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It’s somewhere between 2 am and way too fucking early. The aisles of snacks, linoleum tiling, and stray lights of the gas station give off the feel of a bad 80s Rom-Com if it was washed out with warm lighting instead of the harsh artificial white lights.
Sapnap is high out of his fucking mind. Numbers on the cash register might as well be Hebrew because he has no clue which is which like he’s some dyslexic pre-schooler. He can feel cotton sticking onto his taste buds, the mellow tones washing over him into a state of bliss. His head is lolled back, staring at the ceiling observing the cracks between the dingy paneling; neck angled and eyes lowered in such a way it looks as though he could be sleeping like Dracula.
He faintly registers the bell ringing and the glass door swinging open. If this was a robbery he'd definitely be screwed to all hell.
Luckily— or more so unluckily because honestly, a robbery sounds a little fun to Sapnap— it’s not a robber.
On the other side of the gas station counter, in contrast, stood the picture of sobriety: fresh-faced, blonde, and tall enough Sapnap saw him perfectly fine with his oddly angled head. Sober guy’s hair had the vibe of someone who was just a little too put together for Sapnap’s tastes. His face looked like the type that would fit into a country club or some other rich people thing, straight teeth, and tanned freckled skin.
This guy, Sapnap thinks faintly, definitely knows the names of each golf club.
“Um,” Golf club guy starts, “Can I get $60 on pump 3?”
Sapnap stares at the ceiling some more fantasizing about brown hair, gray eyes, and rosy cheeks. He giggles.
Silence stretches. Whirls of Icee machines can be heard in the background.
“Oh- um,” the Country Club member pauses, stumbling through his words before bringing his hand to wave in front of Sapnap, “Are you-?”
The dude cuts himself off again, but not before Sapnap catches the glint of something on his knuckles, are those..?
Sapnap levels his head with the grace of a hippo, clunking his jaw so that he bites his tongue, but not even that can stop him from laughing because holy shit.
He was expecting this guy to be wearing a polo, khaki, and loafers, or something else that screamed trust fund, but the sight that greets him is anything but.
Yes, what he saw were rings, but there’s more. There’s so much more Sapnap’s foggy brain has to take it in at increments because there’s no way this was a reality. Stretching from the rings are fingers tipped in black, each chipped in their own way as if to be purposefully edgy. Wrapping around Country Club’s arms is a long, black and white striped turtleneck. Layered on top is a black t-shirt with some emblem that Sapnap can’t read. Both are tucked into ripped black jeans. Somehow a safety pin earring Sapnap had missed dangles from his ear lobe. And the best part… metal chains hang around his neck and belt loops like a bad Kurapika cosplay.
Sapnap feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind, laughter spilling out of every corner of his mouth. There’s no way someone who looks like they go to brunches is an eboy. It’s not even that this guy looks particularly out of place, just that it doesn’t match what Sapnap thought. The juxtaposition between clothes and aura is too much for him to stomach without laughing his ass off. Sapnap absolutely refuses to believe that this guy looks like he tailgates college football games and also wears chains like a tiktoker.
“Are you ok-“ Eboy-wannabe starts before he’s cut off by a swell of Sapnap’s laughter.
Sapnap’s trying to muffle his laugh because his slowed brain knows he’s being rude, “I’m sor-“ but then he’s looking at eyes that scream future 401k, and he’s losing it all over again.
—
Dream is confused and tired.
All he wanted was some gas to continue what so far has been a failure of a road trip (somehow, he took the wrong turn off on Route 66, and instead of the Grand Canyon he’s lost in the middle of fucking Arizona and the nearest car park for his van is 50 miles away and it’s 3-fucking-AM). And now, as if his day hasn’t been bad enough, he has some high as fuck cashier laughing in his face for seemingly no reason; his flurry of laughter unprovoked and entirely related to Dream.
He knows it’s a 7/11, but come on they usually have better service than this.
The dude— whose name tag reads Sapnap (which yeah, Dream would be a pothead too if his name sounded like it belonged on a juice box)— is fully going for the laughing thing. His voice is booming, raspy, and slightly lifted because once again, Dream can’t stress this enough, Sapnap is high as shit, eyes rimmed red, and stench wafting off him in waves.
Is that even legal on shift? Dream wonders, before shrugging off the thought, it’s Arizona after all.
