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Dream’s family has never been the touchy feely kind. They don’t exchange “I love yous” before saying goodbye, and don’t hug or kiss or do any of that kind of thing. They’d always been a bit distant with each other, never going out much or doing ‘family bonding’ or whatever other people call it. Dream’s never had any real real-life friends, either. Not like George or Sapnap or Bad.
And now, Dream lives alone in an empty apartment with nobody but Patches for company.
And it’s fine. Really, it’s fine. Dream’s used to it. To the silence when he gets home, to the heavy cold he feels wandering his empty apartment before he logs on and hears his friends’ voices echo from the speakers. It’s uncomfortable, but he’s used to it.
So he buries himself in editing and videos and his friends and Minecraft until he can convince himself that he’s imagining the way his bones hurt from the void in his skin, the way he lays blankly in his bed at night and runs his hand up and down his arm, barely conscious of his own actions.
He buries himself until he forgets the way it feels to touch and be touched gently, until he forgets the ache and the cold that the Florida heat can’t reach.
The first thing George does when he sees Dream walking towards the Pizza Hut is hug him. He runs right up to Dream, beaming like a maniac, and practically tackles him, his arms wrapping around Dream’s body and head tucking perfectly in the hollow of Dream’s throat.
Dream stills.
In that moment, the only thing Dream can register is George’s smaller body pressed against his own, the pressure of his arms around his torso, the weight and warmth and reality of his presence. Dream’s arms come up and pull George closer instinctually, and the world shrinks until it’s just Dream and George, hugging each other for the first time in their lives.
It takes Dream barely a thought to decide that this made it all worth it. From the plane to the 14 day quarantine to the jet lag, all of it was nothing compared to the feeling of George against him. Real, in the flesh, George.
It’s wonderful.
Dream feels safe and warm and he can’t imagine how he went without this for so long. He could stay here forever. The world could end and Dream wouldn’t even notice.
And then Wilbur laughs and the moment shatters like glass. George lets go (to Dream’s disappointment) and looks Dream up and down, and the first thing he says to Dream face-to-face is “I knew you were tall, but this is just unfair!”
And as Dream laughs with them, giddy and lightheaded in a way he can’t explain, the feeling of George’s arms around him lingers, branded into his skin.
Later that day, Dream is sitting between George and Wilbur, looking out across the Brighton beach and watching the sunset. It’s gorgeous - oranges and purples and golden yellows mixing with deep indigo, setting the clouds and sea aflame with light.
“It’s been a good day,” Wilbur remarks, glancing warmly at the other two.
Dream smiles back. “It has, hasn’t it?” To his relief, both Wilbur and George are easy to get along with, the conversation flowing as easily as it had through Discord and TeamSpeak. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, but he’d thought that being in person would change things, or that Wilbur and George would dislike each other. He’s glad to find out that he was wrong on both counts.
George stretches and yawns, and Dream twitches a little bit when his traitorous brain remarks, adorable.
“Well, I’m exhausted,” George says, looking back at the two of them. “Dream, do you have a place to stay for tonight?”
“Uhh…yes?” Oh no.
George frowns slightly. “Yes?”
Dream pulls out his phone and flicks through it, looking for a booking ticket that he knows isn’t there.
“I think I forgot to book a hotel room.” It’s stupid, he knows, but he’d been so busy worrying about the logistics of travel that it’d slipped his mind. It’s not a big deal, though - it’s not like there’s a shortage of empty rooms at the moment. He could just book one right now, and he’s halfway through pulling up listings when George says “It’s fine. You can just stay at my place.”
Dream’s head whips around so fast his spine twinges in protest. “What?”
George’s brain abruptly catches up with what he just said, and he ducks his head and looks away, blushing. “I - I mean, only if you want to, I - “
Dream softens and he feels a smile tug at his cheeks as he watches the way George’s emotions flicker across his face. It’s familiar and new at the same time - the way he turns his face away shyly, the stammering and the weight of his voice thrumming in the air. But now, there’s no pixelated video, no lag or stuttering sound from communicating with someone an ocean away.
It’s nice.
