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Everyone knows the most important decision you make in school is where you sit on the first day.
Dream bites his lip, clicking his phone on and off just to fiddle with something as he anxiously navigates his new campus. College. It’s bigger and taller than high school, and Dream winces as his new shoes squeak on the pockmarked floors. He supposes most of it is in his own head, but he feels incredibly out of place in the hallways as a freshman; new shoes, shaky smile, double and triple checking the room number for his next class, General Chemistry.
It’s not a class that he’s particularly excited for. Science is alright, but Dream is a little intimidated by the sheer size of the periodic table and the amount of math that might be required. Still, he’s here five minutes early, hovering in the doorway as he scans the room for a place to sit.
He’s not the first one here, but the room isn’t full yet, rows of long desks and empty chairs that span more than half of the room. Three of the walls are covered with giant blackboards, and the room is lit by a sizable floor-to-ceiling window in the back corner.
Dream hums carefully, taking it in, eyeing the backs of his new, unknown classmates. Wherever he sits now will probably be his seat for the entire semester, and it’s vital that he picks a good spot. It would be nice to make some friends.
He quickly rules out the front row, not wanting to be stuck in the professor’s direct line of sight, no thank you. The back rows are mostly full already, and Dream watches, lingering awkwardly, as a gangly boy steps through the door and into a seat, immediately turning to his friend with a quick fist-bump. There’s a clump of girls settling into the third row, chattering quietly, and Dream starts to panic as he looks for someone to sit next to, someone nice, someone friendly.
He’s been standing still for too long, so he starts to move towards the second row, where there are more seats, when he sees someone nice, someone friendly, someone pretty. A boy, dirty blonde hair mussed over his eyes, wearing a slouchy blue hoodie and shorts. He looks like he plays sports, legs carrying some light muscle, and he’s wearing a few braided friendship bracelets of varying colors. His mouth is pulled into a strangely endearing pout as he leans over, searching through his backpack, and Dream’s feet are moving before his brain can process anything.
No no no, he berates himself fruitlessly, already beelining for the empty seat, we absolutely Cannot sit next to the Hot Scruffy Boy the entire year or else I am not going to be able to focus on anything. I wanted to pass this class, not develop a stupid crush on one of my classmates god I’m so hopeless. Look at his lips, they’re so kissable. This is ridiculous.
Hot Scruffy Boy looks up as Dream approaches, ears perking up like a cat, and offers him a guileless smile—and, well. Since when had Dream cared about chemistry anyway?
“Hey,” Dream starts, trying to steady his voice with a wobbly smile.
“Hey,” the boy echoes. His voice sounds like salt and campfires and the satisfying crinkle of aluminum foil and Dream is in love. “I’m Punz.”
“Dream,” he offers, shrugging his backpack off near his feet.
“Cute.”
“What?” he blinks.
“Cool name,” Punz answers, nonchalant, as if Dream’s not blushing up to the tips of his ears, “I’ve never met anyone named Dream before.”
“I’m your first, then,” Dream replies, pleased and a little shy.
“The one and only, so far.”
They fall into a brief silence, and Dream’s heart is practically beating out of his chest. This almost feels like a first date, with the awkward introductions and stumbling compliments — except they’re in a classroom, two minutes away from the bell. He can feel Punz’s gaze on him out of the corner of his eye, and his chest burns with desperate hope.
“So, um—are you a chem major?”
Dream turns towards him instantly, unable to stop a smile from tugging at his lips at Punz’s attention. “No, no. English, actually. I’m a freshman, so I’ve got some time to figure it out. How about you?”
“Chemistry?” Punz asks, and Dream nods earnestly.
“God no, fuck that,” he scoffs, leaning back in his chair and spinning his pencil over his fingers absently. “I’m only taking this class for my science credit. I tried to get into Biology because I heard that it’s less math, but it was full.” He winces. “I suck at math.”
“Me too,” Dream breathes, happy to find something they have in common. Punz is surprisingly easy to talk to, and Dream feels safe enough to relax into the conversation a little more. “It’s okay, we can struggle together.”
“I still have to use a calculator for like, addition, but okay,” Punz says, giving Dream a smile that makes him feel like pure sunshine. “I even have one of those fancy graphing calculators with a million buttons, I don’t even know what half of them do.”
“Oh yeah, those,” Dream smiles, remembering. “My friend and I used to find different line equations and put them into the program so it would graph a flower. Or, um, a dick.”
He looks over to find Punz staring at him, warm blue eyes creased in a piercing sort of affection that makes Dream cough awkwardly, bolts of electricity zinging down his spine. “That’s certainly a useful skill to have.”
“I mean, I don’t really know what most of the buttons do either, so I probably won’t be a big help with that,” Dream rambles, cheeks heating up again. “I’m not exactly, like, a science person.”
“I think we should be friends,” Punz says simply, lips pursed fondly as if trying to surpass a laugh. “Do you want to trade numbers?”
“How forward,” Dream blurts out, and immediately wants to smack himself. Friends, he literally just asked to be Friends oh mother of god why don’t I ever have a brain-to-mouth filter around pretty boys, he thinks miserably. “That was a joke! Just a joke, y’know how—okay. Sorry, I am—so sorry,” he apologies, breaking eye contact to study the wooden grain of the desk.
Punz laughs, loud and light and kind, his entire face bright with amusement, and it is unfair how Dream is in love with every inch of this boy. His eyes crinkle and his cheeks scrunch up as he leans into Dream’s space, teasing. “I still haven’t gotten your number, sweetheart.”
“Stop,” Dream groans, ears flaming. He feels wildly flattered and also a little bit like he’s drowning. “This is like, my worst first impression ever.”
“No, this is great,” Punz giggles, sounding delighted with himself. “I’m smooth as fuck, oh my god.”