Dream sighs, “Listen bro, can I jus-“
“Oh my god,” Sapnap howls, before dropping his voice and doing an imitation sounding closer to Goofy from Mickey Mouse than Dream, “Listen bro.” He doubles onto the plastic countertop with laughter.
Dream feels so confused, what’s so funny? He sighs, running his hand through his hair and feeling the slight tug from his abundance of rings. He pulls his bottom lip into his teeth, watching as Sapnap laughs like the funniest thing in the world has just happened. It’s not a normal laugh, but the weird sleepy half-laugh people do when they're not fully there.
Dream fiddles with the safety pin lodged in his ear. He’s trying not to take some random stranger laughing at him too personally, but after all some random stranger is literally laughing at him and he can physically feel his RSD acting up. Embarrassment and anger tug at his gut like second nature. He’s not self-conscious, he really isn’t, he knows he’s good-looking (not necessarily hot, more so above average by conventional standards), but something about being laughed at by a 7/11 cashier is really getting to him. His voice comes out a little snippier than he would’ve liked, the corner of his mouth downturned, “Is there like a manager I can speak to or something?”
Now that causes Sapnap to go batshit. He collapses like he’s going into shock. Dream physically has to lean over the counter to make sure he’s not having a seizure (it would be sweet karma though), but alas no, Sapnap is not having a seizure, merely taking his laughing fit to the floor. He’s coughing, spiraling, and sputtering on the floor. “There’s no way you have the face of a lacrosse player, the style of an eboy, and the demeanor of an actual Karen,” he gets out between hiccuped laughs.
And oh…
Dream shifts his weight from each foot to the next, because this just got super uncomfortable. He considers leaving before remembering the fact he has zero gas. “Haha,” he drawls, oddly; he can feel his hands wanting to throw up awkward finger guns, he resists, “very funny, but can I get my gas now?”
No response except more laughter. Dude is straight howling like he won the lottery. Dream waits there awkwardly for a moment thinking he might stop.
He doesn’t.
It must be a solid minute of scream-laughter before someone finally comes out from the back. The door from across the store slamming followed by angered footsteps, and then a shout, “Can you keep it down, I’m trying to-“
The short man stops himself when he approaches the scene, mouth falling into an O. “Is he…?” The new boy asks vaguely, gesturing to behind the counter.
Dream’s mouth dries. As if this day couldn’t get any weirder, the employee from the back is super pretty, like weirdly pretty, like this-has-to-be-some-tv-prank-show pretty. He has brown hair and a long face splintering into a deep frown and dark circles, but his eyelashes are long, skin creamy, and his fingers slender. Underneath his 7/11 vest is a supreme hoodie, the logo printed wide in the middle of the gray.
Dream blinks.
“Sapnap,” pretty boy bellows. He’s maneuvering to where he’s leaning over the counter, close enough to Dream so he can feel the press of his shoulder against his arm. This has to be a prank show. Dream is wracking his head for what show pranks people with getting insulted by a stoned cashier and then confronted with their ideal type. He can’t think of any.
“Sapnap!” pretty boy screams louder. Sapnap’s laughter quiets before he looks up at the two of them and dissolves into giggles once again. Strangely, his laugh reminds Dream a little of a scarecrow as though hay is scratching his esophagus causing it to catch and lilt unnaturally, (also Sapnap reminds him of a scarecrow because this dude is the definition of head empty and straw for brains.)
Pretty boy (and Dream can’t stress this enough, he looks like the type of person Oscar Wilde would be jealous of) seems pissed off. Dream blinks because what the actual fuck is happening, and next thing he knows the employee has hurled himself over the countertop, so he’s on the same side as Sapnap. “Mate,” he leans down to pull at Sapnap’s employee vest, “I ask for one shift without shenanigans and you do this?”
Holy shit, pretty boy is British, and not ugly British, but posh British. Dream wonders if he fell asleep on the interstate and this is some weird dream.
Sapnap’s still giggling, “I know, but have you looked at him?” He points at Dream, before covering his mouth and laughing some more, “His face says he listens to ‘Don’t stop believing’ from the glee cast album, but then he dresses like he tweets that he’ll curb stomp a cop.”
This day has done wonders for Dream’s self-esteem.
Pretty boy bristles, “Seriously? I need to finish code and you’re doing this?” He clicks his tongue. “I don’t care if you’re high, drink a Mountain Dew or something and get back to work.”
