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Dream hates parties.
He hates the press of unwanted bodies against him when he tries to get outside, hates the smell of alcohol dripping off everyone in a too small college dorm, hates the loud music that pounds in his ears and doesn’t even sound good, hates the cocky arseholes who try to chug a case of beer, hates everything about hundreds of drunk people looking for their next hookup
But George loves parties, and Dream knows he’s half in love with George. So that’s how he finds himself at a stranger's house on a Friday night, sober whilst George dances carefree.
Dream had almost said no, he swears, but George had looked up at him with big brown eyes half hidden under long lashes as he told Dream that they’d have fun, and Dream knows that he’d never be able to say no to George when he smiles like that.
He thinks what he hates the most is the way everyone at parties looks at George, the way everyones eyes are drawn to George tipping his head back and laughing after doing a shot, hungry and wanting.
Dream wants too. Has wanted George for almost as long as he can remember, probably the first minute George had walked into their Programming 101 lecture, an oversized jumper falling at his thighs,covering tight yoga pants and all Dream could think was how badly he wanted.
George had slid into the spare seat next to Dream, grinning as he introduced himself, pulling out pink matching stationary to take notes and Dream had wanted to know everything about the boy, making it his one sole mission in college to become friends with him.
They are friends now, almost inseparable really, and maybe what Dream hates even more than anything is that they’re not more.
“Dream!” George shouts over loud music, and Dream can tell he’s drunk by the pretty flush of red on his smiling cheeks, “Are you having fun?”
“Hey, George,” Dream replies, hating the way he has to raise his voice to be heard, “I am, I guess, are you?”
“Yeah,” George grins, running a hand through sweat slicked hair, and Dream has to bite back a cough when the lift of George’s arm reveals more bare stomach that isn’t already on show from his cropped hoodie, “Can I tell you a secret?”
Dream ignores the way his heart pounds, thinks of all the times he’s wanted to whisper secrets into George’s ears, secrets that sound suspiciously like confessions and nervous sweet nothings. He knows George’s secret won’t be like his own.
“Sure,”
George giggles, eyes sparkling in a way that matches the specs of pink glitter covering his cheeks, pressed onto them by some drunk sorority girl, and Dream wants to kiss him until the only sounds coming out his mouth are breathless whimpers.
“Jake has coke,” George whispers loudly, barely a whisper at all, and Dream feels his stomach sink at the excitement dancing in George’s eyes, “He said we could have some, if we want.”
George is pretty, almost too pretty to say no to, especially when his eyeliner is just a little smudged, almost bouncing on the balls of his platform Converse, but even Dream can draw the line somewhere, and he thinks illegal drugs from an Economics major might be his line.
“George,” Dream warns, and then feels a bit guilty when George whines, “You’re drunk, I am very much not, and I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You’re so boring,” George says, and Dream knows it isn’t malicious, but it still tugs at his heart a bit, makes him wish he was a better match for George, “Please?”
Some shit drum and bass song has come on now, but Dream is barely focusing on it, is instead watching the way George sips at his red solo cup, lips wrapping gently around the brim, and he kind of wishes he was drunk himself, so George’s beauty was more blurred and less in startling clarity.
“No,” Dream says, trying to make his voice firm, but he knows George doesn’t listen to anyone, knows it’s probably fruitless, “I’m not doing drugs from some stranger, and you shouldn’t either.”
George rolls his eyes, bringing a hand up to rest on Dream’s crisp white shirt covered shoulder, “Will you be mad at me if I do?”
Dream is going to lose his mind, get lost in the way George looks at him for confirmation, as if he really wouldn’t do it if Dream didn’t want him to. But George is having so much fun, has spent the whole night laughing and lighting up the room, drawing people to him like he’s a drug himself, and Dream would never forgive himself if he ruined George’s night for him.
“No, of course not, George,” Dream says, and he wants to reach out to run a thumb across the apple of George’s cheeks, get covered in glitter, covered in the reminder of George, “Just, be safe, yeah?”
George smiles again, lips pulled up above his gums, and Dream thinks he could write an essay on the little gap separating his two front teeth, wants to run his tongue over it whilst he tells George how perfect he is, how just a smile directed at him makes Dream’s day.
The way George looks at him makes Dream’s toes curl.
“You’re coming with me, silly,” George laughs, running his hand down Dream’s arm to grab hold of his hand, fingers curling between Dream’s own and he thinks George is going to be the death of him.
“I’m not doing cocaine,”
“I know,” George says, tugging on Dream’s hand to get him to follow behind as George leads them through rooms filled with sweaty bodies, Dream thinks he’d follow George anywhere, “But I can’t be safe without you there, my big protector man.”