“You know how during ice-breakers, they always ask what you would choose for your superpower? Invisibility seems like a really good answer right now, I mean, think of all the benefits!—”
“Dream, c’mon,” Punz grins, leaning back, and wow Dream’s name sounds delicious in his mouth. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve met all day. And I really would like your number, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Okay,” Dream runs a hand through his hair, recovering, desperately willing the blush to drain from his face. “Okay, yeah. I think I’ve stopped having a heart attack now, thank god. Do you have a piece of paper or something?”
Punz does not have a piece of paper, but he does have a Sharpie—and he leaves an hour later with Dream’s number enclosed in the palm of his hand like a baby bird. Dream watches him rush to his next class, feeling almost sick to his stomach from the happy butterflies that flutter up his throat when his phone lights up with a new text.
Unknown Number
yo
it was nice to meet you today, hope i wasn’t ‘too forward’
lol
this is punz from chem btw
see u thurs in class :)
___
“I am exhausted,” Sapnap groans dramatically, face-planting onto his bed. “Holy shit, I hate the first day, I have a ludicrous amount of syllabuses to read. Syllabi? Is it syllabuses or syllabi, Dream?”
“I dunno,” Dream replies absently. “Syllabuses, I think.”
He kicks off his shoes and heads for their shared mini-fridge, pulling out a raspberry-flavored vitamin water. Water condenses on the outside of the drink, trickling over Dream’s knuckles as he uncaps it and takes a long sip.
He’s lucky that he gets to live with his best friend from high school, lucky that they get to take their first steps into college together. And sure, Sapnap isn’t a perfect roommate, but he’s clean and considerate and always there when Dream needs him. They bounce off each other, matching each other in conversation and energy, teasing and supporting each other in equal measure, and it just—works. They’re best friends, easy as 1, 2, 3.
“How was your day?” Sapnap asks, rolling over on the bed, rusty curls falling in his eyes.
“Good,” Dream replies truthfully.
“Good? That’s it?”
“Normal?” Dream tries. “Boring? What do you want from me, Sapnap?”
“I want the juicy details,” he replies, dragging out the ‘s’ as he stares at Dream with wide eyes, expectant. “Tell me everything. Did you make any friends?”
“You sound like my mom,” Dream snorts, putting his vitamin water on his desk. He hops up onto his bed and gets settled, staring back at Sapnap.
“Sorry I’m interested in your life,” Sapnap rolls his eyes. “Please, Dream, I want to know about your boring first day, please.”
“Fine,” Dream replies. “Uh, I liked my Ancient Mediterranean Studies professor, he was cool. He had a Hawaiian shirt. I met this guy in Chemistry and he was funny and Igavehimmynumber. And the people in my English class seem nice, this one girl had split hair, like, it was half pink and half brown. Made me think about what color I would dye my hair, do you think I would look good in pink?”
“Oh my god. You have a crush.” Sapnap is smiling dangerously at him, eyes alight. “Who has my baby boy’s number, tell me now.”
“Okay, no—what? No. I do not have a crush.”
“You’re blushing, by the way,” Sapnap teases, still grinning.
“Sapnap,” he whines, burying his face in his cool pillow and trying to escape the horrors of existence.
“Dude, I don’t know what to tell you, you literally have stars in your eyes. But it’s okay! Nothing wrong with a little crush, nothing at all.”
“His name is Punz,” Dream mumbles, resigned, words slightly muffled. He sighs, cheeks two hot spots of pink, embarrassed by his own heart.
“Punz?”
“Yeah.”
“I know him!” Sapnap exclaims, and he sounds entirely too excited for Dream’s liking. “He’s on the basketball team with me. Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes? Looks a little bit like he got thrown in the laundry by accident?”
“He’s pretty,” Dream agrees miserably.
“If you say so,” Sapnap shrugs. “Hey, you should come to our scrimmage on Wednesday! Then you can ogle him all you want.”
“Maybe,” he replies, picking at a loose thread on the corner of his blanket. “Wouldn’t that be weird?”
“You’d just be supporting the team,” Sapnap begs, earnest. “You were going to come and watch me anyways, right?”
“No,” Dream says sweetly, because he can.
“Okay, I mean, I guess I could mention to Punz that you’re head over heels for him, if that’s what you want—” Sapnap drawls, stretching out the sentence like a taunt.
“No! Sapnap— stop, you can’t, you cannot, I will actually murder you in your sleep if you tell him,” Dream jolts upright on his bed, glaring daggers at him. His heart beats in his ears, nervous at the slightest mention of Punz. “I’ll come for you on Wednesday, I will.”
“You’ll come, and you’ll also arrive?” Sapnap smirks at him, and the mood immediately breaks, cracking open like an egg. The yolk oozes through Dream’s fingers, a happy yellow.
Dream throws a pillow across the room, fully missing Sapnap and almost knocking over their lamp. “You’re such an idiot, oh my god.”
Sapnap laughs, warm and hiccupy, and it feels like a hug when Dream joins in, giggling under the sunshine from their dorm window. It’s the first day of their first year of college, a vitamin water on his desk, his pillow askew on Sapnap’s bed—and Dream is happy, happy, happy, raspberry settling on his tongue like the taste of love.
___
On Thursday in Chemistry, Dream taps Punz’s wrist lightly with his pencil. They’re supposed to be doing an independent worksheet on identifying elements by their atomic number and mass number. Dream is already done.
“I saw you play on Wednesday—yesterday,” he whispers. “You were really good.”
That’s an understatement. Punz was incredible; Dream was so obsessed with the way he moved around the ball, obsessed with the swish of his shorts jumping up to reveal pale thighs, that he barely noticed anyone else. Punz had left the court with sweaty hair, tucked cutely behind his ears, and an addictive kind of self-satisfaction in his step that made Dream want to grab his waist and kiss him dumb.
“Oh,” Punz replies, surprised. “I didn’t see you there. You like basketball?”
“Sapnap’s my roommate,” Dream explains. “He’s on the team, too, a freshman. Do you know him?”
“Yeah,” Punz’s eyes light up in recognition, nodding gently at Dream. “He’s fiery, I like him.”
