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It's a quiet, dewy morning.
The kitchen was raided of stale bread, due meat, and the garden is missing part of its produce. Dream sets his battered mask down on the oak dining room table, and picks up a pen.
He writes an apology first. I’m sorry for not telling you both. He thinks, then adds, But I need to do this.
Just the day before, he decided he would go on a trip to none other than The End. He’s never done it before, and neither has the rest of the team. He knows that it's greuling- however incredibly rewarding. There's been talk of diamonds, shulker boxes, potions, and the most sought after, elytras .
But besides that, Dream needs time to himself, to think and know beyond his distracting feelings. An inexplicable need to get away and breathe different air. He feels awful not saying goodbye to their faces, but he knows his friends, any hint at an adventure and they would insist on coming with him, no matter the task. He smiles despite himself.
His aching heart bleeds onto the page. I'm going to The End.
He finishes up his thoughts letting them know what he's taken and what he plans to do in The End, giving a short concise list of objectives. He scribbles a smile alongside a little cat, as he looks at their house pet; Patches. She's asleep, next to her empty bowl. He makes a note on the paper to feed her first thing.
With a bittersweet sigh, Dream ends his note with, two weeks, tops! <3
He masks up and slings an axe over his shoulder.
Dream leaves their home just before sunrise.
---
It's raining tonight. The air feels heavier.
George sits beside himself, eyes closed, Sapnap brewing sweet berry tea in the kitchen across from him. Freshly harvested.
"Could I get a cube in mine?" George says.
"Of sugar?"
"No, of salt. Yes, sugar!" he blows a raspberry towards the other's direction, playing up the game.
"Okay, Gogy," Sapnap replies, equally annoying.
The man hands George a warm cup, sweetly made. He takes a sip. Shreds of berry skin get stuck in his teeth as he sips, in that obnoxious way where he tries to make as much noise as possible- Sapnap catches on and squints his eyes.
They sit for a bit, reading, talking, before Sapnap states that he might just go into town today.
George's face scrunches, and he asks "why?" but clarifies, "it's about to rain, I mean," he gestures to the paned window. "and it's later in the day."
"I've been training outside on dummies since 7, my sword is dull and ugly. I need a blacksmith to fix it up, and 'sides, been a while since I've been out." he lifts his mug to his scruff, "you're free to join."
George traces the rim of his cup, his tea has gone cold, berry skin and stems sunken to the bottom. "I don't really feel like it." he says.
His friend looks at him. He's still. Thinking.
"Please? I want some bro-time,"
George makes a face and sets down his cup. "What? We live together, you're not missing out on any ‘bro-time.”
Sapnap sighs a dramatic sigh and groans, he drops his limbs and lets his head go limp. Sapnap then lifts his head back up and clasps his hands holding them near his right cheek, giving the fakest puppy eyes George has ever seen.
“I’ll go if you don't steal anything," George agrees to.
"Oh yeah, like I would steal things from defenseless and passive villagers. Okay Geoi-gie," he laughs. “But awesome! I promise I'll buy you one of those- what is it? Citrus-y chocolate thing you like? The ones from the bakery Sylvee works at,”
George smiles. “Buy me three, then we’ll talk.”
They gather their weapons, gems, and step into their boots as they leave for the night. It takes a full five minutes for them to walk past the horizon.
---
George feels like sleeping.
Maybe he shouldn’t have gone. The walk to town is longer than he remembers, and half of the shops are closed for the day. Vines that used to grow near the ground are climbing up buildings and trees, withering the old cobble. The light drizzle seems to make the greenery glow, the leaves sprouting off of the stems are glowing with gratitude.
It's Sapnap that pulls him from his thoughts, asking, “is this the one, George?” he points to the glass. Sylvee leans over the counter and rests her head on one hand.
Oh, right, the bakery. He must’ve walked into it on autopilot.
It's the chocolate treat he was promised, “Em, yeah, the puff pastry. You don't have to buy it I- I was mostly joking-”
Sapnap shoves him away as a joke, “Please, I think we could use something to pick us up. Either way I’m getting this delicious fucker,” he then points to a glazed donut topped with chocolate chips.
“Ew. That?”
