Chapter Text
Dream opens his eyes to darkness.
Nothing new, it’s late autumn, 6pm, this is his sleep schedule now and he’s okay with that. If it’s been this way for a few weeks too long, that’s okay too. The antidepressants will work eventually, but this is fine.
Hauling himself out of bed is a task, but it’s one he’s capable of at least. Stumbles his way out of the bedroom and into the common room, and though it’s empty, there’s a little plastic tub on the table with a sticky note on the top in the shape of a maple leaf.
‘Pretentious bastard,’ he thinks privately, but there’s affection in the smile he gives as he pads across the carpet (could really do with a vacuum), plucks the note off of the tub of leftover Chinese food.
Dream
Are you sure you’re taking your meds? It’s been six weeks. Call your doctor.
Eat before you come to the party- unless it’s changed, I ordered your favorite.
It’s not signed, but it doesn’t need to be. There’s four of them in this dorm, but of them, only one would use this sticky note, order him food, and has that handwriting. Techno’s been keeping his ass together for the last two weeks, especially when he hasn’t been able to make it to class.
Homework can be emailed, lecture notes not so much, but Techno has either had him on a video call or just straight up recorded it, and has managed to boil his own notes down to bullet points so at least Dream isn’t falling too far behind. It’s their last semester- technically, he just has to make up the points from the class he failed last year, and Techno is in- thankfully- a similar position. He calls it health concerns that stopped him finishing in the summer, which could be accurate. Just not his own.
Ah, shit, the party. Right. Quackity’ll kill him if he doesn’t fuckin’ turn up to this one, too. He missed his last party because he was ‘sick’, and Quackity had been sympathetic, but he can’t miss a second.
He shoves the food into the microwave to heat up, and rushes back to his room. It’s cold as hell, but he throws the window open anyway, to air it out more than anything. What was the theme for tonight? Shit, he doesn’t remember.
He grabs his phone- 76%, he’ll throw it on charge before he eats- and drags up his texts
Dream [18:13]
whats the theme for qs party
Dream [18:13]
i maybe forgot it was tonight and also the ehtme
Dream [18:13]
theme*
He sets it down on the bed, sticks his head out of his door to listen. He’s not the only one home, he can hear the soft pulse of music from one of the other doors, and since it isn’t Techno, it’s either Niki or Corpse. So probably Niki, since Corpse prefers A: A different genre to the gentle hum he can hear, and B: to listen with headphones, even when he’s alone. Apparently it helps with the migraines, which hey, Dream isn’t going to argue with the guy about his own medical condition.
Niki won’t touch his food, it’s not her taste. Plus she almost certainly saw Techno’s note, so he has time to rush for a quick shower.
In, the water is cold. He forgot his towel. He’ll worry about it later, he’s already wet.
The water heats against his skin, he’s shivering violently but has maybe forty minutes before the party is meant to start and he’s supposed to be there early and he has to pick up Techno on the way, he doesn’t have time for hot water. The shampoo slips between his fingers when he empties a squirt into his hand, and he huffs as he works it into his hair. New conditioner, too, it smells of apples and he knows it’ll stick to him strongly all night, at least until it’s drowned out by alcohol. Niki has a body spray that smells eerily similar, which is part of why he picked it- it’s a smell he associates with comfort, with a friend, Niki has always been very sweet to him and those emotions get all packed up into the artificial smell of apples.
He leaves the conditioner in as he grabs the body wash. Fake apple and citrus, but neither will stick to him, he knows that. It’s just what he owns, and a necessity.
As always, he pauses as he’s scrubbing down his left arm, trying not to look at his own skin and failing. It’s a source of contention with himself, an issue.
He tries not to think about the whole soulmate thing. He wants, so badly, to believe that it’s bullshit. But how could he, when he’s seen how perfectly his parents’ match, twining ivy and peony across their left collarbones, blossoming in mottled shades of pastel pink and verdant green. Or Corpse, who’s known his own soulmate since their own marks began to show, around the age of thirteen. He makes absolutely no secret of the wreath of snowdrops around the black rose planted right between his shoulder blades, or of the laughter and comfort that comes when Sykkuno visits. Dream’s caught just the edges of the rose petals and snowdrop leaves at the back of Sykkuno’s collar in the kitchen on occasion, and he tries not to be jealous.
Twenty-two is not old, he reminds himself as he always does. He’ll find them eventually.
(And what if he’s not what they want? What if he’s not good enough? What if? What if?)
But the mottled shape of the flowers up the inside of his forearm constantly worries him. He’d spent hours with his mother when he was younger, trawling books and the internet to try and identify the shapes of the flowers he could see, but there’s still such a wide range they could be.
That’s the curse. Before he finds his soulmate, he won’t know what he’s marked with- only when they touch for the first time will it fill in with color, with shape beyond the faint faded scar-like blots that denote the differing shades that will be there one day. Right now, he thinks it looks a little like an ugly burn, if you don’t look at it for long enough.
… Yeah, he doesn’t want to risk it. Long sleeved shirt as usual, then.
He washes off the suds, rinses the conditioner from his hair, and turns off the water.
Right, no towel. Okay. He grabs the shirt he slept in and dabs off as much of the water as he can from his body, then snags the pants to at least cover the worst of the nudity as he scurries back to his room, hoping desperately that nobody is out.
Niki is. Of course she is. She’s stood in the doorway to the common room when Dream creeps through the hallway toward his bedroom, on her phone, and she looks up and back down again lightning fast.
“Your food is warm!” She tells him, sounding only mildly stressed, “I put some tin foil over it whilst you were in the shower. It’s by the microwave- sorry, I needed to cook.”
“I am so sorry,” Dream spurts in reply, and if he wasn’t so mortified, it’d be funny how pink Niki has turned. He doesn’t wait for a response, just disappears into his room to grab a towel. Through the door, he calls,
“Can I use your hairdryer?”
