Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2021-05-25
Updated:
2022-03-15
Words:
80,215
Chapters:
11/?
Comments:
227
Kudos:
742
Bookmarks:
137
Hits:
23,003

Bummer

Chapter 2: Rose-Colored Boy

Notes:

I can't write without being inspired by a playlist, so all chapter titles will be songs- I am so sorry for being cheesy like that. You can find the playlist for Bummer here

and if anyone's been watching Ranboo play Life Is Strange....... you'll get it when you see it ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Karl’s jaw dropped when Sapnap pulled up to the end of his driveway. Really, he shouldn’t have been so surprised, it was just like him to have a cherry red Ford Mustang convertible. He was smirking, clearly pleased with Karl’s reaction, douchey aviators perched on his nose. Quackity was already in the back, and he hopped to sit on the tops of the seats to spread his arms and cry out, “Karlos! Welcome to luxury, my man!”

“What the honk is this?” Karl laughed, bounding down his driveway and around the car, sliding his hand over the hot, sleek scarlet paint job as he went. He got in the passenger seat, touching the sun-warm black leather of the seats, the unscathed dashboard, every new expensive surface he could reach. “And why are you in the back?” He twisted around to face Quackity, who was practically vibrating with joy. He had his blue crocs kicked off to the floor of the car so he didn’t scuff the seats.

“Cause Sapnap’s sugar mommy had shotgun.” Quackity waggled his eyebrows, and Karl giggled, rolling his eyes. He righted himself, and caught Sapnap’s bashful pink cheeks, even as he grinned like a proud idiot.

“Wait, for real?” Karl had been nearly positive Quackity had been kidding, but- well, the car made a whole lot more sense now.

“Yeah, she lives on the next street over,” Sapnap shrugged, trying to play it off casually, and Karl flapped his hands excitedly.

“Oh my god, dude! You’re poppin’ off this summer, haha!”

“She thought Q was cute, she’s so down to treat me and my friends to fancy food and shit. You’re definitely meeting her next time,” Sapnap insisted, glancing over. “She’d eat you right up. Now buckle in, guys, come on. Sun’s setting and I want to drop off some product to a guy before we go.”

“Hold up, you’re a dealer now, too? Where do you even get it?” Quackity asked, amused, as he flopped back into the middle back seat.

“One of the MILFs I’m on pool duty for has a farm, out by the hiking trails on the edge of town.” He shrugged. “We go 80:20, but the kids around here are fiends for their weed, so it’s still worth it. Plus she gives me gas money.”

“You amaze me,” Quackity said with exaggerated adoration in his voice, and all the boys laughed.

It wasn’t until they started moving that Karl looked down between them and noticed Sapnap was driving manual, one confident hand on the stick shift and one on the wheel. Karl slowly looked back towards Quackity again, who was already nodding in silent agreement. “Holy mother,” Karl murmured.

“Huh?” Sapnap asked.

“Nothing! So what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Punz is bringing a thirty rack of Miller High Life, Dream’s bringing Captain and cokes, Ponk’s bringing his infamous jungle juice-“

“Oh no,” Quackity said under his breath, likely getting flashbacks to the last time he’d drank Ponk’s concoction.

“-and Bad’s bringing the Mike’s Hard.”

“Classic Mike’s Hard man,” Karl nodded along.

“Or,” Sapnap went on, cruising to a stop at a red light and peering over mischievously at Karl, then back at Quackity. “I have five tall boys for tall boy roulette, if y’all are interested.”

“Feral boys roulette? And, uh, Dream’s date maybe?” Quackity prompted, and Karl agreed. “Yes! Let’s go. Oh my god, I hope I get a Strawberita.”

“You’re such a wuss,” Sapnap snorted, maneuvering the stick as the light turned green, taking a right down 8th Street when he should have kept along the main road. The drop-off was quick, just some teenager looking to get an eighth who appeared extremely intimidated when Sapnap pulled up in a red Mustang with two other guys. It wasn’t the most subtle drug dealer ride, that was for sure. The kid paid in all ones, but Sapnap didn’t hassle him for it. Money was money, and weed was weed. And he lived by that. Their designated bonfire spot wasn’t far from there. The main road ran parallel to the water, and as the street numbers decreased, the closer the road got to the winding climb that led to the clifftop mansions. They weren’t headed quite that far- the usual spot was actually just before the cliffs, where flat sand met steep rock and rough waves. It kept them all from trying to swim while drunk, because while they were dumb enough to do that, they weren’t dumb enough to do it at the most treaturous part of the beach where sharp, barnacled rocks jutted out of the water.