What am I? Dream thinks, invisible?
Sapnap pouts like a child, “You could work too.”
“I am working. I’m the manager, and I’m managing your arse by telling you to work.”
I just wanted gas, starts to repeat in Dream’s head like a mantra.
Sapnap looks like he’s been giving the hardest quadratic formula, “Well that doesn’t seem fair.”
“Tough shit.”
Then, as if pretty boy had just remembered Dream’s existence, he turns towards him, raising his voice in what Dream can only assume is his customer service tone, “Can you get me a bottle of water please?” Pretty boy flutters his lashes in a way that Dream thinks would’ve gotten him accused of witchcraft in a different century.
“Oh-um,” Dream nods, lack of sleep dulling his senses, “yeah,” he nods to himself again, faintly smiling at the way pretty boy’s arms hang at his side as if awkward despite his bravado, “Yeah.”
Dream stares a little at his wrists, they’re so small.
Pretty boy raises an eyebrow, “I meant like now.”
“Oh,” Dream stumbles tripping over his own checkered vans, not taking his eyes off pretty boys. “Yeah, I’ll just—” he faintly registers crashing into a shelf full of chip bags, which he tries to grab as they spill off the now tipped shelf. Luckily, he grabs the metal rack before it fully falls over, only a slim amount of bags falling onto the floor. He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, nodding quickly, before turning high tail and almost fully running to the water section.
Dream feels like melting into a hole. This night has been the worst in a string of long nights. He never should have gone on this stupid gap year road trip all alone. Screw finding himself, he’d take a warm bed and proper shower over getting insulted by a stoned 7/11 cashier and embarrassing himself in front of the prettiest boy he’s ever seen.
He didn’t even know that people who listen to ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ had a certain look let alone that he apparently looked that way. Yeah, he sort of has a resting rich face, but he didn’t think it was that bad. He guesses at the very least it’s a creative insult; he’s really not sure whether to be offended or impressed.
The water section stands before him like a towering obstacle, the cold glass feeling nice against his clammy hands and he reclines his burning cheeks against it. Tiredness clouds his vision.
Dream tries to hype himself up: Ok, you got this. All you have to do is grab water, get gas in your van, and then drive another hour to a car park. Easy.
Steeling his tattered self-esteem, Dream pulls the refrigerated door open before scanning the water bottles and feeling his eyes widen at the plethora of options.
Shit. What type of water do British people like?
It’s not that Dream’s trying to impress the Dorian Gray look alike, more so he just wants to… thank him for dealing with Sapnap. Yeah sure, that explanation works.
Quickly, Dream pulls out his phone, rings tapping against the surface before googling, “What brand of water do British people drink?”
Faintly, he realizes British people aren’t a separate race like Martians and this is a little bit stupid, but, if anything, tonight has humbled Dream enough to where he really doesn’t give a shit.
He clicks on some random study seeing Evian at the top of the list before grabbing the biggest bottle of Evian he can find and promptly returning to the front of the store.
When he gets there he just sees the tired Modern-day Adonis leaning against the counter boredly. The chip bags have been put back on the rack and Sapnap is nowhere to be seen. Dream lifts the Evian bottle a bit as if he’s just gone to war and the water is his reward.
“Ah,” pretty boy drawls, “Thanks for that.” He takes the bottle from Dream’s hands and sets it on the counter. He doesn’t even drink it.
What a waste of a google search.
Dream scans behind the counter, curiosity getting the best of him, “Where did Sapnap go?”
“Oh,” the manager says as if he’d forgotten the human ever existed, “He’s putting his head in the cooler outside.”
Dream blinks, “He’s what?”
“Yeah… I thought it might be good for him to ‘cool down,’ but he sorta took it a little literally. I’m sending him home for the night, I called his “boyfriend” and everything,” pretty boy says, doing actual air quotes around the word boyfriend. Dream’s not really sure how “boyfriend” can be an air-quoted thing, but he’ll pretend to get it.
The brunette goes to scratch his neck, “Listen, I’d really appreciate it if you could keep this whole thing to yourself. Sapnap’s a great guy he’s just…” he sighs, “He’s a lot.”
Dream can feel his brows raise in astonishment, laughing at the understatement, “You mean he’s high as fuck and insulted me by saying I quote: ‘Have the face of a lacrosse player, style of an eboy, and the demeanor of a Karen’?”
