Work Text:
< my laptop is completely fucked
After sending the text he let out an exasperated sigh, probably his thousandth of the night, before looking back at his shattered laptop screen and pathetically hitting the enter key a few times, as if the state of it would change.
The cracks that made their way up the entire right side of the screen were honestly among the least of George’s concerns, the fragmented display was what truly freaked him out. It seemed as if only half the screen was frozen, his friend’s icons still visibly lighting up in Discord but the entire centre of the screen unresponsive. Frustrated, he held down the power button until the screen went dark, leaving his own anguish reflected back at him through the cracks in the glass.
Turning his attention back to his phone, George momentarily ignored the several question marks appearing in his notifications as his friends wondered what happened and why he left the call, instead opening a browser and typing in the address for the Apple website, desperate to check when the soonest possible appointment was to get this dealt with.
The process of selecting his problem was needlessly complicated, with the extra few seconds of entering a code for mandatory two-factor authentication feeling like they may as well have been hours. Finally reaching the page where he was presented with a list of nearby locations offering repair services to choose from, his eyes scanned over the stores quickly, searching for what he knew was closest, and blinked several times in confusion when none of the names jumped out at him.
They seemed familiar, vaguely, names of streets he’d definitely heard and seen before, but none quite memorable enough to stand out as nearby. He selected “Distance” as a filter over the pre-selected “Availability”, hoping the options would re-sort themselves to offer something more useful. His confusion only increased, though, when he finally focused on the specific distance listed in miles on the uppermost suggestion – 4.2 thousand. George almost laughed out loud, realizing with a start that every single store being offered was across an ocean, in England. This provided some explanation for why the street names seemed familiar, at least, but left George with far more questions than answers.
He’d moved to Florida several months prior, spending a semester abroad with the intention of being closer to his American friends he’s only ever known through the incalculable distance of a screen in the process. The only devices still active under his Apple ID are his phone and laptop, both of which he’s used extremely frequently on a daily basis since moving, so there’s surely no good reason for Apple to think he’s presently living in the UK. His amusement with the absurd suggestions is quickly replaced by irritation when re-submitting all of the sign-in questions yields the same results.
Needing to express his frustration to someone and deciding his several layers of confusion and anger with the situation are too complicated to take the time to type out, he opens the Discord app on his phone and reconnects to the call he’d been on at the time of dropping his laptop in the first place.
“Oh, George is back!” Karl’s voice cuts through the ongoing conversation easily, and George can’t find it in himself to respond maturely, instead groaning dramatically in place of a proper greeting.
“Oh God, what’d you do? Is it really that bad?” Punz asks, the sounds of mouse clicks audible beneath his voice indicating to George that he’s in the middle of a game.
George sighs again, this time less prolonged, and manages to mournfully form a sentence, “It’s really bad. The display’s totally fucked, and the Apple Support website is actually going to ruin my life.”
“What’d you even do? Drop it?” Karl’s icon lights up green as he questions George further, “And what’s up with the website? I can try and log in for you, if you want?”
George nods before realizing they can’t see him, then humming in affirmation. “I don’t even understand it, it’s showing me UK locations for some reason? Like, what?”
His friends seem incredibly amused by this, Sapnap in particular gasping for air as he laughs far too hard at George’s misery.
“They really said ‘actually you can go all the way across an ocean to fix your laptop, sorry, we don’t want you here,’ I guess?” The youngest of the four snickers, and George finds that he suddenly wishes he could drive only so it would be quicker and more convenient to cross the city and flick Sapnap in the forehead.
“You’re so unhelpful,” George whines, ignoring that all three of them seem far too unbothered by his current predicament, apparently focusing more on whatever game they’re preoccupied with.
“Guys, seriously, I’m going to break my phone next if I have to redo this form one more time only to get the same stupid locations four thousand miles away. Like, this one is in Brighton? That wouldn’t even make sense if these were based on my old address!”
More laughter echoes through his headphones, and while George appreciates that his friends are preventing him from wallowing in despair he’d much prefer some sympathy, or help.
“Can someone else try logging in as me, please? Maybe it’s just my phone being dumb,” he practically begs.
“Yeah sure,” Karl answers quickly, “I’m spectating anyways, text me your Apple ID.”
Sapnap and Punz argue about something in-game while George texts Karl his login information, but he thankfully has plenty of experience tuning out their incessant bickering.
A few moments later, Karl burst into laughter before explaining that he was getting the same results as George, despite sorting by proximity. After thanking him for trying, George finally accepts that whatever the problem is, it doesn’t seem to be something he knows how to fix on his own. He disconnects from the voice call without saying a proper goodbye, too exasperated by the situation and just needing some peace of mind while he decides his best course of action. He makes a mental note to apologize for that later.
He returns to the homepage of the customer service site, this time selecting that he wants to speak with a representative rather than trying to make an appointment himself. After copying the phone number and being moments away from calling, George realizes with a start that it’s well after midnight. Once again frustrated by his own horrendous luck, he thumbs back to his options and this time chooses to text their 24/7 automated assistant.
Unsure how thorough his initial message needs to be, he decides he may as well try and provide the most important details right away, since he’s hardly expecting any real help until he’s able to go in person, anyways. He’s hoping this exchange won’t take more than a few moments.
< Good evening. I am attempting to make an appointment to repair my Macbook Pro with a cracked screen and fragmented display, but when I attempt to choose a location I’m only being provided with stores in England, despite living in Orlando. Please let me know how I should proceed?
He almost laughs out loud in frustration when the automated reply appears on his screen, far more useless than he’d even imagined.
> Hello, I’m Apple’s automated assistant.
> If you’re having issues with your display, follow the link below to see your repair options.
> Make a reservation getsupport.apple.com
Feeling somewhat silly for how detailed his first message was, naively expecting he’d actually be speaking to a real person, he decides to keep his following response prompt and to the point.
< This link does not work.
> Let me get you to someone who can help. Choose an option from the list below that best describes what you need.
Thankfully, the following prompts asking for information about his device and the type of support he’s looking for are straightforward and only take seconds.
> Let me connect you to someone who can help. If you need to step away, don’t worry. We’ll send you a message when we’re ready for you.
The implication that he’d be eager to step away and prolong this any further causes George to scoff at his phone screen in irritation, resisting the urge to reply snappily.
> Thank you for messaging Apple. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I appreciate your patience. I hope today finds you doing well! Your case ID will be 101783479. Please make a note of this.
< Thanks.
> My pleasure! Just to be certain that I fully understand the situation at hand so that I can provide you with the best solution, the Mac has a cracked screen and the display is impacted as well. You would like to look into your service options, but only see service options for the UK. Do I have that right?
The formulaic first message had honestly led George to assume he was still speaking with a bot, but he’s relieved that the maybe-robot at least seems to understand what his problem is, now. He’s nonetheless impatient, typing out a single word response without lending any more thought to it, eager to get on with the conversation since he’s hardly asking for much.
