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“' Arson is fine if it's just burnt pancakes, right?’ ” Sapnap says the moment he steps out of the bathroom. He’s wearing nice clothes today, if a printed hoodie and black cargo pants were anything to go by. A muted click resonates across the room as he secures his watch around his wrist before he’s going towards the far wall and unplugging his walkman from its charger.
Dream watches him move around their shared dorm room with lazy attention. “What?”
Sapnap’s head turns back to look at Dream’s splayed-out form in his own bed. His voice is more exasperated when he explains, “That was what George said when I asked him last night if he wanted to look at the new place I was eyeing moving to.”
“Pfft,” Dream snorts, “Sounds about right.”
Sapnap gives him a pointed look, but Dream knows it’s all light-hearted anyway, so instead he just shifts lazily in bed, eyes focusing on his Tamagotchi, feeding his pet, Patches, food. His rapid pressing of the button aligns with Sapnap’s resolute sigh.
“What?” Dream asks defensively when he raises his head to look at his best friend, “You’ve known for years that you’re dating an idiot, what did you expect?”
With a roll of his eyes, Sapnap chucks a throw pillow right at Dream’s face. He didn’t miss, so when Dream swipes the pillow away, he directs a glare towards his best friend.
“Hey, you’re right but only I can call George an idiot like that!” Sapnap huffs. “And you have no right to say anything. I’m rooming with a literal child. Why are you still playing with that toy? We’re graduating college next, next week, Dream.”
“Oh my god shut up, my baby will hear you.” Dream holds the tiny device in the crevice of his palm protectively, shushing it comfortingly. “Not my fault your idea of fun is to go apartment hunting with your boyfriend who doesn’t have any ounce of romance in his body.”
Sapnap looked like he was going to rebuke Dream's statement to the best of his measly abilities, but George burst into their dorm room not a second later, face flushed, hair a mess, the familiar tilt of his grin widening when he looked around the room.
There is a skip on his step when he traverses the distance between him and his boyfriend, planting a solid kiss on Sapnap’s cheek as a greeting (with Sapnap giving Dream a pointed look as if to say ‘ No romantic bone, you say? Beat that’ to which Dream replies with a simple eye roll) before his eyes quickly shift to Dream.
“Good morning, Dream! It seems like you chose to look like shit today! But in retrospect, I think it’s more of a lifestyle if you choose to do it daily, don’t you think?” George beams, making Dream groan and bury his face on his pillow.
Okay, so it’s three in the afternoon and he still hasn’t risen out of bed. So what. Final exams were done last week and he has nothing better to do than think about his future after graduating. He doesn’t even want to think about that. Nor the fact that Sapnap is about to move out because he and George want to move in together. He doesn’t even have a job yet and he’s going to be alone. Great.
Groaning, he unearths his face from the pillow and shoots a sharp look towards the couple. “I hate both of you. Weren’t you gonna leave?”
Sapnap laughs before disappearing into the bathroom again, probably to check his appearance one last time. George walks towards him and pats his head in a placating manner.
“Why don’t you go out and do something fun, Dream? Maybe you could be less grumpy.”
Dream could hear the grin from George’s voice even if he didn't turn around to check, opting to swat the brunet’s hand away. “And what would you suggest I do?”
“I don’t know, you’re the popular one here.” George shrugs. “Go play in the arcade with your football team or go on a date with that girl from Chem.”
“Which girl?” Dream grins.
George ignores him, used to his random bursts of cockiness. “Or watch a movie with my roommate or something.” George supplies.
“Dude, your roommate hates me, remember?” Dream scoffs.
“Karl doesn’t hate you. He’s just pissed at all the people knocking on our door every now and then because they think that’s your dorm room from that one time you crashed in our place.”
“Not my fault I’m hot.” Dream retorts, and this time George smacks him.
“Not your fault you get piss drunk at every party you go to?”
“Not my fault your dorm is a lot closer to Sigma's frat house than here.” Dream corrects, pitifully rubbing the spot George had hit. “And it was one time because all the other times after that, Karl’s glare was enough to sober me up and allow me to walk back here.”
“Deserved.” George deadpans.
Dream waves a hand around to shoo him away. “Whatever, why are you still here? What is Sapnap up to?”
“I dunno,” George shrugs. “Probably shitting or something.”
Dream’s nose scrunches up. “You know, you don’t treat or talk about your boyfriend like he’s your boyfriend at all.”
George laughs. “Isn’t that the charm of it? That we’re so comfortable with each other?”
“I think it’d be more charming if you guys get going and leave me alone.” Dream lies. He actually likes their company, but recently, seeing them makes him heave a sigh to himself, being reminded of the things he doesn’t have. The comfort of having someone constant.
“How’s it feel to be a liar, Dream?” Just as George offers his not so witty retort, Sapnap comes out of the bathroom like nothing happened, grabbing his keys and his bag before slipping on his shoes.
“Dream, please don’t burn the house down.” He says as a final reminder, George waving a hand as a goodbye before they’re shutting the door close, leaving Dream all alone.
Sighing to himself, he stares at the ceiling of their dorm room, at the remains of scotch tape staining the dirty white, letting it blur his vision until his eyes fall close naturally. He’d sleep, but he just woke up a few hours ago which means he probably can’t sleep for a few hours more even if he tried.
