Chapter Text
“George.”
The kissing stopped. Warmth retreats, and the ravenette’s mouth is left sticky. Remnants of Blue, now wet from the kiss that moved the powder back into his mouth, draw that taste to the tip of his tongue again, one he can’t quite remember.
“My name is George.”
Like that’s helpful.
Sapnap opens his bleary eyes. He’s somehow made it on the floor, back leaned against the end of a wooden bed frame. He knows a mirror should be standing in front of him, but it’s blocked by a body instead. A white smiley face stretches across his vision, staring into his soul, and when he unfocuses his eyes he can see a delicate chain holding a snare drum dangling just above his bandaged nose. This person’s collarbones are white, not tan and freckled. Arms draped in black hoodie are secured around his head, and it takes Sapnap a moment to understand the person is leaning over him to retrieve something on the bed.
“Feeling better?” The man, George, asks.
“Who-,” Sapnap sputters, bringing a hand to his mouth to cough violently.
“Careful. You’re going to want one of these.”
A soft, powdery pill is delicately placed in his ringed fingers.
“Blue makes you really sad, huh? Who’d you see when you tipped?”
Sapnap can’t help but stare his shocked face as the Brit comes back into view. Despite getting a name, he still doesn’t recognize the man, chalking it up to much more than memory loss.
“Did you… were you just kissing me?”
George rolls his mismatched eyes, as if what Sapnap asked didn’t matter.
“Hurry up and take that. It’ll clear your head for a bit.”
“Are you gonna to answer my fucking question?”
“Are you going to answer mine?”
George gives him a pointed look. They go silent for a bit. Sapnap swallows the dry mystery pill.
“I saw… my boyfriend,” he chokes out.
George pauses, slightly frowning. His brows furrow as if he’s thinking about something. He almost looks mad. His slender hands move to Sapnap’s tense shoulders as he begins mumbling to himself.
“Why didn’t that fucker mention you have a boyfriend. Shit,” he hisses out. George shifts slightly to the left as he talks to the backboard, and Sapnap gets a view of himself in the mirror. He still has the platinum triangle head with the bandana wrapped around its point. Fuck. Despite his appearance, his mind is clearer than before, and for once he feels he can breathe normally.
“He’s dead,” Sapnap finally deadpans.
The hands on his shoulders freeze.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I killed him. Why do you think I won’t smoke my Blue?”
The red Dodge Charger was full of lapis-colored haze that night.
“God, you’re so fucked up,” George murmurs.
Sapnap doesn’t say anything to defend himself. A pang of hurt delves deep into his stomach though.
A beat passes.
“Dream never mentioned you’re a bloody murderer.”
The comment hits hard. The pang sears his whole body this time and causes tears to well up again. Not even his best friend could accept that he killed someone.
George sits back on his legs, watching the boy cry at the foot of his bed. Maybe he was too harsh? He doesn’t look like a murderer right now- there’s something soft about him that doesn’t add up with his claims.
“What happened?” The Brit asks softly, deciding to play therapist out of curiosity.
“The reason I don’t have a car-,” Sapnap pushes through his sobs, bringing a tattered sleeve up to his nose.
“The reason I had to pick you up off the street, you mean.”
“I…I totaled it. He was, he was in there with me.”
George nods, lips pursed as he sits deep in thought.
“When I… when I tip, he comes back and haunts me. He won’t leave me alone.”
“But Blue is your only escape, huh?”
Sapnap leans his head back onto the headboard.
“Every time I take it, I’m back in that damn Charger,” he mutters out.
The silence is easy between them. It settles calmly, and for once both men release the tension in their bodies. The night has been long. George looks over at the clock on his bedside table where two shot glasses and a quartz elephant sit. He sighs seeing it’s almost 4:00 am, and he guesses neither of them got any sleep the night before. He wonders if Sapnap sleeps at all living with the trauma that nobody has ever helped him with.
Dream’s texts even implied he was annoyed by it.
Dream never texts him anymore.
“Hey, sorry to bother you, but something’s happened. One of my friends needs help, are you able to pick him up? Sapnap doesn’t have transport right now- his parents kicked him out. I’ll help you deal with everything in the morning, but can you make sure he’s not on the street all night? He doesn’t make good decisions, but if you could just do this for me-,”
“I’d do anything for you,” George found himself whispering as he grabbed his Honda keys.
