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“What are you, stupid?”
“Um,” Dream starts, tapping the end of his pencil against his bottom lip, “maybe? I mean, I think I’m smart enough. I get passing grades and all that.”
Sapnap groans and throws his head back, almost knocking it against the back of his chair; they’re supposed to be studying, but somehow, like every conversation with Dream, it ends back up at George. George Davidson, perhaps the smartest kid in their entire grade (though Dream wouldn’t put it past him to be the smartest in the entire school) and most certainly the prettiest. There’s no one who wouldn’t gawk at him—at least, no one but Sapnap and maybe a few of their friends.
“Come on,” Dream mutters, staring down at the paper riddled with math equations that he can’t be bothered to focus on, “it’s not like I’m doing any harm. I doubt George is into guys anyway. He’d probably call me a slur and walk off like ‘little miss perfect.’”
Sapnap blinks. “So you’re telling me you think the guy you’re madly in love with,” a pause, “is a homophobe?”
“You know I always fall for people with at least one major flaw. He’s got none! There’s no way he’s not a little problematic.”
Sapnap scoffs as he tosses a potato chip into his mouth to either silence himself from a stupid remark or to focus on anything aside from Dream’s stupid remark. He kicks his leg out under the table and hits Dream square in the knee, a deserved spike of pain and a reminder that this isn’t exactly the best time to be talking about unrequited love when they have a math test tomorrow morning.
“Fine,” the blond caves, “math, math, equations and functions. Can we talk about me now?”
“We have been,” Sapnap groans, “for the last thirty minutes.”
“I just think he’s neat,” Dream says, the stupid grin on his face clearly showing he thinks George is much more than just neat. Sapnap decides against calling him out on it this time; he thinks that he’ll have Dream slaughtered one way or another. “He’s on the debate team, you know.”
“That so?”
“Yeah! Apparently he got, like, really close to winning some sort of award for it last year? I don’t really know, though,” Dream chuckles, humming, “I’m too fruity to care about debate.”
“Right.” Sapnap feels the twitch in his eyebrow.
“I bet he dresses up real nice for it, though. Debate.” He’s swinging his head from side to side now, acting like a true maiden in love; it’s almost sickening. It’s a miracle Sapnap hasn’t jumped up in a fit of nausea and hurled all over the floor by now (or maybe he’s just seriously lucky). “Y’know, fashionable suit and tie and all that—maybe a hat? No, I don’t think they’d allow hats. I’m sure anything he wore would look pretty, though.”
“Dream, we have a math test.” There’s an audible twitch of Sapnap’s eye; it’s a wonder his entire face hasn’t begun to twitch.
“I know, right? It’s totally unfair! I would kill to be able to wear anything and look good—I mean, I can’t pull off any tight-fit outfits because my shoulders are too wide.” Dream scoffs and rolls his eyes whilst resting his elbow against the table. “I always end up looking like an upside-down triangle. Loose clothes are so much better.”
“Dream.”
“By the way, can we go shopping together sometime? There’s this new hoodie I want to grab from the place downtown. I can drive and stuff, I just need to borrow your mom’s car—cool?”
“Dream.”
“What, man? C’mon, it’s just a few hours! I’ll even buy you some boba tea! You want pineapple flavor? Or maybe you’d like that taro milk tea stuff? I’ve never tried it but Karl told me he liked it.”
“Dream, please, we’re supposed to be studying!” Sapnap grimaces, balling up a leftover straw wrapper from god-knows-when and flicking it across the table right between Dream’s eyebrows. He winces back at the minor impact and returns the grimace Sapnap’s way.
“Math is boring,” he sputters. “I just wanna talk about life and shit.”
Sapnap huffs and gnaws at his bottom lip for a moment. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock, but if we don’t study we’re gonna fail and then my mom is gonna kick my ass.”
“Just tell her it’s homophobic if she does,” Dream suggests.
“Like she gives a shit.”
“Well, whatever. You can suffer through that then.” Dream grins and pulls himself up, stretching his arms over his head and cracking the exhaustion out of each bone in his upper body. “I’m not worried,” he says, “because I’ll just find myself a sugar daddy to pay for everything I’ll ever want or need in life.”
“Who, George?”
“Maybe. He’s smart. Maybe he’s got internalized homophobia.” The blond snickers as he leans forward against the edge of the wooden table, pressing borderline painfully into his gut. His forefinger curls against the tip of his thumb in a vulgar symbol before he continues, “I’ll just suck the homophobia out of him.”
“Dude,” Sapnap deadpans, “you’re gross.”
Dream shrugs, his tongue wetting his lips as replacement for chapstick that he doesn’t currently have. “I’d much rather be having sex than thinking about numbers and letters right now.”
“Wow. Thanks for letting me know,” the other remarks sarcastically. It’s not exactly surprising, but he would be lying if it didn’t make him a bit frustrated to hear; Sapnap gets the sentiment, but he himself would rather be studying with a friend than out on the streets whoring himself. He supposes that it’s not exactly that bad, but still. “Can we just focus now? My ass is on the line. And not in a fun or kinky way,” he adds.
“Fine, fine,” Dream grumbles, though he does truly cave this time. His pencil spins around in his hand until the pointed lead is facing the paper and he focuses (or at least he tries to).
If there are poorly-drawn George Davidson doodles along the edges of the practice test when he turns it in the next morning, nobody says anything.
※ ※ ※
“So?”