The manager’s deadpan tone rises into a faint laugh, “That sounds like Sapnap.” He pauses, hiding his smile, “If it makes you feel any better, the first time he met me he insisted I had too much ‘pretty privilege’ to waste it on being a comp sci major.”
Dream laughs, not because it’s particularly funny, but because this dude’s too pretty to not laugh along with, and then what he said hits Dream, “Wait you’re a comp sci major?”
Pretty boy quirks an eyebrow, a faint smile on his face, “I came here from Britain to study abroad. I'm graduating at the end of the month with my Bachelors.”
Damn. Pretty, British, and smart. Dream decides he can put off getting gas for just a bit longer.
“That’s crazy,” Dream states, leaning into the counter maybe a tad too much, “I love coding too.”
“Really?” There’s something tentative about the way a smile breaks across the manager’s face.
Dream can feel his cheeks blushing, “Yeah, I mostly do small stuff, but it’s fun, you know?”
The manager leans against the countertop too, “Sometimes, it can be. I’m working on this really hard semester final. It’s actually what I was supposed to be finishing up tonight, before… that. It’s proper knackered me.”
Suddenly the eye bags and irritated demeanor make a little more sense.
“I wish I could help, but to be honest I just code little things for Minecraft.” Dream can feel his palms leaving foggy imprints on the plastic counter.
Pretty boy’s eyes widen, “You play Minecraft?”
The conversation then devolves into a calamity of Minecraft-related chitchat. It’s total nerd shit in Dream’s opinion, but the type of nerd shit he loves. (“You voted for the glow squid?” The manager cries. Dream fiddles with his rings, “yeah.” The manager seems offended on a comical level, “Everyone knows the moonbloom was the superior choice.” Dream shrugs, “except it really wasn’t though.”)
By the end of it Dream’s in stitches and pretty boy is in a similar state of disarray. It feels good to be laughing with someone after all of tonight— after all of the past months really. Dream holds out his hand, cramming it into the small space between them and smiling in a way that he hopes is friendly, “Dream.”
Pretty boy smiles in turn, his eyes quickly flitting up and down Dream before he takes his hand in a loose handshake, “George.”
George holds his hand for a minute too long, if Dream concentrates he can feel his breath ghosting against his eyelashes. George breaks off, coughing into his palm, “I’m really sorry about earlier. I swear it’s not usually like that.”
“It’s ok,” Dream grins, looking at the blush spreading across George’s cheeks, “it was more than worth it.”
“Worth being called ‘someone who listens to the cast album of glee’?” George asks in mock shock. “Your ego must be pretty high to suffer that.”
“Oh I’m weeping on the inside,” Dream confirms, “Thought the eboy look would make me seem more rebellious, turns out it just makes me look more confused.”
George shrugs, half-hearted against the countertop, “I don’t think it’s that bad,” he pulls faintly at the safety pin slit through Dream’s ear, grimacing teasingly, “The safety pin might’ve been a bit too much though.”
George’s hand lingers, threading his pointer finger through the tiny gap, a faint pressure.
Dream feels his smile grow larger than when he finally got his first Minecraft plug-in working, Is this flirting?, “Strong words coming from someone in a knock-off supreme hoodie.”
George pouts, hand still lingering by Dream’s cheek, he flips the safety pin between his fingers, “How’d you know it was a knockoff?”
“Gee,” Dream drawls sarcastically, “the 7/11 vest on top might’ve been a bit of a clue.”
George’s lips smear into a smile, “Usually you wait to insult people until after they let go of an earring,” he pulls a little harder on the pin, not enough to hurt but enough to be a tad bit hot.
Holy shit, this is definitely flirting.
“Are you threatening me with violence George?” Dream asks, “I’m afraid I might have to leave a very scathing Yelp review.”
George hums, “An eboy that uses Yelp.” He giggles a bit, trailing off. His eyes flick towards the back of the gas station before the grin returns to his face. “Would, maybe,” he lilts the word upward, “possibly, a complimentary Icee add a couple of stars?”
Dream has a feeling Icee might be an innuendo in 7/11 employee language.
Dream’s brain is screaming yes. Dream’s heart is screaming fuck yes. Dream’s eyes, however, are fucking exhausted.
Briefly, he considers what he’s doing. The plan was to get gas and go, dumbass, not flirt and get a hookup.
Dream can feel his eyes drooping, the hour drive ahead of him still looming, “Actually, I should probably go.”
