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Dream confesses to him barely a month after George moves to Florida.
It's mumbled and shy and clearly unprepared, all rosy cheeks and flickering eyes. He looks so small in that moment, fidgeting hands playing with his rings and for a moment George sees stars .
He sees a life with Dream, all golden sunlight and rings around his finger or on the chain he wears around his neck. He sees Dream in his bed, every morning with those long eyelashes of his and his puppy eyes that hold the whole world and the universe too. He sees a wedding and Dream dressed in black and white. He sees kids playing on the front lawn or cuddled up against Dream's side on the living room couch. He sees lazy Sunday mornings and rough Mondays that aren't so rough because George knows Dream's right there to tackle the day with him.
Everything in George wants to say yes. This future standing right in front of him, this opportunity of a life together, knowing Dream would never dare to leave his side, not for the world. He could have it, he could say yes and he could have all of it. All he's ever wanted.
Dream's golden eyes look so hopeful but so, so terrified. It's that terror that breaks George's heart.
He knows Dream doesn't expect him to say yes. Dream thinks he's straight. Dream doesn't know the way George's heart beats for him, would bleed for him if asked. Dream doesn't know the secrets George has been harboring.
He loves Dream. He loves Dream so much. And that's why he can't say yes.
"Dream," he says and Dream's shoulders fall before he quickly rights himself and the figurative mask slides into place. George's tone alone was enough to warrant Dream's mask. It breaks George's heart all over again. "You know I—you know I lov—"
"You don't have to do that," Dream assures. "It's okay, George. I understand."
But George knows better, he knows Dream better. From where he's sitting on the living room couch he watches Dream's heartbreak like watching a horror movie play out before him. He watches that same hope die in the eyes of his Dream, his beautiful Dream.
His Dream who didn't even need a full sentence to understand George was saying no to their life together.
"We're okay, right?" Dream asks, gathering a couple mugs off the coffee table to take to the kitchen. Patches gets up from where she's sleeping on the back of the couch. She hops down and winds herself around Dream's calf, rubbing her side against his leg. George wonders if she can feel Dream's broken heart and if she's trying to help.
"We're okay," George says but he's not sure it's true. Them as a united force, they are okay but Dream isn't. His eyes are shimmering and he ducks his head a little to watch Patches. And George's hands are shaking and his throat burns with his effort to hold back tears. Maybe neither of them are okay but their relationship is. It's where it's always been. Nothing else matters. Nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed and because of George nothing will ever change.
Dream walks away, retreating and waving his white flag, he's terribly wounded and so is George. It's devastating seeing the way he's murdered it, the shared hope that they could ever be together, seeing the way he's crushed it in his hands to protect himself and ultimately protect Dream.
I love you, George's heart pleads, screams. I love you so, so much. You'll never know.
He'll never know.
❮-❯
Sapnap knows.
It's disastrous, how it happens.
They're traveling. They're always traveling. L.A, Florida, Antarctica, North Carolina, Spain, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
George is so, so tired of plane rides and Ubers, rented houses and hotels. God, he's so, so sick of hotels.
Sapnap and him often share a room. Dream's a princess. He likes getting hotel rooms with big beds and large baths. George doesn't need that (and if he does Dream doesn't seem to mind sharing).
So Sapnap and him share often. Usually one room with two queen sized beds. They share the television and the bathroom; it usually goes fine.
Sharing a wing of the Dream Team house had helped George grow used to constantly living in Sapnap's space. They still bicker but it's not unbearable.
George grabs the hem of his t-shirt and rips it off as soon as the hotel room door clicks shut behind them. He throws it to the floor and flops himself onto the bed, landing face first and groaning. Even without the shirt on he still smells like stale airplane air.
Sapnap gives a snort and rolls the trolley that carries their luggage further into the room.
George rolls over onto his back, splaying his arms and legs out like a starfish, kicking his feet. It's so nice to stretch out for once.
Sapnap glances over at him then looks away. He whips his head back immediately and George raises an eyebrow.
"What?"
"What happened to your chest, dude?"
A wave of dread washes over George. The intense feeling of oh no, I fucked up. There's no point in hiding now. He doesn't have to look down to know what Sapnap's asking about.
His shirt is on the floor so he can't reach down and snatch it up easily, laugh it off as a trick of the light. The bed is tightly made so it would be rather hard to slip under the covers quickly and discreetly.
It doesn't matter. Sapnap's already seen.
Immediately George's mind starts building an elaborate story to explain the scars. A biking accident, a car crash, a random medical emergency that George had never thought to mention, a dog attack!
But before he can come up with a story, Sapnap's eyes soften.
He knows.
George sits up and curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs and hiding his chest behind his knees. He watches Sapnap, scanning his expression for pity, sympathy, disgust . Anything.
All he gets is love. Softened eyes full of love, love so deep it humbles George and silences him.
He's never gotten that response before.
Responses usually varied. Disbelief, disdain, repulsion, sorrow. He nearly made his aunt faint when he told her.
"Can I hug you? Is that okay? Or would you rather I not make a big deal out of it? I can just—like ignore it? If that would make it better. You're gonna have to help me, man. I don't want to screw up."
Man. He's still 'man' to Sapnap. The amount of relief that single word brings to George is immeasurable.
He doesn't need to beg Sapnap to not treat him any differently than before because the moment George opens his arms to welcome Sapnap in, Sapnap's crashing into him the exact same way they hugged the first time they met.
"Love you," Sapnap mumbles into his ear and George holds him closer.
So Sapnap knows and it's fine. Sapnap doesn't treat him differently. He doesn't ask any prying questions. Just questions to clarify with George that he's doing everything right and making sure that George will tell him if he does anything wrong.
Dream still doesn't know.
❮-❯
As a child there weren't many things George wanted.
