The green lanyard wrapped around Dream's fingers unravels quickly as he twirls his palm. Metal rattles against metal, keys cutting through the air, spinning in wide motion. Rings and the dangling blob figurine he'd been sent months prior bounce off the back of his knuckles.

"We're going to be late," he repeats. He glances at the time on his phone, again.

"He's late to everything, so it's fine," Sapnap's voice carries through the muffled wall.

Dream snaps the keys into his hand, then lets them drop again. "Are you being slow on purpose?"

"Yes," Sapnap says, as he rounds the corner.

He's wearing one of the nicer button downs they'd purchased since their 'boys trip' to the mall, which ate up most of their time on his third day in town. The maroon material and unkempt collar clash with his board-shorts. The sight alone proves Dream's suspicions that yes, of course, he'd spent far more energy picking out his own outfit than Sapnap woudl bother to in his lifetime. In the five minutes he'd spent fussing with his hair in the mirror, Sapnap was probably able to dress himself haphazardly without a second thought.

Dream glances down at his soft blue shirt and over-washed jeans with trickling doubt.

"Here's your smoothie, by the way," Sapnap interrupts his thoughts, extending a dark thermos in his hands. "You're welcome."

Dream frowns. "Oh." He must have absently left it on the kitchen counter in his rush to exit. "Thanks."

Sapnap steps past him through the open entrance, tugging down a pair of sunglasses buried in his hair at the first attack of light. Dream squints at the brightness as he locks the front door behind them.

He pauses. "Are those mine?"

Sapnap nudges the brown frames slightly down the bridge of his nose, and peers at Dream over the top of the lenses. "They look better on me."

Dream reaches out and shoves the sunglasses back up onto his face abruptly, pushing the plastic into the space between Sapnap's brows. He grins around the metal straw between his teeth when Sapnap angrily bats his hand away.

He draws a sip from the smoothie as they make their way down the driveway to his car. "I put in way too much peanut butter," he mumbles.

"I told you." Sapnap falls silent for a moment when tugging on the passenger handle, before noting, "Y'know, you're looking a little..." He hesitates. "You good?"

Dream doesn't respond, and instead slopes into the driver's seat, closing the door with a slam that shakes the frame.

"Or are you bad?" Sapnap half-concludes as he eases himself into the car. Dream sighs, and he persists, "Which is it, Dream? Good, bad...or ugly?"

"You're not going to make me rewatch that movie," Dream says. He sets his disappointment of a smoothie in the center cup-holder.

They've held a series of televised-centric nights that glue them to his living room couch, talking incessantly over important lines and hushing each other at exciting scenes. Bowls of chips and splattering salsa had brought them to the very heart of Sapnap's wish to 'fuck off like a cowboy and ride into the sunset.' Apparently, Dream doesn't respect the cinematic art that is 'The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.'

"You didn't even watch it," Sapnap defends quickly. "You spent the entire time complaining about guns."

He shoves his keys into the ignition. "Because it's over three hours, Sapnap. None of your precious 'spaghetti westerns' deserve to eat up that much of my time."

"Take that back." He can feel Sapnap's temper simmer next to him. "Right now."

"No," Dream says, lips quirking into a light smile. 

Sapnap lifts his sunglasses to peer at his expression. "Okay, you're smiling. So you're good, right?"

The grin slides off his face as they return to his blatant workaround of the question. Turning his keys and shuddering the car from its slumber, he mutters, "I hate how calm you are."

Sapnap's seat-belt whirs, and metal clicks into place. "Is that a no?"

"Are you nervous?" Dream presses hopefully, glancing at the rearview mirror before reaching to adjust it slightly.

"Well, yeah," Sapnap says. "Of course I am."

He shifts the car into reverse, and begins to pull out of the driveway. His hand rests on the back of Sapnap's chair as he asks, "About what?"

His answer is vague. "A lot of things."

Dream smiles. "Then tell me."

Sapnap sighs, then begins to explain minor grievances that weigh on him about upcoming work, home issues, and his excitement that muddles with anxiety surrounding meeting friends in real life. He notes how he often is caught between shyness, or being too bold, and at times it becomes hard for him to tell if he's acting true to himself. Both he and Dream acknowledge the unique quality of their own friendship, and the casualty that comes with it. His voice tips into an absent ramble that puts them at ease until they fall silent.

Dream drums his fingers on the steering wheel, attention flitting between signs and flashes of palm trees that pass them by. Sapnap mindlessly taps away on his phone.

"Can you play some music?" he asks, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

Sapnap connects to the aux wordlessly.

A relieved exhale pushes the smell of dusty vents from Dream's nose when songs fill the quiet car. His eyes sweep over the sunny, flat roads as he drifts back to his texts with George.

Late last night, George had sent: Airport is stuffy. Dislike very much.

Dream had grinned from his shell of sheets and covers, and typed back, Not too busy, I hope?