Sapnap pulled into the lot, where a fine dusting of sand that blew in off the dunes kissed the pavement where the coast met the road. The sun was setting through the blades of seagrass and the chipped white fence posts that lined the path that led to the actual beach and waterfront. Dream’s monstrous silver Honda Odyssey mom van was already there, two figures unloading beach chairs and a cooler from the back of it. Sapnap’s eyes lit up, and he parked directly next to them. They were the only two cars in the lot- everyone else walked, or parked at someone else’s place so they could walk back and crash there later. Absolutely no drunk driving: that was the policy. Everyone who brought their cars to transport supplies walked home, slept off their buzz, and walked back the next morning to grab their vehicles. Or they got lazy and passed out in the back of Dream’s van, where he kept a pile of pillows and a large quilt to lay over the folded down backseats and trunk. Safety first.

“Well, well, well,” he called, turning off the rumble of his sweet engine. “You must be George.”

George paused, beach chair in hand, puzzled eyes landing on Sapnap. He squinted at him. “Wait a minute. You showed up at my door yesterday and asked if my mom was single.”

“And if your new pool needed a cleaning,” Sapnap defended himself. “But yeah, mostly that first part. She’s hot. I see where you get your looks from.” He lowered his shades to jokingly rake George’s body, from his fluffy mocha hair to his- “Are those Yeezys? At the beach? Oh my- Dream, what the hell, man. You really know how to pick ‘em,” he disregarded George with a head shake.

“Pick… what?” George mumbled, brows drawing together as he looked to Dream for clarity. Dream rolled his eyes.

“Let George wreck his dummy expensive sneakers if he wants to,” he said flippantly, hauling the cooler from the car. Sapnap absolutely did not miss the way George’s eyes clung to Dream’s biceps the entire time, and how he quickly looked away once it was securely on the ground.

“I don’t know. The beaches in Brighton were just made of rocks, you’d be stupid not to wear proper shoes there.” He looked down at his shoes with a twisted frown.

The other three boys all climbed out of Sapnap’s car, Quackity not even using the doors to jump out onto the pavement. “Just kick ‘em off, the sand here is nice and soft,” Karl promised with a pleasant smile. “Might get your toes pinched by a crab, though.”

George looked horrified as he toed out of them. “Really?”

“No. Don’t listen to him,” Dream told him, closing up his car and locking it once the Yeezys were stowed inside. He tucked his keys into his board shorts pocket. People must’ve thought Dream didn’t own anything but board shorts- and to be fair, that wasn’t far from the truth, Sapnap had seen the man’s wardrobe. It was either board shorts, cargo shorts, or sweatpants to wear around his freezing cold house. He had one of their old hoodies from high school on, cerulean blue with white lettering and the white outline of their mascot, a white-tip shark. “Go on, don’t be a bunch of assholes, introduce yourselves,” he encouraged, gesturing to the group.

“Sup, I’m Sapnap. Sorry for trying to fuck your mom,” Sapnap greeted, offering a sly grin that said I’m not sorry at all.

Karl sighed. “It’s a common occurrence with him. Trust me, I’d know. I’m Karl.”

“And I’m your new best friend,” Quackity said confidently, sidling up to George’s side to throw an arm around his shoulders. “Never mind, I miscalculated, you’re slightly taller than me and I hate you.” He breathed out heavily in defeat and slid away dejectedly. George blinked, still a little taken aback by the interactions he’d had with the three boys over the past minute.

“Um. Hi. I’m George. I’m sorry- why does only Karl have a normal name around here?”

“Oh, it only gets worse,” Karl said. “Wait ‘til you meet BadBoyHalo.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? So your whole mysterious act is just the status quo around here?” He directed at Dream.

“No, Dream’s definitely the most mysterious. Only two of us know his real name.” Sapnap winked. “Me and BadBoyHalo.”

“He’s literally wearing a high school sweatshirt, did none of you think to check your yearbooks?” George scoffed, and they started making their way onto the beach. Sapnap grabbed the other handle of the cooler to help Dream while Quackity and Karl picked up some chairs.

“That’s actually mine, I let him borrow it when he came to one of my football games and he never gave it back. Mans was homeschooled.”

“That makes a lot of sense, actually,” George muttered.

Dream shot George an affronted look over his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?” George just smiled secretively. Sapnap decided he liked the guy, even though he was totally planning on teasing the shit out of him at every possible opportunity. It was his love language, what could he say?

They set up their spot as the sun sank below the horizon, painting them all blue with the hues of dusk. Punz showed up not too long after them with more drinks and a folding table, where they set aside pong cups and balls. Sapnap tended to the fire, Dream and George made a circle of chairs around the pit, Quackity got Dream’s portable speaker going, and Karl… Karl wandered off to look for shells and cool rocks because he just couldn’t help himself. It was fucking adorable.

