Archive of Our Own

“Another person visiting Disney World with their parents thinks I’m their soulmate,” Dream tells George when he picks up the phone call. They already did pleasantries over text, there’s no need to do them again just because they can hear each others’ voices.

“So when’s the wedding?” George grumbles into the phone. He’s always more of an asshole in the mornings before he’s properly woken up. 

Dream, on the other hand, has been awake for hours. He’s been scrolling through Twitter and that’s how he came across another burner thread with ‘proof’ that this person is Dream’s soulmate—something about a strong feeling of disappointment right when Dream was playing in MCC and lost a game. 

“Are you going to at least wait until I’m there in Florida to walk down the aisle?” George asks around a yawn.

“Only the bride walks down the aisle,” Dream argues because his default state with George is to argue with him. It’s fun.

“Well your soulmate could be a man, maybe he wants to wait at the altar or whatever,” George says. Dream can hear the rustling sounds of his blankets and knows he isn’t even attempting to get up. That’s fine, not like he has anywhere to go.

“I don’t have a soulmate in Orlando,” Dream says with a huff. It’s so easy to get caught up in an argument about hypotheticals with George. “I haven’t even left the house since…”

“I think since you went to the dentist, like, two months ago,” George says and then yawns again, deeply this time. He doesn’t hide any of his bodily functions from Dream. Unfortunately. They’re not even safe when they’re streaming. 

“Yeah, the dentist’s office in Georgia. And even then, like, I didn’t feel anyone else, you know? It would have been up to them to feel, like, my debilitating anxiety about the whole thing.”

“I have a feeling you would have been pretty loud,” George says. 

“It’s so annoying when people claim to be my soulmate,” Dream complains. This isn’t even the first time this has happened. Every couple of months someone steps forward, claiming they passed through Orlando and felt something from a stranger with Dream’s general description—a young man over six feet tall. It’s annoying at this point. 

George laughs not unkindly down the line. “I know, Dream. It happens to me, too.”

A knot of unease tightens in Dream’s stomach. That’s always hanging over his head—the idea of George finding his soulmate, finding someone more important to him than Dream. He wants George to be happy and loved. He deserves that. He deserves someone he can love with his whole cranky heart, too. Dream just isn’t looking forward to the day when he has to share George.

“I don’t think I could feel anyone all the way out in Disney World anyway,” Dream says, just to work through the whole situation. He needs facts and logic to make himself feel better, and knowing the usual scope of soulmates' bonds helps tremendously. Really strong soulmates, like George’s parents, can feel each other from miles away—up to twenty or thirty, and they can even send words and sometimes short sentences across their bond with enough training. That’s ultra rare, though. 

Most soulmates, if they’re lucky enough to find one another, can only feel strong emotions across a couple miles, just close enough to figure out who the other person is. 

Dream’s mom tells the story of meeting her soulmate at a concert, when both of them could feel the other, but there were thousands of people there. They both waited hours after the concert was over, ditching their friends, just to weed out the extraneous people. And when they still felt the other half of their soul close by, they knew they were already on the same page. 

“No way you’d feel them from Disney World,” George agrees. “That sounds like a nightmare. Even my parents wouldn’t feel each other that far away.”

“What if my soulmate was a Disney adult?” Dream asks just to make George laugh. Dream wouldn’t mind if his soulmate was bald or short or disfigured or a furry, whatever, as long as they were his and they accepted George and Sapnap’s places in his life. 

“Then I guess you’d have to get season passes or whatever,” George says with a small giggle. “Maybe get a character costume or something. Dress up like Goofy for them, really get their motors running.”

“I can’t stand you,” Dream tells George while he laughs. “I’m not dressing up like Goofy.”

“You’re goofy enough in real life,” George says. “Can’t believe Dream hates his soulmate, won’t even dress up for him.”

“It could be a woman,” Dream says when he notices George using the male pronoun again. 

“You’re right,” George says, voice soft. “But Dream, just ignore Twitter for now. It’s going to be people arguing back and forth about your soulmate, just—just stay off for today.”

“Yeah,” Dream agrees, knowing George is thinking the same thing as him—that Twitter will be arguing that George is Dream’s soulmate, and neither of them have the capacity to think about that at all. There’s no way to test it, not yet, and they’ve never—they’ve never discussed what they would do, actually do, if they ended up soulmates. Dream can’t bring himself to talk about it because it hits too close to home. He can’t afford to get his hopes up. “I’ve got that video to edit anyway.”

“Good,” George says, clearly relieved that he won’t have to do more to convince Dream. “Edit mine next.”

“No way,” Dream says. “Edit your own damn video.”

“Why should I when you can do it better?” George asks and they fall into the familiar cadence of another argument. 

Talking to George always makes Dream feel better. They go their separate ways soon enough, Dream to edit and George to have lunch with his mum, with tentative plans to talk again in the evening.

Instead, Dream gets the shock of his life three hours into editing.

George: guess who got the visa?

It’s Kathy’s turn to bring over the groceries this week. Sapnap’s off in North Carolina to make content with Foolish and Karl until the day before George is scheduled to land. Dream doesn’t blame him—after years of living with the byproduct of Dream’s facelessness, he deserves it. It’s not like they’re doing anything fun here right now. Just waiting. 

Endlessly waiting.

Kathy comes in the garage door with bags and bags in her hands and starts putting things away in the kitchen before Dream even walks down the stairs.

“Clay, hi,” she says with a cabinet open, stuffing boxes of macaroni and cheese into it. He doesn’t even like the boxed stuff, won’t eat it, but Kathy insists it’s good backup food. She’s been saying that his entire life. 

“Are there more bags outside?” he asks, scooting around the kitchen to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Her arm comes around him to briefly hug him, love and affection deep in the touch, and she says, “Yeah, yeah, your mom went a bit crazy with the list this time.”

“Oh, Mom did, huh?” Dream teases because he knows how his mom is, but her soulmate isn’t any better. Kathy probably snuck some treats in for Sapnap, and likely George, too. Even if she doesn’t know him personally yet. 

“Yes, your mother,” Kathy says with a mock glare. “And only her. I think she’s nervous about making a good impression on your—on your friend.”

Kathy is very much on board the DNF train. No matter what Dream says to her, he can’t get her to let go of the idea. He has no idea where she’s gotten her evidence. When she left her laptop open a few weeks ago he shamelessly checked her YouTube recommended videos and saw only his own videos and gardening tutorials. 

“I don’t know why she’s so worried,” Dream says, mostly hypocritically, because he’s been bricking it since George texted him that his visa was approved. They FaceTimed, and that went well. George’s reaction spurred hope in him, appeased the demon that’s been living inside him and eating at his confidence. So what if George doesn’t think he’s handsome? It doesn’t—it doesn’t matter.

“Uh huh,” Kathy says, jutting her hip out in the way that means she can see right through him. For all Dream loves his parents and adores them, it’s Kathy that he feels he can really be himself with. “Too much like your mother. The two of you get all up in your heads that people aren’t going to like you. Why, though? You’re amazing. He already loves you, Clay. It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” he says and he means it, truly. It’s just… it’s a lot. A lot of changes.

“Are you worried about the face reveal?” she asks, earning her reputation of being too perceptive for her own good. 

“A little,” he says and leans back against the counter. He’ll go get the rest of the groceries in a minute. For now, he intends to let his mother’s soulmate talk sense into him, just like she did before he started middle school, before he got his driver’s license, before he went to his interview at Apple. Kathy just speaks his language. 

“Clay,” she says, and though she doesn’t have any kids of her own, her mothering voice affects him all the same. “You’re wonderful, kid. The people who are going to hate you are going to hate you. The people who love you are going to love you. There’s no two ways about it, and very little middle ground. So just focus on the people who love you, focus on George and Nick. And let the others rot in hell.”

“ Kathy,” Dream says, holding a hand over his heart aghast. She’s not one for cursing, even though his mother swears like a sailor.

“Sorry for my language,” she says and Dream thinks she reminds him of Bad sometimes, in the absolute best of ways. “But I mean it. You’re smart and terrific and very handsome and anyone who thinks otherwise can go cry about it while you swim in money.”

“Scrooge McDuck style,” Dream says and they share a smile. He watched a lot of cartoons with Kathy growing up and she loved Duck Tales.

“Exactly,” she says and then turns to the next bag to unload. Task masker, that one. “Now, enough with this. Go get the rest of the bags out of my car, child.”

Dream follows her directions, taking the rest of the bags, and there are many, back in one trip, determined not to have to go back. It’s a pride thing. 

He helps her put the rest of the items away, thanking her for taking the time to get everything. She hands his credit card back over and he pushes it back to her. “Eh, keep it just in case.”

“You’re lucky I don’t rob you to filth,” she says and slides the card back into her purse on the counter.

“You can’t rob your soulmate’s kid,” Dream says with a shake of his head and a cocky smile. “It would make my mom sad.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying when you’re right.”

“Guess I’m always annoying,” he boasts and Kathy raises an eyebrow like he fell right into her trap. “Oh shut up, that’s not—that’s not fair.”

They work quietly in tandem putting groceries away, something they’ve done together in this house a couple times, and many times in other kitchens over the years—his childhood home, Kathy’s apartment, his last house. With his face a security risk, Kathy and his mom take turns helping purchase the groceries and bring them over to minimize the chance of Dream’s face leaking and to keep someone from trying to follow Sapnap home. That’s happened at least twice.

While he cleans out the fridge, taking out Sapnap’s old leftovers with the beginnings of mold on them and throwing them into the garbage, Dream thinks about the upcoming few days—it’s a lot. 

He’s terrified of the face reveal as much as he’s looking forward to having it behind him. Dream wants to be a real boy, wants to be able to do things with his friends and family. He wants to be able to get his own groceries at Walmart without feeling like his face will leak before he’s ready. He has plans, okay?

The business side of the face reveal is very interesting to him—he can separate himself out of it and see the potential, and knows this is going to blow up. For better or worse, he’s a divisive figure online and there will be eyes on him. Millions of eyes, probably. Might as well make that more millions and then get that bag.

Personally, though, as Clay, the idea is still scary. What’s scarier is George moving here and deciding he hates Dream. That’s—that won’t happen. He has to shut that part of himself up and have more faith in George. It’s just really hard. 

The nagging feeling of George leaving will never truly go away. Physically, he could turn around and go back to London at any time. Emotionally, well, there’s always the chance he finds his soulmate here in Florida and fucks off to start his life with that person. Which, Dream would be happy for him. He would. That’s not—that’s not the problem. He wants George to be happy and safe above anything else, but it would majorly suck to go from being George’s person to second fiddle. He has no idea how he’d really react to George having someone ahead of him.

To be the best friend or partner of someone with a separate soulmate. 

“How did you—” Dream starts to ask Kathy, flirting with the line that he’s never crossed before. Since he could talk, his mother made it clear that he’s not to ask Kathy about the soulmate thing. It’s common knowledge to their friends and family—they aren’t ashamed of each other, but he and his siblings have never been allowed to ask about why they never fell in love, why it wasn’t romantic. 

“Yes?” she asks when he doesn’t continue.

He takes a deep breath and loses momentum. “Nevermind, not my business.”

“Clay, honey, you can ask,” she says as she puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for one of you to ask. It might as well be you.” 

He shakes his head, trying to gather his courage to ask an extremely personal question. “You and Mom—you never, like, fell in love? Even though you’re soulmates?”

Her smile is beautiful and pained under the kitchen lights. “It’s not that simple, baby. I’m not—I don’t fall in love. I don’t—that’s just not in me,” she explains. “If I was going to fall in love with anyone, of course it would be Nancy. Of course. But—” she shrugs as if to say, what can you do?

“So you’re aromantic?” Dream asks just to clarify. So many things are starting to make sense. 

“I guess that’s the term people use now,” she says with a careless shrug. “There wasn’t a mainstream name for it when we were teenagers. At least not one I knew. Your mother and I had a really hard time of things when we figured it out, especially since we could feel each other’s emotions, that made things about ten times worse. It took a lot of patience and communication for us to realize we just didn’t work that way. We work as best friends, life partners, sure, but not as—not like that. And, kid, your mother deserves to be loved like that.”

