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The midnight moon shone brightly upon the ground; the cool night air caressing skin with a gentle breeze. Knuckles were dug into the dirt, granules catching themselves under nails without much thought. Faint classical music droned in the backdrop, the dark sound of piano and viola being the perfect ambience.
George’s eyes fell upon the man next to him, Dream, splayed out on the sea-green grass. He reached out, unsure if Dream was just an apparition or if he was truly, breathtakingly real.
He cupped Dream’s jaw in his palm. The sigh that Dream let out was akin to angels singing, encompassing George until he felt no worry. His fingers trailed down Dream’s neck, coming to rest on his collarbone.
“So, why did you bring me out here?” George whispered, not being able to bring his voice any higher.
Dream matched his tone, albeit with a tinge of comfortable lethargy. “Coming here clears my mind. It feels like a pocket of clarity, and I wanted to share it with you. I feel like myself when I am here, and I feel like myself when I am with you.” He rolled onto his side, facing George, and placed a hand against his chest. They found themselves unable to keep their hands off each other since George’s plane had landed. “You know, I love how you look... wearing this.”
George glanced down and placed his own (smaller) hand atop Dream’s. Covering his torso was one of Dream’s hoodies, large and comfortable. He was practically swimming in it, and he was lying if he said he didn’t love how he felt in it.
In Dream’s clothing.
It was simple and black, but George had plans to embroider his initials into the cuff like a lovesick girlfriend. “Thank you, Dream,” George hummed sheepishly, turning his face away to hide the fact that he was blushing.
“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Dream continued. “I’m the luckiest man on earth.”
With a scoff, George brought his sweater-covered hands to his face and closed his eyes. It smelled exactly like Dream; teakwood and warm mint wafting to his nose. He would rather have his nose nestled in Dream’s neck, but the sweater was an acceptable alternative. There was a masked tinge of floral scent, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the field or himself.
He interlaced his fingers with Dream’s and lifted them to his mouth. He placed small kisses on each knuckle, holding eye contact with those captivating green eyes. “I didn’t expect that this would be how my first night in Florida would be.”
“We talked about it for ages, darling. What makes you think I would go back on my promises?”
“No, nothing at all. I simply underestimated how... magical it would feel,” George paused to bring a hand to Dream’s jaw. His soul felt entangled with Dream’s, soft nausea twisting his gut. He considered his next words carefully, before realizing he could trust Dream with anything. They could never hold any judgement towards each other for as long as they lived.
“My heart is beating out of my chest, but I want to kiss you to an unbelievable extent.”
Dream laced his hands in brunet hair with a lazy grin. “You seem shy. George, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that.” Dream leaned forward, and George enthusiastically met him in the middle.
Their lips slotted together smoothly, both of them sighing in contentment. Dream tugged on George’s brown locks lightly, making George gasp with an open-mouthed smile. But then Dream pulled away with a final peck.
George chased his lips before quickly tucking his head away in embarrassment. “You always do that,” George murmured against Dream’s tender skin.
“You’ve been kissing me for less than 24 hours,” Dream chuckled. “I just want to let the night last,” Dream responded with a squeeze to George’s bicep. “Kissing you is amazing but it makes time disappear like that,” he said with a snap of his fingers. George rolled onto his back, letting a dumb grin plaster itself on his face.
“You’re ridiculous.” He looked up at the stars, unable to make out any constellations but falling in love with them nonetheless. “I feel high,” he giggled, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Do you know any constellations?”
Dream hummed in thought, rolling onto his back as well. “Not really. Sapnap knows them better than I do, and he tried to show me some a couple months ago. Of course, there’s the big dipper,” he pointed at some spot in the sky, with George moving to press himself against Dream’s side to see better. He moved his hand ever so slightly. “The little dipper, and I think that might be Orion… but I can’t really tell.”
George slid his hand up Dream’s arm and pulled it into his chest. “I think it’s important for you to know that I am completely lost.” Dream looked down at him, a dopey smile reserved just for George.
His eyes had tears in them, but it wasn’t sad. “I think this is the happiest I’ve felt in a very long time. You are unreal George. I feel like you were made for me, out of stardust and plaster.”
George’s cheeks were warm, blossoming in wine-stained patches across skin. Dream’s freckled complexion matched his own. “You know I feel the same, Dream. The one thing I ever wanted was to find someone who loved me unconditionally.”
“George, I will never let you forget how much I care about you.”
“I know you won’t.” George reached above their heads and plucked a small yellow flower from the ground (likely a buttercup, it was hard to tell in the dark), turning it over in his hand before tucking it behind Dream’s ear. Dream’s touch grazed the flower with the utmost care, and he smiled with the brightness of the sun.
George chased that light smile, he would do anything to see it whenever possible. He pressed his lips against Dream’s warm, freckled cheek. He continued to decorate Dream’s hair, the tiny blossoms adorning him like a Roman headdress.
“You’re beautiful,” George exhaled, and was met with those watery, malachite eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Dream’s soft lips curled into a smile.
