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Chapter Text

Unnatural and hopeless. That was how George felt about the fluorescent lights his school insisted on using. They cast everything with a blue tint, and when they broke they hissed and flickered like a horror movie.

Those damn lights lined the halls he was always running down, making even the shadows a little less real, a little more plastic.

George was late to class again. He was five minutes behind schedule when he burst into his English literature course.

A few students looked up from their laptops as he entered and took a seat at the back of the class. Just two weeks into the new quarter and no one was shocked that George Davidson was late.

He quickly set up his laptop and opened his notes from the last lecture. George was a chemistry major but he had to take some liberal arts electives. He'd thought literature would be a nice change of pace from three-hour chemistry labs. And it was, but he hadn't counted on the fact that deciphering classic literature was somehow harder than reading his chem textbook.

“Did I miss anything?” George whispered to the student sitting a few seats away. The boy was tall, with a sharp jaw and wavy brown hair. A small stack of books decorated his desk beside his laptop.

“They were gonna give us our course project today,” the boy whispered back. His voice injected deep notes into the soft words.

George nodded and let out a sigh. In his head, he was already trying to figure out how he'd get to work in time to pick up his evening shift after class.

It turned out a 200-level literature class involved more work than George had expected.

“A more modern interpretation can see self-destructive parallels in 21^st century male myths -” the professor said.

George shook his head.

“What?” The boy a few seats away whispered.

“Does any of this make sense to you?” George asked.

The boy slid his books and laptop over and took the seat beside George.

“Yeah, I mean Beowulf is portrayed as this ideal male warrior, you know, beyond the human limits, and that means he ends up facing tougher enemies until he finds one he can't beat. As much as he's a hero, you can definitely see how that's self-destructive behavior. And the male role models of today still buy into those over-the-top stereotypes.”

“What?” George said. “You said all that like it was supposed to make any sense.”

The boy chuckled.

“I don't think I introduced myself,” he said. “It's Dream. Well, my actual name is Clay, but uh, no one calls me that.”

“Really?” George snorted. “Okay, Dream, I'm George.”

“Cool accent,” Dream said, grinning, “I'm surprised you don't understand Beowulf better, he's like your cousin.”

“Oh my god,” George said, frustrated.

The professor continued the lecture, oblivious to the two students chatting in the back of the class.

“And we are going to hand out the quarter group project today,” the professor said, getting Dream and George's attention again. “It will take time, so I am giving out the rubric today so you have enough time to find a partner and select the appropriate texts.”

Students started passing back stacks of rubrics detailing the assignment. George took his from the guy in front of him with a sigh. It was just more homework, homework he did not have time for.

“Pst,” Dream nudged George's elbow. “You wanna do this together?”

“Huh?” George met Dream's shockingly green eyes. “You don't wanna be my partner. I'm not good at literature like this.”

“Then you need a partner who does know what they're doing,” Dream grinned. “C'mon, it'll be fun.”

“I don't see how this is going to be fun,” George glanced down at the rubric. They were supposed to read a piece of classical literature and compare it to a modern work with the same themes. It was such a broad scope that George did not know where to start.

“How 'bout you let me show you?” Dream asked.

“Don't you have other friends in this class you wanna do this with?” George asked. At the same time he couldn't help matching Dream's smile.

“Nope, I'm a weird loner,” Dream chuckled.

“If you're so weird then why would I want to work with you?”

Dream just laughed, covering his mouth to not let the sound carry to the front of the class. “Okay, mister 'I think Beowulf is just about a dude who kills monsters.'”

“But he does kill monsters,” George said. He felt himself caving. He didn't want to immediately wipe Dream's smile with the fact that George would be a shit partner. Between chem and his work, he'd be that kind of group project partner.

That only made Dream laugh more.

“Fine,” George rolled his eyes. “But this is on you.”

“Hey,” Dream shrugged. “That just means I get to pick the books.”

The rest of class went by too quickly. George tried taking notes on the assignment and whatever he could about their current reading for class. All too soon, the hour rolled around and class dismissed.

“Hey,” Dream said, following George out into the hall. “Wanna go to the library? We can make some plans for the project.”

George blinked a few times, slightly confused. It was the end of the day, most classes were over, Dream had no reason to think George wasn't free.

“I can't, I have work,” George finally admitted. “I can give you my number though.” He really was going to be a shit partner.

“Oh,” Dream said, only sounding a little disappointed. “Well what time do you get off work? I can get us one of the study rooms.”

“My shift ends at 11 pm,” George sighed.

“So, 11:30 then?” Dream asked. His wide eyes were so earnest, he really wanted to meet up and get things on track, and he was willing to bend to George's stupid schedule.

“Uhm, sure,” George said. He didn't really have a counter to that.

“You like coffee?”

“I prefer tea.”

“Great!” Dream smiled. “You me, library 11:30 tonight.” George offered a weak smile back. How was Dream so excited about any of it?

* * *

George's shift was full of the regular bullshit. Customers returning food for stupid reasons, the manager once again hadn't scheduled enough people, and he barely made any tips. Maybe if he managed to smile more the Americans would see fit to throw more loose change his way, but George did not have it in him. It was only a five hour shift, but it felt like twelve.

“Davidson,” George's manager called as he was about to clock out. “I posted the schedule. You got the next two weekends.”

“I was supposed to be alternating weekends,” George protested.

“Yeah, but Kaylee put in for time off, so I got you covering,” his manager shot back. Liam was only a year older than George, and that made it harder to deal with the shit he put on George. They were both busy, but Liam never took extra shifts to cover for his employees.

“Fine, whatever,” George mumbled as he left. He had to meet up with Dream to go over their stupid assignment. That had seemed like an okay idea when Dream had proposed it, but now his shift was over, all George wanted to do was sleep. It was pointless to even go. But his feet dragged him back onto campus anyway.

George hadn't actually spent much time in the school library. He was too busy running between classes and work. It was a multi-building maze with a confusing layout. Some sections were pretty old, and the school had done its best to preserve them.

His phone buzzed with a text from Dream.

Dream: second floor room 215

George took the elevator to the second floor. He didn't have the energy for two flights of stairs after the day he'd had.

The second floor of the main library was silent. Only a few students sat hunched over the blue glow of their laptops. Rows of shelves harbored the reference texts and other technical material selections. Along the far wall was where the private study rooms were located. He scanned down the line until he found room 215 at the very end.

“Hey!” Dream greeted as soon as George cracked the door. George almost jumped.

“Sorry, too loud?” Dream said.

“It's 11:30 pm in a library,” George pointed out.

“Yeah, sorry,” Dream looked down at his books before perking back up.

“So I got you some tea,” Dream pointed to a to-go cup on the opposite side of the table.

“Thanks,” George mumbled as he took his seat. He raised the tea to his lips and pulled back, surprised. “Is this breakfast tea?”

“Yeah, I figured since you were British . . . Do you not like it?” Dream said, green eyes scanning George's face for any indication of disapproval.

