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Dream fell in love with George by accident. Though, he supposes, that’s how it usually goes.
Honors english class is where it happened. They sat next to each other, as told by the seating chart. Dream had encountered George before, but it was nothing memorable. A few clashing words and wary hellos. But none of it mattered.
They sat in silence for a while. A day? A week? Dream doesn’t remember. All he knows is that it snowballed. Went from anxious quiet, to asking questions, to telling jokes, to getting yelled at for being too loud.
George had this magnetic pull on Dream. It was easy to fall deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit. They were giggles in a silent room. If you heard hushed laughter and soft snickers, it would be them, every time. They were hunched over desks in a corner of the room, passing notes and trying to make each other laugh.
Dream didn’t know what had happened before it was too late. He could never go back. Time now stood as Before George and After George, a marker in history.
They talked about life a lot. Dream came from a broken family that was trying its best to heal. Divorced parents and a shaky relationship with his father, Dream had lots to talk about. George, with parents that should have been divorced and isolated in his room, had lots of practice listening. Dream would go on and on about politics, discussing movie plots, and anything else under the sun. George would sit with stars in his eyes, pretending like he had a clue about what was being said. He’d ask questions, and Dream would excitedly answer. Rambles and speeches about what ifs and how tos. They bounced off of each other perfectly.
“No, you don’t understand,” Dream interrupts, “Steve broke Tony’s heart in Civil War. Sure, they had rough beginnings, but over time they really did love each other. Everyone knew it.”
“And what about Bucky?” George asked with a raised brow and sly grin. His head rested on his fist as he tiredly listened to his friend’s tirade. The two were in the public library chatting. It started with George picking up a random book. Dream was crouched by the graphic novel section with his finger hovering over individual titles. George had made some snarky comment about being Team Captain, and Dream hadn’t stopped talking since.
“What about Bucky? He’s been in love with Steve from the beginning. And he would’ve loved Tony too, if they ever got to know each other. In the comics, they actually got along really well. Perfect throuple with miscommunication and enemy to lover tropes.”
George rolled his eyes with a huff, “I think you’re projecting.”
“Oh yeah? Which am I?”
“Oh, please. You’re Tony Stark through and through. Crazy and ambitious about everything,” George stated while hooking his foot around Dream’s, “and egotistical.”
Dream snorted. “Yeah, too bad I’m not a billionaire.”
“I thought you said billionaires were unethical?” George challenged. Dream scrunched his nose.
“They are. Tony would’ve done it right, though.”
“Hmm… wasn’t he a warmongering weapons manufacturer?”
“You’re just saying big words and hoping I’ll go with it.”
George shrugged and Dream’s smile was saturated with humor. The books that they had both been looking at were completely disregarded, lying untouched at the edge of the table. Outside, the sun was setting and the air was cooling.
“The library’s gonna close soon,” George whispered. Dream followed his gaze to the window where the sky was painted orange and twinkled with stars. He turned back to George.
“What, you have somewhere to be?”
There it was again, the magnetic hold that George seemed to have on Dream. And there Dream was, teasing it to get nearer.
“Are you asking me to stay?”
With hushed words, they drew closer together. Electricity crackled between them and it lit Dream’s body on fire. On accident, his eyes slipped down George’s face to his lips. If George noticed, though, he didn’t say anything.
“I’m always asking you to stay.”
“You’re dumb,” George murmered. Dream’s reply was a slightly offended noise and a playful grimace. Then, after not-so-subtle glares from the librarians, the pair gathered their items and exited the building. Unsurprisingly, neither of them actually checked out a single book.
Outside, the night sky sparkled as the sun dimmed from the horizon. The two walked shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, still whispering despite being alone. They entered Dream’s car, bickering about what music to listen to, laughter light and hearts even more so.
—
Dream feels more than sees the burning gaze of his roommate, Sapnap, on the back of his neck as he waves George off the next morning. Moments after closing the door, a cough sounds out in the deafening quiet. Dream begrudgingly turns around.
Behind him, Sapnap sits at the island bar with a mug of coffee held in his hands. He has on a loose tank top on and flannel pajama bottoms that slipped over his heels as his feet fail to reach the floor. Dream stretches a smile over his face, obvious in its fake nature.
