Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

art by Wolflyn

The castle was starting to feel like home.

At first, it had been disconcerting to find himself talking to a shovel – and have it answer him with enough snark to make him snicker – but, much like with everything else, he had grown used to it. If asked, George couldn't exactly tell when the shift happened, only the signs that pointed towards it being true. He didn't get lost as much as he used to – and when it did happen, he simply had to find the big tower perched on the South wing to re-center himself. He knew most of everyone's names, their little quirks, and how their laughter sounded when George made an awful pun, and that to him was one of the greatest gems hidden inside the dingy walls of the castle. Here, no one looked at him in a certain type of way. Everyone was friendly and sweet and welcoming, much more of a community than his stupid village had ever been.  

But – perhaps more important than anything else – what truly made it feel like home was Dream.

The man had grown on George like a fungus, something weird and unexpected he couldn't help but want to poke and prod at it, marveling at its reactions. George had been afraid of the beast for the entirety of his first day, but when it became obvious Dream's menacing aura was merely a different flavor of awkward, fear dissolved into curiosity, and George decided it was safe enough to stay. Underneath the prickly exterior, Dream was surprisingly kind. It was no problem to meet Dream’s occasional bursts of impatience with George’s own brand of annoyance, and somehow they managed to meet each other halfway and go from there. 

After months of living together, George was coming to realize that there might never be a big enough disagreement to make him want to pack up and leave – a realization that shook the foundations of his very being. It wasn’t like he could ever go home, not with how things had ended, so to not only have found a place to stay but also someone he could see himself spending his future with… It was a lot, to say the least.

But that was a particular thread he had no interest in untangling. He simply refused to think about it, so he put it in a box, and shoved it to the dusty corners of his mind where all things unpleasant stacked together, hopefully forgotten.

It was quite simple, really. Once a crisis was sorted into manageable containers, he shoved it aside. Out of sight and out of mind, simple as that.  

It was quite an effective solution. 

What he didn't like, however, was when other people used that same tactic. On him.

“Why are you avoiding me?” George asked without preamble. Subtlety had never been his strong suit and he was way too old to change now. 

Even with the mask staying unmoving, Dream managed to look like a deer caught on the wrong side of a hunter’s rifle, fumbling with the book he had just plucked out of one of the shelves in the library. “What? I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. Why?” George demanded. Did I do something wrong? echoed silently inside his overcrowded brain, but he refused to let the words out. 

He hated feeling weak. 

“George, I swear – I'm not –” Dream started to babble, barely looking his way, but George cut him off. 

“I don't care. Just… stop it. Okay?”

George could almost see the cogs turning in Dream’s head, the mask doing nothing to disguise the slightly awkward air at having been caught, but George was tired of this avoidance game. He hoped Dream was as well. 

“Okay.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel quite as comfortable as what George was used to, but he stubbornly stood his ground. He sat down in his comfy chair by the biggest window – the one from which he could see just a glint from the glass panels of the greenhouse in the distance – and pulled a book with a pointed look at Dream, who seemed to collapse a little into himself, wide shoulders somehow looking smaller as he curled up with a book of his own. 

George huffed. There it was again, that squirmy feeling whenever Dream acted in a certain way – a cute way –, so at odds with his brooding nature that George couldn’t help but feel a burst of affection towards the man. 

Stupid Dream and his stupid horns and his even stupider mask. All he had to do was tilt his head a little sideways and George would be ready to forgive him of anything, the white ceramic smile managing to look contrite despite being forever frozen in the same expression. 

There was a quiet flutter of a page and Dream hummed under his breath, truly getting into it. Unlike George, who mostly used their time in the library to poke fun at Dream’s choices of reading material, pester him with questions about anything that crossed his mind, or bait Dream into reading him one of the actually good stories hidden between all the philosophy crap Dream sometimes liked to indulge in. 

At least now he knew enough to understand the golden letters on the cover of Dream’s book. The Song of Roland. Quite the boring title, but George shuffled close with as much dignity as he could muster, leaving the rest of the space for Dream to close. Many afternoons had been spent like this, Dream’s voice reading out lines from his book while his finger surreptitiously tracked the words on the page, going slowly whenever George perked up, trying to commit to memory how one spelled treacherous so he would be able to understand it next time it came up. 

They had never talked about it. George hated feeling vulnerable, but like this, he could pretend Dream was only being eccentric. In his best days, George even asked Dream to repeat whatever word he didn’t know, sounding out the vowels quietly, eyes tracking Dream’s claw where the word fortress allegedly was. 

Dream was way too kind. Besides, George was plenty aware he enjoyed having his attention just a bit too much. Maybe that was why Dream had been avoiding him. Maybe he had grown tired of his lack of gratitude, of how slow he was in learning the stupidly fancy words that Dream loved so much. Maybe George’s refusal to talk about his past had finally worn off its novelty. 

But – and here George surreptitiously angled his head to the side, eyeing Dream’s mask like he could gauge the man’s thoughts just by the angle of his frozen smile – he wouldn’t send him away, would he? George couldn’t have possibly annoyed him to that point. 

Dream didn’t even know. Not like his sister had. Nor like his village suspected.

George was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even register when Dream put the book down, the black little dots of the mask looking up at him. 

“I don't get it.”

“What?”

“Why you keep… Why you stayed,” Dream said in a low murmur, voice all heavy with some sort of emotion. “It doesn’t make sense.”

The mask was stupid, but George felt like he could almost glimpse the man behind it through the modulation of his vowels. There was so much life in the way Dream talked: his hands flew in the air like he was conducting an orchestra or casting a spell; the peaks and valleys between the syllables when he read aloud to George wide enough to let his imagination run wild, soaring high along his laughter. Secretly, George quite liked it, finding it way more engaging than any teacher, more delightful than any friend he ever had. 

Here, the way Dream cleared his throat spoke of wonderment, of fear, and George shot him a small smile, silently encouraging him to keep going. 

“I don’t get why you're always seeking me out even though I'm – me,” Dream continued, in a way that made George uncross his legs and lean forward in his seat, leveling the mask with a confused look.

“What's wrong with that?”

Dream shrugged, shoulders hunched into himself. 

“Stop being an idiot,” George tutted, kicking Dream’s boot. “I'm here because I want to be. I don't care about the mask. Or the horns, or anything like that.” 

Dream's voice was already distracting enough on its own. He couldn’t imagine what his face would look like when he already sounded so passionate about pretty much anything. 

It would be dangerous, that was what it would be. George was already a bit… shaken by Dream’s kindness and attention, and he could not allow himself to wade any deeper into these waters. 

“No princess could ever love me like this.”

“Does it have to be a princess?”

“It has to be, right? That’s how the stories usually go.”

George was a great many things, but a princess he was not.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, but he made sure to push that thought far back into the recesses of his mind. There was no use dwelling on things that would only hurt him. 

7

Something changed after that day. Like the click of a lock or two pieces fitting together, Dream reverted back to his previous behavior without a hitch, seeking George’s presence like an eager puppy as he had before. George still didn’t know exactly what had prompted the change in the first place, but it was no use to worry about it – Dream’s life was a strange one and, for as sad as a thought that was, George was sure there was a lot to untangle inside his heart regarding matters that did not concern him at all.

So they slipped back into routine. Fall had settled nicely over the woods surrounding the castle, yellows and reds taking the place of lush green, but there was a certain chill in the evenings that foreboded the upcoming change in seasons. 

Huh. In less than a month it’d be his birthday. He realized with a start that pretty soon it’d be a year since he had left his village. 

George did not think about that.

He went to search for Dream, finding his usual spot at the library empty. He wasn’t in the kitchens nor in his dusty old study, and no one had seen him on the hunting grounds. All the castle inhabitants were being weirdly vague, nerves evident in Sam’s voice when he stuttered out that Dream hadn’t appeared for breakfast yet. 

“You shouldn’t worry,” Puffy said with a sigh, ruffling the feathers of her lower body. “I have a feeling the master won’t be around much today.”

Huh. She didn’t seem inclined to add anything to her vague explanation, and George’s curiosity grew tenfold. 

After a while, his feet led him up the stairs and into the West wing. The marble of columns was dark in here, like time had chosen this very area to make a statement of its presence, all the portraits lining the walls either covered or completely torn to shreds. He had only come here once, right at the start of his stay, and he had been so afraid to be sent away that he had barely paid attention to his surroundings. After that, he had kept his distance to this particular section of the castle, if only because Dream always twitched when he lingered at the foot of the stairs. 

Even if George was an annoying little shit sometimes, he knew some lines were not to be crossed. Dream was nowhere to be found, though. He was practically forcing George’s hand by hiding out here. 

His steps barely made a noise. All the doors so far had been either locked or led to empty rooms, all the furniture covered by sheets and layers of dust. 

Finally, he came upon Dream’s room, the tall double doors cracked open to let a sliver of light flood into the darkened hallway. Inside, the room was tidier than what little George had glimpsed last time: a big bed with delicately embroidered sheets, covered mirrors, and high windows that let the light from the early afternoon spill onto the parquet floor. 

Near the spacious balcony to the right, Dream hunched over something George couldn’t quite see from a distance.

“Dream?” he called out, not wanting to startle the man. 

Dream looked up and waved him over. For a moment, the mask shimmered, almost like it was made of smoke instead of solid porcelain, but George blinked and the etched smile was back in place, unmoved. 

Probably a trick of the light, he thought to himself, but his attention was completely diverted to the glass dome that had been hidden by Dream’s frame. Now, George could see there was a single white rose gently floating inside the glass, with a bed of the same snow-white petals strewn under it. The rose swayed around its axis, and there was no doubt George was witnessing some powerful magic right before his very eyes.

Holy shit.

“Another petal fell today,” Dream murmured, snapping George’s attention away from the hypnotic rhythm of the rose. 