“No,” George managed a weak grin. “It's nice, thanks.”

Dream beamed at that. He shuffled some books on the table, spreading them out for George to look at.

“I read over the assignment, and I think I've found some good pairings,” Dream explained, “I admit I've read most of these, so the choice is really up to you. I know the Russian ones are pretty long, but they are the best -”

“I don't really know where to start,” George admitted. He didn't recognize most of the titles Dream had chosen, and seeing that he'd have to do more reading was just sparking fresh anxiety.

“Okay, well, I didn't know what type of stories you were into, so I picked a few genres,” Dream said, “I should have asked that earlier. But yeah, fantasy, crime, tragedy-”

“Not that,” George said abruptly.

“And romance,” Dream finished.

“No Shakespeare,” George added. He saw several plays on the table. He spent enough time deciphering equations, he didn't need to decipher whatever the hell Shakespeare meant by any given line.

Dream chuckled and pulled away a few books and categories.

“That'll leave us with romance,” Dream pushed forward two books: Jane Eyre and Rebecca. “This is good because these two contrast really well and . . .”

Dream went on for a few minutes, laying out everything. But George couldn't focus. He sipped on the tea and pretended to listen. But he was just watching Dream's grin, the way his eyes lit up as he picked up one of the books. Cute. He was cute.

Why am I checking out my English partner? George shook his head and tried refocusing on what Dream was saying.

“You're tired, huh?” Dream paused.

“What?” George jolted out of his trance. “Yeah . . .”

“How about we talk more this week, you know, maybe before midnight,” Dream offered. “And we should exchange numbers, you know, for the project.”

“I don't really have a lot of room in my schedule,” George said cautiously.

“That's fine,” Dream said. “I can work around that, and I did sign up for a crappy partner, remember?” he teased.

“You're an idiot,” George mumbled as he put his number into Dream's phone.

“Says the chem major that wouldn't know an oxymoron if it smacked him across the nose,” Dream giggled.

“Did you just call me a moron?”

Dream's eyes danced with amusement. “Wow, I am gonna have my work cut out for me.”

Suddenly George didn't feel quite so tired. Talking with Dream felt comfortable, even if half of his jokes were at George's expense.

“Anyway, I'll text you tomorrow,” Dream stacked up his books. “G'night George.”

As Dream left, the fluorescent light overhead started to flicker.

Chapter Text

Rain hammered the windows as George washed down the tabletops. It was always raining. George didn't mind the rain when it came, but sometimes even on days when the sky was clear, a part of his mind still thought it was raining. The sun was never quite bright enough to shake that final sliver of doubt.

When he was a kid, he remembered rushing out when it rained. He'd jump in puddles with his sisters or race paper boats with the neighbor kids. Now he pulled a hood over his head and tried to stay dry as he walked back to his apartment.

Maybe he was just tired of walking home in the dark. George couldn't remember the last time he'd walked outside in the daylight. During the day he had school or work, and by the time those things were over the sun had set, and he had a dark world to explore.

George unlocked the door to his building. He hadn't been able to afford the loans to live on campus, but The Thornfield was close to school and dirt cheap by Seattle standards.

Narrow stairs led to narrow halls and peeling wallpaper. George reached his unit at the end of the hall. The metal 15 marker on his door was tarnished and dusty. He'd thought about cleaning it a dozen times, but George didn't plan on staying, so what was the point.

The apartment wasn't even his home. It was barely a bedroom. Just the place where he passed out at the end of the day.

His lumpy mattress faced the kitchen nook. The rest of the space was lent to his tiny desk and the bathroom. Rain hammered the single-paned window that looked out to the adjacent building and alleyway.

George shuffled off his damp clothes, seriously considering if it was worth showering, when his phone rang.

It was his partner from English, Dream.

“Yeah?” George answered. He winced as soon as he spoke. He hadn't even tried to sound polite.

“Hi,” Dream's voice bubbled through the speaker. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” George breathed a soft laugh. “Long day.”

“Well, I sent you an email,” Dream said. “I figured since you were having trouble finishing the reading, you might want to try the audiobooks. You know, then you can listen when you work and stuff.”

“You didn't have to do that,” George plopped onto his mattress. He turned on his laptop.

“They're both older works, so there are free audiobooks online, so I just sent you the links,” Dream said. It was almost 11 pm. How did Dream sound so excited this late?

“Dream, I – thanks, this is probably better actually,” George said as he opened his email. A tiny spark of excitement hit him when he saw Dream's name in his inbox.

“I'll start listening tonight,” George added.

“It doesn't really help our cause if you fall asleep while listening,” Dream said.

“I wasn't,” George huffed.

“You already admitted you're tired,” Dream said, and George could hear the stupid smirk through the phone.

“What are you doing up anyway?” George accused back.

“I was waiting for you to get off work,” Dream admitted, his voice a little quieter.

“Dream,” George grinned. “If I didn't know any better, I'd start thinking you had a thing for me.”

“Shut up,” Dream replied. “Besides, I only did it because you've been as useless as promised this past week.”

Oh.

George's stomach sank. That was what he didn't want.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into the phone.

“Shit, man, I didn't mean it like that,” Dream said quickly. “I just meant you're a tough man to pin down.”

George snorted.

“Fuck. I did not mean it like that,” Dream groaned. But George just kept laughing. “Come on, you know what I meant.”

“I really don't,” George said, pausing for breath. “Explain it to me.”

“George,” Dream whined.

They'd been working together a week - mostly just Dream sitting next to George in class and going on about subtext, metaphor, and a bunch of other terms that George barely understood – but George could have fooled himself into believing he'd known Dream for much longer. Talking just felt comfortable, easy. He'd had mixed luck making friends in America. More like he'd made a lot of friendly acquaintances than actual friends. Probably because he didn't have the time.

“Well, I have a free block on Sunday,” George said tentatively. “I dunno if you're busy on the weekends or-”

“Yeah, that's perfect!” Dream replied. “I'm free most of the day, you wanna meet in the library again, or you could come back to my place. Well, my parents' place.”

“Really?” That sounded weird. But maybe it would be more comfortable meeting up at Dream's house, away from the stupid blue lights and constant stream of strangers.

“Yeah,” Dream said. “My parents won't mind, and we can watch a movie.”

“A movie?” George asked. “Sounds like a date.” Shit, that was too far. He couldn't hit on his English partner, they'd only just met, and he barely had time for the schoolwork they were trying to do. There was no way he had time for . . .

“For the project,” Dream insisted. “You really like reading into things, don't you. You sure you're not an English major?”

“Yup, chem nerd to the bone,” George smiled.

“Hmm, I'll see what I can do to change that,” Dream hummed.

“Just text me the address and time,” George said.

“Alright, alright, get some sleep idiot.”

* * *

George thought about canceling. He spent Saturday catching up on studying and chem homework before catching the shift he'd been assigned at the last freaking minute. By the time he lay back on his bed the thought of going out the following day was almost overwhelming.

