Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     George was an infamous figure at Misty Woods Academy. The international transfer student who spent more time in detention or being suspended than he did in his classes; who adorned his scornful eyes with dark liner for the days he decided to show up to the building; who always wore an expensive leather jacket written and painted over with profanity and vulgar imagery that was just so him over his uniform; who broke rules like he broke hearts - mercilessly and at least once a day. He was nothing but trouble, all icy eyes and a cold, never-cracking exterior. His mouth was filthy and dripped venomous insults on a daily basis. But as irritating and disruptive as the teenager was, for all the damage he caused during the three months he’d been attending the Florida school, he was never thrown out of the prestigious private academy. And why? His father, who had gotten a new job in the States and moved here with his son from England, had money. And regardless of whether or not George was blackened in the eyes of the teachers and students - like Dream - he was golden in the eyes of the high-ranking administrators. The weight his name carried was his shield against any real, permanent punishment. Suspension and detention didn’t matter, because George was always back, sooner or later. His wealth saved his skin time and time again. And Dream found it positively infuriating.

     Clay - or Dream, as he was known to the other students - was a respected figure at Misty Woods Academy. All soft smiles and gentle gestures. Students swooned over his nurturing nature and admirable ambition. He was the top of his class, on the verge of getting a full scholarship to each of the top universities in the southeast United States. He had a flawless track record, and was the prime example of what a young man should be. He rarely cursed, he had never smoked, never drank alcohol. He was the poster child for respectfulness and the optimal representation of a perfect student. All students and faculty loved him for his sweetness. The riskiest thing the boy had ever done in his life was entering this year of schooling with pierced ears, the silver jewelry sparkling elegantly against his honey skin. He had been terrified, but everyone praised him for the new style and for embracing a harmless way to express himself. He gave love and got love in return, but once again, in the purest form. Dream had never kissed anybody, never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, never even expressed interest in anyone. But he was Dream, so none of the students had really expected him to - the debauchery that came with high school love was too risqué for someone as soft and angelic as Dream. His reputation was flawless in its purity.

     But reputations were just gathered information compounded into what would be accepted as facts based on group observation. In simpler terms, a facade. And Dream’s supposed snow white purity? It was exactly that. Now, there was no doubt that he was a phenomenal student - his lowest ever mark being a 98% and his clean slate when it came to behavior proving the previous statement true. And what everyone believed about his personality was true as well. Dream was the type of person to blow off personal plans that he’d normally use to sit back and relax in favor of helping people out that needed it, especially those older than him. Most people saw Dream as a prince among commoners, a young knight that proved chivalry wasn’t dead, but when Dream looked in the mirror, he just saw a regular boy that thrived off of making others happy. All the notions stated about his love life were upheld by fact, though. Dream was an untouched angel. It was common belief that Dream’s thoughts about relationships were as soft and pure as his cuddly exterior, but those believers all couldn’t be more wrong.

     It shouldn’t really be that surprising that Dream’s thoughts could easily be turned sinful. Facing the raw facts, he was a teenage boy. A teenage boy with hormones and desires that weren’t as innocent as the common belief of Dream’s personality would typically indicate. And he wasn’t raunchy, not in the slightest. He had his thoughts, and that was all. Which Dream was more than fine with. Thoughts were healthy, self gratification would suffice, especially when the one person Dream wanted was someone unattainable. Dream could more than easily deal with his less than pure mind. It was the subject of his thoughts that drove him to exasperation.

     The leather-clad, dirty-mouthed, coal-eyed absolute terror that was George Davidson. Dream had never shared his secret attraction to anyone for a number of reasons. One, he wanted to keep his reputation fair and stellar. Two, they were his own private thoughts; why the hell would he be obliged to voicing his desires to anybody? Three, he’d never officially stated his sexuality to be anything and had just kept things ambiguous and unlabeled. Because of this, it was common belief that Dream was straight, because that was just how a heteronormative world worked, but that was one of the most false assumptions made about Dream. Only three of his friends knew that he was gay, and they kept his secret like true friends would. Four, Dream was attracted to George. The same George that graffitied anything he felt like. The same George that thought it was acceptable to blatantly ignore school rules. The same George that had every girl and boy wrapped around his finger just to crush their hearts under the heel of his combat boots. The same George that, despite the fact that Dream had shown no outward interest in him, decided to take every moment to openly flirt with him.

     Sometimes it was casual, a soft smile shifting to a smirk the Devil himself would be proud of. Other times it would be slightly more noticeable, a lazy wink that George would throw in Dream’s direction because he felt bored. But there were the times - that occurred most often - involving no subtlety. George would stare down Dream in the few classes they had together and practically undress him with his eyeliner-intensified gaze. He’d shamelessly slide his pen between his constantly reddened lips and draw it farther into his mouth, all the while holding a fierce round of eye contact with Dream, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching as he saw the faintest hints of a pink blush gracing the high points of the blonde’s cheekbones. Dream absolutely despised George - well, not exactly. He despised the effect the vexing boy had on him. Dream never lost his focus in class except for when George was staring at him like a predator would its prey. So, to keep his reputation untainted, Dream would avoid George at any cost.

     When George had been on the verge of failing history, and their professor kept both him and Dream after class to ask if Dream would mind tutoring him, the blonde had stumbled over his words in a rushed excuse to avoid having to take on the task. The white lie worked, resulting in a few different things: Dream could keep his sanity and George ended up failing the class that semester. George’s failure aggravated Dream past lines he didn’t even know existed before the Brit crossed them. No, he wasn’t pissed because the boy had failed; he wasn’t annoyed because he knew that if he had offered to help, George wouldn’t have failed. George was good at the subject, and if he put in the effort, he would be passing with flying colors - almost on Dream’s level. But he just didn’t care. Academics were nothing to him, and he brushed them off as if they were negligible particles of dust on that damn leather jacket. That was what angered Dream. Dream took everything academic to heart, and would berate himself at any grade lower than 100%. And there would even be times where the perfect marks couldn’t satisfy him, because he had “just guessed on that question” or “could have incorporated such a better vernacular into that essay”. He cared too much, and George not enough. So was that it? Was the ‘help everyone’ part of Dream just twisting things around? Was it turning his aggravation at seeing someone fail when motivation was the only thing stopping them from succeeding into attraction?

     He wanted to believe that was true, that he didn’t actually care for George like that and only thought about him constantly because his behavior and attitude pissed him off. But the many nights that Dream would wake up in the middle of, both hot and cold flashes running through him with the vision of those damned cherry red lips already fading, proved that his hopeless crush was exactly that. Hopeless, because why would George like him back? A crush, because Dream was just going to be crushed once George found out and shattered his heart like he did to all his other admirers. But throughout all the agita this crush was putting him through, Dream had one thing going for him. It was a secret.

     Except… No, it really wasn’t.

     Part of George’s rebellious charm was his charisma. His people skills. His way of understanding how others worked, what they liked, what made them tick. It was why a large part of the student body gravitated towards him. Every kid had their secrets, and every kid wanted George to figure it out and anonymously use it against them. It was a sick sense of satisfaction for the students, to know that their guises weren’t as strong as they thought, and for George, it was just plain enjoyable to know things. He’d never expose people by name or out them or things of that nature. He wasn’t a bad kid, just a curious one. And at first, Dream confused him. How could someone be so goddamn perfect? He had no flaws in his appearance or skill set, and his personality was unrivaled. He was the only student who had never come to George looking for his secrets to be pried into and excavated. Dream was the first person whose secret did truly puzzle George. But all it took was one day for him to uncover what the school’s perfect boy was hiding under his exterior.

     When his grade in history was dropping faster than the pants of the students George would give just a bit of attention to, which was an immensely impressive speed, he’d been forced to stay after class with the professor as he called over Dream and asked if he’d be willing to tutor George, that was when he figured it out. Dream had stammered out some pathetic excuse and scampered out of class without even looking George in the eyes. It was a behavior pattern George had seen more than enough times to recognize what it meant. Mr. Perfect had a typical schoolboy crush. How cute. Part of George’s brain had turned elated when he made the realization. Finally, he had some dirt on the golden boy’s snow-pure record. And if he wanted to, he could take the blonde off his perfect throne built off his perfect grades and perfect personality. But the other part of George’s brain was the sensible part. And subsequently, the part that had been harboring feelings for the other back when he had first realized girls just didn’t do it for him.

     The equation worked out perfectly. “Person A liking Person B” plus “Person B liking Person A” equals “Happy Relationship”. But as it turned out, George was absolute shit at this type of real-life math. He was good with figuring out people - stellar, even - but responding to them? Connecting with them? A damn funny story. George had three real friends, all “rich kid troublemakers” like him he’d met because their parents knew each other in the world of big business: Sapnap, Alex, and Karl. It was an unspoken rule that they were the four that you didn’t mess with. And for a damn good reason - the four boys had influence from the money their names carried. George had the three of them, and in all honesty, that was it. He was terrific at exposing people and getting into their heads, and horrendous at befriending people and getting into their hearts for a reason other than lust. But George had his three friends and his reputation… One that scared others away from him… But it was a reputation nonetheless, so shouldn’t he be fine with that?

     “George. George? Earth to George?” Karl’s voice snapped the boy in question out of his reflective trance. “You wanna be lab partners?” Right. Chemistry class. The present. Reality. That’s where George had to be; not his own head. Daydreaming about how his worth was monetarily phenomenal but interpersonally nonexistent. Quickly, George scanned the classroom. Most people had paired up already, but there were a few lone stragglers. And much to George’s surprise, Dream was alone. As George finished his scan, he realized why. Dream also had his three closest friends in the class, but two of them had already formed their pair and were heading to the back lab table, and the other one - George was pretty sure he went by Halo? Something to that effect? - seemed to be absent. Other classmates were making their way over to him, offering their partnership, but Dream kept politely turning them down. George narrowed his eyes and almost snorted. What, was he planning to work by himself? Did he think his academic prowess was too precious to share?

     “I need to knock perfection down a peg.” George spat. “Work with Sapnap, he’ll give you a better grade than I could anyway.”

     Karl rolled his eyes, smacking George in the back of the head. “Just admit that you’re falling for him and it’ll make your life so much easier.” Before he could hear George’s response, he walked away, wrapping an arm around Sapnap’s shoulder as he - loudly - announced “C’mon, bro, you’re giving me a good grade.”

