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The night is perfect. It couldn’t be better, truly; from the sound of the gentle pattering of rain on the roof, the cool breeze that drifted through the open window and pushed at the curtains, the moon that was poised just right to shine enough light into the room that it was bright enough to see vague outlines yet not bright enough to ruin the atmosphere and keep him awake. These things are good, and they make George relax in his bed underneath the thick and weighted covers, but what makes it perfect is the phone he has cradled in his hand, resting against the pillow. Not because of the phone, but because of who is on the other end.
Dream’s laughter drifts through the speakers, and it makes George smile wider, too, even though he’s already smiling so wide it hurts. “What is wrong with you,” George giggles out rhetorically, and Dream’s laughter picks up a bit as well.
“What, you don’t think I’m right? I’m telling you, there’s no way that he doesn’t peg him. I mean, come on--”
“Dream! Gross! I don’t want to think about this before I go to bed!” George says, and a wheeze rips through the other end of the phone. It’s something so unique and special to George, something so Dream, something so them. So soft; it’s his favorite sound in the entire world. It means he is safe, he’s happy, he’s laughing, that things are okay--but it’s even better when he knows he’s the cause.
“Why, scared it’s gonna awaken something in you?”
“Stop!” The Brit whines, throwing his face into a pillow as Dream continues to laugh. His face is burning with mild embarrassment, but even more so because of how sweet Dream was being. Well--maybe sweet wasn’t the right word (though Dream is incredibly sweet as well, there’s no denying that). Cute is better. How could anyone think that he isn’t cute with a voice or laugh like that? Regardless of the things the blond was actually saying, Dream is fucking adorable all of the time.
“Y’know, if you really wanna be pegged, George--”
“Stop fucking talking, I will disconnect this call,” George threatens, and they both know it’s empty. The brunet had jokingly disconnected the call and then immediately panicked that maybe Dream was going to assume he was serious and leave, and then he’d lose that cheery Floridian voice, and the chance to fall asleep with it drifting through his ears. He’d reconnected in about thirty seconds or less, only to be met with a, “that’s what I thought” that made him grumble and blush because dammit, Dream was right. He always was.
“Uh huh,” Dream catches his bluff, “you’ll disconnect, will you? Then beg me to call you again tomorrow night?”
George sighs, ignoring the way his cheeks flush more because goddammit Dream’s right again, rolling his eyes and moving to lay on his back, resting his phone against his chest. That way, when Dream speaks, he’s closer to his heart. It’s stupid and cheesy, but it’s one of the only thoughts that can help George cope with the distance.
Distance.
The thought is bitter and cold and it breaks him out of his hazy and warm lovesick headspace. He reaches over beside him, taking a pillow and hugging it against his side. He closes his eyes and wishes, hopes, wants to believe more than anything that it’s Dream. He knows it isn’t, but in this moment, with Dream’s voice so close to his chest, he can pretend.
“What was that?” Dream says, prodding at his silence. “Can’t hear you over the sound of me being right.”
“Oh my god, shut up,” George scoffs, though the smile that’s ever present on his face is audible in his inflection as well.
“What time is it now over there?” Dream asks, the teasing tone in his voice leaving for a moment as the realization sets in. “It’s gotta be pretty late, right?”
George blinks blearily at the clock, sighing when a large 6 glares back at him. “A little after six.”
“Oh, shit,” Dream says, “you need sleep, Georgie.”
“No,” the other groans, “I’m not even…” He trails off with a yawn, “that tired.”
“Uh huh,” Dream raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t the point of this call so that you could sleep? You’ve been talking for two hours.”
“Well, to be fair, I tried to go to sleep, and then you started talking about the weird porn you watched with Sapnap yesterday. It’s kinda difficult to fall asleep when your boyfriend is talking about porn and penises in graphic detail, and it’s definitely not something I’d like to have vivid thoughts of before sleeping anyway,” George tries to protest, though he’s already fighting another yawn.
Dream scoffed, “it’s funny.”
“Yeah, or you’re horny.”
“Go to bed, George.”
“Well, you’re not denying it--”
“George.”
The brunet giggles quietly, closing his eyes and slinging an arm over his eyes. Soon the sun was going to be up, and then it would be too bright in here to properly sleep. Words toyed in his mind, resting on the tip of his tongue, just out of his dialect. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to come off as needy, plus the other would probably find it weird.
But…
Eh. Fuck it.
