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“Hey, George. Come here,” Dream giggled, holding his phone to his chest as if to hide its contents.
There they were, sitting in opposite corners of George’s room, scrolling through the depths of their phones. Usually, like George, Dream would’ve chosen to get lost in the world that was Tiktok, but today, he chose Twitter instead. He wasn’t sure why, but he was drawn in by the dark pit of his mentions.
Millions upon millions of people mentioned his name in things every day, all varying from past streams, random shit-posts, or hate of some sort (though he tried to filter through that as much as he could). And as he scrolled through his name, one particular tweet caught his attention, rattling him to his core, and he had no clue why.
Or maybe he did.
George let out a sigh and crawled across the carpet, landing next to the taller. “Hm?”
“Look.” Dream tried to suppress his laughter, but failed when George made a grueling expression. “I know!”
“Oh my god,” George chuckled airily, slightly scooching away from the other to make room for his legs. He looked at Dream, and those leafy-green eyes were staring right back into his own. “Dream,” he started, then stopped himself. He knew where this was going.
Dream gave him a look; the look. “Let’s take it,” he erupted finally, repositioning himself so that he was facing the brunet. “Both of us. I’ll text you the link.”
George opened his messages and sat in his and Dream’s, waiting ever so patiently for the link. “You’re such an idiot,” he giggled. “What, do you think you're gonna get something different?”
“Come on,” Dream pouted, shaking his phone in front of George’s face. “Humor me. Do you have it up?”
The brunet faced his screen opposite of himself, confirming he was there.
“I’ll read the question, then we’ll both answer it silently, okay?”
George nodded.
The air in the room had suddenly stopped pumping, and though Dream seemed the most confident of the two, he had to hold his legs from shaking like leaves. In all honesty, he was terrified to be retaking this.
When he took it the first time, he wasn’t sitting before his best friend, had not yet touched him, had not yet known his true presence. But now, he knew it all , and boy was he feeling something new.
Dream kept his eyes on George for just a moment before refocusing on the little screen in his hand. “Do you ever catch yourself staring at your best friend?” he read.
Just then, Dream had to hold his head down, keep his eyes set on the screen. All the time , he answered in his head and on the screen.
George hummed quietly, letting Dream know he’d answered.
“Are they the first person you call when something happens?”
Dream had to think more deeply about this one. He had Sapnap, his mom, Karl. George. More times than most, he would venture into Sapnap’s room, sit on the edge of his bed, and either talk or sit in silence. Sometimes.
The blonde allowed his eyes to venture from his phone, and he was met by big brown eyes, waiting for continuation. “Sorry,” he mumbled, chuckling lightly. “Do you try to make him or her happy?”
“These options are ridiculous,” George scoffed, yet he picked an answer quicker than Dream did.
It’s nice if I can. But definitely more. But not in an overbearing way. “They really are.”
He chose the lesser.
“Do you get jealous if he or she has a boyfriend or girlfriend?”
George pressed an answer, this time, quieter than a mouse being hunted by a feline.
Dream did the same. Of course he would be, and he would be worried. Not about losing him to another, but for losing his sanity over the unknowns and the internal battles he would have to fight.
This was a bad idea, he thought, pressing maybe a little.
“Do you try and look nice when you know you’re going to be together?”
The brunet scoffed and clicked an answer with a confidence lacing his touch. “I always look good, so.”
He wanted to say, “Of course you do,” but he went with a simple eye roll, his teeth slightly peeking from his lips.
Always.
“Do you get butterflies if you talk?”
They weren’t talking, but those little creatures were crawling up and down his spine, feasting on his lungs, making a home in his heart. Wings felt as though they were fluttering through his stomach and over his tongue, pushing their hardest against his sealed lips. Their little eyes were staring into the back of his, their little voices overtaking his own internal one, speaking in a language he was petrified to listen to; horrified to become one with.
Yes.
“Do you ever think about your future together?” George read instead, stealing a look at Dream, his eyes wandering slowly back to his device after they ran over the other's body.
Dream noticed how George’s eyes fell not-so directly, as if he were trying to find a missing piece of a puzzle. And maybe he was. Maybe that’s really why he agreed to take this stupid quiz. They were both searching, and it took them until now to do something about it.
Your future is my future, he thought, pressing the answer he decided best reflected that. The first time around I was really trying to avoid this, wasn’t I. He shook his head.
“Do you have dreams about them?”
George hummed a sort-of laugh to himself, and chose an answer quickly. “This felt so much shorter when you were taking it the first time,” he sighed, pushing himself further against the wall.
The blond sighed with him, choosing an answer, sometimes. “I know.”