He opened his phone and started writing a text to Dream.

George: I might not make it tomorrow, can we video call instead, or just talk in class on monday?

His finger hovered over the send icon. It would be easier to just stay home, talk with Dream comfortably over the phone. He could get some chores done. George wasn't sure the last time he'd done laundry.

But he didn't hit send. He'd made a commitment, and Dream was the friendliest person he'd met at school so far. George didn't want to fuck that up.

He could stay up late and finish the rest of his work so he'd have the next day free. It wasn't like he'd be spending the whole day with Dream. He'd be home for dinner and everything.

The following morning sun filtered in through his window. And somehow it was still raining.

Instead of the lingering dread of having another thing to do, George found he was excited. He'd listened to the first half of Jane Eyre the previous day while he studied. It was pretty boring, but there had been some good lines, and he had something to talk to Dream about.

George didn't have a car, and Dream didn't live close enough to walk, so he had to wait for a bus. The sky above was patchy over the bus stop. Dark clouds coasted on high winds, with rays of sun breaking through the gaps.

Even though he'd lived in the city for a good six months, George hadn't really had the chance to explore Seattle. Most of his time was spent on campus, and it was hard to go out alone. He felt like he needed a local to show him around to really understand it all.

The bus was half full for the weekend. It trundled into motion and slowly followed its route into the city neighborhoods.

George put on his headphones and listened to his audiobook while he watched the campus turn into cramped buildings before the bus started climbing a series of steep hills.

At the third stop George opened his messages again. Dream's house was one street over. The houses were large, even for being in a city. Most even had decent sized yards. And they all looked so new.

“George!”

George turned on his heel and found Dream jogging up the sidewalk. He pulled off his headphones.

“You walked right past,” Dream panted, pointing back to a forest green house with white trim.

“I was just taking the long way 'round,” George huffed.

“Yeah, sure,” Dream put a hand on George's shoulder and nudged him in the right direction.

The touch was gentle, fleeting, lasting long enough to be noticed, but not invasive. Dream had done it without thinking. That was just the way he was. Dream would nudge him during class, and touch his back to get George's attention. George wasn't big on touching, but Dream had a way of making it feel so natural that he found himself not minding at all.

“My parents are at an event downtown until the afternoon, so we're good to work downstairs,” Dream said, walking up the few concrete steps to the front door. A wide porch covered with white peeling paint framed the entryway. Dream pushed open a polished wood door and let George inside first before shutting it behind them.

“Go on into the kitchen,” Dream pointed down the entry hall. A sitting room opened to George's left, and to the right a set of stairs carried to the second floor.

The kitchen was a warm space, tiled floor with a small table against the only wall not taken over by appliances. A tray of herbs grew on the windowsill over the sink. George hung his bag over the back of one of the chairs at the table.

“So, I'll show you what I've done so far, then we can maybe catch up on where you are in the reading,” Dream joined George at the table. George sat, across from Dream, hoping he was as far into the book as Dream hoped.

“Not that you need to be in a rush,” Dream added, waving a hand. “You signed up to coast on my brilliance, remember?”

George laughed a little at that. It wasn't even funny. He was just tired, so even Dream's stupid jokes were making him laugh. That was all.

Dream showed George the thesis he'd outlined, then launched into a tangent about deconstructing female archetypes in romance. George got lost pretty quickly, but he couldn't bring himself to stop Dream in the middle of a thought. He spoke so excitedly about it all. George was pretty sure he didn't sound like that when talking about chemistry.

“George?” Dream asked. “Hey, George.” A big hand waved in front of George's face.

“I can see you, dumbass,” George pushed Dream's hand away.

“You spaced out,” Dream said.

“I was paying attention,” George replied, feigning offense. It was partially true. He'd been fully enthralled watching Dream speak. Just hadn't heard too many of the actual words he'd been saying. Dammit, he was cute.

“How about we take a break from the outline and maybe watch a movie,” Dream closed his laptop.

“Movie?”

“Yeah,” Dream said. “There's like fifty versions of Jane Eyre, and Netflix just released a new adaptation of Rebecca.”

“Okay, yeah,” George said, trying to refocus his thoughts.

Dream led George to the upstairs sitting room. It was dark, and Dream didn't bother turning on the lights before grabbing the remote. A large TV on the opposite wall sparked to life.

“You mind?” Dream asked, gesturing to the overhead light. “It'll be like a movie theater.”

George shook his head. Stupid, he can't see that in the dark.

A long couch sat in front of the TV, and on one end a bean bag chair seemed to serve as a footrest. George sat on the edge of an end seat and watched as Dream navigated to the movie. He debated between three versions before finally going with an older adaptation of Jane Eyre. Hopefully the movie was more exciting than the book.

“This one's pretty good, has the most original lines from the book in the script,” Dream said, plopping down into the seat next to George. His leg brushed against George's, and Dream didn't seem to notice.

Dream took up way more space, which made sense, he was bigger than George. But his cushion bent in a way that it tilted George slightly too.

“I guess if we were smart, we'd take notes,” Dream mused as the opening credits played.

“Good thing we aren't that,” George said, trying to keep a straight face.

“You comfortable like that?” Dream arched an eyebrow at George. His features were illuminated by the gray light from the TV.

“Yeah,” George nodded.

“Really, the edge? You aren't even sitting back,” Dream said, glancing over at George.

“I'm comfortable,” George lied. But now that Dream had pointed it out, he was not going to admit it.

“You're falling over,” Dream bounced his cushion. George fell back and hit his head on Dream's shoulder.

“Oh my god, I'm sorry,” Dream steadied George with a hand. “Did I hurt you?”

“I'm good,” George righted himself, rubbing his head.

“Really?” Dream's eyes searched George's expression.

“I'm fine, really,” George pressed his back into the couch. “See?”

Dream gave him a puzzling look before returning his attention to the TV, only then removing his hand from George's shoulder.

They watched the movie, making a few jokes when the characters said over-the-top lines. Dream paused multiple times to give his personal complaints with the adaptation.

Seeing the story on the screen helped George. He could see why people found it romantic. On the page it came off dry, but seeing the emotions given human life helped him start to put things together.

George wasn't sure when he'd started moving closer to Dream, wasn't sure when Dream had draped his arm over the back of the couch. But by the time the movie neared its climax, George was almost brushing Dream's side.

How had Dream not even noticed? It was his fault. He'd taken the middle seat, George was just trying to get a better view.

Seriously, who picked the middle seat on the couch? George had spent most evenings arguing with his little sister over who got to sit in the corner seat during dinner.

“This is my favorite part,” Dream said softly. “When she goes back. She chooses him after seeing all the problems. It's more subtle than those big Hollywood moments, you know?”

George hadn't been looking at the screen for at least a minute. “Yeah, but maybe Rochester should have done something. Like what if she'd believed he didn't care enough for things to be worth it?”

