Archive of Our Own

George is exhausted by the time he steps off the plane. The flight isn’t long, even with the layover in Miami, so he can’t blame that. He just… didn’t sleep the night before. Or, really, the night before that. Or the week before that. He hasn’t done more than nap off and on, but his brain has just been buzzing too much. Full of bees, he thinks, and imagines them flying at all angles in his head, bumping into the backs of his eyeballs. 

He gets a text message just as he’s about to stop and piss. He looks at the entry to the toilets, then sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

you landed, Dream says. 

yeah, George answers. u here?

yeah

George stares at it. He gnaws on his bottom lip, then gives in to temptation. alone?

yeah, Dream answers. that okay?

yeah, George writes back. Any other time and he’d make a joke about the line of yeahs all in a row on their screen, but right now the bees have migrated into his stomach and he can’t quite bring himself to. 

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and forgets he even had to piss in the first place. 

-

Normally when Dream picks him up from the airport, he waits in the cell phone lot until George says he has his bag, and then he pulls around. George has no reason to expect this time will be any different, but for some reason it is. 

“Need help with that?” Dream asks, as George is struggling with getting his checked bag off of the luggage carousel. 

“Yes,” George says immediately, then lets Dream lift it with seeming ease. “Show off.” 

“Weak,” Dream shoots back, and something about the immediacy, the lack of hesitation with which Dream insults him, sets George at ease. 

He had a whole week and a half in the Bahamas to overthink, to imagine how awkward it would be when he came back. If he came back. There was always the chance that he'd be rejected, sent back to England for who knows how long. And then what would happen?

But Dream smiles at him just like always, muffling some of George's worries.

"Hey," Dream says once he's got George's suitcase upright on its wheels, handle pulled up. "Welcome home."

They hug, but it's brief, interrupted by a woman trying to get past them to grab her bag. George secretly thanks her because he isn't sure what to do here. Since he left, their texts have all been perfectly normal, no different than they've always been, but it is different. The last time he saw Dream, they kissed. And it was—it was a good kiss.

But now, George doesn't know if that's something that will happen again or if it was just fear, just Dream worried that George wouldn't come back. Maybe he regrets it now. But, if he regretted it, would he have come to pick George up on his own?

He's overthinking again. His head is a mess. So much buzzing.

"You ready?" Dream asks him.

George nods. "Lead the way."

-

In the car, George asks about the trip. Not the one he's just been on, but the one that they're going on in the morning, leaving him just enough time to do a load of laundry, shower, and hopefully get some sleep.

"It's this private campground that usually hosts, like, family reunions and weddings and stuff. It honestly wasn't even that expensive to rent out, but we went to Walmart earlier today and spent a stupid amount of money on camping gear."

"You all went?" George asks, grinning at the image. "You should have made a video out of it. 'Streamers Take Over Walmart'. Actually, no, that's dumb. You should have given them each $100 to buy everything they need for the weekend."

"Damn, I wish I did that," Dream says, smacking the steering wheel. "I would have saved so much money."

“What did you get for me?” George asks. He'd gotten a handful of texts asking his opinion on things, but he’d been in the middle of TSA and on the plane for some of them, only answering sporadically. 

It didn’t really matter. He doesn’t know fuck all about camping, and Dream has been with his family a lot when he was a kid. He trusts Dream to have bought him the good shit. 

“Um, a pretty decent tent,” Dream says. “A really nice airbed—it’s a full, so it’ll take up most of your tent but it’s not like you need room for anything else. One of those camping chairs that has a shade over it, so you don’t burn when we sit by the lake. We each got our own mess kits.” 

George has no idea what a mess kit is, but he nods anyway, plucking at a loose thread on his travel backpack. “The mattress better be comfortable,” he warns. “What if there’s a rock under where my tent is?” 

Dream rolls his eyes. “You’ll survive. I promise.” 

“Maybe I won’t,” George says, falling back into old patterns. “Maybe I’ll literally die.” 

“From–from–from a rock ? Under your airbed ?” Dream laughs incredulously. They’re at a stoplight so he looks over at George and catches George looking back at him. “You’re so dumb, George. You’re so–you’re stupid.”

He’s smiling the entire time. The moment of eye contact feels like a lot, and George is the one that breaks it first. 

“I got you a fishing pole, too,” Dream says. 

“Ew.” 

“No, trust me, you’ll–you’ll like it.” Dream grins. “Anyway, you don’t have to fish. Me and Sam just wanted to, and Sylvee said her grandad used to take her out on the boat, so it turned into a whole thing. Imagine how cool that would be though? If we ate fish we caught for dinner one night?” 

It doesn’t actually sound good at all to George, but Dream’s enthusiasm is charming so he makes a sound that is neither accepting nor entirely dismissive as a concession. 

-

It’s after midnight when they make it back to the house, but everyone is operating on adrenaline and differing time zones so most people are still awake to greet him. Dream disappears after a couple of minutes, but that’s fine. It may be better, even. 

He loves seeing this specific group of people, but it’s also a lot when he’s been on his own for almost two complete weeks, and there’s a strange blankness that starts to creep over him after about twenty minutes of being talked at. They want to know how the Bahamas was, how much fun he had, if he met anyone, and a million other things he hasn’t prepared answers for in his head. For the most part, he has no problem just answering things as they come but the itch under his skin grows and the words stop making sense. 

Until Dream’s voice cuts through the noise. It happens at the same time Dream’s hands land on his shoulders and he says, “Okay, shutting the party down. Some of us– George –need to actually get laundry in and sleep a little before we head out in the morning.” 

“But Dad,” Sylvee whines. 

Dream stops touching him and George breathes again. 

“No ifs, ands, or buts, young lady,” Dream says, keeping up the act for a moment, but then he gives in. “Just don’t, like, trash the place too bad. The cleaner is coming once we’re gone, but I don’t want to have to leave her a huge tip as an apology for the mess."

While Dream talks, George slips away quietly, upstairs and into his room. He leans against the door for a second and just breathes, then pushes off. 

He actually does have to get this laundry done. But then he looks at his bed and sees his suitcase open on it already, and completely empty. He turns around and opens the door to go ask, but when he opens it, Dream is already a few steps away. 

“I put it in for you,” he explains before George can ask, clearly seeing the confusion on his face. “You look beat. Just try and get some sleep, okay?” 

George is definitely feeling way too many things at once, because Dream’s words and his actions inexplicably make George want to cry. He shoves the feeling back as hard and far as he can and nods, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“Okay,” he says, hoping that sleep actually comes tonight.

He’s home though. He’s home and he gets to stay. And that’s…well, that’s most of what’s been keeping him up.

“Maybe we can talk tomorrow before we leave,” Dream says then, already retreating from the room. “About, you know.”

Before George can answer, Dream is telling him to sleep well and leaving the room. The mere thought of talking to Dream about the kiss fills him with dread, his stomach twisting. He kicks off his shoes and flops back onto his mattress, closing his eyes.

Maybe he won’t get to sleep after all.

-

He does sleep in the end, but not for long. He wakes up to his alarm and digs his knuckles into his eye sockets to relieve some of the ache. 

He really wants to go back to sleep. But then his door flings wide open and he groans, yanking the blanket over his head. 

“Up and at ‘em, soldier,” Bad’s voice sings out. 

There’s just something in him that’s programmed to listen when Bad speaks. It’s like his hidden talent, the way he just corrals people. So George gets up and staggers into his bathroom, brushes his teeth and throws on some of the clothes he’d left behind before the trip. 

It occurs to him as he looks at himself in the mirror that he might not have ever gotten dressed in this bathroom again. He might not have even worn this shirt again, had things gone just a little bit differently. Maybe Dream or Sapnap would have promised to mail him back his things, but promises have a way of just not panning out sometimes. 

He hates that thought so he forces it out of his mind. He goes through the motions of shaving and brushing his teeth and then heads downstairs to where there are already half a dozen people making various forms of breakfast with various kitchen items that George is relatively sure have never been used before. He zones in on Hannah’s poptarts and sneaks one off her plate while she isn’t looking. 

By the time she notices, he has half of it shoved in his mouth. He tells her how good it is with crumbs stuck to the corners of his lips and then washes it down with apple juice straight out of the carton. It’s his carton, so no one should complain, because no one should be drinking it. Never mind that it’s definitely not the one he actually left in here, because that would be out of date by now, and this one is brand new and completely full. 

He doesn’t think about who would have been buying apple juice for his return.

As everyone eats and packs up coolers full of food, George walks down the hall to the laundry room to move his clothes to the dryer. When he gets there, he finds that not only are his clothes already dry, but they're folded neatly in a pile. George runs a hand over the clean edge of a folded shirt and can't help but smile. Half the time, Dream doesn't even do his own laundry. But, here he is, doing George's.

God, they're supposed to talk. He's not ready for that talk. He doesn't know what to say yet.

Just as he's scooping the pile of clothes up, he hears the front door open and Dream's distant voice saying, "Okay, tents are all packed. Did someone wake George?"

Bad’s voice comes next, answering the question and asking something else, and George takes the opportunity to leave the laundry room. He heads straight up to his room without looking around, hoping to go unnoticed. But he's only in his room for a minute when Dream knocks on the open door.

"Hey—oh, good, you found your clothes," he says. "I was going to bring them up here for you last night, but I thought it might be a little creepy to sneak in while you were sleeping."

George tosses his empty suitcase onto the bed and starts refilling it. He’s getting a little bit tired of living out of a suitcase at this point.

“You didn’t have to fold them,” he says as he piles everything into the suitcase.

Dream shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. “I was up anyway. Couldn’t sleep.”

Now that he says it, George can see it in his eyes, in the telltale bags under them: he hasn’t been sleeping well either. George immediately wonders if it’s for the same reason as him. He wants to ask, but he’s afraid of the answer.

“Well, still.”

“Still,” Dream repeats absently, scuffing his shoe against the carpet. “Listen, George, I just wanted to—”

George’s body tenses up, trying to prepare him for whatever is about to come out of Dream’s mouth, but the universe intervenes. Downstairs, there’s a loud crashing sound and a handful of shrieks, cutting Dream off. Without finishing his sentence, he runs downstairs to check on them. 

George follows at a distance, just to see what happened, and when he gets to the living room, he can’t help but laugh. On the floor, shattered glass. Above it, a very broken lighting fixture. Just beyond that, Skeppy holding a Nerf gun, with the guiltiest expression George has ever seen.

By the time they get it all cleaned up, it’s time to go. Dream catches him on the way out the door, whispering, “We’ll talk later,” and George nods because he knows that it will happen. They can’t actually go forever without talking about it.

As much as he’d love to avoid it forever, that kiss was too important to pretend it never happened.

-

The campsite is two hours away, so they pile into three vehicles and set off. Normally George would be clamoring for shotgun in Dream’s car, but he lets himself be pulled into the SUV that Hannah borrowed from her dad instead. He sits beside Ant and Velvet and behind Sylvee, so that he can kick the back of her seat every time she says something annoying. 

Which she does immediately, because they start playing Taylor Swift before they're even to the end of the driveway and she and Hannah sing every word at the top of their lungs. George may be exhausted, but he does end up having fun as he belts out Karma and gets half of the words wrong. 

He’s in a good mood by the time they actually pull off at the campsite. Dream, Puffy, and Sam have already arrived and as George is climbing out of the car, Sapnap, Bad, and Skeppy pull in.

George catches Dream’s eye and smiles at him impulsively. Dream smiles back and George is surprised by the measure of relief in it. 

He doesn’t actually want Dream to think he's avoiding him, even if maybe that’s what he's doing, so he walks right over to Dream and says, “Alright, then. Where are you putting my tent up?” 

Dream snorts. “What? Why–why am I putting your tent up?” 

“Because you bought it.” 

“As a favor to you,” Dream says. “Because you were in the fucking Bahamas.” 

“Not because I wanted to be,” George argues. “It was traumatic. And you don’t want to further my trauma by making me erect my own tent.” 

“Bro’s popping a tent. Bro’s erect ,” Sapnap says, appearing from behind the car, holding a tent of his own. 

“Wait,” Velvet says, also appearing out of seemingly nowhere. “Is the orgy starting already? It said nightfall on my invite.” 

“No orgies,” Ant shouts. “Do I have to tell you every time?” 

“Ball and chain.” Velvet sighs noisily. 

“This is yours,” Dream says, and hands George a blue tent bundled up in a bag. “We can go find a couple of spots together.” 

George trudges along behind Dream, whining that the tent is too heavy. It’s not really, but he just wants to keep the lightness going, and needling at Dream seems to have that effect. 

They end up picking a spot near Sam, though no one is far. Even though they have the whole campground, they stick within eyesight of each other, like they're afraid to go too far. In the daylight, the area is pretty, with sunlight filtering through the tall trees, casting streaks of light across the ground, but George can imagine that it will be a little more spooky once the sun has set. 

He's not worried though. Between Dream and Sam, he feels secure.

They all start putting together their tents and George really does try, but it's confusing. The poles don't fit the spots they're supposed to go in and George is not a magician, so he sits on the rumpled nylon material and waits for Dream to finish his own tent so he can help. 

"You could at least pretend to try to do it yourself," Dream says with a laugh, looking over at George.

"I did try," George argues. "I tried. It's just stupid."

"You're stupid," Dream jabs back.

George frowns at him. "I'm a genius. I could design a tent so much better than this."

