Sight (un)seen - dangergranger - Video Blogging RPF [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

The studio lights were blinding. His first step in was a stumble he could only hope no camera picked up on.

Even after months of interviews and casting calls, George still felt like a fish out of water as he sat in the uncomfortable makeup chair for one last retouch before they started filming. He could barely remember the fifteen-second interview that had landed him here in the first place; there had been a barrage of invasive questions and a psych evaluation that had left him even more confused when they had cleared him for the show, but what truly hammered in the point of what a ludicrous experience this really was was the sheer heterosexuality emanating from all the guys surrounding him.

George didn’t think he had ever seen such a high concentration of razor-sharp, perfectly symmetrical stubbled chins in the same room as this. He was probably one out of three guys who weren’t sporting facial hair or the stupid faded undercut everyone else seemed to favor.

Larray would probably be laughing his ass off right now, the type of laughter that he tried to cover with his hand and messed up his makeup. Even in his mind, George wanted to join him, make fun of all the desperate people who agreed to join in a circus like this one - he would, if he wasn’t one of the lucky ones to have been picked to be part of the experiment.

At least there was an open bar. Small mercies.

George kept to himself as everyone else mingled about. The hosts were supposedly at the girls’ side doing introductions and soon enough would be here to repeat the same inane speech about falling in love with someone’s personality before their looks, about the joys of establishing an emotional connection instead of just focusing on the physical aspects of a relationship. On paper, it did sound nice, and despite all his hangups about the legitimacy of giving up his privacy for the slim chance of finding his soulmate, deep down there was a little voice inside George’s mind that kept insisting on the what if.

Larray had sent his application as a joke. George kept going with the process of his own volition. Being on the show could bring him some exposure, some visibility, expand the meager following he had on TikTok, and bring the sweet deals Larray was always yapping about. This could also be fun - maybe - and George was just heartbroken enough to say f*ck it and give it a shot.

Chris had done a number on him. It was perfectly reasonable to join a dating show to get over it.

As the other guys mingled, George kept his eyes low and his hands occupied, fiddling with the tacky, golden wine glass that seemed to be the only type of glass available on the set. The room smelled of expensive cologne and mint, spacious enough to house all twenty of them plus the filming crew. There were sofas arranged in a semi-circle, a pool table, and board games organized in neat little piles on top of a table, while to the right there was a pretty indoor garden with a small water fountain, the soft morning light that spilled in managing to break the carefully designed plastic atmosphere of the lounge.

“Kinda ugly, right?”

George looked up to find one of the guys smiling awkwardly at him, a metallic golden cup in his hand raised in a toast. His hair was light and curly, and he had a handsome smile that kinda made up for the stupid stubble covering his strong jaw. He was tall, dressed in a fluffy jacket and some jeans, with a white shirt underneath that emphasized the broadness of his chest, a peak of gold from underneath the collar, and George had to remind himself to not stare. Under any other circ*mstances, George would be all over this dude, but there was a reason they were separated by gender, and why the producer had frowned when he told them he was bi instead of straight.

This was not his usual scene.

“Yeah. I mean - at least the wine is decent, right?” he asked like he understood anything about alcohol, smacking his lips after taking a sip just to prove his point. “Yum.”

The man grinned, shrugging his massive shoulders in a way that George would have called co*cky if not for how he kept fidgeting from foot to foot.

“I wouldn’t know, actually,” the man said. “I barely drink beers, this is all very - new. Tastes good though.”

George took another sip of his drink in silent agreement, and they stood together as an impromptu cheer erupted from a group that was huddled near the pool table.

“I’m Dream, by the way,” the man said after a couple of moments of awkward silence, reaching out a hand for George to shake. His confusion must have shown, because the guy rushed to explain, “Yeah, I’m - that’s what I like to be called. My real name is Clay, but I barely use that anymore.”

“Dream. What the f*ck kind of name is that?”

“I mean. I don’t know yours, so…”

Clever. George could feel a smile creeping over his face. “M’ George.”

“Nice to meet you, George.”

When they showed up almost an hour later, Nick and Vanessa Lachey were the type of beautiful that was almost jarring to see outside of his social media feed. Their smiles were white and perfect, skin tanned, and hair that was way too effortless to be anything other than done by a pro. They explained the entire concept in a practiced speech that highlighted the key points that would probably make it into the edit: how they would all date the same group of people without ever seeing them, how they were expected to be open and vulnerable with a wall separating each couple, and making sure everyone understood this was a quest to find true love. Their words might have been more impactful if George hadn’t been forced to hear their speech twice, cameras circling around them like sharks in water. He tried to appear engaged - this was a serious matter, a commitment, the first step of a life-changing journey - but his attention span was the size of a walnut on the best days. He just hoped no one really caught how much he wanted to clown on all of this, or the yawn he hid behind his fist.

It was by complete accident that he caught Dream’s eyes from the other side of the room. From the little quirk of his lips, George wanted to believe he wasn’t completely alone in his amusem*nt.

Despite all the nerves twisting his gut into knots, the actual first day of blind dating went as well as he could have expected.

It was a blur of names and laughter that rang just a little too high-pitched, the women on the other side of the milky walls clearly just as nervous as he was. The pods were small and carefully designed to appear both cool and welcoming, but fell a bit short in terms of how actually comfortable it was to sit on a couch and talk for hours on end, with no idea who was behind the milky wall separating him from his possible finacée. Alcohol floated freely between takes and eased some of the kinks of the conversations, but he was mindful to pace himself as best as he could - he hadn’t come here to make a fool of himself, and while he could handle his liquor well, there was a difference between being pleasantly buzzed and downright wasted at barely 2 in the afternoon.

After his date with - Camila? Chelsey? He honestly couldn’t remember - he found himself back in the lounge, curled into the corner of the huge L-shaped couch with his knees tucked close to his chest. The AC was killer and he was glad production didn’t get too involved with what they chose to wear for the blind dates because he would not give up his comfort for anything in the world, no matter how stupid he might look wearing his fleece sweater with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“That is quite the fashion statement,” Dream’s voice floated from behind him, and pretty soon the man was joining him on the couch, tossing a bag by his feet.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“You look comfy and that’s all that matters,” he said with a brilliant grin, crossing one leg over his knee and reclining against the couch.

He looked just as good today as he had the day before, wearing a jean jacket and some loose cargo pants - the only major difference was the crocheted beanie sitting atop his curls. It was striped red and white, the ends shaped almost like cat ears, so completely at odds with the rest of the boy-next-door vibes Dream had going on that George chuckled to himself, a little endeared by it.

“Your beanie is cringe,” he said while tossing Dream a cushion, settling further into his cocoon.

“No, it isn’t. I made it myself.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. I’m, like - sometimes I get super anxious and it’s hard to, I don’t know - be in the moment,” Dream said with another shrug and George found himself leaning forward to get a better look, impressed despite himself with Dream’s ability to be so candid. This wasn’t the pods. There was no expectation to be open about anything here. “My mom taught me when I was younger, and it helps keep me grounded.”

“That’s actually pretty cool. Is that… Oh my god, did you bring your knitting stuff to Love is Blind?”

George’s laughter rang loudly in the mostly empty lounge, inadvertently bringing the crew’s attention to them and their little conversation. He did his best to ignore the shift of the camera pointing towards them and instead focused on the bag Dream was lugging up onto the sofa, opening the zipper to show the assortment of multicolored yarn stashed inside. “Which colors do you have? I’m colorblind so I’m not sure if you actually like piss-yellow that much.”

His stupid joke earned him a choked little wheeze of laughter from Dream, making George feel all accomplished. He had missed this all morning - being able to see the way someone’s eyes would crinkle from how big they were grinning, if they smiled with their teeth or kept their lips pursed into a happy line - and he felt like he could finally shake some of the weirdness that had been clinging to him ever since he first entered the pods.

