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“Strike!”
“You’re the worst!”
“I’m gonna win, Dream!”
“You’re so annoying!”
The bickering went on and on, until Dream was left pouting at the lime green and sparkly bowling ball at his feet. He gave it an idle kick, huffing when the only result was pained toes and the ball moving perhaps a quarter of an inch. “I can’t believe you finally came to America, and we’re spending your first night here bowling.”
“It’s fun!” George objected, with a skilled and graceful flex of his wrist, the ball slid out of his fingers and went trailing down the track with grace, getting yet another strike. “One more’s a turkey! Do you know what a turkey is, you probably don’t, do you?”
“A bird. Or something you eat on Thanksgiving,” Dream replied monotonously, eyes flicking up from his phone to glance at George. George seemed way too thrilled with himself.
“Nope, when you get three strikes in a row, because you’re so incredible and amazing and the best at bowling like GeorgeNotFound, that’s what’s called a turkey, Dream! I’m so winning! I’ve won, I’ve literally won,” the Brit laughed, parading around and waving his arms in the air. “The chances of me not getting a strike next turn are like, slim to none. I’ve literally won. I beat you. Admit it.”
Dream smiled. He’d never seen him look quite like this before. “It’s not over yet!” Dream stood up.
“Oh sit down, pretty boy, you’re gonna make a fool of yourself!”
They both froze.
A wide, shit-eating grin spread across his face. “What’d you just say to me?”
“I called you pretty boy,” George scoffed, cheeks pink, “so what? You said I had pretty privilege one time. Do you know how insane Twitter went after that?”
“That’s because you do have pretty privilege,” Dream grinned, “and I’m not ashamed to admit that.”
“Stop it,” George groaned, rolling his eyes and glaring as his ball came back down the line. He left it sitting where he could grab it for his next throw, instead moving to sit against a chair.
“You pouting now, Georgie?” Dream grinned back at him. “What, can’t handle being called pretty? You’re my boyfriend, I think I’m allowed.”
“Fuck you!” George called, cupping a hand to his mouth to make sure Dream heard him over the booming of the music that had just started up.
Dream laughed, before looking ahead. In some way, this was like Minecraft, right? ...yeaaah. Sure! Sure it was. He just needed to be analytical about it, just needed to think it through and make sure that he timed the letting go of the ball just right for maximum speed, making sure he didn’t twist his wrist so that it guttered again… he could do this. This was easy.
He took a deep, focused breath, before extending his arm. Right as he was about to throw it, he heard George gasp in a shrill pitch. The ball flew from Dream’s hand and guttered immediately (he’d denied George over and over again about wanting to get bumpers, he was not a child), resulting in a loud swear and high-pitched laughter from behind him.
Dream turned to George, his eyebrow twitching as he watched the older man laugh hysterically at him. “Is there a problem?” He desperately fought back a smile as George’s hysterics.
Even if he sucked at bowling, he’d do anything for that smile.
“You totally threw, dude!” George laughed, and Dream was really struggling not to grin. His laughter was so infectious. “What the hell was that?”
“I’m sorry,” Dream began lowly, hearing the machine begin to pull his ball back to where it stayed until his next turn, “I was a bit distracted; I thought my dear boyfriend was getting murdered with the gasp you emitted.”
“Nope, no murder here!” George smirked back at the other, “just wanted to see your face when you messed up another shot.”
Dream finally smirked, striding towards the machine. “Dream-- what’re you doing? It’s my turn-- Dream!”
Dream grinned as he threw George’s ball haphazardly down the track, immediately it swerved and missed all pins, as his had before. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to see your reaction when you tanked a turn,” Dream mimicked, walking back over to him. “There, we’re even now. No turkey for you.”
“What!” George blurted, groaning. “Dream!”
“You’re still gonna win!” Dream scoffed, glancing at the scoreboard. “See? You literally won, even if I got a turkey or whatever, I couldn’t pull my score out of the gutter in time. You suck.”
George giggled, leaning back cockily. “I told you, I’m the best at bowling.”
“Well, I challenge you, when we get home, to speedrun Minecraft with me. We’ll see who’s best then,” Dream challenged, watching with glee as George’s confident exterior faltered.
“I don’t think we have to do that.”
“What, why not?” Dream smirked, “if you’re the best at everything, George, you’d beat me no problem, right?”
“George, I’m really jetlagged--”
Dream wheezed, and the sound made George grin in return. “Jetlagged! Don’t pull that bullcrap on me now, you were the one who claimed you had all the energy in the world and begged me to take you bowling of all things!”
“That was like, two hours ago!” George whined, “I’m so tired, Dream.”
“You were just parading around and waving your arms like a madman when you nearly got your birdie--”
“Turkey, Dream. Birdie is a golf term.”
--whatever, George--you were parading all around when you nearly got your turkey like, ten minutes ago! You’re so speedrunning me when we get home, and I’m going to kick your ass. Out of spite, I think I’ll re-beat the world record.”
“Sure you will, Dream.”
“I will! You’ll see!”
George let out a soft laugh, watching the fire return to Dream’s eyes. They may be passionate about different things, but it was always nice to know that the other knew the other so well to pinpoint exactly what would make them light up like a Christmas tree. It was one of the things George loved most about Dream; the way his smile and laugh lit up a room.
“I guess we will, Dream,” George smirked, extending a hand, “you’re so on.”