Chapter Text
It started with the party.
Karl knew somebody who knew somebody who was throwing a party, and they were four men with nothing to do on a Friday night. They walked into a stranger’s house like they owned it, into a sea of strange faces, high-fiving strange hands. Dream was two shots in after barely a step through the door.
It quickly became a blur. They would separate to mingle and regroup when the socializing became too much. By the time he began to feel the weight of the alcohol, Dream was sitting with Sapnap in a crowded kitchen as if there was no one else around, talking and laughing like they had since they were kids. Then there came a lull, and Sapnap went quiet for a moment, pointing somewhere ahead with the same hand used to hold a can of beer.
“Look. George is getting rizzed,” Sapnap said.
“What?” Dream’s lazy eyes followed Sapnap’s outstretched arm. Even drunk, it took him less than a second to spot George.
George. Hair a little messy, stubble a little overgrown. Oversized t-shirt and cargo pants, dirty trainers he kept saying he was going to get rid of. George, Dream’s best friend since he was a teenager, the man who made him realize he was a little less than straight, the man whom he’d been trying to choke down his crush on for years—it had gotten easier over time, but when the light caught on his chain and reflected just so, when his head was already hazy, when his smile was bright even in darkness, that feeling started to crawl up his throat again.
Dream swallowed, refocused. George was talking to someone, smiling because of something he was saying. Dream didn’t recognize the other man. He was tall, standing over George with a cooler in one hand, the other running through his own hair.
“He’s not getting rizzed,” Dream denounced, licking away the jealousy on his lips. “They’re just talking.”
“No, no. I know talking when I see it, and that’s not just talking,” Sapnap slurred, his head wobbling in an awkward sort of shake. “The way he’s lookin’ at George, an’, an’, an’ look, he’s touching him. See?”
The man had reached out a hand to brush George’s chin, smirking as he said something undoubtedly flirtatious, and George turned his head away with a grin. Dream felt something awful churn in his gut.
“George doesn’t even like guys like that,” Dream snarked, trying to keep it light, but his words came out with the poison growing on his tongue.
Sapnap scoffed a short laugh. “How would you know what George— Oh. Dude.”
“What?”
Sapnap was staring at him. Dream didn’t meet his gaze.
“Dude. Don’t tell me you still like him?”
Dream looked down into the drink in his hand, studying the ripples, saying nothing. Saying a lot.
“Hooo-lyyy shit.” Sapnap leaned back in his chair with an exhausted huff. “Really? Still?”
“What do you mean, ‘still’?” He tried to quell the ice forming on his teeth with every word. It didn’t really work.
“You told me you liked him when you were, what, eighteen?” Sapnap reprimanded, half-teasing, half-astonished. “I thought you were over that by now. Ages ago, actually.”
Dream tsked. “I am over it.”
Sapnap laughed. “Yeah. Sure, you’re over it, okay.”
“It’s not like it was going anywhere anyway,” Dream spat, surprising himself with the resentment in his tone. “It’s not like— like we were ever gonna, like, be anything.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a fuckin’ pussy,” Sapnap quipped, poking him, riling him. “You better snatch him up quick, before the Rizzler gets him.”
“He’s not—” His nostrils flared. “I said, George doesn’t like guys like him.”
Sapnap hummed, unconvinced. “I dunno, dude, he looks pretty entertained to me.”
Dream looked. George was laughing, hysterically, doubled over and clutching his stomach, while the man continued to ramble on about who-knows-what, his voice blending in with all the others, making George laugh harder.
“That doesn’t— That doesn’t mean anything.”
Sapnap scoffed into his beer can, taking another sip. “Okay dude, whatever you say.”
That was when Karl came stumbling over, red-faced and grinning from ear-to-ear, empty Solo cup in one hand and a vape that wasn’t his in the other. He all but ran headfirst into Sapnap’s chest, pushing a quiet oof from him, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.
“Hey, Karl,” Sapnap said, voice almost sickeningly soft.
“Hi,” Karl replied, through drunken giggles, before cuddling into Sapnap’s neck.
“See, Dream,” Sapnap taunted, holding Karl by his waist, “this is what you get when you’re not a pussy.”
“Whatever, dude.” Dream rolled his eyes.
Karl unfolded himself from Sapnap and half-turned to face Dream, eyes glazed and droopy. “What-what? What’re we talkin’ ‘bout?”
Dream gritted his teeth. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Mmkay,” Karl mumbled, returning to his previous position.
Not nearly drunk enough to be caught between two lovebirds and George twirling his hair at some douchebag, Dream stood, downed what was left in his cup, crushed it, and threw it in the trashcan. He trudged his way through the crowd, aimless in a big, foreign house, heading upstairs and finding a vacant bathroom to close himself inside. He sat on the cold floor, back to the sink, and placed his head on his knees.
