Chapter Text
Black suit.
Deep green tie.
Dirty blond hair in place.
Expensive watch on his wrist.
He throws a careless glance at the full body mirror in his bedroom. He fixes his tie for the last time. That will do.
Nodding to himself and grabbing nothing but his phone, wallet and car keys, he closes the door behind him. The front door beeps as it locks in place. He goes down the elevator and through the building’s lounge. The blue hour’s wind whistles past him as he steps foot outside, ghosting the feeling of cold against his neck. Unbothered, he walks across the parking lot and hops on his car.
Dream Wastaken knew he was a successful man. Prodigy. Genius. Legend. Those are some of the words Dream would often hear from colleagues and people who don’t even know him but for certain have heard his name.
He doesn’t want to brag but he doesn’t exactly disagree with them. Don’t mistake him, he’s not a businessman bathing in countless piles of money. He’s a simple man, really. A simple Statistics Professor in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. A simple author of three award-winning and top-selling research and academic books. A simple awardee of the Fields Medal, perhaps him being the youngest receiver of it ever since a century ago. Okay, maybe he is bragging, and maybe kind of being an asshole. The bragging he can explain as it comes naturally to a man with achievements like his’ in an early age. The asshole part is up to you to decide.
How, you ask, was he able to manage such a feat? Well.
You see, Dream has a gift.
Well, he didn’t really call it that back in high school, just that he had an ability.
Said ability is this: once he starts something, he finishes it in an instant. Well, he’s not like superheroes who move very fast. No.
He just blacks out in the middle of the process, so all he knows is that he started something, thinks about doing something, then the next, it’s already said and done.
Like, say he thinks about baking something. All he will remember is getting the ingredients out, then the next time he will blink, there will be freshly baked cupcakes in front of him.
He doesn’t time travel. No, he’s already theorized about that. He's proven wrong when he inconspicuously asked his best friend about it. One time during their first years of friendship in highschool, he asked whether he disappears when he’s doing something.
Sapnap just gives him a strange look. “What do you mean ‘disappear’? You’re literally there doing it and talking to us like normal. What’s all this about?”
Dream just shrugs it off, not telling his best friend something that will make him look crazy.
It's then that Dream confirms that he is indeed present in the situation, just that he has no memory of it.
Now, isn’t that the perfect ability to have? Well— if you think about it, really.
He considers it a gift.
Because he just has to think things through—maybe read a recipe book, read a paper, think about the first chapter, go at the end of a very long queue—think about how he’d like to do it, initiate doing it, and poof! Done. Cupcakes. His research assignments. Book finished. Waited 5 hours in a restaurant like he’s just waited for 5 seconds.
No need for second thinking nor doubts nor worries nor backing out.
No draining process of going through something just to reach an end goal.
He couldn’t imagine a better skill to possess.
Dream isn’t evil, per se. Maybe a chaotic neutral. Chaotic good, if he’s pushing it.
Moral alignment aside, Dream had always been a practical man, so you can’t really blame him for using his gift for his passions.
He’s used his ability for his benefit, of course. He woke up one day in highschool having it, and ever since then and discovering its really a good thing, he didn’t want to ever let it go.
His ability literally allowed him to easily finish his assignments, finish high school, start his undergraduate degree, start his thesis, get his degree, get a masters degree and achieve so many things in life.
All that he’s done with abandon.
Don’t get him wrong, Dream is not lazy. He’s spent an ample amount of time studying and thinking about those deeds that he might as well have done it physically.
Like that time before physically starting his thesis, he researches and researches, a lot of sleepless nights spent just to assure that even if he has no memory of doing it, he’s certain he can do a great job.
Now with a decade down the line of using his gift, he can’t expect for his life to get better than this.
As he stated earlier, he’s now a renowned statistics professor in MIT, praised among his peers and beyond, a well known author whose works have been translated into several different languages which is being taught all across the world, and just a very accomplished man in general.
When people ask him about the secret of his success, all he ever says is that when he wants to do something, he sets his mind to it (really, he could even be a comedian, if he thinks about it), and doesn’t leave a room for doubt.
Which is, true, because when you black out in the process of doing something, there’s no room for worries or doubts or second thoughts. If you have your mind set for the end goal and the end goal only, then you won’t stop in the middle of it. You can actually manage to reach your goal.
