Chapter Text
Dream's foot nudges his under the table.
It might have been an accident. Dream makes no move to look at George, he doesn’t acknowledge the touch nor apologize for it.
The football team laughs boisterous howls at something Dream says, ignoring the judgmental looks they get from nearby tables in the cafe. Sapnap lays a warm arm over George's shoulder and George is consumed by the phantom feeling of a small kick to his shoe.
It’s pathetic. He knows. How his heartbeat noticeably speeds and mind buzzes with emotion at the slightest of touch from the blonde boy across the table.
He pierces his bacon with his fork when Sapnap bumps him, motioning at his almost full plate.
Liking Dream makes him lose his appetite.
George doesn’t think he loves right. He remembers reading about it in books, from his old school's curriculum. The effect of rocky relationships with a child's parents and how it ruins them in the future. They used references from monkeys and their insufficiency to mate to best figure out how to handle foster kids and the troubled youth that makes up crime statistics. He remembers almost dropping the course.
Objectively, the general public would say love is the goal. Something untenable and rare, but equally something the majority seems to expect. Love is supposed to make someone appreciate the little things about themselves, to see themselves as their partner does. To blend with another person until your flaws mix with theirs in a way that makes them unrecognizable.
When George loves he starts seeing things he could have sworn weren’t there before. Imperfections, that he realistically knows no one will bother looking at him long enough to notice, plague his thoughts at the sight of a mirror.
When George loves he feels so anxious he’s nauseous, food tastes like wasted potential and ash. He spends too much time styling his hair, just to hate the end result even more and wash out the gel. He starts going on runs every morning, even when it rains.
When George loves he does pathetic things that he isn’t proud of. He has dirty hands that have done dirty deeds and there is no cleaning them, they leave marks of filth on anything he touches. He hates to think how many sheets he’s sullied.
Another tap on the leg and brown eyes meet green.
Dream does not speak to him, only raises his eyebrows in a promise of ‘later’ and then looks away.
George wrings his hands in his lap and refuses to smile. He has some pride left.
“Are you alright George?” Sapnap asks, squeezing his shoulder in concern. “You’ve barely touched your food.”
Punz leans over and ruffles his hair before George can bat him away. “Are you coming down with something?”
The football team turns to look at him with sympathetic faces and George feels himself wilt under their gazes.
“Nah I’m fine, just not very hungry.” George laughs awkwardly.
Karl slides into the seat next to, returning from the bathroom. “You’re well enough to come out tonight right?” The boy lays his head on George’s shoulder, tilting his eyes up to give him a pleading look.
Dream turns and looks at George for a second time in forty minutes and he hears himself answer, “Of course.” without thinking.
Pathetic.
“The party’s at ten, don't be late this time.” Dream says with cool apathy. The warning is not out of a desire to spend more time with him, George is fully aware of that. He’s not deluded. It’s just that Dream wouldn't stick around waiting for him, it wouldn't be the first time he’s left without the other.
George wonders if he imagines the fault of his friends' smiles when Dream addresses him. He wonders if they notice the impatient and irritated tone that always seems to be reserved just for him. He wonders how shocked they would be knowing what the two do in private.
“It's not my fault Sapnap takes hours to get ready.” George jokes, playing at indifference.
Sapnap splutters beside him, snatching back his arm from George's shoulder in exaggerated offense. “That's a blatant lie. I'm always waiting for you.”
George huffs and pretends he isn't focussed on Dream's gaze, that's trained on his face.
He looks bored.
George forces himself to smile harder.
“You keep saying that Sapnap but we both know it's not true. Besides, everyone here believes me.” The table laughs and mutters their agreements.
Dream says nothing.
“The next time you forget your keys, I'm leaving you outside to freeze.” Sapnap hisses the last word and crosses his arms over his chest. George punches his arm with no real heat and opens his mouth to reply with whatever witty insult comes to mind, but he’s interrupted.
“We all know he’d just end up at mine.” Dream lays his chin in his hand, lips tugging up into a lopsided grin as he watches George’s reaction.
