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He growls under his breath, tugging at the end of the tie. They just won’t line up, the bottom one always longer than the top one, sticking out awkwardly. He could put a blazer on top to cover it, but he’s pretty sure the only one he owns hasn’t been worn since high school graduation. Actually, he’s reasonably sure it’s still back in Texas.
Soft hands smooth over his shoulders before a pointy chin digs into his collarbone. “Wow. How’d you manage to mess up that bad?”
“Piss off. I’m getting there.”
George pushes his hands away, untying the tie yet again and straightening it out. The ends are delicately pressed down against the buttons of his shirt.
Sapnap sighs, turning around.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, I do know I’m the best.”
“You’re a prick, did you know that one?” The corner of George’s lips curls up against the press of his own. He nudges his nose against his dimple as he pulls back. “C’mon, we’ll be late.”
“You made a reservation, we can’t be late.”
“That is exactly the opposite of what a reservation is.”
“No, they’re saving a table for us.”
“They’re making sure there’s a table for us, ready in fifteen minutes.” He pulls on his shoes with one hand while tugging George along.
“Wait, I need to go get my phone!”
“Fine.” He taps the toes of his dress shoes against the edge of the shoe cabinet as he waits. Dream appears from the kitchen, leaning in the doorway.
“You clean up nice.”
He turns a little, trying to catch his reflection in the windows that bracket the front door. “You think?”
“Yeah. You look good, man.” Dream steps into the entryway. “You remember where the restaurant is? I can text you the address if you want.”
“I think I’m good.” He smiles, more bitten lips than joy. “I’ve spent enough time worrying about it that I have all the details burned into my brain.”
“You don’t have to worry about it. This is George; if you mess up, he’s gonna find it hilarious, not hate you.”
“I want him to be wooed, not find it funny.” He goes to drag a hand through his hair, changes his mind, starts picking at his nail beds.
“Chill! I have planned the perfect date for you. All you have to do is relax.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, relax and charm the prettiest man in the world.”
Dream grins. “Sorry to let you down man, but if he was gonna start swooning he already would have by now.”
“Piss off.” He shoves Dream back towards the kitchen as George comes down the stairs. “Now are we ready to go?”
“Yeah.” George slides his shoes on, already reaching for the front door. “What are we waiting for?”
“Literally you, what-”
The headlights on the truck flash as George bounds down the porch steps, swinging the passenger door open to slide in. Sapnap crosses off the mental note to open George’s door for him. Which leaves him grasping for any other clues as to how one is supposed to be a gentleman.
He settles a hand on the back of George’s seat as he pulls out of the driveway. He considers trying to hold George’s hand while he drives but his palms are already slippery against the steering wheel and he doesn't trust his ability to multitask when it comes to George.
George drums his fingers against the truck’s dashboard.
“Sooo…”
“So?”
“I don’t know.” He braces his head on the glove compartment. “Where are we going?”
“To dinner. I already told you.”
“Give me more information than that.”
Sapnap stops at a red light, glancing over at him. “It’s literally just dinner!”
George narrows his eyes. “I don’t believe you. Especially if you and Dream were scheming together.”
The light changes colour and he presses on the gas as gently as possible. He doesn’t want to throw George forward. “I have never schemed in my life.”
“That’s such bull.”
“You’re right. But this isn't a scheme, I swear. I just- I just wanna take you somewhere nice. I feel like we never go on proper dates.”
“You mean hanging out in our own bedrooms on discord with Dream doesn’t count as a ‘proper date’?”
“Exactly.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “I don't think we’ve ever gone out to eat without Dream.”
“Duh. Because a tricycle falls over without it’s third wheel.”
“Did you just imply that we’re in a polynamorus relationship with Dream? Because, ew, gross.”
“Polyamorous. And I don’t like the idea either, but think about it; he’s been there for literally everything. This relationship has his sticky little fingerprints all over it.”
“Right.” Nick rolls out his shoulders. “Next time I’m not letting him help plan the date. Then we’ll have a proper Dream free event. How about that?”
“Yeah right. Like you could plan something without running to Daddy Dream.”
“Next time. Mark my words, next time.” He spins the wheel between his hands, pulling up to the front of the restaurant. “For now, can we just not talk about Dream? Please?”
“Good luck finding something to talk about then.” George grins, going to open the car door.
“Wait, let me-” He jumps out of the truck, hurrying to the passenger side and opening the door for George.
“Really?”
“Listen, I’m trying my best here.”
“I can tell.”
