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When Dream gets home from Los Angeles, the house is silent.
His flight home had been a red eye, one he’d booked last minute when he’d talked to George for what felt like the first time in days and his voice had cracked around telling Dream about how Patches had been sleeping on the bed in Dream’s office, how he had been sleeping in Dream’s bed alone with the excuse that his pillow cases were in the dryer.
Underneath it all, Dream could hear the I miss you . Could tell in the way that George refused to FaceTime him that the distance was getting to him, and he was hiding from Dream in the way he only could with an entire country separating them.
He only had two days left in LA, but suddenly none of his obligations seemed all that important. Instead, he’d let George fall asleep on call with him, and frantically sent texts to every one he was scheduled to meet with to see if he could reschedule for a different time or shift it to something virtual.
He knew he was pissing at least one person off, but he couldn’t bother to care. Not when George missed him, and was upset enough about it to break over the phone. The moment he’d heard the longing in his voice, a longing he hadn’t heard for months , the impulse to go home immediately had taken over his brain and wouldn’t leave.
And it had led him here: standing in the doorway of their bedroom in the early morning light, gazing at the shape of George underneath the blankets through the dim light of only the partially risen sun peeking in from behind the blinds.
At the faint sound of the bedroom door opening, Patches’ head lifts from where she’s lying at the foot of the bed. When she spots him, she immediately jumps to the floor and is at his feet. Patches rubs herself against his ankles as he gazes down at her, purring and letting out soft meows up at him in excitement. He’s helpless but to lean down to pick her up, cradling her to his chest and murmuring hi baby into the soft fur of her head as she nuzzles into the front of his shirt.
He feels a warmth flood his chest, even as she digs her claws into his arm to demand that she be put down. It hadn’t hit him how much he, too, had missed this–not until he had two of his favorite things right at his fingertips again.
When he sets Patches back on the floor, he toes off his shoes as silently as possible. Then, he pads across the hardwood silently to the final destination of his hours-long journey home– George .
As he sinks into his side of the bed hesitantly, George shifts slightly in his sleep. When Dream gazes down at him, his eyes are still firmly shut, though he’s murmuring unintelligibly in his sleep. Dream hates the way he can tell the bags under his eyes are darker since they had separated in LA.
Their goodbye had been entirely too emotional for knowing they would only be separated for a week–Dream had hated the way he could feel wetness in his own eyes as he had clutched George tightly to his chest, pressing a hard kiss to the side of his head as he murmured I love you, I’ll miss you, I’ll see you at home . George had sighed heavily in his arms, and Dream had tried his hardest to ignore the way he could feel him slightly trembling as he held onto Dream just as tight. When they’d finally parted, George had squeezed his hand before pressing a chaste kiss to Dream’s mouth, leaving him standing in the doorway of their AirBNB as he got inside his Uber to the airport.
Dream hates, too, how well he knows George–knows that he only sleeps restlessly and talks when he isn’t sleeping well, and knows that it’s because he doesn’t do well sleeping without Dream.
From across an ocean on a late night phone call, he’d once deliriously admitted to Dream that falling asleep to Dream’s voice helps him sleep better. It’s how their sleep calls had become a ritual instead of a special occasion, and how George had wound up in his bed on his very first night in Florida, even long before they had put words to exactly what they were in person.
The only times they hadn’t shared a bed since meeting were in the few days they had spent separated. When either of them would travel alone with Sapnap, or when George visited the Bahamas. Regardless, though, their sleep schedules had remained synced.
Dream thinks what had been hardest about this trip, what caused George to break even just the tiniest bit, was how out of sync they’d been. Even when George was in LA with him, it felt like they had barely seen each other. Dream would get home late from the studio, and it felt like his days were jam-packed with meetings and other official stuff that he couldn’t drag George along to. The only time they saw each other was in their bed at night, when George would stay up late waiting for Dream to get back so they could order late-night take out and giggle as they ate it together in bed with Dream’s laptop balanced precariously between them and tried not to drop food on the white sheets of a bed that wasn’t theirs.
It had only been made worse when George had left. They’d both been busy on opposite coasts of the country, out of sync in a way that hadn’t been familiar since last summer when George had traveled in an attempt to distract himself from the visa wait.
Dream doesn’t know the last time he slept for an entire night. Instead, he found himself completely out of it from the way their texts to each other would have hours between responses. It was a new kind of personal hell, one that he didn’t realize was affecting him much until he was finally home , looking at George sleeping in their shared bed.
When he lifts the blankets to sink down under them, not wanting to wake George up from what he knows is a precarious sleep, he feels an arm blindly reaching out and smacking into his side.
When he looks down, George is blinking sleepily up at him, eyes barely open as he pulls the comforter over the bottom of his face.
“Dr’m?” His voice is deep, scratchy from its overnight disuse. Immediately, Dream reaches out to soothe him.