Just boarded, George said. Guy next to me smells like cologne.

On a scale from a light spritz to full on bottle-dumping, Dream proposed, how much cologne are we talking about?

Quickly, George responded, Like he bathed in a channel of palm oil.

Dream's amusement tumbled clumsily into high nerves when George texted again.

Taking off, it read. See u in nine hours.

His pulse pressed sporadically against the lining of his skull; throat tight. He'd wanted to send it, the words that have lived in him since summer, but knew the text wasn't worth the trouble of fighting George's airplane mode.

His head voiced it instead, repeating on every downbeat of his heart: See you then.

See you soon, he thinks as another playlist of Sapnap's begins to decline. Very soon.

Multiple chimes interrupt the music coming from the car's busted speakers, bringing Dream back down to the converging lanes in front of him. The notifications from Sapnap's phone blink through the chorus of a song.

Dream glances at him. "Noisy ringer you've got there."

"Sorry," Sapnap mumbles, switching his phone into complete silence.

Dream knows George is surely landing any minute now. His hands knead the steering leather, caught in repetition. He knows he's almost here, touching down in Florida, swept by humid air and shifting palm trees. He wonders if his hair will be riddled with static from hours of pressing against the plane seat, or if he slept through the sunrise above the clouds.

What am I supposed to say to him?

He swipes a strand from where it tickles his eyebrows.

What is he supposed to say to me?

He checks the clock; they're making good time. He should feel steadier, and shouldn't let the whispers of worry and hesitation grow in the back-burning of his head. He's worked for this; he's ready for this.

Right?

A few, gentle notes of a song slip subtly into the air, lost in the rush coming from the vents and hum of the road beneath his tires. Dream absently nudges the volume upwards to listen, before returning his hand to the wheel.

9:09

You gonna call it or am I?

One more time

This puppy love is out of line

His eyes slowly widen at the road before him. Sapnap reclines in the passenger seat, adjusting the sunglasses up away from his face, contently unaware.

One more slide

And then we're back to real life.

Dream's heart begins to pound; his breath escapes him. The lyrics unfold, and unopen in him, again. Again. Again.

He's lifted into the memory of hearing the first song under the clouds of his bathroom steam. He catches wind of George's laugh, and breezes by his whispers. He remembers the late night calls that he misses from deep earth; their fighting, their crying, their silence. The ample wounds and pain that split them both, wide open.

The way they left it all. Waiting, and collecting dust.

I guess I want you more than I thought I did.

"Dream?" Sapnap questions sharply. The turn signal clicks on the dash in faded matching of the song's beat.

Now that I know that part of you's not part of this.

The car pulls to the side of the road, stopping quickly to not bump the dormant vehicle curbed before them. Grass and green bend in the windshield. Whizzing traffic complains with loud horns at Dream's sudden parking.

"Why are we—"

"Stop," Dream says, hands gripping the wheel. "Stop talking."

Sapnap turns fully in his seat at the bluntness in Dream's tone. His eyes dump worry upon him.

Wordlessly, they sit in the rumbling car as Dream lets every line of the song sink in him. Time fades away as the soft words and hollow memories tangle in his head with bliss. Yet the growing fear in him knows he's minutes away from seeing George, after everything.

His heart aches, after everything.

He leans away from the wheel, hands loosely sliding down and falling into his lap. He huffs as his back collides with the warm seat.

The music shifts into a gentle rhythm, carrying a pensive air that trickles light into his mind; the lines have melted away into dream-like bliss. He feels it envelop him, a simultaneous shroud of sorrow and forgiving promises.

"What song is this?" he asks.

Sapnap silently holds out his phone screen.

Helium, Dream reads.

His head tips up, eyes tracing over the grey interior and sunshader above. Blood rushes in his ears. He can feel his pulse fluttering on the slope of his neck.

"Sapnap," he says.

"...Yeah?"

"You know I'm not over him."

The sounds sway; the confession lingers. He stares at the ceiling.

Several beats of the song pass, before Sapnap murmurs, "I know."

Dream's eyes shut. "I'm supposed to have let it go." His voice falters, "That's what I promised. That's what I said."

"Well...you've been trying—"

"I have," Dream cuts in, weighted by his heavy breath.

"And working on stuff," Sapnap continues. His voice is calm; patient. "You said the other day you felt more in control, right?"

"I don't know," Dream mumbles quickly. 

"What don't you know?"

His eyes snap open to meet with Sapnap's dark, concerned gaze. "I don't fucking know. I don't know what's happening to me right now. Everything came rushing back, and now—now I'm supposed to go see him? To see him? And then you're gonna leave, and he's going to be here, and I'm supposed to be—" Whatever you want, I'll do it. I'll stick around. I won't do anything to make you uncomfortable. 

Yours, I'm yours. I want to be yours.

"How am I supposed to do this?" he asks softly.

