Chapter Text
George isn’t even home when the conversation happens.
Dream waits on purpose for him to go out, and then apparently even waits a little longer because Tony is hanging around and won’t really go away. In the retelling that happens later, while George is trying to keep Dream company during an edit, Dream makes a point to say he had to tell Tony to take a walk.
As he says it, Dream’s chest puffs out in a strange little alpha male move. He gets that way around Tony. Maybe it’s something to do with them being the tallest guys in the house. Or maybe they just have the biggest dicks and somehow just psychically know.
He says that part out loud, and Dream turns around at his desk and gives George an incredulous stare. “How do you know how big Tony’s dick is?”
George has actually done a sauna with Sapnap and Tony both before, so he does in fact know, but he decides that he doesn’t want to bait the jealous boyfriend at this very moment. Maybe later.
“He was okay with it, though?” George asks again.
He really does want to know. He’ll encounter Sapnap soon. He feels like he needs to be armed with information to see which version of his friend he’ll be getting. Will he be put off? Angry? Grossed out? Upset? Jealous, because obviously he’s in secret gay love with George, like that one small but dedicated section of the internet steadfastly believes.
Or he’ll think George isn’t good enough for his best friend. Or that George is somehow using Dream. Or… or…
Too many thoughts in George’s head.
“He thought it was weird,” Dream says. “He said he didn’t want to know anything, then proceeded to ask me like fifty questions.”
“Tell him nothing,” George says.
Dream laughs. “He’s our best friend. I told him some things. But not everything. Some things are just for us.”
George does enjoy that. “Like what?”
Dream has not turned his chair back around. The monitor behind him dims slightly, but doesn’t go off.
“Like what, Dream?” George presses.
“What, you need me to show you?” Dream asks.
George feels that tingle of interest building. “Maybe. Maybe I do. What of it? Dream?”
“Well maybe I need to take you to our bedroom then,” Dream says, the way he emphasizes our makes George’s stomach flip over. “To show you exactly what I’m talking about.”
The chair finally turns around. George is pleased to note that Dream’s sweats are tight over his bulge. For no reason whatsoever, he’s sure, George’s mouth starts to water. He swallows down his immediate reaction and decides to be magnanimous about it. That’s his brand, after all. “Sure, let’s go then.”
“Let’s go then,” Dream repeats, waggling his eyebrows and trying not to laugh.
Like it was pre-planned, they both take off for the door at the same time, elbowing each other in order to make it into the room first. That’s something he’s always appreciated about Dream, how he’s so competitive. He doesn’t let George win. But he doesn’t make a big stink about it either when he loses. Unless he stupidly thinks there was cheating involved.
Ironic.
“I win,” George declares, throwing himself onto the mattress in triumph. He’s already pushing his shirt off and his basketball shorts down, knowing where this is going. Dream isn’t far behind him, but his big eyes are watching George with interest.
“No, you didn’t,” he says, like he’s incapable of helping himself. “It wasn’t a fair race.”
“It was, Dream, you’re just stupid,” George says.
“I was sitting down, and you were standing!” Dream protests, throwing his shirt off angrily. George has never seen someone taking their clothes off and been so amused before, but maybe that’s what a proper, real relationship means. He’ll have to look that up on reddit later.
“If you stay ready, you never have to get ready,” George says, but he can barely get the words out properly because he’s laughing.
“I’m going to get you ready now,” Dream says, and then suddenly neither of them are laughing.
Emotion tightens in his lower abdomen or maybe it’s just the way his dick goes rock solid before Dream’s even touched him. The way he’s looking at George–all intense stare and aching mouth. How could George refuse him? He doesn’t want to refuse him.
Something nags at him somewhere deep inside his brain, quarantined from the part of himself currently being ruled by his dick. Fuck, yeah, he wants Dream. There’s nothing else to consider. He makes a loud whining sound, hands reaching out for Dream as needy as everything else about him.
He doesn’t have to say it for Dream to hear him, for Dream to throw himself on top of George and press their lips together, their dicks too. Dream grinds down onto him, a welcome weight.
“Need you,” Dream says, panting into his ear. “Want to get my fingers in you again. I need to–I think about it constantly, George. It’s all I can see–you clenching around me, moaning. God, you look so good.”
“So do it,” George says.
“Need the–” Dream cuts himself off, reaching for the nightstand where they didn’t even bother to put the lube away after the last time. It’s out there in the open, ready for anyone to spot it.
