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He was in the bath when Dream came home.
Dream was usually the one who made the baths, picking out the bath bombs and salts so the scents matched. But Dream had been gone all day taking meetings, and George, when faced with an empty, unmade bed, had panicked.
So, here he was—doing the one thing they always did together, alone.
Dream’s face instantly softened as soon as he saw him, and George put his phone to the side.
“Hey,” Dream said quietly, shutting the door behind him.
George braced himself for the jokes—for the you said you hated baths or you must really stink to be taking a bath, but they never came.
Instead, Dream sat on the edge of the tub and ran his fingers through George’s hair.
“Tell me about your day,” George murmured, leaning into the touch. He kept his words quiet, afraid that if he spoke any louder, he’d shatter the moment, and Dream would disappear again.
Dream’s hand moved to cup his cheek, and George’s eyes fluttered closed. “I mean, it was just a meeting with Chris, and—”
“Chris from the record or merch Chris?” George asked.
Dream hummed. “I don’t actually—did I ever tell you about merch boss Chris or just shipping Chris?”
“Chris squared,” George said. “You should make it a requirement to be named Chris to work for Dream Branding. That’d be epic.”
Dream snorted, tapping on George’s cheek until he opened his eyes and glanced at him. Dream was already staring down at him with a fond look, a small smile on his lips.
At this, George was rendered speechless—at his boyfriend sitting on the side of the bathtub, staring at him like it was the first time all over again (first meeting, first kiss, first morning together—it all simultaneously felt like something new and something old, all contained by a giddy feeling in his chest and the steadiness of everything Dream).
George turned his head and pressed a kiss to the palm of Dream’s hand instead. And then he licked it because he could.
Dream knew him enough by now not to flinch. “Seriously?”
George grinned up at him, but it quickly turned into shouts as he tried to scramble away from Dream before he wiped his wet palm across George’s face.
“Dream—“
Their hands met, pushing each other back even as Dream leaned over to lick George’s cheek. The once-calm water quaked as George struggled, his screams and laughter echoing around the large bathroom.
“Dream, stop.”
Dream moved back, watching him with a proud smile as George brushed his hair out of his eyes.
“You’re like a hurricane,” Dream said as he threw one of their extra towels onto the ground to soak up the water that had escaped. “Hurricane George.”
George huffed. “Now you need to replace the water I lost.”
“I need to?” Dream asked. “I just cleaned your mess.”
“The mess you caused?”
Dream sighed as he stood and turned on the tap, his other hand testing the temperature of the water. “It was your mess, to be clear.”
George sank deeper into the water so he could kick at Dream’s hand.
“Fuck off,” Dream said, swatting his foot.
“You’re so kind, Dream,” George said. “Doing this out of the kindness of your heart.”
“Fuck off.” It was weaker this time, a shy smile appearing on his lips.
It was one of George’s favorite smiles of Dream’s. It was a rare smile, often appearing only when George pushed Dream’s buttons correctly. And it was addicting in a way—to know that he was the only one who could create this flustered smile.
Dream turned the tap off, and in the silence, George could hear every drip of water.
“Come here,” he said, voice soft once more.
I missed you, he really meant. I made this stupid bath because it reminded me of you, was another contender.
And, really, it all sounded like I love you.
Dream must’ve understood him, as he always seemed to, because the look he gave George was absolutely heartbreaking. It was all at once open and unapologetic—everything George considered to be Dream.
George was deliberate in his movements as he moved across the water to pull Dream into a slow kiss, his fingers curled around the front of Dream’s hoodie. Just as slowly, Dream’s hands moved to cup George’s face, pulling him closer.
The parts of his body that had been underwater but were now exposed to the cold air soon covered in goosebumps, but he didn’t care as he helped Dream out of his hoodie and then his shirt.