“You’re kind of an idiot, aren’t you?” Dream’s voice was way too friendly to offend him, but George still pretended to be bothered by it, and it was easy to lose himself to bickering with this man George knew practically nothing about.

In a way, he felt safe to prod and tease, knowing Dream was here to meet the love of his life and marry her sight unseen. This faceless woman waiting just behind the pod walls was a safety net spread out beneath them, no risk of his banter being twisted into something it wasn’t.

Almost half an hour passed like this until a producer interrupted Dream’s story about the time he had managed to get his cat to wear a Christmas sweater he had knitted himself. George was ushered backstage to record his testimonial before his next date, tossing a thumbs-up behind his shoulder when Dream wished him good luck.

—--

PRODUCER : [ off camera ] Why did you come on this show?

[ zoom in on George, 27, Software engineer ]

GEORGE DAVIDSON : I was ready to settle down with my previous partner but they weren’t on the same page as me. I guess… My friend signed me up for this and I thought, why not? Couldn’t hurt to try.

PRODUCER : [ off camera ] And what do you expect to get out of this experience?

GEORGE DAVIDSON : The main goal would be to find a wife, right? But I guess I’m also curious to see what it would be like to try and get to know someone in this context. Two weeks is a very short time to really connect with someone, but I think - it wouldn’t be too bad to be swept off my feet.

—--

Bright and early the following day, Sam, the producer in charge of him, passed George a list of women who were interested in a second date. If asked, George would have said he had done okay the day before - not too bad, but also nowhere near the realm of having so many names in a list where he expected two or three at best.

“Do you know why they want to meet again?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but they think you’re funny. Your accent is also a big hit,” Sam said with a confident smile, clapping him on the back. “Good job, man. It’d be nice if you gave some of them a chance - your list was pretty small. My boss said you should try to be a little more open-minded. You never know, right?”

George bit his lip, eyes scanning over the names. He couldn’t even remember half of them. “Yeah, okay - I’ll think about it.”

After Sam left him alone again, George piled some hash browns and a waffle onto his plate, going to sit on the little patio outside. They had only been here for four days so far, but from how fast everything was moving - from how many guys were already in love, talking about having kids and buying a house for their future family - it felt way longer.

The list sat heavy in his pocket, a pointed reminder of the game he needed to play if he wanted to stay relevant.

“George,” Dream greeted, sliding the glass door open and giving him a brilliant smile. “Mind if I join you?”

He shook his head, gesturing to the empty chair on the other side of the small table in front of him. Dream took the seat with a little noise, turning his face up to the sun. The golden chain was around his neck again, and it glinted in the sunlight. “Mhn, this feels nice. I swear they want us to freeze in there.”

“Wouldn’t put it past them.”

George finished his food and started feeling restless all over again. He fidgeted with his list, folding and unfolding the corners in a nervous gesture that didn’t help at all with settling him down.

“Hey,” he said to Dream, “I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask, but - whatever. Did you have a lot of callbacks?”

The man looked deep in thought, swallowing down the piece of bread he was eating before clearing his throat. “Hm, I guess? Sam gave me a list earlier with the girls that wanted another date, but I’m narrowing it down to five or so. I don’t have enough brain space to be dating so many women at the same time.”

Five. Dream was interested in at least five girls. That sounded like so much work.

“Ugh,” George groaned, kicking his feet out to stretch and accidentally brushing against Dream’s calf. “I don’t even know if I want to talk to anyone again.”

“The connection wasn’t there?”

He shook his head, darting a glance back inside the lounge. Two of the producers were busy shepherding half of the guys to the confession booth before the next round of dates started, and while he and Dream were alone George still made sure to keep his voice down when he answered. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this,” he admitted. “I don’t think it’s possible to fall for someone so quickly.”

Dream hummed, a finger running over the veins of the wooden table under their hands. “I think… That’s fair. It’s not for everyone.”

“Wait - do you believe it’s possible? Are you here to actually meet your wife?”

“I mean - aren’t we all?”

George snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes. Dream could not be that naive. “Not all of us.”

“Yeah, okay - fair. I just… I do believe in soulmates and, like, finding someone that’s going to be your person, so - why not come here? Most of everyone will be on the same page and it’s definitely easier to find a girl to settle with than it is through the apps and stuff.”

The words were said with so much certainty that for a moment George could catch a glimpse of Dream’s reality. How amazing wouldn’t it be to go through life with that type of belief - to have hope cemented so deeply in his heart that he would eventually find a love worth all the hurt?

He whistled, eyes never leaving Dream’s earnest face. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or worried. Maybe both.”

“Why would you be worried?”

“C’mon Dream - aren’t you afraid they might break your heart?”

To George, that was the crux of the issue: the balance between vulnerability and protection, the memory of pain - of sleepless nights and hungover mornings, his tired arms packing yet another box of books left behind -, and how to put it all aside to try again. He didn’t think he had it in him anymore, especially to be willing to do so in such a short window of time.

“But what if I find the love of my life?” Dream countered, ducking his head to hide his boyish smile. “I think it’s worth the risk.”

Oh. George’s heart squeezed, painful, like bruised knees on a playground, like burning his tongue on a too-hot drink on a first date, from all the stuff crushes were made of - at least, when they were like this. All it took was a spark and Dream was bright enough to set it off by mistake.

When it was time to go and record their confessionals of the day, George and Dream parted ways. George was adamant to try his damn best today - he was not going to screw this up by falling for a straight guy. Nuh-uh. Not again.

George did screw it up. At least a little bit.

“Dream. Help me,” he whined, letting himself fall like a sack of potatoes against the couch.

It was late evening, probably around eight or so, but it felt like an entire week had passed since the morning. Most of the cast was mingling in the lobby after dinner, some would be headed for another round of dates in an hour or so, but George was done. Mortification swirled in his gut to the point of nausea, his fingers itching to call Larray, but the closest thing he had to a friend here was this stupid man who was now looking at George full of amusem*nt, his droopy eyes sparkling under the studio lights.

George kind of hated him.

He buried his head into a pillow and groaned, already feeling the weight of at least two cameras zoomed in their direction. The attention was something he had joked around with Larray before - you have to play up those big Bambi eyes, honey - but with genuine shame burning red in his face, it was harder to remember that any attention was good attention.

“What happened, Georgie?”

Georgie. Thank god his face was already flushed because Dream’s nickname made him feel all squirmy.

“I fell asleep during one of the dates today,” he mumbled, groaning again. “I feel soooo bad.”

“Dude, what?” Dream’s wheeze was loud and high-pitched, his laughter strong enough to ripple through the cushions. “Oh my god, are you for real? How ?”

“I don’t know - I was so tired. I drank more than usual, and like - it got me so bad.”

Putting it into words like this only made everything sound even dumber. He wished the ground opened to swallow him whole, or even better: lighting to strike the studio and erase all their data, forever deleting the video evidence of his slip-up.

With a dramatic groan, he turned on his side with as much dignity as he could, sending Dream a dirty look when he giggled.

“You’re such a cat,” Dream said before he started chuckling again. “If I squint I can almost see, like - the ears and stuff. I have a kitten back home and you’re making me miss her so much.”

“Don’t be an idiot. 'M not the one you should be calling kitten,” George smiled a bit sharply, satisfied with the embarrassed flush to Dream’s cheeks.

Good. Served him right for making George’s heart feel all weird like that.

He sat up straighter, scooching closer to the man so he could poke his knee with his own. He caught a glimpse of one of the cameras turning towards them, but hopefully, they’d find their conversation too boring. God knew how loud some of the other guys could be whenever they felt like they were being robbed of precious screen time.

“C’mon - I need a distraction. You said you narrowed it down to five girls, right? How exactly did you pick ‘em?”

