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George is in a mood tonight.
Not that kind of mood, but he's genuinely just feeling a little bit cold. It's the middle of fall but the winter wind seems to be visiting early, blowing the curtains in George's apartment.
But he's not cold like that. The cold he's feeling right now isn't exactly the skin-biting, teeth-grinding one but it's more like the bed is too empty I am almost in my thirties why am I still alone type of cold. And that kind you can't really solve by closing the windows.
He's on his bed, a random episode of Lost in Space pulled up in his laptop, but he's not really paying that much attention to it because his eyes are on his phone, fingers flitting as it types in a reply to Dream.
Dream. Professor Dream.
Their first date (and the second one that happened the morning after, in fact) was two weeks ago but it still leaves a tiny flutter in George’s stomach every time he thinks about it. It’s semestral break and they haven’t seen each other since then, and admittedly, he misses him.
His stupid laugh and his stupid stuttering and his stupid declaration of his stupid graduate school feelings. Really, are they kids? It’s not supposed to be as romantic as George sees it, it really shouldn’t, but every time he remembers their kiss in the car, and the small one he’s left on the other’s lips when they were out in the street makes his heart take a giddy flip. He misses the warmth of the other’s hand on his waist, the soft caress of the other’s hand on his face, and maybe even the insistent tugging of the other’s fingers through his hair. It’s such a dizzying mix of push and pulls, and George loves every second of it. He misses it. Craves for it.
Which is exactly the reason why he should not be thinking about it at an hour past midnight on a Saturday night, when he feels a little too cold and the spaces between his fingers seem a little too empty.
His laptop screen flashes a tiny alert asking if he’s still watching, and he takes that as a sign to pause his conversation with Dream and close the tab, deciding that it’s enough Netflix for today. He wasn’t even paying attention anyway.
Shutting the device down, he folds the laptop and places it on his bedside table, before settling further into his bed. His phone lights up just as he’s found a new comfortable position.
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
That can work but I don’t think Einstein would appreciate you calling him GOAT
Flattering for us but he’d probably just think you’re calling him an animal
Maybe it’s the cold of the night paired up with the cold of his bed that’s making him ache in all the worst possible place, maybe it’s his sleep deprivation for having stayed up late the night before making him feel like he’s drunk-tipsy, or maybe he just really misses the stupid professor. Whatever the reason is, George hopes there is a sensible one for the text he sent next.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
i want kissies
The reply comes in not even a second later.
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
GEORGE?
I mean, huh?
George doesn’t hold back the snort that comes out roughly from his nose, his eyelids fluttering— he really should go to sleep because he’s really just so sleepy— as he types in his reply.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
i want a hand to hold
i want someone to pet my head
and maybe play with my hair too
Okay, right. George is in a mood. He’ll probably regret all of this in the morning, because he’s never really been the type to be vulnerable and desperate— he wants people, mainly Dream, to want him, and in order to make people want you, you need to show them that you don’t really want them at all, if that even makes sense. It probably doesn’t but George doesn’t really understand it right now. Not now that he’s feeling really, really cold. And really, really woozy.
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
Woah, slow down, princess
Are you okay?
Why the sudden turn?
Is Einstein lore not enough for you?
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
‘einstein lore’
ur such an idiot
idc einstein had like two lovers
he had hands to hold
someone probably played with his hair a lot
that’s kinda unfair
do i have to rediscover gravity so me too
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
Oh my god.
Are you drunk?
This is unlike you
Seven chats in a row, wow.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
do i stop
i just miss you i think
can i say that
idc
i wanna say it
i miss you dream
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
George, I do Not want to have a heart attack at 1:32 am on a Sunday.
You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?
You know how much you affect me and yet you still pull stuff like this.
Very unfair, Professor.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
so let’s pretend i have enough mental capacity to understand that
did you know an octopus has three hearts
dude imagine having plan B and plan C when you get rejected
must be nice
i only have one heart though
and guess who has it
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
What the fuck.
