Chapter Text
“Good morning, George… Geooorge!”
George did not bother to look up from the desk that his torso was resting on, not even when the door of the shared office fell shut.
Quiet steps echoed through the room, dampened by the carpet. Then a laugh rose behind him. “Are you sleeping?”
“Yes,” George grunted, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as possible. Only when a cup was placed on his desk right next to his head, he forced himself to sit up, accompanied by a pained groan.
“Here, I brought you some coffee.”
“Thanks, Sap.” With a deep sigh, George closed his hands around the fuming cup and took a deep breath. His life-saving drink smelled as delicious as every morning.
“Do you know what day it is?” With far too much energy, his co-worker Sapnap let himself fall into his office chair, making it turn around its axis. Merely watching him made George dizzy.
“Monday,” he grumbled and squeezed his eyes shut again when a ray of sunlight peeked through the blinds that were still half shut. The office was illuminated in the soft morning light.
Not even bothered by his grumpy mood, Sapnap gave him a shit-eating grin. “Guess who’s coming back from the US tomorrow.”
Unwillingly, George tilted his head to catch a glimpse of the calendar on the wall. Two weeks ago, their third co-worker had scribbled Dream returns into the square for Tuesday — and George had promptly added a sad smiley with bright red marker underneath. Now the smiley seemed to mock him.
Farewell, peaceful calmness in the office!
“Here, catch!”
Before he could even blink, George saw the daily newspaper fly towards him. Only narrowly, he was able to grab it, almost knocking over his cup of coffee in the process.
“Look at the front page,” Sapnap told him. His grin had disappeared, leaving behind a deep frown that George was not used to seeing from the young man.
“An airport strike so Dream is stuck in America?” George guessed hopefully, unfolding the paper. Maybe he would have a few more days of peace…
The giant title, however, was a slap in the face.
London’s Killer Strikes Again — Will YOU be their next victim?
Skimming the article, George grabbed his cup absent-mindedly and sipped on his coffee. Eventually, he lowered the newspaper. “What do they mean, our beautiful city has never felt so unsafe? Gosh, I hate the press. I thought Monday morning would be a little more chill.”
Sapnap grimaced. “You can forget an easy start to the week. It’s only a matter of time before the police turn to us. In fact…” He frowned. “I’m surprised they didn’t — “
With a loud bang, the door to the office flew open. In the doorframe, a tall man appeared. He was panting as if he had run all the way to the detective agency instead of taking the Tube. Brown curls fell down to his forehead messily and bobbed with every move.
Pressing his lips together, he raised another copy of the newspaper in the air.
“... address us yet,” Sapnap ended dryly. Then he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Alright, here we go.”
“Did you read it?” the man asked, his voice tense.
“Good morning, Wilbur.” Sapnap leant back in his chair. “How was your weekend? I’m doing fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”
Wilbur had nothing left for him except for an annoyed glance before he turned to George, who was still holding the other newspaper. “It’s the third murder this month and like usual, the police are in the dark. They transferred the case to us.”
“Gosh, it’s the same every time.” With a sigh, Sapnap spun around on his chair. “They think they can solve a case without our help, and when the shit is already up to their neck, they come crawling here and expect us to shake a solution out of the sleeve. We’re missing the information of a whole month!”
Wibur’s narrowed eyes showed George that he probably agreed with Sapnap’s every word, but he did not comment on it. Instead, he grabbed onto the backrest of Sapnap’s chair to stop him from spinning. “Dad and I are working on putting the necessary files together for you three. He expects you to work through them until tomorrow.”
While Sapnap let out a pained groan and George let the newspaper sink with a frown and turned to Wilbur. “What about my current case? The one with the missing train compartment?”
If he was honest, he had had lots of more exciting cases than stuff disappearing in the London Underground, but at the same time, it was also kind of amusing how the people began to talk about a ghost roaming the Tube.
“That can wait, I’m gonna give the findings you have to Techno,” Wilbur replied. “We need all the manpower we have on that murder case now.”