Before too many people showed up, Sapnap gathered Dream, George, Karl, and Quackity around the table and placed down five brown paper bags. “Boys,” he said with grandiose. “Welcome to Tall Boy Roulette. In these five bags, we’ve got: a Miller High Life; a Strawberita; a Mike’s Harder; an Angry Orchard; and the bullet… is the green apple FourLoko.”

“What the hell is a FourLoko?” George asked, and Qauckity chuckled menacingly.

“You do not want to find out, Gogy.”

“...Gogy?”

“Alright, shut up. I’m gonna put them all in the middle, and on the count of three, we all go for one. Ready?” He looked around the table for everyone’s nods. “3… 2… 1!”

They all snatched up a bag, Dream and Sapnap going for the same one. They locked eyes, both with a grip on the can. On a whim, Dream let go, relinquishing the mystery bag to Sapnap and taking the last remaining one instead. George’s eyes flickered between them incredulously. “What was that alpha male crap?”

“Dream and Sapnap do that a lot,” Karl stated. “They’re, um… a little competitive.”

Quackity offered to open his bag first, pausing for dramatic effect to ask, “Gentleman… what’s the champagne of beers?”

“You hate Miller High Life,” Dream reminded him.

“Shh, I know, this is me reverse-manifesting.” Quackity opened the bag, peeking inside excitedly. His face fell.

“Miller High Life?” Sapnap asked smugly.

Quackity’s face did a 180 and flipped into pure joy as he pulled out the Strawberita. “Psych! Strawberita baby, let’s fucking go! Yes,” he screeched, cracking it open immediately and taking a hearty chug. “Oh my god. Oh my god, victory tastes so sweet.”

“You’re so dramatic. Let me go next,” Karl insisted, eagerly looking into his bag. He lifted his eyes to regard the table of guys. “Gentlemen. What’s the champagne of beers?” He reiterated what Quackity had said. “Not Mike’s Harder, that’s for sure!” He pulled out his can of the classic lemonade flavor, jumping up and down. “Twinning with BBH tonight, pog off.”

George went next, with less excitement, and sighed in relief when he got the Angry Orchard. “At least it’s not whatever a FourLoko is.”

Which meant either Dream or Sapnap had it.

“It would be so on brand for Dream to get the green apple FourLoko. He has to get it. 20 bucks,” Karl bet Quackity.

“Sapnap’s a psycho on Loko, and I love to fuckin’ see it. You’re on.” Quackity shook on it.

“I’m so confident that I don’t have the FourLoko, that I’m going to raise the stakes a bit,” Sapnap decided, eyes glinting in the firelight, like he was made of the hot plasma. “We both have to shotgun our tall boys. No matter what they are.”

Dream was no fool… but he was also no coward, either. Especially when it came to Sapnap’s dares. He lifted his chin and said, “Fine. Count of three again. 3… 2… 1-“ They tore into their paper bags, and Dream screamed in victory. “Get fucked! Get absolutely wrecked, loser! You’re gonna be fucked up! Let’s fucking go.

George appeared alarmed by Dream’s gleeful outburst, and Karl and Quackity were holding each other upright as they both nearly keeled with laughter. Sapnap wasn’t about to pussy out, though, so he dug his pocket knife from his shorts to puncture a hole in the bottom of the can. He tossed it onto the table for Dream to use after him.

“First to finish gets to kiss George,” Sapnap said once Dream was ready, and neither of them wasted another second before popping their tabs and throwing their heads back to gruesomely down their drinks.

“Wait, what?” George spluttered, but Sapnap barely heard, the fizz of the drink nearly shooting out his nose in the first few seconds. It was torture, shotgunning carbonation, but Dream was in the same boat and hopefully struggling just as much. It’s not that Sapnap wanted to kiss George, he was just a cheeky bastard who liked some friendly Alpha male competition with his best friend. And possessive Dream was kind of hot- George should thank Sapnap later.

Something lightly hit Sapnap’s head just as he finished, shaking out the can to prove he’d gotten the last drop. He looked down and found that Dream had already crushed his Miller can and threw it at Sapnap. When Sapnap looked back up, Dream was smirking. “God-“ Sapnap burped, and pounded his chest in pain, “-damn it. Oh I can’t wait for this to kick in, the party’s not even started and I’ll already be fucked.”

Karl and Quackity, who’d been whispering, came up on either side of Sapnap to plant twin, smacking kisses on his cheeks. “For your best efforts, tough guy,” Karl said approvingly.

“Suddenly I am no longer upset about losing,” Sapnap stated cockily. “Unless you’ll kiss me again if I still am.”

Quackity just pat Sapnap’s cheek and said pleasantly, “No.”

“Whatever. George’s turn to pay up. Go on, give our Dreamy boy his well-deserved smooch.” This was the other pro to his bet- he was the best wingman ever.