“I’d love to.”
A few hours later, Dream and George are sitting next to each other on the couch in the darkened living room, watching some B-rated movie. It’s exactly the same as the discord watch parties they hold together, with one difference.
George abruptly leans against Dream’s side, shifting so that he’s clinging onto Dream’s arm as he watches.
George is here, in person, with Dream. And that makes all the difference in the world.
On the couch, Dream goes still again. His mind goes into overdrive, trying to memorize every second as they tick on - the warmth and weight of George against his side, his hands slightly pressing against Dream’s forearm, the sensation of his shoulder shaking when he chuckles at something in the movie.
Personally, Dream lost track of the plot the moment George leaned against him.
Dream has no idea how long they stay like this, pressed against each other on the couch. At some point, his eyes close and he lets his head fall on top of George’s, both because Dream really is exhausted and because he’s still trying to memorize the feeling of...this. Everything. George’s body radiates warmth, and Dream soaks up as much as he can like a sponge, hungry and desperate for every scrap of affection he can get.
He could stay forever in this moment.
He wants to stay forever in this moment.
Unfortunately for Dream, time marches on, and eventually the movie ends. George presumably stands up, and Dream has to physically stop himself from making a soft whine from the loss of contact. He’s not entirely sure he’s successful.
He hears George huff as Dream’s eyes flutter open. His whole body is still sleepy and soft from George’s warmth, like the sun was trapped in his bones, warming his whole body from the inside out. Honestly, Dream would like to sleep right here on the couch right now, please and thank you.
George snorts. “You’ll get a crick in your neck sleeping there.”
Oh. He’d said that last part out loud, hadn’t he.
Dream blinks at George, standing over him with his hands on his hips like he’s about to burst into a lecture.
George squints at him. “Move.”
Dream shifts so that he’s laying down properly on the couch and lets his eyes close.
“That’s not what I meant, Dream. Go sleep in the guest bedroom, for f-muffin’s sake.”
Dream cracks one eye open lazily and hums, “Muffin? Really, George?”
George makes a jumbled mess of flustered sounds before settling on determinedly glaring at a wall, blushing slightly.
“Well, really, come on, you shouldn’t sleep there,” he continues, still trying to convince Dream.
Dream melts further into the couch. It’s still warm from George’s lingering body heat, and mixed with exhaustion only makes Dream’s limbs feel like ice cream melting in the sun. “I’m going to.”
George sighs, and Dream knows he’s won.
“Goodnight”, George says.
As Dream closes his eyes, he hears the creaking of the floorboards as George walks away to his own bedroom, and for a moment feels a sharp stab of disappointment. He’d foolishly hoped for a moment that…. Well.
No point now.
Over the next few days, George continues his pattern of random touches and small displays of affection. He’s not as open about it when they’re filming the vlog, but when they’re just wandering around and exploring the city a few days into Dream's visit, he’s always close by. He’ll grab Dream’s shoulder or arm when he wants to get his attention, or push his shoulder into Dream’s, or brush the back of his hand against Dream’s own, or grab Dream’s hand and drag him someplace. He doesn’t even seem aware of these little actions, just doing them instinctively.
Dream, unfortunately, is not so lucky. Every touch sets his starved nerves aflame, screaming desperately for more. It seemed like that first hug at the Pizza Hut and the movie afterwards had broken the dam, and now Dream is struggling to hold back a tidal wave of want.
It hurts. It’s a familiar hurt, but it still hurts. It takes all of his will just to keep it down as they walk together, to fight back the wish to just grab George’s smaller frame and hold him tight until Dream stops feeling so cold .
But he can’t. Dream doesn't remember how to touch gently, and he’s almost certain he’d make a mistake if he tried. He can already imagine George’s reaction - he would probably freak out and then refuse to touch him ever again. Dream could never - would never - hurt George intentionally.
So he keeps his hands to himself. All he can hope for now is that this thing will subside once he flies back to Florida.
And if the prospect of returning back to that cold, lonely apartment makes something in his chest twist painfully, he ignores it.
