George doesn't know what happens next, no one does.
Confusion clouds over his head, and it feels suffocating to breathe. There's an unexplainable pain to being in a relationship, and that only makes him feel more guilty.
He likes Dream. In fact, he's probably in love with Dream.
He's heard from somewhere that 'love is pain,' but he thought only quirky couples like MGK and Megan Fox said.
Right now, George was unsure. Unsure if he's good enough, unsure if he's making all the right choices of being a good person and a better parter.
He's confident that Dream's the perfect person, but he just wants to make sure that he's ready to shape up his personality to be good enough for the blonde. And even though they established enough times that George isn't that bad of a mess than he shows, the brunette can't help but wonder if he could've been a better version of himself in some alternate universe.
Somewhere out there, there should be a George who woke up at 7:30 every day without an obnoxious phone alarm. A George who views home as a luxurious house instead of this cage-like hospital room. A version of himself where he can kiss Dream and not wonder if the blonde was better off without him.
George wanted to run away.
Away from intrusive thoughts, nagging nurses (although Niki was okay), but every time he tried, he ended back in the same room.
He used to hate repetition, but all he wanted right now was to when times where simpler. Better, even.
George picks up his phone to text Dream, but he stops mid sentence and kind of just stares at the screen until it gets dimmer and dimmer until it turns off completely.
He wants to say it all over text, but he can't find the words.
Twenty-six letters of the alphabet can't possibly describe what he feels about Dream, and he's confident that it never will. That's what was so deceiving about the English language. It seemed simple, straightforward—or that's what he had thought.
But that was before he met Dream, before his life began, literally.
Dream was the first person who could knock all words out of his lungs. There was no way words could capture his magnificence, not even if Mirriam fucking Webster had wrote it.
Giving up, George quickly types out an 'I love you, Dream,' before hitting the blue send button and burying his face into the pillows beside him.
He doesn't know how long he stays in that position, but it's comfortable and it drowns out his thoughts. In general, 10/10 experience, definitely recommend.
His phone pings once, grabbing his attention.
George expects it to be from Dream, seeing as he was a clingy person who responded to texts fast, but it was his from a friend from the UK, which was definitely something he wasn't expecting.
Izzy: You've got to be kidding me rn
If the text had been from someone else, George would have frozen in his stance and question everything he had done in his life, but this was different.
This was Izzy, and even when people could be kind of spooked by her scary side, George knew that she was secretly a mature person who had a soft spot for snacks, especially Pringles.
George: What ever happened to hello??
Izzy: Hello
The brunette laughs to himself, but quickly stops as his ringtone starts playing and his screen flashes with the text 'Izzy is Calling.'
George is more surprised by this.
Even if she was Wilbur's cousin and only one year younger, it felt weird to know that she was taking the time to call. Izzy was an extremely likable person, and it was hard to get a spot on her non-existent agenda.
Always bustling with energy tinted with sarcasm, she was popular and barley had time to hang out with George and Wilbur, even when George wasn't hospitalized yet and didn't move halfway across the world.
The brunette slides his finger across the green icon and waits a couple of seconds for the call to properly connect.
"Hello?" he stupidly asks, setting the phone on loudspeaker. "Izzy, did something happen?"
"Did something happen?" she coughs. "Yes, George. Something happened because you got a boyfriend and didn't tell me."
George is stunned at this point. How did news go across the world and into the presence of old friends?
Especially news that the brunette kept a secret. It wasn't like he posted pictures of himself with Dream under the hashtag #couplegoals.
And even if he did, his few Instagram followers would probably scroll past it or label it as satire.
Even if George had posted a photo of them kissing, most people would probably not believe it and call it a hoax.
The last time George socialized with his old friends, they knew him as a light-hearted boy who was as straight as a metal ruler. They would also wonder how the brunette could ever meet and kiss someone who looked like a Seventeen front cover model.
George had only told Wilbur, and he didn't give many details. Just tiny facts that he liked Dream and that those feelings were mutual.
Wilbur.
"Did Wilbur tell you?" George questions, even though he knows the answer is an undeniable 'yes.'
"Fuck Wilbur for a second. When did you guys start dating?"
"Izzy," George cautioned. "Wilbur is very part of this conversation and I don't want everyone else to find out."
"Answer my question," she pressed with a firm tone. "And don't get mad at Wilbur, I beat him with a pillow until he told me."
"What?"