< Yes.
> I’m so sorry to hear this, and I know just how frustrated I would feel. I’m happy to help!
< Ok.
> To best assist you, can you provide me with the serial number for your Mac, please? You can find that under the Apple menu in the upper left corner of the display, by choosing About this Mac > General or Overview.
George is officially certain he’s still speaking with a bot.
< My screen is broken. I can’t see the display at all.
> Of course. It is also on the bottom case.
George refuses to believe a real person would read the initial message stating his screen and display were broken and then, instead of leading with the option that doesn’t require using the display, suggest navigating through a menu without being able to see it first. He finds the serial number easily enough, though, and sends a reply with it quickly.
Why does this customer service employee need his serial number, anyways? George isn’t even asking for an appointment to be made on his behalf, he’d just like to be provided with a way to book an appointment in his own country of residence. How this conversation has possibly gone on even this long already is beyond him.
> Thank you! Are there multiple cracks, or a single crack, please?
< Multiple.
> Got it. Can you provide me with your OS version, please? You can do this by going to the Apple menu in the upper left corner > About this Mac > Overview. It should be something like 1X.X.X
If this is a real person, George thinks to himself, blood boiling, this person surely has to be messing with him. He can’t even conceive of how someone possibly forgot the most basic information relating to his problem again.
< My display is completely broken. I can’t see any menu.
> No problem at all! Thank you. Can you tell me where you are located, please, including a ZIP code, so that I may look into the best service options for you?
As tempted as George is to question why this wasn’t the first thing he was asked, unsure what this customer service employee possibly expected to be able to help with if it wasn’t simply directing him how to make a service appointment, he decides there’s nothing to be gained from snapping at the employee who may still be a robot. He replies with just his address, holding back on his impulse to add a frustrated-looking emoji.
> I would also advise to stop using the product, due to the risk of injury from the cracked display, alright?
George is officially at his limit. His patience has officially been worn too thin, and he finds himself typing out the snark-filled reply and reading the word ‘Delivered’ beneath it before even thinking it through.
< I wasn’t planning on using a laptop with a blank screen.
He honestly regrets it for a moment, when the Apple Service employee seems to take far too long typing out a response, compared to all of the previous messages. The three little dots bounce on his screen for almost an entire minute before a large bubble of text finally takes their place, typed much more informally and certainly not by a robot.
> right, I’m sorry. these scripts we’re given really aren’t the most useful honestly. I’m going to email you a direct link with stores specifically located near your address, I have no idea why your Apple ID redirects to british stores, sorry again. I’ve never seen that problem before.
> oh, and I could also help you set up a mail-in repair if you’d prefer that, but those have a turnaround time of 2-3 weeks.
George almost laughs out loud at the difference, tonally, in the two messages that are so straightforward and to the point rather than wasting his time with seemingly fruitless questioning. His prior regret for expressing his bitterness so plainly flares up for another moment, as he realizes there was, in fact, a real person on the receiving end of his tactless sarcasm.
Although, he thinks to himself, his sarcasm caused the employee to stop following whatever awful script he’d been copying and pasting from before, so perhaps it was worthwhile.
< thank you! i just moved to florida from the uk last year, so that’s probably part of the problem
He decides to drop his own forced professionalism, accepting that if the employee is going to speak casually then it only makes sense to reply the same way he would naturally type.
> oh, well that makes slightly more sense I guess but it’s still kind of ridiculous, and the last thing you need when you’re just trying to fix your laptop which I’m sure is already frustrating. I’m seriously sorry this happened, and so late at night too.
George is astonished these messages are even coming from the same person he’s been speaking to all along, and he’s relieved to finally be receiving some attempt at compassionate concern after even his best friends had seemed more amused than sympathetic.
< yeah, i kind of wanted to tear my hair out for a while there. not sure if that was too obvious or not :’)
> hahahaha, juuuust a little bit
> totally understandable though, I won’t take it personally.
George catches himself smiling at his screen and almost feels embarrassed by how little it’s taken for his mood to shift. For whatever reason the employee’s friendliness is contagious, and George no longer feels quite so irritated. It’s almost possible to forget about his shattered laptop screen and the plethora of issues it’s going to cause him within the next week, now that talking to the employee has begun to feel like he’s just talking to a friend.
> also did you get the email? or as my script says *clears throat* Please check your email, and let me know that you have received it. If you do not see it, please be sure to check your Junk email folder. I want to be certain that you have everything you need.
George snorts when the follow-up text pops up, before navigating to his email and ensuring that the link works, which it does. Multiple Orlando locations are among the first to pop up, relief flooding his senses as he sees there’s an appointment at the closest location in just three days time.
He can survive three days without a laptop, if barely.
< yes i got the email, thank you again, it works this time. but what if i actually did mean it personally? maybe i actually just hate you, specifically.
> well in that case I’m going to have to go cry. you’ve WOUNDED me, george. I’ll never recover.
George huffs out a breathy laugh despite himself at the use of his name, and the unconscious reminder that this was supposed to be a strictly professional conversation that has somehow become the only solace in his otherwise infuriating night.
< you’re very funny, apple customer service guy
< i’m glad you stopped using the script :)
Sincerity feels earned, after how patient and kind the customer service employee has been with him despite his obvious irritation. As much as he’d contemplated throwing his phone across the room and shattering his second screen of the night because of them earlier, he’s almost grateful the website hadn’t worked, now. If only because he got an enjoyable conversation out of it, and now feels like he can breathe just a tad easier.
> I’m glad too <3 and you can call me Dream! or apple customer service guy also works. you know, whatever feels natural
George smiles again at the usage of a heart emoticon, unsure why it feels so significant.
< oh, okay. thanks again for being so patient, dream
> you’re welcome! were you able to get an appointment after all?
< yep! i’ve got one on thursday at 3. you’re a lifesaver :]
> least I could do! you’re in a stressful situation, all your frustration was super understandable. I hope you’re able to get it fixed asap
George realizes that surely the conversation should come to an end now, with his problem resolved and nothing more to be done on the Apple Service employee – Dream’s – end. For some reason it feels bittersweet, and he contemplates if there’s any other questions he can ask that may prolong the interaction when suddenly three dots appear indicating Dream is typing again.
> also, there’s this new protocol where if the customer consents to it they want us to have a follow-up phone call as a check-in after your service appointment to make sure the experience was okay, you’re totally free to say no if you don’t want that haha, but I kinda have to ask?
George rereads the text several times, slightly confused since he’s never heard of anything like this before and it seems somewhat random, since surely the text-support customer service department has little overlap with the in-person service. But, part of him feels as if he’d regret not taking the opportunity to talk to Dream again, since he’d only moments prior been contemplating excuses to do just that.