He couldn’t, he could never really, put his finger on what he struggled with the most. Maybe it was his rotten luck with his relationships of yesteryear that left scars in places he couldn’t see. Maybe it was because he’d never been with a man and it was too far from what he was used to. Maybe it was because George was a friend he just couldn’t afford to lose. Maybe he was more broken on the inside than he realized, and instinctively pushed away anyone that got too close. Or maybe he was just drunk, and thinking too much, and Sapnap just got into his head.
He stayed in the bathroom long enough to reach a new depth of drunk, the floor starting to feel a few miles beneath his feet. Then came a knock.
“I’m in here,” he called out, not lifting his head.
He expected the person to leave, but instead, the door opened a crack, a face pushing its way through. “So I heard.”
“George,” Dream breathed, finally looking up. The room spun.
“Hi,” he said softly, letting himself in and shutting the door. He sat opposite Dream, back to the bathtub. “You alright? Too drunk?”
“A little, maybe.” He rubbed his face. It only made the room spin more.
“Probably time to dip, soon, huh?” George chuckled. “Karl is schwasted. He tried to give Sapnap a lap dance in the middle of the kitchen. It was kind of awesome.”
Dream wheezed a quiet laugh. “Sorry I missed it.”
George grinned. “Yeah, I bet you are.”
There was a pause. In the silence, Dream’s thoughts started to race again. He couldn’t help himself. “Who was that guy you were talking to?”
“What guy? Oh,” George murmured. “His name’s Joseph. I dunno, he’s like, a friend of a friend of a friend of the guy throwing the party.”
It wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “Sapnap said he was rizzing you up.”
George puffed a laugh. Dream expected a No, a stark denial, something uniquely George. Instead he saw his cheeks darken as he glanced away bashfully, something in his eyes Dream had never seen before.
“Well, I mean, a little bit, yeah. He’s not totally terrible-looking.”
Dream felt sick. “Gonna go home with him?”
“What?” George exclaimed, scandalized. It only clicked just then that they’d never really talked about stuff like this before. “No, no, well, I mean, he gave me his number, but . . .”
“But . . . ?” His brow quirked. Hopeful.
George shrugged. “I dunno. I’m not that into him. I don’t usually like guys like that.”
Dream suppressed a smirk. He telepathically sent a told-you-so to Sapnap.
“What kind of guys do you like, then?”
It just slipped out. Something awful was squeezing and writhing in his stomach. It made him bold in a sick, horrible way. George wasn’t the type to get around much, he’d been available for years, and Dream had taken it for granted, grown used to the idea that George would always be around, for whenever. Only now that the prospect of losing George was staring him in the face did he selfishly want to keep him all for himself.
George’s eyes became flighty, darting all over. “Oh, um, I, I’m not sure. I like to know someone really well, first. Like, I have to know we’d get along long-term, y’know? And then I guess, on the superficial side, I like guys who are taller. Which, Joseph is, but . . . Um, I like, um, curly hair. I guess that’s not that important, but, it’s a plus. Deeper voices are nice. Um, someone I can laugh with. Yeah, whatever.”
He was much more open after a few drinks. Dream was, too. It was dangerous to be alone with George like this, inhibitions lowered, stakes higher than ever. He’d said things in the past, drunk and alone with George, things he hoped George didn’t remember, things they never spoke of again. That awful feeling was seizing control of his throat, and he couldn’t control his words anymore.
“So like, me, basically?” He laughed, tried to make it sound like a joke.
George met his eyes, fear so visceral and so raw it stole the breath from Dream’s lungs. George’s lips parted like he was going to say something, then he didn’t. Dream just stared at his open mouth, his lips as pink as his cheeks, thoughts swirling with the sickness in his stomach. Then George was moving, back lifting off the tub rim, crawling forward to plant himself between Dream’s bent knees, hands reaching to grab Dream’s face on both sides and pull him forward.
Dream saw whole galaxies when their lips met. It was like the very framework of time was ripped apart, mouths moving together in a dance they surely must’ve practiced, all tongue and teeth in a messy, desperate affair. But that awful feeling didn’t perish. It roared in Dream’s gut and reared its ugly head as he realized he hadn’t figured out what he wanted yet, he hadn’t decided if this romantic whisper was worth risking the friendship his life depended upon, and in a moment of sheer, stricken panic, he tore his face away, pushing George by the shoulders.
“George, I—”
George’s jaw hung and his face fell. The way his eyes glazed over made Dream feel horribly ill. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s just—”
“No, forget this ever happened.” And George was standing, nearly tripping over his feet in his mad scramble for the door. “I’m— I’m drunk, I’m not thinking clearly. Sorry.”
Dream looked at the floor. “Yeah. No worries.”
“Right, so—” George opened the door and stepped one foot out. “Um, we’ll probably head home soon. So. Come out when you’re ready.”
And he left. The door clicked, Dream lurched to the toilet and finally let the sickness out, a terrible upheaval of everything that had built up for years and come crashing down in minutes, liquid coming out of every orifice. When he settled, breathed through the pain, he flushed and let it all drain away, tears dripping into the bowl.