“Dream?”
The blond hums in interest as he readjusts, George can hear him shuffling. “What’s up, George?”
“Could you--” the brunet swallows, feeling more anxious than he probably should for how ridiculous of a question it is, really. “Maybe could you tell me a story? Or--or read something to me? Just so I hear your voice?”
It’s quiet for a few moments, and George can’t tell what Dream’s thinking; he really wishes he could. After a moment, Dream asks, “what kind?”
“Any,” George shrugs his shoulders even though Dream can’t see. “I just want to hear your voice as I fall asleep.”
“Okay, um...I’m not good with stories, or reading, really,” Dream lets out a bit of a nervous chuckle.
“Oh--no, you don’t have to,” George blabbers, cheeks heating up with embarrassment and rejection. “Really, I just--”
“But,” Dream interrupts, “I can talk to you about something, if you want.”
George relaxes, a gentle smile taking back over his face. “Mmhm?” He hums, “what about?”
“The only thing that I can think about right now. I mean, really, it’s been on my mind relentlessly for the past three hours. It has no business being so potent,” Dream says, fondness dripping from his tone.
George closes his eyes with a smile. His boyfriend loves talking about coding, even if he complains about it a lot in the heat of the moment. He’s always been fascinated with computers and technology and the way they work, especially adding new features to his favorite games. And he’s good at it too, he taught George all he knew. He was grateful for it. He even still sometimes has to help him when he slips up.
“Coding,” George muses. “Are you gonna complain again?”
“No,” Dream says. “I--I was gonna talk about you, George.”
George freezes in place, his eyes popping open. “Wh--me?”
“Yeah,” Dream murmurs, voice a bit more shy, which makes George’s heart swell. “If--if that’s okay.”
“Of course it is,” George says, face taking on another red tone. “Anything.”
“Well,” Dream begins. “I love your voice, for starters.”
George grins, turning to hide his face in the pillow he’s now holding with both arms. He shifts so his phone is lying next to him, sure to catch every word. The smile on his face is still there, and still wide enough that it almost hurts, but in the best possible way. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s so… you, and that makes it perfect in its own way, you know? You’re perfect, George,” Dream continues, “god, so perfect. You’re kind and sweet and caring, you’re also so fucking talented and smart and such a god at what you do. I don’t think anyone else could ever compare.”
“You’re biased,” George tries, though his face is fucking burning. “You’re just a simp.”
“Maybe,” Dream grins, “but that doesn’t change the fact that everything I just said is true. Ask Sapnap, ask anyone--everyone loves you, George, and they’d all agree with me.”
George’s shoulders relax, and his eyelids flutter closed again. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Good, you’re supposed to be sleeping,” Dream playfully chides. “Anyway. If I were there right now, I want you to know I’d have you pulled onto my lap so I could run my fingers through your hair, drag my hand down your back and just let you relax and fall asleep against me. That sounds so nice.”
George can even hear the longing in Dream’s tone, and it makes his own heart pound a bit in his ears. What he wouldn’t give just for Dream to be here right now. He tugged on the sleeves of his hoodie--Dream’s hoodie, really, the one he sent him doused in his cologne. It’s enough to try to trick his brain, but it’s never quite enough to ease the pang of loneliness he feels whenever he thinks about the vast distance.
“It does,” George echoes in a murmur. “It really does.”
The brunet yawns, and Dream smiles. George can tell because it’s audible when he next speaks. “Go to sleep, baby.”
The pet name being spoken into the air and not over the phone is nearly enough to make George pass out as it is. He smiles impossibly wider, hugging the pillow a little tighter. “‘m trying,” he mumbles, “but it’s hard when you say things like that.”
Dream laughs, the sound fond and full of love. “Really, does me calling you my baby fluster you that much?”
“Dream!” George whines, giggling into the pillow. It really does, and it’s downright criminal.
“Okay, okay,” Dream says with another few chuckles. “Seriously, George. Go to bed. Close your eyes, and… picture me there with you, holding you, talking you to sleep for real.”
The mental picture is vivid and true, and George relaxes again, letting a soft sigh escape him. “It’s all I’ve ever thought about,” he confesses into the open air.
“One day,” Dream promises, and George gives a small nod.
“One day,” he echoes, voice slurred and rasped with fatigue.
“One day,” Dream says again, “I’ll hold you in my arms, and you’ll never have to worry about me letting go.”