     And even though Karl was now wrapped up in something else entirely, it didn’t stop George from grumbling an overly defensive “Fuck off, nobody would wanna get romantically involved with someone as bland as him.” before sauntering off towards the supposedly bland boy. A boy was looking up at Dream with only the most innocent of eyes, asking if he would work with him, and Dream was sporting a shy, pained smile. It looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to start laughing or crying. And as odd as it was, George found it strangely endearing. No. Interesting? No. Enthralling? Even worse. “Sorry, man,” George said as he sidled up next to Dream, startling both the blonde and the other boy. “Dream’s already working with me.”

     Dream must be hallucinating. In no reality would the infamous George Davidson that seemed to get off on teasing Dream until he was on the verge of jumping into the nearest volcano offer - no, declare - that the two of them work together. The boy that had previously asked nodded quickly and scurried away. Dream turned and scowled at George, his normally passive green eyes glinting with frustration. “What was that for? Maybe I wanted to work with him, did you ever think of that?” Dream sighed when George only gave him a blank stare. “Of course you didn’t. Why would George ever spare a second to think? How utterly moronic of me to think that you’d waste your precious time actually taking the desires of other people into account.”

     George had to admit he was taken aback for a moment. There was a fire in Dream’s eyes, and his jaw was set in a way George had never seen before. “Who got your panties in a bunch, blondie?” George taunted, his arms crossing over his chest.

     Dream huffed in annoyance as he looked around in a desperate attempt to escape before registering that everyone else had already paired up. Which meant his master plan of avoiding George to avoid embarrassing himself, or even worse, letting hints of his crush show, was destroyed. “Just-” Dream glanced towards the ceiling as if asking the angels up above to bestow a blessing of protection on him. “Just don’t interfere with the lab. Don’t mess anything up. I’ve been balancing a ninety-nine as my average and I’ve been planning to have it round up to a hundred after this lab. So do me a favor - if you can even comprehend what that means - and don’t screw this up for me.”

     George honestly didn’t really know what to think of Dream’s words. Sure, he’d never really spoken in depth to the other boy, so it wasn’t like he could have any expectations. But from the meek persona he had always carried with him and the way he blushed when George would do as little as throw a teasing wink his way, George had never assumed his words to be so assertive. As he stared at Dream in silence, it was finally dawning on him why he had chosen to work with Dream in the first place. It wasn’t to knock him down a peg or two, it was because his teenage hormones decided to take precedence over his sensibility and say pretty boy is open to work with, so work with pretty boy. George wanted to kill his hormones. “Whatever, blondie. Work your magic and gimme a good grade or some shit.”

     “You are infuriating.” Dream responded without missing a beat. “And I truly hope that you’re aware of that fact.”

     “Think whatever you want of me, I think it’s impossible for me to care less.” Lie. “Just get all the stuff and do all the stuff like you want and I’ll leave you alone.” Lie.

     Dream licked his lips before biting down on them, his eyes closing. A completely innocent act, but it still affected George in ways he never wanted to be affected - and especially not by the paragon of perfection. “Pick one of the lab tables, I’ll get everything I-” He coughed. “I’ll get everything we need.” And just like that, Dream had turned from a fiery boy who was riling George up to a soft-spoken boy focused solely on the task at hand.

     “You can’t just order me around, this is a two person project. And as much as you’d like to believe, I’m not totally incompetent.” George snapped, glowering at Dream. “Contrary to what I know you’re thinking, I’m more than my dad’s company name.” George paused after his sentence like he had to digest the words in order to force himself to believe them. “Just go get your shit, blondie.”

     Dream’s frown deepened with frustration as he turned, headed towards the main table for chemicals George couldn’t force himself to care about. As George watched the taller boy walk away, he couldn’t fight back Karl’s words and stop them from re-entering his mind. Just admit that you’re falling for him… Sure. Like hell he was. Just because he wanted to make Dream smile and talk to him like a normal person without firing an insult or threat in someone’s direction didn’t mean he was losing himself in enamoration. Just because he wanted to hold Dream’s hands and maybe even wrap himself up in the boy’s hoodies didn’t mean he was falling for the other. George didn’t fall for people. And especially not flawless fucking masterpieces like Dream. George had enough shit to work through on his own - having a boyfriend, especially one as impeccably stunning as Dream, would just complicate his life even further. He already had the classic “rich-boy-daddy-issues” cliche burdening his life, and adding having to worry about a love life on top of trying to manage his own life was out of the question. Dream had already walked back to where George was standing before the dark-haired boy had the chance to pull himself from yet another self-deprecating train of thought.

     “The one thing I asked you to do was get a lab table.” Dream stated. He looked… Disappointed? “I just- Why did you even want to work with me?” He was glancing down at George with a mix of pity and confusion in his gaze, and admittedly, it caused George’s blood to boil.

     “What?” He he retorted, overly defensive as per usual. “Is your superior intellect too priceless to waste sharing it with someone as rough around the edges as me?” George’s gaze was naturally sharp, and with it being accented by just the right amount of makeup, he looked downright intimidating. But to either George’s chagrin or his joy, Dream wasn’t taking the bait and gearing up for a challenge.

     “That’s not what it is, George.” Dream’s face fell, and it crushed George. Sure, the boy had made Dream’s expression change a multitude of times before - but it was always to shyness or sometimes, which George loved, a small grin - but he’d never made Dream look this explicitly sad. He’d never even seen Dream look as devastated as he did now, but before he could work up a flimsy apology, Dream continued to speak. “You’ve just never shown any sort of interest in me…” He trailed off, cheeks tinting themselves pink. “I mean, you haven’t ever talked to me. So coming over here and asserting yourself as my partner-” Once again, Dream’s speech halted. “As my lab partner, I mean, it was just unexpected. I wanted to know your reasons, but if you don’t want to tell me, obviously you don’t have to. I guess I’m just a bit curious as to why the George Davidson wanted to waste his time with the school-certified most uninteresting prude. Don’t you have cooler friends to hang with?”

     Now it was George’s turn to frown. Did Dream really think of himself as some prudish, boring kid? George had seen how he acted around his friends - carefree, cracking jokes left and right, and never failing to bring light wherever he went - so how was it possible for Dream to not see what George so clearly could? George wanted to say something along the lines of You idiot, why can’t you see how fucking perfect you are? , but he could only mutter a few misplaced words under his breath, “You fucking idiot…” falling from his lips.

     Dream backed away, a faraway look entering his eyes. “Real nice, George.” His voice was shaky, and it made George curse himself out in his head with the rage of a thousand fires, all fresh from hell. “Just go fuck around with your friends and I’ll get you your grade.” Dream’s tone was void of emotion, causing George’s fists to clench at his sides in self-directed anger. The lack of expression mixed with that being the first time he’d ever heard Dream curse led to George recoiling in shock. Without a response, he walked away to an empty lab table. As he trekked across the room, people parted away from him. Of course they did, of fucking course. George wished he could scream, wished he could show people that he wasn’t the seductive, unattainable villain they made him out to be. But instead, he squared his shoulders and steeled his gaze, freezing anyone that made eye contact with him.

     Dream eventually walked over, his steps light and calculated, all the materials for whatever procedure he needed to do in his grasp. He was silent as he set the materials down on the black table, silent as he handed George a pair of goggles, silent as he attached the plastic tube to a bunsen burner and reached over by the sink to turn the gas on, silent as he grabbed the striker and lit the scientific instrument with one drag of the striker. Perfect in one shot, but what else was to be expected of Dream? As the small blue flame erupted from the opening of the equipment, George had the odd desire to touch the fire. Was that weird? It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt himself, he wasn’t like that, but it was a part of the sickening curiosity he possessed.

     “…George. George? George!” Dream was becoming more and more agitated with every repetition of George’s name, but by the seventh time, he had finally caught the other boy’s attention.

     “Huh? What is it? Does Blondie actually need me for something?” George spat, eyes narrowing. “Or are you going to question my motivations for every decision I make again?”

     Dream’s face flushed, but this time it wasn’t a flustered reaction based on George’s less than demure teasing; he looked frustrated and angry. “I really don’t know what it is you have against me…” He mumbled, teeth clamping down on his lower lip to stop any more words from slipping out. His words were true, he didn’t have any notion as to why George was so unnecessarily aggressive towards him. Dream wanted to yell at his heart, convince it that pining after George was a hopeless thing, because clearly, the shorter boy wanted nothing to do with him. “I just wanted to ask if you could hand me a pencil.” Dream could feel an ache in his jaw from the intensity of it being clenched and stiff. “But forgive me, I forgot you don’t do things that don’t solely benefit you.”

     George was ready to lay down in the middle of the road and let the cars have their way with his body. He really could never stop his mouth from running; he didn’t know when to tone down anything, and now he was faced with the repercussions. He had tried to take control of the reins around his heart, steering it towards sensibility instead of defensiveness, but clearly it only led to more antagonism between him and the boy he most definitely didn’t want to date. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and tried that mentally counting down from ten trick that Alex had taught him to help him with his anger. “I’m not as much of a selfish dick as you think, you know?” George muttered, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Just because I’m not a goody-two-shoes, people-pleasing, straight-laced perfect student like you doesn’t mean I’m the human equivalent of Satan. Although I’m pretty flattered you give me that much importance.”

     “Shut up and just give me the pencil, George.” Dream huffed, his sandy hair falling over the goggles covering his eyes and providing him a shield from George’s intense and watchful gaze. George almost growled - yeah, growled - low in the back of his throat, but he caught himself and nipped his aggravation in the bud. He reached over into his bag and pulled out a worn out pencil. It was missing its eraser, about as long as his little finger, and the point was so worn down it was practically inverted. As George spun back around to hand the stupid boy the stupid pencil, his arm knocked into the bunsen burner, sending the metal contraption crashing sideways. The flame from the actual equipment extinguished as it fell, but the lab papers it had fallen on lit up, heat flaring up as the papers caught fire and small clouds of smoke entered the room. “George, what the hell?!” Dream exclaimed, pushing the dark-haired boy out of his way to rush towards the cabinet containing the fire blanket. Apparently, Dream was louder than he had intended to be, because the room had silenced itself, and all eyes - including their teacher’s - were on him and George. As Dream threw the fireproof cloth down over the burning papers, and whirled around to face George with a look of incredulous irritation, their teacher walked over, brow furrowed angrily.