“Don't judge. Who even eats chocolate with citrus? Gross,”
Sylvee interjects, “Winners do. You don't even know what that means.” she says, “7 Emeralds, by the way.”
He sticks his tongue out and hands a few emeralds he pulled from his satchel to the girl, “I do know what it means to win, matter of fact, I’ve beaten-” he hesitates, “um- Dream multiple times in our manhunts!”
George’s smile does something of a twitch, then his eyes fall distantly behind Sapnap. Sylvee shifts a glance to them as she puts away the gems and wraps their goods in brown bags. She sets them on the counter with a delicate touch, quiet, careful.
She opens her mouth to say something- then thinks again. “He hasn’t come back yet?” she says softly. It almost sounds like an apology.
George grabs his bag and takes a step behind his friend, seemingly looking into the bag as if to make sure everything was in order, as if he hadn’t watched Sylvee carefully pick and handle their food. He pulls at it, folding the top perfectly, spending more time than necessary, fixated
Sapnap just shakes his head and mouths, No. A shrug.
Sylvee leaves it at that and offers a smile. “Shops closing in like, a minute. I’ll head out with you guys if that's okay?”
“Ooh, I don't know if I like loser nerds hanging with me, not sure if I can be seen with one.” Sapnap offers dramatically, his voice airy and snobby, “you know I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Please, I'd make you look better. Wouldn't you agree, George?”
George plays along after a second. “Yeah. Sylvees cracked at like, everything. She knows more than you, ‘Nap.”
He scoffs.
---
As Sylvee said, she closed up shop and spent time with the duo, until they had run into Hannah in the town square. A movie night pulled her away from them, and they parted ways with tired smiles.
Sapnap looks around and gestures to the bar next to them. “Wanna stop in?”
“It’s late and… I don't want to drink, really.”
“S’fine. I was just gonna get some juice probably anyway. I just wanna sit and eat my creamy, sloppy, moist donut.” he grossly overstates.
“That's what your mum said about me last night” George giggles with a scrunched nose. Sapnap gags. “But okay. A bite of this doesn’t sound bad right now.”
The door’s overhead bell jingles as they step into it, and the ambience is charming. There's gentle noteblocks playing somewhere behind the counter, and warm redstone torches were used to light the place- it has a homely comfort to it.
They sit at a high table, in a corner away from the main area. The window next to them is cracked open, letting in breezy air. Despite this, the space between the two feels stale.
Taking a bite of the sweet in his hand, Sapnap asks, “How's your… pastry? I mean it looks pretty good and I would hope so too, considering Sylvee probably made it. As you said, she's the best at everything.”
George looks up at him. “Oh. It's… nice.”
“Just nice?” he chuckles. “I oughta give Syl a piece of my mind-”
“Sap.”
“What?” his friend replies.
“Can we… eat in silence? Please.”
Sapnaps jaw sits ajar for a bit, and he studies George’s face. He wipes the frosting from his lips. Sapnap starts, “No,” he asserts, setting his hands down, “Talk to me.”
George sits up a bit straighter, and his eyes are fixed on his pastry. He tears at it, pulling apart crusty layers of chocolate and bread, letting them fall down onto his napkin. He clenches his jaw and swallows a piece he was chewing on. “...I don't really know what you mean.” he says blankly. “Be specific.”
“Yes you do. Talk to me.”
“There's nothing to say. Leave me alone.” he says, lowly. “I don't want to talk.”
Sapnap sees through him. “I’ve been hurting too, you know? It's not just you. Why can't we talk about this? Normally? We’ve been living like nothing happened but everytime we bring him up you- you close yourself off!” He argues, “I don't want to fight about this, I just want to feel better!”
George snarls. “And what do you want me to say?” he looks up finally, his big brown eyes a bit glossy, he mocks. “ ‘oh boy, we’ve finally talked about the probability that Dream’s dead, on his own accord, I feel a lot better!’
“I don't like to think about it. I’d rather wait every day as if he’s just gone out before I awake and that he comes back when I fall asleep.”
There's silence. It's buzzing with overhead lights, creaky chairs, and distant rain. The conversations behind the bar quiet with interest. It's like they're asking keep going, how does your story end?
