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The dim, moving glow of passing streetlights and silence boiled with rage haunt the young men, both still fuming at the incident. A huge red splotch tainting the older’s previously white shirt under a black blazer was no help, only renewing his rage every time his fluffy-brunette topped head tilted down to view the stained suit.
“Do you know how to shut up - or are you always running that stupid fucking mouth?” The angry brunette spat, words hissing through clenched teeth and pressed jaw.
A nearby table seemed to be throwing around dirty glances and hushed remarks, judging their louder-growing argument. When the liquid was thrown, small gasps could be heard scattering throughout the other tables, as well.
George sighed harshly once again, a frequent occurrence in the awkward drive. Dream’s hands gripped tighter on the steering wheel, knuckles feigning white from the pressure.
“Dream! George!” The blonde scolded as she stomped up to the arguing parties, one of whom was just soaked with a purposefully spilt glass of red wine, thrown from the taller’s hands. “Both of you, out. I’m tired of you two ruining everything.”
Managing to get kicked out of your own sister’s wedding was excruciatingly shameful in itself, but the watching, judging eyes as the two exited the venue sealed Dream’s embarrassment. Regret flooded through his veins alongside the rage heating him through the silence.
The brunette huffs. “Did you seriously have to spill your drink on me?” Dream groans. This again. George continues, “Caused a scene at your own sister's wedding.”
“You’re the one that was cussing me out in the middle of the venue.”
George rolls his eyes dramatically, tipping his head to the side to face the window. “You were being insufferable, I had every right to.” A pause. “It’s not like I was that loud-”
Dream let out a roaring laugh, an ingenuine yet incredibly loud guffaw feigning amusement at the preposterous words the brunette was saying. “Not loud?!” He laughed once more for dramatic effect before continuing, “Everyone in the whole venue heard you! Everyone was staring!”
“They were not- ”
“Oh yes they were! I’m surprised Janis’s table didn’t have popcorn with the free show you were giving them.”
Silence falls through the cracks of their words, molten lava spilling out and heating the two men with the quiet. Dream taps the tips of his fingers against the leather wheel.
“Can you stop doing that?” George spits after a moment.
Dream smiles smugly and continues the tapping. “No.”
The brunette groans frustratedly. “Why are you so-”
“So what, Georgie?” A smug smile sets on his face when George’s face heats with embarrassed anger.
“Annoying? Terrible? A pain in the fucking ass ?” The brunette exclaims, hushing Dream with his sudden words. He continues ruthlessly, “A demon, literally sent from hell just to constantly bother me-”
“Okay, I get it, you can shut up now.”
White silence, contrasting the black taint of the aggravating conversation, pours through the small truck like the sunrise on a cold morning, illuminating the room it shines into for the first time that day.
“Fuck,” The angry blonde curses under his breath, engine sputtering concerningly.
George still sits with his arms folded across his chest, huffing slightly at the remembrance of the blonde’s existence. “What?”
Dream swears the purpose of George’s existence is to give him a taste of hell before he’s ruthlessly thrown to the pits of it. However, the tall man thinks he may prefer the fiery afterlife over spending the night with his least-favorite person.
“Can you just shut the fuck up, for like, two seconds?”
The statement fuels the fiery rage boiling inside of George further, the blonde knows, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care when his car breaking down is a much more important issue than little Georgie being a baby, as per usual.
A scoff slides over plump lips. “I’ve been quiet for, like, the entire drive.”
“Never long enough.” Dream sighs and guides large, calloused hands over the wheel as it turns. The car continues to sputter out concerning noises, a warning to the driver that something needs to be fixed.
The station isn’t anything special, your common twenty-four-hour Minit-Mart with gas pumps outside the front for drivers in need. Four gas pumps sit under the roof, attached to a glowing Shell sign that irritates the blonde’s eyes with its annoyingly bright glow. The rumbling black pickup pulls into the third pump.
“You don’t have to be so rude, Dream.” The brunette fires back, clearly not picking up on the younger’s obvious disinterest in the conversation.
Dream tsks. He just wants to start arguments. Ignore him. The silent man exits the car, slamming the door in George’s face before he has the chance to make another rude comment.