Dream almost stops in his tracks, forcing a groan back down his throat, and he wonders if George is aware of the affect his words have on Dream, probably not, guessing by the way he continues to twist and wind past people until they reach the outside of a closed door, gentle music flowing out contrasting to the loud bass in the main room.
George brings his hand that isn’t occupied in Dream’s own up to knock gently on the door, pale knuckles rasping against dark wood, and the contrast makes Dream’s mouth water, makes him want to kiss each of George’s fingers, whispering praise as he does. Drives Dream fucking crazy.
The door opens a little and the face of a girl Dream has never seen around campus before peaks round the edge, grinning when she sees George. It makes Dream’s blood boil with ugly, red hot jealousy, his hand gripping tighter on George’s.
“George,” The girl slurs a little, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her pierced ear, before turning to Dream “And who’s this?”
Dream thinks she sounds a little flirty, a little too interested in who he is, and that annoys Dream more than the way she’d smiled at George.
“This is Dream,” George answers proudly, warming Dream’s heart a little when he turns to face him with a smile, “He’s my best friend.”
The warmth dissipates with crashing reality, leaving Dream with the panging longing that’s become second nature when with George. He smiles though, used to it at this point, and resists the urge to put his arm around George’s shoulders, instead giving the girl a small wave.
“Hi Dream,” She smirks, eyelashes fluttering, and all Dream can think is that she’s not as half as pretty as George, “I’m Caitlin.”
“Hi, Caitlin,” Dream replies politely, and he thinks for a split second George tenses up next to him, as if uncomfortable with the situation.
“So,” George counters, stepping a little in front of Dream, blocking Caitlin’s view, “Is Jake in there?”
“Ooh, so you’re here for the coke?”
“Yep,” George replies, popping the p, and Dream forces himself to drag his eyeline away from George’s pink lips, “Can we come in?”
“Is he doing any?” Caitlin questions, tipping her head to the side to point in the direction of Dream, and Dream thinks if he weren’t in love with George he would be entranced by the way her hair falls prettily over the lowcut of her dress.
Instead, Dream has spent half the night fighting the urge to trace the line of the fishnets poking out over the top of the black cargo pants slung low on George’s waist.
“No,” Dream speaks up, leaning against the door frame, “I’m just here for him.”
George laughs again, and Dream adores how giggly he gets when he’s drunk, wants to press kisses all over George’s face until he’s clutching his stomach in laughter induced pain.
“He’s my protector,” George announces, and Caitlin gives Dream a once over that would usually make him squirm a little, but she has an approving look on her face, matching George’s own.
“Ah, I see,” Caitlin smiles, a knowing look crossing her face, “Well, in you come, you got cash?”
She opens the bathroom door, white tile lit up with purple LED lights and Dream thinks it might be a drug desinated bathoom, and once again reminds him how much he fucking hates parties.
“Nah,” George says, finally dropping Dream’s hand as he slips into the room, leaving Dream to mourn the loss of warmth and unspoken desires, “Jake said I could have a bump or two for free.”
“And why is that?” Caitlin questions, shutting the door behind Dream after he enters.
“I did his maths assignment for him,” George laughs, and Dream’s back to staring at him, watching the way George’s fingers twirl the hair behind his ears absentmindedly, “That’s why.”
It makes Dream love George more, the fact that he knows who to offer help in college in return for something he wants, and Dream knows that George knows he’s smart, probably the smartest in most of their classes, effortlessly answering in lectures, and Dream hates himself a little for how hot he finds it.
“I see,” Caitlin muses, confidently walking on her heels to the bathroom counter and measuring out a little bag of the white substance, “Here’s half a gram, should be enough for someone as small as you.”
George rolls his eyes, walking up behind her and peering at the baggie, “I’m not that small,”
Dream bites back a response, thoughts that linger in the back of his mind before he goes to sleep, images of how easily he could pick George up, hold him against a wall, wrap one hand around soft thighs, the other hand holding George’s wrists above his head, breathing softly into his collarbones before kissing him.
This is not the time.
“Sure,” She laughs, taking the remaining cocaine and putting it in her purse for the next customer, “Have fun with your man.”
“I’m not,” Dream begins, gaze snapping to Caitlin as she flounces out the room, shutting the door behind her with a scoff, and Dream wonders if he makes it that obvious.
Dream turns his attention back to George, who’s now sitting on the counter, legs swinging as he eyes up the bag of coke, and Dream hates the entire situation, hates how badly he wants to kiss George until he’s forgotten about the stupid fucking class A drug, hates that he wants to whisper to George that he thinks he’s in love with him, hates himself for being so enamoured he’s let himself be dragged into a dodgy bathroom.