< well… would the call be with you? or someone else? not that this changes anything… haha…
> with me, if that’s what you want ;)
George laughs out loud again at the emoticon, but also accepts that he kind of walked into that one.
< oh god, maybe now i no longer want that, nevermind
< kidding btw. i’m fine with a call!
He sends the follow-up text quickly after realizing Dream probably does need explicit consent for the phone call, and wanting to make sure his joke isn’t mistaken for serious if Dream’s supervisors look over these conversations.
> okay! I guess I’ll talk to you thursday then! and if you have any other questions you can just message in this thread instead of starting a new one, that way you’ll still get me ;)
Surely Dream’s supervisors don’t look over these conversations, George snorts to himself. Surely, no supervisor would approve of Dream’s liberal use of ridiculous winking emoticons.
< brb starting a new thread so i get someone else, noted
< kidding again. you’re the best, dream the apple customer service guy. gn! or morning, or whatever timezone you’re in
> goodnight! (i’m in florida too for the record, haha)
George wishes he had an explanation for the way his heartbeat seems to speed up just the tiniest amount as he processes the words in Dream’s last text. He tries and fails to think of an excuse before accepting that he maybe, just a tiny bit, likes the idea of somehow being able to see Dream in person.
George groans aloud, frustrated by his own bizarre wishful thinking. They’ve had one conversation and Dream is just doing his job.
George really needs to go to sleep.
Instead, what he does is rejoin the call with his best friends, no longer feeling quite as irritable as he had earlier and longing for company, as well as wanting to make sure they know he’s not actually upset with any of them.
“George!” Sapnap notices the second he connects to the call, “Everything okay, man?”
“Well, my laptop is still broken so I’d hardly say that everything is okay,” he begins, voice thick with sarcasm, before remembering his plan had been to be less contentious. “It’s fine though. I talked to someone from customer service and I’m taking it to get fixed on Thursday.”
“Oh, thank god,” Karl sighs with relief, “I’m glad you figured it out.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry for being on edge earlier, I was just kinda freaking out. It’s all good now though,” George reflects back on the conversation momentarily, and decides it’d be disingenuous not to mention how lighthearted it had become, “and the person from customer service I talked to was funny.”
Despite his three friends still playing a game that requires at least some level of concentration, with them sporadically giving directions and callouts to each other every once in a while, they all laugh incredibly hard as George reads out some of the early-on messages, when Dream was clearly pasting from a script and George’s replies were weighed down in passive aggression.
When he finally reaches the exchange where Dream drops the script and just starts typing more naturally, Sapnap seems extremely amused and interrupts before George can continue reading.
“Dude, that’s so funny because my roommate works for Apple in a job similar-ish to this and from what he’s told me they’re trained to never ever go off script,” he pauses and George hears the sound of several rapid mouse clicks and assumes he’s distracted by something in game, “So you must’ve really driven them crazy for them to risk getting in trouble just to get the conversation over with.”
For some reason, even if accurate, Sapnap’s words ring hollow in George’s ears. The implication that Dream was desperate for the conversation to be over and done with is… certainly not provably false, but George also can’t help but feel like it’s untrue. Dream could’ve resolved George’s problem just as quickly without taking the time to joke around with him and even introduce themself, and George allows himself to hope he’s right in assuming Dream had enjoyed that latter half of the conversation as much as he did.
He quickly explains this, reading out a few of the following messages but skipping over some of his own replies, embarrassed as he looks back on them and sees how colloquially he was speaking to a complete stranger he knows nothing about.
He’s interrupted by Punz this time, “Okay wait, how did you go from wanting to kill this guy to joking around with them that quickly?”
George laughs, not even sure he has an explanation himself, “I don’t even know. They were really easy to talk to, I guess, it honestly just felt like we were already friends or something. It didn’t feel like talking to a stranger.”
“Aw, like love at first sight,” Karl adds, a grin audible in his voice, and George groans.
“Okay, now you made it weird, congrats.”
“Oh come on, Georgie,” Punz continues in the same teasing tone Karl had used, “It definitely sounds like you have a crush on the Apple guy. Like, at least a little bit.”
“I do not have a crush on the Apple guy! You’re all ridiculous,” George scoffs, “it’s not like I even know who they are, I actually don’t even know that they’re a guy, I just said that because it’s, like, whatever. It doesn’t even matter. Because I don’t have a crush.”
“This all sounds like something a person with a crush would say,” Sapnap states annoyingly matter-of-factly.
“Shut up, idiot,” George deadpans, reaching for his laptop because he’s decided he feels left out and wants to join whatever game they’re playing and…
Oh. Right.
“Ugh, I don’t know how I’m going to survive until Thursday without a laptop,” he mourns, “or longer, realistically. It’ll probably take days to get fixed, right?”
Punz unhelpfully quips that it could be weeks, if the store doesn’t have the necessary parts in stock, and George very maturely responds by disconnecting from the call after informing Punz he’s “not in the right headspace for this negativity”.
George realizes, as he’s brushing his teeth and deciding it’s time to at least make some attempt at sleeping before he inevitably gives up and returns to the Discord call, that he hadn’t even mentioned the phone call. He’s grateful he never got to that point, seeing how childishly his friends had reacted to even the least incriminating details of his exchange with Dream.
He wonders if perhaps it’s a bad idea to take the call, if he’s going to grow too attached to the blank canvas of a person that is Dream after hearing their voice will no doubt make them seem far more… tangible. He’s also never heard of a customer service employee needing to do anything of the sort for a customer they’d strictly provided technical support for, and George contemplates whether or not the entire situation is weird enough that it warrants being mentioned to one of his friends despite his fear of being teased again.
Deciding he’s too tired to return to the voice call now, he resolves to text Karl, who among his three closest friends is the most likely to respond in earnest rather than treating it like a joke. (It’s not that Punz and Sapnap can’t ever be serious, or that George himself doesn’t tend to similarly interpret everything as a joke — just that in the moment he needs rationality and sincerity more. And when he thinks of sincerity, he thinks of Karl.)
> ok i need genuine advice
> do you think it’s weird that apple guy asked if they can call me after my appointment on thursday? like, surely that’s not common practice, right?
< THEY ASKED TO CALL YOU?
Laughter bubbles in George’s throat at Karl’s all-caps reply, his confusion confirming what George had already assumed was a weird situation was, indeed, weird. He tries to explain the request to Karl the same way Dream had explained it, but the absurdity of the situation feels even more blatant when it’s typed out in his own words.
< i mean, it’s definitely weird, but if you liked talking to them anyways then it’s harmless probably?
A strange sense of calm settles in George’s chest at the reassurance, and he realizes this is definitely the response he’d been unconsciously hoping for.
> yeah, you’re right :]
He rolls over from his back onto his side, locking his phone and placing it face-up on his nightstand before retreating back beneath his duvet. Feeling slightly more at ease despite the rollercoaster of emotions he’s felt over the course of the evening, sleep finds him before he has the chance to overthink any further.