But no one else is coming in here. This is their room. Sapnap doesn’t come in here. Won’t come in here. This is their space. Their area. Not even the cats, not anymore now that George is spending a significantly more amount of time here. Dream insisted.
Dream’s fingers are blunt, but confident. He’s always like this once he’s figured out the strat. Those big fingers find George’s hole easily. It’s practiced now, and isn’t that something? George never thought having fingers in his ass would lead to something that felt normal or, like, mundane. Not a big deal.
He’d rather thought fingers in his ass would always be weird and a big deal.
“You ready, baby?” Dream asks.
“Yeah,” George says. And then because - well, he doesn’t know why, actually. Because Sapnap knows now, and it feels like this is real? Because he’s afraid Dream will find it weird if he keeps it to only fingers? Because… because part of George really does want to know? Because whatever, it doesn’t even matter. What comes out of his mouth is, “Ready for your dick.”
Dream looks a little stunned and a lot horny. “What?”
“Put it in me,” George says. And because he can’t just let that hang in the air all alone and vulnerable he adds, “If you even know how.”
Dream laughs. It’s a breathless, still bowled-over kind of noise. “I know how. Trust me, George. I know.”
“Oh, he’s bragging now,” George says. “About all the sex he’s had. That’s like - it’s rude, isn’t it? To talk about sex with someone else while you’re about to fuck your current p-partner?”
“Partner.” Dream grins stupidly. “That’s me.”
“Well, unless you don’t fuck me, because then I’ll just dump you. And move on to someone who will.”
“Like who?” Dream asks. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to have to kill the competition.”
There’s no competition. George could tell him that. He could try to explain that he can’t even imagine being in a situation this vulnerable with literally anyone else in his life, past present or future. He could say to Dream that it is, frankly, a bit of a meme that Dream even thinks there could be anyone else that George would open himself up this way for, both literally and figuratively.
But he doesn’t. He just wiggles his butt and makes a greedy sound.
Dream uses the lube on George’s dick first. He gives him a few firm strokes, root to tip, and laps up the noises that come from George’s mouth along the sudden overflow of saliva pooling in George’s mouth. It’s a kiss, wet and messy, just like good sex.
Then he dribbles more lube onto those fingers and presses them down between the cheeks of George’s ass. He presses just the middle one in, kissing George deeply again as he does it. “Are you sure?”
“No,” George says, because honesty is a virtue. “Do it anyway.”
“No, idiot,” Dream says. “You’re not stretched enough yet.”
“Then stretch me better.”
Dream gives him a second finger. “Like this?”
“Yeah,” George says, and lets his head roll back against the pillow he’s claimed as his own. It feels so good, the way Dream crooks his fingers and uses them just right to nudge at George’s prostate. Feeling generous, he offers praise up to Dream. “Feels good.”
“Love making you feel good,” Dream says, dropping kisses across George’s chest. He starts to mouth at one of George’s nipples, latching on and suckling like he’ll get something from it.
That actually feels nice, too. Dream is teaching him all sorts of things about himself.
“That’s enough,” George whines. Surely that’s enough. He’ll be fine. He’s the goat. “Stick it in me.”
“Wow, romantic,” Dream says in a half laugh. He pulls his fingers out and wipes the excess lube on the bedsheets. Gross, but whatever. George will make Dream wash the sheets later. “Wait, do we–condom?”
George’s immediate thought is no. But then he reconsiders. They haven’t, like, actually gotten tested. He knows he’s fine, but Dream’s been more active than him. He isn’t quite sure yet and that makes him hesitate in voicing what he wants. “Yeah, yeah, we–get a stupid condom, idiot. It’ll make cleaning up easier anyway.”
Dream rolls his eyes but dutifully scrambles through the nightstand to come up with a single condom buried deep. They should get tested soon so this dumb delay doesn’t happen again. “Okay, are you ready?”
“Aye, aye, captain,” George says, doing the stupid voice from Spongebob just because he knows it’ll make Dream laugh.
“You’re so stupid,” Dream says.
“I can’t heeearrrr you,” George says back, keeping the bit going. It’s fun. Sex with Dream is fun. He likes feeling comfortable enough to make stupid jokes with his stupid boyfriend and know that he’s not embarrassing himself, that Dream is dick dumb to get inside him. He can do no wrong in this scenario, a real win-win for old Georgie.
