Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning air is cooling. It brushes over George's skin in little breezes, leaving goosebumps in its wake and causing the hair at the back of his neck to stand. 

It's six-thirty in the morning, and the sky is still dark. George has to squint to eye the "Sorry, We're Closed!" sign hanging behind the glass door of the café, cheerful and unbothered.

He rolls his eyes and sighs, downright exasperated, and taps his foot irritably against the concrete pavement. Just the way to start the day, huh?

"Where's Sapnap?" He grumbles, arms folded over his chest as he wrinkles his nose. It's his turn to open shop today, and it has barely been ten hours since George had tossed him the keys and reminded him of his duties, but the stupid headband-wearing boy is still nowhere to be found.

Jesus Christ, why do they even trust Sapnap with this job anymore? The idiot's probably still deep asleep in his bed, blissfully unaware of his responsibilities as he dreams away. George has half a mind to run right over to his place and crash two metal pots together over his head.

"George!" A familiar voice calls.

Almost immediately, the tension in his shoulders melts into the floor, replaced by a calming sense of relief.

Spinning around, he's met with the sight of Dream jogging up to him. A familiar, bubbly feeling surfaces. George pushes it down.

"Dream," he greets, and ignores the flutters in his stomach when Dream smiles at him.

"Good morning," the blonde says, the curve to his lips somehow making the world seem brighter, "why are you still standing here? Who–"

George shoots him a dry look, and understanding ripples over Dream's features. "Oh. Not again."

George shakes his head, and watches as Dream pulls out the keys to unlock the glass doors. "He just doesn't learn."

The door pushes open. "I might actually fire him someday, just to give him a taste of the consequences," the words come out light, teasing. George rolls his eyes fondly.

"No, you wouldn't," he refutes, as he makes his way to his place at the barista counter, "you're too much of a simp to do that."

Dream pauses, halfway across the café, and George stills too. The lights are still turned off and Dream is barely illuminated by the rays of the rising sun, but George still finds his eyes striking against the rest of his surroundings.

"The catch is that I only simp for you," Dream says, voice low and quiet, as if he's almost shy in admission. 

Maybe it's the intimacy that the darkness provides, or maybe George is just tired, but Dream's gaze leaves him smouldering, igniting warm fires in his chest that he just can't seem to put out and making heat bloom in the apples of his cheeks. He can't help but think that he could stare into Dream's eyes forever.

The bell tinkles to announce someone's entry, and in seconds, the lights flick on. George winces and shuts his eyes to adjust.

"Good morning!" Niki says, sweet voice breaking the somewhat spell-like trance he'd been put under. A part of him is glad. Another small, louder part of him is not.

She looks between them and stops, shoes scuffling to a halt as she hesitates. "Was I…" she questions, unsure, "interrupting something…?"

"No!" George says, too quickly. Niki blinks at him and he winces. "No."

"Okay," she replies slowly. Her eyes flicker between them like a timid doe. "I'll just– go set up, then." She makes a beeline for the kitchen, brushing past George to enter it from the doorway behind the counter and disappears from view.

It's just him and Dream again.

George doesn't know why he's so jittery, really, he's been alone with Dream plenty of times, but somehow this time he just can't seem to get the implications of Dream's words out of his head, the undercurrent of something else in Dream's honest gaze out of his mind–

"I think Niki busted my eyes," Dream blurts, and the charged tension in the air diffuses, "they hurt a lot."

The weight in George's chest melts away, and he laughs. "Same."

Karl is looking for a job, and damn, does he think he’s got a place.

It had been under Jimmy’s recommendation that he’d come here, actually. His best friend’s voice had held volumes of praise, rich with awe and wonder, and Karl had inadvertently gotten excited too. 

Café Slumber, he thinks, and likes the way the name bounces around in his head. The place definitely lives up to the expectations Jimmy had set up for him, and Karl will go as far as to say they surpass his expectations. 

The toasty smell of bread and the abundant scent of grinded coffee beans give the place a homey feeling, the wooden garden chairs and round tables contributing to the mellow aesthetic, and the hanging yellow lights bask the whole area in a golden, comfortable glow.

Karl takes a slow sip of the warm mocha in his hands and sighs. The playlist they have on is super cool, too. Honestly? He can really get used to this.

The staff seem really chill as well, in his opinion. The barista that had handed him his mocha had been nice enough, presenting him his drink with a friendly grin and a rich British accent. The clout goggles clipped to his apron had been a nice touch.

Well, he thinks, standing up to leave. The next time he’s back, he’ll be on the other side of the counter.

He pauses. Hopefully, anyway. It would be awesome for him to land a job here.

In hindsight, he really should have been paying attention to where he’d been going. 

Karl crashes into someone with a yelp, force of impact sending him stumbling backwards and causing the mocha to slip from his fingers. He can only watch as the remaining half of his sweet, delicious mocha spills onto the floor, and cringes as he follows the brown liquid's trail.

"Shit, fuck– oh my God," Karl hears, and he looks up into a pair of dark, raven blue eyes.

This is the guy who bumped into him, he realises. 

Coal black bangs hang over a white headband, hovering just above thin brows and blue-black irises. Karl thinks his breath might have caught in his throat, because he's in close proximity with an absolutely stunning stranger and oh, God, he must look like an idiot.

"I'm so sorry, are you okay?" The stranger's brows are furrowed deeply, the concern in his gaze alarmingly liberal for a stranger, and Karl shakes his head.

"No, no, I'm alright," he waves off, heart hammering exceptionally hard in his chest, "what about you? are you okay?" His eyes dart back to the brown pool on the floor. "Watch out for the mocha, by the way." 

"Oh." The stranger grimaces, stepping aside to make way for the mocha before turning his attention back on Karl. "I'm really sorry about that, I should have been looking where I was going."

Karl smiles, and tries to wrestle his heartbeat back under control. "No, really, it was my fault too. I should have paid more attention."

"I'm Sapnap," the stranger offers, "and the barista's my friend. I could get him to make you another cup of," he squints down at the spilled drink, "mocha, was it?"

Karl's eyes widen. "No, no, there's no need." His smile turns sheepish as the white lie passes through his lips, "I was almost done with it, anyway."

Sapnap looks to the puddle on the floor and then back to him, and deadpans, "There's at least half a cup on the floor right now."

Karl tugs at the hem of his shirt. "There's really no need…" He protests.

"No, come on, I'm getting you a replacement." Determination sets into Sapnap's gaze. Karl doesn't need to know him well to know that there's no changing his mind.

"George!" Sapnap calls, and Karl watches as the nice barista from earlier walks into view.

The nice barista, whose name is apparently George, takes one look at Sapnap and frowns. "Sapnap!" He berates, and Karl thinks he sounds like a disappointed mother, "you're two hours late!"

"I know," Sapnap whines. Karl examines the white headband peeking out from underneath his black bangs. "But I kinda just made someone spill his drink, and I need you to help me make him another one."

"You what ?!" 

"Please, George," Sapnap begs, and Karl feels an awkward sort of guilt creep into his array of emotions, "I'm going to grab the mop to clean up now!"

Sapnap looks to Karl. "Wait here, okay?"

Before he has the chance to nod, Sapnap is already off, the red bag slung over his back disappearing into the back room behind the counter.

"I'm so sorry about him, by the way," George speaks up, though his attention is still kept on his antics behind the espresso machine, "he doesn't pay attention to his surroundings a lot."

"It's really fine," Karl smiles, "I'm sorry for making a mess."

George laughs. "Nothing that we don't see every day."

Karl can't help but laugh along with him, feeling an easiness loosen the nervous knot in his chest. He definitely can get used to this.

Tommy is a man with a goal. And when he has a goal, he will stop at nothing to achieve it.

Even if it consists of stealing his older brother's wallet and breaking into said older brother's new apartment.

Especially if it consists of stealing his older brother's wallet and breaking into said older brother's new apartment.

"Are ya' ready, Tubbo?" He prompts, daredevil grin already in place as he tosses Wilbur's wallet between his palms.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Tubbo says for the millionth time, hesitation clear in his blue eyes. Tommy sighs. His friend has a lot to learn.

"Have you forgotten what he has?" He reasons, and fixes his best friend with a uncharacteristically serious look. "The vlog gun, Tubbo. He has the vlog gun. He stole it from me."

"Yeah, but still–" Tubbo shifts. "You didn't have to steal his wallet–"

Tommy snorts. "It's honestly his fault I got to steal it. I mean, only an idiot would leave his wallet lying around on a table when I'm around."

"True," Tubbo says thoughtfully. Tommy neglects to mention that Wilbur had been visiting his house, having come over to say goodbye to the home he'd been living in for the majority of his life before officially moving into his new apartment. So what if he'd swiped Wilbur's wallet and snuck out when Wilbur had been talking to Phil and Techno? He just wants his vlog gun back.

"So," Tommy pushes, eager to get the whole thing over with and have his vlog gun safely back in his hands, "you in?"

"Yeah," Tubbo replies, and though he looks mostly reluctant, there's a little speck of mischief in his eyes that shines through in his gaze. It had been that speck of mischief that had drawn them to each other, that had led them to become the good friends they are now.

They turn to face Wilbur's apartment door, and Tommy steps forward, hands trembling with excitement as he pulls out the key from the stolen wallet and inserts it into the lock.

He turns the key once. Twice.

Click.

The wooden door swings open slightly, and Tommy looks back at Tubbo. 

There's a grin on the brunette's face, anticipation in his eyes that Tommy is sure is mirrored in his, and he can't resist the smirk that settles on his own lips.

They walk in. The apartment is messy, to say the least, cluttered with cardboard boxes and bags of supplies that Tommy is certain their father had sent over, and he frowns. This is going to take a while.

