Chapter Text
Three Years Earlier
College. A day of boring lectures followed by a night drowned in study, nose buried in textbooks on a subject he remained unsure about despite two years already poured into it. He’d been at it for hours, but had yet to read more than a page, constantly going back and rereading paragraphs he didn’t retain the first time. He considered calling it quits and accepting his fate come the exam, whatever it may be, when his phone started buzzing against the table.
A call, from George.
“Hey, dude,” Dream answered, finally tearing his exhausted eyes off the page.
“Is Sapnap there?” George immediately asked.
“No, he’s at Karl’s.” Dream chuckled. “If you wanted to talk to him, you have his number.”
George made a noise, something exasperated, likely paired with an eye-roll. “I don’t want to talk to Sapnap, I want to talk to you. I’m coming over.”
“Oh . . . Um, okay.” Dream slammed his textbook closed. This was just the excuse he’d been waiting for.
“Do you have drinks?” George wondered.
Dream hummed suspiciously. “What kind of drinks?”
Another of the same noise. “The alcoholic kind.”
Dream laughed. “No. I’m still underage, remember? Got a few more months to go.”
“Ugh. You should’ve moved to England, instead of the other way around,” George complained. “Whatever. I’ll buy some beers on my way over. Bye.”
He chuckled quietly to himself as the call dropped, then cleared his coursework off the coffee table to make space for whatever shenanigans George had in mind. He considered changing out of his house clothes, but decided against it, which turned out to be the right decision when George arrived a short time later in sweats and a t-shirt. It was a ‘let’s-get-drunk-and-be-cozy’ kind of night.
George let himself in, slammed the six-pack of cheap beer he’d bought—Pabst Blue Ribbon, quintessentially American—on the coffee table, and sat down with a heavy sigh. He helped himself to a can and chugged roughly half of it without pause. Dream slowly sat at the other end of the couch and cracked open his own can, watching George, wondering who would start.
“So, Sapnap’s at Karl’s?” George asked. Clearly, whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t going to bring it up yet.
“Yeah. ‘Studying,’ he said,” Dream recalled.
George snorted. “Right, ‘studying.’ Are they dating yet?”
Dream shrugged. “No, or at least, Sapnap hasn’t said so.”
“Our bet’s still on, right?” George ensured. “If they start going out by the end of the year, you owe me fifty bucks.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna win though, for sure,” Dream insisted. “Sapnap’s way too chickenshit to ask Karl out, and Karl won’t do it ‘cause he’s too proud to give in, or whatever he said.”
George started laughing. They both remembered fondly the night Karl got a little too tipsy when Sapnap wasn’t around, and spilled all about his disgustingly huge crush on the guy, about how he was sure Sapnap liked him too but didn’t want to ask him out first and ‘lose,’ whatever that meant. The two of them had been locked in a flirtatious game for months, something that probably wasn’t supposed to be competitive but had become so in their minds. Sapnap still denied any attraction to Karl whenever Dream asked, but Dream had known him too long, and he was a bad liar.
They went on talking, little, unimportant conversations that maybe weren’t unimportant, that maybe meant the world. The dark cloud that’d been hovering over George since he’d arrived slowly disappeared as he became more comfortable, moulding into and becoming part of the couch. Two hours and three beers later, George’s cheeks had gone rosy and his movements sluggish, a funny smile tugging the corner of his mouth. Dream watched him. In the soft orange lamplight, he seemed to glow.
“I, um . . .” George started, clearing his throat. His tone had suddenly gone serious. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”
“Oh,” Dream said, then chuckled. “Finally.”
George gave him a look. “I thought you liked him?”
Dream shrugged, cheeky. “I lied. He sucked.”
George laughed, but there was something a little sad behind it. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Are you okay?” Dream set his beer down, gazing at George with concern. He was meant to be comforting George, so felt a little bad about the way he couldn’t help breathing in the awe of his features, the way his lips pursed and his brows knitted together. He was always so beautiful, it made something hurt somewhere deep in Dream’s chest.
“I mean, I liked him, but it wasn’t going anywhere.” George sighed dejectedly. “So, yeah. I’m alright.”
