Chapter Text
The lights are particularly blinding tonight.
Sapnap can feel the press of the crowd even from this far away, can hear the hum of every individual voice and the twang of guitar strings and the cheers of people he’ll never know as he strums his last few chords, letting the music take over his worn body. He’s sure the people in the crowd can feel it too, knows the party-crazed looks in their eyes all too well. Once, he stood where they were. Now, he performs for people who used to be like him.
Tired-eyed music lovers and glitter-stained sorority girls and high school seniors who get scolded by their parents for sneaking out so late; they line the rows like a crowd of buildings, some tall and others short and all shining with light. The crowd is a city, and Sapnap, Dream and George are merely spectators on a world that’s theirs to claim.
This, here and now, is the life of a lead guitarist and his overexcitable bandmates.
It’s their last night on tour, the last song they’re due to play blasting from Sapnap’s guitar and humming underneath his fingers. The press of bodies and the scent of anticipation and sweat and the pop of spotlights on a glittery stage; all of it has lead up to this.
As the audience roars, a sudden swell of volume that reaches the three of them all too quickly, Sapnap’s guitar solo draws to a heart-stopping close. He hears Dream sing the last line, though he’s unsure of what the words even are over the pounding of his own adrenaline-filled heart. Somewhere behind them, the clash of cymbals pulls the curtains down upon their grand finale.
He takes a breath. The concertgoers cheer with excitement. His heart thrums furiously in his chest, and Sapnap swears he can almost feel it beat out of the dark fabric of his shirt.
He looks out at the concert and all those little phone flashlights and then back at Dream and George, both equally breathless, both waving out at the people who came for them tonight.
Something splits into a swell of warmth in Sapnap’s chest. He smiles.
Dream clears his throat after the cheering dies down, and lifts the microphone to his face. As usual, the lights flickering above them illuminate the smattering of glitter he wears over his cheeks.
“Thank you all so, so much for coming out to see us tonight,” he says in such a bright voice that Sapnap swears it could light up stadiums. (In fact, it has.) “As you guys all know, this is our last show for a while, so I just wanted to thank every person who’s come out to watch me and Sap and George, and I hope we all made it worth it.”
His grin is wide and toothy and warm; as the face of the group, it’s rather his trademark. With a wave out at the crowd, he steps aside to let Sapnap speak.
“Uh, yeah, thank you guys so much,” he says, perhaps a touch too genuinely. Despite the thrills of performance, he still never quite knows where to put his voice after the songs have ended. “It’s been a super fun tour and I’m so glad we got to experience it with all of you. Yeah?”
The crowd cheers in agreement. Somewhere behind him, Sapnap is sure George is smiling too, though he can’t see his face from his position at the front of the stage. One step closer, and he’ll fall into the waiting arms of hundreds of fans; god better hope he keeps his balance.
Dream’s eyes crinkle up, and he waves off their enthusiastic audience with a tattooed hand as, one by one, they depart. (Sapnap will never know their names, he realises as they go.)
The lights dim and the curtains fall, and suddenly there’s no more publicity, just them and the instruments and the lighting team. Left alone on the stage, Sapnap sets down his guitar with a heavy exhale and slides down to the floor. Next to him, Dream sits down as well, and George stands up to scoot in on his other side.
George is the first to speak, now that they’re alone.
“What a fucking show, huh?”
Tired and slightly hoarse, they all burst into laughter. Dream drags his hand through his hair; there’s sweat beading on his forehead and running down his neck. “I’m so tired,” he sighs, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I can’t wait to go home-- that fucking tour bus is so annoying.”
“Me too,” Sapnap yawns, silently agreeing with Dream’s quips about the tour bus. “Good day though. I think we made a lot of people happy tonight.”
They sit in silence, for a moment. George grabs his water bottle and takes a long sip, before saying, “you think?”
“I know,” he corrects himself, because he does.
They down bottles of water, and lean, absent from the world, against each other. Arms press warmly together, and the trio makes no effort to push each other away. It’s the tired moments Sapnap thinks he likes the best.
The night slips on. In time, they have to leave, but for a few more minutes it’s just them and the glassy-looking water bottles that quench their thirst. Sapnap notices that when Dream regains his bearings, his eyes snap over to George. All at once, it seems like the word fades out around the blond, the spotlight centering onto George, who sits in the middle of it all with barely a second glance for the attention he’s receiving.