George’s fingertips brush over the back of his hand as he passes by.
The hostess at the front of the restaurant sends them a practiced customer service smile that carries exhaustion around the edges. He tangles his fingers with George’s as they walk to the table, trying to pretend it’s a gesture of grand romance and affection and not because he just realised he might be a little out of his depth.
“Someone will be right over to get your drink orders, sirs.”
“I can’t think of a single time that I’ve been called sir that wasn’t part of a bit.”
“That’s because you’re practically still a child.”
“First, I’m legally an adult. Second, what does that make you, a cradle robber?”
George sticks his tongue out at him. “I feel like it sometimes, with how much of a baby you act like.”
“Oh yeah, well at least my mental age isn’t literally two. You do know sticking out your tongue and putting your fingers in your ears doesn’t actually count as getting the last word, right?”
“You know you can’t win any arguments if you haven’t even developed the ability to speak yet?”
“Excuse me? Can I get either of you anything to drink?”
He shoots the poor waitress an apologetic look, grabbing the drinks menu off the centre of the table. “Umm… Just a coke, thanks.”
George tries and fails to cover the call of “baby” with a cough.
“I’ll have a glass of your nicest red.”
The waitress nods and darts away.
“Really?”
“What? Was that not covered by Daddy Dream’s card?”
“I thought we agreed we weren’t gonna mention him anymore.”
“And I said we wouldn’t manage.” George rolls his eyes. Sapnap nudges their feet together under the table. “Really? You’re gonna start that here? Remember what happened last time, moron.”
“What? You don’t wanna play footsie with me, Georgie Weorgie?”
“I don’t actually want anything to do with you ever. I’m being held here against my will.”
George moves his foot away, instead reaching out to lay his fingers over top of Nick’s on the table cloth.
“Right. You travelled across the world and moved into my house against your own will.”
“You can’t prove I wasn’t blackmailed.”
“I can prove it. Cause I didn’t blackmail you.”
“Um. Sirs? Is everything okay?”
The waitresses eyes are wide, still half a step back from the table, as if ready to flee. He feels warmth crawl up his cheeks.
“No. No, sorry.”
“Everything’s fine.” George gives her a tense smile. She just nods, placing the glasses on the table before turning on her heel and scurrying away. “Do you think we traumatised her?”
“Probably.”
“She probably thinks we’re like, mob bosses, or something.”
“With how much of a pretty boy you are? No way. She probably just thinks we’re weirdos.” He rocks his weight back on his chair, trying to scrub the blush off the back of his neck with his free hand.
“Hey.” Fingers thrum gently against the back of his hand. “I can assure you, they’ve dealt with worse than a couple of morons who don’t know how to act in public. We’re fine.”
“I know that.” He twists the straw in his drink towards him, narrowly avoiding upending the whole the thing and having to let go of George’s hand to steady it. “Shit.”
George huffs gently under his breath. He doesn’t laugh though, just slides his foot in between both of Nick’s and grabs his hand when it falls back to the table.
“It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
“Hopefully.” He wants to bury his face in his hands and hide. He wants his noise cancelling headphones so he can drown himself in the sound of some overly violent video game. He wants to be cuddled up on the couch at home, having one of their usual movie dates, with George slowly slumping to lean against his side and the occasional popcorn flavoured kiss when Dream isn’t looking. He wants to be anywhere but here.
The pad of George’s thumb smooths over his knuckles before the weight of his hand disappears.
“Check, please?”
The waitress, paused on her way past the table, gives them a look, then a nod, then disappears off between the tables.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re leaving.”
He tries to grab George’s hand as he picks up the wine glass, tipping it back to empty most of it in one go. “We can’t leave. We haven’t even eaten yet.”
“Sap.” Fingers close over his, tight, insistent, grounding. “You’re clearly not comfortable.”
“I can be, I will be-”
“You’re not. It’s okay.”
His cheeks heat up, brows drawing together. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”
“You can win me a dumb plushie at the claw machine at the cinema, how about that?”
The waitress reappears, sliding the little leather folder onto the table. George already has his card out, slipping it to her before she can run off again.
“I was going to-”
“Shh.”
He leans against the stiff back of the chair and pouts until George sticks his tongue out at him. He pretends like he's still pouting until she comes back with George’s card.
George bounces out of his seat like he can’t wait to be out of there, sending the hostess a polite smile as he shoves Sapnap out the door.
The streetlights have come on, painting the sidewalk muddy in the golden light. George tips his head back, fingers digging into his collar to loosen his tie.
