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“You’ve lost, like, a third of your games so far.”
“You follow our sport?” Dream asks, pulling his shirt over his head. That obnoxious smile has returned to his face, but it looks more flattered now – genuine and only a little bit sleazy. George wants it gone.
George shifts his weight. “I follow every sport.”
“I’m touched, Georgie.”
after a season of conflicting games and locker room arguments, it's safe to say that the captains of manberg university's soccer and football teams hate each other. -
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Later, when Dream checks Twitter in the safety of his own bed, he sees the photo of George and Sapnap. He sees his hoodie on full show, broadcasted like a damn trophy. Then, after, he sees the video. He sees himself, looking past the camera, dazed and awestruck and positively in love.
He reads the replies to the tweets. Some are ooh-ing and aww-ing over Sapnap, even though he has drool down his chin and crust in his eyes. Some are fawning over George’s hoodie because they know, but that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the response to the video. The worst part is every single reply that says he’s so whipped; that says he’s in love.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He’s so fucking stupid.
dream has always liked george, even when there were screens and oceans separating them. that crush is nothing compared to the way he felt after george moved to florida. dream saw him in person, and he fell. so, so hard. it's been months, and dream still hasn't hit the ground. -
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“You trusted me then,” George says. “Why can’t you trust me now?”
Dream looks away. His fingers find George’s under the covers, and he tries to memorize this feeling. The weight of George’s hand in his, the scratch of his calluses, the pulsing in his own chest. He remembers first feeling it months ago, before Sapnap was bit, before their world was reduced to just the two of them. There are no labels at the end of the world, and no need to create any. That feeling remains untouched, unsaid, but it stays between them like a living thing. It beats when Dream beats. It turns when George turns. Dream has never been able to ignore it before, and he cannot ignore it now.
“I trust you,” he whispers, heart sinking into his pit of a stomach. “I trust you.”
once, there were three of them. then sapnap got bit, leaving dream and george alone to navigate the end of the world. -
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“Chat thought you finally passed out,” Dream tells him. On its surface, it sounds like a tease, but George knows him better than that. He can hear the gentle concern, the worry laced between inflects and pauses. Dream has always worn his heart on his sleeve, but it’s nights like this where George feels he holds it in his hands, spread open in offering.
it's in the late hours of the night that george doesn't know where the bit ends and they begin. or: george's thoughts during a late night alt stream with dream. -
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And then, calm and level, George says, "I wish we could be friends."
He looks at George, and he wants. An incessant need burns beneath his skin, builds up hotter and hotter every second. It's grown from that very first day they met, from a tiny spark to an inferno, white-hot. No matter how many times Dream tries to suffocate it, it just comes back, stronger and hotter and slowly burning him alive. It'll kill him if he lets it, and he can't let it.
“We’re not friends,” he says. The words taste like acid in his mouth. “We can never be friends.”
dream cannot stand his coworker, or so he claims.inspired by the hating game by sally thorne.
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