He could see it. Despite the fact that it was magical, the flower didn’t look that healthy, the crown of petals not as full as it could have been. However, he had no idea why Dream’s voice sounded so hollow. 

“I imagine everyone must be a little fussy today. We can all feel it,” the man continued, running a single claw down the glass, almost like a caress. “I’m usually a lot more – violent when it happens. But I just feel sort of… empty, this time around.”

That didn’t make any sense. Dream had never been violent. Moody? Yes. But George had yet to meet the person responsible for all the ripped tapestries that decorated this part of the castle. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I was given this rose along with the curse,” Dream explained, tapping the glass. “This is nothing but an hourglass dressed as something beautiful.”

“I still don’t get it.”

Dream sighed, stepping away from the small table. George shot one last glance at the rose before following him out to the balcony. Dream hunched over the guardrail, the fur of his collar swaying gently in the chill wind. George, clad only in his long-sleeved shirt, crossed his arms over his chest and came to stand by Dream’s side, sighing when Dream’s much larger frame offered him some shelter from the wind.

The silence stretched for a few moments. More than ever, George wished he could see Dream’s expression. 

“If the last petal falls and the curse remains unbroken, it will stay like this forever. I will be a beast forever.”

“Dream…”

“It’s fine,” he cut him off, not unkind. George had no idea what he could say other than I’m sorry. “I think I’ve finally made my peace with it.”

That sounded way too sad. In the months of their friendship, George had come to regard Dream with no shortage of admiration. He was so full of life, so full of funny jokes and ideas and warmth, so unlike most of everyone back in his village, that it seemed a twisted joke of fate that he would be trapped inside the castle like this forever. 

He couldn’t give up.

“You can’t!” George reached out, touching Dream’s arm to make sure he was paying attention. “We should – I could help. We could go to the village and I could talk to people, they would see –”

“Thank you, my friend,” Dream interrupted him again – and for the quickest of seconds, George could have sworn he saw the shadow of pinched eyebrows behind the white of the mask. “But I think – I’d rather not talk about it right now. It’s a delicate matter on a day like this.”

With a reluctant nod, George agreed to let the subject drop for now. 

Dream huffed a laugh like he could hear George’s thoughts, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he fiddled with his large cape, taking it off his shoulders and winding it around George’s body, warmth immediately engulfing him. 

He is always so kind, George thought. Quick-tempered and a bit rough, but always kind. 

His stupid heart skipped a beat and he averted his eyes, feeling his face grow warm. Gods. George should stop mistaking Dream’s care for the other type of affection he so dearly craved.

He gave you a library, that hopefully little voice inside him piped up. 

He’s lonely, George argued back. He would’ve done it for anyone else.

The fact that George even had to have this conversation with himself was not a good sign. 

In his mind’s eye, he conjured the beast’s way of smiling, how careful he was with his claws, his wheezing laughter. Even after they had grown comfortable as friends, Dream had always seemed mindful of how he touched George; to make contact with the soft curve of his palms, rather than his clawed hands. George wondered what it would feel like if those claws, instead of being always so carefully kept away, were touched by his own fingers. What it would feel like to reach up and touch the horns sprouting from behind the mask, or even the feathery-looking fuzz that cascaded down Dream’s back like a full mane. He found himself wondering what Dream would look like as he did it – what his smile would look like, if his eyes would widen in surprise or if he would relax against George’s hands, to have the beast’s hands receive the same attention human hands deserved and to keep him by George’s side –

George clenched his fists, the bite of his nails putting a stop to his train of thought before all his carefully constructed walls came crashing down. Carefully, he breathed out, breath misting in the air as he pulled the cloak more tightly around his frame. 

“You don’t need to do this,” he mumbled, keenly aware of how every single piece of clothing he wore lately was borrowed from the castle, that he had been growing lax with thinking of them as his. Nothing here belonged to him, not truly. “It’s not even that cold.”

“I know. But you might also want to check the pockets in that thing,” Dream said with a little motion of his hand, looking away like he was feeling coy. George did not let his eyes linger on his claws. “There’s something in there I’ve been meaning to give you.”

Curiosity piqued and grateful for the distraction, George patted the folds of the cape, finding a heavy bundle in the front pocket. The fabric was light gray and frayed at the edges, different from the deep green keeping him warm, and once George unspooled it, he found an ornate hand mirror. It was silver, a blue gem on the handle and a rose etched into the very top, with shiny, delicate leaves framing the glass itself, the fine work of a true craftsman evident in how realistic everything looked. 

Astonished, George found his own slack expression looking back at him. This was too much, even in the grand scheme of Dream’s generosity. 

So kind. Always so damn kind to him. 

“Huh… Thank you?” his words came out sounding more like a question than he had meant to, twisting the mirror delicately in his hands. On the back, there was another rose engraved into the surface, and George found himself running his nail along the divots, anything to distract him from the butterflies swarming his stomach.  

“It’s a magic mirror, George. I found it a while ago and I just… I think you might like it.”

“What does it do?”

Dream shrugged, looking away for a moment. George let out another deep breath, trying to compose himself. 

This was nothing to get worked up over. Admittedly, the greenhouse had been wonderful, a true marvel of a gift, so his reaction had been more than justified. This was simply a mirror. George’s heart better calm down. 

He had almost convinced himself that there was nothing Dream could say that would impress him when the man cleared his throat, bringing George’s attention back to him. 

“It shows you anyone you want, and I’m pretty sure you can talk to them,” he said, and George’s thoughts ground to a halt, frozen. “I thought you could use it to talk to your sister, if you wish to do so.”

Oh. Dream really was way too generous for his own good.

“I’m not – that wouldn’t be wise.” George blinked away the sudden wetness in his eyes, closing his hand into a painful fist around the mirror to keep himself grounded. 

There were thorny vines growing around his heart. Inadvertently, Dream had pushed George right against them. 

But – the swaying rose came to the forefront of his mind. Impossibly on display, he had seen Dream’s own vulnerability just mere moments ago. The fact that Dream had chosen to show it to him when he could have just as easily brushed him off made George feel almost inadequate, shivering inside the man’s coat while he still tried to hide himself away. 

It wasn’t fair. It was also very cowardly.

“We had a fight before I left home,” he said, forcing the words out. “Seeing her now would be… I don’t want that.”

“I’m sorry, I – I thought this would be a good thing,” Dream apologized, his voice small and clearly regretful. 

George couldn’t have that. It wasn’t his fault George was a walking snare, ready to spring at the smallest amount of pressure.  

“No – of course it is. I appreciate it. I just – it hurts, just thinking about her,” he admitted in a single breath, rushing the words out of him like he could avoid the memories, too. 

Gia with her dark hair pulled back, face all blotchy from exertion. Her dark eyes narrowed at George, the flippancy in her words cutting deeper than any butcher’s knife. 

Why don’t you just marry her? It’s not like any of us will find Prince Charming anyway.

The night had been quiet that particular evening. No chirping birds or swishing leaves to soften the blow of her words. 

Prince Charming? 

His voice had cracked then, blood pouring from the wound. How could she have known? Had George not been safe?

George. Come on. You never fooled anyone. 

Gia had known. His mother, too, most likely. No wonder she had nothing but disdain for her only son, but still he had been forced to keep the charade up, lest the town figure it out – or even worse, cast out their entire family because of George’s misgivings. 

But an arranged marriage had been too much. The metaphorical straw to crack the camel’s back, to send all of George’s carefully placed cards – all the avoidance games, all the carefully redirected questions – into a broken mess of nothingness, because at the end of the day, there was no escaping responsibility with a widowed mother and a sister who had no prospects as long as George remained unmarried. 

The idea of running away had always been a little seedling of hope at the back of his mind, that had slowly taken root over the years, growing strong with the morsels of attention George dedicated to it in the quiet moments before sunrise. Tucked safely in the back of his closet, there had been a couple of neatly packed bundles of provisions and warm clothes, enough to keep two people safe on the road for a while. 

One for him and one for Gia. No more, no less. Never in all his years of planning had George considered the possibility of leaving home by himself.

The mirror shimmered silver in his hand, a flash of long dark hair and sharp eyebrows before George turned it away, hands shaking. It had been almost a whole year, but he could not stomach the idea of facing his little sister again. Her words still haunted him sometimes at night. Had she cried when morning came and the bed by her side had been empty? Had she tried to find him, or had she joined their mother in a quiet sigh of relief that there was no longer a burden in their household?

Nausea made him almost falter where he stood. He was in dire need of a distraction.

“How did you come about this anyway?” he asked Dream, taking deep, measured breaths to try and re-center himself. 

He was here. Safe in Dream’s castle, clad in the man’s clothes and being offered a lot more kindness than he deserved. 

I wonder if he would still act like this if he knew. 

“It’s always been here,” Dream promptly answered his question, easing some of the pressure off George’s chest. This was perfect. He hoped to any god listening to this would end up being one of Dream’s long-winded stories, with enough twists and turns George could lose himself in them. 

“I never used it other than to look for Patches when she went missing last year. She looked so surprised, but she did recognize my voice, and even meowed at me when I talked to her,” the man sounded like he was smiling, making George smile in tandem, the troubled waters of his heart starting to calm down a little. 

He came to sit against the large lip of the balustrade, back turned to the gardens below them. Dream was resting on his elbows, spine bowed in an arch, regal despite the horns lying heavy among his curls – not for the first time, George’s fingers itched with the need to touch them, learn their texture and the angles of their curves. 

Dream gestured for the mirror and George passed it to him silently, watching him turn it this and that way. He held it up to his face for a moment, scoffing at whatever he saw in the reflection. He wondered if Dream could see himself, or if the curse also clouded his vision like it did George’s. 

“I once asked to show me my princess and the only thing I saw was this darned mask looking back at me. Foolish, right?”

George’s heart squeezed. No one really understood the depth of this curse, did they? No one but Dream, it seemed.