Dream glances to the side, where Karl is conveniently positioned in the desk to his left. “So?” He parrots, one eyebrow raised.
“The math test,” Karl explains, gesturing a hand towards him. “How did you do?”
“Probably bombed it.” Dream shrugs and holds back a grin from cracking over his lips. “Couldn’t focus and shit. The usual.”
“George?”
“What else? I’m gay and predictable, this is just awful.”
Karl holds back a laugh as he leans back in his seat and lets his shoes poke out from behind the barely-spacious desk. He presses his hands flat against the smooth texture, seemingly stretching every muscle in his body (why? Dream has no idea, but he’s probably sore from tennis practice or something). “I think you’ve always been gay and predictable, Dream,” he says.
Dream scoffs and rolls his eyes playfully. Their teacher pipes up from her desk to say something, but neither of them turn to listen. “Like you aren’t,” he spits back. “I know about your giant, stupid crush on Sapnap.”
“Well,” Karl sputters, “I told you!”
“On accident.”
“Happy accident.”
“Okay Bob Ross,” Dream snickers and rests his chin in the palm of his hand; their English textbook serves as a decent arm rest, “no need to get all sentimental on me. Pretty sure the dumbass likes you back anyway.”
“Oh god.” Karl shakes his head quickly, already burying his quickly-reddening face behind sweater paws. “That’s impossible, there’s, like, nothing likable about me. At least not romantically—I think I make a decent friend. Do I? I do, right?” His eyes dart upwards and lock with Dream’s, a concerned whirlpool of greens and blues.
Dream furrows his brow ever so slightly and leans forward; dumb question, but he’s certainly got an answer. “Of course, Karl, you’re one of the best. But I’m serious, I think Sapnap might be more down bad for you than you are for him. It’s kinda gross.”
Karl, as any insecure lover boy would, promptly ignores that statement. “You mean your level of gross or just the normal human’s level of gross? I don’t think anyone could be worse than you.”
“Okay, rude.”
“It’s only fair.”
“Touché,” the blond remarks, waggling a finger towards Karl.
“If we’re gonna talk crushes,” Karl gives Dream a rather stern look, which is only mildly surprising to the latter, “why don’t we talk about your weird obsession with George Davidson?”
Dream frowns. “Okay, first of all, I’m not obsessed with him.” Karl’s eye roll does not go unnoticed, but Dream doesn’t have it in him to call him out for it. “Second of all,” he continues, “by your logic, that would make you obsessed with Sapnap. I’ll tell him if you’re not careful.”
Karl groans, narrowing his eyes in a glare. “I wish you weren’t friends with him,” he says, partially sarcastic because there’s no real malice behind his words.
“At least you know for sure that he likes dudes. I can’t tell if George is gay or wants them all to burn in hell.”
A snort forces its way out of Karl’s nose and he swears that he would be choking on Vanilla Iced Latte right now if he had one (sometimes being late for school can be a good thing, maybe). “Local gayboy falls for homophobe,” he mocks, scribbling down a few words on whatever handout they were given—Dream doesn’t know because he hasn’t spared it even a single passing glance since their free time started. It faintly reminds him of a genuine story like that that blew up on the internet a while back, though he can’t quite remember the details of it.
“Well, I don't know if he is,” Dream counters, drumming his fingertips against the top of the desk; his nails click against the material in chaotic rhythm. “But little miss perfect seems like the type to be a homophobe, right? Stereotypes and all that.”
Karl shrugs as he jots down another thing on their worksheet. “Maybe little miss perfect isn’t so perfect, then,” he hums. “Though I guess that would make him perfect for you.”
“Perfect for me,” Dream scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m gay, he’s gay, it’s a match made in heaven,” he teases, then looks over at the clock on the corner of the wall until the bell rings.
※ ※ ※
The George Davidson is sitting next to Alex Quackity at lunch, which immediately sets all of the alarms off in Dream’s head. Firstly, what the fuck? Secondly, he’ll kill Quackity if he says anything, and thirdly, no, seriously, what the fuck?
Sapnap seems to sense the way Dream’s brain is tripping and stumbling over itself as they’re moving closer, so he does what any good best friend would and hurries over, leaning across the end of the table with his palms curled over the edge.
“Big Q and the infamous George Davidson? Sitting together at lunch? What possibly brought about this unexpected duo?”
It’s a stark difference: George with his study materials neatly in front of him, hair combed just right, and he’s wearing one of those stupidly nerdy argyle sweaters with a white button-up underneath it (judging by the collar poking out of the top), and Quackity with his fucking Starbomb tee and ripped jeans with the Los Angeles Fire Department beanie he never seems to take off (Karl had joked once that it was fused to his hair and if he took it off he’d go bald).
“Talking,” Quackity pipes up, a smug smirk spread across his face; from where Dream is standing, he can just barely hear them over the chatter of the lunchroom, but he’s not about to get any closer—at least, he wasn’t until Karl decides that it’s the best idea in the world to push him up beside Sapnap and right beside where George is seated.
George glances up and offers a friendly smile. “Hello Dream.”
The same time Dream stiffens, Sapnap raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, uh, hey—hi, uh, George Davidson. Hello. Haha, uh, yeah. Cool. You—I mean—never mind. Hi.”
“Nice save,” Karl mouths sarcastically and Dream wishes he had missed it out of the corner of his eye. He’s rightfully elbowed in the side by the blond as divine punishment (or something like that).
“Anyway,” Quackity rolls his eyes and raises his eyebrows a few times, “George was asking me about—”
“Advice,” George cuts in curtly. “I was asking for some advice.”