“Well, I’m gonna take a nap, I’ll be upstairs-”
“Absolutely not,” Sapnap interjects. Dream’s body sags as he dejectedly walks to sit across the other. With a year of living with each other under both of their belts, the two have become great friends. Many nights have been spent watching movies or going to parties together and their bond was strong. They have even met each other’s families.
“Sap, I really am tired. I have a thing from work that I have to do later, and-”
“Dream, it’s getting sad seeing you two fumble around like middle schoolers. Actually, sad is the wrong word. Being with you two is insufferable and frankly, makes me sick to my stomach.”
Dream cuts the other with a heavy glare. Sapnap only glares back.
“You’re being dramatic, Sap. George and I are just friends.”
“Yeah, that’s why it’s insufferable. You’re both so in love that it should be a mental illness, but you’re both so fucking helpless that neither of you will say anything. I feel like I’m in some fucking romcom and I want out.”
“He’s not gay.”
“Oh my fucking god, I’m gonna gouge my eyes out, yes he is.”
“Okay, duh,” Dream seethes, “but he doesn’t know and I’m not gonna be the one who breaks the news.”
“Is it really ‘breaking the news’ if everyone within a five mile radius knows it?”
“Whatever, dude. That’s a can of worms that I’m not opening and you can’t make me.”
“Fine, then I’ll tell him. ‘Hey George, you’re fucking gay, so is Dream, please just fuck and get it over with, thanks.”
“I’ll be sure to keep this is in my report to the police once he kills you.”
Sapnap rolls his eyes and Dream crosses his arms in front of his chest. In all honesty, he knows his friend is looking out for him. But Dream has already thought of everything. It’s not like he wants to be in the weird limbo between friends and boyfriends that he has with George. But as long as George shoves his head in the sand about his sexuality, Dream can’t do anything. It wouldn’t be right to force George to talk about it.
But that doesn’t mean Dream understands why Sapnap is upset. After all, he isn’t the one that’s hopelessly in love with someone in the closet.
“Listen, man,” Sapnap settles with a palm face up across the tabletop, “I can imagine that this isn’t easy for you, Dream. You should just tell him, though. Then you could move on and blah-dee-blah. If nothing else, he deserves to know the truth.”
That’s the real kicker, in Dream’s opinion. The fact that he’s lying to his best friend every second that they’re together is what kills Dream. He loves, loves, loves being around George, but the instant that they’re apart, Dream feels dirty.
“I hear you,” Dream relents. Hesitantly, he drops his hand into Sapnap’s awaiting palm. They both give a squeeze before pulling away. Dream tries to smile.
“I’m gonna take that nap, now, okay?”
Sapnap sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes drop to the table as he nods. Dream knows Sapnap knows that nothing will change. It’s the disappointment in the other’s eyes that stings, even as Dream slips off to sleep.
—
Time passes. The seasons change, but Dream doesn’t. He and George spend all waking hours, and most sleeping hours, together, teetering on the brink of extinction. Dream can’t help it. It’s addicting. George has such pretty teeth and he laughs like he isn’t killing Dream slowly.
It’d be easiest if he could hate George. If George would be some secret serial killer, or if he stole candy from babies, or something. But Dream can’t find anything detrimental. Yeah, George has daddy issues, but in this day and age, who doesn’t?
Sometimes, there will be… moments. Moments that almost feel like they’re on purpose. One time, George started drifting off in class after a long night of nightmares. Softly, Dream lifted his pencil and began tracing it across George’s features: strong jawline, hair that fell in his face, easy eyes. He was hardly touching George, but the other blinked up at him. It startled Dream into dropping his pencil.
“Keep going,” George had grumbled, closing his eyes once more. Dream felt his eyes bulge out of their sockets. When George whined impatiently, Dream picked up his pencil again and resumed lightly dragging the pencil across the other’s face. They stayed like that for an hour.
Dream didn’t sleep that night.