In his opinion, Dream thinks that everybody has potential, every person has a great calling, every idea worth being alive. But he also thinks that the reason not everything gets fulfilled is because people stop in the middle. That people start it with great inspiration, only for them to let insecurities get in the way, and then barely continuing it, until they stop completely because those dark, dark thoughts have eaten away any of the inspiration left, leaving behind only regret and sorrow and the inability to keep going. Because, for what, anyway?
In moments like those where he witnesses the fall of something that could have been good, are moments when Dream feels the most grateful for his gift. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he stops in the middle.
The entrance of the hotel venue comes and Dream pulls the vehicle up to a stop. He hands the valet his keys, brushing the non existent dust on his coat as he strides confidently towards the double doors of the hotel.
The institute is currently holding their annual cross department social gathering event and Dream had been assigned to do the opening speech. It’s the end of the term and as tradition, MIT has rented out the largest venue in one of the most prestigious hotels in the city. OF course, a prestigious institute as theirs requires the same level as such.
MIT has a lot of college departments, six divisions who collate into a total of 32 academic departments. Two of those divisions, the School of Science and the School of Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences are going to be sharing the floor tonight. Such a variety of faculty that is almost amounting to half a thousand will then require the most grandiose of set-ups.
The hotel’s staff that greeted him at the entrance led him to the 2nd floor of the building, where the event is being held. Their institute’s staff gives him a pass without even asking for his name, and then in a second he’s inside the place.
Dining tables are the first thing one will see upon arrival, a huge red carpet leading all the way to the stage. In front of the stage is a huge open area, with cocktail tables situated around it in a circle. Colors of red table tops and gold decorations give the venue a tone of elegance Dream would think this isn’t just a faculty event. He runs his eyes among the crowd of people who have already arrived, trying to look for the most familiar face. He sees him at the far right, near the glass double doors. He strides towards them, nodding at people who greet him on the way there. Once he reaches the table, they turn to him in greeting.
“Dream! Right on time, as always!”
Professor Blade, a friend of Dream from the same faculty, says in a tone that he knows is teasing. Dream rolls his eyes and chuckles. “ Hi, Techno. I see you’ve beaten me again.” He mocks, knowing that the friendly rivalry they both have going on entertains the rest of their faculty. And to his non-disappointment, the people from their table starts chiding in with bets and remarks of who’s going to win the banter this time. Dream shakes his head at the usual shenanigans and takes a seat.
“Of course. But, must I say it’s getting a little bit boring waiting for you to catch up.” Techno delivers.
Their friends react extravagantly.
“ Ooh. That’s kind of an L there, Dream, are you gonna take that?” Sapnap, the person Dream had sighted earlier, his best friend and a Physics professor, chaffs from the seat beside him. Dream punches him on the shoulder lightly as a form of greeting and rebuke.
Then, he sings, “I mean, it’s fine if it makes him feel better. I’m not gonna be the one sitting here while someone will be having an honorary speech on stage later tonight.”
Their friends erupt in loud cackles of approval, changing their conclusion that that was definitely a win for Dream today. Dream gives his head a cock to the side, smirking at the middle finger Techno then jokingly flashes at him.
He shakes his head once again, amused at how loud their group seems to be getting. Dream thinks that’s one of the benefits if half of the people in their faculty were blockmates when they were in graduate school. It’s like they’ve gotten their degree but the part that bonded them when they were at their youths still stayed.
The conversation stirs to another topic, and Dream stays back in his seat just listening to them until the program starts.
Dream belongs to the School of Science, in the department of Mathematics, his esteem as an Advanced Statistics Professor unparalleled. Said position and esteem were what allowed him to be the opening speech. The president of their institute is incredibly proud of his achievements, thus incredibly fond of him, but Dream knows it's partly because a huge percentage of their enrollees are because they are amazed and inspired by Dream’s work. Probably his charm and influence on social media, as well, but Dream doesn’t think the president knows much about how Twitter works.