George is smiling up at him though, and Dream feels any negative emotion leave his body at the sight of George.
“You sure you don’t want any?” George asks, head cocked to the side, and Dream almost wants to cry at how much it fucking sucks that George is nothing to him but a friend.
“No, George, I don’t.”
“Hm, probably for the best,” George ponders, opening up the bag to have a look, “Caitlin was right, half a gram is nowhere near enough for both of us, especially because you’re a giant.”
Dream actually thinks he might die on the spot, might pass out on the cool tiles of a dirty bathroom with George looking at him and calling him giant.
“Yeah,” Dream coughs, trying his best to cover his flustered state, “And I don’t want to die.”
George laughs, head thrown back a little, neck on show that Dream thinks would just look so pretty marked up, “I’m not going to die, this is hardly the first time I’ve done coke.”
“Is it at least safe?”
“Eh,” George shrugs, jumping off the counter gracefully, “It’s prop, so it’s not cut with washing powder or anything.”
Dream is in his own personal hell he thinks, watching the one boy he cares the most about in the entire world nonchalantly open up a bag of cocaine, whilst ignoring the contradictory way his brain is reacting to it, pretending he doesn’t think George looks beautiful as he does.
“Oh, great,” Dream replies, sarcasm coating his tone when George turns towards him with a lazy smile, “Not cut with washing powder, fucking fantastic, nothing else to worry about the literal class A drug you’re about to snort.”
George’s smile drops a little, morphing into a softer look as he takes two steps forward, reaching out to press a hand against Dream’s chest, “Dream, I promise I’ll be fine, look, if it really bothers you, you can leave, or I can not do it, whatever.”
Dream sighs, hand coming to rest at the nape of his neck, “No, it’s fine, I know that really, I just, I don’t know, I worry for you.”
Dream wonders if George knows just how much he does worry for him, has ever since George had come to him two summers ago, sobbing his eyes out, stories of his dad leaving spewing out his mouth between hiccups, murmured whispers of sleeping with men, hidden cries of not liking anything about himself.
It’s better now, George is happy, Dream is too, he supposes. He just thinks he’d be happier if he didn’t spend hours watching helplessly as George talks excitedly, just wanting.
“I know,” George whispers, resting his head gently on Dream’s chest for just a moment, and Dream wants to savour the moment forever, “It’s one of the things I like most about you.”
Dream sighs again, but instead of in annoyance, this time in barely hidden longing, watching intently as George slips out of his hold, wonders if George will always be just out of reach.
“Are you gonna do it all?”
George hums a little, holding up the bag to the light, “Probably, at least a few keys.”
“Keys?” Dream asks, and he thinks for just a second that George might like him back if he had any clue of what was going on right now.
“Yeah,” George confirms, hands coming up to the back of his own neck, “See?”
Dream watches with fascination as George gently unclasps the back of his necklace, the one Dream has spent all night admiring, shining pink and white pearls adorning his neck tightly, ones that Dream wants to tug on, wrap his hands around, ones that George now holds proudly in his hands.
“Key,” George states, holding up the small charm centered on the necklace, and sure enough it is a tiny key, the top shaped in an intricate heart before it dips into a small divot, “I always come prepared.”
Dream finds himself a tiny bit impressed, especially when George looks up at him with that same proud smile on his face.
“Huh,” Dream nods, looking a bit closer at the small silver key, and wonders where George finds such pretty multi purpose jewelry, “I see.”
George smiles again, giving Dream a reassuring look before he opens up the bag, dipping the key into it and scooping up a small amount on the end and now Dream understands what the divot is for.
Dream contemplates looking away right before George’s arm reaches up to press the key directly below his nose, other hand coming to his face to press closed his other nostril, he wants to look away, but George is so entrancing, even when he’s in a grimey bathroom doing cocaine, he still manages to be the prettiest person Dream has ever seen.
So he doesn’t look away, instead he watches with a swirl in his stomach as George snorts and then immediately tips his head back, rubbing on his nose and Dream thinks he must be doing it to make sure all the coke enters his system, and Dream isn’t sure if the swirl is from worry or how good George looks right now, grinning brightly when he brings his head back down.
“Good?” Dream asks, and he can almost feel himself smiling at how buzzed George looks already.
“So good,” George grins, laughing, eyes already a little bit blown as he dips the key bag in the back, scooping up more this time, “You okay?”
“Yeah, George, I’m fine,” Dream replies fondly, still unable to look away as George snorts the second key, heart melting a little when George’s hair fans out as he shakes his head, “Have you had enough yet?”