Honestly, it’s not that Dream doesn’t have anything to do, it’s just that he doesn’t have energy to do any of them. He’s popular, just as George had said, and he could probably ask his team to play in the field or in the arcade, or ask any person out and go on a date, but that requires actually going out and getting ready and interacting. He’s not in the mood for something loud nor is he in the mood for romance. And while dates aren’t necessarily automatically romance inflicted, Dream finds himself unwilling to try. He’s been unwilling for years.
Running out of options but not wanting to stay in bed, in the end, Dream just opted to clean his room and organize his stuff since their lease is going to be up and moving out might as well be as soon as next month.
He starts with his desk, choosing to put in a box all the books he’s finished using for the entirety of his four years in college, deciding to donate it in their local library. Then, he collects all of his papers, pages and pages of architectural plates which serves as the physical manifestation of his countless long nights fueled with nothing but caffeine and determination. He inserts them in his portfolio, the well-done ones, sorting through them and hoping it could work at possibly landing a job by the time he goes job hunting next week.
And then, he goes through his dresser, choosing to sort through all the junk under the clothes, throwing the unnecessary stuff away and into the huge plastic bag in the far corner of the room. They’re mostly art projects that were too pretty to throw away when he first got them back, high marks signed at the bottom of the pieces as exchange for his detailed hard work, but now that he’s about to move on from this phase of his life, they’re not going to serve any purpose other than taking up space.
Behind the box of art materials is his first ever trophy as MVP, the star player of his first season in playing as the quarterback of his university’s team, and the sight of it is enough to bring a light smile in his face, memories of sweat-clad backs and throats sore from shouting battlecries as they grit their teeth clawing for victory fills Dream’s mind, fingers grasping the golden handle in careful reverence. College was fun, Dream thinks.
Standing up from his sitting position on the floor in front of his closet, he stretches his back, eyes on the identical trophies on top of the wooden furniture, deciding to fetch them and put them all in the same box, planning to take them with him the next time he comes home.
He fetches Sapnap’s chair beside him, putting it in front of the closet and placing his sock-clad feet after the other on the seat, hand raising up to get the trophies. He pulls them one at a time, placing them down on their floorboards, but Dream seems to have miscounted because after putting the last one down the floor and reaching up again, instead of skin meeting gold, his fingers grasp something more solid.
Peering up, he sees that it’s a box. Dream’s eyebrows furrow, uncertain of its contents, trying to wrack his brain for what it could possibly be. Curiously, he pulls it off from the top of the closet and climbs down to the ground, placing the box in front of his feet.
On top of it, written with a simple black marker, his own handwriting stares back at him with the words, ‘ High School’.
A gentle waft of nostalgia hits him as he carefully opens the lid, dust staining his fingertips, making him cough slightly.
So that's how Dream finds himself on a Monday afternoon, basking in the swift summer air and the strange wistfulness the memories of a seemingly past life brought back in the form of an old box that contains his old notebooks, medals he got from a bunch of competitions, farewell letters he received from friends and admirers alike, random trinkets such as arcade receipts and plastic keychains he accumulated along the years that he had spent in the high school of his hometown.
Suddenly, he remembers packing in his old room four years ago, and then deciding at the last minute to take this box to his college dorm room, wanting to keep a reminder of what he thought was the best time period in his life.
College could arguably be better, more fun, more free, but Dream thinks that there is something so achingly raw and beautiful in high school, your first firsts and your highest highs all painting the few countable years of your youth, a time period where everything is possible just because you felt untouchable.
Everything inside the box incites and inspires countless memories through Dream — all except one unfamiliar thing.
At the bottom of the pile, sits a plain black cassette tape with a handwriting Dream hadn't thought he'd recognize at first glance.
It brings about a stark contrast to everything else around it, the notebooks, the medals, the keychains, because this cassette tape doesn't invoke anything remotely close to nostalgia and instead fills Dream with growing alienation.
And yet there is something familiar about it, yet he can't seem to place his finger on.
He stares at the curves of the letters in the white strip of plastic on the preface of it, its written label curling around familiar strokes, reminding him of a name he had just spoken about earlier this afternoon.
Oh. It's Karl's handwriting.
Contrary to George and Sapnap's belief, Dream's first association with Karl wasn't as 'my roommate's boyfriend's roommate'.
His first (and second, and third, and so on) association with Karl used to be as follows: That guy from 2B. Kinoko's vocalist. Dream's classmate during his fourth year of high school. George's roommate. That guy that dislikes Dream up to a certain degree.
They weren't friends, but it's safe to assume that they knew each other, both being popular in their own circle during high school, Dream as the goalie of the soccer club, Karl being the singer of the school's rock band.
See, the thing with being popular is you don't need to know someone in order to know someone.
Rumors and assumed character traits that just seem to make sense even if it isn’t the whole truth could make up someone’s entire personality, especially in narrow-visioned interconnectivity like high school.
And Dream wasn’t a stranger to this. To the decimation of a person to only their redeeming character traits, not the whole, but not entirely nothing either.
Now, there was one thing Dream had always been certain of back then: Karl was hard to miss.
He was someone that's always been the center of attention — may it be in his soot-painted nails or in his angel-tinged voice. Karl was someone you can't help but notice — someone you'll see first thing when you walk inside a room because your eyes will inevitably be drawn to him, ears of equal weakness when you hear him sing. He was bright even if he wasn't aware that he was.
Dream knew Karl like that. So he's not sure why there's a mixtape in this dusty old box with Karl's handwriting that says:
For Clay, and all the songs I couldn't sing about you.
Confusion fills Dream, heavy enough that it dips the furrow of his eyebrows, mouth downturning along with it.
