Cruel Summer

by Anonymous

Summary:

George takes his chances with the high school playboy despite all the warning signs. It's an uphill battle from there.

Based off the song "Cruel Summer" by Taylor Swift.

Notes:

hi this work is dedicated to my bff em because basing the fic off of cruel summer was her idea and i fell in love with it so ty :)

also, this is my first time writing a longer fic so with that in mind, enjoy

It was never supposed to go this far. It was an innocent friendship, if you could even go as far as to label their relationship that trustworthy–acquaintances at best. But it proved to be enough to stick to the lonely limbs weighing George down as he recounts the memory in his head. Soft waves of dirty blond accessorizing somebody supposed to be unattainable, forbidden in the threads of common sense George had managed to have at the time. Of course, those were long gone by now. But with vision blurred to a disastrous extent, George can’t help but not care. 

For the first time in too long, he can’t seem to mind. 

It all started where it really should’ve never existed. George had been invited to a party, not directly, but as a plus one for his friend. He was quick to decline of course. He doesn’t do parties. George values his dignity more than to feel it wash down his throat in flavors of fruit and stinging alcohol, a laughable display for his classmates he can barely recall the name of. 

The idea makes his skin shiver with something nightmarish. So yes, he denies the invitation. 

But with his luck, his apprehension doesn’t get him very far. Sapnap, with his boyish smiles that stretch his lips heartwarmingly wide and endless begs, doesn’t take “no” for an answer.

Sapnap’s whole demeanor screamed mischievous when he approached George after class. And George had entertained his visual excitement for as long as it took for him to ask if he was busy this weekend. George responded with a hesitant “why?” because he already had an idea where this conversation was headed, but he gave Sapnap the benefit of doubt. And as soon as the word “party” left his lips George was shaking his head and walking away, partly because he’d wasted enough time lingering around in the halls, and partly because he wouldn’t give going to a party a second thought. 

His answer was simple, but Sapnap persisted. That’s just what he does. George would’ve had to be dumb to think the younger boy wouldn’t pester him about the opportunity, but damn , he never let up. 

It was everyday, whenever Sapnap could catch George pacing his way down the halls. It was everyday, when George was happy to sit in somewhat silence during lunch until Sapnap had the chance to take the seat right next to him. It was everyday, text after text and voicemail after voicemail that ended with another whiny plea. 

It was everyday, until the day of the party. 

“George,” the brunet could hear the other call from behind him. Everything within him told him to keep his head straight and focus on walking that much faster, but something about that foolish voice was too persuasive.

He turned, albeit he willed his feet to slow only the slightest. “What, Sap?” he asked, sounding exasperated entirely and he hoped with silent withhold that he didn’t come off too annoyed, but he was greeted with a never-faltering grin. 

“So...?” Sapnap drawled, the single word held with so much hope George couldn’t help the laugh he let out. 

“‘So’ what?”

“Ugh, come on, George,” Sapnap sighed, a soft pout replacing his smile but George couldn’t find it any less endearing as he felt himself growing slower. The boy falling behind jogged his way to match George’s pace, side by side, ever welcome despite how the brunet would claim to differ. 

“Not going,” George stated. It was clear and it was final, the refusal pretty on the small smile tracing each letter. “And you’re not going to change my mind.”

“But–”

“Nope.” 

“ George .” Sapnap always results in whining whenever he doesn’t get his way and George has always thought the pettiness suited him. “What if I said,” he trails off, obviously trying to think up a possible reason that would please George, all while chasing the older’s soles. “What if I said you need to get your pathetic ass out more.” 

George makes an amused face towards him. “Wow, way to really convince me, Sap.” 

“Okay, seriously. Just get out. Just this once, I promise.” 

They finally stop outside of George’s classroom, half wondering where Sapnap is supposed to be going right now. But said boy is looking up at him with pleading eyes instead, speaking the last part like he really, really means it. George chances a look down the hall, inside his class where he can see people seating themselves. 

He huffs. “Fine.” And before Sapnap can start jumping up and down, “Now go. You’re probably gonna be late.” 

Sapnap seems to have a remark readying itself on the tip of his tongue, but swallows and nods, finally disappearing from George’s sight. George can’t tell the weight has been lifted off his shoulders or even more has been stacked on top. 

 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

 

It’s 10:08 when George taps his phone screen, the bright screen providing some sort of comfort when he’s surrounded in everything but what he could classify as his comfort zone. He thinks this is too late to be out, on a school night of all times, and there’s way too many people here and it’s just too loud to be enjoyable. 

He hasn’t even stepped inside the house yet. 

Sapnap is stood by his side as they linger around the younger boy’s car. Of course, he looks as eager as ever, eyes darting across the scene he’s experienced only a couple of times. At least that’s more than George can say. And George thinks Sapnap is picking up on his hesitancy to venture any further than he already has–that being dragged into Sapnap’s beat down Subaru and subject to 20 minutes of over-thinking everything that could go wrong once he’d arrived. 

“Let’s go,” Sapnap chirps, offering an encouraging twist of lips but George doesn’t budge, although appreciating the kindness. 

George gnaws the inside of his cheek, keeping a grip on the passenger side door. "I don’t know,” he wavers, because he doesn’t know how else to express his unease without seeming too pathetic. His head turns to analyze the commotion from across the street again, the sight not doing any good in settling the turn in his stomach. 

“We’re already here.” 

“I’m not blind.” Sapnap raises an eyebrow, the joke not needed to be said aloud for George’s eyes to roll. The moment proves to lighten his mood the slightest bit and he’s grateful that it’s so easy with someone like Sapnap, but then the realization that that won’t be the case once their inside dawns on him all over again. He falters. “I have tests to study for,” and when he gets an incredulous glare, “I swear.”

Sapnap isn’t so willing to entertain his excuses. “George, you’re gonna be fine, man. Trust me, it’s so fun.” 

George scoffs. “Yeah, for you.”

Sapnap moves to pull a pale hand off the door handle, letting the same slender fingers drop back down to rest at an anxious side and he begins to walk forward. George can only follow. “Here, I’ll make sure to stick by you for a while. Alright?”

George keeps his eyes trained to the back and forth his feet do subconsciously. “Okay,” he murmurs. George trusts him, he really does, and he knows he’d feel awful ditching him here after so much hassle. 

He chooses to ignore the flipping his stomach seems insistent on doing, the sweat building inside clammy palms and eyes beginning to feel unfocused. He ignores as best he can, the quiz he should really be studying for, the uneasiness threading itself through his posture as his loyal routine is ruined. He shifts his attention to the reassuring smile Sapnap is inviting him in with, and he crosses through the front door with ambition so falsely painted on his face. 

For the most part Sapnap keeps his promise, making sure not to leave George alone as they mingle with a group of mutual friends. It’s not terrible, but it isn’t fun either. Half of these people George has just been introduced to and he thinks he’d rather be stuck in detention if it meant he wouldn’t have to force out anymore fake laughter. To his relief, some of them are tolerable, people he’d even call friends if random conversations on the way to class counts. 

George isn’t lonely. He’d just rather spend his time alone, maybe with one person or two every once in a while. What’s so bad about that? 

He can feel a headache creeping its way to the forefront of his thoughts as he watches Sapnap and his partner–Punz was his name?–yell too dramatically while they try to aim a ping pong ball into red solo cups. George feels a bit lost idling by Sapnap’s side. The younger is obviously more immersed into his losing side of the game, paying no mind to the brunet as he chews on his thumb. 

George can’t expect Sapnap to treat him like a puppy on the leash the whole time, he knows. He looks like he’s having a good time anyways, at least enough where George feels more awkward than normal trying to budge in. He contemplates joining the game, maybe push through his insecurities and try the alcohol occupying each cup. But he dismisses the idea with a shake of his head, gone as quickly as his mind had fathomed it. 

He sits and watches the back and forth, the screaming, either in celebration or loud groans accompanied with banging fists. It’s entertaining, at least, but George is stuck with his chin in his hand and nowhere to go. 

That’s a lie. He could go anywhere he’d want, but that doesn’t seem too pleasant either. 

Leave, is the common sense answer. And he considers it while he’s sat, drooping eyes making him yawn and leaving a tempting possibility. But for whatever reason beyond the brunet, he feels irritatingly unsatisfied. Although he was less than excited to show up, walking out with nothing but a tiring experience disappoints the part of him that was hoping for something new. 

He stands. And instead of carrying himself outside and calling an uber, like he should , he searches for anything that’ll cure his boredom, and maybe fill the longing pitted in his stomach along the way. He learns it's hard to not get lost in the buzzing air, drinks being poured and people he’s never talked to but probably have seen in the lunch line before dancing along to the music. The beat doesn’t particularly appeal to him and the conversations he can hear while he walks by makes his nose wrinkle, but he lets himself listen anyway. 

George is about to approach the drinks, finally take part in something party-worthy, when somebody too familiar makes themself known out of the corner of his eye. He can make out a flash of viridian, a toothy grin and an overwhelming presence he knows could only belong to one person. 

“Hi,” they greet.

George halts at the voice, confused and thrown off guard with the realization of who just came up to him, who was attempting a conversation with him. “Uh, hi,” he stammers, turning to face them properly. It’s just a little bit embarrassing the way he sounds so unsure of himself, but he was also just confronted with a striking appearance, so who is really to blame? 

They look George up and down. It’s a fleeting action but it makes George’s heart beat a bit faster nonetheless. “Hi,” they echo, drawing the simple word out, lingering with a tease. “My name’s Dream.” A smile so bright accompanies the introduction, and even though George didn’t need it, he still appreciates the way his blood warms at the sight. 

“I know,” George says before he can will his mouth shut and he wants to slap himself across the face at the failure. “I mean–yeah, I’ve seen you around.” He tries to salvage the response but with the way his cheeks are flustered with red and his tongue can’t seem to work properly, it’s nothing short of embarrassing. 

Not to mention the words tumbling out of his mouth on second thought are a complete lie. George knows exactly who Dream is, and even if he had only seen him around a few times, he’s heard the name thrown around too frequently to pretend he doesn’t already have first impressions. 

George had distantly hoped the voice that had called him was just sickeningly familiar but belonged to somebody far less suspecting. That it wasn't actually Dream who approached him, because how was he supposed to back out so easily now? The Dream that runs an ever-growing track record of one off relationships, arms wrapped around a new victim every week. The Dream that’s notorious for making girls bend over backwards with nothing but a simple flirt thrown in their direction. And George so desperately does not want to be tacked on to the end of that infamous list, but now he’s starting to understand everyone’s motive. 

“Oh,” Dream chirps, somehow holding danger but ringing sweet. “Well, what’s your name then, pretty boy?” 

George just about collapses right there. And his head clears through swirling fog enough to reason with himself: he has two options. Either offer a quick thank you and walk away as far as he can, or let himself indulge in something he knows could only turn out bad. 

“George,” he gives in, managing to say his name successfully. He tries to keep the flush adorning his cheeks as hidden as possible, the task not as hard with the dim lighting having mercy on him. He does allow, however, the smile that begs to take control of his common sense. 

“A pretty name for a pretty boy. Fitting.” Dream speaks in a low timbre, the heady tone affecting the brunet more than he’d ever admit. Dream’s eyes break their study of George’s face, flitting down to the table where drinks are laid out haphazardly. “Sorry,” he resumes eye contact again and George wishes he’d keep his gaze locked with anything else but his. “I know I interrupted you, would you like a drink?”

He’s already reaching towards whatever mix of flavors is closest, but George responds anyway. “Yeah, please?” He curses the blond’s ability to be so charming because he knows deep down he’s just another boy on his long list, but he holds on to that enthralling sensation that convinces him otherwise. 

Dream is handing his own red solo cup in no time, but George is hesitating to even put the drink near his lips. It must be obvious because the other has a funny look on his shadowed face. “Want me to take a test sip for you?” It’s bordering on a taunt, but George chances it on being a genuine request. He nods. “Don’t worry,” Dream reassures as he takes the plastic into his own hands. George swears he sees the boy wink under the lowlight, but maybe his thoughts are just that blurred. 

And George can’t ignore how his eyes track the way Dream’s throat bulges when he swallows, or how his skin still tingles from where their fingers brushed for a split second. He finishes with a dramatic pop of his lips, handing the cup back with furrowed eyebrows, feigning contemplation. 

“Hm, I don’t think I can taste any drugs,” he says, clicking his tongue. “But maybe I’m just immune. Try it.” 

It’s stupid but George does feel more confident trying the drink with Dream’s encouragement, so he does. His nose wrinkles at the immediate flavor that’s harsh against his tongue, but as his taste buds begin to get used to the foreign substance. He finds it’s not as bad. George hums. “Eh, not great.” 

Dream gives him a shifted look. “I mean you couldn’t be expecting the best, look around you,” he motions with his hands. George follows the gesture, acknowledging the groups of people whispering into each other's ears over the noise while others find a place outside, wander down the halls. George takes another sip as he feels Dream eyeing him from behind again, another wave of something thrilling crashing over him. 

“I didn’t really know what to expect in the first place,” George confesses. It feels like an odd type of vulnerability has been spilled into the words. Dream is intimidating, to say the least, and he’s most definitely been to more parties than George has even been invited to. 

He can hear Dream scoff. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never been to a party before.” 

A voice in the back of his head pleads with him to take the drink and leave already, that he’s spent too much time next to this boy for it not to leave a mark on his non-existent reputation. If he wanted to be used, paraded between school lockers and then dumped once he’s too caught up in fake feelings, then he’d stay by Dream’s side his common sense tells him. But he’s supposed to be carefree, allow himself to take this one night off and act on merely the edge of recklessness. 

He’s supposed to be, but now his thoughts are getting the best of him. He’s wandered out of the room Sapnap was in, the younger nowhere in sight and it sends a spike of anxiety shooting up George’s spine. He tenses, overthinking muddling his air of ease, and it’s just then when he’s about to turn back around and thank Dream for his company when he feels a hand on his shoulder blade. 

The pressure encourages him to face the other again, and before he gives in to his anxiety, he gives in to the relaxing touch instead. He’s greeted with a concerned face, Dream now with his own drink in hand. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Oh–” George stammers, trying to get his thoughts in order again. “Yeah, sorry. I’m fine,” he dismisses. The insistent red burns its way through porcelain, but this time it’s out of embarrassment rather than feeling flustered to the point of suffocating. “But, yeah, I’ve never been to a party before.” He follows with a small laugh to try and soften the blow for his own pride’s sake. 

Dream nods. He keeps his hand resting on top of George's shoulder, pulling him in closer as he rubs small circles into strung out muscles. “Like I said, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” he responds, keeping his voice light but words filled with something too similar to promise. It’s overwhelming but provides a sense of comfort George wouldn’t have expected. 

They sip on their drinks together for a moment, George letting himself be coerced towards Dream’s side. George really understands now, how the blond is so good at luring the next person in and keeping another on their toes. He’s disgustingly practiced. 

It’s Dream who breaks the silence first, his flirty tone back to normal and George hates how he missed the intoxicating act. “You wanna go outside?” 

George has never agreed so fast. The atmosphere was beginning to feel stifling and fresh air sounded like a blessing. Not to mention the side glances from people he’d never seen before were nothing short of unpleasant. 

Dream leads him to the backdoor, finding a spot somewhat secluded from the bunches of clumsy people. They’re sat on the grass, backs against the rough bark of a tree they found in the patchy darkness. The only source of light is the porch light far away enough that they’re illuminated just barely. There’s a noticeable chill that George became painfully aware of when he’d stepped into the backyard with no jacket, his uncovered arms and hands shaking slightly. But Dream noticed right away, because of course he did, wrapping the jacket once hanging from his shoulders onto the brunets, taking the opportunity to sling his arm around his neck again. 

George sunk into Dream’s side easily, too easily for his own liking. But the warmth was too tempting and George couldn’t be trusted to follow his better judgment so late into the night. 

“So,” Dream started, the hand resting on George’s arm gripping harder to catch his attention, “how’s your first party living up to be, gorgeous?” There’s a smirk accompanying the innocent question, a dimple pressing into the side of his cheek that shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

George closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy being called these pet names because he doesn’t know how long it will last. “Kinda sucked at first, but this is nice, I guess.” Georges lays his cheek inside the crook of his neck. 

“Yeah?” Dream laughs. George confirms with a nod pressed into tanned skin. “I’m glad then.” The brunet enjoys how he can feel the rumble of the boy’s voice against his ear, a calming lull. The lingering fact that more boys and girls than he can count on his two hands have been in this very exact position floats in the back of his mind, but he can’t dwell on it as much as he should when Dream’s cologne is so strong in his nostrils.

George lets himself drift; not asleep, but to some place where this warmth isn’t all in vain. Images of soft blonde hair, coaxing deep green and an alluring decision painting themselves into the black void behind his eyelids. It was a pleasant surprise finding Dream to be a nice guy, even if it was all for show. Even if the boy tacked with warning signs and a promise for a good time decided to break his heart, never uttering another word to him after tonight, George thinks he’d be okay. He’d be able to deal with it at the very least, considering he knows exactly what he’s in for. 

He pleads to keep expectations low. A bare minimum compromise between himself that when Dream ghosts him he can’t sulk. Not when nobody is doing this to him but himself. 