George tips his head to the side again, in an adorably contrasting state to the drop of white powder dotted on his nose, “Gimme a sec, I won’t know till the drip hits.”
Dream just nods, and he can’t help his hands reaching out to gently steady George when he stumbles a little, breath catching in his throat when George smiles thankfully, his pupils now so wide that his eyes almost look black, and Dream doesn’t know if it’s normal that he thinks George looks fucking stunning.
“Okay,” George grins wide, coughing a little and making a disgusted face at the taste, “Yep, fuck, I’m good, so good.”
George looks it, and not just by the way Dream has been admiring him all night, but his eyes are blown open, euphoria dancing in them, cheeks flushed and hurting from smiling, and Dream thinks all his problems would be solved if he was allowed to kiss George right now.
“Yeah?” Dream questions softly with a laugh, any worry he had gone now that George seems okay, smiling as he leans into Dream’s side, “Well, I’m glad.”
“Thanks for being here,” George says, pulling away from Dream and grabbing his hand again, and Dream thinks he’s in a divine test tonight, “You’re amazing.”
Dream feels warmth creeping up his neck at the compliment, making the collar of his shirt feel a little bit too tight, “And you’re high.”
“I am,” George giggles, spinning himself on Dream’s hand, hoodie lifting up further as he twirls, and Dream wants to hold, wants to leave hand prints on George’s stomach, fingers dipping below the high wasit of his fightnets.
“C’mon,” Dream says gently, shaking his head of thoughts he should not be having about his intoxicated best friend, “What do you wanna do now?”
George stops still, hand still gripping tightly onto Dreams, smaller fingers curling around larger ones, smiling as he speaks, “Let’s go dance.”
It’s testament to how far Dream’s feelings for George really go that he lets himself be dragged out the bathroom by a hyper George, the hood of his jumper bouncing as he walks, before he notices the glint of pearls gripped tightly in George’s free hand.
“Wait,” Dream speaks, reaching out to gently pull the necklace out of George’s hand, “Your necklace.”
“Oh,” George smiles, turning round to face Dream, “Put it back on for me? Please?”
Dream wonders for a minute how anybody ever manages to say no to George, thinks he would do anything the smaller asked him if it was in that tone.
“Of course,” Dream smiles back, taking his other hand out of George’s so he can delicately wrap the necklace around George’s neck, reaching behind him and putting the clasp together, tugging just a little to make sure it’s tight.
Dream thinks he might lose his mind, especially when George lets out a little breathless noise when Dream tugs, eyes blown in pleasure, a near permanent soft smile on his face.
“Thanks,” George whispers softly, placing his hand back in Dream’s own, as if it belongs there, before continuing their exit from the bathroom, necklace now gently resting on his neck.
They pass Caitlin as they walk out, and she gives Dream a cocky grin, eyes potindly looking down at the way Dream has his thumb protectively gripping George’s hand, and Dream resists the urge to childishly stick his tongue out at her, instead gives her a thankful smile as she enters the bathroom again, ready for the next deal.
George is unaware as he skips a little down the hall, the pull on Dream’s hand ensuring he follows as George leads them back into the living room, it’s not as busy now, less people in the house and most of the ones left are either gently dancing to softer music, or splayed out on the couch, and Dream thinks they must have been in the bathroom longer than he thought.
George is as beautiful as always, Dream knows, walking into the centre of the cleared out space between the couches, laughing as he drops down on his feet and stands back up in time to the music, commanding attention to him as if he were the only person in the room.
Dream already stares at George like he’s the only person in the room, always has, thinks he always will.
George lifts a hand up, the one Dream had been holding before George had slipped free to dance, and beckons Dream over with a little flick of his wrist, so confident in the knowledge that Dream will come up to him.
Dream does come up to him.
George grins, draping his arms around Dream’s neck and clasping them at Dream’s nape, “Hi,”
“Hi, George,” Dream replies, and he can’t stand how close George’s face is to his, how easy it would be to lean down a little and capture his lips in a soft kiss.
“Thanks for coming with me,” George smiles, hips swaying in time to some Rihanna song, “Sorry you’re sober, though.”
Dream scoffs, and tentatively places his hands on George’s bare waist, wonders if he’s made the wrong judgement call until George hums softly, leaning into the contact, “If I’m not sober, who’s driving us home?”
George smiles softly, the brown of his irises almost all covered by the black of his pupils, and Dream thinks he looks ethereal, “You’re always looking after me,”
Dream shrugs, reveling in the way George’s arms bounce a little on his shoulders, “I like to,”
“You do?”