Dream shook his head but still indulged him, a smile curling his lips as he shared a lot more details than George thought would be smart. From his very few interactions with the other participants, he got the sense everyone was at least a bit protective over their matches, either from genuine affection or the need to make sure they wouldn’t get sidelined if the girl picked someone else. With Dream, though, there was no hint of posturing or competitiveness, no vague statements about wanting to keep the magic of his connection safe. The man held nothing back, sharing his insight and his fears, laughing over a joke one of his dates had said that made him almost snort wine through his nose from how funny it had been.

Somehow, George ended up opening up too. Not about his dates - there really was nothing of notice to tell - but about other things, stuff like how he had a fondness for strawberry-flavored things but the actual texture of the fruit kinda irked him, how he had a passion for gaming but very short attention span for those that required him to read instructions instead of letting him f*ck around and find out. Little tidbits of his chaotic personality that had no way of bleeding through this carefully curated space and that still, somehow, felt important enough to share with someone else.

And - perhaps most surprising of all, he ended up sharing a watered-down version of his latest breakup, including the sad ordeal of having to move out of his partner’s house after barely a month of living together.

“Bet she’s gonna regret it when you become everyone’s favorite in the show,” Dream said after he was done, clearly having taken George’s side in the story.

But - the way he had assumed it would’ve been a girl who dumped him instead of a guy had George second-guessing himself for a split-second.

“Nah,” he said, heart in his throat. “He doesn’t care about that stuff.”

“Oh. That’s,” Dream coughed, one big hand coming up to fiddle with his fringe. “Still his loss.”

He looked a little awkward, but his eyes were still the same green full of compassion, and that mellowed out George’s walls, made him brush their shoulders together in a silent sign of gratitude.

“Yeah. He is so stupid, I can’t believe I was - that I even thought about having a future together.”

“Guys suck,” Dream said with an air about him, the clear child stuck between two older sisters and a younger one, so much so to have George spluttering with laughter.

“You are a guy.”

Dream’s eyes sparkled with mischief and he co*cked his head to the side, batting his eyelashes. “Well… I’m not like other guys.”

It was so dumb. George hated how it made his heart skip a treacherous beat.

“Yup, you’re, like - the biggest dumbass out there.”

They dissolved into giggles, legs pressed together and shoulders bumping against each other. George was vaguely aware of the other guys shooting them curious glances, one camera still pointed in their direction since there wasn’t much else going on, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was good to let out some steam like this, the incident in the pods not as important as it had felt before.

Tension unwound from its tight coil. George sagged against the couch, curling into himself as people came and went around them. Coming out wasn’t a big deal - never had been, really, the relationship he had with his sexuality never being something George struggled with - but it still felt nice to be accepted. To know he had a friend in the middle of all the craziness surrounding this experiment.

He yawned, burying his head in his arms, letting the feeling of happiness wash over him.

“Hey,” Dream’s voice floated down to him, and when George blinked his eyes open there was a soft look in his droopy eyes. “No falling asleep on two dates on the same day.”

“Shud’up. Not a date.”

Dream chuckled, soft and a bit distant, and George closed his eyes again, content to stay exactly where he was.

—--

PRODUCER : [ off camera ] What happened in the pod with Olive?

[ zoom in on George, 27, Software engineer ]

GEORGE DAVIDSON : Oh my god, that was so embarrassing. I just - I can’t believe I fell asleep like that. My friends back home are never going to let me live this down.

PRODUCER : [ off camera ] You’re meeting her again today, though. Are you excited?

GEORGE DAVIDSON : I don’t know… I hope she at least hears me out. It’s a relief she even agreed to another date, and even if I did f*ck it all up and she never wants to talk again, at least I have a chance to apologize. [ George laughs ] This is so stupid, right?

—---

“Hi - Hey, Olive.”

“Oh, if it isn’t sleeping beauty.”

That was fair, even if she sounded more amused than annoyed right now. George breathed a deep sigh, allowing himself to fall back against the decorative cushions of the sofa.

“I am so sorry about the other day, like - god. I screwed up, didn’t I?”

There was a pregnant pause after his question, one that made him flinch. The wall separating them kept changing colors from a deep blue to a soft pink, completely at odds with how nervous he felt. For a moment, he almost wished Dream was there with him - in this fantasy, he would be brave enough to reach out and hold his hand, find the sort of comfort from touch that this whole experience had robbed of him - and he was so lost to it that he almost missed Olive’s words.

“... you’re good. It’s kinda funny, right?” She paused, and something about it had George’s ears perking up, ready to pick any kind of bone she would throw his way. “If you think about it - imagine telling that story at our wedding. Crazy. Good content, though. No one would forget us.”

Huh. George knew some people came to this experiment thinking of all the possibilities of the after. Hell, even he had given it some passing thought, wanting to grow his silly TikTok audience into something similar to what Larray had, maybe quit his programming job for good, but he never actually considered the possibility of going through with the act - to get engaged and walk the aisle just for the fifteen minutes of fame this would get him. Call him naive but he had hoped there would be a little spark of a connection if he ever went through it.

“Yeah, you’re right, everyone loves a meet cute,” he said, licking his lips as the gears in his brain started spinning. “We would farm a lot of aws from the guests. It would be fun - like you said, it’s a good story. Cute.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She agreed, and in George’s head, he picked on the undertone of what she wasn’t saying. “Sleeping beauty, you are an interesting man. I think… I’d really like to get to know you better.”

For all intents and purposes, it was a nice story. Quirky, a little like a rom-com. George squirmed in his seat, wondering if this was the part he wanted to play.

He let Olive guide their conversation into safer topics after that, going back to the bubbly girl George had talked to on all their prior date. Almost like she was following a script, she made a point to ask him about his job, his family, and his plans for the future, more than capable of turning George’s awkward answers into banter fodder, laughing for both him and the cameras.

Despite the cameras in the lounge and the uncomfortable mic taped to his chest, this was the first time it actually hit him he was, in fact, on a reality show.

Later, when Olive asked about his past relationships, George told the same tale about a partner who had broken things off barely a month after moving in together. When Olive tutted and said “It’s her loss” George didn’t bother correcting her.

George was a creature of habit and pretty soon he had scrounged up the bare bones of a routine to call his own.

He would wake up early, get his mic fitted, and hit the breakfast bar before everyone else, snagging the table on the patio for himself. Dream would join him and they would talk for almost one hour before it was time to go to the pods, his handsome face always looking happy to find George waiting for him at what had become their spot.

It was so silly. Whenever he saw Dream making his way towards him in the morning, his heart would stumble in his chest, fluttering like a hummingbird. George was too afraid to ask the questions that burdened his tongue - why did Dream’s arm always find its way around George’s shoulder, for example? To give it a voice might kill it prematurely, but he also knew nothing of substance would ever come out of the barren ground of his misguided affections. There was no future where George walked out of this with his heart in one piece.

It was useless to fight it, though. The more time he and Dream spent together, the less appealing the blind dates were, paling in comparison to that fragile, bright new thing glowing faintly in his chest. George was never a man to be so easily swayed, but he was powerless to resist the lure of Dream’s whole being, blooming infatuation taking root deep in his chest.

The thing about Dream was that he paid attention. He brought George an extra apple tart from the breakfast table just because he had seen him light up the first day they were available. He shared his popcorn in the afternoon when George was too lazy to grab a snack for himself, asked production to bring him an Advil when George woke with a crick in his neck, and even went to the trouble of sitting out on a date when George was feeling extra homesick, their bodies pressed close against each other’s on the couch in the soft quietness of the lounge as Dream pretended to do crosswords in order to keep his hands occupied.

Dream’s curls were hidden behind one of his beanies again, and with him wearing a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants, he looked the softest George had seen him yet. Most of the guys had steered clear of George’s sour mood and red-rimmed eyes, the ones who had been brave enough to approach had left after some scathing words or long minutes of frosty silence - everyone but Dream.

He was so dumb. How could anyone be around him and not develop feelings?