Dream smiled down at George. “Hey, you're getting it,” he said. “He's in a tough position, and this is Jane's story, and he respects that she's within her right to leave.”

“That's stupid. If he wanted her to stay in the first place, he should have tried harder.” George became aware of the warmth in the narrow space between their bodies.

“You like being pursued, George?” Dream put on the stupidest shit-eating grin. Did his arm just shift lower?

“I do not,” George folded his arms, pressing his back further into the cushions. Dream was still staring. “Shut up.”

“I didn't say anything,” Dream said, eyes dancing with amusement. He enjoyed making George uncomfortable just a little too much.

The next week George cut his shift short to get to English fifteen minutes early. He'd caught a lecture from his manager that evening when he clocked back in. But he didn't care much. Washing down tables as customers left, he finished listening to the first book, imagining how excited Dream would be that he'd done it. They'd be able to talk more about it, and Dream could tell him more stupid stuff about his favorite lines.

The following class George was late, but Dream followed him on his way back to work. Even though it was pouring down rain and Dream had forgotten his jacket.

“I don't mind the rain,” Dream said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Free shower.”

“Please tell me you actually shower,” George joked as he stepped over a massive puddle.

Dream just laughed.

“I'm excited for you to start Rebecca, it's an interesting contrast, and I dunno, I think you might have some interesting takes,” Dream said.

George almost froze. Dream cared about his opinion on a book? No, that was stupid. They were doing a project together on the book, Dream was required to care about what George thought. But it hadn't sounded that way with how Dream had said it. It didn't even feel like schoolwork with Dream. It just felt like they were talking about books Dream liked, the sort of conversations friends had about their favorite shows.

It only rained harder the next day, when Dream texted George, and George had to ignore it in favor of a second shift.

Chapter Text

The holes in George's hoodie meant he dropped things sometimes. Mostly little things like snacks, or change. But sometimes it was more, his phone or keys, and he had to re-trace his footsteps to find where he'd gone wrong.

George didn't see Dream the following week. He skipped English because he had to study for his chem midterms and had picked up a few extra shifts at work. He'd thought he could get away with a more relaxed work schedule this quarter, but he'd been wrong. Tips were shit, so cutting back hours had been a mistake. And if one grade was going to suffer, it couldn't be his major-related coursework.

But Dream texted him while George was at work, and he emailed him his notes from class. George wasn't missing much, and their English professor didn't care to take attendance, so it wasn't a big deal.

It felt like a big deal. He was being the sort of person he didn't want Dream to think he was; unreliable and flaky. He didn't really care if the professor had a problem with his spotty attendance, but he owed it to Dream to try, and he was failing. Every morning he woke up to another string of texts from Dream, he felt a little more control over that impression slipping away.

They talked at night over the phone when George finished his late shifts. But they never got work done. Dream always started on the project, but conversation never stayed there longer than five minutes. The previous night, they'd been up till after 1 am talking about how much George hated American chocolate. He was a terrible project partner.

What was worse was the fact that George did want to be friends with Dream. He was so easy to talk to, and was the most welcoming student he'd met. And maybe some of it was that George just wanted to hang around a hot guy. He could have his fantasies. Didn't have time for more anyway.

George got out of his chem test feeling pretty good about it. He wasn't sure on the final question, but he'd have been shocked if it wasn't at least a 3.8.

It was one of the two days he didn't have work. And he needed that time for homework and studying. While he'd just finished a test, he had to work on his lab write-ups for biochem.

George was on the last set of stairs up to his apartment when his phone rang. It was Dream. But he could have guessed that. Dream had been the only one calling him at all in the past few weeks.

“What's up?” George asked as he walked down the hall to his door.

“Wanted to see when you're free next, had a few things I wanted to talk about, you know, for the project,” Dream said.

“Um,” George unlocked his door and tossed his bags onto his bed. “Class on Monday would probably be best.”

George did not have the energy to entertain another bus ride. There was no reason they couldn't just work over voice chat online. He poked his thumb through one of the holes in his pocket, fiddling with the fraying fabric.

“That busy?” Dream asked. The disappointment was painful in his tone.

“Yeah, and tired,” George said, running a hand through his hair. He really needed to shower.

“Well, what are you doing now?” Dream asked.

“I was gonna shower, then study,” George said slowly. Then he realized his mistake. “Dream, no.”

“What? I said nothing,” Dream chuckled.

“I'm serious. I have to study,” George repeated while he felt his cheeks strain from the smile he cracked.

“Okay, then I'll help,” Dream said, “just send me your address and I can come to you. That way you don't have to do anything extra.”

“Dream I'm not sure that's a good idea . . .” George glanced at his apartment - it was a mess and fucking tiny. Not exactly the sort of thing he wanted Dream to see. He could picture Dream trying not to acknowledge how much it sucked out of politeness.

“Why, you got a girl over?”

George almost choked on his own spit.

“What, NO,” George tried to remain serious. “Why would you say something like that?”

Dream wheezed with laughter at the other end of the line.

“Dream come on,” George whined. “We can just talk on Discord or something.”

“You don't wanna see me?” Dream finally managed to reply after recovering from his laughing fit.

“No, I do,” George stammered. “Wait, not that wasn't – it's just, I dunno, you probably won't like it here.”

“Don't hurt yourself,” Dream said, still way too amused by George's discomfort. “I'm sure I'll like it if you're there.”

And that was how George ended up frantically cleaning for the next half-hour. He did a terrible job, hiding dirty laundry and shoving dishes haphazardly into the washer, but it looked good enough that he wouldn't be totally embarrassed.

Then he ran a hand through his hair again. Shit. He looked at the digital clock next to his bed. He hadn't showered yet. But Dream probably wouldn't show up for another ten minutes at least. He had time.

George ran the water and hastily scrubbed shampoo through his hair. He wished he had time to linger under the warm water, to breathe in the steam. Usually showers were one of the most relaxing parts of his hectic routine. But as usual, he didn't have time for that.

A loud knock sounded as George finished pulling on his shirt.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he grabbed a hand towel, trying to dry his hair as he went to answer the door. He was clean, but had managed to end up looking like more of a mess than before.

“Hey,” George put on a smile, greeting Dream.

“What happened to you?” Dream chuckled, eyeing George's obviously damp hair.

George just gaped, at a loss for any words. Why had he not believed Dream was actually coming? Dream was standing in his doorway, practically taking up the whole damn thing. Why was he so tall?

“I, um, showered,” George got out. Dream had dressed a little differently than usual, his hoodie was tied around his waist, and he had a black t-shirt with a cat print in the middle. But that wasn't really where George was looking. Dream just had to show off his bare arms, now, while George looked like a wet sock.

“Now don't get me wrong,” Dream said, grinning. “I'm cool hanging out in the hall, but in the interest of pretending to study, maybe I could come in?”

George moved out of the way, wordlessly gesturing for Dream to come inside.

He watched green eyes survey the tiny space, the cramped kitchenette, the mattress George called a bed. This was exactly why George hadn't wanted Dream to come. He didn't need to see the look of pity or disgust that would inevitably take shape.