George’s eyes slip back open when he feels Dream’s hand slide from exposed skin to the outside pocket of his jacket–the one still covering George’s body. His fingers fiddle as he tries to grab something out, effectively pressing his side closer to George’s. His hand brings up a box of some sorts, the object hard to get a clear view of in the darkness. 

Dream brings it back to hold in front of himself with a satisfied hum. “Want one?” Dream offers, extending the thing George still can’t quite make out. 

“What even is it?” 

Dream huffs, holding the box directly in front of George’s face now. “You don’t know what cigarettes are?” 

George rolls his eyes, kicking himself inwardly for not realizing sooner. He grabs the pack out of Dream’s grasp in an impulse of defensiveness, turning the smooth box over in his hands. “Of course I do, dumbass. I couldn’t see .” 

“Mhm, yeah,” Dream teases. “I should’ve known, you’ve probably never even held a cigarette in your hand before.” His voice carries a light-heartedness, the lilt unknowingly holding pathetic truth. When George doesn’t respond Dream takes back the box and the brunet lets out a whine. 

“Yes, I have!” he lies. “As if you’d even know.”

Dream chuckles, the sound still revibrating against George and it still makes him just as breathless. “Mmm, I think I know. I think I know you’ve never held anything up to those pretty lips of yours.”

George wants to convince himself the blush returning to his cheeks isn’t because of Dream’s blatant flirting, but because he’s so painfully right. “Shush,” he protests, shoving a hand against Dream’s arm and the blond barks out a laugh when he barely shifts. “You’re the worst.” 

“Look at me,” Dream says, repeating himself when George keeps his head unmoving, stubborn gaze locked straight ahead. “George, look at me,” the echo delivered more sternly this time. George relents, breaking out into a smile when his eyes meet Dream’s. “Yeah,” the blonde confirms, “you definitely haven't.” 

George accepts his fate, but the foreign feeling to actually try it out tempts his deadly conscience. He gives a sheepish look. “Well, what if I wanted to try it? And you just took it from me like that,” he scoffs in mock annoyance. 

Dream raises an eyebrow, the shock apparent on his crooked features. “You wanna try, huh?” 

“Yeah.” George speaks as if it’s a totally normal decision he’d definitely make any other day. “Why not?” 

Dream turns his attention towards the box, looking significantly smaller in Dream’s hands compared to his own, flipping the top open. “You sure?” he asks, a genuine question gracing his dangerous tongue.

“Sure,” George shrugs. Whatever is left of his common sense is begging with him to take it all back, everyone one of his morals being dipped beneath the surface as they become overwhelmed to an indistinguishable state. His mind is fuzzy and his judgment clouded, and he acknowledges that the drink is probably at fault, but that’s far behind him now. “Come on,” he urges when Dream isn’t handing him one fast enough. 

“Okay, okay,” Dream breathes past a laugh. He’s pulling two cigarettes from the pack, passing one towards George’s grabby hands as he reaches for a lighter in his back pocket. George fiddles with the tobacco, Dream gesturing for him to put it between his lips. He complies, the dainty thing a different but not unpleasant sensation against his sensitive skin. Before Dream continues, he asks, “You really want one?” 

George nods before giving his verbal agreement yet again, feeling a need to alleviate the hesitancy in the blond’s voice. “Yes, I do.” Dream nods. 

Dream cups a hand around George’s cheek, shielding the slight breeze from the flicker of flame igniting when George hears a tiny click. And before he could think about backing away from the heat, there’s an orange glow emitting in his peripheral. It’s lit. Dream backs away while he gives him a careful up and down, lighting his own cigarette. George inhales, letting the smoke pass through his lips with a fragile blow. The cigarette returns to its place between slender fingers, and George can’t tell if he enjoys smoking yet, but it’s new , and that makes it worth all the while to him. 

Dream has a dopey smile on his face as they exchange eye contact, taking turns with toxin mending small indents into their lips. George can feel his eyelids droop, and surely the mix of alcohol and smoke in his system for the first time is just asking for disaster, but the way Dream looks at him makes the worry blend into the translucence of smoke clouds.

Dream flicks the burning tobacco to the side before it can seethe a hole through his clothes, George mimicking. He seems to be done taking study of George’s features, refocusing his attention with a smirk still stuck to firm lips. 

Dream shifts to return sitting side by side, hand tracing short fingernails down the length of George’s chilled skin. “Do you like boys, George?” It’s followed by an inhale of smoke. 

And George was about to lay his head on top of his shoulder, but the question so out of the blue has him snapping back up instead. He rubs his eyes before answering. “Uh, yeah,” he lets out a soft laugh. He fights the urge to wipe his fingers across Dream’s own face, smudge his dizzying upturn of lips with a weak attempt of lessening the effect he has. 

“Good.” 

George hums at the simple response. “Yeah, I like boys,” he whispers, something wistful coloring the words disappeared into bitter air. George takes a drag of his cigarette, taking the opportunity to finish what he was in the middle of doing before, tufts of brown hair pillowing against a broad arm.   

His eyes flutter closed, Dream’s arm snaking around his waist drowning his senses in safety. And it may be dangerous to slip into security so early, give this boy more trust than he’d even given Sapnap, but it feels okay. It feels good , so he lets himself be. 

He can feel his cigarette warmed between his fingers, forcing himself to be conscious of not accidentally burning himself as he depletes the tobacco blindly. He assumes Dream is doing the same, maybe already finished with his at it as the final flame withers out. George is lulling sleepier and sleepier as he feels the cigarette being taken from between his fingers, a piney scent promising him protection if he lets himself drift completely. 

But before he can fall into the muddled darkness, his ears barely catch what sounds like something scarily close to his name. He’s about to ignore it, blaming it on his imagination when he hears it again. Unmistakably.  

“George?” And the brunet knows exactly who the voice belongs to, heart dropping at the realization.

His eyes snap back open, waken more aware than he’s felt in the past hour. “Sapnap,” he whispers, trying the name past his lips to make sure he isn’t dreaming. 

“Huh?” Dream puzzles, arm holding George a little tighter.

He hears Sapnap call his name again, as if he’s trying to find him amongst the mingling people outside. “It’s Sapnap,” George repeats, as if that would make it any more easier for Dream to understand his slurred panic. “ Fuck.” 

Dream turns to face George entirely, eyebrows furrowed and confusion almost laughably apparent. George would love to stop and admire his beauty, giggle in his face but he should really be getting as far away as he can right now. 

“I’m so sorry, I really need to go,” George rushes to get out, words blending together. And he’s in the midst of standing up, brushing the stray dirt sticking to his pants as Dream’s jacket starts to slip off at the suddenness when his blood loses all of its borrowed warmth. 

“George…?” It’s long, heart-stoppingly so, drawn out in raw hesitation. When George looks up he’s greeted by Sapnap’s face painted with disbelief. It takes the younger a moment to process the scene, words forced to pause in the column of his throat. “George?” He asks, this time significantly harsher. 

George pushes the rest of the jacket off, struggling to balance on his two feet. “Sap,” he breathes, “let's just go.” George really does not feel like getting involved in any conflict–even if it may knock some sense back into him. 

Dream’s hand slides away from where it held on loosely to George’s leg, picking his jacket off of the ground with distaste. “What the fuck is this?” He asks to no one in particular, only desperate for some sort of understanding. 

“I should be asking the same fucking thing,” Sapnap spits, obviously pointed in George’s direction. The brunet continues to stand in place dumbly, unable to explain himself because what is there really to explain? It’s exactly what it looks like. “Why were you wearing his jacket first of all–” starts again, but his rant is interrupted by the blonde before he can get too far. 

“What the fuck do you mean by ‘ his’, huh?” Dream remarks, moving to stand up beside George and the oldest boy feels like his whole world has been flipped upside down. 

“Guys, please, ” George pleads, beginning to walk towards Sapnap so he can get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, but he’s halted when a hand holds him back. He sputters. 

“No, George,” Sapnap picks back up, ignoring Dream’s taunt. “Explain what the fuck you’ve been doing this whole time. I beg you to come to this party with me and then you fucking disappear, and then I come back to this. You–you hanging out with this asshole!” Sapnap’s glare almost throws George off balance completely, too struck to be entirely coherent. They’ve had their arguments, sure, but he’s never yelled at him like this before. 

“I promise it’s nothing, Sap,” but his lie ends up cowered behind Dream’s shout. 

“‘Asshole’? Who the fuck do you think you are?” Dream is relentless, letting go of his grip on George’s shirt when the words leave the brunet’s lips, but he’s approaching Sapnap with a clenched fist before he has the chance to dwell. 

George is running to Sapnap’s side before he can think twice, getting to him before Dream can. He has to land a hand on the younger to steady his clumsiness. “Dream, he’s my friend. Just leave him alone,” George huffs, registering how his hand is being pushed away by Sapnap. 

And this is exactly what George had feared when he first heard that enticing voice ring in his ear, when he offered to go outside and wrapped his jacket around him. God, he’s so stupid. He can’t be upset that this is the outcome because it’s exactly what he had expected, yet he let it happen anyway. 

George stands in front of Sapnap before Dream’s fist can get anywhere near Sapnap’s face, not daring to move. They’ve already caused a scene enough, people starting to watch from a distance although most of the crowd has gone home already. “Please,” George begs, directed only to Dream from where they stand a foot away from each other. “Just let us go home, I don’t want a fight.” His words are blurry and his vision is slanted but he manages, knowing well enough that leaving is the safest option. 

Before Dream can get another word out, Sapnap is pulling on George’s wrist, leaving him with no choice but to leave the blonde behind. It hurts, their forbidden serenity interrupted with such a disappointing end, but it’s for the best. He understands, and he lets himself be dragged away with a final sad look towards Dream. 

Sapnap makes his way throughout the house without a glance in any other direction than out , George one foot behind. Sapnap only lets go once they’ve reached his car, slamming the door shut when he throws himself in. Even when his best friend looks about ready to kill him, George can’t seem to feel completely guilty. He knows he should, but he feels almost proud of himself that he finally let go for once. Despite the fact that the night couldn’t have ended worse, it was thrilling. It was fun.  

“I can’t believe you,” Sapnap scoffs, foot pressing on the gas. The night sky is dark, darker than George had realized, and it illuminates the raven-haired boy’s face in a moonlit glow. George shifts timidly in his seat, afraid to move even slightly. “Why would you even–You know who he is, don’t you?” And George knows that Sapnap knows he does, only asking in hopes for a miracle. 

“Yes,” George whispers. 

Sapnap’s hands rise and come back down to slam against the steering wheel harshly. “Then why would you do that?” 

“Why do you even care?” George rolls his eyes, feeling unfairly defensive in this situation. He didn’t even want to go to that damn party in the first place. He refuses to even peek at Sapnap’s face, knowing it would only fuel his anger, opting to watch the streetlights pass out of the window. 

“Are you serious?” Sapnap pauses as if it’s a genuine question waiting for an answer, but continues after a beat. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt, George. You know what that dipshit is like, I know you do.” 

“Don’t call him that,” is what George responds with because Sapnap’s reasoning is too sincere for his liking. He tucks himself close to the window, pressing his searing skin into the refreshing coldness of the glass. 

“Do not fucking defend him right now, George.” Sapnap’s tone is serious and the brunet doesn’t know how to process the heaviness. “I’m just trying to look out for you. I care about your feelings, unlike him.”

George contemplates telling him about how charming the blonde had been, watches trees and stars pass by in a blur. “He was actually really nice...you know, just for the record.” He smiles at his own pettiness, knowing just what to say to piss Sapnap off. The younger only deserves it, he thinks, talking shit about someone he’s never even met. 

He hears a deep inhale from his side, Sapnap not letting the brunet get under his skin completely. “That’s the entire point...just for record.” The delivery is calm despite it being an obvious taunt, but George won’t let the tables be turned against him.

“You’re a fucking child.” 

Sapnap laughs at that, fingers wound tightly as he drives faster than he should be. “Okay, Georgie. Says the one that needed Mr. Perfect’s jacket because he was cold,” he drawls, voice pitched to an irritating tease. “Oh, and before you even try to deny it, I know you were drinking.”

“How,” George says simply, defeat coming in an ashy crumble. 

“Because I can smell it on you, dumbass. You’re not as smart as you think you are.” George knows he probably gave himself away just by his behavior alone, but Sapnap isn’t wrong either way. He’s been too reckless. 

“Whatever,” George huffs beneath his breath, not willing to put up anymore of a useless fight. He can tell Sapnap is over it and he can feel himself drifting to sleep as the car moves, caressed into the feeling of cloudiness. He doesn’t really understand how one drink could’ve affected him this much, but he supposes he’s in good hands anyway.

“What time is it?” George asks around a yawn. 

“2 am exactly.” 

The brunet slumps in his seat, trying to comprehend when the time had gotten away from him. “ Fuck, we have school tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, I’m aware.” 

 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

 

When George’s eyes blink open it takes him a considerable moment to understand where he’s laid. It’s just his bed, his phone alarm ringing before he realizes to turn it off. 

It’s the same sheets he’s familiar with, the ones he had woken up to the morning before last night. The same shoe rack his eyes were glued to as he pondered even getting out of that day, burdened with what he knew would be coming. The same black out curtains he takes special care to close every night, the darkness an isolating comfort. And he’s especially thankful for it right now as he’s hit with a burst of pain shooting through his head. 

George lets out a long groan, hands haste to hold his tangled hair between tense fingers, eyes sewed tight in regret. He didn’t even drink, he thinks–just his luck to have such poor alcohol tolerance. Karma. 

He assumes Sapnap must have carried him all the way in here, at least he doesn’t remember anything different. He’s still dressed in last night’s dingy clothes, stained with patches of dried dirt and mild sweat. He cringes as his fingers rake through greasy hair, throat feeling stuffed with cotton as he tries to sit up. Another throb rushes to spike his nerves, wincing as he successfully lifts himself to sit on the edge of ruffled blankets. 

A shred of gratitude enhances his mood just a bit when he notices Sapnap had enough kindness to plug his phone in, George dreading even taking a glance at the time. He’s already come to terms that he’ll be late today, even though he’s never late, but the series of events calls for some slack. At least Dream never grabbed George’s phone number, one thing lifted off his shoulders knowing damn well he would’ve been welcomed to a thousand texts after knocking out. 

He gives himself a while to rub at his eyes harshly, take a needed drink of the days-old water left on his nightstand. He doesn’t think he can stand another second in this state, hurrying to the bathroom in fantasies of clean, hot water and fresh clothes. 

His mind busies itself with images painted from broken memory, feeling his headache get that much lighter as he recounts a bouncing blonde smile and false ambition. The falling water washes away his blind smile. 

 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

 

The school day passes slow, painfully slow. George gets a few words from Sapnap the entire time if even that. He only has two classes with the younger boy anyway, but he can’t ignore how the cold shoulder hurts. He can’t ignore the side-eye from where they sit next to each other during their shared classes. It feels like a frown is plastered to his face throughout the course of the dry day that he can’t shake, the headache dulling yet still a constant throb against his conscience. There’s an obvious slump in his posture, a damper on his attitude–not like he’s even the most upbeat person to begin with, but it’s noticeable and he doesn’t know how to make himself feel better. 

He wants to talk with his best friend between classes like they usually do, laugh about how fun the party had been and how despite Sapnap’s pestering, George was glad he’d been dragged along for the experience. But they don’t. They pass by each other with no more than a split second of timid eye contact from the brunet and dismissal from the other. George makes his way to each class with his head hung low, the guilt swelling his insides with the more time he has to loathe his selfish decisions. He misses Sapnap stepping on his heels, trying to get the one last thing he has to say to him before the bell rings, and ultimately failing with mutual giggles falling between them. 

His body is confused without their daily routine, but he deserves this. After ruining Sapnap’s night, the night he’d been so excited to have with George, he deserves the treatment. George had ditched him, looked for something “better” when he knew it could only lead to exactly this. 

George hasn’t seen Dream at all, and he’d tell himself he didn’t have a trained eye for the tall boy but that would just be another lie. The disappearance after an admittedly intimate night makes his regret burn that much deeper. Because Sapnap had been right, George had been right: Dream would up and leave after he’s had his fix, and especially without getting in his pants? George would’ve had to have been stupid to expect the blonde anywhere near him today. 

It’s the last period of the day, George thankful for that more than anything. The only thing on his mind is to get home as soon as possible; away from everybody, able to ignore people at his own will. Studies should be replacing lazy wishes, he knows. Finals week is coming up, sooner than he’s ready for. That’s what should be solely on his mind, keeping his grades up and watching his schedule closely. But this one night is eating away at him and indulgence is so much easier, feeling like he’s going to implode if he doesn’t get to say one last goodbye to Dream. 

There’s a minute of passing time left, George settled in his seat as he waits for his General Business class to start, only 45 more torturous minutes to push through when he sees him. It’s unmistakably him, fluffy blonde waves swaying against a tanned neck, a bright chuckle airing as he’s turned with his back towards the brunet, waving a hand to someone outside of the door. And when he turns around to walk to his assigned seat George’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach at the confirmation. 