“He’s my best friend,” Dream replies, feeling oddly proud. He smiles. “He can be a handful sometimes, but he’s great.”
“Is everyone finished with their worksheets?” their professor calls from the front of the room, sparing a pointed glance at the two of them. Dream scrunches down in his seat, caught, and Punz frowns down at his still incomplete paper, tapping his pencil against the desk.
“Number eight is Radium, and number nine is Silver. A-G,” Dream murmurs, barely moving his lips as he quickly scans Punz’s work.
“Thanks,” Punz whispers back, scribbling the answers in. “Hey, you should come to more games. It would be cool to have a fan.”
“Who says I’ll be there for you?” Dream shoots back.
“Don’t be silly,” Punz looks sideways at him, grinning. Dream wants to drop an anchor in his glacier blue eyes and live there forever. “Of course you’ll be there for me.”
Things move faster after that.
Chemistry is more bearable when he’s greeted with a friendly smile and Punz’s foot pushing against Dream’s under the desk in a silent hello. Sometimes Punz forgets a pencil, and Dream lends him an extra one, and he lets their hands brush purposely as he hands it over. Punz never comments on it, just lets him do it, and Dream shyly steals whatever touch he can, obsessed with the warm weight of Punz’s hands and the delicate bend of his fingers, smeared with lead when he brushes eraser shavings off his work.
One morning, Punz comes to class holding two hot drinks, his name written messily across the side. He pushes one towards Dream, “for you.”
“Thanks,” Dream says, touched, eyes soft as he takes the cup. It’s warm under his hand, and he wraps his fingers around it, careful not to smudge Punz’s name. “What is it?”
“Latte,” Punz replies. “I didn’t know what kind of drink you liked, so I tried to pick something safe. I put some sugar in for you, don’t worry.”
“Sweet,” Dream grins, looking up to catch Punz rolling his eyes, though his brain is spinning. Punz got me coffee, that’s such a boyfriend thing to do, right? Oh god, he’s so cute, I am never going to get over him. And then: how am I going to tell him I don’t like coffee?
Punz takes a sip of his own drink, still looking over at him conversationally, and Dream thinks, fuck it, this is for love and brings the cup to his mouth.
The taste burns his tongue, and it’s not the worst thing ever, but it’s bitter in all the wrong places with an aftertaste that he can’t help wincing at, however much he tries to swallow it down happily. Punz watches his face, eyebrows creasing, “is it too hot?”
“Um,” Dream starts, unable to shake the itchy film of coffee from his mouth, “you see, I—I don’t really like coffee, actually.”
“What?” Punz laughs, big and soft, stumbling over his own words. “Dream. You didn’t have to drink it, I was just offering.”
“I didn’t want to be rude,” he mumbles.
“I should’ve asked,” Punz says, waving it off. “Do you want some of mine to wash it down? It’s just chai, do you like chai?”
He nods, weak in the knees even though he’s sitting down, and Punz passes him his own cup, large palms covering Dream’s as he presses it into his hands. Dream shivers a bit at the contact, and tries not to think too hard about the fact that Punz’s mouth has curled around the edge of this very cup. His eyes dart to Punz’s lips, pink and probably soft, and he wonders what a kiss would taste like right now, creamy and frothy and warm like the chai under his tongue.
“That’s really good, thank you,” Dream hums.
Punz knocks his hand against Dream’s, mouth quirked up in a fond smile. “I’ll bring you chai tomorrow,” he promises, and Dream doesn’t have the strength to protest when Punz bumps their shoulders together and steals Dream’s abandoned latte.
He sips his borrowed chai, and doesn’t hear a single word of their chemistry lecture.
Dream’s crush doesn’t go away.
They’re friends now, proper friends, he thinks. They study and eat and hang out together, all the normal things. Sure, Punz flirts with him sometimes, but it never goes anywhere past platonic. They’re just close; a kind of friendship that tickles the grey area between this and something more, and Dream feels caught in a perpetual loop of crushing his own hopes, but he wouldn’t give up being friends with Punz for anything.
He goes to all the basketball games, cheering whenever Punz so much as touches the ball, and gets a rush of adrenaline when Punz holds his finger up after he makes a shot, victorious, and finds Dream in the crowd. That was for you, his eyes seemed to say. Or maybe Dream’s just delusional and in love.
One time, he wore Sapnap’s jersey for support, and Punz found him after the game, hands brushing over the thick straps on his shoulders. “You can have my jersey next time,” he said, voice gravelly with exhaustion, and Dream nodded, mute at the gleam in his eyes. Punz smiled. “Thanks for coming, Dream.”
They study together often, working problem sets in the on-campus cafe because Punz has a sweet tooth. Dream gets up to buy them both scones every hour, and explains the different geometries of electron configurations to Punz between bites.
The library is another favored study spot, where they talk in whispers about units of pressure and ideal gasses until they’re kicked out of the shelves at midnight. Punz had dragged Dream to his car one of those times, driving them out to get ice cream from McDonalds—and at one o’clock in the morning, Dream was almost soothed to sleep by the soothing rumble of Punz’s car and the smooth taste of vanilla. Listening to Punz mumble along to the radio, his headache from their study session slowly faded, and he smiled dopily at Punz’s side profile, his silhouette warmed by the passing streetlights.
He’s in way too deep, and it’s probably sickeningly obvious, but he can’t bring himself to stop thinking of Punz, hanging out with Punz, loving Punz. There’s something addictive about the hiccup hidden inside Punz’s laugh, or the way he ruffles Dream’s hair, or the crinkle of his eyebrows when he’s focusing really hard. Dream has a whole catalogue of all the endearing things Punz does, running through his brain like a 24-hour slideshow, and his harmless little crush is starting to keep him up at night. His heart aches over a whole new dimension of feelings, his throat strangling them inside his chest. Punz still grins at him, buoyant and beautiful.
It all grows. Even their text messages, messier and fonder, until Dream is smiling down at Punz’s contact at 11pm on a Sunday and typing see you tomorrow :) and wondering when he can send a heart instead of a smiley face.