“Oh, Techno will be thrilled,” Sapnap mumbled and received a punishing glance from Wilbur.
“So it’s gonna be the two of us working together?” George summarised and pointed to Sapnap. “We haven’t had a duo case in forever.”
“Yeah, you two can work on the files after you pay Sam a visit.” Wilbur pursed his lips. “Dream is gonna join you tomorrow too… Oh, it’s so late already, where did the time go?” With an exaggerated look at his watch, Wilbur gave them a quick wave. “I need to go see Dad immediately. Later!”
George did not even get the chance to say a word before his boss’ son stormed out of the door. When Sapnap desperately tried to suppress his laughter, George gave him a death glare which made Sapnap crack up immediately.
“Did you see his face?” Sapnap cackled. “He wanted to get outta here at once; he didn’t want to put up with your shit for a second, George!”
George took a deep breath and got to his feet. “I will not be working with Dream,” he made clear. “Philza would never pair us up; it has to be a misunderstanding. Wilbur probably understood something wrong.”
“Yeah, sure,” Sapnap smirked which made George sigh.
“I’m gonna talk to him later,” George decided and waved impatiently. “Let’s visit Sam first.”
It was almost comedic how fast Sapnap’s grin faded. “Do we have to?” he whined. “Can’t you go there alone?”
“Scared of a dead body?” George lifted his eyebrows.
“Me? Never.” Immediately, Sapnap jumped to his feet. “Let’s go.”
~ ~ ~
The forensic department was only a five-minute walk from the detective agency SBI. If they did not have such a serious intention, George would have enjoyed the short walk through the warm autumn sun. Cars raced by, rushed by the usual morning traffic, making leaves whirl around. It seemed like London granted them a few last days of late summer before the rain and the cold would take over again.
However, the pleasant warmth merged into sterile, bright lights soon. After a few years of regular visits to the forensic department, George knew the way down the stairs by heart.
“Ugh, this stinks,” Sapnap complained when they donned their respective protection garments to prevent contamination. George could not see his mouth behind the mask, but he was sure that he grimaced. “Do you think someone died in this suit?”
George decided not to reply and instead focused on the door swinging open and making space for a familiar figure dressed in sterile protection. Sam’s eyes crinkled, indicating that he smiled behind his mask. “Hey, good to see you again.”
“Would be even better to see you under more pleasant circumstances.” George sighed but had to smile too. Sam was a coroner and an old companion of Wilbur’s older brother Techno. George had known him for many years, to be precise since his first day of working for SBI. Ironically, his job would just not be the same without having to pay Sam a visit from time to time.
“Don’t get me started on this,” Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “I have so much overtime from last week; soon you guys can snip me apart on the autopsy table.”
“Yeah, no,” Sapnap interfered with a huff. “I’ll give that to George, I’d rather sort files for Philza all day than spend a minute more than necessary here.”
Sam gave him an amused glance but did not say a word. Instead, he silently gestured for George and Sapnap to step through the doors.
“Two men, one woman. One victim stabbed, the other two strangled.” Sam’s step echoed on the clean floor when he led them through the corridor. “I got quite some information about the first two victims but didn’t examine them myself. I’m working on the third one though, and let me tell you, your killer is someone who knows what they’re doing.”
The giant room that opened up in front of them looked just as suffocating as George remembered it. Blinking several times to adjust to the bright, white light, he watched how Sam revealed part of the cover on the autopsy table.
With a nauseous feeling in his stomach, George stared into the pale face of the young man lying in front of him. His blond hair spread around his head like a halo and must have once been shimmering with colour. Now it was just as dull and lifeless as his eyes that stared back at George without seeing. Dark marks painted his neck.
“What did you find out?” Sapnap asked. His friend stood next to him but avoided getting a closer look at the corpse at all costs.
“I’ll leave it to you to dig through the files,” Sam replied and grabbed a pair of gloves from a table next to him. “This fella here is called Charles Steinfield. He was twenty-four and only lived in London for a few months. Has been a pretty wealthy businessman from the States, but telling you more about that is Wilbur’s job, I guess. Or a job for the files.”
