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Published:
2021-05-25
Updated:
2022-03-15
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11/?
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Bummer

Summary:

Dream wondered if George believed in love at first sight, or if he should walk by again just to make sure they met eyes, that sparks flew, that he was as taken with Dream as Dream was with him.

 

But then Sapnap smacked the back of his head and he nearly tripped over his own feet, flip-flops folding against the unforgiving boardwalk. “Ow. What the hell, Sapnap?”

“Dude. You just checked that guy out so hard. His parents were right there.”

or

George moves into a sleepy coastal town and is unimpressed by Dream’s charms- so obviously Dream has to have him. Sapnap struggles with his love for MILFs and his crushes on the cutie smoothie guy who curses like a sailor and the marine bio major who splashes around tide pools with his purple bucket all day. And then there’s Tommy. He’s... he’s Tommy.

Notes:

No one asked for this, but I needed to write a semi-crack fic of mcyt’s at parties, playing beach volleyball for European glory, a non-canon version of the Disc War, and Dream vs Techno surfing rivals. And love-hate DNF. And karlnapity being karlnapity.

I hope y’all like this as much as I like writing it

Chapter 1: Young & Alive

Chapter Text

The ocean breeze had a way of making coastal air feel fresher in each breath than any inland forest or frigid mountain top. Maybe it was the smell of the salt, or the taste of the foreign lands from which the air had swept. Maybe it was just because it was home.

The sunsets seemed longer here, the colors wavering on the horizon with heat shimmer, sinking like a flooded ship until a blue darkness settled over the land and sea. It was never pitch black, not in their sleepy town where the only light pollution came from the soft yellow glow of the 24 hour Denny’s and the buzzing neon of the dive bars sparsely populated with nodding deadbeat dads. At night, the moon shone like a paper lantern in the sky, the stars hanging behind it like a smattering of angel kisses on the cheeks of a sunkissed face.

The roll of the waves was a melody, and the caws of the seagulls a harmony. Ocean spray splattering on stone was the percussion and the whistle of the wind was the symphony.

All that beautiful ambience, chaotic in a peaceful demeanor, but none of it was quite as beautiful to Dream as George was.

While no one would have been surprised if Dream had been touched by Midas himself, made of pure gold with that tan skin of his, George appeared as if he was a watercolor painted in the rain. His pallor was smooth and pale like the skies of London, his eyes darker than the storm clouds that hovered over the foreign city. Even his sweat in the unfamiliar Florida heat made him glimmer and glow, like dust particles caught in a sunbeam, turning him golden with the sunset.

Dream wondered if George believed in love at first sight, or if he should walk by again just to make sure they met eyes, that sparks flew, that he was as taken with Dream as Dream was with him.

But then Sapnap smacked the back of his head and he nearly tripped over his own feet, flip-flops folding against the unforgiving boardwalk. “Ow. What the hell, Sapnap?”

“Dude. You just checked that guy out so hard. His parents were right there,” Sapnap snickered, and Dream glanced quickly over his shoulder. Sure enough, a man and a woman just as pretty and desaturated as their son were looking back at him, looking mildly uncomfortable. He gave them a sheepish grin and winked at the mother before facing forward again.

“It’s gotta be the new kid, George. They’re moving in down the street,” Dream explained, ignoring the comment about checking him out. “My mom was showing me the Mrs’ Facebook.” All the photos must have been old, though, because this George guy barely looked like same person. He’d grown into his features, his hair was longer and less tame, he was dressed like he put effort in. God, Dream wanted him. Or his mom, he wasn’t above it.

“Dibs on his mom,” Sapnap called, like he could read Dream’s mind. Sometimes Dream was convinced that he could. “I’m doing that pool boy hustle again this summer, can’t wait to motorboat some MILFs.”

Dream snorted. “You’re awful.” Mostly because Dream knew he wasn’t kidding, either. Sapnap had a track record. The dads in town had no fucking idea, but Sapnap was the talk of every PTO meeting- all good things, apparently, according to Dream’s mom who attended and found it absolutely hilarious. She was a little too cool of a parent, honestly. Dream was lucky to have her. And lucky that Sapnap has never tried to bang her. At least, he didn’t think so… “Hey, you’d tell me if you cucked my mom, right?”

“Nope.”

“Eh. Probably for the better.”

“Your older sister, on the other hand-“

Dream dragged Sapnap into a headlock faster than he could get his words out. “Don’t even joke about that,” he warned, screwing up his hair roughly before shoving him away again. Sapnap laughed, bumping their shoulders together.

“Chill out, dude, I’m kidding. Don’t get so butthurt. She’s practically my sister, too.” Sapnap paused, then muttered under his breath, “My step-sister.”

Dream stuck a leg out to trip Sapnap and cackled when he nearly fell on his face. They playfully knocked each other around as they walked, only stopping when their destination came in sight. Sapnap slapped away the arm that Dream had slung over his shoulders and straightened out his white muscle tank. Dream hid a smirk as he watched, but didn’t say anything. There was only one thing he gave Sapnap a free pass on, and that was because it majorly freaked Sapnap out. It was downright adorable to watch.

“Sapnap! Hey, man, what’s up?” The guy behind the smoothie bar counter greeted as they approached, an easy grin on his face. He was a strange character, his nametag reading Alex but everyone called him Quackity. Dream didn’t think he’d ever seen his hair, always tucked under his work cap with the Planet Duck Smoothie logo on it or hidden under a bucket hat on the days he was off roaming the beach. His coworker was equally as weird, and they fought like cats and dogs; the difference was that Dream had known Bad for forever, ever since they met while online gaming, and everyone called him by his age old gamer tag. Quackity was newer to the scene, but he was good company.

“Hi Sapnap, hi Dream!” Bad said cheerfully alongside Quackity. Dream belatedly realized that Quackity hadn’t even bothered acknowledging him. “The usuals?”

Dream nodded, but Sapnap stared past them at the large chalkboard menu taking up half the back wall of the hut. It was a little wooden structure with refrigerators full of fresh fruit and milk and non-dairy alternatives, with a roof that emulated palm fronds and seagrass. “Mmm,” Sapnap hummed, leaning an elbow on the counter before glancing at Quackity. “I’m thinking I want to try something new.”

“Feeling adventurous, Sappy Nappy?” Bad asked lightheartedly as he prepared Dream’s smoothie- a specialty smoothie which was literally called The Dream on their chalkboard because he ordered it so much that it stuck. Sapnap couldn’t be tied down to one flavor long enough to get the privilege, but other people they knew had made it to the board. Their friend slash Dream’s surfboarding rival Techno had named his specialty drink The Nightmare out of spite. Fundy had a smoothie made of every orange fruit known to man called The Foxhole. Karl had a basic strawberry banana smoothie called Time Traveler.

“Oh, I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” Quackity insisted, turning to rifle through the fridge of pre-chopped fruits. “Coconut milk, because you’re an absolute fucking nutjob.”

“Language.”

“Rosewater, because it smells like old lady and you have a MILF fetish.”

“Language!”