He shoots Tubbo a glance over his shoulder. Tubbo nods, and they get to work. 

He opens the cardboard box nearest to him and frowns. Books, books, books and more books. Blegh. He's had enough of those in school, Lord knows why Wilbur would want more of those even after graduation.

The next box contains music stuff. Tommy doesn't really get it, but there's a little keyboard and some strings that are probably for Wilbur's guitar, and there's still no sight of the vlog gun.

"Tubbo," he hisses, voice barely above a whisper, "have you got anything?"

Tubbo shakes his head, and Tommy feels frustration froth among his stewing pot of emotions. 

"We'll find it eventually," Tubbo promises, his words fuel for the candle of hope burning in Tommy's chest, "it's got to be here somewhere."

"Yeah," Tommy breathes, and moves on to the next box.

This box has a bunch of small pillows in it, accompanied with pillowcases and small, odd pieces of cloth. However, there's an odd lump just barely perceptible from underneath one of the pillows.

His hand reaches out, goes under, and he grasps familiar plastic.

"Tubbo!" He exclaims, victory exploding through his veins, "I've found it, Tubbo! I have the vlog gun!" Proudly, he holds it up in the air.

Tubbo bounds over, abandoning the open cardboard boxes with a wide grin. "We did it! Let's go!"

It's then that Tommy hears movement. Then, the same click Wilbur's front door had made when he and Tubbo had pushed it open earlier.

Wilbur walks in, long arms laden with more bags of supplies, and stops short when he sees the state of his living room.

"Uh oh," Tubbo whispers.

Fuck. "Uhh," Tommy says, very intelligently, "hi, Wil!"

"What the fuck?!" Wilbur replies. "How did you– I don't even remember giving you the addre– I don't have any spare keys– oh my God." 

Tommy cringes as he watches Wilbur set the bags down and pat at his back pockets.

"You stole my fucking wallet."

Game over. "Run, Tubbo!" He yells, gripping at the vlog gun for dear life as he speeds past his older brother.

"Tommy–"

"I can't wait for the day Dream actually fires you." George says, rolling his eyes.

Sapnap groans. "I already said I'm sorry for being late, what more do you want from me?"

"For you to not have to apologise," George huffs, drying the glass in his hands. "Set an alarm, for God's sake."

It's just another mid-day in the café. Sapnap will never know why, but it's usually at this time that the amount of customers dwindles. Granted, it is a Monday, a working day, and the small group of people out at this time usually would have better plans than to walk into a small, out of the way café only known to the locals around, but the café shouldn't be this empty.

Sighing, he waves goodbye to their second last customer, who's also a regular, Punz, as he takes his leave.

The last person in here, apart from him and George, just so happens to be the guy he'd bumped into earlier when he'd charged into the café, late and barely awake. Sapnap wonders why he's still here.

"Well," George says, standing up and stretching, "I'm going to have my break." He fixes Sapnap with a look. "Ten minutes, Sappitus, you better not burn the place down while I'm in the break room."

Sapnap gives his most innocent smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."

George breathes out a laugh and leaves. It's Sapnap and the customer.

Sapnap throws a glance out into the empty street, scans his eyes lazily over the sight of the empty café, before exhaling. Might as well, he thinks, moving towards the customer.

"Hi," he says, pulling out the chair opposite of the customer and turning it such that he faces the backrest. He sits, rests his chin on the the top of the backrest, and smiles. "I never did catch your name."

"It's Karl," the customer answers. There's something akin to a shy smile on his face. "With a 'k'."

"Hey, Karl," Sapnap returns. It's quite a nice name. "What are you still doing here?"

"Oh," a light pink tint rises to Karl's cheeks, and Sapnap lets the grin on his face grow right alongside Karl's. "I don't know, I just like it here, I guess."

"Cool," Sapnap nods. Karl runs a hand through his hair, and Sapnap lets his gaze wander to that. He has pretty hair, Sapnap notes. It's golden-brown and curled, messy in an aesthetic way and almost sparkling beneath the yellow light of the café.

"I was thinking of applying for a job here, actually," Karl continues, and Sapnap looks at him in surprise. Now that is cool.

"You really should," he encourages, and means it. Karl seems like a decently nice person. "You'd be a much better coworker than George is, anyway."

Karl laughs, chest puffing out in mirth. "Don't think I'd be able to say the same about–"

"HELP!"

The bell on the glass door rattles urgently. Sapnap whirls around, body tense and eyes narrowed, before he catches sight of who it is and his stance relaxes.

"What do you want, Tommy?" Sapnap sighs. "It's not even your shift today."

"Hide me!" Is all the blonde says, sprinting to duck behind the barista counter. Sapnap is torn between being confused about the situation and laughing at how panic-stricken Tommy is. He decides on the latter.

"What?" Karl mutters from opposite him. Sapnap chuckles.

"That's Tommy," He says, as a way of explanation, "he's one of the two children that work here part-time."

Tommy makes an indignant noise behind the counter. "I am not a–"

"WHERE'S THE LITTLE GREMLIN?!" Wilbur bursts in, yelling. The little bell clatters onto the floor. 

Sapnap cackles, a chaotic fire stoked within his chest. "Behind the counter, Wilbur."

There's a hiss, clattering, and a fleeting "Fuck you, Sapnap!" before Tommy disappears into the doorway behind the counter, presumably to find escape through the back door in the kitchen. Wilbur goes through mere moments later, hot on the blonde's heels.

"Anyway," Sapnap continues, nonchalant, "you'd have to apply tomorrow if you want to. Dream – the owner – is out doing deliveries right now and Wilbur – he's the manager – is… busy."

Karl still looks shocked. Sapnap stifles a laugh. "Oh."

George emerges from the doorway, evidently frazzled. "What's going on?" He looks between Sapnap and Karl. "Why's Tommy running around like a headless chicken and why's Wilbur chasing him?"

Glee erupts in his throat and he bursts into a fit of laughter, collapsing onto the table and gasping for breath as hilarity sings beneath his skin. Karl joins in next, his giggles a foreign melody in Sapnap's ears, and Sapnap laughs harder. 

Just another day.

Chapter Text

"Hired."

The lights in the break room are a contrast from the lights in the café, a bright and almost blinding white. Karl blinks. "Really?"

Dream, from across the coffee table, smiles and sits upright. His hands rest on his lap.

"Why not?" He leans back into the leather couch, moving his arms up to prop them behind his head. "We could use another barista, and I've heard a lot about you from Sapnap."

Something warm unfurls in Karl's chest at that. Sapnap talked about him to Dream? Woah.

"You've also got a recommendation text from Jimmy, so," Dream shrugs, "I don't see the issue."

Jimmy. Karl beams. He can always count on him to back him up.

"There's no issue," Karl puts in hurridley, the serotonin of success making his heart race, "thank you for giving me the opportunity."

Dream grins, and there's a twinkle in his eye. "You have a lot to live up to, though, are you sure you can handle it?"

"Yeah." Karl thinks about Jimmy, about Wilbur and Tommy and George and Sapnap, and he takes in a breath, straightening his back with determination. "I'll try my best." 

Dream's smile softens. "That's good." Then, he lets out a little huff of air and turns to the wooden door of the break room. "You can come in now, Sapnap."

Karl jolts as the door bursts open, revealing a wide-eyed and enthusiastic Sapnap. "So? What's the verdict?" The black-haired man asks, eagerly awaiting the answer. Karl thinks he looks like an excited puppy.

Dream, clearly used to this, only gives Sapnap a smile. "He can start work anytime. I would prefer if he were to start tomorrow, since," he pauses, and a weird looks gets in his eyes, "George isn't here to show him the ropes–"

"But Techno's on shift right now, he can teach Karl," Sapnap protests. Karl scrunches his nose up at the new name.

Dream's gaze seems to darken at this, his green eyes narrowing in something that looks like irritation. "Well, sure," the blonde says, almost reluctantly, "he can have Technoblade train him…"

Karl nudges Sapnap and gives him a questioning look, only for Sapnap to shake his head and mouth the words I'll tell you later.

"Just… do whatever, honestly," Dream gathers up his things and stands to leave, but then seems to remember something and turn back. He stares at them for a moment, eyes going from Karl to Sapnap to Karl to Sapnap again, as if he's contemplating telling them something, and Karl shifts awkwardly.

Dream notes this and smiles, lips curving in a lopsided grin as he speaks finally. "Welcome to the team, Karl." He turns to Sapnap and pats him firmly on the shoulder. "Go show him around or something, Sap."

With those parting words, he's gone. As soon as the door closes, Karl launches into conversation. 

"What was that all about?" He says, questions surfacing in his head like koi fish gasping for air in a pond. "And who's… Techno?"

Sapnap seems to smirk. Karl thinks it's not a bad look on him. "Don't mind Dream," he states simply, confidently, "it's a Tuesday."

If anything, Karl is even more confused. "What happens on Tuesdays?"

"George doesn't work on Tuesdays." Sapnap says it like it's obvious, a smug glint in his eyes. "Dream always gets weird on Tuesdays; becomes a bit more closed off and easier to irritate, so just don't mind him."

Karl blinks. Does that mean…? "Oh."

"Between us," Sapnap leans down to whisper in Karl's ear, and Karl prays he can't hear his heart hammering, "me and the rest like to call it GWS. Stands for George Withdrawal Symptom."

Karl can't help it. The giggles burst from his throat, leaving him dizzy and warm and lightheaded. He leans slightly onto Sapnap for support. "Are they, like… a thing?"

Sapnap doesn't say anything about their contact, so Karl assumes he doesn't mind. "Oh, heaven forbid, no." Sapnap rolls his eyes, sounding like he's ranted about this many times before. "They're both idiots, and for the life of me, they refuse to go out."