“I did something stupid,” Dream groans, burying his head in his hands instead of meeting his roommate’s eyes, knowing exactly the response he’s going to get.
“Unsurprising,” Sapnap replies predictably, “but what now?”
Dream glances at the younger boy from the gaps between his fingers, rolling his eyes when he sees the amused expression he knew would be there. It’s not that he’s in denial of the ridiculousness of his predicament, he’s well aware that his current crisis is entirely of his own creation. Somehow, though, trying to verbalize it to his oldest and closest friend makes it feel all the more shameful.
“I may have… well. Okay. I have to call this customer today. Because I may have… told him that’s something I normally do.”
Confusion crosses Sapnap’s face as he presses something on his keyboard to pause his game and fully spins around in his chair, facing Dream where he’s sprawled out dramatically on his roommate’s bed, “Why would you… what? That’s obviously not a real thing, Dream, why did you do that?”
“I don’t even know!” Dream whines, grabbing Sapnap’s pillow and covering his own head with it, muffling his continued miserable rambling, “I’ve decided I’m going to just die.”
“Okay, that seems a bit extreme,” Sapnap snorts, and Dream feels the familiar weight of his best friend laying down beside him as the mattress shifts. A hand pokes at the pillow his face remains buried beneath, and Dream groans dramatically before lowering it and glancing into Sapnap’s far-too-amused eyes. As much as Sapnap is clearly enjoying his best friend’s misery, Dream knows that the physical proximity is meant to be an offering of solidarity and comfort, and he appreciates it despite the non-discrete way Sapnap seems to be eagerly anticipating further material for mockery.
“He was funny. I wanted to talk to him more, and I just… panicked. It was the first excuse I could think of.” He stares up at the popcorn ceiling while trailing off, and misses the comfortable suffocation of being smothered by a pillow.
“Aww,” Sapnap coos obnoxiously, moving to ruffle Dream’s hair but Dream moves faster, swatting his hand away even as the younger continues exaggeratedly pouting at him, “Dream, I can’t believe you’re this whipped after one conversation.”
“I am not-what?” The older boy sputters, angered by Sapnap’s shit-eating grin, “I’m not whipped. He was just, like, I don’t know. Fun to talk to. Why can’t I just make a friend?”
Sapnap laughs harder at Dream’s unconvincing protests, and Dream is now weighing the pros and cons of smothering his best friend with a pillow instead of himself.
“Well, as your only friend, I can confidently say that would be pretty out of character for you.”
The pillow hits Sapnap in the face with a comically loud thwack and Dream can’t help but wheeze at his friend’s incredulous expression, as if it had actually been painful.
“I have lots of friends,” Dream whines, “and besides, I can’t be whipped for someone I know nothing about.”
“You haven’t at least googled him or something? Don’t you have all his info, you stalker?” Sapnap teases, rolling his eyes at Dream’s horrified expression.
“What? Dude, that’s actually terrible, I would never,” Dream quickly rushes out, needing to clarify he’s not being sarcastic, “I know I already lied to him about policies but, like, that would be crossing a line. I have morals.”
Sapnap raises his eyebrows pointedly, but his tone is lighthearted and jovial when he continues his relentless teasing, “Right, my bad. Making up a lie so you can talk to him on the phone is all fine and dandy but you draw the line at taking advantage of the fact that you know his full name.”
Dream protests that it’s not at all the same thing, because he’d offered up an easy opportunity for George to deny the phone call. He hadn’t pretended it was mandatory and forced the customer into it. If George was creeped out and didn’t want to talk to him anymore, he had every right to ignore Dream’s call, or tell him he no longer wanted to. Utilizing George’s personal information for his own private agenda, though, felt much more invasive and wrong. He wouldn’t know George’s full name if it weren’t for his job, so it felt unfair and manipulative to take advantage of that especially considering there was no way for George to do the same, when Dream hadn’t even told him his real first name, nevermind full name.
After making what he believed was a very convincing argument he released a drawn out breath and waited for Sapnap to come up with something else to tease him about, and was confused when no jabbing remark came. Finally averting his eyes from the ceiling, he glanced over to see what Sapnap was thinking and found that, of course, he’d somehow fallen asleep. Dream nearly scoffed but caught himself and decided he should let the younger rest, instead silently pulling himself into a sitting position before sliding off of the bed without disturbing him.
Dream checks the time for what is possibly the hundredth time in the last two hours with a sigh, settling into his desk chair and opening up his business iMessage account on his Mac, reflexively knowing exactly how far back to scroll to find the chain of messages with George despite having dozens of more recent threads.
If he’s being entirely honest, he doesn’t even know exactly why he’s been so captivated by George. In the six months he’s been working as a customer service provider for Apple he’s never once spoken to a single person quite as entrancing as George, and he can’t figure out what it is that made the British man so appealing to him, why their one conversation had left him so pathetically desperate for more that he’d decided it was worth the risk of losing his job just to speak to him again.
George’s extremely transparent irritation in his early replies to Dream’s cringe-worthy attempts at pasting from a script should’ve been frustrating and unhelpful, but the corners of Dream’s mouth were upturned whenever he scrolled back to them. It was almost endearing, how quickly the man seemed to flip from passive aggression to understanding and eager to communicate as soon as Dream had gone off-script.
Dream had strayed away from the pre-written answers many times before, though never quite as drastically as he had during the conversation with George. He typically maintained at least some level of professionality, only deviating for the sake of personalization or to explain things he felt the script left unclear. This time, though, he’d already been awake for over 24 hours during his conversation with George, struggling to keep up with assignments on top of having a job that required him to be available and checking his laptop 14 hours a day. Deliriousness clouded his thought process, muddying his rationality as he mindlessly pasted parts of the script he thought were the right answers, only to look back and realize how barely-coherent he’d been. When he realized how infuriating this must’ve been for the customer, he’d decided he was too tired to bother with the script whatsoever and just started texting George the same way he’d text a friend, hoping that even if it was less professional it’d at least come across as approachable.
He hadn’t expected it to work as well as it did, or for George to be as fun to talk to as he was.
Dream’s eyes narrow on the time once again, watching the digital display change from 3:17 to 3:18. George’s appointment had been for 3pm, and Dream had told George to send a message when he was home, giving Dream the go-ahead that he was ready for a call.
Absent-mindedly, he wondered if George could drive, or if he was taking the bus, or an Uber home. Surely, if he was reliant on transit, it could be much longer until Dream heard anything from him. I could’ve offered to drive him, the voice in Dream’s head unhelpfully offered, and he rolled his eyes at his own delusion. George wasn’t his friend, he was a customer.