Dream takes the information in while he picks at his nail. It’s hard to look at Kathy while they talk about this. He’s always wondered. “So you let Dad…”

“I didn’t let your dad do anything,” Kathy says with a half smile for him when he looks up. “That man loved her enough on his own and I just got out of their way.”

“And you’re okay with it? You’ve always been okay with it?” Dream asks.

“Have I ever given you the impression I wasn’t?” she asks kindly. “And have I ever seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t speak up if I had a problem?”

This makes Dream laugh because she’s right. Kathy is always the first person to stand up for herself, to tell the waiter respectfully that they got her order wrong, to politely ask the other patrons in a movie theater to please stop talking through Spiderman, can’t you see this kid is obsessed and wants to hear the movie? She’s the backbone of the family and Dream learned so much from her.

“You’re right,” Dream says and a fear he’s been putting off for decades settles inside him. 

“What are you really worried about?” Kathy asks, face shrewd but voice soft. She’s always been there for him. She was the one explaining why other kids were so mean. Kathy was the one who bought him Minecraft for his birthday, convinced he would like the game. 

She’s his safe space in a cruel world. 

“What if—what if George finds his soulmate here and leaves me behind?” Dream asks, knowing how dumb it sounds before it even comes out.

“Is your George the type to drop his friends for someone else?” Kathy asks with an eyebrow quirked. He hates and loves how she talks so fluently with her eyebrows.

“Well, no,” Dream says, thinking of all the controversies he’s caused online that George could have dropped him over and didn’t. That loyalty, the same loyalty in Sapnap, that the two of his best friends have for each other and for him—it’s strong and irreplaceable. 

“Even if he does find his soulmate here,” Kathy says, that soothing logic that’s always worked on Dream. She’s not the type to tell him not to worry, she’s the type to come up with solutions and worst case scenarios, “he’s not going to stop being your friend. You might have some adjustments to make, but hey, you’re going to have to make adjustments for being together, like, physically for the first time anyway. With enough love, you’ll get through it. You won’t lose him.”

“You’re right.”

“Ah, music to my ears,” Kathy says with a grin. “For real, though, Clay, I doubt you have to worry about that. It’s no different than if he’d found his soulmate in London. The odds are—”

“Yeah, the odds are low anyway,” Dream says and though he can quote the statistic, some 15% of people find their soulmates, that doesn’t ease the constant anxiety of George leaving for better pastures. 

“Maybe you’ll find yours first,” Kathy says and adds a new fear to Dream’s growing collection. 

“God, I hope not,” Dream says, already pitying the poor soul who gets stuck with him. He doesn’t mean him, he means the pomp and circumstance that comes with being famous online—the infamy, the think-pieces, the two hour long video essays villainizing him. He doesn’t want to bring anybody into that unprepared. And who could possibly be prepared for something like that?

“You want to watch something for a bit?” Kathy asks. That’s her way of knowing Dream needs support but he doesn’t want to ask. 

“ Duck Tales?” Dream asks now that the show is on his mind.

“You can get some tips for your money room,” she laughs and Dream can’t help but join in. 

In the lead-up to George’s arrival, Dream does a lot of things. He keeps himself busy so he doesn’t have to sit around and think about it all. He’s bad enough at getting stuck in spirals of anxiety without two big life events happening back-to-back—Dream reaches deep into his toolbox to find anything to keep his mind occupied.

He scripts the face reveal video. He goes through what he wants to say, how he best wants to represent himself. He knows there will be a lot of scrutiny on this—he needs to put his best foot forward.

With one day left before George arrives, Dream has a mild panic attack about what to wear. What does one wear to show the entire world their face for the first time. He already has this dumb republican mullet haircut that even Kathy laughed at, he doesn’t need to wear something that will make him look extra stupid. 

He looks through his closet, panic cloying the air around him, making him almost choke on it. His Sorry Ladies I Suck Dick shirt is right out, even though that would make for a banger first impression. Despite the flutter in his stomach, Dream sends a quick text to George letting him know he won’t be wearing that and George calls him dumb. 

He goes through shirt after shirt, texting George updates, cognizant of keeping the line of communication open because Dream knows if he’s anxious about this, George will be too. And George won’t admit it, but his will be even worse. He has to fly here; he has to get past American customs and pack up his entire life.

“All your shirts are ugly,” George says when Dream gives in and just calls him. His voice is quiet because he’s at his parent’s house and it’s late. He has one more full day in London, and then he flies over.

“My shirts are not ugly,” Dream argues. “You’re just colorblind.”

“Well then wear something I can see, idiot,” George shoots back and then changes the subject to tell Dream another funny thing Mr. Beast said when he was in London.

Dream’s mind gets stuck on that thought, though. Wear something George can see.

He finds the perfect shirt. 

When Sapnap starts threatening to hit him over the head and knock him out, Dream googles relaxing videos and tries to follow along. He lies down in his bed with a YouTube video playing on his phone, trying to match his breaths to the instructions, and failing entirely.

George is coming in twelve hours.

George is coming in eleven hours.

George is coming in ten hours.

He receives a text from George that he’s boarding. He likes it. He sends back a picture of Patches lying judgmentally on the floor of his room and says someone’s waiting to meet him. 

George is coming in five hours.

George is coming in two hours.

“Dream,” Sapnap says, from the hallway, through Dream’s closed bedroom door. “Dream, you idiot!” He knocks loudly. Dream’s almost catatonic, how is he supposed to answer?

“Dream, I’m going to go get him,” Sapnap says when Dream doesn’t answer. “Go work on your video, idiot. We have to get it up today, right?”

His already twisted stomach turns back the other way even harder. 

“Okay,” he says, not nearly loud enough for Sapnap to hear him, but he hopes the sentiment gets across.

He can do this. His outfit is picked out. The video is scripted. Now he just has to put the clothes on, and say the words. Sapnap already fixed the lighting for him in his office.

He can do this. He’s a YouTuber.

George is coming in an hour.

Something is wrong. He doesn’t need to check Sapnap’s location on his phone to know that they’re getting closer. He doesn’t need to text George to know that he’s nervous and excited.

If he closes his eyes, he can hear George in his head. It’s not like Discord, not a crystal clear voice. It’s not even every word, it’s—it’s almost like watching a TV that’s staticky. He can make the picture out, even if the individual pixels are evident. 

Oh, holy fuck.

He can hear George. He’s singing—he’s singing “Mask” and he’s wondering if he should call Karl, and Dream— 

Dream’s freaking the fuck out.

The car pulls into the driveway and he can hear every thought running through George’s mind—he dislikes the gate, but he’s happy that they’ll be safe. He hates how hot it is and he hopes the air con is turned up in the house. He likes the green grass of the yard. He thinks Sapnap’s stupid and lovely at the same time. He hasn’t… he hasn’t noticed Dream’s presence yet. 

Fuck.

Dream wants to throw up. He nearly does. He’s sitting on the stairs of their house with his head between his knees trying to keep everything down— both the bile in his throat and his own emotions tangling with George’s and growing like slither.io. 

This can’t be happening.

If really pressed, Dream wouldn’t be shocked that they’re soulmates, because that’s what this is—definitely—but he is shocked at the strength of this bond. He’s never heard of someone effortlessly reading their soulmate’s thoughts.

George’s parents are the strongest soulmates either of them have heard of and they can barely send one word here and there.

Dream can’t seem to stop himself from reading George. 

What is that? George thinks. That’s weird, why would I be… Dream?

There it is. He’s noticed now. Dream swallows down his fear. Is George going to hate him? Is he going to hate this? George likes his privacy, he’s not going to love being attached to Dream in this manner.

George.

Dream? How can you hear me? What the fuck?

I think you know. 

Sapnap comes to get him from inside where Dream is questioning his entire life, and he can barely hear Sapnap over George repeating, Don’t tell Sapnap, don’t tell Sapnap, don’t tell Sapnap…

Okay, okay, I won’t tell Sapnap, please stop thinking that.

Don’t say anything, George pleads. This is a disaster. This is horrible. This is so bad…

George, don’t say that, Dream thinks while a piece of his heart breaks off. George doesn’t want him? George doesn’t want them to be soulmates? George’s panic starts feeding into Dream’s, and together they’re stuck in a feedback loop of acidic dread.

If you don’t want me to say anything to Nick, Dream sends, then we can’t show anything is wrong. You have to calm down. He’s going to know something is up.

Sapnap asks if he’s ready and Dream pushes as hard as he can internally at George’s racing mind to listen to him and then to agree. He lets Sapnap walk out first to get the right angle, gives himself a few nervous taps on the ground and then walks towards George and George’s vlog camera.

This is the moment they’ve been waiting years to experience.

Calm down, Dream sends to George, over and over until the message sinks in. He can feel George’s panic recede, but not disappear entirely. Calm down, we’re on camera. We can worry about it after.

George’s emotions turn from a tornado of multiple conflicting feelings into concentrated lightning—he can’t feel it, but he knows George well enough to guess he’s choosing what to focus on, to choose to carry on in his excitement that they’re all together. Focus on the video, on the moment, and sort the rest out in the future.

He feels George’s joy bloom again—he’s excited to meet Dream. 

“It’s so bright, I can’t even see you,” George says, breathless with excitement now and walking towards Dream with his arms out. “You’re like a god with the sun behind you.”

I’m sorry about before, George says and combines it with a strong sense of regret and sadness as he hugs Dream for the first time. When George’s skin touches his, he feels complete for the first time in his life, like a piece of the puzzle he didn’t know was missing slots into place.

I freaked out. I’m not mad it’s you. I’m just—I’m just scared. They pull back and Dream can see the sincerity in his eyes as much as he can feel it in his own heart. Any resentment dissolves between them. This is too happy of a moment to let misunderstandings cloud. 

Okay, I understand. Thanks for saying that.

He surprises Dream when he goes in for a fake kiss, and Dream gets the hint too late to play along right that second, needing a minute with all the emotions swirling through him to catch on. And then Dream leans back in for a fake kiss of his own, and it feels right. Playful. Dumb. The perfect moment to be caught by George’s vlog camera.

The three of them hug in the driveway and Dream can feel George’s heart pounding against his own, can feel relief and surprise and fear and anger and vulnerability—and his emotions are so entwined in Dream’s that he can’t really tell which belongs to who.

“Should we take him inside, Dream?” Sapnap asks and jolts Dream out of his own mind.

Big, George thinks, whether on purpose or not. Dream snaps his head around to look at George and catches him just as he turns to look at the house. Oh, so he was talking about the house. Of course he was. It is indeed a big house. 

“Yeah, let’s—let’s go. You’ve got to meet Patches,” Dream says and gestures for them to go ahead of him. George brings his camera back out and Dream still has the sun in his eyes and someone else’s thoughts in his brain, and he’s overstimulated.

But he’s happy.

George is here. George is his soulmate. His. George is—George is walking inside and awe-struck. George is ass up under the coffee table trying to lure Patches out and Dream has got to stomp that line of thought out right the fuck now—George can hear that.

Sorry, he says when George’s nerves start to spring back up. Carry on, I’ll behave. You have nothing to worry about with me.

Sure, George says, sending a bit of a tease down to Dream that he caught him thinking about George’s ass. And then he changes to achingly sincere and Dream almost gets whiplash. I know I’m safe with you, idiot.

“Look, Patches loves me,” George says out loud for the camera and for Sapnap. Dream, despite the inherent invasiveness of someone hearing his innermost thoughts, is starting to come around to the idea. It’s like a secret in-game chat. 

George drinks out of Patches’ water fountain before anyone can stop him, and then Sapnap leads him upstairs to show him his room. They’ve shown him all of this on Facetime, it’s not new in that he’s never seen it before. In fact, George had the final say on all of the details including his bathroom and shower size, but it’s still new now. It’s still important.