George doesn’t know.
He huffs, “maybe if you’d done your morning practice he’d still be here.” it’s quiet, however loud.
Sapnap sharply guffaws with eyes that are in disbelief. “That's unfair and I think you know it. Don’t take your anger out on me. He was- is my friend too.”
“It was different with us.” George says, frustrated. He looks away, his eyes red with desperation. He hides in his hands. “It was different. We are different. I never got closure.”
Sapnap’s face pulls a frown, and he tilts his head. “What do you mean…?” he questions.
George thinks, why did he say that? And pauses for a moment. He drops his hands to clench his shirt. The hem is tearing away from age and wear. He lets out a bated breath and states clearly, “I'm going home. Go to Sam and get your sword fixed and come back before midnight. I'm going to bed.”
He walks away from the table feeling more distant than he ever has.
---
The walk home is wet. In all honesty, he was stupid not to bring an umbrella, or at least another layer of clothing. It's difficult to see through the distant mist of rain, and as beautiful as the low sunset is- it does him a disservice with the bright glare from the horizon.
George’s thoughts are too loud for his own good. He thinks too often, too much, and too in-depth for his own liking. They're too green, too smiley, too tall, and he expects to melt into himself if he focuses on the image for longer than he means. A gross puddle of reds and pinks, yearning, wanting- followed closely by hopelessness and despair.
George then thinks he’ll never be the same.
And maybe he's an idiot, for turning away from one of his few friends left, but life is unbearable and unforgiving, and he's just protecting himself, he justifies. Maybe distancing is the way to go.
It's when George sees foggy lights from a distance, that he allows himself to rethink.
Sapnap and I turned those off when we left. We turned them off. I- “turned them off! ”
He breaks out into a full sprint, giving less of a care to his clothes. George exhausts himself by tripping and catching himself a few times, all while his limbs flail and his shoes squelch. He pleads to himself and catches warm tears in his open mouth. It's the realest he’s felt within the month, and though he can feel every disgusting drop of mud and blade of grass along his arms and legs, there's nothing distracting him from reaching this distant dream. His distant Dream.
The door is open.
And George is… afraid.
He gently palms the door to push it open, a rusted hinge grates against itself, loud and abrasive. There are tracks leading to their kitchen. Pearls, potions, diamonds, lining a path that George follows.
A tired body of red and green sits on their floor, bread in hand. He looks up to George,
and shuts his eyes.
---
Dream returned back two and a half weeks later than promised, bruised and dirtier than George had ever seen him. There's flaking browned blood around the collar of his hoodie and multiple tears through the layers of his clothes. In place of a mask, a long gash that reaches from cheek to cheek makes itself apparent. It doesn't look new, but it doesn't look healed either. It's an ugly shade of red and crusted with dirty browns.
Hyper-aware of the situation now, George falls to meet Dream’s level on the kitchen floor.
“Dream- oh- Dream hold on we have to-” he stutters, frantic, “can you stand? Oh god, you have so many- you're bleeding!” George grabs at Dream’s arms and attempts to pull him up, or at least closer, but it proves difficult when the other party stiffs.
“G’rge.” he says, low and rumbling. “I’m fine. I just need…um…” he drifts.
“Dream. You are not fine.”
“Can I have some water?” he says, “I managed to get bread before my leg felt like it was going to break a second time.”
“Your leg broke?”
Dream coughs. “Okay, well, break is a strong word, but it doesn’t, uh, feel right?” there's blood on his lips. “And it hurts. Like, all the time, but I think I just need to sit. How are you?”
George can almost laugh. It's so Dream of him. But he doesn’t have the strength to, and instead stands. He musters all he can to pull Dream up and puts one of his arms over his shoulders, leading Dream to the bathroom. Dream walks with a limp, and it makes him heavier when George helps him walk- though George is sure Dream doesn’t have the same healthy build as before.
They make it to the bathroom and he sits his friend on a low stool in front of the bathtub.
“Take off your clothes,” George says. “I’ll get you water in a second,”
Dream chuckles a bit. “Ooh, George, if I knew you just wanted to see me shirtless I would’ve done this ages ago-”
“Dream.”