"I thought," Sapnap says slowly, "you were feeling better?"

"I—" Dream starts, then clenches his jaw. "I am. I know I am."

Sapnap reaches over, and turns off the ignition. The twist of keys kills the hum of the car and last notes of music. "What...what would your guy say, if he was here instead of me?"

"My what?"

"Your therapist. The guy—I dunno," Sapnap says. "Lady-name. Laura." Lauren.

Dream takes the bundle of lanyard and keychain as it's dropped into his palm, and squeezes it. "He'd...he'd probably say it makes sense, that I'm having another one of these reactions." He turns the metal teeth over between his warm fingers. "That I could be self sabotaging, again."

"Are you?" Sapnap asks gently.

"No," Dream says, then exhales slowly. "Maybe. God, Sap." A wry, bittersweet grin cuts across his face. "How am I supposed to look at him and not just fall apart?"   

Sapnap stares at him. His voice is hard. "You're friends first."

"What if I can't be a friend, first?"

"You can." Sapnap nudges Dream's head with a light shove, drawing his hand back as Dream pushes it away. "I get that today is a lot for us. I'm sure he's just as worried as you are," he says. "But when it comes down to it, you're a good guy. I know you know that. You're just scaring yourself right now."

Dream huffs. He passively runs his hands over the steering wheel.

The fear that tangles in his stomach with high, slanted excitement must be as confusing for Sapnap as it is for himself. He finds it difficult to expect anyone else to understand his tumultuous heart; often enough, he feels like he's the only person who's been down on their luck and forced to feel this way.

He's right, he thinks. I know better.

"I'm sorry," he says. "This is just...overwhelming. It's been a minute since I've felt like this." He hooks his thumbs into the bottom of the wheel, letting his palms hang. "It's funny how familiar it is."

His disheveled state now reminds him of his early days of healing, before the hurt began to subside. He wonders if it appears that way to Sapnap as well, who is undoubtedly studying him with caution.

"I was up so late last night," he muses, "trying to avoid this." He wants to laugh, but knows his passenger would disapprove. "It makes sense it'd come back to me now. Do you know how important sleep is, for stuff like this?"

"No," Sapnap says.

Dream clears his throat. "It matters way more than you'd think. It's better to consistently get, like, a couple of hours every night than fluctuate day to day. It took me a while to realize how my moods are all wrapped up in it."

"Kinda bad that our schedules are a total mess, then," Sapnap mutters.

"No kidding." Dream huffs. "Like, I didn't sleep well at all, and now we're on the side of the goddamn road." He catches the amusement that flickers across Sapnap's face, and it warms him. "Oh, you liked that?"

Sapnap smiles lightly. "You suck." He glances to the sidewalk next to them. "Come on. Who does this?"

Dream passes his eyes over the sunshine that glints off of car frames, and glares from his side mirrors. "Can we...can we switch?" He unbuckles himself with a light click. "I don't want to be behind the wheel right now."

Sapnap's eyebrows raise. "Oh, sure."

Knots of tension leave Dream's body when he steps out of the car, careful to avoid passing traffic. The outside air immediately brings temperate heat against his skin. He draws in a breath, and can nearly taste water droplets on his tongue. Glancing back inside, he sees Sapnap awkwardly clambering over the center console.

He smiles.

Once he's skirted around the burning hood and reseated himself in shotgun, a breath of relief escapes his lips.

"Better?" Sapnap asks.

Dream nods. "Not good for me to drive, when I feel like this. It's way too dangerous."

He tries to not linger too much on Sapnap's unspoken surprise. They sit in comfortable silence for several minutes, only interrupted by the sound of adjustments changing on the driver's chair.

Quietly, Dream says, "I'm terrified of screwing everything up."

A pause passes that creeps into the frames of his recently cleaned windows, long enough to make him question if he'd truly said the words at all. Without the air conditioning on, heat begins to radiate from the dark dashboard.

When Sapnap speaks up, it startles him. "I think we all are," he mutters, "when it comes to the people we care about."

Dream turns his head to look at him, cheek brushing the fabric of the chair. Cautiously, he asks, "Have you ever screwed up?"

The wheel slides into its readjusted height. "I...take my time with things that are important to me," he answers.

Dream sighs. "So no."

"No," Sapnap says. "Not really."

He tosses the keys into Sapnap's lap. "When did you grow a pair?"

Sapnap rolls his eyes. "Whenever you lost yours, probably."

"Dickhead." Dream relaxes into the seat, wiping the grin from his face as he studies the side of his car he rarely sits in. "Do you think he knows that I...that I'm..." A mess. An idiot. Still me. He shifts visibly at the discomfort of avoiding the wrong words. "I'm not going to be completely different than who I was over the summer? That I'm still that person who sent the cringiest text of my life?"

Sapnap frowns. "I dunno." After a moment, he adds, "If he doesn't know that by now, then he has to learn eventually."