___
Despite his abysmal pining over Punz, Dream is still a freshman in college, doing college student things.
He goes to all his classes (sometimes sleeping through the morning ones), writes essays for English, and has dinner with Sapnap. He heats up ramen in the microwave, goes to a guest speaker event for extra credit, and checks his mailbox for letters from home. He does laundry every week on Saturdays.
Dream hates doing laundry.
It’s wet, it’s a hassle, it takes too long, it doesn’t take long enough, he has to double-check that all his clothes are machine-washable—there’s a whole host of reasons why laundry is Not Very Fun. His mom did his laundry in high school, so this is the first time he’s really tackling it on his own, in a college dorm full of tens of students who all share the same machines.
“Oh my god,” he says out loud when he opens the washer door, simply staring. There’s entirely too much water inside, almost flooding it, and it smells awful, like mildew and overripe cantaloupe. Dream wrinkles his nose, backing away from his clothes. “How the hell did I break the washing machine?”
No one answers him, obviously. It’s Saturday, before noon, and Dream guesses that the hall is either asleep or hungover from Friday night. He shakes his head, staring at the row of machines in front of him, and that’s when he notices his second problem.
“All of the dryers are out of order. All of them?”
He groans, feeling like the main character in a sitcom, almost expecting the laugh track to kick in as he paces around the laundry room. “When is it my turn for some good karma, or something?” he murmurs, frowning.
There’s nothing else to do but remove his wet clothes from the washer. He holds his breath as he extracts them, trying not to think about all the potential bacteria that could be in the water, and tosses them hastily in his laundry basket. He knows there’s another set of washers and dryers on the floor above him—every floor has their own amenities—and he resolves to take them upstairs to a working dryer.
He stumbles up the stairs, taking two at a time, trying to ignore the water dripping through his basket and onto his bare legs, “ew ew ew ew ew ew—” and rushes through the doorway to the second floor laundry room without even looking.
“Oh—!” he coughs, as he collides with someone bending over the dryer
“Sorry!” the other person turns. “I didn’t see you, I was—Dream?”
“Punz?” Dream asks in complete shock, eyes wide as saucers.
Punz laughs. He looks like he just got out of bed, wearing grey sweatpants and an old t-shirt as he attends to his own laundry, and god he looks good. “What are you doing here?”
Dream snaps his mouth closed, trying to act normal. “I live—I live downstairs. The washer kind of ruined my clothes and all the dryers on our floor are broken, so I came up here to finish my laundry,” he rushes, looking Punz up and down in delight. “How did I never know we lived in the same building, what?”
“That’s crazy,” Punz grins. “Who would’ve thought we were so close this whole time.”
You have no idea, Dream thinks. “The universe is seriously trying to set us up or something.”
“Or something,” Punz repeats, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “What did you have in mind?”
Dream steps closer into his space, hugging his clothes basket between them and tilting his head up to look Punz dead in the eyes. “Laundry,” he rasps with exaggerated sexiness, leaning into the bit even as his heart picks up a little. This is how they tease each other. This is their thing. “Do you mind if I use that dryer?”
“Sure thing, babe,” Punz replies in the same fake sultry tone, cocking his head to maintain eye contact. Dream doesn’t back down, gazing intently into the cerulean of Punz’s eyes, and suddenly it becomes a staring contest. Punz raises his eyebrows, trying to get Dream to break, and Dream looks straight at him, defiant and unblinking, until his eyelashes bead with tears.
“Do you want to put your wet, limp clothes in the dryer’s warm hole—”
“Okay, stop.” Dream breaks, choking on a laugh. He blinks furiously, using the back of his hand to dab at his eyes. “Stop, you almost made me cry, oh my god.”
“Sorry,” Punz laughs, soft and pretty like a fairy, and Dream ignores how he can feel Punz’s gentle exhales against his face, powdering his cheeks with a faint blush. He steps back before he can count all of Punz’s eyelashes. “You really should put those in though, they smell awful. What did you do to them?”
“Nothing!” Dream exclaims. He crouches down to chuck his wet clothes in, one handful at a time. “The washer was all flooded and—and gross. I don’t know.”
“That sucks,” Punz hums, watching from behind as Dream slams the dryer door shut and starts pressing at different buttons. He clicks his tongue mindlessly. “Hey, do you wanna come see my room while your laundry’s running?”
“Sure,” Dream says easily. He pushes Start, and the machine whirrs to life with a satisfying beep. “Are you sure I won’t be intruding…?”
“I don’t have a roommate,” Punz reassures him. “C’mon.”
He opens the door for Dream, a perfect gentleman, and they file down the hall with slippers and soft footsteps. Punz stops at a door on the left, pushing it open and beckoning Dream inside, and they’re here.
Punz’s room has a bed, desk, and dresser, in the same basic layout as Dream’s room, but it feels homey all the same. It’s sparsely decorated; a few Pokémon figures, a small basketball trophy, a couple posters of artistically rendered scenery, their school pennant, a framed photograph of the family dog. There’s a couple crumpled clothes tossed in the corner near the laundry basket, and a long, scratched mirror with a few stickers clinging to the frame.
“Here we are,” Punz sweeps a hand over his room gracelessly. “Don’t mind the mess.”
“It’s nice,” Dream hums, looking around. All the little details feel special, he feels special getting to see this. Everything clicks, and it’s just so Punz. Comfy, sincere, welcoming, and Dream glows quietly.
“Make yourself at home, then.” Punz hops onto the bed, turning his attention towards Dream again. “I’ve got to see your room next ti—oh, oh wow,” his words are swallowed by a laugh that’s more than half air, suddenly grinning madly, and Dream narrows his eyebrows, suspicious. “You look nice today, Dream.”
“Thank… you?” he replies. His heart fizzles like coke and mentos, unable to tell if this is flirting, a genuine compliment or a backhanded insult. He looks at Punz, confused.
“Nice shirt, baby.”
Oh. Oh.