George's friend just sighs. "If you must know, we were at a family dinner. We're cousins, if you forgot."
"No, I remember very clearly."
"Good, because I only just realized that you forget a lot of things, including the fact that you got a boyfriend and didn't bother to tell your best friend," Izzy huffs.
George just rolls his eyes, but it's light-hearted and he knows that he couldn't possibly stay annoyed at her.
"I saw him chatting with you, then he just randomly leaves the room and keeps texting you out in the lawn," Izzy explains. "Then you can piece out what happens next."
"Poor Will."
"Not 'poor Will,' he definitely deserved that for not trying to tell me. And you, you deserve to answer my questions."
George considers for a second, but he knows he's going to end up giving in.
He hated to admit it, but he missed Izzy and her childish yet entertaining antics.
"So when'd you make it official?"
George thinks for a bit, because when Dream had finally asked him, it felt late. As if their relationship was already mutually established long ago.
"I don't know, a little bit to the end of chapter 19."
"That sucks. Everything sucks, especially fourth wall."
"Chapter coordination is really difficult, Izzy."
And just like that, the fourth wall and all of the tension between them lifted, and it almost felt like the old times.
The back-then inseparable trio used to spend so much time together, even when Izzy had plenty of other friends she could hang out with. She'd come to Wilbur and George's soccer games, sitting on the bleachers with one hand shielding her eyes from the radiant sun.
Everyone knew that she despised sitting there and watching their pointless games, but everyone also knew that she would never stop going. Sometimes Izzy would sit on the bleachers like a concrete wall. Other times, she'd braid Molly's hair and talk to Ms. Davidson.
Molly also loved Izzy—everyone did.
"Why didn't you tell me, though?" she suddenly speaks, interrupting the still silence of the hospital room. There's a slight shuffle on the other line before Izzy comments again. "Just because we don't talk a lot doesn't mean I don't want to hear about you."
George sighs, using one hand to push back his hair. "I know, but it felt weird to randomly drop in and say 'Hi, Izzy. I know we haven't chatted, but I got a hot boyfriend. Just calling to let you know.' It'd be awkward if I had done that."
"That's what I want you to do," Izzy laughed, then stopped suddenly. "Wait—he's hot?"
The brunette bites back a smile. "I mean, yeah. I guess. I wouldn't be a good boyfriend if I thought he wasn't hot."
"Oh my god, you sound like you're married," she comments. "Remember when you swore that you would never date someone?"
"I remember that."
"You said that if you did, you would give Wilbur and I the world," Izzy laughs. "Pay up, George."
He chuckles, but something about it feels flat and dull. "Are relationships always hard?" he asks, but has no idea what he's going to receive in return. "Dream's great, but I'm just worried that I don't reflect that same amount of... greatness."
There's a beat of hesitance before his friend responds, leaving a stale amount of tension.
"Of course his name is Dream," Izzy whispers to no one in particular, smile practically audible from the call. "And if this Dream seems greater than you, then he must be pretty great."
"Really?"
"Relationships might be a bit tough, and I can't promise you that it's going to become easier," she states. "Whatever you two have going on is probably great, and you know I'm always here, right?"
"What if he breaks up with me?"
Izzy lets out a short sigh. "Then you slap him, get a total glow up and listen to every one of Nicki Minaj's songs. That's how you're supposed to tell him that you're better off without," she announces, sounding satisfied with her response. "Well, I should be the first person you tell. Then I'd buy a first-class plane ticket to America and burn his country to ashes."
"Arson is not a good shade on you."
"I'm just expressing what I would do if my dear friend got hurt," Izzy comments while humming the tune of a song George couldn't recognize. "And you shouldn't overthink your stance in a relationship. It's clear that he loves you from the stories I heard from Wilbur-"
"He told you stories?" the brunette says in shock.
"Of course he did," Izzy says with an eye roll George can already picture. "Flowers, George? He might as well get down on one knee and make you sign marriage papers."
"Actually-"
"Oh god, don't even," she laughs, her voice dropping serious. "But really, if you hold yourself back, you're going to end up breaking both of your pretty little hearts."
"I know," George says, pursing his lips into a thin line.
"But if you're sure that he's going to end up breaking your heart, you'll be the only sad one," she points out. "And if that ever happens, you have me. And you know I'm going to end up slashing his tires and making his life a living hell."
"I know," the brunette says again, but it feels happier.