This is sending me very mixed signals, what the fuck.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
huh
what
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
You say ‘dude’ and then you’re implying you’re in love with me, Professor.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
oh am i
imply
implication means that there is cause and effect
i dont see one
ur supposed to be the mathematics professor here
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
I— What?
Seriously, George, are you okay?
While you’re being cute and all, I’m actually a bit worried.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
i am lonely
and very much alone
also i’m really sleepy
but i wanna talk to you still
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
Oh, so this is sleep-deprived you.
That’s really fucking cute.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
ur cute
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
Thanks.
Sleep, idiot.
I’ll still be here tomorrow.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
but i don’t have kissies yet
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
‘kissies’
What are you, 12?
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
you’re the one who said graduate school feelings, asshole
don’t try me
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
LOL
You’re really testing me, George.
Go to sleep.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
are you kicking me out
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
LOL yeah, I am ‘kicking you out’.
Go to sleep!
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
:(
no one loves me
i just feel lonely
why is the world like this
i am so sad
genuinely
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
Are you seriously lonely?
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
omg you’re so rude, professor
YES I AM HELLO
I WANT KISSES
WHY WONT YOU GIVE IT TO ME
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
George, I said don’t test me.
To— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
ur not the boss of me
also what does that even mean
do you hate me
And maybe, maybe , he’s past the point of screwing himself over, maybe it’s that stupid 2 am honesty urban legend something, that he lets one of his well-hidden fears bleed from him in the form of a text bubble, letters tumbling out and hitting send even before he has a chance to regret it.
am I unlovable?
George watches as the typing status appears and reappears a few times for a few minutes before it disappears completely. George swallows the bitter tang of venom at the back of his throat, swallowing it along with the huge lump covering his airways. Being left on seen shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. And it’s probably nothing, Dream probably fell asleep since it’s very late after all, but in George’s sleep-deprived state, it makes him close his messaging app and frustratedly click a random app to distract himself, suddenly feeling a little bit awake. He doesn’t want to go to sleep upset, because he really shouldn’t be, so he allows himself to let youtube videos lull him to a false sense of comfort for half an hour or so.
He’s exactly three seconds from falling asleep when there is the resolute sound of the doorbell echoing through his apartment. George’s heart jumps to the point where he startles in his bed— because who the hell rings the doorbell at past two in the morning. He grumbles, decidedly ignoring it because it’s probably just a college student piss-drunk ringing the wrong door or something, and if they realize it’s the wrong unit if George just ignores it. But his phone lights up from the bedside table and when he opens it to see what buzzed the device, he’s on his feet instantly.
From— Stupid Idiot (Professor Dream)
Open the door.
Bare feet pad across cold floorboards as hurrying limbs arrive quickly at the entrance of a home too quiet and too cold, confusion and shock seeping out from stuttered missteps. When George opens the door, Dream is standing there. Grinning, you know, like proving himself the idiot that he is who apparently drives across half the city at 2 am in the morning just to be at George’s doorstep. Because George was jokingly asking for a kiss.
“You did what ?” George asks with so much disbelief in his tone it almost pushed the sleep out.
“I drove here.” The idiot is still smiling.
“I— Why?” The furrow in his eyebrows digs so deep it might give him wrinkles, but he’s not really worried about that when Dream is literally in front of his doorsteps. They were just texting on the phone half an hour ago. They haven’t seen each other for weeks. George misses him. What the hell.
Before George can even voice the millions of questions flitting through his mind, the grin on Dream’s face is widening, and suddenly a warm, warm hand snakes around his waist, pulling him close, his body half in his doorstep, half in his apartment building’s hallway.
Their sudden proximity makes George’s heart pound against porcelain ribcages, and like none of it had ever embraced him in the first place, the suffocating cold is gone. Dream is looking at him with a soft look on his face, making the wild, wild butterflies to flutter in George’s stomach, like it did weeks ago during their date, like it did months ago during their first meeting, like it does now in his front door, and possibly in the easily imaginable future.