With growing disbelief, he stares at the cassette tape for a few seconds, carefully turning it over and then upfront again.
When it doesn't provide any confirmation nor declination, Dream huffs to himself, standing up and walking towards the cassette player on his bedside table. He finds the cartridge empty so he inserts the tape on the correct side, closes the lid, sits back on his bed, and hits play.
The spools roll for a few empty seconds.
Static. And then, a click, much like the sound of Dream clicking the cassette player button, a light cough, and then Karl's muffled voice permeates through the still air.
" Hello?"
His tone is filled with unbridled hesitancy but the first notes of his voice as warm as honey remove Dream's own pang of hesitance, confirming that this is indeed Karl. Dream would recognize his voice anywhere.
" Is this thing on? Oh god, I should've asked Corpse again how it works so I don't— okay, never mind, I'm just gonna do it— oh god, uhm, uhh…" He pauses for a while, almost as if he's taking a deep breath to himself.
" Hi." Karl exhales, voice laced with a smile, tone bordering on being shy. " Hi Clay."
Clay. Dream's high school nickname breathed out by Karl sounding like he's in veneration. The sound of it might have pulled the rug from under Dream's feet, but good thing he's sitting down on his bed, allowing himself to focus on the slight stutter of his chest at the bleeding familiarity Karl says his name with.
That's right, he thinks. Before Karl had spitted out Dream with so much venom, there was a time when Karl had said his name Clay softly, acquainted knowingness making his name sound the sweetest he's ever heard it from anyone else.
" I don't know if you know me or recognize my voice—" Dream chuckles to himself. " but this is Karl. Karl Jacobs. We— well, we're not classmates, I'm from 2B and you're from 2A but I guess I could introduce myself as Corpse's best friend. I know you and him play soccer together."
The memory of the certain raven-haired boy fleets through Dream's mind, suddenly hit with longing for his old teammate. He and Corpse still see each other from time to time despite being in different universities, but it's different from way back in high school when he didn't really have to try because they see each other every day from across the schoolyard or the building hallways.
Dream continues to listen to Karl's melodic voice in passable nonchalance, but with every passing second of the recording, a gentle sense of foreboding slowly but surely creeps over him, the introduction fuzzing out and when the first notes of the first song hits his ears, Dream realizes something.
This isn't a mixtape. It's a confession.
He stands back up and carefully rewinds the tape, wanting to listen to it with increased attention.
The audio replays, and then Karl's voice is filtering through again. "... as Corpse's best friend. I know you and him play soccer together."
Karl's voice reiterates the same words Dream had heard not even a few seconds earlier. “ So you probably think this is weird because ‘why is this stranger sending me a song’ but I don’t even know if this song will ever get to you because I’m aware my crushes are really brief. Corpse and Tina bet I’ll only have this crush on you for a week, but they’re— anyway, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Karl chuckles to himself, “ it’s probably not something you want to hear because what kind of professing one’s crush goes like this! But anyway, I talked to you for the first time last Tuesday and this song reminded me of you.”
The first notes of the bass kick in, paired up with the drums and electric guitar, and a few seconds later, a female voice sings, ‘ Rose-colored boy, I hear you making all that noise about the world you want to see .”
Dream listens to the song, unmoving, tuning in to each lyrics thinking that ‘ Karl wanted me to listen to this This song reminded Karl about me Karl wanted me to listen to this.
When the voice signals the end of the song, static echoes from the player again before Karl’s voice resurfaces.
“ Clay, my rose-colored boy,” Karl giggles yet again, but this time it’s accompanied by the sudden thrumming beneath Dream’s porcelain ribcages, threatening to crack him and fill him with emotions spilled out from metallic films and hard plastic casings. “ Sorry if you think it’s sappy, I just thought you were cute. That’s it! I just wanted to send you this song because it really reminded me of you, saving me from getting hit by a ball and all. You were really kind and sweet. Very tall, too.” Karl laughs to himself. “ Don’t be a stranger on the hallways, Clay! If I do end up giving this to you next week, then let’s be friends! Bye!”
Even before Dream can check if it’s really the end of the tape, Karl’s voice filters through again, but this time his voice sounds more full, more of a teenager than a kid who knew how to use recorders.
“ Hello? Oh god, I thought I’d never find this again!” Some rustling could be heard, and the next words are nothing but a mere whisper. “ Sorry if I’m whispering, it’s like, 2 am and we only just finished practicing band. I’m home now in my room and I was about to go to sleep because we have class tomorrow but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Dream’s heart is a steady beat in his chest.
“ Hmm, I guess Tina and Corpse were wrong,” Karl starts, words slurred a bit. Dream could only imagine Karl is laying down in his sheets so as if in mimicry, Dream straightens his legs from beneath him, pads of his feet on the floor, and leans back flat in his bed, tuning in to Karl ramble sleepily. His own ceiling and the worn scotch tapes stare back at him.
“ They said I’ll probably only like you for a week, and I thought so too but we’re in junior year now and I still think about you sometimes and I see you in hallways and songs remind me of you still. I would say I watch your games but I really only ever go to soccer matches to support Corpse. If I end up looking more at you by the goalpost though, then don’t tell him.” Karl laughs gently, his voice soft, probably because it’s apparently in the middle of the night as he recorded this.
“ Which brings me to this next song, ‘Sports’. I can’t play any but it’s fun watching you. Oh yeah, that reminds me of the reason why I’m recording this. I got held back in class today because I was talking about something with our music teacher, so I went home later than any of my friends. When I walked by the field, it seems like soccer practice was over but you were still there, trying to score a goal. You seemed frustrated because of god-knows-what because I saw you land all the shots, and I would have approached you to ask but I got shy.”