“Advice?” Sapnap blinks in disbelief, words wrapped in friendly teasing. “From Quackity?”
“Right, I’m beginning to think I might be losing it myself,” the older grumbles. “No offense, of course.”
Quackity crosses his arms over himself, leans back in the seat, and hums as if he knows all the secrets of the universe. “None taken, dude.”
A quick nod and George is rising out of his seat, gathering up all the books and folders in his arms. “Well, it was an interesting few minutes,” he says, smiling through the words; Dream can’t tell if it’s genuine or guarded, but it’s hard to care when his heart is doing somersaults in his chest anyway. “I’ll see you guys around, maybe?”
“Uh, yeah, for sure,” Sapnap supplies, sharing a mildly confused glance with Karl, who only shrugs in response. “Later.”
“Bye,” Dream adds meekly, the burning red in his cheeks not well hidden at all. If George had noticed, he said nothing of it before turning on his heel to leave, which then has Sapnap and Karl stumbling to sit across from Quackity, pulling Dream down with them.
“Okay, so what the fuck was that?”
Quackity hums again. “Well, you’ll be surprised to hear that he wanted to talk with you, actually, Sap.”
“What?” Dream and Sapnap’s voices overlap, which has Sapnap narrowly dodging a punch aimed to the side of his arm.
“Details, details,” Quackity sing-songs, clearly enjoying the miniature chaos he’s creating. He taps his finger a few times against the top of the table and shapes a few invisible circles into it. “Unfortunately I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Another frown finds its way onto Dream’s lips, but Karl pipes up before the blond has time to voice his own concerns.
“Well, that’s a good thing, I think? If you’re sworn to secrecy then it can’t be about Sapnap or anything.” He nods around a forkful of salad and smiles when Dream’s shoulders loosen up.
“Maybe it’s not about any of us?” Dream glances between the four of them. “No way it’s anything about Quackity himself, anyway, but what could he possibly help George with?”
“Hey, I’m pretty masterful sometimes!”
“True, but what masterful skills do you have that would help George Davidson? He’s got, like,” Sapnap’s nose scrunches up as he pauses, “three hobbies and all of them are studying for something or other.”
A snort escapes from the back of Quackity’s throat and out his nose as he adjusts the beanie atop his head. “I guess I can tell you that it wasn’t anything academic related—”
“Figures.”
“—but, it was advice nonetheless! My street smarts are coming in handy!”
“Can you just tell us? At least what it’s about?” Dream pokes out his bottom lip and pulls his best kicked-puppy face as he stares at Quackity (it’s hardly effective, but it rarely is with anyone other than teachers who just so happen to pity him for one reason or another). “Spare us the details, just the general topic, please?”
Quackity narrows his eyes and looks between Dream and the others as if they could influence his decision (to be honest, they probably did, though. He likes the spotlight). “Fine,” he says, a bit loud and over-dramatic, “I’ll tell you!” He leans in, tugging down the front of his beanie as everyone else hurries to lean closer as well, then whispers, slower than the fucking tortoise that ran the race against the hare, “Turns out George Davidson is a little,” and he finishes his statement with a simple flick of his wrist downward and the digits to follow. “Y’know?”
“What, so he told you he’s gay?” Karl gapes, whites surrounding the light blues of his irises. “Why the honk would he tell you? Aren’t there, like, way better people for that?”
Sapnap scrunches his nose. “Maybe he doesn’t feel safe enough to tell someone he’s close with?” He suggests, mildly uncomfortable at the idea of it.
“I can’t tell you guys all the finer details with,” he pauses, eyeing Dream for a moment, “a crowd here. But I’ll tell you about it later, Sapnap.”
“What?” Dream frowns. “Why can’t I know? I think I should have a right to know, given the fact that I’m, like, madly in love with the guy.”
A huff comes from beside him, followed shortly by an elbow lodging into his side. “And make you some kind of obsessed stalker? No thanks.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Sure you aren’t. And my mother wouldn’t beat my ass if I didn’t clean the house the second she asked me to.”
“Yikes, man,” Quackity snorts.
※ ※ ※
And Dream is pissy about it—of course he is—but he lets it be until the bell rings and everyone at their lunch table disperses for the next period.
That’s when Sapnap knocks shoulders with Quackity and Karl on their way to class. Specifically, the class they share. Even more specifically, the class he is absolutely going to get every little detail out of Quackity in.
“Okay, now that it’s just you, me, and Karl,” Sapnap waves his pencil around at each one of them with the corresponding name, “spill the beans, amigo.”
“First of all, you didn’t even pronounce that correctly,” Quackity spits back lightheartedly. “Second of all, of fucking course I’m telling you guys. Did you really think I wasn’t going to? There’s no way I’m keeping this to myself.”
Karl snickers. “Typical,” he chimes in.
“Okay.” Quackity leans in, and with the way Sapnap and Karl follow suit their foreheads are almost knocking together thanks to the poorly placed desks, lips parted but he doesn’t say anything just yet. In fact, he lets the anticipation simmer for so long that it’s only when Sapnap reaches a hand up to smack him across the back of the head that he winces, knuckles white against the unnatural feel of shiny wood, and whispers in a way that could definitely count as blurting, “George Davidson has a crush on Dream. Our Dream.”
Sapnap wonders, within the split second before his brain completely fucking explodes, if his jaw has unhinged and fallen off his face completely. It must have, considering the fact that he can’t even feel it.