A small hum escaped Dream. “Despite being in the company of the sky, I can’t see anything more stunning than you.” Dream caressed George’s arm carefully, tracing the starry night into his skin. “I’m not surprised though.”
George laid down with a doubting smile, tucking his head into Dream’s chest. He closed his eyes to the sound of Dream’s heartbeat and let their breathing flawlessly sync. “I think I love you,” George whispered, as delicate as the purple wildflowers that they shared the field with.
His hair was swept back with a careful hand, and Dream placed his lips on George’s forehead. Dream hummed, the sound reverberating through his skull and down his spine. “I love you too.”
Dream’s confession wasn’t much of a secret, but the honey-sweet words dripped into George’s soul and warmed him from the inside out. “I sometimes feel like you shouldn’t.” George flattened a hand on Dream’s waist.
A shift, and then they were eye-to-eye again. “What makes you think that, angel?”
Dream was intense in a soft way. His eyes gently bore into George, making him believe—just for a second—that the eyes were the window to the soul.
And Dream was politely knocking at the door.
“You’re golden silk, slipping through my fingers. I’m just a man who doesn’t know how to handle fine tapestry.” George worried his lip; he was somewhat over-the-top with his terminology, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t being genuine. “I hold you, and never in a million years could I understand how I have you in my grasp. You belong in the stars, my sun; I am Icarus testing my luck.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, George,” Dream laughed. There it was, the most captivating noise in the universe. It echoed through the dark night, dancing into the sky. “You are my moon, my love, my balance, my life partner. What would I do without you by my side?”
Their back-and-forth was poetically cheesy, countless layers of teasing voices covering true insecurities and absolute devotion.
Dream and George were the sun and moon; opposite beings merging together. Having one without the other would tear the universe apart, left to rot in imbalance.
George slotted a leg between Dream’s own in the most innocent way, pulling their bodies closer. Their fingers entwined wordlessly; the communication they had near telepathy. “We should be getting back,” George whispered. He didn’t want to, all he wanted was to stay there, exist with Dream in the beautiful field.
With a kind hand, Dream tucked George’s growing hair behind his ear. He knew George’s statement was rhetorical. “The music is nice, isn’t it?” Dream made the playlist himself and was very proud of it. George almost cried when he was told that Dream curated it months in advance for this very night.
“It’s perfect, Dream.” George could feel Dream’s small, warm exhales against his cheek, yet another reminder that they were both real.
Sometimes, George thinks about something he was told in elementary: nothing is ever truly touching.
When he ran his fingers down the edges of intricate volumes and received a papercut for his care, he knew it was all atoms and energy. Electrons rejecting each other, breaking through his flesh effectively.
When his mother gave him a beautiful, handcrafted knit sweater for Christmas, he wondered how it could feel so soft when there was a permanent barrier between him and the fibres. It bothered him, but upon bringing it to his family he was told he was overthinking it.
Things touch, you feel them so you know it to be true.
George thought their idea was asinine, the beauty of the universe is traced back to intricacy with a fountain pen.
But as he laid in the field, the gentle grass tickling his cheek and the love of his life pressed against his body, he realized simplicity could be beautiful too.
He felt Dream against him, and for the first time, he believed that he had something tangible. He had it in his grasp, the discovery to ruin all science and logic. He had Dream, and they were closer than any rationale allowed.
“What are you thinking about?” Dream asked quietly. Fingers ran down George’s slightly stubbled cheek, the result of Dream mentioning he thought it looked nice on him.
George took a second to exist with Dream again, feeling life bloom under his grasp. The small shift of muscle, electrons slotting together and melding the pair into one. “You, in my arms.”
That earned George a small chuckle. “Here, stand with me,” Dream said, his words like song. So George complied; he would follow Dream’s words to the end of the earth.
The two boys stood together, stumbling and tipsy in each other’s love. A glance into the other’s eyes, they both understood. Their hands clasped together, arms wrapped around waist and neck, a breath, and they danced.
Dream led, he was a natural-born leader of course. George was a devoted follower, but not one without his own volition. He was never forced: he let Dream spin him around, pull George into his chest, place his hands down his body and make him yearn for Dream, and Dream only. It made him feel safe, Dream allowed him to seek his own security.
George paid his dues to Dream through delicate means, soft kisses and teeth dragging up Dream’s jaw, serene caresses over his waist, gentle tugs of the hair.
George wrote poetry on Dream’s skin, all the while Dream was creating art with their movements.
The grass whirled around at their feet, dancing along with them. The small flowers in Dream’s hair flew away in the wind, swirling around the pair and returning to the earth. Their movements became messier, dizzying spins and desperate grasps interfering with their rhythm. Despite the disarray, their dance was perfectly in sync. They predicted the other’s movements, always twelve steps ahead of themselves.
Dream brought his arm above his head, and George spun, staring up at the sky and letting the stars melt into streaks of light above. He tumbled into Dream, and they fell over in a heap of giggles and adoration.
George clasped his hands around Dream’s neck and leaned into him, placing himself atop his lap. Dream’s own calculated hands held George’s hips securely in place.
Can I kiss you again?
You don’t need to ask, my dear.