     “Would either of you like to explain the meaning of the commotion?” With the way he spoke, it was obvious that the professor already knew everything he needed to. George’s eyes glinted with darkness, and he opened his mouth to speak, but was met with a firm “Mr. Davidson, close your mouth.” He looked over the two teenagers with disapproval. The expressed emotion shifted to disappointment when he faced Dream, who practically cowered under their teacher’s irate eye contact, despite being a good few inches taller than the older man. The entire room was quiet to the point where the sound of a pin dropping would be audible. “So, let me get my facts right. The two of you were careless enough to knock over your lit bunsen burner, and Mr. Davidson over here isn’t following proper dress procedures. Is that correct?”

     “Yes, sir…” Dream’s eyes were boring holes into the tile floor.

     “I would expect better from you, Clay,” Their teacher admitted, the disappointment returning to his face. “I hate to do this, but not even you can get special treatment. I’ll be seeing the two of you after school ends for detention.”

     Dream’s reaction might have been overdramatic, but he felt as if his world was crumbling down around him. His thoughts spiraled exponentially. His perfect track record was ruined, his parents would find out, they’d ground him, they could fucking disown him for all Dream knew, he’d be living on the streets, he’d have to drop out of school, he’d never finish his education, never get a job, and be a beggar for the rest of his now worthless life. The other kids in the class were looking around at each other in disbelief, and Dream felt a lurching in his stomach; a need to escape. Without another word towards his professor, towards George, towards anyone, he made a hurried beeline towards the door, grabbing his bag in the process, and willing his angry tears to hold off from spilling for just a few minutes. His throat felt like it was closing, and he felt utterly idiotic. As the classroom door slammed shut behind him, he let his mind throw a barrage of questions at himself. Why did he let George work with him? Why did he ask anything of the other boy? Why didn’t he realize that something would get fucked up, because when would his life ever be nice to him? And why, damnit, why was he overreacting to such a high degree? Dream jogged through the hallway and kicked open the door to the closest bathroom he could find, not caring about anything anymore, and entered the first stall, locking it behind him, and letting his head fall against the cold metal of the door.

     And then came the tears.

     It was stupid, but it didn’t mean Dream wasn’t affected by it. He lived a pathetic fucking life, where the only thing he had pride in was his clean slate and perfect grades, but those were ruined. He felt ruined, and he couldn’t help but blame it on George. Was knocking into the bunsen burner an honest mistake? Probably. But something inside of Dream, some deep desire that craved vengeance, was convinced that it was an intentional and vindictive act. George wanted to bring Dream down, that’s why he insisted on working with him. It was the only explanation Dream could accept, and as he paced the miniscule floor space the bathroom stall provided him with, he only got angrier.

     Meanwhile, George felt like a fucking idiot. He was getting dirty looks from every angle, his only saving grace being Karl and Sapnap, looking at him from across the class with unfeigned concern. The two boys glanced at each other for a moment; Karl leaned closer to Sapnap to whisper something in his ear, and Sapnap nodded. The two of them walked quickly, their strides evenly matched with the other, and they grabbed George by one arm each, dragging him out of the room. As soon as the door closed behind the three boys, Sapnap had George slammed against a locker, and Karl was leaning down slightly to be at face level with George, asking a confused, “What in the actual levels of hell did you do?”

     “I knocked over a stupid fucking fire tube!” George shouted, trying to wrestle out of Sapnap’s iron grip to no avail. “And now everyone fuckin’ hates me more than they already do, because cliche bad boy George Davidson fucked up and got the high school heartthrob, Dream himself, into trouble for the first time in his prettily perfect life.”

     “You realize what you’ve actually done, right?” Karl questioned, his normally grinning mouth twisting into a frustrated frown.

     “Yeah, Karl, I do.” George grumbled, still trying to squirm away from the two tall boys. “I made more people hate me because everyone loves Dream and I just screwed him over.”

     “You are so damn dense.” Karl stated, leaning back as he rolled his eyes. “You screwed over your chances with him. I tell you to work with him because I’m trying to get my bro a boyfriend-” George’s eyes widened and he hissed out a ‘Shh!’ as Karl continued to speak. “-and you go and try to become an arsonist and burn down the school.”

     “It was an accident!” George protested, his eyes darkening. “And I don’t like him,” Mega lie. “And I don’t feel bad about what happened,” Major lie. “So if you could let me go off and distract myself from the fact that half the student body will want my head on a spike for tainting their pretty little angel, that would be fuckin’ wonderful.”

     “Why won’t you just admit you like him, George?” Sapnap sighed. “You’ve got all the classic tell signs, just a shit way of expressing them.”

     “How the fuck would you know what liking someone looks like? You’ve been single all your life.” George threw his head back. As it hit the locker, he winced, missing the weighted look that Sapnap and Karl exchanged.

     “I’m not as dense as you.” Sapnap responded, deadpan. “Now you better use your time in detention to apologize, fix things, and tell the damn kid how you feel. But when you talk, please don’t do that thing where you have a sentence in your head and get tongue-tied and only say a few words from the aforementioned sentence, leading to you insulting someone, leading to misunderstandings and fights and whatnot. Okay? Actually, no, you aren’t getting a choice. If you don’t stop acting like a dumbass, Karl and I are joining the Put George’s Head On A Spike club.”

     “Why the hell am I friends with you two?” George spat. To anyone else, George’s eyeliner-accentuated death glare would bore holes deep into their souls, but Karl and Sapnap just took the supposed-to-be-intimidating look in stride, brushing it off as if George were a toddler about to throw a hissy fit. “Because I’m seriously questioning myself and my decisions.”

     “You damn baby…” Sapnap released his grip on George, now running his hands through his hair to try and push it back off his forehead. “We’re your friends because we care about your well-being, and you know that. Karl and I - and Alex - are here to stop you from being an idiot and screwing yourself over. We aren’t the type of people that sugarcoat shit, because there’s no point in skirting around something. Even if it was an accident, you fucked up, so now you gotta own it and rectify it. It’s already last period, and…”

     Sapnap trailed off and Karl checked the time on his watch. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes ‘til class is over, so I’d suggest using that time to prepare how you’re gonna fix your mess.”

     “And if I don’t?” George’s challenge was an empty threat, but a challenge nonetheless.

     “You have Karl, Alex, and me on your ass until you do. Now stop getting inside your own head and fix your bullshit.” Sapnap gave George one last cold look that was a mix of ‘I care about you, so stop being an asshole’ and ‘you fucked up bigtime, man’. George draped his arm over his eyes, groaning out curses to nobody in particular. With his obstructed vision, he didn’t catch how Karl’s hand slipped into Sapnap’s own as the two of them silently walked away, eyes consistently darting around to scan the halls for other kids.

     In the next fifteen minutes, nothing had changed. George’s apology consisted of absolutely nothing. Yeah, he felt pretty fucking terrible, but one measly “sorry” wasn’t going to do shit. It wouldn’t erase the detention or take back the look of transparent betrayal Dream had given him. The bell rang, and George whined a dragged out curse, pushing himself off the row of lockers to trek back towards the detention room. When he got there - five minutes late, because like hell would he show up on time for this crap - Dream in all of his fragile glory was nowhere to be found. To have the blonde be late for something was unimaginable, and when he entered the classroom in the next five minutes, clearly out of breath, George was half expecting him to be carrying a late pass.

     “I’m so sorry, ma’am…” Dream bowed his head in both respect and embarrassment as he took a seat - the farthest possible from George - and quietly slid in one of his earbuds. “I didn’t have the slightest idea where I was supposed to come for this.” The woman just nodded, looking bored as she took sips of her coffee.

     The room was deathly quiet, especially considering Dream and George were the only two kids with after-school detention for the day. Although, it was only silent for George; Dream had his steady stream of music - his other earbud was in now - and he was in his own little bubble in the opposite corner of the room, bobbing his head to the melody only he could hear with his eyes closed and mouthing the words of whatever song he had playing. The same wave of curiosity that had plagued George when he wondered what it would be like to thrust his hand into the bunsen burner flame washed over him again; he wanted to know what song Dream was listening to. He pushed himself up from his chair and strode over to Dream, still oblivious to the world around him, sitting down adjacent to him. He pulled one of the earbuds away from Dream, making the boy’s eyes snap open in alarm. Before he could protest, George was already inserting the earbud into his own ear. The song playing was one he had heard before, one he typically listened to, one he never imagined Dream knowing. George was only able to catch two lyrics from the song before Dream pulled the earbud away, looking practically scandalized. George had never expected this to be Dream’s music taste, never once thought he’d hear Movement stops in the windows, finding out what killed you; relapse in the sin, we start over again… pumping through the wiring of Dream’s headphones “What the hell are you listening to that kind of music for?” George blurted out.

     “Please just don’t talk to me.” Dream’s voice was devoid of emotion like it had been earlier, and it frustrated George beyond belief. And even though George was sitting right next to him, Dream still kept his eyes trained on the smartboard in front of him. “And don’t interrupt my time to listen to music.”

     “You’re listening to old Palaye Royale music, dude. Nobody does that unless they’re going through some tough shit, and that’s coming from someone who listens to their old stuff all the time.” George always viewed music as a way to truly see into someone’s soul and inner thoughts, and the fact that the poster child for facile happiness was listening to something like this didn’t fit into the archetype George had stuffed Dream into.

     “Just back off, George.” Dream turned to face George this time, and the shorter of the two was shocked to see that Dream’s eyes were bloodshot, and even slightly puffy. “Get away from me, and go fuck someone else over.” There it was again - Dream cursing, completely breaking the stereotype everyone seemed to be compliant in shoving him into. And… Had he been crying?

     “Were you crying?” George asked bluntly, apparently still not in control of his mouth.

     “Back. Off. George.” Dream’s words were hissed out through gritted teeth, and he turned away just as quickly, once again putting in his earbud and trying to block out George’s incessantly aggravating questions.

     “Why do you hate me?” George’s tone had lost malice; instead, it held sincere confusion and hints of regret. Dream didn’t answer, so he was either making a conscious effort to ignore George, or he legitimately couldn’t hear him. So George asked again, louder this time, but was once again only met with radio silence. In the middle of his next repetition, he was cut off by Dream’s irritated response.