He was one of those children who took care of himself, played quietly in the corner, kept his grades up without prodding.
He took every Halloween themed birthday party gratefully, loved every Christmas gift without whining, never complained, never cried.
But the one thing he wanted more than anything, the only thing he wished for when blowing out candles and the thing he wrote in secret letters to Santa, he couldn't have.
The first thing George can remember wanting, was to be a boy. It was the thing he longed for his whole childhood. The thing that was always at the top of his mind when asked what he wanted, without hesitation.
His first name, the one he was given at birth never sat right with him. It didn't fall perfectly on his ears, didn't look right written out in frosting on birthday cakes and didn't look good when he wrote it at the top of tests or school work.
But the name George…
The first time he saw it was in a novel, a book plucked from the lower shelf of his elementary school's library. A boy, his age, just like him but named George.
It's simple but so perfectly boyish and he wants it more than anything.
He gets it. He has to work hard for it and it takes years for it to fully stick and replace the memory of his first name. It takes even longer for his family to get used to it but online there's never any question. He logs in as George like he's always been George and his friends treat him like he's George until he becomes George.
Sapnap's the first to find out he hasn't always been George.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
They've gone out to eat together for dinner late in the evening during one of their trips. Dream's sleeping back at the hotel so it's just Sapnap with him. George is pretty sure Dream left Bink with them just in case. George doesn't think they need him but he can't deny it's nice feeling like they have extra protection following them around.
George narrows his eyes at the man sitting across the table from him. Sapnap's tense. His shoulders are hiked up further than they usually are and his jaw is set, like he's waiting for George to bite his head off.
"Shoot," George says, pushing his food around his plate to keep his hands busy.
"Is—okay," Sapnap gives a nervous laugh. "Why'd you—like it's totally okay that you did, I just—you—like you…" Sapnap trails off and he's fumbling. George raises an eyebrow. He'd be amused if he wasn't so anxious to know what Sapnap's asking.
"Sapnap, just say it."
"You love him. So why aren't you…" Sapnap pauses. "Loving him?"
George nearly chokes. "What?"
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Sapnap says slowly. "But you love Dream and he asked you out, so like…" Sapnap trails off again and George gives him a blank stare.
"You can't be serious."
Sapnap shrugs and looks down at his own plate. "I—I don't know. I just thought—"
"You don't know why I told him no?"
Sapnap shakes his head like a dumb little puppy, endearing but frustrating because Sapnap just doesn't get it. To George, it's obvious. He knows why he can't say yes to Dream. And now that Sapnap knows he should know too.
George gestures loosely at his body and Sapnap tilts his head. Stupid puppy.
"I'm trans, Sap."
It's the first time he's said it out loud in a long time. At least since starting YouTube. Briefly he glances around to make sure that no one has heard him. No one's around.
(And yes, he's pretty sure he briefly spots Bink sitting at a table in the back of the restaurant. His broad shoulders are hard to miss.)
“Okay?” Sapnap’s still not getting it. “I don’t see how that changes anything.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” George scoffs and Sapnap frowns.
“So help me understand,” Sapnap nearly pleads.
Sapnap doesn’t understand because Sapnap has nothing to worry about. He’s never led Dream to believe he’s one thing when he’s really another.
George knows he’s a man. That’s never been a question but sometimes not everyone believes him, no matter how hard he tries to convince them. He’s not foolish enough to even consider that Dream of all people wouldn’t believe him if he found out. In fact, George is certain Dream would be just as reassuring and accepting as Sapnap but George still isn’t ready to tell him.
George is a man and he’s sure Dream would see him that way too but there’s some scenarios that a relationship could bring that George isn’t sure he’s ready for. In almost all ways George is a man but there’s still little things like his top surgery scars that whisper I wasn’t born this way and George isn’t ready for Dream to hear those whispers.
Right now Dream sees him as a man through and through and if it was George’s choice, neither Sapnap nor Dream would ever find out differently. It's safer that way. Here in his little box of secrets, George can keep himself safe.
“It’s complicated,” George says.
Sapnap looks ready to rip his hair out from beneath his hat.
“George, you do know you don’t even have to tell him, right? You could try going out with him for a bit and just—not?”
George scrunches up his nose.
He has considered it that way but Dream would find out at some point. Maybe they start sharing a bed and Dream begins asking why George wears a shirt to bed during the summer or Dream wants to do some couple-like activity like showering together and he sees the scars.
That would probably hurt Dream more. Months into a stable loving relationship and suddenly George springs a new vital piece of information on him. Surprise! I’m not what you think!
“He’d probably be upset I kept it from him.”
“He’s going to be upset now!”
“But right now he doesn’t have to know. If we started dating I’d have to tell him eventually,” George says calmly. Sapnap’s face twists into shock and George can’t figure out why. “What? What, idiot? You look stupid.”
“You’re not telling him? Ever?”
“That’s the plan.” George reaches for his drink, stirring the ice around with his straw.
“You told me?”
“Accidentally. You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Oh,” Sapnap says, eyes downcast. “Okay. I just—thought you would at some point. Obviously you don’t have to!”
“I know,” George says slowly. “Why are you being weird?”
Sapnap goes quiet for a few minutes. Enough time for the waiter to come and refill their drinks, asking if they want dessert. George is barely listening, studying Sapnap who’s gone still.
“You just—” Sapnap starts. He pauses and reconsiders. “I know he’s not showing it but this whole thing, it really broke his heart. I haven’t seen him like this in a while. It's not your fault I just wish we had something to tell him. You didn’t even give him a reason.”
“He didn’t let me give one. He ran away so quickly.”
“What would you tell him anyway? You don’t love him? We both know that's a lie.” Sapnap gives a little scoff like even the thought of there being a scenario where George doesn't love Dream would be ridiculous.