The bond between the three of them, separate from their soulbond—the one all three of them pursued and strengthened when they were just kids, just voices on a phone call—that’s the bond that’s shining now. Dream can feel George, can feel the love he has for Sapnap and even himself, but this moment, even if they weren’t soulmates, this is a life-changing moment. One for the books. This is a Before and After moment to mark his life by, and he couldn’t be more thrilled to be here with Sapnap and George. 

Sap, George sends his way, clearly picking up on Dream’s introspection. 

I’m just happy, Dream responds and then tries to shut it down. They’ll have to learn how to—they’ll have to make changes to accommodate for this, just like Kathy predicted. 

The video ends and Sapnap drags all three of them into another hug—one just for them and, yeah, maybe Dream cries a little bit out of relief and love. But that’s between the three of them. 

Dream doesn’t get a chance to talk to George alone because Sapnap clings to both of them. He can’t even be mad at him about it—they’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. He’d honestly be more mad at Sapnap if he did give them a clear opening. 

They don’t get to talk the first night of George living in Florida due to Sapnap’s insistence that they have a sleepover in the movie theater room, just the three of them. Dream’s not dumb, he’s perfectly aware it’s to keep Dream from looking too closely at how the face reveal video is doing. A million people waiting just in the premiere was insane enough—he shudders to think of the actual number of views on the video. It’s been insane before, each Manhunt video does extremely well up front, but it’s never—it’s never been this personal. It’s never been his face. 

He lets Sapnap talk them into the sleepover a little too easily while George tries not to give the game away. It makes Dream feel loved to know that his two best friends—his soulmate and his brother—conspired against him for the good of his mental health.

During their marathon, Dream messes up and accidentally brings George a bottle of water when he can feel him thinking about getting up to get one.

“Why didn’t you bring me one?” Sapnap whines when Dream comes back with two waters and nothing for him.

Thinking quickly, Dream says, “I’ve only got two hands,” with a shrug like what can you do?

George calls him stupid in his head, but gladly takes the water so he’s counting it as a win. They watch Deathnote and Dream surprisingly gets into it.

There are some names he’d love to write down in the deathnote.

“I knew you would like it,” Sapnap says and then yawns widely. George lies on the couch on Dream’s other side, long since passed out. His bags are still packed upstairs; he’s barely even stepped foot into his own room. 

Patches twitches on Dream’s lap, rearranging for a better position, and Dream wants to cry with how happy he is. His little family is complete.

The next morning, or afternoon, rather, Sapnap and George are both gone. Dream blinks the sleep out of his eyes and stretches out the crick in his neck. He wasn’t meant to fall asleep on this recliner. It’s not the most comfortable place he’s ever slept, but it’s not the worst either.

He heads to the closest bathroom and feels George in a deeply concentrated trance. He must be editing his video. Dream smiles to himself while he washes his hands after taking care of his business. George’s concentration tastes so different from his own. He doesn’t want to break him out of the roll he’s on, so Dream goes to find Sapnap, instead.

Except Sapnap’s keeping George company while he edits. With both of them occupied, there’s nothing for Dream to do but check his social media and think.

Both are dangerous.

Dream, you’re thinking too loudly, shut up, please, George says, and it isn’t mean, but it does shock Dream. He forgot for a second that everything he’s thinking is open for George to step inside. 

They’ve got to be able to do something about, like, feeling each other this strongly all the time. How are they going to get anything done? How are they going to play on stream together if they can’t concentrate on just themselves? 

Dream wanders to his office and pulls up a Reddit thread. Time to do some stealth research.

George scrambles to get his video uploaded as soon as possible, and Dream keeps track both with the running commentary from his soulmate and the tweets updating the fandom on his progress. All the while, he keeps his nose to the grindstone and finds parts of Reddit he didn’t know existed before.

While George edits, Dream starts to form a clear plan on how to move forward. They need to talk, that’s—that’s obvious and unavoidable, but Dream’s terrified that George will give into the fear and reject everything entirely.

Dream doesn’t want that to happen. He doesn’t want to lose George. The fact that George isn’t already on a flight back to England gives him hope, and the video he’s working tirelessly to upload declaring his new home is in Florida grants him even more.

Sapnap calls Dream up to George’s office to watch the final product before they click upload—George’s nervous energy wafts off of him, he wants Dream’s approval, wants to make him proud and that’s really sweet actually. 

“Do you like it?” George asks when it’s done.

Dream gives him a smile and lets him feel the pride he has in him. “It’s your best video ever, I think. It’s epic.”

“Okay, then give me a second and I’ll, uh, I’ll upload it.” George looks up at Dream from his seat, dark bags under his eyes, and Dream nods. 

“And then you need to sleep,” he says. 

When George doesn’t argue, Dream knows he’s tired. Jetlag, pushing this hard to get the video up relatively soon after arriving, the stress of all those things—Dream can feel his exhaustion.

The video drops, and so does George. He finally makes his way to his own room and collapses onto his bed. Dream’s glad he bothered to make the bed up with sheets before George got here. 

And when he sleeps, Dream’s head is finally quiet.

The talk does come. 

Dream manages to sleep a few hours while George does the same down the hall. But before that, he uses George’s unconsciousness to check out what Twitter is saying about him without having to censor himself for George. The fallout is about par for the course. Some people love him, some people hate him, same old same old, just on a much larger scale.

There are news articles about his face. It’s eerie that there’s so much fanfare over the thing he’s been living behind for years, the thing he looks at when he brushes his teeth. Everyone has a mask when you think about it. 

Dream lets the wave of pressure crush over him, giving into the riptide, and then he lets himself be carried away. There’s nothing to do about it now but sleep.

With George’s calming presence in his mind, Dream focuses on its steadiness, on the way he’s always been there and that their physical closeness has allowed for this new intimacy to blossom. 

Thank god he never visited George. How would he have gotten on a plane to come home?

He wouldn’t have.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to Dream, but then again, it rarely ever does.

When he wakes, he knows even before he opens his eyes that George is in the room. It’s not just the bond, but the dip in the bed from where he’s sitting, the soft breaths he’d know from across an ocean, and the new scent of fresh laundry and boy that Dream is coming to learn as George. 

“Hi,” Dream says, half sitting up to greet him. There’s an ache in his head that he can’t tell if it’s coming from him or a phantom pain from George, but either way, it’s annoying.

“Oh, good, you’re up,” George says like he wasn’t sitting there staring at him until the weight of his gaze donned too heavy and forced his eyes open. “Look at these stats, Dream!” 

George thrusts his phone into Dream’s hands, already opened to his YouTube analytics—they’re good. They’re very, very good for a GeorgeNotFound video.

“I was right, then,” Dream says. “It was your best video, yet.”

George shakes his head in fondness, amusement rife through the connection between them. “Did you check yours?” he asks knowingly. Dream tries not to feel the mix of guilt and pride and fear and—and a million other things the face reveal evokes in him. He tries to spare George, but alas. 

“Lemme see,” George says and reaches for Dream’s phone on his nightstand. He opens it up without issue, since Dream stupidly told him his password months ago. Maybe it’s better like this, for Dream not to see what the numbers have grown to since he last checked. George lets out an impressed sound, and the giddiness in their bond runs rampant. 

There’s pride in George’s heart, pride in Dream’s work. “You’re popping off, Dream.”

“Really?” he asks, not proud of the vulnerability in his voice, but thrilled in the way that George strives to protect that vulnerability. He wants to cherish it and that makes Dream a little crazy.

They have to talk.

But first, “Let me go brush my teeth,” Dream says and stands up. He’s not wearing a shirt because he wasn’t expecting company, and he feels George’s eyes on him. He can also feel George trying not to eye him, the conflicting urges inside his soulmate that threaten to tear him apart. They’re almost as divisive as how Dream feels about this—self-conscious in turn and then cocky, both equally disastrous and unproductive here. It’s all he can do to breathe.

It’s easy enough to grab a t-shirt off the floor of his bathroom while he brushes his teeth. It’s not, like, super dirty or anything. It’s clean, Dream tells George when he can feel his judgment, I only wore it for a few hours before I took a bath the other day.

I don’t care if you smell, George responds and Dream, to his befuddlement, finds that to be entirely honest. He doesn’t mind if Dream smells. What a weirdo. Dream adores him. 

Back in his room, teeth cleaned, Dream throws himself back under the covers. He might as well be comfortable.

While Dream was busy in the bathroom, George made himself at home in Dream’s room. He sits on the bed, crisscross applesauce style, and pulls an orange Dream recognizes from Kathy’s grocery run out of his pocket, handing it over in a silent demand for Dream to start peeling it.

Dream rolls his eyes in mock frustration, but he gives in. He can feel George’s happiness when he starts peeling. 

They sit in a comfortable silence, as silent as it can be between them, while Dream thinks about his words, how to frame what he needs to say. 

George loses patience before he can figure it out, and blurts out, “What are we going to do, Dream?” 

“You can relax,” Dream responds, tearing off another layer of the orange and shucking it at George. “I’m not going to push you for anything, George. I’m not—this is new to both of us, I’m not going to just—there’s time. We can just, like, be ourselves, get used to being friends in a physical space. We have, shit, we have TwitchCon to go to in, like, a week. We don’t—we don’t have to do anything about this now, you know?”

A budding sense of relief wafts off of George and Dream feels himself relax, too. “We don’t?” George asks, voice terribly uncomfortable and small. He doesn’t like talking about things like this. Dream knows that more than most people. A shame, really, for George that he can’t hide his feelings or thoughts from Dream. But Dream’s gain. Not that he’ll, like, exploit George or whatever.

A fingernail gets stuck in the orange peel. He hates that feeling. “No, idiot,” Dream says and rolls his eyes to show he’s being playful. He doesn’t need to do that, not only because of the feelings they share, but George has been reading his voice for years. He knows Dream’s intentions better than anyone else. “We’re best friends first. Let’s just—let’s table it.”

“Table it?” George repeats like he’s feeling the thought out. “Talk about it later?”

“We both need—fuck, George. We both need time to adjust, right? You just moved from another continent. I just face revealed, and now I can, like, be an actual human. We’re—we’re soulmates, and that’s… that’s a lot. We don’t have to jump immediately into… into anything, really.”

“Are you sure, Dream? I know you’ve always wanted to find your actual soulmate, I mean…”

“I’m sure. I’m not—George, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled it’s you, okay? I never even let myself dare imagine, but—but let’s do this right.” Dream rubs his fingers through his beard. “We have our whole lives to—to do whatever. Let’s not mess it up and freak ourselves out by reaching for too much right away. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, Dream, that’s—I feel a lot better.”

Dream smiles. “I know, I can tell.”

George shakes his head and pushes Dream’s shoulder playfully, “You’re so annoying.”

“So we agree to just—” he struggles for the right word, “ignore it for now? Not tell anyone else?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“The fans are going to ask,” Dream says, heaving a world weary sigh. It’ll be on him, too, to say something. That’s his role in things. A discord podcast, a space, something—he knows they’ll ask. He’s already seen tendrils online of people trying to truth something, anything, about him and George.

“And we’ll ignore them,” George says. “We won’t deny anything. That’ll just, like, hurt us later, right?”

“How am I supposed to ignore it?”

George makes a face and accompanies it, lovingly, with Are you dumb? in his mind. “Easy, you just laugh at the question and move on. You say something stupid like, ‘I wish,’ and then start talking about something else. It’s not hard.”

Dream nods, taking the words in. It sounds so easy when George says it like that. Dream, though—Dream has a different relationship with their fans. Dream likes them to know things about himself, he likes to share. He hates having to gatekeep things and they know that. They use that against him.

“Do you want me to stream first or something?” George offers, caught in the crossfire of Dream’s inner debate. “I can set everyone straight. I’m better at, like, not saying anything definitive.”

Dream shrugs and takes a deep breath. “We’re not doing anything public, like, at least until TwitchCon anyway, right? Let’s just—let’s just let them sweat it out. People will ask at TwitchCon and we can put them off, then.”