“Raspberries, because you pretend you’re sweet but you’re actually a sour little bastard-“

“Quackity!” Bad cried in frustration. “I’m so sorry about him,” he apologized on Quackity’s behalf, but one look at Sapnap said that he couldn’t give two shits about the profanity. Mans had his chin on his fist, making heart eyes at Quackity’s back, clad in his navy work button-up. Or- maybe he was making heart eyes at Quackity’s ass. Dream couldn’t tell. His eyes were aimed below the tie of his black apron, though, that was for sure. Sapnap was the type of freewheeling bisexual to ogle the girls, the gays, and the theys all the same; the guy was insatiably horny and had the weirdest taste. MILFs, for one. Cowboys, for another. A feisty Mexican smoothie connoisseur that curses like a sailor… and a marine biology student with niche interests.

“I’m not finished,” Quackity disregarded Bad, dumping more fruits into the blender. “Coconut meat to really sell what I said earlier. Why’s it gotta be called meat, huh, someone tell me that? It’s a fucking fruit.”

Bad just sighed, giving up.

“Pineapple, for the MILFs’ sake, not yours. And you eat pineapple on pizza like a psychopath, so you better like it.”

“I eat pineapple on pizza,” Dream said defensively as Bad blended up his green smoothie, with flavors of guava and kale and banana and, of course, pineapple, among other things.

“Disgusting. Anyways. What else are we feeling?” Quackity stepped back, hands on his hips, tucking his lip between his teeth. Dream’s head immediately whipped to catch Sapnap’s reaction, and almost laughed out loud at the way he was undressing Quackity with his gaze. He just barely held it in, meeting eyes with Bad, who rolled his own in fondness. “Strawberries would probably taste good in here,” Quackity decided, oblivious to everything, adding a handful. “Squeeze of lemon…” He took a lemon half and crushed it confidently in his hand. Dream had to admit, even though he was just a smoothie guy behind a counter, the dude had stage presence and showmanship. “Good?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at Sapnap, who simply nodded. Dream felt secondhand embarrassment for how whipped he was. Then again, he himself had just decided love at first sight was real after seeing a British guy who looked like a strong breeze would snap him in half.

The roar of blenders filled the small shack, and Dream took the momentary pause in audible conversation to look away from Quackity and Sapnap eye-fucking one another and check his phone. He had a text from his mom telling him to be home to cook dinner for his younger siblings, some news notifications- apparently a baby alligator crawled out of someone’s toilet, and a missed call from-

Fuck,” Dream said just as the blenders stopped. He looked up to Bad’s disappointed expression and Quackity’s grin. He grimaced. “Sorry. Missed a call from my academic advisor.”

“Ooh. That bad, huh?” Quackity asked, and Bad elbowed him. “Ow, what? I call it as I see it.” Dream shrugged.

“I’ve got an incomplete I’m working on right now and I’m retaking one of my CS classes over the summer. It starts next week, which blows, because that’s when I should really start ramping up my surfing for competition season.”

“So what I’m hearing is Techno’s gonna kick your ass again?”

“Hey,” Sapnap cut in. It was comforting, knowing that even in the face of his big fat man crush, Sapnap would still defend Dream’s honor. “Dream’s got it in the bag this year, whether he fails his summer class for the grind or not.” Well, mostly.

“Wow, thanks,” Dream muttered sarcastically, accepting the smoothie Bad slid across the counter to him and digging out his wallet.

“Nah, I’ll pay, you’re in the rough right now,” Sapnap offered, handing over cash to Quackity before Dream could protest. “Keep the change, ya filthy animal.”

“Wha- that’s like ten whole extra bucks,” Quackity said, counting the bills.

“What can I say? Daddy’s got money.”

“Shit… you looking for a sugar baby, or…?”

“Sugar baby?” A new voice asked, and Dream witnessed Sapnap freeze. “Where can I apply? This marine bio degree isn’t gonna pay for itself.” A purple bucket was set on the counter between Sapnap and Dream, Karl’s painted nails, shiny rings, and beaming face attached to it. “No, I’m serious, the job market is really bad for marine biology.”

“Karlos, my man!” Quackity daps him up while Sapnap plasters on a smile. Yeah, Sapnap wasn’t just whipped for one weirdo, but two. It was still a better love triangle than Twilight. “Watcha catch today?”

“Ooh, I want to see!” Bad hurried over to the counter to peer into the bucket. He gasped. “Hermit crabs! Aww, they’re so cute.”

“You can hold ‘em!” Karl offered, diving his hand into the bucket and pulling out a crab. “Just, you know, wash your hands again before touching my smoothie stuff.”

Dream stepped away from their excited talk of sea creatures to listen to the voicemail his advisor left in peace. If she was calling instead of emailing, it couldn’t be anything good. He took a deep breath before pressing the hot phone screen to his ear and turning up the volume to hear over the boisterous atmosphere of the lively boardwalk. His stomach sank as he listened. “Hello, Clay, this is Angela. I just had to warn you that, due to your grades this semester, your GPA has dropped to a 2.8 and you are on academic probation. If you can’t get it to a 3.0 after next semester, you will be kicked from the computer science program. I know you can pull it together, you’re a smart kid, Clay. You just need to get motivated. Feel free to email me with any questions, comments, concerns. Have a nice summer, and make sure you stay on top of the course you’re taking in June! Best of luck, we’ll have a meeting when Fall semester comes to talk about your options, best and worst case scenarios and all that. Bye now!

He let his hand drop, and stared vacantly towards the glimmering ocean. 2.8. Academic probation. You just need to get motivated. He wanted to hurl his phone into the sea and never think about university again. Get motivated. Fuck that. Easier said than done. He loved coding, but the rigid structure of school and the lack of creativity in his assignments crushed him. All he wanted to do was code cool shit into video games for him and his friends to play, and then go surfing, and then- repeat? It was bad. He knew it was bad. He had nothing going for him. His mom was going to kill him. Or, actually, she probably wouldn’t. She’d probably ask him to sit down and talk to her about it, and try to suggest ways to fix it, and it would be too kind of her. He didn’t deserve it. Dream just had to suck it up and get his work done, even when the mental block in his head refused to let him do anything at all. It was bullshit. His brain was bullshit.

He turned back to the smoothie hut with a false grin on his face, shoving his phone in his shorts pocket. Karl was sipping on a Time Traveler already, and talking all their ears off about the tide pools he explored that day. When Dream joined them, slipping into a stool at the counter, Karl easily included him in his tales. Karl had a way of spinning tales from his ordinary, everyday life by casually injecting a little magic into it, as if no one would notice. To be fair, no one ever said anything. If Karl mentioned the faeries in his garden or the sirens out by the jetty’s end, everyone listening just rolled with it and nodded along, accepting the fact that Karl simply saw the world with a little more sparkle than the rest of them. It was something to envy, really. His mind was vibrant and creative, his personality ebullient and vivacious. It was no wonder Big Q and Sapnap were besotted by him.

“And then I met the nicest little sea sprite who pointed me towards the other side of the pool, and guess what! There was a sea cucumber! Oh, it was so cool. I poked it and it got all shriveled up like an old sock.”

“Are those the ones that look like Shrek’s foreskin?” Quackity asked dubiously, resting his arms on the counter space between Karl and Sapnap, a hermit crab laying hidden in its shell on his flattened out palm.