George lets Sapnap's words simmer and sting. He doesn’t mind the pain Sapnap’s words bring. The way his chest squeezes is only a reminder he’s hearing the truth. He loves Dream. That much is true.
Dream loves a George who hasn’t told him everything he needs to know to fully love George. That is also true.
“It’s just messy, Sap. Dating him would make it messier.”
“And I would let it go if you had a good reason. Like being straight or not liking him in that way but you do, George. Everyone can see it. You’re breaking his heart and yours and it really, really hurts to watch.”
That alone nearly has George in tears. Sapnap seems so desperate to fix something he didn’t break. His eyes plead for George to see his reasoning and George has, he just can’t see it going well the way Sapnap seems to see it. His eyes sting as he stands and slides Sapnap his wallet, a silent offer to pay. For dinner and the pain he's caused Sapnap.
“Then don’t watch.”
❮-❯
When George stirs into consciousness the first thing he thinks is help.
His mind is fuzzy and confused, trying to process and reason out the pain he’s in. His head throbs and his back aches, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead like thick syrup. He rolls over, keeping his eyes shut as he groans.
Everything hurts.
It feels like he’s been bulldozed, flattened to the ground. He can feel his pulse in his temples; the slow pounding is torturous, dragging him out of sleep. His throat burns with how dry it is and the very idea of water sounds heavenly.
He attempts to drag himself from his bed but his legs fail him. He feels weak and the world is spinning, spinning, spinning. He crumbles to the ground, sprawled out against the floor of his room.
Maybe he overdid it yesterday.
The day before Dream had dragged them on some walk tour George really didn’t want to go on but Dream seemed so excited, claiming he needed to show George more of Orlando and that they were home for only a couple weeks so of course they must make the most of it.
The heat was unbearable and George is pretty sure the alcohol he drank in the evening didn't count as proper hydration. By the time they got home George couldn't do anything more than quickly use the washroom and flop into bed. He's still in his shorts and wrinkled t-shirt from the day before.
His brain is all muddled but the nausea beginning to roll over in his stomach screams he needs the bathroom now and there's no way he'll be able to do it himself, not with the way his legs are trembling.
Dragging himself across the floor he bangs his fist against the gray painted wall of his bedroom, the wall he shares with Sapnap.
His mind makes him panic with the realization that Sapnap may still be sleeping, also nursing a horrific hangover or maybe he's already down stairs, sitting at the island and sipping his orange juice. The thought of that makes George's nausea worse and he thumps his forehead against the wall. It sends a flash of pain through his skull and he whines a pathetic sound.
His head feels like it's on fire but his body shivers. Everything hurts.
"Holy shit! George?"
He'd been too busy wrapped up in his pain to notice his door opening. Sapnap's by him in seconds, crouching near where George has himself loosely propped up against the wall.
"You look like shit," Sapnap says, gently touching his shoulder. The touch also feels like fire and George makes a pained sound. "What the fuck?" Sapnap whispers, more to himself than George.
He stands to turn on the light switch and returns to George's side.
"Oh," Sapnap says in a way that sounds like he’s had a solemn realization and George's heart flips in a bad, sinking way. That tone isn't good. "We need Dream."
Sapnap stands to leave and George cries out. He can't get the words past his dry tongue. Don't leave. Don't leave me here. Please.
"I'll be back. I'll be right back. I promise."
Sapnap's words are little comfort as the door shuts and George is left on the floor again. The nausea is making itself very well known and he's not sure how long he can go without using the washroom.
The door opens again and George is just about ready to throw up all over Sapnap for abandoning him. He'll deserve it for leaving George on the floor alone like that.
"Baby."
Oh. That's not Sapnap.
"Hey, darling. Hey," the voice continues, soothing and calm. There's another person crouching in front of him but it's not Sapnap with his basketball shorts anymore. George nearly cries in relief when he sees through watery eyes that it's Dream's plaid pajama pants. He knows Dream won't leave him.
Dream's hand gently presses to his cheek and Dream's palm, that is usually so warm and inviting, is now cool against his burning skin. A blessing.
Dream swears lowly under his breath. "You're—George, you're so hot."
Somehow, despite him practically dying on the floor of his bedroom George manages to crack a smile.
"I'm hot?"
"Not like that, idiot," Dream bites back playfully and another wave of pain washes over George. He groans and closes his eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? What hurts?"
Tepid fingers dance up his arm, every touch burns, stings violently. This sickness is turning Dream's touch poisonous. One of the things he loves turned against him.
"Your skin is hot. You really got sun burnt yesterday. I told you to put sunscreen on, George." Dream's voice turns into something that sounds like light scolding and if George was feeling better he'd refute Dream's point.
Because no, Dream asked him if he wanted sunscreen because he accidentally put too much on his own hands and George had declined because having Dream's hands on him was not part of his plan to get his heart to stop yearning for the man with too much sunscreen in his palms and a little too much on his nose. Dream did not tell him to put sunscreen on.
"Bah'room," George slurs out and Dream perks up.
"Oh, shit! Sorry!"
With little effort he's being brought into Dream's arms. The sleeves of Dream's crewneck rub against his bare arms and agitate his sunburn but George can't find it in himself to care, not with the way Dream has it so he's pressed into Dream's chest, cheek resting against his shoulder. Even while feeling horrible being wrapped in Dream's arms is still something he forces himself to appreciate. It's not often he gets to be this tightly held by Dream. He has to make the most of it.
But then Dream begins to walk. His walk is naturally a little bit of a waddle and the rocking back and forth motion may actually have him throwing up on Dream (here George was hoping it would be Sapnap and not the man he's in love with). Dream does manage to get him to the washroom in time and he sets George down on the shower mat.
It's George's washroom but even the familiarity of it can't stop him from feeling a little embarrassed that Dream is sitting beside him, rubbing his back as George leans forward. It doesn't matter though because as soon as his body realizes where he is, impulse takes over.