“Wait, this is your place?” Dream turned around in the middle of the tiny room. His eyes scanned the space, taking it all in.

“Yeah . . .” George admitted, his stomach sinking.

“This is awesome,” Dream declared, rushing over to the window. “You're just like Thoreau, or Sylvia Plath. You know, tiny places where geniuses lock themselves away and write masterpieces?”

“What?” George blinked in disbelief. He hardly understood what he was hearing. But he understood Dream's broad smile.

“Yeah, or maybe Dickinson, she did most of her writing in her bedroom in a tiny cottage in the countryside, but my point still stands.”

“You like it?” George said incredulously. There was something wrong with Dream if he thought a shitty apartment with no view was 'awesome'.

“Yeah man, my house is boring. Not a lot of romantic author stories coming out of the suburbs,” Dream shrugged.

George let out a soft laugh. He felt so stupid. He'd been worried over nothing.

“You should shower more often,” Dream added.

“What?” George's face heated up. God, had Dream noticed how much he'd been neglecting personal hygiene?

“No I didn't mean it like that,” Dream waved his hands frantically. “I just meant,your hair, it looks good like that, I guess.”

“Like what?” George accused. Yeah, Dream was the crazy one. He was high if he thought George's damp hair was an improvement.

“This,” Dream reached forward and ruffled George's hair.

“Hey! Dream stop,” George giggled. Dream was really too much. He was able to cover George's head with one hand. And fuck, he was cute.

“Sorry,” Dream looked down, embarrassed.

“No, you're good,” George assured. “I didn't mind it.”

“So I could do that again?” Dream raised an eyebrow.

“I've made a mistake,” George teased, trying to sound serious to sell the bit, but he couldn't stop smiling. How did Dream do that? Just make things feel easy. Nothing had changed. George was still behind on schoolwork. He still had a shift early the following day before chem lab. But it all felt easier with Dream smiling down at him.

“So,” Dream cleared his throat. “What do you think of Rebecca? You mind if I sit here?” He indicated George's bed. George didn't really have any seating for guests. He'd never had any before.

“Sure,” George waved to the mattress. “And uh, it's okay, I guess. I didn't realize it would be darker than the other one.”

Dream nodded, humming to himself. “That's kinda the point, one of the reasons I picked it for this project. It's often seen as a critique of some of the elements in Jane Eyre and similar gothic romances.”

That made sense. Maybe George was actually learning something. Or maybe Dream was just smart.

“You gonna just stand there?” Dream asked, patting the bed.

Oh god.

George knew his face had to be red.

He gingerly sat on the edge of his own bed. It wasn't a big deal, there was nowhere else to sit. Dream was just being friendly.

“Anyway, I was gonna send you what I've written so far. I don't need you to write anything, but like, check it over and make sure it looks good.” Dream met George's gaze. As embarrassed as George was, he couldn't help staring, feeding the stupid crush he had on the guy.

As usual, once Dream started talking it was hard to stop him, and George didn't mind. Dream's voice was nice, especially when he was excited about something.

Had Dream moved closer? George had been so wrapped up listening to Dream that he hadn't noticed there was definitely less space between them. That had to be an accident, right?

“So,” Dream said. He shifted to face George, fingers brushing against George's hand. Shivers. George had to get a grip. But that was hard looking up at his friend, who was way too attractive for George's own good.

“I wanted to know if you were doing anything on the 14^th?” Dream asked, and George couldn't help noticing Dream's leg bouncing nervously against the mattress.

“The 14^th?” George repeated. That wasn't how Dream usually asked him if he was free for schoolwork.

“Yeah, like Valentine's day. I guess I wanted to ask if you already had plans, or if you had to work, or whatever.” Dream broke eye contact, and George was pretty sure he saw red creep across his cheeks.

George's heartbeat quickened, his throat suddenly felt too dry to speak. Dream didn't mean it like that. He said all kinds of crazy things.

“You mean, like a date?” George said, trying to tease, but ended up sounding way too hopeful.

“I mean,” Dream glanced back at George from under a mess of curls. “If you want, or just like as friends, if you aren't like, you know-”

“Yes.” The words escaped George's lips before Dream could finish.

Dream's eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, “I have that day off actually, so we can do whatever you want.”

“So could I come pick you up here?” Dream asked.

“That'd work.” George couldn't believe it. Had Dream actually asked him out? And he was for once lucky enough to have time for the both of them to have fun.

“It's a date then,” Dream grinned. He was definitely touching George's hand. Yeah, that had to be on purpose.

* * *

George woke early the next day for his early shift. Dark clouds overhead heralded another storm incoming. He barely noticed, too busy thinking about the 14^th, only a few days away. He hadn't had something like that to look forward to in a while. School breaks were okay, but they just meant he took extra shifts at work. He had plans, real plans. He had a date!

“Hey,” Tina, one of George's coworkers, greeted. “You're in a good mood today.”
“Am I?” George asked, rounding the counter to clock in.

“Can't say the last time I saw you show up with a smile,” she said casually. “Oh yeah, schedule got updated.”

“What?” George snatched the paper off the counter. It had already been posted for the next two weeks. Why had it been changed again?

George quickly scanned the column with his name and found the change. He was working the 14^th, double shift.

He should have known that it wouldn't be that easy. That he wasn't meant to just be that lucky.

“Something wrong?” Tina asked.

“Everything is fine,” George said. His throat suddenly felt tight.

As soon as his shift was over, George went to the registration office and dropped out of English Literature.

Chapter Text

The tip jar was empty. It usually was. Most people didn't tip in cash anymore, if they tipped at all. And George was used to it. He was used to not getting the things he wanted. Used to seeing opportunities pass him by.

That was all Dream was, a missed opportunity. George had thought the universe had aligned for him to be able to go out and have fun with a guy he liked. He'd been wrong. It was just trying to remind him that he wasn't that lucky.

It was for the best he didn't see Dream. He didn't want to have him keep asking and have to keep saying no, or worse, say yes only to cancel later. He hadn't been keeping up in literature anyways. It was better this way.

Double shifts weren't so bad. George was used to them. The late morning and afternoon were busy, but things calmed down into the evening like always. It was the same draining monotony it always was. There was some comfort in it. He knew what to expect. Customers were rude, no surprise, the tables were sticky, no surprise. And the tip jar was empty.

The only change was George had started his shift putting up pink and red decorations with Tina. He got to stare at the colorful hearts painted onto the windows looking out onto the street. And half the customers were obvious couples. Girls giggled, mooning over their dates. Guys stumbled over their words and made bad jokes. That was what it looked like to have time for someone.

He'd sent Dream a text to cancel their plans the previous day, and hadn't looked at messages since. Dream had texted back, because of course he had. Twenty messages under his name, and he'd tried calling. But George didn't think he could talk. Why draw out the disappointment? He wasn't sure he could handle hearing Dream's voice for that conversation.

