Chapter Text
It’s a Tuesday morning when George reaches the end of his rope for the first—but certainly not the last—time. See, he’s just minding his own business, packing his belongings back into his bag at the end of another English literature class. He’s actually in a pretty good mood, for once. Professor Martin just handed back their midterm grades (finally), and the semester’s almost over. If they’re lucky, he won’t even assign them a final project. Everything’s going great for George.
That is, until an insolent little tap on his shoulder breaks through his bubble of contentment. He turns around and locks eyes with his least favourite person in the entire class.
“Dream,” he says cordially. Okay, well. Not that cordially.
“Hey, George.” Dream bares his teeth in what seems to be some garish, ghoulish imitation of a smile. “What did you get on the test?”
George holds up his paper. “Ninety-six.” He watches Dream’s smug expression fall and for a moment—just a moment—he thinks he’s won.
Then, Dream smirks. “Oh, that’s too bad.” He holds up his own paper. “I got a ninety-seven.”
Something twists in the pit of George’s stomach at the sight of Dream’s self-satisfied face. He thinks it might be hatred. “Ass-kisser.”
Dream winks. “You wish.” Then he’s gone, pushing past and sweeping out of the lecture hall in the blink of an eye. The faintest smell of new books wafting through the air is the only evidence he was ever there. Well, that and the scowl on George’s face.
“What a jerk,” he mutters to nobody.
He tries not to let the moment ruin his day. He walks back to his dorm determined to keep his feelings inside. There’s no reason to inflict his stress and anger onto his roommate. He comes in nicely and quietly, but Sapnap looks up the moment he walks into the room. “Hey.”
“Hey,” George mutters back. He waits one second. Two. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?”
Sapnap shrugs. “I figured you were gonna tell me anyway, with the way you slammed the door behind you and did a big, dramatic sigh.”
George squints. That doesn’t sound like something he would do. “That doesn’t sound like– Whatever.” He kicks off his shoes and falls back onto his bed, ignoring the suspicious groaning sounds of his prehistoric bed frame. “So, today, Dream came up to me, and–”
“Oh my God,” Sapnap cuts in immediately, “Dream? Again? What did he do this time? Look in your direction? Show up to class? Complete an assignment? You need to get a hobby, dude. I can’t keep hearing about this shit.”
George sits back up in indignation. “What? Complete an assignment? Do you think he did that?”
“George.”
He shakes his head. “Sorry. Not the point. Anyway, he walked right up to me, and asked me what I got on the test. And then I told him. And then he told me what he got on the test. And he got a higher grade than me.”
“Wow,” Sapnap deadpans. “You know, he probably did, like, an evil séance to bring Albert Einstein back from the dead to take the English test for him.”
“He wouldn’t do that. Albert Einstein didn’t speak English.”
“I think there’s probably at least one other reason he wouldn’t have–”
“I’m sure he cheated somehow,” George continues, ignoring whatever stupid irrelevant thing Sapnap is trying to say. “I just need to figure out how.”
“Right, okay.” Sapnap studies him for another few seconds before he starts to pull his headphones back on. “Are you done? ‘Cause I’m trying to study–”
“No!” George throws an empty pistachio shell across the room, and it bounces off his forehead, landing on his keyboard. “You need to help me figure this out. You don’t get it—you didn’t see his stupid face.”
“Ow, dude. Where the hell did you even get that?”
“He wouldn’t even bother me if he just accepted me as the best student in the class, and didn’t try to involve his ego in everything. I’m obviously the smartest and best in the class, and it’s just annoying for him to sit there and pretend otherwise.”
“Do you even hear yourself, dude? You’re obsessed with him.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
Sapnap looks dubious.
“I’m not, okay? I just think he’s terrible and annoying and I hope he dies a painful death.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re definitely not obsessed,” Sapnap concedes. George is glad he’s finally seeing reason. “But it’s time for this… fixation to end. It’s not healthy, okay? You need to, like, touch grass, or something. Get some bitches.”
George scoffs. “I could get so many bitches if I wanted to. I’m, like, the Rizz King or something. You’re the one who can’t get any bitches. You’re too stupid and dumb.”