“Okay,” George says and steals the orange from Dream’s hands. He’s forgotten about it, using it more as a fidget device than a source of food for his—for George. Small hands split the orange down the middle and give one half back to Dream.

There’s a sense of peace between them—two soulmates sharing an orange in companionable silence. 

“You were doing something yesterday while I was editing,” George says a moment later, through a mouthful of orange. “You had, like, that ‘eureka’ feeling, like you figured something out.”

Oh yeah, that’s right. Dream says, “Yeah, I—I went on Reddit, discreetly, to look some stuff up, see if anyone has been in our exact situation before. Not many people can send, like, full on thoughts and sentences to each other.”

“I know, Dream,” George says. “You don’t need to mansplain soulmates to me.”

“It’s not mansplaining if it’s between two men and you specifically asked me what I was doing,” Dream says with a sigh. He’s not even annoyed, he’s just looking for any avenue to not talk about this. 

“Tell me, idiot,” George says and grabs the half of his orange back, like he’s taking Dream’s privilege away. He feels himself frowning down at it in George’s small hands. 

“There are ways we can learn to, like, block the stuff we don’t want the other to know. It takes some mental discipline which isn’t my strongest suit, but we can, like, protect each other.”

“Oh,” George says with a strong wave of disappointment rushing between them.

“George,” Dream says, and for all that he can read George’s mind, he’s confused. “Why are you—I thought you would like this. I thought you’d want to be able to—”

“Well, I don’t want you to hide anything from me,” George says and then adds silently, I know that’s messed up and hypocritical or whatever. I just always want to know everything on your mind.

“Yeah, but you’re clearly uncomfortable when I can’t hide my—when you know I’m attracted to you,” Dream says, careful to say it out loud. 

“I’m not uncomfortable,” George says, like Dream is being ridiculous. I just don’t know what to do with it. Yet. I like that you think that about me. Is that crazy? Am I crazy? I’m totally crazy. He holds his arms against his chest like he needs comfort from his own thoughts and Dream wants to wrap him up in his arms. He doesn’t, though, because they’re trying to have a conversation. 

You’re not crazy, Dream thinks to reassure him. “You’re not,” he reiterates it out loud. “It’s a confusing situation and we’re not used to, like, censoring our own thoughts.”

“So, don’t censor them,” George says and looks straight at Dream. You can think whatever you want to think. You can look at me. You can wonder about… you can wonder.

George, Dream thinks desperately. He’s holding onto his sanity by a thread. 

It’s okay to want me, Dream, George thinks. I want you to want me. Fuck that sounds awful, he thinks and then tailspins into He’s going to think I’m crazy. He’s going to hate me. He’s going to think I’m selfish.

“Shut up, I don’t think any of those things,” Dream says aloud to cut into George’s downward spiral. He grabs him by the shoulders and forces George to see on his face that he means it. “Okay? I don’t. If I’m allowed to—to want you, then you’re allowed to want me to want you. That’s allowed, too.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not wrong to want someone to love you,” Dream says. “Especially me.”

“Because you’re my soulmate?” George asks, a strange bite on the word that Dream chooses to ignore.

“No, because I’m your best friend.” He doesn’t let his hand wander up to George’s cheek like he wants to so badly. He keeps both hands cemented onto his shoulders, a safe place. “And you already knew I was going to love you. I’ll love you whatever way you’ll let me.” 

Simp, George thinks, but he’s pleased.

With their new understanding of just letting things lie, things get a bit easier. George relaxes into the bond like he relaxes into their house, letting small bits of himself spread out over their things until one could walk into their house and know that he lives there. He takes up space here.

Sapnap trips over George’s shoes left carelessly by the door to the garage. Dream finds the corresponding socks in front of the couch in the lounge. George doesn’t bother to fully unpack since they’re headed over to California in under a week for Twitchcon anyway, and he leaves an entire suitcase in the middle of the kitchen.

Dream’s obsessed.

As their flight looms closer, Dream’s anxiety spikes. He’s excited to meet the fans, but also incredibly intimidated. He hasn’t been around people for so long and now he’s jumping off into the deep end. Sink or swim style.

George is nice enough not to bring it up, but when Dream asks on the plane if he wants to wear a catbeanie with him, George agrees right away. It’s sweet.

It’s not sweet, George disagrees. I’m taking it off.

No, no, don’t , Dream thinks. You look so cute.

Dream, George says, and it’s the same tone as when he rolls his eyes at Dream. 

Sapnap promises Dream in a low voice on their way to the convention center that he’ll stick close to him and Dream’s heart melts. He loves his friends, he really does.

“I can’t believe we’re going to meet so many people,” George says as the Uber gets closer and closer. “I wish Bad was coming.” I can’t believe I’m going to meet Skeppy.

“You’re unbelievable,” Dream says to George’s thought and then winces at himself. He quickly backpedals to recover. “I mean, you’re already going to meet Skeppy, you want to add Bad too? You’re getting mighty greedy, George.”

You’re an idiot, George reassures him. Like Dream wasn’t entirely sure. 

George doesn’t end up meeting Skeppy in the end because Skeppy’s not at TwitchCon. He can’t hide his disappointment, either. 

Dream enjoys the convention. He enjoys meeting so many of his friends, so many of his fans. He takes millions of pictures with people while George laughs at the poses he tries out before landing on the peace sign. It’s universal.

It’s not universal, George informs him. In England, you’re telling people to fuck off.

Maybe I want them to fuck off, Dream says back while smiling for this fan’s picture. Have you ever thought about that?

It’s bittersweet watching George leave, feeling George leave. He watches George pile into the van with Sapnap, Karl, and the other NRG guys to head to Los Angeles, and Dream waves stupidly, trying not to take offense at the smallest amount of relief George is feeling. The regret of leaving Dream is much bigger, truly the majority of his feelings are that he’s going to miss Dream, and yet Dream can only focus in on the one fraction of George that will be happy to have his own mind back.

Dream shakes his head, trying to shake himself loose of those feelings. It’s natural for someone as private as George to want his head to himself. He shouldn’t be upset.

You’re so dumb, George says when the van is at the end of the street about to turn left. Of course I’ll miss you. Stop dooming that I want a touch of privacy.

I know, Dream responds, letting the amusement he has at his own behavior leak through to George to show he knows he’s being ridiculous. 

Enjoy your privacy, George tells him, though Dream can tell he’s distracted. The others in the van must be talking to him. Go jerk off and think about whatever you want without guilt.

You’re ridiculous, Dream says. 

That’s exactly what I’m going to do the second I get to my room in the Airbnb.

You could do that even if we’re in range, Dream argues. I would try not to listen.

Try being the keyword, George argues. Dream can’t even see the van anymore but they can still send thoughts. This soulbond is ridiculously strong. But I know you won’t be able to help yourself.

Dream heads back into the hotel, cognizant that fans might still be lingering around any corner. He has to go pack up his stuff and fly up to Northern California to meet with Techno’s dad for their stream. Then he has business meeting after business meeting—years worth of meetings he should have been taking with his early exponential growth, but couldn’t because of his facelessness. 

He doesn’t have time to be thinking of George jerking off in a bland guest room of an Airbnb. And yet, an hour later when he can only barely feel George and can’t hear his thoughts at all anymore, he jumps into the shower. 

He comes to the thought of George kneeling before him, and with George’s blessing, he doesn’t feel guilty at all. 

In November, they try and fail to film a video for Dream’s channel. The advantage of reading each other’s minds works against Dream when he relies so heavily on surprise. With an insider knowledge of Dream’s thoughts, George negates that easily, and even though Dream has technical skills that surpass George’s, he still succumbs to death.

It’s a frustrating recording session for both of them.

Dream shrugs it off as best as he can, and they join forces to film videos for Sapnap’s channel instead, where they aren’t working against each other, but rather as a team. Now that goes swimmingly.

The two of them can’t resist playing a small prank on Sapnap, though. Without discussing it out loud, they start doing the same things to him at separate times— handing him stupid items while the other isn’t around to see, so there would be no way they could tell each other what they’re doing. Sapnap starts going insane by the end of the recording. 

It’s fun. It’s fun being permanently on the same team as George. Things with George are just simply better than without him. 

The real world is turning quickly into Winter, and yet Dream feels like he’s in Spring—like the world is finally coming alive after a long period of stagnation.

By the time Christmas rolls around, Dream’s comfortable. Christmas this year is so beyond special to Dream. He can’t stop the giddiness taking over—he finds himself whistling Christmas tunes. This year, his Christmas feels complete.

George is here.

George is here, and George is coming to spend Christmas with Dream’s family. He’s going to be surrounded by all the most important people to him, save Sapnap who’s off to his own family for the holiday.

There’s something grounding and special about George spending Christmas here. He’s Dream’s person. His soulmate. They aren’t talking about it, mostly, but they will one day. Whenever George is ready, and until then, he’s still Dream’s best friend.

“George is coming with you, right?” Kathy asks over the phone two nights before they’re set to go over to dinner. Dream’s car is already stacked with Christmas presents, even more expensive than last year. 

“I already told you he was,” Dream replies while trying to read an email from his production team at the same time. Kathy’s on speaker. 

“I’m just confirming, child,” she chides him. “We’re figuring out sleeping accommodations.”

The email in front of him blurs now as a feeling of foreboding comes over him. 

What’s wrong with you? What’s happening? George asks and Dream ignores him. They’ve both come to terms that sometimes it’s confusing talking to someone in your head and someone out loud, and it’s okay for them to ignore the other while dealing with a person IRL. George will get over it.

“Oh?” Dream asks, voice high and unconvincingly unaffected, even to himself. 

“He gets first dibs of a guest room if he needs it,” Kathy says with her calm voice and Dream marginally relaxes. “But if he doesn’t need it… we could really use the space if you two doubled up.”

“Is this your way of asking me something, Kath?” Dream can’t help but point out. 

“I am begging you to understand that I would just straight up ask if I wanted to,” she reminds him. “I’m not asking if you’re dating George. You can tell me if that ever happens. I’m simply asking if he can share your old room so I can put your aunt and uncle in your sister’s room.”

Okay, well, now he feels a bit dumb. 

Are you okay sharing with me at my parents’ house? Dream asks George, figuring he might as well go straight to the source. Kathy needs the room for my aunt and uncle.

“I’m texting him to ask,” Dream says aloud to Kathy. 

Are we not coming home afterward? George asks, and there’s a fluttering of anxiety through their bond that Dream can definitely understand.

Traditionally we spend the night and open presents Christmas morning. My mom will make hot chocolate and we have to pretend it’s an old family secret and not store-bought packets. It’s a whole thing, but they’d be disappointed if we went home.

Then, uh, okay. Yeah, we can share. That’s fine with me, George says and then goes through a gambit of emotions that Dream can’t even distinguish let alone name.

“He says he can share,” Dream tells Kathy, and that’s that. She leaves him with a reminder of the time he’s supposed to come over and the list of things he’s supposed to bring, and Dream bids her goodbye.

Christmas dinner is… overwhelming to say the least. It’s overwhelming for Dream and it’s definitely overwhelming for George—but George radiates a sense of joy and talks to each of Dream’s family members like he’s rising to a challenge. Dream feeds him insider information, names and jobs and general vibes, and George manages to charm them one by one.

George feels right sitting by Dream’s side at his family Christmas dinner. Like, of course he’s supposed to be here. He’s half of Dream, he’s earned this spot. Dream keeps wanting to reach over and put his hand on George’s thigh, but they’re—they don’t do that.

Kathy sits across from them, another person who’s bound to this family through an invisible bond rather than blood, and Dream can’t help but feel love for her. He looks up and catches her watching them from across the table. Her eyes are tracking between him and George with a turn of puzzlement on her mouth.

Dream isn’t surprised that when George gets up to use the restroom, Kathy coincidentally gets up a minute later and catches him alone. He tries hard not to spy on their conversation, but he’s dying to know what Kathy might say to George.

When he gets back, George wipes his still wet hands on Dream’s sweater and then laughs at him, eyes bright and smile wide. He’s radiant.

