years.

George glances up at the screen over Dream’s shoulder, checking the timestamp on the video.

“Is it okay?” Dream asks, apparently noticing George’s not-quite-subtle attempts at check-ins without alerting him. He laughs when George winces guiltily, and he laces their fingers together more firmly. “Thank you. For keeping an eye on it, so I don’t have to.”

“It’s almost over,” George answers, his eyes flicking back to the screen. “Turn your monitor off, it’s all good. Your faceless era is officially over, how do you feel?”

“Like I still might be sick,” Dream answers honestly, though he’s giggling as soon as he sees the way George’s mouth immediately opens to scold him. “Not actually, I feel a lot better. I’m glad it’s done, you got me through the worst part.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” George shrugs, certain he must be blushing when Dream abruptly stands up to pull him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Dream whispers against the top of his head, his arms warm and comforting around George’s shoulders, keeping him close. “I literally never would’ve done this without you. You don’t have to say anything, I know I’m—I know I’m just emotional right now, but seriously, George. You don’t even know.”

“I do know,” George answers quickly, not allowing himself to hesitate. “I love you too.”

“I didn’t even say—George!” Dream pulls back from the hug to gape at him, and George has to resist the urge to press his lips to bright pink cheeks.

“Stop.” George covers his face, giving up on attempting to hide his smile even when Dream reaches for his hand to pull it away. He’s proud of himself for catching Dream so off guard, he doesn’t even bother pretending to take it back.

“George, I love you so much,” Dream’s voice drops to a whisper, so sincere that George’s heart aches.

“Stop,” George whines, closing his eyes to hide from the sight of Dream’s face so close to his own, his stupid doe eyes wide and earnest, impossible to deny. 

“I really mean it,” Dream repeats, even quieter, and George dares to open his eyes only to catch Dream’s gaze dropping suspiciously lower. For a moment, it almost seems like he’s staring at George’s lips, until he glances up and notices he’s been caught and quickly fumbles for a distraction. “I’m—I’m really glad I didn’t have to do this on my own.”

“I am too.” George nods, deciding not to shy away from the sincerity, not wanting to shatter this moment of gentle openness they’ve stumbled into. “It’s like, bittersweet or whatever, but we’ve done all the hard parts now. It can only go up from here.” He scoffs lightly, hoping the cheesy expression proves to be true.

Dream’s eyes trail across his features, he’s dangerous in how unabashed he is about his staring. George has noticed it all week, in every reality, Dream can’t keep his eyes off him.

It’s dangerous. George knows he isn’t imagining things, he isn’t thinking wishfully, not when Dream is watching him so closely and for as much as George is guilty of his own staring, he’s rarely even given reason to feel self conscious because Dream is always staring right back.

George knows he can’t say anything. He can’t push too far, not today, not when he’s finally done everything right. He can’t do anything drastic and risk altering their dynamic permanently, not when he’s going to have to deal with the consequences tomorrow—or worse, he won’t. Or worse, he’ll finally get a glimpse of everything he’s ever longed for just to have it ripped from his grasp.

It isn’t worth the risk.

“We need to turn off our phones,” he says weakly to break the tension, and Dream blinks rapidly and lets out a breath George didn’t even notice he must’ve been holding.

“Oh, yeah,” Dream mumbles in agreement, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his own, and George swats at the screen when he very clearly starts to read some notifications.

“Don’t break the rule!” George chides, holding out his hand for Dream’s phone after shutting off his own, then shoving them both into the top drawer of Dream’s desk. “We need to go get Sapnap’s.”

Dream nods, still looking a little dazed, and George doesn’t dare wonder if it’s for the same reasons his own head feels a little fuzzy. Surely, he’s just anxious about the face reveal, he just needs to keep his mind elsewhere. Surely.

George wonders more than once if it’s all too good to be true, the rest of the day passing like scenes from a feel-good movie. There’s fireworks, and incredibly competitive chess games, and so much laughter that George’s ribs hurt whenever he manages to catch his breath.

For the first time in six days, instead of desperately longing for midnight to approach faster, George hopes it never comes.

George wakes up in London.

After all his efforts, after finally getting through the day in what he thought was the best-case scenario, doing everything right, he’s back in the same miserable bumpy taxi, waking up to a missed call from Dream and a text asking where he is.

George wants to scream. He wants to demand the taxi driver stop and let him out, to smash his phone and not even bother giving anyone an explanation for why he didn’t get on his flight, to fuck everything up because nothing matters when the end result is always the same, nothing he does ever lasts. It’s still December 20th, he’s still supposed to meet his best friends today, his visa is still going to be denied.

