parted lips | ✫

︲𝟤𝟥

maybe, i'm afraid , lovelytheband —

"So."

George frowned, already exhausted from the yet to come argument. His parents are standing in the kitchen, though his father is seated at the round dining table, eyes cast over his son.

"Your friend is coming tonight, right?"

"His boyfriend, Emilia, not his friend."

Marcus Davidson was two things,  an accountant, and the best dad/ role model George could ask for. And here, watching him easily roll his eyes at his soon-to-be ex-wife, made George proud. He was everything his mother was not, a caretaker, a guardian with wings and a halo and George is sure that the drawings he drew of his father as a superhero still sit framed in his office a whole decade later.

"Boyfriend, yes! Right. What was his name?"

"Dream, Emilia." Marcus answers, and he shook his head at the poor effort of the lady. Who's brunette hair had been dyed black, and though George took after his mother's hair colour, he shared every other feature with his father. "That is his name, right?" The man smiled, looking up to his son rather than looking down on him like his mother did.

"Yeah—"

"Quite a strange name, not formal at all." Emilia waved her son off, as a gesture to his name almost. She pulled her hair back into a slicked back ponytail, looking at her ex-husband with a glare, "what's that look for?"

Marcus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "What look?"

"Oh my god! That is ridiculous—"

"Mum, hey," George rested his hand on her shoulder, the lady paused, expression softening, "let's just, for one night let's just be a family." I don't want to prove myself right, he thought to himself, and Emilia nodded, waving him off and returning to her place in the kitchen, where she checked on the roast.

" I need help. " Dream's brows furrowed together and his lips were pressed tight.

George looked at his boyfriend on the phone screen, lost for words as the blond stood his phone up and stepped back to show George what he was wearing.

He looked good. Really, really good. Wearing a dark green (forest, perhaps) button down, tucked into black dress pants. The shirt was long sleeve, rolled twice from what George could see and the first top button was undone.

"I'm guessing it's okay." Dream picked his phone up again, his hair fell over his face though it looked like it had been attempted to be slicked back before being strangled.

George pulled himself out of it, "better than okay." He mumbled.

Dream laughed, shaking his head before moving through to his bathroom, George recognised the tiles, the door that he shut quickly and he knew that no longer was there a Victoria Secret makeup bag sitting half open on the basin. Instead, two toothbrushes instead of one and moisturiser.

George smiled at the thought, "you're going to be late."

Dream paused, staring at George for a moment before swearing under his breath and looking at his watch. "Holy fucking shit."

George grinned, and he watched Dream race against the clock to shave before muttering a quick bye, and, "I love you." Before he hung up.

The brunet sat on his bed, phone still in hand and parted lips drawn in careful breaths. His brows knitted together and though he frowned for a moment, trying to remember the words clearly, to see if he'd actually said them, and he had, he did, he said I love you.