George watched his manager leave early. Apparently one of the reasons he'd been scheduled for another shift was because his manager had plans for that evening. George had thought about quitting. He'd thought about it a lot. But it was harder for people with temporary VISAs to get work, and he couldn't afford not working. It would feel good to leave, to say 'fuck it' and walk out in the middle of his shift. But George didn't have that luxury. He never did.

Things were fine. He hadn't known Dream for that long. They were just friends, and he had a stupid crush. It was for the best nothing more had come from it. Things would hurt more if that were the case.

But it still fucking hurt. It hurt looking at a string of unread texts, unanswered calls, and an empty jar on the counter.

George was the last one scheduled for closing. Tina left when her shift ended at six. She had tried talking, but George hadn't been in the mood. He'd probably been a jackass, but if he'd talked he had no idea what he would have said.

A few customers lingered at tables, quietly working on their laptops, sipping coffee that George refilled periodically. Quiet hours were usually nice, a reprieve from the usual chaos. But that evening, quiet hours just meant George got to be alone with his thoughts. Left wondering . . .

George swept up a mess two customers had left an hour earlier. One of the girls had been wearing glitter or something because the tiled floor sparkled where she'd been sitting.

The bell above the door chimed. George set aside the broom and mentally prepared for another customer.

When he looked up, green eyes found his. Dream.

He didn't smile. Why would he? George had spent the past few days ignoring him in a vain attempt to avoid this.

“George!” Dream said, not seeming to care about the other people scattered around the tables.

“What are you doing here?” George crossed the room to meet Dream. Hopefully him standing closer would encourage Dream to keep his voice down.

“I was worried,” Dream said. He reached a hand forward but didn't follow through, and let it fall just as quickly. “You weren't answering any messages. I thought something happened.”

“I told you everything,” George said, trying to sound professional like he didn't care. “I had to work after all. There really isn't anything else to say.”

Dream's brow furrowed with concern. His eyes trailed over George's face as though searching for something.

“Well, I guess I'll have a tea and one of those sugar cookies.” Dream took a seat at the counter and pointed behind George at the baked items.

George sighed and quickly fulfilled the order, putting the tea in a to-go cup, hoping Dream would take the hint.

“That's $3.50,” George said, placing both items in front of Dream.

“George,” Dream said softly, “can we please talk?”

“I'd rather not,” George said, trying to look anywhere but at Dream. His eyes landed on the tip jar, studying the way the glass warped the room behind it.

“Then listen,” Dream said, ignoring the stuff he'd just ordered. “I get that you ended up having to work. I get that it sucks, but I don't care. We could have rescheduled or something.”

Could have. Dream said it like that already wasn't a possibility anymore.

“I dunno if I made it clear, but I like you, and I wanna try and get to know you better and stuff,” Dream continued. And George's stomach dropped, pulling on the tightness in his throat. Dream was saying all the right things, and at the same time not enough.

“So I get you're upset, but you don't have to shut me out or whatever. I'm fine just talking during English and stuff,” Dream said.

Yeah, not enough.

“I dropped English Lit,” George said, barely getting the words past the lump in his throat.

“You . . . what?” Dream said, and for the first time George detected hurt in his voice. God, they really might have had something. He really had cared. “Why did you do that George? I had everything under control, and you didn't have to -”

“That's the problem, Dream,” George let out. He found he was pissed. Pissed that he had to stand there in the middle of a shift and turn down a boy who was trying harder than George deserved. Pissed that Dream did not get it. “You do everything. I was never really in that class. I don't know why I thought I could handle a full schedule and work. I don't have time for this. And I have to get back to work.”

They were drawing a few looks from the remaining customers. George could feel himself turning red. It was fucking embarrassing. Even at work he didn't have time for this.

“George,” Dream said, so painfully gentle and understanding. But he was missing the point. “Look, it sucks. But I mean, I don't think I've read a romance that doesn't have rough spots. Man, most are complete fucking messes,” he chuckled. “If you think this is bad, don't read Anna Karenina. If any of those people can work through stuff, I think we can figure out how to make something work.”

“Those aren't people, Dream,” George didn't keep his voice down. If people stared, then fine. He wasn't paid enough to care. “They're characters. This isn't like your stupid books Dream,” George snapped. “My life doesn't have room for this. It's not a romance, it's not a tragedy, it's just a 'it never fucking happened'. Just go and make this easier for the both of us.”

George regretted looking up and actually seeing Dream's face. His stupid handsome face. To find green eyes staring at George with shock and hurt. It really shouldn't hurt so much. They weren't anything. Classmates, maybe friends. Nothing had happened.

But there had been potential. George had agreed to a date because he actually could see things going somewhere with Dream. It had been a little too easy to imagine. They were good together, and god, there had been the potential to be amazing.

George didn't get amazing. He got to work, to put up heart-shaped decorations while he watched couples moon over each other throughout the day. George got to do the things he had to do to get by, and there just wasn't time for more. There wasn't time to change that.

“George, I -”

“I said go,” George's voice wavered. Everyone was staring at them, he could feel it. They'd already made a scene, and there wasn't anything Dream could say to fix it.

George thought the lump in his throat might break as he watched Dream take his order off the counter and turn away. Dream didn't say anything as he left, ducking into the rain outside.

He held it together in front of the customers, pretended that he hadn't just made a scene, that everything was fine.

But when he glanced down at the counter, he found a twenty at the bottom of the tip jar.

Chapter Text

Rain hammered against George's window. The dark clouds that had stalked him all week had finally broken in earnest, ready to take that last bit of hope he'd had that something might turn around. It wasn't the light rain from earlier in the week, not the sort of drizzle it was easy to ignore. No, this was a downpour, the kind of rain that would soak through clothes in seconds.

He'd woken before his alarm. There wasn't time to try to get more sleep. Never enough time.

George sighed and mentally prepared for his mid-morning shift. Because his boss hadn't readjusted the schedule since adding to George's hours, he'd just assumed George would handle it. It was exhausting. He knew he was close to burning out. There was only so long he'd be able to get away with pushing himself before something cracked.

He took the time to actually cook breakfast, using a burner for the first time in weeks to cook some eggs while two slices of bread toasted.

The rain kept hammering the glass. To the point where there was a rhythmic quality to it, almost like it was tapping to a beat he couldn't hear.

George sat on his bed to eat, scrolling social media and wondering if that was the last time he'd ever see Dream. He hadn't wanted things to end like that. Or maybe he just hadn't wanted to see Dream hurt, to face the consequences of his actions. Leaving without explanation was a coward's way out; George knew that. But he didn't have time to do it right. To give the explanations he owed, to face the people he ghosted.

A text popped up on George's phone. His heart stopped when he saw Dream's name. The last thing George wanted to do was open the text and see what Dream wanted to say after the previous night. But he had the time for this at the very least.

Dream: You awake?

Of all the things George had expected, that hadn't been it. It was so casual, as though nothing had happened.