He’s done everything he can possibly think to try, and he was so certain that he’d figured out the key to breaking the loop, he finally made peace with his situation and accepted that he couldn’t change his fate, he was ready to move on.

It’s been the most exhausting week of George’s life, and he just wants it to be over.

He goes through the motions, he waits in line for forty-six minutes and answers every question correctly, then while he’s waiting at his gate he calls Dream. It’s a short conversation, Dream can see straight through George’s feeble attempts at feigning normalcy, but he doesn’t want to explain his predicament while they’re still an ocean apart. He feels selfish, but he’d rather attempt to talk through what he’s feeling in person, to get it off his chest once they’re already together, once Dream can comfort him with more than just words. Dream knows something is wrong, but he brushes off his best friend’s concerns and ends the call much earlier than he needs to.

It doesn’t take long for him to grow bored, to realize he really doesn’t have anything else to fill his time without Dream to talk to and he doesn’t want to spend any longer than necessary feeling isolated. He caves and texts Dream just before boarding, and it’s much easier to pass his irritation off as excitement through letters on a screen instead of having to speak to him out loud.

He buys internet for the flight, distantly recalling that he’d mocked Dream for even suggesting he pay for it the first time he got on this plane a week ago. The service is overpriced and painfully inconsistent, but George has discovered that he’ll take what he can get, he’s not going to throw away any opportunities to let Dream keep him company.

“I don’t get it,” Sapnap groans, while Dream won’t even look up at George, staring hard at the floor in confusion instead.

“I’m telling you, I’m not joking, I’ve lived this day before.” George keeps his voice even, refusing to lose his composure because he knows how little sense he must be making, how difficult it must be to take what he’s saying seriously. “I don’t know why, or how, all I know is that I’ve fallen asleep here, and woke up back on my way to the airport every single day for the last seven days. It’s been December 20th for the last week.”

“And… your visa gets denied?” Dream frowns, glancing up at George just to look back down at the ground when George nods resignedly.

“I can’t stop it, I can’t just—like, magically convince them to approve me. The answer never changes, it’s a refusal every time.”

“That’s like—that’s so fucked, dude.” Sapnap blinks at George sadly. “You’ve had to hear about it getting denied over and over again? And we never know what’s going on?”

“I tried telling you.” George explains sheepishly, patting Sapnap’s shoulder because he looks so genuinely upset for him that he doesn’t want to just dismiss the concerns, he wants to be honest. “I’ve explained it to both of you before, as best as I could, but obviously you wouldn’t—you wouldn’t remember. It’s just me, I’m the only one like—trapped in this cycle.”

“Do you think there’s anything we can do?” Dream asks, his voice sounding strained and shoulders tense.

“I wish I knew,” George sighs bitterly. “I’ve tried, like, everything I can think of. I tried not coming here at all, I tried pretending nothing was wrong, I tried telling you guys everything, I tried accepting that I can’t change anything and just going with it, but… I don’t know. I give up.”

“This might sound stupid, but like, have you tried just pretending there’s no loop at all, like, we just go through with all our plans like this is a normal day?” Sapnap asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“I did try that! Well, mostly,” George hesitates, thinking about the moment in Dream’s office, when he’d admittedly been agonizing about the loop again. He thinks that if he was truly living in the moment, instead of worrying about potential consequences or lack thereof, he probably would’ve kissed him. He knows he hasn’t been seeing things—he’s not as alone in his longing as he felt a week ago, there’s something between the two of them that’s undeniable in person—but he couldn’t bring himself to risk the disappointment of having everything he’s ever wanted at his fingertips at last, just for it to be gone again in an instant.

Unconsciously, his eyes drift to Dream, and he supposes he should be more startled than he is when he finds that Dream is already watching him, blushing slightly and squeezing his eyes shut when he realizes he’s been caught.

“Mostly?” Dream raises his eyebrows, and George wonders if he’s able to read his fucking mind.

“There was just one thing.” George grimaces, rolling his eyes when Dream only looks more curious, and he knows that one way or another he isn’t going to let this go. “It wasn’t—whatever, don’t worry about it.”

Dream is definitely worrying about it.

He’s trying his best, George can tell, not to be nosy and press him about it. But it’s evident nonetheless, the way he keeps opening his mouth and closing it whenever they’re alone, like he’s seconds away from asking but just barely manages to stop himself every time.

It’s infuriatingly endearing. George wants him to just get it over with and ask, since it’s clearly on his mind, but the way he seems so stubbornly insistent on respecting the fact that George didn’t want to tell him is as sweet as it is painful.

Like always, Dream is attentive. Despite all his poorly-concealed overthinking, he lets George make all the decisions about what they should do, without being pushy. George encourages him to post his face reveal, and keeps him company in his office to talk him through the process just as he did the day before.