He rushes to follow outside the car. “Why can’t you just tell me what you're doing?” Ignore him . “Dream, you-”
“God, what the fuck is your problem?” The aggravated blonde snaps, making George stop in his tracks as his face flushes red with anger, a flicker of hurt flashing in his eyes before being quickly replaced by rage. His fingers clench in the palms of his hands, forming fists at the brunette’s sides as he stares angrily at the other.
Dream has only ever known George to be annoying or annoyed, one of them does something to pester the other and the other gets upset and lashes out. It’s a never-ending cycle, the two mens’ arguments. They’d hated each other since the day they met through a mutual friend in sophomore year, and after drifting apart they were fortunate enough to have their sister and best friend get together and bring them back into each other's lives for the worse. The two had never gotten physical, cruel words spit with the fury of the sun at the will of their tongues the furthest they’d go.
That is, until the side of Dream’s face is met with George’s fist in this random gas station parking lot. The assaulter escapes off to the Mart and leaves Dream to stumble to sit on the curb, clutching at his throbbing face and attempting to catch the deep crimson pooling from his nose.
He felt the impact, he feels the pounding pain, the blood seeping from his nose, but Dream can’t seem to comprehend it. The motherfucker actually hit him, something he has always assumed George was too much of a coward to do - and shit, it hurts a lot more than the blonde would have ever anticipated from the small man.
When the brunette returns, the red tint hiding behind honey-dipped irises has faded, now replaced by unreadable colors dancing over the pale skin. A cold hand grabs his chin and the blonde braces for impact, expecting to be hit again, until the touch registers as safe. He stills uncomfortably, letting his face be grabbed by the man who had punched him just minutes before. The brunette’s other hand reaches to wipe the blood from his nose, briefly pressing the cold paper towel to the soon-to-be bruised area and shortly relieving it of the throb.
“George,” the pained man starts. “Why the hell did you do that?”
He can almost see a smirk dance across plump lips before floating away, leaving any sense of getting along between the two men lost to furrowed brows and the cool midnight breeze. “Karma.”
“For spilling a drink on you?” Dream almost laughs when the brunette nods. “Fuck you.”
The two sit in a tense - but somehow, comfortable - silence, the only sounds being the buzz of the overhead electric sign and quiet whimpers when George dabs particularly hard at a sensitive spot of the pre-bruised injury.
“Sorry.” The brunette mutters breathily, the short apology almost going unheard if not for the way Dream was forced to focus on the smaller’s mannerisms when so close.
The irony of sitting on the gas station curb in the dark with the person you hate most in the world, while he cleans up the nosebleed he gave you from punching you in the face, would regularly be enough to elicit a laugh from Dream if he wasn’t so focused on the man in front of him. Not to mention, you're both in suits (one of which has been tainted with the stain of purposefully spilt red wine,) from the wedding you were kicked out of.
The orange glow of the Shell sign illuminates his face in a way that is nothing less than annoyingly handsome.Dream can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the focused face mere inches away from his own, watching as he concentrates and tries to clean up his victim's wound. The sight is frustratingly intoxicating.
Dream knows George is handsome - How could he not, when forced to spend time looking at his strong jaw, perfect nose, fluffy brown curls topping his hair, and those slender, perfect hands?
He’d come to terms with it years ago, finally betraying his inner grudge and admitting to himself that the brunette was breathtakingly attractive. But any interest Dream may have developed for George was immediately wasted away when he opened his mouth to let out a snappy, rude remark aimed at the blonde. His knee-weakening looks did not go unnoticed by the blonde, but he just couldn’t seem to care when his personality was so terribly infuriating.
When the majority of the blood is wiped from his face, the cold towel is pressed in Dream’s palm to contain the rest of the bleeding himself. He puts it to his nose to stop the trickle of liquid crimson as the brunette sits on the curb a mere foot or so away.
He feels a gaze on him, the gaze of honey-dipped irises washing away their anger with the viridian sea they swim in. It’s all too real.
“You punched me.” Dream lightly chuckles, pleased to find that when finally pulling the moist towel away, the flood of crimson has halted.
“Yeah, I did.” The brunette smiles back, an exasperated grin as he processes the events of the night. “And you got us kicked out of your sister’s wedding.”
“I did.”