“Businessman?” Sapnap echoed and dared to peek at the corpse. “At his age?”
“Why not?” Sam shrugged. “Better make an effort Sapnap, I don’t see you anywhere near his success when you’re twenty-four.”
“Nah, I’ll pass. We see where being a businessman takes you.” Sapnap grimaced.
George chewed on his lower lip. The sterile scent of the forensic department stung his nose. Then he raised his voice. “How did he die?”
Sam’s eyes lit up as if George could not have asked him a better question. “He was strangled, most likely from behind. I assume the murderer used some kind of rope because the patterns on his throat are consistent with rope burns.” Pointing to the marks on the man’s neck, Sam continued, “Otherwise, he didn’t have a chance to defend himself. I found some fibres of rope under his fingernails; he probably tried to pull it away from his neck. He must have died the night before yesterday between 2 and 4 am.”
“A nightly robbery?” Sapnap assumed.
“Possible.” Sam pressed his lips together. “I would have thought so, too, especially since there are no other apparent similarities between the victims.”
“So how do you know that the murderer is the same person?” Sapnap asked.
“I’m getting there.” Quickly, Sam reached for the table and turned back with three flat rectangles in his hand that were packed in a plastic bag. “These were found right next to the corpses.”
George squinted, not believing his eyes for a second. Sam was holding ordinary cards from a card deck. Tightly sealed in the bag, a five of spades peeked out from behind a ten of clubs and an eight of diamonds. The tiniest spot of dark red painted the corner of the ten of clubs.
Frowning, George darted a glance at Sapnap who looked just as clueless as he felt.
“Can we take them with us?” George wondered.
“Sure.” Sam shrugged. “Forensic already examined them and we didn’t find any traces of DNA or fingerprints. Nothing. But maybe you’re luckier.”
While George took the plastic bag and held it up against the sterile light, he heard Sapnap mutter, “I feel like we need a lot of luck.”
~ ~ ~
“No.”
“But — “
“I reckoned you’d ask me that. But my answer is no. No discussion,” Philza added when George opened his mouth again.
Underneath the firm glance, George sank back onto his chair in defeat, directing his glare away from his boss and instead fixing on the photo decorating Philza’s desk, the only personal object in the office. It must have been taken a few years ago. Philza did not necessarily look younger, but Wilbur was still wearing the round Harry Potter glasses he used to adore back in college. Next to him, a young boy with blond curls beamed into the camera, being glared at by Philza’s oldest son Techno, who was standing right next to them. His grim expression as well as his crossed arms mimicked quite well how George was feeling right now.
“Told you.” Sapnap shrugged carelessly to which George directed his glare at him.
“Please understand,” Philza sighed. “We need all the help we can get for this case. I can’t pay attention to the childish feud between you and Dream anymore. It’s finally time that you two learn to work together.”
Right after they arrived back at SBI from their visit to the forensic department, George had dragged the protesting Sapnap with him to Philza’s office, confident that things would work out in his favour. However, his stomach grumbled more and more with every word that Philza said.
“It’s not a childish feud,” George grumbled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “How is it my fault that Dream is a stupid idiot? He’s arrogant, he’s self-centered, he’s — “
“Woah, slow down there.” With a grimace, Sapnap patted George’s thigh. “That’s still my friend you’re talking about.”
“And one of my best detectives,” Philza added, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “George, I know you don’t want to hear it, but maybe it is time to put your dispute aside and start working together.”
“But — “ George began.
“That,” Philza interrupted him, his eyebrows wandering even higher. “... is an order.”
George sank back into his chair and chewed on his lower lip, but he remained silent. Even he knew when Philza’s good nature had been strained enough.
Still, it was not fair. The day that Dream had set his first step into the office of SBI, George had not only lost his status as the one top detective but also his nerves.