After dinner, they group in the family room to watch a Christmas movie and George plops down right next to him. He smells like their home. The thought paralyzes Dream for just a second, that kind of thought that your life is moving on, you aren’t a kid anymore, and you can’t recapture your childhood. George smells like their home; he smells like their future. Sitting in this house where Dream spent his teen years and came into his own as a man, it’s funny to be thinking about his future with the man beside him. 

And later—when they retire upstairs after a couple movies and a playful fight about who’s going to sleep on the floor before they both give in and decide to share—Dream wonders if he’ll be doing this for the rest of his future, their future. He wonders if in fifty years he’ll still be sleeping next to George.

He hopes he is.

In the following few weeks, George tends to slip into Dream’s room when he can feel the restless energy keeping Dream awake, keeping George awake, and rubs his hair until he succumbs to sleep, a weakness that George found easily and exploited shamelessly.

They never speak in these late-night visits, not aloud at least. There’s a clandestine feel about the times George makes himself at home in Dream’s bed—a noticeable shift between something that only soulmates would do, or at least two people in a romantic relationship. Best friends don’t lend their chests for the other to rest their head. 

A nightmare wakes Dream only an hour after George had finally gotten him to sleep—already quickly fading from his psyche, but still very present in the way his heart is racing and his chest is pounding for breath.

The other side of the bed is empty, but the sheets are still warm. George must have only just left. He can feel him, though, and once Dream reaches out for him—he understands there’s another reason his heart might be racing.

George is in his own room. George is across the house in his own room, away from Dream, and he has two fingers inside himself.

Oh, holy fuck, Dream thinks, and then he goes from flaccid to hard in about ten seconds. 

Oh no, not now, George thinks back, but the pleasure is still rolling off of him in waves and Dream can tell he hasn’t pulled his fingers out. In fact, to Dream’s delight, those nimble fingers of George find his prostate and send arousal through both of them.

Please can I— Dream asks, one hand already reaching down to grind his dick up into the heel of his palm. I need to— George, I have to touch myself.

Do it, George says. Touch yourself and think about me.

You’re cruel, Dream tells him, but he doesn’t mean it. He takes the permission, though, and lets his hand slip beneath the waistband of his boxers to take himself in hand.

I think I’m rather nice, actually, George says and rubs against his prostate again, well enough that Dream lets out a moan. He’s never—he’s never felt pleasure like this. It’s like he’s jerking off inside of himself. I’m letting you touch yourself after you rudely interrupted me.

George.

I’ve been so patient, George thinks. I haven’t been able to do this in, fuck, ages, Dream. You sleep so little, how am I supposed to do this in private?

You don’t need privacy, Dream says but he knows that’s bullshit even as it’s coming out. You don’t have to hide this from me. Fuck, George, I want this. I love this.

This isn’t yours, Dream, George says sharply and he’s not wrong. This is mine. I wanted this for me and now you’re here.

I’m sorry, Dream tells him. Didn’t mean to—I had a nightmare.

Whatever, you’re here now, George thinks and grinds down harder on his fingers. Let’s just not talk about this later.

Can I say whatever I want now? Dream asks, because he can already feel his mind flying in a thousand different directions at once about what he wants to say, how he wants George to know how beautiful he is, how he wants George to know how good he’s making Dream feel.

Yeah, George says and Dream’s not stupid. He knows George can feel those emotions coming off of him. He can’t hold them back like he usually can, can’t compartmentalize those emotions away when he’s this close to the edge. This doesn’t mean anything. It’s just getting off. It’s just, like, biology.

Biology, Dream thinks contemptuously. Like lions mating or whatever? That’s so dry, George.

Shut up, stop thinking about lions mating, George says. I’m trying to come, idiot.

Then think about this, Dream thinks and sends every morsel of his desire down to George—he thinks about the way he wants to devour George. He thinks about the way he wants to dive between George’s legs and lose himself there. He thinks about how he wants to take George down his throat and make him see stars. He wants to bury his tongue in George’s ass. He wants to reach so far into George with his dick that they become truly one person—emotions and thoughts and physically one.

George comes.

Dream follows not far behind.

They sit in silence coming down from powerful orgasms—Dream can feel the aftershocks in George, he knows his was strong.

I’m going back to sleep, George thinks and then does just that.

Dream gets the message. He isn’t ready to discuss this in the light of day, not yet. Dream lets the bitterness disappear down the drain along with his sweat and come while he showers himself off.

It’s not a rejection, but Dream still packs a bag and takes a last-minute flight to Los Angeles.

“You flew to Los Angeles,” George says when Dream picks up the phone call. He was tempted to ignore it, ignore this conversation, but George is persistent. If he left it too long, George would just fly over himself and track him down. 

So, yeah, maybe Dream had a small freak out and needed to get away—needed time away to sort out his feelings without interference. Maybe he needed a couple days to feel like shit because his soulmate doesn’t want— 

No. He’s entitled to his privacy. They both are. He accidentally invaded George’s privacy and he feels horrible enough about it. He’s feeling guilty because instead of sorting it out with George as his audience, like George had been doing, Dream took himself away. He isolated.

He’s got to stop letting his gut instinct be to self-isolate. 

“I did,” Dream confirms. He’s not sure how George confirmed it. Ken didn’t even book the flight or the Airbnb, Dream did both himself because it was so last second. 

“I woke up and I couldn’t feel you,” George says and even without access to his emotions, Dream knows what he isn’t saying. He hears it as clearly as when George whispers into his mind, You abandoned me. I was vulnerable with you and you left me on my own. 

“I needed time,” Dream says, giving George the truth. “I thought we might both appreciate a couple days to ourselves.”

“You didn’t ask,” George points out. 

“I also didn’t ask to wake up and—” Dream heaves a heavy sigh. “I infringed on your privacy. Like extra bad this time. It was yours, you were right, and I—”

“It was mine,” George cuts him off to say. “So it was up to me how we handle it from here. And I—I gave you permission, Dream. It wasn’t like you violated me, or anything. You don’t get to fly away to go, like, lick your wounds alone. Not anymore.”

“George.” Dream can only say his name. 

“Yeah, okay, it freaked me out a bit. Not because—not because it’s you, just because—” George goes silent and Dream wishes he was close enough to know what’s going through his mind. He bets George wishes it, too. There are things that are so much easier to communicate when it’s a connection like theirs. George does better that way. Dream finds another reason to be disappointed in himself. 

“I’ve never told anybody I do that,” George says quietly. If Dream had to bet, he thinks George probably had to throw the duvet over his head for the illusion of privacy too, so he can pretend it’s a thought he’s letting Dream read, not one he’s communicating himself. “That I—like, with, you know, fingers.”

“There’s nothing wrong with touching yourself that way, George,” Dream tells him, meaning it. He’s tried it himself over the years, but he must not have a very sensitive prostate. Not anything like George’s.

“I know, I know,” George says, frustration mounting. “It’s just—it’s me. It’s fine when it’s other people. But this is me.”

Dream gets it. Unfortunately. It’s easier to have grace and understanding for other people. 

“You’re allowed, George,” Dream says because even though George doesn’t need his permission, he might need to realize he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. “It felt good. I could tell it felt good, I—” He takes a deep breath. He has no secrets from George. Not important ones and not on purpose. “It felt better on you than it does when I tried, um, when I tried it that way.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Dream says, gaining confidence. “You’re kind of lucky, dude. My—uh—mine isn’t nearly as sensitive as yours.”

“Oh,” George says and there’s a layer of satisfaction behind it that Dream would be able to pick out easily if they were in range of each other. Instead, he falls back on old habits in analyzing George’s tone.

“So, I’m not, like, judging you. I’m just… a healthy mix of jealous and, like, fucking turned on whenever I think about it, okay?”

“You don’t have to be jealous,” George says. “I mean, now you get to feel it, too, right? When we’re close by.”

Dream chuckles a little bit because they’re actually insane. Like, he can recognize this is an insane conversation. He wouldn’t have it any other way. “If you’re comfortable sharing that with me, then, yeah. I’d love to—I’d do it again.”

He purposefully doesn’t offer anything else up—he doesn’t tell George that he could use his own fingers to make George come alive. He doesn’t bring up toys they could buy, or taking it further than that. Without feeling George and where he is on this, he can’t gauge if that would be welcome. It needs to be George who talks about taking the next steps.

Dream would marry George tomorrow. He would have married George just to get him to Florida in the first place if that was the easiest and more permanent path to take. He’s already committed himself to George for the rest of his life. He’s just waiting for George to catch up. For George to fall in love with him in return.

He can wait as long as it takes.

George flies to Los Angeles the next day.

Studio time goes late the one time Dream has plans afterward. George and Sapnap finally wore him down after days of asking, and he promised to meet them at Amouranth’s party. Sapnap and George get along well, despite the fighting, and Dream counts himself lucky that they can entertain themselves while he’s busy hyperfixating on music.

It’s just—it’s easier to not focus directly on the soulbond and spiraling into a frenzy about it when he has something else to focus on. Music works nicely because he can channel all those emotions, and sometimes accidentally George’s emotions, into a song. It sounds super capitalistic when he puts it this way, but there’s a product at the end of it. The emotions manifest something he can point to. It feels healthy to him. 

George hasn’t brought it up again and Dream is taking his cues from him. When George wants to pursue more, he will. Dream catches stray thoughts sometimes, he’ll hear George complimenting his looks or feel the want move through George when Dream gets a little too close to the line, carefully not stepping over it. But emotions and intentions don’t matter. Words matter. Consent matters, and Dream needs to hear that verbally from George.

He’s this close to bringing it up again, though. 

Where are you? George asks just as he hears his phone buzz with a text. He must have had to text Dream to not give the game away with Sapnap. 

One thing George does love about this hearing each other’s thoughts thing that he can’t hide, is the instantaneous responses. No more waiting for Dream to remember to reply, he’ll just annoy him in Dream’s head until he answers. When it’s as easy as responding with a thought, it’s rarely an issue.

To protect George, Dream drags his phone up to respond to the text while he waits for his Uber. 

He spots Sapnap first when he walks in. Amouranth isn’t at the front door to let him in, but one of her friends is. They recognize him and he slinks inside. Sapnap’s across the room with a red solo cup, talking to a couple dudes he doesn’t recognize. He can feel George somewhere close by, can feel his relief at Dream arriving and knows George will probably come find him in a few minutes. 

“Hey, man, you want a drink?” Sapnap asks when Dream walks up to greet him with a slap on the back.

Dream takes a second to introduce himself to the other guys in the group while Sapnap pours him a drink, not even listening for Dream’s answer after he asked the question. He’s getting a drink whether he wants it or not. But it’s not like he has to drink it. 

“Where’s George?” Dream asks because that’s something someone who isn’t his soulmate and knows he’s on the other side of the house stuck in a conversation would ask. 

“I dunno,” Sapnap says, handing the cup over. “Last time I saw him some guy was trying to get in his pants.”

Dream chokes. “What?”

The other guys in their little circle start to back away, making excuses, but Dream doesn’t hear them. He’s focusing on George now. 

I’m fine, chill, George sends him. 

Is someone bothering you? Dream asks, trying not to look too out of it while Sapnap peppers him with questions. 

“You don’t look so good, bro,” Sapnap says when Dream doesn’t answer anything. “Do you need some water?”

No one’s bothering me, George denies but it feels like a lie to Dream. When Dream calls him on it, he sends, Well, not too much. I can handle it.

Where are you? I’ll come help you, Dream demands. “Yeah, some water would be—” he doesn’t finish the sentence because an explosion of pain hits him. It’s not his pain. Worse, it’s George’s. George is in trouble.

“George is in trouble,” Dream says and drops his drink right there on the ground. “C’mon, Sap, George is in trouble.” He’s panicking, the pain and incredulity coming from George are disorienting and all he can think is how he needs to get to him, needs to protect him. The pain continues, another big wave exploding behind Dream’s eyes and, fuck, that hurts. Someone’s punching George.