Dream had spent the past few nights perfecting his speech and thinking about how he’s going to deliver it so that he can execute it properly today. So without a single nervous bone in his body, he climbs up the elegant stage and introduces himself as a greeting, and then the next time he blinks, the speech is done and everybody is clapping. The president along with the board of directors are shaking his hand and clapping him in the back. He smiles charmingly before going down the stage and back to his table.
It's around half-way into the boring program, in the middle of a performance from the students of the College of Music that something, rather someone, catches his eye. Everybody is standing now, professors socializing around, fleeting from table to table with flutes of white wine on their hands, talking to colleagues they normally don’t see on a regular basis, because let’s face it, MIT is huge. But Dream and the rest of their group had taken to standing by the cocktail tables near where the food and drinks are, and just talk amidst each other.
Sapnap, while holding a flute of wine in his hand and gesturing wildly with the other, is talking about something Dream had tuned out in listening in favor of staring at someone from the opposite side of the room.
“Who’s that?” He asks Sapnap, and the man stops talking mid-sentence to give a glimpse as to who Dream is unabashedly staring at.
“Who?”
“The one basically arm in arm with the president.”
“Ah,” Sapnap says in recognition. “That’s President Philza’s longest friend’s son, Mr. Notfound. A Sociology professor, I think. He introduced him to the faculty last semester. I think it was during the time you were away for a seminar. Maybe that’s why you don’t recognize him. Different departments and all.”
The Physics professor must have memorized the law of attraction, because the next minute, the President along with the mysterious man was walking towards their table. The statistics professor rakes his eyes over the younger one of the approaching pair in quick succession, trying to figure out just what draws Dream to him.
He’s wearing a crisp white button down, dark blue tie in place, but his black overcoat hangs in his forearm. He’s dressed impeccable just like everybody else, so maybe that’s not it. His face, features clearly not American, are a mixture of soft and hard edges. From afar, Dream could see mellow eyes and a sharp nose. He could see plush lips and an angled jaw. They reach their side of the room.
“Professors!” The president greets with a smile. The president greets each of them with a smile, initiating small talk and asking how they all were. Dream thinks Philza favors their department the most, because firstly, Techno and Dream himself are here; the two whomst bring home achievements after achievements, and that Philza was a higher mathematics professor himself before taking on the role as president.
Dream and Sapnap are on the back of the group so when the President got around talking to the rest, the two best friends had already moved on to another topic.
Dream sees Philza clap Sapnap in the back. Sapnap startles, cuts himself mid-sentence again. “Oh, Phil, hi! You almost killed me.”
Sapnap puts a hand on his chest dramatically and pretends to faint. Dream shakes his head at his friend’s idiocy. But Philza knows how to play along and so he says, “No, Sap! Who else would blow up the labs if you aren’t around anymore?”
“Hey!” Sapnap retaliates in a pout.
Dream laughs at that. He notices that the guy behind Philza laughs quietly, too. Phil must have seen Dream stare because he steps to the side and coaxes the man forward. Upon closer distance, Dream notices that he’s almost a foot taller than the other.
“Ah, right. I must do this! Two of my most favorite people in this institute. Don’t tell Wil and Techno that.” The old man laughs, and waves his hands in dismissal. “Professor Dream Wastaken, this is Professor George Notfound. He’s recently transferred into our SSHAS, as a top-tier Social Science professor. I’m sure you have already heard of him—” Dream regrets that he hasn’t . “But he’s the son of a long time friend of mine from back when I teached in London. But I assure you, even without that connection, he’s as remarkable as he can be. I wouldn’t have bugged his father for years to let me recruit him to America if he wasn’t. You see, George here had started with…”
The president goes off of the new professor’s achievements, and Dream would have done anything to memorize everything the president had said, but he can’t really focus as the subject of the president’s praise has his ears going redder by the minute. Dream thinks that there’s something interesting at the way the shorter man’s ears flare up with each receiving compliment.
When Philza is called off somewhere, Professor Notfound shyly smiles at them before going to the neighboring table and talking to another professor. He’s talking to another of Dream’s friends from another faculty, Nuclear Science Professor, Mr. Jacobs.
Dream just calls him Karl, but Karl chides him for being such an unprofessional when Dream calls him that on campus. You can’t really fault Dream when it’s your best friend's boyfriend you’re talking about. And Karl will hurt himself by tripping over the air before he can hurt a fly, who’s he threatening about.