Dream's words fall soft, and tired. "What if it pushes him away again?"

Sapnap says nothing. A tense beat passes between them before he finally replies, "I don't know how to answer that."

"Sorry, that's alright, I just—" Dream exhales, raising the tips of his fingers to soothe the bridge of his nose at his oversharing. "That's perfectly okay. Thank you for—for everything. You're so patient with me, all the time, and...and it's helped more than you know to have you here." A smile ghosts by his lips. "I'm kind of glad, so far, that you booked the tickets wrong."

"Ah," Sapnap says, embarrassed. "Me too." He sounds vaguely guilty, still, whenever the mistake is talked about. He spent the better part of his first day in Florida apologizing profusely for it, with the soft-toned manner that Dream only hears when he knows he's speaking from the heart.

They sit in silence as it settles on them that this is all they have; all they're given. The road, and their combined anxiousness, and the inevitability of George, waiting at the airport for their arrival. They're not ready, but they have to be.

Dream sits up in the passenger chair. "Alright."

He slides his seatbelt into place. 

"Alright?" Sapnap reaches for the ignition.

Dream looks at him, and says, "Please don't crash my car."

As the keys twist and the vehicle stutters back into life, their eyes collide with blue numbers on the digital clock.

In unison, they mutter, "Oh, fuck."

Dream's strangled breath pitches the words in his throat awkwardly, "We're late."

"We're fine." Sapnap quickly tugs on the gearshift, and glances over his shoulder.

"Oh my god." Dream hastily pulls out his phone, only to fumble it between the seat and center console when the car lurches back onto the road. "Dude!"

"Call George," Sapnap orders.

Dream scowls, cramming his hand below the chair. "I'm trying."

"Did you seriously drop your phone?"

His fingertips skim the sleek device nestled on the car floor, before he's able to tug it back into his grasp. "You're driving like an idiot."

"Tell me where to go." Sapnap recklessly merges into a less crowded lane, forcing Dream to wince. "I'm just winging it, here."

Dream waves flippantly at the road ahead of them. "Keep going that way."

He feels Sapnap begin to seethe. Again, he says, "Call him."

The nerves in Dream's chest gather in a suffocating bundle, as he clumsily opens George's contact. The numbers on the stereo and speedometer mock him silently.

He hesitates.

"Dream!" Sapnap shouts.

He presses the call icon. As it rings, he switches the audio to speakerphone.

George picks up within seconds.

Immediately, Dream begins to ramble, "George, hey, I'm so sorry I know you're probably wondering where we are, but we're running late and—"

"Oh no!" George says brightly. "Late for what?"

The warmth in his tone causes Dream's words to abruptly halt, and die on his tongue. In only an instance of hearing George's voice, he can feel the air in his lungs again. The drumming in his ribcage slows.

"Oh," he says. "Well, we're...getting someone from the airport right now."

Dream can make out slight chatter in the background as George asks, "Are you?"

The corners of his mouth twitch at the playful twinge in George's voice. "Yeah. His flight landed already, and we were supposed to be there at eleven."

"That's funny," George says, "because I was just on a plane."

"Oh really?" Dream smiles. "No wonder you sound like that."

"Like what?"

His amusement grows. "Like you were just on a plane."

George hums, and the phone static frays the vibrating edges. "You know my voice that well?"

"I think I do," Dream says.

Sapnap smacks his shoulder sharply, before returning his hand to the wheel. "Fucking tell him what's going on."

"Right, right, sorry." Dream rubs his arm as he straightens up in his seat. "We ran into some trouble for a bit, but we're almost there and should be pulling up soon. Which baggage claim are you near?" He pauses. "Again, I'm really sorry."

"It's alright, I promise. I'm still waiting for my luggage," George explains. "I think I can see a sign outside the windows that says 'B.'"

"Gotcha." Dream tilts the phone in his palm away from his mouth, and points to green road signs ahead. "So that's the opposite side of where I got you. Do you see that up there? Go to the right."

"There's like three lanes, dude," Sapnap says. "Which one?"

"The middle one." Dream shifts back into the call. "Sorry. Sapnap is driving."

Audibly stunned, George questions, "Why?"

"Getting ready to run you over," Sapnap projects louder than necessary for the speaker to catch. 

"Oh god," says George's tinny voice, causing them both to grin. "What does your car look like, though? I'll keep an eye out for it."

Sapnap leans towards Dream's phone. "It's stupid and green."

"Dark green," Dream corrects. "Wait, you're not gonna be able to—okay. I'll send you a picture."

Light clicks and arrows appear on the car's dashboard as Dream scrolls through his camera roll.

He frowns. "Why are you signaling? Don't go that way, go straight."

Sapnap stubbornly readjusts the controls near the steering wheel. "These roads are confusing, Dream."

"Jesus Christ, you're acting like you just got your license," Dream says.

"Fuck off."