“The Rizz King? George, I’ll literally give you a hundred bucks if you find a single person willing to date your annoying ass.”
“Well, you better pay up ‘cos your mother would love a piece of this ass.”
“No, I’m serious. Let’s make a bet.”
“Well, you need to get serious about some bitches,” George crows. Sapnap is totally getting owned right now. What a loser.
“No, okay– George. Listen, okay? If you find someone to date you, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
“A hundred bucks?” George stops. “You’ll give me a hundred bucks?”
“Yeah. If you can get someone by…” Sapnap glances over at the calendar. “I’ll give you some time. Let’s say Valentine’s Day. We can have a little party, you can bring your date. Or, you can come alone and bring me a Benjamin.”
“Who’s Benjamin?”
Sapnap blinks. “Benjamin Franklin? He’s on the hundred-dollar– You know what, never mind. What do you think? Do we have a deal?”
“Fine.” George extends his hand across the gap between their beds. “Deal.” They shake on it.
And George is gonna be fine. How hard could it really be?
It ends up being a lot more difficult than George anticipated. For one thing, he has to actually meet people. Then, he has to talk to them. With the end of the semester fast approaching, he’s juggling bad date after bad date, along with a slew of papers and studying for all his finals.
His routine is simple. He wakes up, goes to the library, studies all day (only taking breaks to go to his classes), then comes home and goes on yet another date. His stress levels are through the roof; this can’t be good for his wallet or his grades.
It’s not even like he’s having fun with this—most of the dates are miserable. First, Brittany spends the whole date talking about her upcoming finals. Then, Justin breaks down crying because pizza reminds him of his ex. A few nights later, Alex is perfectly friendly and nice and George is bored to tears by the time he gets to go home.
To make matters worse, Professor Martin decides he does want to assign a final project after all. “You will write 2,000 words in groups of two on a Shakespeare play of your choosing,” George reads indignantly to Sapnap. “What kind of man sends an email like this on a Thursday afternoon?”
“Uh-huh,” Sapnap says without looking up.
“And it’s in partners,” George complains. “I have to pull up the assignment on Canvas to see who I’m working with.”
“That’s nice.”
“Sapnap, are you even listening to me?”
Sapnap sighs, finally closing his computer lid and standing up. “No, George. I’m not. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re only a few days away from finals week. I’m gonna go to the library and study. Why don’t you get started on your… whatever you’re whining about.”
“Whining?” George is most definitely not whining. He watches Sapnap pack his things up and walk out of the room, and then he’s all alone, with nothing between him and actually doing his work. He’s just about to pull up the class page to find his assigned partner when his phone chimes with… an Instagram DM.
dreamwastaken: hey george did you see
George frowns. What the hell is this weirdo doing DMing him?
georgenotfound: see what? all i see is some weird guy sliding into my dms like a creep
He laughs quietly to himself. But his joy doesn’t last long, because Dream replies with a screenshot of the list of partners for the project, with an ugly red line showing him the worst thing he’s ever seen: their names, side-by-side.
georgenotfound: please tell me that’s photoshop
dreamwastaken: can we please just do this paper. don’t make it any harder than it has to be
George glares at his screen. He resents the little undertone of the message, the implication that he’s some lunatic blowing things out of proportion. George isn’t crazy. It’s not a crime to dislike someone.
georgenotfound: fine give me your number. we’re not doing this over instagram like a pair of juvenile delinquents
Dream complies, George sends a text, and within seconds, his phone is ringing.
“Why are you calling me?” he says when he picks up.
“Hello to you too, dumbass,” Dream says. Rude. “Talking is faster. It makes more sense than texting. If we do it like this, I don’t have to waste so much time putting up with your shit before we can get to work.”
“Well, believe it or not, I’m busy tonight, so I can’t drop everything to sit and do this assignment with you.” It’s not even a lie—he has yet another date tonight. "How about we set a time to meet and work on it together. Is tomorrow morning okay?”
“Fine,” Dream grumbles. “Let’s make a vague plan for now so I know what to do if I have time before then. What play do you want to do?”
George blurts out the first name that pops into his head. “Hamlet.”