"GeorgeNotFound: Professional Tiktoker and Amateur Tent Designer."

Before George can reply, Sapnap walks over, cracking open a can of some kind of hard seltzer. "Are you just sitting there waiting for Dream to put your tent up?" 

George huffs, annoyed. "It's stupid. And I'm—I'm tired. I haven't slept a whole night in, like, so long."

Dream immediately looks over, his brow knitted in concern. "You haven't? Why?"

George can barely bring himself to meet his eye, afraid he'll give himself away. "I don't know—just, like, everything. The visa stuff and—and traveling and all of that. Lots of stuff."

The look of concern doesn't leave Dream's face, but he doesn't ask anything else. It's Sapnap who replies, saying, "Aww, bro was worried he wouldn't be back? Bro loves us."

"Bro hates you," George deadpans. 

Dream finally finishes his tent then, stepping back to admire it.

"Beautiful erection," Sapnap says, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. 

As if by magic, Velvet shows up at that exact moment and stands next to Dream's other side. "Not as big as I would have guessed though."

George covers his face in mock horror. This is going to be a very interesting trip with this group—especially Velvet.

"Can you do mine now?" George asks, only whining a tiny bit.

Velvet pats Dream on the back. "Yeah, Dream, work on George's erection. Don't be selfish."

George kindly requests that the ground swallow him whole, but no such luck. He's just glad when Sapnap and Velvet walk away, heading toward the group forming around a picnic table near the cars. Looking up from his spot on the flat tent, he sees Dream smirking down at him.

"Move, idiot. I have to erect your…tent."

George glares at him, his cheeks flaming hot, but he stands and moves aside anyway. He is getting free labor out of this, after all.

"Stop using that word," he hisses. 

"What? Tent?"

“No, the-” George stumbles, can’t actually say it. “Just shut up.” 

“Children,” Puffy says, walking over. “Dream, where do you want the food set up?” 

“Maybe somewhere between the grill and the fire circle? There’s like, s’mores stuff, and hot dogs, or whatever, but we also have some meat to actually grill so…yeah, whichever.” 

“Is that even going to stay good for a few days?” George asks. “Did you bring us here to kill us through salmonella?’ 

“I bought a badass cooler,” Dream says. “It’s basically a mini freezer. It’ll be fine.” 

“Did you get a Yeti one?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah, the Tundra 45,” Dream says, and they keep talking but the words kind of blur together in George’s head. Dream finishes his tent without saying much and George crawls into it. 

The world is tinged blue through the sides of it, everything outside just shadows. 

Dream opens the door and hands him a boxed up air mattress. “Your bed.” He disappears and thirty seconds later is back with a sleeping bag. “And your bedding.”

George wants to whine at Dream to set the air mattress up too, but then they’d be in the tent together, so he sighs and starts opening the box. 

-

He stays in his tent for almost an hour. He does need to go get his bag with his clothes in it, but once the air mattress is set up there’s something calm about just lying there near his friends but separate from them. He thinks he could probably take a nap, but then he smells food and that is motivation enough to get up. 

Most everyone is gathered around the fire. There are long logs with flattened tops as benches and a few people have camping chairs set up. George ends up just sitting on the grass by Sylvee’s legs. It’s not cold outside but the fire still feels nice and he likes the smoky smell of it. 

“So how was your trip?” Sylvee asks. 

George shrugs. “It was fine.” 

“Okay, you were literally in paradise , it was more than fine,” she says, sounding annoyed. 

George doesn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t actually that good. He spent most of his time in his room or wandering around the grounds at night, thinking about all the ways the visa meetings could go wrong. He barely swam and just ordered a lot of his food to be delivered to the room.

 “It wasn’t exactly my choice to go,” he says, hoping that Sylvee can read between the lines. He doesn’t explain any of the other stuff, not wanting to get into it.

Luckily, at that moment, Hannah comes to sit next to Sylvee, offering her a drink similar to the one Sapnap was drinking. Sylvee’s attention is diverted, and George is glad. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it at all, but right now he just wants to relax and forget the whole Bahamas thing.

For a while, Dream and Bad finish unpacking and organizing. They set up a game called cornhole, which George thinks is a joke when they first say it, but no one else bats an eye. They cover an entire picnic table with food and drinks and paper plates and who knows what else. There are more games, it looks like, and some toiletries, too.

After a few minutes, George realizes that his eyes have been trailing after Dream subconsciously, following his movements. He only notices that he’s doing it when Dream glances over, meeting his gaze, and gives him a curious smile.

You good? Dream mouths.

George nods. When Dream narrows his eyes like he’s not sure he believes him, George smiles and rolls his eyes. His cheeks go warm from the interaction and he feels like an idiot. He’s worse than a schoolgirl with a crush.

The conversation flows and George finds himself itching to go sit next to Dream, but he doesn’t want to be obvious about it, so he says, “Be right back,” and walks toward his tent first.  There, he dips inside to grab a hoodie that he doesn’t really need, but it’s a good enough excuse to have gotten up and he’s sure he’ll need it later.

When he steps out of the tent, though, Dream is there. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Dream asks him.

George holds the wadded up hoodie to his chest. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been acting a little funny.”

“I’m always funny,” George says, trying to sidestep the topic. “Nothing new there.”

Dream doesn’t fall for it. “If you say so,” he says with worry still painted across his face. “I just wanted to be sure it wasn’t about — about what happened. Before you left.”

“Dream,” George says, then gives in to the edge of comfort he always feels with Dream. “It’s weird, isn’t it? But like…it’s ok. I mean—we can talk later.” 

There’s obvious relief on Dream’s face. “As long as you don’t like… secretly hate me or anything.” 

“I don’t,” George says. It’s the easiest answer in the world. “I mean, you’re stupid and you literally smell, but I don’t hate you.”

Dream laughs that way that makes his eyes crinkle a little and he shoves George away. But he doesn't shove him far.

-

Camping is fun, George realizes. 

They spend most of the day just fucking around and exploring. George ends up with Puffy and Sylvee walking along the edge of a lake, and then he makes Sapnap carry him piggyback through an overgrown trail to the bathroom facilities. He doesn’t even have to go. He just wants to know where they are for later. 

Sapnap does have to go, though. George takes great joy in scream-singing ridiculous songs as Sapnap shits in a stall five feet away, unable to escape the impromptu personalized concert. It’s something George does back home too, when they’re in Florida where they share a wall. 

He doesn’t actually see Dream that much, and he realizes eventually that it’s because Dream and Sam have been off on a walk of their own. They’re both surprisingly enthusiastic about this whole outdoors thing and apparently they wanted to scout locations for some of the recording they’re doing. 

George tries very hard not to feel annoyed that Dream didn’t want his opinion. 

Dinner is burgers and chicken on the grill, which Puffy takes over with confidence. Half of them eat at the second picnic table that’s not completely covered in their stuff, while the rest of them eat around the fire. Bad and Skeppy have kept it going all day with the massive amount of firewood they brought along. Even though they haven’t needed it for heat, the smell and the crackling sound have been comforting.

“Are we going to tell ghost stories?” Sylvee asks as they’re finishing up dinner. “That would be so spooky.”

“Do you know any?” George asks her.

“No,” she admits. “I could look some up though. It’ll just take, like, two hours for a page to load out here.”

George’s signal is shit, too. He tried to open TikTok when they first arrived, but it wouldn’t load for anything. 

“We should play truth or dare,” Puffy says in a rush of excitement. 

George wrinkles his nose at the idea. Truth or dare always ends up the same: two people being dared to kiss. The last thing he wants is to be dared to kiss Dream in front of all their friends. Though, he’ll admit, daring Bad and Skeppy to kiss would be fun. 

The group as a whole is into the idea, so George acquiesces with a heavy sigh. They clean up everything from dinner, making sure they don’t attract any bears or other critters to their campsite, and when George takes a seat on one of the log benches, Dream sits next to him, bumping their elbows together.

The last thing George wants is for Dream to think that something is wrong, that George hates him. It’s stupid for him to even think that’s possible. It’s not like Dream held George down and kissed him; there was definite reciprocation in that kiss. George can still remember the feeling of Dream’s hair slipping between his fingers as he pulled him closer. 

He reciprocated. Like, a lot.

But Dream is clearly concerned, so George swings his elbow back into Dream’s in a friendly gesture, hoping to calm his mind.

The game is dumb, as expected, but there are some highlights. Sylvee dares Ant to wear one of her shirts for the rest of the night. Hannah admits that she has watched porn in the past week. Sapnap climbs a tree.

And then, when it’s Sapnap’s turn to pick someone, he turns to George with an evil glint in his eye. 

George immediately knows that he has to pick truth because Sapnap won’t hold back with the dares and George can’t take the risk. He can always lie if he needs to.

“Truth.”

Sapnap sighs, clearly disappointed, but he thinks for a long moment. Finally, he asks, “Okay, when was the last time you kissed someone?”

“Um.” George’s mind blanks out. He could lie. There’s nothing really stopping him from it. He should lie. It’s not like it’s anyone’s business. But in the moment with the spotlight of dozens of eyes on him, he blurts out, “Like, a couple of weeks ago, I guess.” 

The group erupts in wolf whistles. “Get it,” Sam says, slapping his knee. 

“Bahamas hookup?” Dream asks, looking at him. He says it jokingly but there’s something in his eyes that George recognizes. Maybe he recognizes it because it’s the same way he feels every time Dream would bashfully acknowledge meeting someone from Tinder a few months ago. 

“That’s for me to know,” he says, and refuses to add anything else. 

He immediately turns the question back on Sapnap - or tries to. He’s immediately informed that isn’t allowed, and then asks Sylvee instead. She picks Truth and George says, “Same question.” because he can’t think of anything else.  

She looks almost as uncomfortable as George felt. Hannah is the one that pipes up and says, “That’s also against the rules. Jeez, George, have you ever played? You have to ask a new question.” 

“Ugh. Fine. Of everyone here, who would you not want to be on an MCC team with? Like who sucks most.” 

Sylvee laughs. “Me! Me, George. It’s me. I suck the most. But ummm…I guess, I don’t know. Skeppy and Bad and…you, actually, George. You suck now.” 

“Dream is more washed than me,” George says. “It’s been longer since he played.” 

“Yeah, but Dream when he’s washed is better than you. Dream, what’s the worst you ever played?” 

“Um…twenty-third, I think,” Dream says. “But there were extenuating circumstances.” 

“For me too,” George immediately says. “I wasn’t at my normal setup.” 

And he was having a mild crisis over the idea of being deported and also the kiss. There was a lot going on.

“Well, I answered,” Sylvee says, and then scans the group, landing on Puffy. “Cara, truth or dare?”

Somehow, they make it out of truth or dare without anyone being dared to kiss. After a couple of rounds, people get bored and the conversation drifts away from truths and dares. With the sun going down, a group heads toward the toilets and the girls walk over to the lake to watch the sunset.

George doesn’t move, staring into the fire, and when everyone else is gone and it’s just him and Dream sitting there, Dream leans close and asks, “Was it a Bahamas hookup? Your last kiss?”

George looks up, meeting Dream’s gaze, and part of him wants to lie, wants to say that yeah, it was some cute guy there on holiday or maybe a resort employee. But he can see preemptive sadness creeping into Dream’s expression and he doesn’t want that. A little lighthearted jealousy, sure, but not—not anything real.

“No,” he says. “It was before that.”

Dream lets out a long breath. “Okay, cool. Good.”

“Good?” 

“Yeah, good,” Dream confirms. “I mean, good for me at least.”

George turns back to the fire, unable to hold Dream’s gaze any longer. “What about you? When was your last kiss?”

Between their legs, Dream’s hand crosses the mere inch or two separating them, and he drags his knuckles over the side of George’s thigh in a way that isn’t exactly platonic, but doesn’t cross any lines either. 

“I think mine was the same time as yours.”

George takes a deep, shaky breath, and he nods. “Okay. Good to know.”

Before Dream can say anything else, Sapnap is dropping down next to them with a bag of chips, chewing as loudly as humanly possible.

“Give me some of those,” George immediately says, realizing he’s actually hungry. He shoves his hand into the bag of chips and comes out with a greasy fistful. 

“You know that food has to last us three days, right?” Dream asks. “We’re not going on a snack run if you eat everything.” 

George is alarmed. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. “Don’t eat everything,” he demands. “I’ll starve. Dream, make him stop eating.” 

Dream laughs and they all settle into the familiar pattern of Dream trying to keep Sapnap and George from killing each other over the stupidest of reasons. 

-

The group is a strange mix of people who keep perfectly normal sleep schedules—Bad and Puffy and Hannah and, strangely, Ant and Velvet—and people that have no discernable sleep schedule. 

George would normally fall into the second category but tonight he’s in the first, just because of the level of exhaustion that slams into him. He tries to stay with the group around the fire as long as he can but he’s eventually swaying where he sits. 

It’s Sylvee that throws a rock at him and says, “Go to sleep, dummy.” 

“You should,” Dream agrees. “You look beat.” 

“Beat off ,” George says automatically, then stops, because it makes no sense at all. He preemptively adds, “Shut up. I’m not even tired.” 

Sylvee stares him right in the eye…and pretends to yawn. 

George’s response happens before he can even think about it, a wide yawn so massive he feels his jaw click. “Ugh,” he whines. “Stop. That’s not fair.” 

“Not fair, not fair,” she mocks him. “Go to sleep before Dream has to carry you.” 

