Chapter Text
When George arrives at the party, a single thought crosses his mind.
As Karl throws his arms around him as an enthusiastic welcome, his stomach fizzes with a blend of his and others’ excitement, and he thinks, ‘Never thought I’d be happy to be at a party.’
“I’m so glad you’re here—you look great!” Karl tells him with a smile. Then, with a playful nudge, he adds, “Dream is totally going to do that open-mouthed stare again.”
George flushes as Karl’s laughter fills the hall. “Oh my god,” he groans dramatically. “Shut up.”
“Dream and George sitting in a tree—”
“Karl!” he screeches, lunging for the other boy. There are definitely other people staring now but George finds it doesn’t bother him as much—all he can focus on is the light feeling in his chest, the infectious elation that Karl is radiating right now. It’s still a lot—but this time in a good way.
Karl giggles as he dodges George. “K—I—S—S—”
“You’re the one with the boyfriend!” George protests. Somehow Karl lights up even more when George mentions this.
“I do have one!” Karl exclaims. Delight zips through George’s body, making him laugh.
“Did you seriously forget?” he asks, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner.
Karl makes an affronted noise. “No,” he sputters.
“That’s good to hear.” George stiffens as Sapnap steps into the foyer, raising an eyebrow in amusement.
Karl huffs, crossing his arms. “I would never forget something like that,” he says, lifting his chin in indignance. “And I’m offended you think I would!” George snorts.
Sapnap rolls his eyes fondly before turning to George. “Hey,” he greets.
“Hi,” George replies.
“Are you guys just ignoring me now?” Karl pipes up. “Rude.”
“Karl, I’ve literally been with you the whole day,” Sapnap says, though he also subtly lifts his arm as an invitation to his boyfriend. Karl beams, and after squeezing George’s arm lightly, moves to sidle up next to Sapnap.
“Anyway, sorry about that whole kiss dare last time,” Sapnap says, “I was hoping Dream would use it to actually make a move instead of gushing about you nonstop.”
“Oh my god,” George says, burying his face in his hands, “Was I really the last one to find out?”
“Yes,” Karl and Sapnap chorus. He resists the urge to facepalm.
George shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t get how you guys aren’t a thing yet,” Karl remarks.
George squeaks. “It’s… a work in progress,” he settles on saying.
“Sure,” Karl replies, narrowing his eyes at George knowingly.
Sapnap shrugs. “Well, if you ever need anything or want to hear about the time Dream ran into a wall because you walked by, you know where to find me.”
George smiles, about to thank him when a thought crosses his mind. “Actually,” he says, “as much as I’d love to hear that story, there’s one thing I want to ask."
“All right, time for Dare or Dare!” Sapnap exclaims, clapping his hands as he walks to the center of the room.
The crowd forms around him. George lets himself get swept into the middle, anticipating what’s to come. Karl catches his eye and shoots him a knowing look.
Across the room, he catches a glimpse of a familiar head of blond hair. Dream—popular, charming, perfectly imperfect. Cocky and impulsive, empathetic and thoughtful Dream.
‘Of course, it’s him.’
The now-familiar warmth in George’s chest pulses.
“Dream! Your dare is to kiss George!” Sapnap announces, shooting George a sly wink. George smiles and is about to take a step toward Dream when he feels something bump into him from behind. He stumbles forward.
Dream’s eyes widen and he lunges forward to steady George, the crowd parting to let him through just as it did before. And suddenly, George is face to face with Dream again. The crowd around them waits with bated breath as Dream chuckles out a quiet, “Well, this seems awfully familiar.”
George shrugs. “I guess we get a do-over,” he says.
“What, the first kiss wasn’t good enough for you?” Dream quips.
George hums in mock thought. “I could use another one,” he says wryly.
Dream snorts. Then, lifting his hand to cup George’s cheek and leaning impossibly closer, he whispers, “Yes?”
“Yes,” George says, closing the gap between them.
Some romance novels describe first kisses feeling like fireworks—this isn’t George’s first kiss anymore, and he’s not sure he’d compare the shock that rips through him to a firework—but it is just as perfect, nevertheless.
It feels right.
His head feels a little floaty and his fingers are tingling as George wraps his arms around Dream’s neck before leaning in again. Dream smiles into the kiss.
When George opens his eyes again, he feels the thrum of the crowd’s life energy pulsing in unison. It’s a steady rhythm—if George were feeling sappier, he might call it the universe’s heartbeat.
On the other side of the room, two figures slip out into the kitchen. No one notices, far too focused on the spectacle that George and Dream are putting on.
“Thank fuck it’s over,” Tommy sighs, moving to sit on the counter. “I don’t know how much more of that mess I could’ve put up with.”
“You’re not even in the same year as them—I’m the one who’s had to sit next to Dream in class while he stared longingly at George for half an hour straight,” Wilbur gripes. “Also—” he points at Tommy accusingly, “—we only had to deal with this in the first place because you swapped their powers.”
Tommy rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t have swapped their powers if you hadn’t slammed into me and knocked me into Dream,” he says.
“I did not ‘slam into you,’” Wilbur argues, miming air quotes around the end of the sentence. “You tripped.”
“Because you pushed me!” Tommy sputters.
“I did not—” Wilbur cuts himself off, crossing his arms. “You know what, it doesn’t matter because it’s over and somehow no one found out about your powers even after this happening three times—it’s a win-win.”
“It doesn’t matter but you did push me,” Tommy says.
Wilbur offers his brother a saccharine smile, eyes glittering. “I hope George still remembers how to reap souls because he’s about to get a new assignment if you keep saying that.”
“Oh come on, give poor Gogy a break—” Tommy cuts off abruptly as Wilbur lunges at him.
Tommy shrieks as he evades capture, sprinting out of the kitchen. In his haste, he bangs his foot into an ottoman and goes careening forward into another person, who slams into someone else.
He winces as he feels a familiar surge of energy zip through his fingertips. Slowly, he turns back to find Wilbur burying his face in his hands. "Round four?" he says meekly.
"Someone fucking kill me," Wilbur mutters.