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Dream and his girlfriend are hitting six-months in five days. To celebrate, he's planning a whole getaway at a cozy lodge in Maine.
George knows all of this because he’s the one planning it.
He doesn’t really mind. Honestly, he kind of enjoys doing things for Dream now and then. Plus, he gets a bit of satisfaction from managing what Dream wastes his money on.
“You’re so stupid for doing this, by the way,” Dream mutters.
George rolls his eyes. He figures that’s Dream’s version of saying thank you.
“What does a London boy know about Maine?”
“I know it looks pretty. And I reckon you won’t even admire it, you'll be too busy getting it on or whatever,” George snaps back.
Dream snorts. “Don’t ever say the words ‘getting it on’ to me. And why do you care? You jealous?”
George can’t tell if Dream means jealous of him for having a girlfriend or jealous of the girlfriend for having Dream.
They’ve never really talked about the dynamic of their friendship in relation to Dream’s relationship. Mostly because there’s nothing to say.
Even though Dream used to joke that George was his housewife (pressing quick kisses to his cheek while George cooked) they’ve never actually stepped away from the flirting. It’s harmless. Mostly.
“There’s nothing to be jealous of,” George mutters. “I can cook and watch my shows in peace without worrying about you touching me.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Dream says casually. “Who else is gonna give you that much affection while I’m gone?”
They end up falling asleep on the couch. Luckily the hotel and dinner reservations are all booked.
Dream wakes up first, a bit confused on when they fell asleep. He gets a blanket from his room and puts it on George and walks to the kitchen to make breakfast.
When George wakes up he doesn't mention them sleeping on the coach because it was just an accident.
They slept together once since George came to Florida. He didn't know how to tell Dream how he was kind of scared of how fast everything was moving but dream somehow knew and held him the whole night.
Today, Dream’s girlfriend is coming over to have lamb chops with the Dream Team for dinner. She usually only comes by about once a month. Just enough to stay familiar, not enough to feel fully settled in.
George is in the kitchen early, prepping vegetables while Dream leans against the counter, peeling garlic way too slowly. He occasionally stops and stares when George cooks. George noticed this long ago but dream just says it's a fascination.
“Are you ever gonna actually help or are you just gonna pretend to peel garlic?” George says without looking up.
Dream scoffs. “I'm enhancing the flavor with my eyes.”
“You're making it worse by being here.”
“You love it when I'm here,” Dream fires back, but it’s quieter than usual, edged with something George can’t place.
George pauses. “Is she coming early?”
“Yeah. She just texted. Said she’s bringing that wine she likes.”
“Great,” George mutters. He’s not even sure why it bothers him.
The doorbell rings just as the lamb hits the oven. Dream wipes his hands on a towel and moves quickly to answer it, calling back, “Don’t burn anything princess!”
George flips him off without turning around.
Dinner is fine.
She's sweet, laughing at the right moments, polite to George, teasing with Dream. But the air today feels stiff like something up with them.
At the table, Sapnap is halfway through a story about one of the MCC’s. “Remember when George tanked Build Mart because he brought back brown wool instead of red terracotta.”
George sighs. “I’m colorblind, dude.”
Dream’s girlfriend laughs. “Seriously? That’s kind of hilarious.”
George gives her a small look.
Dream’s smile drops. “He literally couldn’t tell the difference. It’s not that funny.”
The table quiets. Sapnap clears his throat, awkward now. “We still placed better than half the teams, anyway.”
George mutters, “Yeah, better than you.”
Laughter follows, but it’s thinner this time.
Dream doesn’t say much after that. And when dinner ends, he’s the one who clears the plates.
Later that night, George is curled up on the couch scrolling through his phone when he hears voices from upstairs. Muffled, but heated.
It’s Dream’s room.
At first, it’s impossible to tell what they’re arguing about. Then it gets louder. Not words, exactly, just tones. Accusations. Defensive responses. Hurt layered under volume.
George presses his thumb harder into his screen, not reading anything. Just waiting for it to stop.
He isn’t sure why he feels something sink in his chest when it doesn’t.
It’s the day after. George flops onto Dream’s bed, sprawled out dramatically while Dream showers in the bathroom nearby.