George flips her off. Dream is laughing and he says, “Don’t think I won’t.” 

The image of Dream wrapping his arms around George and cradling George close to his body is suddenly there and unavoidable. That’s probably why he suddenly does a 180 and says, “Okay,” he says. “Fine. I’m going to sleep. Are you happy?” 

“Ecstatic,” Sylvee deadpans. 

George doesn’t respond, just heads to the little section of the campsite that he’s calling home for the next few days. He brushes his teeth halfheartedly using water from a plastic bottle as he stands outside of his tent, then awkwardly changes into pajamas once he’s inside. It involves lots of wiggling around on his air mattress but eventually he figures it out. 

Then it’s just…silence. 

Or, not quite silence. There’s sound. There are bugs outside, the occasional rustle of something small walking over leaves. He can hear the voices of the people but distantly, and like they’re trying to be quiet. 

He swims in half-asleep until something wakes him up: the sound of a tent unzipping. Dream is getting into his ‘bed’ just a few feet away. 

George can hear everything, every movement, like it’s happening in his own tent. He hears Dream brush his teeth and he hears the crinkle of the plastic air mattress as he lays down. He even feels like he can pick out the sound of Dream pushing his pants down his legs, kicking them off to the side. 

This is like having a room next to Sapnap, but there’s a flimsy curtain instead of a wall.

Finally, the movements stop, and it’s silent. Sam still hasn’t gone to bed, no sound coming from the direction of his tent, so George knows it’s just the two of them over here. Part of him wishes that he could roll over and touch Dream, but he knows that it’s better like this, with space between them.

Still, he can’t ignore his presence.

“Hey, Dream?” he asks, no louder than he would if Dream were lying beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

“Yeah?” Dream answers, surprise evident in his tone. He probably didn't realize George was still awake.

George turns onto his side, facing the side of the tent that Dream is on. “Don’t snore.”

Dream laughs, so softly that it sounds like wind rattling the leaves. “I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

“I literally don’t,” Dream argues. 

“I’ve heard it. I live with you.”

There’s a beat of silence and George can practically hear Dream smiling. He thinks that it probably matches his own.

“You do,” Dream says, softer now. “You still do.”

George falls asleep moments later, still smiling.

-

George rarely feels his age, but when he wakes up sore and grumpy, he feels every bit of it and then some. The air mattress lost enough air throughout the night that his ass is on the ground and the air in the tent is thick, almost suffocating. He hurries to unzip the door enough to get a little bit of air flowing and immediately, he feels better.

It's quiet outside. If anyone is awake, they're being courteous and not making much noise. George finds it hard to believe that he's the first one up, though, so his money is on that. Or maybe everyone went for a walk. Either way, he considers the silence permission to lay in his tent a while longer. He opens the door all the way and arranges his blanket to pad the ground, and he grabs his phone.

There isn’t enough service here to even load Tiktok. He groans and drops his phone, then picks it up two seconds later. Still no Tiktok. 

He resigns himself to actually leaving the tent even though his eyes are still burning with the need for more rest, or at least to just disengage his brain for a while. Instead he slides his feet into a pair of sandals and trudges to the fire. 

Puffy is the only one there. She looks up when she sees George and smiles. “Wow, you’re up early.” 

“Is it early?” 

“No, dumbass, it’s ten A.M.,” she says. 

“That’s early,” George argues. “Are we the first ones up?”

“No,” she says. “Bad and Sam got the fire going again and then went out to play amateur foragers. If they come back with any mushrooms or berries, please don’t be stupid and eat them. Even if Sapnap dares you.” 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” George says. 

“Fine.” She shrugs. “Then die.” 

“Fine,” George says. “I will.” 

She smiles at him fondly. “Hey, I’m glad everything worked out for you. Dream was a mess while you were gone, you know? And then, the night before last when we were streaming and you were flying back, he was like—he couldn’t stop talking about it. George was coming back! It was like a national holiday.”

“Oh.” George pretends like his cheeks don’t want to crease into a smile at that. He grabs a stick and starts pushing at dirt with it. He scrapes out a few lines, some curves, and then stares in satisfaction at the dick and balls he’s just drawn. He’s an artiste . 

Puffy looks at the drawing with an eyebrow lifted, in confused exasperation. “You are so weird, dude. Has anyone told you that?”

“Never.” 

“Well, now they have.”

George keeps drawing in the dirt, but his artistic abilities really only extend to dicks, so he draws a few more, different lengths and girths. He gives one a bit of a curve. And then, bored with that, he draws a smile. It’s only once he’s done it that he realizes he’s essentially drawn Dream surrounded by dicks. To rectify his mistake, he draws a pitiful attempt at a flame and then he writes ‘404’ next to them. 

Now it’s the dream team surrounded by dicks. Somehow that feels better.

Ant and Velvet emerge from their tent then. George watches as they walk over to the picnic table and pull out a bottle of what looks like iced coffee from the cooler. As they pour coffee and cream into their respective cups, George admires how in sync they are. He can’t really remember a time when they weren’t together and they fit so well considering how different they are. They just…make sense.

His eyes unconsciously sweep past them, toward Dream’s tent. He thinks back to that kiss, the night before he left. He remembers being in the kitchen, freaking out about what to bring with him and what to leave. He was so fucking worried that they’d deny him and he wouldn’t be allowed back.

But he could see the same worry reflected back at him from Dream’s eyes. Dream was just as scared as he was.

They hugged, and then they kissed. George remembers Dream starting it, making that first move, but they fell together as easy as anything. They made sense like that. They fit.

And under all of his fear and worry about the visa and what any of this meant,  George remembers feeling relieved. Like, if he couldn’t come back, at least they did this once.

But now George is back and he’s not sure if that’s all it was, just a one and done type of situation, or if there’s more. He thinks that there might be, but he can’t wrap his head around that. Honestly, it scares the shit out of him.

“Morning,” Ant says with a smile as he sits down in one of the camping chairs across from George. “How’d you sleep?”

“I slept,” George answers with a shrug. “I didn’t get eaten by bears or anything, so I guess it’s a win.”

“Not a fan of bears?” Velvet asks, taking the seat next to Ant. “Are you more of a cub guy? Or are you into otters?”

George rolls his eyes. He doesn’t even know exactly what those terms mean, but he gets the idea. 

“What’s Dream?” Puffy asks.

George feels his cheeks go red and he shakes his head. “Fuck off,” he mutters, but Velvet ignores him.

“Great question, Puffy!” Velvet rubs his hands together. “Do we know how much chest hair he has?”

“Ew, no,” Sylvee says. She and Hannah are walking together, off of the path that leads down to the lake. “And I don’t need to know.” 

“George?” Puffy asks. “Do you know?” 

“No,” George says, even though he does. He’s been in a hot tub with Dream before. It’s like… not a ton , but some. Not as much as Sapnap, more than George himself has. “Anyway, Dream has-” 

“Are you talking about me?” Dream asks. 

George looks over his shoulder. Dream is approaching from his tent, looking soft and rumpled and sleepy. 

“Yeah,” Velvet says. “George was about to tell us if you’ve got a shag carpet or if your tits are bare.” 

“What?” Dream throws George a confused look. 

George shakes his head. He can feel his face going hot. “Red is being stupid .” 

“Chest hair,” Velvet clarifies. “How much chest hair you have. I’m trying to decide if you’re like, a little bear cub in the making? Or if you’re maybe somewhere between cub and like… twinkish. Twink plus.” 

“Or you could not rank people by body type,” Hannah offers. 

“You’re just mad that George has a fatter ass than you,” Velvet says. 

“What! We weren’t even talking about me!”George protests. 

“Of course not,” Velvet says. “You’re a textbook twink verging into your otter years.” 

“What are otter ears?” 

“Otter years ,” Velvet stresses. 

George covers his face with his hands, like maybe he can hide from this conversation if no one can see him. Dream sits next to him, nudging his thigh. 

"How did this start?" he asks, a question meant only for George as the others continue arguing about the different types of gay men.

George shakes his head, trying to play the conversation in reverse to remember. "Oh," he says when he gets there. "I said I didn't get eaten by bears last night. So, of course, Velvet took that in a different way."

"Of course," Dream says, grinning. And then, leaning closer, he adds, "I know I'm not a bear, but if you want me to—"

"Oh my god," George shrieks, shoving him away. 

It feels good to joke about this stuff. Even if, underneath, there's some level of seriousness to it, it feels good to be normal with Dream. He'd been so worried while he was gone and then on his flight back, terrified that they'd forever ruined their friendship in the space of a couple minutes. As good as the kiss was—and it was good—it wasn't worth jeopardizing that.

"I'm hungry," Dream says, "and not just for that. " He ends the statement with an eyebrow waggle and a flick of his gaze down to George's ass.

Before George can yell at him for being gross, he's walking away to find food.

-

Breakfast is individual cups of cereal and breakfast bars and fruit. George has Special K and a banana and then steals half of Sapnap's orange when he's not looking. He'd kill for a smoothie, but he supposes that it's not so bad for roughing it out in the wilderness.

In truth, they could easily hop in the car and drive 15 minutes down the road to buy pretty much anything they could need, but it's fun to pretend. When he was a kid, he'd visit his aunt once or twice a year out in the country and he and his sister would pretend they were lost and had to live off the land. In reality, looking back, his aunt probably didn't actually live in the middle of nowhere like it felt then. They always lived in the city, so anything outside London felt like that, like they were so far removed from society that they might fall right off the map.

He loved that. He loved climbing trees and playing pretend with his sister. In a way, he misses scraped knees and dirt under his fingernails. 

Maybe that's why, when Sylvee asks who wants to go swimming in the lake a while later, George agrees to it. Maybe he's just trying to bring past memories back to life.

"You're going swimming?" Dream asks, surprised. "Did you bring trunks?"

"Yeah," he says. “They were in my stuff from the Bahamas.” 

"What about a towel?"

George shrugs. "Sylvee and Hannah brought them, I think. I'll borrow theirs."

He goes to his tent to change into his swim costume and a black t-shirt, making sure to pick one that he doesn't mind ruining just in case. When he's all set, he meets the others at the fire and they take off from there. 

The swimming contingent includes Sylvee, Hannah, Sam, Ant, and Velvet. The others stay behind—or at least that's what George thinks. Halfway to the lake, he hears footsteps behind him and looks to see Dream jogging to catch up.

"Are you going to swim?" George asks, shocked. He would have bet a million dollars that Dream would not get in the water with so many people around.

"No," Dream answers, breathless from running after them. "No, I just wanted to walk. I haven't seen the lake yet."

George senses a lie, or maybe an omission of truth, but he lets it go. If Dream wants to tag along, George won't tell him no. Sometimes it's nice to have space from him, just like it is with anyone, but after being apart for a while, George is in no rush to get space. 

-

The water is crisp and cool, cooler than the sun-warmed seas of the Bahamas. 

Not that he swam much there, either. He preferred the pool - no sand, and servers milling around waiting to bring him a fresh juice or a drink if he wanted one. 

There’s no concierge service at the lake, just a game of who can knock someone off someone else’s shoulders first happening between Ant and Velvet, and Sam and Sylvee. George has been carefully avoiding it, unsure about this concept and not really wanting to be that close to any of those people, so when they start suggesting he and Hannah team up he decides it’s time for a break from the water. 

He climbs up the rope ladder onto the pier, where Dream is stretched out in a pop up tent chair that somehow has a cupholder and a leg rest. “Are you just watching? Are you spectating ?”

“Maybe,” Dream says. 

He looks distracted. 

George wants to think he knows why but he’s not completely confident. He shoves his fingers through his wet hair and then, after a second thought, bends and shakes it out all over Dream. 

Dream sputters and protests. “Stop, you’re getting me all–you’re getting me wet!” 

“Wow, that big a fan?” George smirks. 

Dream’s mouth drops open. “George!” 

He looks at Dream laughing, hiding from the sun, and something in his heart just gives a little. “Let’s go on a walk,” he says. 

Dream looks surprised. “You want to go on a walk? With me?” 

“Yes, idiot,” George says. “With you. If you want to.” 

“Yeah, sure. Put your shoes on first, though. Otherwise you’re going to step on, like, a pine cone or something.” 

“So what if I did?” George asks. “Maybe I want to.” 

“You’d scream and cry.” 

“And you’d just carry me back. No big deal.” George shrugs, but slides his feet back into the shoes he’d worn down to the lake. 

-

They walk quietly for the first few minutes. The woods have a certain kind of magic to them and it’s like neither of them want to break the peace. The only sounds are the birds and crunching of twigs and leaves under their feet.

George loves the city, but just for a weekend, this is really nice.

“Puffy said you were excited I was coming home,” George finally says, gently breaking the silence.

Dream’s mouth curls into a small smile as he walks. “Yeah? I mean, of course I was. We all were.”

“She used the words ‘national holiday’,” he adds. “She said you were a mess while I was gone. A mess, Dream.”

Dream blows out a disbelieving breath, shaking his head. “She was exaggerating. I—I barely even noticed you were gone. Didn’t think about you at all.”

George doesn’t have to ask to know that he’s lying. It’s written all over his face.

“Be honest. Did you cry? Did you miss me so much you cried?”

“Fuck off, dude,” Dream laughs, shoving George away.

George stumbles just a bit, then comes back, bumping their shoulders together. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Dream doesn’t reply to that, just smiles and shakes his head. They fall back into a comfortable silence and as the path they’re walking takes a sharp curve, their arms bump together again. George does his best not to pay any attention to it, but it’s hard not to.