George’s hand flies up to hide his face as best as he can, but of course his chair is second row, right in the middle so his attempt is hopeless. And yes, he may have just been pitying himself because he’s so pathetically desperate for the man that’s just appeared right in front of him, but his common sense will always overpower his fantasies–or maybe it’s just simply embarrassment, making itself known across the plains of untainted skin. 

He tries to busy himself with grabbing a notebook out instead, paying more attention to the zipper on his backpack than he ever has because he really does not want to face something so alluring, not when he’s so close to making it out. Sapnap’s warning pushes to the forefront of his thoughts and the last thing George wants to do is break his trust.

Please don’t, please don’t, please do–

“George?” 

The brunet doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to embrace the giddiness in his chest or bang his head against a wall. He hears the inquisitive tone ring out again, soft but somehow holding onto that dark timbre all the same. When he lifts his head he’s struck with that flustered feeling he knows too well. 

“Dream?” George mimics, although he knew exactly who it was before he fully had passed through the door. He is confused on how he never realized this star-studded boy was in one of his classes though, making that apparent with furrowed eyebrows. 

“I didn’t know you were in my class, Georgie,” Dream says with a lilt to his tongue. He places two large hands on top of the cold surface of George’s desk. The action is enough to make his heart flutter from where he has to crane his neck to make eye contact. 

George laughs, covering his mouth with his fingers instinctively. Wow, this boy really does make me dumb, he thinks. “Me neither.” But he forces his response to stop there, the back of his mind reminding him this conversation shouldn’t even be happening. 

“Huh, I would’ve thought I’d remember such a gorgeous boy like you,” and he winks while his compliment rolls off his lips with so much ease. He winks. Flashbacks from last night redden his vision, and George is really fucking fucked. “Especially in such a boring class.” 

George stammers over his agreement, the pink-tinted fluster coming full force now. “Y-yeah, me too.” He can physically feel the heat coloring his cheeks, embarrassment and guilt and longing: a dangerous combination. 

The bell rings and Dream takes the opportunity to seat himself right beside George’s chair. A self-satisfied smirk emits a confident glow and the brunet doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to handle it for an entire sober class period. “Oh, you think I’m attractive too?”

Dream’s backpack hits the floor, snapping George out of his surprise enough for him to effectively change the topic and save himself the laughable stutters–even if the answer was clearer than anything: yes, yes, yes.

“Why are you even sitting here? Don’t you usually sit over there?” George gestures towards the back corner, recognizable faces exchanging weird looks in his direction before he realizes Dream is brushing them off, not sparing the group another glance.

“Yeah, but see,” he points to the front desk, their usual teacher replaced with a substitute. “No teacher, so why not sit here, no?” And there’s that award-winning smile that accompanies the offer, even if he’s already sat himself. George is thankful that he let him curve the earlier question because he doesn’t know how he’d recover, getting far too distracted when the confession is trapped inside the safety of his mind.

“Sure,” George shrugs, trying to not let the excitement sharpen his features too severely. Something bubbles inside of him at the fact that Dream chose to sit here, next to him, rather than his friends. 

Before Dream can edge in another tease or flirty joke, the substitute begins to talk; something about why their teacher is out and their school work is already posted. George admits he’s having trouble focusing on that right now though, trying to sneak side glances of the blonde. He just can’t help himself if he’s being honest. Temptation is written boldly across a softened jawline and glittering freckles, smearing George’s common sense in black permanent marker every time he allows himself one more chance for distraction. 

Fairly quickly, the class is sent on their way to finish their assignments independently. Usually George doesn’t mind working alone in this class–or any other class for that matter–but he’d have to be a complete fool to not take this opportunity and partner with Dream. When he turns to face Dream, hopeful he’d agree, the blonde is already looking at him, an expectant rise in his eyebrows. 

“Wanna work together?” 

“Yeah.” 

George gets out his laptop and hides his pleased smile when Dream responds right away. Dream follows, the two returning with their eyes locked and bodies turned to face each other easier. They work together well, going back and forth on ideas and blending their thinking to get a considerable amount of progress done. And George doesn’t mind it, usually favoring to work alone because it’s easier to listen to himself, not needing to find a solution that fits other’s opinion. But it comes naturally with the blonde, few obstacles in the process of shared brains. 

And he really didn’t expect how intelligent Dream is. The extroverted boy comes off as coy, seemingly the only thing on his mind to seduce a different person every other day, but the way he maps aloud his thought process tells an opposing story. George didn’t think Dream could get any more attractive, but he’s been proved wrong because the more he listens to Dream sketch out a temporary business model so easily is insanely hot. He thinks he may be foaming at the mouth when Dream asks for his input about everything he’s just spewed about, having to backtrack and organize his messy thoughts quickly. 

“I mean–yeah, I think that’s great. Sounds perfect actually.” George removes the hand he’d placed under his chin somewhere along the way, now aware of how dreamy he must’ve looked and he cringes. 

Dream chuckles, deep from where it’s pulled from his chest but coating the air in a light rhythm. “Perfect, hm? That’s quite the compliment.” Dream looks almost dazed as his focus shifts from his explanation back to George again, viridian shining with a new radiance. 

“It was quite the idea,” George teases. “Deserves to be complimented.” 

Dream nods his head, smiles. “I can think of something else worth complimenting too, you know.” 

The conflict always insistent on flavoring his taste buds bitter makes itself known again. Before George can come up with a smart remark and try it on the tip of tongue, his rationality stops him until it’s too late. He shouldn’t be doing this, playing into this any longer. He’s already spent a late night acting out all his selfish desire and egging on his own hurt, it would be smartest to leave it there. Where they can both forget about it and hold the memory somewhere private, never to be adventured again.

But that’s no fun. 

“Yeah, like what?” George asks even though he knows exactly what because playing dumb is too easy for his own good. 

“Hm...maybe someone sitting right across from me.” George hums, trying his damned hardest to not let the smile tugging at his lips win. “Maybe they have brown hair, or maybe they have the cutest smile?” Dream feigns confusion, a lone finger resting on his chin and gaze tipped upwards. “I can’t seem to remember,” he huffs, pretending to give up. 

George giggles, pretending to himself that he’s not embarrassed by the sound. “It can’t be both?” he pouts, the act ultimately failing when he’s putting so much effort into pushing down his affection. 

Dream turns his finger to the brunet, George finally welcoming the smile to pull his lips apart achingly. “Right there!” The words tumble from his lips when it’s warped around a laugh, Dream losing his calm composure that makes George laugh alongside him. 

George throws his hands in the air in dramatic flattery. “Oh, really? I couldn’t have guessed.” He thinks about how he’s thinking the same thing, gorgeous blonde hair and smile that could kill, but he keeps it to himself. 

Dream starts to reign his wheezes in and it’s the cutest thing George has witnessed. The way his nose scrunches and he can’t contain the laughter, it’s addicting to watch, to listen. He wants to see this all the time, wants to make it happen all the time. He’d prefer to run his fingers through his hair while the boy tries to control his hysteria, falling into a delicate chest while George giggles because that’s what they would do. But he’s only left with the reality that countless people before have gotten to experience the same desires. 

“Ugh,” Dream clears his throat, wipes his eyes. “Damn, sorry. The look on your face was just hilarious.” He laughs again like he’s imagining it. 

George rolls his eyes. “You’re one to talk,” he retorts, and he can’t lie that he’s proud of the comeback. 

Dream throws his hands up in surrender, holding in another burst of laughter. “Okay, okay. Truce.” 

George brushes him off in mock annoyance, inwardly crossing two fingers behind his back because he knows he could never be strong enough to not give in. He tries to not let the fact that it’s so easy to ignore the off-handed looks and side-eye the duo receives affect him too much. In the back of his mind, it’s as clear as day: how everyone else must be pitying the brunet for his foolishness and condemning the blond for his cruelty. But when they live in their own world for those blissful moments, George finds it unusually simple to let the judgment roll off his body and refocus his attention on someone who deserves far more attention. 

He fights off the acknowledgment with fluttering eyelids and a heavy heart though, preferring to guard his vulnerability for as long as he can because he doesn’t know when his effort will be all for nothing. 

“So, why are you even in this class anyway?” George asks after a beat of light silence. 

Dream poses an offended expression. “What? You didn’t think I’d be smart enough to take General Business ?” 

George suppresses a giggle, collecting himself well with his growing practice. “No–no, that’s not what I meant, Dream .” Dream gives him an unconvinced hum with a disapproving shake of his head. George brushes it off, continuing, “I just mean why are you here? I didn’t take you as a General Business kind of person.”

“Wow, assuming, are we?” Dream teases, but follows with a considerate noise nonetheless. “Well...because it meant I didn’t need to take a real math class,” he answers bluntly. 

George huffs. “Figured.” 

“Oh, and what is that supposed to mean, Georgie?” 

George considers telling the truth or playing into the lightheartedness. “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to be so smart. Hearing you was pretty impressive,” he shrugs, offering his honesty on a silver platter. 

Dream looks a little surprised at his admission, though still composed enough and confident as ever–George probably inflating his ego even more at that. “Do I look dumb, then?” A genuine question George can tell, hidden beneath an air of lilt. 

“I mean,” George drawls, teasing but not completely a lie. “You don’t look like a genius. ” 

“I see,” Dream contemplates. “I actually only have one B- right now, rest A’s. Believe it?”

Simply put, George doesn’t believe it. Even after seeing Dream work on their assignment first hand, he still can’t reason with himself enough to believe that. Maybe it’s his denial that prevents him from letting the truth settle, that Dream could be anything more than a smooth talker or heartbreaker not worth a second glance. 

“I really don’t.”

Dream types something into his laptop, pulling the screen towards the brunet’s direction once he’s on the right site. “Take a look,” he offers. 

George hesitantly places a hand on the edge of the keyboard, shifting the blue light so it’s easier to read. He scrolls down the page, Dream’s words ringing true as he reads through the plainly printed grades. “One B- in AP Lang,” George reads aloud. 

“Yeah, that class is kinda kicking my ass. Even though I actually really enjoy writing,” Dream laughs. 

“‘Kicking my ass,’” George echoes, an incredulous tone lacing his words. “A B-, Dream.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t even act like you can complain about me. You probably have better grades.”

A sheepish blush rises to George’s cheeks, Dream immediately catching on to his sudden shyness and the brunet hates to love it. “A 4.0…” he whispers. Admittedly, George is more than fond of academic attention, but having to accept that Dream is right makes things exceptionally more difficult. 

A smirk sharpens Dream’s warm features, legs spread wide and head tilted that it almost rests on his perched shoulders. “Look at you, blushing and whispering because you know I’m right.” 

George’s stomach drops, filling with dripping butterflies that will surely poison him if this continues any longer. He tries to fight the bashful smile pulling at his lips but it’s not even worthwhile, blush staining alabaster skin ever deeper. The embarrassment sears his skin and by the look on Dream’s face George can tell he’s giving exactly the reaction the blonde wants. “Stop,” he drones, the filtered plea muffled as he hides behind his slender hands.

“That’s cute,” Dream smiles. 

“ Dream .” 

“Yeah, that,” he continues, insistent on making George feel like a pile of stupidity. 

And the brunet can’t even blame him when it works flawlessly. He encourages his own merciless defeat, falls straight for it and somehow manages to sugarcoat the consequences every time. A suicide mission. 

“You’re an idiot,” George stammers, desperate to get some sense of an upper hand with his childish insults. 

Dream entertains his retort with a raise of eyebrows, the stupidly frustrating smirk never leaving the pink of his lips. “I’m pretty sure talking to an idiot makes you an idiot too.” 

“Oh, shut up,” George says beneath his breath, rolling his eyes as Dream matches his own level of second-grade teasing. 

Dream chuckles, amused by his own actions and the way George flusters under something as simple as eye contact. He refocuses his attention back to his laptop, switching tabs to present their still unfinished work. “You wanna get back to this? I don’t want it to be late,” Dream asks, somewhat reserved in his delivery as if George would reject him. 

“Yeah. Anything for Mr. Perfect Grades,” George takes his turn to poke. 

“As if you can even talk, Georgie.” And the nickname proves to shut the brunet up for good, following the blonde as he returns to finish their work.

The time ticks down like that, with the duo doing their occasional back and forth as they finally complete the assignment. They turn it in with four minutes left before the class period ends, both boys acknowledging how good the mini-project turned out with a shared smile on their faces. 

As they let the end of the day come at its own pace, neither joking around heavily nor starting any conversations of substance, George realizes how Dream never brought up the altercation between him and Sapnap last night. He’s thankful, but it also leaves confusion frosting over his melted worries. It’d only be sensible to expect the blonde to have asked why Sapnap had been so hostile–even if the younger boy had made that abruptly clear. But George lets the thought go by without too much brainpower, tired and burnt out from a whiplash of a day of school, storing it for someplace more fit to ponder over. 

Dream leaves him with one last thing to contemplate, to replay over and over again inside his head so the charmingness stamps itself into untouched flesh for good. “Text me?” he asks with the flash of white teeth. 

“Yeah!” George agrees despite the implications, giving Dream the digits to his phone number before he has enough time to take it all back. 

They exchange small waves as the ringing of the bell signifies the end of school. A proper goodbye this time, George thinks. Dream wanders back to his group of friends that still let him in with wide grins and loud shouts despite the dirty looks they gave the brunet before. It leaves him with a type of empty feeling as he walks out of the door and into a hallway filled with the push and shove of high school traffic. 

He’s reminded of the fact that Sapnap hasn’t spoken to him since his memory had gone undecipherable. The aching to talk to his best friend weighs down his limbs as he passes by faces he thinks he recognizes from the night before, the sensation that comes with it akin to dread. 

George knows he won’t have Sapnap’s presence to look forward to after school like he usually would, he won’t have the peace of mind like he hoped for so naively, stepping out the heavy double doors with a dangerous promise saved inside his phone. He’s had the most bittersweet two days he could’ve imagined and all he can reasonably anticipate is throwing his body into the safety of plush pillows. 

 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

 

It’s finals week.

It’s finals week and that’s why George never texted Dream. And he never texted him back either, because apparently the blonde wasn’t going to let up as easily as George had hoped. The brunet takes school very seriously; he doesn’t go to makeshift parties and start fights, he doesn’t smoke and drink, doesn’t fuck around with the emotions of the first person he lays eyes on. He studies like a responsible student, sacrificing a night’s worth of sleep if he doesn’t feel prepared before midnight, double and triple checking his homework because that’s how he maintains his all-important grades. 

He doesn’t feel forced to do this or pressured to put in so much effort, unlike most people. He does it because it’s important to him. And he won’t let one reckless night and a wavy-haired, green-eyed, gorgeous boy ruin that. That’s why he never dared to press send on any text he had been so indecisive about, using his busy school schedule as a valid enough excuse to ghost him. 

George makes time for Sapnap instead, deciding he’s far more important than someone he barely knows. Unsurprisingly, Sapnap had helped him in making that conclusion. It only took a day for the two to be back on speaking terms, the younger making it clear that whatever had been going on between him and Dream wasn’t going to last any longer. 

“ George,” Sapnap had warned, eyes glued to the way the brunet’s phone notifications kept dinging. He had every right to be angry at the older. George was inviting him back over after a tense period of being ignored and leaving his phone open like that was just plain rude. 

He rubbed an anxious hand down the back of his neck, quickly clicking the ringer off. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sapnap huffed. “You know why I was mad at you though, right?” 

Sapnap’s eagerness to get straight to the point caught George off guard at first, but the implication of his words lifted a small weight of his shoulders simultaneously. “You’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked, tone brightening as he completely disregarded the question. 

“Yes but, just–do you understand or no?”

George was forced to reign in his happiness and find an answer, quiet mourning over his best friend’s cold shoulder something of the past. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, unbalanced as it left his pursed lips. 

“What do you mean, ‘yeah, I guess,’ George?” The words were harsh but the brunet couldn’t have asked for any less; his response was unreliable. 

“I mean yes,” he stated, firm and decided. “I know, I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t anything to begin with but–”

Sapnap interrupted him before he could finish his rambling. “Don’t act dumb, George. It may work with him but not me.” George cringes at the reference, nodding his head as he lets Sapnap lecture him. 

“I know, I know–I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to talk to him,” and Sapnap seems satisfied with that answer, nodding his head in agreement. “I’m not gonna do it again, and I’m sorry for leaving you at the party. It was reckless of me.” 

“Yeah, it was,” Sapnap bites, but his expression softens as he continues talking. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for being really mean to you,” he laughs, George sharing the moment of ease, “I just don’t want your feelings to get hurt. You know how he is.” 

George nods despite how the truth is enough to force a crack straight through his heart. His thoughts flit back to his phone, knowing that the notifications were from Dream’s relentless efforts to try and get a text back. A smile graces his lips for the slightest second before he tugs it away prudently, keeping the secret to himself because he knows that would pull an unpleasant reaction from the other. 

“Yeah...I understand.” George hangs his head down, opting to save his eyes another glance at Sapnap because, quite frankly, he’s tired of being proven wrong. 

The night ended with them leaning up against the headboard of George’s bed, video game controllers falling limp in their hands as sleep tucks a shared blanket over the both of them. It’s normal and it’s right and it doesn’t leave George with a bruising headache when he wakes up the following morning.