“You should go to your stupid date,” George grumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulder, shooting him a look when the man shook his head no. “I don’t need a babysitter, Dream.”

“You’re actually doing me a favor, Georgie. I didn’t want to go on the date, anyway,” he answered without missing a beat. He tapped the pencil against the page, struggling to fill out some of the boxes. “I hope Sarah takes the hint now. I don’t wanna be rude, but we have nothing in common.”

George sniffled, burrowing deeper against the cushions. He hated how this stupid show made him feel so f*cking vulnerable. He missed his friends and his life outside, the freedom to just be stupid and flirt with a guy he was attracted to without feeling like he would be putting him on the spot - instead, he was here, with no social media to distract himself nor Larray to help him out of his funk, feeling the warmth of Dream’s arm pressed right against him despite the layers of clothing separating them.

This was awful.

“So is it down to four potential soulmates now?” he asked with a little sneer, snatching the crossword book from Dream’s hands.

“Just two, I think.”

George only hummed, not sure if there was anything he could say that wouldn’t sound bitter. Dream wrapped his arm around George’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, feeling solid and warm - way too real among the plain walls of the lounge, the darkened mirrors that hid the cameras and the production crew behind them. They stayed together like that until George didn’t feel quite as raw as before, and then some more, until the lights dimmed and it was time to head their separate ways.

After a little over a week, George had narrowed down his prospects to just Olive, and only because he had a feeling they would kick him out if he closed all the doors. There was no point in even trying anymore, not when the afterimage burned to his retinas was of the sharp angle of Dream’s jawline when he tossed his head back in boundless laughter, or how seeing the way Dream’s chin jutted out when he was lost in thought made George almost feral in his need to kiss it. Dream was stubborn and annoying, sometimes careless with his words, but also gentle and so deeply caring it was impossible to come out of a conversation with him without feeling just a tad bit more hopeful - a little more in love.

George was so f*cked.

With so much time on his hands and a heart ripe for breaking, George tried to befriend other people in the long hours Dream was busy making actual connections with faceless girls in the pods. They only had a few more days before the experiment would move on to the next phase, and every afternoon that Dream spent locked away with some random woman was a reminder George simply would never measure up to what Dream was looking for. Dream was one of the few people who were in this for the right reasons, and George had to push down a wave of guilt every time he found himself wishing Dream would ditch his dates to hang out with George instead.

There were plenty of opportunities to get to know the other participants, although most of them weren’t even remotely as charming as Dream, but at least they were a distraction. Some guys were kinda like him - mostly coasting by, not really sure they had a connection strong enough to warrant such a big gesture - and while they were all okay, George ended up befriending Eric, a marketing specialist who was stuck in a love triangle of all things.

In the real world, George would have steered clear of him - With a douchy tattoo on his arm, coiffed hair styled to perfection, and the bluest eyes George had ever seen, the man reeked of danger - but here in the cold lounge of the Love is Blind studio, he can’t help but be drawn to the man’s penchant for drama.

Call George insensitive, but it was pretty fascinating to watch.

“I know I’m not her first choice,” Eric bemoaned, reaching into the cupboards to pick two glasses for them. It was five in the afternoon, so, per George’s personal rules, already time for a drink. “But like - if she picked me, I know we would be a good match.”

“How?”

The man shrugged, pouring wine into the cups and passing one for George with a little shrug. “I just feel it. She’s my soulmate, man.”

George tried to hide his grin behind the glass, but Eric caught it. He rolled his eyes, playfully punching his arm. “Shut up. Not everyone can be cool about it like you are. You don’t even care that Olive is into Alex, like - f*ck me, I guess. I’m so stressed.”

Keenly aware of the cameras zoomed in on this conversation, George straightened up in his seat at the kitchen island, taking a sip to sort out his thoughts. “It’s not that I don’t care, I just - I can’t keep worrying about her other relationship. I have zero control over that,” he said, traitorous thoughts flickering towards Dream. “I can only enjoy our time together and hope for the best.”

“That’s very mature, man.” Eric sounded impressed, which only made hysterical giggles bubble up his throat. God. If only he knew George was losing sleep over Dream instead of his possible-maybe-future financée. “Jason isn’t even in love with her like I am. Do you get it? My only chance is if he rejects her.”

Amusem*nt had long run its course by now, leaving behind the bitter realization George had a lot more in common with Eric than he had first thought. It was a sobering thought that made him want to flee back to his room, or even drop the show entirely, if only so he could cut his losses before it was too late.

“You should say something,” George mumbled, surprising even himself. “Even if she doesn’t feel the same.”

He felt like a hypocrite, but at least Eric wasn’t looking as defeated anymore. Not that George cared. He didn’t have the space to.

“Do you really think so?”

“If you’re sure you love her, then yes. It’s the whole point of this circus, isn’t it?”

Eric clapped him on the back before he sprinted away, heading to the door that led to the producer’s room. George would bet he was putting in a request for an extra date with his girl tonight, and he couldn’t help but root for him from the sidelines. It’d be nice if things worked out for them. Already, production was passing around a sheet with the ring options they had available for the guys to choose from, a stark reminder that time was ticking by.

He was still a little lost in his thoughts when a presence sidled up on him, Dream’s cologne tickling his nose in a surprisingly familiar greeting.

“Georgie!” He sounded way too happy for a man who had spent the entire day talking to strangers through a wall, but his green eyes glittered with joy when George turned his head to catch his gaze, lips curling into a grin.

“Hi yourself. You just missed Eric.”

Dream gave him a confused look, his disinterest in anyone that wasn’t George making his stomach squirm, even if it didn’t mean anything.

“Eric.” Dream rolled his eyes, poking George in his ribs. “I don’t care about damn Eric, George, c’mon. I wanna hear about your day. Feels like I was stuck in those pods for a week.”

George’s traitorous heart sped up at feeling Dream’s hand linger on his torso, stupidly wishing the man would sweep him into a hug and maybe even a kiss. What Dream did instead was pour himself a drink and clink his glass against George’s, listening closely when, after clearing his throat, he started telling him about the afternoon spent in the lounge with absolutely no form of entertainment other than their fellow participants.

Dream was a huge gossip though, so he ooh’ed and aaah’ed at all the appropriate times, laughing at everyone else’s shenanigans now that the show was headed toward their final days. George basked in the attention, even if he knew Dream was only here for friendship at best. He couldn’t muster up the courage to ask Dream about his dates anymore, and Dream seemed just as keen to keep all the little details to himself. While their friendship felt solid on its own - way more than it had any right to be - the balance between the warring forces inside George’s heart was still a tricky act to keep up, a game of dancing around questions George simply did not want the answers to.

In three days, Dream would have a pretty ring for his pretty girl and they’d ride off into the sunset, set onto a life that couldn’t be further away from what George longed for.

When Sam started rounding up everyone for their late-night dates, George sighed and got up, ready to have an early night in the privacy of his tiny room. He barely managed to walk two steps before Dream’s hand shot out, curling around his wrist.

“Wait, George, I - do you have any dates tonight?” Surprised, George only shook his head, walls crumbling in the face of Dream’s shy little smile. “Okay, good. I was wondering if you’d want to have dinner with me. I’m craving pasta.”

Weren’t you meeting someone tonight? George couldn’t bring himself to ask that. “We don’t have pasta on the menu tonight.”

“I thought I’d cook for us.” Dream shrugged, like the simple offer wasn’t creating a butterfly effect in all of George’s fantasies, cleaving his insides with a dull knife of foolish hope. In a parallel universe, Dream invited him to dinner and they kissed with lips tasting like cheap wine, clinking glasses that weren’t metallic-gold in a place that housed only the two of them.

But - Dream didn’t seem to be aware of it, his droopy eyes twisting the knife even deeper when he kept looking at George like he expected to be rejected. “I just - is it weird that I missed you today? Because I did. ”

Something inside him broke, the sound lost amidst his thunderous beating heart. George found himself reaching out before he realized, bumping their pinkies together under the guise of putting his glass down.