“George,” Dream says after a while, and George knows before he says anything else that he’s going there. “That kiss. Was it, like—was it just fear that you wouldn’t come back? Or is it—is there more there?”

George fights his instincts to run back toward camp. He shoves his hands in his pockets and fortifies himself for the conversation. “I don’t know. You kissed me first, so you tell me. Would it have happened otherwise?”

“I know I kissed you first but—okay, let me ask you a different question. If you weren’t leaving and you weren’t worried you’d have to go back to England, would you have kissed me back that night?”

George was looking forward to arguing semantics for a while to get out of answering, but to his chagrin, Dream has now asked a question that George can answer without a doubt in his mind. He scuffs the bottom of his shoes against the dirt as they walk and he answers.

“Yeah.”

There is no qualifying statement, no ‘if’ or ‘but’ to tack on. If Dream kissed him that night, George would have kissed him back. If Dream kissed him two seconds after they met in person, George would have kissed him back. If Dream kissed him right now, George would kiss him back. 

He’d be scared as hell, but he would.

Dream doesn’t reply for a while and George doesn’t ask for one. He’d be just as happy to not talk about it at all, to let it fill the silence around them instead. But when they come to a fork in the path, they stop, considering it.

“We should turn back,” Dream says. 

George turns wordlessly, heading back the way they came, but when he pulls his hands out of his pockets, letting them get some air, Dream’s fingers bump into his in a way that feels purposeful. Looking over curiously, George feels his stomach swoop as Dream pushes his fingers between George’s, a question in his eyes. 

George answers by hooking their fingers together, letting their hands hang between them, locked loosely together.

He can see Dream stealing glances at him. He smiles down at the ground and Dream squeezes his fingers. They don’t exchange any more words, and when they’re close enough to hear the voices of their friends they let their hands fall apart, but something about the moment makes George feel not just settled but excited for whatever comes next. 

-

What comes next is lunch, and then an entire afternoon of running around the woods, screaming at the top of their lungs while they wield foam swords and shields and cleverly repainted nerf bows and arrows. 

It’s a real life manhunt that’s a chaotic disorganized mess. Hannah and Sylvee do most of the filming that will make it into the video, but everyone has strapped on head cams. 

George isn’t sure he’s had this much fun playing anything non-computer-based since he was a kid. The whole thing does feel like being a kid again, like playing make believe with his friends. 

Sylvee is his camera person and when George is on two hearts and needs to dash for a hiding place before Dream kills him, she’s right alongside him. They run far enough that they have to stop and breathe, George gasping and bent over. 

“You’re so old,” Sylvee taunts him. “You’re so out of shape.” 

“Shut up,” George scowls. 

“He’s not gonna kill you anyway,” she says. “You’re his favorite.” 

“He will absolutely kill me,” George says. “He just wants to win.” 

She switches to the interviewer voice and raises the camera. “And do you think he will, George? Do you think Dream’s going to win?” 

George lets his voice fill with bravado. “Absolutely not. He’s - he’s swine, he’s so bad at this game, he’s an absolute L and we are going to get him.” 

She laughs. “So confident.” 

“Because I’m the goat,” George says. 

She lowers the camera again. “Okay but can we just like, take five and hide here? I actually do need to pee.” 

“Ew, you’re going to pee? Like out here?” 

“Literally every guy has just pissed in the woods. Don’t tell me you haven’t.” 

George cannot tell her that. But he still says, “Ew, no. Go away to do it. There are toilets. Be civilized.” 

“Oh shut up, just like, turn around. You can stop anyone else from interrupting me.” 

George complains the whole time, but he does turn around, keeping an eye out. What he doesn’t do is turn back, because he absolutely does not want to risk a glimpse of whatever is happening fifteen or so feet behind him. 

“Hannah won’t even piss in the woods,” Sylvee tells him. “She’s afraid she’ll get poison ivy in her hooha or something.” 

“Hooha?” George nearly chokes on the words. “Why are you and Hannah discussing—that—anyway?” 

Sylvee laughs, the kind of laugh when there’s a joke that someone else isn’t even a part of. “That’s just what gal pals do, George.” 

“Ew,” George says, for the millionth time. 

“You can turn around,” she says. When he does, she’s using hand sanitizer and smirking at him. “Okay, break time is over now. I wanna see Dream slaughter you.”

-

They’re all exhausted by the time they break for dinner. Dream makes vague intentions clear about spending the night editing and everyone else vetoes that idea immediately. It’s when Bad tells Dream he is not allowed to go to his room and do his homework that Dream actually concedes and makes himself comfortable on one of the log seats. 

George lets himself be impulsive and sits in front of Dream, back against the log with Dream’s knees bracketing him. He catches a few looks but he ignores them. He could do this with anyone else and no one would bat an eye. But with Dream—

Well, Dream is different. George knows that. He’s always known that. They’ve always had this special little spark between them.

They start talking about ghosts, everyone piping up to say whether they believe in them or not, clarifying their answers. Dream, of course, launches into an impassioned speech about how they’re obviously not real and Puffy makes a joke about how he’s giving a whole ass Ted Talk. 

And while all of this happens, George lets his head roll back, settling against Dream’s thigh. Like a response to his call, Dream drops his hand as he talks, resting it on George’s shoulder. It feels so casual, so normal, but there’s nothing normal about this. This is decidedly out of their norm.

George looks up, barely even listening to the conversation now, just at peace with the fire and Dream’s fingers playing with the fabric of his t-shirt. His eyes meet Velvet’s and what he expects is a lewd gesture or at the very least an eyebrow wag. Instead, Velvet smiles at him. He just smiles like—like he’s proud or something.

It’s weird. It feels… nice. 

George can’t even begin to peel that apart and figure out what any of it means right now. He’s too cozy, too happy to potentially ruin it by looking too closely at his feelings.

“Can we make s’mores now?” Hannah asks, apparently bored with the ghost talk.

“Yes!” Sylvee answers, hopping up. “I’ll make you one. I make them the best.”

She walks over to the picnic table to grab the supplies and returns with a plastic grocery bag.

“We just need sticks to roast the marshmallows.” 

“Oh, I bought some, like, skewer things,” Dream says. “I think they’re in the bag on top of the cooler.” 

Mention of the cooler reminds everyone that there’s alcohol too. Sam leads the charge, handing out White Claws and cans of beer. George takes a White Claw, enjoying the fruity fizz as it goes down. His favorite kind of drinks are the ones that don’t taste of anything but fruit. Dream even bought an entire case just of George’s favorite flavor. 

The more the alcohol flows, the more Dream’s hands wander. One eventually just rests on the back of George’s neck, fingers down the neckline of his shirt. His fingers swipe back and forth as he talks animatedly about some of the music he’s working on. 

Neither of them have s’mores. It seems like too sticky of an affair for George, and Dream doesn’t like that much sugar in one go. It is fun watching everyone else make them, though. Hannah in particular seems stressed as she tries to get hers off the stick and just gets marshmallow in her hair. Puffy alternates between laughing at her and trying to help her. Sylvee does the same, but with more laughing and a little bit of recording on her phone. 

The whole setting starts to go a little fuzzy for George. He sits up because he wants another drink and says, “My butt went numb.” 

“Dream will kiss it better for you,” Velvet says. 

George looks over his shoulder and down at Dream. “Will you?” 

“Maybe if you find somewhere to take a shower first,” Dream says. 

“No showers out here,” Bad says. “Guess you’re out of luck.” 

“There is a lake,” Skeppy offers. 

Bad shoots him a glare. “Don’t encourage them.” 

“I’ll do what I want,” Skeppy says. “You’re not my real-” 

“Do not call me your dad,” Bad threatens. “Or I’ll…” 

“You’ll what?” George asks. “Muffin him?”

“Well, not when you make it sound like that ,” Bad says. 

George grabs a new can of White Claw and walks back over to Dream, planning on taking his spot on the ground again. Instead, Dream grabs him around the waist and pulls George down until George is sitting right on his lap. 

“What are you doing?” George screeches out, finding his balance on Dream’s thighs. “I’m being manhandled. ”

“You said your butt went numb on the ground. I thought this would be more comfortable.”

In truth, it’s not the most comfortable seat he’s ever sat on, but it’s warm and it comes with the added bonus of Dream’s arms wrapping around his waist, holding onto him. 

“If you want to go back to the ground, you can,” Dream tells him, hooking his chin over George’s shoulder. 

George slumps back, resting against Dream’s chest, and he knows that he’s not going to leave. Even if everyone is giving them looks that make him feel itchy and claustrophobic, he’s not going to leave.

“I’ll see,” he says anyway.

He drinks his White Claw and lets the alcohol soak into his veins, warming him through. He feels buzzed enough that his head swims, but not so drunk that he’s worried about doing or saying something stupid. At least, no more than he usually is.

After a while, it doesn't even feel weird that he's sitting on Dream's lap, surrounded by his friends. There are still looks, furtive little glances like they can't quite believe their eyes and have to double check to make sure they saw things correctly. But they stop bothering George after a few minutes. He's too focused on Dream's hands on his waist to pay much attention to anyone else anyway.

On the other side of the fire, George spots something strange. Beyond the flickering flames, he sees Hannah helping Sylvee brush the hair out of her face and for the briefest of moments, he sees Hannah's thumb sweep across Sylvee's cheek. It's not just the action that gets him though—it's the look on her face. On both of their faces.

George knows that look. He's seen it on his own face in clips on Twitter and compilations on Youtube. But as soon as it happens, it's gone, and Sylvee is hopping up at getting everyone more drinks. When she's done passing them out, she sits next to Skeppy instead of returning to her previous spot.

"You tired yet?" Dream asks softly, giving George a squeeze around the middle.

"No," George lies. He's tired, but he doesn't want to sleep yet. He feels better than he has in a long time. "Are you? Do you want me to move?"

"No, I'm good," Dream says, sounding as happy and relaxed as George feels. "I like you here."

George smiles. No one is watching them right now. No one is listening. 

"I like me here, too," he says, and he pulls Dream's hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, weaving their fingers together out of sight.

-

“Let me up,” George says. 

Dream startles. “What?” 

“Need to piss.” The three drinks he’s consumed have abruptly made their appearance known in his bladder. 

“Me too,” Sapnap announces. 

“Actually,” Dream says. “I could go too.”

“Group piss?” Sapnap announces, waving his drink around in a decidedly wobbly way. “Dicks out club? Anyone else? Any takers?” 

“Me,” Puffy says, throwing caution to the wind. 

“No,” Sam immediately says. “You can’t come. You’re gonna dick shame us.” 

“I’ll dick shame you because mine is bigger,” she says. 

“It is,” Skeppy confirms. “She showed me.” 

George loses track of their conversation as he starts to walk the path to the toilets, leaving the rest of them behind, except Dream, who immediately starts to follow George. They get ahead of the rest of the group, halfway running after a few seconds. It’s stupid and giddy and George is laughing by the time they reach the toilets. 

“Did we lose them?” Dream asks, breathless.

“Is that what we were trying to do?” George replies.

“Maybe." 

Between the alcohol and the running, George feels just crazy enough to say, "Why? Did you want to kiss me again?"

Dream's eyes are wide and bright under the flickering flood lamp above the door to the toilets. "What if I did?"

“In front of the toilets? God, you really are a freak.”

Dream cracks a laugh at that, shouting, “Okay, wait, what? That’s not even—that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t matter,” George says. “Still a freak.”

“And you’re not?”

George wrinkles his nose. “I’m not. I’m normal. I’m literally the most normal person who’s ever existed. I’m the goat at being normal.”

“The goat at being normal?” Dream repeats back. “Just you saying that sentence makes you a bigger freak than me.”

“I’m not the one getting turned on by the bathroom.”

“Neither am I!”

George gives him a disbelieving look, fully prepared to keep the debate going, but at that moment, he hears footsteps and spots the bobbing light of a flashlight approaching. When they’re close enough, George can make out the shape of Sapnap leading the group. 

“What the fuck, guys?” 

“You lost by so much,” Dream says, puffing his chest a little bit.

George hops on, adding, “You’re all L’s.”

“We weren’t racing!” Sam shouts.

Dream scoffs. “Obviously.”

They file into the bathroom, taking turns using the two working toilets and staying far away from the third and whatever substance is all over the seat. It feels so much like a school trip, waiting in line with his friends and cracking jokes about piss and shit over the stall dividers. George almost feels nostalgic, but it's better like this. It's better with the friends he chose for himself instead of the ones he got stuck in a class with.

It's better, most of all, with Dream.

On the walk back to the campsite, Dream's fingers don't find his own, but when George loses his footing, it's Dream reaching out to keep him upright. Even after he's found his balance, Dream's hands linger on his waist, stealing a few extra seconds of contact without anyone else noticing. 

-

It's the middle of the night by the time George is finally ready to sleep. 

Or - that’s a lie. He’s been ready to sleep, but not ready to end the giddy talk around the fire. They discuss everything under the sun and it feels liminal and he doesn’t want to give it up. But even Dream is tired and eventually starts to point out that they’re going to film more tomorrow and it’ll be a long day. 

It isn’t until he’s actually in his tent that George remembers his air mattress leaking so much that he was basically on the ground by morning. He groans loudly, because the problem hasn’t magically gone away during the day. The air mattress is basically nothing more than a thin layer of plastic separating him from the ground now, completely deflated throughout the day even without his weight on it. 