“Don’t tell me you guys are going to break up because of me,” George calls out, half-laughing.
The bathroom door creaks open, steam trailing behind Dream as he steps out with a towel slung low around his waist, barely holding on.
“Dude, don’t tell me you think she’s gonna leave me over dinner,” he says, rubbing his hair dry with another towel.
George smirks, eyes lingering for half a second too long before looking away. “I’m just messing with you. Why were you even arguing last night?”
Dream shrugs, walking to his dresser like it’s no big deal. “It’s nothing big, really.”
He starts digging through a drawer, towel shifting dangerously enough for George to make silent notes on. “She just thought I was being too... defensive or whatever. Said I always take your side.”
George raises a brow. “Do you?”
Dream glances over his shoulder, expression unreadable. “Maybe.”
George doesn’t say anything for a beat.
“So, what’s the plan today?” Dream asks, changing the subject and pulling out a hoodie. “Wanna go on a mcdonalds drive today, then maybe record?”
George watches him quietly for a second before nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”
Two days before the Maine trip, Dream walks into the house differently than usual. He doesn’t slam the door, but he shuts it too hard. No hello. No comment. Just silence and footsteps straight to his room.
George watches him pass with a furrowed brow. “You good?” he calls out.
No response.
So he does as he normally would and follows. As he nears Dream’s room, he hears him on the phone, his voice low but firm.
“I’m telling you, I don’t care if I lose the deposit. Just cancel it.” A pause. “No, I don’t want to reschedule.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Dream exhales sharply. “Fine. Whatever.”
George nudges the door open. “Are you trying to cancel Maine?”
Dream glances over, caught. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept since last night. His laptop’s open to the booking site, the screen glowing with refund policy disclaimers.
“Trip’s off,” he mutters.
George steps in, arms folded. “What happened?”
Dream doesn’t look at him. “It’s just... not happening anymore.”
George tilts his head. “So... she canceled on you?”
Dream closes the laptop. “Something like that.”
George doesn’t press. The air’s heavy, and whatever happened, it's clearly bothering him more than he’s willing to admit.
After a beat, George says, “You know... we could still go.”
Dream watches him, deep in thought. “George we don't have to do this right now I don't really want to think about the whole thing”
“What's there to think about? You didn't fully cancel it, plus maybe I can help you take your mind off things” he continues.
Dream doesn’t respond at first. He just sits there, like he’s weighing something invisible. “Why do you always try to get your way” he says lightly
George smirks, “so you're saying yes”
Then, finally, a nod as he throws his computer to the side. “Alright. Fuck it.”
They spend the next 2 days buying random stuff for the trip. It's a five day trip and George doesn't know what to pack that seems normal for a best friend trip.
They go clothing shopping for some athletic wear and bathing suits. George giggles at these blue bathing suit shorts with a slight green lettering at the bottom and makes a joke that they should match like couples. When he isn't looking, Dream puts them in their cart.
Eventually, George disappears into the fitting room with a stack of clothes. Dream waits nearby, leaning against a wall, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. A few minutes pass before George calls out.
“Can you bring me the other shirt? The gray one?”
Dream grabs it and walks over, hesitating before pushing open the curtain just a little. “You okay?”
George’s face appears, cheeks slightly flushed. “Mostly.”
He opens the curtain more and Dream steps in, holding out the shirt. George takes it, shirtless, still in a pair of sweatpants that ride just a bit low on his hips. There’s a pile of rejected clothes on the bench and a mirror behind them that neither seems to want to look into directly.
“Do I look stupid in this?” George asks, tugging the shirt on and glancing at himself in the mirror.
“No,” Dream says, too fast. “You don’t.”
George raises a brow at him, like he caught something in the tone, but lets it go. He reaches for the blue swim shorts next. He chuckles softly.
He’s watching the reflection now, not saying anything, and George finally turns toward him.
“What?” George asks.
Dream blinks. “Nothing. Just... weird being here with you, that’s all.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know.” Dream shrugs, eyes flicking down and then quickly back up. “You were supposed to help me plan this trip for her.”
George pulls the curtain closed a little more. They’re both quiet.
Then, softer, George says, “are you going to tell me what happened between you guys yet or are you waiting that one out”
Dream looks at him, eyes sharp but unreadable. “Finish changing.”