“That’s stupid,” George whispered, letting the contact last for a couple of beats before he pulled his hand away. “You’re, like - obsessed with me. 'M going to call security.”

It was a weak attempt at a joke, earning him a tentative, close-lipped smile that barely reached Dream’s eyes. If George always avoided confrontation, Dream was the complete opposite, his trademarked sincerity ill-suited for a show like this.

No wonder everyone was head over heels for him. It was hard not to be.

“You’re so… I feel like we have known each other for so long. I know I’m very friendly, but there’s something about you that just - clicked. I don’t know,” the words tumbled out of Dream’s mouth like a stream, rushed and so raw George wished he could look away. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking about stuff we could do when this is all over, like playing games together or seeing that TV show you were going on and on about the other day.”

Choked up and feeling as lost as Dream looked, George reached out again, a tentative hand splayed over the broadness of Dream’s back - way too visible, but he couldn’t give a damn when Dream looked so lost all of a sudden.

He rubbed his back in reassuring little circles, watching Dream take a deep breath. He lifted his gaze and met George’s eyes, eyebrows arched in worry. “Sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered, hunching forward like he wanted to hide.

There was something so vulnerable about him that George pressed even closer, some deep, misplaced desire to hide him away from all the prying eyes that could be watching this. He had no idea what was going on in Dream’s mind but George stayed anyway, soothing him to the best of his ability. It wasn’t in George’s nature to be caring - not with his words and even less with his gestures - but Dream’s silence was so jarring he came to the realization that it didn’t matter. All he had were his clumsy words and his timid hands. It would have to be enough.

“Start with the pasta,” he said. “And then you can figure out the rest.”

—-

PRODUCER : [ off camera ] We are close to finishing the first part of the experiment. What are your thoughts so far? Do you think love is blind?

[ zoom in on George, 27, Software engineer ]

GEORGE DAVIDSON : It could be. I saw some people make deep connections in the past few days in ways I had not expected at all. [ George shrugs, looking away from the camera for a few moments ] Marriage is a big step, but I guess - If I had found someone, I’d be willing to take the risk.

—-

The last 48 hours of the show were a whirlwind.

George barely saw Dream. Their dinner had left George aching, like he had stretched too much, and now his limbs were all sore, misplaced in their joints. The morning after, they sat together during breakfast, but with the impromptu visit of Nick and Vanessa Lachey to the lounge to check in on everybody before the big day, they were robbed of their morning routine. The most George got was a small hug goodbye before it was time to head out to the pods, a lump stuck in his throat from all the things that went unsaid.

He was so afraid. Dream’s eyes looked full of some deep sorrow George was sure had been his doing.

Throughout the day, George caught glimpses of him: his cat beanie peeking out from behind the dividers in the makeup room outside the lounge, his melodic voice talking to some producer while George was whisked away for his daily interview. Like an explorer putting together the clues to a hidden treasure, he tried following the path of laughter, only to be tugged in a different direction every time he tried to have a moment to breathe. Their schedules simply didn’t match, and if that wasn’t a subtle omen, George didn’t know what it was.

In the end, the morning of the last day dawned just like any other: his alarm went off at six together with the lights, flooding his room with artificial yellow. Everything was artificial: the plants, the itchy sheets, the bagels that were artfully arranged in a little basket by his desk. There was a suit picked out for him and a small velvet box, with a just in case! scribbled on a bright pink post-it beside it.

George didn't need to look to know there was an equally fake ring waiting inside.

In a daze, he went through the motions of getting ready, barely tasting the coffee that burned his tongue. He was itching to go to the lounge - to see Dream, at least one last time - but there was also a caged beast inside his chest roaring for him to just run. He didn't owe anyone anything, so why even show up today? Everyone knew a guy like Dream would never choose anything but the picture-perfect happy ending.

With a heavy heart, George made his way to the lounge, pocketing the ring just in case. He was still scheduled to have a talk with Olive today. Maybe.

Maybe.

“George! Hi!”

It wasn't Dream who greeted him when he arrived at the lounge. Eric beamed at him, wearing a dark blue suit that brought out his eyes, looking good enough George was sure all the cameras were pointing at them right now. It didn’t bother him as much as when it happened with Dream.

“Looking good, Georgie,” came from a spot on his left, and when he turned, there Dream was in all of his handsome glory. “I like the fit.”

George didn't think he had ever been so attracted to a man before. The suit production had picked out for him was inky black with silky lapels, only serving to emphasize the broadness of his shoulders and the small of his waist. He even smelled expensive, making George want to pull him down by the tie and leave a trail of bruises under the collar of his white shirt. Eric completely paled in comparison - and Dream seemed to know this, the curve of his smile turning co*cky when he greeted the other man with a nod.

“Your hair looks dumb,” George said instead of the million compliments swirling around his head, trying to keep himself from staring too hard. “Did they finally convince you to gel it?”

“Shut up. I look good and you know it.”

George rolled his eyes, fiddling with his fringe just to have something to do with his hands. It was so damn unfair. Dream kept looking at him like he was expecting to find answers hidden somewhere behind his eyes, but how could George even help if he didn’t know which questions were being asked? There was only so much he could do while trying to protect his heart.

Unfair. Everything about Dream was unfair: the way his voice went all soft when he asked for a moment - just the two of us -, the way his touch lingered on the small of his back as he guided George to a more private little corner, how the warmth it left behind could be felt even through the layers of his clothing.

“I have something for you,” Dream said, pulling something from inside his suit jacket. “I had to rush a little, but - here.”

Slightly squished in Dream’s palm, there was a knitted beanie, rows of blue with specks of white, almost like the night sky. Without a word, George picked it up, surprising himself with how heavy it felt in his hands. “You made this for me?”

Dream nodded in that way that made him look like an overexcited puppy, but his eyes betrayed his nerves. He kept looking at George, waiting, like he had handed him all the keys to his kingdom and was waiting to see if George would rob him blind.

“Why?”

Without meaning to, George held his breath. Maybe this would be it - maybe Dream would finally put them both out of their misery with some choice words about how much he valued their friendship and how he would love to have him at his wedding, put to rest the tendrils of hope that refused to die.

“I don’t know,” Dream answered, looking lost, way too young in his stupid suit and combed-back hair.

This wasn’t his Dream, George realized with a start. He was already losing him.

He barely heard the five-minute warning that echoed through the sound system - his blood was pounding, rushing in his ears, and in the space between one blink and the next, he was clutching at Dream’s back, enveloped in a hug that was all strong arms and the familiar scent of his perfume. Dream’s hands held onto every bit of George that was fraying at the edges, like he wanted to commit to memory the feeling before they both started to crumble.

There was no going back from this, at least not to him. If there was ever a chance he would ask OIive to marry him, it faded away the moment Dream’s breath fanned against his neck, ticklish and warm and powerful enough to dispel an entire future with a single exhale, tumbling like sandcastles.

“Please - don’t forget about me,” Dream murmured, squeezing him tight.

George shook his head, a strangled chuckle escaping his lips. “I hope you figure it out,” he whispered against Dream’s body, a secret only meant for the two of them.

He allowed himself one more moment. In and out, George took one last breath before pulling away. Someone had to be the first, and he figured the pain of walking away would be less than if he wasn’t the one being left behind. At least, this time he could pretend he had a choice.

Their hug lingered either way, hands clinging to his back and flowing away like water, gliding down the smooth surface of a rock. George’s heart threatened to break, but he remained strong, murmuring a quiet “Good luck” before turning away.

He caught Sam’s eyes and wished he hadn’t. He wanted no one’s pity.

Every step that brought George closer to the pod felt heavier. He might as well have been on the moon with how much gravity weighed him down, a hook in his belly reeling him back towards the lounge, back to a man who was about to be engaged to someone that could never be George.