“What?” Dream asks. 

It makes George jump. He forgot Dream was so close he could hear George almost as though they were in the same room. 

“My air mattress has a leak,” George says. “Why did you get me a broken one? Why do you hate me, Dream?” 

Dream laughs. “I didn’t. But like - why didn’t you say something earlier?” 

“I forgot,” George says, sulking. 

“Okay, well, there’s not much I can do about it now,” Dream says, “Unless…” 

The way his tone drops makes George go still. He has a moment of knowing what Dream is about to say. He chases the intuition and sighs loudly. “Fine, whatever. I’ll come sleep with you.” 

“What? What ?” Dream is incredulous. “How is that-” 

“That’s what you were going to say,” George says confidently, already unzipping his tent. He climbs out of his own and walks the few steps to the door of Dream's tent, stopping with his fingers on the zipper. "You aren't naked, are you?"

"No," Dream huffs, as if it's a ridiculous question. 

George yanks the zipper down and sticks his head inside, eyes finding Dream lying on his own air mattress. This one still has air in it. 

"I can't believe you kept the good air mattress for yourself. You literally just want to hurt me."

He unzips the door enough to step inside, zipping it back up behind him. It's a small space, the air mattress taking up most of the floor space. George carefully shuffles around to the side with more room and he lowers himself onto the mattress next to Dream. He notices that Dream is still fully clothed, so he doesn't make a move to take his own clothes off, getting settled as is.

"I wasn't going to ask you to sleep with me," Dream says, rolling onto his side.

"Well, I would hope not," George replies dismissively. "I'm drunk, Dream. You can't take advantage of me."

Dream laughs, shaking his head. "You are such an idiot. Maybe I do hate you."

George rolls onto his side, too. It's dark, but not so dark that he can't see Dream's face, his features. George doesn't even have to see them though; he's got them memorized by now.

"You do?" George asks, trying his best to look innocent and sweet. 

It must work, at least a little bit. "Maybe." Dream reaches out to touch George's waist, tugging him closer.

George lets himself be pulled, resting a hand on Dream's arm. He can feel all the energy between them from the day and from these past couple weeks, ever since that kiss. It's building, cresting in the softest way, like a slow flood instead of waves crashing against the shore. 

"Maybe?" he parrots back, dropping his voice almost to a whisper.

Dream's eyes flick down to George's mouth before he drags them back up. "Maybe," he repeats. He matches George's volume, his tone softening. "Maybe not."

"Definitely not," George says, confident. 

“Fine,” Dream says. “Don’t know how anyone could hate you, anyway. You’ve just got this-” 

“Stop,” George says softly, not wanting to feel a single word of this for fear he’ll burst into smoke or something. 

But Dream ignores him. “Those fucking… eyes, George. I could get lost in them. And your mouth…” 

Said mouth goes completely dry. “What about my mouth?” 

“I mean, aside from the sheer amount of absolute bullshit that comes out of it-” Dream grins. “It’s just… you have a filthy mouth, George. It’s like - made to be filthy.” 

“So people can’t hate me because of my mouth?” George asks. He’s amused now. “I think you’re the one talking nonsense.” 

“Yeah,” Dream readily agrees. “First of all, I’m drunk too. And also - I don’t know. I just lose my mind around you.” 

“Mm,” George says, deciding he’s had enough of this whole being awake thing. “Me too, though.” 

“You lose your mind around you?” 

“I lose my mind around you ,” George says. 

“Thought I’d lose my mind if you didn’t get to come home,” Dream admits. “If you got sent back to England.” 

“I’d have come back,” George says. “I’d have found a way.” 

“I was already thinking about how it would work for me to just move there instead,” Dream admits. “Like — if you. If you wanted me to.” 

“I would,” George says. He feels like his heart should be racing right now, soaring with the weight of these confessions, but it isn’t. He draws in a long, steady breath. “But I’d rather be here with you.” 

“Good thing you are then,” Dream says. 

One hand slides underneath George’s hoodie and rests on the bare skin of his back. The touch makes George aware he can do the same, and he pushes his own hand under the front of Dream’s shirt, finding the softness of his hair covered stomach. 

They both seem grounded by the touches. George at least is soothed and settled by them enough that he falls asleep quickly. 

-

Waking up in a tent with a hangover is brutal. Hangovers are bad enough when you’re in your own bed, without the sun streaming in like a blaring alarm, telling you to get the fuck up. But the second George opens his eyes, he realizes that he’s made a grave error and shuts them again, covering his face with the blanket. Dream grumbles at the movement and, though George had not forgotten that he was sleeping with Dream, he fully takes in the situation now.

George is on his back with Dream on his left side, one hand shoved so far up George’s shirt that his fingers are nearly touching his nipple, and his own left hand is trapped between them, nearly touching—what feels distinctly like a bulge. And not even in the erection way. Just, like, it’s there. At ease. 

The blanket over his face has solved the sun problem, but now he feels like he’s overheating so he throws it off of him and covers his eyes with his hand instead, groaning in misery.

“Are you always this annoying in the morning?” Dream rasps, low in George’s ear.

“Bro was writing me poems last night and now I’m annoying,” George bites back.

“Bro wasn’t being annoying last night,” Dream replies. Still, he pulls George closer to him, his fingers curling over George’s ribs, molding to the shape of him. “Come on, go back to sleep.”

There’s a moment where George thinks that maybe he can, the comfort of having Dream wrapped around him indisputable, but it’s no use. Between the sunlight and his full bladder and the sounds of their friends up and about nearby, he can’t sink into it. 

“I have to pee,” he announces.

When Dream doesn’t answer, already having fallen back to sleep, George shimmies out from his grasp, ineloquently extricating himself from the tent. Dream groans, annoyed when George leaves, but he rolls over and doesn’t move again, so George thinks he’s made it out safely.

Unfortunately, as he’s zipping up the tent door, Ant, Velvet, and Puffy walk by. Perfect timing.

“Good morning, Gogy,” Puffy chirps.

Velvet’s eyes are too bright. Before he says anything, George knows he’s been caught.

“Isn’t that Dream’s tent, George?”

George scowls at him. “My air mattress didn’t have any air in it. It was a—a nothing mattress.”

“Ah,” Velvet says, in the way that George can tell means he doesn’t actually believe him. “Well, good thing Dream was there to save you from the hard ground. I’m sure you found a way to thank him.”

Ant giggles next to him while Puffy covers her mouth, trying to mask her own laughter. 

“I literally hate you all,” George says. “But I can’t worry about that right now. I have to piss.”

“We’re going that way,” Ant tells him, gesturing toward the toilets in the distance. 

“Come on, Gogy, we can be pee partners,” Puffy says, linking their arms together and pulling him along.

George decides that he’ll plan his revenge on all of them after the pounding in his head has subsided.

-

He feels marginally better after pissing and brushing his teeth. Some of their friends are swimming in the lake, and George can’t even mock them for being energetic so early in the day because it’s actually after noon. 

Dream still doesn’t emerge until close to two, only when they start cooking hot dogs on the fire. George is stressed out by how weird the bag of buns Dream bought is. “Brioche? Why brioche? What even is brioche ? This isn’t like–it’s weird. It’s weird, smell it.” 

George shoves it in Hannah’s face. She jerks backwards, falling into Sylvee who puts an arm around her out of some seeming automatic instinct. It reminds George of when they’re in Dream’s car together and he brakes fast, the way his arm flies out to brace in front of George so he doesn’t fall forward. 

Sylvee laughs and says, “Okay there?” 

Hannah flashes her a quick smile. “Yeah, I’m good. George is just being a little weirdo.” 

The voice that answers is decidedly less feminine. “He always is.” 

George’s head jerks around, a smile on his face he can’t quite bury back. Dream looks sleepy but good. Really fucking good. So good George’s mouth goes a bit dry. If he has to reach for his water bottle, it’s just because he’s a good boy that stays hydrated.

Not because he’s thirsty as fuck in every possible interpretation of the phrase. Why did he drink the night before? Why didn’t he get to enjoy waking up with Dream more? Maybe he should just abstain. 

“I’m never drinking again,” he announces. 

There’s no room on the log George is sitting on, so Dream takes a spot across from him. Sapnap automatically starts making Dream a hot dog. George makes a note to call him a Dream’s bitch later. 

“Are you still hungover?” Dream asks. 

“Nah,” George says. “It was just like… I dunno. Why is it even fun?” 

“Please,” Puffy says. “Gogy, my friend, we all saw you last night. You were having plenty of fun.” 

Dream clears his throat. “Anyway.” 

Velvet and Ant are both laughing at them by now. 

“And for all we know,” Velvet says. “You had more fun this morning.” 

“What were they doing?” Sapnap asks, looking between them. He seems bewildered and a little put out, the way he always gets when he feels left out of something. 

But Sapnap is not invited to this group activity. George doesn’t need to consult with Dream to know they’re on the same page there. 

“They had a sleepover,” Puffy says, smirking. 

Ant adds, “George slept in Dream’s tent.” 

“My air mattress was deflated ,” George says. “If you don’t believe me, you take it and try to sleep on it tonight.” 

“Sure,” Puffy says. “I believe you. But like, where’s the needle?” 

“The what?” 

“The needle you used to poke holes in it,” she finishes, cackling. 

“Argh!” George shouts. He shoves the last bit of his hot dog in his mouth, ketchup and mustard smearing around his lips. He chews loudly with an open mouth right in her direction. 

Puffy, unphased, just does it right back at him. 

-

After they’ve eaten, they film for a while, but George’s part doesn’t take long, so he’s able to snag one of the comfortable chairs by the fire circle and relax for a while. Even without an actual fire burning, he likes the smell of the ashes. He’s completely at peace until Hannah comes stomping over and sits next to him with a heavy sigh, her eyes trained on the circle of ashes and charred wood in front of them.

Hannah can get sulky sometimes, can get frustrated with them when they don’t listen to her or they tease her a little too hard, but that’s not the vibe he’s getting now. He proceeds with caution anyway, aware that she may go off at any moment. 

“Are they done filming?” he asks, because last he checked, Hannah was helping Sylvee film.

“No,” Hannah answers, still staring daggers at the middle of the fire circle. “I am, but they’re not. Sylvee doesn’t need my help.”

George looks around like maybe someone will save him from this conversation. He wishes Dream was here, he’s good at feelings. But since there’s no one else to jump in and George is not a total asshole, he asks, “Are you two fighting or something?”

“We’re not fighting,” Hannah says, a little snippy.

George’s eyes go wide, trying to lean away from her like she’s a wild beast who could tear him apart at any moment. Which, really, she is.

Hannah growls a little and says, “She’s just so confusing, you know? Why can’t she just, like, say what she wants?”

In a single moment, George understands a few things that he didn’t before. 

“Wait, are you, like…” he starts, then stops. 

“What?” Hannah gives him a guarded look. 

But their eyes meet and he has a flash of insight that is uncomfortably clear. Mostly, he understands that Hannah is in love with Sylvee. 

There have been a lot of clues along the way, things he’d noticed and filed away. He was there when they said they first became friends, at last year’s TwitchCon. He remembers the way both of them were giddy afterwards and couldn’t stop making plans together. The way Hannah got irrationally pissed off when Gee or one of Sylvee’s other friends would be in town. The way Hannah lamented that she wasn’t even sure she’d made the right decision moving to Florida because she was lonely, while literally hanging out with George. (If his feelings were easily hurt that might have bothered him, but instead he’d just scoffed and called her an idiot.) 

And based on the way Sylvee would show up whenever Hannah was over, the way her first question to him was always if he’d talked to Hannah that day or not… he’d bet that Sylvee is in love with Hannah, too, though possibly afraid to act on it. It makes him think of Dream, of feelings that are scary but totally worth acting on.

“Maybe she just needs time,” he offers, because he needed so much time himself. He’s still hovering around it, waiting for the right moment to jump in headfirst.

But he thinks that he’s ready now. He’s not quite as scared as he was a couple of weeks ago.

“I know,” Hannah sighs, defeated. “It’s just so fucking frustrating when I know—I know she wants what I want.”

“It’s not always just about what you want though,” George points out, his mind screaming at him to stop talking before he gives too much away. His mouth wins though, words spilling freely. “Like, sometimes you can want something, right? And you just can’t bring yourself to take it. Because what if it’s a trap? What if it goes terribly? What if they laugh in your face, like wow, he fell for it.”

For the first time since sitting down, Hannah turns towards him. “Bro,” she says, her expression softening. “You’ve got some real trust issues.”

The song plays in George’s mind. Everything always comes back to Dream. George could look at anything around him and tie it back to him, like a sick game of Six Degrees of Separation. Instead of Kevin Bacon, it’s Dream. Always Dream.

Shrugging, George says, “Maybe I do.”

Hannah turns back to the unlit fire, her shoulders slumping.

A few minutes pass in silence before George realizes that he may be the first person Hannah has talked to about this. He doesn’t like that responsibility. He doesn’t know what to do with it. 

What he ends up doing with it is blurting out, “Are you gay?”

Hannah startles, looking over at him in surprise. She gauges him for a few seconds, like she’s trying to decide if it’s safe or not. Finally, she answers, “Yeah, I guess. Yeah. Are you?”

“Yep,” George says, popping the ‘p’ sound. 