Dream stays silent but the gentle rubbing of his hand on George's spine never ceases and when George is done and finally slumps backwards, Dream's there with a bit of toilet paper, gently wiping his mouth before throwing it into the toilet and flushing.
George closes his eyes and reaches for Dream, a silent plea to be back in his arms.
The nausea has dispersed but now his mouth tastes gross and his head still pounds. He's all sweaty and he's really starting to feel the sunburn on his arms. He just feels like shit and Dream holding him offers support that only solves a handful of his discomforts.
"Hate throwing up," George mumbles, pressing his face into Dream's chest.
"I know, baby," Dream murmurs back. His hands trail up George's back, running up under the hem of his shirt and over his spine. He presses gentle lips to George's forehead and hums. "You have a fever."
George snorts, pushing his forehead into Dream's chest. "Fever," he says. "Dream. Fever dream."
"Delirious too." Dream continues to coddle him until he says: "A cold bath might help. Your skin feels hot. You'll feel less gross."
"Don't wanna move."
"I'll carry you," Dream offers and before George can object Dream's scooping him up again. He walks George across the house all the way to his wing without a complaint. Dream's personal bathroom is by far the biggest bathroom in the house. If George had to point out one thing Dream definitely spoiled himself with when building their house, it would be his bathroom.
George is thankful for it now. The bath is spacious and as comfy as an empty bathtub can be. Dream sets him down in it, leaving only to get George a glass of water and an advil.
He brushes his fingers through George's hair as George takes the pain killer, seeming uncaring that his hair is coated in sweat. His fond expression never falters.
"I'm going to run the bath now, okay?"
"Go slow," George mumbles, tilting his head back against the tub. "Don't want it loud."
"Okay," Dream agrees. He sounds amused by George's barely coherent mumbles. "Good idea. Very smart." The water begins to run and it takes until the water touches his feet for George to realize he's still in his clothes.
With a grumble he begins to battle with his shirt and Dream chuckles, amused. He helps George peel his shirt off.
"I help you with your shorts but you can stay in your underwear if—" Dream's hands suddenly freeze and George doesn't stop to ask why. He continues to fight his shirt the rest of the way over his head and chuck it as far as his weak arms can throw (which is not far at all. It barely makes it past the toilet).
"Underwear sounds good," George says, closing his eyes as the cold water begins to soothe.
Dream's hands shake against George as he carefully unbuttons George's shorts. He's gone strangely silent and George doesn't open his eyes to figure out why. He barely helps Dream by lifting his hips and once the shorts are off he slides back down, breathing a heavy sigh of content.
The water feels nice and the Advil is beginning to help with his head. The pounding has stopped.
Dream clears his throat. "I'm—I'm just—I'm…" He sounds really nervous for some reason. "Do you mind if I put some aloe vera on your arms?" His voice still sounds shaky but George shrugs it off as nothing, giving Dream a hum of consent.
George keeps his eyes closed as Dream leaves and returns. He rubs a cool gel into George's skin and George hums.
"Think you got a little heat exhaustion mixed with a hangover," Dream says thoughtfully, voice slowly returning to normal. He's gentle with George's arms and it's only when Dream's forearm brushes against his bare chest that George's eyes flash open.
Oh.
Oh no.
The right words don't come to his head because there are no words. His mind, in its panic, has blanked.
Dream's leaning over him, hovering over the side of the bathtub and still lightly rubbing green stuff into his forearms. He seems to notice George has tensed up, joints locking because he turns his head to press his lips to George's forehead again.
"Sorry," he whispers into George's hair. "Didn't mean to touch."
"It's 'kay," George whispers back, leaning forward closer to Dream.
This fear bubbling in his stomach is worse than the nausea was. The only way he can compare it is close to the fear he felt when coming out to his parents, his grandparents. They were so important to him. Their approval, their disapproval. George hates how much younger him put up against those factors, how much of his emotions he let them influence.
But Dream—Dream's different.
The reactions are always different. Coming out never ends but the reactions always vary.
Dream's still being soft with him, still quiet and calm, trying to make George feel better but George can feel him thinking like a storm beginning to brew. George can't take the suspense.
"Can I wash your hair?" Dream asks and of course George allows. Just like Dream's hugs he'll always absorb every bit of physical affection he can get from Dream. Every last bit of it. Maybe they'll never be dating, maybe George will never let himself have that but right now he can have this little piece of Dream, if only to cure the sickness and ease his fears.
"Did you know," Dream says, whispering to him as he gently uses the cup George used to take the Advil with to rinse George's hair. He tilts George's head back and uses his other hand to protect his eyes. "I've known you for years and you've never let me see you like this."
"Like—my chest?"
Dream gives a little laugh. "No, actually. I meant, you've never let me see you sick like this. You've never let me help."
"It's not your problem," George says, leaning into Dream's touch as he begins to lather soap into his hair. "You shouldn't have to."
"I don't have to, I want to." Dream scratches his fingers against George's head and it feels way too good for George to want him to stop. He contemplates grabbing Dream's wrist and holding it there. "I'll take what I'm given, George. I won't ask for more again. If you let me have this, this is all I need."
"Dream—"
"I don't want you to be scared of asking me for help because I have feelings for you. I want to be here. For anything you'll let me be here for and if—if I don't get to be privy on some things that's okay!"
George opens his eyes and Dream smiles his soft, sad little smile. He wipes away some soap from above George's eyes with his thumb.
"So if I said I don't want to talk about it?"
"We don't talk about it," Dream says with a shrug. "We never have to."
A little reassured and a bit more comfortable under Dream's gaze, George prods.
"You're not curious?"
Dream gives him a soft glance. "No," he says. "I'm a little worried I don't know you as well as I thought but this isn't something I should know so I think I'm okay. You'll tell me everything I need to know."