Dream looks deeply into his eyes, turning the lightly amused vibes into something deeper, something burning. “Hi,” he whispers. “I’m going to–can I?” Dream asks, holding the base of his cock and rubbing the head at George’s hole.
It can’t be that different from fingers, right? George liked the fingers. The research said it would stretch, that he’d feel some pain, but he could get through it. If those other guys can do it, George can. He’s–he can do anything with Dream.
He can give this to Dream. To himself. For them.
“Hey, relax, baby,” Dream says, the hand not holding his dick rubbing soothing circles on George’s thigh. The blunt head slips in and George–he’s never heard himself make that sound. It doesn’t fit. It’s not going to fit. It’s–
Dream presses in further while George holds his breath. He just needs to get through this and then it’ll be good. He tries to smile up at Dream, but it feels more like a grimace. “Relax, relax,” Dream coos again. He doesn’t make a move to press in deeper, just hanging out there at George’s rim.
George takes a shuddering breath and nods. He just needs to push along and then it’ll be fine. He can’t find the words to say that, but Dream takes his hint and pushes in another inch.
It’s too much too fast, though it’s barely anything. George blanches, his fingers digging into Dream’s shoulders like claws. He doesn’t like it. He–
It hurts. He doesn’t like pain, has never dealt well with it. There’s a block of something in his chest rising higher and higher until he can’t contain it anymore. He doesn’t want to disappoint Dream, never that, but he–he can’t–he needs to–
“Stop, stop,” George says, the words out of his mouth before he knew he was going to say them.
“George?” Dream whispers, freezing in place like a deer. His dick is still there, still–
“Can you pull it out?” George gasps. He’s dying. He’s–Dream’s dick is going to kill him. This never happens in the porn George watches, never happened in the clips he saw online. He–is he a bad boyfriend? Is he weak for feeling like this?
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Dream says, not disguising the panic in his voice very well. He’ll have to hold off because it’s George’s turn to panic. He can’t handle Dream’s emotions too. “I’m so sorry, George, I–” Slowly, he pulls out. “I didn’t mean to–Are you–”
George leans back, moving his head to the side so he doesn’t have to look at Dream. He feels gross, like a disappointment. He can’t even–Dream’s going to hate him. He hates himself. He had, like, one job in this relationship and he–
“Are you crying?” Dream asks, devastation coloring his voice. Like naming it gives it power, George huffs out a sob. He can’t stop. He can’t–
“I have to–” Go. But he doesn’t know how to say that. He pushes Dream off of him in a daze, slipping out from under him. Without looking back, he grabs the black pair of briefs on the floor realizing too late that they aren’t his.
And then he books it out of there and up to the privacy of his own room.
-
George takes the most embarrassing shower known to man. Or at least the most embarrassing one to the specific man that he is. He tries not to cry as he fingers lube out of his ass, wiping himself down haphazardly before flinging himself onto his own bed.
Why is he like this? Why did he run?
It’s not like Dream is scary. He doesn’t even really think Dream is mad at him right now. Yeah, he gave him epic blue balls, but that just happens in life. Dream stopped when George told him to stop.
Dream gives him an hour before there’s a soft knock at the door to George’s suite. He rolls over onto his back, still naked, contemplating what might happen if he ignores it.
He doesn’t really want to ignore Dream, though. It’s Dream. He’s the person that George runs toward, not away from.
So he gets up and dresses quickly in a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt, a physical concession to the emotional vulnerability that he feels.
When he opens the door, Dream looks wrecked.
“You look so bad,” George blurts out.
Dream laughs. It’s a shocked sort of sound. “I mean. Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” George says, and steps forward to plant his face in Dream’s chest. He reaches up with one hand and clutches a fistful of Dream’s shirt, just for good measure. Can’t have his dream boy bolting, even if that’s exactly what George might deserve because that’s exactly what George did to him.
“Can we talk about what happened?” Dream asks. One hand comes up to gently cup the back of George’s head.
“No,” George says, voice muffled, but he steps back - pulling Dream back with him. Once they’re far enough into the bathroom for George to shut the door, he does. His fingers know how to work the lock without being able to see.
Which he still can’t, given that he’s still hiding from the world in Dream’s right pec.
“Is that a no-no, or a no-yes?” Dream asks.
Fuck him for speaking such fluent George.
“No-yes,” George says.