“God, I hate these things.” He stuffs the fabric in the pocket of his slacks, the end trailing out. “Do you think it’s worth driving to the mall or should we just walk?”
He laughs despite the amount of clawing that’s still going on in his throat. “I know you’re still used to London geography, but if we tried to walk we’d still be walking when it closed.”
George sticks his tongue out and drums his fingers on the window of the truck. “Unlock it then. I call aux.”
The truck’s headlights flick yellow in the darkening night as he unlocks it and he’ll admit there’s a sigh of relief fighting it’s way out as he slides in. George has his knees tucked up between his chest and the glove box, phone too close to his nose. The bluetooth chimes to say it’s connected.
The music blares out, loud and a little abrasive.
“Hey, this is my playlist!”
“Yeah but now I get to choose the songs I like.” He presses skip and some borderline cheesy pop song comes on. George’s head bobs side to side, almost colliding with the window. When the lyrics come in, his yelling leaves brief brushes of condensation on the glass.
Sapnap grins across at him at the red lights, his tongue fumbling as he tries to sing along at the sight of George painted streaky in the streetlights.
“Wait no, park there!”
“I can’t just turn the car around here George, it’s against the law.”
“Fuck the law!” George is bouncing up and down in his seat as he turns into a parking spot a bit further along.
“I think you need to calm down a little bit.”
“Nope.” He braces a hand on the center console, leans across to press his lips against the very corner of Sapnap’s mouth. His free hand tucks his phone into his pocket. “Let’s go.”
He fumbles the keys on the way out of the car, has to lean down to pick them back up, and when he stands up George jumps on his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “To the movies!”
“Who spiked your wine?” He hoists George a little higher, almost dislodging him where he was trying to climb back down. They both cling a little tighter. George giggles in his ear.
He carries George through the sliding doors into the bright lights of the mall.
The movie theatre is on the top floor, which turns out to be a mission when he almost wipes out trying to step onto the escalator. George slides off his back, leaving a hand to trail down his arm and intertwine their fingers.
He lets George pull him up to the theatre, stopping in front of the wall of movie posters where George releases his arm in order to adopt a thinking pose. Sapnap just watches as he considers.
“I don’t want to watch any of these.”
“I hate you. I actually hate you.” He leans back against one of those dumb mall pillars, the ones that every mall seems to have but no one knows why. It’s cold through the scratchy material of his dress shirt. “C’mon then. We’re going to get smoothies.”
The worker at the smoothie shop in the middle of the food court looks ready to be done with their day and go the fuck home, but they still patiently listen to Nick’s complicated order and note down George’s disappointingly basic strawberry smoothie.
He stands on the edge of the dumb indoor fountain, balanced on the polished stone rim. George stares up at him, hands on hips.
“You’re going to get soaked.”
“No I’m not.” He reaches out for him and George steps in closer, hands in Sapnap’s with his chest almost pressed against his hips. Trying to pull him onto the fountain is unsuccessful though.
“Absolutely not. I’m not trusting my coordination with that.”
“Umm, two smoothies?”
He almost falls into George, who barely avoids falling back onto the floor.
“Will you get down from there now?”
“No. Bring me my smoothie.”
George sighs but pries his hands off his shoulders so he can go get their smoothies.
Sapnap sits down on the edge of the fountain, watching George cross the food court, ridiculously overdressed in his slightly ruffled suit. He looks beautifully displaced and wonderfully comfortable. He shines brighter under the fluorescent lights here than he did in the low warm glow of the restaurant. He walks back towards him with two smoothies in hand and when he gets close enough Sapnap grabs the loosened collar of his dress shirt to pull him down for a kiss.
“I’m gonna spill the smoothies you idiot.” He slides his teeth over Sapnap’s bottom lip one last time before jerking away, drinks sloshing against the take away lids.
He takes his smoothie from George, tucking the straw between his teeth. “Arcade?”
“Can we spend all the money we were going to spend on dinner?”
He looks up at George. “Did you… did you just suggest we spend 200 dollars at the crappy mall arcade?”
“I suggested that we try.”
“I knew there was a reason why I loved you.”
He pushes himself off the fountain, free arm twining around George’s waist. A cold nose brushes against his collar bone before George turns back towards the cinema.
“I still want that plushie.”
The arcade in the mall clearly hasn’t heard about the thirty year fashion cycle. It’s dripping in early 2000’s chemical glamour, trying to keep itself scrambling forward rather than leaning back into the air of nostalgia. Most of the games are dumb off brand consoles, shooters or children’s games.