It wasn’t a very honest answer, but probably as close as Dream was going to get. George was never upfront about his emotions, and it was the most frustrating thing about him—the fact he’d come here at all, wanting to talk about it, was already astonishing.
“You deserve better than him anyway.” Dream said it quietly. It edged a little to close to the precipice of his true emotions, almost too vulnerable to be fair.
George chuckled dryly. “Like you’d know. You broke up with your girlfriend not long ago, right?”
Dream swallowed. “Um, yeah.”
“She sucked.” George smiled. “You deserve better than her.”
It was nothing more than a volley, but rang heavily in Dream’s core. Genuine affection, of any kind, was a rare thing from George. Dream tried not to let it get to his head, or worse, his heart.
“Well, sometimes that’s hard to believe.”
It was meant as a throwaway comment, but George stared at him, gaze searching and deep. “She really messed you up bad, didn’t she?”
Dream’s throat closed. It was a nail hit too squarely on the head. He’d cried about it with Sapnap and ranted to Karl, but always kept it light with George. Maybe he just didn’t want to burden George with his complicated feelings, maybe he wanted George to think he was strong. He was never really certain. But these things, they just weren’t the things they normally talked about. It was too dangerous. Talking like this brought up emotions Dream had been trying to force down for years. Emotions he’d deny until his last breath.
When Dream didn’t respond, George hummed lightly and sat back, letting the subject go. Then he said something that so horribly mirrored Dream’s own thoughts he figured he must’ve hallucinated it.
“What if we just dated?”
“Wh— What?”
“Well. We both deserve better than our exes,” George went on, easily, like it meant nothing, like it wasn’t going to make Dream’s entire world come down around him. “I’m better than your ex, and you’re . . . you’re better than mine. It makes sense, right?”
Dream’s words came out a little harsher than he meant them to. “You’re not being serious, are you?”
The corners of George’s lips quirked down. “No. I’m just saying.”
Dream was silent, so George added, “I mean, you’re straight anyway, so, obviously this is all like, hypothetical.”
“Well.”
It left Dream’s mouth by accident. George went quiet, lips parted, just staring. Dream started to squirm a little in his seat.
“‘Well’ what?” George exhaled. “Are you not . . . straight?”
It was coming up, something he’d only ever admitted out loud to Sapnap. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep it a secret forever, he just didn’t know how to talk about it, much less to the man who’d made him realize it in the first place. It rose like bile in his throat, a confession he’d kept buried for so long it stung like a bedsore, only hurting when he moved.
“I—” He exhaled. “I don’t think so, no.”
George was silent for a long time, something swimming behind his drunken, glazed eyes. Dream didn’t know what he expected him to say. This conversation had come out of nowhere, he hadn’t prepared for it—he’d never imagined how this could possibly go, because he’d never imagined it would happen at all. He hadn’t dared to. Not that he was worried George would judge him or hate him for it. Really, he didn’t know what worried him.
Maybe it was the simple fact that there was a part of him, smothered deep, that knew the only reason he and George were only friends was because he was straight. Except, he wasn’t straight. Now, that barrier, that last remaining bastion that kept him safe, kept them safe, was gone.
But then, George began to laugh. Softly at first, then uncontrollably. Doubled over, clutching his stomach, tears in his eyes, while Dream just watched him, bewildered.
When he stopped enough to breathe, he wiped a tear from his cheek. “I suppose it was only a matter of time, right? I mean, all your friends are gay, and you know what they say. It’s contagious.”
Despite himself, Dream laughed, too. “Yeah I, I guess it is.”
George held his beer between three fingers, swirling it gently in the air, watching it, listening to the liquid slosh in the silence. He opened his mouth to speak, and then didn’t. He took a sip. He breathed deeply in, then out. Then opened his mouth again.
“You know the multiverse theory?”
“Um, sort of,” Dream said.
“It’s the theory that there are infinite alternate universes all happening at once, and this is just one of them,” George explained. “It means that, every possibility you can think of, and more, is happening in either our universe, or another one. Infinite possibilities. Everything that could possibly happen, is happening. Even if it’s not here.”