“Of course!” Niki replies, the stress gone now that Dream isn’t one hand twitch away from giving her an eyeful of his junk.
He towels himself off aggressively, tossing the towel over his head to badly catch the drip of the water as he picks his phone up. 74%. Goddamn.
pretentious piece of shit [18:17]
Good question.
pretentious piece of shit [18:19]
I want to say tropical? Ranboo just came in wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
pretentious piece of shit [18:19]
But you know Ranboo, that could just be his normal outfit.
pretentious piece of shit [18:25]
The update to that: the theme is pride flags, so I am wearing the very wrong thing. Could you bring me a purple shirt when you pick me up? Or yellow, but purple suits me better. Whatever I have clean, though.
Dream [18:31]
fuckin **pride flags**? what does that MEAN
pretentious piece of shit [18:31]
I think it’s just the color scheme of your clothes? Ranboo said he’s the lesbian flag. If I’m wrong, we blame him and scatter.
Dream [18:33]
FINE i GUESS. ill grab that purple button up you got when you were obsessed with Sherlock for like a month
pretentious piece of shit [18:34]
I buy you food, and you react by bringing up my cringe phase? I see how it is. Do I need to start telling people how you were when you read Death Note?
Dream [18:35]
no sir, ill be good sir
Dream [18:35]
does that shirt work tho?
pretentious piece of shit [18:35]
Yeah, that’ll be fine. Thanks.
Dream puts his phone on charge.
“What flag are you going as, Niki?” He calls through to her, and there’s a pause before she replies,
“Probably the trans flag! I have the most colors for those. Do you think that’s insensitive?”
“Ranboo’s going as the lesbian flag, so I think you’re probably fine!” he calls back to her, “It’s just Q’s place, everyone tends to be chill.”
“True,” he hears the creak of the floorboard outside his door, so she’s probably leaning against the wall out there, “What flag are you going as?”
“Good question,” He huffs, opening his wardrobe. He has limited choices with his favoured color palette, “What flags are green? Wait, actually, don’t answer that- probably aro. Don’t know how to fit five colors into one outfit though…”
“Makeup probably helps with that,” Niki replies cheerfully, “I can do that for you if you want?”
He chews his lip, considering,
“Maybe just eyeliner? I’ve got to be out soon to pick Techno up- do you want a lift, by the way?”
“Jack’s picking me up! I can do that. What color?”
“Dark green,” Dream replies as he drags a more pastel green button-up out of the wardrobe, tosses it onto his bed, “I’ll be through in a minute- thank you!”
“Don’t forget to eat!” She replies, and he hears her footsteps as she walks away. Right, his food is still on the side.
He grabs a pair of dark grey ripped jeans that he desperately hopes still fit him, roots around in the bottom until he finds the black combat boots that Niki bribed him into buying that he only wears when the rain is really bad. He keeps them religiously cleaned, though, because they were like three hundred dollars and he’s terrified of ruining them.
He grabs his food before he knocks at Niki’s door, and she answers quickly, dragging him in and sitting him at her desk. He can see that she has her own outfit laid out on the bed, she’s going as light as most of them- high-waisted skirt in a white-to-pink gradient, pale blue shirt, and she tosses a pair of blue tights onto her pillow as she’s forcing him to sit with one hand.
“Eat,” she demands, “But try not to move when I’m working.”
“I will try to do both of those things at the same time,” He replies cheerily, popping the top on the chow mein, “Do you think my skin qualifies as the white on the flag?”
“Hm. Nope,” Niki takes hold of his chin to study him, then releases to riffle for the right eyeliner. She’s going with liquid, which is terrifying, but he trusts her.
“You need something actually white to wear. Techno has a white jacket he probably won’t mind you stealing.”
“Probably,” Dream replies, and crams a forkful of food in his mouth before Niki needs him to keep still. She chuckles at him,
“He’ll just be glad you’re out of the house. Alright, don’t move,” as she takes hold of his chin again and gets to work.
She’s fairly fast, it only takes her a couple of minutes to get the eyeliner to a point she’s happy with it, and as soon as she pulls away, Dream is shovelling food into his mouth. She shuffles around, puts the eyeliner away and grabs the mirror she’s been using for the past three weeks after the big one broke, and tilts it to show him,
“Good?”
It’s green, which is already everything he wanted. It’s also fairly sweet and simple, no significant wings or flicks or flourishes, just a nice simple green outline to his eyes and- honestly? It makes his eyes kind of pop. He shoots her a grateful smile around the forkful of bamboo shoots and noodles he’s crammed into his mouth, nods once, and works to chew and swallow before he replies aloud,
“Great, thanks! I gotta go- see you at the party.”
“No problem! See you later- if you can pick up some of the sour cherry glitter schnapps at the shop-”
“I absolutely will,” He’s halfway out of her door, “Bye, Niki!”
“Bye!”
He pauses in the hallway to scarf down a few more mouthfuls before he gives up on eating the whole thing. It’s half gone, and he’ll eat it cold later, fuck it. That is, if he doesn’t end up in Techno’s bed again because he got blind drunk and can’t be trusted not to choke on his own vomit during the night.
(He really needs to change Techno’s name in his phone, because he’d definitely be dead without him.)
He puts the tub in his room, puts the lid on, and shuffles through to the kitchen to rinse his hands and pat them dry on the dish towel before he heads into Techno’s room to push through his wardrobe, dragging out the purple button-up he promised, along with a white-cream coat with a hood hemmed with faux fur. The inside of the coat is some kind of nice rayon, a light grey to contrast with the napped cotton of the outside. Bit of a fashion disaster, but in the tasteful, formal way that Techno tends toward. They’re about the same size, so Dream pulls it on.