“Oh,” George’s voice comes out weak, he steps back removing his hand from next to Dream, “I see.”
Dream rushes to correct his assumption, “No wait, I didn’t—“ he takes a stabilizing breath, “I have an hour drive to this stupid car park for my shitty van because I somehow thought a gap year full of road tripping was a good idea. Turns out, it’s really not because I took the wrong exit and it’s probably around 4 am now and I’m really tired and you’re really pretty, but I have to—“
George bursts out laughing, “ ‘I’m really pretty?’ “ He cries incredulously.
Dream wonders if he can strangle himself to death with one of the chains around his neck. Heat blossoms across his neck, “I didn’t mean it like that,” his eyes widen, “Wait no, you are pretty, but like not in an ‘I’m attracted to you’ way, just like platonically.” Dream realizes that really didn’t make it better, “Wait shit not platonically, I mean we aren’t really friends, I guess aesthetically? like one Bro to another, you know?”
George is losing his mind, giggles spurning off his lips.
Dream feels like leaving again, but god fucking dammit he’s been here an hour and still doesn’t have gas. Looks like I’m two for two at making 7/11 employees laugh at me.
Luckily George’s laughs deteriorate into something more serious, “Just stay here.”
“What?”
“Why not?” George shrugs, “There’s employee parking in the back, you can put your van there and stay the night, just be sure to leave by 8 am because that’s when shift change is. Besides this place is pretty much deserted, no one will really care.”
Dream blinks, “Like for real?”
George shrugs again, “If that’s what you Americans call serious then sure.”
“Oh,” Dream swallows, embarrassment hitting him like a freight train, but he can’t help but wonder, “Does the offer for a free Icee still stand?”
—
It turns out ‘a complimentary Icee‘ isn’t a 7/11 employee innuendo.
Dream is sipping his Icee (blue flavored because he’s not a degenerate) while sitting on the sidewalk to the entrance of the 7/11. He’s just finished parking his van in the back after finally getting gas in it. Already, he’d brushed his teeth in the bathroom, just in case. George is sitting next to him, knees bumping into Dream’s when he turns the right way. Lights glare from behind them into the inky black sky, a few miscellaneous buildings are dotted around. It’s a small town on the outskirts of a bigger town probably, Dream’s traveled enough in the past few months to have a good eye for that sort of thing. A couple of feet away from them, Sapnap is hanging out of the large cooler labeled Ice.
George really wasn’t joking about that was he?
“Are you doing alright in there?” Dream calls out to him.
Sapnap hollers back, head in a literal freezer, the sound muffled, “Yeah, I think I’m sobering up.”
There’s a pause where Dream goes back to conversing with George, the two are intertwined. Bright lights of orange and green reflect off George’s skin and eyes. There’s something about him that’s simply magnetic to Dream. The air is cold and so if he leans a little closer than strangers should there’s ample excuse.
“Hey, Eboy-wannabe,” Sapnap calls still with his head in the freezer a few feet from them, “I’m sorry for laughing at you.”
Dream laughs, he bites on his straw, “I’m not doing the whole apology thing with someone whose head is in a freezer. I think willingly rolling on a 7/11 floor is punishment enough. Just don’t worry about it, bro.”
Sapnap pokes his head out from the freezer, “You're cooler than I thought,” he pauses before adding thoughtfully, “bro.”
Sarcastically, Dream makes a heart at him with his hands, “I’ll be sure to listen to the glee cast album just for you, bro.”
The two crack into laughter. Faintly, Dream thinks this is the most he's laughed in years. From Dream’s side, George rolls his eyes, “This is too much for me.”
Sapnap’s laughter dies out, he inclines his head towards George, “I’m not fired, right?”
George shrugs, “I honestly don’t get paid enough to report this, so no.”
Sapnap grins, “Great,” he pauses a bit, eyes stained a little red, “Have you ever thought about how easy it would be to hotbox this freezer?”
It’s at that moment when a car pulls up as if perfectly timed, gravel crunching under its tires. From the driver's seat pops a guy with rosy cheeks. A color block hoodie hangs off his thin frame and pep lingers in his step. If Sapnap is the scarecrow, this guy is Glinda the good witch. Aura of glitters and pink permeate around him.