"You trust me with that?"
Dream's eyes soften. "Of course."
"Can I ask you something?" George asks and Dream hums, rinsing out George's hair. "Do you still like me?"
Dream's hands freeze and his eyebrows furrow as he pulls back. "What?"
"I never told Sapnap this but I think one of the real reasons I didn't want to tell you is because I thought you might simply stop liking me." George gives a dry laugh. "Which I guess is stupid because you still like women and—"
"No," Dream says firmly, "Stop."
George's heart catches, eyes widening. Dream's sudden switch from confusion to serious and stern has scared him a little. He's not sure what he's done wrong.
Dream's eyes search his face and he looks focused, concentrated. "Don't backtrack for me like that. Don't try to be something you're not because you think it'll appeal to me more."
"That's—not what I'm doing," George says but it doesn't sound convincing even to his own ears. "I'm just saying even if you see me differently now—"
"I don't."
"—I'd still fit your criteria."
Dream's eyes seem sad. "George, that's not healthy. You deserve someone who sees you for who you really are. Not who they think you have been."
George falls silent, satisfied by Dream's words or at least quieted for now. He moves his legs around in the cold water and listens to the swishing sound it makes as Dream finishes his hair. He almost doesn't want Dream to be done. He's enjoying the touch too much.
Dream helps him out of the tub. He's still a little light headed and a bit weak so Dream doesn't make him walk all the way back to his room, he opts for sitting George down on the edge of his bed instead in his bedroom adjacent to the bathroom.
George watches, wrapped in a white towel as Dream digs through his drawers for some clothes.
"You never answered me," George tells him when Dream returns to him with a sweater. His heart's been hung up on it since Dream avoided the question with his flowery words.
Dream tugs the sweater over George's head.
"George, it's going to take me years to stop loving you. You're going to have to give me some time."
And George, still somewhat sick, wrapped in the comfort of Dream's hoodie, doesn't know what to say other than: "Don't stop."
"George—"
"Please don't stop." And it's not his fault that tears begin to build. He's tired, hungover, exhausted from all of this heavy conversation. "I don't want you to. You have to know I don't."
"Yeah," Dream says softly. "I do. It's nice hearing you say it anyway."
"Sleep now?"
"Sure."
Dream's terribly gentle with him, using the pad of his thumb to brush away the tears George doesn't manage to hold back, scooting George farther up on the bed by his waist.
Dream knows now and George expects Dream's touch to feel like it too knows but to George's relief Dream's touch feels the same against him, certain and unwavering.
George is glad he had been blissfully unaware when Dream realized. Dream's hesitancy might've sent him spiraling but by the time George had realized he had not only outed himself once but twice , Dream was already over his initial shock.
Dream's good like that. Good with him.
Dream helps him get under blankets that smell like Dream himself, like the shampoo Dream worked into his hair. George never wants to leave.
As soon as his head rests against one of Dream's extra pillows the exhaustion hits. Dream lays on top of the blankets beside him, watching George press his face into a pillow that doesn't belong to him for the first time since he moved to Florida.
"I don't like that you had to ask," Dream says in such a soft whisper that George barely hears his words.
"What?" George whispers back. He's not sure why they're whispering. Here in the privacy of Dream's room, no one can hear them.
"I don't like that you had to ask because it makes it seem like you think I'd stop loving you because of who you are."
"People have," George says, pulling Dream's blankets tighter around his shoulders.
"Have they?" Dream asks. He sounds horrified, appalled actually.
"Maybe it just felt like it." He's not sure if his family actually stopped loving him or if the way they treated him differently after they knew had just made it seem like they stopped.
It didn't really matter if they still did or not. What mattered was they didn't care enough to make sure George still felt loved. Dream doesn't even have to try.
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." Nothing could ever be Dream's fault, not to George.
Surprisingly it's Dream who falls asleep first. He grabs George's hand and holds it lightly in his before letting his head drop and his eyes flutter. No more than five minutes later he's snoring and George scoffs but keeps his hand in Dream's.
In Dream's bed there's no difference, only them and Dream's love, bigger than George's worries, bigger than Dream himself.
It's enough. For now, it's enough.
❮-❯
"Stop it! Get off! You're not doing it right!"
"Fuck off! Yes I am!"
If there's something George is glad is still normal, it's the fact that Sapnap is still just as rough with him. He's not afraid to jab his elbow roughly into George's ribs to shove him away from the counter.
"Sapnap!" George shouts, right in his ear and just to be annoying, pulling on the gray shirt Sapnap's wearing.
"Guys please," Dream begs from where he's digging through the fridge, searching for the pepperoni. "I gave you one job. Just spread the sauce."
"You're putting too much!" George shrieks, trying to yank the spoon of pizza sauce out of Sapnap's hand. Sapnap kicks at his ankle.
"I'm spreading it even."
"It's too much! Stop!"
Sapnap's smiling as he fights George off. He's never had a problem dealing with George's tendency to challenge him on things. Especially when it means Sapnap's putting way too much tomato on their homemade pizza.
"God, George, you're such a princess. It's not even that much."
George goes to object. Sapnap's used half the can and it's far more than enough but Dream interrupts.
" Sapnap! " The way he says Sapnap's name makes both Sapnap and George freeze. Everything immediately stops. Dream never raises his voice like that. Never. George had seen Patches dig her claws deep into Dream's thigh and his reaction was still just to say her name in a fond reprimanding for playing rough with the strings of his sweat pants and he's lightly told George off from doing stupid things in a stern tone before. But not in an aggressive tone. Not like that.
Dream comes around behind George, slipping himself in between George and Sapnap like a human barricade. He mutters something to Sapnap. At first Sapnap looks confused but his expression bursts into surprised joy a second or two later.