—
“It’s weird being at your house,” Dream comments as he looks around the room. It’s an attic room with a slanted roof. George has the smallest twin size bed Dream has ever seen. Next to the bed is a night stand that is packed with books. The entire Harry Potter series, Mean Girls in Blu-Ray, and a few other miscellaneous paperbacks. Across the room is a door that leads to George’s closet. Beside it is a guitar. The walls are lined with trophies from various sports.
George fiddles with the remote to the TV that’s mounted on the wall by the foot of the bed while Dream walks around, awestruck. He pats the bed next to where he’s sat, “Come sit with me and stop eye-fucking my room.”
Yeah, the room is what I’m eye-fucking, nothing else.
Dream takes his seat and looks to his friend, “Now what?”
“Well, I have pretty much all the streaming services. Pick a show and I’ll have it.”
“Show off.”
“I live to impress.”
It takes a while, but they settle on a TV show that neither of them have seen. It’s pretty mediocre, but George laughs at all the jokes and gasps at all the plot twists. It’s beautiful. Dream thinks he ends up watching George more than the show.
A few episodes in, they relax more and more into each other. By the time that night has taken over, Dream is curled into George’s side as the other absorbs the show’s plot raptly. Dream barely fits on the bed. He fears he’ll fall off in his sleep. Regardless, George is warm and his pillows are soft and George smells like home. Dream falls asleep before he knows it.
He dreams of dancing skeletons tripping over each other. They all lindy hop in pairs, smiling and getting lost in the flow of music. Dream follows them in their parade. They go into the clouds and into the ocean and then where Dream fell asleep, right next to George. Suddenly, the skeletons are gone but his eyes are too heavy to look for them. To his side, George places his hands on the sides of Dream’s face. Dream feels cold and warm all over. He’s weightless when George surges closer and presses their lips together. It’s Heaven, it’s Hell, it’s killing him.
Dream’s eyes snap open in the dark room. He can’t move; paralyzed as he takes in his surroundings. George is on his side, turned towards the wall and away from Dream. The TV is still playing the show they began but now muted. Dream gulps in air through his nose and desperately tries to calm down. He didn’t kiss George, he didn’t kiss George, he didn’t-
Sleep drags him back to the depths in the darkness. He can’t hope to fight it. This time, however, there is no George, and there are no skeletons.
He wakes up the next day and goes home in a haze. When he gets home, he sprints to the shower and turns it onto the hottest setting. The water burns as it touches his skin. He takes his nails and he drags them harshly across his body. All over, red scratches cover him. The air is too heavy to breathe, he has to be suffocating. He doesn’t care. He sits down, draws his knees to his chest, rests his head on his knees and closes his eyes.
Sapnap finds him later. How much later, Dream doesn’t know. But his fingers are pruned and the water is cold against his face.
“Dude, I just got home. Neighbors below us called saying that the shower’s been running two hours. Did you fucking fall asleep?”
Dream stares blankly. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. There’s a flicker in Sapnap’s eyes, it holds something Dream doesn’t understand, then a towel is being pressed to his hands and he’s being guided out of the shower. It’s a blur for the most part. It’s freezing when they walk out of the bathroom. Sapnap shushes him. Then there are fluffy clothes- pajamas? And a softness under his head- pillow. The tenor of Sapnap’s voice falls in and out of Dream’s consciousness while fingers comb through his hair.
It’s nice.
—-
Dream wakes up steadily. The whir of the ceiling fan filters in first, then the feeling of a blanket clutched in his hands, then the sight of his room with the lights off. He sits up and drops his comforter.
“Hey man.”
Dream whips his head to the left only to see Sapnap propped up against the headboard. He’s in his own leisure clothes with his phone in his hand, but it’s dangling precariously in his loose grip. His brows are furrowed in concern as he takes in Dream’s appearance.
“...Hi.”
“Can I ask what happened at George’s?”
All at once, the memories break the dam and flood in. Dream’s vision is covered in hazy recollections and his heart is heavy with rejection. It must show on his face, because Sapnap takes his hand and holds it firmly.
“Dream? You’re home, buddy. It’s just me, Nick, okay?”
Dream slowly nods his head, “Yeah, yeah I remember.”
“Did- did George… hurt you?”