Last stop is to grab one of the handful of rings that Corpse has gifted him in the time they’ve known one another- and they went to high school together, so it’s been a while. They might not be the closest of friends now, but that doesn’t mean they don’t care about one another. Dream makes a mental note that he needs to start thinking about his Christmas present.
He locks up Techno’s room, then his own, then remembers he needs his phone and unlocks it again to dart in and grab it. Re-locks it, and scarpers down the stairs because waiting for the elevator will take too long.
He’s in his car within five minutes. Fuck, it’s cold, so he knocks on the heating as he reverses out of the spot he’s parked in and only just misses the limit for speeding as he pulls out of the lot onto the street and into town. He has to drive past Quackity’s place to go pick Techno up- Q only lives a fifteen minute walk from the dorms- but better that than Techno walk across the bad side of town in the dark. He was on a half shift today, which is more like a three-quarter shift but whatever, six hours in the not-quite-local grocery store probably stocking shelves because his resting bitch face tends to station him away from cashier duty.
Dream pulls into the parking lot of the store and shoots Techno a text,
Dream [18:57]
im here but going to grab something for niki, meet me at the car?
Shoves his phone in his pocket as he climbs out of the car and power-walks into the store. It’s cold as fuck out, he’s glad for the coat. Does he have his ID? Yes.
He winds through the aisles to the alcohol and scans over the lot of it. The glitter stuff is usually in the bottom-right- there it is. Mango, raspberry, blueberry… he ducks down and checks the labels. Sour cherry is listed on the price tags, so he gingerly pushes a couple of the flavours he doesn’t want aside to check behind, and drags his prize out from the back of the shelf triumphantly. Someone definitely tried to hide this so they could come back for it, but tough shit, it’s his now. He grabs a bottle of regular-ass peach schnapps whilst he’s here, and passes through the juices to grab cranberry because he’s certain that Q will have both vodka and orange juice, but probably not cranberry. He will be the vendor of sex on the beach.
His phone vibrates, but he’s almost to the tills, so he vows to check it afterwards. He gets ID’d, pays a small fortune (unsurprising), and tucks the bottles into the plastic bag he’s given. Saving the environment can wait for another day.
He pulls his phone out and, surprisingly, it’s not Techno.
Q [19:03]
You were supposed to be early asshole!
Q [19:03]
I got people i wanna introduce u 2 tonight but its okay theyre always fashionably late and i told them it started at 8 bc i assumed that you would be late
Dream slides his phone back into his pocket, looks up, and finds Techno leaning against the hood of Dream’s car, staring directly at him.
“Is that my coat?” Are the first words out of his mouth. Dream huffs at him.
“Nice to see you too. And- yeah, I needed something white for the flag. I can take it off if it’s not okay, though?”
Techno studies him as he rounds the car. Dream unlocks it, and Techno shakes his head as he slides into the passenger seat,
“It’s fine. You look good in it, better than I did. I don’t suit white.”
“Thanks,” Dream smiles, opens the rear door to settle the bottles under the seat so they move less, then picks up Techno’s purple shirt, leans over to hand it to him.
“Thanks,” Techno echoes, and immediately begins yanking his white shirt over his head as Dream settles into the driver’s seat, turns the heating on, and pulls out of the lot.
They’re halfway to Quackity’s place by the time Techno is finished, and he tosses his old shirt into the back seat for later, finally puts his seatbelt on. Thank fuck the police don’t care about anything around here. The quiet gives him a chance to study Dream’s outfit, and he grins as he jams a knee against the dashboard, because he can’t sit like a normal person.
“You're the aro flag?”
“Yeah. Uh- I had a lot of green, and when you said purple, I figured you were going for the bi flag.”
“Aw, swapsies,” Techno coos at him, and as condescending as he tries to make it sound- pretentious piece of shit- there’s a genuine softness behind it. It’s a small thing, but it’s touching regardless.
“Exactly why I went for it. Niki did my eyeliner.”
Techno leans forward to look at his face, flickering in the occasional lamplight as they drive past them.
“Looks good,” he comments, “Did you eat?”
Dream shifts in his seat, and Techno’s expression shifts immediately.
“I ate half of it,” Dream admits, “Between getting ready and Niki doing my eyeliner- I ate half of it.”
“And you’re drinking tonight?”
“The meds aren’t working anyway,” Dream shrugs, and Techno sighs heavily at him.
“What happens if you drink on them?”
“They’re just not as effective- don’t worry, I’ve had this conversation with the doctor. Obviously it’s not medically advised-”
“Obviously,” Techno agrees,
“-But I at least know what I’m doing when I make the bad decision.” Dream finishes, and Techno rolls his eyes,
“I’m not here to parent you, Dream, but I will be keeping an eye on you.”
Quiet, the sound of the car humming under them and the warm air blowing through the vents.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Dream admits, without taking his eyes off the road, “Thank you.”
“Kindness repaid by kindness in turn,” Techno shrugs, turns his own gaze to the road, “And cruelty repaid by cruelty. I’m just looking out for you like you’ve done for me.”
When he couldn’t get home last semester, broken down and crying on the couch of Dream’s old dorm room that he’d shared with some complete assholes, and Dream had all but emptied his savings for the flight, drove him to the airport and bought him coffee. He never told Techno how he’d crashed out in his car in the airport parking lot afterward, but he thinks he knows.
They hadn’t even been really close before that, just people who shared the same class and whose study methods meshed well enough that they could work together in the library. Techno is a private person, private enough that his friends are limited. Niki is amongst them, and Quackity too, though Q is a newer development in a similar vein to Dream. They’ve been in economics together for three years, and only recently actually started talking instead of debating constantly.
Dream pulls onto Quackity’s street. There’s already two cars parked out the front of his house, and lights bright from within. As soon as they’re parked, and the door opened, they can hear the music. He’s gonna have noise complaints, God damn.