He sends the first picture of his car's boxy exterior he can find into their text thread, and George's light laughter floats through the phone.

"Did you get the photo?" he asks. It's several days old, from when Dream's mother had asked if the frame needed a cleaning, in relation to a coupon she'd saved for a local car-wash. Dream had responded with the quick image of Sapnap, face pinched in defense under the bright sun, spraying the hood with a hose.

"I did," George says. "Thank you. Nice crocs, Sapnap."

"Those weren't mine," Sapnap defends hurriedly. "Dream owns way more pairs than you'd think."

"No way."

"Yes way," Dream mutters.

Sapnap grins at his clear humiliation. "They're even bigger in person. Clown shoes."

"Can't wait to see them, then," George says, and the finality causes a shift to occur in the air of their call.

Beneath sunny blue, the airport appears in the broad capture of Dream's windshield. Planes pass overhead; excitement bubbles between them.

"George," Dream says, "George. How was your flight?"

"Dream," George replies, "my flight was good."

He can't help the smile that warms on his face. "George, how was the—"

"Can you stop that and give me directions?" Sapnap interrupts.

Dream tosses him an annoyed glance, but relents. "Do you see his airline up there? That should be close enough." As Sapnap draws near, Dream scans the crowded sidewalk. "Are you outside?"

They park parallel to the curb of the carpool lane. An elderly man passes by wearing a red, white, and blue tank that is saturated with unappealing sweat stains. Dream winces, and snaps his attention away to the trunk of the car in front of them. He hates Labor day weekend rush. He and Sapnap had made a point to do entirely un-patriotic activities for the past few days, minus attending the barbecue where his siblings annihilated them in a hot-dog eating contest.

"Almost," George says. "I still don't have my bags. I swear it's taking longer than customs did."

"I didn't have to go through customs," Sapnap inputs with a hint of vanity.

George huffs. "I should've tried to bring one of my knives. Just for you."

"And get arrested?" Dream questions. His eyes flit over the people passing on the sidewalk, and the glass entrance to the terminal that he catches glimpses of between bags and shoulders.

"Worth it," George says, then his voice pitches, "Oh wait! I think I see my stuff."

"Awesome, well we're—" Drivers press angrily on their horns around them, the busy airport collecting noisily beyond Dream's car doors. "Jesus, people are pissy today."

"Why is that lady flipping me off?" Sapnap mumbles softly.

Dream tosses a similar gesture back with ease. "They're real sticklers about keeping this lane moving. They don't like when people park for this long."

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I'm almost—" George begins, but Dream quickly stops him.

"Don't be. Stuff just tends to move too fast, here." He retracts his seatbelt from where it crosses over his chest, without pausing to think. "Sap, I'm gonna get out and find him. Can you take the car around?"  

"I dont know where the fuck 'around' is," Sapnap says.

Dream is already halfway out the door. "It's easy, you can follow the signs."

"What signs?"

Dream points. "Right there, oh my god, it'll just be a few minutes. Follow the loop and go."

He slams the door shut and watches through narrowed eyes the temerity with which Sapnap tears away. He prays his car returns in one piece.

He switches his phone off of speaker mode and draws it to his ear. "Sorry about that, George. Where did you say you were?"

He glances at the blue and white signs hanging above him, head swiveling to scan the crowd of busy bodies and airport musk.

"George?" he repeats.

"Sorry, sorry," George says. "I just got my bags. Where are you?"

Dream pushes past strangers, making his way towards the large glass doors that slide open before travelers. A grin lifts on his face as realization sets in.

"I'm nearby," he utters vaguely.

He hears George scoff. "Oh, god. You're not seriously going to do that thing, are you?"

"What thing?" Dream feigns.

"Don't be dumb. You want to see me first, and then like, giving me a heart attack or something," George says. The playful scenario Dream has joked about one too many times weighs with irritation on his tone. He's been repeating it for years; it's only fair to live up to George's expectations.

"I bet," Dream muses, "I can find you, before you find me."

"That's not fair," George says flatly. "You have an advantage."

His heart races as his eyes dance over the tops of heads in the crowd. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A beat of silence passes. "I could just yell your name and see who looks at me," George considers.

The automated doors glide open as he steps inside, squinting at the bright fluorescents. Cool billows of an air-conditioned breeze race to greet his frontside, only to be lost in the immediate humidity outdoors.

"Do it, then," Dream says. Hoards of strangers spread sparse across the tile floor, moseying by dormant carousels, tugging their bags to and fro. He's always liked airports; a unique collection of people and converging lives, they seem to be full of possibility.

"Nevermind," George mumbles through the phone. "That would be really weird."

Dream grins. Hovering near the door and ignoring people that nudge his shoulders as they slip by, he says, "I knew you wouldn't have the balls to do it."

"Says the guy who is hiding from me right now." The background noise on George's end is suddenly accompanied with the occasional honk, and rush of a nearby car.