A pause. “Sorry,” he says. “How are you feeling?” he asks again.
So it's Dream and George. Alone together in the bathroom. Their wooden floor is stained with dirt and faint diluted blood droplets. Dream is cold, shivering from bare skin touching air. They’re both sopping wet, George having wasted no time caring for his friend.
George removes Dream’s torn hoodie and undershirt, feeling dejected. Unforgiving scars are strewn upon his chest and tummy. There's an open first aid kit beside him on the tub, the items that were inside are scattered throughout the bathroom.
George is patching him up, carefully, sewing him together again- preparing him emotionally all while gauze is neatly but tightly applied to his wounds. They sit in silence. George breaks it.
"I've been missing you, you know." George finally draws. He takes Dreams hand and wraps a few layers of sanitized gauze around it
"I know,"
“We thought you died,” he says. “It was unspoken, we… we didn’t think you were coming back.”
There's a pause. It's heavy. Thick. Rich minerals waft around the room- it makes George feel queasy.
Dream lifts his right hand, ungloved, to hold the other's face. It's a different feeling- his muscle is tense with littered scars and poorly healed wounds. It clashes against unsurprisingly soft skin. George wavers slowly to look up at him.
"...what happened?" George whispers.
Dream swallows and speaks with an urgency. "You know I love you," it's the only sound in the world. "I'm so sorry,"
George's heart is buried between the transparency of his face and Dream’s calloused hand. George can no longer camouflage his tears behind rain.
He reaches his left hand up to cradle Dream’s. George's eyes squint with bunching tears. He looks away, past Dream. "Be serious," he says.
Dream looks hurt, so he reaches his hand further into George's soaked hair, while his other follows suit on the other side of the latter's head.
"Look at me," he states, clear with desperation, painted white. "George, I'm being so serious right now- I could not love you more than I already do." in the heat of the moment, he sits further up, and his scarring reopens and burns. He hisses and George takes action immediately.
Still avoiding eye contact, he sighs. George preps large strips of gauze, and wraps haemostatic dressings along his abdomen. A few layers need to be applied. "Then why are you distancing? We haven't- I haven't seen you since… god, who knows when,"
The rain doesn't seem to lighten up.
"And when you were here, you were gone every other day." Pause. "You disconnected your communicator."
Dream pulls away, face reddening, and he tears at his dressings. "I..." he laughs, pathetically, "I couldn't- didn't know what to do, to be completely honest with you George." he gives. He lets his hands fall to his lap.
He's embarrassed.
It takes George by surprise, given the wet starstruck eyes he lays upon Dream, mouth slightly parted. He's almost angry, but it's not enough to argue.
"What do you mean by that?"
He studies George's expression; curious, cautious. "I mean I'm in love with you."
Time seems to stop, even as the rain pours harder.
A confession.
"I felt- I was scared of losing you, your friendship, us. What we- what we are-" he blanks. “I'm shaking, um," he takes a second to compose himself.
In one long breath, "I needed to get away. Because of you, and I didn't know what you felt. I still don't. I'm saying this with the risk that you'll completely abandon me by morning. You just... you deserve an explanation. I love you. you're perfect. I've gone to The End and out the other side just to avoid thinking about it." Dream allows himself vulnerability.
George grabs the other’s hands from the tight fist Dream’s lap, thumbing the middle of his palms like a cat. He pulls them up to his shoulders.
"In love?" A pause. A stare. "Even when you're right in front of me, I still miss you. Come back to me.”
Dream tilts his head like a puppy; it's endearing and George’s expression softens, and he finally realizes just how worn out he feels.
"Because-" George smiles, wide and pearly. He laughs a sad little note and pushes his tear-ridden face into Dream's neck. He muffles into the warmth, "Because I love you too."
He can feel Dream stiffen in front of him. His hands clasp around his back, one slowly climbing George's neck, fiddling with his hair and then his ear, finally resting amongst his jaw and he gently encourages George to look at him.
"You love me. You... love me? You love me,"
Soaked and heavy, it's a breath of fresh air. "I do, I do, I really do!" he rocks forwards grabs at Dream's biceps, shaking him slightly.