“Am I always this fucking nervous?” Dream whispers under his breath, reaching for George’s hand beneath the desk and releasing a heavy sigh.

“Will you feel better or worse if I say yes?” George asks, with a grin that only widens when Dream chokes out a laugh of his own.

“Sorry for you, mostly,” Dream groans, his knee bouncing anxiously. “You must be really sick of this, putting up with me being all dramatic over and over.”

George shakes his head, tightening his grip on Dream’s hand before stealing the mouse with his unoccupied hand, minimizing the youtube tab as soon as the video’s last few seconds finish playing and he knows it’s all gone smoothly. “You did it, it’s over.”

Once the sun begins to set, George asks about the fireworks. Dream is confused at first, because he doesn’t remember mentioning them, he doesn’t know how George even knew they bought some, and George just gives him a pointed stare until he laughs out loud in revelation.

All George’s favourite versions of December 20th have included fireworks, and this is no exception.

It’s Sapnap’s turn to pick one to set off, and he insists that Dream and George turn around and let it be a surprise until he’s ready.

George can tell just from his furrowed brow that Dream has too much on his mind, so he reaches for his hand to attempt to relieve at least some of whatever burden he’s carrying and physically pull him out of whatever trance he’s in.

“Are you feeling okay?” George asks gently.

“I feel like—I feel like I should feel different, or something, I just did this huge life-changing thing.” Dream frowns, blinking down at their intertwined fingers and sighing again. “I guess I just—I don’t know. Compared to—like, compared to meeting you, this was nothing.”

“You were that nervous? About meeting me?” George can’t help the way his eyes widen, surprised he’s freely admitting as much.

“I was fucking terrified,” Dream laughs sadly, and George wants to kiss the pout off his face.

“It’s just me,” George says quietly, and Dream scoffs as he steps closer, brushing their shoulders together.

“It could never be just you, George,” Dream whispers, and George can feel the way his eyes dart nervously across his face, like he’s waiting for some sign of discomfort or an otherwise adverse reaction. His eyes settle on George’s lips yet again, just for a moment, before he looks back up into his eyes and his mouth curls into the same smile George was mesmerized by a week ago.

“I didn’t kiss you yesterday,” George says before he can change his mind, almost laughing when Dream seems to malfunction entirely, his face contorting into an expression of utter disbelief. “That’s—that was what I didn’t want to admit earlier. That’s the one thing I stopped myself from doing.”

“You—you were going to?” Dream chokes out, his eyes wide and practically sparkling beneath the darkening purple sky.

“I wanted to,” George says confidently, giggling when Dream opens his mouth and closes it again at least three times, fumbling to pull George closer and wrap an arm around his waist. “I was going to, but then I got scared because I knew the day was probably still going to start over, I didn’t want to have to do it all again knowing—knowing how much I had to lose.” George’s voice wavers a little, emotion suddenly overwhelming him.

“You won’t lose me,” Dream insists quickly, squeezing George’s hand when he sighs weakly. “I’m serious, George. I know—I know the day might reset, I know I can’t stop that, but—I promise, George, you can have me. In every universe, every version of this fucking day, you have me.”

George decides he can’t wait any longer, he can’t spend another single second not knowing how Dream’s lips would feel against his own. He closes the distance quickly, his hand settling against the curve of Dream’s jaw to pull him closer when he stretches onto his tiptoes to finally, finally kiss him, and he decides immediately that this entire nightmarish week was all worthwhile, every exhausting moment fades into obscurity in comparison to this.

The kiss is slow, it takes a few seconds for Dream to react at all and he’s in no particular rush when he does, he moves his lips gently like he’s trying to savour every moment, like he has any idea how long George has dreamt of this. George knows right away that this is it for him, he never wants to kiss anyone else. There’s no one else in the world who knows him like Dream does, who could make countless agonizing years of longing worth their while with only a first kiss, with nothing more than soft lips and warm hands and so much care that George feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Oh—what the fuck, guys,” Sapnap groans loudly when he must turn around, and George fully intends to ignore him until Dream bursts into laughter, leaning back just enough to speak but only tightening his grip on George’s waist.

“Uh—sorry? Well, not really,” Dream giggles, and George buries his face in the crook of his neck to hide how furiously red he knows his face must be.

“I’m… happy for you?” Sapnap manages before he starts laughing too, and George lifts his head just in time to see the fond eye-roll and knowing smile he shoots at Dream. George commits the interaction to memory, he’s definitely interrogating Dream about that later.