George stared, his breathing uneven as Dream threw them to the ground. He’d always thought Dream was handsome and charming, with a bright smile and a laugh that could bring the world to its knees. Dream had always been attractive, but George found that he truly was the most breathtaking in candlelight. It softened their looks and touches but still illuminated the way Dream’s breath caught every time George trailed his fingers across his stomach or how Dream would pull George into a kiss every time his touch grew too slow and teasing.
Like everything with them, it was a game of give and take, and they had perfected every move. It was seamless, a battle of wills, and just as George loved to push every one of Dream’s buttons, Dream did the same for him.
This—a game and a bath and a day of missing Dream so much it hurt—was love. In its softest and most aggravating form, this was what people spent lifetimes waiting for and that they had somehow stumbled upon.
Except—they both had spent their lives waiting for it.
“Come here,” George repeated softly.
Dream gave him the same heartbreaking look before kissing him once more.
In the background, George heard him discard his jeans and underwear, but a harsh hand in his hair kept him from moving, pulling his head back with a pressure that made him gasp.
Dream pulled away and climbed in carefully, cringing when he first stepped into the tub.
“You didn’t dissolve the salt?” he asked, scrunching up his face as he took another step. “How much did you use?”
George reached out for him, pulling him down and to his chest, cradling Dream so softly like he was afraid he would break.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” George said, his lips tracing Dream’s neck.
Dream turned his head and kissed George’s temple, pausing there for a breath. And George drank it all in—a room illuminated only by candles, warm water surrounding him, and Dream in his arms.
“In another life you’d be an evil scientist,” Dream said.
George laughed, and he loved how the sound echoed around the room, filling every corner. One day, he hoped the foundations of the house broke, because then he could say it was all Dream—Dream had created such a physical reaction of happiness, everything else crashed down around them.
“Why not this life?” George asked.
“Because you’re not evil or a scientist,” Dream said.
“What if I want to be?”
Dream smiled at him. “Okay, then you can be.”
George absentmindedly drew shapes on Dream’s chest with the water. At one point, Dream shivered, and George paused.
“Cold?” George asked.
“A little.”
George chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the back of Dream’s head.
He continued drawing a couple more times just because he could, until Dream moved, pressing his nose to George’s neck.
“Stop,” he said with a small bite to George’s pulse point.
“You’re no fun,” George muttered, his arms tightening around Dream, and he could feel Dream’s smile against his skin. “This is why you’ll only ever be my sidekick.”
Dream snorted into George’s neck, and George moved away with a fake disgust that was ruined by the way his body shook with laughter. Dream’s laughter eventually joined his, and together, they were a hurricane even worse than hurricane George, disrupting the water once again.
“Oh my god,” George said. “Look at what you did.”
Dream shifted until he was sitting in George’s lap, pressing light kisses up and down his neck. “I’ll just make you clean it up.”
They both knew it was a lie—that Dream would likely be the one to grab more towels from the hallway closet—but neither moved to disprove it.
Instead, George ran his fingers through Dream’s curls, watching with a fond smile as Dream’s eyes closed and he leaned into the touch.
“I want to meet Chris,” George said.
Dream’s smile was so wide it nearly broke his face in two. “You’re so dumb.”
George stared at him, open and unafraid. This was his future—bathing in warm light, Dream with his eyes closed, George holding him so, so close.
“I love you,” he said it without hesitation.
Dream laughed, biting George’s thumb quickly. “That’s not going to make me take you to my meetings.”
When George was silent, Dream’s eyes opened, and his face softened at something he must’ve seen in George’s expression.
“I love you too, dummy,” Dream said, leaning closer. And with each word, he kissed George like he was made of glass, beginning at his jaw and mapping out the rest of his skin. “But you’re never going to meet every Chris at Dream Branding if they’re all named Chris.”
George scrunched his face at the kisses, trying to move away, but Dream held his head in place. “What if I want to meet all of them?”
This was the part where Dream was supposed to make fun of him—call him clingy and dumb and a menace—but Dream instead sat back, still rubbing George’s scalp lightly with his nails as he said, “I mean, sure.” His forehead wrinkled. “You’re–you’re like my partner in every way, so why not?”