The silence is thick now, not uncomfortable, just heavy. Like something unsaid is hanging between them, and neither knows what to do with it yet.
George finally laughs, awkwardly. “Okay, you’re making this weird now.”
Dream smirks, tension breaking just a little. “You’re the one who wanted to match bathing suits.”
“Just get out and stop watching my naked body.”
They both laugh now, but it’s softer. Less performative.
They land around 6:00pm and get to the lodge around sunset, dragging their suitcases behind them with the dead weight of exhaustion. Dream bumps into the doorframe twice and mutters a quiet string of curses under his breath. The room is warm and dimly lit. Too romantic, too quiet.
George walks past the kitchenette and heads toward the bedroom. As soon as the overhead light flickers on, he pauses.
There’s one bed. Massive, luxurious, with way too many pillows, and a stupid little heart-shaped towel arrangement in the middle.
George turns and sits on the bed, bouncing once before lying flat against it, arms spread out dramatically. He looks at Dream with a faint grin.
“What,” he says, “afraid I’m gonna blow you in your sleep or something?”
Dream blinks, stunned for a second. “Youre actually such a freak”
“You’re the one making a big deal out of one bed,” George says, still sprawled out, arms behind his head. “Relax. I don’t bite.”
Dream huffs a laugh, dropping his suitcase by the wall. “Yeah, well, neither do I. It’s not a big deal.”
“Exactly,” George replies, glancing over at him. “We’ve shared worse.”
Dream shrugs off his hoodie, tossing it onto the chair. “True.”
They move around the room without needing to say much else. George digs through his bag, tossing on an old t-shirt and some basketball shorts, while Dream heads to the far side of the room and changes into just a pair of soft boxers.
George sees it in the mirror—a brief glance—then looks away, not commenting.
When they finish, they get into bed and put a random youtube video on.
“It feels weird to look next to me and not have her here” Dream starts.
George doesn’t say anything right away. Then: “Would it be less weird if I wasn’t here either?”
Dream turns his head on the pillow, looking at the back of George’s. “No,” he says, after a beat. “There's a different feeling with you. Like i forget everything bad thats ever happened ot me”
George shifts, finally rolling to face him. “Do you mean that or are you just coping”
“I would never joke with you about that stuff”
They both smile faintly in the dark. The space between them is small, but neither of them moves. The covers rustle. Their feet brush once.
“Sorry,” George murmurs, shifting slightly.
Dream’s voice comes after a moment, low and mumbly. “Your feet are freezing.”
George grins into the pillow. “What i cant help that”
Then, without warning, his foot starts rubbing along Dream’s calf, slow and exaggerated. “Here, I’ll warm them up.”
“George” he says firmly like he's warning him.
But George keeps going, dragging his foot all the way up to Dream’s knee and back down again, this time using both feet. Dream jerks his leg and lets out a startled laugh.
“George” Dream says, giggling now, squirming as George keeps nudging and tangling their legs under the blankets.
“You said they were cold!” George teases, now fully grinning. “I’m doing you a favor.”
Dream laughs, trying to escape,
“You love it.”
“I don’t…” Dream makes a sudden move to grab George’s leg in retaliation, but his hand shoots too high in the dark, catching George right on the upper thigh, close, too close.
He feels a slight hardness. They both freeze.
George’s breath hitches, just barely. Dream’s hand lingers on his thigh a second longer than it should before he finally pulls it back, slow but not rushed.
“My bad,” Dream mutters, voice low and lazy. “Didn’t mean to start something.”
George turns slightly toward him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Who says you did?”
Dream huffs through his nose, eyes flicking over in the dark. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” George replies easily, “but you like it.”
That makes Dream laugh under his breath, and George smiles at the sound.They settle back into their spots, both staring up at the ceiling now.
Dream’s foot brushes his again, more deliberate this time. George nudges back, light and quick.
“Go to sleep,” Dream says, but it’s playful now, a grin in his voice.
“I will if you stop feeling me up,” George replies, already shifting deeper under the blanket.
Another quiet laugh. Then silence. Comfortable this time.
Neither of them sleeps right away, but it doesn’t feel heavy anymore. Just warm. Familiar.