Sapnap lights up at the sight of the man. “Karl, my love,” he giggles out as he prances over to him before attempting to kiss him on the cheek. Karl, though more slender, uses his slight height advantage to stop Sapnap.
He grabs Sapnap by the arms and explains to him softly, “I’m taking you home, nothing more.”
Interesting, so this is the “boyfriend.”
“Oh,” Sapnap says almost sadly. Karl starts to help him into the passenger seat being mindful that he doesn’t trip over himself before going back over to the driver’s side.
“Just take him home and be safe!” George hollers at the two of them as Karl enters into their small car. Karl sends George a thumbs up as he closes his car door. Dream and George wave at them as they back out before dropping their hands, the ones closest to each other ghosting.
Something about the whole interaction looked stilted to Dream as though off-putting, like the core elements of a relationship, were there, but they’ve spoiled.
“They’re dating?” Dream asks.
George lifts his shoulders in a shrug, the movement sends echoes through Dream’s fingertips, “It depends on how high they are.”
Dream leans back on his elbows, “What do you mean by that?”
Sighing, George follows Dream leaning back on his elbows. The concrete must be filthy, but neither one of them really care, “Whenever they’re stoned they’re in love and whenever they’re sober they’re desperately trying to forget it.” His voice falls into a whisper, “I think sometimes…Sapnap gets high just in the hopes Karl will be too.”
Dream frowns, “Why would they do that?” He pauses, taking a sip of his icee, “That sounds miserable.”
George tugs on one of his hoodie strings with his free hand, “Everyone is trying to run from something. They’re just running from each other.”
It’s then George decides to wrap his fingers around Dream’s. They’re soft and slender like a warm blanket. Definitely worth it.
“Poetic,” Dream nods, he’s not sure whether he means it sarcastically or not.
George giggles, nudging him with his shoulder, “As if you could do better, Mr. ‘Like one Bro to another’?”
Dream considers saying something before he does, the words rolling throughout his head. He wonders if it's really a thing he wants to say, as though as soon as he says the words out loud it’s more real, tangible. He can’t believe he’s thinking about this when a mere hour ago he was getting insulted by a 7/11 employee named Sapnap. How quickly things change.
The wind is silent, the scent of spring lingering or maybe that’s just George’s detergent. “I probably could do better, I’m an English major,” Dream starts, “Or at least I was; I don’t really know.”
George rises on the pavement pulling their hands onto his thigh, patiently as though waiting for Dream to continue.
“I just—“ Dream pauses looking into brown eyes and, strangely, despite everything he thinks it’s the first time in a long time someone’s cared enough to actually listen to him, even if it is just some ridiculously pretty 7/11 manager, “My whole sophomore year I was miserable. Not necessarily with my major, but everything around me. After the Freshman adrenaline faded away, it felt so meaningless, you know?”
George hums, fiddling with the rings on Dream’s hand.
Dream can feel his vision going hazy, “I couldn’t imagine doing that for another two years. Every day I’d wake up and I’d think about all the ways I’m so fortunate… Like my parents paid my tuition for crying out loud and I could afford food and everything was perfect on paper and exactly how I planned it, but I wouldn’t want to get out of bed. I felt so ungrateful, but I’d purposefully put off doing assignments till the last minute. I think some part of me wanted to flunk out, so I could blame the failure on something that wasn’t just my own decision. I don’t know, I guess it doesn’t matter. I didn’t fail out, but I couldn’t do it anymore.”
Dream takes a deep breath in, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’m taking a year off. I tried to spin it as a late gap year to my parents, but I can’t imagine going back now. I bought a van with some money I had saved up and decided to do the whole traveling thing, but it’s so lonely. No one ever talks about how isolating it is. I tried to change everything about my style as if I could erase myself if I tried hard enough, and… I don’t know,” He looks out at the desert surrounding them, if he squints he thinks he can make out a tumbleweed, “Now it’s already Spring again and I don’t know what to do next.”
It’s only after he’s said too much that Dream realizes he’s definitely overshared. Giving someone a free icee isn’t the signal for you to throw all your life problems on them, idiot.
Dream wonders why he didn’t look up how to strangle himself with his ridiculous chains earlier because it would be pretty convenient right about now. He settles for taking a long sip of his icee, the slurping noises painfully awkward.
“So that’s what you’re running from?” George asks. He doesn’t seem too put off. Maybe, I can salvage this.
“I guess.”