Dream doesn’t like George, but he does like playing with him.
He does like the power he has over him, how he influenced the flush of blood to his cheeks. How he knows George thinks about him at three in the morning, when the blue moon light and Sapnaps snores are his only company.
His friends are hungover, they had all been out last night to celebrate a winning match. George got out of going on the excuse of a tight deadline and tired eyes. Dream always brings home someone new when he celebrates. George doesn't want to see that.
Thankfully their sleep hazed eyes and headaches serve to cover George's reaction. He searches for a response, declaring his denials a bit too loudly. Dream looks amused.
Sapnap takes mercy on him, defusing the heavy atmosphere with a scoff and a “You wish.” When the table jumps back into conversation and the moment is over, George gives his friend a tight smile. A one of many silent thank yous.
This wouldn't be the first time Sapnap has saved him, when Dream gets bored and his jokes get cruel. It probably won’t be the last either.
George chances another glance and again brown eyes meet green.
Dream gives him a smug grin, tongue poking at his cheek. Blonde curls bouncing as he tilts his head in thought. “I think i'll pick you up later Georgie, you probably won't show up otherwise.”
George tries not to pick apart the implications of the words. How it probably means Dream knows his part in George’s rain checks and absences. How it definitely means he won't be back in his own bed until Dream gets sick of him sometime in the night.
“What, do I not get a ride?” Sapnap whines, laying his head on the cafe table.
“No. You can walk.” Dream smiles, before tilting his head back and finishing his drink.
George's fingers twitch under the table and he feels raw excitement bubble in his stomach. He won't get any work done for the rest of the day now, he'll waste it planning what clothes he’ll wear and how he’ll style his hair.
He feels pathetic.
He can't wait to see him later.
—-----------------------------
“You can't keep doing this George.” Quackitys voice sounds tired over the call.
George holds the phone to his ear, squashed between his head and shoulder as he uses his hands to hang up loose hoodies and shirts.
His side of the room had been meticulously cleaned the second he got home and Sapnaps side could always use any help it could get. Besides, he needed something to distract himself.
“It’s not serious Quackity, It’s just something fun.” George reassures. Despite his roommate having left for the gym, he doesn’t dare speak over a murmur.
“It really isn’t though, is it?” Quackity snarks, heated at the thought of the boy George spends his nights with. “I don’t care how attractive this guy is. He’s fucking awful sounding and you need to end it.”
George eyebrows furrow as he hangs up an orange hoodie, closing the wooden closet door behind him. He leaves Sapnaps letterman jacket on his bed untouched. “I am going to end it. In second year I'm deleting his number.”
“Yeah, sure you are.” Quackity laughs humorlessly.
“What do you mean? I am, I promise.” George feels like he's about to be told off.
“I have had the misfortune of knowing you for sixteen years now George and you have only ever told me about a boy you liked, twice. And the first time was when we were like five, so it really doesn't count.”
“It counts.” George argues.
“No. It doesn't. His name was Arnold, which is already a red flag and I can actually clearly remember him trying to eat a piece of paper. It's like a core memory.”
George laughs at the other down the phone. “It was endearing.”
“No, it was gross and you’re trying to change the subject. I hate that the first real crush you've had is some guy that kicks you out the second he finishes”
George says nothing in response. He can't deny that.
“Just don't expect anything from him George, he sounds like a prick and you’re gonna get hurt. You deserve someone that loves you right.”
George warms at his friend's protective tone. “Don't worry, I'm gonna stop it soon. I won't let it go too far.”
His empty promise is interrupted by the sound of keys and a turning handle. “Sapnaps home, I'll speak to you later.”
George ends the call, turning his phone off and chucking it on his bed. His hands are flung into his pockets and he tries to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. Sapnap barrels into the room, face flushed from his workout. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his gray jumper has been soaked dark.
“It's lashing down outside!” Sapnaps strips off his shirt and flings it over his desk chair, before pulling the door open wider and standing aside, to let someone else inside. “Look who I found on the way here.”