“No, not at all.” George reached out to touch Dream’s arm again, offering the comfort his words couldn’t. “Come on. It’s way too chilly out here. We should ask Sam to make us some nice soup tonight.”

Dream nodded and together they made their way down the stairs. George pocketed the mirror when Dream passed it back to him, if only to keep it away from him. Magic had been nothing but cruel to Dream, and if it were up to George, he would make sure to keep him as far away from it as he could. 

8

Fall came to a close without fanfare, the colder weather settling over the castle. 

George and Dream grew even closer. Patches had taken up residence in George’s room, which served as a delightful excuse to bribe Dream out of his gloomy quarters and into George’s. More than once they fell asleep in his antechamber, and in the morning George’s eyes would linger on Dream’s relaxed shoulders, mind too fogged by sleep to have its barriers in place yet. 

He had no idea what to do with the growing warmth in his gut whenever he heard Dream’s laughter, or how his stomach swooped when he dropped his voice to impersonate a villain in whatever book they were reading together. He did his best to find distractions for them, going as far as taking up archery and horse-riding, with varying levels of success. 

The days were growing colder, sunlight not as abundant as before, but despite the deeper shadows hanging over every little nook, George kept finding reasons to fall even deeper in love with the castle. There were the big windows and the amazing view from the snowy peaks outside, the vast mountain range that disappeared into the horizon. Snowdrops bloomed inside his greenhouse, the air humid and arm like a little bit of summer had been forgotten inside. Sam’s cooking started to include roasted pork and hearty soups, the evening of his birthday spent together with all the residents of the castle helping to make dumplings just because George had said in passing that he missed it. 

The fact that Dream had been the one to suggest it, all shy and sweet, had not helped matters at all. George’s hands had been caked with flour and his cheeks dusted pink after hours pressed close to Dream’s frame, arms brushing as they rolled the dough and cut it into circles, fingers bumping every so often. Dream’s claws kept him from being able to really help with the folding part of the process, but that didn’t mean the man didn’t try. 

When placed side by side, it was clear Dream’s dumplings were bulkier and more of a scrunch than a careful fold but Sam praised them both equally, with such earnest affection in his voice that it would have been cruel to even joke about it. Moments like this were rare, where Dream visibly relaxed in the presence of one of his cursed servants, and George felt like any too-brusque move would break the gentle atmosphere. 

So he sat there listening to the two of them talk as everyone else got back to their duties with a promise to return soon once the food was done. The smell of pork and ginger floated in the kitchen as the dumplings cooked, and there was a small lull in the conversation when Dream got up to retrieve a small box from the pantry. 

“Here – happy birthday,” Dream mumbled, tips of his ears a visible red, and George grabbed it before he could change his mind.

Inside, there was a small cake, with uneven blue icing and little spirals that, if George squinted, could pass as flowers. Delicately, he pulled out of the box, seeing how there were patches where the fondant was a bit uneven, showing peeks of what was underneath, layers all odd looking and chunky. 

It was sort of perfect. George couldn’t recall the last time he had gotten anything like this.

“Did you make this for me?”

Dream’s entire body seemed to deflate when he nodded, shoulders coming up almost to his horns. George had not meant to make him feel ashamed, but his words had sounded strained, way too choked up by his feelings to be able to properly convey how wonderful this was. His fault for being so inarticulate – for having so much to hide, a heart that was full of the wrong type of affection towards his host – and it was a shame Dream had to pay the price for it. 

“Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t – we can ask Sam to bake you a proper cake –”

“Shut up – no, this is mine,” George practically hissed at Dream, sliding the cake closer to his body. “What’s the flavor?”

“Chocolate.”

“Good,” George said with an encouraging smile, cutting himself a generous slice. Now that Dream sounded shy instead of horrified, he could relax his hold on the plate. “Can never go wrong with chocolate.”

It only took a bite for George to be proven wrong. The cake was dry and tasted way too sweet on his tongue, the buttery icing heavy and a bit tacky, giving away Dream’s inexperience. George tried his best to mask his distaste, even going as far as taking another huge bite, but Dream caught onto his ruse easily enough.

“Oh no. Does it taste that bad?”

George shook his head, almost choking when he swallowed it down. “What are you talking about? This is sooo good,” he tried to sound like Sam had earlier, all encouraging and nice, failing miserably. He stood his ground, though, finishing his slice with three more bites, mechanically working his jaw and not looking away from Dream’s ceramic mask.

Clear as day, George could almost see the disbelief in Dream’s hidden face. 

His efforts were in vain, though, because true to his stubborn self, Dream grabbed the plate and cut himself a small slice, stuffing it into his mouth before George could snatch it away.

The seconds went by as Dream chewed on it. You could hear a pin drop in the kitchen, as even Sam’s attention was entirely focused on Dream. 

“George – this is awful,” the beast groaned. “Good heavens.”

Dream reached out like he wanted to throw it away together with all the discarded leftovers from their cooking, but George got up from his seat, tugging on his arm.  

“No! You can’t throw it away like that. It’s my birthday,” he complained, trying to drag Dream’s massive build away from the table. “I will eat the cake you made me. You cannot stop me.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dream huffed, but let himself be ushered back into his seat, sounding rather fond if George could say so himself.  

He grinned. He sat down once more and cut himself another slice, feeling like he had accomplished something – even if his stomach churned in protest at every single little bit he swallowed down. 

The arrival of winter also meant George had to layer up, since his wardrobe was still a work in progress. He had a decent array of shirts and three pairs of pants, comfortable pajamas, and a dinner jacket Skeppy had fixed up for him, but they didn’t cut it once the chill really started to settle into the walls. 

It was a bit awkward to ask Skeppy for hand-me-downs, but he promptly delivered, with the type of manic efficiency that amazed George to no end. The bundle was left on his bed and, once unwrapped, he found a sweater and a couple of shirts that were so soft to the touch he couldn’t help but sigh, rubbing his face against the fabric. Ranging from gray to green and deep maroon, they were mostly the same size and style, a classic cut with lacing on the chest that would be pretty easy to adjust, even if the sleeves were longer than George’s usual attire. 

So far, Skeppy had always presented him with second-hand clothes with impeccably tailored fits that sat on George’s frame better than any shirt ever had, so it was odd that this time his pants had to be folded up twice just to avoid him tripping over them. Maybe he was busy – maybe Dream had finally asked him to fix the torn curtains in his bedroom – and George wasn’t a priority, so he decided to not ask about it, already grateful beyond measure that his body wasn’t perpetually chilled anymore.

Besides. The clothes were comfortable. George loved the feel of the fabric against his skin, no matter how silly he might look layered up in a sweater that was two sizes too big on him. It was clear they had belonged to someone noble, as no commoner’s fabric was spun so carefully. 

The new clothes also had the added effect of rendering Dream a bit speechless the first time he found George curled up by the fireplace in the library wearing the big sweater and pants, something that did not escape George’s attention. 

“Something wrong, Dream?” he asked with a grin, tucking his knees under his chin, watching him carefully from under his lashes. 

Dream stammered out a reply, sitting down in the chair by George’s side. “Not at all, I’m glad Skeppy managed to find you warm clothes, even if they’re… big, on you.”

He didn’t sound like he minded it, quite the opposite. After so many months of having just Dream’s voice and body language to aid him in their interactions, George had become a sort of expert on the matter, and what he heard right now in Dream’s voice almost sounded like satisfaction.

George’s heart skipped a beat at that realization. His mind, however, didn’t know what to do with it. 

“Who did these belong to, anyway?” he deflected instead, making a show of how wide the collar of the sweater was on him. “The castle must have been filled with giants. Where are you hiding them, Dream?”

“Those were mine, actually. I, huh – Skeppy told me you needed winter clothes and those were the warmest I had.” 

“Oh.”

George hated how he could feel his cheeks grow warm, his chest so agitated that he was sure if he opened his mouth to speak, the air would be filled with the silvery wings of a thousand butterflies. His own heart seemed to grow wings of its own. 

There were no words between them. George shuffled in his seat and Dream cleared his throat, probably not even aware of how meaningful his gesture was. Gratitude had George tongue-tied, not used to such kindness from a man he harbored feelings for. In the past, the very few instances he had grown infatuated had been over men who were burly and loud-spoken, safe to admire from afar for how little they cared about George. In his childhood, there had been a boy who had grown into one of those men right in front of his eyes, a boy who had given him his first kiss only to run away with the miller’s daughter the moment she batted her pretty eyes at him. 

This was new. To have someone care about him so freely, with such sincerity and zero expectations of what George would be able to give back for their affection. With the exception of his sister, love had been transactional at best, silenced at worst.   

Even if Dream did not care for him the way George wanted to – he wanted a princess, George had to keep reminding himself of that – it was still a lot more than what he had ever received. 

There must be a way to repay his kindness.

He was taken out of his reverie by a tentative touch against his arm – there were human fingers touching his elbow, gone when he blinked. Dream’s hand retracted, claws and scales still in place, only to offer him a sizeable bundle, carefully wrapped with a satin bow.

“I got you this,” Dream told him as George accepted the gift, mask tilted sideways in that cute little way that had George’s heart fluttering, a caged bird asking to be let out. “I asked Skeppy to have it tailor-made for you.”

With slightly shaky fingers, he undid the bow and opened the parcel. Inside, he was met with velvet and wool, silvery strands embroidered onto dark indigo fabric making it look so close to the night sky he was almost afraid a rougher touch would dissolve it into stardust. The coat was long and lined with soft wool, white and fluffy like a cloud. Wordlessly, George got on his feet to hold it out and get a better look, speechless at how beautiful it was. There were so many little details everywhere: the buttons along the chest were dark and etched with half-moons, while the cuffs had the same style of embroidery as the shoulders and chest, only a little more delicate, with smaller constellations connected in dotted silver lines. 