Fuck.
“Okay, this is—okay,” Dream stammers, ears going bright red. It’s ridiculous how easily Punz can make him blush. “You cannot tease me for this, I was doing laundry! It’s—It’s— I didn’t have any other clothes! Just—okay alright, whatever. Laugh it up.”
Punz giggles uncontrollably, staring at him with the biggest smile Dream has ever seen, and he’s so cute it hurts. He bursts into another round of laughs, wheezing as reads the words on Dream’s shirt, “Sorry ladies, I suck dick?”
Dream crosses his arms over his chest, unable to stop a smile from creeping up his face. “I didn’t know you were homophobic,” he teases.
“I’m not, I’m not, what the fuck is wrong with you,” Punz exclaims, still laughing. He hiccups, trying to regain his breath as he stares at Dream’s chest. “That shirt is incredible, that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all day.”
“I’m throwing it out after today,” Dream tells him, eyebrows raised, non-serious. “I absolutely cannot be seen in public like this, I would die of embarrassment. It’s probably indecent or something.”
“You’re fine, don’t worry.” Punz takes a deep breath, clapping a hand over his heart as he gets over his giggles. “I haven’t laughed that hard in so long, oh my god. Okay. Okay. Look, you can borrow one of my hoodies so that no one sees your dumb shirt, and you can hide in here until your laundry’s done. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” Dream answers, and it comes out as more of a whisper than a word. Punz just gives him a fond smile, and Dream feels sparklers in his stomach as he comes back over with an armful of clothes.
“This one’s my favorite,” Punz offers, holding one out.
Dream takes it, rubbing the sleeve between his fingers cautiously. Punz is trusting him with his favorite hoodie? He swallows, tracing over the fabric. It’s a pretty color; and Dream has always been weak for the color blue. “It’s so soft,” he marvels.
Punz nods. His eyes are gentle. “Put it on,” he encourages.
Dream slips it on, hair getting caught at the collar. He tugs it down, flipping the hood back and adjusting the sleeves so he can pull them over his knuckles. His head is fuzzy, and he curls his shoulders in so he can feel the weight of the hoodie surrounding him. Punz’s hoodie. He feels incredibly safe here, inside Punz’s room, wearing his clothes, and his face burns warm warm warm , but for once, Dream doesn’t care.
“You look cute,” Punz mumbles, and the sincerity in his voice tastes like the unmistakable tang of vanilla. Dream’s heart thumps loudly, blood pumping in his ears, and he can’t think about anything but hope and trust and his sugar-spun crush. Punz’s hoodie kind of smells like vanilla too, or maybe that’s just Dream’s addled brain mistaking the scent of clean and boy for love.
“I’m incognito,” he giggles, just to see Punz grin. “Thanks for protecting my dignity.”
“Of course.”
Punz heaves a great sigh and flops backwards onto the bed beside Dream. He clears his throat, “Well, we have like an hour until your clothes are dry. What’d you want to do?”
“Talk to you,” Dream replies simply, and he thinks he sees a bit of pink in Punz’s cheeks at his bluntness.
And so they talk. They talk about nothing and anything; the conversation just flows, as fluid and easy as water running down a drain. Dream sinks into Punz’s mattress and lets the other play with his hair, content. His mind is already blurry from the hoodie and the compliments earlier, and having Punz’s hands card through his hair just makes his bones turn to jello. Everything is soft—the blankets, the hoodie, Punz’s voice above him—and Dream feels like a balloon released into the sky, a spot of color wafted along the clouds, weightless.
The hour passes quickly. Dream asks him if he’s a dog or a cat person, inquiring about the dog picture on his desk. Punz asks him how he’s feeling for their upcoming chem test, and winces when Dream shoots the question back at him. They both tease an absent Sapnap about his height, and recall some of their favorite childhood games. Punz shows Dream his nail polish. Dream explains his skincare routine.
It feels like time has cheated them of each other when Dream’s alarm goes off. Punz’s hands pause in Dream’s hair, and their conversation breaks off abruptly as Dream sits up to turn off the incessant ringing.
“I guess I should get my laundry.”
“You probably should.”
“I guess I’ll leave you alone then,” Dream says, not moving.
“Okay,” Punz cracks a smile. “Bye, then.”
They both stare at each other, tiny grins tugging on their lips. Dream pulls his sleeves over his hands, eyes flicking to Punz’s lips for half a second, calculating. Punz has been weird today, more gentle with him than usual, louder with his affection. Where are we going? Dream wonders, biting his tongue. His mouth burns, metallic with secret confessions. What are we doing?
“Aren’t you leaving?” Punz laughs, raising his eyebrows, and Dream blinks.
“Sorry,” he says, sliding off the bed. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“No, it was nice to see you,” Punz soothes, following him. He puts a hand on the small of Dream’s back, guiding him forward. Touchy. Dream shivers happily, body and soul. “Hey, do you want to meet on Tuesday afternoon to do some last-minute studying for chem?”
“Sure, can’t hurt.”
“Perfect,” Punz smiles up to his eyes, and all of him is so so pretty, from the sweatpants bunched at his ankle to the hair falling messily across his face. Dream feels like he needs sunglasses to even look at him properly. “See you then!”
Dream nods. He doesn’t think he has any words left as he walks away from Punz’s room, clutching his borrowed hoodie around him like a hug. He’s tempted to just burn his entire wardrobe to feel like this again, warm and loved and enveloped in Punz’s clothes. He sighs, heart full and brain buzzing.
Maybe doing laundry is okay after all.
___
Dream is itching to see Punz by Tuesday.
He’s worked through about half of their chem study guide, getting stuck on more than one problem before jumping to the next one in hopes that it would be easier than the last. He’s frustrated, to say the least, wanting to know why some of his answers work and some of them don’t, and Punz is always good at calming him down. They’re in the same class as well, so Punz can sympathize with him and tell him he’s not crazy or stupid.