“George.” Philza let out a deep sigh. “I took you in when I founded SBI over four years ago. Wilbur said nothing but good things about you since you two met at university, and when we were in desperate need of staff, I trusted your judgement of character and offered your friend Nick a job too.” He took a moment to breathe in deeply. “I think very highly of you both. In the past, you proved to me many times that I can rely on your quick thinking and your teamwork. Don’t make me change my view on that.”
“Uh…” Sapnap slid back and forth on his chair in unrest. “Is this some kind of boss-employee-talk between you two? Want me to come back later?”
“No.” Philza shook his head and darted a serious glance at George. “Everything has been said. Right?”
For a moment, George stared back. There were so many things dancing on his tongue, first and foremost the claim that Sapnap and he had been doing great alone — why did Philza have to hire a third detective two years ago, and why did it have to be Sapnap’s high school friend from the US?
George knew that it was unfair towards his old childhood friend, but sometimes he could not help but hold a grudge against Sapnap and his family for moving from London to Florida when the two boys were kids. If they had stayed in Britain as George did, Sapnap would have never befriended Dream in the States and would not have recommended him to Philza as an addition to the team either when he returned to London for his job at SBI.
However, George did not say any of this. Instead, he just gave Philza a brief nod, forcing out, “Yes. Right.”
And there went his only hope.
Even several hours later, George was not able to come to peace with the fact that his next working days would probably be hell — one more reason to solve the case as fast as possible.
It was quiet in the office. From time to time, the sounds of Sapnap typing on his keyboard reached George’s ears. His document began to blur in front of his tired eyes and he had to blink several times to clear his sight. As much as he loved his job, looking through files for hours to read into a case was a gruesome task.
Printed files were spread on the tables so not even a glimpse of the wood was visible anymore. Sometimes, Sapnap rolled on his chair into his field of sight to grab one of the papers, just to curse at the tiny font.
At least, fresh air streamed in through the opened window. Beneath them, the London afternoon traffic announced itself with loud honking.
Eventually, George let out a deep sigh and rubbed his eyes. “If I find one more award that Charles Steinfield got for the effort he put into that company, I’m gonna scream.”
“Oh, you think you have it bad?” Sapnap snorted. “The first victim is a woman called Amanda Halls. Do you believe that I needed three pages alone to write down what she bought with her recent lottery jackpot?”
“Lottery jackpot?” George frowned.
“Yeah, she was a middle-aged lady who won fifteen million in the lottery half a year ago.” Sapnap made his chair spin around his axis. “Fifteen million! Do you wanna hear what she bought?” Turning back to his computer, Sapnap began, “A house in the suburbs of London, two cars, a Porsche and a Mercedes — who even needs two cars? — a cottage in the south of France, a Picasso painting for her new house, two Prada bags, one — “
“Alright, alright, I got it,” George interrupted him. “She sounds a little like the second guy that was killed last month. What was he called again? Justin?”
“Jeremy. Jeremy Cauldwell.” Sapnap stared at his screen, scrolling furiously. “He’s the ten of clubs guy, the one that was stabbed. Have you looked at his past yet?”
“Briefly,” George replied, thankful to let the third victim’s file rest for a second. “Wasn’t he the owner of Cauldwell’s Carpets?”
“Yes. Stupid name for a furniture store.” Sapnap snorted. “His story sounds like one straight outta a movie. Grew up in Brixton with six siblings and his mum in poverty, but was working his ass off. I don’t know, some rich guy must have seen his potential in crafts and invested in him, and in the end, Cauldwell finally made it and opened up his own furniture store in Greenwich. Do you still know the advertisement? It was big news and helped his whole family out of poverty; he even planned to expand.”
“Sounds like the American dream,” George mused. “So we have one lottery winner, one guy that owned a furniture store, and one businessman with barely any connection to London.”
“Maybe I’m making this too easy.” Sapnap frowned. “But could the killer’s motive just be money?”
“I’m sure the police thought of that too,” George replied. “But why did the murderer kill Cauldwell then? Even though he had his own store, he was far from being a super-rich guy. And on top, the killer didn’t even take any money from his victims. He just… murdered them.” He darted a quick glance back at the computer. “Charles Steinfield’s girlfriend didn’t report anything missing either.”