“Jack’s car,” Techno gestures as they join up on the sidewalk, “Niki’s here already.”
“She left after me as well,” Dream laments, and they head up to the door and knock.
It’s thrown open momentarily, not by Quackity, but by a familiar face at least.
“Techno!” Wilbur greets jovially, “Dream! Big Q says you’re late, and you didn’t text him back!”
He has a drink in one hand- red solo cup, how predictable- but he gives them both one-armed hugs anyway.
“What flag are you meant to be?” Dream asks as he shuffles past, and Wilbur looks down at himself, back up,
“I’m the pan flag!”
“Where’s the pink?” Techno follows Dream’s lead, and Wilbur pokes himself in the cheek,
“Give me ten minutes to get through this jack and coke, and it’ll be my face.”
“Cop out,” Dream says at the same time Techno replies,
“Lightweight.”
“Rude!” Wilbur replies, closing the door and following Techno at the heels. Dream pauses, considering taking off his jacket, then decides against it and scurries to keep up,
“This is mostly jack, okay? And I was pre-drinking!”
“Oh yeah?” Techno snorts, “With what? You came with Tommy, yeah? What were you drinking with Tommy? ”
“Nothing because I’m a responsible adult and he is seventeen.” Wilbur replies primly. They’ve made it to the kitchen- it’s empty right now, but they do brush past Niki in the hallway.
“Okay,” Techno rolls his eyes, and grabs for the cups, “And what were you actually drinking with Tommy?”
Wilbur pauses.
“Cider,” he replies, a little awkward, and Techno lifts his eyes from the violet gin and sprite he’s pouring himself, raising an eyebrow. The beauty of cultural differences is that that’s another non-incriminating answer- or would be, if it wasn’t Techno.
“Hard cider?”
“Perhaps.”
“Wilbur,” Techno replies emphatically, at about the same time Dream realises he forgot to grab the bottles from the car. Neither of them are paying much attention to him, so Dream slips away without them noticing. He passes Niki again, pausing only to tell her that he got the drink she wanted, and she whoops as he disappears to head outside and snag the bag from under the seat. He hands the bottle to Niki when he’s back inside, and heads through to the kitchen- oh, Techno is gone. Alrighty then.
“Niki?” He calls, “You seen Tech?”
“Back garden with Will!” She replies, “They’re arguing!”
He does not want to deal with that. He has mixed feelings about the whole letting the kids drink underage thing, but they’re not that far from 18- legal drinking age here at least- and it’s not like he’s any better. Something something society degrading drinking and maturing early, whatever, just as long as they’re not completely hungover in the morning which he doubts they will be. Ranboo doesn’t drink at all, and he’s responsible for Tubbo and Tommy usually. Even against whatever the fuck Wilbur has going on.
He makes himself a cocktail, rinses out the shaker he was using, and sets it to dry as he prods the ice machine in the fridge to spit out a few cubes. He’s pretty warm in here.
Quackity walks in as he’s taking his first sip, brightens visibly when he spies Dream,
“You made it!” and steps in to give him the sort of bro-hug that’s somewhere between awkward and painfully straight.
“And what flag are you?” Dream arches an eyebrow, and Quackity spreads his arms elatedly,
“Polyam,” he replies, gestures at the red shirt he’s wearing. Black dress pants, blue beanie- that one isn’t unusual- and a pair of bright yellow suspenders, assumedly for the pi symbol,
“What about you?”
“Aro. Me and Techno played swapsies- he’s the bi flag. What the hell is this theme, by the way, Q?”
“Problematic, apparently,” Quackity shoulders past him to begin mixing a drink, dragging the blue Curaçao from the line of bottles and grabbing a shaker, “I figured since most of the company I keep is some kind of cishetn’t, it’d be fun.”
“Has someone complained already?” Dream slides the sprite his way, already knows what he’s making,
“Nah, but you’re the fourth person to ask in that tone. D’you want one?” He gestures at the mixer, which already has a good slosh of tequila and vodka, and Dream knows the rum and gin are still destined for it. God, that’s so much liquor. The Curaçao stares at him from its spot beside Quackity’s arm, looking so intimidating. He swallows.
“I’m good,” he replies, “Thanks.”
“Suit yourself. Grab me the maraschinos will you? Top cupboard, far left.”
Dream turns to the cupboards above the sink and fishes in that spot until his hand closes around the jar.
“Starting hard with that, don’t you think?” he hands the jar over, and Quackity grins,
“Mostly for sipping whilst people arrive. You know they love the look. Cut me a lemon wedge?”
“What am I, your slave?” Dream jokes as he grabs a knife from the cutlery drawer to do exactly what he’s told. Quackity laughs at him, this big, bright noise that fills Dream’s chest like a balloon,
“Yeah, you are. How’re you doing, by the way? Haven’t seen you in class for a bit.”
“Winter’s comin’ and so is my seasonal depression,” Dream shrugs, slicing the lemon in half on the wooden cutting board, “Which is like my regular depression, but with a little bit more flavour. Doesn’t help that these meds aren’t working.”
“Isn’t this the third kind you’ve tried?”
“Yeah, but we have more to work through. I’m confident we’ll find one that works for me eventually,” He shrugs, hands the lemon wedge over as Quackity finishes pouring his ridiculously bright blue drink into the glass over the ice. He takes it, slots it onto the side, and cracks the jar open to grab a cherry- Dream grabs one too, mostly for fun- which he drops in amongst the ice, the faint traces of unnatural candy red dissipating into unnatural candy blue.
“Glad you’re stayin’ positive,” Quackity grins at him, watching as Dream plops his own cherry into his cocktail that is absolutely not as impressive as the bright blue in Q’s own hand, “Come hang out by the door with me? Make me look like a bigger man.”
“I think I have the opposite effect,” Dream replies cheerfully, but follows him when he leaves, grabbing the spare wedge of lemon. There’s still half of one there, but someone else will deal with it.