“I never knew Professor Notfound knew your boyfriend over there.” He says to Sapnap.
Sapnap gives him a look. “Yeah, well, I never knew you were into hot professors who look like they’re fresh out of Vogue, but I guess even after years of friendship, some things remain in the dark.”
“Fuck off, Sap. He’s not my type.”
“I never said he was. I said he was hot.” Sapnap smiles at him provokingly, knowing full well how to push Dream’s buttons.
“That’s inappropriate.” Dream replies weakly, knowing that the boy knows him like the back of his palm.
“Sure, Dream. He’s looking over here though.”
And sure enough, when Dream looks across the few tables in between, Karl and George are looking at their general direction. Okay, screw that general direction, George is looking directly in his eyes.
Dream sucks in a breath, but doesn’t break his stare. They’ve kept eye contact for who knows how long, until Sapnap whispers beside him, “Oh my god, suck his dick already.”.
Dream’s eyes widened, more at the sudden visual image in his head rather than at his friend’s profanity. He hits Sapnap straight in the shoulder, causing him to break eye contact with the other man across.
“Professor! Language!” Dream says, surprisingly feeling flustered, glaring at Sapnap’s cackling face.
“ Language? Are you Bad now?”
Dream ignores him. When he looks back, George isn’t looking at him anymore.
In fact, George doesn’t even spare him a single glance all throughout the night— Dream knows because guiltily, he spares the man a glance every minute or so— until the program is almost ending.
Karl, with George in tow, crosses the distance between their tables and goes to hold Sapnap’s elbow.
“Hey baby, ready to go home and see what I have in store for you tonight?” He leans down to whisper this to the other’s ears, but Dream knows about Karl enough that it’s not really true and that he did it loud enough that George and Dream purposely hears it.
Dream avoids his eyes at the apparent laughter from his best friend’s face and meets George’s awkward glance. The other boy probably isn’t aware of Karl’s sexuality yet, since the nuclear science professor isn’t exactly out and open with it.
And so, Dream smiles at him, small, his dimples showing, to show that he is as equally as stuck in the awkward conversation as the man is. He’s not showing off his smile, of course not. Who does that anyway.
It seems to work because he can see that the other man’s seem to linger at the corner of his mouth for a second before giving him a gorgeous grin. Dream sucks in a breath. George is either completely clueless or he knows how to play the game Dream is wordlessly challenging him in .
The brunette shakes his head fondly, as if in on a secret joke, and talks just loud enough to drown out the growing confidence in Karl’s voice about his plans , but not loud enough to call attention to the both of them on the side.
“Professor Wastaken, a pleasure to finally meet you.” This is George’s first words to Dream, and Dream is clenching his hands tightly to his side, repeatedly saying: I will not feel attracted to an accent I will not feel attracted to an accent I will not feel attracted to an accent—
Dream wordlessly shakes the offered hand. It’s smaller than his, and a lot softer, warmth emanating from the other’s milky skin. They’ve stood closer enough now that Dream could see that there’s freckles adorning the other man’s cheeks. Dream can’t keep up with the things to fixate about. He is so embarrassingly enamoured that he forgets to reply. Good thing George is already following his introduction.
“Can I just say that I’ve read some of your works and your approach in set theory is very indulging. I know Statistics is your specialization but your brief paper about the continuum hypothesis really amazed me. Not a lot of people in our society right now can grasp the concepts completely and it's amazing how you’ve broken it down and reconstructed it back so eloquently.”
Fuck, Dream internally curses. Oh, no . He can talk. Oh, fuck.
This is so not good for Dream’s ego.
Dream knows he’s good. That he does his job well. Because it’s not just a job for him, it’s also his passion, and to have someone say that to him in his face is taking Dream to new heights. People had always said he’s good, or he’s great, or that he’s a genius. But none of them had ever said it like this. Like they get it .
The unwanted blush on his face feels warmer by the second. He tries to gather his thoughts and just speaks, unable to think things through because no matter how pretty George is, he is very intimidating. Not that Dream is intimidated, of course. Who gets intimidated by plush lips, pretty eyes, and a pretty voice with an accent ? Not Dream, no, of course not. An accent, pfft, he’s met many British people and none affects him like this.