George crossed his arms. “I never agreed to that.” Or maybe he wasn’t the best wingman ever.

“You don’t have to,” Dream chuckled good-naturedly, and Sapnap was confused as to why Dream was blowing this perfectly good opportunity he’d presented on a platter. George was obviously just being a stubborn tease about it. When Sapnap gave him a low key look, one that silently communicated what do you mean he doesn’t have to, Dream shrugged. “Just jokes. Anyways, you guys better catch up before Sapnap and I out drink you. And that is a challenge, Quackity.”

“Sapnap’s already outdrank us all,” Quackity pointed out, but he very much enjoyed his fruity drinks, so he eagerly got to sipping on his Strawberita.

“But I’m a heavyweight champ,” Sapnap argued, taking the opportunity to flex overzealously. George rolled his eyes. Sapnap wondered if George already hated him. He supposed he could come off like a cocky piece of shit sometimes. “Our lightweight BBH is probably gonna take the crown for most fucked up by the end of the night. Or Wilbur. Wilbur will get too drunk, flirt with the new guy here, and probably throw up while trying to pet a sleeping seagull up in the seagrass again.”

“Are none of you straight?” George interrupted, and they all sort of… froze. Dream wasn’t looking at anyone, having always hated the concept of coming out because it insinuated he was different. Quackity had never disclosed his sexuality and Karl preferred being unlabeled.

Guess I’m up, Sapnap thought, and cleared his throat. “Well, personally, I’m a raging bisexual, pansexual, whatever you want to call it. My preferences include MILFs, cowboys, and anyone who plays Roblox.” He winked at Karl and Quackity, who pumped his fist and hissed yesss.

“Okay…?”

“And if no one else wants to tell you, then it’s not your fucking business.” Sapnap smiled condescendingly.

Sapnap-“ Dream said in surprise, but George shook his head.

“Um. N-No, he’s right. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to people being so… open and cool about it.” He shifted, clutching his ale to his chest. He was on thin ice in Sapnap’s mind just then, until he muttered, “I didn’t mean to project my… internalized shit.”

Sapnap was just a little bit of an asshat, so his first thought was, good god, wonder how Dream’s gonna land this trainwreck at the end of the night. His second thought was, okay, I’m a dick, his friends from home were probably shitheads. Be better than them. So he softened his smile into something genuine and responded, “No worries. I’m sorry, too. Just protecting my boys here. We don’t think about that kind of stuff, you know? We just exist as we are, and if you can’t hang, then you’re out the gang. Can you hang, George?”

George nodded, clearly embarrassed, and Quackity punched him gently in the shoulder. “Lighten up, man, it’s a party. Drink up and let loose. Race you to the bottom of our cans.”

“Does the winner get a kiss from Sapnap?” George joked.

“No, that’s too high an honor for you idiots,” Sapnap said, to Quackity’s disbelief.

“Excuse me, Sapnap? You wanna fucking go, man?”

Sapnap cracked his knuckles. “Bring it, Flatty Patty.”

“Oh no,” Punz murmured, stepping up beside Dream to watch things go down. “The FourLoko is hitting him.”

Dream snickered as Quackity screamed and Sapnap chased him. “Put down your drink, dumbass!” Quackity paused only long enough to put his can on the table before taking off again, but it gave Sapnap enough time to catch up and tackle him into the sand. Outrageous laughter turned Sapnap’s eyes to crescents, and Quackity spit out profanity like a sailor as they wrestled.

“Is he always like that?” George asked about Sapnap, watching with a newfound respect and fondness.

“You haven’t even seen the worst of it, yet.”

 

 

Tommy’s mum would skin him alive if she knew he’d snuck out to Tubbo’s dad’s boat past his 11:00 curfew. Tubbo’s dad wouldn’t be the happiest chap either if he knew they were out there, but he was a bit more cool-headed at least. Tubbo had far more autonomy than Tommy. He liked to look at it this way: Tommy having strict parents just meant that he was better at sneaking about. He felt like a goddamn super spy sometimes, and he’d take any boost to the ego that he could.

“This feels like the rejects club,” Jack said gloomily, looking around the dark, bobbing boats at the quiet docks. “I bet Wilbur and Fundy are having way more fun.”

“But this is illegal, which instantly makes it ten times more fun,” Tubbo argued, making Ranboo put his head in his hands.

“Oh, Tubbo,” the American sighed fondly.