     “I don’t hate you. I’m just pissed off at you, and you know what? I’ve got good reasons to be. Not only do you rarely get in trouble for all the shit you do just because your daddy’s got cash, you have some penchant for going after everyone in the student body. At least once a day, you do something to me, and I don’t even know what the hell it’s for. Are you trying to seduce me like some damn incubus? Or are you trying to out me in front of the whole school? Because honestly, tell them if you fucking want, I don’t care anymore.” Dream’s chest was tight as he looked at George who just stared at him in silence. “What? I answered your stupid question.”

     “You know today was an accident, right? And that I’m sorry about it?” George asked, because apparently he and Dream could only hold a question-based conversation. “I’m not a terrible person, I wouldn’t have purposefully done something like that.”

     “Oh, just cut the crap now.” Dream glared at George out of the corner of his eye. “You force a partnership between us, and the only thing you do is try to burn down the class. Whatever you’re trying to do to me to ruin my clean slate, congratu-fucking-lations, it worked. Are you happy now? Are your sadistic desires fulfilled?”

     “I fucking apologized, Dream!” George’s voice had definitely raised in volume, but the detention supervisor was too enthralled in her computer to notice. “I don’t know what else you want from me… I know how much your academics mean to you, an-”

     “You don’t know the first thing about me, George, so don’t even pretend. I am nothing without my perfect record, and you screwed it up. So, thanks to you, I’m literally nothing. You got what you wanted, you should be ecstatic.” Dream spat.

     “Why the hell would I want to do that?” George was becoming exponentially more frustrated. “Just…” Sapnap and Karl’s words were running around inside his head. “Let me make this up to you. I feel terrible.”

     “You know you can’t just get your dad to pay off a detention, right?” Dream sounded uninterested, even though George had just offered to somehow rectify what he’d done.

     “Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. He’s done it for me more times than I can count. But that’s besides the point. I’m…” George’s sentence stopped for a moment. “I’m worth more than just a few bucks… Listen, I know I can’t really fix this. But I feel like shit, because you’re a great person and didn’t deserve to have this happen to you. Just, I don’t know, let me take you out to dinner tonight, I can at least try to get your mind off of all this.”

     Dream’s eyes went wide, and he quickly picked up his phone to pause his music. It was then that George’s brain caught up to what his mouth had said. He’d offered to take Dream - the boy he didn’t like - out on a date. Tonight. He expected Dream to look disgusted, and maybe even collect his things and move seats, but a small smile graced his features, and he turned towards George. “Now do you see what I mean?” There was a sense of mirth in his voice, and George was confused. “You’re literally some sex demon trying to drag me in.”

     George honestly had to put a great deal of effort into not laughing. “Listen, listen…” George started, searching for ways to defend himself. “I’ll have you know I’ve never tried to make advances on anybody. They all come to me because apparently, I’m what they’re all looking for in a guy. Because my dad’s wealthy and I stopped caring about my own life years ago.”

     “Wait, hold on, what? Stopped caring? Are you…” Dream trailed off, his dark eyes shining with a fresh coat of concern.

     “No.” George spoke with certainty. “I’ve just got the ‘cold, uncaring, enigmatic’ personality that everyone wants to see up close.”

     “I don’t think you’re cold.” Dream responded in complete sincerity. “Defensive, yeah, but not cold. And you’re not uncaring, even if you have odd ways of showing people that you do care. You know, like, asking them out. But enigmatic? Yeah, I could see that.”

     Something stirred inside George, right around where his heart was. He had to remind himself that he didn’t have feelings for Dream. “Detention ends in a few minutes.” George said softly after looking at his phone.

     “And?” Dream prodded, folding his arms across his chest. “Is that supposed to get a reaction out of me?”

     George’s face felt like it was burning, but he steadied whatever rush of emotions he was feeling and reminded himself of the Put George’s Head On A Spike club. “Am I taking you out tonight or not?” He tried his damnedest to sound uninterested - he was uninterested - but a small trace of hopefulness was evident in his words.

     “That depends,” Dream glanced at George. When the other boy didn’t speak, he continued. “What is this? A pity sort of thing, a distraction from my sadness, or a date?”

     I want it to be a date. George’s hormones said to his brain. I am going to kill you later, we don’t like him. George’s brain said to his hormones. “I want it to be whatever you want, blondie. I haven’t stopped feeling like shit since I knocked the stupid thing over, and I want to make things up to you. So whatever you want, that’s what it is.” he said to Dream.

     “Well… I would hate to be pitied, and a distraction is no way to cope with an issue, so that only leaves us with a date.” Maybe Dream was trying to come across as teasing, but the sugary sweetness behind his voice just made George’s heart melt - wait. Pause. No, it didn’t. George was wholly unaffected. “But there are just a few things I’ve been mulling over. I’ve never gone on a date before… Is my first date really going to be spent with the same George Davidson that ‘never dates’ because it requires ‘too much commitment’?”

     “The only reason I ever said that was to get people off my ass. Figuratively and literally.” George was quick to defend himself.

     “Fine.” Dream spoke cooly, and he regarded George with a side-eyed glance. “But since you offered to take me on a date, you’re responsible for planning it.” Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out something - George noted it was a gel pen, though he couldn’t decipher if it was purple or just plain blue - and grabbed George’s hand. George most definitely didn’t feel anything from the action; the shiver that he’d felt run down his spine was probably just from the room getting colder. Dream was scrawling something on the back of George’s hand, and quickly pulled the writing utensil away before the shorter boy had the chance to question his actions. “I’ve already finished my homework for tonight. So text me later and tell me where we’ll meet up; I’ll spare you the struggle of picking me up and stuff like that, so just give me some general information. Is… Is that okay?”

     “I wanna pick you up,” George responded quickly, and he realized that he would need to have a stern talk with his mouth and yell at it for always just blurting out random shit that he totally didn’t mean. “I mean, you said this was going to be your first date, so I wanna make it a good one for you. Besides, it’s the least I could do for screwing up your school day, like, why not make your night better?” Yep, George was going to have to tape his mouth shut.

     Dream shifted away to hide the faintest appearance of a blush on his cheeks. “Alright then, George. Pick me up, take me out…” He looked back towards George with a boyish grin making his features turn soft, and right as he picked up his phone to turn his music back on - afterwards staying silent and closed off to the world for the rest of detention, even walking out without so much as a goodbye to George - he said, “And make it a night I’ll never forget.”

Chapter Text

     To say George was having a crisis was an understatement. In complete honesty, he himself had never been on a date. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to take Dream? Did he walk up to Dream’s door or just wait in his car? Was he supposed to bring flowers? Millions of questions were bombarding George’s head, but there was one that stuck out among the rest. Why did he care? It wasn’t like he liked Dream, or anything. He’d fucked the guy over, and because Sapnap and Karl were threatening George with beheading, he decided to take the stupidly adorable smart kid on a date. It was a stupid decision, and George knew that. He knew for a fact - well, for a very educated hypothesis - that the blonde boy was into him. George almost felt bad, thinking about how he’d just be leading the taller boy on. Because George didn’t like him.

     He had already gotten Dream’s address, and had told the boy to wear something nice. George had chosen to take Dream to one of the highest quality, most upscale restaurants his finances would allow for, which was more than a fair amount. His father was already spending around a few thousand dollars on random women for a few hours a night, so another few thousand for a night out from a credit card George had stolen weeks ago wouldn’t make a dent in his budget. Of course, his reasoning for the restaurant choice was intentional - George was hoping that the reputation the restaurant carried would be enough to intimidate and scare Dream off after tonight.

     He had already instructed Dream to wear something nice, so that was taken care of, but George was still wandering aimlessly inside his walk-in closet. It made him feel like such a typical entitled rich-bitch. Hell, he was taking a boy he was certain liked him out for dinner to a high-class restaurant as practically charity-work that was in the end for his own benefit… George tried to push his guilt out of his mind and instead focused on the excessive amount of button-down shirts he had, attempting to pick a decent enough shirt to wear with his black dress pants, but for any color he picked - of those he could properly see, anyway - he had some reason to go against wearing it. His hand vibrated, and he glanced down to see a new message flashing across his phone screen. It was Dream; he was just saying that he was ready to go whenever George came to pick him up, and that he had money with him. George’s gaze lingered on his hand a bit longer, and the memory of how Dream had quickly written his number on George’s hand resurfaced. The ink - purple, he’d found out after testing some of his old labeled gel pens against his skin - had faded, but the feeling of Dream’s hand against his own hadn’t. Suddenly, the dark purple shirt that George truthfully rarely wore stuck out to him, almost sending up a “wear me” beacon. So that was the one he picked out and hastily slipped on, smoothing out the one wrinkle with one hand as he walked over to his bedroom’s bathroom to pencil some eyeliner along his lower lashline with the other hand.

     George was pacing around his room for another minute or so trying to make sure he had everything he needed. Credit card? Check. Cash? Check. Charged phone? Check. Car keys? Check. He took one last look at himself in the floor-length mirror, and pushed his ebony hair back from his forehead, huffing as that one damned strand fell right back against his head. He walked out of his house, phone clutched like a lifeline in his hand. He winced as he passed his father’s room, hearing the high-pitched, pleasured noises of what seemed like not one, but two women through the locked door. His shoulders and back felt almost naked without the heavy leather jacket adorning them, and he looked woefully at the clothing laying against the granite countertops of the main kitchen, but he pushed open the heavy oak door and walked out - slamming it behind him - not sparing the jacket a second glance. Walking down his driveway, he was faced with his two cars - his Aston Martin Vanquish and his Bentley Continental - and his motorcycle. If already being nervous wasn’t enough, now he had to decide what the hell he was supposed to pick Dream up with. He tapped his foot impatiently, trying to weigh the options as quickly as he could. With the nice outfit he was wearing, he figured it would be best to skip out on the motorcycle, especially since he didn’t know how Dream would react to it. Twirling his keys around his fingers, he eventually stopped swinging the metal ring around as it lost momentum, ending up facing towards the Bentley.  He started up the car and looked up at the sky as if to try and ask it for advice on how to have a successful date as he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

     George’s hands were shaking on the steering wheel, which provided him with a great deal of confusion. There was nothing to be nervous about, so why was his heart hammering away in his chest? Before he pulled out of his driveway, he glanced down at his watch - subconsciously, he had slipped on his most expensive Breguet watch, perhaps to complete the look - and noticed that there was still a fair amount of time before the reservation he had made. And with that knowledge, he focused his eyes on the road as he began to drive to the florist his family always used for special events. George was grateful for the lack of traffic and arrived at the shop in what felt like record time. He walked in and sauntered towards the counter, leaning forward and resting on his elbows. The cashier was on her phone, an uninterested expression on her face that could rival George’s in terms of apathy. “Hello. I’d like a dozen roses. Purple, please.” George requested, waiting patiently. It took a few minutes for the girl to look up from her phone, and when she did, she sighed.