"Years, Karl!" He exclaims dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead as if he might faint, "I've endured this bullshit for years!" His eyes find Karl's, and Karl is struck by the humour laced within his gaze. "When will they put me out of my misery?!"

"There, there," Karl smiles, patting Sapnap on the back gently, "I'm sure they'll come around soon."

Sapnap lets out a long, mournful sigh. "I hope so."

Karl titters again, chest light as air, before another thought strikes him. 

"So… who's Technoblade?"

Techno is generally having a good day. A decent amount of customers have come in that morning, with a few leaving tips – good tips, might he add – and he'll be having his break in about – he checks his watch – half an hour.

Now, if Sapnap will stop pressing his ear into different spots on the door of the break room, in futile attempts to overhear the conversation going on in there, his day will be a lot better.

"You look like an idiot." He states plainly.

Sapnap whips his head around to shush him. "I'm trying to listen, here, I would appreciate it if you would be quiet."

Techno lifts his hands slightly and holds them, palms turned out, by his ears. "Alright, alright, no need for the aggro'." He returns back to counting the number of mugs in a stack with his eyes. "Just saying that the customers might not appreciate the view."

From the peripherals of his vision, Techno watches a pair of girls sitting at the corner of the café shoot quick glances at Sapnap and whisper together conspiratorially.

Sapnap gives a haughty sniff. "My ass looks fantastic, thank you very much."

Techno grimaces, tilts his head to the side, and says nothing.

Moments later, he sees Sapnap jump and burst into the break room, door swinging shut behind him. The girls stop chatting. Techno sighs.

The next time the door opens, Techno stiffens. He doesn't even need to look to know who it is coming out.

It's the way the air is suddenly slathered with a layer of tension and unspoken opinions; the familiar shuffling of sneakers against the wooden-board café floor; as well as the ever-present flash of green whenever he's around that alert Techno of the fact that oh, it's just his arch-rival since high school that walked into the room, nobody special, really.

Dream gives him a curt, barely-perceptible nod as he moves past him to go into the kitchen, and Techno nods right back. He catches Dream's gaze as the other passes, and for a moment he's back in high school, back in his stuffy fencing gear and staring back at those same green eyes, his épée firm in his grip as he watches for any signs of movement.

In full honesty, they'd been nothing but teenagers then, with Techno subtly seeking validation through the numerous fencing medals and Dream simply looking for a fierce challenge. Techno thinks they really should have gotten over it by now, but there's just something in the way the blonde blinks that makes mild annoyance flare up and a challenge to rise in his throat.

"Some things just never change, I guess."

Techno looks up. 

Wilbur, on the opposite side of the counter, waves. "You guys are never going to get over your rivalry stage, are you?"

The heaviness in the air dissipates. Techno instinctively moves to start the espresso machine and make Wilbur's favourite — straight black coffee.

"What clued you in?" He says, dryly, as he watches the dark liquid stream into the mug, "Was it the dirty looks, perhaps? Or maybe how it's been years since high school ended and we still can't be in the same room together without proposing some sort of competition?" He meets Wilbur's eyes and gives him a dull look as he hands over the coffee. "Thank you so much for your enlightening input, Captain Obvious."

Wilbur laughs, and accepts the coffee. "Never change, Techno. Never change." 

"Wasn't planning on it, but sure." Techno shrugs, and allows a small smile to grace his lips. 

He'll never admit it, but he misses this. Normal conversations with his younger brother have grown extremely rare since they both started living their own lives, and it's times like these that he's grateful to have accepted Wilbur's offer to work here, all those months ago.

Wilbur rounds the corner of the barista counter and slips into the spot next to Techno, calmly sipping on his black coffee as they stand by each other, and Techno feels warm. Comfortable.

Sapnap and the newbie emerge from the break room, chattering wildly. They brush past him and Wilbur as they go into the kitchen, and Techno raises an eyebrow at how close they seem to be, already. Maybe they'd known each other beforehand…?

The two girls in the corner stand up to leave. 

The bell dings. Techno looks over, and freezes. 

Beside him, Wilbur chokes on his coffee.

"What the fuck…?" His brother rasps, wiping away at residue coffee at the corner of his mouth. Techno can't help but agree.

Fundy, quite frankly, wants to flush himself down a toilet bowl and suffocate within the sewage system.

Dying would be a better fate than this, he thinks bitterly. 

He absolutely hates it here, in this stupid orange fur suit, with orange fucking fox ears and large, black eyes that terrify him all the way down to his core. It's hot and stuffy and embarrassing and he wants to cry.

Fundy hadn't wanted this. He hadn't wanted to be shoved into a furry suit by his friends and forced to buy them coffee from the café he regulars, hadn't wanted to have to endure the shame of walking through the streets looking like this, and if only his stupid pride and stupid ego had shut up in that moment where it had all gone down, it wouldn't have come to this.

Fundy hates bets. Hates losing them even more.

At least they can't see your face, a little voice inside of him soothes. As long as he keeps quiet, no one will know who he is.

He stops by the glass doors of Café Slumber, braces himself, and goes in.

Fuck, he thinks immediately. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck – 

He first sees the two girls. They look a bit shell-shocked, rooted to the ground as they stare, and Fundy wonders if he broke them.

They get over it, though, and slip past him silently through the door. They don't look back.

Fundy sighs, and stops dead when he turns to see who's on shift today.

Wilbur and Techno stand behind the counter.

One rarely surprises Techno, but even he looks a little fazed at the sight of Fundy entering. (Not that he knows it's Fundy, of course.) Wilbur disappears beneath the espresso machine, sounding like he's trying to hack out a lung, and Fundy grimaces beneath his suit.

"Good afternoon," Techno greets, voice the same monotone it always is. Fundy takes comfort in that. "What can I get you?"

Fundy almost speaks. Almost.

Recollecting himself, he awkwardly tries to point at the regular latté order on the small menu at the counter. All he manages to achieve is the patting sound of the huge paw his hand has been reduced to hitting against the wooden counter. 

He kind of wants to throw himself off a building.

Techno clears his throat. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. You'll have to," another throat clearing, "talk, I think."

This, without a doubt, is the worst day of Fundy's life.

"Four regular latté's, please." He says, softly and lowly. 

Techno looks uncomfortable. "Sorry, but could you… speak up?"

Fundy will never tease Tommy about being a child again if it means he'll retain the salvation of anonymity. "Four regular latté's, please." God, have mercy on his soul.

There's a pause, and then the worst happens. 

"Fundy?!"

It's Wilbur who recognises him. Of course it is. Fundy wants to spontaneously burst into flames.

"I don't–" He inhales, prepares his voice to go one octave lower, and tries to respond as coolly as possible. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It is you, Fundy!" Wilbur gives an incredulous laugh. "You're in a–" Fundy watches, despair slowly lapping over him, as the absurdity of it all finally seems to dawn on Wilbur, and the curly-haired man's grin widens. "You're in a fucking fur–"

The bell rattles, loudly. Fundy spins, desperate to find someone who will save him from this monstrosity of a situation, and–

"What's a furry doing in the shop?"

Tubbo has no expectations when he walks into the café to start his shift, his steps in line with Tommy's. 

Tommy shoves the door open like he normally does, causing the bell to jingle stridently and make an ominous smacking sound when it hits back against the glass door, and Tubbo's gaze darts to it worridley. It might actually break one day.

And then he looks forward.

Staring straight back at him is someone in a fox costume, bright orange fur a stark contrast against the homely wood of the café.

Confusion surges, and his lips are moving before he can even think. "What's a furry doing in the shop?"

Tommy is sputtering right beside him, and Tubbo watches in deeper puzzlement as Wilbur drops, completely hidden behind the barista counter. 

The café explodes into sound. Wilbur is wheezing behind the counter, nearly on the floor as he clutches his stomach and gasps for air, and Tommy cackles right by Tubbo's ear. Even Techno has a smile on.

"Of all people–" Wilbur, successfully gathering some of his composure, attempts to speak. "Of all people, I never expected Tubbo–"

And then he's gone again, face covered by the espresso machine as he falls apart. Tubbo, confused but tickled by the sound of his friends' laughter, manages a quizzical chuckle.

"But seriously, guys, why's a fu–"

" I am NOT a furry!" A new voice jumps in. Tubbo finds it familiar.

"Wait…" Tommy exchanges a disbelieving look with Tubbo and gapes. "Fundy! It's Fundy!"

"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" Fundy yells, lifting his paws to hide his face. "WHY."

Even in the ridiculous fur suit, Fundy looks miserable. Tubbo can almost see his anguished frown beneath it. "What happened to you, Fundy?" He asks, his eyebrows knitting together in pity.

"I lost a bet." Fundy spits, his fox head still in his fox paws.

Tubbo bites down his laugh. Tommy does not.

"You're a fox, Fundy!" The blonde crows, almost dancing with glee, "A furry fox!"

In a flash, Fundy removes his paws from his eyes and glares at Tommy through the suit. "I told you," he grits out, "that I'm not a–"

"For the furry," Techno drawls from behind them, dangling a bag of four takeaway coffee cups over the counter.

Fundy makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat. Techno smirks, Wilbur looks like he's about to pass out, and Tommy snickers.

"What does–" Tommy can't get two words out before dissolving into another bout of laughter, and Tubbo finds himself laughing too. "What does the fox say?!?!"

With a snarl, Fundy lunges for Tommy.

"No!" Tubbo leaps to insert himself between them, and grabs at Fundy's shoulders to attempt to calm him down. "Fundy! Please!"

In front of them, Wilbur lets out a maniacal wheeze. "He's gone feral!" He chokes out, and collapses onto the floor. "He's a feral fox!"