“There’s no fucking way you’re serious,” he reasons aloud. Karl giggles from beside him and it sounds awfully fond, but he can’t be bothered to notice that right then. There were obviously more pressing matters at hand.
“I am so serious, man, honest!” Quackity holds his hands up as if he’s being held hostage—something he has oh-so-affectionately described being friends with Sapnap as feeling like. “He wanted to talk to you ‘cause you’re, like, Dream’s best friend and whatnot. His little boy-toy.”
There’s a faint, comical, cartoonish blinking sound effect that rings in Sapnap’s ears; he can’t quite tell if it’s him blinking or Karl. He assumes it doesn’t matter.
“Never call me that again.”
“What, you haven’t thought about it?”
“What the fuck?”
Karl figures this is a good enough time to cut in, tapping his finger against his desk and saying, “But, wait. What are we even supposed to do with this information? Is he asking us to wingman him?”
“I guess so,” Quackity says, pressing the eraser side of his pencil to his bottom lip. “This is kinda revolutionary, though, right? Our friend is in love with the school’s top student and the school’s top student is in love with him right back. Like some kind of gay rom-com that Hallmark would play.”
Sapnap snickers. “Thank god it’s not Christmas, then.”
The next thirty minutes or so goes by exceptionally quick; it’s not much of a surprise that it does, considering the fact that the three stooges decide to not do any of their class work and instead spread out their notebooks and jot down different ideas and plans for how to push their roles as side characters in a shitty romantic comedy.
It is especially frustrating for Quackity. He even gags a little when Sapnap’s hand brushes against Karl’s and the latter jerks back like he’s a deer caught in headlights. It’s almost pitying how dense Sapnap is, because apparently he can’t see it then and he still can’t see it when Quackity comments, “make that two shitty rom-coms,” under his breath.
Needless to say, everything goes—for the most part—smoothly.
“Okay,” and Sapnap is gathering up his belongings as the clock ticks closer and closer to the bell that sets them free from their classroom prison, “your place works then, right, Karl?”
Karl nods a little too eagerly. “Yeah, totally! I’ll go with Big Q to see if George can make it today. You tie up any loose ends with Dream.” A pause. “Try not to be too suspicious. We don’t wanna, like, make him bouncing-off-the-walls excited to see the man of his dreams or whatever. No pun intended.”
“Will do, captain,” Sapnap returns sarcastically. He sticks his hand out, balled in a fist, and grins when both Karl and Quackity do the same. “Three-way fist bump always hits different.”
Dramatically, Quackity groans and throws his head back in disgust. “You always make it fuckin’ weird, Sap!”
He is, quite deservedly, given detention just before the bell rings.
※ ※ ※
“You’re acting funny,” Dream says.
Well, shit, there goes the plan.
“You’re acting weird,” Sapnap huffs back. “You come over to my house every day anyway, what difference does it make if we go to Karl’s today?”
“Oh my god.”
“What? Why are you ‘oh my god’ing. Don’t ‘oh my god’ me.”
“Oh my god.”
“Stop that!”
Dream is grinning now and something twists in Sapnap’s gut. That is way too devious to be a normal, friendly grin. He’s onto something.
“Do you have a crush on Karl?”
Or not.
“What?” Sapnap chokes, completely caught off guard, and almost falls backwards thanks to the definitely-not-teen-friendly weight of his backpack. “I do not.”
“You totally do!” Dream beams, eyes too wide and thrilled to be teasing his best friend. “You’re in love with Karl, you’re in love with Karl,” he sing-songs, practically floating around the shorter boy. It’s only when Sapnap begins to swat at him that he calms down, though his expression is still plastered across his face like some kind of anthropomorphic Studio Ghibli cat villain.
They’re walking side-by-side, knocking into each other occasionally thanks to the presence of other teenagers just like them passing down the hallway. Sapnap squints up at him, then does a onceover of his build; maybe if he wasn’t so hopelessly devoted to fawning over George in his free time, he would actually have a hobby. He’s certainly built well enough to be a star player for the football team or basketball team.
And in an instant, he catches himself. Now is not the time to be thinking about Dream’s wasted potential—what is Sapnap, his dad? The thought is too gross to even swallow.
“Anyway,” he mutters, finally, when there’s silence between them but definitely not around (no high school hallway is ever truly silent), “just bear with it, okay? You like Karl, as a friend I’d hope, so what difference does it make? It’s not that big of a deal.”
Dream hums and adjusts his hands over the straps of his backpack. “I just figured it was a change of pace. Sorta came outta nowhere.”
“Well, we arranged it during class together, so it’s not like this has been in the works for months or anything.”
“Oh?” The quirk of his brow sounds much like the gates of hell opening before Sapnap’s eyes. “So this is an arrangement, is it?”
“You make everything sound so weird.”
“I’m the best at what I’m good at.” Dream stops for a moment to take a courteous bow, which has a good few eyes on him in the hallway on their way out but thankfully most people don’t give a shit when they’re pushing past people to race to their cars or their parents’ cars and drive off.
Part of Sapnap wishes he had just decided to stay out of all this homosexual business in the first place. He’s got his own homosexual business to worry about, let alone adding Dream’s on top of it—it’s basically accepting the death penalty.
For gay people.
He side-eyes Dream once more.
Dramatic gay people.
“Just make sure not to zone out and crash the car on the way there, please and thank you.”
“How polite,” Dream jokes, resisting the urge to nudge Sapnap in the arm, “I just might consider it.”