Dream relaxes slightly, and pulls George in for a proper kind of hug. George lets go of the bit of shirt he’s clinging to in order to hug back just as tightly.
It’s good. It grounds him.
Dream walks them over to George’s bed. George can tell just because he’s goated at spatial awareness, and also, it’s his bedroom. He’s stumbled this walk in the dark more times than he can count.
“I don’t know what happened,” George finally says, once it becomes apparent that Dream isn’t going to make him talk until George is ready.
Another obnoxious quality. Who is that patient? Who is that understanding? Not real people. Not Dream, even, in most cases. George knows that. He knows Dream is bossy and demanding and leaves people on read and doesn’t wait for an answer before moving on with his life… nine times out of ten. No, actually, more than that. Nine point nine nine times out of ten.
George is apparently just the point zero one percent that Dream finds worth waiting on. Now those are some fucking odds.
“We were having sex, and then you wanted to stop. You were crying. Was it physical, or emotional?” Dream asks. He’s taking the situation apart beat by beat, peeling layers back.
George has to admit it’s a good approach.
“Both,” he says. “But it wasn’t like… that bad.”
Dream winces. “Okay, I mean, sex shouldn’t be any level of bad, so there’s definitely something there.”
“It wasn’t all the sex,” George says. “Everything else was good. The fingers were - good.”
“Just not my dick?” Dream asks.
George sighs. His breath is making the shirt all soggy and kinda gross feeling. He also might cry a little more, but he really doesn’t want to. “It was too much.”
He counts his breaths as he waits for Dream to respond. Around twenty, Dream finally asks, “So what tipped you over? Like, how can we avoid that from happening again? I–George, I hated thinking I hurt you, or like– how can I be better next time?”
Bless his fucking heart. Of course he’s making it about how he was bad. That’s not even–no.
“It wasn’t you, Dream,” he forces himself to say. The words are there, he just usually doesn’t have the fire lit under his ass to make them come out.
“Kinda seemed like it was me,” Dream says sardonically. He’s trying to hide his hurt and doing a piss poor job. At least to someone like George who can read him clearly. “It was definitely my dick that was too much.”
“I rushed it,” George says and then sighs dramatically. He doesn’t like to admit fault, prefers to have it pulled out of him in a court of law, but for Dream? For Dream he can make it make sense. It’s just them. No one else has to know anyway. “I shouldn’t have–”
He really should have thought harder in the shower about what he was going to say. This conversation was inevitable.
“Shouldn’t have what, baby?” Dream prods.
“I wanted to just, like, get to the good stuff, you know?” George says, feeling stupid and vulnerable and on edge. Is this entire relationship going to just be the George-acting-vulnerable tour? Because he wants his money back.
“What are you–”
“I wanted to be able to do that,” George says. “For you. For–for me. Just–that’s what men who feel for each other like we feel, like, do, right? That’s like, the ultimate. If I– you know. If I feel that way for you, then I should be able to– yeah?”
God, where is this even coming from? He’s been keeping this tucked down for so long that he wasn’t even consciously aware of it, but now that it’s coming up he can see how this thought has been guiding him, pushing him along. There’s a gnat of doubt that’s been buzzing in his ear, telling his heart that Dream won’t keep him if he doesn’t–
“George, no, honey,” Dream says, gathering him further into his arms. He squeezes George tight, like if he were a cartoon his eye would bulge out of his head.
“You could get that, like, anywhere,” George hears himself continue to his own horror. Why is he still talking? It’s like he can’t shut up now. He never wants to see that despair on Dream’s face again. He never wants to be the reason Dream feels like shit. Not in the relationship between them. If he’s going to look like that, he should fuck up on his own. Not ride George’s fuck up coattails.
What is he even talking about?
“George–what?”
“I mean,” he says, no longer sure what he even means, but desperate to get it out anyway. “You’ve been–you’ve had that. You can get on an app and have that in, like, seconds. One swipe away. If you’re going to be with me, you should–like, you should be able to have that here too. Or, like, what’s the point?”
“George,” Dream says and this time he sounds devastated, like something is fundamentally wrong. He sounds like what George thinks someone would sound like explaining gravity no longer works the way it always has, like a law of physics was just debunked.
“Dream,” George says, but at last his treacherous mouth closes shop.