“Dream, what are you doing here?” he repeats, because the other is just smiling at him and a person can only handle so much butterflies.
Dream’s answer comes in the form of his free hand rising up, and then there is a hand on top of George’s head, just laying softly in his locks. Not a second later, fingers are burying further into his hair, combing through it from his forehead to the back of his head in soothing repetitive gestures.
Realization of what the other is doing dawns on George at the same time that his eyes widen, from the loudening stutter in his chest and the quiet gasp he lets out at the motion.
His eyes flutter close a few times, unsure which he can deal with better. If he closes his eyes, the warm and calming sensation that’s happening on his scalp will heighten, but if he opens them, George will see the gentle intensity on Dream’s eyes as his gaze stays locked with George’s.
“Dream,” George says, softly, plianty. A hand goes up to Dream's chest to put a little bit of distance between them, but Dream doesn’t budge. He just hums, confirming that he heard the elder.
“What are you doing here?” the brunet asks again, breathless. Seeing his reaction, Dream laughs quietly, before his hand stops combing George’s hair and moving to hold the elder softly by the jaw.
“For this,” he says, and a moment later there is a warm pair of lips on top of George’s, soft skin melting into chapped ones. Eyes fluttering completely closed, he sighs onto the other’s lips, accepting it, letting the other guide him as their mouths move against each other languidly.
George feels lightheaded.
Dream tastes like mint and strawberry chapstick. He tastes like compassion personified, late-night drives at 2 am just to get across the city for a silly request. He’s mere seconds of warm hands on waist dissipating the cold that had accumulated for hours, just because he can, without knowing he can. He is graduate school feelings and half-tones fulfilled, stardust skirting in a universe burning, and he feels warm, and he’s here in front of George, and he is of a prevailing feeling waiting to be named, patient and constant, as if the feeling is always going to stay.
They separate soon enough.
“That’s…” George starts. He doesn’t continue. He doesn’t know how. He just feels warm. Warmer, when Dream takes a hold of his hand.
“Hmm,” Dream hums, giving him a soft smile. “There. I did all of them.”
“Huh?” George asks, confused, still feeling a bit dazed.
“I kissed you. Held your hand. Pet your head. Played with your hair.” Dream grins, and then he adds, “Not necessarily in that order, but yeah.”
George just stares at him with wide eyes and a blush too high to get unnoticed. Dream lays a soft kiss on his forehead upon seeing it, before whispering, “Now, will you go to sleep?”
He was going to sleep. Was three seconds away from it, even, before his doorbell rang. But Dream doesn’t have to know that.
So instead, he nods. “Yeah, okay.”
“Alright,” the other says and, like it pains him too, removes his hand from around George. “I’ll get going now.”
“I—” George starts, shifting from foot to foot as he flicks his eyes from Dream to the long empty hallway, before hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Do you wanna come in?” And stay.
Dream shakes his head. The cold that suddenly resided in the pit of his stomach is gone as soon as it appeared when Dream holds his hands again, thumb rubbing small circles at the jut of George’s knuckles. “Maybe another time.”
And really, George could kiss Dream again and again for that. Another time. George knows then that Dream is taking it slow, wants to take it slow, and there is respect, and there is compassion, and Dream is honestly just too good to be true. So George squeezes their hands together, before taking a small step back as a push for farewell.
“Okay, Dream,” he smiles, tilting his head to the side, “See you when Fall semester starts?”
Nodding, Dream finally lets go of his hands before giving him a teasing raise of an eyebrow, “Of course, George. Unless you get clingy again tomorrow and we don’t have to wait for another week or two.”
George laughs a little too loud, hand instantly coming up to his cheek out of habit. “Oh shut up, Professor. Just go,” he gestures a shooing motion to which the younger complies. “Text me when you get home.”
Dream gives him a final salute before walking down the hallway. When George goes back inside and into bed, it still feels cold but the warmth lingering on his lips and waist and hands and head stay even when he wakes up in the morning proper.