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Not long after sunset, George wakes up with an ache in his shoulders and his neck bent at an incredibly awkward angle, and realises he’s managed to fall asleep on the couch again.
More than a little disoriented, he fishes through the blankets he’s certain he didn’t drape across himself until he finds his phone, blinking rapidly when he reads the time and wonders how he’s possibly been asleep for almost three hours. Gathering his bearings, the first thing he truly notices is the silence—these days, any silence longer than momentary in this house feels remarkable.
Gone are the days of worrying that maybe their house is just a little too big for only the two of them, wondering if they’ll ever get used to the eerie silence whenever one is awake without the other. All the gaps of silence are filled, with laughter and screams and sobs and a constant hum of activity, of fear and stress and love, above everything else, so much love that sometimes George needs to step outside and clear his head just to stop himself from suffocating under the weight of it.
Having a baby does that, George learned quickly. He knew things would change—obviously, he knew from endless conversations with his mom that he should look forward to lots of change—but he thinks there’s so much about parenthood that he never could’ve anticipated. He’s been a father for all of six days, and already finds he doesn’t always recognize himself when he has the time to look in a mirror.
He likes it, though—in spite of the constant exhaustion and the single grey hair Dream found near his left ear a day ago and all the new creases to his forehead—George likes the way parenthood is reshaping him.
Suspicious of the quiet, George manages to pull himself to his feet to go search for answers.
Something else that’s changed is that now, when the house is quiet, there’s an unspoken challenge not to disturb it. George’s footsteps have lightened, he’s learned how to move through the halls in complete silence and to close doors without a sound—something he never concerned himself with before. If anything, George thinks he used to be a bit loud on purpose, keeping his footsteps heavy like he needed to announce his presence in every room wordlessly as a declaration that he was here, that he was home, impossibly.
Instead, when George finds Dream standing over their daughter’s cradle putting her to bed, he’s so quiet entering their bedroom that even Dream doesn’t notice him slipping the door open and leaning against the doorframe. Parenthood has enhanced all their senses, George thinks, so it’s truly remarkable that he’s even capable of sneaking up on Dream now that they’ve both developed supersonic hearing.
“Hey,” George whispers, and even when Dream jumps slightly he’s careful to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, to not make any drastic movements when their daughter is so close to falling asleep.
“Oh, you’re up,” Dream whispers back, hesitant, his eyes sunken with exhaustion and his voice a little hoarse, and he’s still the happiest version of himself George has ever known. “Sorry for leaving you on the couch, Daisy looked like she was about to fall asleep so I thought I’d be quick and then I could come back downstairs and wake you so we could go to bed but she wouldn’t stay asleep and then I guess I just lost time and—”
“It’s okay,” George interrupts, a fond smile on his lips. “Stop apologising for being a good dad while all I did was sleep, idiot.”
Dream scoffs, though the concern furrowing his eyebrows and creasing his forehead doesn’t entirely fade.
“Stop that, seriously,” George tries again, feeling like he can see exactly what Dream is thinking. “Stop thinking about what you ‘should’ve’ done differently.”
“You’re right,” Dream sighs, and even though he still seems tense like he’s holding onto needless guilt despite George’s best efforts, there’s a fondness in his eyes that George always fails not to be mesmerised by, that gives away how happy he truly is, in spite of all the fleeting paranoia and concern.
He was born for this, George thinks for probably the thousandth time, watching the way Dream’s eyes keep darting between George and their daughter, like he wants to focus on one thing but he’s torn between both, that he wants to keep the two people he loves most in his line of sight at all times.
Without thinking, without responding, George crosses the room and wraps his arms around Dream’s waist, burying his face in his neck and laughing airily when he lets out a surprised huff before melting around him and holding him close.
Dream laughs—softly, because everything about him is softer now. “What’s this for?”
“Not sure.” George muffles his own laughter against the warm material of Dream’s sweater. “I just love you.”
“George,” Dream whines quietly, and then, “baby.” He pulls back enough to see eye to eye, lips still parted like he had more to say but he’s lost his train of thought.
“You’re just—you’re really good at this,” George shrugs, leaning onto his tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of Dream’s mouth. “All of this. You need sleep, though.” He runs the pads of his fingers gently along the puffy bags beneath Dream’s eyes, grinning when he shivers at the touch and feels the way Dream’s arm around his waist tightens just slightly, like he can’t help it.