“Yup!” Karl confirmed amiably, as if it was the greatest thing in the world. He was petting the back of the shell and cooing at it as if to coax it out.

“Oh my goodness,” Bad sighed into his palms while Dream and Sapnap laughed.

“What? I need to see one of these for myself,” Sapnap decided, and Karl lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Really? I can take you sometime! I’ve been looking for shark teeth too, we could all have shark tooth necklaces, I can make them with leather cords and they’re really cool,” Karl rambled on at 90 miles per hour, eyes bright like seafoam in the sun, sparkling with excitement. “Big Q, you should come, too! And Bad, and Dream- but only if you guys want. It’s a lot of work honestly and it can be kind of boring and repetitive but-“

“Dude. Calm,” Sapnap giggled, holding his hands up. “I’m down. Q?”

“Totally down,” Quackity responded. “When’s low tide tomorrow?”

“Around 12:30, so we should go at, like… 11 maybe?” Karl fidgeted, waiting for their answers. Bad and Dream had decidedly stepped back from the conversation to let the plans unfold without them. Neither of them felt like laboring through tide pools in the midday sun, and they both wanted to see how this odd throuple progressed on its own. Bad was doodling his dog Rat on a napkin to distract himself, which basically meant drawing a cloud with eyes. Dream stole the pen to draw his cat Patches next to it, except he sucked at drawing so it looked more like a demented raccoon. He mentally apologized to Patches for doing wrong by her image.

“Works for me, I start my shift at two,” he heard Quackity say, and Sapnap quickly agreed that he was free. Dream was astounded. Those two boys had to be down bad to: one, wake up before noon for Karl; and two, hop around tide pools for at least two hours with him in 98 degree weather.

“Cool! I’ll bring sunblock. Gotta keep our skin lookin’ pretty so we can all be nursing home hunks together.”

“You use sunblock? No wonder you’re always so pale,” Sapnap teased, even though Dream had personally rubbed Sapnap in sunscreen every hour in the places he couldn’t reach for their whole lives. The Florida sun was no joke.

“What? I’m not that pale. Look, my freckles are already coming in, see?” Karl leaned towards Sapnap, pointing to his speckled nose and cheekbones. Bad, Dream, and Quackity all watched as Sapnap’s soul left his body at the proximity, panicked eyes flickering over Karl’s face. Karl was smiling like always, though there was a hint of mischief in it, and Dream knew then that Kalr was fully aware that he had the boys wrapped around his little finger. “That’s how you know summer’s here.”

“Right…” Sapnap murmured, clearing his throat as Karl sat normally on his stool again to suck on his straw. Sapnap and Quackity looked at one another, and they both definitely knew what the other was thinking. They had a sort of solidarity between them for their love of Karl. Little did either of them know that they were also head over heels for each other. Dream was waiting for the threesome to happen. He’d owe Eret $20 if it happened before midnight on Karl’s birthday in early July. Karl’s birthday party was always a Survivor themed rager thrown by his friend Jimmy, and Jimmy knew how to fucking party- Eret was betting they’d get fucked up during the darty and fuck before midnight, Dream was betting sensible Karl would take it slow on the beers while Sapnap and Quackity got high and it would happen after midnight when the real chaos tended to begin. If it happened before the birthday party altogether, Punz got the money. If it happened after the birthday party, Fundy got the money.

Was it fucked up to bet on when your best friend would have a threesome?

Sapnap had bet on worse things. Like how many hospital trips Dream would have over the course of one summer. His bet had been over five. Punz said under. The total was technically exactly five, but the count apparently included urgent care, too, so it came out to seven. He broke his nose on his surfboard, cut his foot on coral, got stung by a jellyfish on two separate occasions, got sun poisoning, got a boxing fracture while waxing his board… somehow, and got stitches in his lip after shotgunning a beer because the punctured edge cut it open. He still had a scar from that. It added to his roguish charm, he liked to think.

He was a walking disaster at best. His 2.8 GPA could testify to that.

“Um,” Sapnap finally recovered, holding up his smoothie cup to change the subject. “Q, this drink might be the one.”

“Really? I don’t trust you. You change it up every two weeks,” Quackity accused, and Sapnap shrugged helplessly.

“Then I guess we’ll see in two weeks. I want my name on that board.”

Quackity turned to the board and picked up the chalk to write in small lettering at the bottom Sapnap sucks eggs. He faces the counter again with a satisfied expression. “All you had to do was ask, man.”

“I don’t suck eggs!”

“No, he prefers dick,” Dream chimed in, just to watch his friend flush and try to play it off coolly.

“I- Well- Yeah, and I’m good at it, too.”

Bad hit his head lightly off one of the wooden support beams, closing his eyes and blocking his ears. “Save me, Dream.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Dream decided, standing up. Bad groaned in betrayal. “You guys are coming to the bonfire Thursday, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” Karl said, holding out a white seashell to him. “Here, take this. It reminded me of you.” Dream rolled the shell over in his palm and looked down at it, chuckling when the black markings on it looked like a slightly off-centered smiley face. “See! Looks just like you.”

“Thanks, Karl.” He pocketed the shell. Dream was totally going to make a Mr. Steal Your Girl joke to Sapnap about the moment later. And probably turn the shell into a good luck charm just to keep the spite going. “I’ll see you.”

“Bye, Dream. Tell your sister that I’m single and have a big-“

“No,” Dream shot Sapnap down before he could make another perverted joke about his older sibling. He left it at that with a short wave, walking backwards until they all waved back and called out their goodbyes. The smile slipped off his face as soon as he turned around, nursing his smoothie at his lips to worry the straw between his teeth. The breeze that swept off the water as the sun went down was refreshing in combination with the icy coolness of the smoothie, but he could barely enjoy it with his mind going at lightspeed. His anxiety was translating into anger, and he was pissed at school and at himself and at life in general.

He grabbed his bike from the rack where the boardwalk met the parking lot, tossing his empty smoothie cup into the trash. Perched on the bike seat, he popped his earbuds in and hit play on his bummer playlist, the caption of which was I meant “summer” but whatever. He’d be able to clear his head with some surfing the next day, but for the time being, Wallows and a leisurely bike ride would do him good. He didn’t live far from the boardwalk. The center street of town ran parallel to the shore, and he passed by all the small businesses, the owners of which he knew by name because he and his family knew everyone around. Mr. Price from the sub shop said hi as he passed, and Mrs. Ahmed’s daughter stopped him outside the flower shop to tuck a daisy into his hair. He thanked her, grinning his fuckboy smile just to watch her blush, and she wished him a nice afternoon before scurrying back inside. Dream laughed softly, continuing his familiar route home. It was undeniable that the kind people he’d grown up with had infectious joy- even if his heart was pounding and he felt mildly nauseous thinking about his future beyond this summer of surfing and working and gaming. He shook it off and pedaled harder, turning down 2nd street, the cul-de-sac his house sat at the end of.

His hand clenched hard on the breaks at the end of a driveway at the top of the street. He stretched a foot down to the asphalt to steady himself and looked over.

“Hi.”

