Work Text:
It's that time of year again: Valentine's Day has finally arrived. Couples mill about in front of the school, stuck to each other like glue; cards and overpriced chocolates are exchanging hands in every corner, as far as the eye can see. Love is in the air, and everyone is feeling it.
Actually, Dream isn't feeling love. What he's feeling is bile.
"I'm gonna throw up," he says. "Like, for real."
Sapnap gives him a look. His expression has been edging out of concern for the past half hour, bordering instead on exasperation. "So you've said," he remarks dryly. "Several times, even."
"You're not helping," Dream laments. His gaze darts back and forth, scanning the stream of students getting off bus 462. He knows it's not George's, but he still bounces in place anxiously, worrying his lip between his teeth. "Argh, what if he's sick today? What if he decided to skip? What if his bus crashed on the way here and we just haven't heard about it yet—"
"Dream."
Too late; Dream pulls out his phone, wedging his conspicuously pink package under his arm to frantically check the local news websites' most recent updates. Nothing about buses. Sapnap opens his mouth, pauses, closes it. Dream opens up the school Twitter; nothing. He briefly but seriously considers downloading a radio app. Sapnap says, "Hey look, there's George."
Dream's head snaps up just in time to see George exiting bus 458; his brown hair curling cutely over his forehead, smile so bright it's nearly blinding to look at. Wilbur tumbles out after him, laughing, his two brothers in tow, but the rest of the world has faded to white noise around George’s perfect, golden figure. Dream must be making some sort of face, because Sapnap crinkles his nose.
"You disgust me," he says.
"He looks great today," Dream sighs.
"You say that literally every day," Sapnap says, not incorrectly.
Dream makes an absent sound, gaze forlorn. "He's so cute." Sapnap pretends to gag. "I haven't talked to him since that assignment in English last semester… did I tell you about that?"
"At least six times, yeah."
"He's so smart. He says he wants to go into compsci, but he took AP English anyways— Mrs. Tate gave us a 96 for that assignment, you know? And I mean, she’s such a hard marker—”
“—I had her too, I know—”
“— I’m seriously going to throw up, I'm so nervous. Holy shit, Sapnap, he’s walking over—”
Sapnap hauls him by his hood so they’re no longer both standing in front of the doorway, and Dream watches as George breezes by, into the school.
“If you throw up on my shoes, I will never forgive you,” says the guy who has, in the twelve years they’ve known each other, thrown up in Dream’s bedroom (twice), his washroom, kitchen, living room, and in the car the one time Dream’s mom let him drive.
“I won’t,” Dream says. "Maybe. Except."
Sapnap looks at the package still tucked under Dream's arm, the entire reason they'd been staking out the front doors since they arrived. Then he cranes his neck, searching for a head of brown hair.
George is, unfortunately, long gone. Sapnap turns his gaze back to Dream's face, something that is maybe pity but more likely outright mockery in his eyes.
“It’s okay,” he intones flatly. “There’s still lunch hour. You got this. I believe in you. Never give up.”
"There's still lunch hour," Dream says, and nods with new determination as Sapnap slaps his back enthusiastically.
Dream spends most of lunch hour pacing in the washroom, trying and miserably failing to psyche himself up. From the corner, Sapnap alternates between staring judgmentally at Dream, and hiding from the judgemental stares of others as they walk in to use the washroom for its intended purposes.
"What's the worst that could happen," he says, reasonably. "He rejects you, you wallow in despair for two days. I'll even bring you ice cream. Then we can finally move past your three-year-long crush."
"It hasn't been three years."
"You've been obsessed with him ever since he helped you in 9th grade BBT class. That's—" Sapnap counts on his fingers. "Two years and a half years. Whatever."
"I'm not obsessed with him," Dream argues feebly, before putting his head in his hands. "I'm gonna be sick."
"That's just the washroom fumes, you're fine."
"No I'm not," Dream wails. "I'm gonna walk up to him and then vomit as soon as I open my mouth. I'm gonna trip on my shoelaces and fall into a garbage can. I'm gonna give him the package too hard and punch him by accident and knock out his front teeth and he's gonna hate me forever." He inhales just as someone walks in. "Hey, Punz."
"Hey Dream, Sapnap," Punz nods. Dream tries to take some more deep breaths while Punz does his business, but ends up mostly just hyperventilating. Punz eyes him in the mirror as he washes his hands.
"George?"
Dream lets out a small, feeble groan. "Does anyone not know about my totally pathetic, embarrassing crush on him?"
"No," Punz says mercilessly, and claps a wet hand on Dream's shoulder, because someone has once again made off with the paper towels. Ugh, high school. "Good luck, man."
Dream doesn't end up leaving the washroom until classes start again.
So it turns out that Dream's natural propensity for procrastinating has once again come to bite him in the ass. The hallways are quickly emptying now that the final bell has rung, students flocking towards the line of buses; George's bus comes later in the afternoon, but even though he's definitely still in the school somewhere, the only people lingering by his homeroom are several newly-minted couples. Dream doesn't want to be the loser who confesses the day after Valentine's; he might as well just transfer schools now and get a headstart on avoiding the shame, since he can't catch a glimpse of George anywhere.
He's just about to give up and send off a despairing text to Sapnap— who'd long ago disappeared with Karl— when a familiar voice calls out from behind him.
"Oh, Dream!" Dream's heart rate skyrockets concerningly; the sound of it is thunderous. His palms are suddenly really, really sweaty, and he wipes them as discreetly as possible on his jeans as he turns around
"Hey," Dream says. His own voice cracks in a way that it hasn't in at least two years. George jogs up to him, beaming; the white glint of his teeth is almost blinding. Now that George's gorgeous, perfect face is in front of him, Dream surprisingly doesn't feel the same urge to hurl that's been dogging his heels all day.
That might be because he didn't have a chance to eat lunch, though.
"Hey," George parrots back at him, eyes crinkling. Dream feels the horrible urge to start waxing poetic about his eyes, suddenly. They're the comfort of darkness. They're the velvet night. The fluorescent lights reflect in them like distant stars. Ugh.
"What's, uh, what's up?" Dream's mouth says, and his brain immediately wants to kick himself. What's up? George, surprisingly undeterred, gives a little shrug.
"Not much," he says around his crooked smile. If Dream spends another second thinking about his mouth he will catch fire, here and now, so he stops. "You got a lot of chocolate today, huh?"
It feels a little weird that George is pointing this out, but it's, well, not untrue. Dream's face warms, and he shifts the weight of his bookbag— which is heavier with the chocolate he'd received— bashfully. "I mean, you probably got tons too, right?"
George looks even cuter when he laughs. Life is so unfair. "You flatter me," he says teasingly. Dream's face feels way too warm. Being in such close proximity to George is bad for his health. "Listen," George says, and Dream snaps to attention. "I meant to do this earlier, but— ah, well."
Dream blinks at the heart-shaped box of chocolates.
"... Wait," he says. "These are for me?"
George blushes. Dream's heart feels like it's going to spill over. "I gave you my number when we were doing that assignment last semester, but, um, I wrote it in the box, too." Dream can only silently take the chocolates from him. George twists his fingers together, bouncing a little in place— is he nervous? He seems nervous. What the hell, what does he have to be nervous about?
"So!" George continues, still beaming. "You should call me. If you want. I'd really like to go on a date with you?"
"Yes," Dream blurts with far too much enthusiasm. "I will! I— I definitely will. With me?"
"With you," George reaffirms cheerfully. "I've gotta catch my bus, but I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Dream says, dazed. "It's a date."
It's not until George has rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight that Dream remembers his own Valentine's gift, still snugly tucked in his bag.