He gnaws on the lemon, sat on the stairs behind Quackity and talking quietly about mostly nothing. Some local soccer game that Dream is only mildly invested in, the newest Minecraft update, the plans Quackity has for a casino in the future, just things they’ve been over a hundred times. The sourness of the lemon helps to shock him through reality, remembering he’s really here, he’s still alive, because the Gods only know he forgets sometimes. The nightmares don’t help in that regard, but he manages. He’s getting along, even if he has to drag himself on bloodied hands and knees.
At some point, Niki breezes by and drops a neon green straw into Dream’s drink with a little grin. It’s the third or fourth time she’s come past, probably noting that he hasn’t touched the glass, and he shoots a grateful smile at her back as he sips the drink through the straw. Save the turtles or whatever. Responsibility gets to be for other people. He recycles! He walks places when he’s not driving other people! He carpools!
It’s just past eight when people really start arriving, past the handful that were already here. There’s people that Dream vaguely recognises from around campus, and he stands and poses himself to look cool and casual at Quackity’s shoulder, like he knows he’s meant to do. Anyone that actually knows him knows how bullshit it is, but he’s tall, broad, and attractive enough that he gives off an air of intimidation to people who don’t know him.
Quackity greets everyone brightly, cheerfully, and God dream envies him. He’s so effortlessly light and confident, greeting everyone with a hug or a handshake. Dream… is the opposite of him, really. Terrified of brushing up against people, backs away when strangers go to shake his hand, afraid of shadows and the dark and being alone. But they’re alike in one regard- they’re both incredible actors, and so Dream dutifully plays his part of cool, hot, unattainable friend to the host of the party as people stream past.
The music has been turned up, it’s louder now and the people are thicker when Quackity nudges Dream in the ribs,
“Yo, here’re a couple of the guys that I wanted you to meet,” He nods at a car that’s just pulled up, a nice dark purple one in a make Dream doesn’t care to recognise right now. He hears laughter spilling out of the open window, and goes to sip his drink only to find that it’s empty.
“I’ll be grabbing a refill after these guys,” He tells Quackity, who nods and waves out of the open door,
“Ay, Karl, Gogy!”
“What?” Dream replies with a hint of a wheeze, “What kind of a name is Gogy?”
“It’s a nickname!” Quackity snips back, but there’s a tease in his eyes, “Dream, this is Karl and George. You’ve probably heard about George.”
They’re pacing up the path now, and Karl waves excitedly, George a little more reserved. Despite the appearance, Dream automatically clocks that this slip of a guy is packing a lot more mischief than he’d let on.
Karl is incredibly obviously going as the original rainbow pride flag, because he’s splashed all over with every color. George- it’s harder to tell, mostly because of the greyscale that could be one of like, seven different flags, but Dream spies the purple fingerless gloves under the silver-grey long-sleeved shirt. Gloves. Genius. He tucks that idea away as Quackity shoves his drink into Dream’s hand,
“Hold,” He demands, and Dream opens his mouth to ask why for a second before it becomes abundantly clear why- Karl sees the movement and sprints the last twenty feet to slam into Quackity in a hug. A proper hug, none of the bro-hug bullshit that Quackity usually gives people, full arms around the back and squeezing. Over their shoulders, Dream sees George come up the steps, laughing a little. He meets Dream’s eyes over the blatant display of affection and quirks a smile, a silent ‘These two, right?’ and Dream feels like he’s just been clocked in the jaw.
George is a pretty dude, his hair dark and swept to one side. Now he’s close, Dream can see a fine mist of purple glitter worked into the dark strands, but it’s his eyes more than anything; one is a dark, warm brown that reflects gold in the light spilling out of the house, and the other is a bright shock of blue. So blue that he can tell even when it’s desaturated by the orange-yellow of the lamp inside the house, and the pale of the moonlight. He’s overdressed for this party, probably, wearing a silvery-grey long-sleeved button up- top two buttons undone artfully- with a slate grey waistcoat over the top, untucked and half-ruffled from the black dress pants. He’s wearing purple shoes- are those docs?- and of course, the purple fingerless gloves, probably from some costume store just to add the purple that he needs.
“Ace flag?” Dream asks over Quackity and Karl’s heads, and George nods as they separate,
“Yep. What about you?”
“Aro,” Dream shrugs with a smile, and George returns it. His smile is just as stunning as his… everything else.
“Nice to meet you,” George offers as he crosses the threshold, “Karl, move,”
Karl just sort of manically giggles at him, pressing to step closer to Quackity. (Dream watches Quackity not so subtly straighten back against the door jamb, eyes tracing Karl’s face. Ha. He’s going to tease the shit out of him about that later.)
George slips in past him, exaggerating a shiver,
“Cold out there,” he adds, jerking his head toward the door as Karl steps back, “Much warmer in here. Hey, where’s the kitchen, Q?”
“Dream’ll take you,” Quackity replies, fishing blindly out for his drink. Dream presses it into his hand and immediately regrets that decision when Quackity takes a swig of it, eyes never leaving Karl’s face. Dude’s stupid hopeless, and Dream doesn’t want to deal with the fallout of him chugging a three-quarter full glass of Adios, Motherfucker, so he just nods to George,
“Yeah, this way,” and curls around him carefully to lead him through to the kitchen. George follows diligently at his heels, which definitely helps because Dream cuts through the crowd with ease. Sure, it’s not thick right now, but it’s something he clocks for later use.
“So, how long have you known Quackity?”
“Uh, about three years,” Dream slides past someone he doesn’t recognise in the kitchen, gesturing for George to join him in the more open space, “He’s in my flatmate’s economics class and turned up to one of our study sessions. We got along better than they did, at the time, so…” he shrugs, “The rest is history. What’s your poison?”