Dream doesn’t seem to know it himself, but he’s doing the thing he always does. Where he looks at George with eyes that won’t ever belong to anyone else, terribly predictable for a man who claims to be the opposite.
Sapnap notices that he does it a lot. Easy-going, oblivious George, who doesn’t really do feelings, has never quite noticed it himself. Still, it’s obvious that Dream’s eyes were made to look at George, and it seems that tonight, under the dimmed-down lights, alone without a single spectator, he’s indulging in it yet again.
Sapnap nudges Dream and huffs out a soft laugh under his breath, bemused despite his tiredness. He’d be getting an earful if they were alone, but instead Dream just rolls his sage eyes and says nothing, knowing all too well of George’s sharp ears. Perhaps he’s tired enough not to even care, because he barely spares a second scolding Sapnap with his glare before it disappears, replaced by something fonder.
Tired. The word echoes around Sapnap’s head like the screech of the mic and the sound of the screaming crowd and a million other little things, crawling at the back of his mind. It’s been… an incredibly long tour. Fun, maybe, but Sapnap is undoubtedly tired.
He wants nothing more than to fall asleep, rest his head on the windowsill while, somewhere across from him, George rests his head on Dream’s shoulder. Wants nothing more than to wake up in his own bed, refreshed and at home, and make breakfast with his bandmates again.
Soon, he tells himself. Soon we’ll be as normal as we’ll ever be.
It takes around an hour to get packed up and on the road. Still, they manage.
-
Dream is far from good at subtlety.
Sapnap has been living with him for three years, so he knows this, and it’s taught him everything he needs to know about what (stupid, foolish) men do when they’re in love. Dream is, to put it simply, a bit of an idiot. And he’s not very good at hiding it, either.
When Dream’s eyes linger on the back of George’s head for a little too long, he knows it’s not for nothing. When Dream smiles in the way he’s only ever done for George, he knows what that whole thing is about, too. It’s the special kind of smile that Sapnap recognizes as the lovesick smile, and it seems to be Dream’s thing to do it whenever George is within so much as a ten foot radius. He’ll touch his hair a little too much, and his cheeks will bloom pink and rosy, and his lips will tug back so his teeth are on display in the adorably-awkward lovebird-looking smile that comes up when you can’t stop laughing or feeling or something.
It’s fair to say, Sapnap knows Dream pretty well, so he knows that smile. And when he’s trying to hide it. And when, in the middle of the night on the way back home, he’s pretending not to be in love again.
So. That’s about as far as that goes.
“You’re doing it again, Clay,” Sapnap points out nonchalantly, yawning into the hand that covers his mouth loosely. His head drops into the warm curve of his palm as he leans it against the windowsill. In the seat opposite from his own, Dream looks up.
“What?” he mutters. “I’m doing what?”
George is asleep in the row up front from theirs, and Dream is staring at him like he’s wishing for something inexplicable to happen. Of course, George is asleep, so he doesn’t notice this -- but for whatever reason, Dream keeps on anyways.
“Doing the thing. Smiling. Being all…” Sapnap waves a tired hand around in the air, and it lands in the empty seat next to him. “Blush-y.”
Dream stares at him, so he tries another word. “Doting?”
“What?”
“Lovey-dovey. Uhh, soft? Oh, come on.”
Silence. Sapnap puts his head in his hands.
“Gross,” he says. “You’re doing the gross thing.”
For the god-forsaken strangest of reasons, this is the word that works. Dream’s head snaps up, and he blinks, and his hair turns briefly red as they pass a car with blaring headlights before dipping into golden darkness once more. “Oh,” he says, and his eyes fall to the ground, “that thing.”
Sapnap grins, and nods, because no more needs to be said.
Dream’s eyes flicker over to George, and then up to Sapnap’s face. “Am I really?” he says quietly.
“Yep.” Again. Like, five times already in the past twenty-four hours.
Silence. Dream almost looks ashamed of his own wandering feelings, and Sapnap half-wishes he could retract the whole statement. Seeing his reactions is always somehow worth it, though, so he lets it linger.
He goes on, “I mean, I am not about to stop you. Stare away like a little creep if you wanna, you know?”
“Sapnap!”
“What?” He laughs, despite the fresh tiredness rolling over him in waves. “I’m in-- in full support of your creep behavior. Creep away.”
“It’s not that.” Now it’s Dream’s turn to put his face in his hands; somehow his blush still seeps through the cracks. “Oh my god, you’re gonna wake him up, Sap! And everyone else on this damn--”
“Okay,” he lowers his voice, “I’ll do it quietly.”
