#this was written as queerplatonic!dnf with aro!george and questioning!dream but you can interpret it however :))

[caseywond3r]

(this can now be read on my AO3, as well!!)

(started out as a reblog/response to this post by @phibii, but it got too long. still please go give the original post some love!!)

(also, please note that this is all in good fun. I don't actually ship DNF and I am not speculating about their sexualities or relationship. this is just a lighthearted drabble based on their internet personalities.)

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George sits in Dream's lap while he's editing. Dream isn't really sure why. It just started one day when George decided he wasn't getting enough attention because Dream was too focused on his work. He's like a cat. He wants Dream's attention any time he's busy. He's not even that clingy usually, but he gets frustrated when he doesn't at least have the option of having Dream's undivided attention. So, he sits in his lap while he edits.

Dream loses his shit a little bit at first, doing his, "what? WHAT?" that he always does when George flirts with him, but he's also so used to George's antics that after the first time it happens, he's just like, "Okay. I guess this is a thing now." It becomes one of their things, one of the thousand little rituals they share, and neither would ever admit to it, but they really enjoy it. It feels safe, it feels warm. It makes them feel closer to one another, not only physically, but emotionally. Maybe Dream even starts putting out more videos just because he knows that George will sit on his lap when he's busy with editing—though that's probably just wishful thinking on my part. And maybe he doesn't fully realise that it isn't a solely platonic affection because it's George, ya know? This is his best friend and he loves him dearly and it's normal to want to spend time together and be close to each other, ya know? And yeah, when Sapnap walks in on them like this, he makes fun of them, but what does he know? This is normal.

Except... A few days later, when Sapnap tries to sit on Dream's lap as a joke, to make fun of him for doing it with George, Dream pushes him off immediately. It doesn't feel all nice and warm and sweet with Sapnap. Not like it does with George, despite being equally as good of friends with Sapnap. That's when Dream finally realises, This isn't normal at all.

He's nervous now. He doesn't know what he's feeling and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to label it. After all, it's always been there, hasn't it? He's always felt this way. He just didn't realise that what he was feeling wasn't normal.

He puts off recording for weeks on end. The fans are ticked. They're trying to be supportive of his break, but what can they say? They miss their streamer. After two months with zero YouTube videos, Dream runs out of excuses. He records his new video and dodges George's thinly veiled questions about when he plans to edit it, waiting until George is out with friends to do so.

The hours stretch on and Dream is getting more and more frustrated. His ADHD is flaring up. He can't focus on anything. Every click of his keyboard is too loud, every flash of his monitor is too loud. Something is just wrong and he's not stupid, he knows what it is, but he can't admit it. Because if he admits it, then it becomes real, and he's not ready for it to become real.

So, he sits, and he tries not to let the frustration spill out from his eyes, and he tries not to let his mind wander into wondering why he feels this way about his best friend. He hears the front door open and he can only hope that it's Sapnap because he hasn't gotten enough work done to go to bed now and hide under the covers and pretend he isn't awake when George comes in to check on him.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn't always get what he wants.

The door creaks open and Dream knows without even looking that it's George. He's the only one in the house who never learned how to knock. George pauses for a second in the doorway, noting Dream's screen curiously, before stepping forward into his line of sight.

"Dream?"

Dream's glassy, bloodshot eyes respond for him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" George asks. "Are you okay?"

"No," Dream snaps. "I'm not fucking okay. I can't fucking focus on any of this shit. I haven't gotten a single thing done tonight."

George steps ever closer, pulling Dream into a hug. With Dream in his desk chair, George finally gets to feel taller than him as he pulls Dream against him and feels his face press into his stomach. "It's okay, Dream. You're trying your best. Sometimes, you just need to call it quits and start again tomorrow."

"I can't. I've already put it off for too long."

"Well, then, at least let me keep you company."

"No." Dream rips himself away from George, pushing his chair back a few feet.

"Why not?"

"Because... Because... I don't feel right."

"What do you mean? Are you sick?"

"No, I'm not sick. Dammit, George, I just... I don't feel what I'm supposed to feel for you. I don't know what I feel at all."

George doesn't look disgusted, and Dream thinks he must've misunderstood him. If George knew about all of Dream's big, swirling, terrifying feelings, there's no way he'd be so steady. Almost like he's trying to calm a frightened animal, when he asks, "Does it matter?"

"What?"

"Whatever you feel, it isn't wrong. I feel it, too, I guess. And I don't know what it is either, but it doesn't really matter, does it? Because we both feel it. We both care a lot about each other and we both love to be around each other. How can that be wrong?"

Dream chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of all the million reasons why this is a terrible idea—whatever this is. He can't. He can't think of a single goddamn thing. Reluctantly, he pushes himself back toward George, opening his arms.

Instead of sitting on Dream's knee, facing the computer, like he normally does, George sits facing Dream, smaller thighs bracketing larger ones, and rests his head in the crook of Dream's neck, deep and slow breaths fanning out against the tanned skin.

It takes Dream a few minutes to find the courage to ask, "What are we?"

George pulls away from Dream's neck, giggling like that's the stupidest question he's ever heard. "We're us, idiot."

Dream chews on that for a second, lets the words perforate his stupid brain and calm the rushing blood in his ears. "I think I like that," he says finally.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He pulls George back in to rest against his neck, tucking his own face into the pillow of George's hair. "I like us."