The morning air is cool and crisp when they step out, the trees filtering soft sunlight through their branches. George adjusts the straps on his backpack with a grunt complaining about how early it is.
“You agreed to this,” Dream replies, clearly too chipper for how early it is.
George glares at him. “No. You said ‘It’ll be chill, just a little walk,’ and then you pulled up that huge map”
Dream shrugs, already a few steps ahead on the trail. “It’s not that steep.”
George mumbles something stupid, but he follows anyway.
They bicker the whole way up about the incline, about who forgot the sunscreen.
About halfway up, George slows, hands on his hips, panting dramatically. “Okay, I’m done. Leave me.”
Dream laughs before walking back toward him. “Come on” he says, turning around and picking him up in an instant.
George stares. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I forced you to do this away”
With a grumble, George settles in his arms. Dream adjusts his grip around George’s legs and starts walking again, slightly winded but pretending otherwise.
They stay quiet for a minute, the only sounds being birds, crunching gravel, and Dream’s steady breath.
Then George speaks, voice softer now, close to Dream’s ear. “I missed you a lot, you know?”
Dream doesn’t say anything at first. He just keeps walking, tightening his grip slightly.
George goes on. “It’s been weird. With her around, I just didn’t want to… cross any lines. Or make things messy.”
Dream exhales. “I know.”
George is looking at Dream now. “You stopped joking with me the same way. Stopped being around as much.”
Dream nods once. “It didn’t feel fair. To either of you.”
George shrugs then whispers “Well, you’re mine again now.”
Dream smiles, just a bit. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I am.”
George tightens his arms slightly around Dream’s shoulders. “Don’t drop me now or I'll take it all back.”
Dream laughs, breathless from the climb. “You’d deserve it.” But he holds him tighter anyway.
They hike back in comfortable silence. Fewer jokes, more quiet glances. George walks a little closer this time, close enough their arms brush occasionally as they walk. It’s not on purpose. Probably.
By the time they make it back to the cabin, their shirts are clinging to their skin and they both look half-cooked. George opens the door, kicking off his shoes with a dramatic sigh.
“I am never hiking again,” he declares, flopping onto the couch. “Like ever. I’m removing it from my vocabulary.”
“You say that every time,” Dream replies, pulling his shirt over his head as he walks further in, his back glistening slightly in the afternoon light. “Still go every time.”
By the time they've stripped all their sweaty clothes on they hadn't even realized they were both in their boxers. “Stop trying to seduce me with your wet hair” Dream snaps at George hitting him with a towel.
“If i wanted to you would know.” he jokes back “are you gonna join my shower” George says nonchalantly.
“Sure” he replies. He can't tell if he's bluffing but he doesn't see anything wrong with it. They're both sweaty and can't imagine having enough energy to fight for a shower right now.
George goes in first, humming some unrecognizable tune under his breath as the hot water steams up the mirror. Dream sneaks into the bathroom a minute later, careful not to look too long when George turns and grins at him from behind the glass.
The space is tight, the kind of cabin shower that forces closeness. Dream lets the water hit him for a moment, groaning quietly at the heat before shifting back so George can rinse the soap from his shoulders.
They trade places without words, slipping past each other in slow, tired movements. George tilts his head back under the stream, sighing as it soaks his hair.
Dream watches for a second, then moves closer behind him. “You missed a spot,” he mumbles, reaching up to run his fingers gently through George’s hair. George leans into the touch without thinking.
Dream lathers the shampoo slowly, his nails lightly scratching over George’s scalp. It makes George’s eyes flutter closed, a little exhale leaving his mouth.
“God,” George mumbles, “you’re going to make me fall asleep in here.”
Dream laughs softly, fingers threading through wet curls. “Maybe I’m just good at this.”
George leans back slightly, his bare back brushing against Dream’s chest.
Dream doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hands steady on George’s head, thumbs pressing gently at his temples.
This time Dream moves in slightly, face close to George’s ear he whispers “want me to get your back?”
George doesn't even say anything, just passes him more soap.
The water keeps pouring over them, the quiet hum of it filling in all the space between their breaths.
When George speaks again, it’s soft. “This is nice.”
Dream nods, barely audible. “Yeah. It is.”
