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The sound of the storm's moaning can be heard all throughout the house, echoing its loud somber through hallways and rooms.
It almost drowns out the sound of his and his friends voices– though it remains muffled thanks to the headset he's wearing while editing an old video. The soft glow of the computer light illuminates his face in the otherwise dark room.
George will never get used to the sound of thunder crackling in the sky and the harsh pattering of rain pelting on the windows and roof.
Especially when said thunder and rain cause a power outage.
George takes a moment to stare at the now black screen of his computer before groaning. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He grumbles. Just when he finally gets the motivation to edit, mother nature decides to cause a blackout.
Great.
Just great.
When he takes off his headset, it forms a dent on his hair from where it used to lay on his head. He lifts a hand to try and comb his hair back to normal.
George rapidly opens and closes his lids to add moisture back to his dry eyes– brought about by hours spent staring at screen without breaks. He pats his hand around blindly on his desk in search for his phone—finally finding it beside his keyboard.
He turns it on, temporarily blinded by the brightness his phone illuminates. Grimacing, he squints to read the percentage of his phone.
His phone is at 7%.
George sighs and puts his phone down. His eyes deserve a break, he thinks. He bends his neck backwards, letting his head rest on the back of his office chair. He closes his eyes and lets himself listen to the raging storm outside.
Angry rain and the faint crackling of thunder fill the room with loud but gentle ambience. It drowns out the voice calling his name. It almost lulls him to sleep.
Thunder crackles more closely, abruptly– concurrent with the voice of a man calling out for him. "George?"
It makes the man flinch, head snapping upright to look at the source of the sound. "Dream," he murmurs breathlessly, heart thumping rapidly from the unexpected noise.
The soft glow of the lit candle Dream's holding subtly illuminates his features, tired eyes looking back at him. They make him look softer. Dream tilts his head, face contorted into slight amusement.
George recognizes the scented candle as the one sitting on Dream's desk. He's noticed it from his frequent visits in Dream's office, his days spent lazing on the bed and showing his friend the random memes he finds on twitter.
Dream's soft voice can wager a battle against the harsh sounds outside. "The power's out." And although his voice is hoarse and rough from the lack of use, it still carries gentleness unlike the storm.
"Really?" George scoffs, rolling his eyes– though he's sure his sarcastic expression won't be seen by Dream from the way the small flame barely illuminates his office. "Thanks, idiot, I didn't notice."
Dream just lets out a tired laugh. "Are you gonna stay here in the dark or...?"
George blinks at him, his eyes slowly drift to his bare chest before glancing away. He can save those thoughts for another day. It's only now that the older is thankful for the darkness consuming them, otherwise the younger would see the blush starting to spread through his cheeks.
"No..." He mumbles before standing up and following after Dream.
The wood creaks beneath their feet as thet carefully trot down the stairs that's only being illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of the candlelight the man infront of him is holding.
Dream's always been the light that George follows everywhere—like a moth to flame. The man engulfs his heart whole and swallows his entirety in warmth that only he's allowed to do. George doesn't mind getting burnt if he gets to have that feeling over and over again.
George's eyes wander along the expanse of Dream's back. It's not barren and plain, no, of course not. It's Dream. His back is scattered with moles and freckles. George wants to trace them with his fingers to form constellations like the ones he's seen in his science books years ago. He wishes that they would burn a mark into the palms of his hands when he presses them against soft skin. George would like a mark of Dream's anywhere.
He gets thrown out of his reverie when they reach the bottom of the stairs.
George is greeted with candles littered all around the bottom floor, ensuring no nook or cranny of darkness is left unliten.
"We've run out of candles," the man of the work sighs, setting the scented candle on a nearby table. "there's no more to place upstairs."
George scrunches his nose. They'd have more than enough candles to light up the entire house if it weren't for Dream going crazy on setting candles up all over the place.
But George, ever the most kind man he is, doesn't say that. He leaves Dream to his displeasures and wanders off to the tabby cat stretching on the sofa. "Hi, Patchy," he coos, bending down to her level. He blinks slowly at her– he's read somewhere that it means a sign of trust or love in cat language or whatever.
George gleams with joy when Patches does it back. Though, heir tender moment gets interrupted by the sudden bang of thunder nearby, causing the cat to scramble up the dark stairway in panic.
He frowns, standing back upright, looking at where Patches disappeared off to.
"Where are you going to sleep?"