Karl sighs mutely, before he’s speaking again. “ But shy people, when driven, I guess could find ways of approaching even not in the physical form. Which is why I’m dedicating this song to you. You work hard, and that’s really admirable.” The light smile heard in Karl’s voice fades out, replaced with the song he’s talking about.
When the song ends, his voice returns. “ This next one I just really like and I wanted you to listen to it.”
Dream recognizes the song from its guitar intro because it’s from a band that he really likes, the sound bouncing across the four walls of his dorm room, Hollywood Ending’s Another Round making his head move up and down attuned to the beat, heart filling up with a wistfulness only certain music can bring.
Karl’s voice buzzes in again, his voice upbeat now, and if Dream strains his hearing, he thinks he could hear birds chirping and bicycle bells ringing and thin wheels reeling from the asphalt probably outside Karl’s room. “ I really don’t know why they always sing about girls when they could sing about boys— when they could sing about you. I dunno, maybe I’m dumb.” His pout is discernible through his tone.
“ But also, maybe not because I like you,” Karl giggles. Dream’s heart pounds inside his chest, stuttering and then tripping some more.
“ Oh god, is this my first time saying it out loud? My heart is beating so fast, oh my god.”
Ten seconds pass and Dream would like to believe that the rapid beating of their hearts is in sync. It’s quiet on the other line, and he’d think that the cassette tape stopped but he waits it out, and expectedly, a resolute sigh crackles from the speakers.
“ Hi, Clay.” Karl greets again as if the first few seconds before this was non-existent. “ Sorry if I’m sappy by the way. I just got home from school — being a junior in high school is hard!” Karl complains.
“Anyway, I record these at either three pm like now or when it’s three in the morning and we just finished practicing band. I like talking to you when I’m tired because it seems I’m never tired at all when I record these songs. I dunno if that makes sense but here’s the next song.”
Dream thinks there’s something sweet, with him being Karl’s afterthought. The next songs crackle and carry their melody across the room lit with afternoon sunlight, dust twirling and skirting around like tiny universes, each unique of their own, floating into oblivion. Dream watches them in a calm haze, sighing to himself every now and then when his heart feels too full.
The next three songs are filled with a certain feeling Dream could only describe as misplaced homesickness. You can’t miss a home you never had because you can’t build a home in songs and playlists. Yet he listens to all of them with an openly aching heart and long-forgotten nostalgia, reawakened through the power of tonal reminiscence.
Having listened to a total of seven songs, Dream could say he can read Karl’s mood now. When he’s happy, or coming down from said happiness, or if he feels calm and tranquil, and each word he says feels like a gentle whisper against Dream’s ears.
In the speech transposition after the eighth song rolls around, Karl’s voice bleeds of melancholy.
“ Sometimes I ask myself if I’ll even give this to you. ” He begins, sighing to himself before speaking again. “We’re classmates now. I was so happy when I saw you at the back of the class but I had to act normal. I was going to add a song here during the first week of senior year but I really didn’t know what. And then I heard this song on the radio on the way home and it really reminded me of you.”
Karl lets out a deep breath, his words slow and his voice fragile.
“‘ To Love Somebody’. I think it’s a funny title. It’s like saying ‘to love somebody, you need to do this or that or this’. As if there’s a proper way to love someone. But what do I know about love, I’m only seventeen.” His laugh sounds like it hurts. “ What do I know about love if I only ever knew you,” Karl whispers.
The minuscule traces of ache and something so inherently cold surmounts its way towards Dream, painting the tethers of his chest in dim, muted bitterness. It’s bitter enough to taste sour in his mouth. Bitter enough that his fingers twitch, wanting to do something, wanting to run, but the mixtape isn’t finished yet.
“ I don’t think I’ll ever confess, Clay.” Karl admits. “ I don’t think I’ll ever give this to you. It’s been almost three years of pining and sometimes I wish I could have just been hit with that ball so you didn’t have to save me and I didn’t have to start seeing you and I didn’t have to fall in love with you. Corpse tells me loving is easy. Tina and Emma agree because they say it’s supposed to be fun and fleeting and makes you feel butterflies. But every time I see you get confessed to with a random girl and I see you smile at them and take them for ice cream just to break their heart and tell them no, I wonder if I’ll end up in the same way. Nothing with sugar and waffle cones to keep me company through my heartbreak.”
Karl sniffles. Dream longs to hold him.
See, there was a reason why Dream rejected everyone else. Why he took them for ice cream and says ‘No’ to each and every single person that professes their admiration for him because usually that ‘No’ was accompanied by another line.
‘ No. Sorry, my heart already belongs to someone else’ .
That someone else was someone who was bright, someone who commandeered the attention from across the room, from across the quad, from across the field. Dream saw that someone walk by the path beside the field during one soccer practice, the afternoon sunlight casting a soft halo around his amber locks, curls fluttering with the wind, and eyes so full of life as he laughed. He had caught Dream’s attention, Dream missed the ball, he ran so that that someone doesn’t get hit in the face because even back then, Dream didn’t know what he’ll do if that someone gets hurt.
That someone is Karl.