“Good thing we’ll see her tomorrow,” Sapnap grunted. “I feel like the police are never getting anywhere when they question people. Besides, I wanna take a look at Steinfield’s apartment myself.”
“I don’t think we will find anything there, the police let his girlfriend return there this morning.” George sighed. “But it’s worth a try.”
The fact that tomorrow, George and Sapnap would not be alone anymore remained unspoken.
~ ~ ~
George knew that the next day would probably end in a disaster, but he had at least hoped to get a pleasant morning. Wrong.
It all started with him snoozing for half an hour, refusing to get up. Then he noticed that his milk had expired so he could not even eat his cereal. Forcing down a dry slice of bread, he decided to at least treat himself to some apple juice, but he accidentally knocked the glass over before he could get a single sip. The liquid spilt all over the floor, drowning the kitchen in a sweet layer that would soon dry and stick like hell. Cursing, George threw a towel on the tiles but did not have the energy to clean it.
When he had already left the apartment and walked down the street to get to the closest station, he noticed that he forgot his headphones. Not going back turned out to be just another bad decision when he found himself stuck between a woman with her crying baby and a businessman on the phone on the Tube during rush hour.
Evidently, his mood was already crying on the floor when he pushed the door to SBI open. Could the day get any worse?
Well, yes, it could.
On the corridor, Wilbur approached him, giving him a wry smile. “Had a hard morning, George?”
“Huh?” George blinked in confusion. The noise from his time in the Underground was still ringing in his ears.
Quietly, Wilbur chuckled, pointing to his head. “Your hair didn’t see a comb today, did it?”
“Oh fuck,” George grumbled and ran a hand through his tousled strands. “I knew I forgot something. It’s just not my day today.”
“It isn’t Dad’s either.” Wilbur rolled his eyes. “The Times have been harassing him all morning. It seems like the police refused to speak with them, and they must have somehow gotten wind of us taking over the case, so now they are bombarding us with calls.”
“Do they want to write another shit article about how we aren’t doing our job?” George grumbled.
“Probably.” Wilbur grimaced. “Dad actually thinks of doing an interview with them; a journalist is coming over in a bit. He says it’s better than staying silent and risking them to claim that we are doing nothing.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” George rubbed his forehead. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna disappear into the office and spend some last minutes in peace.”
“Well,” Wilbur began hesitantly. “About that…”
George let out a deep, defeated sigh. “Dream’s already here, isn’t he?”
“Uh.” Wilbur pressed his lips together.
“I get it.” Another sigh escaped George’s lips. “Don’t say another word.”
George already heard laughter when he walked down the corridor, two voices that were chatting vividly. Not even bothering to knock, he barged into the office.
And there he was, in all his stupid glory. His hair had become lighter and he got a faint tan — two weeks in the Floridian sun had done wonders. Still, he looked just as annoying as always, wearing a grin from something that Sapnap must have just told him. He was leaning back on a chair, looking as if he felt at home, as if he owned the office.
“Hey, George.” Sapnap gave him a short wave, inexplicable to George beaming. George, on the other hand, rather had the urge to throw up. “Got stuck in rush hour?”
Not even caring to answer, George walked over to the desk that was already occupied, letting his bag fall onto the table. “You’re sitting in my chair.”
Unbothered to even sit up straight, Dream spun around on the office chair. And there it was, this cocky grin that made George’s fingertips in the urge to wipe it out of his face.
“It’s amazing to see you again too,” Dream emphasised. “And you look like you had a wonderful morning.”
“Yeah, I threw up twice on the way here at the mere thought of seeing your stupid face again,” George grumbled. When Dream did not move, he raised his eyebrows. “What are you waiting for? Get off my chair.”
With an explosive sigh, Dream rose to his feet. Quickly, George let himself fall onto his chair, glaring at Sapnap who hid his grin behind his palm.
When George’s gaze fell onto his desk, his eyes narrowed.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” Dream’s unbothered voice reached his ears. “A small gift from America. I saw it at the dollar store and couldn’t help but think, Hey, he looks exactly like George.”