Brown eyes turn to look at Dream with confusion. "In my room?"
"Are you sure? I... It's dark up there." He says, voice almost pleading.
A snort comes out of George's throat. "Why? Are you scared of sleeping alone down here?" He looks around. "C'mon Dream, you set up like- dozens of candles down here. You're gonna be fine."
"I know," Dream hums, not letting himself to fall for the teasing. "I just want some company tonight." He walks over to where the smaller is standing near the sofa.
"Oh?" George says suggestively, looking up at him, wriggling his eyebrows in a poor display of seductiveness.
The taller lets out a laugh. "Shut up." Strong hands hold his hips.
His breath hitches, and he can tell Dream noticed it. He plays it off. "It's fine, Dream," He lets out a playful sigh. Just play it off. "if you wanted a night with me you could've just said so. I know when I'm wanted."
"I'm sure you do." Dream smiles down at him, eyes crinkling into crescents. His hands guide George to his room, bare feet padding on the carpeted floor as they make their way there.
George flops onto Dream's king-sized bed, the comforter engulfing him in soft cotton. He lets out a happy sound in the comfort and warmthness he's wrapped around him.
It takes him a moment to tune back in to his surroundings. It's only then he realizes that there's an oldie song playing on Dream's phone.
"You're such an old man," He laughs, albeit listening intently to the gentle hum of the music playing from the small speakers. His eyes follow the soft glow of the candle Dream is holding as he paths his way to the ensuite.
Dream has always been fond of old songs, saying that people dont quite make love songs as they used to back them. They've always had a place in Dream's heart.
George would like a small spot, too.
The man chuckles. "It's a good song," He reasons, voice echoing in the bathroom. The light disappears with him.
"Hey," George huffs, "I can't see anything in here."
Dream peeks out from the doorway. "Join me then, grab my phone on the way will you?" He says before disappearing back behind the wall.
The warmth from his torso starts to creep its way to his cheeks, he stays still for a solid minute before slowly standing up and making his way to the ensuite, grabbing Dream's phone on the way.
It's said that God will always guide you through desparate times. So, George prays that he'll get out of this one in one piece.
The bathroom is dim, barely lit by the candle Dream placed in the built-in rectangular shower cubby where he puts his vast collection of bottles that George has no fucking clue what and where they're used for.
George quite likes the floral smell coming from the scented candle–roses, he realizes.
"Dream?" George calls, feet gliding carefully over the bathroom floor. He can't see anything other than the shower.
"I've got you," Gentle hands hold his waist, George yelps as feels himself being lifted up and perched on the sink counter. "Hey," Dream smiles.
George's eyes finally adjust to the dimness of the room, making him finally able to distinguish Dream's face from the darkness surrounding them. Large hands rub at his sides. "Hi," he exhales, staring at the eyes that he'd been wishing to wake up to every morning.
Their friends have always said that Dream looks at him with a different type of look. The George look, they say. It's only been exclusively used on him. George hopes it remains that way.
Dream finally pulls away, George mourns the feeling of his hands on him immediately. He manages to suppress a whine.
"I'm gonna shower, do you wanna join?"
Lord, have mercy.
Quietness makes Dream waver. "You don't have to." He says nervously. "I just thought it'd be more time efficient if we shower together 'cus like-"
George cuts him off. "Sure." He hops off the counter, smiling up at Dream. In the dim light, he can barely tell what Dream's face is contorted into.
The taller looks at him for a moment before breathing out what seems to be a sigh of relief. He looks away before stripping off his remaining clothes.
George is thankful that the dark helps them both to not be fully seen by the other. It's hard to let his thoughts waver completely when Dream is standing so close to him. So, he lets them cower to the back of his mind, ready to resurface later. George never said that he's a saint.
The vastness of Dream's back, accompanied by the dim light, makes the skin seem like a blackhole. And George won't mind getting sucked in–to be sent and turned into nothingness. To George, he's everything, so he's something. If that makes sense. If it's Dream, he won't mind at all.
He almost seems to hear the sound of the blackhole whirling him in, only to realize it's just the quiet ambience of the light rain pattering on the windows. The storm has calmed into steady rain and heavy wind.
There's a different song playing on Dream's phone now. George wonders if he's got an entire playlist of old love songs. He wonders if Dream would want to dance them with him. Or if he'd rather prefer a daintier figure with curves.
George feels himself disliking the thought already.