“Uhh, thank you! It was quite an experience in trying to grasp the ideas people had over centuries ago. But then again, you are here telling me it was indulging, and not a lot of people can understand how it’s broken down. What I’m saying is, I think you’re cute.”
Dream’s eyes widen. He bites his tongue, wishing he could take back his sentence. He wishes the ground to swallow him whole.
Dream knows for sure he blew it, ruined something that ever since forever feels new and exhilarating, just because he can’t control his mouth. But George, after staring at him for a few beats, bursts out in laughter. He laughs, or more like squeaks ( God, that’s adorable.) and his eyes scrunch up into two black lines and Dream decides right there and then: he can’t handle this .
George tries to clasp a hand in his mouth to prevent laughing out loud, but it’s too late because Dream had already heard. Dream had already seen how he laughs. He wants more.
After the boy composes himself, George gives Dream a huge beam. “Ah, Phil never told me you have such a great sense of humor, Professor Wastaken.”
Dream ignores the tiny surge of disappointment. It was a slip-up but I wasn’t joking.
“Oh, please, you can call me Dream. Did he tell you about me?” He settles for saying.
“Yes, Dream , he did. Genius. Prodigy. All that. If I didn’t know any better, I could’ve mistaken you as one of his sons. I’m glad I get to meet you tonight and see for myself how admirable you are. Your speech was very well delivered.”
George gives him a smile that could rival the sun. Dream really can’t handle this. But he composes himself, because he doesn’t want to fuck up more than he had.
“Aren’t you just buttering me up, Professor?” George laughs. Doesn’t say anything.
Dream smiles back. “It’s nice to meet you too, Professor Notfound.”
Before George could say another word, applause went around the room, the president apparently having finished his ending speech, thanking all the faculty and the staff that made everything possible. As the people slowly trickle out and resign for the night or head elsewhere, Dream has a wild idea forming in his head right now.
“I... I’m gonna go to the bathroom for a second.” He tells George, and George softly nods.
“Sure.”
He heads to the bathroom. After Dream closes the cubicle door behind him, he locks it before turning around to close the toilet seat lid. He sits there, and closes his eyes to think. He’s going to think about it. He’s going to use his gift. He knows he can’t do what he wants to do if he feels this nervous about it.
So he breathes, just as he tries to morph his thoughts into life. Of him getting back there. And asking.
For George’s phone number.
Okay , that might not be a wild idea if you were to consider the list of wild things he ever did in his life (because he is friends with Sapnap and Karl, and nothing is not wild when with them, especially back in their undergrad years) but in Dream’s already settled life of 26, nothing is exciting anymore. So asking for a guy’s phone number you only knew the existence of two hours ago, Dream is a bit nervous.
But in order to not psych himself out, he thinks about it. This is going to be easy. This is gonna be simple. He just has to go back there and ask for George’s phone number. Because let's face it, Dream hasn’t been this interested in somebody for a long time.
Around the 60 second mark, he opens his eyes and breathes. Gets out of the cubicle, washes his hands, fixes his hair and his tie and his suit and smiles at the mirror. He can do this, of course.
When he goes outside, the chairs are being stacked up, the hotel’s staff cleaning the venue. Heaving a disappointed sigh, he thought that he already lost his chance and George had already gone home, but when he reaches outside, he sees him by the hotel’s entrance, still talking with Sapnap and Karl.
When the couple sees him though, they only wave their hands as a sign of goodbye, before getting in Karl's car. George then turns to look at him, his hands around himself fighting the coldness of the winter night, his face being illuminated by the hotel’s sign outside and the lamps behind him.
Dream jogs towards him, hesitantly places his hands on George’s elbows to lead him closer to the building where the hotel’s heater seeps through the revolving doors. He smiles at George worriedly, meets the professor’s eyes that reflect the lights from all around them.
“Are you cold?” he asks nervously, and revs up his thoughts from the bathroom, then he breathes, and then the next moment, George is on the side of the road, the valet giving him keys to his own car and George hopping in his car before waving Dream goodbye.
Dream looks down to see his phone now in his hand, a new contact named ‘George :]’ displayed on the screen. He whispers an excited yes! And punches a giddy fist into the air.