“How do you feel when you’re hugging them?”
Dream didn’t know what it felt like to hug the love of his life before, but if he had to put the feeling into shorter terms, he guessed that would be it.
Hugging George felt like a freedom he never had before, like a wall breaking and shattering before his eyes. Finally being able to wrap his arms around the shorter felt like coming home for the first time, and it was a feeling he never wanted to let go of. It was as if all his worldly worries melted into the floor beneath, making room for all the otherworldly infatuation to become present.
When they were wrapped in embrace, he truly never wanted to let go.
“Do you go out of your way to help this person?”
George brought his hand to his eyes and rubbed them, blinking rapidly just after. “There needs to be more middle ground answers, I swear.”
“Right,” Dream agreed quietly.
More than anyone else I know.
“What do you think when they laugh?”
Dream adored George’s laugh more than anything; it was more contagious than the sneeze pollen induced. He knew that, even if his day had been absolutely terrible, just the sound of George’s laugh could be the rope to help him out of a hole. It was truly Dream’s favorite song, and he would put it on repeat if he could.
After Dream pressed his answer, he froze on the next screen, heart seizing.
“Do you ever think of what it would be like to kiss your best friend?” he managed to read, just barely, just above a whisper.
It was a thought he had to shake from his mind much too often. When he looked at George’s lips, he imagined how soft they were, how perfectly they fit his face, how good they would feel pressed up against his own. His thoughts were mindless, insensible wants that he refused to cave into.
Dream glanced up at George—first at his lips, his tongue in the middle of gliding across them. Then to his eyes, which were perfectly rested on his screen, not daring to budge.
His gaze may have been unconscious, but his thoughts weren't. He wished it were his tongue finding its way onto those cherry lips.
At least a few times a day.
Dream wasn’t sure if George had selected an answer, but he moved on nonetheless. “Does anyone ever–” He couldn't finish without laughing, and George joined him.
“The fucking nurse that one time,” George guffawed, finishing Dream’s thought. “I can’t believe she actually thought we were dating.”
The blond calmed his laughter and sighed deeply, refraining himself from another outbreak. “Guess we’ll have the same answer for that one,” he tittered.
George nodded, resting his smile.
“Do you feel best when they’re around?”
I feel at peace, like I’m at home, even if we’re miles away from it.
“Do you feel like something is missing when they aren’t around?”
Though Dream did miss him, there wasn’t that dire need for George to always be there. He had Sapnap, Patches, or any of his other friends. He would miss the brunet, and if it were for more than a week his answer would be much different. George definitely brightened his endeavors, big or small.
Some days it’s boring.
“Can you finish each other's sentences?” the brunet read with a held-back giggle. “Like we didn’t just do that earlier.”
Dream chuckled, pressing yes. “That’s a little embarrassing, isn’t it?”
George waved him off, attempting to suppress a yawn with the back of his sleeve.
“Do you know each other's families?”
The blond knew a little of George’s family, but he hadn’t exactly seen them before. It was something that never really came up in their conversation unless something was going on or there was a birthday, and neither of them minded that.
“Are you constantly texting?”
Dream smiled, we don’t just have to text or call anymore. Even with that fact, though, they did still text all the time, whether it was a short “come here,” an iMessage game, or something across the table at a crowded dinner.
“Do you want to spend all your time with your best friend?”
The majority of it, he answered. He’s my comforting presence.
“Do you try and find a reason to touch them?”
He would be lying if he said he didn’t. It was always subtle, though: hand hovering slightly over George’s waist, guiding him somewhere, scooting closer to him on the couch, throwing his arm over the back of it, arm lingering close to George’s neck. Dream liked how he felt between his fingers, how small he felt in his arms, how warm he was.
Yes.
“Does the thought of this person give you butterflies?”
George looked up from his phone. “Didn’t we already do this one?”
Dream’s head shot up, and it took him a few seconds to process what the brunet said. “I think it’s a little different.”
Even though Dream had spoken, he had no idea of the words that spilled from his mouth. He just hoped they had been cohesive. Because as he spoke, he couldn’t get the boy out of his mind.
There weren’t just butterflies, but worms slithering just under his skin. Ladybugs nibbled on his brain, the mush replicating a sogged tree stump. Bees stung his veins, the blood seeping from them struggling not to break from his skin.
Bugs of all sorts were crawling up and down his body, his organs, his veins, all like plagues that might as well have buried him six feet under. Maggots would get to him there, start eating at his skin, then burrow themselves, consuming everything but bone.
He felt as though he could just sink into the carpet, down through the underlay, melt into the foundation, and make his grave. A funeral of his own clarity was going on in his mind, and no one but him was attending.