“Uh oh. Big Crime is back,” Tommy warned, chuckling. Tubbo had many personas, two of which were Big Crime and Big Law, as dubbed by Tommy. They were both hilariously averse to the sweet boy caricature Tubbo put on for the rest of the world. The kid was an absolute degenerate behind the facade. Wilbur liked to describe him as the most cheerful nihilist he’d ever seen, very blunt and sunny when he made statements like well we’re all going to die one day, so do consequences really even exist beyond the societal concept of them? Tommy didn’t recover from that existential crisis for about a week. He’d just holed himself inside and played Spyro until he remembered he was agnostic and that if God existed, then surely Tommy should upkeep some morals to get into the pearly gates. If a God didn’t exist… well. His parents were the next closest thing to put the fear of God in him.

“Big Crime is fun. Big Crime, what’s on the itinerary tonight?” Jack perked up.

“Women!” Tubbo shouted. He definitely just blurted out the first word that came to his mind. Tommy joined Ranboo in his facepalming. The two had found some semblance of solidarity over the past few days in their shared love-hate relationship for Tubbo’s antics.

“We literally said okay, guess it’s a boys night when Niki said she couldn’t come,” Ranboo reminded him.

“Hey, now, wait a minute,” Jack stopped him. “I liked where this was going. I like women.”

“We know, like, two women, Jack Manifold,” Tommy deadpanned. He wasn’t usually one to deny a chance to hang out with women, but it was the truth. “And one of them is Dream’s sister.” He paused, considering that, and his mouth dropped open. He sat up straighter. “One of them is Dream’s sister. I just had an excellent idea, gentlemen.”

“Tommy, she’s fourteen,” Jack stated.

“What? No, no, we’re not going to hang out with her. God, no, she’s a child.”

“Well, when you put it that way, you’re also a child.”

“Be quiet, Jack Manifold. Let’s ask Drista to join our volleyball team.”

“Oh! Brilliant! She’s so tall. Man, that family must be half giant, I swear,” Tubbo speculated, drumming his fingers on the wheel of the boat. He’d insisted on sitting in the driver’s seat despite the boat being both engine-off and docked. “Text her, Tommy.”

“Already on it.” Tommy’s fingertips flew over his phone screen, face screwed in concentration. “Hello… Big Man- shit, wait. Big Woman- no, she won’t like that.” He cleared his throat. “Hello, Drista. What do you say… to pissing off… your idiot… brother, question mark. The red emoji one. For emphasis.”

“Why would she agree to going against her own brother?” Ranboo asked, leaning against the side of the boat, hands clenching and unclenching mindlessly on the railing. He wasn’t a huge fan of water, which was pretty comical, considering he lived directly on the ocean.

“Because I asked her to, and I am awesome.” Tommy’s phone chirped with a notification. He looked down at it. “She says... no u idiot. Hm. Right then. How can we convince her?”

“Offer her the one thing nobody can resist,” Jack Manifold said in all seriousness.

“Money…?”

“Baja Blast and Cinnabon Delights.”

Tommy blinked at him. “You’re a strange man, you know that?”

“He just really wants Taco Bell,” Tubbo explained boredly, having moved on to scrolling through Reddit. “It’s all he’s been talking about for ages.”

“You have money and a car, why haven’t you gone” Tommy ridiculed.

Jack sniffled and pouted. “Taco Bell doesn’t hit the same when you’re not with the boys.”

And that was how they wound up in the car with a box of Cinnabon Delights and four frozen Baja Blasts. Ranboo had offered to drive, opting not to eat. He was still private about showing his face, but he’d slowly started wearing his sunglasses less- especially at night- and was comfortable enough removing the mask around Tubbo. For the time being, he just slipped his straw under the edge of the fabric when he wanted to drink. Jack had nearly fist fought Tommy for shotgun, but while they were distracted arguing and grappling with one another, Tubbo had smugly stolen the spot. So they sat in the back, both moody at first, but one simply could not stay mad with the delectable gooeyness of a Cinnabon Delight in their mouth. Tommy’s long legs were cramped in the back of his old Ford Taurus, which Ranboo felt slightly bad about, but Tommy made him less forgiving every time his knees pressed harshly into the back of his seat.

“Alright, we’ve got the Taco Bell. Now where to?” Ranboo asked, pulling out of the drive thru. He drove aimlessly down the main road back towards the marina, the water glimmering in the moonlight through their right side windows.

Through a mouthful of cinnamon and icing, Tubbo lit up and said, “Oh, I know! We should go to the bonfire and try to hack their aux. We can blast hyperpop and annoy the shit out of them.”

“Oh my god, yes.” Ranboo immediately did a totally, 100% legal U-turn to head towards the cliffs.

“Jesus Christ, man, warn us next time you’re going to go all Fast and Furious on us,” Tommy complained, gripping the handle above his window and nudging obnoxiously at Ranboo’s seat again.

“Don’t be dramatic, TommyInnit,” Jack sighed.

Ranboo turned off his headlights as he approached the little lot everyone used for bonfire night, sliding in a few spaces away from the three other cars there. Tommy pressed his face up against the window, eyes big, mouth agape.