Punz is just soothing in general, really. Dream has worn his hoodie to sleep every night since the laundry debacle, comforted by the smell and the memory of Punz’s gentle voice and hands in his hair.
He feels antsy, pacing around his room, waiting for the time to tick by so he can meet Punz. He puts his shoes on and takes them off again. He packs his backpack with study materials for two. It’s still not enough.
Drumming his fingers on his knee, he decides to just go upstairs and get Punz. That way, they can walk down to the library together. One of the benefits of living in the same hall, he thinks, nodding to himself.
His shoes are on, his backpack is ready, and Dream stops to look in the mirror once, twice to check that his hair looks okay, and then he’s gone, hopping up the stairs until he’s in front of Punz’s door.
He’s about to knock and let himself in when he hears voices. Two, maybe three, people are inside, probably some of Punz’s teammates, if Dream had to guess. He’s about to leave, to give them some privacy and just meet Punz at the library to study, when he hears Punz speak.
“Chill, I have to go pretty soon anyways.”
“Where? Are you meeting up with your little boytoy again? You don’t have to have to hide him from us, it’s okay,” s omeone asks cruelly, and the others ooh at the taunt. Dream freezes outside the door, waiting. It’s bait, he knows it is, but unless he’s completely off the mark, they’re talking about him. He hovers outside the door, listening.
“It’s not like that.” Punz sounds frustrated. “He’s my chem partner, we’re just going to study in the library.”
“Your partner, huh?”
More laughing. Dream’s heart is in his throat.
“We’ve seen you guys after games and stuff, you’re so possessive over him.”
“You could have any girl you want, but you’re all starry eyed for this dumb kid. He’s cute though, I’ll give you that.”
Dream can’t breathe. He wants to run far far away and maybe throw up and pretend he never heard any of this, but he can’t tear himself away from the door and the callous words. They’re treating him like an animal, like something shameful and broken and pitiless, and he clutches the straps of his backpack tight, white-knuckled as he waits for Punz to say something.
“I’ve told you a million times, we’re just friends. That’s it, okay? So drop it.”
Just friends.
Dream swallows. He knows they’re just friends, they’ve never been anything more, but still—his heart is cracking in his chest, splintering like sugar glass. It feels like Punz has just punched a hole straight through his chest, his ribs caving in like butter around the emptiness, and he’s horrified to find his eyes misting over as he backs away from the door.
“Okay, well, if you’re not fucking, then what’s the deal? Are you just using him to pass chem? You’re always leaving to go study with him like a nerd or something.”
“What?” Punz sounds defensive. Every word he says is incriminating in Dream’s ears right now. It sounds so real, hearing their relationship narrated from a third party, because it’s true, at least half of the times they hang out are study dates for chemistry. Everything tastes acidic and ashy as he listens, on the verge of tears, his mind spinning a million different directions. “Of course not.”
“Why else do you hang out with him so much then?”
“Yeah dude, it’s okay to admit it, we all need to get our credits to graduate. Didn’t you almost fail math last year?”
Dream closes his eyes, teardrops spilling over his lashes and down his cheeks in long, thin lines. It feels like it all lines up; the way Punz is so attentive to him when he’s explaining the material, the constant praise of his abilities, the endless questions, double-and-triple checking his answers against Dream’s. He feels sick.
“Can’t you just leave me alone? There’s nothing happening between us.”
He’s not denying it, Dream thinks blindly, chest searing with anxiety. He’s not denying it. He’s not denying any of it.
“Whatever you say, bro.”
And that’s all Dream can take. He covers his mouth as he chokes on a sob, dizzy. His backpack suddenly weighs a thousand pounds, his heart a million, and he flees, running from it all — an accomplice to his own heartbreak.
___
Dream spends the rest of the day being a pathetic loser.
He ignores when his phone lights up, one, two, twelve times as Punz tries to contact him for their Tuesday study session. Eventually, he turns his phone off, rocks grinding in his stomach, and takes a nap at 5pm, just to escape the world.
When he wakes up, it’s dark, and well past dinner. Sapnap is sprawled on his own bed across from Dream, scrolling on his phone, but he looks up when Dream stirs.
“Hey sleepyhead, you missed dinner. Why’re you napping, didn’t you sleep last night?”
“Go ‘way,” Dream mumbles, turning his face into the pillow. His eyes are still red.
“Someone’s grumpy,” Sapnap replies, undeterred. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” he whines. “Leave me alone.”
“What, did Punz break up with you or something?”
Sapnap laughs, and Dream knows he’s just teasing. He’s been teasing Dream about his stupid puppy crush on Punz for weeks, and it’s always just a joke, but after today it hurts just a little too much. Dream shrinks under the blankets, closing his eyes and wrapping an arm around his own waist, self-soothing, and stays quiet.
The silence drags on for too long, and his eyes start to burn, remembering the fatal conversation from earlier. Dream can hear Sapnap shifting uncomfortably on the other side of the room, sensing that he hit a nerve. Sapnap’s good at that—he’s always been good at reading Dream, going straight to the heart of the problem and shutting down all the dark thoughts inside his head. Sometimes Dream feels naked around him with how easily Sapnap can see right through him, as if Dream is glass, transparent and fragile.
“Did something happen with Punz?” Sapnap asks carefully.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dream croaks, ashamed of the tears he can hear in his voice, but Sapnap is kind.
“Okay,” he replies gently. “I’m always here if you do, though. He wasn’t being a douchebag to you or anything, right? Do I need to go beat him up?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Dream repeats, shaking his head. Punz is confusing right now, a mouthful of betrayal and doubt and anger — but Dream still cares about him, however stupid and naive that is.
“Don’t—you don’t need to do anything. Just leave him alone.”
Leave me alone, he remembers Punz saying, and it stings, a heartache thrumming incessantly between his temples. Shouldn’t be too hard, he thinks bitterly.
“I brought you some pasta from the dining hall,” Sapnap says, quiet and easy. “It’s in the fridge if you want to heat it up for a late dinner.”