Another text followed.

Dream: When you wake up come downstairs

George checked the time. He had an hour before work.

It was pouring outside. What the fuck could be downstairs? Made sense in a weird way. Half the time he never understood what Dream was going on about.

So he set down his plate and pulled on his jeans and sneakers. He stepped into the hall, which was unusually quiet. It was early enough no one else was awake yet. No students rushing to make it to class on time, no kids whining in the hall. It was so still George wasn't even sure he was awake. This was the sort of empty space he found in dreams, fingers tapping the glass outside, and empty halls filled with stale air.

He hurried down the flights of stairs until he landed on the first floor and faced the double doors with their warped glass windows.

They'd changed the lights. It was such an odd thing to notice. The long soulless bulbs that illuminated the hall with a fluorescent hue were different. A warmer glow bathed the chipped paint on the walls. Light that hinted at comfort rather than emptiness.

When he reached the door, George checked his phone again. No new texts. Just come downstairs.

George pulled open the door and found a single figure at the bottom of the steps.

Dream stood on the sidewalk in nothing but a shirt and pair of jeans, his usually fluffy hair slicked on the sides of his face in the rain. Not an inch of him was dry, but he was smiling.

“Dream what – what are you doing here?” George asked, numbed by confusion.

“Get down here,” Dream beckoned.

George shook his head. “I'll get wet.”

Dream rolled his eyes and jogged up the steps. He really was soaked through. The fabric of his shirt had flattened against his chest. A few drops ran down the bridge of his nose, along his jaw, down his neck . . .

“Dream, what is this?” George asked again. He couldn't help looking up into those green eyes, the eyes of a friend who hadn't left, even though he really should have.

“We're going on our date George.” The words floated from his lips, landing soft on George's ears.

“Dream . . .” George let out. He didn't cross the threshold, he'd be soaked in an instant. Even where he stood, drops splashed off the ground hitting his shoes. “I can't, I have -”

“Have work,” Dream finished, a smirk curling his lip. “Taken care of.”

“What? Dream how do you take care of that?” George didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He should be pissed at the audacity alone.

“I may have bribed one of your coworkers to cover your shift. She seemed to understand, said they've been overworking you lately.” That was an understatement.

“Dream you can't just – can't just do that,” George stammered. He really didn't know what he wanted to say at all. A strange bubbly feeling rose up in his chest. He became more aware of his heart beating faster, how he couldn't help smiling at the ridiculous image of Dream soaking wet on the steps to his apartment building.

“You said this isn't like a book,” Dream said slowly, “I get that it isn't. But it can be. And I'm too stupid not to try.”

Dream reached for George's hands, folding them into his larger ones, gently pulling.

“Dream stop,” George giggled. He was going to fall if Dream pulled any harder.

“Come on, you have the day off now, and we have a date,” Dream insisted, and the way he said it could have been music.

“But it's raining,” George pulled back. Dream's hands were wet, and George was dangerously close to joining him.

“Then we're gonna get wet,” Dream said, and he pulled George outside.

“Hey!” Immediately George was pummeled by the downpour. Within seconds his shirt was clinging wet to his shoulders.

“Take it from someone who's lived here their whole life; the rain's not so bad,” Dream laughed. “I kinda prefer it.”

“Really?” George asked, incredulous. It rained plenty back in England, and he'd hated it. Especially when it went on for weeks, it felt like nature was trying to trap him, keep him inside the shell of his house.

“Yeah, it keeps people inside, then you kinda get the whole world to yourself,” Dream explained. He really did read too much. Romanticizing a rained-out city with overflowing gutters and gray skies.

George squeezed Dream's hands. It was such a small gesture, but he hadn't felt comforted in some time, and that came with Dream's touch.

“How are we supposed to have a date if we're both wet?”

“I got extra clothes in the car, but uh, you can go up and change if you want,” Dream said.

“You really had to pull me into the rain for this?” George asked.

“That's a stupid question,” Dream squeezed George's hands. “I'll wait in the car.”

George felt like he was floating as he rushed back to his apartment, threw on a fresh change of clothes, and grabbed his raincoat. He found Dream sitting in the driver's seat of a sedan parked on the curb. It looked like he'd taken the time to hastily change in the car. His damp hair stood up at weird angles.

“Get in,” Dream pushed the passenger door open.

George plopped into the passenger seat and shut the door, enjoying the warm relief of the car. He could feel Dream staring at him, and he wasn't sure he could look back. He glanced over and noticed something in Dream's lap. A red paper bag.

“What's that?” George asked, trying his best to stay focused. His heart was beating too fast, and that weird floating feeling hadn't gone away.

“Oh, for you,” Dream extended his arm over to George, holding out the bag.

“I don't understand,” George gingerly took the bag, it was heavier than it looked. He found the nerve to actually meet Dream's gaze and instantly felt warmth enter his cheeks.

“I mean, I did ask you out for Valentine's day,” Dream rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth twisting into a lopsided grin. “I know it's a day late, but I figured we could pretend otherwise.”

“Dream,” George whispered. He stared at the red bag and didn't know what to think. He didn't know how Dream made him speechless so frequently. It was honestly unfair.

“It's really nothing. Just open it,” Dream urged, but there was a note of nervousness in his voice.

George unfolded the top and pulled out a few white tissues before his hand landed on a glass jar. He pulled it out and found it filled with chocolates. But the wrappers looked familiar. The chocolate from back home in England, the sort he hadn't been able to find in the States.

“You mentioned how much you hated American chocolate, and I figured . . .” Dream swallowed.

“How did you even get these?” George asked.

“I ordered them online. It's seriously not a big deal,” Dream insisted.

“It's – it's great, but I didn't get you anything,” George said. He gripped the jar tight, using the way the light glinted off the brightly colored foil wrappers to ground himself.

“You don't have to,” Dream put a hand on George's shoulder.

“I should have thought-”

“Hey,” the firm calm of Dream's voice cut through the doubts that were quickly taking form. How did he do that? The reassuring smile on his lips kept George calm. “Your time is all I want, and uh, it seems like that's in short supply, so it means a lot.”

Was that good enough?

The glint in Dream's eyes and the painfully earnest smile he flashed at George suggested it was.

All George wanted was to give his time to Dream. And they had one day ahead. But that didn't really change things. George didn't know if he could give the time Dream deserved.

“What's wrong?” Dream asked.

“Dream, this is great, but it's one day. I just don't know if it's fair. I'm not gonna get any less busy. It might be best if we didn't . . .” George let out some of the thoughts that had formed over the last few weeks when he'd imagined the possibilities. They'd have one date, then what?

“Well, I was gonna save this for maybe a little later in the day,” Dream sighed. “But, um, I'll admit I thought about that too. And I'd be fine if we just talked on the phone before bed if that was all you wanted, but – God, I know this is kind of a big ask. . .” Dream shook his head, wearing a very strange smile.