“Whose car is that? What the hell?”

“That thing’s sick,” Tubbo awed. “Oh my god. Read the license plate, Tommy.”

SAPN4P.

“The guy pays for a Mustang and a vanity plate, and still puts a 4 instead of an A? Dickhead,” Tommy grumbles, suddenly uninterested in the fiery red car.

“It was his lucky jersey number he wore for all his sports, especially football,” Jack said.

“Of course you’re a football enjoyer, Jack Manifold.”

“Why do you hate me, TommyInnit?”

“Uh, guys. Can we get back to the prank? I’m rather excited for it,” Tubbo requested politely, spotify already open with SugarCrash! queued up.

“Wait, but that’s a banger.” Ranboo took the phone from Tubbo and started searching. “I have the perfect song. I have the perfect song, just you wait.” He showed the car the song on the screen, and they all nodded in somber agreement.

“Big Man? You have my approval,” Tommy siad.

“Thank you, Tommy. Thank you. Shall we?”

They quietly made their way from the car to the beach, stopping at the end of the path. The large sand dunes, tall grass, and fence posts kept them decently hidden, especially under the cover of night. The moon was high in the sky, waning from fullness and offering them just enough light to know where they were stepping. The bonfire’s flames licked up at the navy sky in the distance. They could hear the chatter of voices and the soft rap music from where they were, but could not make out specific words to either. Tubbo had taken his phone back to connect to the bluetooth speaker. Dream’s wheezing laugh rang out above the voices for a moment before dying down, and they all froze, crouched in the cool sand.

“Okay,” Tubbo whispered. “Are we ready, boys?”

“Wait.” Tommy patted his pockets for his own phone, pulling up Snapchat to record. “Okay. Ready, Big Crime. I’ll count you down. 3… 2…” He nodded, and the rap music suddenly cut off as Tubbo’s phone kicked whoever originally had aux. He worked quickly, putting the volume on blast before hitting play.

Two trucks having sex
Two trucks having sex
My muscles, my muscles
Involuntarily flex.

“What the fuck!” Sapnap hollered. “Ponk, what the hell is this?”

“It’s not me, I swear! My phone disconnected, I can’t get it back,” Ponk cried.

“Alright. Who the fuck is playing this shit?”

“Man,” Tommy murmured. “Sapnap’s voice has gone all deep and scary. Don’t mess with a man’s Lil Uzi Vert.”

Two pickup trucks
Making love
American made
Built Ford tough
Two beautiful murder machines
American angels in the sky
Grown men cry.

“Shut it off!” Dream choked out between cackles, and they could see his tall ass bent over in a fit that wracked his whole body. “I’m gonna p-pee myself.”

“Not again,” Sapnap snickered.

“What did he just say?” Tommy scoffed, zooming in on the confused crowd of people. “Did Dream just admit to- oh no. Oh no, BBH has spotted us. Abort, abort! He has alerted the crazed man that my mom always talks about for some strange reason.

Tubbo popped up from their hiding place, seeing no point in remaining, and shouted, “Scatter!”

They did not, in fact, scatter- they all ran for Ranboo’s car, feet slipping in the loose sand, crashing into one another and yelling absolute nonsense. Sapnap was chasing after them, yelling right back.

“I’m hopped up on a FourLoko and three tequila shots, I will end you!” He growled, and Tommy shrieked and ran faster.

They all threw themselves into Ranboo’s car, the three not driving all cramming into the backseat so no one had to waste time running around the car. “Oh god, oh man, oh heck, oh jeez,” Ranboo stammered as he simultaneously spammed the lock doors button and fumbled his keys into the ignition. Sapnap’s feet- bare, mind you- had just hit the pavement when Ranboo successfully started the car and slammed the acceleration in reverse, tires squealing. “Oh god, oh man, oh heck, oh jeez-!” He repeated, louder that time as he had to stop to put it in drive, and then he was peeling out of the lot, leaving Sapnap in the dust. Tubbo’s phone disconnected from their speaker on its own as they got farther away, but he reported with glee, “Boys! We got to torture them with the whole song!”

Jack, squeezed into the middle seat and panting heavily, gave a thumbs up. “I’d call that… a success. Good lord… running on the beach is- is exhausting.”

“I think you’re just out of shape, Boss Man.”

“Oh shut up, you’re still young and spry, you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be an adult.”

“You’re only a year older than me!”

They bickered while Tommy reviewed the video he’d taken, grinning in amusement. “Oh yes.” He saved it to his camera roll before posting it onto his story. “I can’t wait for the Snap memory reminding me of this in a year. I will be using that Dream pisses himself clip frequently.”