Dream debated turning on the TV, or going to the kitchen and fixing himself a snack just for something to pass the time, but he felt glued to his desk chair. His palms were beginning to sweat the longer he blinked wistfully at the clock on his screen, his knee bouncing under his desk anxiously and he was forced to admit to himself that he was nervous.
What if George could see right through his lie? What if George already knew this was a made up policy, thought he was a creep, and wasn’t ever planning on messaging him again or even picking up the call to begin with? If Sapnap were awake, he’d say “you’d just have to get over it and move on”, or something, and Dream knows it would be the truth but would resent it nonetheless.
After what could’ve only been moments or an eternity, a telltale chime sounds from Dream’s laptop.
< hi! i just got home from my appointment, so i’m free now whenever you are!
Dream’s hands are practically shaking as he quickly unlocks his own phone, double-checking the caller ID is set to hide his number before typing in George’s. He could call through the business account, but that would surely raise some suspicion and draw attention to this particular thread of messages, which in-so-far no one had seemingly paid any mind to. The innocuous early messages had apparently been ordinary enough that no one else who has access to viewing Dream’s chat transcripts has commented on what the conversation became, which Dream had expected. No one bothers reading through every single customer interaction, and Dream has a spotless record so there’s no reason for anyone to be regularly checking on him. However morally bankrupt it may be, using his own phone is the safest way to guarantee no eyes are drawn to George’s otherwise unnoticed case file.
With another drawn out deep breath, he conjures up the courage to press the ‘call’ button.
The phone rings once, twice, and Dream feels like he’s breathing underwater.
“Hello?”
In only one word, Dream already feels like George has become much more of a real person to him.
“Hi! George! It’s nice to… speak to you,” Dream hears tremulation in his own voice and resists the urge to groan. He’s always been told he’s an extremely transparent person, told by everyone in his life that he’s deeply predictable and his heart is worn proudly and undisguised on his sleeve. It’s usually listed as a positive trait, but in the moment he desperately longs for the ability to be more aloof.
“Thanks Dream, you too.”
George’s voice is modulated and unwavering and everything Dream wishes he could imitate, and something indistinct flickers beneath his ribcage at the sound of his own name spoken in the British man’s silvery tone.
Remembering with a jolt that he’s meant to be questioning George, that he’d been the one to offer up this phone call for customer service purposes, Dream realizes George is definitely expecting to be spoken to right now.
He opens his mouth to ask how George’s appointment went, and whether or not he was given a timeline of how long his screen will take to be fixed, but agonizes for too long over the best possible phrasing before deciding he’s already taken a suspiciously long time to say anything, and blurting out the first thing that pops into his scattered mind:
“How was your voice?”
Well. Dream’s brain and mouth appear not to be on speaking terms.
“Your appointment! How was your-the appointment? Sorry.”
Good save, Dream chides himself, sliding a hand over his face in exasperation. Remarkably, rather than questioning the bizarre mistake, George only laughs. Except it’s hardly only a laugh, he laughs breathily and honeyed and without restraint and Dream’s heart does a backflip. Dream feels blush rising on his cheeks but can’t help but smile anyways, helpless to do anything but grin stupidly and laugh along with him.
“The appointment was good,” George finally composes himself enough to speak, “they said it’ll only take a couple days to fix. Did you-why did you say that?”
George giggles quietly as he asks the accusatory question, and Dream’s heart is running an entire gymnastics routine at this point.
He’s so, so incredibly fucked.
“I-I don’t know! You… you have a nice voice…?” Dream doesn’t mean to phrase it as a question, nor did he mean to say that out loud whatsoever, but halfway through the sentence he questions his own logic in speaking at all without thinking beforehand and as such it comes out far more choked than was intended.
George scoffs, though there’s a clear lack of malice behind it and Dream would wager a bet that the British man is smiling, “Thanks? I think I can see why you need to use a script for texts now.”
“You’re so-” Dream shakes his own head as if it’ll somehow disseminate the heat from his face, “You’re so dumb. Leave me alone.”
“Well am I wrong? Clearly they should be giving you a script for these phone calls too, how am I the dumb one?”
Dream’s even more certain now that he can definitely hear a smile in his voice.
“I don’t-I don’t need a script. I used it when I was texting you because I have to. Just in case my boss ever looks over my conversations, which is rare because I actually happen to be excellent at my job. I’m very trustworthy, George.”
With the banterous tone already established, Dream finds it much easier to speak without needing to think too much. It’s the first time he’s ever truly spoken to George, but he finds that once again it’s much more like speaking to a friend than a customer.
“Well, I think they should trust you a bit less. You’ve clearly got ulterior motives here, you’ve asked me like, one question about my appointment.”
George’s retort is sarcastic and clearly not intended as a real dig, but Dream’s smile quickly drops and suddenly the cool breeze of his air conditioning feels much more penetrating.
Does George already realize he lied?
He begins to stammer through an apology but before he can even get an entire word out George gently interrupts him,
“Dream, relax. I was kidding, I’m glad we’re just talking like this,” and Dream is mesmerized by how quickly George was able to read him despite the anonymity of a phone call. “You’re… you’re very… easy to talk to. Like we aren’t even strangers, I guess.”
While George is technically a complete mystery to him, and Dream knows that any attempt at inferring greater understanding of the man’s personality is fantasy, he can’t help but notice the words seem uncomfortable on George’s tongue, despite sounding perfectly sincere.
He wonders if George is a guarded person, the opposite of himself, more private with his emotions and finding it a challenge to say something so earnest and reassuring without disguising it beneath sarcasm or snark. Just in case he’s right, he makes sure to respond with the same candid sincerity, wanting George to know how much he appreciates it.
“I think so too! I like talking to you, George. I’m glad I got your case.”
He manages to ask a few more questions about the appointment, about George’s opinion of the employee’s service and the overall experience. George’s responses range from brief and to the point to lengthy and full of far more detail than Dream had even necessarily asked for, but he finds he appreciates the rambled responses much more. George doesn’t even seem to notice he does it, until he’s halfway through a story and seems to get flustered when he realizes how long he’s been allowed to go on uninterrupted. Dream doesn’t think he could ever interrupt him if he tried, far too fondly captivated by the animated way George speaks when he gets caught up in explaining a particular part of his day.
George mentions a coding project he’d been working on for some class that he’s going to have to redo from scratch on a borrowed school computer because it’s due before he’ll have his laptop back, and Dream’s attention is peaked.
“Java coding? That’s cool, I can sort of code too! Self-taught, so, nothing crazy or anything. But…”
“Really?” Dream thinks it’s very possible he’s fantasizing again, but he thinks George sounds excited at the revelation they have something in common.
“Yeah! Mostly just dumb stuff to mess around with my friends in games, but I’ve always found it fun,” Dream responds with what he hopes is clearly the same level of enthusiasm.
The conversation derails pretty significantly from then on.