The car ride goes as usual: simple teenager chit-chat, Dream being dramatically gay and spouting about how the world is homophobic for one reason or another (and technically he’s not wrong, it’s just that Sapnap wouldn’t dub his pencil breaking during a test as a hatecrime against homosexuals), and just messing around in general. Safely, of course, because as much as Sapnap loves tormenting Dream, he’s not about to push the limits and get them into a wreck all because he felt the insatiable urge to smack the blond across the face.
By some miracle, they arrive safely at Karl’s house; Sapnap notes that Quackity’s car is parked out front rather than in the driveway (a safe and quick getaway if this happened to turn into some sort of double date, which Quackity was fairly certain of with how Karl clings to Sapnap and how George and Dream just so happen to both be madly in love with each other; Sapnap doesn’t need to know this, though, nor does he at all).
And when Karl opens the door, “Dream?”
Dream’s eyes go wide. “George?”
George’s head immediately swivels towards Quackity, who is biting his bottom lip, desperately trying not to burst out into laughter. He narrows his eyes; he seems to have an idea of exactly what’s going on.
Dream, in turn, glances behind him towards Sapnap. His eyes are brimming with delight, lips curled awkwardly as if holding back a wide grin. He, on the other hand, does not seem to have any idea of what’s going on. The way he nods his head ever so slightly is a very clear, non-verbal way of saying, ‘Oh my god, George is here!’
“Well, anyway, now that you two are done with whatever that was,” Quackity pipes up, nestled between two very plush and puffy couch cushions, “we’re here to study, remember? And this isn’t chemistry or anatomy, so don’t do anything weird.”
Sapnap is fairly impressed with how quickly he notices both Dream and George turn bright red in the face; maybe there’s something to say about soulmates and all that sappy, lovey-dovey shit after all. Momentarily, he glances toward Karl, who shrugs, so Sapnap shrugs back.
They all gather together around the coffee table in the living room just a few feet away from the vestibule; Quackity is still seated comfortably on the couch, where Karl plops beside him. Sapnap follows suit, and it’s only a little bit funny this time when Dream drops to the floor cross-legged and perches his elbow against the cool wooden top of the table.
“You’re sitting on the floor?” George asks, eyes wide with curious shock. The way his voice pitches upward is a fair indication, too.
“Uh, well, yeah,” Dream replies, struggling to make eye contact. He dons a silly smile that seems partially forced, if only to convey some kind of faux-confidence. “It’s just more comfortable, I guess. I like the carpet. And I don’t have to hunch over to reach the table this way.”
There’s a hum, as if he were considering the points given to him, before George is lifting himself out of the single seat beside the couch. He slides his work across the table to adjust to the new spot, then smiles kindly toward Dream—who is now sitting beside him, mere inches away from having their legs brushing against each other. Not to mention their shoulders.
He thinks he can feel the gagging sound Quackity is surely making in his mind, if not silently to Karl and Sapnap. Though, Dream does glance up between the latter two and finds it awfully interesting how the gap between Karl and Quackity is much larger than the one between Karl and Sapnap. He’ll make note of that and bully one of them—perhaps even both—for it later.
But, of course, he can’t stay focused on them for long before George is leaning forward, closer, and laying out all the materials he brought with him for this study session.
Despite what Quackity had said, they are covering a science course today, so it’s no wonder they would need help. He’s fairly certain that Quackity and Karl are both near-failing their science classes, anyway.
“Well,” George says, and it’s a long evening ahead of them, “where do we start?”
※ ※ ※
Four hours pass.
Four hours with painfully close distance between himself and George Davidson.
Four hours with such a close distance and yet hardly anything has happened.
Dream is leaning his face into the palm of his hand, still quietly listening to George drone on about whatever cytoplasm is and what it does. Sapnap is actually doing his work for once—the blond thinks it’s probably because he needs a tutor, but he’s not letting Sapnap go that easily—Karl is practically lying across Sapnap’s shoulders and pointing to different questions on his handout before muttering whatever it is to the boy he’s laying on, and Quackity has straight-up passed out on the arm of the couch. With his head so far back, Dream is surprised the drool trailing down his cheek hasn’t dropped right up his nostril yet.
Maybe it will. Not that he’s going to be waiting or watching for it, though.
“Maybe we should take a break,” George suggests, words peaking in what sounds like a question. He glances between Sapnap and Dream with a sheepishness that Dream finds absolutely adorable. It’s not a look he’s seen on George before. Call it new and exciting, even.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Sapnap pipes up, groaning a bit as he leans back and Karl retreats from his personal space. Dream shoots him a look, but only gets rosy red in return. “Karl, can I ask for some drinks for us? You should probably take Dream with you.”
Karl drums his fingertips against his thighs for a moment before he nods and stands up to maneuver around the pairs of legs and the coffee table itself to get to Dream.
“Hello,” he calls, partially monotone, “Earth to Dream?”
A few taps to his forehead and Dream snaps out of whatever trance-like state he was put into simply from listening to George’s voice for four hours straight. He looks around, then up at Karl.
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“Drinks,” Karl explains—vaguely. “What do you guys want, anyway? I think it’s safe to say we can skip Quackity, unless someone wants to wake him up.”
Sapnap shakes his head. “Let him sleep. Poor guy actually works really hard, if you’d believe it. I’ve had him call me at three in the morning before just to see if I could go over his work when he knows I’m the only one up.”