“Are you kidding? Hamlet is so basic. Everyone’s gonna do that one.”
“It’s Shakespeare, Dream. Is Romeo and Juliet less basic? Macbeth?”
“Fine, we’ll do Hamlet. It says here we have to pick a symbol and do an in-depth exploration of how Shakespeare uses it throughout the play.”
George sighs. “Let’s just do mirrors or something.”
“Mirrors. Okay.”
George strains a little, and he can hear the faint tap-tap-tap of Dream’s fingers on his keyboard. He closes his eyes and he can picture it so clearly, can see the shape of those strong, slender fingers resting on the keys. (It’s not weird that he has them memorised—he stares at them all the time in class, just to make sure they aren’t typing anything stupid or annoying.) “Okay. Can I go now?”
“George, I’m not exactly thrilled to be working with you either, but can you just cooperate for one second? We need to make a plan to meet up and work on this.”
“I’m busy, Dream. Why can’t we just split the work in two and do it on our own time?”
“Because that’s not how you work with someone and you know it.” Dream is stupid and annoying and George hates that he’s right. “Come on, the two smartest people in that class? We just got handed the chance to do something really good. Putting real effort in is just, like, the next logical step.”
George sighs heavily. “Fine. How’s tomorrow morning? The coffee shop on the corner of 4th and Main, next to that weird art gallery?”
“I don’t like coffee.”
“Me neither. See you at nine?”
Dream is silent for a moment. “Yeah, okay. See you then.” He pauses. “So–”
George hangs up without saying goodbye.
By the time he meets Dream the next morning, George is exhausted from swiping and messaging and talking to strangers and strategizing with Sapnap. He’s got another date set up for later that day, and he’s regretting ever agreeing to this stupid bet.
“Not a morning person?” is the first thing Dream says.
George just glares at him. “Not a Dream person,” he grumbles. He pulls out his phone and sends Sapnap a few texts hate-raving about Dream. (He’s used to them by now.)
They pick out a table and order drinks without any more small talk. It’s not until they’ve both opened up their laptops and navigated to a blank document that Dream is brave enough (or stupid enough) to break the silence.
“So… mirrors,” he says. “Hamlet.”
“What an insightful take,” George snarks. He really is in a bit of a strop. But it’s not his fault—anyone would be in a bad mood if they had to put up with all the ridiculous dating shit he’s been going through.
Dream ignores him. “Let’s try and think of instances where we see mirrors mentioned in the dialogue and used as props in the different versions.”
“Okay.” And really, George doesn’t have a problem with dating in general. But the people he’s found so far have been so boring. They’re always just agreeing with everything he says. They never bite back, never banter or argue or say anything remotely interesting. It feels like his heart isn’t really in it.
“Um. There’s a part in the Kenneth Branagh version where Hamlet kind of shoves Ophelia into the mirror. We should definitely include that. That’s important.”
“Right,” George says. Should he give up trying? Maybe if he takes a break from going on bad dates and watches a bunch of romance movies over winter break, he’ll become really lonely and then he’ll want to find someone. Maybe.
“And there’s this one line where Hamlet is talking to Gertrude and he mentions a glass. I’m pretty sure he gives her a mirror as well. And it, like, breaks when he kills Polonius, right?”
“Sure,” George agrees. What’s the name of the person he’s supposed to be going out with tonight? He can’t remember. Maybe he should cancel.
“And then, Hamlet jumps through the mirror and falls through a tunnel into Narnia and he falls in love with Claudius and they all sing ‘We’re All In This Together.’”
“Uh-huh.” If he cancelled, Sapnap would never let him live it down. Maybe he should just give him the hundred dollars now and go back to living his simple life, eating and sleeping and complaining about Dream.
“George, you’re not even listening.”
George stops, looks up. “Wait, were you talking?”
“George.” Dream sounds like he is contemplating homicide. (George wouldn’t put it past him.) “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Plenty,” George fires back. “Let’s start with the fact that I’m stuck doing this project with you. Maybe I’m just mourning the future loss of my 4.0 GPA.”