It was a small figure, almost looking like a funko pop and not bigger than George’s palm. The grumpy face of a man was framed by dark hair. His eyes were covered by exaggeratedly big clout goggles and he held up a sign that spelled out Nerd.
“Lovely,” George commented dryly and gave the figure a poke. The goggles trembled as if they were about to fall off. So that is called quality nowadays.
“I knew you’d like it.” With a shit-eating grin, Dream leaned against George’s desk and looked down at him. “It has the same delightful aura as you.”
“I’d be even more delighted if you jumped on the next plane back,” George grumbled. “But as you’re here now, move your ass over to your own desk.” Sneering, he raised his eyebrows. “A wonderful pile of files is waiting for you while Sap and I are gonna enjoy ourselves driving through London.”
That actually painted a frown on Dream’s forehead. George already thought he had won when Dream slowly got back to his feet, but he just turned around to Sapnap and exaggerated a pout. “You already looked through some of the files yesterday, didn’t you? Can you give me a summary?”
“Nope,” George answered instead, letting the p pop. “Let me just look up the address again, then Sapnap and I are outta here and you can amuse yourself with the files while Philza’s sweating blood next–door.”
“Huh? Why’s that?” Sapnap darted a confused glance at George who grabbed the mouse, almost knocking the figure with the clout glasses over in the process.
“Press conference.” George snorted. “A journalist is coming over. They’re breathing down our necks already and we haven’t even started to investigate yet.”
“A journalist?” Did George imagine things or did Sapnap’s voice suddenly sound an octave higher? “By coincidence, do you know if it’s the same guy who interviewed Philza about that haunted Underground station a few months ago?”
“Did you ever solve that case?” Dream chuckled.
“If it was that guy from The Times, then yes. What was his name again? Jenkins? Jacobs?” George spoke over Dream. Then he pointed at the screen in front of him and got up from his chair. “Ah, here we have the address. It’s a small street in the west, twenty minutes by car. Are you coming?”
Darting a confused glance at his colleague who had not moved an inch, George grabbed his jacket.
Sapnap grimaced when he got up slowly. “Ah, I totally forgot, on the way here, my car made some weird noises. I should get it checked out. And it would be unprofessional to appear there via Tube, wouldn’t it?”
“You can take my car, dude,” Dream offered immediately.
“You know I don’t like driving your car,” Sapnap denied.
Dream frowned. “But a few weeks ago, you said — “
“I’m sorry, guys, I don’t think I’m able to make it there,” Sapnap talked over Dream loudly, walking through the office and grabbing the door handle. “I’ll see if Philza needs any help.”
“Sapnap, what — “ George did not get any further. As if his colleague feared finding a solution, he raced out of the office and slammed the door shut behind him.
“Not liking my car, eat my ass,” Dream grumbled. Then a grin spread on his lips and he stretched himself exaggeratedly. “Seems like you need a new partner on your quest.”
“You wish,” George grunted. “You don’t even have a clue what the case is about.”
“Good thing that we have a twenty-minute drive ahead of us.” Raising his car key and his eyebrows simultaneously, he smirked.
For a moment, George hesitated — but rush hour without his headphones must have damaged his brain because he actually nodded with an annoyed snort before rushing out of the office. Oh, he was going to murder Sapnap.
In the corridor, there was no trace left of his friend. Muffled voices sounded through the door to Philza’s office. Rolling his eyes, George hurried towards the front door.
Great, because of Sapnap, he was stuck now with Dream, not even an hour after his nemesis got back into the office after his vacation. So much for a pleasant morning…
“Woah, careful!”
George flinched heavily when a bright voice startled him. Only barely, he was able to hold the front door back from hitting a young man straight in the face.
Blue eyes stared at him, a little confusion mixed with a mischievous sparkle.
“Good morning. Do you always open doors with so much force?”
“Only when my colleagues are back from vacation,” George grumbled, squinting. The man standing outside of SBI looked strangely familiar as if George had seen his light brown curls and goofy smile before.