“Street smarts and book smarts,” Dream comments fondly, though he’s not sure why something like a work check would be entrusted to Sapnap of all people. Quackity takes what he can get, supposedly. He pushes himself upright, stretching the muscles in his back before settling over George’s surprised expression. Somehow, the look eases his nerves. “Just water for you, George?”
George blinks. “Um,” he says slowly, “yes, actually. Thank you.”
Dream lets a hum rumble through his chest. He wonders if George feels bad about his earlier comment; it would make sense, though it’s not entirely his fault. They all give Quackity the short end of the stick sometimes.
Karl backs up a little to let him stand, then turns to confirm whatever Sapnap wanted to drink—predictably, all he asks for is a can of soda. No brand, no type, just soda. Whatever’s available.
“So,” Dream starts, rolling up one of his sleeves if only to have something to fiddle with; he’s aware of the way the hardwood floor freaks under his socked feet as they step down the hallway towards the kitchen, “you and Sapnap.”
Karl scoffs. “Shut it.”
“You want me to shut it? You were practically hanging on him!”
“Well, he—he let me!”
“Dude,” Dream deadpans. “You guys are starting to act way more disgusting than me. In a more wholesome way, sure. But still disgusting. And that’s basically, like, a world record.”
Karl huffs and rolls his eyes. “PDA is normal between friends,” he reasons, stopping in front of his gray-steel refrigerator. The door swings open and he leans an arm against the top of it, eyes scanning for any leftover can of soda there could possibly be. “Besides, you’re the one prancing around talking about sucking George off. I’m not that bad.”
A hum escapes him as Dream swings one of the wooden cabinet doors open. He reaches for a small glass cup and turns to the kitchen sink to fill it. “Maybe you aren’t,” he says, “but Sapnap is pretty gross.”
The way Karl fumbles and almost drops the can of orange Fanta he’s plucked out of the fridge is no secret—especially not when his face is that red. Even more so now than it was before.
“He—what? Does he—does he say…things about me?”
Hilarious. The word floats to the top of Dream’s mind.
“Dunno,” is all he offers, though. “Let’s talk about me now.”
“You’re awful,” Karl spits. He’s smiling, as frustrated as he is. “How’s sitting next to the George Davidson going for you?”
Dream raises his eyebrows in a true-Dream-fashion, leaning back against the kitchen counter with the freshly-filled glass of water in his hand. He raises it as if it were his. “Our arms brushed,” he says, like he was introducing some kind of new and mind-exploding technology that would help the human race advance even further than before, “multiple times.”
“Quite the progress.”
“Haven’t you been crushing on Sapnap since middle school?”
Karl frowns. “Okay, no need to get all defensive. But seriously, I’m pretty sure you can just—I dunno, ask him out?”
Dream raises an eyebrow; his face reads skeptical all over. Partially mockery.
“I’m serious,” Karl tries, playing with his fingers around the rim of the soda can. “He seems to really like you. I mean, this whole time he’s been glued to your side. Literally. Also, I don’t think you even noticed the way he’s been looking at you when he’s not going down a scientific rabbit hole.”
The glass of water gives Dream’s hand a nice, cool burning sensation. He switches it from one hand to the other. “If it’s anything like how you look at Sapnap, I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed.”
“Dream.”
“Okay, okay! Fine, I’ll…try something. I dunno. But if I’m going down, you’re coming with me, Jacobs.” A playful smirk tugs across his face. “I ask George out, you ask Sapnap out.”
“That is so stupid,” but when Dream extends a hand and waves his pinky at Karl, the latter somehow finds himself going along with the whole ordeal; one pinky locked with another.
The walk back feels longer, but really, who’s keeping track, anyway?
Dream’s heart might as well have climbed its way up into his throat with the way it feels unnaturally dry. He looks down at the glass of water and mentally sighs; maybe next time he’ll be smart enough to grab himself something to drink before making these kinds of stupid deals.
“So you think I should—”
“Dream, Karl!”
“What an odd returning welcome,” Karl notes, ignoring the way Sapnap narrows his eyes at him. “I could only find Fanta. Sorry about that.”
A sigh, lighthearted as it is. “No worries,” Sapnap waves his hand and catches the cab when the other boy tosses it toward him, “I enjoy a bit of orange soda myself.”
George’s jaw is still hanging open, but Dream notices the way he shuts it, perhaps automatically, when the glass of water is placed down oh-so-gingerly in front of him. He eyes the droplets of condensation for only a second before voicing his thanks and taking a few careful sips. Cat-like, if Dream remembers anything about Patches, his family cat—which he does. A whole lot. Maybe too much.
Karl and Sapnap used to call him the ‘cat connoisseur’ back in middle school. To be fair, he was a little obsessed with everything about cats, whether that was caring for them or just random facts and trivia he found in his free time.
Needless to say, he’s fairly certain George exhibits cat-like behavior for a teenage human.
It’s adorable, though.
“Do you—do you like cats?” Dream finds himself asking before he has the mind to stop himself. Sapnap would groan in disgust if it weren’t for Karl nudging him in advance alongside the fact that he vaguely recalls Dream saying something about George being a ‘little gray kitty cat’ a few days, maybe weeks, earlier. It’s a poor attempt at starting a conversation, but even small talk like this is progress for a gay mess like him.
George sets the glass down and nods, seemingly intrigued by the conversation topic. “I do, actually,” he says, voice sweet like pure sugar to Dream’s biased ears. It sounds like purring, maybe. “I have a cat of my own—a cute little guy, whitish gray and loves to get into trouble. Although his name doesn’t do him much justice, just being Cat and all.”