     “We’re all out. And closing soon. Sorry.” The girl’s three sentences were tersely stated, and after uttering them, she turned her attention right back to her phone screen.

     George hated playing the card that was always dealt in his hand, but this was necessary. He was getting Dream his fucking flowers. “My name’s George Davidson. You might recognize it, you know, since my family is this place’s biggest sole investor. Now, what do you think would happen if you denied the heir to the company some flowers?” Alright, maybe George didn’t entirely hate playing entitled rich-bitch when it was called for. He bit back a smirk as the girl’s eyes widened and her phone fell from her grip, clattering to the countertop.

     “M-My apologies, sir-” She stammered, rushing out from behind the counter to enter the back room filled with all the stocks of flowers. “I’ll be right out with them.” George grinned triumphantly. Sure, he kind of didn’t like his dad because of his leisure activities, but his occupation sure allowed George to live with a few perks. And the part about being heir to the family business, by god, was that a lie. George would go insane if he were to be cooped up in an office all day with a tailored, scratchy gray suit rubbing him the wrong way and making his skin prickle. But… His father didn’t currently know that George wasn’t interested in being some corporate CEO. The girl walked back hastily with the bouquet in her grip and a flush across her face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Davidson, I just wanted to close up shop more quickly so I could go pick up my girlfriend from the airport. I truly do apologize, sir, please, take the flowers on the house-”

     “No,” A small smile stretched on George’s face as he took the bouquet from the girl and pulled out one of the roses to hand back to her. “I honestly just wanted to get out of here fairly quickly, too. I needed - well, wanted - to get these for my boyf-” George cocked his head in confusion at his own words. Again with his damn mouth just saying things . “I wanted to get these for this guy that I’m taking out on a date. I don’t like him. It's bordering on charity work at this point, actually.” At the sound of George’s rambling, the cashier became a bit perplexed. “It’s complicated.” George said quietly. Except it wasn’t complicated. George didn’t like Dream. And they weren’t even friends; their situation was more complex. “Anyway, here’s the cash, keep the change.” George mumbled, fishing a careless amount of bills out of his pocket and placing it into the hand of the girl that wasn’t occupied by a rose stem. He tightened his grip on the bouquet he was holding and started towards the shop’s door, calling a “I hope your girlfriend had a safe flight!” on his way out.

     The drive to Dream’s house was about ten minutes from the shop, but it felt like ten painfully agonizing hours. George’s palms were getting slick from sweat - nervousness - and it caused his hands to come close to sliding off the steering wheel more times than he’d like to admit. When he pulled up to what Dream had told him was the address, his heart was pounding. For some reason. He reached over to the passenger seat to pick up the flowers, and slowly exited his car with the flora. With the way he was walking towards Dream’s front door, one would think Dream was on his way to the electric chair. He slowly knocked on the door, and held his breath as it swung open. “Hey, Dre-” George’s face flushed in embarrassment as his head finally told his mouth that no, who was standing in the doorway was not Dream, but an older woman that must have been his mother. “Oh, you’re Clay’s mom, hello,” George corrected, dropping into a habitual bow. What? Just because he stole credit cards from his father and exposed the dirtiest secrets of kids at school and had no sense of remorse when it came to breaking rules didn’t mean he wasn’t raised with manners. George steadied his nerves and imagined like he was at one of his father’s corporate parties, being forced to talk to all the other investors. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m here for your son.”

     It was then that Dream came into George’s view, then that George believed he started to have heart palpitations. Dream was dressed in all black from his button-down to his dress shoes, his hair styled so that it was combed over his forehead, falling over his golden skin in loose waves. George’s eyes did a not so subtle scan of Dream’s body, but to be fair, he did have his reasons. He’d never seen Dream outside of school, and by proxy never seen him outside of the school issued uniform. And by god, did Dream look stunning in all black. The dark color wrapped over his frame and fit him perfectly, and he was standing at such an angle where George was staring at his side profile more than anything else. He had a perfect view of how the jet black broadcloth fabric of his shirt was tucked perfectly into his oily black dress pants. A leather belt was cinched around Dream’s waist, and George’s eyes trailed from the belt down to his slender waist, further down to his hips, and even further down until his gaze ran over the gentle curve and swell of his a- No. George forced himself to pull his eyes away. Although, if he wasn’t standing directly in front of Dream’s mother, he would have no problem continuing to check the blonde out. Once again, he wasn’t into Dream or anything. But goddamn, George would be lying if he didn’t admit that Dream was fucking stunning. He made eye contact with Dream for the first time of the night, and almost dropped the bouquet he had just begun to lift up. Dream’s eyes were framed with the faintest hints of eyeliner, and his eyelids were brushed over with a shimmery white powder that made him look nothing short of angelic. Ethereal, even. And his lips, god, his lips. George had no idea how he’d never paid attention to them before. And especially now, with how they appeared to be painted over with gloss, tinted what he assumed was slightly pink, George regretted never really noticing them before. If George liked Dream, he would have kissed the taller boy right then and there. But alas, he didn’t. “I brought you these,” George said as he held up the flowers, passing them to Dream who took them with a smiler brighter than the sun. And it would have been fine for George to stop talking there, but once his mouth got itself going, there was no stopping it. “You wrote your number on my hand in purple so I figured you liked the color. Plus, I just thought it would be a nice thing to get you, just as a quick little something… I guess.”

     Dream was still beaming, and apparently still trying to come up with a coherent sentence. His mother, however, seemed to be unphased by George’s rambling and Dream’s lack of speech. “When my son told me he was going out tonight, I didn’t expect his date to be a boy.” The way she said it was void of emotion, and it sent a chill down George’s spine. Was she homophobic? No, she seemed so nice, she couldn’t be. Noticing the silence, Dream’s mother huffed and spoke once more, a smile turning the corners of her eyes up. “Honestly, I prefer it that way. No teen pregnancies.” Dream’s eyes widened and his face reddened as his mother said that, practically mortified. “And as a woman myself, I know how high-maintenance we are. Alright, you two. Have fun. Clay, just keep me updated and tell me if you’ll be spending the night at…” She trailed off as she glanced at George, silently asking him to fill in his name, to which he instantly complied with. “At George’s house.”

     Dream’s face was still red from his mother’s previous comment, but he nodded, handing the bouquet to her. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to them, would you be able to keep these in that vase grandma made? Y’know, the one by the window?”

     “Of course I can, sweetheart.” Dream’s mother grinned, ruffling Dream’s hair. George found it to be adorable how Dream’s face scrunched up and he giggled in slight embarrassment. “Now go and enjoy your evening, I’d hate for you to keep George waiting.” She smiled once more, and disappeared back inside of the house, fully pushing Dream out the doorway and closing the door behind her.

     “I’m so sorry about her…” Dream stammered, his face still adorably flushed.

     “Don’t worry about it, blondie. Now c’mon, we have a restaurant to get to.” George forced himself to smile to try and mask the anxiety building in his stomach. He stretched out his hand for Dream to grab it - because this was supposed to be a date. And that was a date thing, right? Dream smiled, albeit shyly, and accepted the gesture, lacing his fingers with George’s.

     “You didn’t have to get me flowers, or anything like that. I know this is basically just an apology. A really expensive apology… By the way, I brought my money so we can split the bill and all that.” Dream mentioned, not making eye contact with George as they traveled the very short distance to the car.

     “This,” George stated, motioning to everything around him with his free hand. “Is a date. I offered to take you out to dinner, and you accepted. I already apologized back in school. And right now, school doesn’t matter. I’m showing you a damn good night, okay?” George had to admit that he could hear an aggressive edge in his tone, and cleared his throat before continuing. “And I know I didn’t have to get you anything special. I wanted to. So I got you the flowers. And about paying, like hell will I let you do that. First off, we’re going somewhere expensive, and second off, this was my idea. So dinner will be paid with my money.” George glanced at Dream to see a soft smile spreading on his face. “Cute.” George muttered under his breath. He opened the passenger side door quietly, motioning for Dream to get inside.

     “George, this is such a nice car, where did you even get something like this?” Dream asked in borderline bewilderment as he openly gaped at the luxury car, letting go of George’s hand to slide into the passenger side.

     George huffed out a laugh as he walked around the back of his car to enter through the driver’s side. “I’m the school’s rich bitch, remember?” There was something different in George’s voice when he spoke. His rhetorical question was absent of virulent intent, and instead held a lightness that Dream hadn’t heard before. “My dad got it for me on my latest birthday.” Dream hummed in response, getting caught up in running his hands over the plush, supple leather of the seats and staring at how clear his reflection appeared in the glossy dashboard. George grinned as he took note of how interested Dream was in the vehicle. “You can take it for a spin sometime if you want to. But buckle up for now; we gotta leave and I made myself a promise to keep you safe.”

     “You know you don’t have to be so nice to me…” Dream mumbled, although his inner monologue was still focused on his near desperation to be behind the wheel of a car this expensive and lavish. But he complied to George’s request and buckled himself into the seat before leaning his head back against the soft headrest and sighing softly. George closed the door slowly, psyching himself up in the hopes to not lose all abilities of proper social skills. Walking around to the driver’s side of the Bentley, he opened the door and settled into the seat. Dream had begun to look outside through the car’s tinted windows as it started up and George began to drive. “Really, George,” Dream said, his voice a quiet mumble. “You don’t have to do any of this. I’m not exactly, I don’t know, worth all the struggle you probably went through to set all this up.”

     George frowned at that, and lowered one of his hands from the steering wheel to rest on Dream’s thigh, not exactly realizing where his hand had fallen. “Shut up about not being worth it, I’m giving you the best first date anyone could ever ask for.” Dream tensed at first, sucking in a quick breath that he almost choked on, and hesitantly peered at George. His eyes were still focused on the road, but once they hit a red light, George quickly looked down to see why Dream had been staring at him so intently, and his face flushed. “Oh, shit, sorry-” He said, moving to retract his hand.

