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You are so glad you got a ticket. Dreamnotfound are blowing up right now and this might be the sweet spot between small venues, affordable tickets, and ultimate bragging rights.
Throughout the show, you slowly shuffled into the first row. Not participating in the mosh pit during Bite Me Right gave you the last few feet you needed and now you are gripping the barricade with one hand and your phone with the other. Maybe you should film, not everybody gets this opportunity, but you don’t wanna stop singing and jumping long enough to get a steady shot.
It’ll just have to live in your memory. The way you are all bound to the same beat, electrified by the same current, screaming the same words. Nothing is more cathartic than hundreds of people yelling “Rip my throat, why don’t you?” in unison.
You drink it all in, the lights flickering, the bass vibrating in your chest, the way Dream’s boot is almost within touching distance, and how you have to crane your neck to see George’s face as he leans towards the audience. He is crooning into the mic with half-closed eyes, “Don’t mind the blood pooling in my collarbone.”
He really is the focal point of this show and it’s easy to see why.
He seems larger than life, commanding the stage and the audience with an effortlessness you know is hard-earned. You can tell he was meant to be on stage. He’s in his element, living his dream. It makes him look otherworldly, more than human in his black boots, short pants, and with the signature blue star around one eye.
He has you all in the palm of his hand, jumping at the flick of a finger and shouting his lyrics back at him.
You are sure even George of Dreamnotfound likes to sometimes chill around in sweatpants with dark circles under his eyes and messy hair while eating chips. However, the gorgeous creature strutting around on stage couldn’t be further removed from anything so mundane.
All of this makes every glimpse of the person behind the persona more precious to you. You’re close enough to get the privilege of hearing the things the mic misses, you can see the sweat shining on his skin, and how the nail polish is splintered on two of the fingers wrapped around the leash.
The fucking leash. You can’t believe it’s real, connecting Dream’s collar and George’s left hand.
George is flitting around the stage but the red string is always anchoring him to Dream. You like to think he’s George’s rock, keeping him grounded even through the high of performing. It’s a strange but utterly mesmerizing version of ribbon dancing they’re doing every night.
You can’t see the turmoil inside Dream, how his mind is miles away. Unlike the people who have been to multiple shows, you don’t notice how much more subdued Dream is than usual.
You don’t know about the failed attempt of a conversation ending in “Good luck on stage” just seconds before they came on. You don’t know that normally there isn’t a Dream side and a George side of the stage that tonight are only connected by a thin red string. For heaven's sake, Dream hasn’t even grabbed George’s waist once!
You can still see the chemistry, the coquettish glances George throws in Dream’s direction at the particularly dirty lines, and how Dream shakes his head with fondness as George introduces Wasted Nights and relays the story of how the two of them stayed late at the studio once again.
You are sure less innocent things than just songwriting went down that night. At the very least these two guys know each other carnally if not romantically. All that tension needs a release one way or another. Their synergy needs a pressure control valve or they’re gonna blow up everything.
And, you know, you have listened to the lyrics and you are pretty sure all that talk about choking and “Break my voice, why don’t you” are less a metaphor for the exploitation of the music industry – not that you don’t think their management isn’t shit – and more of a sign for some kinks a certain somebody greatly enjoys.
You imagine them stumbling backstage after the show, Dream tugging at George’s sweat-soaked shirt or his fingers tangling in the fishnet as he makes his way upwards after untying George’s boots. You picture George leaving lipstick and hickeys around Dream’s neck once they have taken the collar and leash off. You are sure they have a little ritual of tender touches and sweet eyes for it. You like to imagine they can be gentle with each other and George pampering Dream with kisses as he promises in that one song.
In your mind they are riding out the high of a show together, proud of themselves and making light-hearted fun of the enraptured and starry-eyed first row as if they weren’t smitten with each other too and prone to messing up a lyric while staring at the other performing.
You don’t know that Dream fumbles through it alone, fingers shaking from adrenaline, shutting his eyes tightly against the frustration and the tears. He’d only give a bitter laugh at your romantic notion of them being special because their red string of fate is actually visible for anyone to see.
It happens during My Fault. You are close enough to see it unfold in real time but at first, you don’t notice anything amiss. George is tightening the leash as he gives the far side of the audience some attention and Dream, who’s right in front of you, is grabbing his collar as if it's choking him.
George is pulling and Dream is pulling back and the line is taut and only when you glance at Dream gritting his teeth do you realize this is not going as intended. Confused you mess up the next line George barely gets out. Your eyes slide along the chain to its other end which wraps tightly around George’s hand, biting into his knuckles, leaving them white in stark contrast to the blood red.
Your head snaps back around to Dream and – Correction: It is choking him. His reluctance to move a single inch is not part of the performance. Oh.
It happens in slow motion. George yanks on the leash one more time and Dream has to take a sidestep to absorb the pull. He stumbles and steps onto a cord that rips out of the port in his guitar. It hits the stage in front of you with a clank and you shy away, letting go of the barricade and stepping on the toes of the person behind you like its live wire. Or a snake.
With a shrill screech Dream’s guitar dies and without his melody, the song falls apart. Sapnap’s beats tampers out and George lowers his mic.
The sudden silence is roaring in your ears and with wide eyes, you watch as nobody moves.
George and Dream are staring at each other. You can only see Dream’s slumped shoulders but the look on George’s face is ... shock, worry, and then guilt that reaches back in time much further than the last few seconds. You feel like you just walked in on a candid moment you weren’t meant to see, like this wasn’t a simple mishap during a show you can just laugh off –
They are frozen, blown up larger than life on the screen behind them, but in your eyes, they fall apart. Suddenly they are no longer DreamandGeorge, the creative duo, the hot new thing on the block, the hyped sensation everyone tears each other apart over to get tickets. They become just two people, separated by something, by whatever caused this, by an invisible barrier you cannot see.
“Dream!” Sapnap yells over from the drums. “Pick it up, we have a show to play!” There is laughter in his voice which breaks the tension. The audience starts chuckling at Dream’s misfortune. Even George gives a small giggle, but it sounds forced to your ears.
Dream bends down in front of you, lowering his head. You are the only one close enough to see how red his cheeks are and how painful the furrow of his brows is.
He picks up the cord as George finds his composure and turns to the audience. “Sorry ‘bout that, guys! We’re gonna start that one again. This song is called My fault (as always!)” He adds the song’s subtitle with a singsong in his voice and a wiggle of his fingers.
Dream, instead of plugging his guitar back in, slams the plug back down, making you flinch at the ugly crunch before he gets up and walks off stage.
George falls silent in the middle of his sentence.
Dream drags the leash behind him and this time when it goes taut George doesn’t pull back and instead lets it go wordlessly. It trails after Dream, slithering over the stage, around the mic stand, and past the drums, until it vanishes backstage taking all the shattered pieces of their dream with him.