Dream wipes a deft hand over his face, blinking away the remnants of tears. He has a feeling there’s going to be a lot more of that over the next few days, whenever he thinks of chemistry or basketball, blue eyes or laundry. “Thanks, Sapnap,” he replies roughly, feeling warmed from the inside by his friend’s simple generosity. “Really, thank you.”
“No problem, man,” Sapnap answers, voice soft and spongy with the night air. “Get some rest, okay Dream? Just sleep it off, it’ll all be okay.”
“Mm,” he hums, and that’s their goodnight—Dream slowly, purposely untensing his muscles as Sapnap clicks the lamp off, plunging them into darkness. He swallows, letting his eyes flutter shut, mirages of dirty blonde hair flicking treacherously behind his eyelids, and gives in to the exhaustion.
Dream sleeps through his first class. And his second. And his third.
He wakes up well into the afternoon, feeling empty and distractedly hungry. His face is creased with sleep, little crusty bits stuck to the corners of his eyes that he wipes away with a yawn. The shade is pulled halfway down, cracks of sunlight stacked across his bedsheets like a staircase, glowing and serene.
They had a chemistry test today. He missed it. It’s the first time he’s skipped class all year.
He doesn’t care.
Dream coughs, heart coming back online, and that’s when he feels it. The sadness. The heartbreak, the distrust, the uneasy stirring in his gut. Punz.
He checks his phone. It’s one in the afternoon, and he has thirty unread messages and three missed calls. His chest hurts, and he clicks edit to remove the smiley face from Punz’s contact. Somehow, his heart aches more afterwards.
Slowly, he gets out of bed, wincing as his knees crack after being curled up all night. The dorm is empty and strangely quiet at this hour, everyone outside getting some fresh air on the lawn with friends or going to class. Dream sighs, lungs full of thorns without roses, and goes over to the fridge, pulling out the pasta Sapnap saved for him last night.
It tastes bland and starchy, like most food from the dining hall, and Dream finds himself yearning for the warmth of a hand-delivered chai. He feels stupid, stupid, as tears well up in his eyes again, thinking of Punz before he can stop himself. They weren’t even dating, so why is Dream acting like he just got broken up with?
He finishes his pasta in silence, swallowing heavily as he dabs at his eyes. He’s stuck between feeling angry and sad, red and blue, emotion pending as he scratches at old scabs. Mostly, he just feels lost.
“I miss you,” he whispers to the air, and do his words even count if there’s no one around to hear them?
He slips on Punz’s hoodie, cold from being left on the ground overnight, and cries until he falls asleep again.
The next couple of days pass much the same.
Dream sleeps through the entire morning. He does go to his English period, but his mind is still stuck on the second floor hallway on Tuesday, and he walks out of class having learned nothing.
He can’t get Punz out of his head.
It’s killing him, knives in his back every time he takes a step, and he holes himself inside his dorm, afraid that if he wanders throughout the hall, Punz will find him. Dream’s scared, even though he desperately wants to talk to him, and he checks his phone religiously, addicted to the messages Punz keeps sending, hoarding them like precious jewels. He cares, Dream repeats in his head like a mantra. He cares, he does, he has to.
It’s not healthy, really, and Sapnap brings him dinner again, concerned. “Are you okay, Dream?”
“Mhm,” he replies blandly. “Thank you.”
“Is that Punz’s hoodie?”
Dream exhales sharply. “Yeah. So what?”
“I think you should talk to him,” Sapnap suggests, continuing hastily when he sees Dream’s frown. “Just an idea! But I think it would help both of you.”
“I’ll think about it,” Dream says simply, and tugs on the strings of Punz’s hoodie, soaking in the softness.
When he sleeps that night, he holds his own hands, brain whirring, and drifts into unconsciousness with his face dry for the first time since everything fell apart.
___
Dream wakes up to someone knocking on his door. He blinks sleepily, rising out from under the covers with a hand scrubbing his hair. There’s sunlight slanted through the cracks in the blinds, and dust particles float, illuminated in the late morning. He feels calm and well-rested, chest solid and warm with the lingering limbs of sleep.
He shoves his feet into his slippers. There’s another knock at the door. “Dream?”
Oh.
Dream breathes. Punz. This is it, then. This is where their friendship ends, where their relationship dies, where his heart breaks all over again at the sight of Punz’s dirty blond hair and kind eyes.
Dream’s glad he’s not mad in this moment, still sleep-soft and gentle. It doesn’t feel good, being mad at Punz, however much it’s deserved. He opens the door.
“Hi, Punz.”
“Dream!” Punz looks lovely, his hair angled over his forehead, shirt curving nicely around his biceps, and he looks so earnest, searching Dream up and down as if he can’t get enough of him. Dream presses his lips together. “Are you okay? You haven’t been to class all week, and you missed the chem test, which you never do. You haven’t been responding to any of my messages either, and Sapnap wouldn’t let me in earlier. What’s going on, are you sick?”
“Um, sort of,” Dream hedges, not meeting his eyes. Does being heartsick count as an excusable absence?
“I hope you’re feeling better,” Punz says gently, tilting his head sideways to meet Dream’s gaze. He pushes a drink out in front of him. “I brought you some chai.”
“Oh.” Dream takes it, trying to keep his voice steady, relishing the warmth of Punz’s fingers as their hands brush. Even now, he can’t get over his stupid crush. “Thank you.”
Punz stands in the doorway, and Dream can feel his eyes on him, hawklike as he peers at him, concerned. “Are you okay, Dream?”
Here we go. Dream takes a deep breath, ignoring the question, and plunges right in. “Um, you know—Tuesday?”
“Yeah,” Punz says slowly. “We were supposed to study together. Is that when you got sick? You could have texted me, your health is more important than anything else.”
God, Punz is making this hard. “Yeah,” Dream mumbles. “I—on Tuesday, before we were going to meet up, I went to your room so that we could walk down together. And I heard some things that you and your friends were saying, about me—and you— and I got upset.”