When did George go outside? His brows pinch together as his eyes pass over the terminal. I came in through the only exit.

"I'm not hiding," Dream starts defensively, turning to leave the baggage claim again, "I'm—"

The glass doors part before him noiselessly. His heart drops into his stomach.

"Dream?" George questions. "Hello? What—did the call fail?" Dream sees him pull his phone from his ear, to glance at the screen, then return it to his face. "Why'd you..." His voice tapers off as his eyes rapidly search their surroundings.

Immersed in the crowd of busy bodies, rushing strangers, squeaking luggage wheels—George stands wrapped in confusion. Dream's mind snags onto pieces of him; dark sweats, an off-purple shirt, rolled up sleeves to expose the pale skin of his forearms. His knuckles are curled around his off-blue luggage. A grey neck pillow hangs lazily from his bag.

Dream can see his furrowed gaze search the crowd, and see his chest shift when he breathes.

He's real. He's here.

"You," Dream's words escape him in a battered breath, "walked past me."

When he'd stood in the terminal entrance, his gaze slipped through him like a ghost, and George glided out onto the sidewalk with nothing more than a slight bump of elbows. 

We passed each other. We missed each other.

George turns, and turns, face pinched in sharp thought and confusion. Faces interrupt and swarm the sidewalk between them, and Dream loses him in a sea of blurred color. He blinks, eyes flitting through the bustle, nearly swearing he'd imagined the faraway silhouette as strangers block his vision—until he sees George again.

Still lost; still waiting.

He's here.

A smile spreads across Dream's face as happiness, immeasurable happiness, swells in his lion-heart.

He pockets his phone, and yells, "George!"

He watches the way George's head snaps to look at him, surprise leaping across his face when the realization collides amid the sea of madness.

Dream waves dramatically, pushing past strangers whose eyes cut to him with irritation. The wide swings of his arm are threatening to heads at elbow-height, but care escapes him as George raises a slow hand in return.

The expression spread across George's features, curious and disbelieving, blooms the closer Dream gets. His fingers slide carelessly away from his luggage, as he steps forward to defeat the distance halfway, moving like a floating bird in search of an anchor.

Dream is laughing when he finally reaches him. George is beaming when he finally reaches him.

The second Dream meets his gaze from arms-length away, colors in his world saturate with impossible warmth. Blobs of passing strangers dance in the edges of his vision like refracted sunbeams. George's eyes are rich, dark, and bold like the rest of him.

Yet his smile is soft.

"Hi," Dream says, as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

George's smile grows. He breathes, "Hi."

Loosed by unthinking joy, Dream closes the distance and tugs George into a tight embrace. His frame engulfs him, melding them together as George instantly returns the clasp around his middle with gripping excitement.

He feels George's face press into his chest, his brown hair barely brushing on the dip of collarbones. Dream's forearms are locked around his small back, trembling. His cheek lowers down to press against George's head.

"Oh my god," George muffles into Dream's shirt. The warmth of his breath soaks into the cotton.

Dream's arm's squeeze around him. "Oh my god."

George's fingers dig into his back. "Oh my god."

Dream chuckles, biting back the urge to repeat it again. Shaky tears spring into the corners of his vision. 

"Dream," George says, his voice breaking.

Dream's heart pounds, the rhythm emanating from deep in his core. Close in his arms, tight to his chest, George breathes into him.

His eyes flutter shut. This is too good to be dreaming.

"I..." Dream feels his tongue slipping nervously, "I feel like I haven't seen you all summer."

George laughs. He laughs. Dream feels it rattle through the thin frame pinned to his chest, and jostle his forearms against George's back. The addictive sound winds itself into Dream's throat as giddy giggles begin to escape him.

George's hands grow lax and slip from his shoulder blades. Dream pulls back, their touch severing completely as his palms slide into his jeans.

"Um, how—how was your—" he tries, smiling and stuttering as George laughs at him again. Amusement leaves his lungs in sporadic bursts.

George's eyes openly rake across his face, dappled with light as he dawns a studious expression. Before Dream can recover from the feel of his skin under George's gaze, he's pulled forward again.

George's arms wrap tight around his waist, bones cutting into his t-shirt. The unexpected hug startles Dream, and his hands float in suspended caution until they slowly return to wrap around his low shoulders. Warmth filters between every inch of touch they share.

He's sure George can hear the racing of his heart as he splays a palm to the back of his dark hair.

"How was your flight?" he manages to ask, chin bumping George's head.

His hand shifts over the soft strands as George pulls back slightly. His eyes tip up at Dream.

"You already asked me that," he says.

Dream notes how George hadn't parted as far back as he'd done before. He glances rapidly across George's face, freckles, and slope of his cheekbones. This close, he can nearly place the aroma of his shampoo in the tangle of humid air.

"Did I?" he murmurs, hand lingering on the back of George's head. "Well, maybe your answer changed in the past five minutes."