“Sapnap.”
“Clay.”
Dream groans.
“Anyways,” Sapnap goes on, “at least now you’re self-aware. You look at him like that a lot, you know.”
He gets a rather poisonous look for that one, but the venom barely lasts. It dwindles into quiet realisation, curls at Dream’s chest as he places an uncertain over his beating heart. From here, even Sapnap can feel it pound.
Men in love do this, he knows. So he watches, and fights the urge to laugh.
Watching Dream’s tender realisations, no matter how frequently they happen, is always just a little bit funny. Men in love can be so, so oblivious, at times.
“Do you think anyone can hear us?” Dream mutters. His tone is worried.
“Nah, nobody who cares. Not him.”
Relief seizes his bandmate in its fragile hold. “Good,” he says. “I, uh--”
His eyes wander over George’s sleeping face, taking in freckles and fluttering eyelashes and gently parted lips. To Sapnap, he looks like George; tired and dozing pleasantly, perhaps a little pretty if you take it from a realistic standard -- to Dream, he’s sure it’s different, even if they’re staring at the same picture.
“You--” Sapnap prompts. “What?”
Dream gives a small, defeated sigh. The shadows on his face are darker than midnight.
“Is it really that obvious?”
Sapnap runs his tongue over his lips. Between stares when the blond thinks nobody is looking and nervous touching of hair and always holding George a little too near and dear compared to everyone else -- yes, yes it is.
So he nods. “Yep.”
To this, Dream does not respond. He turns to face out the window, his hands half-tangled in blond hair, probably deep in muddled thought. Sapnap knows what it means he does this -- it means contemplation, it means reconsideration. He lets it be, and turns out his own window. They stare at two sides of the same different road, and watch two different sets of cars go by.
Two different sets of headlights roar across the highway. Sapnap lets a breath tumble from his lips, and closes his eyes. Today has gone on for long enough.
-
Mint bubbles foam at Sapnap’s mouth as he scrubs away the grime from his teeth, his fingers curling around his brush. The mirror is still slightly foggy from the steam flowing from the shower, only showing the blurriest parts of his reflection. He sets his toothbrush down with a clatter, and turns on the tap. Water rushes over his fingertips.
Life is normal. No tours, no blinding lights, no roaring crowd. Just him, with Dream and George, in his apartment. Home, sweet home.
Sapnap shuts off the tap and listens as the water comes to a gentle halt. A floorboard creaks outside the door; he puts his toothbrush away in the top drawer and lets it close at his lightest touch. When he turns the handle and leaves the steamy bathroom behind him, he’s only half-surprised to see Dream standing there.
“Hi,” he says blankly.
The blond’s hair is tousled, obviously unbrushed, and he’s still in his pajamas. The bags under his eyes must be similar to Sapnap’s own, dark and drowsy. It’s not the first day that starts like this one.
“Sap,” Dream half-yawns, rocking back on his heel and leaving room for him to step away from the door. “Sleep good?”
“Nope.” He pops the p. “You?”
“Nah,” comes the response; Dream is already turning and walking down the stairs. “I made breakfast if you wanna come eat, kay?”
Sapnap nods, shrugging off the coat he’s been wearing since at least last night and leaving it somewhere on the floor behind him. “George still sleeping?”
“Yeah,” Dream laughs softly, “‘course he is. Stupid idiot needs at least ten hours of sleep.”
He grins, “Right, mkay. What’s on the menu?”
Dream runs his hand down the railing as he jumps the last stair, making his way out to their kitchen. “Breakfast,” he says, with an air of great importance, “is sausages and eggs! And, uh, those potato things, I forgot--”
“...Hash browns, Clay?”
“Uh-huh,” he dismisses. “Those. You want some?”
Sapnap walks over to the cupboard and pulls out a plate; the sound of ceramic clinking together permeates the tiled kitchen. Across from him, Dream turns off a frying pan with a soft click.
“Damn, is this what you’ve been doing instead of sleeping in?” he asks, reluctantly impressed. “I swear you’ve never cooked breakfast like this before.”
“I have talent,” Dream boasts lightly. “Help yourself, there should be enough for everyone.”
He does indeed; they share in serving themselves each a portion of eggs, sausage, and ‘those potato things’ -- as Dream chooses to call them. The table welcomes them as they sit down on opposite sides, creaking softly on the hardwood floor as they sink into its surrounding chairs.