Dream walks in after him, blonde curls sticking up in every which way, made messy from the outside wind and rain. He’s smiling at first, clearly having just been laughing at something Sapnap said.
Dreams face dulls when he sees him.
Sometimes when he should be working, when George’s hands are flying over his keyboard and he's more or less completely zoned out from what he's doing. He thinks about how strangely Dream treats him.
How Dream seemingly hated him from the moment they met. How despite this unwarranted yet potent anger, Dream was the one to make the first move. It's in these moments that George is reassured that he can get over the boy when Dream inevitably gets bored of him. It's in these moments that George thinks that he might hate Dream, more than the other could ever hate him.
“Hey.” George greets them both, all smiles.
“I'm just gonna have a shower and then we’ll go. Okay?” Sapnap ruffles his hair as he walks past him towards the bathroom. He hears the sounds of the door click shut and then him and Dream are alone.
Dream doesn't say anything to him, just kicks off his shoes and lays down on Sapnaps bed. He pulls out his phone, seemingly having decided to ignore George for the next fifteen minutes it will take for Sapnap to get ready.
George sits back down at his desk and starts going through the motion of saving his code so he can turn off his computer. If not to save the entirety of today's work, then to try and look as equally busy and apathetic as possible.
His desktop shuts off with a ‘ding’ and he moves to plug his headphones into their charger when Dream decides to speak to him.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Dream has one arm bent behind his neck, leaning back on Sapnaps pillows without a care.
“Yeah.” George answers, sounding confused. “Why what's wrong with it?” He looks down at himself, trying to find the flaw that Dream evidently sees.
“You’re gonna be cold.” Dream says before turning back to his phone. Apparently having said his peace.
George fiddles with his fingers, all too aware of the pause between them.
“Thanks for driving me.” He says, unsure how to respond to the others' unfamiliar concern.
Dream only hums in response.
George begins to mentally cuss him out, before Sapnap steps back into the room with a yell of ‘ready’. Sapnap races for the bed, flinging himself on top of Dream, who wheezes out a noise that sounds something akin to either laughter or pain.
Dream moves Sapnap off of him with a playful shove, fond eyes rolling when Sapnap starts trying to wrestle him and George burns with violent envy.
Dream parked just outside the dorm building, so they don't have to run to the car to avoid getting soaked. George climbs into the back without thought, he’s never sat up front before and his pride would never let him ask. Sapnap starts flicking through radio stations, before settling on a song George has heard in every supermarket he's been in for the past week.
He pushes the tips of his wet fringe to the side, watching as drops of rain slide down the car window. “Can you turn the heater on?”
Dream clicks his tongue before turning around and giving him a look that reads, ‘you can't be serious?’. “What did I tell you?” Dream asks with a condescending tone.
George refuses to humor him, pulling his arms across his chest and huddling for warmth. “Whatever, shut up. Don't turn the heater on then.”
Dream ‘tsks’ to himself before undoing his seatbelt, crossing his arms at his stomach and pulling his hoodie off. He tosses it onto George's lap and starts the car without another word. George awkwardly shucks it on and tries his best to not smile.
Maybe he’ll get to keep this one.
—---------------
Dream disappears two minutes after they arrive at the party.
It's at someone's house which always means a messy night that’s somehow more intimate than any bar or club could be. Maybe intimidate isn't the right word? George thinks. A more accurate term would be vulnerable. When you're surrounded by sixty people who you all vaguely know, your drunk actions have sober consequences.
That's why George likes to wait, until much later into the night to start doing all the things he’ll regret in the morning. At least then he’ll probably be the only one who remembers them.
Sapnap has a tight grip on his hand and he leads them both into the kitchen. It's crowded with people and they’re playing shitty music way too loud, but the counter island is filled to the brim with spirits so at least there's that.
Sapnap pours them both out drinks, adding far too much vodka and far too little mixer. George even allows himself to be roped into taking a few shots and welcomes the familiar warmth, from the alcohol that floods his fingertips. Or maybe that's just from the feeling of Dream's hoodie brushing his palms.