George squeezes Dream’s hand, looking out at the desert while Dream’s studying his profile for any hints, “That’s… a lot.”
Ok nope, not salvageable.
“Fuck,” Dream curses, he rips his hand away from George’s, “I’m sorry that wasn’t…”
George grabs his hand back, soft and calm, “It's ok,” he turns to face Dream, “I like a lot.”
A smile lights up George’s features, slow and then all at once. There’s something in his eyes that beckons Dream.
George’s voice pitches into a mocking impression, “but just like platonically.”
Dream buries his face in his hands, George’s hand still entangled in one of his, “I’m never living that down am I?”
George pats his shoulder sympathetically, “That was a really embarrassing moment for you. Almost as embarrassing as when you knocked over a chip rack.”
“I've known you for ninety minutes and you already have a list,” Dream mutters.
George laughs, but Dream can tell his heart is not really in it.
The two lapse into silence, the only sound being the faint noises of distant cars. Dream doesn’t know how to feel, spilling his guts to the first stranger willing to listen is frankly embarrassing, but really what’s one more thing on the list.
“I’m running from something too,” George states.
His tone is too deadpan. Dream laughs, “You say that like you’re a secret agent.”
George squeezes his hand a little too tightly, “Serious time, Dreamie.”
Dream nods, miming the action of sealing his lips like a toddler. He’s thankful for how the 7/11 lighting frames George, bronzed and beautiful.
“I was supposed to apply for an internship this year to help me get a job for after graduation,” George glances briefly at Dream, “And I used this stupid excuse of wanting to save money to keep my job here, but the truth is… I didn’t want to get an internship. I love coding, but I can’t…” He takes a deep breath, “A nine to five desk job just isn’t me and I don’t really know what I want to do with my future once I go back to Britain.”
Feelings aren’t something Dream excels at, but it’s somewhat comforting to know someone’s as lost as him, “That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
Dream knows his response is lackluster, but George doesn’t press for more. Separating their hands, George plays with the rings on Dream’s fingers, “I like the rings.”
Dream doesn’t know where this conversation is going, but he’s glad for the topic change.
“You do?” Dream asks.
“They’re pretty cool,” George spins the one on his pointer finger. It’s a simple one, something his sister, Drista, gave to him before he left Florida. The band is black with a small inscription on it, ‘Always with you- D.’
George lingers on it for a second longer, twirling it so he can read the inscription.
“Instead of erasing yourself, try reinvention,” George comments, still fiddling with the ring. “There’s a lot of you that’d be bloody shame to lose,” He looks up through his lashes.
It’s not full advice, but it’s a start. Dream feels his tongue ghost over his teeth, he thinks he could use a fresh start.
George’s eyes are the prettiest of colors, all brown framed by thick lashes. Dream whispers to him, “Instead of trying to plan your future, figure out what you want now.”
George stops fiddling, looking straight into Dream’s eyes.
“I could say the same to you,” George breathes.
Dream’s eyes drop to George’s lips. He can feel himself swaying as if the magnet has finally clicked into place.
I want you.
The loud crunch of gravel causes both of them to spring apart.
“Shit,” George murmurs, looking at the car turning into the small gas station, he looks down at a watch, “I have to go-“
“Manage?” Dream finishes.
“Yeah that.”
Dream pulls out his phone looking at the time: 4:50am.
“Shit,” Dream whispers, “I have to go-“
“Sleep?” George replies.
Dream’s eyes and George’s matchup for a moment, “Yeah that.”
George smiles at him and Dream thinks he finally understands what people mean when they say a picture says a thousand words because there’s so much in that smile that speaks to him.
“I’ll see you before you leave tomorrow,” George says, jogging towards the door and then he’s back in the store right behind the counter Dream walked up towards absolutely oblivious hours prior.
Yeah, Dream thinks into the wind, See you tomorrow.
He looks down at his icee, it’s all melted.
—
Dream wakes up to banging against the window of his van. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, the lumpy mattress of his van coming back to him and dreams of full pink lips and Blue Raspberry trickling back into the recesses of his memory.
He stretches, pajamas riding up on his stomach. He threads his fingers through his hair, the rings catching on the loose strands; he grimaces at them, Did I not take those off?
Groggily, Dream gets to the window of the van peeking quickly to see who’s outside. As soon as he does, he opens the door in a hurry. “George" he breathes.