He had, he realised. This was the journalist.
Oh fuck.
“Clay, move your ass over here!” George yelled through the open door.
The faster they got away, the better. Over the course of his career, George had made his fair experience with journalists, one nosier than the other.
“Gosh, yeah, I’m coming.” Dream stepped out of the door with a roll of his eyes before realising they were not alone. “Oh, hello.”
“Hello, my name is Karl Jacobs,” the journalist introduced himself with an innocent smile. “I’m here for a meeting with Mr Philza. I guess I can assume that you are a detective too?”
Dream already opened his mouth to answer, but George grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along. “It was nice seeing you, Mr Jacobs, but we need to leave.”
Karl tilted his head curiously. “Oh? Do you mind me asking where you’re going? You really look like you’re in a rush.”
George’s thoughts were racing. What was he going to say?
“Lunchbreak,” Dream replied. George could have smacked his forehead.
“At 10 am?”
Without another word, George squeezed himself past him, pulling Dream with him without paying attention to his half-hearted complaints that he could walk on his own.
~ ~ ~
George did not like driving with Dream. Well, to be fair, he did not like doing anything with Dream, but that was not the point.
It was not like Dream was driving unsafely or that his car was uncomfortable or smelly or anything — to be fair, Dream was navigating through the London traffic more than confidently. Probably, it was more due to the fact that George knew that he could not just open the door and flee from Dream’s company if he did not want to get turned into a stain on the busy streets.
The first ten minutes passed in awkward silence after George had briefly introduced him to the case. Only the GPS raised its artificial voice now and then, indicating the direction.
“Gosh, that hurts my brain,” Dream mumbled at some point to which George resisted asking, Which brain? “After driving on the side you’re supposed to drive on again for the last two weeks, this is madness.”
“Shut up,” George just scoffed, turning on the radio. “I won’t have the same discussion with you as when you insisted on measuring in miles.”
He shuddered at the memory. That childish argument had happened almost a year ago now and well, back then they had agreed to never lose a word about it in front of anyone.
Silently, George shook his head, grabbing the door handle when Dream turned left sharply. Two more turns followed. Someone honked at a pedestrian wanting to cross the road.
“We’re almost there,” Dream announced, stretching himself as if he could find a parking spot better this way.
“Who even lives here?” George grunted. “Imagine opening your window and just hearing traffic noises.”
“It’s called an apartment in the inner city. Expensive and highly demanded.” Dream chuckled. “No wonder that you don’t know anything about it.”
“Dickhead, you’re not living in this district either,” George snorted. Ornamented walls passed by in the glimpse of an eye. Those old buildings definitely had a certain charm…
“And you take the Tube to work because you don’t know how to drive,” Dream shot back.
George rolled his eyes. “You don’t find a parking spot in London anyway. Bet we’ll have to park a ten-minute walk away. At best.”
“Nah, don’t worry. You just need some skills.” Dream’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel. “And a little luck.”
George yelped when suddenly, Dream hit the brakes. Luckily, his belt caught him, preventing him from flying face-first through the windshield.
A loud honk behind them made George’s heart skip a beat and for a frightening second, he expected to feel the impact of a car hitting them any second.
When his eyes fell on a tiny parking spot right next to the lane, he whirled around with a gasp. “Clay, are you insane? We’re never gonna fit, we’re — “
He did not get further. Dream had already reached behind the brunet’s headrest to turn his upper body and look back through the rear window, his forehead wrinkled in a concentrated frown.
The car made a leap when Dream stepped on the gas again, racing backwards with frightening speed, missing the edge of the car parked in front by mere inches. Ripping the steering wheel around, the car pulled straight into the parking spot, stopping narrowly in front of the truck behind them.
Traffic continued to move on the lane, and two more honks were directed at them, but Dream just gave the passing cars a cheeky wave. Then he turned towards George, his one hand still behind the headrest. A grin of triumph painted his lips. “You were saying?”
George just huffed. “Idiot.” His heart was still pounding against his ribcage.