George speaks quietly, looking up at Dream as if Dream holds the answers to the universe in his hands and Dream knows that if George weren’t high right now he would spill his guts, would reveal secrets of how badly he wants to call George his, how often he thinks about George curled up asleep in his arms, how sometimes he wants to hum a soft lullaby into George’s hair when he falls asleep on the couch, wants to carry him into a shared bed, a shared life.
Instead, Dream just nods.
George looks satisfied with the answer, softly swaying to the music, and Dream isn’t sure if everyone is as calm on coke as George is right now.
He’s probably spoken too soon though, because the song is changing and the familiar melody of Lana Del Rey plays out the speakers, songs he’s heard drifting from under the door of George’s bedroom late at night.
George positively lights up, eyes almost glowing as he lets out a high pitched excited laugh, hands dropping from Dream’s shoulders so he can sing along properly, hand gestures and all.
George looks his best when he’s happy, and usually that's when they’re hanging out together with Sapnap, messing about on some Minecraft plugin they’d coded, eating shitty food and making even shittier jokes. Times like that, Dream can pretend it doesn’t almost hurt to look at George.
George looks ecstatic right now though, and Dream knows in a way it’s from the chemical boost of cocaine, so it’s harder to pretend he isn’t in pain watching as George sings, laughing when the girls next to them join in, voices almost angelic as they sing the lyrics.
And Dream had never really listened to them before, but now he has George’s full attention back on him, the girls long forgotten as George grabs Dream’s hand for what feels like the hundredth time this night, singing whilst making direct eye contact.
Dream would be in trouble as it is, just by the way George is looking at him, hungry in a way, wanting in the same way Dream knows he looks when George blows him a kiss goodbye, but then he hears the lyrics George is singing, and he knows he’s fucked.
“Let me put on a show for you, daddy,” George sings softly, and Dream knows it’s just lyrics, doesn’t even know if George means it, but he’s looking at Dream as if he does, “Let me put on a show.”
George looks too enticing for his own good, hair messy and clinging to his forehead as he dances, hand trailing down the front of Dream’s chest, stopping to play lightly with one of the buttons, and Dream is starting to believe that George does mean it.
Dream needs to put a stop to it before he does something he regrets.
“George,” Dream says firmly, hoping the tightness of his black jeans isn’t giving anything away, “You okay?”
“Mhm,” George nods, swaying a little, hand still firm on Dream’s chest, and Dream wonders if he can blame the pounding of his heart on the heat in the room, “Are you?”
“Yeah, just,” Dream starts, faltering a little when George looks up at him under hooded eyes, “Don’t start something right now, please.”
“Start something?” George repeats, head tilting to the side inquisitively, glitter even more smudged on his cheekbones, “Who says I’m starting something?”
George is smiling, and Dream isn’t dumb, is well aware George knows what he’s doing, and maybe that’s why it hurts the most. That George has chosen to make a move on Dream when he’s so high his eyes are rolling back in pleasure, that it’s taken two keys of coke for him to want Dream, when Dream has wanted George in every moment for years.
“George, please,” Dream says, voice strained, especially when George removes his hand from Dream’s chest to instead trail along Dream’s forearms where he’s pushed his shirt up to his elbows, fingers running along veins and Dream thinks this isn’t fair.
“You’re so hot,” George whispers in wonder, fingers reaching the end of Dream’s forearms and now twisting the silver rings adorned Dream’s fingers, “Is that starting something?”
Dream, not for the first time around George, is grateful for the willpower he’s built up over the years of knowing the older boy, because it takes every bit of it not to grab George by the jaw and kiss him until he can’t breathe.
“Yeah, yes, it is,”
“But you are hot,” George counters, hands gripping back on Dream’s shoulders, “And so big, and pretty, and sometimes I want to kiss every single one of your freckles, or like, let you do whatever you want to me, so what if I want to start something? Do you not want something?”
“I, George,” Dream sighs, and he isn’t sure if he wants to tell George of course he wants something, has wanted to be George’s everything since they first met, or if that’s something he should leave to tell George when he’s sober, when he’s not even sure George means it right now.
“Oh,” George says, smile dropping for the first time tonight, and Dream wants to go against his instincts and kiss it all better, “Fuck, sorry, I just, I thought you were into me too, or, I don’t know, you look at me sometimes like I’m special, or whatever, but, shit, sorry, I’m so fucking stupid.”
Dream aches, heart near tearing in two by the way George is looking at him, eyes downcast a little, cheeks still flush from the drugs rushing through his system, and Dream never wants George to look unsure of himself ever again.
“No,” Dream starts, hand reaching out to cup George’s cheek, but before he can, George is wobbling a little, hand coming up to cover his mouth, pretty pink skin turning a ghostly white, “George, you okay?”