“I don’t buy that for a second, George. You’re one of the smartest in the class, you can handle one group project.” Does Dream have to say his name in every sentence like that? It’s distracting, the way his accent flattens the single syllable, the sound of a familiar word in this unfamiliar American rasp. George.
Not, like, distracting in a good way, though. Obviously.
When George doesn’t respond, Dream just huffs. “Why are you being so spacey? I mean, I knew you weren’t quite as smart as me, but I didn’t think you’d let me win this easily.” He studies George’s face, and his voice softens a little. “Is there something going on? Is everything okay?”
George squints over at him, scanning for ulterior motives. “Why are you poking your big, ugly nose into my personal life?”
“Well, until your personal life stops getting in the way of our group project, my nose is gonna stay there. So… come on. Just tell me what’s stopping you from focusing.”
George drops his head onto the table. He has to force the words out. “I have a date tonight.”
Dream is silent for a good ten seconds. He coughs. “Oh. A date? Is it– uh– is it someone special? Are you nervous?”
“No. It’s just some random idiot.” He sighs deeply, the weight of the world (or about $100) on his shoulders. “I hate dating. I hate people.”
“No,” says Dream. “I never would have guessed.”
George sits up and throws an empty pistachio shell at him. “Shut up.”
“Ow, George. Where did that thing even come from?” Dream rubs at his face like he’s been gravely injured. “Why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to go?”
“I made a bet with my roommate that I would find someone to date before this stupid party he’s having on Valentine’s Day.”
“Huh.” Dream tilts his head away a little, hand covering his mouth, and George can tell he’s hiding a smile. (Not the one with all the big, shiny teeth—the other one, the one that gives him the tiniest of dimples and makes him look younger than he really is.) “Well, that’s okay, I guess. Everyone loses a bet sometimes.”
“I’m really loving your confidence in me,” George says flatly. “This is what I get for telling you about my problems.”
“Just give up, dude. Lose ten bucks or whatever. That way, you don’t have to go on any dates, and I don’t have to put up with you staring into space all the time.”
“It’s a hundred dollars.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re right, that is a problem.” Dream makes a face. “Who would date you?”
“Lots of people. But… they all suck. And I hate them.”
“You know, I’m really amazed you’re still single,” Dream says. “You’re so kind and open-hearted.”
“Not funny.”
“Okay, what if…” Dream leans forward, an evil little glint in his eye. “Let’s be realistic—with your current attitude, the chances of you finding someone you can tolerate are low. You’re probably gonna go on a few dates, and then give up, and then you’ll have to go to that party alone and pay up.” He leans back, smiling proudly.
“Thanks for that assessment, Pollyanna. What’s your point?”
“My point is, I can offer you an alternative.” Dream looks so smug. For a split second, George is gripped by a vivid fantasy of taking the lid off of his drink and pouring it over Dream’s head. It’s a thick, chocolatey frozen milkshake-thing, and he can practically see the way Dream’s face would screw up in disgust. He thinks about globs of it sliding down his face, dripping off the end of his nose, disappearing into his collar....
George shakes his head to expel the image. “Stop looking at me like you’ve just solved world hunger and spit it out, idiot.” He takes a big sip of his drink to stop himself from laughing at the picture he’d conjured up.
“Let me take you to the party.”
George narrowly avoids spitting his drink back into the cup. “You want to date me?”
“Obviously not. I want to pretend to date you. We pretend we’re in a relationship, we go to the party, we both make fifty bucks. Everybody wins.”
“What? Pretend to– Why would I give you fifty bucks?”
Dream scoffs. “I’m offering you an out, not robbing you. Would you rather part with fifty dollars of your roommate’s money, or a hundred dollars of your own? Because those are your options right now.”
Dream might be annoying, and stupid, and arrogant, and obnoxious… but he kind of has a point.
“Admit it,” he cajoles. “I kind of have a point.”
“You don’t,” George says. “You have no points. You’re, like, pointless.”
“Look, you don’t have to decide right now. Just, y’know… if your date doesn’t go well, give me a call.”
It’s only seventeen hours later that George gives in and calls.
“Hello?” Dream croaks.
“Hi,” George says. “I just got back from my date.”