"I fucking hate all of you."

Inside the kitchen, Dream is having a relatively peaceful time. 

"What are you doing now?" George's voice is gravel-like through his earpiece.

"Sitting in front of the oven," Dream shrugs, even though he knows George won't be able to see him, "Bad told me to watch the muffins when I came in ten minutes ago and then left through the back door to get supplies from Skeppy."

George laughs. It doesn't sound the same over call. "He's going to take a while."

"Right?" Dream chuckles, and fixes his gaze on the rising muffins in the oven. He vaguely registers Karl and Sapnap entering, presumably on their tour, but pays them no mind. "What about you? What are you doing?"

Dream hears fast clicking, and then the clacking of keys on a keyboard.

"Playing Minecraft," George replies, nonchalant.

"Without me?!" Dream gasps, jokingly indignant. " George."

George giggles on the other side of the call, his laughter ridden with feedback, and Dream doesn't like it. "I'm trying to learn how to speedrun, you moron."

The timer on the oven goes down as Dream scoffs. "You? Speedrunning?"

"Yeah," George huffs. "I'll be better than even you soon, just you wait!"

The idea of George beating the game under forty minutes is oddly ridiculous to him. Not that he doesn't have the skill to do it, but speedrunning requires more than just skill. Luck and experience play a huge part, and Dream, regretfully, can say that George is very much lacking in both of those departments. 

"How about we make a bet?" Dream suggests. There's silence on the other end, and Dream can hear the cogs in George's mind turning.

"What kind of bet?" George prompts, careful.

Dream hums. "If you can get a sub forty by next Thursday's shift, I will do one thing of your choice." The muffins, basking under the warm heat in the oven, rise steadily.

"And vice versa if I don't, huh?" George murmurs. Dream feels a light shiver run down his spine. "Interesting."

George thinks. Dream waits.

"Bet."

Dream grins, the oven 'ding's, and he opens it. The muffins are hot and ready.

"Bet."

Chapter Text

Sapnap stands by the glass doors of Café Slumber at precisely five forty-five in the morning, feeling bright and absurdly excited for the day's events.

This, he thinks, is an achievement. 

He'll admit it. He isn't known for being an early riser – especially on days where he has the morning shift and even more so on days where he's the one who has to open up shop – and being on time isn't exactly his forté, so being early on this shift is huge for him. 

Don't get him wrong. This is a one-time thing, never to happen again, but still.

He'd deliberately gone to sleep early last night in preparation for this. His body clock hadn't been able to adjust as fast, of course, and he'd spent the time before sleep took him thinking about the possible fun things that would happen today.

Today has arrived, and Sapnap is incredibly happy. For a multitude of reasons.

First of them all being the familiar silhouette drawing closer in the distance.

Sapnap lets a silly grin form on his face as Karl gives a huge wave, swinging his hand in a large arc above his head to greet him.

It's been about a week since Karl had officially joined the crew, and if Sapnap's being honest, it's been the best week of his entire life. Finally, there's someone who shares his energy. Someone who really gets him and someone who can be his hype man in the way that he's everyone else's hype man.

Ever since Karl joined, every working day has felt so much lighter, so much more enjoyable. Karl had fit right into their mess of chaotic energy, contributing to their vibe with his own little jokes and sweet encouragements. And the best part? Karl's always on Sapnap's side. Be it teasing Dream and George or getting into an argument with Tommy, Karl stands by him no matter what.

Sapnap adores Karl for it.

(And maybe he had convinced Dream to tweak Karl's shifts to align with his because of that, just like how Tubbo's are aligned with Tommy's, but that's not the point.)

“You’re early today,” Karl says, once he’s close enough to be in hearing distance, “I thought you’d oversleep.”

Sapnap sniffs down at him and turns to unlock the café doors. He doesn’t wipe the smile from his face. “Contrary to popular belief, I can, in fact, wake up early.”

Karl giggles behind him, and he whirls around indignantly. 

“It’s only if I want to, okay?” Sapnap protests, and Karl laughs, looking up at him with the pretties-

What.

What.

“I’m glad you wanna open up the café with me,” Karl hums as he brushes past Sapnap into the café, oblivious and unbothered. The lights flicker on.

Sapnap inhales and hurls his previous thoughts away, into a corner of his mind where they can hopefully rot. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s gonna be fun!”

Karl spins around and gives him a blinding smile, looking for all the world like a ballerina on stage. “I think so too!”

They place their bags under the barista counter like they always do, then head on to put on their aprons, which Sapnap swears is just Dream’s way of torturing him. The aprons are an absolute menace to put on, with their stupid strings and dumb knots, and are the one of the two things he absolutely cannot stand in the café.

(The other thing is Tommy.)

Sapnap looks at the brown apron in his hands and heaves a sigh. Here we go, he thinks, somewhat dejectedly, as he pulls it over his head. 

He goes through just fine. It’s the next step that he absolutely loathes.

Holding the strings gingerly, he brings them around his waist and holds them in – what he assumes to be – the position to tie a knot. He can do this. He can.

Cross, through the hole near the back, pull.  

He quickly decides that he can't.

"Do you need help?" Karl offers. The smile on his face does funny things to Sapnap's stomach.

"N–" He stops himself, thinks of the frustration of not being able to tie the goddamn not and thinks of how bad he'd look, failing miserably in front of Karl a gajillion times, and tries again. "Yeah," he adds, "please."

The pretty, earnest look Karl gives him is worth all the hell his pride goes through.

Karl is pretty, Sapnap thinks. But it's an objective sort of pretty. If he asks George and Dream if Karl is pretty objectively, surely they'd say yes, too. Because all these thoughts are merely objective. Sapnap inhales. Merely objective.

Objectively pretty , he repeats to himself, as Karl settles behind him and takes the apron strings into his hands, objectively pretty.

"So," Karl starts, and Sapnap can hear the smirk in his voice. "Wanna talk about how you can't tie a knot behind your back?"

"Shut up," Sapnap laughs, "it's hard, okay?" Usually he just tucks the strings into the back of his jeans and prays nobody notices.

Karl lets out a small chuckle, and his breath tickles the back of Sapnap's neck. Sapnap shudders, just a little. "Guess I'll just have to tie it for you every time, then."

With one last pull, Karl steps away from him. The sudden rush of space and air leaves Sapnap a little colder and little yearning, but he shrugs it off to focus on how Karl's dragging a cardboard box out from under the counter.

"What are you doing?" He asks dumbly.

Karl heaves the box onto the barista counter, pushes some curls of chestnut brown hair from his eyes and fixes him with a look. "Setting up?"

"Yeah, but..." Sapnap blinks. "What's that?"

"The decorations?" Karl raises an eyebrow at him, the right corner of his lip curving teasingly. Sapnap's stomach flips in an odd yet good way. "Dream told us to put them up yesterday, didn't he?"

Sapnap, for the life of him, cannot remember. "He did?"

Karl laughs, and Sapnap feels something warm worm into his chest. "Yeah. Did you forget? It's Valentine's Day today, Sap."

It's nine o'clock in the morning, two hours into their shift, when Dream remembers.

"George! The bet!" He exclaims, and George winces.

"What bet?" George asks, and tries to pretend like he hasn't spent the last few nights staying up until three in the morning to try and beat the game.

Dream rolls his eyes knowingly. "The one we made last Tuesday? About you speedrunning?"

George decisively does not make eye contact with Dream, turning his gaze onto the half-filled café. "I have no idea." 

There's been an influx of customers today, presumably because of their Valentine's Day Promotion and how their café is actually decorated to fit the occasion. (Courtesy of Sapnap and Karl, of course. George still can't believe Sapnap has been in the shop since six. Sapnap.) The morning has been rather busy and George has never been more glad to be able to catch a break.

"Don't play dumb, George," Dream's voice is smug. "You didn't manage to get a sub forty, did you?"

George sighs, and wants to dig himself into a hole. "No," he admits reluctantly, struggling to keep his voice even, "no, I didn't."

Finally, he turns and meets Dream's eyes. They sparkle with a playful sort of cunning, one that promises George of nothing good. George tries very hard not to find it attractive.

"So…" Dream baits.

It's his stupid smile, George thinks. His stupid, sly, dumb, idiot smile that George just can't ignore, for some equally stupid reason. 

He relents. "Yeah, yeah, spit it out already. What do you want from me?"

Dream grins, wide and mischievous. He glances around for a moment before coming to a decision.

"It's the season of romance, isn't it?" He smirks, "go up to that girl sitting alone at the side there and flirt with her for a full five minutes." A pause. "Ask her out too, while you're at it."

George inhales, very deeply. "What the fuck."

"Ask who out?" A familiar voice chimes in. It's Sapnap, because of course it is, inserting himself into the conversation like he always does. He gives George a friendly nudge, and George feels a slight bit of his irritation melt away.

"Hey, guys," Karl chimes in, way more polite than Sapnap. 

"Karl Jacobs," George drawls, an amicable greeting. Karl giggles.

"Gogmeister."

George grins. 

Dream huffs out a laugh and waves their attention back to him. "George! Do it!"

"Do what?" Karl questions.

The initial excitement of having more friends join in on the conversation dies out, and George, with a sinking dread, realises what this means. Great, he thinks, more people to watch me wallow in embarrassment.

"He lost a bet with me," Dream explains, glee laced in his words, "now he has to hit up a girl."

"Oooh," Sapnap mocks in an effort-filled, very inaccurate British accent, "Gogy has to hit up a girl?" He looks to George, playful pity in his gaze. "Are you sure you know how to do that?"

George simply cannot stand Sapnap sometimes.

"Shut up, Swipnip," he snarks, and is rewarded by Sapnap's immediate scowl.

"Children," Dream warns. George backs off.