George blinked at him in surprise. His soft, dark eyes roamed over Dream’s face, down to his chest in his green tee, up to his blonde hair and the daisy amongst the curls formed from spending the day swimming. “You’re not wearing a helmet.”

Dream had known George was from the UK, but hearing the accent still spurred a small smirk to form on his face. He tried to keep it down, but it was fruitless, so he stood up straighter and let it become full-blown as he responded, “Well, as you can see, I have yet to crack my skull open. So.” He shrugged, tugging his earbuds loose. The British boy regarded him skeptically. “You’re new in town, right?”

“I am…”

Dream spread his arms. “Welcome.” He then extended his hand. “I’m Dream.”

Slowly, dark brows drawn, George shook his hand. The juxtaposition of their skin tones was reminiscent of latte foam, cream and tan. “George. I’m sorry, did you say your name was Dream?

“Well, not my actual name, but that’s what everyone calls me. It’s my gamer tag and the name I put in for surf competitions,” Dream explained sheepishly, hoping the whole gamer tag part wasn’t cringe. George didn’t seem to have much of a reaction to it other than mild curiosity.

“What’s your real name?”

“That’s a privilege you have to earn.” Dream winked.

George looked entirely unimpressed. He folded his arms across his chest, and Dream noticed he had mail in his hand, probably the reason he was at the end of his driveway in the first place. Behind him, Dream could see Minecraft themed beach towels drying on the railing of his front porch, colorful beach chairs leaned against the white garage doors. George waited until they met eyes again. “This whole mysterious act isn’t all that interesting, you know.”

Dream’s eyebrows shot up. That… he’d never gotten that reaction before. It solidified in his mind and his resolve.

I have to have him.

“It’s just tradition around here. Like the weekly bonfire down at the beach every Thursday. Exclusive invite only,” Dream ventured, like baiting along a catfish.

“Is this you exclusively inviting me?”

“Maybe.”

“Ask me properly, and I might say yes.”

Oh my God, I have to have him.

“George,” he smiled sweetly, taking the daisy from his hair and twirling it between his fingers before offering it graciously towards the Brit. “Would you please attend the bonfire this Thursday? We’re all dying to meet you.”

Finally, George’s cold face began to crack, and Dream saw the sunshine break through the facade of clouds. He took the daisy, looking down at the petals briefly before looking up at Dream through his lashes. “I’ll… consider it,” he settled on, but his tone was impish. In the words of Dolly, his voice was soft like summer rain, and Dream meant that with his whole chest.

He settled back onto his bike seat, and nodded once towards George. “See you Thursday, then. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“I said I’ll consider-

“Yup. I heard you.”

Dream rode away, hearing George mutter, “You’re so annoying,” behind him. He sneezed like a kitten, and groaned. “And I’m allergic to pollen!”

Have to have him.

 

 

Sapnap wiped the sweat from his brow, leaning on the end of the pool net’s rod. As he pulled his hair back into a bun, flexing his arms as he did, he asked, “Hey Ms. Jacobs, you don’t mind if I take my shirt off, do you? It is hot out here today.”

“Not at all, sweetheart, you’ve been working so hard. Have some lemonade, for goodness sake.” Ms. Jacobs said, lifting her sunglasses and gesturing towards the lounge chair on the opposite side of the little glass table from her. “Are you hungry? Karl keeps some Kid Cuisine in the house, I don’t know if-“

“Wait, wait, wait. Did you say Karl?” Sapnap cut her off, eyes wide, throwing his shirked off shirt over his shoulder. Would it be weird to put it back on? Uh oh.

“Yes…? My son, Karl? I thought you two were friends. He’s always talking about you.” She tsked. “You know, I’ve been meaning to thank you. His friends don’t usually go to the tide pools with him and it breaks his heart, but he came home so excited yesterday when you and that Alex boy went with him.”

“It- Yeah, no, we’re good friends. It’s no problem. It was fun,” Sapnap replied nervously, his head going fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ve been hitting on Karl’s mom. Why do I care so much? I hit on everyone’s mom. Oh god, but Karl’s mom- “I, um. Think I would like that lemonade. I’m feeling a little…”

Ms. Jacobs shot up from her chair, hurrying over, wincing as her feet left the shade and slapped against the hot pool deck. “Oh, dear, you look a little faint. You sit right here,” she urged, her spindly fingers wrapping around his forearm as she led him to the chair. Sapnap was too shellshocked to even sneak a look at her rack in that sunflower sundress, that was how distraught he was. “I’ll grab you a freeze pop, you drink this.” She placed a cool glass of lemonade in his hand, and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, tsking again. “Take as long as you need, hon, the pool can wait. Okay? I’ll be right back.”

As soon as Ms. Jacobs closed the sliding glass door behind herself up on the patio, Sapnap dug his phone out of his pocket to panic text Dream, gulping down cold lemonade as he fumbled the app open.

dude, dude

Dweeeaamm
if ur about to tell me about the milf u just railed, save it lol

NO
listen to me
ive been flirting with fucking KARLS MOM

Dweeeaamm
.......pls say u fucked karls mom, ill piss myself

u suck
i didnt fuck karls mom
but i was planning on it!!!!
oh god what fi i had

Dweeeaamm
lmao im telling quackity

friendship over i literally hate u
this is seruous i took my shirt off and everyrhing

He heard the door open and scrambled to put his phone away, looking up innocently. His stomach dropped when Karl stepped out, squinting under the high noon sun, a Kid Cuisine in one hand and two freeze pops in the other. He waved with the freeze pop hand, orange and grape flavored, taking in Sapnap’s body from afar. Quite obviously, too. Did he know? Was he suspicious? Or was he checking Sapnap out? Man, Sapnap hoped Karl was checking him out.

“Hey, Sapnap. I just got back from my internship, my mom said you might want one of these bad boys.” He shook the blue plastic food container and bounced jovially down the steps to the pool deck, stealing the other lounge chair, sitting sideways on the edge to be closer to Sapnap. “I figured we could share it since it’s my last one. There’s five nuggets, though, so you can have three of them. And you can have the fudge brownie.” He scrunched his nose, and dammit it was cute. “I don’t like chocolate that much. There’s two compartments of cheesy mac, so that’s perfect. You feeling okay, buddy? Oh! And these. Which color do you want?” He held out the freeze pops.

Sapnap took the orange one and absentmindedly ripped it open with his teeth. When he looked up, though, Karl was watching raptly before doing the same- well, trying to. He growled around the pop in his mouth, wincing when it yanked out without having ripped.

“Ouch. What the honk? How’d you do that,” he muttered, inspecting it. He stuck his purple tube out towards Sapnap. “Do it for me? Please?”

It was official. The Jacobs family was out to get him. He leaned forward, getting the plastic between his teeth and jerking his head to rip it open. Karl stole the plastic piece from Sapnap’s mouth cheekily and put it down on the table with the other one. Then, without a care in the world, put his lips where Sapnap’s had just been and began to suck at the purple popsicle inside the plastic sleeve. That was a mutual indirect kiss. What am I, ten? Sapnap was hopeless.

“Eat up, handsome, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“You’re so bold,” Sapnap murmured incredulously, shaking his head and eating his freeze pop, fresh orange bursting over his tongue. Karl laughed, the sound high and bubbly, eyes squeezing into crescents. Sapnap breathed his own ludicrous laugh.