For a while, Sapnap and Dream sit, and they eat, listening to trains go by outside their less-than-private apartment. For being well-known enough to afford proper housing, you’d think the trio would have moved. But they haven’t.
And perhaps it’s for the best that they haven’t, Sapnap thinks as he takes a forkful of eggs and crispy potato from his plate. It’s never been lonely in their apartment of three, never been anything less than theirs. Moving would be a hassle and downright unnecessary, and with the light tearing holes in the glass windows each morning, he can barely find it in himself to imagine the sun shining from a different place.
“Wonder when George will be awake,” Dream says thoughtfully. Sapnap, for a change, doesn’t tease him.
“He’s a heavy sleeper, I’m sure it’ll be a while,” he comments, reaching for his knife and almost knocking it off the table. “We should save ‘im some breakfast.”
Dream agrees with an unintelligible noise. “There should be enough,” he says, and then it’s back to comfortable silence.
Sapnap can’t help but eye Dream very carefully, watch the shift of his feet and the ongoing way his gaze flicks from ceiling to floor. Perhaps he’s a fool for staring, or perhaps he’s just smart enough to know there’s something on his friend’s mind. The more he watches Dream chew his food with less-than-subtle pensivity, the more obvious it becomes.
The silence shifts. Something is -- not uncomfortable, more just noticeable.
“Clay?” Sapnap asks, making sure his voice is easy, offhanded. “Is something up, or no?”
Green eyes meet his own, and then dart away. Sapnap follows them to the scuffed table, and places down his fork without speaking another word.
“Clay,” he repeats, when the response comes no more than that. “What’s up?” Because it’s definitely something.
Dream sighs audibly, and switches his knife from the left hand to the right. “Why d’you keep doing that?” he complains.
Sapnap’s mouth falls open. He can only thank the lords that he remembered to swallow. “Doing what?” he says, in mild disbelief.
“Getting to me,” Dream groans. “Knowing me. Why do you know me?”
He laughs, “You’re asking me to stop knowing you. Right.”
“Okay, listen--” He protests, but it’s futile. “Fine. Yes, something is up. Try me. Guess.”
“...Guess?”
Dream puts his head in his hands. “I dunno, dude. Have some fun with it?”
“Oh my god, I hate you,” Sapnap makes a face at him. “Okay, right. Is it… tour?”
“Nope.”
“Seriously, Clay-- okay, uh, Twitter?”
“I haven’t even been on Twitter in two weeks.”
“George?” he tries tentatively.
Dream is blank. “Nope.”
“Fuck’s sake, umm. You broke something else?”
“Wait,” the blond hesitates, “go back?”
Sapnap obliges, unsure. “George?” he says.
Dream doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Because, of course it is.
He resists the urge to snort, and instead muffles his laughter with a mouthful of eggs. “Okay, so?”
“This is embarrassing,” Dream mumbles. “Look, I don’t wanna dump this on you while we’re eating, but I wanna talk about it before-- before he wakes up. You cool with it?”
“Sure! Dump your boy problems on me,” Sapnap says drily.
“Sapnap! Fuck you, you’re actually the worst.”
“Well, go on!”
“...Listen,” he says slowly, dragging out the syllables in a miserable attempt at stalling. Sapnap wonders if he added more salt than normal to these damn eggs, or if he’s imagining things. “So, you know-- me and George, right.”
“You mean you.”
Dream winces. “Okay, me. You know I-- have a thing for him.”
Sapnap scoffs, but it’s light, teasing. “You sound like a second grader.”
“I’m trying!” he muffles, returning his face to his palms in a rush of red. “Okay, okay, I have a thing for George. And-- basically-- you know George is a private guy, right.”
For the life of him, Sapnap has absolutely no idea what they’re accomplishing by having this conversation, Still, he nods. “Yep.”
George, all things considered, is one of the most private people he’s ever met for being the drummer in an incredibly well-known band. He keeps to himself, keeps his voice down, is generally very quiet about the details of his life even in private. In fact, Sapnap wouldn’t be surprised if his wiki page was almost entirely empty.
“So, y’know,” Dream continues, shoving a few extra words and pauses into the sentence to further stretch it out. “If… I liked him, and he liked me--” Second-grader-talk. “He wouldn’t want to, um, publicize that? How do I say this--”
“Uh-huh.” Sapnap blinks at him. “That’s true, yeah.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, “yeah. So if we were to… to be in a relationship, what if-- what if someone found out?”