He’s back at home in Florida now, and he’s cold. He’s so, so cold and his apartment is so empty and the hallways are silent and too wide and he’s tired of it all. It’s Florida in summer and it’s 85 degrees in his house. He shouldn’t feel this cold.
And yet the cold remains, stubbornly wrapping around his ribs and chest and pressing down until he thinks he can hear his bones creaking, sharp-edged frost filling up the voids where George’s warmth had filled. As the days pass alone in the small apartment, the frost seems to grow, cutting into his heart with quick, precise, and painful strokes.
Dream doesn’t get it. It should be fine. It’s fine, because he has Patches and his friends’ voices through the speakers and Minecraft and it should be enough. It was enough before, so why wasn’t it now?
(Dream knows. He’s not stupid, after all. He knows it’s because now the memory of George’s warmth lingers at the corners of his mind, reminding him incessantly of what he’s missing.)
But it’s easier to shove it down, easier to ignore the sharp edges of the frost creeping through his bones, easier to pretend that everything is okay with the practiced ease of years spent forcing himself to forget.
He almost succeeds, too.
Almost is such a cruel word.
It’s early fall, and Dream is standing outside the arrival gates to the Orlando International Airport, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. His chest hurts. George should be coming out any minute now, and he knows that George's seen his face already but still, what if he decides to leave, what if he hates Florida, what if-
Sapnap elbows him sharply, and Dream stumbles a bit to the left, blinking owlishly. Oh yeah. There's that, too.
Sapnap'd moved in with him into his new house about a year ago, stumbling and slightly awkward and warm in a way that Dream couldn't explain. It wasn't quite enough, of course (no one could measure up to George) but his presence eased the burning void enough that Dream could sleep without cuddling Patches tight enough to choke at night.
"Dude, I can hear you overthinking from here. Stop it." Sapnap's sharp voice breaks Dream's reminiscences, pulling him back to the crowded airport terminal.
Dream hesitates. "I guess, but what if -"
"We've been talking about this for over a year, you idiot. You literally went to Britain with him. Do you really think that he's gonna decide that almost nine years of friendship and one year of planning and he's just gonna go 'oh no, I've finally gotten to live with my best friends, time to leave?'" On the last sentence, Sapnap's face screws up into a mockery of George's posh British accent. It's a testament to how close they are that it sounds nearly exactly like George, dropped r's and all.
Dream chuckles despite himself. "No…"
"Exactly! So stop worrying so hard. I swear, these manhunts are giving you anxiety."
Dream can hear Sapnap continuing his argument, trying to comfort Dream in his own awkward but overenthusiastic way, but Dream catches sight of a familiar blue jacket out of the corner of his eye and the world falls away.
George steps out of the arrival gates, armed with a backpack and a rolling suitcase. His smooth walk stutters the moment he steps into the light, shading his eyes with his free hand and squinting into the crowd. His hair is a bird's nest at best, there are visible bags under his eyes, his puffy blue jacket is slightly wrinkled and deflated - overall, George to anyone else would look like an exhausted traveller fresh off a several hour flight with a crying baby or three on board.
But to Dream, he looks beautiful.
Dream breaks into a sprint across the airport lobby, dodging pedestrians and luggage as fast as he can. He can see the instant George sees him - shock, surprise, and then pure joy fly across his face as Dream barrels into George, nearly sending the smaller man flying if Dream hadn't slowed down at the last moment.
Dream lifts George bodily up into the autumn sunlight, and he can hear George's laughing and Sapnap's approaching curses, but all of it falls away when he feels George's arms curl around him in return, feel his breath huffing as he laughs next to Dream's ear, feel the sheer warmth that George radiates into the world now being absorbed into Dream's very bones.
The void melts into nothing. Because finally, George is here , with Dream, in Florida. And Dream is hugging him, and those long days with nothing but Patches and silent, yawning rooms and the ever-burning frost in his veins are melting in the face of sunlight and George's arms around him. Nothing could stand against the weight of George's body pressed against Dream's, against that musical laughter and the way George's smiling face glows in the golden light.
Nothing.
Because finally, finally - George is with Dream.
And that's all Dream could ever need.