“You didn’t flirt with my mom, did you?” Karl asked, once again eyeing Sapnap’s state of undress.

“...to be clear, I didn’t know she was your mom.”

“Sapnap!”

“I’m sorry! She’s hot, I couldn’t help it!”

“That’s it. You get two nuggets, I get three.”

“Hey, boys. Nick, are you feeling better?” Ms. Jacobs asked from the door, head peering out.

“Yes, Ms. Jacobs. My bad, I’ll get back to work,” Sapnap promised, about to stand when Karl put a hand on his shoulder, fingertips cool in comparison to Sapnap’s sun-warmed skin. The contact lingered while Karl reprimanded him.

“Whoa, there, big guy. Mom taught me to always finish your meal before leaving the table. Eat up, then I’ll grab my speaker and keep you company while you finish.”

“That’s my boy!” Ms. Jacobs smiled brightly. “Take your time, sweetheart! I’ll be right inside if you need anything. Snacks, a condom.” She ducked back into the house, leaving them alone again. Sapnap gaped at the place she had just occupied.

“Did she just suggestively quote Mean Girls at us?”

Karl kicked his legs up onto the lounge chair and laid against the propped up back, popping a star-shaped nugget into his mouth. “Yup. That’s my mom, for ya. She’s a real peach, but sorry Sapnap, I’ll be the one enjoying the view from here on out.”

“Should I put my shirt back on…?”

“Honk no, I just said I wanted to enjoy the view. Take a nuggie and relax, come on now.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

“Gentlemen… and Niki, honorary gentleman… we have a situation.”

Tommy paced the plywood floors of the treehouse, hands folded behind his back, chin tilted up proudly. Tubbo, Jack, and Niki sat obediently in their folding chairs, eyes glued to the boy in the white and red t-shirt. Wilbur leaned against the back wall of the little house, legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded over his chest, observing. Fundy was late, as per usual, but Tommy wasn’t concerned about him. He interacted with the Americans far too much for comfort, anyways.

“What is it, Mr. VP?” Wilbur asked fondly. Ever since Tommy and Tubbo moved in when they were wee little 8-year-olds, the older Europeans of the town had taken them under their wing and humored their amusing games. Tommy’s neighborhood was their kingdom, Wilbur the ruler, Tommy his right hand man. Big, fantastical stories of revolution and war and camaraderie and “European independence.” It may or may not have been heavily influenced by Tommy and Tubbo’s third grade history class, in which they learned about the founding fathers and the Revolutionary War. It kind of just stuck around for all those years, and they constantly made reminiscent references to it. They even had the original crayon drawings of the flag they’d made up thumbtacked to the walls, and a real one Wilbur got custom made for the outside of the treehouse- their base of operations, in a great oak in Tommy’s backyard.

“There’s a new European in town,” he said quietly, stopping to face his friends.

“Oh! That’s wonderful,” Niki cheered. “I think I heard about that, actually.”

“Yes, yes, it would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?” He pondered, then escalated to shouting in a split second. “But Dream has already got his filthy hands on him!”

Tubbo, ever the loyal soldier, backed him up with a hearty, “No! Oh god, it’s awful! We have to save them. Wait, is it a woman, Tommy?”

“No, Tubbo, it is not a woman,” Tommy’s voice lowered in a show of confidence. “If it was a woman, Dream wouldn’t have stood a chance. I already would have blown her away with my charm and good looks. Obviously.” Volume back to ten, he continued on his tirade: “It is a man! And his name… is George. If we don’t act quick, men- and Niki, honorary man- then he may side with the Americans.”

“What’s going on here? I heard Americans,” Fundy spoke from the ladder, poking his head up from the platform outside the door. He struggled the rest of the way up, a little shakily. He hated heights, and still wasn’t used to the treehouse’s wobbly wood-and-rope ladder. It also didn’t help that Tubbo once broke his arm climbing it… but that was besides the point.

“We’re discussing the new Brit in town, a fellow named George,” Wilbur filled him in as Fundy took his place between Jack and Niki. Wilbur took the opportunity to tousle his white-streaked hair, to Fundy’s stony faced chagrin.

“Oh. George. Bad was talking about him. Apparently Dream invited him to the bonfire tomorrow,” Fundy shared, and Tommy’s jaw dropped.

“He what?” Tommy squeaked in outrage. “No, no! You know what that means, don’t you? Oh god, it’ll be too late. Wilbur, Fundy, Niki- you have to go.”

“I’m not invited, though,” Niki reminded him. “I’m not very close with any of them, and they only let certain people come.”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? Wilbur or Fundy should invite you, then.”

“Ohh… no,” Wilbur said decidedly. “That has, um. Implications, Tommy. These lot are awful when it comes to bonfire night. Seriously. But, that’s why it might not be so bad if Dream has invited George.”

“...Why is that? Sorry, I’m lost.” Tommy glanced between all the adults in the room, each with their lips pressed tight. He nodded. “Right. Got it. Not for my young, innocent ears to hear.” He coughed dramatically. “Moving on, then. Tubbo has an announcement.”

“I do?” Tubbo wondered, looking puzzled. Tommy stared at him flatly, watching Tubbo struggle for nearly ten seconds before he remembered. Tubbo’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I do!” He leapt up from his chair, and Tommy promptly stole the seat to allow Tubbo center stage in the treehouse, pinching the bridge of his nose in disdain. “I’ve made a friend!”

“Is that who was awkwardly standing in Tommy’s backyard? The tall fella with the…” Fundy gestured vaguely to his own face. “All the stuff?”

Wilbur walked to the treehouse’s window to lean outside. He stayed still for a moment before pulling himself back in, and pointing out the square cut hole. “Tubbo… why didn’t you invite him in?”

“I don’t know, it’s our secret meeting treehouse. And, well… there’s just one teeny, tiny catch…” He went through the door to the platform and called down, “Ranboo? You can come up now!”

Some grunts and the usual creaking of the rope under a person’s weight later, and the tallest kid Tommy had ever seen ducked through into the treehouse with Tubbo. Their size difference was comical, and a startled laugh burst from Tommy’s throat. He slapped a hand over his own mouth. “Sorry, sorry. Just- good lord, you look like Tom and Jerry standing next to one another. He might be taller than Wilbur.”

“He is,” Tubbo confirmed, looking up at his new, tall friend. “6’6, to be exact!”

“We are now enemies,” Wilbur decided jokingly.

“Oh dear… not already,” the stranger spoke.

Tommy’s jaw fell even harder, and he stood harshly from his chair, the plastic falling backwards from the force. “No, we are now enemies!” Except, unlike Wilbur, Tommy meant it with utmost seriousness. “Tubbo! He’s an American!”

“But he’s really cool,” Tubbo said simply. “And he’s mysterious!”

It was true. He was a giant, lanky boy with a black and white face mask and sunglasses covering his features. All they could see was fluffy, dirty blonde hair. Tommy narrowed his eyes at this- this Ranboo, as Tubbo had called him. “Yeah, what’s with that?”