Ever since, George takes special care to stay as far away from Dream as possible. The execution was easier than George had expected, all he had to do was keep his wandering gaze controlled as he walked the halls, look forward to the quick conversations Sapnap would sneak in before classes and nothing else. Avoiding Dream in the one class they have together wasn’t as detrimental to his plan either, their teacher not allowing for seat changes like the substitute had. George kept his mouth shut and attention on his given work while Dream happily talked with his friends, only giving the brunet one or two odd looks for the sudden change in behavior. 

He keeps the longing to invite Dream somewhere on an impulse to himself. George could so simply open the unseen messages, offer a late night of fun just like when they first met and fill that need to be a little bit selfish. Maybe they would go for a long drive, pointing out whatever catches their eye as they sit and laugh and enjoy the warmth of each other. It wouldn’t be obstructed with drunken bodies and end in an almost fight. It would be perfect.

But that’s silly. And it’s finals week, and George needs to study. And that’s exactly what he does, pushing down his untouchable emotions, rather spending hours at his desk until his fingers begin to cramp and whichever way he positions himself becomes uncomfortable. Busying himself with the full-time task of paying careful attention in each class manages to make the desperation for something more easier. His mind runs around in circles trying to organize himself and the stress of it all, finding that the desire fades away with every passing day he isn’t witness to a sinful grin. 

And he thinks he’s gotten away with it all: burying his feelings under a layer of trust he wouldn’t dare break, packing his unmaintainable schedule so that even if he contemplated skipping his usual routine and clicking on that mocking contact, he couldn’t. There are days Dream doesn’t cross his mind once, even after finals week is long over and the opportunity for another fateful party is a perfectly ethical option. He thinks he’s convinced himself enough, that it was a fun thing to be left in the past, until he realizes he hadn’t. 

It’s mid-school day when George recognizes an all too familiar face out of his peripheral. He knows immediately. His heart races as he’s hit with the reality that he never prepared for a situation like this, mind trying to decide whether to ignore him altogether or turn his head and acknowledge how he’s quickly approaching. The blonde had been so good at letting George go back to his old ways and forget about him. Why start again now. 

George tries to hide his face behind his opened locker door, originally being there to put away a project for physics. Of course, his efforts are useless when the annoyingly persistent boy has already sought him out–even George can see the determined glint in emerald from the side of his vision. Maybe the brunet has developed an eye for the likeness, and he hates the very thought. 

“George!” an overwhelming voice calls out, seeming to wrap George’s limbs in an unmoving trance as he watches the blonde jog the rest of the way to him. 

Edging a kind smile onto his face takes significantly more work now. “Dream.” 

“George,” Dream repeats, faintly out of breath. He’s close, extremely close to George, his exhales brushing the tip of the brunet’s nose and suddenly the smaller feels too caged in. “Hey,” he properly greets this time but leaves no time for a response, “you never replied to my texts, y’know?”

George racks his brain for a reply, anything to get him out from under Dream and onto his next class where he’s safe from relapse. “Uh, yeah. I–I’m sorry about that.” It’s a half-ass answer, leaving no room for conversation he hopes. He’s almost surprised Dream’s even bothered to bring it up, it’s been weeks since the blonde last texted. 

“I was really hoping we could’ve hung out. Gone out or something,” Dream says, his tone indicating that he’s still holding on to some of that hope. George feels his insides shrivel up at his cheerfulness, it’s like it never left from when they last talked during class. 

“I’ve just been really busy with everything, school and stuff,” George mutters, avoiding eye contact to watch how people’s stares linger as they pass. It’s not a complete lie, but he definitely makes sure to leave out the detail of neglected longing. 

Concern replaces Dream’s happy expression and George thinks that’s somehow even worse. “Are you okay? You don’t seem…” he trails off, eyebrows downcast in a questioning glance. He reaches out to graze George’s wrist, taking a light hold but the brunet’s hand stays limp in his grasp. 

George clears his throat, desperate to find an excuse and run with it. “Yeah, I’m fine–actually, I really need to go. I’m gonna be late to my class.” There’s two minutes of passing time left and he knows damn well he wouldn’t be tardy when his next class is three doors down. But the feel of Dream’s fingers against his skin feels like fire burrowing itself into his bone marrow, so he shies away from the touch as he shuts his locker, beginning to walk away with a small laugh to soften the stifling air. 

“George, hold on, wait,” Dream says from only a few feet behind him and the brunet wishes he had enough self-will to keep walking straight, but yet he feels his head twist to meet an enticing sight. “Just talk to me a little longer, you’ll be fine,” he rushes to get out before George may change his mind. 

“I’m sorry–” but the apology dies on George’s tongue. Despite his better judgment his feet stay put, earning a few shoves from stray elbows as Dream meets him up close again. “What?” he asks, exasperated. 

Dream pauses before any words come from the plush of his lips. “You haven’t talked to me in weeks,” he says, almost incredulous as to ask why George wants to flee so quickly, the brunet’s tone not helping his case. “What’s your issue?” 

George was barely moving in the first place but he freezes completely at that, taking a moment before Dream’s question fully processes. Defensiveness boils under his skin, neck craning to keep his eyes pointed on the blonde’s frown. “My issue? I said I was busy, Dream,” he scoffs. 

“Busy enough not to text back for weeks? Right,” Dream retorts, nodding his head sarcastically to emphasize his point.

George feels his face grow hot, taking a step back from where Dream continues to tower over him. The last thing he wants is to cause a scene in the middle of the hallway, but he can’t help the overwhelming urge to start one. Maybe it’s his own bottled-up emotions or the way that stupid charm Dream always seems to have never failed to affect him all the same, but the words tumble before he can rethink his decisions. “Why don’t you leave me alone and go find somebody else to fuck with? It seems like you’re pretty good at that.” It’s said with as much venom George’s thoughts had been dripping and once it’s out in the open he thinks he may regret it–at least if the way Dream’s face drops is anything to go by. 

A frown framed by dimples slants even further, George’s heart filling with dread every passing second Dream takes to speak up again. He seems stunned as if what George had said has taken him off guard for good–a some sort of sick feat in of itself. Green eyes swirl with dejection, a mix of blank sadness and confusion all contorting into one big mess. 

Before George could reject the action, Dream’s shoulder is colliding into him, successfully pushing him aside with a good amount of force as he stalks away. It takes a moment before it hits him, and when it does the brunet can’t stop the way his voice takes over. “Really? Go to hell, Dream!” he shouts. It flies over the heads of students none the wiser, echoes off brick walls to boomerang the karma back in his face. And that’s that. 

He has no right to yell, he knows. George is one that pursued all of this, ghosted Dream with no explanation and then let his emotions get the better of him when all the blonde wanted was clarification. But the reality doesn’t make the anger fade any easier, especially coupled with the fact that Dream could pick a name out of a hat and end up together with said name two days later. It doesn’t make sense why the blonde is so unfairly adamant, leaving George with no simple way out. 

All he’s left with is more questions unanswered and feelings kept hidden, nothing to do but walk to his next class and hope to God he isn’t late because that would be his first tardy this year. George knows a few stares linger while he passes through the crowd that’s quickly dispersing, but he can’t care. And once he steps through the threshold of his AP Language class, he realizes he missed Sapnap, the one who’s usually outside of his class waiting to talk about whatever happened five minutes before. He missed him because he was too caught up in Dream’s bullshit. 

 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

 

One more class until the day ends. The one class George has that Dream is in. But he can do it; he’s done it every day before their argument. Why would it be any harder now? 

Apparently very hard because the universe has a merciless hatred towards him. 

George’s head is rested on the top of his crossed arms, hiding his face as best he can very much on purpose. As long as he keeps himself quiet and out of the way, there’s no reason for any conflict or chance to run into Dream. So with that logic, he takes his own advice and prepares for class to start, looking as unsuspecting as possible. 

But of course, things just have to go exactly the opposite of what George would have preferred. 

The bell rings and that signals 41 mins until school is out, another 41 minutes of tense muscles and careful eye contact around the room, just to be sure he doesn’t accidentally land a glance on Dream and embarrass himself even more. But that all goes out the window when he feels a tap on his shoulder, the same shoulder that had taken the considerable shove and he winces as the spot is pressed into, but lifts his head nonetheless. A lump forms square in the middle of his throat at the face he’s welcomed with. 

Infamous viridian eyes peer down at him. His body language is hesitant, taking his hand away abruptly when George sits up fully. There’s still a self-assuredness to his presence–maybe it’s just what curls the cute waves in his hair and creates the smoothness with every roll of his tongue. He visibly recoils when the brunet’s expression turns pained at his touch. “Did I do that?” Dream asks, guilt coating his voice in thick molasses. 

George swallows his shock, wiping the look off his face because pity is the last thing he cares for right now. “Yeah...I’m fine though.” He rubs the sore spot with fluttering eyelids, a little sheepish, a little confused, mournful. Dream nods, turning his head around the busy room nervously before seating himself at the desk across George once again. George doesn’t know what to make of it, so he chooses to stray away from what really needs to be said. “You know there’s no sub right?” he asks, pouring a reasonable amount of concern into the words to make it believable. He honestly couldn’t give a damn. 

“I know,” Dream says. It holds no immediate emotion, no remorse or acknowledgment of the fact the teacher will probably yell at him for not being in his assigned seat. 

George doesn’t feel like saying anything more, humming and turning his head towards the front. He waits for their teacher to get done typing away at her desk, instruct the class of what they’re assigned for today. Part of him is also impatiently waiting for candy-coated words to fall from tainted lips and explain to him why Dream’s made himself so impossible to ignore. The other half screams at him to take off his rose-colored glasses and interrogate the blonde himself. 

Someone apologize, one of us speak up, take turns fighting for the first word because you both started at the same time and you both want to hear what the other has to say. Something. 

“I’m sorry.” 

It’s faint when George hears it, when it registers in his mind. He finds himself taking a deep exhale, trying to fight a small smile from making his happiness too apparent. George doesn’t make an effort to turn his head in his direction, not paying him any attention at first. It’s cruel, but it gives George a sense of control in what’s been a turbulent series of events, so he savors it. “It’s okay,” he whispers, barely above his breath. 

The teacher begins to make her way to stand in front of them, explaining today’s work but it’s all background noise in the scene of thoughts in George’s mind. He’s sure it can’t be too different of a story for the boy to the side of him, who’s currently fidgeting with his number two pencil. George knows he should be apologizing as well, confessing why he’s acted so closed off and be honest instead of lashing out. It’s so easy in theory, but impossible to approach the idea in real life. The brunet can hear the rhythmic tap tap tap of the eraser against a wooden desk, faintly acknowledging how their teacher is waving the class off to work. 

He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Obviously, there’s new stuff to be completed for class, but that’s not what’s making his mind race. His heart is beating way too fast for sitting down in the middle of a classroom and he thinks if the silence continues any longer he may go insane. Neither of them has gotten their laptops out, waiting for the other to cut through the tension. 

“If you don’t want to hang out anymore just tell me, George,” Dream sighs, the breathlessness hardened by the possibilities of his words. He sounds almost desperate and it surprises George if nothing else, the blond the last person he would expect confidence to dare lack. 

He wants to scream it from the rooftops: I don’t know how to deal with my feelings, especially when they all involve you. It comes out as an unstable excuse of reassurance. “No–no, not at all, Dream. Really,” he laughs, because the blond couldn’t even begin to guess how pathetically deep George’s emotions bleed, “really, I want to talk to you...and everything. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I just felt kinda cornered when you came up to me, I guess? But I’m sorry, too, what I said just kind of came out and–” 

“‘Cornered?’” Dream asks, interrupting before George could dig himself a bigger hole. The knot between his eyebrows becomes increasingly more common when they talk and George misses his coy edge. When he always had a quick reply to leave the brunet a red, flustering mess and the flashy smile that made him weak in the knees. Maybe the alluring traits have been left to each bite mark Dream indents into his poor pencil. 

“I don’t know,” George quickly backtracks. He wants to rip his hair out. “I needed a break. School was getting stressful and I just couldn’t focus on everything at once,” he states, deciding that his choice of carefully selected lies was good enough. All he could ever wish for right now is one of Dream’s flirty compliments to save them both of this self-inflicted torture. 

Dream’s eyelids appear droopy and the melancholy that taints the air around him seems to choke George as he inhales the same oxygen. After a beat of silence, a moment of analyzing the other’s faces, Dream says,” Do you really see me like that?” 

“Like what?” 

Dream’s eyes flit down to his shoes, back up to look George in the eye. “Like someone who just finds fun in fucking with people?” he quotes and the brunet’s heart might’ve well been ripped out of his chest at this point. “Is that what you think of me?” 

George pauses, knowing full well he should’ve prepared for a question like this, but as always, he’s come up empty-handed. He doesn’t possess Dream’s ability to walk into a room and be full of conversations needed to be had, or the way he can weasel his way out of situations so smoothly that it's hard to tell if anything had gone stale because he always knows what to say. That’s just not him; so when he answers truthfully, it comes out wobbly and unsure, unconvincing and everything Dream doesn’t deserve. 

“No, I promise. It was just the first thing that came to mind and I–you treat me so much better than that.” Admittedly, the candidness is much more out of his comfort zone than George would normally be okay with, but it’s the least he can do when Dream stares at him so gently. 

Dream plays with his hoodie strings, kicks his feet against the tiled floor, shakes his hair just to run his fingers through it after. Anything to avoid looking at George directly. “What do you mean ‘first thing that came to mind?’” He asks softly. George almost wishes he’d spit the question out so he would feel a little less ashamed, but the blond is so stubbornly patient. 

And while Dream looks as innocent as nothing but featherlight clouds taking up the space inside his mind, George feels like burning this whole place to the ground if it means he can avoid this incoming disaster. “Dream.”

“George,” he echoes, firm. Surely he has to know the place he’s put George in, surely he has to be aware of how everybody perceives him. Surely the looks they’ve been receiving these past ten minutes are enough to lay the fact right out in plain sight–even if George has been getting better at turning a blind eye. 

“I mean, just from the things I’ve heard. And–and obviously it can’t all be true but it was the first thing that felt remotely insulting, and it came out, and I’m sorry.” 

Dream lays his head down across the desk, one arm supporting the weight and the other left to spin his hoodie string in knots. The look on Dream’s face tells George everything he needs to know, but what comes out of his mouth contradicts the duskiness. “You’re so pretty.” 

The compliment brings the blush back to warm George’s cheeks, the brunet trying to figure out if it was Dream’s attempt at bringing light to their conversation or if there was any real motive behind the action at all. Either way, he can’t help the way his lips give way to a small smile. It almost feels wrong to let himself appreciate the kindness. “You’re such an idiot.” 

“You’ve told me that before.” 

George laughs, the tense tone before slowly dissipating. “And I’ll keep telling you because it’s true .” He mirrors Dream, resting his hair on top of two crossed arms, akin to the beginning of class but now he’s slightly less nervous to be in Dream’s line of sight. 

There’s a faint smile tipping the corners of Dream’s mouth, just enough for it to be noticeable but nothing that makes George’s stomach flip itself inside out. The afternoon sun illuminates the blonde’s face in a golden glow, highlighting emerald irises and the smallest hint of dimples. George thinks he looks perfect. 

And Dream hasn’t taken his eyes off of George’s face either. The brunet can barely make out the way his eyes dart around his features and it makes him feel on display, half exposed and half intimidated by how shameless he is. But he’s in no mood to move, so he lets himself be studied while he does the same. 

George should be completing his work. It’s persistent in the back of his mind; Sapnap’s voice, his very own, the people who insist on making their judgment known through unnecessary stares and whispers, they all scream at him to take his head out of his ass and focus on something actually worth his time. That won’t leave his feelings an aching mess once it’s done with him. 

He feels vulnerable being watched like this, when piercing green eyes clash with his and there’s a split second where they meet. He thinks this has to be too intimate for a classroom, that this can’t be appropriate but he can’t take his gaze away, and neither can Dream. George couldn’t tell you how long they stayed like that, letting his rationale escape him for the time being, but he finds he feels no regret. 

It just feels right . So he lets the work for the hour go untouched and yet to even be started. George wonders what happens inside the blond’s mind, one filled with hidden brilliance. Hopefully, it’s spiraling with thoughts about himself, saving his sweet talk and irresistible tricks only for the brunet sitting across from him. Just the possibility, even if it’s unrealistic, makes his heartbeat dangerously fast. To the point he’s afraid Dream could notice his chest rising with every heavy beat. 

Perhaps it was wrong of George to let the blond skew their previous conversation into something far less important. Sitting here admiring each other won’t fix the hurt he knows still lingers around Dream. It won’t take back the words he’d foolishly let slip. But it does fuel the brunet’s false hope that maybe they could be something more. 

George considers it for a second that’s gone as fast as it had come, considering just telling him. Letting the confession exist. It could either ruin everything between them the brunet had clung onto, or fulfill his needy imagination. Almost, almost he risks it, but ultimately decides it’s just not the right time: surrounded by judging eyes and a room filled with useless noise. 

George misses that one night, where they savored the smokey air and breathed in each other. It was only them for those painfully short minutes, and George thinks he’d give anything to go back. If it meant ignoring Sapnap’s unrelenting words, he’d barely give his best friend the time of day. If it meant throwing all of his pride away and letting this boy ruin him, he’d agree in a heartbeat. Yeah, it’s definitely very pathetic, but George would do whatever to make it up to Dream. 