That was the first text he’d received out of the blue from Dream in months. They still talked, just- not like they used to. For hours, in person, at their shared jobs. Texting nonsense, deep philosophical talks late at night.
Utter radio silence after moments like that left George with shaky hands and sleepless nights. Who even was he anymore?
He’s changing. He’s leaving you just as you are, a wrecked drunk. He’s going to become a better person, and you’ll still be crazy, and insane-,
BUT I SWEAR SOMETHING WAS THERE. THE FEELINGS WERE REAL!
Present George finds himself shaking the inner dialogue out of his head. Not this again. He drinks to keep these bastards away. All they do is argue relentlessly, and they get worse when he doesn’t sleep. Like tonight. And now he has a stranger, and no spare room to give him. Not even a fucking couch, cause he’s poor.
“Ok Sapnap, we have to get you up in my bed. You need sleep after a tip like that.”
The boy doesn’t respond. His mouth is slightly ajar, and he lets out a snore. The wooden bed-frame can’t be that comfortable, damn. Dream was right when he said his friend was an idiot.
So, you kissed your situationship’s best friend? Did that make you feel better? Did you get your revenge? You piece of shit.
The ravenette’s phone flips to a new song, this one somewhat melodramatic. It secures George’s brain to their current reality. His overhead light has been on for hours washing everything in stark white LEDs. The bottle glistens on the rug by his bed, glowing yellow with the sparkly blue powder swirling inside it.
Now playing: I’m Still by Juice WRLD
George feels as if he’s been slapped in the face. He knows that song. His gaze slides away from the bottle, curving to where Sapnap lays against the foot of his bed.
Of course, his inner dialogue starts. This is his best friend. Why wouldn’t he know some Juice? That album wasn’t special- he didn’t just send it to you. You’re so fucking selfish-,
The brunette practically throws himself onto the bed, clawing through the stranger’s bag. He has to turn that song off now, or he’ll do something bad. The shot glasses were looking very throwable right now. How’d they sound smashing into his wall. Fuck. The elephant too. Who gives someone a fucking rose quartz as a gift without knowing the inherent meaning behind it? The thought of taking the sculpture outside and launching it into the pavement has crossed his mind way too many times. He just wants to see it shatter, and break. But once the shattered mental image finally settles in, a pang of hurt flits through his body, squeezing his heart. Tears protrude at the thought of breaking the only physical item Dream ever game him. The only real fucking gift he ever got, that wasn’t a random playlist or a delve of unreleased songs over text.
His hands quickly clasp the necklace, fingers delicately running over the snare drum. He wants to choke himself with it. He wants the pain of knowing him, of loving him, to end.
He finally finds the boy’s phone fitted nicely in a cracked orange case. It’s decorated in old stickers, which George pauses to look at. Frogs, mushrooms, stars, all faded and ripped by constant phone use. Sapnap really doesn’t seem like the person to enjoy frilly nonsense like this. He was more hardened by his predicaments, which influenced his grung-type personality and aesthetics. And maybe George was completely wrong by his observations. He’s known the man for five hours now since given the directive to pluck him off the interstate exit by their neighborhoods. He really seemed chill, but was definitively not ok.
The music cuts off as George hits pause on the cracked homescreen, which initially caught him off guard while attempting to jailbreak Sapnap’s phone. He’s met with two young boys smiling at him. On the left is Sap, baby faced, absent of a beard, shyly grinning into the camera. On the right is a taller boy, curly brown hair covering his eyes. His gapped smile covers the expanse of his face, which is covered in multicolor star stickers. Braces cling to his top teeth. His eyes glimmer as if they are miniature suns. Oh my god.
George finds himself throwing the phone on the floor, unable to look at the two of them any longer. Instead of retrieval, he opts to kick it far under his bed, successfully banishing the evil ass technology. They don’t need that. They don’t need connections to the ones who hurt them the most right now.
Shoving Sapnap’s bag on the other side of the bed, he finally hoists the boy into his arms with much difficulty, and Jesus he’s heavy as fuck. He’s out like a light, leaving nothing but deadweight for George to haul onto his rumpled bed. The empty container of Blue gets pitted from the mattress as George drawls the covers back. The brunette takes his time in untying Sapnap’s shoes and slipping off his stained hoodie, throwing those to the floor as well. He’ll deal with everything in the morning.