“Are you?” He raises his eyebrows, and Dream’s gaze falters again.
“No!” When Sapnap gives him a suspicious look, he repeats, “No, we aren’t. But if we were, I wouldn’t want to-- to hurt him, I guess. I wanna respect him, and while I sort out my feelings for him, and talk to him about them-- I don’t wanna fuck this up.”
And that’s understandable, almost painfully so, especially for someone like Dream who’s never been anything short of overly careful. Perhaps his practicality is somewhere on the weaker side, but his heart is always in the right place -- something to be respected. Sapnap gives him the benefit of the doubt, and agrees.
“Yeah, dude, of course. That’s totally understandable.”
Dream warms up, relieved. “Yeah! So, Sapnap-- so. I wanted to ask, erm, a favour of you.”
“Oh?”
So he does play into it after all. This isn’t just a feelings conversation, it’s a necessary conversation, it’s--
“What is it?”
“Would you…”
He cringes inwardly at himself, and Sapnap wonders what on earth he’s being asked to do that really is just that bad. Spit it out, he resists the urge to say.
Dream is clearly struggling, so he clears his throat. “Clay?”
“Would you,” he starts again, “just for a bit, act like we’re dating instead?”
What.
What.
“What?”
“Oh my god, it’s-- it’s--” Dream sighs, “for George, okay? I know this looks terrible, I know-- it’s for George. I want to-- keep him safe.”
Confused would be an understatement, because what on earth is Sapnap even supposed to say to that?
“I don’t,” he starts, “I mean-- what? Why? Why do we need to?”
“I just really really don’t want anyone suspecting anything. It’s like,” he waves a hand in the air for emphasis, “a coverup.”
Sapnap stares at him.
“...Right.”
“And! And,” Dream goes on helplessly, “I promise it’s not a permanent big long thing. It’s just until I work stuff out with George, I don’t want people thinking-- y’know. He doesn’t deserve all that shoved onto him.”
Sapnap wants to say, and I do? Instead, he takes a breath, and says, “you’re insane.”
Dream looks at him with big, worried green eyes, the kind that sink deep into his face and make him look almost scared. Almost. “Please, Sapnap,” he pleads, “I swear it won’t be for long. Just long enough that people don’t get suspicious.”
“You cannot be serious,” he says, deadpan.
“I know, I’m sorry, I am.”
They look each other up and down, and Sapnap realises he’s not going to come out of this saying no.
But how is he meant to say yes? What does it even mean, to pretend to date someone? How does he pretend to date his best friend? Who the hell even does that? What will the public think? Is Dream really that stupid?
Sapnap can answer that one without a shred of doubt. Yes, Dream really is that stupid.
Okay, he thinks, fuck it.
“Fine,” he says, “fine.”
Dream slumps back in his chair, carried by the weight that’s evidently slipped off his shoulders. “Thank you,” he sighs out, his eyes flicking to the ceiling and back down to the table, “thank you, seriously.”
“Don’t expect me to have fun with it though,” Sapnap clarifies with haste, his chest clouding with scarlet irritation. “It’s not like I had much of a choice.”
“I know, I know!” Dream picks up his fork with a tense hand once more, and resumes his subdued breakfast. “And-- I am sorry, I know it’s a lot.”
“Yeah, it kinda is.”
“But,” he looks at Sapnap imploringly, “you understand, don’t you?”
Does he?
Yeah, he does. Even if he doesn’t like it.
“...I guess I do,” Sapnap says.
It’s not for long, anyways.
“So where do we start with this whole thing?” he goes on, resigned to the worst. “I mean-- how do we convince people we’re dating in the first place?”
In all honesty, Dream doesn’t seem to have thought this through; there’s barely anyone who even suspects that the two are dating in the first place, and they most certainly haven’t ever brought it up before. It almost seems preposterous -- he’s sure Dream has his reasons, but…
“I mean,” Dream cringes inwardly again, “okay, this is gonna, like, sound weird. What if we posted something?”
“..Posted something?”
Sapnap pushes his plate aside. Eating seems… less necessary, after this.
“Yeah, I mean.” He stands up, pushing his chair in and resuming eye contact with Sapnap once again. “Just a picture or something-- does that sound good?”
Just a picture. Or something.
He thinks it over. Clicking the send button on a post of the two of them together, posing in some stupid fashion that’s bound to get them a reaction, watching the comments come in with no idea that it’s all some little scheme. Pretending that in private, their lips are pressed together, when in reality they’re sitting at opposite ends of the same table.