He doesn’t feel his legs carry him to the other side of the house, but he elbows people out of his way in his haste to some nasty looks. Whatever, he doesn’t care—he just needs George.

A crowd of people bunch around the far corner of the living room and Dream knows instinctively that that’s where George is.

“Get off of him,” someone shouts, but Dream doesn’t care about anyone other than George. 

He beelines right for the two bodies lying on the floor and with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he dead lifts the body on top of George and slams it onto the floor. Red fury traps him and Dream flies into a rage unlike anything he’s ever experienced before—his fists have minds of their own and without his brain’s consent, they start clobbering the person who hurt George. He wants them to hurt as much and then more than they hurt George.

“Dream,” comes a voice and Dream doesn’t listen. He can’t listen to anything that’s going to take him away from punishing George’s abuser.

“Dream!” The voice comes again, more insistent and now paired with hands trying to lift him off this guy. His own fists haven’t slowed, they’re still punching every inch of this guy he can reach.

Dream, George says, and it’s the only thing that could make him stop in his tracks. Dream, stop it. You’re scaring me.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s scaring George.

He stops mid-swing, feeling coming back to his body. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest and his face feels like it’s on fire; he’s hot everywhere and on the edge of slipping again. He feels like a caveman. He feels out of control.

“He hurt you,” Dream says, voice brusque because the words are so hard to get out.

“It was a misunderstanding,” George says with eyes only for Dream. But his eye is misshapen, clearly it’s going to turn black. This guy gave George a black eye. Dream turns back to look at the piece of shit on the ground, eager to go back for more despite his bleeding knuckles. George’s hand comes and grabs his forearm, and that’s the only reason he stops. 

“…dunno why,” says some nameless person through the buzzing in Dream’s ears. “The dude wouldn’t take no for an answer and then started hitting the small TikToker guy and then—”

Sapnap’s hands on his shoulders tighten. He didn’t even realize Sapnap was trying to hold him back.

“George,” Dream says and reaches a bloodied hand up to caress George’s cheek and see his injury for himself. “Are you okay?”

“Can we get some room, please?” Sapnap snaps at the on-lookers. Dream doesn’t have any mental room for them. 

“I’m okay,” George whispers, mouth forming a pained half smile. “Let’s—we should get out of here.”

Dream nods, letting George guide him to stand up, careful not to make him hurt himself further. The pain is mainly on his face. His fucking face! But George assures him nothing’s broken, it’s all surface level.

The crowd is quick to split when they move to leave, only one person bent down to help the asshole who hurt George. 

“Dream, what the hell was that?” Sapnap asks quietly as the three of them make their way to the road to call an Uber before they can be asked to leave. They don’t want to bring more scrutiny to Amouranth. She’s been kind to them, and the party wouldn’t be much fun anyway, not after all that. Not when Dream’s dying to get George’s eye seen to. He needs, like, ice or something. Maybe he should google it.

Ice and painkillers and I’ll be fine, George sends. 

“Dream!” Sapnap says and stops short. They aren’t out of the house yet, but Sapnap’s dug his heels in. “What the hell was that? I mean it. You have to tell me, you just— you just knew that—”

“Outside,” Dream commands, the same one he uses only when he brokers no arguments. It almost always works. 

Sapnap wavers, but doesn't move. Looks like it’s not one of those times.

“I’ll tell you, Nick, I promise,” Dream says, looking over at his oldest friend to show he means it. He sends George a tendril to ask if that’s okay. It’s not just his news after all. “But not here. We can’t do this here. Outside, back at the Airbnb preferably.”

“The Airbnb,” George decides and Dream nods his acceptance. 

“What the fuck?” Sapnap asks again, more to himself this time, but he starts moving again. They’re earning more looks, this time from people who might not have seen what happened on the other side of the house moments earlier. 

Dream doesn’t look at the prices on the Uber app, he just picks the one with the closest car. He’s lucky it’s not, like, the helicopter one. That would be extra hard to explain.

Would be kinda cool, though. Imagine we leave a party on a helicopter after getting into a fight.

Pretty badass, Dream sends back. He appreciates what George is doing, keeping him calm with banter and soothing him away from turning right back around to go hit that guy some more. He doesn’t even know who that was. Was he an influencer? Is he going to wake up to a YouTube video about Dream of Minecraft fame pummeling some poor innocent guy at a party? Fuck.

We’ll just show Twitter my black eye and they’ll all understand, George says with a hint of pride. They know how you are about me.

A simp? Dream laughs.

Yeah.

A black sedan arrives to pick them up. Dream makes Sapnap sit in the front seat for fear of his and George’s injuries making the driver want to go tell tales.

It’s a painfully quiet seven minute ride while George makes ridiculous jokes in his head and holds his bloody hand in the dark of the backseat.

“How did you know?” Sapnap demands the second they cross the threshold into the Airbnb. He has his serious face on and Dream knows that any waffling about won’t go over well here. He knows George can feel it, too. He also knows George is more willing to try it, anyway, just to be a dick.

Dream sends him a humble request not to. Not on this.

“We’re soulmates, idiot,” George says to Sapnap when Dream doesn’t answer quickly enough.

“George,” Dream complains and looks up at the ceiling. That’s not the way he wanted to announce it. He walks to the attached kitchen and grabs a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and tosses them to George with strict but silent instructions to use it.

“You’re—” Sapnap says and looks between the two of them like he’s waiting for the punchline. “You’re not serious.”

“It’s true,” Dream tells him earnestly while George dives headfirst into the couch with his newly acquired bag of peas. He’s allergic to confrontation and especially anything to do with feelings, which is why it’s so nice for Dream to have full access to them. The ultimate hack.

That doesn’t mean I’m okay with Sapnap knowing them, George says at Dream’s satisfaction. 

“When did you—” Sapnap asks, unable to finish the thought. “You figured it out, like, that first day and you didn’t tell me?”

“Maybe I thought you were my soulmate, Sappy,” George says from the couch with his hands hugging the throw pillow, peas abandoned on the cushion because they were too cold, Dream. There’s a flush on his face that could be from the exertion or from the conversation. Dream would place his bet on both.

“You knew it wasn’t me, fucking dumbass,” Sapnap says. “We already met each other and ruled that out.”

“You guys wondered if you were soulmates?” Dream asks, a rush of resentment running into his heart before he can stop it.

“Of course we did,” Sapnap says, turning his anger onto Dream now. “I wondered about you, too, you know. It’s natural to wonder if… like when you haven’t met the person IRL. We talked about it.”

“You guys talked about it beforehand?” Dream asks, incredulous now. “You never talked about it with me.”

“Sapnap brought it up,” George says and internally he’s laughing at Dream.

“I just wondered,” Sapnap says, sounding young. “But you two are the ones who are, you know, actually—”

“Yeah,” Dream says. 

“I should have figured. If anyone was going to be, like— of course it’s fucking you two,” Sapnap says, putting his hands on the back of his head. He slips his hat off in the privacy of their Airbnb and runs his hands through his hair.

“Well,” Dream says in an effort to make Sapnap feel better. “George was still shocked.”

You were too, George protests. 

“So you can feel everything the other one is feeling?” Sapnap asks, and turns to George. “That’s how Dream knew—knew that you were getting your ass kicked?” 

“He sucker punched me!” George argues before Dream can get a word in.

“Yeah, I could feel his pain, like—” Do we explain we can hear each other too? We really shouldn’t tell a lot of people, but surely Sapnap can know.

It’s up to you, George says. I don’t care. It could be useful.

“And, also, um,” Dream isn’t quite sure how to just spit it out. But if he waits too long George will take it into his own hands again. 

“There’s more?” Sapnap asks, correctly reading Dream’s face. 

“We can read each other’s thoughts?” Dream says, except it comes out more as a question. He looks over to George who shrugs at him. His eye looks awful.

Thanks, love hearing that.

Put your ice on your face, idiot.

“No you can’t,” Sapnap says plainly. He shuts it down, not even a question. “That’s impossible.”

“We can,” Dream protests, now wanting to defend his earlier statement. He doesn’t appreciate being called a liar. 

“We can,” George echoes. “It’s extremely annoying. He won’t shut up. Ever. He doesn’t even sleep, so like—” he twirls his finger by his own ear “He drives me crazy, Sapnap.”

“Shut up, you love hearing my thoughts,” Dream says in retaliation, thinking of that conversation so long ago on their first week together of George telling him not to hold back his thoughts, let him have access to everything.

“Sometimes,” George says, pretending to be put out. He doesn’t fool either Sapnap or Dream.

“You guys really aren’t trolling?” Sapnap asks, voice small. 

“You can test us,” Dream offers. He rubs at his knuckles where they’re really starting to hurt now that he’s crashing from the adrenaline rush.

“So you’ve been soulmates this whole time, and like, just haven’t told me you’re together?”

“We’re not together,” Dream clarifies because he doesn’t want Sapnap to think they’d keep something like that from him. Soulmates aside, Sapnap would and should get to know if they’re entering a relationship purposefully. They can’t control being soulmates, but it’s up to them both to decide if they’re—like that.

He can’t name the emotion pouring off of George. He sends him a look only for George to hide his bruised face in his pillow again. 

“You’re not?” Sapnap asks. “Why not?”

“We’re just…” Dream can’t take his eyes off the lump of George’s back. He has no idea how to finish his sentence, no idea where the line is for Sapnap to know, no idea where the line is for himself either, let alone George. 

“Just what? Pussies? I could have told you that,” Sapnap laughs.

“We decided to settle into things,” Dream ends up saying, diplomatically. “And it’s really not—I don’t think we should get too into it without, like, the two of us—”

“Whatever,” Sapnap says, huffy. “I don’t want to know about you two dicking each other down anyway.”

“Sure you don’t,” George says, popping up from the pillow. “You’re the biggest gossip I know. You want to know everything.”

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “If you weren’t pathetic right now, I’d hit you.”

“Do it, fucker,” George challenges him. “I can take it. I’ll hit you back harder.”

“No one is hitting anyone,” Dream says, tiredly. His hands hurt and he’s now worried about how weird George is acting and Sapnap on top of that, and oh yeah, there might be a YouTube video or TikTok about him beating the shit out of some guy at a party—and, fuck, like maybe that guy could get him arrested.

That’s the last thing he needs. 

He’s tired.

“You’re okay,” George says out loud to Dream while he sends him a mental hug. Affection, love, fondness, protectiveness—all the good things come his way and, yeah, it works to take the edge off. How can anyone not feel the tiniest bit better when someone as beautiful and amazing as George feels that way about them?

Dream is only a man.

Sapnap’s face freezes from where he was pretending like he was going to hit George again, and he looks between George and Dream. He observes.

“It’s, like, real,” Sapnap says, a touch of awe coloring his voice. “You weren’t kidding.”

“No, idiot,” George says. “It would be a weird thing to joke about.”

“Because all your pranks make sense,” Sapnap argues without heat. He’s watching the way Dream and George interact now. It’s like being under a microscope and Dream isn’t sure he likes it.

“C’mon, Dream,” George says aloud for Sapnap’s benefit. He stands and those soft hands feel good on Dream’s forearm. “Let’s go get you washed up. Don’t want these knuckles to get infected or anything.”

Dream sighs. It feels so nice to be taken care of.

“See you guys tomorrow,” Sapnap says. 

“Don’t—” Dream starts. “Please don’t tell anyone, Nick. Not yet. Not even our friends, it’s—”

“I won’t,” Sapnap assures him. His eyes are steadfast. Everything is safe with him. “You don’t even have to ask, bro. It’s y’all’s business.”

“Thank you, brother,” Dream says and lets George lead him by the elbow away to his room. 

George’s fingers are unpracticed with healing, but gentle, like he can’t bear to cause Dream more pain. Together, they fumble through getting the knuckles cleaned and bandaged. George puts the finishing touch on them, and then drags Dream’s hands up to his mouth to give them a kiss. His eyes burn with an intensity that Dream has never seen before, like he’s trying to say something that, for once, Dream can’t comprehend. Regardless of if he understands George’s message, arousal blooms in Dream’s gut, and he does nothing to hide it.