“When you need a date for an event, who do you take?” George read, something of concern rolling from his tongue as he spoke. He looked up at Dream timidly.
Dream didn’t return his glance. He only clicked his answer.
If I can’t find anyone else.
“How often do you think about them?” Dream resumed, reassembling his mind.
“I bet that one hasn’t changed,” George chuckled, his smile proving his memory.
The blond had always thought back to the last time and wondered if George was truly aware during it. All he recalled was the amount of questions he had to repeat because his friend hadn't heard the first time. Maybe he was just playing with me, he had thought afterwards, but that made him seem like he cared. And he wouldn’t be one to admit that.
But, like always, George was right. The answer was the same. Daily.
“Do you compare this person to others you’ve dated?”
No one compared to George, so how could he? Maybe he wondered about certain things sometimes, like how lying in bed together would feel compared to this person, or how would actually being with him compare, but he always knew the answer. Better. And he truly did believe it.
Dream scoffed at the question, though, allowing that to be his shelter from his rapidly swimming mind. Yes, but the others don’t stack up.
“Would you drop plans to hang out with your best friend?”
The brunet raised his eyebrows, looking up at Dream. “Like you really hang out with anyone besides me and Sap.”
“I hate you.”
In a heartbeat.
“Sure you do.”
Dream rolled his eyes and once again laid his gaze on the screen. “Can you feel what they are feeling?”
As of late, the blond had no idea what he was feeling, let alone George. He would like to think he did, at least some of the time, but so many doors had not yet been opened, though being in close proximity was slowly inching them open.
It felt like they were moving fast, busting down doors day in and day out, constantly learning new things about one another. Finally living in the same house, traveling together, eating together—all domesticities they had missed out on before were becoming norms, and Dream preferred this normal over any past ones.
Sometimes.
“Can you tell them absolutely everything?”
Of course he could. They were best friends, after all. George and Sapnap knew more about him than anyone besides his family, and maybe BadBoyHalo.
They were always there when he needed to talk, to laugh, to cry. He would forever be grateful for that, and he would always trust them with his full self.
But maybe not this feeling, something he had kept to himself for months—maybe years. It was his to keep, to grieve, and he didn’t want to part with it just yet. The universe hadn’t given him a sign, it hadn’t given him the go-ahead, not yet.
No, not everything, but most things.
Dream clicked his answer, and when the page refreshed to show the next question, his heart sank farther than it already was, now practically lying on the floor next to him. “Do you think your best friend is in love with you?” he willed from his lips, somehow, some way. His eyes jumped quickly to the boy in front of him, carefully, and he saw how his Adam's apple bounced when he gulped, signifying something. It couldn’t be nothing.
It couldn’t be meaningless.
Right now, Dream was holding on by nothing but false hope and desire, longing for something that may never grow to exist. He would say he didn’t care, and he and the voice in his head would be the only ones to not believe that. That voice taunted him on the daily, prodding and prying at his thoughts, shattering his ability to differ from his wants and needs.
Because right now, Dream didn’t just want George; he needed him. He needed him like plants need the water for photosynthesis, how some hibernating animals need harsh winters to sleep soundly.
Not sure. He didn’t want to get his hopes up; he wasn’t sure he could take that.
“Do you think you’re in love with your best friend?”
The little voice in Dream’s head laughed at him, mocked him for even attempting to process the question. You know the answer to this! it yelled at him, rattling the walls of his brain, causing a chain reaction in his tear ducts.
Droplets threatened to fall from his eyes as they built on his waterline, completely blurring his once perfect vision. Don’t fall don’t fall don’t fall, he begged them, blinking rapidly, banning them from ever entering his presence again. Or at least trying to.
His action would work for now, but not forever. He may be able to bink those tears away, but they would continue to fester beneath the surface, waiting for just the right time to attack yet again.
Before clicking his answer, he looked at the number of questions left.
This was the last one.
Dream wasn’t ready for this reveal, this answer, but he knew he had to move forward.
I really have no idea, he pressed, unaccepting of his possible fate.
Finally, the screen was loading to show Dream’s results, and when they popped up, he felt his heart burst as if it were dynamite. He should’ve known, he should’ve been prepared for the answer he knew he was about to get, but he was taken aback by it.
You are in love with your best friend, the screen told him, bold letters jumping out at him and clawing at his eyes. Dream wanted to drop his phone into his lap and clutch onto his skin, dig into his flesh because maybe, just maybe, the results would be different when he picked his phone up off the carpet. Maybe he was just seeing things, maybe his vision was leading him astray, past tears still falsifying it.