They nod and fall silent, just two admitted homosexuals enjoying a nonexistent fire. But then Hannah speaks up to ask, “Is anyone here actually straight?”

They both think for a moment and then turn to face each other. In unison, they say, “Sapnap.”

“Probably Sam too,” George adds. 

“Umm.” Hannah smirks. 

“What?” 

“You weren’t at the fire the other night when we were discussing that, were you? He said he’s like, mostly straight, but there are a couple of guys he might go gay for. Lowkey, I think Dream is one of them?” 

“ What ?” George gawks. “What did he say?” 

“He didn’t say anything, it’s more like… a vibe. He gets all blushy and stutters around Dream,” Hannah says. Then she laughs so hard she doubles over. “Oh my god, your fucking face , bro. Calm down. No one’s gonna take him from you.” 

“So you were lying,” George says, crossing his arms. “About Sam.” 

“Well, I didn’t say that .” 

George can feel his heart racing and he stops to think, this is so dumb. He knows that Sam wouldn’t just—and Dream wouldn’t—right? Even though they’re not together, they’re something. Aren’t they? 

“Wow,” Hannah says after a minute of George spiraling. “You are down so bad.”

George sneers at her. “Shut up. So are you.”

Her shoulders slump again and she says, “Yeah.”

They retreat back into silence, sitting side by side and pining. George can’t stop thinking about Sam and what if he made a move on Dream? What if he wasn’t as chicken shit as George has been? For months, he’s been a coward. Years, even. 

He knows that the Sam thing isn’t serious, but it still fills his belly with nervous energy. He pictures them out in the woods, wrestling each other to the ground, an innocent little brush of lips turned into more. The image makes him feel nauseous.

“I’ll be right back,” he says and jumps up from his seat. 

He doesn’t know exactly where Dream is now, but he knows the general direction of where they were filming, so he starts walking, unsure of what he’s doing. It’s not fair for him to get territorial over someone who isn’t his, but—but he is George’s. Dream is George’s. Everyone knows that. 

He’s psyched himself up for whatever it is he’s going to do, only to stumble upon Sam sitting in a log next to Sylvee. No Dream in sight.

When Sylvee looks up, her face is blotchy and red. She’s been crying.

George’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Hi. Sorry, I was looking for Dream.”

“I think he went looking for you,” Sam says softly. 

George tilts his head. “He did? Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

Sam nods, giving him a kind smile, and he turns back to Sylvee. George feels like an idiot for ever worrying about him. He would never do something if he knew it would hurt any of them. That’s just not the kind of friend he is.

George turns back toward camp and starts retracing his steps.

-

It does occur to him a few seconds too late to turn around that Sylvee looked really upset, and that probably has to do with why Hannah was so upset, too. He could go back and try to help them sort it out. 

But that sounds like something he wouldn’t be very good at, and more importantly wouldn’t be very fun for him. He keeps walking instead and finds Dream out by the pier with a fishing pole in his hand. 

“Are you catching fish?” George asks. “Ew.” 

“No,” Dream says, laughing. “I mean, I was trying, but I’m bad at it. We just thought it would be funny to put a fish in a bucket like - for the video. But we didn’t have a fish.” 

“Maybe you’ll get a saddle instead,” George says, and then sits down beside Dream. The ass of his shorts will get dirty, but he decides it doesn’t care. “Put it down. Pay attention to me instead.” 

“Demanding,” Dream says, but he puts the pole to the side. 

Then he reaches for George’s hand, pulling it into his own like it’s just something they do all of the time. 

“Hannah said Sam would go gay for you,” George blurts out. 

“What? What ?” Dream asks, laughing. 

“She was just - Hannah said it. She’s such an idiot, isn’t she?” 

“Yes,” Dream says firmly. 

“Because Sam wouldn’t. Not–not for you.” 

“Should I be offended by this?” 

“No, it’s just like. He knows. Doesn’t he?” George asks. 

They teeter on the edge of something. George is slightly terrified Dream will play dumb, that he’ll say knows what . 

But he doesn’t. “Probably,” he says. “I think after last night–and this morning–most of them do.” 

He doesn’t sound unhappy at all about that. 

George doesn’t feel unhappy about it, either. 

He curls his fingers around Dream’s bigger ones, and tugs him in closer. Dream lists to the side like there’s some kind of magnetic pull, and their second kiss happens to the soundtrack of gentle waves lapping against the shore and a really stupidly loud bird cawing overhead. 

It’s a soft kiss, sweet. Close-mouthed, just a press of lips. 

Then Dream shifts his body to the side and George makes a greedy noise and they’re kissing for real, stubbled chins scrubbing together and wet lips sliding open against each other’s mouths. 

George would be lying if he said he’d forgotten how good kissing Dream feels, but he’s still happy for the reminder. Because it’s really good. It’s good in that it feels good, sending tingles throughout his body, but it’s also just fun. It’s a kiss that makes him happy, has him smiling into Dream’s lips and pulling him closer. He’s never had a kiss like that before. Like a silent conversation between friends. 

Dream’s hand cups George’s jaw, fingers tucking down to lift his chin, to kiss him deeper. He doesn’t stick his tongue in George’s mouth the way some people have, but he slides his tongue against George’s in little flicks and it’s enough to make those tingles in his body start to sizzle hot and electric. 

But they are sitting on a fishing pier with several of their closest friends nearby. It’s not the best time for things to progress any further than they already have.

George pulls back to take a breath, eyes finding Dream’s and lips curling into a smile. “Sam could never,” he says proudly.

Dream laughs out loud at that, head thrown back, and George just stares. He looks so good like this, when his happiness is unbridled. When he’s not thinking about work or fans or what anyone is saying about him. 

In these moments, he shines. 

“Sam could never,” Dream agrees when his laughter tapers off. “I wouldn’t want him to anyway.”

“Because you’re basically obsessed with me,” George supplies, cheeky, but with a hint of a question mark. He thinks that he knows, but he needs to be sure. He needs to be certain that Dream feels something like how he feels.

There’s no hesitation though. Dream says, “So obsessed,” his gaze dropping to George’s lips a second before he leans in again, kissing him.

George can’t help but keep smiling through that kiss and the next one and the next one, until they hear the crunch of leaves behind them and jerk apart. 

Sapnap looks between them, then just shakes his head. “I’m gonna pretend ya’ll just look like you got your hands caught in the cookie jar because you’re actually sneaking some cookies and not… whatever you were just getting up to. And neither of you are gonna tell me anything different.” 

“Cookies are delicious,” George says, voice dripping mischievous. He’s sure his mouth is swollen and his cheeks are pink. 

And if George himself weren’t giving it away… one look at Dream’s face would. 

“Back to camp,” he orders. “Sam wants Dream to check over today’s footage with him.” 

Twenty minutes ago George would have thrown a small tantrum over that, but with Dream’s spit still drying on his lips he doesn’t feel nearly as threatened. 

-

While Dream and Sam go through the footage from the day, a group goes to the lake to get another swim in before the sun goes down and the rest stay at the campsite, getting a new fire going. This time, George stays, watching Bad stand over the fire like some kind of wilderness guy, holding a stick that’s almost as tall as him like it’s a staff. 

But past the fire, at the picnic table by the cars, Dream is sitting with Sam, bent over a laptop. George sneaks glances at him, reminding himself that this is happening. They kissed and they—well, he doesn’t know exactly what they are, but that doesn’t bother him. He knows that they’re something and that’s enough. It helps that half of the time when he looks over at Dream, Dream is already looking back at him, a secret little smile on his face.

It helps even more that, a couple of times, Sam catches them. 

When the group comes back from the lake, George notices that neither Sylvee nor Hannah have come back. He just hopes that they’re talking and not, like, fighting. They don’t need that awkwardness ruining the vibes. 

“I have to pee,” George announces once everyone is settled, standing from his seat. “Who’s coming with me?”

“I’ll come,” Velvet says, setting his bottle of water down on the ground next to his chair. Then, turning to Ant, he says, “I mean, I won’t come, but I’ll go along.”

Ant laughs, rolling his eyes, unbothered. Just for fun, George says, “I can’t promise the same.”

As they walk away, George meets Dream’s eyes once more, a pout on Dream’s face and a smirk on George’s. 

They’re halfway to the toilets when Velvet suddenly breaks the silence between them to ask, “I don’t make you uncomfortable, do I? With the DNF jokes and stuff?”

George frowns, surprised by the question. “Um, no? Why? Do I seem uncomfortable?”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to make sure. I know sometimes I can be over the top, but I wouldn’t actually want to offend you or anything.”

“Why would I be offended?” George presses, trying to understand. 

Velvet shrugs, taking a few steps before answering. “I know you’re not, like, a homophobe or anything, but still. Some guys would be uncomfortable constantly being called gay.”

George snorts softly at the irony. He’s not sure exactly how to respond to that. He could just tell the truth, but he’s already come out to one person today and Velvet is probably the last person on the trip who he would have a heart to heart with.

“Well, I’m not,” he ends up saying. And then, to clarify, he adds, “Uncomfortable, I mean.”

They get to the toilets soon after that and split off into different stalls to do their business. 

It’s not until they’re nearly back to the campsite that George says, “You’re not wrong, you know.”

Velvet turns to him, confused, but when he sees George’s face, the smile he can’t quite mask, there’s a flicker of understanding in his eyes. George doesn’t tell him to keep it to himself. He trusts him.

Besides, even if Velvet ran around screaming that DNF is real, no one would think he was serious. 

Even if it's true.

-

They go back to filming once Dream and Sam are done looking over the footage. Dream has a list of individual shots he wants to get with each person and some in pairs or small groups, little one off interviews. He takes them for fifteen minutes at a time and somehow George ends up last, which means he has plenty of time to lounge around beforehand. 

Sylvee and Hannah get interviewed together, but Sylvee comes back first and alone. “Where’s stupid?” George asks. 

He’s the only one sitting by the smoldering remains of the fire. He thinks the smell of the fading smoke is nice, and it’s also just kind of a break on his ears to not hear so many people talking all at once for a bit. 

“They wanted her to do a few more lines,” Sylvee says, then drops down onto a camping chair beside George. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Pier,” George says. “I think. They’re still trying to catch a fish for that bucket thing.” 

Sylvee snorts. “That’s so dumb. And poor fish.” 

“Dream said they’d let it go,” George says. “Since we have other stuff to eat.” 

“I mean at least dying to sustain someone else is dignified… dying so you can be in a bucket for a Minecraft video? That’s bad.” 

“At least there aren’t axolotls in the lake.” 

“Why the fuck would there be axolotls in the lake?” Sylvee giggles. 

“I don’t know,” George says. “Because. Just because.” 

The giggles fade out, then after thirty seconds of them just looking into the ashes, Sylvee says, “So Hannah said she talked to you.” 

“Mm. Words were exchanged. One might say.” 

Sylvee tries to kick him, but her legs aren’t quite long enough. “She said you were nice.” 

“She’s lying,” George says automatically. “I spit in her face.” 

“Well. I guess your spit has magical powers, because we talked a little, too. And things are cool now, I think. Maybe. Okay, I don’t know, but they’re not bad , we were just having… a disagreement.” 

“Didn’t ask,” George says. “Don’t care.” 

He does actually care, for nosiness if for no other reason. But he can’t just say that.

“Fine,” she says, turning toward George even more in a way that tells George the conversation isn’t over. “If you don’t want to hear about my stuff then we can talk about yours. Did you and Dream kiss?”

George nearly chokes, eyes hugging out of his head. He officially regrets not showing more interest in her spat with Hannah.

“Did we what? Why would you ask that?”

“Other than the fact that you’ve been so obviously into each other forever? How about the way you were basically cuddling last night, like you were so touchy feely, dude.”

“That doesn’t—”

“And then you slept in the same tent. Like, come on. Obviously something happened.”

“It didn’t!” George shrieks, feeling his face burn red. The irony of it is that nothing happened last night. And that’s what she’s implying, right? So he’s not actually lying.

She looks at him with disbelief in the purse of her lips and the squint of her eyes and George doesn’t even really care if she knows, but this feels like a challenge. It feels like a competition somehow, and he needs to win.

“Did you kiss Hannah?” he asks boldly. “Did you admit that you want to, like, marry her and have her babies or whatever?”

She gasps, horrified. “I don’t want to have her babies, oh my god, George. What is wrong with you?”

“But you like her,” George pushes. “You like- like her.”

Like air being let out of a balloon, her body slumps back in the chair, the fight gone out of her. She fiddles with her hands in her lap for a moment before finally saying, “I think—I think I do.”

George should probably say something kind and supportive. What he actually says is: “Duh.”

She smacks his arm, her nose wrinkled up in annoyance. “Shut up. At least I’m not as obvious about it as you and Dream.”

Before he can argue back, Bad and Hannah appear from the dirt path leading further into the woods.

“Gogy,” Bad calls out. “It’s your turn. Dream wants you.”

Sylvee turns to him, a wicked grin spreading over her lips. “Hear that? Dream wants you, George.”

“Almost as bad as you want—” He doesn’t finish the sentence because he’s a good friend and the look of fear on Sylvee’s face is enough for him. “Dinner, right?”

“Yeah,” Sylvee says, through a laugh. “We both must be starving.” 

-

Dinner is more cobbled together than the night before. There are hot dogs on the fire and a few MRE packets that Sam apparently just really wanted to try out. George passes on those; he had enough of them in Antarctica to last him a lifetime. 