Dream doesn’t have the heart to tell George that the bandages are so unruly and restrictive that he’ll likely take them off soon. The warning look on George’s face means he knows anyway. That one he does pick up loud and clear.

George leaves to take a shower, like he can sense Dream needs some time to process things.

There’s a relief in Dream’s soul that someone else knows now. Sapnap’s knowledge and acceptance eases part of this burden of forbidden lore he’s been carrying around like a backpack since George touched down. He’s happy to keep things private with George, he really is. But he’s never been one to be secretive about the people he loves.

Dream throws on some music and spirals.

By the time George’s shower ends, Dream can tell he’s come to some kind of decision. George is using every trick to keep the actual decision from him, but he’s resolute.

He returns to Dream’s room again right about the time Dream gives up on falling asleep, bringing a new bag of ice for Dream's knuckles and a matching one for his own eye. Dream takes the bag and dutifully places it on his knuckles where he’s already ripped the bandage off.

“What are you hiding, George?” Dream asks, lighthearted.

A burst of nervousness colors George’s heart and face. He stares down at Dream’s knuckles instead of meeting his eyes, and Dream allows it.

After a pause where they both pretend George isn’t gathering his courage, he asks, “When are you going to bring it up again?”

“Bring what up?” Dream asks, shock causing him to slip into feigned ignorance. George sends him a sarcastic little nudge of annoyance. Cover blown, he says, “I’m waiting for you to bring it up.”

“Why do I have to bring it up?” George asks, plopping himself down onto Dream’s bed. 

“Because you’re the one who isn’t sure,” Dream says, with more vulnerability than he’s ever let George hear, thought or otherwise. He feels naked.

“What? I am sure.” George sounds almost offended. No, scratch that, he’s actually offended. 

This piques Dream’s interest. He didn’t think George was—he thought they were on different pages. Dream lets the ice chill on his hand, the pain grounding him. “You’re sure about what?” he asks cautiously. For once, it’s Dream who needs George to spell it out for him. He can’t take a chance on this one. There’s no room for error here with everything on the line. 

“About you, you idiot,” George tells him and punches the meat of Dream’s shoulder like a cat batting at its owner for attention. 

“Why didn’t you—you never said anything,” Dream says while he’s unable to stifle the burgeoning hope in the pit of his stomach. It rises higher and higher, joined by elation and all the love he has for George. He’s finally able to let George see those, let him have them. They belong to him, after all. 

“You never said anything either,” George points out. “I thought you would.”

“Like I said, I was waiting for you,” Dream tells him with a smile fighting to break out over his face. “I was being very patient and understanding, you know.”

“You were being slow and dumb,” George says back, but the flicker of gratitude along their shared emotions gives Dream further insight. 

“I couldn’t afford to, like, mess this up. Not with you,” he says and then lets George feel the terror he’s been living with, compartmentalized down so far and locked up in the jail cell beside his feelings for George.

“Okay, so what does this mean, now?” George asks. 

“You tell me,” Dream offers. “I’m down for literally anything.”

“Step bro?” George asks, tongue caught between his teeth while he smiles at his own joke.

“Not that,” Dream says with a relieved laugh. They’re still them. They can still laugh about things like this. Humor doesn’t take away from the seriousness of their feelings. 

“Do you—” Dream starts, wondering how he should bring this up. He needs to hear it or at the very least, feel it from George. Do you love me the way I want you to love me?

“Oh, Dream,” George says with the most sincere look of fondness in his eyes and in his heart. I think I love you every way there is to love someone else. I have for a very long time.

“I would have married you to get you here,” Dream says and picks up George’s hand to play with. His hand is comically smaller than Dream’s hand, yet it fits perfectly. “Even before we knew, you know?”

“I would have married you, too,” George says with a snort. And pretended I didn’t want more for a long time.

“Really?” Dream asks as George’s hand clamps around his own.

“You can’t be surprised,” George says. I was so obvious. “Sapnap and I talked, before, you know, he came to England.”

“He thought you might be soulmates,” Dream says, filling the story in from earlier. He doesn’t let the negativity cloud him this time. George is here. George wants him, too. George loves him. 

“I told him then, when we, like, talked about it all…” George trails off, only to finish the thought in his mind while he churns with a thousand different emotions. —that I thought it might be you. If it was anyone, it was you.

Dream squeezes George’s hand. “Did you want that? Are you, like—are you happy it’s me?” He pushes down the clinginess, the desire to have George shout from the top of a mountain, or online, that Dream is the best and he loves Dream the most and no one could ever remove Dream from the top spot—he’s Dream’s and Dream is his.

“Shut up, you’re so annoying,” George mumbles while his hackles rise internally—a strong wave of disapproval comes off of him. He doesn’t want Dream questioning anything. Doesn’t want there to be any doubt. “Of course I’m happy it’s you. I don’t—I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine. My soulmate.”

“Dream, sometimes I—I think you have my whole heart.” George’s hand releases Dream’s only so he can move it onto Dream’s chest, right over the too fast beating organ that George carved his name into a long time ago. 

“Then I have a very important job,” Dream says with a waver. “Keeping it safe.”

I’d trust no one else, George tells him. His body leans closer until he’s almost entirely on top of Dream. Their noses brush and Dream feels their combined nervousness—the flush of arousal pouring off both of them and multiplying.

“Do it,” Dream commands, nudging George with his nose. Kiss me.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to do it,” George teases. “Maybe I want you to be sure—”

Dream flips them over in an instant, bringing his hips to rest between George’s spread legs. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” George says, pretending to be nonchalant, but his blinding smile gives him away. “If I’m so annoying, why are you so in love with me?”

Dream leans down and places a kiss on those plush lips, the only way to silence him. Even George’s head goes still for a moment while his hands grab onto Dream’s shoulders on autopilot. It’s a fucking good kiss—magical, ethereal. He wants to sink into it and never return, but he has one more thing to say before they lose themselves.

He pulls back, and tells George from the very bottom of his heart, “I’m in love with you because you’re so fucking annoying. For so many—so many reasons, George. I—”

“I know,” George says, hands smoothing at the sleeves of Dream’s sleep t-shirt, running under the fabric to caress his skin. He feels correct with George’s hands on him, with George under him. This feels like their final form. “Now kiss me again.”

That’s an order Dream is eager to follow. He leans down, lets his body weight crush down onto George, content that he’ll know internally if it’s too much, and lets himself go free.

George’s lips feel divine. They’re like no other lips in the world—the matched set to Dream’s, plump and a touch chapped in the dry heat of Los Angeles, but most importantly, eager for Dream. They move in tandem with Dream, the easiest first kiss of his life. With their connection, there’s no question on which way George will move next, no way to fumble. They’re writing code with four hands on the keyboard.

The kiss deepens and Dream realizes as George’s tongue makes its way into his mouth that he doesn’t have to let up to tell George all the things he’s always wanted to say. Things like: You’re so incredibly beautiful , and When I look at you I think I understand why people believe in god. 

Your touch burns me and I can’t get enough of it, he thinks. I’d let you torch me to the ground, until I’m ashes.

He thinks, I want our atoms to fall inside each other and mingle so deeply I don’t know where you start and I end.

“Dream,” George says as he pants into the darkness of this room, hips rhythmically pushing up into Dream’s, his hardness now prevalent in Dream’s mind as their shared arousal kicks up, up, and away. 

“Dream, your hands,” George says and then pulls Dream’s mouth back down onto his. I need you inside me. I need you filling me up. I can’t stand it anymore, I need you.

Dream pulls back with a wet slap of sound, breathing harshly into George’s neck where he continues to drop kisses, wanting to taste every inch of George. “My knuckles,” Dream says, knowing George will understand. He can’t—he can’t stand not giving George what he needs. He can’t leave him unsatisfied.

I’ll do it myself, George thinks. Quickly. Dream can feel the idea form in his head and he’s one step ahead. Dream pulls back enough to reach for the nightstand where he hid his lube on the off chance George wanted to try another little prostate masturbation session. This is going to be even better. 

He collects the lube while George yanks his sweat pants down and his shirt off. He’s lying completely naked on Dream’s bed, erection jutting across his belly with a small bead of precome leaking out, and—fuck.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life,” Dream tells him like he’s on his deathbed. “I can’t believe you’re a real person. I can’t believe you’re, like, mortal sometimes. I—how can you be this gorgeous and want me?”

“Don’t be dumb,” George says, grabbing the lube out of Dream’s slackened hand. “There’s no one else to have me. No one else.”

He lubes up his own fingers and jabs them inside his hole with little warning for Dream, knees rising off the bed and eyes lasered onto Dream like he, too, can’t believe this is happening.

Wanted you like this for so long, George thinks. Wanted you looking at me like this. Wanted your stupid, big, dumb fingers with their veins. Wanted your beard to scrape my thighs. I want your tongue and your fucking cock—

“George,” Dream whines because he can’t—this is going to be over before it even begins if George doesn’t stop talking. 

I’ve always thought about your fingers doing this to me, George tells him, moving those fingers quickly, stretching himself too fast, too eager. Dream finds it’s still not fast enough. He needs to be inside George right now. There’s no pain, only pleasure, only impatience to get this part done so Dream can sink inside. George avoids his own prostate, despite the way it makes him light up inside. Dream can feel that George wants Dream to hit that inside him, wants Dream to find that spot that makes both of them feel so good.

His hands anchor themselves on George’s knees, eyes glued to where his fingers disappear inside himself and he might drool just the tiniest amount, but luckily George is too focused on prepping to care.

Next time I’m doing it, Dream promises. His hands are red in the darkness of the night, the pain negligible against the rush of endorphins George evokes in him, in them. 

Not until you’re healed, George says. And I plan to have you again before that. Want you inside me every minute of the day. 

I am inside you every minute of the day, Dream says as he moves his thumbs to caress the skin of George’s inner thighs. His hands are moving so fast now, they’re almost blurring, his poor cock flooding his chest with precome. He’s so fucking beautiful, Dream might come just from the sight alone. 

Don’t come yet, George warms him with a look. Don’t come until you’re inside. Don’t come until I say.

“Yes,” Dream whispers aloud, batting George’s hand away. Three fingers will have to be enough for now. George grabs Dream’s dick and wipes the extra lube off on it, a surprising amount. Dream squirts a little more lube on his dick just in case. He doesn’t want to hurt George. He can’t hurt George. Not like this. Never.

He’s ready. They’re both ready. 

“I love you so much,” Dream reminds him and then grabs the base of his cock to guide it down. 

I know you do, George says and that’s even better than saying it back. Dream knows George loves him, he can feel it in every fiber of his soul. 

Sliding the head inside George’s hole feels like opening the door to his house after a long time away. The smell of home hits and his eyes almost water with longing. Dream doesn’t let the tears fall from his eyes, but he does let George share in on how right he feels.

I feel it, too, George tells him. It’s like you’re filling a spot that’s been empty my whole life.

God, we’re so lucky, Dream thinks, using his mouth for more important things like nibbling along George’s collarbones while he slowly pushes all the way in.

“Enough of the sappy stuff,” George says aloud. “I’m ready, just fuck me already.”

Dream laughs and the movement makes his hip slip and his dick go in a little further. He hisses in pleasure while George makes these tiny sounds—sounds Dream’s never heard before except in his dreams and he’s—he’s obsessed. He needs more of those. He wants George to make those puffy breaths right into his ear, like an IV right into his bloodstream.

I’ll say whatever you want, George promises, an edge of frustration mixed in. As long as you fuck me. 

Dream pushes a bit farther. George is so unbelievably tight around him, he can’t bear to hurt him by going too fast. He feels the impatience well up in George and almost laughs, but he’s too deep in their shared pleasure.

“You’re taking too long,” George says, pushing Dream over until he slips out of George and finds himself on his back. George doesn’t waste a second, he hauls a leg over Dream’s hips and grabs his dick at the base to start sinking onto him. I have to do everything around here.