“Um, no, no he didn’t. I- I just-” he inhales deeply, “I had a dream and it felt so real. I- we kissed, and he was right there then I woke up, and it was fake. I think? It- it was so real, Sap. I- I think I’m seriously going crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy, Dream,” Sapnap says softly, like Dream will break otherwise, “it’s okay. You’re not crazy, you’re not.”
Sapnap moves deliberately, letting Dream process it as he takes Dream in his arms. Dream’s lip is quivering, he’s digging his nails into Sapnap’s forearm, his eyes burn.
Silently, he sobs. He cries and he mourns.
“It’s okay,” Sapnap repeats, “it’s okay.”
—
It’s been a week and three days since Dream last talked to George. Not that he’s keeping track. That would be sad.
He just needs space.
Is that a crime? Having this thing for George is exhausting. It’s tiring to question every move. He’s sick of feeling guilty.
This little break-from-George makes Dream realize a few things. Firstly and most easily, he realizes that he cannot be in the same room as his phone. It’s too tempting. Dream has it set to where any text or call from George would go through Do Not Disturb. At the beginning, the calls and texts scared Dream enough to drop his phone. So after the fifth call, Dream sprints to his roommate’s room and chucks his phone at the other. Sapnap looks confused for a moment before glancing down to the device. Understanding ripples across his features as he half-smiles at Dream.
Secondly, Dream realizes he has no other friends. He’s spent the past year tripping over himself to get to George. He hadn’t thought about anyone else in a long time. But he thinks about it now, now that his skin crawls with desire to leave the house but no one to go with. Sapnap tries to keep company, but between his classes and his own personal life, it’s not enough. Which is fine. Everything is fine.
Lastly, Dream realizes he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he isn’t with George. The longest they ever spent apart was only a day or two. He’s never felt so alone. However, in the cracks of his sanity, Dream very quietly despises George; hates him for ever looking Dream’s way. It’s dark and twisted but in the cesspools of his loneliness, he finds comfort in hating George Davidson.
There’s a knock on the front door.
“Sap, you have your own keys, dude.”
The knocking continues.
“I don’t care if your hands are full. I’m comfortable.”
The knocking turns into pounding against the door. Dream groans and drags his hands down his face. He stomps his feet the entire way to the door for dramatic effect, making sure that Sapnap knows how inconvenient he’s being. Dream flings the door open.
“What, Sapnap? I was fucking relaxed-”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” George states. Dream blinks owlishly.
Oh.
It’s like a tsunami. Seeing George’s face devastates Dream’s weak infrastructure that he had built up in the past week. Dark circles, worse than usual, are stark against the paleness of George’s skin. He looks drained and scared. Scared like an animal that was abandoned on the highway and can’t trust again. The sight makes something bold stir in Dream’s chest.
“I’m not,” Dream lies. George snorts.
“You’re a shit liar. What’s wrong with you? Nobody has seen you. You aren’t in class or at the library or anything! You completely disappeared and didn’t even tell me. Why?”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you, George? Obviously, I wanted to be alone, jackass. Everyone else was fine with that. Why not you?”
That makes George blush bright red. It’s on his cheeks and in his hairline and on top of his ears. It’s annoyingly adorable and Dream is caught between wanting to beat George up or kiss him.
“I’m sorry that I was worried about my best friend?”
“Best friend?” Dream scoffs. George rolls his hands into fists at his sides.
“What, you don’t wanna be friends anymore? Is that it? What did I do? This all came out of nowhere, it isn’t fair!”
“No, what isn’t fair is that I’ve been in love with you for the better half of a year and you’re so stupidly repressed that I couldn’t even say anything!”
Dream yells it at the top of his lungs. It draws the life out of his soul and leaves him frail and vulnerable. George just stands still, not even moving to breathe. If Dream wasn’t so busy trying to plan out the fastest escape plan, he’d be worried.
“You… what?”
Dream sighs and lowers his gaze to the ground. The pavement is sparsely covered in dead grass and pebbles. Dream wishes he could melt down into the cracks and avoid the ensuing conversation. He isn’t ready; neither of them are.