“That’s just–that’s, like, not it at all,” Dream says. “George - George. Like - yeah, okay. Sex is - it’s important to me. I like having sex. So fucking, I don’t know, sue me. But - all of the stuff we’ve already been doing is sex, too.”
George’s face feels too hot, like his skin is going to start to singe and flake off if he doesn’t figure a way to cool it down soon. He thought he was safe, but even more words rise up in his throat. He feels like he’s staring down a runaway train, and his feet won’t leave the tracks, except the train is just himself. “If I were a girl–”
“But you’re not,” Dream says, immediately shutting that down. “You’re not, George. You’re not a girl. You’re not a hookup. You’re not a one night stand. You’re not even a fucking - friends with benefits. You’re you, and I feel - George. I feel things for you - you have to understand, okay? Tell me you understand that you’re more to me than anyone else I’ve ever been with? Being with you is - okay, the sex is good, obviously, it’s - I think it is, at least, I think what we’ve done so far is really fucking good. But being with you is about more than that. If you never wanted me to touch your dick again, I’d be disappointed, but it wouldn’t make me lose interest in you. And I wouldn't seek it out from someone else unless that was a situation that we talked about and we were on the same page with.”
George’s heart is racing, and he still feels queasy. He can hear the things Dream is telling him, he just doesn’t know how to feel about them. His head is all white noise, static, like the signal is still processing.
“I don’t want you being with anyone else,” George says, responding to the first thing that cuts through the fog.
“Then I won’t,” Dream says. “I won’t. Wasn’t, uh, wasn’t planning on it, anyway. The last we left it, we were–it was with the understanding that we’re exclusively together. I’m not changing that.”
“This is so cringe,” George says.
“What, me? Pledging monogamy to you is cringe?”
“No,” George says, and finally wipes his damp cheeks. “I’m cringe. This is cringe.”
“No, it’s not.” Dream laughs and grabs George’s hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss it. “I’m cringe, but cringe is okay sometimes. And listen to me, George, I need you to believe me when I tell you that I don’t want you to be anyone except yourself, and I don’t need to put my dick in you to be happy with you or our sex life.”
George wants to keep arguing. It’s in his nature to poke and prod. But he also knows that sometimes that can go against his own interests in a big way. He doesn’t really want to convince Dream that he’s wrong about all these things he’s saying.
He grabs Dream’s hand and squeezes it. “It’s not like… I’m not saying… never.”
“But if you did-”
“But I’m not,” George says. “I think I just need more time. Or other stuff. I don’t know.”
“We can talk about it when you’re ready,” Dream says. “You’re driving the car on this one. We can just do the stuff we’ve already done. Or we can try things, and if they don’t work, it’s okay. We just move on. We don’t run away.”
George glares weakly at him. “Too soon.”
Dream’s expression goes quiet and serious in a way that makes George’s stomach squirm.
“You know you’re the– I mean, I’ve been in love before George, but this is–” Dream’s eyes are wide and watery. “You’re the love of my life, you know that?”
The love of his life.
The love of Dream’s life.
George is so shocked he can’t say anything, but he shoves his mouth against Dream’s in a kiss so impulsive and enthusiastic that their teeth click together. George laughs and softens it, leans back a little, and then kisses him again.
“I mean it,” Dream says again. “You don’t have to say it back. I just need you to know how, like–that I mean this. I’m serious about you. This isn’t, like–I’m not fooling around here.”
“I know,” George says, because he does know. He sometimes forgets, but he knows. He’s known from before this even started that Dream is serious about him, that George is different. “You know I–you know it’s like that for me too, right?”
“You love yourself too?” Dream asks, teasing him with another kiss like he can’t help it.
“No, I–you know,” George says. “You have to know.”
“I do know,” Dream says, this time seriously.
“I’ll let you propose to me one day,” George says. “And I might even say yes.”
Dream doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re so good to me, baby.”
George rests his forehead on Dream’s chest. He’s so full. Emotionally. He’s so emotionally full, fulfilled. It’s like–this day has been all over the place, and he’s overwhelmed. Not in a bad way, not necessarily, but it’s a lot.
“I really am sorry I freaked out,” George says. He breathes in Dream’s scent. “I’m sorry I didn’t, like, talk about it. Reddit says we should be talking about things more.”
“Well if Reddit says…” Dream laughs, but it’s not unkind. “No, but in all seriousness, I– I’m sorry I didn’t realize how you were– It’s not all on you, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not– you made it seem like you have to be the one to–I mean, you have fingers too, don’t you?”