He could see the future so clearly, from the moment Olive said yes to some faceless woman walking down the aisle, white dress and whiter veil, a vow to safeguard some time of career and influence in the months and years to come. There was a box inside his pocket, small and velvety and with the mass of a neutron star - the collapsed remains of a great supernova that George had absolutely no idea what to do with, scared to even look -, tiny enough he could pretend it was his phone or one of the million trinkets he liked to collect back in his real life.

The ring, picked by production and approved by him less than twenty-four hours ago, was pretty in a very generic way, a married-with-2.5-kids type of bland. The beanie in his hand was custom-made with his favorite colors, soft to the touch. As George stopped to gather his thoughts before the door, he kept fiddling with it, running his fingers over each stitch and counting each knot like a child wishing to fall asleep.

One, two, three.

With a final sigh, he stuffed the beanie inside his pocket, even though it completely ruined the lines of his outfit. He placed the box on the small table by the door, the entire gravity shifting around this small gesture - he could breathe now. The milky wall separating himself and Olive had never been more welcoming.

The only person he managed to say a proper goodbye to was Sam, everyone else was way too caught up in their own celebrations and Dream nowhere to be found. He retired early to his room and packed everything into his suitcase, neat little rows of socks and shirts carefully folded with the utmost care, painstakingly so.

He resolutely did not think about Dream when he stuffed the cat beanie into his carry-on, closing the lid with enough force to keep everything inside. He didn’t think about him when he was taken to the airport, not even casting a glance towards the International Departures counter. The lucky couples would be headed to someplace warm and sunny, Cancun or the Caribbean where the sun would be bright and everyone would be able to explore the physical aspect of their new bond.

God. George hated that phrasing so much.

Back in his house, everything was eerily quiet. There was no crew hiding behind the glass windows of his living room, no walls to block the view of the street outside, the trees swishing softly in the wind. George felt like he was haunting his silent living room, not really himself yet. He counted the tiles in his bathroom, horizontal lines first as the water washed down his back. The familiar scent of his soap was almost alien: he had forgotten to pack and during the two weeks of production had been using a lavender monstrosity that made his skin feel like it was covered by a thin layer of plastic, made him as fake as all the other props scattered around the studio. Strawberry bloomed in his small bathroom, anchoring him down back in a body that felt way too big for him now that there were no more eyes tracking his every move.

In his bed with the curtains closed, he allowed himself to think of Dream.

In the morning, he went to the bakery. Standing in line, it felt like there should be two of them there, missing Dream so terribly it was a physical ache. The apple tart tasted like ash in his tongue but he washed it down with coffee anyway, clinging to the last little bits of their ritual no matter how dumb it made him feel.

Dream wasn’t here. The wound wasn’t a cavern, but his absence was a diagram of what if in big shiny letters. He wanted to ask his opinion on a great number of things just to hear his rambling, but the silence followed George back to his house and stayed, making a home there.

The notifications in his phone were piling up like bricks in a wall, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer anyone, overwhelmed. He was never good with words, he couldn’t make anyone understand what was happening to him, couldn’t even explain it to himself if he tried. There was a gnawing pain eating away his insides, leaving only numbness behind. Too fresh. He had no tools to deal with the messy tangle of feelings taking root at the back of his throat.

Maybe after a couple of days, he would be willing to talk about it. Larray had a special way of turning the corpses of George’s relationship into stuff they could joke about, and while he appreciated it, the idea of explaining Dream away felt… wrong. Some stupid, secret part of him still wished to protect Dream.

I don’t know what I’m doing. Dream had sounded so lost. It had been years since George had gone through something similar, but while time had dulled its teeth, fear still nipped at his heels from time to time.

And - maybe that was evident to everyone else, no matter how close to his chest George liked to play his cards, because on his third night back, he got a call on his landline, with a proposal George found hard to refuse.

“We want you back for an episode,” Sam said after some awkward pleasantries.

“Why?”

There was the sound of rustling on the other line, like Sam was checking his notes like he had always done back in the studio. “Something to do with Olive and her fiancée. Writers want to give her a chance to talk about it with you, see if she is sure about her choice, that kind of thing.”

The idea of going back just to be used as a prop was as appealing as a chewing glass. He had an excuse at the tip of his tongue, already planning to come down with a serious case of the flu, when Sam spoke again.

“After you’re done talking to her, you’re free to stay the night - we will rent a room for every guest in a separate section of the resort, but you’re welcome to join in the party we have planned,” he rambled, voice taking a strange pitch when he continued, “Everyone will be there, George. Think about it.”

Everyone.

He would be able to see Dream again.

Sam said a quick goodbye, reminding him to give him an answer in the next hour.

George managed to hold off for twenty minutes before he called Sam back.

The location was gorgeous.

Once inside, he was rushed to his room and fitted to a mic, with barely enough time to change out of his sweats before production was on him with a list of talking points they strongly advised he run through. He didn’t know why they were pushing so hard on this. He and Olive were friends at best, but maybe her fiancée was enough of a dumbass to make George look like a viable option, and, since he had never asked who her second choice was, he was completely in the dark about it.

Either way, he was ushered out of his room as soon as he finished his hasty lunch, guided by a PA to a secluded little garden where a woman was already sitting on a comfortable-looking seat, her long black hair cascading down her back. She turned around and George noticed her eyes were just as dark, heavy-lidded, and almond-shaped, skin tanned already from the few days spent in this place.

In another life, she would have definitely been his type, but when she smiled, he could only notice how it didn’t quite reach her eyes - not in the way Dream’s own grin lit up his entire face.

“George?”

“Hey - hi, Olive.”

Her expression melted into a perfectly practiced smile. There was a rustle of a cameraman adjusting his position behind him, and with a resigned sigh George sat down to play his part.

In the end, it was all a bunch of bullsh*t for easy drama, but at least Olive seemed to be in control of it. Once their conversation was done, she pulled George into a hug and sauntered off to find her partner, no doubt to put a neat little bow into whatever angle production was trying to push with his presence there.

Not that he cared. It wasn’t like he would make a lasting impression anyway.

He wandered aimlessly for a while after, feet digging into the warm sand, having returned his mic to the crew with a quiet apology. He knew there was no way he was attending the party they had planned, not unless they dragged him there.

So he ended up sitting down on one of the wooden lounge chairs scattered around the beach to soak up the sun, the sheer white fabric hanging from the pergolas looking like sails, swaying in the soft breeze. He breathed, in and out, thoughts scattered in the wind. Dream was here . Somewhere behind the tall grass and up the slight incline that led back to the pool and the proper resort, Dream and his fiancée were probably coming down to spend the afternoon in the pool, with matching rings in their entwined fingers.

A phantom hand gripped his guts and twisted, all the nerves he had tried to ignore bubbling back up like grease in the sink. He felt a little sick, wishing he had called Larray before hopping on a plane to chase after someone who was engaged - engaged to a girl, who was probably sweet and the perfect match to Dream’s gentle heart -, paying the steep price of his impulsivity.

There was rustling from his left side and he froze in place, the familiar halo of Dream’s curls setting off all the alarms in his brain.

“You’re a hard man to find, Georgie,” Dream said in lieu of a greeting, awkwardly coming to a stop by his lounge chair.

“Dream? What are you doing here?”

“Honeymooning?” he blurted out, making George flinch in his seat. “Sorry - sh*t, I didn’t mean it like that. Sam told me you had a talk with Olive.”

George remained quiet, making no move to stop Dream when he tentatively sat down on the end of George’s lounge chair. Dream’s face had a healthy tan, freckles deeper than George remembered them, and another echo of pain reverberated through his entire body - it didn’t start when the knife sunk into flesh but when the blade twisted, and Dream’s mere presence would be enough to make George bleed himself dry if he wasn’t careful.