     Dream had a millisecond-long war with his head regarding what he was going to do, and it was the risky, touch-starved part of his mind that won leaving the sensible part in the dust. He reached down so that his hand was on top of George’s, preventing him from moving. “Just keep driving.” His voice was breathy, his sentence rushed. George slowly nodded, giving Dream’s thigh a soft squeeze before stepping on the gas as the traffic light turned green. The car remained mostly quiet, save for the low volume on the radio George had turned on halfway through the ride. By the time they had arrived, Dream was more than a bit antsy - either absentmindedly or intentionally, George’s fingers had been tracing feather-light patterns up and down his thigh - and ready to get out of the car.

     “Alright, blondie, we’re here. You ready for the best first date?” George asked, parking the car and switching off the radio. As he moved to open his door and get out of the car, his hand pressed down lightly into Dream’s thigh, making the blonde squeak in response. The devil in George decided then and there that maybe playing around with Dream - leading him on, just for a bit - wasn’t such a terrible idea. He ran his hand down Dream’s leg as he lifted himself out of the car, and was pleased to hear how the boy’s breath had hitched. Teasing Dream, especially now, was undeniably enjoyable. But that didn’t mean George liked him. Always a gentleman, George walked around the front of his car to get to the passenger’s side door. When he opened it, he was faced with a goddamn adorable - no - a plain old, regular, uninteresting sight. Dream seemed to be retaining a permanent rosy blush on his cheeks, and was peering up at George with his lips parted ever so slightly. And okay, yeah, George couldn’t deny it - it was truly a goddamn adorable sight. George grinned triumphantly as he bent down to give Dream his hand. The taller boy took it, and George felt that same electricity prickle from his hand up his arm and down his back. George helped lift Dream out of the car, not letting go of his hand when he had stood up. Dream looked back almost woefully at the car, just a bit upset to leave the gaudy vehicle.

     “Yeah, ready. I’m ready. For the date. That we’re on. Together. Tonight. Now.” Dream’s broken speech and choppy sentences caused George to chuckle, the sound bubbling lowly in the back of his throat. George’s laughing prompted Dream to frown, almost whining - yes, whining - out a “Don’t laugh at me, Davidson. I’ll leave. Stand you up.” He tried to sound threatening, but his high-pitched tone just caused George to grin and give Dream’s hand a small squeeze.

     “You’re just cute.” George stated. Upon noticing how the blush on Dream’s cheeks darkened to a ruddy color and started to travel down his neck, disappearing past the collar of his shirt, George decided to keep his sentence going. “And when you’re blushing? Even cuter.”

     “You probably don’t even know what blushing properly looks like. Just-” Dream faltered. “Let’s just go inside.” He suggested - pleaded -, fighting the urge to hide his heated face in his hands. “You said you had a reservation.” George grinned and silently led Dream towards the ornate double doors that glittered with a metallic sparkle in the setting sun. The doors opened as the couple - no, not couple, just two guys - approached them, and were greeted by the smiling face of a hostess.

     George stepped forwards, Dream’s hand tightening nervously around his, and cleared his throat softly before stating. “Good evening, I have a reservation for 7:00.” With the way George’s voice raised pitch in the ending inflection of his sentence, it sounded more like a question than a statement. “It’s under the name George Davidson.”

     The hostess’ eyes lit up with a sort of recognition. “George Davidson? Are you the son of-”

     “Yes.” He interrupted tiredly, trying to hide his aggravation. “Yes, miss, I am.”

     “Would you and your…” She trailed off, giving Dream an expectant look. The blonde just blinked, any words failing him. George supplied the young woman with a simply stated ‘date’. “Yes, alright. Would you and your date like our private room? You’ll have more privacy, along with ambient lighting and music of your choice.” Dream’s eyes widened, not accustomed at all to the privileges that something as simple as a name could carry.

     “That would be lovely. Thank you.” George articulated his gratitude with a small bow accompanying it, Dream following suit in the action. The hostess smiled and extended her arm, beckoning the boys towards a secluded room. When they arrived at the curtain covered entrance to the private room, she turned around to ask what color lighting they’d like to have and what genre of music they’d prefer. Dream still appeared to be too in shock to talk, either stunned or scared, so George spoke for the both of him. He thought back to the pen that had been on his hands earlier, the shirt that he was currently wearing. “Purple, please. Dark purple. A dim royal purple, if you can. And if you could just put on some soft classical, that would be greatly appreciated.” The young woman nodded and placed the menus down on the table for two, exiting with a quick bow. George went to move to pull out one of the chairs for Dream - because yes, he was a true gentleman, even though he wasn’t attracted to Dream - but quickly realized they had never let go of each other’s hand. George laughed almost nervously, slowly letting go of the taller boy’s hand to complete his original mission and pull out the chair, motioning for Dream to sit down. Dream accepted the invitation and sat down, although he refused to make eye contact with George. George sat down across from Dream, and a heavy, awkward silence ensued. George felt an itch crawl down his back, and then, of course, his mouth ran free. “You’ve seemed off this entire time. What’s wrong? Is this not what you wanted? Not good enough?” George’s tone turned defensive all too quickly.

     “No, no, not at all… I’m just in no way used to this kind of luxury. Expensive sports cars, five star restaurants that probably cost more than I can imagine,” Dream glanced down towards the menus, nodding as his eyes scanned the prices. “That definitely cost more than I imagined, private rooms just because of who you’re related to. I just… I don’t live like this, so it’s a bit of an adjustment.”

     “Oh.” George breathed out, a slight frown forming on his face. “Well, start getting used to it, because I want this to happen again.” George’s eyes widened upon realizing what he had said, what he had confessed to. Alarms were blaring inside his head, a loud voice stating ‘we don’t like him’ drowning everything else out.

     “Again…?” Dream questioned in disbelief. Part of him thought that this was all a prank. The boy he had been pining after for months admitting he wanted to go on another date, maybe even more, with him… It seemed fake.

     “Uh, shit, I mean,” George stammered, wracking his brain for the right words. “I’m probably gonna just end up fucking you-” George’s breath hitched for a heartbeat, responding to his phrasing. “-over again, and this is my apology. So get used to me screwing something up for you and having a fancy dinner that night.”

     Dream just nodded, feeling a bit deflated. Of course, what was he even thinking? This was George Davidson he was thinking about, the “rebel” that “didn’t do commitment”. The “badass” that “didn’t fuck with feelings”. And Dream would be an idiot to think that anything could ever blossom between the two of them. All George really ever did to him was tease him in school, and now even more so; Dream could still feel the heat of George’s palm spreading through his pants to blanket over his skin and put him in a hazy dizzy spell. There was no way in hell George would have feelings for him, and Dream would just be foolish if he thought otherwise. “Yeah, of course. That makes sense, I guess.” Dream let his thoughts travel back to that damned car - which would leave a lasting imprint on his mind, because yeah, maybe he had a thing for vehicles - and quietly asked, “Hey, so, um, you said your dad bought you that car for your latest birthday?”

     “Yep.” George confirmed, leaning back in his chair with an air that could only be carried by someone of status. “Ever since my dad split with my mom a few years back, he started bringing random chicks home on a nightly basis just to fuck ‘em. It started happening a lot more after coming to the U.S. He kinda just left me on my own to govern myself. That’s when my grades started slipping and when he started excusing me from all the shit I did so I’d stay in school ‘cause he didn’t want to deal with me. I guess I reminded him of my mother. I’m pretty sure the whole reason he got it for me is just so I’d be able to get out of his hair. He must have thought I’d be out every day and night, but I honestly just stay in my room most of the time. Karl, Sapnap, and Alex come over a lot, though. But I occasionally take my cars for a spin, y’know?” George paused for a breath, his eyes widening a moment after. “I- I totally just overshared, shit, sorry about that-”

     “Wait, hold on, you said cars? As in, like, more than one?” Dream’s mouth had dried up just from the thought of George having more than one car, George pushing him up against a cold chrome door, George ravishing him in any way he pleased, George- No. No, Dream couldn’t afford to let himself fantasize over a boy he knew he had no chance with.

     “Wow, blondie…” George muttered, whistling in a low tone. “I tell you about how my father doesn’t care about me, and you focus on the cars? I wouldn’t have ever pegged you as someone materialistic.”

     Dream paled, his mouth dropping open in embarrassment. “No, no, I just-”

     “Hey, I’m just teasing you, baby. Calm down.” George interrupted, a small smile making its way onto his face. “You’re fun to tease, fun to rile up. I like seeing you all flustered because of me. It’s cute.”

     Dream was positively ready to combust. George Davidson was going to be the reason he had an aneurysm and died. George had called him fucking baby and was smirking at him, and seriously expected Dream to survive that combo attack? Dream wanted to respond, wanted to tell George to stop because him getting all embarrassed was in no way “cute”, but he just sat there, permanent blush across his cheeks, a puzzled expression on his face. The waiter had walked in then, a pitcher of water in his hand. Quietly, the young man introduced himself as he filled up the glasses, the tinkling sound of the ice cubes hitting the glass blending with the melody of his voice. Placing their orders was a quick affair, and went smoothly, obviously. It was one of the top rated restaurants in the world, after all. Although, another reason for the stellar service could have been because the entirety of the staff now knew that George Davidson was in their presence. When the young man left, George was gazing at Dream with a look that could only be classified as unidentifiable, an emotion present in his stare that Dream had never seen before.

     “What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?” Dream questioned, an anxious tone creeping its way into his queries.

     “You look pretty. Or handsome, if that’s what you prefer. Hell, whatever kind of word for beautiful you want me to use, I’ll use it, because it applies. I’ve never seen you out of uniform before, so I guess I’ve been more attentive. And let’s be real - how could I not be attentive when you in all black is deadly?” George leaned closer, his unbreaking eye contact making Dream squirm under the scrutiny. “And the makeup… I don’t have anything else to say other than it’s fuckin’ hot. I like it.” George was going to ask the waitstaff if they had duct tape. He needed to put some over his mouth. Because maybe - a very tentative and unsure maybe - George was starting to feel some feelings for Dream.