“That sounds good,” Sapnap says slowly, because he has little other choice. “Now?”
And Dream shrugs, and he pulls out his phone and swipes it open, and says, “sure,” and that’s when Sapnap is very sure that it’s the beginning of the end.
“C’mere?” Dream asks, beckoning him with a careless hand as he clicks onto the camera app. “I want you in the frame.”
What are we even doing? “Mkay.”
It’s spontaneous, and it’s stupid, and that’s how Dream has always done things, and so Sapnap doesn’t hesitate to lean in beside him.
They shuffle up next to one another, shoulders bumping neatly together as the newly-opened camera app takes in both of their hesitant faces. Dream tilts his phone slightly, and yellow squares appear around both of their heads, flashing on the screen in indignance as if to say, take the photo, come on.
“How do we wanna do this?” Sapnap asks, wondering why he’s playing along, wondering why he hasn’t backed away just yet.
He doesn’t know why. It’s probably out of some kind of indignance, some self-challenging rite of passage that’s forcing him into this in the first place -- the worst that can happen, he’s not sure of, but he may as well play along with it, right?
“Put your head on my… shoulder, I guess,” Dream replies, guiding Sapnap’s neck hesitantly with a hand while the other keeps its grip on his phone. Sapnap can taste his uncertainty.
It tastes almost nervous, almost excited.
He hasn’t thought about this at all, has he?
“Like this?”
He leans down, and with a soft bump, his head hits Dream’s shoulder. His shirt is made of cotton, and he’s warmer than usual. Is that normal? Is he overthinking? Yes, he is.
“Like,” Dream takes a breath, “that, yeah. And try and make your smile sort of natural, okay?”
“Okay,” Sapnap agrees, “only if you do.”
“Well, duh.”
“Duh, what?” He pokes his tongue out. “I was being serious!”
“Sapnap--”
“Okay, don’t smile then--”
“Sapnap!” Dream groans. “The picture, remember?”
“Right.”
They look at each other. “Okay.”
The atmosphere swirls into ice-coloured curls around them. “Stay still,” Dream mutters under his breath, tugging Sapnap’s head closer to him, “okay?”
“Yep. Gotcha.”
He tacks a smile onto his face and hopes that it sticks, as, seemingly in slow-motion, Dream’s thumb flicks towards the bottom of his phone.
This time tomorrow, the whole world will think they’re dating except for them.
This is a stupid plan. What about their managers? George? Families? What are they even supposed to say?
Sapnap supposes, only because he has to, that all of this will come with time.
He holds his breath.
No turning back now, he thinks, and the picture snaps.
And then, in a flash, that’s all. Dream pulls away from him, and the photo is added to his camera roll. Sapnap jerks his head up, and they’re friends again.
Dream is the first to see it; he grins at the sight of it, and Sapnap grabs his hand to force it down so he can see it as well. The picture greets him all too quickly, just another casual photo that looks like it was snapped right in the middle of Dream’s domestic life, not thought-out or planned.
Sapnap, with his head on Dream’s shoulder and a soft smile on his face; Dream leaning slightly towards him with his eyes closed, the whole image centered on them and nothing but them. The morning light is soft and gentle through the window behind them, and it’s angled just close enough that you can see the freckles on Dream’s nose.
It looks. Well.
Disgustingly romantic.
(Perfect, at least for this.)
“That’s pretty good, actually,” Dream is the first to speak.
“Honestly,” Sapnap says, “if I didn’t know, I had no idea we weren’t.”
“Dating?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, dating.”
They grin at each other.
“So,” Dream says, flicking his hair out of his face, “you still down to do this?”
“It’s not like I can really choose, can I?”
“Is that…” He opens some random app, though which one it is, Sapnap has no idea. “A yes?”
“Yes, stupid. Of course it is.”
For a moment, Dream is silent. Then he types in something Sapnap can’t read, presses a button that must be the send button, and closes his phone.
“Alright,” he says, “here we go.”
They exchange glances, and it sinks in. Whatever’s just been posted, whatever the caption is, however many people around the world have seen it so far -- they’ve just made the stupidest decision of their lives, or at least one of them, and Dream’s set it all into perfect action.
For a while, this is reality, and Sapnap is just going to have to deal with it.
He accepts it, takes his plate, and puts it in the sink. There are things he should be getting done today.