He couldn’t send him away, though.

“She’s pretty,” Dream said after a pause, and George struggled to remember he was talking about Olive.

“Not my type,” he shrugged, sitting up properly. “Seriously - why are you here?”

Dream’s teeth caught on his bottom lip, worrying at the skin. “I don’t know. I heard some people would be back and I just… I couldn’t stop thinking if you’d come.”

“Did you want me to?”

Dream made a quiet noise and nodded, shoulders caving in on himself, looking so defeated George had to fight his instinct to reach out. There were no cameras around, no mics to catch their every word, and yet George still didn’t feel safe, didn’t want Dream to lay his heart out where anyone could step on it. “It’s been… hard. I can’t really - there’s been a lot of stuff on my mind recently. I haven’t been fair to you. Or to Alice.”

Alice. How had George managed to go all this time without even knowing her name?

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Again, Dream shook his head, taking a deep breath like he was steadying himself for something big. George had once seen a video of a tsunami, how all the water retreated back into the ocean only to rush back in with the power to destroy an entire city, and this - seeing Dream steel himself for the words that were visibly gathering in his tongue - was eerily similar to that.

“I don’t think I’m gay,” the first words tumbled out, hitting George like a gut punch. “I like girls, but I also - you caught me so off guard. George, you’re just - you’re so beautiful. You’re so f*cking smart and funny, you were, like, the bright spot in my days in the studio, and the more time we spent together, the more I wanted to know about you, and it was all… It was driving me insane.”

If he listened closely, George could almost hear the phantom echo of his own teenage self talking to his mother all the way back in London, bite turned blunt from how many years had passed since. His heart squeezed, wanting to jump ship and hide alongside Dream’s, folded tiny enough to fit between the ridges of his ribcage. Maybe if he could reach it, he could protect it.

Without his actual input, his hand reached out, finding Dream’s fingers to give it a soft squeeze. They were tethered together now - maybe they always had been.

“I can’t - I can’t stop thinking about you,” Dream said after a couple moments of silence, not meeting George’s eyes when he looked up.

“Dream-”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before. This is all so - new… I’m so scared, Georgie,” he interrupted him gently, an accompanying squeeze to his hand. His voice was brittle - like mirrors and liquor bottles, chipped at the edges and just on the verge of breaking - showing way too much of that underbelly that made George’s own heart echo in sympathetic pain.

On this sunny beach so far from the sterile environment of the studio, George finally hit his breaking point.

He gave in and pulled Dream to his chest, hiding his face in the mop of blonde hair. Dream, arms tightly wound around his waist, made a sound between a sob and a laugh, and George wished he was taller, bigger, if only to make sure he could keep Dream from splitting at the edges.

“You're okay,” he kept repeating, hands running over the expanse of Dream's back, checking the seams to keep him whole. “It’ll be okay, Dream.”

The words seemed to be of no effect at first, but George knew how important it was to hear them, so he kept at it - he would scrape his voice raw if that meant Dream would have a smidge of comfort amongst all the stress of the situation.

Words had never been his forte, but he tried, and at last Dream’s shoulders sagged, tension releasing like the strings holding him up had been cut.

“I didn't - sorry that I'm even here,” he mumbled, taking one last deep breath before pulling back enough to look George in the eyes. “I wanted to do the right thing, I just - I don’t know what it is.”

How scared Dream sounded - this was what finally brought tears to George’s eyes.

“George - wait, I’m sorry, f*ck - please, don’t cry.”

Words failed him, as it was the norm. He was tugged to Dream’s chest and he had no idea who was holding who anymore, letting himself be selfish for a few desperate moments. Surrounded by Dream’s perfume and his familiar warmth, his mind kept flashing through the future that could have been theirs, if only they had met somewhere else - maybe at the park near his house, maybe at the boardwalk or a cafe or even in line for a ride at Universal Studios.

Reality came crashing soon enough.

“Dream!” someone called. George’s heart sank all the way to the bottom of his tummy, raising his head to see Sam walking towards them, a cameraman following close behind. “We need you back for the party - oh, sh*t.”

Still in his arms, Dream went eerily still.

Okay. George could not do this.

“Sorry, I - I have to go,” he said in a hushed whisper, forcibly detangling himself. Dream’s eyes snapped to his, an indecipherable expression on his face. “M’ sorry, Dream.”

Like a coward, George fled the scene.

George resolutely didn’t think of Dream.

He left the Dominican Republic in a rush, rescheduling his flight and hoping Larray would help him foot the bill for it. Production kept calling him but George let it go to voicemail, figuring Sam would understand.

He had seen them, after all. George only hoped the camera hadn’t caught anything.

This time around he called Larray as soon as he made it back home, spilling his guts as soon as Larray's familiar voice greeted him from the other end. They talked until it was dark outside, and with Larray's promise to visit as soon as he came back from his own vacation, George finally allowed himself to cry. It was the ugly type of sobbing that left him emptied out and curled tight into himself, face buried into his damp pillow as the night crawled to day. His dreams were plagued by the sun and smell of sunscreen, an endless labyrinth of palm trees and giant leaves that kept him from seeing the ocean - he was so close, he knew that in the same way you knew all things when you were dreaming - but no matter how hard George tried to reach it, he just couldn’t.

He woke with a heavy heart and the feeling of sand clinging to the soles of his feet, and he wandered around his apartment like a ghost. There was so much to sort out, from getting groceries to replying to the towering pile of emails and messages cluttering his screen, and yet he could only bring himself to make some tea and munch on stale crackers he found at the bottom of his drawer. His phone kept pinging until he put it on do not disturb, thumb hovering over Instagram.

Maybe among all the notifications from the past month, there would be something from Dream. A friend request, a silly DM, anything. During the hours spent inside the plane, George had realized the only thing he had from Dream was the stupid beanie, and he kept clinging to it, uselessly fidgeting with the edges like a stress toy.

He was still holding onto it when night started to settle in around him. Another day gone. Production was supposed to wrap up filming yesterday night after the party, and the couples would be on their way to the real world now. Dream and Alice would be sharing an apartment, squeaky clean and just as artificial as the lounge had been, like the pods, like the food, and everything else that had surrounded them. How could George even know what he felt was real? How could he even ask Dream to choose him?

He couldn’t.

Maybe after a while, he would be able to even be happy for him.

By mid-afternoon, George had gathered enough of his wits to act like a human again. He showered, put on his comfiest sweats, and grabbed the kettle, an ancient ritual that dated back to his college finals. Tea would fix him. He filled it with water and picked the heavy wooden box from the cupboard - a gift from his grandma when he had moved away, one of the very few things from back home he had held onto. The neat little rows of colored packages were a familiar sight and he distracted himself by running his fingers over them, back and forth, pausing sometimes to straighten out the edges that were bent.

When the water boiled, he poured it onto his mug and waddled back towards the couch, burying himself deep into the cushions. It felt weird to watch TV knowing that soon enough his face would be in there, and that thought led to another that was even more worrying: what would he look like when it was all said and done? For sure production wasn’t happy with him, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they gave him a sh*tty edit, or even cut him out entirely.

f*ck. He hadn’t even considered that.

A knock on his door took him out of his thoughts, but he only got up when the person on the other side rang the bell after a minute or so of silence. George groaned, already dreading the conversation waiting for him - he had been so safe in the knowledge Larray was caught up in some project on the other side of the country that he had forgotten his friend was stubborn as a bull.

Ugh. The idiot probably left early just to come see him and -

“Dream?”

George froze, hand still clutching the doorknob. Dream stood in front of him, cat beanie hanging over his curls and the saddest puppy-dog eyes George had ever seen. For a split-second, George almost slammed the door in his face, way too tired for whatever this was, but Dream smiled - tiny and nervous, a shadow over the sun - and George was completely done for.

“How - why are you here ?”

“Sam gave me your address.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I tried calling but you didn’t pick up.”