“Yeah, that was- that was kind of weird,” Ranboo chuckled from the front seat. He had one hand pressed to his heart, likely racing from the thrill of the prank. Tubbo pushed Jack aside to climb back up to the passenger seat over the console, stepping on his toes in the process and setting off another bickering match, Jack’s tone annoyed and Tubbo’s tone overjoyed. In Tommy’s eyes, Tubbo has already won the argument, simply because he was having a better time than Jack Manifold.

He leaned back in his seat, folded his arms behind himself, and grinned the whole way back home.

Until he noticed the front porch light on.

“MotherInnit’s going to be at the door, isn't she?” Jack teased.

Tommy gulped. He watched the curtain shift. “Yup. Play Two Trucks at my funeral. Please.”

“And Able Sisters?”

“Fucking of course Able Sisters, Jack Manifold. Sheesh, you really are just dumb, you know that?”

“...Sheeeeesh.”

“Yeah, I’d rather face my mum than spend another moment breathing the same air as you. Good day, gentlemen.”

 

 

Over the course of the night, George slowly got the sense that everyone knew something he didn’t. It was in their subtle jokes, their knowing looks, the way they’d whisper to an uncomfortable Dream and pat his shoulder with a smirk. He was beginning to connect the dots, and he had a bad feeling that he was right. He’d nursed his tall boy for a long time before accepting a Mike’s from Bad, who was a really pleasant guy that put George to ease with lighthearted conversation for a while. Slowly but surely, he met everyone, and while they all seemed like great people there was still that inkling he got after every salutation. He felt… temporary.

The only ones who didn’t participate in that insinuation were Karl, Bad, and an overly friendly Brit named Wilbur. Overly friendly was a nice way of saying completely shitfaced. He kept asking George to join something called L’Manberg, but Quackity was there to flip him off and drag George away every time it was brought up. It was weird, to say the least. He wondered if he would ever get the context.

The night was going smoothly regardless of the little hiccups (like a bunch of teenagers showing up and playing a song that sounded like Pixar’s Cars Rule 34) and George’s growing dread at the implications of people’s suggestive eyebrows at him and Dream. They were at the point in the night, past all the drinking games, where they were all sat around the fire winding down. Sapnap was asleep on the pong table, red solo cups strewn around him, his head pillowed on one of Quackity’s crocs. George had asked why he wasn’t in Dream’s car, since he’d been told that was the spot for when they got too drunk and passed out. Dream seemed unreasonably frustrated by the question, answering with a sharp I don’t know, cause he’s an idiot? The guy that was supposed to be Dream’s rival but was actually good friends with him, nicknamed Techno, had snorted ruefully and told him: “Foreshadowing.”

Overall, George had found himself sticking closer to Karl and Quackity. Their odd, mismatched humor blended surprisingly well. George could honestly say he hoped they became better friends. Dream would slip in and out of George’s personal space; he was a touchy guy, but he noticed that it applied to almost everyone, so he didn’t read too deep into it. He had big golden retriever energy, and once George thought of it, he couldn’t unthink it. It was annoying, how endearing it was. When he noticed George getting cold, he’d immediately shirked off his sweatshirt and handed it over with a cool and confident smile, insisting, “I run hot anyways.” Any time he noticed anyone’s hands empty, he was the first to offer to grab them another drink. When Sapnap started slowing down from his FourLoko-fueled chaos, Dream made sure he drank water and ate some goldfish before he crawled up onto the table to conk out, all with a smile- he seemed proud of his friend for getting so blasted.

BBH was telling a drunken story, words slurring, about himself and the guy next to him- Skeppy. The two seemed to be best friends, the latter always chiming in with additions. Something about ducks, George wasn’t really paying attention, too aware of the way Dream had pulled his nylon chair flush with George’s in order to throw an arm over his shoulders. His fingers had started out dancing idly over the fabric of the hoodie, and eventually drifted up to his nape to play with the overgrown locks of his hair, curling slightly from the long-faded humidity of the day. Quackity kept wiggling his eyebrows in their direction, and some other chap named Fundy whispered something to Wilbur, who laughed just a little too loud for a secretive joke.

George turned his head away, and accidentally met eyes with Dream, faces close. Half his features were aglow with warm light, the other shrouded in cool darkness. He smiled lopsidedly. “So. What’re your thoughts?”

“Um. Everyone’s really nice,” George replied nervously, pulling back a little to give them space. Dream didn’t let any disappointment cross his expression, his golden skin staying smooth and unbothered. “Though, Karl talked my ear off about sea urchins earlier.”

Dream chuckled. “That means he thinks you’re cool.”

“Oh. Cool,” George echoed, still feeling antsy. He gently shook Dream’s arm off to stand. “I’m going to get a refill. Want anything?”