"You told him!" he asks, peeking around Dream. Dream steps back, confused.
"Maybe. What did he tell you?"
"He told me not to call you princess and he's never been pissy about it before."
Dream seems to realize Sapnap already knows and he turns his head away, turning back to the fridge but George catches the endearing flush of embarrassment on his cheeks.
If it was anyone else George would tell him to back off and that he can speak for himself. He doesn't need someone to speak for him but George knows Dream's trying to make up for lost time. He's trying to figure out how to show his support and though neither Sapnap or Dream treat him any differently George knows there's still going to be an adjustment period.
George lets Sapnap go back to spreading sauce across the flattened dough as George makes his way to Dream.
Dream's reorganizing the fridge now and if George had to guess he's deep in his thoughts and has forgotten what he was originally in the fridge for.
"Dream?"
"Yeah?" Dream pulls his head up too quickly, too eager and smacks his head on one of the upper fridge shelves. "Ow! Sorry, sorry. Ow."
"Idiot," George murmurs in the fond tone he only ever uses for Dream when they're alone or when it's late and he doesn't realize his voice has shifted into something sweeter.
Dream looks at him with this guilty puppy look, cheeks still darker than normal. George can't really see the red but when he raises his hand to touch, Dream's skin is warm.
"I've called you princess," Dream blurts and just by the way he says it, laden with guilt George knows he's been overthinking it.
"Well, yeah," George scoffs. "I kind of am your princess. Same way Patches is. She's a cat. She can't actually be a princess. But she's still princess."
Dream thinks for a moment before asking hesitantly, "It's okay?"
"It's not terribly upsetting," George admits. "I don't mind when you use pet names on me."
Dream gives him a bashful smile but it turns into a smug grin just as quick. "You certainly didn't mind me calling you baby when you were sick."
George has half the mind to glare at him. I was sick, you asshole. But Dream looks sort of proud and George decides he needs a win.
"Uh, Dream?" Sapnap calls and Dream turns.
"What?"
"What do I do if I accidentally dumped the entire can of sauce on the pizza?"
George's shoulders fall and Dream sighs heavily. Not a disappointed sigh, just an accepting one, like he should've known better than to leave Sapnap alone with the pizza. He walks out of George's reach, reaching for where he left his phone beside the destroyed bag of flour (Sapnap and George had a fun time throwing fistfuls of white powder at each other. There's still some in Dream's hair from when he tried to stop them).
"Do you guys want Domino's?"
George immediately perks up, rushing over to Dream to look over his shoulder. "Can we get the cinnamon sticks?"
"We're just giving up?" Sapnap asks, gesturing to what looks like a pan covered in sauce. George can't even see Dream's carefully made dough anymore. "It's our family bonding time and you're giving up!"
"We can family bond over cinnamon sticks," Dream says, tapping at his phone.
George wrinkles up his nose. "I never said you two could have any."
"George."
"Fine, whatever," George relents, watching Sapnap dump their hard work into the garbage.
Sapnap leaves to pick up the pizza when Dream's done ordering and George decides they're moving the party to Sapnap's room. He's got a comfortable bed just like Dream and a T.V on the opposing wall.
Dream doesn't complain. He follows behind George like a duckling, flopping into Sapnap's bed and tucking himself under George's arm. Sapnap joins them half an hour later (presumably after searching the rest of the house for them) giving a snort of feigned annoyance.
"Why my room?"
He quickly stops whining when George outstretches his other arm for Sapnap to join the cuddle party.
George would watch all of Sapnap's anime if it meant he can stay right where he is, pressed between his two best friends with two boxes of cinnamon sticks in his reach.
❮-❯
It's nearly nine months into living with Dream and Sapnap that everything comes together.
George loves the traveling, he loves meeting the fans, the events. He loves following Dream and Sapnap across the world, something he couldn't do before. He loves Dream's music, loves every word because he knows how much passion Dream puts into every one.
He loves when he gets to tackle Sapnap at random without an ocean in his way. He loves when Patches sleeps on his chest and sets off his allergies until his eyes go yellow. And he loves when Dream comes to him for comfort, no matter what the problem is.
That's why it's so strange when Dream starts acting weird.
It's not that he's avoiding George, no, that would almost be preferred. Instead, he's being weird, acting strangely whenever George is near.
He asked George about the weather one day. The weather. It's the shallow small talk that really shouts it out loud. That's when George knows for sure something is up.
Dream's acting skittish around him like George thought he would when he came out to Dream. It's like he's afraid to touch George or look him in the eye. George isn't sure what changed but something must have. Even in their first day or so of meeting each other Dream was more comfortable with him than this.
Did he change his mind about me?
At first George laughs at the thought. It certainly would be an extreme twist for Dream to somehow become bigoted out of nowhere.
But the more Dream dances around him and evades every touch, going as far as putting ten feet between them at all times, the more George starts to wonder.
"This one's cool. See? This one."
George rolls over in Dream's bed, shoving his phone in Dream's face.
Now that he's been allowed in Dream's bed once it's like a switch has been flipped. Dream's bed is partially his now. He's not sure Dream got the memo.
Dream gives a grunt, acknowledging he heard George but he's not looking at what George is trying to show him and George isn't here for that kind of disrespect. He's here in Dream's bed and Patches is nowhere near so that means that George is the most important thing in the room and therefore he deserves at least a decent chunk of Dream's attention.
"Dream. Look!"
"One minute, gotta finish this."
George swallows a ' no, pay attention to me now. Now!' And instead jabs his palm into Dream's shoulder. Strong enough to nudge Dream a little but not enough to hurt.
Dream reacts as if he's been smacked in the face.
He inhales sharply and recoils, eyes darting to George, bewildered.
Either wrestling with Sapnap is making him stronger extremely quickly or Dream's still acting like George is poison ivy and Dream's deathly allergic.