“This—this was supposed to be a joke,” Sapnap rubs a hand over his eyes before turning back to the firework he’d picked out, crouching down to set it off.

The firecracker he lights goes off with a short strobing effect, starting out a bright neon green before turning to vibrant royal blue.

“Oh my god,” George chokes on his own laughter, so deliriously happy he thinks he could cry.

Dream kisses his forehead, then his lips again when George turns to look back up at him, chaste and more of a quick peck than anything but it makes his heart skip a beat. George distantly hears Sapnap complain about how they’re going to need PDA rules, though he charitably relents from teasing them any further.

Dream is beautiful, illuminated by the last few sparks of brilliant blue. The soft smile on his lips and the effortlessly fond way he looks down at George is as mesmerizing as he is breathtaking. George knows, for once and for all, that he doesn’t even care if he wakes up in London. He wouldn’t mind living through this day again, not if it means having another opportunity to make Dream this happy, even if George never gets anything further than this one, perfect moment.

It’s a few hours later, some time not long after Sapnap announces he’s going to bed, that Dream asks George if he wants to go for a drive. He agrees easily, eager to spend as much time as possible together instead of wasting too many precious hours they have before he’ll need to go back to London on sleep.

“Did you talk to Sapnap about me?” George asks while Dream backs out of their driveway, settling comfortably into the passenger’s seat.

Dream snorts, dropping his arm from behind George’s headrest to find his hand over the centre console, easily interlocking their fingers and squeezing.

“Like, maybe once or twice,” he answers truthfully, glancing over to see George’s amused expression before looking back at the road. “Not that much, though. It’s like, it was weird to talk to him about that stuff, he’s like my brother. I uh—I mostly talked to Bad, or—um, one time to my mom, one time to Ant—”

“You talked to Bad about having a crush on me?” George laughs incredulously.

“A crush,” Dream scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I talked to Bad about being in love with you, idiot. He gives good advice.”

Temporarily at a loss for words, George thinks he physically feels his brain stutter to a halt. He doesn’t know how Dream does it, how George thinks he couldn’t possibly know him any better, but he still manages to surprise him.

“Wait—so,” George starts before needing a few more seconds to collect his thoughts, slapping Dream’s wrist when he giggles over George’s speechlessness. “How—how long? Have you been—um, you know.”

“In love with you? That’s complicated.” Dream shrugs, glancing up at the sky as he appears to earnestly consider the question for a few moments. “I mean, I think I had an idea of how I felt, like, a long time ago. But I didn’t—I wasn’t, um, ready to face it until the last few months. It kind of—hit me like a truck one day, I guess.”

George swallows hard, smiling in disbelief at the realization that this is even a conversation they’re having, that he had no idea Dream was coming to these revelations all on his own while he’s been silently assuming all his feelings were helplessly unrequited.

“How long for you?” Dream asks, and George knew this question was coming but he reddens nonetheless, biting down on his lip and wishing he didn’t have to answer.

“Uh—longer,” George tries for oversimplification first, even though he knows Dream well enough to know he’s going to want a more specific response.

“Really?”

“Um, a lot longer,” George tries to laugh at himself, even though Dream predictably pouts at him and raises his eyebrows. “A few years.”

“Years?” Dream turns to look at George properly, disbelieving, and George nods before covering his face with his hand in embarrassment. “Oh, George. Fuck—I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” George looks up and sees that Dream has apparently pulled over, and he’s already unbuckled his seatbelt when George tilts his head to face him.

“I wish I—I wish I knew,” Dream whispers, and George wants to tell him to stop and kiss him in equal parts when he notices the beginning of tears forming in his eyes. “I would’ve—fuck, George, you must’ve been so—”

“Dream,” George interrupts, cupping his face gently to pull him back to reality and out of his own head. “It’s okay, Dream. It was—I mean, it was hard. But we’re here now, and I’m really, really happy. Just—just be here with me now, don’t think about before.”

“I love you,” Dream says, and George has heard as much a million times before but it still leaves him breathless. “I’m in love with you, and I want to be with you forever, and I promise I will make up for every single day you had to wait for me and—”

George cuts him off with a kiss, because he can tell that Dream is going to start crying if he lets him continue, and admittedly also because he’s terrifyingly in love with him.

Dream pulls back much too quickly for George’s liking, and manages to get a word in before George has a chance to protest.

“What if—”

“Dream, if you apologize again I’m going to—”

“No, wait, I was—this is something else.” Dream twists a lock of hair at the base of George’s neck around his finger, and George can feel the way his hand shakes slightly as if he’s nervous about something. “I was—I was thinking, um, earlier, when we were talking about your visa—”

“I don’t know if I really want to—”

“Wait, please, okay, hear me out,” Dream pleads, and he looks so sincere in his desperation that George only nods, deciding to trust him. “I was thinking, okay, it could—it could take a really long time, right? And, I mean, even if it doesn’t, it’s like, the uncertainty is the problem. I can’t—I can’t even imagine letting you just leave, without knowing when you’ll be back.”