“George, I have been in love with you for the longest time. And I’m… I’m sorry. I know that you don’t want to hear this. Shit, I don’t even want to say it. But it’s eating me away. It hurts being around you. That’s- that’s why I haven’t been responding.”
George doesn’t reply. Dream flicks his eyes back up from the floor to his friend. George looks like he’s seen a ghost. Dream feels smaller than an ant.
They stand in silence.
Dream can’t bring himself to watch his own demise. He closes his eyes and tries to think of the leaves rustling.
“I- I don’t feel the same way, Dream.”
The words seem to knock down buildings. The words are a beast of their own, Dream’s special Goliath sent from Hell. The wound in Dream’s chest feels real enough that he can imagine the blood that would be staining his clothes.
Believe it or not, Dream isn’t batshit fucking crazy. At least, not one hundred percent. He’s seen the way that George looks at him. Dream knows it, knows it like the sky is blue and the grass is green. Dream knows it’s a lie once the words leave George’s mouth. No, it’s not the words that hurt.
It’s that George hates being gay more than he loves Dream.
—
A month comes and goes. George seems to be fine while Dream is washing away. George is still touchy and bright and Dream eats up like he’s starved. He’s desperate for any crumbs of George that he can get his hands on. They’re back to being attached at the hip, much to Sapnap’s obvious dismay. They go to George’s house more now and Dream is intimately aware of what it feels like to fall asleep with George in his arms.
There’s just one thing different.
George has been texting somebody. That’s fine and dandy with Dream, duh, except that George giggles at the texts and won’t share with Dream. During their TV show binges, his phone keeps buzzing on the mattress and he keeps answering it and stops watching the TV.
It’s annoying. It’s rude. You’re not supposed to talk to other people while you have company over. That’s just- that isn’t how it works! It makes Dream grind his teeth together in frustration as he determinedly keeps his eyes on the television screen. For fuck’s sake, George won’t even tell Dream who he’s texting. He’s practically twirling his hair and kicking his feet in the air right in front of Dream. It’s honestly a dick move, if you asked Dream.
“Okay? So tell him it bothers you and that you want him to stop,” Sapnap answers Dream’s rant with. He’s shoving mouthfuls of Fruity Dino-Bites into his mouth as milk dribbles out of the side of his mouth. Dream grimaces.
“No, because then I’m the asshole.”
“You’re an asshole if you ask your friend to act decently?”
Dream knows it’s a sarcastic question and not meant to be taken seriously. He nods his head anyway. Sapnap rolls his eyes while wiping his mouth with his sleeve between bites. Dream groans and pulls at his hair. It’s a new thing he’s started: picking and pulling. His lips are decimated from chewing at them and so are his fingernails. It’s beginning to feel like the outside is getting as torn up as his insides are.
“I still think you should tell him,” Sapnap states. He pushes away from the table and dumps his milk into the sink before setting the dish in the washer. Dream watches his friend leave the room down the hallway. It gets quiet. The lights thrum with electricity and there’s someone on the stairs outside the apartment being noisy, but that’s it. Dream is alone.
It wouldn't bother Dream so much if he knew who it was George was texting. Maybe he could convince George to let them meet and they all form one big, happy, normal, friend group. That way Dream could see what it is that has George laughing all the fucking time. Maybe the person was genuinely fucking hilarious and Dream would get a kick out of it too.
Frustrated, Dream whips out his phone and calls George.
“Hey, George, you free?”
George doesn’t answer immediately. There’s scuffling sounds of movement on the other end. When George gets close to the phone microphone, Dream can hear his heavy breathing.
“Um, no, Dream, I’m busy-” there’s a giggle in the background. A deep one. The hair on the back of Dream’s neck stands up, “-shut up- No, sorry, can I call later?”
“Sure,” Dream says. The line is dead before he can finish the syllable. Dream slams his phone on the tabletop angrily.
Laughter. George laughing. Without Dream there at all. With someone else. Dream’s vision swims with anger as his thoughts run in circles, pounding against the sides of his skull. It’s brutal how his thoughts haunt him from a single ten second call.