All in all, the coat spoke of wealth and, above all else, time. Dream must have asked for this weeks in advance, probably months. 

“This is beautiful,” were the first words out of his mouth, still holding up the coat to appreciate it from all angles. “I can’t accept it.”

“Nonsense. You like it, right?” With George’s dumbfounded nod, Dream’s voice only grew warmer. “So keep it. It’ll be good for the coming winter. I made sure to ask for something that would allow you to move and still look… nice. Took inspiration from those frescos you like.”

This was too much. Dream needed to stop or George would be forced to do something they’d both regret – like kissing his stupid mask, no matter how silly the idea was.  

“I did monopolize Skeppy’s time… No wonder he couldn’t fix those for you,” Dream continued, oblivious, motioning towards George’s oversized outfit. “You could ask him now, though, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

As if. Now that George knew these were Dream’s clothes he was wearing, there was no way he would ever ask Skeppy for any changes. Later when he retreated to his room, he was sure he would be overwhelmed by all the thoughts wrestling to be let out at this moment, one worse than the other. Dream had no idea the Pandora’s box he had accidentally cleaved open with his blundering kindness.

“There’s no need. I quite like them like this.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. It was an echo of the rattling boxes pushed deep inside his head, their constant nagging at him harder and harder to ignore, but at least Dream didn’t take it badly – maybe the implications flew over his head, harmless, ignored by the shrug of his shoulders. 

Carefully, George folded his new coat and put it aside, feeling like he had been scrubbed raw from the array of emotions he had experienced in the last half hour or so.

“You need to stop giving me things, my birthday was two weeks ago, you know? The cake was more than enough.”

“I don’t mind,” Dream replied with another shrug, putting his book aside to give George his full attention once again. “I like giving you things.”

For the sake of his own sanity, George was not going to address that comment. “Come on, Dream – at least tell me when it’s yours so I can give you something back. I don’t like feeling indebted to you.”

There was a pause. George could practically see Dream retreat into himself. His hands started fidgeting with a loose thread on the chair upholstery, a move that betrayed the fickle nature of Dream’s attention, how easily it was lost. George wished he had claws like Dream did, if only so he could sink them into the wispy fabric of his focus to keep it always wrapped tight around him.

“You aren’t,” Dream shook his head, sounding distant even if he hadn’t moved an inch. “Besides – I can’t tell you that. I actually don’t remember the date anymore.”

“Really?”

“I can’t remember a lot of things,” Dream said, making George’s heart ache for him in a different way, much more tender. Every time he thought he understood the extent of the curse, Dream pulled back the curtains to reveal another facet of its cruelty. “It’s easier to forget, I guess… At least the curse helps with that.”

George shook his head. Before he could think too much, he reached out to place his hand right by Dream’s on the guardrail. The marble was freezing under his fingers, only emphasizing how warmth seeped out of Dream’s skin and into the cold air. They weren’t touching – this was more of an offer than anything else.

“You don’t remember anything? At all?”

“I mean – I remember it was usually warm and sunny, so I imagine my birthday was around summertime,” Dream answered quietly. Slowly, he closed the gap between their hands, one clawed pinkie bumping against his own. “Guess you’ll have to stick around till next year.”

“Guess so.”

9 

The conversation stayed with George for the days that followed, Dream’s phantom touch against his hand impossible to forget. 

There was no more ignoring the rattling at the back of his mind, not with the way his entire body seemed intent on betraying him. Whenever Dream laughed that full-body laugh of his, George’s stomach would flutter and his lips would curl up to match his happiness with some amusement of his own, even if whatever comment had set Dream off had been mid at best. It seemed like he was struck by lightning at the most casual of touches – Dream’s hand squeezing his shoulder, their legs bushing under the dinner table –, and their afternoons in the library had become pure torture ever since they had picked a book whose main character was a villain. Dream had way too much fun making his voice go all low and menacing, unaware that George’s frown had less to do with whatever carnage was going on between the pages and everything to do with how his lowered timbre never failed to raise goosebumps on his arms.

And – most damming of all – George kept seeing things he was pretty sure he shouldn’t be able to: little glimpses of Dream’s nose he would catch just out of the corner of his eye, the curve of his fingertips and the pink skin that would shimmer underneath the dark scales for the briefest moment where Dream touched his hand to ask for something. After almost a week of double-takes and long hours of doubting his own sanity, he came to the tentative conclusion that it had to do with the curse itself, that magic had to be involved somehow. No one else was able to see it, and while George was more than familiar with denial as a form of self-defense, there was only so far his acting could fool himself.

Denial had become a punishment of sorts. 

Dream’s smile was bright behind the mask. The very few, precious seconds it took for the glamor to flicker back into place were more than enough to shatter what little was left of his walls. 

Is there a way to break the curse?

True love.

George was falling in love with Dream.

But lifting the veil of denial also brought light to another realization, so damning in its simplicity that stole his breath away: no matter what he felt for Dream, the curse was still in place. His love might not be enough. The spell flickered but never shattered, and Dream was running out of time.

George – he couldn’t do it, could he? Dream’s heart wanted a princess and maybe the curse had a way of knowing that. What was the love of a common man worth, after all? Certainly not enough to release a man from such a terrible fate.

It was a blue type of feeling, bitter, settling heavily in the depths of his being. That afternoon, George crawled into his comfortable bed like a child, letting out tears he had been holding back since he had left home. He hated crying. Hated the way it made his face all warm, how tacky his skin felt after the tears dried, how it left his eyes itchy and throat raw. 

He thought leaving home had been the hardest decision he would ever have to make. Not a year later, he was faced with a decision that was going to put that to a test. 

After he was done drying the tears from his clammy skin, he turned onto his side with a sigh. His chest hurt something fierce, but he didn’t hesitate to reach for his bedside table, opening the single drawer underneath. His hand found the ornate handle of the mirror Dream had given him and he brought it up to his face. He ignored the red-rimmed eyes looking back at him, focusing instead on Dream’s vague instructions from that day.

Say her name. Patches meowed at Dream. Maybe Gia will be able to hear me. 

“Show me my sister,” he asked, and his silver reflection flashed, erasing his puffy red eyes from view. “I want to talk to Gia.”

Nothing really changed after that night. George was way too selfish to truly distance himself from Dream. In the aftermath of his brief talk with his sister through the magic mirror, there was a strange emptiness inside him, hollow bones and an empty chest that would allow him to take flight if he so desired. 

But the thing was – he didn’t. He quite liked the life he had built for himself in the castle, still in its bare bones but so good it pained him to think he was mere weeks away from losing it. 

Much like Dream, George was on borrowed time, waiting for the moment the castle doors would open to welcome his little sister to all the grandeur she deserved. She had been shocked to see him – George had no idea what her side of the conversation had looked like –  and her surprise melted into anger, and it had taken a good while for her to stop cursing at him for her anger to calmed down enough to hear him out. 

I’m safe. He had told her, ignoring the lump in his throat. There is space for you here. A nice man who took me in, who is funny and so very kind. 

She hadn’t looked too convinced, but there was a scar on the side of her temple that hadn’t been there before, and her eyes had a wet sheen to them that made George’s heart squeeze in sympathy. George prayed his mother hadn’t done more damage than that. 

Are you happy, George?

Yeah. As much as I can be.

He couldn’t quite decide if it was a blessing or a curse to know everything was out of his hands now, a type of resignation that reminded him of Dream on that balcony. Frozen in place. 

Per George’s request, Gia was coming to see him. In no more than three weeks, the castle would have another guest – not a princess, but a woman, someone kind and enough of a romantic that might be able to break the spell. If anyone would ever fit into the fairytale romance, that would be Gia. Dream deserved someone soft like her.

“So… you want us to throw a ball?” Puffy asked, breaking the stunned silence that had followed George’s words. 

“Just a little… a little celebration to raise everyone’s spirits. Before the year ends.”

George looked around the room where he had gathered everyone. Dream was out with Sapnap getting wood for the fireplaces, one of the few instances where he left the castle without George’s company. So George hadn’t wasted a moment before he was sprinting down the halls, looking for anyone that would be able to help him. 

He was working with a very tight timeframe after all.

“I like it,” Skeppy piped up from his corner, his coat hanger arms raised to call for attention, “A ball sounds perfect. Did you know I made a new jacket for the master and he hasn’t worn it yet? We cannot let my hard work go to waste, George.”

“Skeppy, don’t be selfish.”

“Bad, come on – we all agreed it would be beneficial –”

Everyone suddenly had an opinion about it, and despite it all George sort of missed Dream’s presence. If anything else failed, he could always count on him taking George’s side. 

Fuck. This was the type of thought that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

“Okay, fine – fine. We can do it,” Puffy conceded, her voice pitched with the authority of someone used to ruling the castle in Dream’s absence. “Do you really want it to be a surprise?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Puffy nodded, and with the gravitas of someone rallying troops, she started doling out tasks to every single person in attendance, George included.

There was a menu to be cooked and furniture to be dusted, curtains that needed to be washed and a myriad of other little tasks George hadn’t even considered. His only responsibility, however, consisted in keeping Dream busy, a perfect parallel to when Dream had been the one scheming behind his back. A simple ball would never measure up to the beauty of his greenhouse, but it was still a sweet gesture, something to wrap up this little period where it was just the two of them. Pretty soon, Gia would be here, and Dream’s attention would be turned towards someone who deserved it. 

As they stood right now, George was merely an obstacle blocking Dream’s path to break the curse. His love wasn’t right, for as much as it hurt to admit it. When the time came, he would swiftly fall to the sidelines, loving Dream from the place of a best friend and confidant, helping him find the perfect girl and hope they’d allow him to stay with them, a small footnote in the grandeur of their fairytale romance.  

This was a foolproof plan. If it was selfish to have one big shindig before he buried his feelings forever, George could not care less about it. This was the one little indulgence he would allow himself to have.