Karl had managed to get Dream’s attention because no matter what, Dream thinks it’s inevitable to not seek for the brightest in the room. In this way, Karl was hard to miss. He was the black painted nails and the voices sent by the skies, tinkling laughs left in the emptiness of rooms after school, the passionate singing Dream hears on vacant club rooms that he can’t help but tune in to in exchange for making him late for soccer practice. To Dream, Karl is the reason for Dream’s purposeful walks across hallways just to get a glimpse of the brunet from the other section, the enthusiasm of going to school festivals even if he never had any interest in them in the first place just because he wanted to hear Karl sing, the stolen glances from across the room during senior year because he was too afraid to ruin something that didn’t even exist in the first place. To Dream, Karl had always been someone he liked. To Dream, Karl wasn’t the one that got away, he was the one that wasn’t even his in the first place.
Hearing this mixtape now, Dream thinks that things could have been so, so, so different. Regret fills him with an equal par as longing.
He listens to the remaining songs.
I Wanna Be Your High started playing, and Karl’s footnote was a frustrated ramble, “ I think you’ll like this song. You probably won’t get to hear this because I don’t think I’ll ever give this to you, but I figured out that this mixtape is the only thing keeping me from going crazy and stomping across the room and kissing you stupid. Today, I saw you and your friends hop over the school fence and cut class. God, you’re so stupid. Why do I even like you? You’re so dumb and your laugh sounds ridiculous and I want you to kiss me. God, since when have I been like this for you?”
His words leave Dream breathless. The thought of kissing Karl, of holding his hand, pulling him close, being able to see him and know him and feel him in a way that Dream could only have ever dreamt of, makes him feel like he ran a mile. Makes him want to run three miles more, just so the rapid beating in his heart could feel justified.
The next song makes him flush.
“ Okay,” Karl’s giggles have returned in this passage, and he sounds way happier compared to his last note. “ Okay, I— oh god, I can’t believe I’m getting shy now. Alright, storytime because it’s been like, what, three months since I stopped recording this. Well, I wanted to move on.” Karl confesses, making Dream’s stomach turn cold.
“ I wanted to move on, and I thought I was doing well until Kinoko fell in a slump a few weeks ago. We joined the battle of the bands for the interschool fair but we didn’t know what to perform. But then I just saw this tape in my room, I listened to my last song about you and then it inspired what we sang in the competition. We won that, I don’t know if you remember. But I saw you with the soccer team in the back of the crowd and I smiled to myself because I thought, ‘Hey, Clay, this song is for you’ and I was giggling mid-chorus because I thought, ‘damn I’m getting bold’ and then my third thought was ‘well moving on was a failure’ but I realized I didn’t mind it as much if I could sing songs about you.” Karl’s smile can be heard through the recording, and his gentle admittance brings forth a certain need inside Dream, something he can’t fully decipher right now, not when he’s bathing in the afternoon sunlight and nostalgic admiration for a certain starry-eyed boy.
“ So—” Karl barks out an embarrassed laugh, “ This is that song that I sang for you. If it’s sappy, then— god, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.” He laughs to himself, and as if he stood up frm his desk or his bed as he was recording this, his next words sounded a bit far away, as if screamed at the empty space of his room out of reddened frustration. “ Oh my god, I can’t believe I sang ‘Kiss Me’ by Sixpence None the Richer about you! About you, oh god, in front of three hundred students! I’m going to cry. Oh fuck, wait, I haven’t played the recording oh god— here,”
And then the sound of a button clicks, and the song plays, Dream closing his eyes, mouth parting open as he tries to regulate his breathing. Just how much hold does Karl have over Dream that Dream feels breathless at the first notes of a mere song?
Before today, Dream thought he knew what he felt. Admiration meant to be kept inside the seams of his chest, never to bleed out because bleeding can only trickle so much before it turns into a mess no one wants to clean up. He doesn’t want to shatter the distance, no matter how far nor small it was, between him and Karl. But because of this playlist, this mixtape of the plethora of tiny recorded notes Karl had left thinking of Dream, singing for Dream, each word bleeding Dream, Dream, Dream reminds him of the nights that he spent wishing Karl, Karl, Karl.
He had spent nights wishing to hold Karl and it’s such a nasty play by the universe to have Karl wish the exact same but never letting either of them know.
‘Kiss me’ the song says.
‘Kiss me’ Karl sang.
‘Kiss me’ Dream pleads.
Bubblegum. Karl probably tastes like bubblegum.
He’d taste of bubblegums and strawberry lollipops, lips slicked with hesitance, eyes falling shut with trepidation, breath caught in anticipation. Dream wonders if Karl would let him pull him close, by his hands, by the waist, chest to chest until their mouths are but a hair’s breadth apart. Dream wouldn’t close the distance, because he knows Karl would and Karl would and he would close the distance and it would be everything Dream has ever dreamt of and more.
Dream shuts his eyes close. He breathes out, opening his eyes to the empty room.
His feet itches.
Karl’s voice resounds, note in this tenth track succinct and vulnerable.
“ Clay, I changed my mind. I think I’ll tell you.”
Take Me To Your Heart plays. Dream listens.
“ Yeah,” the line crackles after the song ends, as if Karl lets out a huge sigh, “ I’ll tell you.”
Determination. Subtle, but it’s there.
More Than Words starts playing, and unlike the breathlessness the previous songs incited, this song and the last sound more like a sigh of relief. Like Karl finally came into terms with his feelings.
Without any preamble, the next song plays. The gentle strumming of the guitar floods the room, the soft voice speaking of words longed to be said.
Dream closes his eyes, basks, indulges in the melodic hum of the cassette player, blasting When You Say Nothing At All .