George looks back up at Dream and now instead of the joyful spark that’s been in his eyes the whole night, there’s a worried woefulness, “I don’t feel well,”
He doesn’t look it, face white and eyes big, staring up at Dream with a hand over his mouth as if he’s about to be sick, and Dream really isn’t sure if he can deal with all of this right now. All of George near confessing to him and then thinking Dream doesn’t reciprocate to George looking like he’s about to spew all over Dream’s shoes.
“Fuck,” Dream mutters, looking around the room desperatly for somewhere quiet to take George, “No? Like you feel icky, or like you’re going to be sick?”
“Sick,” George whispers, voice uncharacteristically quiet and somber, tugging the sleeves of his cropped hoodie down over his hands and then pressing them back over his mouth, and Dream thinks it must provide him some sort of comfort.
“Okay, you’re gonna be fine,” Dream reassures, sliding an arm around George’s narrow shoulders in what he hopes is a calming way, “I’m going to find us a bathroom okay, I got you, yeah?”
George just nods, tucking himself into Dream’s side in a way that makes him feel smaller than he is to Dream, and if they weren’t in such a nightmare situation, Dream thinks he might press a kiss to the fluffy hair on the crown of George’s head.
He doesn’t though, because George is still unsteady on his feet as Dream walks them towards what he hopes is an empty and clean bathroom, and he’s too worried about George puking in the middle of a strangers house to think about the past ten minutes and their long term effects on he and George’s relationship, can’t let himself hope over slurred words.
Dream pushes gently on a bathroom door, different to the one they were in before, not wanting to jostle George where he’s practically hanging off Dream’s side and feels a thankful wave of relief when the room is empty and mostly clean bar some half full cups of stale beer.
Dream slides in the room, pushing George carefully in front of him and feeling a pang of sadness when George lets out a little pained whimper, before turning around and making sure the door is locked.
When Dream turns back around, the pang of sadness turns into full blown empathy when he sees George standing helplessly in the middle of the room, sleeves covering his hands where they dangle limply by his wasit, shivering a little and Dream feels fucking awful for him, wants to take everything making George feel sick away and replace it with laughter so loud the cops get called on them.
“George,” Dream says softly, and he can’t stop himself this time as he cups George’s clammy cheek with his hand, especially when he notices tears gathering in George’s eyes, “You’re okay now, look, we’re in a bathroom, just us, we’re good, do you still need to be sick?”
“I don’t know,” George shrugs, looking up at Dream with big eyes as one of the tears spills over, leaving a clear path between the glitter on George’s cheek as it falls until Dream brushes it away with his thumb.
“Okay,” Dream breathes out, trying to not freak out over George looking as if he’s about to break into sobs, trying to pretend Dream doesn’t want to too, “Okay, right, what hurts? Head? Stomach?”
“Um, both,” George replies, bringing his own hands up to wipe his eyes, but making sure not to move Dream’s where it’s safely resting on his jaw, “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, idiot,” Dream says softly, moving his thumb up and down on George’s cheek in a sickenly domestic way, revelling in the way the glitter transfers onto the pad of his fingerprint.
“‘M not going to be sick,” George says, eyes filling with determination and ridding some of the worry, “Can we just sit for a bit? In here? It’s quiet and cold.”
Times like this, Dream thinks there must be no way George knows that Dream would do far more than sit in a dinky bathroom with him, must have no clue that Dream would run to the ends of the world just to see George smile, must have no clue that he looks at him as if he’s something more than special.
“Of course,” Is all Dream says, doesn’t think he or George are in the right place or time for real confessions, “On the floor?”
George shrugs nonchalantly, too out of his right mind to care, already sliding down to sit on cool white tiles, knees drawn tight to his chest as he pats the spot next to him for Dream to join him.
Dream, of course, does join him.
George easily leans his head on Dream’s shoulder when he sits cross legged next to him, hair brushing the side of Dream’s neck, and Dream thinks he’s never had a more intimate moment with someone in a bathroom as he is right now.
“Sorry, again,” George murmurs, misery coating his voice and Dream wishes he could make it better somehow, wishes he could have convinced George to stay home, popped on some shit movie and made popcorn.
Anything that led them to a different outcome than sitting on a bathroom floor, comedown nigh and feelings left unspoken.
“It’s fine, George,” Dream says, arm finding its way round George’s shoulders again, as if it belongs there, “You’re fine, I’m fine, we’re both safe, and when you’re feeling a bit better, I’ll drive us home and you can have a nice long sleep, yeah?”
“I ruin everything,” George says, almost so quiet Dream thinks he wouldn’t have picked up on it if not for the fact he’s spent so much time hanging on to every last word George says, “Why do I ruin everything, Dream?”