“Oh, I’m- I have real bad, um, social anxiety,” Ranboo stammered apologetically. “It just makes me more comfortable.”

Tommy grumbled, unable to mock that reasoning without being an arsehole, so he fixed his chair and sat down gruffly, arms crossed tight over his chest.

“Hey, I think he’d fit right in, American or not,” Jack piped up for the first time, and held his hands up in defense when Tommy glared at him. “What? I’m just saying! He seems as much an outcast as the rest of us. No offense, Rainbow.”

“Ranboo,” Tubbo corrected.

“Yeah, whatever. I say we welcome him to the club.” Jack sat back, throwing his arms behind his head and crossing his feet.

“Me, too,” Niki added, smiling in that gentle way of hers. “It’s nice to meet you, Ranboo. I’m Niki. That’s Jack, and that’s Fundy, Wilbur, and-“

“And I’m Tommy. Remember the name, for I am your nemesis,” Tommy threatened, tone gone cold. Tubbo didn’t bother hiding the way he rolled his eyes, and Tommy stood up from his chair again, shaking an angry fist at him. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Tubbo, you have betrayed this country!”

“What, L’Manburg? Tommy, we made that up in year four. Er, third grade. It’s one American. And to be fair- he hates it here!” Tubbo cried.

“It’s true,” Ranboo vouched. “I hate it here. Especially Florida. I really do.”

Tommy’s face screwed up in consideration, tapping his foot impatiently. “Alright, then, Ranboo. Who’s your favorite woman.”

“My favorite- my favorite woman?” Ranboo echoed in confusion. Tubbo nodded, and Tommy waited with his sour face screwed up in scrutiny. “Um. Well. Maybe my mom- wait. No. I have an actual answer to this. Congresswoman AOC.”

Wilbur started clapping. “He’s in. Tommy, sit down.”

“Wha- no, no he is not! Who is that? Who is A-O-C? What does that mean?” Tommy argued, but still sat at Wilbur’s command.

“Tommy, remember that video I shared with you? Of that badass woman who absolutely destroyed Mark Zuckerburg during his congressional testimony?”

Tommy paused, crystal blue eyes floating to the ceiling as he remembered. “Oh. Yeah. I liked that woman. That’s a good woman.” He slashed his gaze back to Ranboo, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Alright, you bloody American, you win this round. You’re in, but just know that you’re on thin fucking ice, big guy. Got it? All hail the Queen.”

“Loud and clear,” Ranboo said formally, shuffling from foot to foot nervously. “So… what am I in on, exactly…?”

Tommy threw his hands up in defeat, floundering on insults that never quite made it out of his mouth.

“Well, we kind of just play video games and try to beat the Americans in beach volleyball,” Tubbo explained. “That’s really all there is to it. Oh, and we hate Dream.” He then stage-whispered, “Well, not actually, he’s a really nice guy- we just pretend we hate him so his ego doesn’t get any bigger than it already is. I have a feeling that’s why Dream pretends to hate Tommy, too. The ego.”

Tommy blinked at him, dumbfounded. “Tubbo, I’m right here.”

“You heard nothing.”

“No, actually, I heard everything.”

“...I have to go feed my… pet… bee.”

“You don’t have a pet bee, Tubbo. No one has pet bees.”

“Well, to be fair, beekeepers technically have pet bees. And he did name a bumble bee he found in the hedges Spins on the way here. And I’ll shut up now because I’m on thin ice,” Ranboo quieted himself, rocking back and forth of the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, I like this guy,” Jack nodded approvingly, just because he loved anyone who antagonized Tommy.

“Thanks!”

“Fucking hell,” Tommy grumbled. “It’s going to be a long summer.”

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

Chapter 3: Sense

Notes:

Here, take some Techno content, and some Punz and Callahan crumbs <3

I have a very specific mental image of Techno based on the art I’m doing of him, which I’ll be posting on twitter within the week!!!

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

Chapter Text

For all that Dream and Techno put on a show of two nemeses locked in rivalry, and despite the fact that it had been a real case of enemies in the past, they became really good friends last summer as surfing season came to a close. They’d shared some conversation, gained some perspective, agreed to disagree, and ultimately respected each other at the end of the day. With promises to surf together the following year, they parted ways, Techno going off to continue his English degree and Dream going off to continue his CS degree. The two men were nothing if not prompt and honest, so when Dream asked if Techno wanted to catch a sunrise surf, Techno had him sleep over in his RV parked right on the sand of the drive-on so they could wake up and go.

Dream was finding that they had a lot in common, practically mirroring each other’s routines as they got ready, warming up with stretches and light exercises, tugging on their wetsuits and running protective products through their hair- though perhaps Techno was a bit more thorough in that regard. His long, delicately wavy hair was dyed a bubblegum pink that contrasted his dark humor and blunt personality to a comical degree. He took pride in his hair, though, and it looked damn good when his face was plastered on competition banners. He gracefully tied it up into a bun, loose strands framing his face, and Dream said, “Your blonde roots are showing.”

Techno glanced at him, eyes quick and analytical. “Your brunette roots are, too.”

Dream spluttered. “What? I’m a natural blonde.”

“Sure you are.”

Techno was just teasing, but he always knew exactly where to jab at to make Dream defensive. He had a habit of making up blatant lies just to watch Dream deny it so adamantly that everyone thought it was the truth. He was lucky Dream was a morning person- though to be fair, Dream was an always person. Techno, on the other hand, got more grouchy as the day went by- so this was a fresh, happy Techno on a good day. Dream still loved to hate him, but in truth, he admired the pink-haired man for his candid way of existing.

“See, unlike you, Dream,” Techno ventured on as he gestured to his own back for help zipping. Wetsuits were designed for people to be able to pull on a string and zip themselves, but if two surfers had the luxury of helping one another out, they would. “I keep it real. That’s exactly why you hated me for so long. You couldn’t handle the Blade of Reality. It cut too deep for you.”

“Yeah whatever, wax your poetry, English major.” It was true though. Dream pushed up the baby hairs at the nape of Techno’s neck before zipping, covering his pale back inch by inch in his signature maroon wetsuit. He turned to let Techno do the same for him. In a more sincere tone, he added, “I have an appreciation for it now. Trust me. I like things… straightforward. I’m not willing to be lied to for sympathy any more.” Dream was thinking about George. George had been honest, hadn’t he? But he had no faith that Dream was being honest, too. Was Dream his honest self?

“Everyone does eventually, once they get sick of the bullshit they hear all the time.”

“Yeah, you could say that again…” Do people only hear bullshit every time I open my mouth? Once he was zipped, he turned to face Techno with a crooked smile. “Okay. Your turn to compliment me now.”

“Your ego does not need stroking,” Techno said flatly, thumbing distractedly at a chunk of wax on his board. They both had fresh coats on, the residue still a translucent white that would change color with grime and wear over time. “Besides, you’re as fake as they come. How can I actually compliment you when I don’t know you? Telling you you’re conventionally attractive or that you’re a real go-getter doesn’t actually say shit about your character. Just your persona.”

Guess that answers that, Dream thought bitterly. He opened his mouth to say something, but Techno beat him to it with a soft side-eye.