George's mouth parts to respond, but he hesitates and draws his brows together with a guarded expression. The thick breeze and airport noise seem to rush them at once.

Dream separates from him immediately. Enough space is placed between them to balance their clipped breathing, and ease the sharp nerves that had suddenly collided. When George's shoulders lose their tense stature, he knows the movement was the right idea.

"I can never sleep on planes," George answers finally.

Dream's eyebrows raise. "I thought you could fall asleep anywhere."

George huffs lightly. "Definitely not on a flight to come see you guys." He moves back to re-grasp his forgotten luggage on the sidewalk.

"Or with your over-cologned seat mate," Dream tries, smiling at the way George's cheeks lift because of it. "How was that after nine hours?"

His words are trembling at the edges, he knows, the excitement and surrealism slipping from every syllable. They've hardly talked over the phone in weeks, and now it's in person and completely terrifying. His pulse stutters as George's gaze flicks up to meet his own again.

"Awful," George says brightly.

"Well." Dream can't tear his eyes away. "I hope it was worth it."

George smiles. "We'll see about that."

Dream's mind is left in fuzzy wandering after their last hug, and he refrains from pulling him in again. He blinks, and George is still standing before him, undoubtedly tired but radiant in every sense of the word.

"It is really, really good to see you," Dream confesses. He'd feel rude for staring if George wasn't doing the same.

"Yeah," George says, "you too."

Dream's cheeks warm as he remembers, faintly, George is seeing his full face for the first time after years of calls, texts, half-assed photos and endless bickering. "Right."

"Right," George echoes, grinning. "Are you being shy?"

"How am I—fuck off." He nudges George's shin lightly with the tip of his shoe. "You're the one who passed me. You walked right by, like you didn't even know who I was."

"I didn't pass you," George defends sharply, "you passed me. You're the one who should've seen me first."

"Okay, maybe, maybe—but it was hard for me to recognize the top of your head," Dream says, because it's true. George is entirely below his eye level.

George's grin is wiped from his face. "You can't see the top of my head."

"Yes I can," Dream gloats. "Sapnap might be able to, too."

George's knuckles shove his shoulder. "Don't joke about that, oh my god."

He laughs, hand raising to gently cover the place where George's fingers had been. "It's the inevitable, George. He's gonna be here any minute now." He watches what seems like confusion knit across George's face. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," George dismisses.

Dream's pulse quickens. "Did I say something?"

"It's nothing." George tugs his suitcase in front of his feet, and briefly glances to the road. "I just haven't heard you say my name in person, like this."

He smiles bashfully. "George," he says.

George's eyes snap back to him. "It's weird," he breathes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "This is weird."

"It is weird," Dream agrees. He extends his hand, and George lets him take the bags from his grip as they move towards the curb.

"I'm going to say this now," George says, regarding Dream's face with caution. "This is gonna take some time to get used to."

Dream laughs. "Don't worry," he soothes, playful until his voice softens involuntarily, "we have all the time in the world."

George smiles in gentle surprise. When he looks as though he's about to respond, an aggressive flurry of honking interrupts them.

The sound smothers the beeping and chatter that had faded from Dream's attention during their conversation, and the familiarity of the putrid noise makes his grin return. He's sat in enough hours of bullet-sweating traffic to know his own horn by heart.

"I think," George says as Dream turns to look at the carpool lane, "I see your car."

Windows down, music pounding from the shoddy speakers, Sapnap slams his palm into the steering wheel repeatedly as he slides into an opening. His hand disappears below Dream's line of sight presumably to the gear shift, as he aggressively locks the wheels in place.

He spills out of the car, and hastily tugs up his sunglasses to yell, "Georgie!"

Dream lifts George's suitcase, and steps back as Sapnap comes rushing towards them. George glances at him in the microseconds before he's attacked in an overwhelming bear hug, and the brief flash of surprise in his eyes stores itself in Dream's memory immediately.

Such a small act of communication that he'd caught, that he'd recognized. His smile lifts with the bottom of George's shoes as Sapnap heaves them from the ground. George's constricted hand pats Sapnap's back until he's set down.

"I found you," Sapnap chokes out as he steps back. "Dude. Dude. How the fuck are you doing? How was the flight? Did you read that thing I sent you—"

They dive into rapid greetings that are wired with loving excitement. Dream observes their meeting with an amused smile, relishing every look that skitters his way when George's eyes slide off of Sapnap.

It feels like a beginning; it feels like a secret.

"Dream," Sapnap says, breathless from his rambling, "come on." His arm is slung with ease around George's shoulders, until George reaches to nudge it off. "Who is taller?"

They stare at Dream expectantly. He shifts George's luggage in his hands.

"I..." He glances between them, biting the inside of his cheek. "I don't think I should answer that."

Sapnap clutches the car's lanyard in his hands. "Dream."