The voice fades out along with the instrumentals, leaving Dream alone with his thoughts. And then, a resolute click, a sigh, Karl’s voice.
“ That song was my wishful thinking. ” Karl explains. “ We’re graduating tomorrow.” He says decidedly.
“ At this point, I just want to tell you how I feel. I don’t know what college you’ll go to and I’m not even sure if I want to know. I just think that- that three years is enough. Thanks for being my muse, I guess. Thanks for letting me give meaning to songs with your name and your smile and your stupid, stupid laugh.” Karl chuckles to himself. “ I’ll be asking Corpse to slip this inside your bag so don’t be too freaked out if it’s suddenly there, okay? And if-”
Taking a deep breath, Karl then releases it before whispering, “ If by chance, you like me back, I— do you know that water fountain near gate three? I’ll wait for you there after the ceremony. If you do like me back, if there’s a small chance that you do, meet me there. And then hold my hand and tell me so or kiss me stupid and tell me so. I don’t know. I just really, really like you and I hope this tiny record of the songs that reminded me of you would be enough to prove that. See you hopefully soon, Clay!”
The cassette clicks. It reels back. The tape is finished.
Shaking. Dream’s hands are shaking. Cold drips down his spine until it renders him numb and leaves icy shards in lieu of the prior wistfulness, fingers grasping nothing but air, twitching weakly, aching to hold and reach back towards something he’s too late to reach for.
Four years. It took Dream four years to learn about Karl’s feelings.
He remembers what he did after the graduation ceremony. He bid goodbye to his friends with promises of writing to them and ringing them up, and then he went out and ate nice food with his parents, and then he remembers staying inside his house listening to random songs on the radio as he passes the time and wonders about college. He didn’t go to the water fountain. He never heard Karl’s mixtape.
Briefly, he remembers handing Corpse his bag the day before graduation because he had raced one of his old friends towards the big old tree in the square and then going home with something mutedly clanking inside his bag but he didn’t pay it any mind. He remembers not opening his bag, because what’s the point if school is over. He remembers dumping the contents of his bag on his bed a week after that, a week after graduation, seeing all the farewell letters and random songs in cassette tapes as gifts, and decided that he’ll read the letters and listen to the songs when he misses high school, putting them in a box under his bed. The next time he touched the box, he was moving out for college. The next time he reopens the box, it’s four years later, his college roommate currently out apartment hunting with his boyfriend.
Dream never got to listen to Karl’s mixtape.
Dream never got to listen to Karl’s mixtape.
Before Dream knows it, he’s running.
He doesn’t know how long it took for him to get here (four years) but the next thing he knows, his knuckles are desperately rapping the wood of George’s and Karl’s college room door.
Karl is half-naked when he opens the door.
“George, I swear to god if you tell me you’re sexiling me again, I’ll—”
Hair askew, eyes puffy, oversized crewneck with their university’s logo printed in the middle, fabric almost swallowing his frame, hands barely seen, length up to the middle of his thighs.
He looks beautiful, Dream realizes albeit belatedly.
Karl’s eyes are overflowing with animosity when he recognizes who was at the door, unaware of Dream’s current dilemma.
“Dream?” Karl spits venomously, none the sweet voice from the record earlier, and it almost sends Dream into whiplash. “What are you doing here? If I see any of your rabid admirers, I swear I’ll get George’s baseball bat and will not hesitate to deck them on—”
Dream cuts him off. “Do you…” he gulps down the hesitance rising up his throat, trying to even out his breathing from running all the way across campus to get to George and Karl’s shared dorm. “Do you still want to kiss me stupid?”
Karl is taken aback. “Excuse me?” He questions, tone rising higher than his expression.
“In your mixtape, in the-the playlist, you said you wanted to kiss me stupid, that you sang Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer on the interschool fair battle of the bands while thinking of me. That you- that you like my stupid smile and my stupid laugh and that you like me. So, I’m just—”
Dream brings a hand up in exasperation, not really certain why he’s even here.
Karl stares at him for a few bated seconds, gaze unmoving on Dream as if he’s trying to place the memory. And then realization dawns on his face, soon followed by growing horrification.
“Wait, wait, Dream, are you talking about that mixtape?” Karl questions, expression twisting. “ Rose-colored Boy ?”
Dream nods mutely.
“Oh god , did you just come here to embarrass me? Why the fuck are you bringing that up now?" Karl asks sternly.
"I— no, what? I listened to it today and I thought to come here—" Dream explains but is soon stopped by Karl pointing an accusing finger towards the blond.
"Okay, Dream, listen, just because we're graduating again doesn't mean you have the right to embarrass me again, holy shit, what is wrong with—"
Karl's angry rambling stops when Dream cuts him off with, "I never got to listen to it."
" I- What?" Karl asks.
"I never got to listen to the mixtape all those years ago.” Dream clarifies.
“What?” Karl asks again.
“Uhh,” Dream brings a hand up to his nape, peering over Karl’s shoulder towards the inside of his and George’s dorm room, before he’s smiling at Karl hesitantly. “Can I come in and explain?”
One second later and Karl glares at him.
Ten seconds later he's toeing off his shoes by their small foyer, following Karl's lead inside the room making him seat in a bed with purple covers, Karl handing him a glass of water.
Ten minutes later the glass of water is empty on the bedside table, Dream has both explained to Karl what happened and also learned that he's currently sitting in Karl's bed. Karl is in front of him sitting on a wooden chair, arms crossed and knees bouncing up and down in visible agitation.