His clouded thoughts are slightly brighter now that Izzy's here. He's unsure of what to do next, but now the option of doing nothing at all seems okay—maybe even good.
"I'm glad you called, Iz."
"And I'm mad that you didn't want to reach out to me, so I guess we're even now."
"When I get better, you should come to America and meet him," George smiles.
Izzy could match anyone's energy, so he knew without a doubt that she would get along with Dream.
"That's actually one of the smartest things you said today," Izzy remarks. "And you've said some incredibly stupid things, so there's nothing I can really compare to." There's an alarmingly loud beep on the other end, "Hold on, my cookies are burning."
"You're making cookies?"
"We love a multitasking queen," she comments, her voice sounding distant. "Wait, sorry. I have to hang up before I burn my house down."
"Right," George says with a half-hearted laugh. "Thanks for calling, again."
"We should talk more, I'm blaming you for the time wasted."
"Sure," the brunette smiles. "Now go before you ruin anything."
Izzy complies and hangs up the phone, which brings both a sense of relief and sadness to George. The room seems impossibly gloomier, and the curtain drapes fluttering in the artificial breeze made by the air conditioning.
He stands up from the sofa and drags himself to the desk. Opening the windows, he then shuffles through the drawers until he finds the letter he's looking for.
Dried rose petals fall from the letter as George opens it, scattering over the slightly scratched desk and by his feet. They flutter in the breeze like a falling bird. Swirling and dancing in the air until it lands on the hospital floor with a silent graze. It brings a slight smile to him, but there's an aching hollowness in his chest, when he knows it shouldn't.
If he was dense, he'd think that it was a medical problem, but he knew that it wasn't.
Right now, he had the feeling he got when characters from a romance story get in a heated argument, which he absolutely despised. It was no surprise that George hated romance.
The bet with Izzy and Wilbur said enough by itself. And it was crystal clear: George Davidson was not made for love.
He should be happy.
Happy that his friend had called. Happy that Dream cared about George, happy that they had a love that came straight from the movies.
But George couldn't help but feel torn into pieces.
He's full-on crying now, not even knowing the reason behind it. He wipes a hand along his tear-streaked face, gathering the moistness and trying to take steady breaths in between.
George has never cried this hard. He sets his head in his hands, vision blurring as he tries to read the words on the page. He expects the letter to be light-hearted. Humorous, even.
But it wasn't anything he had expected.
The words were soothing, cleverly put out, and it nurtured George in ways he never knew words could.
Twenty-six letters. Somehow, Dream could twist the letters of the alphabet to something that loosened the knot in George's throat.
What the brunette couldn't say to himself for comfort was now laid on paper in neat handwriting, under the array of dark petals and moonlight glow.
His phone buzzes next to him, and Dream's name is the first thing that lights up George's attention.
Dream: I love you too, George
Somehow, that was more relieving than the letter, but created a storm of stress in the brunette's mind.
He wanted Dream, but he already had him.
Without second guessing his choice, George dials Dream's number, which the blonde picks up straight away.
"Are you close by?" the brunette chokes. "Please."
"Yeah, I'm near," Dream responds in a hushed tone. "Do you need me?"
George freezes at this statement.
Did he need Dream?
He's never needed anyone in his life. George was independent and was perfectly capable of dealing with himself and his issues.
He didn't need anyone when he moved from hospital to hospital. He didn't need Izzy to call, even when it was really nice.
George was fine by himself. He was fine before Dream came into the picture.
So why did he feel like he needed Dream right now? Maybe it was because he did.
"Yes," George whispers, breath feeling stuttered. "I need you."
"Eight minutes?"
"Okay," the brunette responds. "Eight minutes."
"Four-hundred eighty seconds, yeah?" Dream says into the call, but it sounds oddly rushed and fast-paced. There's a loud rustle on his side of the phone, and then a door slamming shut.
"Dream."
"I know, George."
From the call, he can hear the blonde's quick footsteps against distant noises. He's not sure what it is, and he probably won't try to find out.
—————
Eight minutes. Four-hundred eighty seconds.
It doesn't sound like a long time, but it felt like every second lasted an hour.
George was still at the desk near the window, elbows against the chipped white table in a half-standing pose. He knew that Dream was trying his best to arrive as quickly as he could, and he didn't want Dream to be more nervous than he actually was.
Maybe George was overreacting. Apparently, that's all he did recently.