They stay like that a little longer than necessary. Just skin and steam and warmth
They finally step out of the shower, towels hanging loosely off their hips as they move around each other in a daze of exhaustion and something else neither wants to say out loud yet.
By the time they collapse into bed again, hair damp, bodies warm from the water, the room feels different.
George lies on his side facing the wall, but Dream can see the tension in his shoulders.
“Why didn't you just let me cancel the trip?” Dream asks suddenly, voice low, almost rough.
George doesn’t turn. “I don't know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
George exhales sharply, shifting onto his back. “I came because you needed someone.”
Dream’s jaw clenches. “Is that all?”
Silence stretches. Thin. Sharp.
George finally looks over at him. “What do you want me to say? That you needed me?”
Dream hesitates, jaw tightening. “Well I guess! I’m just trying to get my head straight.”
He huffs a laugh, frustrated. “But you don’t make it easy.”
George blinks. “How am I making anything hard?”
Dream sits up slightly, running a hand through his hair. “You act like nothing ever shifted between us. Like it’s all jokes, all the time. Then you say stuff that… I don’t know what to do with.”
“Like what?” George challenges, eyebrows raised.
Dream throws a hand out. “Like ‘you’re mine again now.’ Who says that to their friend?”
“It was a joke.”
“Was it?”
The question hangs there. Quiet. Solid.
George’s mouth opens, then closes. “I didn’t mean it like—”
He stops, correcting himself. “I didn’t mean it seriously.”
Dream tilts his head. “That’s not the same as saying it wasn’t true.”
George looks away, jaw working.
Dream’s voice lowers, more honest. “You confuse me, man.”
George lets out a quiet breath. “You confuse me too.”
Dream shifts closer on instinct. George doesn’t move away.
Dream’s voice is softer when he speaks again. “When she got upset about how I acted around you… I didn’t know what to say. Because she wasn’t wrong.”
George meets his eyes. “What did you tell her?”
“That I didn’t want to change the way I am with you.”
George’s face pulls into something caught between surprise and something else. “…Oh.”
“Yeah.. oh. It was a bad answer but it was nothing far from the truth. And it all blew up when we tried to finally move on from the situation.” Dream’s gaze flicks to him.
George’s breath catches, just barely. “Yeah, why?”
Dream leans back against the headboard. “We never argue without making up physically, but for months I just couldn't get hard sometimes. I think I’ve been too in my head and that night although the frustration was getting to me, it got to her first.”
George cannot believe what Dream is confessing to right now. “This is what you’ve been all weird about? Not being able to get hard”
Dream laughs a bit. “I finally tell you why we broke up and you’re thinking about my dick?”
George’s eyes dart away. “I won't answer because you’re being vulnerable right now.”
Dream stares at him, “To be fair I feel less worried about the whole thing now.”
“Good.” George shifts closer. Their knees brush under the blanket. Dream doesn’t pull back.
The tension in the air loses its sharpness.
Dream lies back down, face turned toward George. “C’mere,” he murmurs.
George hesitates a second before sliding closer. Dream’s arm wraps around his shoulders automatically, like muscle memory. George’s forehead drops against Dream’s chest in a way that somehow feels both familiar and brand new. They fall asleep like this. Body to body.
As the sun creeps into the room, George realizes he can’t move.
Well not really.
There’s an arm wrapped around his waist from behind, heavy and warm. Dream’s chest is pressed along his back, steady with sleep.
George goes completely still.
They’ve slept in the same bed before. That’s not new.
But this—
This is different.
Because there’s something very obviously pressed against him.
George’s brain short-circuits for a moment.
Oh.
His face heats instantly.
The feeling his ex girlfriend hasn't had in months. It’s probably nothing, he tells himself. Just… morning. That happens. It’s normal.
Except Dream’s arm tightens slightly around him, fingers flexing against his stomach like he’s trying to keep him there.
George swallows.
Now he really doesn’t know what to do.
If he moves, it might make things worse. If he stays still, he feels like he’s invading Dream’s space somehow. Like he’s noticing something he shouldn’t be noticing.
His brain spirals for another few seconds before he carefully tries to inch forward.
The arm around him tightens immediately.
“Don’t,” Dream mumbles sleepily.
George freezes.