"Fine," he says, "I'll do it. Let's just get this over with."

Taking in a deep breath, he steps out from behind the counter and heads towards the girl. 

She's sitting by herself near the right wall of the café. There's nothing wrong with it, per se, it's just… odd to see someone out in a Valentine's Day themed café by themselves. George can't help but think, for a second, that if she hadn't been alone, maybe Dream would have found some other, better thing for him to do.

Her hair is short. The brown strands barely brush against her shoulders as her eyes scan through the pages of the book she's reading. She has earpieces plugged in, too, and George winces at the thought of having to pull her from her own little realm.

If he'd been more capable of speedrunning, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

He stands by her table, awkward, and she looks up from her book as his shadow falls over her.

"Can I help you?" She asks, taking out one of her earpieces.

"Uh." He tries, "Hello."

"Hello," she says, slowly. Confusion and apprehension radiates from her body posture.

Quick, his mind supplies, unhelpfully, think of something. Glancing back at his friends behind the counter, he sends them a desperate look.

Sapnap ducks behind the counter as he laughs, and Dream is outright slamming his hand on the table as he cackles. Karl hides his chuckles behind his palm, but George feels the embarrassment burn into his cheeks anyway.

They’re all useless idiots, he decides, and turns back to the girl at the table.

“Um,” she says. “Hi?”

George scrambles. “Are you, uh, the- uh, French?” He cringes at his own awkwardness. “Because Eiffel for you.”

The girl looks at him, eyes going from his nametag and very obvious work apron to his idiot friends behind the counter, and gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I’m Maia,” she says, eyes warm as she gestures to the seat opposite her. “Do you want to sit down?”

George sighs at the understanding look in her eyes. “Yes, please . Thank you so much.”

Dream, quite literally, cannot believe that the girl George had been sent to hit up is still able to put up with him.

He’s been there for about seven minutes now, talking animatedly and smiling vibrantly as the girl laughs along with him, and Dream does not get why with each second that George stays there, the itchy irritation in the center of his chest grows.

“Woah,” Karl says, “they’re still at it?” His hands are busy with wiping a mug clean, but he still manages to tiptoe and peer over the espresso machine to “spy” on George and the girl. 

In the corner of Dream’s eye, he sees Sapnap freeze up and stare in Karl’s direction.

Dream tears his gaze away from the two at the side of the café and fixes his line of sight on the counter. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat, "they really… hit it off."

Karl eyes him curiously. Dream ignores it.

George is laughing again, the sounds of happiness ringing true in Dream's ears. An uncharacteristic bitterness settles in the pits of his gut, something dark and sour leaking into his veins as he watches the corners of George's eyes crinkle up.

Why isn't he back yet? Doesn't he know that he's still on shift?

A pat on his shoulder from Sapnap brings him out of his brooding.

Sapnap shares a look with Karl before turning back to him. "You okay, dude?" There's something that looks like self-satisfaction glinting in the raven-haired man's eyes. "You've been staring aggressively at them for a while."

"Staring? Aggressively?" Dream doesn't even entertain the possibility. "You're seeing things, Sap."

Seeing George act so happy with someone else is just… weird, that's all. He and that girl… they must have clicked so fast and so well. Maybe they'll meet up again. Maybe they'll exchange numbers and have late-night calls all the time. Maybe George will ask her out, for real, and maybe Dream will get tossed aside, left in the dust as George pursues his new love interest–

"Dream?" And suddenly George is in front of him, waving a lithe hand in front of his face to garner his attention. 

Dream blinks, and stops thinking. "Oh. Hi." His gaze wanders to the soot where George and that girl had been sitting earlier. Both seats are empty, one former occupant clearly before him while the other one is nowhere to be seen.

"Back so soon?" He asks. The words come out sharper than he means them to. "What happened to the girl?"

George raises an eyebrow at the shift in his tone. "Oh, you mean Maia?" There's something in the way that George smiles at the mention of her name that just ticks Dream off. "She had to leave. Something came up."

"I got her number, by the way," George dangles a little piece of paper between his fingers before depositing it in his pocket. "She seems cool."

Dream can only think about how he didn't ask.

"Okay." He says, gruffier than he intends. He doesn't know exactly why he's in such a nasty mood now, really. All he knows is that something sucks and he really doesn't feel like looking at George right now.

The bell jingles, lightly. Dream steps away from the counter, prepared to fall back into his usual role as waiter and let George take over the customer service at the barista counter, when he glances up and recognises the person who just waltzed in.

"Dream!" Skeppy calls, eyes bright. 

Dream's brows go up.

In Skeppy's arms lie a bouquet of red roses, a circle of rich crimson held together by light pink wrapping paper. Skeppy himself looks different from his usual Supply Delivery Man Uniform, dressed in a loose, white sweater paired with baby blue jeans. His blue beanie rests atop his messy locks like it always does, though, and he pokes his tongue out at Dream playfully.

"Can you call Bad out for me, please?" He asks, eyes earnest and chest puffed out. 

Dream grins, shoving the bitterness from earlier aside. "Of course." 

Ducking past Sapnap and Karl, he pushes open the kitchen door and yells. "Bad! Someone's looking for you!"

There's clattering, and then a reply. "Coming!"

Soon, Bad comes through the doorway. "Dream! What's–" His eyes turn to the man on the opposite side of the counter and they widen. "Skeppy?! What're you–" His gaze lands on the bouquet. "Oh."

Skeppy beams, looking at Bad expectantly.

Sheer happiness for his friends claws at Dream's chest.

"Is that… for me?" Bad asks, hesitant. His green eyes dart over to Dream, and Dream gives him an affirmative nod in response. "Oh."

Skeppy laughs. "Happy Valentine's Day, Bad," he hands over the bouquet.

Bad seems to light up as he takes the flowers into his hands. "Thank you," he breathes, almost in awe. Then, he looks up. "Wait, I–" The apples in his cheeks are tinted a sudden red, and he steps back, flustered. "Meet me in the kitchen, Skeppy. I– we need to talk."

And then he's gone, disappearing behind the swinging wooden door. Skeppy shrugs as he jogs behind the counter, laughing at Sapnap's suggestive "In the kitchen, huh?" and smiling when Dream reaches to give him an encouraging pat on the back.

Dream watches as the door shuts, and turns back to the shop. The customers, evidently ruffled by the little display earlier, have broken into buzzing chatter.

He lets his mind wander. Wouldn't it be nice to have a relationship like Bad and Skeppy's? They're an interesting duo, definitely, what with Skeppy constantly trying to pull a fast one on Bad and Bad always falling for his jokes no matter how lame. But Dream thinks what he envies most is how comfortable they are with each other, and how they bring out the other's personality in a way that only they can. 

Dream looks at George, who's smiling to his phone like an idiot as he texts someone – probably the Maia girl, a little voice whispers – and the itchiness in his chest returns.

Strange.

It's the afternoon shift, and Wilbur has never been more annoyed by his younger brother.

He pauses. That's a lie, actually. Wilbur can think of many other occasions where Tommy had annoyed him more than this.

Still, with each word that Tommy spills to Tubbo, Wilbur's irritation skyrockets just a bit more.

"You know, Tubbo," Tommy is saying now, as they rest on stools at the back of the barista counter, "this holiday is rather stupid, really."

Tubbo tilts his head. "Why's that?"

"Why, that's because–" Tommy stops himself. Wilbur seizes the opportunity the Gods have given him to seek salvation in the momentary silence. "Don't you know what V-day is about, Tubbo?" 

Tubbo's brows come together. "Not really, no."

"Let me enlighten you," Tommy clears his throat, "it's about… it's about, uh, love." He says the word like it offends him, and Wilbur rolls his eyes at the immaturity.

Beside him, Techno's lip quirks for a second.

"Oh." Tubbo says. "Why do they have a whole holiday about that?"

Tommy looks self-satisfied. "Right? And you know what's the most ridiculous part?"

"What?" Tubbo coins, seemingly invested in the conversation.

"It's about," Tommy's voice drops to a whisper, "romantic love."

Tubbo gasps appropriately. 

Wilbur snickers.

Tommy nods sagely. "Yeah."

Wilbur, decidedly, will not let him disrespect the power of Valentine's Day any longer. "Actually," he spins on his heel to face them, and feels the boys' two gazes land on him. "I beg to differ."

Tommy's blue eyes narrow. "On what?"

"You said Valentine's Day is stupid." Wilbur turns and pins him with his stare. "I disagree."

"It is, though," Tubbo pipes up, the poor boy influenced by Wilbur's uneducated brother, "why do people need a whole day dedicated to romantic love?" His eyes turn thoughtful. "If you truly love someone, shouldn't you show that to them every day? Why should there be a single day chosen to show affection?"

Oh.

Wilbur hadn't thought about that.

"He's right, you know?" Techno adds, just as Wilbur opens his mouth to defend his stance. If anything, his older brother's contribution has only made him more determined to share his knowledge with the people he considers closest to him.

He will not go down this easily.

"Do you know," Wilbur starts, serious, "how many people have been saved by this single holiday."

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Saved?" His voice oozes skepticism. "What do you mean, 'saved'?"

"Saved," Wilbur emphasises, trying to sound as regal as he can, "from a life of loneliness."

Tubbo gasps appropriately, once more.

Techno snorts. Tommy looks at him, deadpan.

"Bullshit." The blonde teen calls confidently. Wilbur narrows his eyes.

Standing up straighter, he continues on his preachings. (If anything, he just wants to prove his little goblin brother wrong.) "Do you know how hard it is, Tommy?" The brown of his own eyes meets the sky blue of Tommy's. "To get a girlfriend?"

"No." Tommy pauses, his cocky grin faltering for a split second. "Women love me."