Dangerous. So, so dangerous to give in completely to sugar-coated smiles and lips glossed in bane. 

The bell is ringing before he can turn some sense into his self-destructive thoughts, Dream’s eyelids that were on the verge of closing flipping open. George wonders if the blonde even pays half as much attention to him like he does. He looks so peaceful, warmth rinsing off of him as the sunlight frames his languid body. He wants to wrap his arms around him and find that his fingers don’t quite touch when they try to meet in the back, run his fingers through fluffy pieces of hair and pass time fiddling with them. 

But more desires are pushed to the side as he slaps himself in the face, trying to redirect his focus to the boy regaining his consciousness as everybody else is heading for the door. He makes do with a smile, silently laughing as he watches Dream do a small stretch and look around, bits of confusion plastered across his face.  

“Hey,” George speaks up. He moves to stand and pick up his backpack, not needing to put anything away because it’s been left there sitting zipped for the entire hour. George curses himself. 

Dream clears his throat, starting to follow the brunet. “Hey.” George laughs, out loud this time so the other can see his visible amusement. Dream squints his eyes at him. “Not funny,” he groans, adjusting to the class all speeding towards one place. 

They’re both standing now, one gazing up to the other with a slightly lost tone in his shining eyes. George wants to do so many things in this very moment: pull Dream down to his level, whisper everything he’s been keeping to himself, feel plush lips against his own. He flings his backpack over his shoulder instead, watches as Dream gives him a small smirk. 

Usually the blonde would’ve been walking away back to his real friends, but they’re long gone by now. Passed by the two with lingering stares but George fiend ignorance, the fact if Dream noticed them as well more important in his mind. 

They head towards the exit together, wordless even with so much left to be said. They walk side by side, George noticing how their steps fall in sync subconsciously and he tries way too hard not to mess it up. And it’s not till they reach the back doors that lead to the student parking lot does he realize he’s left Sapnap all by himself. 

Oh well, he tells himself. He can find a different ride home for one day. 

“Do you have a ride?” George asks, on topic with his conscience. He fully expects a yes, because Dream having his own car would just make sense. 

Instead he gets a hesitant answer. “Uh–no.” And a laugh sounding a little guilty if anything to top it off. Dream peers down at his feet, makes do with picking the skin at his thumb and pointer finger. George has to clench down on his teeth to stop from grabbing his hand right then and there. 

The brunet pauses, processing. “How do you get home?” 

George watches as a piece of skin falls to the sterile floor. Dream must catch that he saw because as soon as he makes a second of eye contact he snaps his head down again with an embarrassed look. “Usually one of my friends gives me a ride. Or I ride the bus.” The shock must be apparent on George’s face, the blond scoffing at his expression. “Is it really that surprising?” 

George ignores his question. “The buses are probably gone already.” 

“They are,” Dream says simply. “And my friends have definitely left by now.” 

“Did you just forget, or something? How are you…” he trails off, looking at the other expectantly. 

“Dunno. Got sidetracked, I guess.” 

The brunet has half the mind to ask him what could’ve gotten him sidetracked on their two-minute walk to the parking lot, but he decides against it. His eyebrows frown, but he replaces it with a playful smile. “Aw, bigshot Dream doesn’t have his own car.” 

His eyes roll, although it carries a heavier feeling rather than going along with a joke. George drops his cheerful accent. “Honestly, George, I don’t like when you say things like that.” 

It throws George off guard honestly, the bluntness. His head rushes with an awful sensation, remembering everything before they had decided to waste away the final class period. “I’m sorry,” he says beneath his breath, said with as much sincerity as he can manage because he really means it. 

“It’s fine,” Dream brushes it off. He picks his head back up, collecting himself and George watches the way his expression switches from sad to stone-faced. As if he regretted bringing up his real emotion in the first place, wanting to move on as quickly as possible. 

“No, Dream,” but George won’t let him get away that easily. He stands in front of the taller now, eyes anxious to keep contact. He craves to just hug him, touch him, something . “I really am sorry. Like so fucking sorry.” 

A smirk, that hell sent smirk . It finds its place back on Dream’s lips like it had never left and the reaction leaves George nothing but confused. “I said it’s okay, George.” He says it like it’s the most amusing thing in the world, gazing down at the brunet with mirthful irises. 

“Can you shut up, because it’s clearly not. I know what I said was way too far, and I want to make it up to you,” George spits, annoyance and honesty weighing on every word, apologizing for something he knows isn’t as insignificant as a small tease. He swears his fingers twitch at his sides, self-restraint crumbling the more he insists on staring up. He can’t help but appreciate the stray bits of hair that fall in front of Dream’s face, mocking his failing attempt at ever trying to get his way. 

“God, you are so cute.” And the brunet is so ready to protest the diversion, but Dream is continuing with that honey-like voice. “Shutting that pretty mouth of yours and giving me a ride home would be making it up to me enough ,” he says through a poorly contained smile. 

Now George is the one having to look away sheepishly, and his heart absolutely soars at the realization. This is his Dream. His Dream is back. He feels a bit silly thinking like this, this boy is barely his at all, but it helps his internal turmoil calm for the time being. 

“Still,” he whines despite the reassurance. “I feel like shit for treating you like that. You’ve been nothing but good to me.” Maybe a partial lie slipped into that last part, but that's besides his point. 

The air feels strangled for a moment, their presence coming to a halt for a fleeting second, and George is trying to figure out why. He gets his answer when a large hand is cupping his cheek, cool fingers sliding against his jaw. He almost trips on his standing feet before he can process what’s happened. George can feel himself take his next inhale, sharp and shaky, because this contact is different than that one stupid night. They’re both sober, they’re alone, there is no need for a performance.  

Dream is leaning down, and George has every right to believe the blonde is about to kiss him right now. The air leaves his lungs like it’s going to happen…but it never does. 

“I’m telling you, George,” Dream is saying, and George is listening because they’re face to face now and he doesn’t really have a choice. “I know you feel like you need to do something, but being with me is enough. I promise you.” His voice is a slow rumble in the brunet’s ears, and he thinks this should be illegal to do.

And he is more than lucky that–from what he can see–there’s nobody around, because then he’d really be fucked. 

George doesn’t know what else to do besides shiver under Dream’s hold and nod carefully. His words have resonated with the brunet enough, his point has been made, he can take his hand away now. But he doesn’t, and George is glad. He swears he can taste the faint smell of second-hand smoke somewhere, he can definitely smell the blond’s cologne. A sickly fragrance when it’s accompanied by hands George can so easily melt into. 

Maybe he’s just going crazy with the opportunity to drag Dream down into a kiss right here. But the mix of it all leaves him dizzy in the school hall either way.  

Dream shakes his hand a bit, catching George’s full attention again. George is met with a punishable smile, lips pulled tight and freckles that stretch to the farthest corners of his face. He can’t help but mimic the grin, a feeling he can’t quite explain overcoming him. And suddenly his backpack feels like it weighs 50 more pounds. 

Dream seems to contemplate something before speaking up again. “Now let's go. Where is your car?” he asks, taking his hand away and it takes everything inside of George not to chase after it. He pushes the doors open, the shorter boy following as if he isn’t the one who should be leading the way. 

And George has never been happier because this, this is the Dream he’d let ruin him. 

 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

 

School is out. School is finally out, and all of George’s hard work paid off, ending his junior year with a promising future of scouting colleges. To say he was proud of himself was an understatement, and to say Dream was anything less than ecstatic for him would be a lie. 

After George gave Dream a ride home, the brunet thought long and hard about how everything had played out. And after hours of overthinking–when he really should’ve been doing his leftover assignments–he picked up his phone, ready to click on the contact he’d avoided for way too long. But before he could even unlock the device, a new text was already waiting for him. The notification sat in plain sight, a smile George would be embarrassed by if anyone was there to witness it stretching his lips as he read.

Dreamie - 2:35

will you answer my texts now?

Summer’s relaxed breeze brought him a careless attitude, an empty mind ready to be filled with things tasting forbidden. Dream brought with him the promise of danger caressed by a sharpened blade. George couldn’t wish for anything more. 

That state of mind granted him quick thumbs to relieve some of his long-awaited desire. 

George - 4:54

ugh fine. what’s in it for me though

A tease, because he would be a fool to let Dream slip through his fingers again–one time was already close enough. And the blonde had replied fast, faster than George was expecting at least. His screen illuminated a thin-lipped smile, something to be kept to himself. 

Dreamie - 4:56

in it for you ?

whatever you want pretty boy.

Down right malicious, George had thought. 

But despite the giddiness in his chest, George has been able to keep his wants at bay, easily maintainable. The first thing he had done once school was out for the summer–apart from blush over stupid texts–was make plans with Sapnap. Ever since freshman year, the pair would celebrate with a trip to their local ice cream shop, grabbing two cones of whatever they pleased and one large Cookies and Cream milkshake to share. 

While they numbed their tongues and froze their throats with the added competition of who could get the most shakedown, they would plan out fun things to do over the course of the summer. Naturally, Sapnap would always try to sneak in the possibility of a party, one of the big ones where everyone would be going and there was no way you could ever pass it up. But George always managed to find out how to. 

But their break from school was never any less fun. George and Sapnap filled the humid-suffered hours with sweaty palms on the community basketball court, mutual friends getting together for careless games. The younger boy would test his patience when George told him he’d wanted to try skating, hilarious videos and damaged shoes enough to prove the fact that it was not the brunet’s shining talent. And their favorite: endless time spent enjoying video games in George’s air-conditioned room. Without fail, it would eventually end in the two restraining themselves to keep the controllers in their hands and not at the TV screen, trying to keep their baby rage down so his parents wouldn’t complain about their yells. 

Yeah, summer is amazing. Because it was always shared with his best friend, and not one thing in this world could ever take that away from–not even Dream, and surely not himself. So the single thought on his mind when he switched his phone off–even when the blonde’s text was still fresh in his memory–was stuffing some money in his pocket and going to pick Sapnap up. 

If George wasn’t quite paying attention to the speed limit when he drove, he would blame it on the pure excitement making his foot press a little harder. Everything that had happened with Dream was just more proof George would go insane if it weren’t for the younger. He felt like he could go to him for just about anything: to relax, troll in random lobbies, an honest opinion–anything. 

George would be fooling himself if he said he wasn’t a tad bit nervous Sapnap would try to bring up the blonde. But George trusted him to keep their traditions light and exclude any sore topics. 

As soon as George pulled into the familiar driveway, Sapnap was already stepping out his front door, heading straight for the passenger door. George could see the wide grin adorning his face from miles away, although now he could view it from something like a few feet away as Sapnap climbed into the seat. 

“Well?” Sapnap began, adjusting himself to get comfortable, George already pulling out. It wasn’t a question, George knew, just eagerness in general. 

A laugh. George spares a glance at his friend, taking his eyes off the road for a second to be met with Sapnap counting bills of money. His own smile spread across waiting lips at his friend’s foolishness. “Don’t even worry about it, Sap. I’m paying.” An incredulous stare was pointed at the side of his skull at that. George could sense the light-hearted annoyance anywhere, rolling his eyes dramatically just so he knew Sapnap could see it. “I brought like 14 dollars or something,” he continued. 

“You’re an idiot. I can pay for my own ice cream,” Sapnap scoffed. He rubbed the dollar bills together to emphasize his point. 

“Who’s driving the car right now?” And after silence filled by Sapnap’s confused sputters, “Exactly: me.” 

Out of the corner of George’s eye he could see Sapnap’s hands flare dramatically, an exasperated scoff to follow. “That doesn’t even make sense .” 

“Just shut up, I’m paying.”

He was going to pay because he’s caused too much useless shit between them, to say sorry for running back to Dream after knowing Sapnap was right, for choosing to ignore him. He was going to pay because Sapnap would never know why George was looking over at him so guiltily, but he was going to mend some of the damage for his own well being. 

Their celebration was going as good as it had always gone. The brunet managed to pull his crumpled money out first once Sapnap had decided he wanted the superman cone, pushing the loose change towards the cashier before the other had a chance to protest. Sapnap wore an awfully disguised look of thankfulness after that, the edges of his lips always tugged half way. 

They sat at their favorite spot, the farthest picnic table sat outside of the parlor, licking their ice cream while they talked about whatever came to their minds. The sun wasn’t too hot, the shop wasn’t too busy, surprisingly–a lot of other people liked to intrude on their tradition–and George’s strawberry cheesecake cone was melting the way he liked it. Just enough that it made it easier to eat and dripped down the sides slow, easier to lick up. George was desperately in need of a hang out like this with Sapnap, with no worries or strained tension.  

Sapnap was talking about how his friend had gotten his ass beaten right as school ended, apparently outside the front doors and everyone was crowded around. George was vaguely interested, nodding his head as he popped two straws into their milkshake. He was observing the way it was already liquifying when he heard something that made him freeze. 

“Where were you at the end of the day? You know I had to find a new ride.” 

A split second, his movements paused. But as soon as he realized, he was offering the cup with the extra straw towards Sapnap. He was smiling, because why would the younger’s words imply anything more than an innocent question? 

“My mom called. She–she wanted me to do something for her, so I had to leave,” George explains, the lie mixed with the sweetness of sugared treats unpleasant on his tongue. “Sorry.” He thinks he might’ve visibly scowled at his own distrust, but he wipes it off and hopes nothing was too noticeable. 

He watches Sapnap nod his head through a sip of melted chocolate and he thinks his heart might stop right there, not out of affection or sinful wants, but the waiting to see if he catches his bluff. 

Sapnap hums, says, “Oh. Well still…rude much.” He’s laughing, and George is laughing along with him because there’s no strained tension and there’s no falling smiles. They’re joking together and there’s no need for a lecture. 

“Did you find one,” George asks after taking a particularly heavy lick of his ice cream, wiping the leftovers off the corners of his lips. 

“Find what?” 

“A ride,” he giggles. 

“Obviously, dumbass,” Sapnap rolls his eyes, already beginning to ramble about what he’s thought about next. 

George learns a whole new appreciation for Sapnap’s easy going personality, holding the moments where they can just talk and laugh and talk with each other closer to his heart. And if a lie is needed for that to be possible, then so be it. 

 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

 

Dream is driving George’s car because he still doesn’t have his own. 

The blonde would not stop talking about his birthday, forever ranting to George about how he just knew he was getting his first car. This birthday was going to be the birthday. And of course, the brunet sat and listened to it all, even encouraged the anticipation to an extent; through held hands not acknowledged besides a whisper of affection, blushing faces covered with shy hands. 

But August 12th is still a few weeks away, and Dream still had a promise to fulfill, so George let him drive the car when the brunet had picked him up earlier. 

The windows are down and Dream’s hand is rested on top of George’s thigh, and all the brunet is capable of comprehending is the amount of wind blowing in his face, ruffling his hair, and the fact that Dream is definitely living up to his expectations. 

Whatever you want, pretty boy. 

And all George wanted to do today was drive around. Maybe find something interesting to do along the way, but mainly enjoy each other’s conversations. They’ve watched too many movies, sat and cuddled up against each other on the couch, George couldn’t count the number of times on his two hands. They’ve gone bowling a few times, which George had forced Dream to drive to the next town over just in case. Even took a walk out in the local park, so they could both take a needed break from Dream’s pool and George’s stuffy room for one day. The brunet’s paranoia had been through the roof the whole time, but it was worth it when the blonde let him cling to his side for the entirety. 

Spending time with Dream meant turning Sapnap down sometimes, a few lies to make everything run smoothly. Sorry, bro, I’m not feeling that good right now. I have some summer work to do. And it never got easier, the guilt only piling but Dream was always there to ease his worries–as much as he could, at least. 

His anxiety had reached a concerning height, getting to the point where Dream would be left to hold him for hours on end till he calmed down. The blonde was happy to do whatever he had to in order for George to feel better, the brunet hearing the reassurances over and over again until it left a sour taste in his mouth. 

That’s why he opted to feel the wind swishing around his face today, feeling like a careless drive around wherever would be beneficial for the both of them. 

Dream and George had been burning gas around random streets and passing foreign shops for a while now. One of them would comment about a store that looked cool enough to visit, the other keeping a mental note of his curiosity. It was always a game of finding ways to wiggle themselves further and further away from more local spots. They both exchanged bits of drama they had been hearing, mostly Dream leading the gossipy conversations but George was never one to turn down an interesting shit talk session. It was exactly what the brunet had needed, a breather from constantly being reminded of his betrayal to his best friend. 

They never brought up Sapnap. George wouldn’t dare bring the topic up, Dream never questioned him about the boy. It was a taboo subject, an unspoken barrier between them, keeping their touches and affection at bay. And George wouldn’t be able to label him and Dream’s relationship if you asked him to, maybe refusing to even try. What the two had going was enough for George, so why push anything? 

Dream’s fingers bounce up and down across George’s thigh, and the brunet feels like his hand is only getting higher but maybe he’s just going crazy. A random song is playing in the background, one that George doesn’t really care about nor is he paying attention to because he’s currently, shamelessly, checking out Dream, one hand holding his hand up while his other resists the urge to grab the blonde’s fidgeting one. The sun seems to follow the blonde anywhere he goes, the light accentuating his stunning face. 