He ends up using Bad’s pie iron - or at least, making Dream use it - to make himself a sandwich. He has a normal one at first, a grilled cheese, and then they start to get stupid and experiment with chocolate and marshmallows and peanut butter and anything else around, seeing what they can slap between two slices of bread and toast over the fire. 

Sapnap declares his pringles and pepperoni sandwich to be the winner. George disagrees, but not too much. Sapnap is wrong, to be clear, but George’s focus is just half on Dream no matter what else he’s doing. 

And he knows Dream is the exact same way. So when it’s barely brushing midnight and Dream starts talking about how tired he is, George doesn’t put up a fight. 

-

Inside the tent it feels like a whole different world. 

“I hate you,” George informs him once he kicks his shoes off near the entrance. There’s just enough room for them to stand in the very middle of the space and even then, Dream has to hunch a bit. 

“Why?” Dream asks. 

“I just do.” 

“Aw.” Dream pouts. George really resents how effective those big doe eyes are when directed at him. Dream literally looks like a kicked puppy. George loves dogs. He’d never kick one. He sways toward Dream. “Don’t hate me.” 

“No,” George says, trying to maintain his dignity. “I do.” 

“You won’t even tell me why?” 

“You’re just—stupid.” George is aware that none of the words tumbling from his mouth make any sense at all. It seems like a secondary concern to the way Dream is pulling his top layer of shirt over his head. It catches on his hair and Dream has to shake himself free. 

A fucking puppy.

“Because…” 

“Because we’ve been in this tent for, like, one whole minute and you haven’t kissed me,” George declares. 

The way Dream’s eyes light up does something funny to George’s heart. 

“You haven’t kissed me either,” Dream points out.

George scowls at him. “See, this is why I hate you. You can’t—”

“Shut up.”

George falls silent, his heartbeat stuttering inside his chest. Funny things. Dream does funny things to him.

Dream steps closer, close enough for George to feel warm breath that smells like marshmallows and peanut butter sweeping across his face. “The whole time you were gone, all I thought about was that kiss and how I’d kill to be able to do it again.”

George feels frozen. He wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t expecting words.

“I promised myself that if you came back I’d tell you the truth. That I’ve wanted you for—for fucking ever, George.”

It’s the exact same way George feels, but he can’t bring himself to put it into such simple words. That’s always been hard for him, translating feelings to words and then speaking those words into existence. Words are—they’re too powerful. George has seen so many people stick their foot in their mouth and ruin everything. Relationships, careers, lives. He's seen it up close and personal. Too many times.

“Stop—stop talking, Dream,” George pleads, reaching for him. “You should be kissing me.”

His hands find Dream’s undershirt, latching onto the hem of it and pulling him in until their mouths meet, sweet and warm, practically melting together. It sucks George in, sends him to another place entirely. He’s not in a tent, not fifty feet away from all of his closest friends. He’s not in Florida. He might not even be on earth. 

Wherever he is, he and Dream are the only things that exist there. Just two bodies, two sets of lips moving, tugging, dragging together in a way that makes George’s head spin. 

There are drugs in Dream’s lips. That's the only explanation for the words that spill out of him on soft exhales, little truths that he doesn’t even know he’s saying until they’re already out there.

“I want you too, idiot. I want—this. I want this so bad.”

Dream doesn’t answer, but under George’s lips, he can feel a smile curling Dream’s lips. He can practically taste it.

“On the bed,” Dream mutters a few moments later, pushing George gently to the air mattress. 

“Not really a bed,” George points out as he lowers down onto it. “It’s more balloon than bed.”

Dream laughs softly as he says, “Not the point.”

He has a nice laugh. George has always loved the sound, since long before he knew how it makes Dream’s eyes crinkle, the way he tips his head back when he’s really amused. George loved it from a thousand miles away and he loves it now, as Dream lowers himself to the mattress and presses his face to George’s neck.

When he feels warm puffs of laughter turn to the heat of Dream’s mouth pressing to the soft slope of his neck, George gasps, his hand coming to dig into Dream’s curls. Dream’s whole body covers him like a blanket over him, warm and heavy. George pushes his hands up under Dream’s shirt and feels that heat up close. Dream smells delicious - a little like sweat, like a man that hasn’t showered in two days, but it’s good. George tilts his head to the side at the wetness of Dream’s kisses on his skin. 

Dream’s kissing him. He’s being kissed by Dream. He and Dream are doing these things - these things that people do when they’re in bed with someone. It’s more than kissing, it’s going to be more. They’re going to be naked and hard - Dream’s dick , fuck. George is going to touch it. 

He whines a little. 

“What?” Dream asks, pulling his head up. 

His pupils are already blown, his lips wet. George touches the scruff of beard on Dream’s face, unkempt from their few days of wilderness, and then drags his thumb over Dream’s bottom lip. “Nothing,” he says, when he really means everything . 

“Don’t believe you,” Dream says. 

“Kiss me again,” George demands. 

Dream gives in to that one eagerly. “Want you so bad.” 

“Yeah,” George says, because he’s not sure he can pull off sexy talk, but also the huskiness of Dream’s voice is doing something to him that feels unreal. 

“I want to suck you,” Dream says. “Can I suck you?” 

George’s mouth goes dry. He hasn’t had a blowjob in… way too long. “Stupid,” he says breathlessly, which definitely means yes and he knows Dream knows that by the way George is immediately reaching between them to try and shove his shorts down. 

Dream laughs and catches his hands. “No, let me. I want to get you naked.” 

George isn’t used to this. He isn’t used to doing these things with someone who cares enough to take his clothes off for him. He isn’t used to this meaning more than a quick exchange of pleasure. This is uncharted territory for him.

He stares, trying not to look as mind-blown as he feels while Dream peels his clothes off, gentle fingers sweeping over each bit of skin as it’s exposed. By the time Dream is pulling down his underwear, George is barely breathing. How awkward would it be if he passed out before he even got Dream’s mouth on him?

“You’re hard,” Dream remarks, looking at George’s dick. His dick. Dream is looking at his dick.

George can’t even put together a reply before Dream’s hand is on him, his stupidly long fingers curling around him and giving him just enough pressure to ease some of his desperation.

“You’re going to have to tell me if, like, I’m doing something wrong. I’ve seen it done, obviously. I even read some articles online, like tips and stuff, but I don’t know how that will translate to the real thing.”

Just enough blood is still flowing to George’s brain for him to think about that, picturing it. “Oh my god, you studied for your first blowjob?”

“I wanted to do a good job,” Dream says with a little pout. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“Me? Did you—when you were studying, were you picturing me?”

Dream’s hand moves in a careful stroke, like he’s testing the waters. “Maybe,” he says, his gaze flicking up to George’s face to flash him a small smirk.

George wants to make fun of him, but his dick is in Dream’s hand and that feels like the more important thing to be focusing on. Later, he can call Dream a simp to his heart’s content. Now, he wants a blowjob.

“Time for the real test now,” George says. “For the practical. For - for the oral exam.” 

Dream presses his face into George’s hip to laugh. “Why are you so stupid ?” 

“I’m not stupid,” George says, squirming. “You can’t like - you can’t insult me when you’re about to suck my dick.” 

“Watch me,” Dream says. 

“I am.” George means to sound joking, but somehow his voice comes out lower than intended and more horny than anything else. 

It’s true, though. And he’s still watching when Dream rubs the head of George’s dick across his bottom lip, then takes it inside his mouth.

The wash of heat over the sensitive flesh feels like almost too much in one concentrated moment. He can’t help the sound that comes out of his mouth, like a startled little cry as Dream sinks down a couple of inches. He moves his hand suddenly, like he just remembered he could do both at the same time, and then sucks a little. 

George isn’t sure he’s ever gotten so rigidly hard so fast in his life, at least not since he was fifteen. He needs to do something with his hands so he raises them over his head, palms up and fingers grasping outward at nothing. “Dream,” he whines. 

Dream pulls off to say, “What? I just started.” 

“I know, but-” George bites his bottom lip. What? He doesn’t know what. “Nothing. Go back to it.” 

“No, tell me,” Dream says, rubbing his bearded cheek gently against the shaft. “Please.” 

George feels feverish. “No, it’s just… good. It’s good.” 

“Oh,” Dream says, and beams. “Okay, good. So I’ll just… get back to it?” 

“Yes, idiot,” George says, and kicks ineffectively at Dream’s leg. 

Dream flashes him a goofy smile before opening his mouth again and taking George right back into that heat. George doesn't handle it much better this time, his jaw dropping in a silent moan, head tipping back, but at least he doesn't make an embarrassing noise this time. He feels around above his head where his hands are stretched above him and he finds the edge of the air mattress and curls his fingers around it, holding on. Because if he doesn't hold onto something, he's certain he's going to fly away.

Dream may be a beginner at this, but he's far from bad. His mouth feels incredible, lips pulling tight around George's cock as he moves up and down at a relatively steady pace. He doesn't forget his tongue either, flicking it over the tip every once in a while when he gets to the end, just his lips wrapped around the head.

Even if he was bad, George would get off on this. It's been so long and it's Dream. That alone is enough. The fact that it also feels really fucking good is just the cherry on top.

When Dream draws his pointed tongue up the length of George, base to tip, George nearly screams. To keep himself quiet, he rips one of his hands away from the mattress, shoving his knuckle between his teeth and biting down. He still lets a muffled cry out, but he's praying that it's not loud enough to make it to their friends.

Dream pops off, his breathing ragged. "No fair. I want to hear you."

George has to take a couple of deep, steadying breaths before he answers, "I don't want anyone else to hear, idiot."

"They're all back at the fire," Dream says and then rubs his lips over the pink head of George's cock, spit and precome smearing them. "Just tell me how it feels. Am I doing good?"

He turns his head and kisses the side of George's dick, dragging his lips down slowly, licking and kissing the whole length of him like it's the sweetest candy he's ever tasted. Like he's addicted.

George nearly comes, just from that.

"You're so–"

When he can't get another word out, gaping at Dream as he keeps it up, Dream offers, "Stupid? Annoying?"

They're words that George calls Dream all the time, sure, but they're not what he wants to say right now.

" Good, Dream," he corrects. "You're so fucking–this feels so good. I'm, like, about to come."

"You're like about to come?" Dream asks.

"If you do less talking and more sucking, yeah, I'm gonna come."

Dream laughs at that, then says, "Challenge accepted," and pulls George back into his mouth. 

That’s almost enough but then he cups George’s balls, just lets them sit against the wideness of his palm and presses up. George couldn’t stop his orgasm if he wanted to. It feels like ascending, the twenty seconds of pure white-hot pleasure radiating out from the throbbing, twitching base of his dick. 

And Dream… swallows. He lets George shoot off in his mouth and keeps his lips sealed around the tip. When he pulls off he makes sure not to let any drip out, then he looks at George right in the eye and swallows. 

If it were humanly possible, George would come again just from that. “Fuck.” 

“You’re so hot,” Dream says feverishly, crawling back up George’s body. George’s wet, softening dick is pressed against Dream’s shorts in a way that feels like too much but he doesn’t even care as he tries to lick the taste of his own jizz off of Dream’s teeth. 

It only takes him a few seconds to realize he can feel Dream’s dick against his hip, too. “Dream,” he whispers. “Dream. Do you have lube?” 

“What?” Dream jerks back, staring at George almost as if he’s alarmed. 

“Lube,” George whispers. “Do you have any?” 

He can see Dream putting the puzzle pieces together. He can see Dream realize that if they have what they need, he might get to fuck George right now. It takes Dream a few seconds of vacant blinking, but he gets there. 

“I—I don’t. I don’t have lube. Fuck.”

George figured it was a long shot, but he can’t help showing his disappointment anyway. 

Dream pushes himself up to say, “I can ask Ant if they have some. I bet they do.”

“Oh my god, no,” George hisses, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back down. “We can just wait until we’re home.”

He still can’t completely mask the disappointment in his voice. It’s greedy, he knows, being disappointed after having probably the best orgasm of his life. He’s just desperate to feel Dream inside him. 

Dream kisses him, pressing his hips against George to let him feel his hardness. It doesn’t help George’s desperation.

“I just want to feel you,” Dream whispers, sending sparks down George’s spine. His hips are still moving, grinding up against George’s upper thigh. The movement is almost too much for George’s dick, trapped between them, but it’s also keeping him from going completely soft. 

He imagines it, Dream filling him up. How good it would feel. He hasn’t even seen Dream’s dick yet and he knows it’s big just from how it feels through his shorts. He’s going to stuff George so full, get so deep. Just the thought of it has George dropping his head back, biting back a moan.

In a weird way, the fact that they can’t fuck right now makes the whole thing even hotter. They both want it so bad, but they have to wait. It’s like the ultimate delayed gratification. 

“Tell me what you’re going to do,” George says, pulling at Dream as if he could possibly be any closer. 

Dream pushes George’s legs apart, getting his knees between them, and he starts his movements again, thrusting up against George like he’s a horny dog dry humping him. It’s not something that George would have thought he’d find hot, but he does. He’s losing his mind over how animalistic their need for each other is.

“You want to know what I’m going to do? When I get you home?”

“Yes,” George pleads. “Come on, tell me.”

Dream’s mouth moves to George’s neck, pressing hot and wet against the skin. “I’m gonna pull you into the shower so we can both get nice and clean,” he says, his voice even huskier than usual. “I’m probably not even going to make it out of the shower. I’m gonna drop to my knees right there and spread you open to eat your ass.”