Tightness gripped George's chest. Maybe this wouldn't work. If Dream did have doubts, then what were they even doing?

“I was wondering how you'd feel about having a roommate?” Dream said quickly. He wasn't looking at George. His hands in his lap fidgeted with the strings of his hoodie.

A roommate?

Dream lived at home with his family. Why would he want to leave just to pay rent somewhere? But if George didn't have to pay so much, he wouldn't have to work half the hours he currently did. It was too much. There was no way he could let Dream do that for a guy he barely knew.

“That's too much,” George finally got out. It hurt to say out loud, but it was the right thing. There was no way he could accept.

“Yeah, I know I'm stupid,” Dream shook his head.

“No, it's – I can't let you do that for me,” George got control of his voice. “What if we share a place then break up, or find out we can't stand each other?”

“We're friends aren't we?” Dream asked, the waver in his voice still obvious.

“Of course,” George answered. “But what if-”

“We can't break up if we aren't together,” Dream said. “And I'd rather be friends than let you just cut yourself out of my life.”

Fuck, he was trying to be perfect. It wasn't fair. How did he know what to say? How did he make even the stupidest stuff seem possible?

“But how would that even work? I barely have room for myself, I like you, but I don't think I'm ready to share a bed,” George said, cringing at the words. Thinking about Dream in bed was too much of . . . everything.

“I think if there's two of us we can afford a slightly bigger place,” Dream chuckled. “Or I can just bring my own floor mattress over and take over that unused space between your bed and the kitchen.”

“You mean the only walkable part of the apartment?” George asked, letting out a soft laugh.

“I mean . . .” Dream shrugged.

George smiled. Just smiled. Warmth spread across his chest, undoing the knot that had been there. He could easily picture the possibilities Dream proposed. They were friends. Even if things didn't work out, they had that. George would be able to rest and actually have time for the relationship that Dream was offering.

“It's still too much,” George said. It still flew in the face of all reason. Moving in with a guy he met that quarter? With a guy he hadn't yet had one proper date with?

“I don't believe you,” Dream reached over, and instead of going for George's shoulder like before, he took his hand.

“What? You can't just . . .” George lost words at the gentle pressure of Dream's hand around his. He could so easily get used to that.

“I can't what?” Dream asked. Green eyes raking over George.

“I mean it Dream, this is too much,” George insisted.

“Then say it with a straight face,” Dream said. “If you really don't wanna be roommates, look me in the eye and tell me.”

George tried meeting the challenge. Part of him melted meeting Dream's gaze, his over-sincerity and confidence that bordered on sheer stupidity.

“Dream,” George got the first word out, painfully aware Dream was still holding his hand. “It's not-” George felt himself grinning.

“It's not what?” Dream chuckled.

“A good idea,” George finished, fully aware he'd failed.

“I never said it was a good idea, but I still wanna try,” Dream said, “And you failed, dumbass.”

“I've never had a date call me dumbass,” George replied. His cheeks ached, and it felt amazing.

“Stop being one,” Dream dropped George's hand and ruffled his hair.

“Hey!”

“I did you a favor. It looks cute that way,” Dream beamed, seemingly satisfied with thoroughly flustering George.

Cute. That was all George really heard. All the possibilities he'd shut down the previous week opened back up. They really could try to make something work. And Dream was right; they would be friends even if things didn't work out. He couldn't imagine hating Dream.

“Okay, enough of that. We actually have a date to get to.” Dream pulled on his seatbelt.

“Wait,” George set down the jar in the cup holder. Dream met him with a confused expression.

George swallowed hard, leaning over, letting a hand rest on Dream's cheek. Tentatively he brought their lips together.

Soft, tender, and questioning, he kissed Dream and let his mind go blank. No dwelling on possibilities, or how it could go wrong. Dream had done everything right, and George wanted to try and do the same.

Instantly Dream melted into the kiss, bringing a hand to George's hip, pulling him closer.

George didn't do stuff like this. He was never the one reaching first, initiating this kind of contact. But Dream made him forget those inhibitions entirely.

“George,” Dream broke away, still keeping his face close, chest heaving a little more than normal. “Fuck, you're trying to kill me.”

“It wasn't good?” George questioned, even though that clearly wasn't the case. The flush of Dream's cheeks and broad grin said it all.

“A little too good,” Dream murmured, pulling George close again and kissing back. It was completely different. Where George had been gentle, Dream was ambitious, asking for more.

“Okay, but we do have a date,” Dream said, pulling away gently.

“Fine,” George rolled his eyes, still unable to get rid of his smile.

The amount of thought Dream had put into the day was overwhelming. He brought George to his favorite park and showed him his favorite views of the water. And he was right, because of the rain they had the whole world to themselves. Dream drove them to the Seattle piers and showed George how to watch for jellyfish in the shallow seawater. Nothing was big, no taxing activities or performances. Just quiet moments where they could talk and Dream could show George the stuff in the city that Dream loved. If George didn't know better, he'd have said Dream had known him for much longer. He seemed so tuned in to the sort of things George liked, the way he liked to spend time with people who were important.

When it started to get dark, Dream drove them into the city center to the place he'd picked out for dinner.

It was a small corner restaurant George hadn't heard of. When they stepped inside the warm lighting and smell of fresh bread washed away the chill of the February rain they'd spent most of the day in.

“What's so special about this place?” George asked as they took their seats at their table tucked into one of the corners of the main room.

“Oh, not much,” Dream said casually. “But I know they keep the decorations up a few extra days.”

The what? George looked around the full dining area. He hadn't even noticed when they'd walked in. They still had paper hearts strung across the windows, had pink and red flower arrangements at the tables, and a few other themed pieces of décor.

George let out a snicker. It was so stupidly cheesy. He didn't really care about the holiday itself, not enough to be disappointed that the date wasn't exact. The fact Dream had gone to the trouble to keep the illusion they hadn't missed their date the previous day was so stupid. But also made George really happy he'd kissed him earlier.

“Okay, so we are gonna have to split the bill,” Dream said, getting George's attention back.

“What?”

“I mean, if we're sharing expenses, it's only fair,” Dream continued. It took George a moment to see through the joke.

“You're an idiot,” George mumbled.

Dream just laughed. George could get used to hearing that more. He could get used to a lot of things, a lot of possibilities.

“I'm sorry,” George said, looking down into his lap.

“Why?”

“I'm sorry I dropped the class without telling you. I'm sorry I didn't text you . . . It was just too much. I couldn't keep up and -”

“George,” Dream cut in, his tone soft. “It's okay. I get it.”

How did he make it sound like he let it go so easily? It wasn't fair.

“And you'll make it up to me,” Dream leaned back in his seat, a smug expression spreading across his face.

“What? How?”

“Well, you still need an English elective credit, so how about you take Russian literature with me next quarter?” Dream smirked.

“That sounds awful,” George giggled. “Sure.”

He smiled across at Dream, his date, with messy damp hair and a stupid grin. Yeah, George could get used to this, especially now he had the time.