Needless to say, Dream easily caught onto it, but unlike George he managed to be graceful about being deceived, grinning whenever George came up with a flimsy excuse for whatever task had made him late for their dinners. 

“You know I can tell you’re lying through your teeth, right?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I was helping Sapnap in the gardens.”

“Yup, of course you were.” Dream chuckled, shaking his head. “In this weather. Dressed like that.”

“Shut up.”

If it had been George in his shoes, he would have pestered Dream until he yielded. With the horns and the mask and the whole beast thing, it was easy to forget Dream had been raised a royal – a fact George was reminded of every so often when the man actually managed to be gracious. Case in point: whenever he caught George in a white lie, he would only hum and nod his head, mask tilted to the side like he could see straight through George.

You can’t, George would taunt inside his own head. There was no way Dream could figure anything out. I’m safe. 

Still. The smugness radiating from Dream was impossible to miss.

It stayed like that for the entire week that it took to set everything up. Every day that went by twisted the knot of anxiety a bit tighter in his gut. Gia was supposed to arrive any day now. Last time he had checked, he had seen her inside a carriage, the mountain range outside the window familiar enough to send a chill of dread down George’s spine. 

He really was running out of time. 

He tried to be happy about it. 

George had never seen something quite like this. 

Stepping into the ballroom felt like entering a realm suspended in time, a live painting of a bygone era of elegance and splendor that he hadn’t found anywhere in the castle yet. The floors were marble and sleek like ice, stretching like an endless mirror that reflected the pillars lining the room, each of them carved with roses and vines that looked almost alive. Massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the candles all lit up in a breathtaking display - almost like a comet had been caught midair and hung up by golden chains, or something equally as magical. The walls were decorated with tall mirrors and intricate tapestries, soft to the touch when he walked up to one of them. 

There was so much to see in here that George was almost overwhelmed. Soft violin played from somewhere up on the balcony where he caught a glimpse of Puffy’s feathers swishing against the floor, but other than that George was entirely alone. If he squinted, he could almost picture this room filled with couples swaying to the music, the swish of dresses and lively conversation and the thrum of life that such a big space as this wordlessly demanded.

Maybe someday soon Dream would be able to have a proper ball in here. Maybe George would even be invited. 

Outside, the sky was turning from lilac to an indigo blue, not a single star visible yet, and George fiddled with the cuffs of his brand-new coat. It was a balancing act to keep himself present at the moment when all his focus seemed to flicker towards the impending arrival of his sister - pulling it back was like fighting the elusive dance of a fish determined to slip away from the grasp of his reel. 

The faint rap of claws against the polished floor had George turning around, meeting Dream’s mask with a nervous smile. His heart fluttered, grew wings and took flight, lodging itself in his throat, hopeless in how it wanted to be let out. 

Dream was in a beautiful coat, velvet green that shimmered softly with each step that brought them closer together. There were irises and poppies embroidered across his chest, as well as some smaller flowers George couldn’t recognize making up an intricate pattern down his waist – no roses in sight. Dream’s hair was also different: pushed back and half-braided around his head like a crown, it allowed George to catch a glimpse of his pointy ears, covered with the same peach-fuzz of his neck. 

He came to a stop in front of George, bowing his head with perfect posture. “You look beautiful,” Dream said, making George flush. “Goes without saying, but you did a marvelous job keeping this secret.”

“You had no idea, did you?” George asked instead of complimenting the width of Dream’s shoulders in his new coat, a true feat of self-restraint. “Poor Dream. Deceived inside his own home.”

“Come on. I knew you were up to something, I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Dream said all amused, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. “You look so c– so smug. I knew it’d be worth more to wait.”

“That’s dumb.” George shook his head and smiled, the familiarity of their banter spreading over his nerves like a balm. Finally, he allowed himself to feel the joy of being here in this moment with Dream, surrounded by so much beauty it was easy to forget about any other ugly feeling festering inside his heart.

For now, he had Dream’s entire attention on him. That was more than enough. He should make the best of it.  

Dream seemed to be in agreement, effortlessly in tune with George’s mood. He held out one clawed hand, pink palm facing the ceiling. “Can I have this dance?”

There wasn’t even a doubt in George’s mind.

“Don’t step on my feet,” he teased and delicately placed his hand in Dream’s. His hand looked so small – so damn fragile, undoubtedly human – but Dream didn’t allow him much time to dwell on it, placing his other hand on the small of George’s waist after just a moment of hesitancy.

“Of course. I’d never.” The man chuckled, mask flickering in place for the briefest, most painful of seconds. Dream’s smile must be so pretty.

They stumbled through the first steps of a waltz, laughing quietly together. “I’ll take the lead then,” Dream said like a question, like George would ever be able to count their steps and keep himself in check while so close to him. 

“Yeah. You should.”

It took a few bars for their steps to sync. Clearly, Dream was not used to dancing anymore, as he kept moving a quarter of a beat ahead in his haste, but after a mumbled apology he tried again, and once more when he did it again. George could only smile, hopelessly endeared, and soon enough there was a slight pressure against his waist as Dream’s grip became more confident, and finally they were dancing properly.

George’s gaze kept being drawn to Dream’s masked face. He was twirled around and guided in a wide circle, uncaring to look over his shoulder to check if Dream would make them hit a pillar or not. The stupid mask kept shimmering under the glow of the chandeliers and George’s hand twitched with the need to reach out and tear it off Dream’s face piece by piece. 

Break the spell, he thought to himself. Another step and a half-turn, the feathery texture of Dream’s hair morphing into golden ringlets for a brief half-second like the dying embers of a campfire that refused to go out. Break, break, break.

Dream twirled him again and on the return spin George was eased into a dip, the world shifting on its axis. The curse, however, stayed firmly in place. 

Dream’s laugh washed over him, more important than anything else. The music picked up the pace and swelled, the violin gliding through the rhythm with rich notes that seemed to dance in the air, keeping them company in the empty ballroom. Dream’s posture relaxed and his steps lost the edge of formality, bringing forth a newfound sense of joy whenever he improvised a step or added an extra spin just to make George laugh. 

It was different than any dance George had ever taken part in, a back and forth between two people who had no one to impress but each other – it felt like a silly competition or the made-up games Dream came up with to distract them during the longer days of winter –, familiar in how easy it was to forget the world around them. 

The music came to a close and they bowed to each other, a playful grin on George’s lips he was sure was mirrored behind Dream’s mask. Dream tilted his head and nudged George forward, the hand on his back guiding him away from the center of the ballroom. 

Much to George’s surprise, they ended up on a small balcony outside, the chill air of the evening tickling his heated face. The glass doors let the golden light from the chandeliers spill out like a single beam of summer trailing after them, a little path back to the warmth inside. It was very much reminiscent of that night when he had seen the rose for the first time, but George didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He was sure Dream already thought about the curse enough for the both of them. 

“Going to give me another magic mirror, my Lord?”

Dream shook his head, chuckling softly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, I have no other magical item other than the rose, and I’m sure you’d rather keep your distance from that.”

“Mhn, who knows?” George shrugged, watching their breaths turn into mist in the cold air. “Maybe I’d turn into something cool - maybe I’d get feathers and I wouldn’t be freezing all the time.”

Dream was stunned into silence for only a moment, but then he huffed, shaking his head. “We can go back inside if you want.”

George shook his head, taking a step closer to the guardrail. “Nonsense. It’s quite pretty out here.”

And it was. The mountains looked straight out of a Christmas card with their snow-white peaks. The stars dotted the sky in so many constellations they would need hours to identify every one of them. Knowing Dream, he would know all the stories behind each of them, and George could almost hear his voice rambling about which ones he found more interesting than the others. 

A smile came over his lips and he had to shake his head. The real Dream was right by his side and here he was, daydreaming about him. He really was a lost cause, wasn’t he?

“George,” Dream mumbled, managing to capture George’s attention. His claws drummed against the marble guardrail. “Are you… happy here? With me – and everyone else?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

It was Dream’s turn to shrug, his feathery hair bristling a bit like a baby chicken in distress. “Curiosity I guess.”

He had no right to be this adorable. George sighed, smiling despite himself. “I guess it’s not too bad.”

Luckily, his vague answer was enough for Dream. Unlike so many others, Dream seemed to hear everything that went unsaid. A true feat, really, one that George secretly held in high esteem. 

I love you. Oh, of all the words he couldn’t say, those seemed to be forever lodged in his throat, their sharp edges making him bleed. I love you so much.

“I’m very grateful you put this together, George,” Dream started, voice going near that soft timbre George recognized from their time in the library whenever he sounded like this. “I’m… I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much. Before I met you I was just – miserable. Sad. I could barely look anyone in the eyes from how guilty I was.”

“Dream, don’t –”

“Please, let me talk? I want to thank you. For being my friend, for helping me open up again – not only to you, but to the others as well. I don’t know what made you leave your old life behind – and it might be selfish of me to think so, my apologies – but I am so very glad you found your way here.”

I love you, he thought to himself again, squinting at the mask.  

“I never expected to find something like this. You were so kind to me, even when you were being rude or acting like an idiot,” George grinned – and before he lost his nerve, he added, out of the blue and without preamble, “I talked to my sister through the mirror, did you know that? We hadn’t spoken in almost a year.”

Despite the mask, George could feel Dream’s surprise, evident in the little gasp that prefaced his words, “George that’s wonderful!”

“Yeah, I guess it is… I invited her here, is that okay? I’m sorry I didn’t ask, it just–”

“This is your home, too.” Dream’s voice was soft, so soft. Home had never meant anything remotely close to what he had found here, with all the warmth Dream so easily doled out. “You can invite anyone you’d like, I can make myself scarce whenever she arrives.”

If Dream only knew. 

“No, please. I want you to meet her.”

“Yeah - yes, of course. I’d like that.”