George eyes Dream’s own glass, empty but for the straw and the cherry,
“You weren’t drinking the same thing as Q, right?”
“No, God, I don’t touch that. I like not throwing my guts up after a party. Or during a party.”
“What’re you drinking?”
“Sex on the beach,” Dream drags his glass in front of him, grabs for the cranberry juice, “Peach schnapps, vodka, orange juice, cranberry juice.”
“Sounds great, mind making me one?”
Dream grabs a shaker immediately, and George hops up to sit on one of the counters not covered in alcohol, watching as Dream scurries past people to grab the juice and vodka he needs, along with a shaker big enough to make multiple glasses. It doesn’t take him long to put the cocktail together, and he pours George’s first, filling a solo cup three-quarters full and gesturing at the fridge,
“Ice machine there,”
“Thanks,” George replies, and takes the cup to begin plunking ice into it. Dream pours his own in the meantime, and offers the maraschino cherry jar out to George,
“Cherry?”
“Thanks,” George plucks one by the stem to drop amongst the ice, and the first sip he takes, he lets out a sigh that sounds so deeply relieved. Dream wants to feel that sensation in his bones, even if just for a second.
“It always amazes me how they get these things so bright red,” He comments idly as he screws the lid back on the jar and tucks it behind bottles again. One of the other people in the kitchen pointedly watches where it’s hidden, but Dream can’t bring himself to care.
“I wouldn’t know,” George licks the maraschino juice from the pads of his fingers, “I can’t see red.”
“Oh, you’re colorblind?” Dream asks, and does not swallow harder at the view. George hums affirmatively,
“They’re kind of yellow to me, I guess? Somewhere between grey and yellow. I can’t see red or green- okay, so, more accurately, I’m almost completely colorblind to those. Just easier to- you know, whatever.” He takes a sip of his drink. The tips of his ears have gone completely pink.
“Oh, so you can’t see my shirt or my eyeliner properly,” Dream responds, dawning, “Pride flags must be fun for you, huh?”
“Yeah, Karl had to help with the purple,” George lifts a hand to display the glove, “The ace flag was his idea. We were going to go for the grey-ace one, but the contrast… or something, he co-ordinates most of my outfits at this point. Your eyeliner is nice, though, even if I can’t see what color it’s meant to be.”
“Green,” Dream replies breezily, “One of my flatmates did it for me. She’s at the party, actually…” He trails off, eyes dragging to the door, and George chuckles at him somewhere low in his throat. Dream feels a little bit like a liquid on the inside.
“I should go and grab Karl before Quackity spontaneously combusts. You here alone?”
“I came with my flatmate, but he got into a bit of a debate. I think he’s in the back garden?”
“Huh,” George drags his phone out of his pocket, “Well, I’ll see you there I guess. A friend of mine text me to let me know that’s where he’s hanging out tonight, up in the gazebo. Later, Dream.” As he slides away into the crowd, and Dream doesn’t manage to eke out a reply before he’s gone like smoke in the wind.
Dream huffs, presses a hand to his own cheek and feels the heat there. The coat comes off, and he slings it over one arm because he doesn’t trust putting it down, nudges past the three people that have just come giggling into the kitchen, and heads through to the main room.
God, it’s full now. There’s so many people, one area of the room has been cleared to let people dance to whatever music Quackity has going, though it’s at least not deafening yet. It will be later.
He slips through the room, contorting in wild and mostly vain attempts not to touch people as he heads to the chairs in the back where he can hear Niki’s laughter ricocheting.
When he gets there, he finds her sat in one of the armchairs by the window, Jack perched on one arm, and a relative stranger on the other.
“Hey,” He greets her as he sidles over, “Need a breather. Can I stay with you for a bit?”
“Sure, you don’t have to ask,” she gives him a bright smile, and turns to the stranger next to her, who’s dressed in a suit of dark blue pants, a pink blazer, and a rich purple shirt. They have a cute little sheep pin badge on their lapel, and they lift a hand at him,
“Hey,” They greet, and Niki says,
“This is my flatmate, Dream! Dream, this is Puffy!”
Dream’s eyes catch on something as Niki shifts. He’s not being weird, he swears, as his gaze trails to her right thigh, obscured by the pastel cyan of the tights and the pleats of the skirt but still visible.
He’s had tearful conversations with Niki before over the soulmate marks. She’d shown him her own, the same mottled, burn-like look at his, a reassurance that he’s not alone in not finding his soulmate yet. It’s eaten at her, too, the way it eats at most overemotional teenagers growing up in an environment that pushes so much harsh pressure onto the idea of finding your soulmate, all the stories of falling in love in high school, of finding the one person to help complete the shape of your life.
So he knows that that mark didn’t have color two hours ago, when they were sat in her room laughing together over the chow mein and the eyeliner.
Well, it sure as shit does now. Even tinted by the stretch of the tights, Dream can make out a wash of purple-pink and yellow, the vivid green of the leaves and smatterings of paler spots he assumes to be white.
“Uh, hey,” He says, a little too late, but if they notice, they say nothing. Dream sinks into their conversation until it’s idle in his mind, relaxes until he catches through the window, Techno going wandering by with two cups in hand. He stands quickly, a little too quickly, and hesitates as his head takes a second to catch up with his body.
“You okay, Dream?” Puffy asks, genuine concern in her eyes, and Dream offers her an equally genuine smile in return.
“Stood up too quick,” He replies as jovially as he can, “Spotted Techno- gonna go see how he’s getting on after whatever happened with Will.”
“Got it,” Niki replies, “See you later!”
He bids her farewell as he heads back toward the kitchen. His cup is empty. When did that happen? He’s feeling a little light on the liquor, so whilst he’s not ready to go Quackity’s route, he does pour himself a pink gin and lemonade before scooting toward the conservatory and the back door. Quackity is in there, on the overly-soft cream couch, looking completely gone. There’s someone sat quite cheerfully in his lap, some guy with dark hair and blue eyes sipping quite cheerfully at a glass full of bright blue. Dream doesn’t envy him, but does pad over at least,
“You good, Q?”