He leans forward to rip the keys from his grip. "We really should head out, I don't wanna get yelled at."

Sapnap complains instantly.

Dream tosses a quick look at George, paired with a slight smirk, and his heart skips when George rolls his eyes. Wordless, and effortless, their secret grows.

His face is warm when he slings George's luggage into the trunk. The bags are accompanied by a small tag, scribbled with George's name and number in neat handwriting. Dream studies it for a moment, lingering on the scrawl with a smile. 

He feels the frame shudder as the others slam the passenger doors shut. His fingers stall, curved over the warm paint of the compartment's opening. The light sting against his skin pushes him to let out a deep breath.

I can do this.

He closes the trunk, and hurries to the driver's seat.

"—While you on the other hand probably fit perfectly in those narrow rows—" Sapnap is saying from shotgun as Dream clambers behind the wheel.

"That's not what I said," George defends. "You aren't some kind of giant—"

"Come on, man. Don't even try—" 

"Sapnap," Dream says, "he just got here. Let him breathe." He quickly revs the engine back into life, checking the lights on the dashboard before turning around in his seat. He smiles. "Hi, George."

"Hello," George echoes with amusement.

"Hi," Sapnap says, "you shortstack—"

Dream rolls his eyes. "Welcome to Florida."

George glances momentarily at the hand Dream has hooked on the shoulder of the driver's seat, before it returns to the wheel. "Thanks for having me. Pleasure to be here."

"Expect to see all of the greatest tourist destinations on your visit," Dream says warmly, fingers gliding over the wheel as he begins to pull away from the curb.

"Dream's weird fridge," Sapnap contributes solemnly. He pivots towards George. "It talks."

"Sapnap's fat ass," Dream counters.

"Right," George says. "I've already seen one of those things."

"His massive backyard. So much grass."

"Oh, that one was actually kind of nice," Dream notes. "Thank you." He waves with sickening sweetness to a nearby foot-traffic worker who seems displeased at their slowness.

Sapnap hums, continuing, "Patches' litter box."

"...Aw?" George questions. "Do you spend a lot of time looking at that, Sapnap?"

Dream laughs shortly. As they exit the airport lanes, warm air slips through the unrolled windows and brushes over the blonde hair on his arms. Sunlight skips across his dash.

"You'll see some rainbows if it storms," Sapnap says. "So colorful, y'know? Oh wait." Dream doesn't need to look to know his grin is sharp.

"Are we—" Dream interrupts, before they can get lost in an insult-war, "in the mood to stop somewhere?"

"If it's not too much trouble, I could eat," George pipes from the backseat. "My flight only had eggplant lasagna."

Dream smothers a sharp huff. Years ago, George told him how he'd been forced to eat an eggplant dish his 'chef' of a sister poorly crafted, and was riddled with food poisoning for days. Ever since, he's despised it.

"Ah," Sapnap drawls, "eggplants."

"Sapnap, please." George's complaint is laced with a smile. "The pact."

Dream frowns for a moment, then amused recognition spreads across his face. "Jesus, I totally forgot about that."

Somewhere in the confusing muddle of summer, they'd created a pact to not bother George, which was solidified with 'verbal signatures.'

Despite hardly ever referring to food when on the topic of George's hatred for the purple fruit, Sapnap mutters, "I didn't think vegetable jokes would count as breaking it."

"Not a vegetable," Dream and George say in repetitive unison.

Dream has to bite back a grin. "You didn't answer me, though. Food?"

"Hm. I'd probably get something to go," Sapnap offers.

Dream nods. "Alright, then." He skims the nearby road signs, navigating back to the freeway. "Pick a letter, George."

Sapnap pulls out his phone, and reaches for the charging cord.

George says, "What?"

"Just pick a letter," Sapnap repeats.

"Um." George hesitates. "Z?"

"Bold choice," Dream says as Sapnap tsks. "Sapnap, please list all our options of restaurants that start with 'Z' on the route home."

Sapnap begins to type away. "On it."

He hears George laugh lightly, and as a various string of food-stop names rises over the low music, Dream's attention breaks from the road.

He lifts his gaze from concrete and green to see George, in the rearview mirror, seated in the backseat of his car as if he's always been there. His head is turned to the side, flickering eyes dark against the light grey of the seat cushions, contentment settled across his face.

Dream thinks of the countless hours he's spent driving and wishing he could witness this very moment; George turning away from the window to look forward, and his eyes leaping to meet Dream's in the reflection.

Warmth blooms in his chest. Dream smiles.

George's calm features break into a friendly grin, and he raises a hand to give a half-wave.

Their eyes separate, and they collectively begin to discuss the ethics of getting breakfast food past twelve o'clock in the afternoon. As green exit signs slide by overhead, and yellow dashes race under the car's tires, Dream knows he's not concentrating on the road, anymore.

He glances at George in the mirror again.

Not at all.