"So, you're telling me, it took you four years to listen to my mixtape?" Karl inquires, head tilting in brimming exasperation.
"Yeah," Dream laughs in embarrassment. "Sorry about that."
Karl shakes his head, dismissing his apology. "So why did you come here then?"
Dream shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to tell you that I heard you. That I listened to all the songs you've remembered me with. That I know about your feelings now." He receives a pointed look. " Then ." Dream corrects himself. "That I know about your feelings then."
"And you're aware that it's been for years since then right?"
Oh.
"Yeah, but—" he doesn't know what to say after that.
What had he been thinking when he went here? It's been four years. Did he seriously expect that Karl still likes him even after all those years?
"Wishful thinking." Dream whispers then, a mirror to the brunet's recorded words, "I came here because this is my wishful thinking."
The dorm room is quiet, summer afternoon air almost well past its prime, sunset creeping right around the corner. It paints them in an odd apricot glow, like a filter of sepia being put over film, as if tainting everything through wistful lenses. Punctuated by Dream's careful sigh is Karl's honest admittance.
"People change, Dream. Time changes a lot of things."
Really, Dream knows this. He does, and yet hearing it from Karl's own mouth is enough for him to truly realize that maybe coming here wasn't the right thing to do.
"I know," Dream breathes. "I guess I was hoping that your heart would be a different story."
Karl is silent for a while, eyes on the bed beside Dream, careful to not let their eyes meet.
"I waited for you, you know?"Karl admits when the clock has done a full second rotation, "The water fountain was turned off that day. Kind of funny and sad because it's like it's telling me I don't even get to wish for something."
"When did you figure out I wasn't coming?" Dream can't help but ask.
"Late." Karl confesses, smiling to himself. "Discovered that day that it's hard to walk home when it's dark and your vision is obscured by the tears in your eyes."
"I'm sorry, Karl." Dream whispers sincerely.
Karl laughs, bright, waving a hand in the air. "It's fine, it was years ago. And I tried to move on after that so it's not like the world ended for me just because a cute boy didn't show up."
Dream bites back a gasp to himself.
"Were you successful?" Dream asks, unable to help the hopeful lilt at the end of his questions, "In your second attempt at moving on?"
Staring at Dream for a while, Karl then stands up and crouches down his bedside table, opening the bottom drawer. He's pulling out a tray a few seconds later, placing it on the bed after he sat down in front of Dream.
The plastic tray is filled with dozens of cassette tapes.
The records splay out in front of them, Dream taking one and two in both his hands, turning them over until he sees the titles.
RCB #4
RCB #17
"Oh," Dream can't help the slight tug at the corners of his lips. "How many…?"
Karl shrugs. "At this point, I think it's more of a hobby now. Every song that reminds me of you gets a tape, or I'm probably just rambling in most of those."
Dream stares at the tapes.
"What does- What does this mean then?" The smile in his lips threatens to split his face in half. "Does this mean that you still like me back?"
"Back?"
"I- Yes!" Dream gasps, affronted, "I like you, didn't I say?"
"No you didn't?" Karl asks, offended.
"Then, why'd you think I came here?" Dream retorts back defensively.
"I thought you were just getting an ego power high and because I'm stupid, I'm playing along!" Karl shouts.
"It's not! And you're not stupid." Dream doesn't know why he's shouting back.
"Dream, I've liked you for seven years now, how is that not stupid?"
"Well, I've liked you just as long, does that make me stupid, then?"
"What?"
"What?" Dream parrots back.
"Oh my god, what? What do you mean you like me for as long as that?"
"It means I've always thought you were pretty and that your voice is nice and your laugh is adorable and-"
"Okay, stop, oh god, this is too much for me—" Karl places a hasty hand in Dream's mouth to stop him from talking. "This is the dumbest thing ever." He says when the realization of their situation finally sinks in.
Dream allows himself to take Karl's wrist and to bring it away from his mouth, but not letting it go.
The silence between them is static. Karl notices it, too, if the slight flush in his cheeks is anything to go by.
"You know what else is dumb and stupid?" Dream asks, lips curving upwards around the question.
"What?" Karl gives in.
"Me kissing you right here right now." Dream grins, "But I'd do it anyway."
And then he's pulling Karl by the wrist, grip loose enough so if Karl doesn't want to, he can pull away, but Karl willingly clambers over to him and promptly sits in his lap.
Oh god.
"It does sound stupid," Karl smiles back, arms going around Dream's neck. "Count me in."
Dream pulls Karl in, snaking a hand around his waist, pulling, pulling, pulling into him until Karl's lips are hovering over his.
Dream closes the distance, eyes falling shut, chalky lips laying flat on top of Karl's soft ones.
A gentle peck, merely there, and then he's pulling away slightly.
"Huh?" Karl asks, eyebrows furrowed as his eyes open again, irises swimming with disappointment. "I thought the goal was to kiss me stupid."
Dream grins, before diving back in, giving in to Karl's requests.
Languid, if anything, would be the word to describe their second kiss. Lips gliding along each other smoothly and reverently, quiet huffs of breath exchanged wordlessly in a growing bubbly pit of passion and longing. And then Karl makes a breathy exhale at a particular swipe of Dream's wandering tongue, and suddenly it's like a switch has been flipped because the dragging pecks get exchanged into something more fiery and burning, desperate lips and prodding tongues creating a wonderful symphony for the retribution of missed years.
Dream's wide hands splay at the small expanse of Karl's back, his other snaking towards Karl's exposed thigh, clasped around it protectively, as Karl licks into his mouth in careless veneration.