As soon as Dream shook his head, George wandered off, outside the close circle of chairs to kneel at the cooler. He didn’t actually want more- another cup of Ponk’s jungle juice might put him down for the count, he thought. He poured a rum and Coke, going very light on the Captain, though he may have accidentally spilled another ounce or two as Wilbur crouched next to him suddenly, causing him to jump.

“Hello, there,” he said civilly, wavering on the balls of his feet. “We didn’t get to talk as much as I’d have liked. I don’t want to miss out.”

“It’s not like I’m disappearing after tonight, unless I get kidnapped on the way home,” George jested, hoping the uncertainty didn’t creep into his words.

“Well of course you are,” Wilbur snorted, as if it were obvious. George froze as he was putting Coke back in the cooler, fingertips freezing on some stray ice cubes. “You showed up here with Dream.

“Okay...” George swallowed dryly, staring down into his dark drink, bubbles popping at the surface. He could only vaguely make out his own distorted reflection. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Ahh well, you see, George. Our man Dream has a track record. The guy knows how to get around, if you know what I’m saying.” Wilbur tilted his head, eyes looking vacant in his state of inebriation, toothy smile hollow. “It always goes like this. He brings a guy or a girl to a bonfire night. Acts like a total gentleman, doesn’t put it on too strong. Then by, oh, say… two in the morning, he’s steaming up the windows of his mom’s minivan. Then we never see that person on Thursday again. And believe me, it’s not because Dream’s bad in bed.”

“You sound like you know firsthand,” George muttered bitterly, mind reeling with the new information.

“No, no. If I did, I wouldn’t still be here.” He clapped George amicably of the shoulder before standing up and speaking louder as he said, “Anyways. My offer still stands on L’Manberg. Great country, truly, brilliant- oh, hey Dream.”

Dream looked between them with narrowed eyes, George having a staring contest with a Miller High Life sitting in the cooler and Wilbur rocking back and forth on his heels. “Uh, hi. You good, George? You were taking a while, wanted to make sure…”

“And that’s my cue to walk away,” Wilbur stated, giving them a salute. He checked his phone, muttering audibly as he walked away, “Oh, would you look at that. Time flies when you’re having fun. It’s already 1:59!”

George’s hands clenched on the edge of the cooler, and he finally closed the lid. He stood, turning to face Dream and offering the taller boy his solo cup. Dream’s brows pinched together in confusion. “What…?”

“Do you want this?”

“Why? You just poured it.”

“Because I’m leaving.”

“I- Wait, what?” Dream floundered, taking the drink when George shoved it at him, soda sloshing out and dribbling onto his white shirt. He looked down at it in shock, then back up, only to find George walking away, feet clumsy in the sand. Dream put the drink on the pong table, praying Sapnap didn’t knock it over and spill it all over himself, and jogged to catch up. “U-Um, okay! That’s cool. At least let me walk you out.” When George responded with silence, Dream went stammering on. “Did- Did you have a good time, at least? Is everything okay? I mean-“

“It was great,” George said coldly.

“I’m… confused. Did I do something wrong?”

Not technically, but George was still made about it, because Dream had planned on it the whole time. “No.”

They got to the fences, where silence shrouded them for a few paces until Dream couldn’t help himself. “George, I can’t say sorry when I don’t know what’s wrong. I just wanted you to meet some people and have a good time.”

George whirled, pacing slowly backwards to speak directly to Dream, face drawn in vexation. “Is this how you get them at the end of the night? By acting dumb and playing the nice guy?”

What? What are you talking about?” Dream stressed. George misstepped where the sand met the concrete, and nearly tumbled backwards. Dream shot out a hand to grab him by the elbow, pulling to keep him upright. Consequently, they wound up chest-to-chest, George’s cheeks stained pink with an angry and humiliated blush. Dream was frowning softly, still trying to understand what the fuck was going on.

“I shouldn’t have bothered giving you the benefit of the doubt,” George snarled under his breath. “You’re exactly the bottle blonde manwhore stereotype that you look like you would be, aren’t you?”

Just like that, Dream shoved George away, the British man skidding back and hitting the side of Dream’s car. His hands pressed against the cold silver door, his eyes filled with fury. And Dream looked-

Hurt. Dream looked hurt. He flexed his jaw, eyes falling to the ground. “Guess it doesn’t matter how I respond to that,” he said quietly, calmly. George had never heard a harsher defeat in his life. “So. Goodnight, George.” He turned and walked away.

George stood there, blood buzzing with alcohol, still wearing Dream’s hoodie and smelling of campfire. He frowned, sinuses stinging with anguish at his own behavior. He kicked Dream’s tire and began trudging home barefoot, shoes still locked away in the car.

Fuck.

Notes:

Now that I know how to embed links, I can't be stopped

 

Twitter