A heavy breath punches out of George, his dick twitching at the thought of it. God, he might actually come again.

“I’m gonna fucking devour you, George. Get my tongue so deep you’ll feel thoroughly fucked just from that.” 

George feels like he’s being fucked now, like Dream is just ignoring the clothing between them and fucking him into the air mattress anyway. He shoves his hands under Dream’s shirt to grab at his sweaty skin and lifts his ass to meet Dream’s thrusts. He’s half hard again and doesn’t think he can come again but just the idea of making Dream come is enough. 

“More,” George demands. 

“Gonna get my fingers in you. Stretch you open on them, and then finish stretching you on my dick. Will you let me, George? Can I fuck you?” 

“Yeah,” George gasps. “Want you to. Dream, want you to. Are you gonna come, Dream? Are you gonna come in me ?”

Dream looks at him with wild eyes. “George. I’m gonna fucking - I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come .” 

George knows he isn’t talking about when they fuck. “On me, Dream. Do it on me.” 

Dream shoves his shorts down just far enough that the head of his dick is poking out and then he fucks against George again, dick catching on the edge of his t-shirt. George yanks it up and then Dream is smearing pre-come across George’s skin, jabbing into the softness of George’s stomach in a way that’s would be a little uncomfortable if it weren’t drowned out by how fucking hot it is. 

Dream looks helplessly at George with his mouth open, almost like he doesn’t even understand what’s happening, and then he lets out a cry and there’s warmth shooting across George’s stomach. Dream comes and comes and comes , comes so hard George is jealous of it, wishes he were coming a second time right along with Dream. 

This is enough though, just feeling the pulse of Dream's cock against his skin and reveling in the way Dream gasps George's name into the crook of his shoulder. It's enough to know that he's the one who's made Dream feel this way. He feels powerful with it.

They're quiet as they come down together, Dream from the high of his orgasm and George from the high of making Dream come. His own dick is still laying half hard against his hip, but it will soften soon enough. Or maybe it won't, if he keeps picturing Dream's face the moment his orgasm hit him or keeps playing back the desperate little cry he let out, or the sound of George's name. Any of it could keep him chubbed up honestly.

When Dream finally rolls off of George and lands on his back next to him, George is forced to confront the mess on his stomach. He has a weird impulse to take a picture of it, to remember this moment. He might actually do it if his phone wasn't out of reach. Instead he grabs what he can—his t-shirt—and he wipes the cooling come off his skin with the little energy he has left.

"George," Dream says next to him.

"Yeah?"

He turns to look at Dream and sees a tired smile lighting up his face. "That was amazing. Thank you."

George rolls his eyes and says, "Shut up."

He doesn't have to tell Dream that it was amazing for him too. He's already made that clear. Instead, he leans over to kiss Dream once more before resting his head on Dream's shoulder and closing his eyes. He's asleep before his dick even goes soft.

-

In the morning, he's woken up by Dream jostling him as he climbs off of the air mattress. He grumbles and draws the blanket over his face, barely processing Dream's soft morning laughter and the kiss to George's forehead through the blanket. He hears the zipper of the tent door, but it fades into a dream as he falls back to sleep.

When he wakes again, he's alone and he's cold. Dream's body heat had kept him warm all night, but with him gone and without any clothes on, he's shivering when he wakes up. Isn't Florida supposed to be hot? 

He shuffles out of bed and reaches for the first piece of clothing he can find that isn't all glizzed up: Dream's Sooners hoodie that he had been wearing the night before. George pulls the red hoodie over his head and feels like a total cliche when he finds that he loves the feeling of wearing Dream's clothes. Especially when they already smell like him. 

He has to pull on his own shorts from the day before, not seeing any other options for his bottom half. Once he's suitably covered, he emerges from the tent and stretches his arms toward the sky, breathing in the crisp morning air.

“Wow,” he hears a voice say. 

It makes him jump, and he squeals shamelessly at the surprise. “You actually scared me to death,” he says to Hannah. 

“You don’t look dead to me,” she says, then feigns disappointment. “You just look…” 

“What?” George asks. 

Her eyes widen. “George. George .” 

George tugs the hoodie down. He’s not sure why she’s looking at him like that. Does he have I had sex with Dream in marker on his forehead or something? “What? Oh my god, you freak, what is it?” 

“I’m the freak? You’re the freak. You had-” Her voice drops to a mock whisper. “- you had sex .” 

“How can you possibly know that?” he asks. 

“You didn’t deny it!” She shrieks with laughter, then claps a hand over his mouth. “Wait, with - with Dream, right? It had to have been Dream. Right?” 

“No,” George says dryly. “Sapnap and I totally hooked up.” 

“Ew, don’t make me picture him naked. Sorry Sapnap. But like - Dream, right?” 

“Of course it was Dream,” George says. “Now shut up.” 

“Why are we shutting up?” Sylvee asks, walking up behind Hannah. They’re both carrying logs. 

“George and Dream had s-e-x,” Hannah says, spelling it out. 

Sylvee immediately steps toward George, hand raised. He returns the high five automatically, then wonders why he did that. “Shut up,” he says to both of them. “Also, I didn’t wash my hands last night, enjoy the dick touch.” 

“You are disgusting ,” Sylvee says, scowling at him. 

“That’s what you get for touching him, babe,” Hannah says, a hand on the small of Sylvee’s back comfortingly. “Come on, I have some hand sanitizer in my tent.” 

He watches them walk away, then shakes his head like he’s clearing the confusion out. Whatever. He figured out his own mess. They can do the same, if they haven’t already. 

He walks halfway to camp, then stops and goes back to his tent to get his toothbrush and goes to the bathrooms. There’s a non-zero chance he may be kissing Dream at some point in the next few hours, and he doesn’t want to have smelly breath when it happens. 

When he finishes brushing his teeth, using the toilet, and doing the best he can to clean himself up with water from the sink and hand soap from the dispenser, he heads back toward the campfire. It's already lit, the logs Sylvee and Hannah had been carrying piled in the center. Just past the flickering flames, Dream is sitting on one of the logs. When he spots George, he waves. George feels so dumb when just that gives him butterflies. It's—it's embarrassing.

They have a few more shots to finish up before they head home, so while Dream and Sam focus on that, Bad and Hannah lead the rest of them in packing up their campsite. Over the past couple of days, they’ve made quite a mess and, as Bad says at least a dozen times, they have to leave it as they found it.

George tries to get out of packing by volunteering to go with Dream as his “assistant” but Dream doesn’t let him get away with it, saying that he doesn’t need help. He says it loud enough for everyone to hear, too, to make sure George can’t sneak off. Honestly, it’s beyond rude. Terrible boyfriend behavior.

Not that they’re boyfriends. Not yet at least. He’s not really sure what they are or will be or—all he really knows is that he wants Dream. And, sure, he loves him. Obviously he loves him. But that doesn’t—that doesn’t have to mean anything. 

Stepping back from the situation and looking at it from an objective point of view, it seems that it does indeed mean something for them. George loves Dream. Dream loves George. And there’s a mutual sexual attraction that can’t be denied. From a scientific perspective, it seems like they should be boyfriends. Or maybe it’s math. Mathematically, it adds up. 

But math and science don’t account for Dream’s shitty history with relationships and the very real fear that George knows he has about commitment. So he won’t push the issue. It doesn’t even matter, not when they are so obviously each other’s. The word boyfriend won’t do anything for them that hasn’t already been done by the way they look at each other.

George starts packing up his tent first, throwing his dirty clothes in his bag and running the pillows and sheets to the car. Then he looks at the sad excuse for an air mattress lying limp on the ground and he can’t even be mad at it. He’d rather have been sleeping on Dream’s anyway. 

“Hey, Gogy,” Puffy says, appearing at the tent door. “Almost done? We need another person for cornhole.”

“What’s cornhole?” he asks, with a hint of disgust. It sounds gross, whatever it is.

“It’s a game. It’s fun. We’ll show you.”

George would rather be playing a game than packing, even if it’s a gross game, so he shrugs. “I’m just going to throw this stupid thing away anyway. Or maybe I should take it back to the store and complain.”

Puffy does a weird thing then. She tries to cover up her mouth, stifling a laugh. “Oh, don’t do that. Just throw it away and move on.”

George narrows his eyes at her. “Why shouldn’t I take it back?”

“I don’t know!” She takes a step back like she’s trying to get out of arm’s reach. “You just—you don’t want to be a Karen, George.”

“What did you do?” George asks, seeing through her obvious lies. 

“Listen, we did it for you!”

“ We? ”

“Also, we were drunk,” she adds. “Um… yeah. Me and Sam just thought it would be like — funny. Did I mention we were drunk? Because we were really drunk. I used a hairpin and we kind of, like — poked a hole in it.” 

George has no idea how to think about that. Does he shout at them? Does he thank them? He settles for slapping a hand over his face and groaning. “I hate you.” 

“Bet your dick doesn’t though,” she says, smirking with her tongue caught between her teeth. “Anyway, you can send us a fruit basket. I like Edible Arrangements. Or chocolate covered strawberries! Ooh, wait, actually, just let me be your best man at the wedding.” 

“You can’t, actually,” George says. “Because I’m going to kill you first.” 

She laughs. “Gotta catch me first.” 

-

He does catch her, and then she teaches him how to play cornhole. He makes it his mission to cheat as  much as humanly possible, inching closer than the line they’ve drawn and causing elaborate distractions so he can run forward and move his beanbag toward the hole. 

Dream joins them on the sidelines once all of the cars are packed up. When George ‘wins’ he cheers loudest, which makes George smile. He even grabs George’s arm and raises it in a victory pose, even though everyone else is booing since George clearly cheated his ass off. 

“Dream, they’re mean,” George whines. 

“He’s not gonna be on your side just because you’re-” 

“Excuse me,” Dream says loudly, clearing his throat. “I’m on no one’s side. I’m neutral. I’m - I’m Sweden.” 

“Isn’t it Switzerland?” Hannah asks. “Mr. Geoguessr.” 

“First of all - fuck you. Second of all - whatever. Whatever! You know what I mean.” Dream laughs. 

No one is quite ready to leave yet and the fire is still going so people start to mill around and talk, just eking out a little more time together. 

When Dream catches George’s eye and tilts his head toward the footpath, George immediately gets it and starts to follow Dream away from the group. 

Once they’re out of sight, Dream takes his hand as though the simple action doesn’t still make George feel so giddy he might just float off of the ground. 

Disgusting, he thinks, entirely at himself. 

They walk to the pier and sit at the end, just like they did the day before. 

“So,” Dream says, stretching the word out. “I think everyone knows about us.”

“What about us?” George asks, purposely obtuse. It’s a valid question anyway; there are many degrees of knowledge that they could have.

“That we’re, you know. That there’s something going on between us.”

“Is there something going on?” George asks, purely to fuck with him now. “I wasn’t aware.”

Dream turns and wrestles with him until George’s back is pressed to the wood planks of the pier. “You’re so annoying,” he says, a hand slipping under George’s hoodie. “I noticed this, by the way. All of your own clothes were dirty?”

“Yes,” George answers, knowing that there was an untouched sweatshirt in the bag he packed earlier. “All of them, every last one. Filthy.”

Dream smirks, hovering close to George. “Speaking of filthy,” he says, lowering his voice. “Last night was pretty great.”

His hand is moving, fingers dancing over George’s ribs. When they sweep close to his nipple, George stops breathing for a moment. 

“You mentioned that already. I think you used the word amazing. ”

“It was,” Dream murmurs, dipping down to kiss George’s jaw, his lips catching against days’ worth of scruff. “I meant what I said, too. When we get home, there are things I want to do.”

George remembers Dream’s words. He remembers the image of being pressed up against the shower wall, legs spread, with Dream’s tongue licking deeper and deeper into him.

Fuck. He’s going to get hard right here. Out in the open.

“Stop,” he whines.

Dream pulls his hand out of George’s hoodie, laying it on his stomach on top of the fabric instead. “Okay, I’ll stop,” he says.

He goes to pull away, but George grabs him and keeps him close. “Wait. You haven’t kissed me all day.”

He doesn’t have to convince him. Dream just smiles and lowers down to touch their lips together, softly at first. It grows deeper though, like they can’t help it, and George loses track of time as they lie there on the pier, kissing the day away.

“You’re cute,” Dream says, and kisses George’s nose. 

“Guess you better keep me then,” George says. 

His heart is hammering in his chest. 

Dream studies him carefully. “I plan on it,” he says. “When I thought you might not come back…” 

Just hearing the rawness in Dream’s voice makes George ache a little. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Me, too.” 

Dream finishes anyway. “It drove me crazy.”

“I came back,” George reminds him. 

“Yeah,” Dream says. “And I don’t want to waste any time now, okay?” 

“Better kiss me again, then,” George says, grabbing Dream. There’s a desperate quality to how they’re kissing, deep and full, like they’re trying to consume each other. George sinks his hands into Dream’s hair and rests his thumbs on the back of Dream’s neck, feeling the warmth of the skin there. Dream here, with him, in the same place, breathing the same breath. This is what he wants. He knows Dream wants it, too.  

When they finally separate, Dream’s lips are bruised red and George is certain that his own are as well. He doesn’t even care. He loves seeing his mark left on Dream, just like he loves Dream’s clothes draping his small frame. 

They are each other’s. They’ll figure out the rest in time.