But when he blinked hard once, twice, three times, ensuring the clearness of his sight, he read the words over and over—over and over until he felt the words jumbling in his brain. They were spinning in circles and reflecting out of his eyes as if a cartoon, a hypnotic wheel taking the precedence over his own irises.
He would have to tell George his results, and he would ask him why, why; why did you answer the way you did? Were you being truthful? Is this a joke? And George would tell him his results, and Dream would be rocked with the “not” that escaped his lips.
And he would play it off. Oh, yeah, this was just some silly joke, he would say, but deep inside he would be screaming, crying out to any of those now dying butterflies for help, for any sort of direction. Longing for those flesh-eating termites to spare him, give him one last chance. Begging for any sort of comeback that would save his heart, his soul, his entire being from shattering into millions of tiny, unrecognizable shards of himself.
George’s voice broke his thought. “What did you get?”
Olive eyes stared like newly sharpened daggers into umber, but not even that could cut the tension between them. It was thick like acid fog, leaking from the vent and slowly filling up the room, threatening to choke them both if they didn’t hold their breath.
But against the air, Dream spoke. “What did you get?
Dream thought that George would counter with “but I asked first,” but instead, he flipped his phone around. And to say the least, Dream had not expected to see what he saw.
You’re in love with your best friend, his read, the same answer as his own. The blond had no idea what to say, had no idea what he could say, other than turn his own screen.
Instead of George reacting how Dream had expected him to (with a confused look, or something other than what he actually did), he smirked, and set his phone face down on the floor next to his leg.
“I remember when you took the quiz the first time.” The brunet spoke softly, straightening his legs out in front of him. Their eye contact had not broken, not once. “What changed?”
Dream was at a loss for words, he was stuck in his own head, attempting to pry words from the jumble that he had created. But then he realized; George’s question was rhetorical.
“It said that if things continued the way they were going,” George whispered, sneaking closer to Dream, “you could fall entirely in love with your best friend . Is that what happened?”
George was just inches from Dream now, and continued to close the distance between them. The blond wanted to rip his eyes away, to get up and run out of the room, escape whatever was about to happen between them.
Dream was scared of what may happen, absolutely petrified , but he wanted it more than anything. He was desperate for closure of any kind, and this would be it. This would be it.
“Maybe it is,” Dream whispered back, backing himself up on the wall he had sat in front of, but not against.
He could feel all his senses tingling at once, his head feeling woozy, as if the sight of George so close was intoxicating. The volume of the world had been turned up a thousand notches, and it only made his lungs feel heavier and his eyes more aware than ever.
George was practically on his lap, his face just a few inches from his own. Gravity almost pulled his lips forward—he had been longing for this moment for much too long. Dream craved him, and it was burying him deeper, and deeper, and deeper.
The brunet crept just a little further, pausing when his mouth was beside Dream’s ear. “I feel your longing,” he mumbled airily.
When the other’s words hit Dream’s ear, it sent him spiraling. The words swept over the back of his neck and traveled around to the front, as if the air that was once George’s was now a noose, squeezing his last breath from his lungs. “You could fix that,” Dream barely voiced, head falling against the wall.
“But should I?” George teased, moving so that his gaze was piercing into Dream’s.
Dream’s eyes begged for contact, for anything. “I think you should.”
George picked his hand from the ground below and slowly grazed it across Dream’s forehead, down his cheek, and flicked it quickly over his jawline as if his finger was a knife, and he was sharpening it. His eyes drifted to the other’s lips. George licked his own, then bit down softly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he prodded.
Whines threatened to explode from Dream’s lungs, but he held them down at his own will (which he didn’t even know he still had control over. George was a leech, sucking everything out of him at once, but Dream found that to be more than okay).
This time, he moved his own head next to George’s mouth butted against his ear. “Fuck you, too.”
George didn’t hesitate in his answer. “You’d like that, too.”
Dream bit down on his lip hard, holding back a smile that would satisfy George. He wouldn’t want to give him that. Not right now.
As George began to back away, slow as molasses, he ran his pointer finger over Dream’s thigh, and he felt the boy wince under his touch. George must’ve known he liked it because he continued tracing into the fabric of his sweatpants, with just enough pressure for him to feel it.
The shorter reached the end of Dream’s knee, and let his hand fall gracefully to his side. He rose to his feet, leaving Dream pressed against the wall. “We can talk about this later,” George said matter-of-factly, though with an evil smile scheming across his face.
“What if I don’t want to talk?” Dream rebutted as George began to walk away, easing his body after realizing the strain he was putting on his arms.
George turned back around, that smile still painted on his face in bright red paint. “Then we won’t.”