Dream curses and aches, whistling through his teeth as George grabs at bruises and closed scabs. The latter mutters a sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it-
There's a moment between them shared eye to eye. Dream looks up and down the other's face, trying to pick up on lies. There are none.
"I feel so stupid."
"It's because you are."
"George!" he giggles. "You don't mean it."
Head tilted, his smile light. "I don't." he wipes shiny tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.
George pulls himself closer to Dream. He looks pretty. Water droplets grace Dream’s eyelashes, like dew settled amid grass blades. George can't help but notice his singed bangs.
With a swift glance to his lips and another pull the two weave themselves together, entwined in the moment, in each other, it’s felt like a thousand years since he saw Dream in the kitchen. The kiss is gentle. but it's sweet, new, albeit chapped. Dream tastes like iron.
They sigh into each other as their faces part and their bodies come together. A hug.
"I hope you know that this… doesn't really excuse the absence. But I'm- I'm just so happy to have you back," he briefly huffs. "I'm still upset at you, you loser."
From their peripheral, they spot Sapnap in the doorway, having just reentered their home, a shiny fresh sword in hand- it looks like he bejeweled it a little bit. He's just as sopping wet as both of them-
He looks up and comes to a stop, finally noticing his friend who's caked with blood and dirt. To Sapnap, he looks new. Different. It's not a Dream he's seen before.
"Dream?" he says, in disbelief. His stance is wide and so are his eyes, every emotion is dancing across his face in a sad lineup of mostly confusion and Dream doesn't know whether or not he should feel afraid.
It dissipates.
"Sapnap," he smiles, "Sapnap, oh," he stands (though George argues him not to-) and limps his way towards the youngest, arms wide and open, gently asking for a hug.
After a thought, Sapnap rushes forward and takes it, leaning into his friend with oceans welling in his eyes, gray and foggy, relieved howbeit mad that he's home now, after so long. Sapnap leads him back to where he was sitting, eyeing his leg,
There are still droplets of blood beading on a sloppily put together Dream’s knuckles. Hugs will definitely stain their clothes, but no one can find it in themselves to care.
“Once you get better I’m gonna beat you up, seriously, what were you thinking?” Sapnap rasps, his voice sounds thick.
“I get it, I’m so fucking sorry. But- there's… I've just been… not quite myself, or maybe I’m too much of myself.” he looks away, at the dim lighting, “Either way I needed to run away for a bit, and it ended up longer than I intended.”
Sapnap just looks down at him. He crosses his arms and tugs at his tee-shirt sleeve "I feel like I should be more mad, but… I'm really just glad you're home." he says, "And I'm tired of grieving over or being mad at my best friend, to be honest."
Dream looks back to George, then to Sapnap, and decides he really needs a fucking bath. Going to the end and trekking back does not bode well in health, and this is the grossest he’s ever felt in his life.
“Unless you both want to see my trench foot and blisters and infected wounds, I need you both to leave me to my devices. I’m taking a bath”
They part, nervous to leave Dream alone, but they trust him enough to not die in the tub, if he hadn’t killed himself in The End.
---
In the living room, clad in sleepwear, and lit by a single lamp beside the table, Dream and George sit on the couch.
They’re holding hands, embarrassed. Though they're away from Sapnap’s prying eyes, it feels too new to even explore. Dream’s big hand traces George’s thumb without second thought, and they lean against each other, head on top of head.
It's a chilly night, and Dream doesn’t want restrictive clothes, so they’re in loose-fitting hoodies and sweatpants, saved for nights like this.
“How’s your leg?” George breathes.
“Better. Thank you.” he sighs, “still hurts but not as badly. Could be a sprain,”
Dream can see sparks fly in George’s eyes. He does a light peck to his eyebrow. There’s a slit there they never talk about, and he’s not even sure if George knows how it got there. He looks nice with it, but George always looks nice.
“Was that a part of the thank you?”
“Yes. there's more to come if you’d like?” he says softly. George can’t get enough.
“... what happened to your axe…?”
“Dude, I don’t fucking know,”
They burst into hushed giggles and clasp at each other's hands harder.
They look at each other. They’re not used to each other in this new context, burning with emotion not yet ready.
But they’ll figure it out.