The line up of claw machines is filled mostly with movie memorabilia; cartoon characters and disney propaganda. There’s one at the end that has generic stuffed toys and candy, and Sapnap angles for that one.
“Right. Hold my drink.”
He cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders out, ignoring George snorting behind him.
His wallet, thankfully, has a few dollar bills tucked away behind his cards. He feeds two in, giving himself four attempts because he likes to think of himself as a realist. And a romantic. Winning his boyfriend a present is worth an extra dollar.
The crane whirs to life and he grips the joystick, knuckles going a little white on the edge of the machine.
“Are you sure you’ve got this?”
“No sweat. I’m a pro gamer.”
The claw swings wildly over the pit of stuffed toys as he moves the controller far too fast. It smacks into the side of the puppy he had been going for as it descends, glancing off and crossing to the deposit slot empty handed.
“True skill.”
“Fuck.”
The claw swivels over the candy section and he only gives it a cursory glance and a few quick twists of the joystick before pushing the button for it to descend. The wrapped sweets clatter against the drop chute.
“Right, okay, this is the one.”
“Sure it is.” George’s chin digs into his shoulder.
The claw wraps around the back paw of the dog, dragging it into the air at a strange angle. He bites down on the tip of his tongue.
The plushie slips out of the machine’s grasp halfway to the drop zone, tumbling back down.
“Noo…”
“Ha!”
He slams a fist down on the release button, the machine scooping up whatever candy it can reach automatically.
“It’s okay. You can just buy me one. I understand that you’re too much of a loser for a machine designed for children.”
“Like you could do any better.”
“At least I had the brains to not try in the first place.” George pulls away, already turning out of the arcade. “C’mon. If I want to play games we can do that at home.”
“Wait a second.” He crouches down in front of the machine, digging around in the collection chamber until he finds what he’s looking for. “For you.” He presents the pair of wrapped sweets for George.
“Really?” He looks like he wants to cover his smile but both of his hands are still full.
“Really. I know the strawberry ones are your favourite.” He takes his smoothie back, pressing the candies into his hand.
George stares for one second. Two. Three. Then he grins, shoving the candies into his suit pocket next to his tie.
“C’mon idiot. You still owe me a plushie.”
He makes George wait outside the toy store. He complains, loudly and obnoxiously in a way that would make Sapnap a little self conscious if there were more than a scattering of people in the mall at seven forty five pm on a weeknight. Sapnap just sits him on a bench and tells him to stay put while he goes into the shop. Then turns around to kiss the pout off George’s lips before going again.
He gets an interesting look from the lone worker at the checkout as he wanders along the display of stuffed animals. He ducks his head down, staring intently at the plush faces staring back up at him.
He’s tempted to pick the most obnoxiously childish one, a teddy bear with bells and textured baby toys hanging off of it. George would laugh and throw it back in his face and it would end up propped up on his bookshelf by the next morning, taking up watch over his room in all it’s ridiculous glory with all the other strange things that he’s given him that George has, inexplicably, kept.
But instead he picks up a rabbit, so soft and fluffy you almost can’t make out it’s little button nose and glass bead eyes.
The girl at the counter scans it for him, gesturing to the wrapping paper beside her.
“Gift?”
“Uhh, not really.”
“Apology then? You look like you’ve just gotten out of a date gone bad.”
“No, uh. A date gone well.” He shoots a look over his shoulder at the front of the store as he scans his card. “Perfect, actually.”
“Well then. I hope they like it.”
He smiles, wishes her a goodnight. George is still pouting when he slides up next to him on the bench, toy poorly hidden behind his back.
“This better be worth it.”
“Let’s go back to the car.”
“Making me wait even longer. I see how it is. Drawing out the torment.”
George takes his hand and they walk back through the deserted mall. The smoothie kiosk has finally gone dark, gates rolling down in front of the shops as people lock up for the night. The tinny radio music through the speakers above them echoes in the underfilled space, echoing in time with their footsteps.
George gets up to walk along the edge of the fountain as they pass it. He holds his outstretched hand in his spare one. He doesn’t trust George’s balance on the best of days and they’ve made it this far without disaster. He believes in them. They can make it through the home stretch.
Maybe they can stretch tonight into forever.
The mall doors hiss closed behind them and they’re standing under the streetlights again.
George leans into him, foreheads dropping together. “Well?”
He presses the small, fluffy rabbit into George’s loose fist, curling both off their hands around it.
“Happy six months, Georgie.”