Almost immediately, Tubbo purses his lips and shuts him down. "I wouldn't say that."

Tommy looks greatly offended. "Hey!"

"Judging by how you haven't brought a girl home yet, Tommy, I would say he's right." Techno drawls easily. He slowly pushes his pink braid over his shoulder. "Unless… you can prove us wrong?"

Tommy stands up and looks like he's about to argue, but Wilbur shoves him down, swallowing his laughter from before.

"As I was saying," he presses, shooting Tommy a reprimanding look as the younger man starts to protest. Tommy grows quiet. "So many people have found their significant other through the ingenious use of this holiday alone." He lifts his chin, proud. "Valentine's Day is crucial for the survival of romance, and therefore it is not stupid."

There's silence, and then solitary applause.

It's Tubbo.

"What?" The brunette stops as everyone's eyes land on him. "Were we not supposed to clap…?"

Techno sighs, and turns back to wiping down his glasses.

"No, no," Wilbur amends, "thank you, Tubbo." His gaze, settled on his two brothers, turns dirty. "You're the only one who appreciates me."

Why can't Tubbo be his brother instead of Tommy, huh? God, the things he would give to trade the two.

"No problem, Wil!" Tubbo chirps in response, and something in Wilbur softens.

The moment is gone as soon as Tommy opens his mouth. (Wilbur can't really say anything. It was bound to happen.)

"You're being an idiot , Wil," Tommy huffs, rolling his eyes. Wilbur wants to reach over and punt him. "Getting a girlfriend is easy."

Easy? Easy, he says.

Wilbur scoffs. "Like you, of all people, would know."

"Of course I would," Tommy boasts. "I've had lots."

Tubbo looks away and mutters something, and Wilbur swears it's somewhere along the lines of: "Again, I wouldn't say that."

Wilbur raises his eyebrows and stares at Tommy, gaze clearly disbelieving, and Tommy takes the bait, just like Wilbur had known he would.

"You are all assholes," Tommy sniffs, and makes his way around the barista counter, "I'll show you guys how easy it is to get a girlfriend."

Wilbur grins as Tommy approaches a table with a pair of girls. This is going to be fun.

Tommy knows exactly what he's doing when he walks up to the table with two girls.

(That's a lie. He has no idea what he's doing.)

Still, he can't turn back now. He has to prove Wilbur wrong, has to prove that getting a girlfriend is, in fact, easy.

How hard can it be?

(Famous last words.)

Faced with the pressure of questioning stares coming from two of the female species, Tommy crumbles.

"You're my girlfriend." He blurts out dumbly, fixing his gaze on the girl closest to him — the girl with the dark hair and the round glasses.

The girls blink up at him.

She isn't disagreeing, though, the realisation quickly dawns upon him, causing his chest to rise with pride.

And that's it, isn't it? A grin slowly pulls at his lips. He's gotten himself a girlfriend, with just that one sentence. Wilbur had been wrong, getting a girlfriend is easy .

"I'm sorry, what?" The girl looks terribly bewildered. Tommy's grin falters.

"You're my girlfriend," he repeats, suddenly feeling stupid.

"Oh," she says, then, a bizarre expression rippling over her face. "I… am?"

"Uh," what the fuck is he supposed to say? This isn't– this isn't going how he'd expected it to go. He takes in a deep breath and puffs out his chest. Confidence and assurance is key. "Yes."

"Um." She says again, glancing hesitantly at the girl sitting across from her. "I'm… sorry? But I'm going to have to turn you down…" Tommy's eyes follow her hand as it reaches over the table to grasp her companion's. "Men kind of…" She sucks in a breath through her teeth, and all Tommy can think is oh, "aren't my thing."

Embarrassment creeps up his neck and lights his cheeks aflame. "Oh."

"I'm so sorry," he jabbers, bowing slightly as he tries to rid himself of his shame, "I didn't– I–"

He turns back to the counter, already furiously mouthing the word help, when he catches sight of it.

The camera.

Techno hides a smug smirk behind his phone as he points its camera at Tommy, and Tommy realises, with an infuriating dread, that he'd caught all of that on video.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry!" He calls one last time, shooting them a genuinely apologetic look, and backtracks towards his so-called "family".

His so-called "family" does not help.

Wilbur and Tubbo are almost on the floor, steadying themselves with whatever is available to them as they catch their breath. Techno nails him with a shit-eating look in his eyes, and Tommy simply does not understand what is funny about the entire situation.

"Look, look," Tommy tries to explain, though the combined, contagious laughter of Wilbur and Tubbo elicits a few chuckles from him, "she said she didn't like men ," his voice drops conspiratorially, "and I get that. I really , really get that," he brings his voice back up to it's usual tone and volume, "and if you discount that fact, I really nearly got her to be my girlfriend!"

Wilbur bursts into a fit of laughter again, and Tubbo struggles to contain his own giggles. Tommy's embarrassment from earlier dissipates completely at that.

"Right," Techno cuts in, dragging out the word. "Just like how if you don't count the fact that I failed my math test, I almost passed it!"

Tommy sputters, laughter dancing off his tongue. "B-but–"

"It's okay to be disappointed, Tommy," Tubbo pats him on the shoulder and contorts his laughing face into something solemn, "but you don't have to worry. There's plenty of other sea in the fish!" His face scrunches up. "Wait, that–"

"Sea in the f–" Wilbur wheezes, a high pitched, bird-like sound. Tommy laughs too, though he shoots Tubbo a smile that's almost fond. (Not that he'll ever say it.) Good ol' Tubster.

"The phrase is 'fish in the sea', Tubbo," Wilbur says gently, coming down from his high as he extends a hand to ruffle his fellow brunette's hair, "but it's alright. Sea in the fish it is!"

Tubbo brightens up, his brows arching upwards as his lips spread into a grin, and Tommy sends Wilbur a knowing look. Wilbur's hair-ruffling just has that ability to make people comfortable about their blunders, he thinks. He's been on the receiving end of it more than once, and it's never failed to make him feel better.

Tommy's heart swells, and before he knows it, he's speaking again.

"Who needs Valentine's Day, anyway?" He decides, looking around at his family. "I've got you guys, don't I?"

Tubbo grins. Techno closes his eyes and doesn't say anything, but Tommy just knows, after years of living with him, that he's smiling. 

Wilbur chuckles, soft and warm. "Yeah, Tommy. You do."

"I've already sent the video to Dad, by the way."

"You pink-haired bastard–"

Chapter Text

It's a beautiful afternoon in the café, in Sapnap's humble opinion.

The street outside bustles with an activity rarely seen — not that it's busy, or anything – the streets are never busy – but it's brimming with life nonetheless. The sun is out, the people walking by have smiles on their faces, Sapnap has been tipped twice already, and he has a feeling that it's going to be one hell of a good day.

He lets out a soft, but high-pitched whistle by the counter, and watches as Karl begins to clean up a table on the left side of the café. The honey-gold lights of the café seem to make his hair glow with a rich chestnut brown that leaves Sapnap almost jealous, and there's a small, dorky smile on his face as he clears the plates and ceramic cups. If Sapnap concentrates hard enough, he can almost hear the little tune he's humming to himself.

(He ignores the way his heart patters.)

"Just ask him out already, you lovesick idiot." A new voice interjects.

Sapnap flinches and turns to his right, meeting the gazes of his two – might he add, equally, if not more lovesick, not that he's lovesick at all – best friends. Dream has an arm on George's shoulder, resting his weight on the brunette as he fixes Sapnap with an unimpressed stare. George looks on, his gaze just as lukewarm, with his arms folded across his chest.

They look like quite the duo, Sapnap thinks.

"Hello to you too," he says slowly, and if his heart would fucking calm down, that would be great.

George raises an eyebrow. "Really, Sapnap? At work?"

Sapnap shifts, adjusting his position such that it looks more like he's really been paying attention to work. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, lifting his chin and stubbornly averting his eyes. His blood rushes loudly in his ears.

George's eyebrow goes higher. "Oh?"

"It's been an hour since your shift started and so far you've done nothing but stare at Karl, kind sir," Dream drawls, the smug asshole he is.

Sapnap wrangles down the heat rising to his cheeks. "Fuck off. I have not been sta–"

"Oh?" George interrupts, his lip curling knowingly. 

"That's not what you were saying on Discord last night, Sappy," Dream chimes in.

They're like demons, Sapnap thinks idly, here from hell to try and torment him.

He rolls his eyes and wonders, for the millionth time, why he trusts them with his secrets. "Oh, shut up. Besides," Sapnap shoves down his own embarrassment and allows his vindictive grin to form. "It's not like you guys don't stare at each other on your breaks too."

How the mighty have fallen, he thinks dryly, as George sputters like a car engine about to start and Dream's eyebrows reach his hairline.

"What?!" George chokes out. His cheeks are tomato-red. "What the fuck?!" Pulling away from Dream, he staggers to put space in between them, leaving Dream struggling to regain his balance.

"We don't do that!" George disagrees hotly.

"George," Dream whines, determinedly grabbing back on to the brunette to stabilise himself, "why'd you just move off like that!"

Sapnap stifles a laugh as George makes a strangled noise at the back of his throat.

"Why were you leaning onto me in the first place?!" George cries, pushing Dream off him again.

"Because I thought it would look cool!" Dream protests. He stands upright, looking alone and betrayed. "And it was, right, Sapnap?" Blue-black eyes meet green, and Sapnap just smirks.

"You guys looked dumb."

Dream doesn't relent. "But we looked like a team , didn't we?"

George huffs as Sapnap rolls his eyes and nods.