“George?” Dream’s voice is raspy and low in George’s ear, and it makes all of his hairs stand on end. (Because it’s so annoying, of course. What other reason would there be?) “Fucking hell, what time is it?”
“I just got back from my date,” George repeats.
“Oh. Um….” There’s a little bit of shuffling on the other end. “See, based on the fact you’re calling me at two a.m., I’d almost be tempted to guess that the date went well. But based on the fact you’re calling me at two a.m., I’m thinking it wasn’t so great.”
George sighs. “We got lost when I was walking him back to his dorm.”
“Lost?” Dream laughs out loud. The sound is… not actually unpleasant. George ignores it.
“Not the point. The point is… deal.”
“Deal?” Dream echoes dumbly.
“Yeah. You just have to meet my friends, hold hands with me once or twice so people think we’re together, and make an appearance at Sapnap’s party. And then I’ll give you forty dollars.”
“What? Forty? No way. Fifty.”
“Forty-five?”
“No, fifty.”
“Forty-seven?”
“George. Just give me fifty.”
“Okay, forty-nine.”
There’s a few seconds of silence. “...Fine. Forty-nine.”
“Ha!” George can’t fight his smile. “I win. I’m the best negotiator ever. I’m, like, cracked.”
Dream groans. “George, I don’t care what you are as long as this means you’re gonna be focused on our project now instead of going on stupid dates. Now, can I go back to bed?”
“Fine. Get some beauty sleep. You’re gonna need it if you want to look like my boyfriend.”
Silence.
“...Dream?”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Uh.” George’s face burns. “Was that not…?”
“No, no, I guess I am gonna be… your boyfriend. It just caught me off-guard, that’s all.”
“Right,” George says slowly.
“Alright,” Dream says, and hangs up.
“Seriously?” George says to nobody. “Who ends a phone call like that?”
They don’t start “dating” right away. They have more important things going on, with finals and the project to work on, and the winter holidays fast approaching. The next time they meet up to work together (this time in a study room at the library), George has deleted all his dating apps and he no longer flinches at every notification.
“You look better,” Dream says. He flushes. “I mean, you look like you’re feeling better.”
“Bullshit,” George fires back. “It’s the middle of finals week. I look like I’ve been hit by a lorry.”
Dream frowns. “A lorry?”
“It’s, like, this big boxy thing with wheels and an engine? Commonly seen on the motorway?” He waits a few seconds, but Dream just keeps staring blankly. Moron. “Never mind. Let’s just get to work.”
“Yeah,” Dream mutters. “It’s not like we got much done last time.”
George pulls out his laptop. “Yeah. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out where we want to go with this, since the whole thing is kind of a mirror, right?”
“What?”
“Have you read Hamlet? The whole second half is, like, the opposite of the first. The mirror image.”
“Wait.” Dream puts his head down on the table, still and silent for almost a full minute. “Wait.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Shut up. It’s like… it’s like a mirror, George! The whole thing is a mirror!”
George can’t help it; he smiles. He and Dream might not have much in common, but he sees parts of himself in the way Dream lights up when he learns something new, passionate in his quest for knowledge. (And obviously he’s happy that he knows something Dream doesn’t, because he’s a literary genius, and Dream is just a sad, sad idiot.)
“I’ve never heard of this before,” Dream continues. “Who taught you this?”
“What? Nobody had to teach me this.” George rolls his eyes. “Come on, Dream. This is the most obvious thing in the world. Like, the way it all builds up, and it flips over right around–”
“Hamlet’s third soliloquy,” Dream realises, beating him to it. “When he’s debating whether he should commit suicide. To be or not to be.”
“Exactly,” George says. “To live or to die. To think or to speak. To plan or to act. Up to that point, it’s only been the first option of each pair. But this is where it switches to the second.” He very generously does not add, Duh.
“We could do so much with this.” Dream starts typing furiously, fingers flying over the keys. “We can include character foils, too.”
George squints. “What, like how everyone foils Hamlet in some way?”
“No, they foil each other. Think about it: every character has an equal and opposite character. Claudius and King Hamlet, Gertrude and Ophelia, Prince Hamlet and Laertes, Horatio and…” he falters.