“You named your cat Cat?” Sapnap snickers.
“To be fair,” George’s cheeks grow pink for the third time that evening, “I thought it would be ironic, sort of. The animal named its own species name. I dunno, it’s kinda stupid, I guess.”
“It’s not stupid,” Dream blurts. His face easily mimics the pink shade across George’s own. “Uh, I mean—well, I like it. I think it’s funny. Like naming your dog Dog. It’s not stupid.”
“Simp,” Karl comments, and it takes all of Dream’s self-restraint not to grab him by the ankle and rip his leg off; thankfully, Sapnap does him a solid and shoves one of the throw pillows into his face.
The blond smiles awkwardly, continuing, “I have a cat, too! Her name is Patches, she’s kinda…splotchy brown colors. I mean, we call her Patches for a reason. But she’s super sweet! Kinda shy around strangers, but she warms up to people pretty quickly when they’re nice to her. Usually my friends.” Before he knows it, he’s rambling—hands gesturing wildly as he grins like an idiot, talking fondly about his family pet as if she were his only friend. For a while, she might have been.
He brings up the entire timeline of her life from when his family first adopted her, to raising her as a kitten with his little sister (specifically, because his older siblings dumped everything on them—not that he minded), and to the present day where Patches is basically living as a spoiled little princess. George watches and listens fondly, making comments between the stories on whatever he finds interesting or funny or even cute—“Your sister sounds like fun” and “You have to show me a picture of that!” And Dream promises to, because why wouldn’t he?
Sometime throughout the endless scrolling through cat photos in Dream’s camera roll, Sapnap and Karl had wandered off with each other and Quackity had woken up only to yell, “Oh brother,” sounding much like a SpongeBob SquarePants reference neither of them would understand, “this guy stinks!” before also running off. While Dream could guess that Karl had dragged Sapnap off to confess (or something; maybe he pussied out in the end and decided just to go to his room to play video games instead), he wasn’t sure what Quackity was off to do. Ransack the refrigerator, maybe, though he did like to just wander around and look at things.
Either way, none of that matters much when he’s sitting with George Davidson and talking so naturally. It’s just as easy as breathing now, if not easier.
“Your family sounds so sweet,” George says, eyes like gemstones glistening with stardust. His cheeks pull up when he smiles and push up the bottom lids of his eyes in such an endearing way it’s hard for Dream to keep his gaze from idling.“And I’m sure Patches is fond of you all, too. If not for the spoiling, then for the overwhelming amounts of love and affection you show her.”
Dream laughs and his fingers trace the side of his own jawline. “I sure hope so. She’s our little princess, we gotta give her the world.”
“You know, I—”
Then, suddenly, Dream’s heart speeds up. Inhumane. If he were sitting on a chair, he would be right at the edge of it.
“—think we should hang out more, maybe. If you’d like. We get along really well. At least, that’s how I feel.”
Oh. False alarm.
“Oh, I—yeah, yeah, no, I agree, we totally do. I’d love to hang out more. That sounds…amazing, George.”
※ ※ ※
Karl’s end of the deal goes swimmingly.
Much to Dream’s annoyance.
“I’m going to die,” he announces, dramatically dropping his lunch tray onto the table. Sapnap rolls his eyes at him from the other side.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Yes it is.”
“It’s really not.”
“You wouldn’t understand how it feels.” Dream sighs and plops down onto the painful, rigid, plastic seating before the table. He pokes and prods at the lunch food for a good minute before shoving it aside with the silent declaration of having no appetite. “I’ve been pining for so long, and yet somehow you guys just—this magically happens for you?”
Karl, sat right beside Sapnap, frowns. “Weren’t you the one reminding me of my terrible pining ever since middle school?”
“No need to get so defensive,” Dream grumbles bitterly.
“Besides, shouldn’t you be, like, happy for me? For us?”
He huffs, then squints at the interlocked hands resting comfortably between Sapnap and Karl. He wants to throw up, but only a little.
“I am, but I don’t want to be,” is what he settles on.
Sapnap snorts. “Thanks so much for your blessing, dude,” he mocks.
Dream whines, much like a dog being denied a treat or something of the like. He drops his cheek onto the table (probably not the best idea—who knows what people do or put on it), eyeing the cafeteria entrance for whenever Quackity shows up to be his—hopefully—savior.
When no familiar faces show through the stream of pubescent teens, a loud groan escapes between Dream’s lips. He sits up, presses the palms of his hands against the curve of the table to lean back and stretch, then sighs.
“Okay, you know what? Fine, fine! I’m just—I’ll just ask him out the next time I see him.”
“What’s going on?”
Oh. He knows that voice.
Dream’s heart promptly drops down to his ass.
“Dream wanted to talk to you,” Sapnap says, voice clearly laced with mischief. Dream wants to die, only a little. Or maybe he just wants to kill Sapnap.
“In private!” Karl adds.
He wants to kill Karl, too.
But, as much as he hates them in this horribly awkward moment, he figures it’s now or never. Karl didn’t pussy out, so he shouldn’t either.
Dream takes a breath, making absolutely sure to glare at his friends across the table before he spins around and faces none other than George Davidson. “Uh, haha, hi! Well, they’re—they’re sorta right. I guess. Is—is that okay? Can we talk?”
“Oh.” George looks between the three of them for a moment, fingers playing around the straps of his backpack, but then nods gently toward Dream. “Yeah, sure, of course we can.”