"What?" he asks. George could be imagining things but he swears Dream's voice actually trembles when he addresses him.
George doesn't even feel like showing Dream the picture now, not when he feels like he's just kicked a puppy with the way Dream's looking at him.
What George wants to do is whine and complain but there's a weird stirring in his gut that says there's more to this than Dream purposely not paying attention to him. It's like he's pulling back and George isn't sure why.
"Are you okay?"
Dream's eyes are glazed and unfocused as he dons a smile. "Yeah?"
"Are you lying to me?"
Dream's lips part like he wants to say no but he doesn't and it only confirms George's feeling. There's something up.
Dream's smile turns softer, more genuine but his eyes go all sad again. "It's nothing you have to worry about. I'm okay."
Out of all the people in the world, Dream is the one George wants to worry about. Worrying about Dream isn't something that could just be shoved to the side with a gentle 'I'm okay!'. Worrying about Dream with the ability to help is something George considers himself to be blessed with. He's the one in Dream's bed, watching yellow eyes cast towards the ceiling fan.
"I can't help you if you don't tell me." George rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch Dream's face and the way he turns his head away.
Years of not being able to read Dream's face has led to an almost need to watch, to take in everything. Every freckle, every grimace, every curl of his lips, downwards or upwards.
"Dream," George prods.
"George," Dream says back, barely above a whisper.
"What's wrong?"
Silence thick like Florida's humidity settles over the room. Somewhere in the house a humming starts and stops as some unknown machine does its job and the whir of Dream's ceiling fan blends with the static.
"I'm worried I'm invalidating you."
George lets three heart beats pass before he blurts out his response. "What the fuck are you on?" Amused, and playful because he has no clue what Dream's talking about.
Dream throws his hands over his eyes. "Shut up. I knew I shouldn't have told you."
"No! No," George laughs, trying to tug on Dream's elbow to get him to drop his hands that hide the gentle darkening of Dream's cheeks that George loves. "Continue. I'm not judging you, I promise."
"You're laughing at me," Dream points out, bottom lip jutting outwards in a pout.
"I'm laughing at you in a non judgmental way."
When Dream drops his hands his eyes are narrowed but he sighs and presses his head back into his pillow. His hair fluffs out around him and George buries the urge to reach out and touch deep behind his ribs and beneath his heart.
"You—I'm going to assume, correct me if I'm wrong—had a realization at some point that you're a boy, right?" George nods along and Dream continues. "And I realized since you've already found that part of yourself then you've probably realized you're straight too, and that you like girls. It's not just—it wouldn't have been your like—default settings?"
George bursts out laughing at that and Dream winces.
"Default settings! Dream!"
"So you've," Dream continues, though warily, "definitely thought it over at some point, probably and me—maybe me flirting with you and telling you I like you is invalidating. Like I'm sending you right back to those default settings."
George is still lightly giggling. Somehow Dream managed to drag Minecraft terms into a conversation George knows he deems serious by the stern self loathing glint in his eyes.
"George, I'm serious!"
"Is that why you've been weird? Is this what 'not in love with George' Dream is supposed to look like?" George gestures to the singular foot of mattress between them and Dream swallows but dips his chin in a nod. He too seems to see that nothing has changed. Despite Dream's attempt at creating emotional constipation George is still in his bed. "You've had so many years of being around me and—loving me without knowing. You did it right then. Why now do you think you're going to mess up?"
"It's easy to walk across a field of landmines when you don't know there's landmines to begin with."
And George could let Dream's words reach his heart. He could lock himself in his room and kick himself for slipping up and accidentally showing Dream, because now his beautiful, brave Dream is scared of him .
"You don't have to be scared," George tells him, slipping his arm to Dream's waist. Dream watches every move. "You're not sending me back to my original settings or whatever."
"Default settings," Dream corrects and George gives a little pinch to the soft skin on Dream's hip. He knows Dream can't help interrupting to correct but serious words are hard for George and he'd like to get them all out before he chokes on them.
"Dream you've always liked me and wanted to be my friend as a man. You've loved me as a man. You're not sending me backwards anywhere if you've always loved my current state."
"I guess," Dream says, uncertain. He's draped his arm around George's shoulders subconsciously as George slowly inches closer. "God, I love you so much. I don't know what I'm going to do when you leave."
Immediately George's mind screams. Leave? No. Never leave. Never leaving. But then he remembers there's a reason Dream's saying this. Dream doesn't know any different. Dream still thinks George would willingly move out when his five years are up.
Dream's biting heavy into his lip when George looks up. He looks like he's going to cry just thinking about the eventual possibility of George moving out.
"Dream, st—"
"Realistically you could find a partner before then and that would be losing you in a different way. I could live with that. Maybe. As long as you stay."
When George moves his hand up towards Dream's sternum he can feel Dream's heart thundering beneath his palm, like this conversation is going to cause his heart to burst.
"You're spiraling a little, love."
Dream stops breathing. George's words echo through the empty room like a shout bouncing off the walls of a large cave, careening into the void.
Dream's never heard him speak like that because George has never allowed himself to speak like that, especially not to Dream. The amount of fondness and quiet love is potent. He'd be surprised if that wasn't the thing to stop Dream's heart instead.
Dream looks down, mouth open. The gold in his eyes is twisted with confusion, like he's unsure those words came from George or somewhere else.
If George wasn't so nervous to see the results of his words he'd be grinning with triumph, having successfully slowed Dream's downward spiral. It's a talent, really.
Dream looks so awfully cuddly in his hoodie, tucked under the arm George has laying over him. A wave of what feels like cuteness aggression washes over George and burying that feeling means aggressively shoving his head into Dream's collarbone, squishing his face into the side of Dream's neck.