Dream’s heart aches, aches for the wobble in George’s voice, aches for the way George is talking down on himself, ahces for the fact he can’t do anything about it.
“What do you mean, bub?”
The pet name slips out, maybe it wouldn’t have if Dream hadn’t had such an overwhelming night, but it feels right, feels as if they’ve already crossed too many lines tonight that had ‘Do Not Enter’ tape strung across them, feels more than okay when George slips a hand into Dream’s.
“Everything’s my fault, I fuck it all up,” George speaks, a mix of anger and sadness seeping out, “Your night, you didn’t even want to be here, but I made you, and I fucked up our friendship because I want more, and I should have just kept it to myself but I ruin anything good I have and I don’t want to lose you, Dream, I can’t lose you.”
Dream almost feels himself cry, thinks if he weren’t sober he would let tears fall at the pure misery that flows off George in waves, rocky, crashing waves that look like they could drown George, he can’t cry though, has to be strong for George, has to pretend he isn’t dying to tell George there’s nothing to fuck up when Dream has wanted more since he first knew more was ever possible.
“You’re never going to lose me,” Dream replies, resting his own head on the top of George’s breathing gently into his hair, risking a tiny kiss on it, “There’s stuff I want to say, good stuff, so don’t worry your pretty little head off, but I think I’d rather do it when you’re not on coke, and when I’m not fucking exhausted, but I promise you, George, you’ve not ruined anything.”
George sniffs a bit, tucking his head out of Dream’s shoulder to look at him with red rimmed eyes, dancing curiously, “You wanna tell me stuff?”
“Yeah,” Dream laughs fondly, feeling better about everything that’s happened tonight when George gives him a gummy smile, eyes crinkling a little, “Not now though, tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” George repeats, nodding, before he gingerly stands up, pulling on Dream’s hand to get him to follow suit, “Let’s go home?”
“Lets,”
*************
The morning comes too slowly, in Dream’s opinion, creeps onto him as he lays awake in his bed, thoughts of George asleep across the hall from him, peaceful after Dream had diligently wiped away any traces of tears or make-up with a baby wipe.
Tomorrow feels too far away, too scary of a word, too much like Dream spilling all his feelings for George out until George realises he regrets even telling Dream he’s into him, until George blames it on a coke ridden euphoria, until Dream gets his world shattered.
The thing is, Dream has spent the better part of two years looking at George and longing, wanting more than a random hook-up, spent hours thinking about introducing George to his parents, wondering if his sister would get on with him, imagining telling everyone George is his boyfriend, sharing everything with the older, the ups and the downs, wanting everything about George.
And Dream still isn’t sure if George wants the same.
If ruining their friendship to George was a one-night stand situation, friends with benefits if Dream was lucky, or if George wants everything too, wants Dream to be his, wants to talk about the future together, wants a relationship too.
Dream reckons he’ll have to fulfil the promise of talking today sooner or later, and no time seems better than now, when he can hear George stumble out of his room and into the kitchen, tap running.
Dream stretches lightly, grabbing a white t-shirt to pull over his head as he walks out his bedroom door, trying to act cool, as if his breath isn’t baited.
George is leaning over the sink, filling a glass with water, and usually just the sight of George leaves a lump in Dream’s throat, but this is somehow worse.
George is wearing a familiar green hoodie, one that in neat white block letters has Dream’s name written across the back above a seventeen to match the year he graduated high school, falling just too big on George, nearly covering the pair of soft pyjama shorts he has on, and Dream thinks he might choke on thin air.
The wave of possessiveness that washes over Dream is not unfamiliar, and feels less unwelcomed than ever after last night.
“Hey,” Dream says, voice cracking a little on the end, eyes soft crescents of love when George spins around to face him, smiling a little.
“Hiya,”
“You feeling any better?”
George shrugs, but he’s smiling, not the same state he’d been in last night, “Yeah, just tired and icky today, I think.”
“Good,” Dream speaks, sitting on the edge of their sofa as George takes a seat at their kitchen island, drinking small sips of water, “Need anything?”
“Nah,” George answers, swinging his socked feet a little where they don’t quite reach the ground, “Already stole your hoodie.”
“Yeah,” Dream smiles, letting himself freely admire the way the badge of his old high school sits proudly over George’s chest, “I can see that.”
“You mind?”
“Course not,” Dream laughs, and for the first time in months, he doesn’t feel guilty when he smiles at George, “It suits you, you look cute.”
“Yeah?” George laughs back, cheeks plump as he smiles and Dream thinks if he hasn’t pressed a kiss to both of them by the end of the day then something must have gone horribly wrong.