"It's me and George against you and Karl, Sap," Dream insists. Sapnap's eyes widen, mortification leaking into his chest at the implications of that sentence as he opens his mouth to protest, but he's cut off by Dream. "No 'but's, Sappitus." His eyes are calculatingly cocky. Sapnap wants to stuff himself into the coffee bean grinder. "Better grab him soon before someone else does."

Speak for yourself, Sapnap almost says, but holds his tongue.

With that, Dream waltzes off to help Karl clear the tables. Sapnap, furiously trying to get his heart rate to slow down, watches as George's eyes follow his retreating figure and linger on where he stops to chat with Karl.

Sapnap's satisfied gaze catches George's, and with a sniff, the other man's eyes snap back to the counter.

"So…" Sapnap says, sidling up to George. Instinctively, the brunette stalks up to the espresso machine, movements jerky as he ignores him. "It's you and him against me and Karl, huh?"

He contemplates this for a moment, exaggeratedly tapping his finger against his chin. "And if Karl and I are meant like that," his cheeks burn, but only for a moment, "then naturally you and him–"

"Shut up, Simpnap!" George scoffs, aggressively drying an already-dry mug with a rag. "I'm sure he didn't mean it like that." He sets down the mug harder than he should. The sharp noise indicating the porcelain's attack on the wooden counter rings through the café. "There's no way he meant it like that."

Sapnap sighs. His friends are all idiots.

Deciding to leave George as he is, he looks back to the front. Unsurprisingly, his gaze lands on Karl. 

The surprising part is that Karl's staring right back.

His head's cocked slightly to the left, and he has an eyebrow raised in confusion. His eyes, hazelnut brown and beautiful, blink curiously up at him, and Sapnap feels his heart stutter to a stop.

He looks away, the café suddenly seeming all the more brighter and sweet daggers embedded deeply into his chest, and pretends that nothing ever happened.

It's that hour again. The café is empty, Dream and Sapnap are in the kitchen, arguing with Bad about some dumb thing, and it's just Karl manning the counter with George.

A particularly loud crash from the kitchen startles the both of them, and George narrows his eyes in concern at the door leading to the kitchen.

"Hey, George?" Karl asks. George turns to him in surprise. "Can I ask you a question?"

George frowns. Karl's been acting strangely for a while, being a bit more fidgety and his smiles a bit more downcast than they usually are. The vibes aren't the same, as Sapnap would say, if he hadn't been so caught up in his own emotional turmoil. "Of course. Shoot."

Karl pauses. His hands drum across the counter nervously. "Have you, uh…" honey-brown eyes dart to meet George's own dark ones. "Noticed anything about Sapnap, recently?"

"Sapnap?" George parrots. He thinks of his best friend, of the way he flushes every time he makes eye contact with Karl, of the way he smiles widely to his phone sometimes while he, George and Dream are hanging out, of the shyness in his voice the other night when he'd finally admitted his feelings for the newbie barista, and lets a forced grin frame his face. "Uh… no."

Karl's face falls. "Really?" His gaze drops to the floor and he mumbles something incoherent. George feels worry poke at his chest.

"Come on, Karl," he coaxes, "what's wrong?"

Karl shakes his head. "Nothing!" He insists, but it's nowhere near convincing. "It's just–" he hesitates, looking as if he's battling against an internal force of conflict, "I think Sapnap doesn't… like me."

George blinks. "You think he what?"

"I don't know!" Karl exclaims, looking terribly frazzled. George stares at him and wonders how the fuck someone can be this oblivious. "He just– he seems to be avoiding me lately, and every time I try to talk to him he just makes some bullcrap excuse to get away, and–" he breaks off and sighs. The mournful depth in his eyes makes George's chest fill with pity.

"I don't know anymore," Karl throws his hands up into the air, frustrated. "Nevermind. Pretend I didn't say anything. Everything's fine." His cheeks hold a light sheen of red, his movements are stiff and his eyes hold a troubled storm. George thinks he looks anything but fine.

"Look, Karl," he tries gently, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder, "I'm sure he doesn't hate you." 

Wrinkling his nose, he tries to filter his words such that he won't be giving away any crucial information about Sapnap's huge, massive, bigger-than-Dream's-ego crush. What an idiot, he thinks. (He's a hypocrite.)

George breathes in, and he decides. "Sapnap could never hate you," he says honestly. Karl lifts his head, his eyes shining with something that looks like hope. 

"Really?"

George nods firmly. "Yeah. In fact," he continues, bumping Karl's shoulder with his own, "you're considered one of his closest friends already, you know?"

Karl beams. It's nice, in an objective way, and George can understand where Sapnap had been coming from when he'd waxed poetics about Karl's smile, but it's not really George's cup of tea. (He has more of a thing for lopsided grins and bright green eyes.)

"Thanks, George," Karl's words ooze sincerity. George feels his chest swell. "It means a lot." His words feel heavy when they're poured out into the space between them. "I just think… maybe I did something, y'know?"

George's heart tugs, and God, why is Sapnap such a moron? "It's definitely not you!" He affirms, and hopes his eyes convey that it is, most definitely, all Sapnap's fault that Karl is doubting himself like this. "Sapnap's just dumb sometimes."

He hums, turning his gaze back to the front of the café. "I'll talk to him for you, if you want."

Karl's eyes go wide. "You will?"

George almost laughs. It's clear just how much the entire situation has been weighing on the curly-haired man, from the brightness in his irises and the hopeful straightening of his back.

He wonders how it isn't clear to the both of them that they feel the exact same way about each other.

"Of course I will." George settles for a smile instead. "Both of you are my friends, aren't you?"

Besides, someone's gotta knock some sense into Sapnap, that dunderhead. And more often than not, the job is left to George.

The stubborn idiot's not going to do anything about his feelings until someone tells him to, he muses. Why are all his friends so stupid?

(You can't really say anything about him when you have your own undealt-with emotions, a hushed voice rasps in George's head. George waves it off.)

"Thank you," Karl slumps, looking as if a huge boulder has just been rolled off his chest. There's a fire in his eyes that hadn't been there before the conversation happened. "That would be really nice."

George laughs. "Don't mention it."

There's an unfamiliar song playing in the café when Dream returns from the kitchen. Dream knows Karl has no idea how to use the sound system in here, so it has to be George's song. 

This is new, he thinks, watching George tap his fingers against the counter along to the beat of the song. He looks completely immersed, completely at ease, and Dream feels something lump in his chest.

Sapnap's still in the kitchen bantering with Bad. When Dream had left him in there, he'd been cackling like a madman, flour dusting his hands a chalk white as Bad berated him for being a bad muffin, put the bag of flour down! Karl is nowhere to be found, but when Dream had walked out from the kitchen, he'd seen a glimpse of light brown hair pass through the restroom's doorway on the left.

George turns, notices him, and his brows lift gently. "Sapnap's gone and done something stupid again."

Dream raises a lazy eyebrow and smiles. "Is that anything new?" He drawls out, and his eye catches the white collar of George's shirt beneath the apron, resting nicely against his pale collarbones. "He's always doing something stupid." Jabbing his thumb back in the direction of the kitchen, he continues. "He's doing something stupid as we speak."

George lets loose a singular laugh, one that makes Dream's stomach twist in the best ways possible. "True," he shoots Dream a knowing look, and they both grin as memories of Sapnap being an 'absolute dumbass', as George likes to put it, flit through their minds.

"But he's really gone and screwed up this time." George finishes, serious. His every move, every glance demands Dream's attention, and Dream is more than happy to oblige.

"Really?" Dream prompts. George's eyes are rich and enticing. "How so?"

"For starters," George's eyes flicker to the bathroom door and back, "Karl thinks he hates him."

A wheeze forms in his lungs and tears its way through his throat.

"He what?!" Dream splutters, laughter spilling from his lips, "He thinks Sapnap hates him?!"

George looks like he's trying not to burst out laughing, too. Dream likes that look on him. "Right?" Eyes alight with mirth, George sighs. "Fools, the both of them."

The mere idea of Sapnap even remotely disliking the new barista is preposterous, in Dream's opinion. Sapnap's been gushing about Karl to the both of them since the day they met, and they've grown almost inseparable. 

"Let me guess," Dream catches his breath, "we have to talk to Sapnap. And without Karl hearing."

George's lip curls teasingly. "Well, I don't know about 'we', but I promised Karl I'd talk to him, so."

Dream grins. "Don't be stupid, George. Everything we do, we do together."

Which is true, in a sense. When Dream had said he wanted to start up a café, George had been the first person he'd spoken the idea to. When George had started playing Minecraft, Dream had been the first to get an account of his own just for them to be able to play together. When Dream had mentioned wanting to learn how to play the guitar, George had been the first to volunteer to teach, and they'd gone at it for a good two weeks or so before Dream decided music was too much for him. And when George had decided to learn how to code, Dream had scrambled to accompany, and though George definitely had more of an affinity for it than he did, they both still learnt to enjoy it.

George's eyes, sharp and meaningful, lock with his. They both know. "Do you have a plan, then?"

Dream almost laughs as he turns his head to the restroom door. "Who do you take me for? Of course I have a plan."

The music plays softly overhead. The song has changed, but the singer is still the same, Dream thinks. It's a female singer, with a sweet-sounding voice and smooth melodies. George's taste isn't so bad.

As if on cue, a soft humming starts from beside him. Dream turns, and George is bobbing his head along to the music, notes emerging from his voice box in little sounds that go straight through Dream's chest and hit him in places he's never known existed.

"You really like this musician, huh?" The words leave his lips before he can think.

George stops abruptly, and his face turns sheepish. "Yeah… I know the singer, she's super awesome!" His eyes are bright, eager as he talks about her, and Dream feels something sick sink into his stomach. "You've seen her before too, I think. Maia, remember? The girl you guys dared me to ask out?"