     “You do? I mean, yeah, clearly you must if you just said that you did, but… You do?” Yeah. Social skills 100, right there. Dream sighed, rolling his eyes at himself. He was Dream for crying out loud, one of the most articulate kids in the town. Yet here George was, completely wrecking that. Dream shuddered then, realizing he shouldn’t have thought the words “George” and “wrecking” in the same sentence.

     “Yes, blondie, I do.” George reassured, his dark eyes sparkling in the purple lighting. Dinner from then on went smoothly, conversation flowing naturally between the two of them, as unlikely as that seemed. By the time George had started to fish his wallet out to pay the hefty bill, with Dream repeatedly protesting and offering to split the check, they’d shared laughs and traded stories about their childhood. After the transaction had been completed, the boys stared at each other for a length of time that lingered too long to be just amicable. They stood up slowly, breaths catching in their throats as George offered his hand to Dream. He took it, averting his gaze as he laced their fingers together. They made their way towards the main doors, interlocked hands swinging lazily between them as one of the hosts opened the door for them. The boys bowed quickly, not expecting the simple service to be done for them, Dream mumbling a clipped “Have a good night, sir.” They walked out, the door shut behind them, and the air fell silent. Subconsciously, George squeezed Dream's hand, asking, “So?” The open-ended question was hopeful, filled with an emotion that George couldn't - didn't want to - recognize.

     “So,” Dream breathed out. He turned to look at George, the shorter boy appearing to be attempting to fight back a smile. Something shifted in Dream, and his smile turned big, edging on giddy. He had been trying to convince himself to not fall even further for George, but the boy’s smile and everything he said... It was impossible for George to resist. “Tonight was…” Wonderful. I like you. I wish I could date you. “Tonight was fun. Thank you, George. I know I've got nothing to compare this to, but I'm pretty sure this was, in fact, a great first date. But...” Dream's sentence faded. “I guess it's over now.”

     George stopped cold in his tracks, next to the passenger door of his car. “Actually, Dream…” He began, already mentally cursing out his mouth for running rampant. “I was thinking, I wanted to take you down to the river. You mentioned earlier you had a few good memories there, and… I don't know, you seem happy right now, and I guess I just want to give you another treasurable memory. Plus, the river holds a lot of meaning for me, too; I used to visit it a lot during my first few weeks here, it helped me settle into the States. So, uh… I mean, you don't have to say yes. If you wanna get home, then of course. It was just a thought.”

     “That… That actually sounds amazing, .” Dream ran his free hand through his hair, pushing the golden waves off his forehead. “I've really been enjoying myself tonight. I'll admit, I never expected this sort of thing from you. You've got a pure heart, Georgie, and it wouldn't hurt to show it off sometimes.” Dream noticed how George had tensed and blushed at the nickname, and he instantly started to backtrack. “Sorry, it slipped, I-”

     “I liked it.” George spoke hurriedly. “It was cute. So are you.” Hello? Anyone? A roll of duct tape, specifically requested by one George Davidson? Anybody have that? It would be greatly appreciated. “Let's just go before it gets too dark.” George mumbled, opening the passenger side door. He then realized that getting into the car meant Dream would have to let go of his hand, and it sent an unwanted pang of heartache through his chest. A random thought fired in his brain. I wanna kiss his hand. George swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, as he pushed the thought down into the untouched depths of his mind. But funnily enough, his mantra of “I don't like him.” was also fading into the background. It seemed as if Dream had gotten into the car with reluctance, also hesitant to break their hands’ connection.

     When  had started up the car and began to drive the short distance to the river. Unlike the drive to the restaurant, the vehicle was bustling with the boys’ conversation, about everything and nothing. One would comment on a tree they thought looked pretty, and the other would respond with a pedestrian walking by that had a cool sense of style. It was casual conversation - a kind that neither boy had ever thought they'd be able to carry with the other. George parked the car in the lot of a small ‘park’ that really only consisted of a few benches and a little set of swings for children. The boys walked - hand in hand, once again - to one of the empty benches that faced the river. The sun had just reached its destination below the horizon, and the pinkish-orange hues of the rippling water had started to twinkle with the faintest, earliest hints of starlight. Sitting down, they silently took in the experience, cataloging the sights, sounds, and feelings for their archived memories. The rush of the water acting as a white noise, the gradient of the sky shifting ever so slightly, the feeling of their hand in the other's.

     It hadn't gotten any colder, although a warm breeze had started to pick up, drafting off the river, but they both started to lean towards each other. George tilted his head to look at Dream, and his breath was stolen. All he was doing was looking out at the landscape, but George would swear on his life he saw stars reflecting in the taller's eyes. With the slight wind, Dream's hair had started to get naturally tousled, and some of the blonde locks had drifted in front of his eyes, obscuring them from view. And still, he was radiant. Yeah, okay… Maybe it was possible that George had feelings for Dream. Maybe. George let their hands drop, his landing against Dream's thigh. The blonde sucked in a breath, repositioning his hand so that it was on top of George's. He liked it that way; still being in contact with George, but also getting the feeling - a warm, almost comforting one - of the boy's hand against his leg.

     Sure, the way that Dream's hair was falling into place made him look undeniably adorable, but George wanted to see his eyes. He wanted to lose himself in the deep pools of hickory, just like he had done during dinner. Slowly, the hand that wasn't holding Dream's own traveled up to the boy's face. His fingers gently brushed away the blonde strands from off his forehead, and then came down to trail along his jawline. George’s hand stopped its movements, lightly pressed against Dream's cheek. It was as if the taller boy had forgotten how to breathe; his chest was tight and unmoving for a few seconds before he forcefully exhaled, the sound audible. It was quiet, save for the ambient sounds of nature around them. Almost too quiet. George's fingers twitched as gently tilted Dream's face towards himself, also turning inwards towards the boy. Dream's eyes were wide, his golden skin masked by a rosy flush. His lips were just barely parted, painted pink and glossy, and George couldn't pull his gaze away from them. One quick look up to Dream's eyes, still dusted with the shimmery white shadow, told George everything he - truly, deep down inside - had already known. I like him.

     The world was moving in slow motion. The air was electric. George leaned forward, his eyes fluttering shut, dark lashes fanning out over his face, as he captured Dream's lips with his own in a kiss that was slow, soft, and gentle. So unlike what one would think of George, but still so right and so nice and so fitting. Dream sucked in a sharp breath, his hands flaring outwards before clamping down on whatever surface they found - one tightening its grip on George's hand, and the other scrambling to find purchase on the smooth planes of the wooden bench. He was stoic for a moment, to a point where George was debating pulling away and jumping into the river, hoping the current could pull him away and wash over the embarrassment of being rejected. But before he could live out that fear, Dream came to life. He pushed back against George's lips, a million different emotions behind it. The innocence and inexperience of someone who had never been kissed mixed with the enthusiasm and fervor of someone that had always fantasized about it. The kiss was rough and a little messy, but in their minds, it was perfection. George was the first to pull away, his eyes shooting open the moment his lips separated from Dream's.

     “I'm sorry I didn't mean to do that it was an accident-” George's statement was so rushed, his words sounded as if they were all just one elongated sound. His voice was unsteady, uncertain, and nothing like how he projected himself to be. His lips were tingling from where Dream's light coating of lip gloss had rubbed off on him, and it was an enticing sensation. “I can drive you home now, I'm sorry.”

     “Don't be, Georgie…” Dream said. He had raised his thumb up to his face to swipe over his bottom lip, some of the bubblegum gloss streaking off. “That was… It was unexpected. But… I liked it. Liked this. Like you. This was all I could ever ask for when it comes to a first date. And my first kiss, with a boy I really fricken like, at a place that holds a special section in my heart? Perfect.”

     He likes me, I like him, he likes me, I like him, he likes me, I like him, he likes me, I need to pull it together, he likes me, I like him, he li- pull it together, George! George thought he was about to cry. And he never cried. “Can I take you home with me tonight?” Yeah, George knew the underlying implications that came along with that question. But there was none of that kind of intent behind his words. All George wanted was Dream, and now that he had admitted it to himself, he couldn't curb it. “I just…” But still, somehow, he couldn't admit it verbally. “If it's okay with you.”

     Dream had stilled. There was a part of him that screamed “Protect your image!”, but Dream was able, finally, to squash that thought. What image did he truly have? One that other people created for him? One that only existed because he let other people shoehorn him into categories and stereotypes? Dream was done with it. All of it. He was his own person, not some untouchable angel everyone wanted to be. He surged forward, catching himself and George both by surprise, and kissed the boy once more. “Yeah. Yes. That sounds amazing.” George hadn't been expecting Dream to actually say yes. But now that he had, George's excitement washed over him like the sun's rays bathing the world with its light as dawn approached. He bounded up from the bench, Dream's hand still in his own, and practically sprinted towards the car. “Hey, hey,” Dream teasingly chastised, pulling back against George's pace. “I'm not going anywhere.” George just laughed, a hint of that classic and original mischief in his voice, as he opened his car's door, motioning for Dream to climb inside.

     George had to admit that during the ride back to his house, he wanted to pull over, unbuckle their seatbelts, kiss Dream - and maybe do some other things - bruisingly, but the strangely sensible part of him told him no. When he pulled into the driveway, however, George had realized that maybe Dream was wishing for some of the same things. Apparently, he had applied more of the lip gloss during the smooth car ride, because his lips appeared to be so shiny, so pink, so desirable. He'd also made sure to notify his mother of his new plans, as she had asked. When George parked, and the boys got out of the car, Dream gaped at the opulence of the house, and the many vehicles in its lengthy driveway. Oh. Right. George was rich. In the past few hours, he'd kind of forgotten that fact.

     Noticing where George had parked - next to his Aston Martin and his motorcycle - Dream had the sense to ask, “Are these two yours?” His tone held curiosity and bewilderment. There was also something else in his expression - some sort of desire? His pupils had dilated, tongue swiping out of his mouth to wet his now dry lips.

     “Yeah… Why? You like it?” George asked, testing the waters.

     “I-” Dream breathed out, eyes tracing the lines of the vehicles’ bodies, specifically the cycle. “Yeah. I've always had a thing for- I mean… Y'know, like, I've always liked cars and things of that nature.”