“Yeah,” Dream agrees fondly, thinks his feelings for George must be pretty damn obvious at this point, finds himself not really caring, “Listen, about last night.”
George sighs, fingers nervously spinning around on the condensation covering his glass, drawing little patterns, “I really am sorry, I know I’m a mess when I’m high, I think I’m going to, uh, stop for a little while.”
Dream nods, wants to walk over and kiss the worry of George’s face, “That’s good but, I meant about us.”
“Oh,”
“Yeah, oh.”
George pauses, hands dropping onto his lap as he looks at Dream, half smile painted on his face, and he looks more at ease over this conversation, as if he’s spent the same amount of hours as Dream has thinking about the moment that turns them into more than Dream and George, best friends.
“What’s there to say?” George giggles, smiling wider when Dream barks out a laugh, feeling fuzzy happiness already.
“You think I’m hot?”
George laughs again, and at least this time he has the decency to have a bit of a blush on his neck and tips of his ears, “Obviously, have you seen yourself?”
Dream thinks he’s probably blushing too, warmth travelling along his cheekbones, “Yeah, I guess I have.”
“Cocky,”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Dream counters, laughing when George groans and closes his eyes in embarrassment, looking as beautiful as ever.
“You’re so annoying,” George says, hopping off his chair to walk towards Dream and stand in between his spread legs, “I do, but, I also want, like, you.”
Dream feels his heart soar, probably hasn’t felt this happy since the last time George and he had stayed up all night, giggling and playing stupid video games. It’s made even better that George looks just as happy, eyes shining with an emotion Dream isn’t sure why he never noticed before, that makes him question why he always thought George was to unattainable, when George is looking at him as if the answer to their own little curated world of happiness lays between them.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” Dream replies softly, bringing a hand up to rest on George’s shoulder, gentle and caring, “For years, since I first saw you, since I first made you laugh so hard you hiccuped, since you first cried in my arms, or helped me with college, or just smiled at me for no damn reason.”
“You’re so fucking sappy,” George smiles waterly, reaching his own hand forward to rest on Dream’s sharp jawline, soft anf inviting, “I want you too, forever, not just now, I want you when we’re old and can barely turn on a computer, and I want you when you’re stressed and mad at everyone for no reason, when you let me put my little butterfly hairclips in your hair just so I smile, I just want you.”
Dream thinks later he’ll have a hard time denying the tears in his eyes, especially when he tilts his head to the side, leaning in slowly for a kiss. And it’s everything Dream had ever imagined and more, feels as if they were made for each other as Dream slowly runs his tongue along George’s bottom lip, feels as if he’s in heaven when George makes a tiny noise, gasping a little when Dream soothes a hand through his hair as he pulls away.
They’re grinning when they stop kissing, and Dream thinks they’d probably look stupid to anybody who walked in right now, smiling at each other as if they’ve just found their own soulmates.
Dream thinks he has found his soulmate.
“Finally,” Dream whispers, feels as if he needs to be quiet to keep the moment special, “I’ve been waiting forever to do that.”
“Me too,” George whispers back, still smiling, and Dream takes this as his opportunity to reach forward and press a chaste kiss to both apples of George’s cheeks, stomach filling with warmth when George lets out a joyful laugh, pressing his head into Dream’s neck.
“You’re so perfect,”
“You literally watched me do coke off a stranger last night,” George snorts, raising his head to press a kiss to Dream’s nose.
“And?” Dream laughs, pulling on George’s side so that he’s half in Dream’s lap, has never felt anything more right, “You looked perfect doing it.”
“You’re down so bad,” George giggles, tipping his head forward to ask for a kiss, and Dream is going to have a hard time ever saying no to that.
“Maybe,” Dream murmurs when they pull away again, toes tingling with happiness as George laughs, “I just like you, a lot, sue me.”
George softens a little, squirming less in Dream’s lap, “I like you a lot too, silly, especially when you’re kissing me even though I have yucky fuzzy mouth.”
If Dream were honest, he hadn’t even noticed, was far too caught up in kissing the boy he’s longed to kiss for years, far too busy focusing on the way George’s hands had wound around his shoulders, leaning into Dream.
He figures George already knows that.
“I have gum, if you want,” Dream laughs, reaching into the deep pockets of his basketball shorts to pull out an unopened pack of bubblemint gum, watching in wonder as George makes grabby hands at it.
“That ones my favourite,” George smiles, taking it out of Dream’s hand and popping one in his mouth, sweet flavours filling the air as he chews.
“I know,” Dream shrugs happily, sighing as he presses a kiss to George’s forehead, “Because you’re my favourite.”