Dream remembers, alright.

Suddenly, the song doesn't seem as nice anymore.

"Yeah." Dream hopes his voice doesn't betray how strained he feels.

George knows him too well, however. Dream curses how quick he catches on. "What's wrong with y–"

Right on time, Karl comes out from the restroom. A sigh of relief escapes through Dream's nose. Behind him, he hears the familiar creak of the kitchen door open. 

"Skeppy arrived with the supplies, so–" Sapnap starts, and stops.

Karl freezes, too. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, looking for all the world as if it's only the two of them in the room, and Dream winces.

He coughs awkwardly. "Nice timing, the both of you." Fixing Karl with a look that leaves no room for argument, he smiles. "Could you please go help Bad unload the supplies, Karl? Sapnap can stay here. We need to have a chat."

Karl gives Sapnap a slow, hesitant look and nods. "Y-yeah… sure."

Almost timidly, he brushes past Sapnap through the door. Dream's best friend goes stock-still at that, not moving an inch even when the door clicks shut, and Dream can't help but smirk.

"You've got it bad, man."

Sapnap doesn't like the situation he is in now.

The air is thick with a certain tension — George, normally laid-back and uncaring, seems focused. Serious. Dream, on the other hand, who's normally loud and vibrant, is quiet. There's an unusually sour look on his face, and it doesn't leave until he pulls out his phone and taps his screen a few times.

The music playing in the café cuts off.

George glances up for a moment, but doesn't say anything about it.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Sap." George turns and shoots him a piercing, solemn look, and Sapnap quickly gathers himself.

"Karl," George begins, and Sapnap stiffens. Dream leans nonchalantly against the counter. "Karl thinks you hate him."

Sapnap's mouth drops as the words sink in.

"What?" Confusion, thick and heavy, oozes into his chest. "Why?" God, if anything, it's the exact opposite.

"Haven't you noticed?" Dream raises an eyebrow and Sapnap turns to him. "You've been avoiding him, you dimwit."

A protest pushes its way across his tongue. "I have not been avoiding him," he flashes back to the short, awkward conversations, to the stare-offs that always ended in him looking away so as to not betray the bees' nest of emotions stinging around in his chest, to the times he'd even lie to leave the room, in order to not be alone in the same place with Karl, and he grimaces. "I…."

He shifts. Guilt swims in his veins. 

"Why don't you just… grow a pair and ask him out already?" George suggest, his words oozing frustration, "you guys–"

Sapnap's refusal comes quick and sharp. "No."

The denial – this denial, of possibilities, of chances, of maybe's – comes easily to him. He's drilled it into his head, over and over, and the immediate shut-down of the different choices he can make – the ones that lead to futures unknown – is like the snapping of a shark's jaws, a warning for whenever his mind drifts too far in the oceans of imagination and he starts thinking about outcomes that are beyond his reach.

He and Karl are friends. It doesn't matter if his heart flutters prettily whenever Karl flashes him that small smile, it doesn't matter if every brush of Karl's skin against his – accident or not – sends sparks skittering over his body, it doesn't matter if his feelings for Karl are so much less platonic then he wants them to be. They are friends, just friends, and it'll stay that way.

Sapnap won't let his idiot heart ruin their – three-week-old, but already so, so important – friendship.

"You're running away from your problems, Sap," George's words are weighted and quiet. Sapnap knows he means well, but sometimes he really just wishes that the other man would shut up.

"You're one to talk," he scoffs, and his eyes dart to Dream. Tongue burning with indignance, he continues, "You can't say shit when–"

"Yeah," George cuts in. His eyes, murky brown and holding a sort of resignation, stare straight into Sapnap's. "So when did the coward become you?"

Sapnap stops. He takes in the heaviness of George's words, picks apart at the meaning behind them, and promptly throws them straight into the fire of emotions burning brightly in the pits of his stomach. The flames lick at his heart and engulf it in a scorching warmth, and it stings, but Sapnap can't bring himself to mind.

"You guys are being stupid," he says, throat tight. "What do you want me to do, confess?" A forced laugh breaks through. "And when he rejects me? When I ruin our friendship? Then what?" Thinking the thoughts is one thing, but saying them aloud, in this moment, brings down a whole new meaning of reality.

"I'll–" His voice shakes and there's a strange, hollow feeling in his chest, so he restarts. "I'll get over him soon, so just– stop prying into our business, okay?"

George, being the stupid, stubborn idiot he is, doesn't let up. 

"So you're going to avoid him forever, then?" He pushes, his eyes screaming vexation, "You're going to keep your distance until your friendship crumbles?"

Sapnap pauses. His bangs fall over his eyes, somewhat, obscuring his vision, but he lets them be. 

George stares at him. He obviously expects an answer, obviously expects for Sapnap to give up and for him to win the argument, but Sapnap doesn't grant him the satisfaction of any of those.

"I'll deal with it myself."

Karl is worried. 

The mood in the café seems darker, somehow. Way less cheerful, way less lively than it usually is. It's almost as if someone had brought in a huge vacuum cleaner and sucked the life out of it, leaving nothing but a clearing of gloom and strain.

Karl would normally try to bring back the mood. He would normally try to hype up everyone, muster up all the positivity in his soul and let it spill out in a mess of silly, infectious giggles and dumb jokes that don't make any sense but are still funny nonetheless.

But no matter how much he tries, no matter how many happy thoughts he summons, he still can't rid himself of the heaviness that sinks in the bottom of his chest, the forceful mass that reminds him about how he's probably done something wrong, that Sapnap is well on his way to hating him now, and he still doesn't know what–

No. He thinks, and rubs his face with his hands. There has to be a way to fix this. I'll find a way.

He continues to think of a way, and he doesn't realise it's time to close up until Bad's waving the keys in his face and telling him to close up.

"Sapnap's still in the kitchen washing up, I think," Bad says, a kind smile on his face. "I can't close up today because I have someone waiting on me outside, so could you please help out?"

Karl glances outwards. There's a bright yellow Audi parked by the curb, and a man in a sky blue beanie and black leather jacket rests against it as he calmly sips on a drink.

A little grin on his face, Karl takes the keys into his hands. "Of course." Bad turns to leave, and Karl waves. "Have fun!"

"Thank you!" Bad replies sweetly, and the bell jingles as the café doors open and close.

Karl's breath leaves his lungs in a big, controlled, whoosh.

It's just him and Sapnap now, alone in the café. Dream had to leave early and George had left moments before Bad did, abandoning Karl and Sapnap to their fate. 

Now's the time, he thinks, and he clenches his fist, now's the time to fix things.

The kitchen door swings open, Karl jumps, and then everything goes still.

The crisp, golden rays of the setting sun fall into the shop, hooking onto objects like chairs and potted plants and tables to cast dark shadows all over the place. It hits Sapnap nicely, illuminating the angles of his face and making all the lines seem sharper. His skin, an almost bronze under the lighting, glitters prettily.

Karl has to remind himself to breathe.

"S-Sap!" He exclaims, trying desperately to break the ice of the frozen moment, and also trying desperately to make his heart calm down. "Bad left already, and, uh, he gave the keys to me, so I was just waiting for you, and–"

Sapnap doesn't say anything. He just stares, contemplation and something that seems like confliction gleaming in his eyes, and Karl finds the words he wants to say dying on his tongue.

"Hi," Karl says, quietly, and can barely hear anything else over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

And then Sapnap replies, and it's as if the whole world's gone quiet just to make room for his voice. "Hello."

What is this? Karl thinks, and he's almost dizzy. Everything seems to be moving too fast yet nothing seems to be moving at all, Sapnap looks too good under the burning sunset, and Karl wonders what it'd be like to move in, submerge himself in those dark, barely blue-tinted eyes, tiptoe and press his l–

Oh. He thinks, and everything suddenly seems to make sense. Oh.

It's like a supernova, the way the realisation explodes in his mind, behind his eyes, in his chest, scattering stardust through his veins, from ends of his hair all the way to the tips of his toes. It fills him with something that sparkles, that bubbles and tingles and makes him feel so, so light and so unabashedly happy.

Oh.

He clears his throat, and then he's talking again.

"You've been avoiding me." He says. It's not accusatory nor disappointed. He states it like it is and leaves Sapnap to decide how to interpret it, but it's still enough to bring him down from his high. The reminder of the weight in his chest is heavy enough to anchor him down and prevent him from floating away.

Sapnap breathes. Something hot and tight coils in Karl's chest. "I have."

"Is there a reason for it?"

Sapnap wets his lips and looks away. "No."

"Or do you just not wanna tell me?" Karl challenges. 

Sapnap looks surprised. Pushing his bangs over his scalp and to the back of his head, he exhales. "Yes."

"Why?" Karl begs, and tries to make his words sound as compelling as he can, "Did I do something wrong? Tell me, Sap, I need to know–"

"I like you."

Karl does not breathe. He does not speak, either, and suddenly Sapnap's spilling his soul out to him, when previously they'd barely been talking, and–

"Way more than I should, actually. And it's dumb. You probably don't feel the same way, and I've probably just messed up everything like I thought I would, but." Sapnap's eyes search his, and Karl thinks they hold nothing but truth. "I'm bad at keeping secrets, okay?"

The heaviness on his chest is gone.

He feels free. Like he can fly, like he can soar through the clouds without a care for the world, like he's unbound, unshackled, unlimited.

Sapnap makes him feel unlimited.

"God, Sap," he starts, choked, and he's so, so breathless. "I have so many things I want to say to you."

He stops, takes in a breath, steps forward, and holds Sapnap's hand in his. It feels right. More right than anything he's done, recently.

"First of all," he starts, a grin breaking out on his face as wonder smooths over Sapnap's features, "don't tell me how to feel."