“You’re awake?” he whispers.
Dream exhales against the back of his neck, voice rough with sleep. “Now I am.”
George debates pretending he didn’t notice anything.
Unfortunately, his body betrays him by going stiff again.
Dream notices.
Of course he notices.
There’s a quiet moment where Dream doesn’t say anything, just breathing slowly behind him. Then his grip shifts slightly—less restraining, more… careful.
“If you really want to get up,” Dream says quietly, still half buried against George’s shoulder, “I can get up and take care of this right now.”
George’s face burns.
Dream continues before George can respond.
“But,” he adds, voice lower now, more awake, “if you tell me right now that I’m not imagining this… that you want me just as bad as I want you—”
His arm tightens again, pulling George a little closer.
“Dream don’t.”
“—then I’ll handle it differently.”
George’s heart immediately starts hammering.
For a second he forgets how to breathe.
“Dream—”
“I mean it,” Dream says softly. “Just say the word.”
The room is completely quiet except for their breathing.
George stares at the wall, trying to find some kind of rational thought, but his brain refuses to cooperate.
Because the truth is painfully obvious.
He hasn’t moved away.
Dream lets out a quiet laugh behind him, not teasing—something softer.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought.”
George finally turns his head slightly, enough to glance back at him.
Dream’s eyes are open now.
There’s something different in them. Nervous, but honest in a way George doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.
Dream hesitates for a second before speaking again.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits quietly.
George blinks.
Dream looks almost embarrassed when he continues.
“Having you like this. In my arms.” His voice softens. “I’ve denied it for as long as I can remember.”
George’s chest tightens.
Dream huffs out a breath. “Told myself it was just jokes. Or that it would make things complicated.”
His fingers shift slightly against George’s side.
“But right now?” he says.
Dream meets his eyes.
“I’m done pretending I don’t want you.”
The words sit heavy in the quiet morning light.
George doesn’t move.
Dream’s voice drops again, barely above a whisper.
“So,” he murmurs, “are you going to keep pretending you don’t feel it too… or are you going to turn around and prove me right?”
George’s pulse jumps.
And for the first time since waking up, he slowly starts to turn toward him.
George’s pulse is loud in his ears.
For a moment he just stares at Dream, trying to figure out if this is actually happening or if he’s still half asleep.
Dream doesn’t look away.
There’s no teasing in his expression now. No joking, no easy escape route back to pretending this is normal.
Just quiet patience.
Waiting.
George swallows.
“You’ve been holding that in for a while,” he says softly.
Dream huffs a small laugh. “You have no idea.”
George studies his face for another second, searching for any sign that this is still some kind of joke.
He doesn’t find one.
Slowly, he shifts in Dream’s arms, turning until they’re facing each other properly.
The movement brings them even closer. Their legs tangle in the sheets, and Dream’s arm slides instinctively around George’s waist again like it belongs there.
Neither of them comments on it.
George exhales slowly.
“You’re really serious right now,” he murmurs.
Dream’s thumb brushes absentmindedly against George’s side.
“Yeah,” he says. “Terrifyingly serious.”
George huffs out a quiet laugh, but it fades quickly when their eyes meet again.
They’re close enough now that George can feel Dream’s breath against his face.
“You said I should prove you right,” George says.
Dream’s gaze flicks down to his mouth for half a second.
“I did.”
George hesitates just long enough for the moment to stretch tight between them.
Then he reaches forward and grabs the front of Dream’s shirt, pulling him the last inch closer.
“Then stop talking,” George mutters.
Dream’s answering smile is small but relieved, like something he’s been holding onto finally snapped loose.
“Gladly.”
The distance between them disappears as Dream grabs George’s face pressing them chest to chest.
They kiss for the first time ever and George feels like he might just die.
The kiss deepens as they continue to press on each other. Dream slowly picks George up, flipping them so he is on his back and George is on his lap.
As they continue to grind they no longer hold back, deeply moaning into each other's mouth.
Dream’s hands fall from George’s face to palm them both through their boxers. George can not believe his eyes, departing from the kiss to examine the lust on Dream’s face. He’s not sure how but he grows harder than he already is.
“I need you so bad” George moans.
“I know baby, take these off” Dream responds.