Not for the first time, George wished he could see Dream’s face, but this time his intentions were tinted green at the edges, jealousy of the future. If his plan worked – it had to, Dream did not deserve to live a cursed life forever – Gia would probably be the first one to see it, and that bothered George more than anything right now. 

Here, on the cold balcony of Dream’s castle, looking up at the unmoving mask staring blankly back at him,

I love you. His bottom lip trembled. Please break. 

“I hope you like her.”

“Of course I will.”

I love you. 

art by Wolflyn

10 

Dream’s excitement for Gia’s arrival could only rival George’s dread. The day after the ball, Dream was bouncing off the walls of the castle, having made a list of items they should get sorted before her arrival. He set aside a room for her in the same wing as George’s own with a wardrobe full of dresses and clean linens that smelled like lavender, and George would be lying if he said he wasn’t at all jealous about the attention Gia was already getting without even being here yet. He tried to look at it as an omen, a sign that Dream’s heart was already finding its way to their future happiness, but it would take a miracle to turn his feelings into something platonic too quickly – and George was no saint. The best he could do was answer Dream’s questions with as much honesty as he could muster.

Did Gia like blue as much as he did? Not really. 

Was her favorite dessert apple pie as well? Yes.

Would she like it here? George had no idea. 

Three days went by like this. The entire staff had caught Dream’s excitement like a disease, so he only found peace when he braved the cold weather outside and made the trek to his greenhouse, blessedly empty at all times. When morning came on the fourth day after the ball and the first thing Puffy said was how wonderful it would be to have another girl in the castle, George was ready to pack his things and move into the greenhouse for the foreseeable future. He knew they couldn’t be blamed – it wasn’t like they received a lot of guests in the castle – but he could not ignore how jealousy nipped at his heart, making it hard to swallow down his breakfast. 

When it happened, it was almost like George had been hit with a spell.

There was a banging noise – brass against wood – the same one George had only heard once before, so many months ago. Everyone seemed to let out their breath at the same time, the type of relief he imagined was found in rooms just after a baby was delivered. The wait was over. Finally. George’s brain worked at double, triple speed, cataloguing his last few moments before everything changed.

And then, like a coil snapping after too much pressure, time rushed back to its normal speed, perhaps a bit faster even, like it wanted to make up for slipping away. Dream was on his feet and gently pulling George’s chair out for him, breakfast forgotten on the table. 

What a shame, George thought to himself, eyeing his scrambled eggs. This will all go to waste. 

Gia was here. 

“Alright. We should give them space, okay?” Dream’s voice sounded far away even if he was right there by his side. “Let George welcome his sister without you lot swarming them.”

George blinked, having not even noticed that most of the staff had gathered around them until everyone started to move, Sapnap’s grumbling the loudest voice amongst their lot. He quite liked him. Perhaps now that Dream would be too busy falling in love with his sister, George would be able to befriend him, too. It certainly would be nice to have someone to keep him company. 

Another loud bang made itself known, Gia’s impatience making George smile despite everything. At least in that regard, they had always been the same. 

He took a deep breath. It was time to face the music.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking up at Dream. “You should come with me, as the lord of the house. I want to introduce you to my sister.”

“Nonsense. You go greet her first. I don’t… She shouldn’t have to face me before you have a chance to talk, just in case I scare her away.”

In an impulse, George reached out and pulled Dream into a quick hug, face heating up at his own brashness. “Stop being an idiot. I’m sure she will love you.”

Like I do. But that part he kept to himself. 

Dream was stunned into compliance, a meek nod all the answer George got. A weird silence hung in the air between them as they climbed down the stairs and there, in the foyer, stood a small woman with the same dark hair and dark eyes as George’s own, a strong look in her eyes when their gazes met across the empty hall. 

George had tried his best to describe Dream’s condition without being cruel, but she barely even glanced at him, her focus entirely on George. 

One step at a time, he closed the distance between them, a confusing mix of emotions leaving him numb to everything – but then, Gia was pulling him into a strong hug, and suddenly George felt everything. 

“ George,” Gia whispered, her long hair spilling down her shoulders, tangling in his fingers when he hugged her back just as fiercely. “I missed you so much.”

“Me too.” As much as he had tried not to. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up. Don’t be an idiot,” she grumbled, punching his shoulder. 

They laughed together but the sound trailed off into awkward silence, George shifting from foot to foot under the weight of Gia’s gaze. He didn’t dare look back to meet Dream’s mask, not sure he would be able to deal with introductions right now. Like in a dream, he let her pull him to the side, like she always did back home when she had a secret to share. Nostalgia hit him like a punch to the face, for a moment turning the rich tapestries of the castle into the bare walls of the house they had grown up in.

“George I - I still can’t believe I finally found you,” Gia said, words soft and barely loud enough to be heard. “I’m sorry about what I said that day. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Oh no. George was not ready to have this conversation so soon. “It’s fine.”

She shook her head, ignoring him. “No, it's not. It was never my place to say anything about it – I understand now how much of a burden it is to be betrothed to someone you don’t love.”

“Did mother…?”

Gia’s nod filled him with dread and it must have been evident, because she smiled and rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand. “I’m okay. I left town before she could marry me off like she planned on doing to you.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn't think she would try it with you so soon.” His words were earnest, but George wasn’t entirely sure if he could believe it himself. Had he not known, deep down, that it would be a possibility? And hadn’t he still chosen to run away, like the selfish coward he was? 

“He wasn’t a bad man but… my heart wasn’t in it. Gods.” She laughed, cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment. Her eyes darted away, over George’s shoulder, and he was reminded Dream was right there, listening to everything. 

This was so far from ideal. Cold dread slid down his spine, mind going off in a million different directions – he should put a stop to this conversation right now. He whipped his head around and found Dream’s mask already looking his way. 

For the first time in a very long while, the sight of it made him shiver in fear. 

Gia still looked guilty, sadness coming off her like waves. He didn't have it in his heart to stop her. He was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, not ready to share that last little bit of himself nor to shut Gia off, still way too soft on his little sister. Maybe this could be the answer to a problem he hadn’t allowed himself to think too deeply about, irrational fear of somehow attracting Dream’s unconscious thoughts and revealing himself without meaning to. Maybe he should just… talk about it openly with her and let Dream hear what George couldn't say to his face, let him draw his conclusions without George having to spell it out for him.

“George, please,” Gia whispered, the hand not holding George’s own flying in the air as she spoke. “I feel like such a hypocrite.”

“It's okay.”

“It wasn’t even like – at least I could grow to love him, while with you it would have been impossible –” She cut herself off, looking at Dream again, biting her lip. 

George’s heart beat loudly, deafening in his ears. His lips were dry, throat scratchy from all the things he couldn’t say that were taking residence in there. 

“I could have never loved that woman,” he murmured, squeezing Gia's hand. He wondered if his words were stained red. His throat felt rubbed raw, every single syllable plucked from deep within him. “None of them. You know that.”

“I felt so bad – I tried imagining if I had been in your shoes, if my own sister had mocked me for failing to like someone I was supposed to.”

“I've forgiven you. It wasn't anyone's fault I couldn't be attracted to girls like I was supposed to.”

There. The words were out. 

George fluttered his eyes closed for a few moments, relief making him dizzy despite the heaviness in his heart. 

Out of instinct, he looked behind him and sure enough, Dream was still there, posture stiff as a board. George’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach, lower and lower until he couldn’t even feel it anymore, the emptiness so all-encompassing he felt nauseated by it.

For so long, Dream had pestered him with questions. Now, he knew. After so many months dancing around the subject, leaving only the barest of bones to explain the skeletons in his closet, Gia’s arrival had set him free.

She was still saying something but George’s mind was too overloaded to process anything through the shock numbing his body.

Dream knew.

George had to leave. 

He broke into a sprint, his feet taking him far away from Gia’s confusion and Dream’s frosty silence. He found himself outside in the cold, trekking the familiar path to his greenhouse without a conscious decision to do so. 

The metal handles felt icy against his fingers, but he pushed the doors open with practiced ease. Once inside, the warm air greeted him like an old friend – perhaps the only one he had left – and George allowed himself to cry.

It wasn’t pretty. Heaving sobs wracked through his chest and he fell onto his ass to the floor, curling into a ball and hiding his face in his knees. Regret tasted bitter in his mouth. He had his entire life of living cautiously and he decided to be impulsive now? 

Everything was ruined, wasn’t it? 

Dream knew and he would kick George out and – where would he even go? There was no place safe for someone like him. 

The door to the greenhouse opened and closed. George squeezed his eyes shut, wishing everything would just disappear. 

He recognized the sound of Dream’s heavy footsteps making their way towards him. He stayed rooted in place even when he felt Dream’s hulking body sit down by his side, heat coming off him in waves. 

George steeled himself for the accusations and the harsh words, but he was only met with silence. Tentatively, Dream pressed a large palm against his back, soft and light but still enough to elicit a fresh round of hot tears. George felt pathetic and lost, so small he could probably hide behind the basil leaves tickling his shoulders. 

“You okay?”

George shook his head. His eyes were starting to dry, leaving behind that itchy feeling he absolutely despised. It was as if every blink brought forth a reminder of his vulnerability, of every other time he had felt hopeless like this. Nothing existed in a void. It was long past time he told Dream everything. 

“You asked me once why I left. Now you know,” he mumbled, barely recognizing his own voice with how hollow it sounded. 

“George, I –”

“No. Please, don’t – don’t say anything,” he cut Dream off, shrugging Dream’s hand off his shoulder with a brusque movement. Dream’s presence felt stifling as it had never been before, his touch too much, threatening to unravel George completely. Any more pressure and George feared he would shatter into irreparable pieces.

“I promise I won’t do anything – just don’t make me leave.” His voice quivered with a mixture of desperation and self-loathing. He hated how small and insignificant he sounded, how his vulnerabilities seemed to overshadow any strength he had once thought he had. Why would anyone ever want him around, anyway?