Dream tells George about his experience coding for a friend’s Minecraft server, how it’s still a fun hobby on the side while being in school and working for Apple but he could see himself possibly taking it more seriously one day. He learns that on top of being a computer science major George also codes Minecraft sometimes, not for any specific server but he’s been commissioned for some before, and he’s always liked making small changes to the game to try out with his friends. (Dream is excited they share such a major interest). George explains that he’s in Orlando for a semester on exchange, that he could’ve chosen a dozen other cities in other states or countries but he chose Orlando in particular because a bunch of his online friends lived here, in spite of his hatred for the humidity. (Dream thinks that’s incredibly sweet).
George talks about how he hadn’t expected to like Florida as much as he does, but he’s grown fond of the state against his will and is somewhat dreading having to go home in a few months, and no longer being able to see his friends whenever he so desires. (Dream asks him if he’d ever consider just moving here, and George hesitates but says he’s thought about it more than once, and he’s starting to think he’s going to). He learns that George has a good relationship with his family but they’ve never been extremely close, that he thinks it’s easier to stomach living across an ocean from his family than his friends, at this point. (George sounds almost guilty admitting this after Dream had just described his close bond with his own family, so Dream quickly reassures him that there’s nothing wrong with feeling the way George does and every family is different).
Dream offers up several of his own personal anecdotes in exchange, content to answer everything George can possibly think to ask in as much detail as he can remember. George is as good of a listener as he is a storyteller, humming in affirmation whenever Dream pauses so he knows he’s absorbing every word and not bored. He asks question after question, and they learn far too much about one another for only a second conversation, drunk on easy banter and the euphoric bliss of feeling understood, even if by a stranger.
Dream finds, after they’ve been on the phone for over two hours, that it feels unfair to even think of George as a stranger anymore.
“Okay, be honest with me, how much of this was in the script?” George jokes as the sky outside Dream’s office window is shifting from brilliant cerulean to a muted lavender, laughter bubbling in his throat.
Dream lets out a wheeze, shaking his head while replying that ‘absolutely none’ of this conversation has followed any protocol. It’s in this precise moment that he’s forced to remember this entire conversation is built on a lie, and he’s further discomforted by the thought that this is technically meant to be the last time he ever speaks to George.
He realizes how within-reach it could be to just tell the truth. To admit his own foolish desperation and tell George he’d like to talk to him again, completely unrelated to his job this time.
Instead, he makes potentially the most irrational decision possible.
“Hey, George? If you ever want to, uh, if you ever… have another problem with your laptop? Or have any questions, or anything, I’ll give you my email. Since the iMessage thread will stop directly linking to me after it’s been inactive for too long,” the words sound ridiculous as they leave his throat, and surely George is immediately going to know this is a lie. “You know, so you never have to deal with the annoying website again,” he adds half-heartedly, attempting a joke so that he can claim this was all in good humour if George calls him on the transparency of his feeble excuses.
“Oh, that’s so nice, you really don’t have to do that, Dream,” George replies gently, and Dream is astonished he’s not being questioned.
The conversation only lasts a few more minutes, exchanging emails despite George’s insistence that it’s far too kind. Dream jokes that maybe he does have ulterior motives after all, that it’s just an excuse not to lose contact, and George scoffs and doesn’t seem to even consider to what degree it’s a joke.
Dream wonders, with guilt tightening his throat, whether or not he’s a bad person.
George can’t tell if he’s overthinking things or not.
Zoning out for the umpteenth time during a repetitive lecture he’s truly not listened to a single word of, he opens his email yet again just to stare at the draft he’s composed. The draft, addressed to [email protected], wherein he very transparently admits that he has no problems with his laptop or otherwise and he’s just looking for an excuse to talk to the other, has been sitting unsent for an entire day now.
What if he’s misread the entire situation? What if it’s common practice to give customers a method of contact despite their problems being resolved, just to be safe, and George has inferred meaning to Dream’s actions that was never truly there?
George has a headache.
It’s been three days since speaking to Dream over the phone, when time had escaped him and he’d somehow spent two hours conversing with the random employee who’d been assigned to his case from Apple Support. They’d accidentally discovered they have a not-insignificant number of shared interests, and if Dream hadn’t seemed to direct the conversation toward a conclusion George thinks he might’ve spent an eternity listening to Dream’s calming but extremely expressive voice as he rambled effortlessly about every topic George brought up.
Dream was tooth-achingly sweet, hanging his soul on display for George through kind words and heartfelt stories about his family, his roommate and best friend, his cat, his multitude of other close online friends. There was something mesmerizingly delicate in the way he said George’s name, he somehow packed so much tenderness and wonder and curiosity into one single syllable and it caught George off guard in it's intensity every single time. George hadn’t known what to expect whatsoever, and he’d been wholly unprepared for what he’d gotten.
A deep frown crosses George’s face as he comes to terms with the fact that the answer to his problem is, unfortunately, Sapnap.
He sends a quick text to his friend informing him that he’s going to stop by his apartment after class, and Sapnap questions him but he doesn’t bother replying, deciding he only wants to have this incredibly humiliating conversation once.
George has purposefully avoided bringing Dream up in conversation with any of his friends since the initial discussions about him, afraid of being mocked even more so now that there would be, undeniably, a certain amount of truth to his friends’ childish assumptions. It’s been so long since George had so much as expressed any interest at all in another person to his friends, he knows the teasing would be relentless and he’s still too early-on in his own crisis of maybe-possibly-slightly having more-than-platonic feelings for someone he’s never even met to be equipped to handle that at the moment.
What he needs is practical advice, and while Sapnap is hardly ever his go-to for such a thing, George knows that Sapnap’s roommate, who he’s childhood friends with, works for Apple. If anyone would have insight into whether or not Dream’s actions have been suspiciously beyond what could be seen as professional, George has accepted it’s Sapnap.
Sapnap’s dormitory building is across the street from George’s, but the walk over after class somehow feels excruciatingly long. George is tired of uncertainty, of weighing pros and cons in his head and hovering his mouse anxiously over a ‘send’ button only to always close out the window in the end.
His head is still pounding as he taps his foot impatiently in the elevator, glancing at himself in the mirror and noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes are most certainly more prominent than usual.
When he’s finally rapping his knuckles against Sapnap’s door repetitively until he hears the knob turn, he almost jumps when he’s greeted by Sapnap’s roommate, looking incredibly confused by George’s very persistent knocking.
George is struck by how tall Sapnap’s roommate is, annoyingly so, and George needs to tilt his head upward to meet the man’s eyes. There’s a crease between his eyebrows caused by his puzzled expression and his mouth is opened slightly in an unspoken question, and George realizes with a start that Sapnap’s roommate, who he’s definitely met more than once before but apparently never taken a good look at, is attractive.
“Oh shit, my bad, I didn’t realize you were home. I’m here to bother Sapnap,” George explains with a grin and a shrug, and Sapnap’s cute roommate (whose name George can’t remember for the life of him) just gapes at him, looking less confused but almost… startled?