“Come with me,” Dream insists, as if George needs to be convinced, and George rolls his eyes fondly before turning to detangle himself from Dream’s grip.
“Let me say goodnight first,” George narrows his eyes at their sleeping baby, and Dream immediately shifts from pouty to apologetic. “Don’t you dare say sorry again,” George warns teasingly, squeezing Dream’s hand before letting go and shoo-ing him toward their bed. “You go lay down, I’ll join you in a second.”
Sometimes, George can’t bear to look at Dream for too long because he has so much love caught in his throat that it hurts. When he looks at Daisy, even though her genetics are entirely unique, he’s able to see so much of Dream in her already—laughter that effortlessly fills an entire room, eyes that light up impossibly bright with wonder and fascination—that the same ache settles within him every single time, a love so all-encompassing that it never fails to be staggering.
She’s asleep, miraculously, when George leans over the edge of her cradle and practically holds his breath so as not to take any chances of waking her. She’s an incredibly light sleeper, it’s a true testament to Dream’s patience that he managed to lull her to sleep in her cradle instead of simply accepting that she won’t settle outside of his arms, something George is incredibly guilty of giving in to.
George knows he can’t touch, she’s sleeping so soundly that he knows if she woke now it would take hours for her to return to a state this peaceful, so unlike the restless sleep they’ve all become accustomed to.
“Goodnight,” he breathes so softly that it isn’t even a whisper, “I’m sure you’ll wake me when you need me. It’s definitely my shift. Don’t tell your dad, but I think he’s definitely been working some unpaid overtime. Go easy on him next time it’s his turn, okay?”
Dream always laughs when George talks to Daisy in full sentences as if she can comprehend, but he’s convinced she gets the gist. He thinks George is going to intimidate her, that she’ll probably hold off on saying her first word until she’s ready to say several, as if she’s going to suddenly wake up one day and respond to George with her own entire sentences just to match his energy.
George thinks he’s ridiculous. He keeps doing it anyway because he never gets tired of the way Dream rolls his eyes in feigned exasperation and presses his lips together in resigned laughter.
He’s learning a lot about himself, in the entire six days he’s been a father, and one thing he’s become absolutely certain of is that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make Dream smile.
Sure enough, when he tears his eyes away from his daughter and turns to join Dream in bed, he finds that—predictably—he’s grinning like an idiot.
“Hey.” George scoffs under his breath as he stretches out his shoulders before crawling beneath the covers and settling down at Dream’s side. “Stop eavesdropping, that was a private conversation.”
“Oh, my bad,” Dream puts on his most blatantly exaggerated tone of voice and shakes his head, even as he wraps an arm around George’s shoulders and pulls him into his chest, his other hand threading into George’s hair and scratching gently at his scalp.
George’s heart feels heavy in his chest, so overwhelmed by how much he loves that he feels a little breathless. He worries whenever he can’t see Daisy’s cradle at least distantly, wanting it to be right in his line of sight when he wakes up, so he shifts onto his other side, moving Dream as little as possible. Like he’s reading his mind, Dream pauses in his ministrations, prompting George to shift again so he can meet his gaze. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Just—” George interrupts himself to kiss the concerned frown off of Dream’s lips, humming reassuringly against his mouth when he can feel Dream smile and the tension in his chest seems to dissipate. “Just about you. And Daisy. And everything.”
“Everything is a lot to be thinking about when you should be sleeping,” Dream chastises with nothing but warmth dripping from his words.
“You’re the one who needs to be sleeping,” George complains. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy thinking about me then I wouldn’t be thinking so much about you.”
“George, are you calling me your everything?” Dream retorts semi-nonsensically, and George tries to groan but knows he’s deeply unconvincing when Dream kisses his cheek and resumes playing with his hair.
“I’m asleep,” he mumbles instead, settling back against Dream’s chest, comforted unconsciously by the way he can feel the rise and fall of his silent laughter. “You’re so stupid.”
“I love you,” Dream whispers, kissing the top of George’s head. “If you don’t wake up when Daisy cries I’m going to let you sleep whether you like it or not.”
“I hate you so much.” George sighs, cursing the fact that he’s such a heavy sleeper and Dream, for loving him so much that he seems determined to refuse him a chance to return the favour.
He makes a mental note to buy Dream earplugs, and falls asleep only after he’s able to feel Dream’s breathing even out first.