“Kidding. I admire that the more you hurt, the more you smile, because at some point… I see that smile turn into something real.” He punched Dream’s arm playfully, though a bit harder than necessary. Dream resisted the urge to rub the spot, and also the urge to physically deflate in relief. He had a lot of self-love and soul-searching to do, that was for damn sure, but if Techno saw something worth being friends with in him… maybe he wasn’t all bullshit. “Alright, we’ve had our heart-to-heart, let’s catch some waves before you start trying to braid my hair or some shit. First one in the water is a rotten egg.”

Techno took off towards the surf, and Dream stammered for a moment before jogging after him, kicking up sand with every footfall. “What are you, five?” He called, chuckling lightly, and Techno tossed up a middle finger, his other arm hugging his yellow board to his side.

They both caught their first wave of the day as the sun broke over the horizon, the sky as pink as Techno’s hair, mixed in with a watercolor of peach tones and orange hues that broke through the blue dawn. Dream laughed in pure joy as the wind kissed his scalp and tousled his hair, feeling weightless on his board, every breath more freeing than the last. He no longer felt crushed by life’s curve balls. It was him and the ocean- and Techno, but no one understood the feeling better than Techno, so Dream could hardly complain. They didn’t bother one another for a good few runs, focused on warming up and getting back into the feel of surfing, but eventually Techno gestured for Dream to follow him past the point where the waves crested so they could bob along in the water without being swept away.

“Tell me about George.”

Dream looked towards the heavens, asking God or whatever was out there, why? “Et tu, Techno?” Dream sighed, looking at him with his mouth pressed flat to show his resistance to the topic of conversation. Techno clearly gave no fucks, though, and plowed on ahead.

“It’s the talk of the town, and I have to know everything about everybody all the time,” he said dryly, but he meant it in all seriousness. Techno was the eyes and the ears of their little beach haven, everywhere yet nowhere. Funnily enough, he never got involved in the drama- he just happened to know all about it. Nosy bastard.

“He got the wrong impression of me. That’s all. And now he hates my guts, I guess,” Dream relented, leaning back on his palms. There was no reason to withhold the truth. Someone would tell him eventually. He was there at the bonfire, knew everyone who had witnessed it, knew all of Dream’s closest friends to grill.

“Come on, Dream. This is our bonding time. You’ve gotta give me more than that.”

“You know, you have a really sarcastic tone of voice, even when I know you’re for real.”

“Evading the question.”

Dream groaned, wiping a damp hand down his face, ignoring the sting of salt and sunscreen in his eyes. “There’s really not that much to it, Techno. Apparently he came to the conclusion that I was just trying to get into his pants then ghost him. Like I was just playing some sick joke on him, inviting him into our friend group only to say ha, sike!

“Well, to be fair…” Techno ventured, and Dream scowled. He raised his hands defensively. “I’m just saying! You’ve done that! The only one who actually survived it was Fu-“

“I get it,” Dream deadpanned, going cold. “There’s a difference between doing it to pretentious assholes I knew from club swim team who are only good for a quick fuck, and doing it to someone who genuinely has a cool personality and needs a group to call home. That’s exactly why Fundy “survived,” as you put it. He, I don’t know, passed the vibe check so I reached out and asked if he could keep it cool as friends and- and yeah, he still kind of holds a grudge, but I know better now and I wasn’t going to let that happen again.”

“Wow, you really know how to rant, huh? Anyways. Were you not flirting with George on Thursday?” Techno asked skeptically, a delicate pink eyebrow raised.

Dream flushed. “I was,” he admitted. “Because I think he’s pretty, and when I actually talked to him, he was witty and he didn’t fall for my bullshit, he sees right through it. I’m not trying to get in his pants, I’m trying to take him on a fucking date.” Techno was making a dumb, shocked-but-also-bored face at him and Dream sent a splash of water in his direction. “Can we stop bonding now? I think I’m sick of you already. I want to surf.”

“Wow. Dream has actual feelings.”

“Oh my god, shut up. Says you, Techno, the infamous blank canvas. You have some balls telling me no one actually knows me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Techno challenged, tone unchanging as ever.

“You really want to get into it?”

Techno shrugged, peeling a piece of seaweed of his thigh and flicking it away, unbothered. “Try me, Dream. What do you have to say.”

“You claim I wear a mask. It’s your favorite thing to say to me,” Dream began, and Techno’s eyes darted up, narrowed into slits. Dream pressed his palm to the smile painted on the center of his board in black, staring back. “This one, I wear a fake smile all day long, right? And maybe that’s true. Fine. But then in the same breath, you go and say that you’re so real, that everyone eventually comes to appreciate you for speaking the truth- the thing is, you never speak your own truth, Techno. You speak other people’s truths. You use gossip to keep people coming back to you, otherwise you’d have nothing. You’d have nobody. No friends, no one who would choose to come knock on your RV’s door and ask to hang out, spend quality time. No one except me, Techno. Think about that. Think about that the next time you try to tell me no one knows me. At least I have an identity, a personality. You- you’re just a hypocrite who talks about everyone but yourself because you’re scared no one will like you. Judge yourself for wearing a mask before coming to me about mine.” Techno pressed his mouth together tightly, his body swaying over the swell of waves. “And I don’t understand why you bother,” Dream added, quieter. “You’re funny, dude. And you’re into some nerd shit, but it’s cool nerd shit, shit that all our lame ass friends would be into, too. I know you like your cold, intimidating, stone-faced surfing champ image but you can do both. No one’s going to respect you any less if you go off about something you enjoy or rant about your own life or just let loose at a party. You’re human. That’s… that’s the difference between you and me. It’s that sometimes, you don’t come across human.” Dream spread his arms in defeat. “You can stoop to our level, you know, that’s all I’m saying.”

Techno looked down at the water, where their dangling legs wavered in the cerulean sea. He quirked his lips to the side, nodding. “You know, Dream… I think we’re both just a couple of assholes.”

Surprised, Dream choked on a laugh. “What?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it,” Techno decided, nodding with more conviction. He grinned loosely at Dream. “In the end, we’re still each other’s greatest adversaries. Who would’ve thought.”

“We could be each other’s greatest allies, too, you know,” Dream offered.

“Over my dead body, Dream.” Techno winked, then flipped onto his stomach to start paddling back towards the surf. “Let’s fuckin’ surf.”

Dream chuckled, shaking his head. “Let’s fuckin’ surf,” he repeated fondly.

 

 

Sapnap was such a good friend. Really, who else would wingman as hard as him? Who else would obnoxiously skateboard outside of George’s house with a speaker blasting Come Outside by Mike Sarne and Wendy Richard at max volume? It was the first song that showed up when he googled the words “song come outside,” because he was a simple man with a simple brain. It was by a British guy, too, and the accent was pretty strong in the vocals. Sapnap thought it was perfect, even though it was getting pretty freaking annoying every time it repeated. But if it was annoying him, it must have been annoying George, so hopefully he’d come outside soon to tell Sapnap off. Then the real fun would begin.

He was just in the process of tying his hair half-up with his board against his thigh when the front door burst open, a fuming Brit standing on the stoop.