It keeps Dream up all night. He tosses and turns and is hyper aware of everything touching him. He feels like hell when he walks into his literature class. George is sitting where he always sits in that lecture hall, and he’s fucking texting.
“Who is it that you keep texting?” Dream demands. A few students around them turn their heads. George startles, shuts his phone off, smacks it face down on the desk, and blushes up at Dream.
“What? Oh, I- I just saw something funny on Instagram.”
“George, why won’t you tell me?”
The tenseness in George’s shoulders spills out of his posture. Dream takes his seat next to George. They sit in terse silence.
“He’s a new friend.”
“Who’s a new friend?”
“His name is Mikael. I- we met when you were… gone. He uh- we bumped into each other before lunch and he asked to sit with me. I said yes and we’ve been- yeah.”
“You’ve been what?”
George blushes. “We’ve been… friends.”
Dream makes a noise of acknowledgment. George looks like he’s holding his breath. Dream raises his brow to encourage his friend to continue.
“It’s just- you aren’t mad? I feel like you’re mad. That’s why I didn’t tell you, I- I was afraid it would upset you.”
Great, now George is scared to tell Dream things. Goddamnit, everything is so fucked up now. Dream should’ve shut his damn mouth when George came to his house and should’ve blamed it on the flu like he’d been saying. Now they have secrets. They’ve never had secrets before. They’ve trusted each other like nothing else. It was them against the world.
“No, George, I’m not mad.”
George visibly relaxes at that. He hesitantly picks up his phone and slowly types out a message. When Dream doesn’t rage out like the fucking Hulk, George exhales and types faster. His phone buzzes. He smiles down at his phone.
It’s like watching the world end.
—
Dream’s excited to go to George’s birthday party. They’ve both been so busy, they haven’t talked in ages. Their language class together ended with the semester and they got separated in the second term. At first it was weird to not see George everyday. Eventually, though, Dream made his own friends. Sapnap had invited him out with friends to see some movie and it had been nice. It was two guys: Punz and Karl, they said. The three of them very apparently had a strong relationship but that didn’t stop them from including Dream at all. He felt bubbly like he used to, in another life.
But George had texted a quick invite to his apartment for his birthday and Dream hasn’t been this excited for something in a long time. He went out and bought the new Fifa Sports game that came out and a blue controller that lit up. Dream wanted to buy more, but he’s sure that George will love whatever Dream purchased.
Exhilaration pumps through his body as he bounces up each step to the third floor, where George lives. He taps out rhythms on the side of the wrapped presents he carries while he knocks on George’s door. It takes a second but George opens the door with a smile.
“Dream!”
“George!”
They easily fall into a hug. They fit together like they used to all that time ago. It feels weird to be so comfortable when they haven’t seen each other in a months. But George is still George. He’s still energetic and his smile is still the same. Dream lets himself bask in the familiarity.
They walk into the apartment. Dream assured himself that he was on time: five minutes past eight PM. George’s apartment looks the same as it did when Dream frequented the place except that there’s a bit more noticeable mess. Dream squints at that. George doesn’t really like his common areas to be dirty. His room is a junkyard all the way, but the kitchen and living room had always been spick-span when Dream was over. Weird.
In his bedroom there are three other people. There was one that Dream recognized from campus, Quackity, but the other two were mysteries.
“Guys, this is Dream! Dream, this is Quackity, Wilbur, and Mikael.”
Quackity gives a nod of his head to Dream that he reciprocates. He can’t help but notice that Quackity is significantly shorter than him. Wilbur has long curly hair that falls in front of his eyes. He smiles politely which Dream, again, returns. And Mikael…
Well, Mikael doesn’t look anything like Dream.
Mikael has short cropped black hair and sharp brown eyes. He’s not as tall as Dream and Wilbur, but his shoulders are broad and so is his stance. He looks confident. Like he has dirt on everyone in the room. Immediately, Dream doesn’t trust him.
“Hey, Dream, I’ve heard so much about you,” Mikael greets. He reaches his hand out. Dream copies him, shakes hands, and plasters on the fakest smile he can.
“Yeah, me too.”
Just kidding, George was too afraid of me to talk about you, but I’m sure you already know that and are judging me pretty harshly for it.