He looks up. Punz looks pained, his eyebrows furrowed. “Have you been avoiding me?” he asks quietly. “Is this why?”
Dream nods, and it feels like he’s being branded by his own guilt. “I thought we were friends, like, really good friends,” he wrings his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie, voice getting more watery with every word. “You’re not allowed to use someone like that, just because you need to pass a class. Every time we hung out, it was just always chemistry, chemistry, chemistry. And flirting with me? Leading me on? That’s just—that’s fucking cruel, especially since—since—”
“Dream—”
“—especially since I like you, okay? I like you. And it felt like we were… something, even if you just meant that as friends. But I guess you didn’t even want to be friends. I don’t know.” His voice shakes, and his hands are trembling as he covers his face, overwhelmed.
Punz is silent, speechless. Dream doesn’t know what to do. They stand there, in Dream’s doorway, cold air pouring in from the hallway.
“You like me?” Punz asks finally, quiet, round at the edges.
“That’s all you got from that?” Dream replies in disbelief. “I mean, I did, I do—but I can’t trust you anymore. I can’t be with someone who’s just using me to get a fucking grade in a class that you don’t even care about.”
“I don’t care about the grades,” Punz shakes his head. “You’re not— I care about you. I’m not using you for anything, Dream, I promise.”
“You hurt me.”
“I’m sorry,” Punz breathes shakily, “I’m so sorry.”
Dream tugs at his fingernails, a nervous habit. “I don’t understand you,” he mutters. “Why?”
“I—” Punz breaks off, face flashing through ten different emotions in the flicker of a second. Dream traces the resolved expression he settles on, blue eyes piercing Dream like a dried flower pressed between the pages of a book, and he holds his breath, waiting.
The next moment is so fast Dream thinks he’s imagined it. Punz darts closer, dangerously close to his face, and Dream has no time to process as he leaves a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.
“Because I like you too,” Punz finishes firmly, breathless.
Dream stumbles backwards one step, and immediately Punz’s hands are at his waist to steady him. He’s blushing, pink razing his cheeks like a wildfire as he stares at Punz in complete shock. “What? What? Is this a joke?”
“Do you want me to kiss you again?” Punz asks, fighting a genuine smile. “To prove that it’s not a joke?”
“Yes,” Dream whispers, nervous that he’s giving his heart away too easily, surrendering to own vulnerabilities, but Punz is irresponsibly gentle when he cups Dream’s jaw between his hands and places a chaste kiss on his lips.
Everything is soft, sticky and sweet like marmalade. Dream closes his eyes, misty, and keeps them closed as Punz lets him go, brushing a thumb over his cheek as he drops his hands. It’s easier when he doesn't have to look, guided purely by the touch and taste of hope.
“I like you,” Punz reaffirms, and Dream’s chest spits another round of fireworks up his spine, eyes fluttering open to see Punz’s tiny grin. “I like you, Dream.”
“Okay,” he manages, still reeling from the confession, the kiss, the adrenaline. Punz likes him back? “But then, why…? Your friends—”
“I was scared too,” Punz shrugs, as if it’s that simple. “I didn’t want them prying into my personal life, and my feelings for you were… complicated. I didn’t know if you liked me back then, either. They were just making assumptions. I was never using you for anything, especially not for a grade. Chemistry was just something we had in common, and it was an easy way for me to hang out with you,” he explains. “I got a 90 on that last test, just studying on my own, and sure, I like studying with you, but that’s not why I like you.”
“You like me,” Dream says, fog starting to clear from his head as he smiles up at Punz. It was all a mistake, his own brain creating quicksand pits of insecurity, stumbling over the truth . “You like me.”
“Of course,” Punz answers, sounding almost offended, and the tension between them starts to drain, Dream’s shoulders relaxing into his body. “Have you met yourself? You were so cute on the first day, I couldn’t believe it when you sat next to me.”
“I thought you were pretty,” Dream admits shyly. He shakes his head in disbelief. “You like me?”
Punz laughs, a bright, relieved sound, and the sunshine on Dream’s floor suddenly feels so much warmer. “Can I come in?” he asks, grinning. “I want to kiss you again, preferably on a bed and not in the middle of the hallway.”
“Yes,” Dream replies emphatically, setting the chai down carelessly on his desk and tugging him inside.
“You look so good in my hoodie,” Punz murmurs, catching Dream’s mouth as they tumble onto the bed together.
“I didn’t even notice.” Dream’s nose bumps against Punz’s chin. “Do you want it back?”
“No, god, please keep it,” Punz groans. His hands tighten in the fabric at Dream’s hips, holding on tight, and Dream is buzzing with delight. “You’re so—I like you so much, Dream.”
“Kiss me, then,” he says, smiling, and Punz does.
Summertime blooms in his mouth as Punz presses against his tongue, and they both gasp around the honeysuckle sweetness, hands wandering aimlessly, touching shoulders, elbows, cheeks. Punz pulls him in by the back of his neck and Dream squeezes his waist in response, and they kiss, over and over again. It feels so right, so good, and Dream hasn't been this happy in a long time, euphoria budding in his chest like the head of a baby sprout, opening towards the sky.
Their kisses grow lazy over time, open-mouthed and soft until they’re both just gazing at each other, stars in their eyes and love on their lips. Dream plays with Punz’s fingers absently, tangling them together.
“To think this all started with you telling me you could draw a dick on a graphing calculator,” Punz murmurs, sickeningly fond.
“Stop, you’re ruining the moment,” Dream giggles, smiling.
“I don’t think so,” he muses, propping himself up so he can look Dream straight in the eyes, tracing a hand gently over his cheek. “I don’t think anything could ruin this.”
And Dream blushes, so familiar, yet so new. He sinks into Punz’s arms, and they kiss and laugh and hold each other until Dream is shivering from affection, looking straight into the sun.
That night, he adds three hearts next to Punz’s contact in his phone, and his heart aches with the soothing luminosity of the stars. He smiles, free, radiant, as he types:
See you tomorrow <3
<33