Even his complaining is sexy, Dream finds. You did one thing. Dream pushes his hips up, catching George halfway down and loving the little grunt he lets out—another sound of pleasure, a different one. Dream wants to collect them all like pokemon.

Stop thinking about pokemon while you’re fucking me, George says but he’s feeling so fond inside that Dream thinks he rather likes it. “And I did more than one thing, you lazy idiot. I had to prep myself,” he says and punctuates the sentence with a swivel of his hips that should be illegal. It makes Dream’s cock hit up against George’s prostate, and both of them almost lose their minds. “And I’m taking things into my own hands because you were taking too long.”

“Sorry I was trying to—” Dream gasps when George bears down again. He’s going to come, he’s going to come any fucking second and it’s not his fault. He can usually last longer than this. It’s just—it’s George. “Trying to enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it faster,” George says and speeds up. He lifts himself up and then slams down, thighs already shaking from the exertion. His George isn’t one for exercise, this is the most he’s done in ages.

“Stop roasting me in your head while I’m riding you,” George says. “You have the weirdest thought patterns while I’m trying to get off.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“No, no,” George says, going strangely shy while he rises and falls without breaking rhythm. “I—” I really love it, actually. It’s—it’s so you. Don’t stop.

“You just feel so good,” Dream tells him. “If I don’t—if I’m only thinking about how good you feel this is going to be over too soon.”

Dream feels the way George likes that. He speeds up, rhythm unstable because he’s so tired. Dream lets his hands on George’s hips help guide him, pushing him up and then fucking up into him so that George isn’t doing all the work. They both fall nonverbal, sending pleasure back and forth across their bond, in sync with it.

He’s not sure who pushes them over the ledge, it could be the tight vice of George’s hole and the way his dick bounces enticingly in front of Dream’s face, or it could be the way Dream fills George up entirely, the way he hits George’s prostate with his insider knowledge—but they both move frantically towards the cliff and drive straight over.

Thelma and Louise style, Dream thinks, casting himself as Thelma. He’s watched that movie so many different times with Kathy over the years.

I love you so much you fucking weirdo, George says while he jerks himself through the aftershocks, squeezing his ass tightly on Dream’s cock to make him feel good too. 

When George is finally wrung out, he carefully lifts off of Dream’s dick with a small wince. The pain hardly registers for both them, too high on their orgasms. Being with George is… there are no words. He’s never had sex of this caliber before, and he can’t wait to keep exploring. There’s not an inch of George’s body he doesn’t love, and he can tell it’s the same for George. Isn’t that an addicting thought?

Whatever insecurities he has, or had, fly out the window with George. He can’t hide his true feelings from Dream, can’t hide how what Dream sees as imperfections are perfections in George’s view of him.

It’s liberating to bask in that surety. There’s a freedom in absolute clarity that one’s partner finds the body under them sexy, desirable, beautiful, even. Oh, George thinks his hair looks funny in the morning and he thinks his morning breath is terrible, those thoughts he can’t help but think. That’s human of him. But the deep down vulnerabilities that Dream doesn’t let see the light of day? Those George finds beautiful.

Dream has never been happier in his life. George sighs in his arms and then sends back a plea for Dream to clean them up mixed in with his own version of affection. Dream plants a kiss on George’s forehead, because it was begging for a kiss, and gets up to get a washcloth from the bathroom. He can’t help the smile he finds in the mirror when he wets the washcloth—he thinks this will be part of their routine, George being too lazy to clean them up and making Dream do it.

Well, he’ll do it gladly.

Dream cleans his own stomach off and then George’s where they collapsed against each other. Then, carefully, he splits George’s legs open again to clean his hole. George’s eye looks worse now that it’s had time to settle. An ache moves in him, tenderness and a wish for the ability to suck the pain right out of him and take it on himself.

Clean now, Dream throws the cloth towards the bathroom to deal with tomorrow and settles back into the comfort of George’s arms. He breathes in the familiar smell of George combined with sweat and come and—and them.

He feels so loved he might start crying.

So, we’re together now, right? Dream asks in George’s mind because even having to ask out loud sounds so cringe.

Yes, Dream, George answers. His brain is the kind of foggy it gets when he’s about to fall asleep. Dream won’t disturb him further, he lets his partner drift off—his boyfriend, his best friend, his soulmate.

When George’s breaths even out and he knows he won’t take him if he moves, Dream grabs his phone off the nightstand and sends a text to Sapnap to let him know they’re together now. He doesn’t wait for his reply, he shuts his phone off. 

With George’s body tucked into his, he finds that sleep comes much easier than it ever has before.

Unfortunately, George has a sponsored stream he can’t get out of three days later when they’re back in Orlando. He sets up in his streaming room, full of anxiety that isn’t showing on the outside, and pushes the go live button.

Dream watches from the other room.

Chat immediately see his eye and go crazy asking questions. George masterfully avoids the topic while not ignoring it outright. He goes full promo-king and promises the story at the end of the stream.

Dream laughs at the enthusiasm of their fans—death threats against the person or thing that caused the black eye, offerings to pay his medical bills, lots of baby talk expressing sympathy about the pain he must have been in. A few of them ask what Dream did to avenge him, the question hitting a little too close to home.

The guy who hit George had DM’d him yesterday to fully apologize. They worked it out, and George even let Dream get on to apologize to the guy as well. He’s not pressing charges, he’s not overly injured, and he’s not making a video. All three are a relief to Dream. He doesn’t like the version of himself that hurts people.

George streams for the requisite hour on the sponsored game, though Dream pays zero attention to the gameplay and just stares at George’s facecam for an hour like he didn’t stare at him for half an hour this morning when they woke up together in Dream’s bed, naked and ready to go again.

Stop distracting me, George thinks at him. On the screen, his eyes go wide and vacant while Dream knows he’s thinking about the sex they had this morning.

You’re doing fine, Dream says, keep going.

That’s what you said this morning, too, George thinks. A smirk crawls onto his face, at odds with the NPC speaking on the screen.

Dream checks Twitter while he half pays attention to the stream and “Get Well Soon, George” is trending along with “Black Eye”. Uh oh.

When the hour is up, George switches to Minecraft to run around a parkour server while he talks, and Dream thinks that this must be the life. His two favorite things all in one stream, body still loose from their release earlier today. It’s a great life.

“Dream, I know you’re watching,” George says out loud for chat’s benefit. “Get in here. Come say hi to the people.”

Chat goes wild, messages flashing too quickly for anything to stick in Dream’s mind. He can’t read that fast. No one can. Not even robots.

Coming, dear, Dream thinks at George.

You also said that this morning, he throws back and Dream laughs. No one can make him laugh like George can.

Dream walks into George’s unlocked office and stands awkwardly behind him. He doesn’t know how to touch George on camera, he never does.

“What’s chat saying?” Dream asks, bending down to look over George’s shoulder. He grabs the mouse out of George’s hand and—oops. Chat catches a glimpse of his healing knuckles and they go absolutely bat shit bananas.

Dream thought he had seen crazy fans before, but now they’re foaming at the mouth. A mod puts chat in emote only mode, likely to save their own sanity.

“Yes, it’s true,” George says, great amusement rife in his voice as well as their bond. Oh, he’s enjoying this. “Yes, Dream’s knuckles are bloody. Almost like he—“

George can’t even let the thought complete. A twinge of guilt eats at him and Dream reassures him it’s fine. It’s funny.

“I didn’t hit George, you freaks,” he says to chat. This is so annoying. He’s mad at himself for forgetting about his knuckles.

No matter how much he says it, chat doesn’t believe it. He can already see this hitting the wrong side of the internet—it’s like seeing a vision. He knows how this will go, the people that hate him will get wind of this and run with it, calling him an abusive asshole. Part of him withers right then and there.

“No,” George says, his voice strong and sure. George is rarely serious, and almost never online. Even chat perks up at the tone in his voice. “No, we’re not doing this. Dream didn’t hit me. Dream wouldn’t—Okay, you want the real truth?”

Dream feels their collective stomachs drop. George turns to him, neck positioned strangely to look over at him. “Can I say it?” he asks, voice soft in the way it is when they talk to each other with no one else around. “I won’t say it if you don’t want me to.”

“You can say it,” Dream says, and adds silently for him, I think they’re going to go feral if we don’t. It will be a relief for everyone to know.

I wish we had been able to tell our other friends first.

They’ll forgive us, Dream says.

Your family should have known, George says. My family should have known.

I’m pretty sure Kathy knows, Dream points out.

Yeah, she definitely knows, George confirms.

Dream nods, for chat’s benefit. Without the context of their inner conversation, it looks like encouragement.

George turns back to the camera, his face tinged pink. “We were at a party, and some guy was bothering me.”

“Sexually harassing you, more like,” Dream points out. He wants chat to really get it, to understand why he went insane. George needs to paint the picture accurately if they’re going to do this. “And you were on the other side of the house, like, Sapnap and I were in the kitchen so I couldn’t interfere.”

He would change the facts of the story if there weren’t so many people who witnessed the events, and almost all of them prominent on the internet. Too many people saw Dream race across the entire house. It would be worse if they were found to be lying about any of this.

“Yeah,” George says. “I went to talk to someone I met at TwitchCon, and like, I won’t name names, they had nothing to do with it. It was like—okay, one second I was talking to my friend, right, and then this guy just comes over and starts, like, I dunno, saying really inappropriate things.”

Chat is spamming some emoji that Dream doesn’t understand. He focuses on sending George encouragement.

“I told him I didn’t want—like, I thought I deflected it well enough.”

“You’re used to turning people down,” Dream says to him and then to chat, says, “People are always throwing themselves at George. He has, like, experience nicely saying no to people.”

“Shut up, that’s not true,” George says. “People are not always throwing themselves at me.”

“You don’t notice half the time,” Dream says and, to him, this is absolutely the truth.

“You’re dumb,” George says. “Anyway, I said no, and suddenly he punched me in the eye.”

Dream, even days later and after an apology from the guy in question, feels his defensive nature kicking in. His heartbeat spikes and George has to put a hand on his thigh under the desk to help him calm down.

“Dream, would you like to explain what happened next?” George asks, blinking innocently up at him.

“Um, okay, look, in my defense—“

George laughs with his full body and it’s beautiful. Dream feels George’s love of his protectiveness, the way Dream considers George his, even if that’s not healthy or normal or whatever. It’s them. George considers Dream his, too. They’re even.

“Dream felt my pain, my fear, and—“ George stops talking to eye chat. He takes a deep breath. “Dream felt his soulmate in trouble and he went a little crazy.”

Dream’s heart melts. He twists his hand into George’s above the desk. Let them see. Let them see how much Dream loves this man. He’s a goner. He never stood a chance. He never wanted to stand a chance.

“Crazy is an understatement,” he says, knowing he’s giving full heart eyes at George and not giving a shit who sees them.

“Anyway,” George says. “The guy in question was just really drunk. We worked it out, he apologized, Dream apologized, we’re good. There’s no drama. And Dream’s not some violent person, he’s just—“

“My soulmate was hurt,” Dream says to chat. “I hope you guys can understand that. I also hope you’ll not, like, be really invasive about this.”

“We haven’t told anyone but Sapnap,” George adds.

“No more burner threads about people thinking they’re my soulmate,” Dream adds, mock serious.

“One of those was me,” George says with a sparkle in his eye.

Dream throws his head back to laugh. “No, it wasn’t.”

“It could have been, you don’t know,”  George says. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I know you better than anyone else,” Dream says with the thrill of knowing it’s the truth.

Right back at you, idiot of mine, George thinks at him.

The next time George streams, he throws on TikToks and talks to chat. He spends ten minutes complaining about Dream to chat, how he’s always so busy, how he feels ten thousand different things before breakfast, how he never sleeps and thus never shuts down.

When someone asks if he’s disappointed to be stuck with Dream, George bans them from his chat. He makes a big production about it.

It’s as close to a public love declaration as Dream’s ever going to get.

It’s more than enough.