After that, the party begins. Although, twenty minutes in and George hasn’t done anything to get his guests to know each other any better. All he’s done is talk with Mikael in the corner of the room. Dream sits criss crossed on the floor. Bizarrely, Wilbur and Quackity join him.
“Um,” Dream starts, “should I get a ball and whoever holds it has to give their name and a fun fact about themselves?”
Quackity snorts, “I will jump out of the window, dude, seriously.”
“I’d do that but also take you down with me,” Wilbur jokes. Dream laughs.
“Such happy company,” Dream drawls. Wilbur grins and Quackity shrugs.
Shortly, the three of them are joking and talking like they’ve all been friends since childhood. They ask questions and insert little snippets and they argue playfully. Once more, Dream feels included in a group that he’s not met before. It’s strange. He almost thinks of himself as likable.
They’re all laughing at a story Quackity told when Dream sees it: George and Mikael. They’re still in their corner, but now George has his legs bracketed around Mikael’s as the other looks up with stars in his eyes. George seems just as happy, if the smile that threatens to split his face in half is anything to go by.
Dream’s ears ring.
“I, um,” he stumbles, “I have to- bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t wait for replies. He all but runs out of the room, down the hallway, and out onto the front porch that’s connected to the apartment building stairs. His chest is heaving and his eyes burn. He can’t feel his hands, can’t feel the ground, can only feel the way that his lungs burn with lack of air.
Fuck, George has never once looked at Dream like that. Like he wanted Dream. Dream didn’t know that George was even capable of being horny. George was this- this- this person who was too good to be like that. George was- he was perfect and he was Dream’s.
All at once, months of distance and radio silence comes crashing down in flames. George is supposed to be Dream’s. They- they’re perfect for each other. They spent so much time together. Dream spilled his soul into George and bathed in George’s praise and laughter. George loves Dream, he knows it. Everybody knows it. It was so undeniable that anybody could see it. It was Dream and George that giggled in the back of the classroom. It was Dream and George that went everywhere together. It was Dream and George that were in love. Not- not- not fucking George and Mikael.
“Dream?”
Dream freezes. He can’t breathe. He’s in the vacuum of space where there’s no oxygen and it’s too cold to be out. A hand on his shoulder forces him to turn around.
And there’s George with his stupid fucking magnetic pull that still reels Dream in, even after all this time. Dream never should’ve come here. He should’ve blocked George on his phone. He should’ve- should’ve never fucking talked to George fucking Davidson.
“You replaced me in one week!” Dream screams. It’s late. The neighbors will complain about the noise. He doesn’t care. Tears stream down his face, carrying out the grief he’d kept bottled up for years. He’s broken and tired, and he regrets everything that led him to this point.
“What’re you talking about, Dream?”
“I was gone for one week and that’s all it took for you to move on,” his voice breaks. It feels like he swallowed bags of sand, “is that how it’s been this whole time? Just you waiting to leave the second you get the chance?”
“What do you mean by ‘move on’? Dream, you’re not making sense.”
Dream’s throat is scraped raw and bloody when he yells it.
“You were in love with me and you fucking know it!”
In an instant, George shuts off. His eyes dim, his arms go limp, and his mouth closes. Dream wants to grab the words and shove them back down his throat. But there’s no going back now.
“One week, George, really? Am I that forgettable? Were you that bored? I- you said you were worried about me. Was that a lie? Was all of it a lie to you?”
He’s quiet now. All of the fight has left him. No more energy to fight. Nothing left to wonder how things got as fucked up as they are now.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dream’s heart sinks through the floor.
“So that’s it? Two years of friendship and you’re throwing it away for, what, your pride? Well, news flash, George Davidson, you’re fucking gay and you’re the last one to know about it. Chew on that, you fuck.”
Dream storms down the stairs. Tears burn tracks into his face and his nose runs faster than he can wipe it away. He gets to the bottom of the stairs and flips his hood over his head. The moonlight in the sky gives everything an ethereal glow to it after he exits the building. It looks magical. Crickets chirp cheerfully at Dream, welcoming his presence. It’s a beautiful night.
Dream hates it.