Pretty boy is posed outside his van, just as devastating in the harsh morning light. Dream still doesn’t know how he manages to make the combo of supreme and 7/11 work, but he somehow does. George’s lips meld into something teasing, he gestures at Dream’s bunny slippers, “An eboy that wears slippers?”
Dream pushes his shoulder, letting his hand linger a little longer than normal, “I’d hate to have to dock a star off the yelp review this late.”
George narrows his eyes, teasingly, “You wouldn't dare.”
He’s not wrong.
Dream looks at George, his skin is a bit more vibrant in natural light, as though he’s less burdened. Dream scratches his ruffled hair, “I guess this is goodbye then?”
He thinks of pictures he’s seen of the grand canyon and wonders if it’ll be anything compared to the sight already in front of him.
George nods, “Right,” he pauses before handing a blue icee to Dream, “For the road.”
Dream takes it, “Thanks.”
Dream doesn’t fully know what exactly to say, he feels as though he’s just met someone important, but it’s not the right time. Two ships passing in the night
A silence lingers, there’s nothing left to say, and yet Dream desperately wants one of them to say something. He watches each exhale of George’s chest. Everything’s so different in the daylight, washed out and insignificant, but everything important remains.
“Screw it,” George is the one to break the silence first, “Give me your hand.”
Dream would question it, but his mind is too sleep-slowed. He sticks his hand out and George grabs it before slipping the ring off his pointer finger, it’s the one from his sister that’s scrawled with: ‘Always with you -D.’
“Um,” Dream watches as George slips the ring onto his thumb, it fits perfectly, “You’re pretty and all, but you can’t just take my ring.”
George laughs, “I’m not taking it.”
Dream furrows his brows, “But you jus-”
“You can have it back,” George grins, “In a month.”
Dream quirks an eyebrow, “Did you just take my ring as collateral?”
George places his hands onto Dream’s cheeks, the cold metal from the ring slashing against his cheek, “Dream, forget about the ring for a second.”
A frown spreads across Dream’s face, “George I really like that ring.”
George laughs, mirthless, “You’re an idiot.”
The sun hits George’s hair in a way that makes him look like an angel, “I graduate in a month, but my student VISA is still good for 60 days after that. I thought I might do some last-minute traveling in the states during that, but someone recently told me traveling alone can be a little isolating.”
Dream’s brain screams.
It’s not a full promise, but it’s the start of one, and that’s all Dream wants. A fresh start. Trying to keep up a false air of calmness, Dream raises an eyebrow, “Are you inviting yourself on my road trip?”
George looks into his eyes, “Are you objecting?”
It's a challenge.
Dream looks at George, his flawless skin and faint stubble. He imagines waking up next to that every morning, “Fuck no.”
“Great,” George taps the ring against Dream’s cheek, “It’s settled then. I work the graveyard on Saturdays and 5-8 pm on weekdays. Pick me up whenever.”
He turns around. Dream watches him go as he trudges through the back parking lot towards what must be his car. “That’s it?” He calls out.
George turns back around, a smile lighting up his face, he’s skipping, twirling the ring on his thumb, “No goodbye kiss when there’s no need for goodbye.”
George gets into his car.
Dream shouts at him, cupping his hands around each other, “What about a phone number?”
Quickly, George gets back out of his car, marching back up to Dream. He sheepishly twists the ring on his knuckle, “I may have forgotten about that part.”
Dream smiles, “I thought comp sci majors were supposed to be smart.” He grabs his phone from where it sits on the console, before unlocking it, “Here.”
“Oh,” George retorts, typing in his contact info. Dream really isn’t shocked that he’s the type of person to fill in everything, “and you're such an eloquent English major?”
A laugh bubbles out of Dream’s lips, “Just wait for your yelp review.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” George grins. He places the phone back in Dream’s hands after sending himself a text message.
“Well..” George looks up at Dream, expression a mix of everything. Their eyes lock and Dream is reminded so vividly of the night prior. I want you.George smiles. “I’ll see you next month.”
And then George is turning on his heel back to his car, skipping just as he was earlier.
Dream grins, whispering into the wind, “See you next month.”
He looks down at the Icee in his hand. It’s melted, but he can’t bring himself to care.
--
If Dream spends his duration at the Grand Canyon rerouting his road trip, redoing his entire wardrobe, and writing a yelp review that rivals Romeo and Juliet, while also blasting the glee cast album, it’s really nobody’s business.