“Why would I ask you that?” Dream’s voice was just as quiet as his own, enough confusion tinting the words blue to give George a smidgen of hope. 

“Everyone does. No one – after they find out, no one stays.” The bitterness in George’s voice echoed the deep-seated pain of abandonment and rejection that had plagued him for so long. In retrospect, it was almost poetic – like those Greek plays Dream liked so much – that what had brought him here was also what would be the reason he got cast away. 

If he had any space in his chest for anything other than dread, he would laugh at the irony of it all. 

Dream let out a sigh. George curled into himself a bit tighter, resolutely looking straight ahead. If he caught a single glimpse of Dream’s face behind the glamor, he would be done for. This was already hard enough as it was.

“Oh, Georgie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

They both breathed together, Dream’s exhale loud like a tired sigh. Again, he tried touching George’s back but George recoiled, biting his lip so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he tasted copper in his tongue.

He wished Dream would leave. More than anything, he needed space to put his walls back up before he was cast out. 

“George, I – I don’t want you gone. I need you here.” Dream's voice trembled with sincerity, a plea laced with vulnerability.

Painfully, his heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t right. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” Dream argued back. At George’s scoff, Dream shuffled in place until he was sitting right in front of George. “My dear. Can you look at me?”

George’s head whipped up, so fast it almost gave him whiplash. 

My dear. 

The mask was flickering like candlelight, but it was Dream’s hands that called for attention, palms turned skyward like they had been in the ballroom – asking for permission, for the type of trust that would break him. 

The skin was pink and soft. George’s own hand twitched, way too weak to keep himself from reaching out. 

Their fingers tangled together. Dream was careful with his claws, just like he had been during the ball, just like he always was around George.

“George, I… I am in love with you,” Dream said, so full of emotion George’s heart ached for him. “I have been for a while now.”

His eyes welled up once more, the familiar sting of tears almost a comfort. 

Dream loved him. He loved Dream. And yet, there was still a mask between them. 

“You can’t be. That’s not – Dream, I cannot break the curse,” he said in a voice he barely recognized as his own, so weak even the softest of winds could have broken it. 

Dream, however, shook his head, holding his hand in both of his own. “That’s okay. I don’t care about it anymore. I just want you – if you’ll have me.”

Much like the tides following the moon, George could not do anything else other than be pulled into Dream’s gravity, forgetting himself for a moment. 

Dream loves me. The words echoed through his body, surreal. Dream loves me.

George had thought about kissing Dream before. Usually in the quiet hours after dinner with them both curled together by the fireplace, Dream’s melodic voice rambling about the stars and the planets and if magic would ever be able to make anything as wonderful as the sunrise. In those moments where he looked at Dream and saw both a man and something wonderful, where he heard the absolute joy lodged between his words like precious gems, George’s mind would grow wings and take flight towards a moment where he had enough courage to close the gap between their bodies and find Dream’s lips with his own, glamor be damned. 

Then he would consider how bad that would be – in his imagination, the mask would be cold and unforgiving against his lips, followed by Dream’s disgusted voice or his frosty silence, and that would be more than enough to shoot him back down to reality.

This was nothing like those moments. 

George didn’t know who leaned forward first, if it had been he or Dream who closed the distance. All he knew was that he was close enough to bump his nose against the porcelain, but when he tipped forward even more, his lips met something warm. 

With his eyes closed, he still did not know what Dream’s smile looked like. He knew, however, that his lips were plush and soft, and they tasted bright like a shooting star. 

Somewhere in the biggest room of the tallest tower, a white magical rose began to glow brighter and brighter, until it was like a young sun trapped inside its bell jar. There was a soundless flash and weird feeling like the earth had shifted sideways, like gravity had been on pause for a couple of glorious moments where everything was weightless and magic cackled in the air, bright sparks raining down the castle walls as the curse finally lifted. 

Inside the greenhouse, the air shimmered in a rainbow of colors, a flash of blinding white followed by a soft snap. George’s lips met Dream’s in a second kiss, pressing into him like he had been wanting to do for months. When he cupped Dream’s face, there was warm, soft skin under his palms, and hair at his nape that was easy to bury his fingers in. Dream’s hands flew up to his shoulders like he needed to hold him close, fingers instead of claws gripping him tightly like he, too, was afraid this would all go away.  

When the need to breathe became impossible to ignore any longer, George pulled back. He opened his eyes and was met with the most beautiful man he had ever seen, the small nose and strong jawline of the marble bust he had seen in the gallery once, the face of a prince finally come alive. The main difference between the statue and the man in front of him was the eyes: they were green, all misty with unshed tears. Somehow, George had expected them to be brown like his own.

“Dream?”

The man nodded, curls spilling over his forehead. There were no more horns there, but George reached up anyway, needing to make sure he wasn’t being deceived. “It’s really you?”

“It is. Oh, Georgie,” he laughed, choked up and full of the same wonderment George felt squeezing his chest. Tears finally started to run down his freckled cheeks and George pulled him to his chest, hiding his own misty eyes in the nest of golden curls atop Dream’s head. 

“I never actually believed this would happen – that I would be human again,” Dream mumbled, warm breath tickling George’s neck. “It was you! You did it.”

Dream’s soft confession made George think back to the gallery room and the portrait hall in the castle, to the bejeweled eggs and delicate music boxes placed behind panels of glass in the drawing room. Dream’s words were just as precious and deserved a home where his affection would be allowed to grow, unbidden and loose. For all of his life, George had been confined to the simple stucco walls of his ordinary cottage, but right now he finally began to understand why castles were built in the first place – to George, it made sense to raise the highest walls and sow the most beautiful garden inside, if only so that happiness could have a place to bloom away from the harshness of the outside.  

When he cried a few tears of his own, Dream was right there, holding him just as steadily. 

“You know,” Dream said, catching George’s eyes with a watery grin. “I love you. I am in love with you, my dear.”

George’s heart stumbled over a beat, happiness making him coy, unused to such brash displays from someone he actually cared about. “I know.”

“And – did you know you are in love with me?”

For heaven’s sake. Dream’s smile dimpled his cheeks, all boyish and irresistible. George had been right when he had told himself he would never be able to resist it.

“That’s presumptuous of you,” he said with a smile of his own, playing with the tiny curls at Dream’s nape. “How could you even know?”

Dream grinned, all perfect teeth and pointy little canines, the only feature from the beast that had remained. “The curse broke, didn’t it? You love me so much you broke it.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” I do. I do. 

There was nothing left to do other than kiss the smugness right off Dream’s lips. The last thing he saw before crashing their mouths together was Dream’s face opened in a wide, earnest smile that George couldn’t help but match.

art by Linkat

11 

Holding Dream’s hand was a marvel in itself.

His fingers were long and a bit stocky, befitting the rest of his body. Even back as a human, Dream remained taller than George, but not as much as before. Unlike when Dream was cursed, the distance between them could be covered by George standing on his tiptoes, their mouths connecting easily as breathing in sweet kisses that felt entirely too good to be real. 

It took them a long hour until they settled in their feelings, and almost just as long for Dream to stand on his own, legs shaky as a newborn fawn. George didn’t bother to hide his amusement, heart too full to even pretend he didn’t find Dream’s clumsiness to be the most adorable thing. 

“You know you could help me, right?” Dream said with a huff, blowing air to keep his overgrown fringe away from his eyes. All his moves were so endearing. George was feasting on his face, distracted by Dream’s expressive eyebrows and the way his nose scrunched when he laughed, wrinkles hiding some of his freckles. 

He kept a close eye on them, just to make sure they’d be back. Dream’s freckles had been a welcome surprise, one he was too attached to. In his mind, he had already made plans to count every single one of them.

“Nope. I’m too busy.”

Dream wheezed a laugh, and that part, at least, was familiar. “Doing what?” 

“Looking at you.”

They both blushed, averting their gazes, but George only lasted a second before he was back on his task, trying to commit to memory every single line of Dream’s handsome. So far, he liked his happiness the most, followed closely by how coy he looked when George complimented his smile. 

Hand in hand, they walked out of the greenhouse and back to the castle, the cold weather a perfect excuse for George to huddle close, fitting himself under Dream’s arm with a happy noise. Despite the chill in the air, the sun was bright against the clear blue sky, and George felt tempted to prolong their time alone, knowing that as soon as they stepped foot back inside, he would lose Dream – even if it was just for a little while. 

Winter didn’t quite suit him, though. His face was very much a novelty still, but there was charm in the way summer was spread delicately across his skin in dotted little freckles that made him yearn to see Dream laughing in the sun, all rosy cheeks and tanned skin. George was already pretty familiar with the restless ocean raging inside Dream’s heart but he had yet to see him run freely through the orchards, golden hair framing his face like a halo. 

He could picture it so easily. Their future, tentative as it had been mere hours before, now took root and grew into something solid right before his eyes, sturdy enough for George to hang his hopes on its branches. 

When they kissed, it was soft, a gentle press of their lips together. But George could feel Dream’s chest rumble in pleasure, almost like there was some part of the beast still inside him that wanted to make its approval known, and George had to smile, intertwining their fingers as he allowed the kiss to deepen just a little. He knew the awkward beast who had stolen his heart was the same handsome man who sighed into his mouth right now, but the transformation was still new enough that he unconsciously sought after whatever familiar landmarks that would help him reconcile the two into a single image of the man he loved. Luckily, he could find the beast in the way Dream was gentle in holding his face, as if he feared his nails were still claws, and in how he chuckled when they parted, the same raspy quality to his laugh as George had grown used to during the year leading up to this moment.

Dream’s eyes sparkled with joy and that was a sight George had been waiting for far too long to see. The white mask was something he would never miss.  