Dream gulped, absorbing that. “Okay.”
“So, that means . . .” And then George smiled, just a tiny bit, looking into his beer can like it held some answer he was looking for. “There exists a universe where we’re already dating.”
Dream shut his eyes, swallowing the torrid, terrifying emotion that rose in his throat. It was just George drunk-rambling, that was all. He wouldn’t think about it longer than he had to. Except he did, all throughout the rest of their conversation, until George fell asleep on the couch and Dream silently covered him with a blanket. He thought about it until he fell asleep and again when he woke, and again and again, every day since.
Two months later, Sapnap and Karl started dating. Dream had lost the bet.
Present
Dream shouldered his way through the front door sometime well past midnight, loaded on an evening of bar-hopping with people he didn’t even know the names of, all but ready to collapse into his bedsheets and sleep until noon. But as soon as the door shut behind him, he knew that wasn’t an option.
Because George was on his couch.
Not alone, thankfully. Sapnap and Karl were with him, empty beers and a game of cards abandoned on the table between them. Their happy, exuberant conversation died when he entered the room. Three pairs of eyes fell and rested on his sluggish, ragged form. Dream’s minimal attention was caught elsewhere, though. Something was off about George.
“Welcome home, stranger,” said Sapnap, a little bitterly. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight.”
Dream ignored his comment. “What, uh— What you guys up to?”
“Just chillaxin’,” Karl mumbled. “You okay, dude? You look, well. A mess.”
“Long night,” Dream grunted, rounding the couch to sit next to Sapnap. His eyes couldn’t leave George. He couldn’t place what it was, but something wasn’t right. George wouldn’t look at him.
Sapnap recoiled from him. “Ugh, dude, you stink of cigarettes.”
“Yeah, uh, some of the guys were smoking outside the bar,” Dream said, distantly. “They offered me a drag. Or two.”
“You smoke, now?” Sapnap raised an eyebrow.
Dream inhaled sharply when it hit him. George was wearing long sleeves. Summer was tapering off, but by no means over. It was sunny that day, and hot well past sundown. George didn’t like long sleeves.
“Hey.” Sapnap gently tapped his arm. “You smoke?”
“Huh? No.” Dream shook his head. George was wearing long sleeves.
“Whatever. I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Sapnap muttered. “Just go take a breath mint, or something.”
George was holding a can of beer between three fingers, swirling it, listening to the liquid slosh. He took a sip. Pabst Blue Ribbon.
“Dude, seriously, are you okay? You seem . . .” Karl trailed off. “Not here.”
Dream shrugged with one shoulder. “I just had a few drinks, I’m fine.”
Sapnap scoffed. “You an alcoholic, now, too?”
“Shut up,” Dream snapped.
George wasn’t talking. He was wearing long sleeves. He was swirling his drink and staring off somewhere in the distance. Nobody else seemed to notice it. He lifted the beer to his lips again and sipped. His sleeve slipped down off his wrist. Dream lurched forward in his seat.
“George. Are those bruises?”
“What?” George’s eyes widened, suddenly alert. He pulled his sleeve down sharply. “No.”
“Yes,” Dream insisted. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” George said. “I— I just, I must’ve bumped it, I dunno.”
Dream’s breathing was shallow, quick. “They’re purple. They go all the way around.”
George still wouldn’t look at him. “No they don’t.”
Sapnap put himself in Dream’s field of view. “What’s gotten into you, man?”
“What’s gotten into me?” Dream stood up. “He’s—!”
Sapnap stood too, putting a hand on Dream’s chest. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah, I’m drunk. Not stupid,” Dream hissed.
“Not the time,” Sapnap whispered to him.
Dream huffed exasperatedly. “Then when is?”
“Not now. Go sleep it off,” Sapnap ordered. Dream stood his ground, staring him down. Sapnap pointed sturdily to the hall. “Go.”
Dream looked up, past him. “George—”
“I’m—” And George was standing, collecting his things. “I’m going home.”
He hurriedly left, door slamming behind him, and silence fell on the apartment.