     Well then. If George had known Dream would have been so interested in his motorcycle, that's what he would have chosen to pick the boy up on. So sure, that was a missed opportunity, but now he had one right in front of him. “You can actually touch them if you want. Sit on the motorcycle. In fact, I'd like to see how you would look on my bike.” George's statements had turned explicit. Not in content, but in clarity.

     “Really?” Dream wondered aloud, stifling an excited giggle when George nodded. Slowly, he stepped closer to the motorcycle. He approached it carefully as if it were a wild animal, softly running his hand over the chrome body and leather seat. He sucked in a tight breath as he slung one of his legs over the seat, pulling himself up by the handlebars. Dream was a clumsy person by nature, and if not for the kickstand supporting the motorcycle, he most likely would have toppled over. “This…” He breathed out, a smile stretching his lips, “Is amazing.”

     George walked over towards Dream, some new sort of hunger in his eyes. Dream on his bike, decorated with a smile only for him. George wasn't possessive, but it didn't stop him from loving how Dream was getting this excitable from things that George could provide. It made him wonder what the older boy would look like wearing one of his leather jackets. It was already proven that Dream looked stunning in all black, but in leather? The look would be deadly. George wanted to see it.

     He was sidled up next to Dream now, hands splayed out on the seat. They made a few seconds of eye contact, George asking nonverbally for permission, Dream nodding and mumbling out a quick “Yes.” He shifted around on the bike so that he was sat atop it in a position that could only be described as side-saddle. His arms dangled almost oddly, which George realized. He grabbed Dream's hands to lock them around his own waist. Dream grinned as he got the message and pulled George close to him. George's arms came to drape over Dream's shoulders, his hands curling upwards to toy with the waves of hair that started at the nape of his neck. A breath later, and they were kissing once more, just a light press of lips against lips. It was light again, and George's knees quivered at the feeling of the slightly sticky lip gloss against his own mouth. And the softness of the kiss worked, for a time. Surprisingly, it was Dream that first hungered for more. He pulled George even closer, their hips aligning as best they could with the odd angle, a small whine escaping his lips. George's heart rate sped up at the sound, and he tightened his hands in Dream's hair. The action just pulled another slight sound from Dream. George pulled back for a moment, mouth opening to mutter a quick, “Would it be okay if we ma-”

     “George Davidson, I swear to god, I'll leave if you ask to make out with me.” Dream interrupted. He shivered at his own harshness, but he liked it. The feeling of being able to speak his mind and not worry about living up to fake expectations. So he kept it going. “Now come back here and put your damn tongue in my mouth.”

     George almost choked. He pushed Dream's head towards his own with a force that almost knocked him off the motorcycle, and it caused Dream to wrap his legs around George's waist for stability, moving his arms up to his sides. George didn't spare a second before he swiped his tongue over Dream's bottom lip. With the way his lips parted with ease - and, dare he say it, expertise - George found it hard to believe this would be his first time ever making out with somebody. George let his tongue explore Dream's mouth - it was hot, wet, and like a drug to him; intoxicating and addicting. And honestly, Dream's inexperience - the way he wasn't entirely sure what to do, how his legs tightened around George's waist as he gasped into the boy's mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy, and sounds of spit being exchanged filling the air - made it so, so much better. Who would have known the two of them would prefer something messy like this over something quaint and controlled, like they had previously been?

     “You're,” Dream panted, eyes glazed over. “You're really… Really good. Yeah. Good.” His chest was heaving, skin practically buzzing with electricity. “I'm gonna shut up now.” He announced, licking his lips before once again diving towards George's mouth. He giggled as they collided, eyes closing as he smiled against George's lips. George mumbled something inaudible as he pressed himself closer, his hips slotting against Dream's. The angle mixed with the force sent shock waves down both their spines, and Dream threw his head back as his whole body trembled. “That-” He breathed out, voice shaky. His face was flushed a bright red that George could see, even in the darkness of dusk. “Again. Please, George, do that again.”

     “Damnit, Dream..." George groaned, words falling against Dream's lips, their hot breaths mingling. "I wonder how the school would feel if they knew that their perfect, pure little angel is such-" George paused, leaning down to nip at Dream's neck. It was a spur of the moment decision, one with possible consequences he hadn't considered. As his teeth sunk down gently into soft honey skin, George reveled in the broken whine that he dragged out of Dream. "-a goddamn sinner." On the last word, George lifted his head back up to meet Dream's mouth once more, biting down on his lower lip and tugging it towards himself, continuing to draw pleas and cries from the boy. Slowly, he rolled his hips against Dream's, and his blood ran hot when the blonde whined out an unsteady permutation of Dream's name. He pulled away for a moment, wanting to get a good look at Dream, at how his blonde hair shone in the moonlight. And when he did, god, Dream's reaction was one he wished he could have caught on camera. He groaned in frustration, his hips chasing for contact that was no longer there. When he realized it, he tensed before swiveling his hips downwards, biting back a whimper at the friction the leather seat was giving him. There was hunger in George's eyes when he stepped forward once more, cold and calculating. “Is this what you meant when you said you had a thing for 'cars and things of that nature’, Clay?” George didn’t know what possessed him to want to use Dream’s real name, but the atmosphere just seemed right, and Dream most definitely didn’t seem to mind.

     “Yes, George-” Dream choked out, his eyes opening to reveal them shiny and filled with unshed tears. “Wanna kiss you again, please, George, want you-” He stammered on, hands shaking at his sides.

     “C'mere, baby, I wanna show you one more thing.” George's words were soft-spoken and calming. He wrapped his arms around Dream's waist and lifted him off the bike, grinning as the slightly taller boy curled into his arms. George was a good few inches smaller, and not as muscled, but he still had the strength to support Dream’s weight for a few seconds. “You're too fuckin’ cute, I don't think I'll be able to handle any more of this…” He teased. Dream groaned into his neck as a noncommittal response. When George gently let Dream down to stand on his own, his legs were shaky. “You're alright, Dreamie, I've got you.” He whispered, smiling when the boy nodded and started to have his breathing become less erratic. “You really got that worked up just from a little kissing?” George asked, a lighthearted smirk plastered on his face.

     Dream pouted. “Shut up, you know I haven't ever done that before. Didn't know what to expect, didn't know it was gonna be that good…” He laced his fingers in between George's. “Now, what's this one last thing?” So, George walked with Dream around to the side of his house, began explaining, and… Okay. Yeah. If Dream had known what George would have asked… He never would have asked the boy to show him this mysterious 'last surprise’.

     “Yep, all you gotta do is climb up the fence. It's sturdy, believe me, I once had Sapnap scale it carrying Karl in one arm and Alex on his back. Fun times.” George was saying this like it was nothing. Like he actually believed Dream could climb up a damn fence and hoist himself up on top of the house's roof. Sure, the section of the roof that George had been talking about - and was already up on - was only one story up, and flat, but Dream was more than a bit nervous. “If you don't want to, I'll come down and we can go inside through the front door.” Surprisingly enough, that care in George's words was the impetus that caused Dream to set his jaw, and grip the fence, looking up at George with a determined glint in his eyes. By the time he got near the rooftop, George was leaning close towards the edge, stretching his hands out to pull Dream up.

     Dream's eyes were dark as he stared at George, now safely atop the massive house's roof. He never really took charge in a social setting, but a voice inside his head told him to sit down on George's lap and take what he wanted. He followed that voice's advice. He climbed over George's lap, promptly sinking himself down on the other boy's thighs without a word. George took a moment to truly take in the sight of him. Blonde hair messy and tousled, sticking up at all ends. Cheeks rosy and flushed. Lips - god, his lips - kiss-bitten and swollen, the lip gloss smeared across his mouth and down his jaw, a spot even visible on his neck. He looked wrecked. He looked beautiful. And George wanted more of it. He leaned in close, once again gently biting down on the column of Dream's throat. He lost himself in sucking the skin into his mouth and biting at it, tongue laving over the red marks that were quickly turning red. George's mind found itself wandering back to Dream's effortless laugh he'd heard back in the restaurant, to the way he looked pleasantly surprised when George had gifted him the roses. But the current Dream that was here with George, he was breathing heavily, tilting his head to the side to expose more of his skin for George to have his way with. “Your neck-” George groaned, the sound low in the back of his throat. “Somehow it's fuckin’ soft and I wanna mark it up.” George wanted Dream to be his. He wanted to be Dream's. And here it came, yet again, his mouth running wild. “I like you. I really like you, Dream, and I want to go out with you. More than once. Like boyfriends. I want to be your boyfriend, I want you to be my boyfriend. I want to take you out on dates and make you smile and laugh and feel happy and valued and treasured because I know how hard you are on yourself… And I want to show you that you're worth the world. More than the world. Clay…” George paused for a moment, collecting his breath. “Be my boyfriend.”

     “Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, ye-” Dream's energetic, repetitive agreement was interrupted by George crashing their mouths together and carding his hands through Dream's hair, messing up the blonde waves even more. It felt like they stayed there for hours, breathing in each other's air and melting in each other's arms. When the two of them had started to shiver, not only from the excitement of a legitimate relationship - and making out, but from the cold, George pulled away, his hands still cradling Dream's - his boyfriend's - face.

     “Let's go inside. Get you all warmed up. I've got a king-sized bed, you know…” George grinned, leaning against where the roof started to slant upwards. Dream paled. Sure, he liked George, but… He could sense some clear implications in his last statement. And this was only the night of his first date, first kiss. George seemed to pick up on Dream's hesitation and flushed. “I-” he choked out. “Not like that. Not like that at all. I phrased that wrong. I don't think before I speak. Whoops. I, uh, what I'm trying to say is, um… I'm cold. I'm tired. You're cold. And I wanna go inside and sleep. With you. In a literal sense. Completely PG. I wanna cuddle with you. My boyfriend.”

     Dream breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good. I wanna cuddle with my boyfriend, too. He's sweet, and not at all like how other kids make him out to be. I really like him.” George giggled, and Dream realized he wanted to save the sound forever. George shifted towards the window nearest them, and pushed it open. He toppled backwards into the house with Dream in tow, his back bouncing on his mattress. Dream was laughing at the spontaneity of the action, and as he held himself up above George, he realized maybe that detention hadn't brought him the end of his life, but the start of a new chapter in it. He let himself fall into George's arms, head against the brown-haired boy's chest.

     They fell asleep soon after, but maybe - just maybe - they had kissed a little more before letting themselves drift off, wrapped in the other's embrace.