As more thoughts cloud his head in an annoying manner, the door swings open.
George turns around, but it's useless, seeing as how he already knew the person that was waiting for him. The phone falls on the desk with a subtle 'thud,' and Dream immediately dashes towards him with a comforting embrace.
Instantly, the brunette is buried in Dream's vanilla mint scent, which he had previously learned was his shampoo.
"What happened?" the blonde tries, using one arm and swiftly carrying George.
George is surprised at this, emitting a small gasp before pressing his forehead on Dream's neck.
"I-" he stops as the blonde carefully places him on the bed. "I don't know."
"It's okay," Dream whispers. "It's okay," he repeats, but he sounds like he's convincing himself more than he's convincing George.
"I'm sorry—I don't have any excuses," George choked out, leaning on Dream's chest more until his voice was muffled by his T-shirt. "I'm sorry," he whispers in a tiny voice.
"How am I supposed to forgive you when there's nothing you should be apologizing for?" the blonde soothes, lifting George's chin so their gazes met.
The look in those wide, brown eyes were enough to shatter Dream's heart in pieces. They looked so sad, so distant. As if George was out on a sea Dream could never go on. He was just a stranger gazing along the shores trying desperately to find some way to get closer.
So Dream tried harder.
Tried to build a bridge out of the few materials washed up along the gray sands, only realizing that George was drifting away faster than Dream could ever start to approach him.
The right response was probably to give up, but Dream didn't.
He couldn't give up when it came to George. Even when the result was a dead end, Dream knew that he'd have to try his absolute best. Dream could drown in those waves and still not give a fuck. Just knowing George was safe was enough for him to be happy.
"Hey," the blonde tries, voice low and soft. "Hey, you shouldn't be apologizing. I know what it's like."
George blinks, a pristine tear falling from his eyes and rolling down his cheek. "You do?"
"Yeah," Dream smiles, feeling more bittersweet than joyful. He wipes George's tear away, then continues brushing his fingers along his face soothingly. "So talk to me, and we'll get through this together."
The brunette hides his face again, pressing his forehead against Dream's chest.
"There's so much I want to say," George whispers.
"Then you can say it," the blonde offers. "Or don't say anything at all. Sometimes that helps." He squeezes George's hand in his, feeling the brunette's cool fingers lace around his warm ones. "And all I want to do right now is help," he smiles. "I hate seeing you like this, it—it breaks my heart."
George looks up at Dream again, providing a look that says: "It breaks mine too."
Instead, he lets out a breathy laugh and rubs at his eyes. "How did I ever get so lucky?" he says aloud, realizing that he was just verbally expressing his thoughts now.
"You didn't get lucky, George," the blonde says, wrapping an arm around his back and pulling him even closer. He could feel the brunette's uneven breath against his neck, and it feels strange but welcoming. "You're not lucky—neither of us are."
"What do you mean?"
"We aren't here by luck, George," Dream says as the brunette turns so they were looking at each other again. "This isn't just a coincidence of some sort. I'm here because I want to be here. I'm here because I want to be with you."
George just blinks at him, eyelashes crystallized with tears.
"Sure, maybe it's kind of lucky that you ended up in the same hospital, but this," Dream kisses George's forehead. "This isn't the universe's way of telling us that we're some star-bound couple, because we aren't. Do you know what I'm saying?"
The brunette shakes his head softly, as if too much motion will break the spell between them.
"We aren't inevitable, we made it work. There are thousands—probably millions of ways we could've ended up, and yet we stumbled into this one. This one where we're together, where I'm with you and you're with me," the blonde says, voice softening. "We're star-crossed, George. But we rewrote everything—we rewrote the stars."
George sniffs, but there's a sparkle in his eyes. There's no longer a sea of lost hopes, but now it's replaced with stars glittering with excitement and possibility.
It's probably weird to compare George to a star, but there was nothing better to compare him to.
He was distant, yet close. It took time for its light to go from Point A to Point B, and Dream was sure that most people gave up their patience and left; he wasn't one of them.
He's not exactly the most patient person. He gets fidgety when he stands in a line for too long, he gets annoyed when teachers take far too long grading a test, but this was something he was willing to wait for.
Dream smiles back with the same love and affection, and if he looked at himself through a mirror, he would probably have the same awe-struck look George had.
"You're a star," the blonde brushes George's hair back a bit. "You're my star."
—————
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