George buried his blush in Dream’s collarbone, shaking his head slightly. “That’s dumb. I didn’t know it was that easy to steal your money.”
“I–I already pay for everything, George. Leave me something at least.”
“No.” George pulled Dream down so that his stomach once more pressed to Dream’s back. It was a little awkward because Dream was taller than the bath and broader than George, but George still wrapped his legs around Dream’s hips and his chin over his shoulder.
“You never told me how the meeting went.”
“That’s because you—George, I was trying to and then—” Dream said, creating little waves with every flustered word. “Fuck off.”
“You never tell me anything,” George said, kissing the back of Dream’s shoulder, where no one else could touch but him.
“Maybe you are evil,” Dream said.
“Tell me about your day,” George repeated, louder.
Dream flicked his nose, but he did. And George listened, their clasped hands resting on Dream’s chest and George nodding into Dream’s collarbone.
It was warm and cozy, even if there was way too much salt and half of the water had ended up on the ground. But—George was starting to learn at least—things were never truly perfect. There were just moments bottled and collected and reminisced upon.
So, no, nothing was perfect. Dream would likely leave early once again tomorrow morning or Sapnap would be streaming an event, and he’d be back to square one.
But, at least he had a square. And his square was a home with his two best friends and his cat, filled with goodnight kisses and laughter loud enough to bring a house to its foundations.
(And if there was anyone who could do the unimaginable and bring the world to its knees, it would be Dream. It would only ever be Dream.)
“Come on,” Dream said eventually, and George startled. He didn’t realize he’d been staring off. “Before you fall asleep again.”
“I didn’t fall asleep,” George mumbled into Dream’s neck. “You just have a bad memory.”
“Okay, baby.” Dream laughed, extracting himself from George’s clutches very carefully. George tried to hold on as best as he could, not wanted to leave the warmth behind. But everything was slippery and Dream was dedicated, so it took no time at all for them to separate.
George opened his mouth to complain, but Dream just held up a hand.
“Stay,” he said.
George’s chest burned as Dream pulled George’s towel from the towel rack. He threw it over his shoulder and offered a hand to pull George from the water. George took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet with a steadying arm on his other elbow.
“Step,” Dream said, and George stepped up onto the side of the tub.
“Step,” George echoed as he took the last two steps down.
Dream smiled at him as he dropped the towel on George’s head, shaking it until George laughed. And it was only then that he wrapped it around George’s shoulders.
“Silly,” George said.
Dream wrinkled his nose, like he always did when he wanted to fight back, but he said nothing, just stretched for his own towel.
“Wait,” George said. “I want to—“
Dream froze midway, looking like he’d been struck.
“It’s okay,” Dream said, his voice slightly shaky. “I can just—“
“No,” George said. “Let me do this—“
The for you was implied, but Dream’s eyes widened like he heard it all. His hands were still on George’s waist as George stretched up to pull the towel from the shower door.
George started to move back, but he paused when he was faced with Dream. Because Dream was looking at him like George had felt when Dream grabbed his own towel—like he couldn’t believe any of this was real.
And, really, sometimes it did feel impossible to love and be loved this much.
“Come here,” George whispered. He was afraid if he spoke any louder, his voice would crack.
Dream walked into his embrace, leaning down while George stood on his tiptoes, wrapping the towel around his shoulders.
“See—“ he said eventually, and indeed, his voice did crack. “You’re dry now.”
Dream laughed, and it echoed around the bathroom. “I’m definitely not dry.”
“It’s your fault for being monstrously tall.”
“I’m not–I’m not even that tall,” Dream argued back. “You’re just, like, tiny.”
And George laughed, his laughter joining Dream’s in their eventual game of shaking the foundation of the house.
Because happiness had never been so tangible—not before he knew the feeling of Dream’s hands around his waist or his elbows in his side.
And it was far from perfect, because they had undissolved salt and spilled water to clean, but just for a moment, as they kissed in the candlelight, George let himself breathe.