When they finally reached the entrance to the castle, the huge wooden doors loomed over them. It took George by surprise how Dream was the one to linger, staying a good few steps away from the imposing threshold. George would have imagined that he would want nothing more but to celebrate with those who had kept him company through the curse, but Dream’s eyes were low on the ground, fidgeting with their entwined hands.

“Do you think everyone is back to normal?” he asked, voice all tentative and fragile. 

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

Dream bit his lower lip, eyebrows arching in sorrow. “Why didn’t they come find us?”

“I don’t know… Maybe Sapnap finally learned some boundaries?”

George’s joke earned him a weak laugh but Dream’s face still looked way too serious for his liking, so he closed the distance between them with a sweet kiss, the thrill of being able to do it not lost on George. He had only meant it to be a quick peck, but Dream chased after him, bending his neck down to properly let their mouths slide together – and when they parted, there was no more frowning, only a dumbstruck look to Dream’s eyes that made George giggle, wings of butterflies tickling his throat.

Maybe this was what happiness felt like. Now he only needed Dream to stop being dramatic. 

“Things will be fine,” he said, and without wasting another moment, George pushed open the big doors open.

Inside, waiting for them, there was a gathering of people he had never seen in his life, all of them smiling at the man holding George’s hand. There were white petals floating gently in the air, maybe a thousand of them, resting over every surface of the hallway like a fresh coat of snow. George hadn’t spared a thought to how the magic must have worked in here, too busy with kissing Dream to be bothered, but he had to admit the petals were a nice touch even if the air didn’t shimmer like it had in the greenhouse.

The first person George saw was a short, dark-haired man, with a stubbled jaw and clear eyes that widened the minute Dream properly stepped into the hall. “Dream!”

“Sapnap!” Dream cried out, embracing the man who had launched himself into his arms. 

George rolled his eyes, full of fondness. He stepped aside as more strangers walked up to Dream, wonder and disbelief written clearly on their faces. 

“Puffy – Sam!” 

A man much taller than Dream laughed, squeezing Dream and Puffy – a woman even shorter than Sapnap, with curly hair that was almost as fluffy as Dream’s – in his arms, tears running down his face that he didn’t bother to hide. 

There were so many voices George recognized, so much laughter and boisterous cheers coming from different little clusters that he gave up on trying to identify who was who, simply basking in the happiness around him. Dream was glowing under the attention, eyes red-rimmed and a pink nose that betrayed just how emotional he was – understandably so. He looked even more relieved than after his own transformation, and George couldn’t help but fall a little bit more in love with how big Dream’s heart was.

“So you did it, huh?” A voice broke George out of his reverie, and when he turned around, he found a dark mop of hair and mischievous eyes instead of the coat hanger he had grown used to. Surprisingly, he was the same height as George and had the same slim build, but the embrace he was pulled into was strong enough to knock the air out of his lungs. 

“Skeppy?”

“The one and only,” he laughed, “Nice to re-meet you, George.”

Bad was next in line to greet him, a little less exuberant than Skeppy but no less heartfelt, and soon enough most of everyone had made their way to congratulate George as well. Sam practically lifted him off the ground when they hugged. Puffy clapped her hands and twirled George around with a wet laugh, and even Sapnap couldn’t hold back his tears when he clapped George on the shoulder – he was the only one whose hug George let linger, if only so he could hide his emotional state under the guise of teasing Sapnap’s height. 

Not a single person seemed surprised George had broken the curse, no judgment to be found anywhere. There were only cheerful congratulations and good-hearted teasing, knowing smiles that brought a stubborn itchiness to George’s eyes that he refused to call tears.

He would not cry. Stupid Sapnap would never let him live that down. 

Gia also found her way toward George, fitting against his side with the practiced ease inherent to little sisters. George saw Dream shoot them a fond look from all the way across the foyer where Bad and Skeppy were talking to him, the flower petals still swaying gently in the air like they were stuck inside one of those novelty globes. It didn’t bode well for George’s well-being how he already missed the warmth of Dream’s hands on his skin but he soldiered through. They had all the time in the world now.

He felt Gia poke his stomach, her eyes full of curiosity when he looked down to meet her gaze. 

“What did you get yourself into, hm?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” he said truthfully, wanting to laugh at how stupid his plan had been. There had been no way to know for sure Dream and Gia would have ever been interested in each other, and yet he had been so certain. 

“I’m glad you came here.”

She huffed, visibly confused despite the smile playing on her lips. “George, come on – you gotta tell me.”

“I will, just not right now. Can you wait? I’m still… figuring everything out.”

Her gaze lingered on him, only needing a moment before her eyes softened and she nodded, letting the subject drop. George was so lucky. If he had been in Gia’s shoes, he would not have been this graceful. 

“Of course. Do you think I’ll be allowed to stay? I do miss you terribly.”

“Don’t worry. Dream is a kind man.”

“You do keep saying that.” Her smile was knowing, just like everyone else’s. “Maybe I’ll get to see it for myself. But from what Puffy told me, maybe that has more to do with you than anything else.”

It should come as no surprise the staff talked about him and Dream, but George felt himself flush all the same, fidgeting in place as his sister laughed. Bad and Skeppy came to join them, and when George looked around, he caught sight of Dream climbing up the stairs. 

“You know what – wait here,” he excused himself. “I’ll be right back.”

Now that George wasn’t distracted by everyone else, he noticed how different the castle looked. Gone were the gloomy shadows and the cracks in the floor, replaced by light walls and white columns, the marble matching the style of the ballroom where they had had their dance. The once somber tapestries now depicted scenes of joy and celebration, their colors vivid and alive, not a single thread out of place. As if awakening from a long slumber, the entire castle seemed abuzz with life, George’s steps barely audible as the chatter of the staff filled the air with soft joy.

He had never quite realized how quiet it had been before. 

He found Dream in one of the drawing rooms, sitting in a chaise lounge that had been tearing apart before the curse broke – now, the upholstery looked brand new, a deep green that matched the heavy drapes and the flowery panels decorating the walls. With quick steps and a heart so full he worried it might burst through his chest, George crossed the distance and came to stand between Dream’s legs, close enough to tangle their fingers together and bring Dream’s big hand to his lips to give it a little kiss. 

Dream smiled at him, cocking his head to the side in that adorable way George loved so much, cheeks flushing a deep pink when George kissed him again. His eyes looked even more alluring when he looked at George from under his lashes like this.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” George shrugged, downplaying his own bashfulness. “Why are you here all by yourself?”

“It’s… a bit much, isn’t it? Down there?” Dream shrugged, pulling George down to sit by his side. “I’m over the moon everyone is back to their normal selves, but this is much more attention than I’m used to.”

George cooed, “You’re cute when you’re shy.”

“Shut up,” Dream grinned, pressing his knee against George’s, sending a thrill over his body when he did so. Gods above, George needed to get a grip. “It’s so weird to not, like – tower over everyone. Sam is taller than me, did you know that? I guess I just forgot.”

“Do they all look the same?”

“I think so… I’m not sure about me, though. Haven’t found the courage to look in a mirror yet.”

Sensing the slight change in Dream’s voice, George cradled his face and tipped it down towards his lips. “You look fine,” he murmured, eyes closed as he breathed the words in between little pecks to Dream’s soft mouth. “Better than fine, actually. I’m almost grateful that old bust didn’t do you justice.”

“Yeah?” 

Without breaking their kiss, George nodded, getting lost in it. Dream’s bust had already made him look extremely handsome, but it lacked the little details George had immediately fallen in love with: the dimples in his cheeks and his brilliant smile, how his expressive eyebrows spoke a language of their own, his droopy eyes that got all pinched at the corners when he laughed. Dream was way too attractive for his own good – even his beast form had had a certain appeal to it, but that was something George would rather prefer to keep to himself. Dream would never let him live it down.

When they parted, Dream kept George close with his arm around his waist, blinking dazed eyes at him that didn’t fail to make George preen.

“What now?” Dream asked, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t leaving, are you?”

George shook his head, finding Dream’s need for reassurance terribly endearing. “You said I could stay for as long as I wanted to, remember?” And just to tease, he pouted at the man, poking his shoulder. “Did you change your mind?”

“Of course not. If you ever were to leave I’d pack my bags and follow you – you are stuck with me, my dear.”

George’s heart skipped in his chest, dropping his gaze to their entwined hands. There was no need to hide his feelings – Dream already knew – but it was still way too difficult to let himself feel vulnerable like this. Years of careful detachment, of demure looks, and high walls surrounding his emotions, were tough to undo, but they had time. Maybe one day George would grow immune to Dream’s lovable earnestness, as far-fetched as that sounded right now.

They had time, after all.  

“We can stay,” he murmured, eyes darting up again once he felt like his cheeks weren’t as pink as before. “We hide out here for a little while longer… and then I’ll properly introduce you to my sister. We can have dinner later – do you think Sam’s cooking will taste different now? If it does, we should totally turn him back, it’d be fair, right?”

Dream laughed, burying his face in George’s hair. 

Despite everything else that had changed, the sound of Dream’s joy – so rare before – remained the same. George grinned to himself, burrowing deeper in Dream’s embrace, and kept saying just about anything that crossed his mind simply for the pleasure of seeing Dream’s eyes scrunch up from the size of his smile. 

Dream’s fingers traced soothing patterns on George’s back, a silent promise of a steady love, of a place that belonged to him, that would never be taken away. George leaned into the touch, feeling the steady beat of Dream’s heart against his palm when he rested it over his chest and, as they settled into each other, George’s thoughts drifted to the future. He imagined lazy mornings tangled in sheets, shared laughter over inside jokes, and quiet evenings spent in the library, sprawled on his favorite sofa with Dream’s voice filling the familiar space around them. Intertwined in each other’s lives, forever.

In the present, George smiled to himself. Squeezed between Dream’s lovely arms inside a castle filled with people George loved, there was no self-loathing, no desire to run, only the want to stay.