i found religion sitting

And that’s where he finds Dream. He’s sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen island, clad in patchwork pajama pants and a red sweater, hair still messy, and leaning his cheek against his fist as he scrolls through his phone. An empty plate sits in front of him, and George smiles at the faint smell of toast in the air; it’s domestic and lovely, and George can see the freckles on Dream’s cheeks as the sun falls in through the kitchen windows.

Dream looks up and a soft smile graces his face as he sees George. He sits up and George can see that his cheek is rosy from leaning against his fist for so long. Dream is everything George has wanted, sitting in their kitchen at ten in the morning on a Sunday, and it pulls achingly slow at the strings of his heart; Dream feels like a blessing. George thinks How could I ever feel lonely again? and wants to cry.

[Or, George is never lonely, now that he's in Florida. And he realises it on a slow, Sunday morning, and Dream holds him tight.]