"You're giving so many mixed signals, George," Dream mutters when he finally gathers himself a minute later, hugging George back. His heart rate is slowing now but George can still feel it against his palm, consistent and strong. George wonders if some of the beats are for him and if he has a higher number of Dream's heart beats than Sapnap (he doubts it, Dream's pretty adamant on loving them both equally).
But you love me differently, George thinks, pushing his nose into Dream's neck. You love me. You love me how a man loves a man. You love me, don't you? Like a silent question, George presses a gentle, barely there kiss to the sensitive skin of Dream's neck.
The reaction is instant. Dream's entire body jolts like he's touched his hand to an electric fence.
"George." Dream's arms tighten around him. Like he's holding on tighter in anticipation for another shock of electricity and George gives. As long as Dream will allow, he'll give.
The second kiss to Dream's neck doesn't seem to startle him as much but there's still a sharp inhale and a squeeze around his waist, asking for more.
George gives a little more, biting lightly until Dream hisses at him.
"You're going to leave marks, George." One of Dream's hands comes up behind George's head and cards through his hair, gently pushing him closer to Dream's neck despite his words. George nearly snorts. Of course Dream would be the kind of guy to not mind the way George likes to kiss and bite at sensitive skin. He'd paint all of Dream in reds and purples if Dream allowed. Especially here, on his neck where George can feel Dream's nervous swallows when he gets closer to a scruffy chin.
"Relax," George breathes, running a hand over Dream's side. "I'm giving you clear signals."
"You're giving me a heart attack," Dream hisses back, quietly though like he's worried he'll scare George off.
"What? You don't like my kisses?" George asks with a fake pout. He knows for a fact Dream does. He would've never attempted to physically make a move on Dream if he didn't know absolutely for sure Dream would like it. Even then his heart had been pounding, waiting for Dream to tell him off or shove him away.
"You know I do, George. So much. I'm just confused. You have to spell it out for me."
George is out of the closet now. He doesn't have to worry. Sapnap knows. Dream knows. Sapnap still wrestles with him. Dream still loves him as a man.
George pulls back, bracing himself on his palms and forearms. He's half hovering over Dream, staring down at the forming bruises he left in his wake. His eyes rise to meet Dream's and it's over just as quickly as it had begun.
"I love you," George whispers. It's a confession and vocal consent as he lets Dream come to him, sitting up to lift his head from his pillow, rising upwards to kiss George.
The happiness and eagerness of it all sends a happy thrill down George's spine. Dream's just as happy to be kissing him as George is to be kissing Dream, soaking up every bit of loving sunshine that his Florida boy has to offer. He'd keep it all if it meant he'd have Dream for the rainy days.
Dream kisses him like he's never going to get to do it again. Like it's all he ever wants to do and George smiles at the thought of Dream waiting, wanting but pulling back for fear of doing something wrong.
You never could, George tries to say with the press of his lips to Dream's. It's awfully hard though when he's trying not to smile like an idiot about it.
Dream pulls back, eyes darting over George's face like he's searching for any regret. He won't find any. Not with the way George knows he's smiling lazily back at Dream, chest warm with a new fondness.
Dream kisses so gently George doesn't think he'll ever get the rush of it out of his head.
Dream swallows and raises a lightly trembling hand to fix the collar of George's hoodie.
"I love you," he says back and George lets him confess a second time.
And this time, by his own choice, when Dream's done talking and pouring his heart out onto the blankets, George doesn't say no.
❮-❯
Dream's hand is on his thigh and Sapnap's voice is in his ear. One side of his headset is pushed back behind his ear so he can listen to the sound of Dream existing beside him, his speaking and his breathing behind the mask.
He's kneeling beside George's desk chair, low enough so his hands aren't in view but his mask is from where he's sitting on the floor beside George.
He had offered Dream a chair but Dream seemed to like the floor more anyway. Now he gets to touch George's leg all he wants without the camera picking it up and the gentle movements are honestly rather distracting while he grits his teeth and attempts to focus on bedwars with Sapnap.
"What was that George! Oh my god, did you get worse?"
"How could I have gotten worse? It's been like—a month since we played."
"A month you could've been streaming with me. I'm the only one in this house who streams anymore. You hear this chat? I'm the only one who cares about you."
"A month I spent with your mom," George whispers and Dream squeezes his leg in reprimanding. Play nice.
Chat whizzes by in a spam of words and George can't be bothered to check if they heard him or not. Sapnap's still rambling on about how he's the best streamer in the Dream Team house but George blocks him out, focusing on his game instead.
A couple minutes pass. A new round of bedwars starts. George lets Dream do most of the talking while he plays. Dream seems to like talking to the fans in a different way, like chat and him are two best friends with their own secrets and inside jokes. George doesn't mind. He's the one who sleeps in Dream's bed every night.
Dream squeezes his leg as the donation notification rings. George assumes he's already read it before the text to speech can and George bites his cheek as he waits for it to come through.
Hi, George! Was just wondering if I could get a welcome to the boys from you. No worries if not.
George is pretty sure Dream's looking at him. The mask is a front. It's easy to assume Dream can't see as well with it on but George had tried it on once and had been surprised by just how much Dream could actually see and right now he's pretty sure he can feel the stare of his favorite green eyes on the side of his face, even when it looks like Dream's still facing forward.
Dream gives him another squeeze and subtly shuffles around until he's sitting closer to George. George bites back an endeared smile as he watches his boyfriend shift around until he's as close as he can be to George without making it obvious.
His boyfriend. His love.
"Sure," George says, casting a smile to the camera he prays doesn't appear as love struck as he feels. Because he's in love with the man sitting on the floor beside him and that's okay. He's been in love with Dream for years and he's learning to allow himself that goodness in his life but for right now he decides he can keep it to himself for a little while longer. They'll figure it out at some point, he's sure but now, in this moment, there's only one thing he needs to say.
"Welcome to the boys."