Dream smirks, squeezing the hand wrapped around a smaller thigh, and George takes that as he’s been caught staring. A bashful smile, a quiet noise emitting from the older. “So where are we even going?” he asks, deciding to ignore how he’d been blatantly caught in his own little world. 

Dream hums, the hand still driving George’s car tightening around the steering wheel. “Don’t really know. Where do you wanna go, gorgeous?” He ghosts a smile towards the brunet’s direction. 

George actually puts some thought into his question. He doesn’t want to do anything special, nor expend that much energy. He just wants to chill somewhere that doesn’t feel surrounded with a cloud of anxiety. 

Before George can voice his opinion though, Dream chimes in again. “Oh, I know!” And it looks like he’s about to continue explaining where he’s taking them, but his lips shut, a knowing look rested across his face. 

George doesn’t push though, he trusts him. 

 

Dream is pulling into a gas station, and George is questioning his judgment just a little bit. 

“Joe’s QuickStop?” he reads, the bright neon sign sticking out in the dusk making it hard to ignore. His tone is nothing but filled with doubt, rubbing his eyes from the blur of motion he watched outside of the passenger motion. 

“No need for the attitude, Georgie,” Dream scoffs, a tease. And when the brunet only doubles down on his stubbornness, “Yes, Joe’s QuickStop,” he mocks George’s attitude. “They have amazing corn dogs…and slushies.” 

George lets out a snort. “You’re so stupid,” blushing when that sparks a smile from the blonde. “But in a really cute way.” He doesn’t know why he added that last part because he usually wouldn’t, but he guesses to say some sort of “thank you” for understanding his need to get away from everybody, everything. It’s definitely worth it when Dream’s grin only grows bigger. 

It’s kind of stupid really–how a gas station would make him feel any better. But the sight of an empty parking lot brings him so much relief, knowing that no one is around to see them together, nor even knows where the two are. The singing of a few stray birds and the setting sun were the only things to accompany them. 

“Come on,” Dream urges, pushing the car door open with a buzzing excitement. It almost confuses the brunet, but he also finds it incredibly endearing so he lets the energy wrap around himself as well. 

And before George can blink twice, Dream is at his side of the car, opening the door with a beckoning grin plastered on his face. It drips with smugness and he should be used to it by now, but George doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the blonde’s random acts of kindness. Butterflies still poke him in the sides every time he gazes up to a confident boy, being reduced to a face burning red as he does exactly that right now. 

“Thank you,” George says beneath his breath as he stands out of the passenger seat, stretching his legs. He takes the opportunity to take a good deep breath of fresh air, one not interrupted by a whistling wind. It works to settle the blush rooted across his cheeks, whatever he’s feeling inside his guts. 

Dream snakes their hands together, walking into the gas station side by side. George feels safe by his side, the touch electrifying his blood. He feels protected even though he honestly has little clue where he’s at, his nerves like live wires. When they walk in, and to no surprise, the only people inside are the cashier, who is welcoming the two with a small wave, and themselves. George hugs Dream’s side a little tighter. 

“So,” George drawls, but Dream is already leading him towards where he wants to go. 

The shelves are well-stocked, one packed with chips and small snacks, another filled with rows of candy. The back wall is covered entirely with refrigerators, an assortment of drinks. Off to the side there are freezers with a small variety of ice creams and frozen foods. And then there’s the cornered-off spot that Dream is walking towards, George helpless but to follow with their linked hands. He sees about four flavors at the slushie machine, a mini corn dog stand also tucked away. 

Dream audibly coos as he makes the rest of the way to the plethora of foods. He lets go of George’s hand in the process but the brunet doesn’t mind much, enjoying the look on Dream’s face as his eyes ping pong around to the different choices. He eyes the pizza next to the corn dogs and hot dogs, the spinning pieces of greasy pizza looking better than ever. 

Dream busies himself with grabbing a large slushie cup, pouring a mixture of Coca-Cola and blue raspberry to the very top. They meet when the blonde sets the slushie down on the counter, going to grab a corn dog and George goes for a piece of the cheese pizza. George smiles at him, Dream not forgetting to get a side of ketchup as well. 

Dream makes his way back to the front with his items, and George is right behind him before he thinks twice about his decisions. It’s a split second before he decides to go back for a second piece of pizza, feeling hungrier than he had realized. 

George finds the other down the candy aisle, trying and struggling to balance his corndog and slushie in one hand. George giggles. “Having trouble?” he teases. 

Dream huffs. “Well, I need candy. I can’t just get a corndog and a slushie without candy.” 

“Mhm.” The brunet takes a turn sorting through the tooth-rotting options. His favorite is Reese’s–that’s something Sapnap and him have in common. He shakes his head harshly at the fleeting thought, not allowing himself to think about the other boy when Dream is two feet away from him. 

Dream must’ve noticed the gesture though, turning to face him. “Are you okay?” 

A tiny smile replaces his bent features as he continues to stare down the different kinds of Skittles. “Was it that obvious?”

It's more of a joke than a genuine question, but Dream answers truthfully anyways. “I mean…you have that face you always do. When you purse your lips a little and furrow your eyebrows. And you shake your head a lot. And yeah, you did that.” 

George laughs, ready to move on because explaining how the candy aisle triggered his guilt would be doing the exact opposite of what he was trying to accomplish. “No, I’m fine.” He doesn’t put much effort into the words, but it seems to do the trick for Dream, the blonde carrying on with deciding on something. 

The fact that Dream had picked up on his mannerisms sparks a feeling inside of him. He can’t really tell if it’s good or bad, but it’s definitely there. It feels like a sense of insecurity meets his anxiety, but it’s all overpowered by the reoccurring sensation of butterflies tickling his stomach. It’s weird and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but Dream is smiling at him with a package of Sour Patch Kids in his once empty hand, and he feels better about it all. 

“What’re you getting?” Dream asks, glancing towards where George had been thinking over the variety of candies. 

George hums, genuinely having not decided, but eventually picks up the Skittles because it’s the thing closest in reach. When he looks back up he’s met with an indistinguishable look, maybe confusion or disappointment. He can’t tell. “Hmm?” he hums again, feeling slightly vulnerable when he’s aware of the blond’s reaction. 

“Two pieces of pizza? You usually don’t like pizza that much.” 

There was nothing wrong with Dream’s question on surface level, George could acknowledge that, but the brunet’s brain liked to work against him. A sudden rush of defensiveness curates his response, even the other was right . “I don’t know, Dream,” he dismisses. “I’m just hungry.” He feels an urge to roll his eyes, though he resists. 

Dream’s worried (?) expression turns into one of hurt, showing on his face with a gentleness. It’s not harsh or impulsive like he looks like he could blow him off, but kind, like he would rather be patient. George hates it. “Oh. Have you eaten anything today?” 

“No,” the brunet confides with a bit of shame. 

“George.” Firm, but patient. 

George rolls his eyes this time, done with the situation even if he had created it. “I’m sorry,” because he is, in more ways than just one, “it’s just–I mean the first thing I did today was wake up and call you! I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Dream closes the gap between them by a few steps. George thinks it almost looks like he would want nothing else in this world than to hug him, but his hands are stretched full of junk food and he’d rather not risk getting blue and brown slushie all over their shirts. He can’t lie that he’d love one right now though. “That’s fine,” he says, so gentle and so patient. “Let’s go pay real quick.” 

George nods, keeping his small smile to himself as Dream turns his back. He just can't not be happy when he’s with this boy. And it’s entirely too frustrating. 

The cashier is very friendly, making small talk with the blonde as he pulls out a 20 dollar bill from his back pocket. Admittedly, George feels a bit dumb standing behind the other like a helpless puppy. He lets Dream take care of everything: paying, keeping a conversation with a total stranger, looking effortlessly carefree and stunning while doing it. Dream seems to pull off anything that George can’t seem to manage. 

Dream’s charm, it’s magnifying. 

They walk out the door with a cheerful goodbye from the blonde, and George begins to feel lighter again as he feels a breeze grace his face. He’s about to walk back to the car, thinking the two would enjoy their haul while driving past calming scenery. But Dream tuts, catching his attention, apparently having a different idea. 

Although a bit skeptical, George follows Dream to the side of the building. It’s a brick wall, pieces of trash littering the ground naturally, a vending machine placed conveniently towards the front. George makes his second judgmental face this night–the first when Dream had pulled into the gas station, and the second here. But Dream is paying him no mind, plopping himself down next to the far side of the vending machine. 

When the blonde looks up, done with situating his food, he furrows his eyebrows at the boy stood frozen. “Are you gonna come sit?” 

George scoffs, honest shock. “You seriously think I’m sitting on this dirty ass ground?” He kicks multiple cigarette butts as he walks closer towards Dream, still holding his pizza. 

“You can sit on my lap if you’d like?” Dream smirks, gesturing with his hands to show he’s not budging. He picks up his corn dog, dipping it in ketchup. 

George wants to punch him in the face, glaring him down while the blonde doesn’t even bother looking at him. In reality, it’s not all that bad of an idea, but the way Dream’s face is still twisted in that cocky attitude, it makes his heart jump and his pride burst into flames. He thinks it’s probably visible across his fair skin. “You’re not funny.” 

“It wasn’t a joke.” Quick, snarky. Slappable. 

George sits next to him regardless, seating himself with dramatics of course. “You’re so dumb,” he grumbles, half-heartedly upset that his ass is getting all dirty with God knows what. He takes a bite of his pizza, leaning into Dream’s side–he’d like to think it was subconscious at this point, but deep down he knows it’s very intentional. 

He watches Dream pick up his slushie off the ground out of the corner of his eye, internally cringing as he tries not to think about how disgusting leaving food on the ground is. But the thing that really draws his attention is Dream grabbing out two straws, turning to pass one to him. He makes a noise of confusion. “Me?” he questions, nodding towards the out-stretched plastic. 

“Yeah?” Dream confirms, hesitant, as if the brunet asking was the silliest thing in the world. 

George lets out a long ohh as he understands why Dream is offering his drink. “You don’t need to share your slushie. I’m not that hungry, the pizza is enough.” 

Dream elbows him, throwing the straw into the smaller man’s lap when he doesn’t grab it. “Don’t be stupid. Drink it,” he says, tone light despite the demand. “Why do you think I got a large slushie? Do you really think I can drink this all by myself?’ 

George blushes at his own ignorance, and Dream lets out a laugh at his embarrassment. “I don’t know,” he drones. Feigning annoyance, he pops the paper off the straw, placing it next to Dream’s inside the slushie cup. 

Dream has just about eaten all of his corn dog after a couple of minutes, the brunet questioning why he’s even surprised when he looks over and sees the blonde taking his last bite. He’s almost done with his first piece of pizza, the greasiness of it making it difficult to eat but he can’t deny his stomach has been growling. When they make eye contact George giggles, spotting the tiny stain of ketchup on Dream’s lip. He goes to clean it off with his finger, suppressing the smile playing at his glossy lips. 

When George shows the speck of red, standing out on his dainty fingertip, Dream shares his laugh. “Whoops.” 

“You’re gross,” George teases, grabbing a napkin Dream had smartly picked up before they left to wipe his finger off. 

Dream just shrugs, opening his Sour Patch Kids like a kid, squeezing the bag till it pops open. George jumps the slightest, scoffing as Dream throws a candy into his mouth. “You’re the one who touched it.” 

“Do I have the cheese touch now?” George asks through a mouthful of rubbery mozzarella. 

“No…I think that’s you.” Dream wheezes at his own dumb joke, pointing at George’s face when his mouth drops open, exposing the mess of chewed up pizza. It’s kind of gross and it’s kind of endearing and George couldn’t ask for anything more. 

Dream’s laugh sounds like when the birds used to sing in the morning, when he was a child and he’d be woken up by peaceful chirping. He’d be bathed in the warmth of sunlight streaming through his window, like now, except there’s little sunlight behind Joe’s QuickStop and there’s little warmth when he’s sat on the concrete floor. The only difference is that he has his boy to keep him company and sing him songs in the form of contagious laughter. He doesn’t need the heat of the sun when Dream is pressed up against him. 

Once they calm down, George melts into the blonde, laying his head on top of the taller’s shoulder. It’s akin to their very first night, when Dream lured him in with his addicting voice and offered him a cigarette, which he accepted with open arms, sinking into his haze further before they’d been interrupted. But tonight there’s no one to see them, let alone interrupt. And there’s no cigarette between his lips, rather being scattered around the two, kicked up and forgotten. Instead, he feels something else press against his soft skin, registering the sour taste before he opens his mouth and takes it between his teeth. 

He smiles at the small gesture, savoring the contrasting flavors of sweet and sour. Distantly, he wonders what would’ve happened if Sapnap wasn’t there to snap their initial connection in half. What would’ve been of their relationship? Would Dream have even approached him the next day if he got what he wanted in the first place? It was never supposed to go this far, George retells himself. His muscles stiffen when he thinks about the possibility of Dream and Sapnap getting along. 

His two favorite people…getting along. It shouldn’t be such a foreign concept, but it is. And surely in another world all three of them get along just fine. That world doesn’t garner so much anxiety, so many useless lies. No harbored guilt or fraying friendships. 

Maybe he really just is that obvious, because Dream’s hand is squeezing his thigh for the second time that night, George not realizing that he’d placed it there at all. “Can you stop thinking about him?” 

Him. They both know who ‘him’ is, but Dream knows. Dream knows. “What?” he deflects nonetheless. George is a procrastinator if nothing else, choosing to set their shared acknowledgment aside rather than addressing it. 

“Stop, George,” Dream says, making eye contact as the brunet lifts his head. He already misses the warmth but Dream’s eyes remain stern. “Why are you always so concerned with him, anyway? We’re fine.” 

He sounds defeated, and George can’t help the frown pulling his lips.” I'm sorry. I really am, I just–like–ugh, I don’t know!” he huffs, frustrated with himself, with the situation. It all sucks. “How am I supposed to be okay with lying to my best friend every time I want to go out with you?” And it feels good to get it off his chest, let it go completely into the lukewarm air and out of his hands. Even if he may have said it with a forceful bite, he thinks Dream could understand. “How did you even know?” 

“I think I knew before you even knew.” 

George feels like shedding his pent-up irritation with a few tears. He could if he really wanted to, the humiliating stinging sensation slowly building behind his eyes. But he manages to subdue his emotions just enough. “You’re impossible.” 

Dream wraps an arm around George’s trembling shoulders, the older taken to enclosing himself in, knees hugged to meet his chest. “I’m not trying to make you mad, pretty.” The nickname proves to make George feel a little better, albeit still partially strung out. “I just hate seeing you worry so much. It kills me.” 

“Tell me about it,” George says, exasperated. “I’m just scared that something like the last time you guys met would happen again, but worse. And you guys are the two people closest to me, and–and it would just be really scary if you hurt each other, or something.” 

Dream hugs tighter, although the words that come next aren’t as comforting. “Well, he was being an asshole! What do–” he tries to defend, but George cuts him off. 

“Shut up! I know, but you can’t try to fight him. Don’t even think about it.” It sounds as simple as a fair warning, but George knows it’s a borderline plea.  

“Okay,” Dream levels. “But if he were to say anything to my face like that again, I’d sock him in an instant.” 

Briefly, George closes his eyes, opens them to a stunning set of features looking back at him, a promise shining through his white teeth. “Dream. You are not helping,” George deadpans, yet the light-heartedness to his voice still comes through. His smile pushes past the heaviness to find the lilt again. 

He aches to run his hand across Dream’s jaw, fiddle with the plush of lips between the tips of his fingers. He’s too irresistible for George’s own good. 

“Okay, okay,” Dream finally relents, amused with George’s expression. He plants a kiss on the crook of his neck, the brunet’s skin burning red hot from the gentleness. “Wanna get some water? I’m thirsty,” he asks, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

“Mm, sure.” 

Dream jumps up, brushing his pants off as he gives George his hand, doing the same once he’s balanced on his feet. Dream makes his way to the vending machine, illuminating his figure in a sterile glow. George joins him, glancing up and down at the rows of drinks. Water, sweet tea, lemonades, pops. The blonde slides a 5 dollar bill into the slot, asking, “What’d you want?” 

George tilts his head, trying his best to come to a decision when there’s so many choices. “Uhh…a Sprite.” 

Dream clicks the labeled buttons and a bottle of Sprite rolls out of the bottom. He gets a plain water for himself as well. Instead of sitting back down, the two decide to lean against the machine, laughing about their butt’s being sore. George downs his Sprite in almost one go, not entirely the safest nor smartest idea, but it just tastes so damn good , Dream’s eyebrows raised while he watches him. 

“Thirsty too, huh?” Dream teases. 

George swirls his bottle around, about one-third of the drink left to swish around. “Yeah,” he tries to say, but a burp he wasn’t prepared for morphs his voice inaudible. Dream seems to understand anyways, nodding his head with an entertained smile, a bubbly laugh escaping his own throat. “Can I have a drink of your water?” he asks on second thought, feeling like his stomach may not settle well with everything he’s ingesting. 

Dream rolls his eyes despite the lingering of playful dimples, handing off the bottle. “You’re lucky I like you.” 