“Ugh,” Quackity replies. His head is slung back over the couch cushions, one arm tossed over the side limply, the other sort of half-curled across the thighs of the guy perched happily on his lap.
“Don’t worry, I’m keepin’ an eye on him,” The guy frees a hand to pet Quackity’s head, straightening the beanie whilst he’s there, “Just waiting for the water to kick in, huh?”
“Yeah,” Quackity replies, throat rasping a little, “Drank too quick. I’ll be fine in like fifteen minutes, don’t worry.”
“Mm, let me know if you’re not. You can chill in my car if you need to.”
“I’ll be good, but thanks. This is Sapnap, by the way,” as he lifts his head. It seems impossibly heavy, and Dream stifles a laugh.
“Hey,” Dream greets, choking on the laughter a little, and Sapnap grins at him, raises his glass in greeting,
“Howdy.”
“You’ve managed to track down every American on campus, huh, Q?” Dream teases at the Texan twang in Sapnap’s voice
“Mhm, yeah, birds of a feather or whatever. Sap’s one of the people I wanted to introduce you to, actually, think you’d really get along.”
Dream eyes Sapnap, sees him doing basically the exact same thing back. The guy is dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt under a white short-sleeved one. He has a number of wristbands in all sorts of colors scattered up mostly his left arm, the one he has now looped around the back of Quackity’s neck, whereas the right has just the one silicon wristband. It’s black, and there’s a purple symbol on it, but Dream has no idea what it is, because it’s tilted too far away from to see. His outfit is entirely black and white, but he has a whole rainbow pride flag pinned to him like a cape, trailing down the side of the couch and swallowing the sight of Quackity’s arm.
“So… what flag are you?”
“Good question,” Sapnap replies, giving Quackity a fake glare, “My wardrobe isn’t the most colorful. I thought about being the lesbian flag, ‘cause orange is my color and I have like one pair of pink pants, but didn’t know if that’d be cool ‘cause…” he gestures at himself, “Not a lesbian. But then there’s no real flag for questioning? So I said fuck it, I’m the ally flag, because if nothing else, I’m that.”
Dream thinks that that’s a lot of personal information for a guy he’s just met, but yeah, he’s been there, so he nods understandingly.
“What about you?” Sapnap asks, and Dream shrugs, lifts the jacket,
“I’m the aromantic flag. I forgot what the theme was and panicked, so I’m my flatmate’s flag, he’s mine.”
“That’s cute,” Sapnap says without a hint of sarcasm, takes a dangerously deep swig of the drink. He doesn’t even wince, and Dream almost gasps in mild awe that he’s so powerful. Sapnap seems to notice the surprise that flashes in his eyes, and gives him a cocky little grin-smirk hybrid, licking the remnants of the mouthful from the corner of his mouth, and Dream tracks the flick of his tongue with his eyes so hard he thinks he might turn himself inside out. Fuck Quackity for having all these hot friends.
(He’s one of them, but like… come on, Q.)
“I’m gonna go… uh… find Will.”
He means Techno, but they’re probably together, so it’s fine. Quackity lifts a hand in farewell, flops his head back against Sapnap’s arm, and Sapnap gives him a look that seems to strip him from his own bones, calculating and hungry,
“See you later…?”
Dream realises that neither of them told Sapnap his name, but he’s too busy being frozen wide-eyed to answer with any sort of haste.
“Right,” Quackity says without sitting up, “Dream. That’s Dream.”
“See you later, Dream.” Sapnap lifts his glass once more, takes a swig, then leans in close to start murmuring to Quackity in a way that tells Dream you’re dismissed. You can go.
Go he does, stumbling into the back garden feeling like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a speeding car, but he hopes it’s stopped careening toward him for now as he crosses the garden. There’s a barbeque lit, which is wild, and a bonfire in the fire pit sending flickering orange light scattering across the grass, and Dream takes a too-deep drink from the cup before realising how much gin he put in this. He still swallows, but it’s with a grimace as he starts on the steps up to the gazebo. Damn Quackity and his big-ass house. Rich motherfucker.
The patio above is lit by two tall flame lanterns, and the gazebo has all of its fairy lights and garden lights blazing so the inside is probably brighter than the house is right now. The pillows are plumped and blankets folded out of the cupboards to stray across thighs.
As expected, Techno’s sat in there, next to Wilbur, with an arm around his shoulders as a kind of grounding weight. On Wilbur’s other side is Tommy, though he looks like he’s ready to fuck off already. He’s clearly gone for the nonbinary flag, wearing a pair of split-color black-and-white jeans and a pair of yellow doc martens, along with a paler purple button-up that he has the sleeves rolled up on despite the cool air. It’s an obvious ploy to display the winding spiral of dandelions and alliums that curls from the inside of his wrist all around the side of his forearm before disappearing into the cuffs of the shirt, but nobody really blames him. Despite being best friends with Tubbo for about three years, they only realised about six months back that their soulmate marks match. Or half-match, since Tubbo’s has forget-me-nots wound into it where Tommy’s doesn’t, just like Ranboo’s is missing the alliums.
It’d been a point of weird contention for a while, before they’d all managed to collar the three boys, stop them avoiding each other, and fill them in that soulmates aren’t always romantic. Fuck the media, fuck the stories, a soulmate is a person that completes and complements your own future. If it was romantic, why does Techno have a mark that creeps like a burn up his throat, scarring to the underside of his chin?
Anyway, he looks up as Dream climbs the last few stairs into the gazebo, but Dream’s attention isn’t on him.
No, it’s on George.