They allow themselves to sit in silence, seas of viridian finally following the gaze of dripping honey. George shuffles off his black blazer, leaving the white, red-tainted shirt the only fabric covering his torso.
The short conversation was likely the only good interaction the two have had, talking not followed with any argument was extremely rare for the two. The night’s atmosphere had changed drastically since their arguments
“Want slushies?”
Dream’s jaw drops slightly at the casual request, an unbelieving, open smile forming on his face. “ Excuse me ?”
George laughs softly, his eyes crinkling in an annoyingly endearing way. “Slushies, from the Mart. Let’s get some.”
“So, just to clarify,” The blonde starts, smile taking over his features. “You just punched me in the face, and now you want to buy me a slushy?”
“I never said I would buy it for you.”
“You punched me - I think the least you could do is pay for my slushy.”
The brunette shakes his head softly. “Fine.”
Machine whirrs float amongst the air, cool slush filling two plastic cups decorated with strange cartoon symbols. Dream requests red while the other man fills his cup with blue, and the pattern of the men being complete opposites continues, not to anybody’s surprise. The two were almost destined to oppose one another, polar opposites of the world, purposed solely to torment the other.
They sit together on the curb after paying for their drinks, soft sips and buzzing streetlights filling otherwise silent air.
“When did we start hating each other?” George’s voice is softer than earlier as he breaks the silence circling them on the concrete curb, softer than when he was spitting horrid names at the blonde. He clears his throat after speaking, wrapping his lips around the red straw, seeming slightly tense.
The question takes Dream aback. “I don’t know,” A large hand runs through wavy blonde hair, previously gelled for the event but has since fallen unruly and messy. George’s hair is in a similar state, the once combed-back deep brown curls now messily resting atop his head. “I don’t think I actually ever hated you, though.”
“Really?” George chuckles. “You act like it.”
Dream smiles back, the changed, now playful atmosphere going unnoticed. “Well, you definitely get on my nerves.”
Green eyes follow the small, pale hands as they rest in his lap to pick at the skin around his fingertips.
“I don’t think I hate you, either.”
The familiar silence returns, now with an entirely new edge. It flows, a sea of quiet occasionally interrupted with a sip through a red straw. Once again, the moonlight that shines in coffee irises pulls the tide of a viridian sea back in.
The blonde is suddenly painfully aware of the contact they share at their thighs, pressed together delicately. Dream’s mind wanders to the pale skin that must lay under the black trousers, mentally shaming himself for thinking - or, wanting? - such a terrible thing.
A light breath brings him out of his trance, eyes refocusing to bring the brunette into view. The golden brown irises are placed on the blonde’s lips.
“George.” Dream breathes, George’s face heating up with red as his eyes trail between emerald eyes and watermelon lips.
George lets out a shaky, “Yeah?”
Seconds last hours, days even as the words pass lips.
“Can- Can I-”
In an act of consent from the brunette, soft lips clash with his own, large tan hands finding their way to hold his jaw. The kiss is rough and harsh, noses bumping and teeth gently clashing, but Dream couldn't have wanted anything more.
Their lips move in sync with each other, the polar opposites of the world being the only ones in existence, keeping one another in a pull of pink passion and bitten lips Dream would never willingly give up. It’s better than any kiss the blonde had experienced, years of shameful attraction to their rival being let out in a deep exhale into each other.
They pull apart for a quick moment to catch their breath, hot air being shared between the two as their noses bump with lips mere centimeters apart. Foreheads rest against one another as they catch themselves. However, the blonde’s attention is almost immediately pulled away with a breathy giggle.
“Oh my god - your lips!” Dream breaks into a fit of giggles at the sight of the brunette, bitten and kissed-too-hard lips tainted with a purple stain from the mixture of color in their kiss.
George’s brows furrow quickly. “What?”
“They’re purple!” Dream exclaims, slowly calming down from his laughing fit.
“You are such an idiot.”
Dream grins wide, smug and proud of himself. “You just kissed an idiot.” And he’s pulled back in, dancing with the wrath of soft pink in an intoxicating choreography.
As always, they oppose each other, on different sides of the same battlefield, their lips a war that Dream would lose a million times over for the chance to fight once. The two are opposites after all, but Dream thinks maybe he doesn’t mind that.