“Oh, shut up.” George lightly elbows Dream in the side, trying to hold in his giggle with pursed lips. He takes a swig, being mindful not to drink too much because in all honesty, Dream has been paying for him this whole time, not even leaving a complaint behind. “I guess I am pretty lucky to have you though.” 

Dream turns to stand directly in front of him, looking down into candied eyes with something George can’t decipher swirling in viridescent ones. “I think I’m probably luckier,” he says, more of a whisper than anything. Something in the air shifts, George thinks, the faint colors of the setting sun weighing them down. Dream lowers his hand to skim across George’s cheek, the brunet suddenly feeling like his legs have gone numb. 

He hums, his vocal cords no longer being able to work. He fears what may come out if he tries to speak right now, but this moment feels too important for him to stay mute. “Thank you,” he breathes, happy with his choice of words. George lets whatever is hanging between the two of them drag any of his still unscathed thoughts down with it. 

“For what?” Dream asks, all pretty and light, as if George isn’t about to collapse in his arms if they stand here any longer. 

George smiles. “Everything,” he says, not attempting to explain as he hooks both hands behind Dream’s neck. His brain fills the empty space with a hundred things he’s thankful for: how carefree he’s felt since he’s met this boy, how the blond has done nothing but stick by his side along the way, how his stomach shrinks and does somersaults whenever he so much as looks in his direction. Yeah, there’s been less than desirable side effects, but George wouldn’t trade the world for anything else. 

So instead of rambling about how much Dream means to him in this picture of time, he settles for a single word. It seems to do the trick well enough, a wolfish smirk spreading cheek to cheek across the taller’s face. Dream’s lips part like he’s going to say something, but nothing ever comes out. He looks speechless, rendered incapable of producing his usual witty comeback. All George can do is stare up in awe at their state, until his breath is permanently knocked from his desperate lungs. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Half a second passes before George manages to nod his straining neck, feeling like the sky is crashing down when the question pops his bubble of lucid dreaming, the concrete crumbling beneath his feet as their lips meet for the first time. 

He couldn’t describe how it felt because honest to God he thinks he might’ve blacked out. He registers the sensation of soft skin pushing and pulling against his own, how nothing besides following Dream’s lead is rattling inside his head. His hands grasp tighter where they meet at the blond’s shoulders, trying his best to keep himself balanced on tip-toes, and in the midst he almost doesn’t realize Dream’s hands have traveled down to hold his waist. Maybe it’s the gesture that makes him so out of breath, or the way they both refuse to pause their kissing, but George needs to inhale fresh air now or he may actually fall unconscious. 

When they part it’s as if the flawless face George looks up at radiates a new kind of warmth–even if the growing darkness dulls his surroundings significantly. He can’t believe they’ve never kissed before, that he’s been deprived of this feeling. It’s not George’s first kiss, but it might as well be because whatever is running through his veins right now is surely what makes the Earth spin. He’s never felt so vulnerable, raw emotion making him giddy for more. 

George glances down just to make sure his legs haven’t completely given out, looking back up with his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. He hugs him, and Dream hugs him tighter. He just wants to be held, and kissed, and held. He wants this to last forever, him and Dream. 

Dream runs a hand through thick hair and George buries his head further into his chest, the blond breaking them apart to leave a quick kiss on pink lips. “God, George,” he mumbles, softness dripping from his tone. 

When they make eye contact again, George feels like Dream’s eyes are sharp enough to pierce through his heart and protective enough to stitch it back together. His voice is undoubtedly shaky, unreliable in every sense, but he takes the risk. “It would be too embarrassing to tell you all the ways you affect me, Dream.” 

 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

 

It’s been an awful day, to say the least. For starters, George had struggled to even get out of bed in the morning, the thought of sinking into his mattress all day sounding like a very real, alluring possibility. When he breathed in, his nose was coated with a thick, muggy air. Despite having his room being air-conditioned, the covers kicked off and laid strewn across the floor– out of sight, out of mind, he told himself–the summer heat still managed to seep through the heavy walls. He dreaded the thought of throwing his body up and having to drag on clothes, rubbing his legs against his slightly cool sheets. 

But he did it; not without a groan, of course, but he did it. And with just his luck, his day had not spared him any better of a time. 

As soon as he got himself ready, there were expectedly several texts from Sapnap begging to hang out. George couldn’t fathom why in the hell he wanted to go skating now, mid-day in the peak of summer’s ruthless humid weather, but he couldn’t reject the offer. George had been missing him lately, craving the younger’s lightweight jokes and easy conversation. 

With a thin smile, he texts back, yeah ok, i’ll pick you up. 

During George’s drive to Sapnap’s house, he has just enough time to pick up his energy. Sapnap is going to be jumping in the passenger seat, wide-set lips and an abused skateboard between his legs. He’s going to egg Sapnap on to do one of those tricks he’s been pussying out on, and take videos of him in secret just so they can laugh about it later. Maybe, if something could go in George’s favor, he’d accidentally catch Sapnap falling face-first into the concrete and present the video to him on the car ride back. They’d laugh until their ribs felt like they were bruising and George would yell at Sapnap to stop! you’re making me laugh more, I need to drive, but it would only backfire. 

He’s in desperate need of a refresh. Ever since his and Dream’s first kiss, their relationship has grown significantly. There’s more kisses, cheeks and noses and arms; there’s more holding, going to sleep tucked into each other, whispering their thoughts while they cuddle in the dark rather than sitting hip to hip, hesitant to invade the other’s space too harshly. There’s more honesty, less tolerance for barriers between them as they spend damn near every second together. Dream and George are boyfriends, and the brunet can’t help but hate to love it. 

George has never been this happy, fulfilled, in his life. His academic success used to be enough praise for him, but after he met Dream and was showered with the captivating boy’s compliments and insistent attitude, he’s gotten too used to the flattery. The flowers left on his doorstep after he’s had a particularly hard day, or the surprise take out to dinner that’s all Dream’s treat. It’s amazing, so fucking amazing and he has to keep the way his heart feels like it’s paragliding through dangerous, but beautiful mountains to himself. 

He wants to scream it from the top of his lungs: Dream is my boyfriend, Dream is my boyfriend. He wants to scream it in Sapnap’s sorry face: Dream is my boyfriend, Dream is my boyfriend. And he’d add the part where Dream treats him like he’s the most precious thing on this earth, really dig it in the other’s face so he completely understands how world-stopping the blonde truly is, and how wrong Sapnap was.

Really, George shouldn’t have to worry about standing his ground against his best friend, about his own boyfriend: someone who makes him feel loved and appreciated. There shouldn’t be room for an argument, nor should George have to fight to close doors hiding words of judgment about his decisions. Masquerading around their relationship wasn’t half as bad when George could see truth in Sapnap’s warnings, but as he peeled back the layers of someone he thought was untouchable, the constant fear of being caught with his hands tied behind his back and heart on his sleeve has torn him apart. Slowly but surely. 

So maybe when Dream’s name is uttered beneath Sapnap’s breath, it’s a sign of reprieve. Not the soul-crushing scenario George has laid awake at night imagining with a tremble in his still limbs. 

Sapnap had been trying to get his Tre flip down but the trick was getting the best of him. He had been going at it for at least an hour at this point, pants and hands looking scuffed to hell. George couldn’t count the number of times Sapnap had fallen on his ass with a distasteful look on his face on all ten fingers and toes. George sat on one of the free benches while he watched his friend get increasingly more frustrated, finding it amusing. 

At times, he was joined by Punz, or another one of Sapnap’s skating buddies while he sat and watched Sapnap fail repeatedly. George didn’t mind hanging out with Punz during his small breaks from the bowl, the two getting along quite well after so long of the brunet’s frequent trips babysitting Sapnap. And if a couple boys offered to teach him a few tricks every now and then, seeing the absence of a board in his hands, or asked for his number, that was neither here nor there. 

When George got too bored of sitting around, he would abandon his benched spot and crowd around Sapnap. Tease him, push him to land this next try, or simply talk–anything he felt like prodding Sapnap about. Even if he had no real reason to be loitering in the skatepark, no intention of actually skating, he was a supportive friend, enjoying their time together. 

The heat was unforgiving, but the park was as busy as a cool fall day. George had scoffed to himself, although feeling more and more uncomfortable as sweat began to bead along his temples, observing: skaters will do nothing but put their fucking board down. In all honesty, he admired the persistence, patience. 

But their usual light-hearted banter was thrown out of the window when Sapnap began to stalk towards where George and Punz had been laying across a bench, backs against concrete and legs pulled together. Punz had been explaining the trick Sapnap was trying to land to George, cut slightly short when the blond caught a glimpse of the younger’s irritated expression, laughing at the sight. 

“You good, bro?” Punz slapped a hand across Sapnap’s back once he made it close enough. 

Sapnap threw his board down in George’s direction, and even though it got nowhere close to George’s body realistically, ricocheting off the concrete floor as his legs rested on top of the hot bench, he was still taken aback by the aggressiveness. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Sapnap hissed, wedging himself between the two already sat on the bench. 

George rolled his eyes, knowing the act was a pitiful attempt of being stubborn. Usually, the brunet leaves Sapnap alone when he can see him obviously struggling. He is no stranger to the burst of emotions skating can bring out in him, and letting him work it out by himself seemed to be the best method to repair their energy. But something in the air seemed to shift, not that all welcomed ticklish sensation butterflies give you, but a gut-twisting sense of unbalance. 

George scooted farther away from him, not feeling in the mood to test Sapnap’s patience or say something to purposely aggravate him more. After all, George was hoping this would give him a well-needed breath of fresh air, not leave him in a pissy mood. 

Punz leaned over to grab Sapnap’s board off the ground that was slowly rolling towards him, running a finger down the fraying grip tape. “Always next time, don’t get too down on yourself,” he encouraged, only genuine motivation his intention but Sapnap was having none of it. 

“Yeah, whatever,” is his sharp response. Sapnap turns his head, and maybe in another world he would be looking at George with calmed features, eyes in surrender and arms shrugged with his temporary failure. But instead, his eyes cut when they meet George’s, soft hazel digging into a deep sea of chocolate. Sapnap’s lips are downturned, as if he’s witnessing the most appalling thing he’s ever seen. His body is tight, short nails biting into his sagging pants, flicking harshly at the skin around his fingertips. 

Instinctually, George backs away even further. “What the fuck is your problem?” he asks, defensive. He tries to match Sapnap’s bratty tone of voice, not willing to let the younger boy glare at him like he wants to sock him in the face. 

Sapnap does shrug at that, but it’s not a relaxed motion. He’s trying to act snarky, his frustration fueling the cock to his head and the roughness of his shoulders. Punz is looking at the two with confusion written all over his hesitant face. Sapnap’s elbows land on his knees, head turned so he can pretend to hold power over George. “I think I should be asking you the same question.” 

Confused. Now he and Punz can share the same tense feeling, although Sapnap’s aggression is aimed right at George and Punz gets to sit back and watch. George thinks the blond almost looks sorry when he dares to break eye contact with Sapnap. “What the hell are you even on about, Sapnap? Can you act miserable somewhere else, please?” Maybe acting impassive will urge Sapnap to finally leave the two alone, specifically George , who would rather split his skull open than start an argument right now. 

The sun is blaring, coming down on all three of their backs relentlessly and George thinks he’s the only one here feeling the effects. Punz appears more disoriented by the sudden mood change than feeling sluggish from the heat, and Sapnap, well he looks sweaty, but more so like he’s ready to fight and cool the glistening from his forehead with every regretful punch. George pinches his eye sockets together with two fingertips, a headache growing and he can’t tell if it’s the sticky layer of humid air forming on his pale skin or the obnoxious way Sapnap refuses to let up on offense. 

“Y’know, I can’t help but feel like you’ve been avoiding me these past few weeks,” Sapnap says casually, as if it’s a seemingly innocent observation and he’s not putting his best friend on blast. Immediately, George’s mind flashes to his air-conditioned room, rather wanting to lay down as the AC blasts his shivering figure while another body engulfs him in homely warmth, fitting together so perfectly. He shakes the vision, but he thinks the other boy staring him down doesn’t miss the split-second daydream. 

If George has anything to applaud Sapnap for, it’s that he knows him. Knows when he’s lying (most times), knows when he’s telling the truth (most times), knows when he’s feeling uncomfortable in any scenario and when he’s truly having a good time (most times). They've been there for each other when they needed it most, and even when they couldn’t tolerate each other anymore. But they always stayed in the end. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” George avoids prying eyes, knowing damn well Sapnap won’t give him this out. Distantly, George can see what’s about to go down but he feels indifferent. This is the inevitable when you sneak behind backs, karma when you choose to be disloyal to your ride or die. 

“You’re such a bullshiter, George,” Sapnap responds, almost before George is able to get his own words out. “And you know it.” 

For whatever reason, George clings onto some unknowing hope that Sapnap doesn’t actually have anything factual to hold against him. That this is just a silly, useless argument that they’ll laugh about when one of them brings it up during a CS:GO match. But Sapnap’s tone of voice tells him this is wishful thinking. He disregards him. George shrugs his shoulders, lolls his neck, hangs his head. He doesn’t even try to speak, feeling as if he opened his mouth he would only prove Sapnap’s point. His tongue feels heavy, dry with dread. 

“Been fucking anyone new?” Sapnap prods, the cocky satisfaction flashing in a smirk. 

At that, Punz finally feels the need to step in. “Dude, chill,” he tries, shoving Sapnap in the shoulder. He has no idea of what they’re bickering about and he doesn’t think he wants to be involved, but the way Sapnap was acting was unacceptable. 

“Leave me the fuck alone, Sapnap. I’m serious,” George warns. His eyes feel weighted with the blinding sun, fingers twitching to escape this incoming disaster. Part of him feels offended that he’d talk about Dream like that, but the other half doesn’t have nearly enough energy to call him out on it. 

Sapnap hums, dismissing George’s words. “So, George…” he trails off, and the brunet has never felt this suffocated in his life, anticipating what could come out of his best friend’s mouth next. He thinks about getting up and leaving before he has the chance, how unfair it is that Sapnap is taking his anger out on him. “Dream?” 

The unmistakable name is spoken, splits the silence into two. It’s said without anger, no infliction or malice in his tone; Sapnap knows the single syllable does enough justice on its own. Maybe he’s asking a genuine question, but George can’t handle keeping it in anymore. He lets his emotions go, for better or for worse. “What about him?” he shouts, and he almost regrets the outburst but then he remembers all the lonely nights, bricks of guilt burying his body. 

“You tell me, George. What about him? Were you ever gonna tell me?” Sapnap has the audacity to ask. 

Punz struggles to refrain from reaching out to George, beginning to understand the ugly end this situation will leave them. He was there when Sapnap went to him to vent about it all. I can’t believe he’s really sneaking behind my back like this, the younger one said. The only thing Punz could do was send a sympathetic smile his way, a nod here and there–-just enough to make Sapnap feel a little better. He wasn’t one for drama, or talking about people he barely knew, and he couldn’t help but cringe at some of the things Sapnap would spit about his best friend. They were words hidden behind a blanket of darkness, and they stayed between the two of them on an unspoken oath. But Punz knew it was all out of impulsive anger, at least that’s what he told himself. 

George scoffs, charged with the most venom he can manage. “Because of that exact reaction.” It’s hard to wrap his head around how Sapnap insists on being the most difficult person he’s ever met. Now, they’ve started to catch attention around the skatepark, much to George’s dismay. It only makes the frustration seeping from his hairline itch at his skin, making him more on edge every second he’s stuck here. 

“You promised, George,” Sapnap states, cold and stern, as if he’s in the right. They’re two mindless insinuators placing all the blame on each other. 

George stands because it feels like all the blood has rushed to his head. He’s embarrassed, and angry, and over this argument. “And I fucking lied! I fucking lied to you, alright? Is that what you wanted me to tell you? There.” He was going to walk off after he got that off his chest, after airing his personal business for everyone trying to mind their own to hear. He was going to, but now he has the buzz to fight back. 

Sapnap matches George’s stance, because he would never let anyone have any sort of upper ground on him. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Sapnap yells, eyebrows knit into a permanent frown. You’re nothing but a fake bitch .” George has to stop himself from giggling at the childish insults, because that’s what it is–childish. 

When George glances towards the empty bench, he’s met without the sight of a cowering Punz. Something tells him the other boy hurried away from their scene quietly, not wanting to be tied into their mess. Good for him . “I’m the asshole? You haven’t even met him! Because screaming in his face while you were tipsy does not fucking count!” George doesn’t think twice about the damaging words breaking free from his lips. “And I’m sorry I never told you but I knew you’d lash out like this, so sue me ! I don’t even know why you care so fucking much about who I like.” 

“You lied straight to my face ,” Sapnap scorns. “First the ride at school, then turning me down every day. It’s summer! Remember when we planned out all the fun things we were gonna do? But no. Suddenly you… weren’t feeling up to it ,” he quotes with dramatic hand gestures that makes George’s eye roll that much more malicious. “You seemed to be perfectly happy hanging out with your new boyfriend, though.” 