George unconsciously takes a moment to indulge his fleeting attraction and study the taller man. Disheveled dirty blonde hair falls practically into his eyes, and George isn’t sure what colour his eyes are but they seem vibrant and kind despite the indiscernible expression he’s wearing at the moment. George’s wandering eyes flick across the faint freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose, before noticing he’s definitely been staring far too long and clearing his throat awkwardly.
Sapnap’s roommate blinks twice and shakes his head slightly, as if snapping himself out of something, before returning George’s smile and stepping aside so that George can come in.
George turns to say something, unsure what entirely, either ‘thanks’ or another apology for the loud knocking, but Sapnap’s roommate has already quickly retreated into his bedroom before George gets the chance.
Weird, he thinks to himself, but remembering his purpose in coming here in the first place and barging into Sapnap’s bedroom without a further thought.
Sapnap jumps slightly from where he was sprawled out across his mattress, the laptop in front of him open to a blank document shifting slightly with the jerky movement where multiple textbooks sit closed beside it.
“Christ, ever heard of knocking? What the hell?” Sapnap complains, but his mock-anger doesn’t reach his eyes and it’s clear neither of them is actually mad about anything while George whines that he did text and give him warning.
“Also, your headphones must be extremely noise canceling, because I was knocking as obnoxiously as is humanly possible and your roommate still had to let me in because someone didn’t hear.”
Sapnap laughs at this, tossing the headphones in question back onto the bed as he moves to sit on the edge while George sits down in Sapnap’s desk chair, throwing his backpack onto the floor.
“Anyways. I have a crisis,” George begins, deciding it’s easier to rip the bandaid off. He does turn in the chair to face away from Sapnap’s questioning gaze, deciding it’s easier to talk about if he doesn’t have to see the amusement in his friend’s face.
“Do you remember how I had that funny conversation with the Apple Support guy when I broke my laptop?” George glances over to make sure Sapnap nods. “I’ve uh… I’ve talked to him more. Since then, he called me on Thursday, after my appointment, to ask how it went and make sure my experience was all good and whatever. But we kind of just ended up talking about other shit for, like, hours, and it was really nice and I think I really like him? And I know that’s dumb because I haven’t even met him and it’s not like a two hour conversation means I know everything about him but, like, I definitely don’t think of him as a stranger anymore, you know? It was just so easy. I’ve never just instantly clicked with someone like that. It’s dumb.”
When he finally pauses to take a breath and nervously turns to see what Sapnap thinks, he’s prepared for laughter or teasing or a mixture of both, anything but the weird satisfaction he finds instead.
“Wait, so, he told you it was normal protocol to call you after your appointment? Even though he doesn’t work for the specific store you went to, just Apple in general?” Sapnap asks, still more intrigued than teasing, but he’s smiling knowingly now and George nods exhaustedly because he hasn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.
He tells Sapnap as much, and Sapnap butts in quickly, “Hold on, so you just, didn’t think that was weird? The phone call thing? You’re here to ask me about something else?”
“I did! I did think it was, like, a little bit weird. Not weird enough to have a crisis over, though,” George quickly defends himself, although Sapnap’s knowing smile isn’t dissuaded in the slightest. Sapnap also picks up his phone from somewhere under the covers and appears to send a few quick texts while George carries on explaining,
“What my actual crisis is about is the fact that at the end of the call he gave me his direct email which feels like, surely that’s weird, right? Is that normal? I wanted to see if you could like… ask your roommate if that’s… normal. I guess. Because I kind of want to email him for entirely un-professional reasons but what if I’m reading this wrong and he’s like, disgusted?”
Just as George dreaded, Sapnap bursts out laughing.
“George, you are so, so naïve, oh my god,” he says, more fond than mocking, which is somehow worse. George groans and buries his head in his arms which he crosses over Sapnap’s desk.
“I don’t even need to ask Clay, dude,” Sapnap begins again and George feels like a lightbulb goes off in his head. Clay! Sapnap’s roommate’s name is Clay. He knew that, vaguely.
“George, he’s definitely just looking for excuses to talk to you, so I don’t see what the crisis is. He likes you, obviously, he’s just going about it in a ridiculous way. Send the damn email.”
“Shut up,” George mutters maturely, and Sapnap is suddenly standing by the door when George looks up from his defensive position. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to go play basketball with Punz,” he shrugs, and something about his sudden plans feels suspicious but George can’t put his finger on why, “but if you want more validation so badly just talk to Clay yourself.”
Sapnap winks on his way out the door, which leaves George sputtering in confusion because he isn’t sure he even wants to know what on earth that implies.
He stares at the anime posters above Sapnap’s bed as he reflects on the younger boy’s words, and realizes the odds are extremely high he’s right. After all, Karl had essentially drawn the same conclusion when George had asked him before the phone call, if just more gently put. Wasn’t this the reassurance he’d been waiting for? He can’t quite explain why he still feels so anxious as he opens his email app, and he flicks to his drafts but doesn’t even get as far as waiting for the text to load in this time before panicking and closing the app entirely.
Maybe it is worth asking Clay, George resolves, maybe what he needs is an objective third party’s opinion anyways. An informed objective third party at that, since Clay actually knows Apple’s policies and will be able to tell George beyond a shadow of a doubt whether or not Dream has been making up excuses to talk to him.
Mind made up, George finally exits Sapnap’s room and turns to the door he saw Clay run into earlier. He knocks once, hesitant, and decides that if Clay doesn’t respond he’s just going to leave, not wanting to risk waking him up if he’s asleep.
To his relief, though, the door swings open and Clay looks startled to see George once again, clearly expecting him to be Sapnap.
“Hi, sorry again!” George smiles as warmly as possible, feeling bad that this is the second time today he’s apparently jump-scared the younger man. “It’s no big deal if you’re busy or anything, so feel free to just say so if you are, but I actually had a question?”
Clay looks like a deer in headlights as he blinks helplessly at George, and it would be awkward if George didn’t find it kind of endearing. He’s not sure what to make of it, though, and he considers saying something else before Clay actually speaks,
“Oh, um. Yes. Sure, sorry. Hi,” Clay stammers out, looking down at his own hands and fidgeting them nervously.
There’s something oddly familiar about his nervous stuttering but George decides it must be because he’s talked to Clay before, albeit few and far between. The taller man seems like he’s not sure what to do with himself, like he’s afraid of meeting George’s eyes even as he beats George to asking a question,
“You’re George?” is all he says, but it’s enough for George’s entire world to tilt on its axis.
George is hit with two revelations at the same time, in rapid-fire succession:
- There is only one person who has ever said George’s name like that - like it meant everything and nothing all at once.
- Clay lives in Orlando, works for Apple, is in university, and rooms with his best friend who he’s known since he was a kid, and met through a Minecraft game.