“Hey,” Dream mutters, reaching a hand out to gently cup the side of George’s face as he continues to squint at him through the dim light cast across his face. “Hi, baby.”
At the words, George sinks into his hand, smiling softly as he shuts his eyes again.
“Mm, this is an epic dream.” He mumbles, nuzzling his face into Dream’s palm.
“Not a dream,” Dream mutters, shifting his hand to run it through George’s curls. “Go back to sleep, love.”
“‘Kay, Dreamie.” With the words, he’s grabbing the side of Dream’s shirt, pulling gently to get him fully settled into their mattress.
When he’s flat on his back, George presses himself fully against his side, face buried into Dream’s shoulder. Almost immediately, Dream can tell he’s fallen back asleep, his breath steady where it hits the side of Dream’s face.
With that, Dream wraps his arms around him, and sinks into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.
*
In the morning, Dream wakes to the feeling of a hand rubbing gentle circles into the bare skin of his hip where it’s tucked beneath his shirt. When he opens his eyes, squinting against the brightness of what must be midday sunlight streaming into the room, he sees dark hair filling the bottom of his vision where George lays with his head still resting on his shoulder.
The way they’re pressed together must alert George to his awake state, because almost immediately he’s rolling on top of Dream, resting his chin against Dream’s chest as he gazes up at him, smiling so brilliantly that it could rival the sun fighting against the blinds to enter the room.
Through his wide grin, George begins to speak. “You’re home.”
“I’m home.” Dream parrots back, sinking a hand into George’s hair where it’s a mess from sleep.
“Your flight was on Friday.” George’s face gives away his surprise, even as he leans his head further into Dream’s hand in his hair.
“Just wanted to be home.” Dream mutters, tugging gently on George’s hair just to watch the way his eyes roll slightly back into his head.
“I thought I was having a crazy dream again when you got here last night. Where it felt, like, super real.” George breathes out, turning his head to lay with his ear pressed to Dream’s chest.
“Well, I mean. I am your Dream.” Dream can’t help but joke, even with the way he feels his own heartbeat speed up where George sits listening to it.
“My Dreamie.” Dream can feel the way George’s face curves into a smile against his chest, and knows if he gazed up at him his cheeks would be lit up in a lovely shade of pink.
Dream doesn’t know how long they lay there, with George pressed firmly to Dream’s chest and listening to his heart as they sit in silence, basking in the warmth of the sunlight that has taken over their bed. Dream feels settled in a way he hasn’t since he first left the house for Los Angeles almost a month ago, and didn’t realize how much he missed being in his own space until he was back. Didn’t realize how much he had missed George until he was holding him to his chest and didn’t know if he would ever be able to let him go again.
The silence is only broken by Patches padding into the room, meowing at both of them as she jumps up on the bed and paws at where their thighs are pressed together, demanding to be fed. It’s George who gets up, carrying her like a baby cradled to his chest down to the kitchen to feed her as Dream mutters spoiled at them as they leave the room.
Without George pressed against him, Dream realizes he feels kind of gross.
He’s still in the clothes he had worn for the five and a half hour flight home, and had even accidentally slept in his rings and chain. When he picks his phone up off the nightstand, he finds that it’s already late afternoon, his internal clock still fucked up from being in LA.
Before he loses his motivation, he finds his way to their en suite bathroom, turning the water on to warm up as he strips of his clothes. When he steps under the warm spray, he feels what feels like weeks worth of built up tension leaving his body, his shoulders physically sinking as the warmth of the water hits him.
He’s just standing under the water with his eyes closed, basking in the feeling of it when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening. He squints his eyes open, gazing through the glass to see George walking into the bathroom, glaring playfully at Dream through the slight sheen of fog.
“You’re showering without me.” He speaks loud enough to be heard over the spray of the shower, already placing his hands at the waistband of his shorts to begin pushing them down as his eyes trail unashamedly down Dream’s bare body.
Dream can only keep staring at him through hooded eyes, watching as he quickly gets naked and approaches the shower door.
It’s when he’s opening the shower and stepping inside that Dream notices the glint of the chain around his neck in the harsh overhead LED lighting, and his eyes are drawn to it even as George joins him under the spray.
“You don’t even take that thing off to shower. That, like, has to be bad for it.” Dream mutters, raising a wet hand up to grab the chain between his fingers, tugging on it gently.
“No, I looked it up. It said real metal should be fine in water,” George reaches his own hand up, pulling Dream’s hand away from the chain and instead linking their fingers together. “Unless you’re cheap. Is this fake, Dream? Did you lie to me?”
With the words, George is leaning in, pressing his face to Dream’s neck and mouthing gently at his skin.
“No,” Dream mutters, unfocused. “Would never give you fake jewelry. Only the best for you, Georgie.”
“You’re so annoying.” George pulls back with the words, flushed bright pink on the tops of his cheeks.