The effect of the liquor isn’t immediate, but when it does finally seep in George settles his hands on the counter behind him for support. He pulls back just as quickly when he comes into contact with the sticky coating splattered across the surface.
They find Karl and half the football team in the living room, strewn across the couch and demanding the attention of the entire room.
If George hadn't met Sapnap. If he hadn't put in the time to know the gentler, intimate sides of the people in front of him, he is certain he would have never spoken a word to any of them. He may have even found that infuriating at best.
People seem to turn to the group subconsciously, angling themselves to catch onto ends of conversations and laughs. The team takes no notice, they do however react to George’s and Sapnap’s arrival.
Sam, an older player with big eyes and a big smile to match, gets up off the couch and flings an arm around his shoulder. Pulling George onto the couch somewhere between himself and Karl.
The room spins a little at the manhandling, but he’s only a few drinks in so it settles easily with a playful scoff.
Karl turns to George, a sly smile as he gasps and asks, “Is that George? No way. Could it really be?”
Geroge responds by stealing the shorter man’s drink.
The night flows into a relatively enjoyable one. George finds his vision soon clouded by liquid courage, that he’s quick to laugh at even the flatter of jokes and that the music is much more bearable.
But by the time it’s half twelve he has still seen no sign of Dream.
Punz has disappeared at some point too, excusing himself to the bathroom a while back and never returning.
Most of the football team has dispersed throughout the house and George snickers when he thinks he sees Sam's back, as the taller man presses someone against a wall. Clearly having much more fun than George is.
Geroge is currently stuck between Sapnap, who is making lovey eyes at Karl. The type George knows his roommate only allows to slip through, under the security of dim rooms and a vodka haze.
When Sapnaps face burns a sun kissed pink after Karl grasps the other laughing, George knows it’s his cue to excuse himself.
So abandoning the couch, George makes his way over to the kitchen. Someone’s dropped a glass and shards now span the entirety of the floor in front of the garden door. And a couple in the corner are going at it far more intimately than a person should in public. But regardless George pours the rest of whatever’s left in the spirit bottles in a single red plastic cup.
Downing the burning concoction quickly so as not to taste it. He dumps the cup in the bin after, knowing he won’t be drinking anything else because the idea of more alcohol now makes his stomach churn.
He moves towards the garden door, set on gasping down fresh air after he becomes acutely aware of just how hot it is inside. Making a point to be careful to avoid the glass on the floor, he steps out of the kitchen and welcomes the muted music and night breeze.
Florida air smells so much different to London air. Despite having lived in America for a good four months now, George is suddenly struck with the nostalgic feeling of being on holiday.
He leans his head back against the brick wall of the house gate. If he moves forward and out of the slim passageway he would reach the main garden, from which he can distantly hear the sounds of splashing water and excited giggles. But for now he allows himself to close his eyes, revelling in his solitude and cooling sensation of heavy mist in the air, due to the earlier downpour.
It smells like sea foam and sand on his feet. Something he remembers from his early childhood, being stunned by the blanket of warmth that wrapped around his limbs, despite the evident moon in the sky. Walking back to hotels in sandals, holding hands with both his mum and dad on either side.
He’d laugh and beg them to swing him while they walk, they would until they got tired and then he’d beg again.
A small part of the smell reminds him of Dream, his tanned back that’s spotted with freckles. The dimples he gets when he gives a sharp toothed grin. Bright green eyes that promise no pleasantries but pleasure.
And it’s as if George has materialised him, willed him into existence. Because it is just after the thought of the boy with the cruel smile flashed through him, that he stumbles towards the outside sounds.
Turning the corner to the sight of panning party lights, that stains pool water and the small group of people swimming in it, shades of purple and blue.
The coloured haze seems to travel down in mesmerising vapor waves, catching and reflecting strongly on two distinct individuals.
A girl pressed against the corner of the pool, wet hair pulled back by the large hands of another.
And Dream, coated a punishing lilac, shirtless and dripping droplets of water and moonlight. The person kissing her.