“You’re-Oh my god,” George gapes at Clay, suddenly understanding why he keeps looking at George like he’s grown a second head and seemed so nervous to let George hear his voice, “You’re Dream.”
He doesn’t phrase it as a question, because he already knows.
“Yeah,” Clay nods anyways, breathless, “I was-I had no idea you were Sapnap’s friend, I wouldn’t, I would’ve said something-”
Hating how scared he looks, George follows his gut instinct and reaches out to take both of Clay’s - both of Dream’s - hands in his own, stopping him from fidgeting and forcing his attention to George’s face instead.
“Dream,” George whispers, “It’s okay. Whatever you’re worrying about, I promise it’s okay. This is…” George trails off helplessly, losing his train of thought because Dream’s worried expression morphs into a small smile and that, alone, is enough to take George’s breath away.
Dream twists his hands within George’s to intertwine their fingers properly, and his smile widens tremendously when George squeezes them in return.
“This is kind of funny,” Dream completes George’s unfinished sentence, lips curling upward and eyes shining with so much unspoken adoration and amazement that George’s chest hurts and he thinks he might need to look away. Or kiss him. He’s leaning toward the latter.
“I was literally coming to ask you for advice about you,” George manages to choke out before laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, and Dream throws his head back to laugh before releasing one of George’s hands to instead grip his shoulder for support as his entire body shakes with laughter, and George laughs harder, beaming because he can’t find it in himself to do anything else.
“George,” Dream manages to whisper, as he catches his breath, “I did so much insanely dumb shit just because I wanted to talk to you. I lied, like, multiple times, and I’m so sorry, and I would’ve been sorry even if I didn’t learn we literally have the same best friend, because I should’ve just been honest with you the whole time regardless and I made this so much more complicated than it needed to be.”
He doesn’t seem like he’s done yet when he pauses, catching his breath as if he hadn’t planned to say all of that so quickly but the words had clawed their way out of his throat of their own volition, and George brings his now-empty hand up to brush some of Dream’s disheveled hair out of his eyes, effectively giving him pause as he unconsciously leans into the touch.
It had never even crossed George’s mind to be angry or bothered by the white lies, which he’d honestly found flattering. Sure, things would’ve been easier if Dream had been more direct, but George was also vague about how he felt and went along with all of Dream’s (in hindsight) quite obvious lies without asking a single question, because he welcomed the opportunity to talk more and didn’t want to have to think about it. Really, it made no sense for Dream to think he was at fault for anything.
They got here anyways, and wasn’t that what mattered?
Dream lets out a quiet noise of protest as George moves his hand away from his hair, so softly that anyone not standing as close as George couldn’t have heard it. So unbearably fond, he moves his hand to rest against Dream’s cheek, feeling the warm blush colouring his entire face rosy.
“You don’t need to apologize, we’re both idiots,” George giggles, and Dream’s hand on his shoulder moves to the small of his back, pulling him another step closer. The hand still grasping George’s like a lifeline begins rubbing small circles along the base of George’s thumb, as if it’s an unconscious impulse and George wonders if it is.
There’s so much he wants to learn about Dream, so much he’s already learned in the last few minutes alone that a million phone calls and texts and emails never would have taught him. In a feather-light motion he cups Dream’s face and his cheeks sting from smiling impossibly harder when Dream leans into his hand.
“It’s kind of crazy that we were strangers two weeks ago, right?” Dream whispers like it’s a secret, and George can’t help but shake his head, because even if Dream is technically right he thinks he disagrees.
“I don’t think we were ever really strangers,” he shrugs, “we already knew each other, like, vaguely anyways. I feel like it was a matter of time until we found each other, you know? It just took a weird coincidence.”
“Aw, Georgie,” Dream coos, and George rolls his eyes, “you’re such a romantic.”
“I’m not a romantic, you’re clearly the sentimental one, idiot.”
“I don’t know, I would’ve thought so too, but you’re the one who basically just called us soulmates,” Dream grins smugly down at him, his thumb tracing circles against George’s slowing down as he seems to gaze into George’s eyes as if they hold galaxies.
“You’re stupid,” George retorts, as eloquent as he is romantic, before adding, “can you please kiss me already?”
Dream’s eyes widen, less in shock than in pleased amusement, “Only if you admit you’re a romantic.”
“God, shut up,” George shakes his head, still smiling so hard it hurts, and he stands up on his tip-toes to kiss Dream before he gets a chance to retort.
Dream takes a second to react, and both of them are still grinning so wide that it’s less of a kiss and more of a promise of more to come, just a quick peck of lips against lips but it’s nonetheless electric. George is suddenly acutely aware of every single place he can feel Dream’s touch all at once, and his skin burns in the best way when Dream leans down, kissing him properly and slotting their lips together as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, as if they’ve done this a thousand times before.
They find a rhythm quickly, kissing again and again and George finds his back pressed against the frame of Dream’s bedroom door, hands suddenly beneath his thighs lifting him just slightly off the ground so that Dream doesn’t need to lean over anymore and they find an even better angle. George wraps his legs around Dream’s waist effortlessly, both of his hands finding their way up to Dream’s shoulders before wrapping behind his neck to steady himself even more and deepening the kiss further.
George’s understanding of time grows hazier with each passing moment that their mouths are still pressed together, and he’s unsure if minutes or hours pass, so caught up in one another that he doesn’t even hear the sound of keys jingling in the door or the knob twisting as the door swings open.
“Left so quick I forgot my fucking jacke-WHAT THE FUCK?”
Dream and George both jump to detangle themselves awkwardly at the sound of Sapnap’s voice, Dream giggling hysterically and George absolutely mortified, hiding his face in Dream’s shoulder as if it’ll help the situation.
Sapnap is already spinning back around and racing for the door, jacket in hand, when George finds the strength to peek up and see what he’s doing while Dream’s shoulders are still shaking with laughter.
“I literally set this up on purpose, and I still hate it,” Sapnap groans in what almost sounds like genuine anguish, “Like walking in on your parents, what the fuck,” George hears him still complaining even as his keys turn in the lock.
George turns his head back up to look at Dream, before they both burst into uncontrollable laughter at once.
“He’s acting mad now, but he’s going to come home later and ask if he can be the best man at the wedding, I’m calling it right now.” Dream snorts, wrapping his arms around George and pulling him into a tight embrace, “He also might cry or something, he’s probably so happy. He loves being right.”
George giggles into his shoulder, “Yeah, definitely. I think his teasing is a small price to pay though, I’ll survive.”
Dream gasps exaggeratedly, loosening his grip on George’s shoulders enough to pull back and instead press a chaste kiss to his lips, “You really are such a romantic. You’re willing to put up with Sapnap’s teasing for me? I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I hate you,” George deadpans, and then he kisses him again.