“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern! They’re opposite from Horatio in their friendship towards Hamlet. And the two of them act together as a unit.” George blinks. “You’re… actually right about this. I never thought about it like that.”
“Okay, so we have the plot, the characters, and all the mirrors that actually show up in the play.”
“Do you think we have enough material to write a paper?” George jokes, grinning. At the look on Dream’s face, he cocks his head. “What?”
“Nothing. Just… didn’t know you knew how to smile.”
“Well, I didn’t know you were capable of having good ideas.” When Dream smiles, he rushes to correct himself. “I mean, obviously not good, just, y’know, not awful for once.”
“Come on, George, just admit I’m smart. I think you’re smart. Like, just the other week you got the highest score in the class on the exam.” Dream smirks. “Oh, wait. That was me.”
George scowls. He can’t believe he thought that Dream was actually going to be cooperative for once.
“Let’s stay here and do our research and outlining together,” Dream suggests, changing the subject before George can get in a career-ending burn. (Oh, well. There’s always next time.) “If we’re done pulling quotes and structuring our argument by the end of today, we can easily finish this tomorrow.”
George nods, and they both get to work, re-reading important parts and drafting points and occasionally speaking up to share an idea or ask a question. They’ve been working for a while by the time one of Dream’s questions catches George by surprise.
“When are we gonna start, by the way?”
George scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘start’? We basically just wrote an entire outline.”
“No, I mean start, like, y’know....”
“No, I actually don’t know.”
“Dating,” Dream finishes. “When are we gonna start dating?”
“First of all, we are not dating, we are pretending to date. And–”
“Hey, Sapnap, nice to meet you,” Dream says, pretending to shake an imaginary Sapnap’s hand. “Yeah, I’m the guy who’s pretending to date George.”
“And second of all,” George continues, ignoring him, “we should start at the beginning of next semester. That way, we don’t have to do anything over break, but we still leave enough time to make it believable. Besides, I need time to stop hate-texting my friends about you without it being suspicious.”
Dream frowns. “You want to do this for five weeks and you’re giving me forty-nine dollars?”
“Better make it six,” George says. “Our relationship can slowly fizzle out a week after the party.”
“I’m more concerned about the forty-nine dollars part.”
George groans. “Fine, you can have fifty. Happy?”
Dream smiles. It’s still cocky and smug and stupid, but there’s something different in it this time, in the little lines by his eyes. Something kinder, more genuine. “Yeah, I’m happy.”
George looks away. “Um. Rules. We need to make some ground rules.”
“Of course there are rules.”
“Shut up. We need a plan. Making rules is like—what was it you said earlier? It’s the next logical step.”
“Fine.”
“Rule number one,” George says briskly. “We’re not telling anyone. Not your best friend, not your siblings, not your parents, not the barista at the We Proudly Serve. Got it?”
“Got it,” Dream mutters. “Tell no one.”
“Second of all, we need to make a simple backstory first. Nothing too elaborate, but we need to have something to work with. You should know you’ll have to think on your feet. I’m not worried about that—neither of us are stupid, we both know how to improvise.”
“Jesus, George. Do you do this kind of thing a lot?”
George rolls his eyes. “I’m just taking it seriously. The worst possible thing that could happen is Sapnap finding out. We need to avoid that at all costs.”
“Like the cost of my sanity,” Dream grumbles under his breath. Louder, he says, “Fine. We can plan the backstory over break. I’ll call you. Any other rules, officer, or am I free to go?”
“I just want to say that you have my… consent to do whatever you need to do in the moment to make it believable.”
Dream looks dumbfounded. “What?”
“Like, if you had to hold my hand or put your arm around me to sell it, I’m okay with that. Or if you had to kiss me for some reason. I’m giving you a pass. Just… use your judgement.”
Dream’s throat bobs. “Uh. Right. Yeah, same here.”
“Okay,” he decides, “I think that’s it. Unless you want to include, like, not falling in love with each other.” He snorts. “As if that could happen.”
“Hah, yeah.” Dream lets out a weak chuckle. “As if.”