George’s guesses he’s the only one who has enough decency to be aware of their surroundings during their little pity party fight. More onlookers than he’s comfortable with, or that he can count with his head swimming with disorder, have dropped whatever they had been doing to entertain themselves with George and Sapnap’s public disturbance. He tries to move towards the exit slow enough that it doesn’t look like he’s backing out, and to his delight Punz is by his side again, helping escort the two far away from the curious eyes. 

George feels vulnerable, halfway to pulling his hair out in humiliation but Sapnap doesn’t let up. 

“Answer me you fucking snake!” Punz lands a hefty shove to his back, his way of telling Sapnap to shut the fuck up before you say something you’ll regret. Sapnap ignores him, apart from the squinted eyes directed into the side of his head. 

George sighs, running a strung-out hand down his face. There’s only a flimsy chain link fence that separates the skatepark and the street, where George’s car is parked on the side of, and they’re quickly approaching it. “I think you’re fucking jealous, Sapnap.” 

“You are delusional, I swear to God,” Sapnap laughs. “My best friend thinks I’m jealous because he’s screwing some manipulative bastard. Right.” 

George has to restrain himself from slapping Sapnap across the face. “He’s not manipulative! You’ll never get the fact that someone can be completely different from what they seem through you’re thick fucking skull.” 

Punz leaves the two to argue with each other to their heart’s content once they’ve reached the beat-up sidewalk. George backs up against the trunk of his car, arms crossed and a nasty look. He craves Dream’s contagious laughter, calming touches more than anything, and a wave of disgust crashes through him when he allows the possibility of letting Dream land a punch on Sapnap to cross his thoughts. It would be in defense of Dream’s character because all of the horrible things that Sapnap is shouting right now are so untrue , and Lord knows George doesn’t have it in him to do it himself. But that mindset is disgusting nonetheless. 

Violence was never the answer, and it’s not going to suddenly be the resolution to their problems now. 

“How did you even know?” George asks despite his better judgment. Admittedly, he should be wiser than to question somebody about how they discovered his betrayal, but in all honesty, he was dying to know. He had thought he’d been pretty careful hiding his relationship, if his constant anxiety was anything to go by at least. 

Sapnap sneers, and George can’t tell if the way he’s slowly moving towards him is purposeful or not. “Are you serious right now?” George nods, tight jawed and eyes sharp yet a small hint of desperation for Sapnap to answer him truthfully. “Word gets around, George. Especially when it’s about your little fuckboy.”

“Fuck. You.”

Sapnap has a sinister smile when those words meet his ears, seemingly pleased with the reaction. “Karma’s a real bitch, huh?” And George is too drained from the damage they’ve already caused to pick apart exactly what he means by that, but it’s salt rubbed into George’s wounds if nothing more significant. 

It also marks the moment George has decided he’s endured enough, breaking away quickly from their stand off to get into his car with fiery steps. 

“Yeah, fucking leave,” Sapnap shouts as he throws open the driver side door. George doesn’t respond, doesn’t look back, let's Sapnap continue with his angry spell. “And don’t come back to me crying when he ends up hurting you!” George feels his eyes well up, the prickling sensation mocking his own self-worth. He doesn’t let himself slip though, keeping it together by a thread before he slams the door shut, drowning his–ex?–best friend out for good. 

And that’s how George drove back to his house, shaky hands white knuckling the steering wheel because he couldn’t quite see with his vision a mirage of watery blur. He’d take a hand off to wipe a stray tear or two along the way, but he still arrived home an absolute wreck. He didn’t stop to chat with his mom like he usually did, nor grabbed a snack to store in his room for later, walking straight past everybody with no intention of explaining. His mind was glued to that earlier notion of sticking the rest of the day out in bed, wrapped up tight where nothing else was capable of touching him. 

Every possible emotion seemed to course through his body at their own will while he laid between his covers. As soon as he hit the mattress the tears flowed, and he let them drip past his chin, let them create wet, uncomfortable spots on his blankets. When George thought he was done, he’d think about the countless sleepovers spent right here with his favorite person, or the feel of Dream’s arms soothing him to sleep on top of the same sheets. He’d really fucked it up this time, huh? 

George let himself cry until he felt like nothing else would come out. When he tried to whisper into the thin air his voice was barely audible, a small squeak the only proof of his vocal cords existing. He almost felt himself break down again at the sound of it, but his chest physically hurt from the constant jerking of tears trying to form. His blackout curtains kept the room isolating and cold, something he’d be grateful for on a regular day, but it makes him all the more lonely as he tries his hardest to pull it together. 

Dream: he thought about the boy a lot during his meltdown, yeah. Maybe–most definitely–too much. But he never considered calling him as he crashed and burned. The thought of even attempting to talk to him right now is almost sinful to his bruising ribs. He loves him, but hearing his voice would probably be the equivalent to a hundred knives sent slicing right through his skin; he’d only make this more painful for him. 

Yet George’s phone still rings in the dead of his wallowing silence. Hesitantly, he reaches to pick it up, the screen turned downwards so the caller ID is unknown to him. He hopes and prays it’s not one of his parents trying to get an explanation for why he had stormed into the house and locked himself in his room for however many hours. God forbid it’s Sapnap. Could it be Punz curious as to how he’s holding up? Maybe he’s pushing his luck with that one.

Motivated by the waiting vibration in his phone, he flips it over with a quick hand. Dream , the contact reads. His stomach drops, feels like it’s plummeting towards Earth’s surface promising a fast death. But that same heart-wrenching feeling from when he had first been so elated to read the same name on his screen still peeks through his confliction when he contemplates each letter. Simply addicting. 

He answers. 

“Hey, George,” Dream’s voice seeps through his speaker like melted sugar. “Haven’t talked to you all day.” 

The greeting is effortless in the worst fucking way, unadorned with a pretty nickname Dream always replaces George’s name with. Sweetheart, gorgeous, pretty boy, beautiful, and the list goes on. It’s nothing, it’s absolutely nothing, but George stays stuck on the fleeting absence of affection and suddenly he feels himself wrapping a hand around his face to stop the tears once again. He’s pathetic. 

“George?” Dream calls, confused with his lack of response. And George would love to give him a reply, but he’s slightly terrified of what may come out of his strangled tongue if he does. 

A sniffle George isn’t able to keep down is static down the line, just barely picking up enough to make it audible, Dream hearing it from his side nonetheless. “Baby? You okay?” George can visualize the blonde’s worried expression so perfectly, having seen it too many memorable times, and he cracks. He cries. 

George thought his lack of communication when Dream was waiting on an initial response was cruel, but his boyfriend’s feverish attempts at pulling a mere word out of him were useless when everything George rasped out were drowned by sobs. George felt infinitely worse not able to relieve some of Dream’s concern, amplifying it by a hundred when he took a break from trying to speak and rub harshly at eyes. Anything to get it to just stop . 

In the midst of his wreckage, he presses the end call button. The humiliation burns his skin raw, and he sinks into his blankets, pressing his damp cheeks against the lukewarm temperature of his pillow case. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but it feels like an eternity staring into his wall. Dream doesn’t even bother calling back, but George convinces himself it’s for the better. 

George hears a knock on his door and he’s so far away in his own mind he almost doesn’t say anything, assuming it’s his mother asking if he’s going to eat dinner or another trivial task he doesn’t have the energy to care about. “What?” he croaks out, the end cutting off slightly short but it’s something . 

Expecting an authoritative but good-natured voice to stand beside his bed once he hears the door open, he turns his face further into the mattress, burying himself closer to the wall. But his mother’s voice never comes. 

“Sweetheart?” Dream whispers, the precious name traveling closer and closer. George’s body goes stiff, eyes widening in fear? relief? A mixture of both emotions colliding to give George a returning headache, pulse racing. 

Slowly he turns around, squinting up at the figure hovered above him. “Dream?” he asks, surprise spurring the tumble of words from his red lips. “Why–what are you doing here?” 

Dream’s face looks twisted in guilt, a heavy sight for George’s tired eyes. “You–you were crying, and I just rushed over here, I don’t know. Are you okay?” Dream’s gaze addresses the brunet’s bits of pale skin tangled in a plush comforter, lithe hands shielding his flushed cheeks, a quivering lip. He hesitates to put his hands on him, waiting for some sort of permission. He’s never seen George quite this…distraught before. 

George stumbles. He’s been taken completely off guard, fingers trembling because it’s all too warm, cold, tense. He mouths at the air. “I–I don’t…I’m fine. I’m fine,” George lies in false hope that Dream would stop looking down at him like that . 

“Oh shut up,” Dream deadpans. “I didn’t speed all the way down here for you to lie to my face, George.” He seems to do that a lot , George grimaces – lying to people’s face, that is. He sits up, curling in on himself as hands come up to pull at knotted ends of hair. Dream treads carefully, and George hates it. 

George’s chest jerks, and tears seem to work for the devil because it’s akin to crawling through hot coals as he tries to snuff the flame; before he can embarrass himself another miserable time. 

Dream reaches for him in that moment, finally. He catches on to George’s building distress, taking place beside his shaking body. George doesn’t think he’d be able to produce any more tears, but he leans into Dream’s silent arms anyways. He is beyond grateful for the rock to lean on Dream is always intent on being at all the right times, when George feels that God awful peak approaching him with a fatal proposition. 

“It’s okay. It’s alright,” Dream repeats against the shell of George’s ear. Strong arms wrap around a smaller frame, maneuvering him slowly so that he lays atop of Dream’s chest. One grounding arm is still snaked across his back, healing fingers running through knots of thick umber. He strains to peek at George’s face, his nose and lips and eyes scrunched tight. There’s nothing he’s wanted more than to pepper him in kisses, take away his pain with each ounce of love. “It’s alright.” 

It’s quiet, George is quiet, apart from a few sniffles wiped against Dream’s shirt. Hopefully he doesn’t care too much. Dream lets him catch his breath, chasing a break from his aching limbs and pounding head. He appreciates it, how Dream knows exactly what to say, how to hold him vice-like yet perfectly gentle, soft affirmations whispered into the dark room. George listens to the thump of Dream’s heartbeat, mimicking the calm tempo. 

After a while, Dream speaks up again. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks while he strokes George’s crimson-shaded cheek. George cranes his neck to make eye contact and it almost takes Dream’s breath away when he takes in the sight. Exhaustion weighs down all of his sharp features, eyes swollen and cheeks puffed, but he still maintains that stunning complexion somehow. Dream couldn’t figure out how he did it if he had devoted his whole life to solving the brunet’s easy beauty. 

George shakes his head. It’s a definitive movement, chin digging into Dream’s chest. He’s frantic, “No. No, no, God, please no.” 

“Okay, okay,” Dream reassures just as quickly. He holds the sides of George’s head, taking bitten lips into his own. “That’s fine. You just wanna cuddle here?” George approves of the suggestion with a single nod, a frown defacing his drowsy gaze. 

George gives way to a heavy exhale, wisping air mixing with Dream’s and they smile together. Shamelessly, Dream studies every imperfection carefully placed upon George’s unknowing face. His eyes always seem to sparkle, even when the room is depressing and the whites are bloodshot, his freckles are so light, just barely there so Dream has to strain to make them out every time but he loves them just like that. His eyelashes are long and the blond almost envies them, craving the ticklish feel of featherlight touch when they brush against his skin. 

He’s uncaringly beautiful. It’s pretty hard to wake up and possess such milk-white beauty naturally, but George is a master at his craft. And even after hours of pulling his skin taut with stress and salty tears, he looks peaceful in the darkness surrounding them. Dream isn’t sure how he’d never laid his eyes on this boy until only months ago. Biggest mistake ever. 

Dream scratches short nails along George’s scalp, willing the dull pressure inside of George’s head to fade. The motion coaxes a small whimper from his throat, and Dream responds with a tighter squeeze around his body. George squeezes back with a weak grip on Dream’s shirt, folding and unfolding the material between his palm. “You can fall asleep if you need to, pretty. I got you,” Dream rumbles, planting a kiss on the crown of brown hair. 

George feels shitty, better with Dream nursing him into a relaxed state, but shitty. His head feels clogged with guilt, overpowering his vision with flashbacks of good times, transitioning into the worse moments that followed. I never should’ve agreed to let Sapnap take me to that party, he tells himself. He curses his past decisions: letting himself be dragged to a scene he swore never to attend, then the falling, and the lying, and the sneaking. He feels dirty, all over, but at the same time he wonders how he could ever feel anything less than happy when Dream is stuck to his side. He pulls himself from a sullen conscious back to the drag of Dream’s hand caressing his arms, waist, thighs. And then, he thinks, maybe he isn’t such a bad guy after all.

Still, he apologizes. “I’m sorry,” George says underneath his breath, rolling his body off of Dream’s, hitting the blankets so that he’s eye level with Dream, cheek squishing against the shared pillows. 

Dream adjusts to his movement, turning so his whole body faces George’s. His eyebrows crinkle with a distasteful look and if George was none the wiser, he’d think it was disgust. “What are you sorry for?” 

George simply shrugs, indifference in his tone. “Everything…I guess.” He just feels sorry. 

Dream shakes his head. He intertwines their fingers, bringing George’s hand to his lips as he presses against the warm skin. George scoffs, because it’s so fucking cheesy, but his heart still jumps out of his chest at the touch. Maybe he just wants to cry. “No,” Dream says sternly. “I don’t know what happened, okay, but honestly I don’t care right now. Because nothing could change the fact that it is not your fault, I know that.” Dream grips his hand tighter with every word, his eyes springing back and forth between George’s. Their lips are only inches apart, so close that George contemplates pulling Dream in for a kiss. “And I swear to God, George, if this is because of something Sapnap did I promise I’ll–”

George admits that he was extremely curious as to what Dream was going to say next, but the swell of lips were so much more enticing. And what was a better way to shut him up than being selfish? George will never get tired of it, of Dream. Of his lips and possessive touch and an alluring smile. 

When they part for a breath of air, Dream looks just as dangerous as he did when they first met. He’s all teeth, promising for bite, dimples framing his golden character, promising endless amounts of love. Fluffs of blond waves appear so much fuller and bright when not shrouded in listless smoke clouds, or pent-up emotions waiting for the most inopportune time to boil over. He embodies everything George had been so worried about, afraid of in the beginning. But now, he embraces the twists and turns, letting some of the falls bruise his knees and he’s learning to enjoy it all–even if it hurts him. 

When his neck cranes to meet Dream’s eyes, he feels no regret, or guilt, or hurt. He sees a million viridian lights that seem to hold him still with content, the shine blinding his irises to tell him I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you, and George is happy. 

“I’m so serious, George,” Dream whispers between George’s lips. The brunet smiles, genuine adoration that shows itself in the wide stretch of his cheeks. 

“I know,” he says back, mimicking Dream’s soft timbre. He holds the side of Dream’s face with nimble fingers, pushing back the urge to throw his entire body on top of him. The want to be as close as possible is overwhelming to his crowded brain. 

George’s thoughts threaten to shake with the lingering fear of Sapnap’s abandonment from their friendship. He can’t remember a time when he wasn’t able to lean on his shoulder during tough times, or an especially difficult assignment tying him down. They’ve always bounced back after petty arguments, but it would be unlawful to say this was some “petty” fight. Hope; hope, hope, and more hope is all George can conjure to soothe his stagnant worry. 

He thinks Dream can see the wishes afloat in George’s eyes, between the creases of his smile, a fondness painted unabashed across his subdued expression. Maybe he can sense the tension still hidden beneath a layer George has never wanted pulled back before. “I love you,” Dream murmurs, the first time they’ve ever used that word, love. 

Love . George can’t help but get giddy at the hushed word, so full of future and adoration and love. “I love you too,” he responds as soon as the phrase leaves Dream’s slow lips. He couldn’t have restrained himself if he had tried, he didn’t want to try. And George squeezes him, moving so his body lays on top of Dream’s entirely because he just can’t help himself at this point. Arms wrap around a giving waist, fingertips come to massage the nape of a tanned neck, and George knows he could never get enough of this, them . 

George rests his chin so his gaze falls comfortably on Dream’s face, taking in their twinning silence, peace. “You’re an asshole,” he blurts. For making me feel like this, leaving me here like this, he doesn’t add. 

Dream giggles and George follows until their laughter fuses, full and candid. “I know,” he answers overtly, as if he’s happy to admit he is the biggest asshole in the world if it means he gets to be here, George in between his unmoving hold. Dream plants a kiss directly on George’s forehead, firm; a small gift of appreciation for putting up with him this whole time. George shudders out a long breath, letting the exhaustion festering within him finally catch up with the pull of his limbs. 

Dream’s a real asshole, the biggest rollercoaster that has entered George’s life, but when he’s completely relaxed against the same boy’s chest, promised safety and plenty of care, George thinks he’s enjoyed the ride. And Sapnap: asshole number two, stumbling and sticking himself to George’s side since day one. Another bleak tear wants to bubble up at the recollection of all the words they exchanged, but he pushes it down, favoring to imagine what should’ve happened today, more memorable moments made between the inseparable two. And last but not least, George, the asshole involuntarily puppeteering the shit show playing out in front of him. It’s undeniable, his role in his own downfall. His selfishness has led him to this place of conflict, something he’s not very well-versed in solving. 

It’s a cruel fucking summer, but George is dealing with it one apology at a time, guided by the devil sat on his stubborn shoulder. 

Notes:

the ending is cheesy ik