“Oh, hey, Dream,” George greets him warmly. Karl is sat beside him, but mostly on him, legs slung over George’s thighs.
“You know Dream?” Wilbur asks, and George hums,
“Briefly acquainted, yeah. You’re friends, then?”
“Yeah, Dream is Tech’s flatmate.” Wilbur squeezes Techno to rock him a little, and Techno grunts at him in response. Dream plops into the seat beside him.
“Hi, Dream. Bye, Dream,” Tommy grins at him, picking over the splayed legs in the wood and cursing when Wilbur kicks up to try and trip him,
“Oh, I turn up and you run away?” Dream teases, and Tommy pulls a face at him,
“Gotta go find Tubbster and Ranboo. Can’t have them getting up to shenanigans- ‘least not without me. Later, arsehole,” directed to Wilbur, then, “Bye, guys.” to the rest of them, and they all call farewells after him as he scurries off down the stairs.
Once they’re settled into his absence, Dream asks George,
“So you know Will then?”
“Yeah,” George replies, and Wilbur snorts,
“C’mon, Dream, we’ve been friends- what- four years? You’ve heard me talk about George.”
Dream pauses, frowns as he thinks. George is looking between them, with a mix of confusion and worry, and maybe a hint of vague anger in Wilbur’s direction.
It takes a few awkward seconds of silence, of all four of the other people in the gazebo staring at him before it hits.
“Oh,” Dream says, eyes wide, and Wilbur breaks into laughter at his expression. George sniggers, and even Techno snorts. Only Karl looks sympathetic, but Dream can see his shoulders shaking.
“Yeah,” George replies, grin unfaltering, “He’s my ex. I’m surprised I haven’t heard about you?”
“I’m incredibly unimpressive,” Dream replies, still sounding a little dazed, “I should have recognised the name. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s a common name,” George waves a hand, “And you’re drinking, so… you’re forgiven.”
Dream looks down at his cup, at the pinkish liquid within, and brings it up to take a couple good gulps.
“Not that much, but hey,” he lifts it, “Crime I’ve never met you. Maybe we’ll see each other more after this, huh?”
“Maybe,” George answers, mischief glinting in his eyes, and Wilbur leans back in his chair grinning like he knows something Dream doesn’t. Techno leans back with him, if only to keep the warmth of Wilbur’s body in his grasp.
(There’s not a lot of people that Techno is easy with touching for the same reason that Dream has issues. Wilbur is one of the few he’s touchy with.)
Dream feels so deliciously out of his depth and slipping deeper with every mouthful he takes, though he’s only edging on tipsy after the cup he finishes there. This was one of the things his doctor warned him about, to be fair, that the meds might make him more susceptible to alcohol. Whatever, he’s into it, so he takes orders before he goes to the kitchen.
He passes Quackity again, not in the conservatory this time, but in the hallway, head bowed into what looks to be an actually serious conversation with a guy dressed in shades of green and grey-black. Hey, flag twins! Dream ignores it in the hope he gets some privacy, and gets to work readying drinks.
When he’s coming back out, tray in hand stacked with five cups of various drinks, Quackity is stood in a little crevice with his head in his hands. Dream stares at him for a few seconds before he decides he can remake the drinks if he has to, scrabbling back into the kitchen to put the tray in the fridge, and emerging back out to make his way to Quackity’s hiding spot.
“Dude,” he says, quiet, “You good?”
“I… don’t know,” Quackity says, with a laugh that sounds an edge too manic, “I don’t know.”
Dream squeezes into the crevice with him. It’s a spot under the stairs where coats are usually hung, so they’re squished into fabric right now.
“Can I help?”
Quackity shakes his head. He takes a breath that shakes a little. The music from the main room cranks up a few notches in volume.
Slowly, he slides the beanie off and pulls the hair back from the left side of his head, where it’s getting a little long now, curling against his shoulders. He turns to display that side to Dream, whose stomach drops like a stone.
“Always thought I didn’t have one,” Quackity says, a little hoarse, “‘Cause my hair’s always been long, and then the hats, and of course it wasn’t noticeable before it colored up, and if my parents never saw it, it’s gotta be after I moved out here-”
It’s his soulmate mark. It starts behind his ear and the color disappears into his hair, probably curls all up the back of his head by the bits he can see. It’s a twining mix of trumpet-shaped pale purple blossoms interspersed with sprays of popcorn-like pale yellow flowers, and something that’s very clearly lavender.
“Oh, shit, ” Dream says, because two of those are so incredibly familiar. Not the lavender, but the jacaranda and the bay laurel, he recognises those because Wilbur has talked about them at length when he’s been too drunk to hold his tongue. He pretends often that he doesn’t give a shit about soulmates, but after his own mark filled in during fresher’s week, behind his ear curling up the back of his head, it was a weakness that would be pressed on any time he lost control of his inhibitions. Quackity looks up at him sharply.
“What is it? What are they? Charlie just said purple, but where it’s at-”
“I- no, yeah,” Dream grabs the beanie from Quackity’s hand and crams it back on his head, “You need to talk to Wilbur.”
“I’m going to be sick,” Quackity announces, and scrambles for the front door before Dream can reply. Dream, ever the diligent friend, follows him as he throws the door open and doubles over the gravel beside the door, immediately following through on his prediction. Over his shoulder, Dream shouts,
“Someone grab me a glass of water!?”
He watches someone disappear to the kitchen, and in the meantime, helps to pull the loose bits of Quackity’s hair back out of his face as he empties his stomach into the gravel and soil. With his free hand, he rubs comforting circles between his shoulder blades.
“Gonna be okay, Q,” he promises, and thanks the stranger that hands him a red solo cup of water. He tastes it to make sure it is water, not vodka, because he’s had that one pulled on him too many times.
They sit in the grass on the front lawn together, all thoughts of drinks abandoned.
What a fucking party.