Dream's right. Karl tastes like bubblegum and strawberry lollipops, evident in his gentle pulls and intoxicating pushes, at the curve of his mouth and the swipe of his tongue, silent whimpers filling the heated ambiance of the stuffy room.
They separate when they run out of air, breaths mingling in the minuscule space between their lips.
Dream opens his eyes to Karl's dazed expression, eyes shut, reddened mouth open, silently trying to catch his breath. He looks beautiful .
When Karl opens his eyes, storm meets emerald.
His expression morphs from serene into warm. He tightens his arms around Dream's neck, fingers gently playing with the back of the blond's hair. He crosses the small distance between their lips, leaving a soft kiss in Dream's mouth, before he's pulling away slightly again, tender grin in place.
"Hi, Clay." He greets, laughing to himself when Dream squeezes his thigh as a lighthearted warning.
"That was something." Karl says after they bask in the silence for a while.
"Mhm," Dream hums in agreement, already making it his mission to pepper soft kisses all over Karl's neck, heart singing at the giddy thought that he finally gets to do this now.
"We have a lot to talk about." Karl announces, hands gently scratching Dream's scalp, fingers digging a little too deep when Dream opens his mouth and bites the skin of Karl's neck. The action stirs a pool of want at the bottom of his stomach.
"That we do." Dream agrees, lips moving on to focus on a new spot.
"You have to stop kissing me." Karl sighs, words on opposite meaning with his breathy exhales.
"Mhm," Dream answers absentmindedly.
"Dream!" Karl pushes him away, but pulls him back when Dream looks at him with a pouty expression.
"Oh my god, why are you like this?" Karl asks in exasperation.
"Because I like you," Dream replies, nose buried in the crevice of Karl's neck. "And I think it's kinda dumb that we wasted four years of college because either of us were too afraid to say anything."
Karl giggles, voice tinkling in Dream's ears as his fingers from under Karl's shirt vibrate along with Karl's chest, rumbling as he laughs. "To be fair, you're the dumb one because I sent you a mixtape four years ago. I wasn't afraid."
"Mhm," Dream answers, raising his head to kiss Karl on both his cheeks, just because he can. He tucks a stray piece of the brunet's curly locks behind his ear, cupping his jaw right after, looking at him in vehement adoration. "The songs were good." Dream admits.
Karl grins at this. "I knew you'd like them."
"Because I like you." Dream simply says, grinning at the sight of crimson blooming on Karl's cheeks.
"Is that gonna be your reason for everything else now?" Karl asks, having his turn of burying his face on Dream's shoulder. Dream laughs, pulling him close, finding him utterly adorable.
"Yeah, wanna hear another one where I can use that as a reason?" Dream prompts.
"What?" Karl asks, pulling away to peer at Dream curiously in the eyes.
"Go on a date with me."
Right then, Dream realizes that he finds joy in seeing the blush rise high in the peak of the other's cheeks, more so when he knows that he's the one who caused it.
"Dream, your hand is literally under my shirt. I'm literally seated on top of your lap. What's even the purpose of going on a date?" Karl asks, shifting in Dream's lap as if to prove a point.
Dream grips his waist in fair warning. "I dunno," he shrugs, "I like the idea of taking you out."
"On a date or are you gonna kill me in my sleep?" Karl grins.
Dream rolls his eyes playfully. "Who knows? Four years can change people a lot."
"But you like me though."
"Mhm, is that a yes?"
"Maybe. Can you take your hands off my ass if I say yes?"
Dream grins, moving his hands away. "Sure. We can take it slow if you want."
"Okay," Karl nods, "I like slow." Then he smiles and places a small kiss on Dream's right cheek. "You're okay with that?"
"Of course," Dream says, happily basking in Karl's presence, simply content at being able to finally hold him. "Anything for you."
So if Sapnap and George comes home from their apartment hunting and opens the door to George and Karl's shared dorm room to a sight they didn't expect to see on a fine summer evening, namely Karl on top of Dream on his bed, knees on either side of Dream's waist, leaving a hot trail of kisses down Dream's chest, then it's no one's business but their own.
"Holy shit, what the fuck?" Sapnap screams.
"Jesus, don't you guys know how to knock?" Dream complains, putting his shirt back on.
"This is literally my house, asshole." George fumes, placing the takeout boxes on the dining table before storming up to Dream and hitting him with a pillow square in the nose.
"Ow- George, you gotta stop doing that, what the hell." Dream massages the bridge of his nose, directing a glare towards his friend.
"You guys ordered takeout?" Karl asks Sapnap who's standing by the door in disbelief.
"When I told you to watch a movie with my roommate, I meant watch a movie! Not fuck in my bed." George punctuates his every sentence with slamming the pillow all over Dream's poor body.
"I- Yes, what- Since when are you and Dream hooking up?" Sapnap turns to Karl, opting to ignore the fiasco happening on the other side of the room.
"We weren't fucking! Also, we were on Karl's bed so mind your own business, thank you very much." Dream has the guts to answer back, earning him another well deserved smack from George.
"Since today." Karl shrugs. Sapnap's eyes widen.
Karl laughs at his reaction, before unpacking the takeout his friends have ordered. Pizza and burgers. He waves a hand in the air in dismissal when he sees Sapnap's frozen disbelieving look. "It's a long story, seven years in the making. I'll tell you over dinner. George! Can you please stop harassing my boyfriend and set the table with me?"
" 'Boyfriend'! ?"