George leans back to stare at Dream, like the visual will help make sense of his nonsensical words. “What?”
Dream sighs and rolls his eyes. “You have fingers and I have–I mean, I can be an asshole, but I also, like, have an asshole, you know?”
“Dream, what?” George says, torn between laughing at how uncharacteristically tongue tied Dream has become and the implication lying in between his words.
“You don’t have to cater to this idea that I, like, have to be sticking my dick in something. Like, we could also put on the table, like, you sticking your dick in me. Or fingers. Or–you know. It goes both ways. I’m not ever asking you to do something for me that I also wouldn’t do for you. I’m not that guy.” Dream’s breaths come quickly.
George lets his words settle, allows them room to sink in. Maybe he needs to go back to the drawing board, to re-work what this looks like between them. Not the emotional part. Not the way he loves Dream and knows now with certainty that Dream loves him–those parts are locked in tightly. He hasn’t questioned that in the least. But the other parts–
The other parts are fluid and subject to change, if both Dream and George want them to. Maybe that’s the lesson he’s learning here today. They’ve always carved their own way, and they’ve done it together. They reinvented Minecraft content between Dream’s editing skills and George’s support both technical and emotional and, like, starring in the videos. They built that together.
They’re going to build this together, too. Their life together. It will look like whatever they want it to look like.
They just have to talk. Communicate.
“We can try that too,” George says. “You or me or whichever way we’re feeling next time we– I’m open to it.”
“Okay, good,” Dream says. “We can always, like, get some toys, too. Like, work up to it. Fingers to dick is a lot. Especially because my dick is kinda big.”
George groans. “He’s fishing again, your honor.”
“What?” Dream laughs. “You said it. You’ve said it before!”
“Well, I’ll never say it again,” George threatens… but they both know it’s a lie.
They stay there for a minute, just holding onto each other. George sways their bodies together, liking the way Dream’s body yields to his. There’s such a comfort in holding Dream like this, in feeling safe in his arms, and hoping that Dream feels safe in George’s arms.
He wants to be a safe place for Dream, too.
There’s a sense of relief mixed into the comfort, like George has been carrying a big box and he can finally set it down. Or, more like a backpack he didn’t know had rocks in it.
“We should, like, maybe talk in advance,” George says as the idea comes to him. Maybe the trick to speaking up better is to just stop having a filter with Dream. Stop filtering his thoughts down and then having to unfilter them to coax them back out. He’s doing a twelve step recipe for something that should be two steps.
“You mean, like, make a list of things we’re willing to try?” Dream asks. He puts his chin on George’s head. George is a touch too tall for it, but he adjusts himself to make Dream comfortably fit. He likes when they fit together.
“Yeah, or… I mean… I need to stop being impulsive, huh?”
“You do like to just say shit,” Dream says. “Which, for the record, I don’t actually mind. I like when you say shit.”
“Shit.” How is he supposed to help himself? George’s default setting is trying to make Dream laugh.
Dream’s giggles rumble through George’s body. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” George says. He’s only saying this because he’s vulnerable. He’ll own being an idiot sometimes. But only to Dream.
“I’m the stupid boyfriend, and you’re the idiot boyfriend,” Dream says.
“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” George says.
“More like a match made in Minecraft,” Dream says and snorts. “Come on, let’s go watch a movie in our bed.” He steps back and drums his fingers on the doorframe.
George looks behind him at the room that was his for so long. There are still remnants of him here. He hasn’t had enough time to drag everything down to their room on the ground floor, but… but already it doesn’t feel right. It’s missing evidence of Dream, of their life together. This is the room of a guy navigating through life alone, of figuring it out.
When he follows Dream down the stairs and into the suite with his phone charger and his eye drops… that’s when he knows it’s real. This is something he’s going into with his eyes wide open, with his spirit eager and his heart claimed by the man in front of him.
Dream loves him. It’s just that George didn’t really get it until now. Until today.
There will be more stupidity. They’ll fight over something dumb at some point–they have their entire friendship, so George knows it’ll happen again. Just because they admit their feelings doesn’t mean their personalities change. They’ll fight. They’ll keep adjusting themselves, making room for the other, compromising space to keep them both comfortable.
It’ll be hard. It’ll call on virtues that aren’t George’s strongest, but he’ll do it.
For Dream – for a life with Dream - he’ll do it.