“I don’t have a choice, Dream,” George frowns, not understanding why Dream would insist on talking about this now, to remind him that none of this can last.

“I know, but okay, hear me out, right? You don’t have a choice, you have to go back to London no matter what.” Dream takes a deep breath, but his voice is unwavering when he continues. “But what if I went with you?”

“If you—what?”

“Moved to London, just until you get your visa sorted.” Dream starts talking faster than George’s brain is able to follow, at a complete loss for words yet again and trying his best to wrap his mind around what Dream is proposing. “The wait times are supposed to be a lot shorter for a UK visa, I was looking into it a little bit earlier, I could hopefully get one before you have to leave. It’s obviously still not what we hoped, but at least we can be together and you don’t have to go back alone, then even if it takes a long time to re-apply at least it won’t feel like our lives just go back on hold and—”

“You—your whole life is here,” George protests weakly, unable to accept that Dream has really considered how gargantuan of an offering he’s making. “I can’t—I can’t let you do this for me, you can’t just leave everything behind.”

“Your whole life was in London,” Dream points out without a moment’s hesitation. “You already dropped everything to move across the world for me, George. And this wouldn’t—it wouldn’t be permanent, just until you can get your visa and then we could come home together.”

George opens his mouth to protest again, feeling like he’s meant to, like he can’t possibly accept that Dream would uproot everything on a whim just to stay by his side. He tries and fails to think of any reason why not, why he should say no to the kindest and most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for him.

Dream leans in and kisses George softly on the cheek, before wiping away the tears collecting beneath his eyes gently with his thumb.

“George, I love you. And I meant it when I said I want to be with you forever, I don’t care if that’s in Florida, or the UK, or—I don’t even know, in fucking Antarctica, or something—it doesn’t matter. I don’t want you to go back there and be all alone again, it’s not fair and you don’t have to, because I want to go with you. If it’ll make you happier, that’s all I care about.”

“You’d—you’d really do this?” George tries to ask, but Dream is already nodding before he’s even finished speaking. “You’d move to London for me?”

George doesn’t realize he’s crying until his voice breaks, and it hits him that he’s never felt like this before, he’s never felt so loved.

“If you’ll let me,” Dream reiterates again, his voice as delicate as the hand threading carefully through George’s hair. 

“You’re definitely going to hate my fucking apartment,” George chokes out through a sob, and Dream leans over to wrap his arms around him and pull George into his lap so easily that George gasps. “Dream—I’m serious, it’s like—it’s so bad, you’re going to complain all the time—”

“Impossible.” Dream grins stubbornly, punctuating his disagreement with another peck to George’s lips. “I can’t hate it if you’re there, it cancels out.”

“I love you,” George whispers like a promise, sinking into Dream’s arms and kissing the corner of his mouth. Dream holds him even tighter, and George settles comfortably with his head against his chest, thinking dazedly about the beginning of a life they’ll get to start building together in London.

George doesn’t even think to check the time when they drive home, he’s exhausted from an entire week of poor sleep and a full twenty-four hours spent awake to top it off. Dream offers to carry him half-jokingly when they finally pull back into the driveway, but when George blinks at him slowly and makes no attempts at moving from his seat, it’s a matter of moments until he’s being carried bridal-style inside and up to Dream’s bedroom.

George doesn’t know how long it takes for him to eventually drift off, but he knows that it was certainly much quicker than usual, the weight he’s carried for 168 hours finally off his shoulders and replaced by the warm embrace of the person he loves.

On December 21st, George wakes up in Florida.

Sunlight creeps in through the blinds they must’ve forgotten to close when they got home late last night, painting the room in shades of gold. Dream has somehow shifted entirely on top of him in his sleep, and George knows he’ll probably need to wake him soon because he’s a living space heater, but for the time being, he doesn’t mind the warmth.

Dream mumbles something in his sleep, an incoherent string of sounds that doesn’t mean anything at all, but it’s another reminder for George that this is real, this is new. He’s in Dream’s bed, in his room, and Dream loves him so much that even in his sleep he seems incapable of letting him go. 

It’s December 21st, and George is still in Florida, in Dream’s arms. He can’t stay here forever, but he doesn’t need to. Uncertainty almost feels reassuring—a welcome change, especially because the one thing he can guarantee is that whatever the rest of the day holds, he is so, so loved.