“You can’t be here, Dream. You said -” George’s voice started to tremble, and he fought down the urge to scream. “This isn’t fair. You’re literally engaged -”

“I broke it off! I’m not with Alice anymore, I swear.”

One beat. Another. There was no way George was hearing this correctly, right?

“What?”

“As soon as you left I just - I realized I had to come after you,” Dream practically whispered, teeth biting into his bottom lip. His eyes kept darting up and down, visibly unsure of whatever the f*ck he was seeing in George’s expression right now. “George, can we go inside? I really need to tell you -”

George didn’t let him finish. The hungry beast inside his belly roared and he fisted Dream’s stupid sweater and pulled, crashing their mouths together.

The kiss was awkward, too much too soon, the lack of finesse betraying how much he craved the feel of Dream’s mouth against his own. Their lips parted after a couple of seconds, and then met again, softer this time, and even though George had been the one to initiate it, he still felt like he was being swept off his feet, heartbeat a jittering mess inside his chest.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been kissed like this, like someone adored. One large, strong hand cradled his jaw with a gentleness that belied the slight shake of the fingers clinging to his waist, and amidst all the happiness and the relief, he found an even bigger part of him that wanted to fold Dream at the corners until he was small enough to fit in the hollow of his chest. George couldn’t even remember how his first kiss with a guy had felt like - probably not so good, his memory more than hazy after so many years - but this, right here, this was Dream’s first kiss, and he would be damned if he would make it anything less than perfect.

In his enthusiasm, he jumped into Dream’s arms, winding his legs around his waist. In this first kiss that had already become two or even the three, there were little gasps for breath and shared giggling that spoke of the joy bubbling up his throat like champagne. This right here was probably what starlight tasted like, and George drank his fill, letting Dream carry him inside the house.

“George, wait -” Dream stumbled and George screeched, laughing when they fell onto his sofa. Dream was so warm on top of his body, so real in a way he had accepted he would never get to experience that he had to kiss him again, pulling the man to his chest.

The sheer physicality of Dream was all-consuming. His perfume, the broadness of his shoulders, the weight of his legs straddling his thighs, the softness of his curls between George’s fingers. His lips were soft, opening under the slightest pressure, and then they were truly kissing, and everything else melted away.

Something grew and unfurled, blooming inside his chest in that pocket of eternity where they made out like teenagers, but when his breath started to grow heavy, he pulled back, guiding Dream to rest his forehead against his own.

They had time. There was no clock ticking down towards some impossible decision, and Dream’s eagerness made him want to slow down, not to tease but to savor it.

“Did you really leave?” George asked once the shock started to wear off. They were cuddled together on his couch, Dream squeezed between the backrest and George’s body, and he was slowly tracing the patterns between each freckle on his cheeks.

In their mad dash inside, Dream had lost his beanie, and his curls framed his face like a halo, bouncing when he nodded.

“Why?”

“I knew I had to come find you, or I’d regret it forever.”

“That’s dramatic,” George laughed until the sound faded. He smiled, then, hiding his blushing face in the crook of Dream’s neck. “M’ glad you did.”

“Mee too.”

Together, they inhaled a deep breath, chests flush against each other. In and out - fully in sync, for the very first time.

“Dream, I can’t find my - wait, nevermind.”

With a huff, George fished his dress shoes out of the box that should have only had kitchen utensils inside, shaking his head at Dream’s little snicker.

“Told you we’d be late,” Dream said with glee, following George back into their cluttered living room.

George fell onto the couch and tried to put on his shoes while also fixing his tie, doing such a poor job of it that Dream batted his hand away, doing it himself just like George knew he would. He tried to keep his smile from being too smug, tilting his face up to make more room for his fingers.

“We’re not late. Sam said we had until 3 pm to show up, we are fine .”

“You are fine,” Dream grinned, patting George’s chest, and gave him a once over. A shudder went through his body when Dream touched his neck, gently tucking his golden chain underneath the collar.

It was such a simple gesture but George softened all the same. The chain had been Dream’s from even before the show, and not too long after they had first gotten together, Dream had given it to him, a sign and a vow and a promise, all wrapped around George’s neck for the whole world to see.

George had gotten Dream a matching pair, and he didn’t even have to look to know it was safely tucked under his own dress shirt, perfect match to his own.

The moment lasted for a few more seconds before Dream pulled back, tucking a lock of hair behind George’s ear. Patches meowed from the kitchen and Dream went to give her attention, dropping down to his knees in his fancy suit to give her a little smooch.

Without fail, seeing them together tugged on George’s heartstrings, no matter the months he’d had to grow used to it. Seeing all the half-unpacked boxes and his and Dream’s things mixing together in their brand new apartment only hammered in the fact that this really was it. This was his life - and a pretty good one.

Swallowing around a lump in his throat, he crossed the distance to where Dream was getting back on his feet, plastering himself to his back and almost toppling them over. “Don’t forget to refill her bowl,” he mumbled, burying his smile deep into the soft material of Dream’s jacket.

“Of course I won’t,” Dream said, turning around in the circle of George’s arm to kiss his forehead. “I’m her father.”

“And I’m her daddy -” George cut himself mid-sentence, immediately catching onto Dream’s delighted expression. “No, don’t even. Stop.”

“I didn’t say anything, baby,” Dream answered in between giggles, infectious in his joy, and George found himself laughing along with him.

“I know what you were thinking - I know you,” George said, kissing Dream for good measure. And then, softer, in a way that he knew Dream - and only Dream - would be able to hear the change and know what it meant. “I know you.”

“You do.”

I do.

The studio lights were even brighter than George remembered, but this time he didn’t fumble a single step.

The reunion episode was the final item in the show’s contract, one last little hurrah to catch up on the couples that had said yes and those that had split apart, a chance for anyone to clear the air after getting themselves blasted to millions of people on national television.

Hand in hand, he and Dream were guided to their front-row seats, tacky velvet sofas that matched the decor of the revamped lounge. Sam gave them a little wave but didn’t stop to chat, too busy with the wave of people filing into the studio. Some faces George could recognize, and while he hadn’t made any friends other than Dream, he still felt a sort of nostalgia towards everyone. This was, after all, the place where he had met the love of his life, even if they didn’t quite follow the script as closely as they should have.

No one really paid them any mind. A year was more than enough time to soothe ruffled feathers, especially when George and Dream mostly kept to themselves, choosing to stay out of the drama that seemed to follow everyone like a cloud. They weren't the picture perfect result of the experiment, so while the show did showcase their friendship, they didn't go out of their way to promote it. George and Dream had not fallen in love sight unseen and, as such, were not on the same level as the three successful marriages they had gotten out of this season - and, personally, George couldn't be happier about it.

The show had aired the month before and George was still a little floored at the reaction they had gotten, even with how little he was showcased. Dream was, of course, a big hit, but George had also gained some attention, and their socials had blown up as everyone and their mother demanded to know more. As per Sam’s promise, they hadn’t gotten a bad edit: Dream and George’s budding relationship had been a staple throughout the season, background interactions and careful zoomed-in close-ups of their faces as they joked together. George had never realized just how much they looked at each other, seemed tethered together by an invisible rope that kept pulling them closer. It had been played up as a mirror to Dream’s doomed relationship with Alice, but thankfully nothing about their conversation in the Dominican Republic was mentioned beyond a very heartfelt interview with Dream just after he had broken things off with Alice.

I need to see this through, Dream had said, red-rimmed eyes but determined. I feel like - If I don’t go, I’ll lose something way too precious to me.

Larray had cried watching that episode. George might have shed a few tears, too.

By his side, Dream shifted in his seat when the lights dimmed, bumping their feet together.

There was nothing to hide. Dream laced their fingers, dropping a kiss to George’s knuckles, and together they watched Vanessa and Nick Lachey walk onto the stage, beautiful and plastic as always.