Wordlessly, he grabs Dream’s shampoo, squeezing some into his hands and reaching up expectantly.
“Lean down.” He murmurs.
Dream is helpless but to comply, ducking down just the slightest as George sinks gentle fingers into his curls, massaging shampoo into his scalp.
He goes through Dream’s shower routine wordlessly, even grabbing the detachable shower head to bring it directly to his head to rinse his hair out thoroughly. His hands are soft, gentle everywhere he presses them to Dream’s skin.
It’s intimate in the best of ways, and Dream can feel the warmth that settles low in his stomach because of it. When he’s finished, he presses a kiss to Dream’s shoulder, before wordlessly turning around and leaning his head back for Dream to wash his hair.
Dream revels in this: in sinking his fingers covered in his own shampoo into George’s hair, morphing it into funny styles through faint giggles as George pushes his head into Dream’s hand. He loves, too, trailing his fingers over the hair that covers George’s chest and legs as he rubs body wash into his skin, before finally pulling him to his chest once they’re both clean.
They step out of the shower together, hands linked with one final squeeze before they pull apart. Standing beside each other, they each begin drying off with a towel, Dream shaking his head to get some of the water out of his hair as George screeches at him to stop.
They stand back to back at the two sinks in the bathroom, each brushing their teeth with towels wrapped around them. Dream can’t help but giggle at how George wraps the towel all the way over his nipples, in the way he always does every time he sees it. Loves him in the way he rolls his eyes at Dream’s giggles, elbowing him gently before he spits the suds from his mouth into the sink.
When he stands up straight, Dream steps in behind him, pressing his bare chest to his back and wrapping his arms around his waist.
“Missed you. So much.” He can’t help but let out as he rests his chin against George’s shoulder, gazing at them through the bathroom mirror.
They look a little ridiculous like this–George with his towel covering his chest, and Dream completely engulfing him from behind. Both of them have wet hair falling messily over their foreheads, but Dream can’t find it in him to care about how he can already tell his hair is drying frizzy.
“Missed you, too,” George responds quietly, sinking back into Dream’s embrace. “Why’d you leave early?”
Sometimes, Dream hates how well George knows him. How he saw right through the flimsy excuse Dream offered, and knows there’s a better explanation for why he had shown up in their bed on a whim at 7am after getting on a flight in the middle of the night.
“You seemed sad when we called.” Dream lets the truth seep out of him.
“I was fine,” George insists, opening his eyes and locking their eyes through the mirror as he squeezes Dream’s arm. “You could have stayed.”
“George.” He pinches his hip through the towel as he says it, and George squirms in his grip.
George sinks further into his chest, shutting his eyes again. With a sigh, he begins speaking.
“I dunno,” George begins, voice carrying a certain heaviness behind it. “I was like. Looking in the mirror right before we called. I was changing, and–it’s stupid, so you can’t laugh. But I was changing and I realized that, like, the marks you gave me. They were faded. I don’t know, it’s dumb.”
The words are enough to make Dream suppress tears, a heavy weight settling in his chest as he clutches George tightly to his chest.
“What the fuck,” Dream breathes out, hearing how choked up he sounds. “That’s not dumb. What the fuck, George.”
Instead of responding, George only squeezes Dream’s arm around his waist, his eyes still firmly shut.
Wordlessly, Dream finds himself leaning down, sinking his face into George’s shoulder. He hears George hum in question, and in response opens his mouth against the part of his shoulder he knows will be covered by his shirt, and then begins gently sucking.
As he starts, George’s hand flies up to his hair, sinking into the back of his wet curls and tugging gently. Dream can’t help the small noise he lets out into George’s skin at the feeling, only pulling away once he knows the mark will stay.
“ Dream .” George breathes out heavily.
When Dream glances up, the sight of them in the mirror leaves him lightheaded. Both of their eyes are lasered in on the bright red mark on George’s shoulder, one they both know will soon darken into a bloom of reds and purples against his skin. George’s cheeks are flushed such a deep red they almost match the mark. Dream isn’t faring much better, and can see a red flush on his chest that he wants to blame on the still-humid air of the bathroom.
“I love you.” It bursts out of him in a way he can’t help, just like it always does.
He loves him. He especially loves him like this, pressed to his chest and surrounded by their toothbrushes sitting beside each other in a cup on the sink and with the smell of his own shampoo filling his nose where it’s pressed into George’s wet hair.
“If you really love me, you’ll make me breakfast.” The words don’t hold much, as Dream is sure they’re intended to. Not when he can look in the mirror and see the way George is smiling bashfully down at their hands where they rest against each other around his waist; not when he can see how George is bright pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
With a final kiss to his cheek, Dream pulls away. With the release, he feels like he can breathe easily again for the first time in weeks.
As he trails down to the kitchen to make them breakfast, all he can think about is how happy he is to be home .