/Wise men say, only fools rush in.../
Dream hums along. It pairs nicely with the wind and rain outside. George can't help but stare. His heart hurts at the thought of somebody else seeing Dream like this.
The taller makes his way into the shower to turn it on, the hot water flowing out immediately since it's connected to the boiler. Green eyes–gold in George's perspective–look at him.
"Do I join you now?" George murmurs, his former bravado from his earlier teasing now leaving his body at the sight of Dream's gentle smile.
/Shall I stay?/
"...yeah." Dream says softly.
Elvis' voice continues to sing a gentle melody as they step into the spray of the warm shower.
They let the water soak them for a few seconds, just relishing in the presence of eachother.
George hears a bottle click open from behind him, he manages to muster up the courage to look at Dream. He's pouring a generous amount of shampoo on his hands. The crystal glass where the wax is enclosed in cause a vibrant prism of different colors. They glow softly on Dream's features. George feels himself falling inlove again.
/If I can't help falling inlove with you?/
"Close your eyes," Dream orders softly.
When he closes his eyes, he feels Dream's fingers thread through his hair and massage the shampoo into his scalp. George feels something hot poking his eyes, though he can't determine whether it's from the spray of warm water or his tears.
Dream is so full of love, George can't help but wish that some of that love is directed at him.
"Holy cow," The taller jokes, George lets out a wet laugh.
Dream's hands pull away from his hair, letting the shampoo get rinsed off by the running water– it's only then George opens his eyes again.
"You're so dumb." George whispers. He doesn't say that it actually means I love you in his language. Though, he hopes Dream knows him well enough to understand that that's what he means.
/Some things are meant to be/
Dream's lips curve up into a smile.
George wants to kiss him.
They're in a gray area where they're slowly blowing away the line drawn on the sand that separates the distance of being just friends and being more. George, being the greedy man that he is, hopes that it's the latter.
It's not when he feels the taste of saltiness seeping into his mouth and onto his tounge, that he realizes he's crying.
"George?" Dream murmurs worriedly. "What's wrong?" Of course he'd want to know the problem so he'd fix it right away. He's so perfect. And it hurts George's heart that someday, someone will take this all away.
/Take my whole life too/
"Dream," He calls, even when the man is near– but in his mind, he feels so far, far away. "Dream." He repeats, willing the owner of the name to be his.
/For I can't help falling inlove with you/
"I love you." George sobs, ashamed of the truth, something that he tried so desparately bury under the facade of a strong heart.
But George is a weak man, with a weak heart, and a love so big that it broke the chains he's worked so hard to enclose it in.
He feels himself wailing the words I'm sorry over and over again as he focuses his teary eyes on the darkness below them. George would like to be swallowed up whole by the void.
Warm hands cup his flushed cheeks. "Sweetheart," Dream nudges George's head to look up at him delicately. He's always treats him so carefully.
George's eyes snap to look at Dream's own.
"Why are you apologizing for, hm?" He says kindly. Nimble fingers brush back George's curls. "Let me look at you, baby."
"Dream." George hiccups, he can't help but feel embarrassed for how pathetic he's acting right now. But no words of complaint bubble up his throat when the man he fell for is looking at him like that.
When Dream starts to lean down, George closes his eyes. Chapped lips meet his, he feels himself melting against him. Small hands grasp at broad shoulders, and large hands engulf a small waist. Dream steadies him, preventing him from falling. The hand glides its way up a slickened back to cup the nape of George's neck.
George feels his entire life fall and rebuild itself again– though this time, it has Dream right in the middle of everything.
From across the ocean, he's loved Dream before he's even met him physically. A love made solely from playing minecraft and discord calls in the middle epf the night. It took him years to get here, to get home. But George would be willing to wait a thousand more if it meant Dream would be waiting for him.
And though George's scared of what the future may bring, he just hopes that the man he loves will be there with him.
"I love you." Dream whispers back, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against George's.
/For I can't help falling inlove with you./
Another round of sobs breathe out of him when Dream whispers that phrase over and over again in his ear. "I love you so much, Georgie."
George feels Dream crying too, although much calmer. He holds onto him so tightly, afraid that Dream will disappear the second he opens his eyes again.
When they've settled in for the night, both dressed in Dream's clothes, room only illuminated by that scented candle–George in Dream's arms, looks up at him. Dream, in turn looks down.
George slowly blinks up at him.
"What's that?" Dream giggles sleepily.
He shakes his head and returns to burying himself in Dream's chest.
I love you.