“Great,” and he sounds too relieved for someone who’s standing up and grabbing his crush by the hand and whisking him away to some far corner of the school to chat for a measly thirty minutes. But that’s all the time he has and so he needs to make this quick.
The blond doesn’t even realize he’s still holding onto George’s hand when they’ve basically run all the way across the school and into one of the back hallways that’s borderline abandoned; it’s really only used for storage and other things nowadays, but the large windows decorating the wall allow for lots of sunlight to filter through in pretty rays of gold. The way it haloes around George is, if only for a moment, more distracting than the warmth in his palm.
“Um, Dream?”
“Oh, shit—sorry!” Dream tugs his hand away quickly, then slides back against the wall and sits with his knees propped up in front of him. George curiously follows suit, barely knocking shoulders with how close they are. Piles of cardboard boxes close in on either side of them, and frankly it’s kind of weird that not even the janitor or something comes by to clear out the hall, but he pays no mind to them. He doesn’t look at George either, though—instead, Dream keeps his gaze trained out the window, squinting through the sun-colored light, and on the trees that litter the courtyard outside.
On the other hand, George watches Dream’s face—perhaps too intently, with the way it makes the latter squirm with nerves. But instead of saying anything or pushing Dream to speak his mind immediately, the Brit is silent and allows him to gather himself and his thoughts first and foremost.
It’s, if anything, sweet. Considerate.
And then, Dream begins, “this is kinda weird, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
He gnaws at his bottom lip, tearing away pieces of dead skin as if it would help calm his nerves. “I mean, I dragged you all the way here to…talk, but it’s pretty difficult to even start any of this.”
George hums softly. “I don’t mind waiting,” he says. “We can even—even skip class, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”
Dream flinches, turning with wide eyes. “What? No, no, we shouldn’t skip class, George, especially not you.”
“Because I’m the top student in our grade?”
“Well—yes, but also I don’t want to be a bad influence on you.”
“Well, why not?” George tilts his head to the side, enough to have Dream’s heart racing. He gently knocks his shoes together in time with the quiet echo of a ticking clock. “I like bad influences.”
Dream scoffs out a laugh. “I’m not some kind of bad boy or anything. You say that like you want to skip class.”
“I kinda do,” George confesses quietly. “Just once or twice. It’s boring some days, but on others it’s overwhelming.”
“I’m…sorry,” is all he can think to respond.
A laugh, light and airy. Silver, matched perfectly with the golden sun. “It’s alright, it’s not like it’s the worst thing in the world.” George pauses, settling his hands beside him, against the cool tiled floor. “That’s not what you brought me here to chat about, though, is it?”
Dream swallows, knocking back a quiet, awkward laugh of his own. “No, unfortunately not.” Deep breaths. He can feel his heart knocking incessantly against his rib cage. “Um, actually, George…I—I really like you. Like, uh, in a—in a gay way. Romantically, I mean.” This must be what dying feels like. Dream can’t quite tell if the heat is coming from inside him or from the sun pouring through the glass windows. “And I—I know we don’t really know each other that well, so it makes sense if you think this is weird or awkward or whatever, but I, um, I just wanted…to let you know.”
He’s not looking at George anymore, which is wholly unfortunate given the way the Brit is staring at him with the biggest, roundest, most beautifully brown eyes in the world. Gardens of roses bloom across his face as he stares at Dream, and even his mouth has fallen open the slightest bit.
“So, uh, yeah, that’s—”
“Can I kiss you?” George blurts.
And that catches Dream’s attention, neck practically tangled around itself with how fast and hard he swiveled it towards the sound of George’s voice. “ What?”
“Is that a no?”
“Fuck—um, no, I mean—yes. Yes, you can—you can kiss me.”
So he does.
George reaches up and holds his palms around Dream’s face as he leans forward; his knees keep him steady as he presses his lips up against Dream’s.
Dream’s head is spinning, tasting cherries and chocolate and the remnants of the sun all on pretty pink lips. Lips that he’s daydreamed about far too many times to count. Lips that are currently pressed against his own and have him melting under George’s grasp.
He almost—almost—whimpers when George pulls away for a breath, but he’s apparently a tease because he leans back in, just mere centimeters apart, before sitting upright again but still holding Dream by his cheeks.
“I,” he starts softly, “have been wanting to do that for so long.”
“Really?” Dream is breathless, watching George and resting his palms over the backs of his hands now; if this were a dream, he would never want to wake. But it feels so sickeningly real that he might just drown in the syrupy sweetness. “Me—me too. I really wanted to kiss you. Many times.”
George giggles, hesitantly pulling himself away from Dream altogether now. “I’d still be fine with skipping class,” he offers. “I’ve been wanting to visit that cafe downtown for a while now—the one that just opened up recently. You’re free to take me there, if you’d like.”
“Are you giving me an invitation to take you out on a date?”
“Only if you want.”
“I absolutely want,” Dream replies, grinning from ear to ear. He’s sure that his face is just as red as George’s, though perhaps he looks sunburnt in comparison. Hopping to his feet, the blond offers his hand to George, who takes it giddily and lets himself be guided down the hallway.
When they’re walking hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, surely to not return for afternoon classes, Dream thinks that he is totally going to rub this in Sapnap and Karl’s faces tomorrow.
But for now, he leans down and places a chaste kiss to George’s cheek, adores the way the brunet blushes and turns away, and revels in just how lucky he is.