“Will you get lost?” George cried, running a hand through his fluffy, overgrown hair. He looked frazzled, eyes puffy and cheek red with the creases of his pillowcases. Sapnap laughed at him, the sound echoing across the road, and turned down the music so they could talk.

“Did you just wake up? Holy shit, man, it’s three in the afternoon. Ha!”

“I just moved from the UK, sorry that my sleep schedule isn’t up to your standards,” George rolled his eyes. “Now get off my property.”

“I’m not on your property,” Sapnap taunted, letting his skatebaord fall onto its wheels again and rolling it around with one foot. “I’m on a public way. Yeah, that’s right, I took a civil law elective in high school.”

“Did you pass?”

“Well- no,” Sapnap admitted. He’d barely graduared high school, honestly, and it wasn’t because he was stupid- high school just cramped his style. He was a practical application kind of guy, not a fan of memorization and busywork.

“Bye, Sapnap,” George said tiredly, turning and shutting himself inside his house again. Sapnap turned the music back up, and by then he knew most of the words, so he started singing alongside it- though, maybe wailing was a better word for it. He wasn’t too concerned about the other neighbors getting mad; the perks of sleeping with everyone’s wife (and sometimes husband) was that they were all extremely fond of him. He also gave better head than their hubbies ever could. Regardless, George returned quicker the second time around, stumbling outside barefoot and marching across his perfect green lawn towards the street.

“Aye, there you are,” Sapnap grinned. George didn’t stop approaching, though, and Sapnap took a step back. “Hey, what are you- hey, hey, come on now, no need to be so pressed!” George ripped the speaker from Sapnap’s hand unexpectedly and raised it over his head. “Do not smash that,” Sapnap growled, and started grappling for it. George fought back, and yeah he was a toothpick that Sapnap could easily snap in half, but he had some sharp elbows going for him.

“Just get your sugar mommy to buy you a new one,” George grit out between his teeth, trying to rip his wrists from Sapnap’s grasp. “Let go of me.

“Give it back and I will.”

“Not unless you shut this rubbish off.”

“Fine!”

Fine!” George let go of the speaker, and Sapnap scrambled to catch it, giving George room to free himself and put space between them. He folded his arms crossly while Sapnap pet his speaker lovingly and glared at him. George scoffed. “You all act like toddlers, I swear,” he grumbled.

“Oh sure, says you. Can’t play nice with the other kids on the playground?” Sapnap shot back, turning the speaker off. “You’re a prick, you know that?”

Me?

Sapnap rolled his eyes at George’s ludicrous expression. “Me?!” He mocked in a high-pitched, horrific accent. “Do not play victim with me right now.”

“I’m sorry, was it not your best friend who ruined my chance to make any friends around here?”

“Don’t kid yourself, that was all you,” Sapnap retorted, a nasty condescension bleeding into his tone that had George’s cheeks turning splotchy pink with rage. “Dream genuinely wanted you around, and you painted him as some sort of himbo asshole. I’m the himbo asshole in the friend group, to be clear, so fuck you.” This was not how Sapnap imagined their conversation going, but he was a bit of a firecracker. If George wanted a fight, Sapnap would be caught dead before he backed down, especially when his and Dream’s honor was at stake.

“Yeah, I can see that,” George spit.

“As if that’s an insult to me! Slut shame me and be biphobic all you want, bitch, at least I’m proud of who I am. I’m not some snobby British fuck who jumps to conclusions based on stereotypes, that shit is so lame, dude.”

“I don’t care who you sleep with, you fucking moron!” George snapped, looking away with a hand on his forehead. “God, shut up. You literally don’t know anything about me.”

“Stop judging me and my friends’ characters, and we’ll stop judging you,” Sapnap said plainly, their voices finally lowering. A dog was barking somewhere, at high alert from the shouting humans down the street. “Listen. No more out of pocket bullshit- from either of us. Got it?”

“Yes, for God’s sake,” George sighed aggravatedly, rubbing his eyes before dropping his hands to his sides. “What, then? Is our screaming match over? Is that all you stood outside my door for, blasting some godawful song from the 60’s?”

“Wha- oh, right. No, not at all,” Sapnap realized, blinking with arched eyebrows. “Uh. Things escalated, to say the least.”

“So?”

“Well…” Sapnap explained, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, a bashful grin taking over. George muttered a disbelieving oh my god. “Just hear me out. Do you smoke?”

George regarded him coolly, arms tight across his chest. “Are you seriously trying to sell to me right now?”

“What? No. I mean, I can if y- no, don’t leave!” Sapnap darted around George to stand between him and his house. “I’m trying to make it up to you, man. We all got off on the wrong foot. Dream wasn’t going for a hit and run with you, I swear, pinky promise.” Sapnap held out his pinky, and George looked at it in mild distaste. “Just come smoke with us tonight, it’ll be fun. Less of a crowd. Dream and everyone else really wants you around, they thought you were cool. Okay, maybe not cool, I’m the only cool one these losers know, but- you fit right in, is what I’m saying.” Sapnap smiled cheekily, still offering his little finger. “What do you say?”

George stood firmly. “I don’t smoke.”

“Okay, well, there’ll be free food and good company, so come anyways.”

“I can’t come home smelling like marijuana.” George glanced past Sapnap, towards his house, muttering, “Mum would skin me.”

“Okayyy,” Sapnap searched for more to offer, but sighed and gave up, letting his hand fall. “So, no to the smoke sesh. That’s fine, I respect it. What about volleyball this Sunday- uh, tomorrow? Come watch. We’re always looking for more teammates. You can hang with Callahan- he’s a good shit, trust me, kinda quiet, though. After we win,” Sapnap continued confidently, “we all go out for pizza. Just say yes. Come on. It’s pride month, you’re homophobic if you say no.”

George scowled. “Can you quit it with that, I’m not-“ He cut himself off, closing his eyes and releasing a tense breath. Sapnap supposed he could see the appeal. George had a pretty face, even if he did act like a pretentious asshole. If he was giving him a second shot, though, then Sapnap at least hoped George showed him the same courtesy. “Fine. What time?”

“Let’s go!” Sapnap pumped his fist, and George snorted, a semi-fondness in the noise that Sapnap took as a good sign. “I’m picking you up in the Mustang at noon. Don’t oversleep, London boy, you’re not on Big Ben time any more.”

“I’m not even from London.”

“Don’t care, nobody asked.”

By then, George was grinning softly, amused by Sapnap’s gruff nature and prideful antics. Dream had been right when he’d predicted they’d fight like cats and dogs, but Sapnap rather thought it could be a fun sort of antagonistic friendship. That was only if George fucking behaved himself, though. Mans was on thin ice again.

“You wanna go get a smoothie?” Sapnap added on a whim. “They have a Redbull one that’ll wake you right up. And I can convince the smoothie guy to give it to us for free with the infamous Sapnap charm.”

“Um…” George considered, eyes flickering back towards his house again, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. Damn, okay, Sapnap definitely saw the appeal. He was a good looking dude, Sapnap had to admit, albeit begrudgingly. Slim and wiry with a strong jaw and the slightest curl to his hair, which looked so soft. Sapnap was used to everyone around having hair forever crusted with salt from the sea, skin always tanned from days in the sun. George was sort of an enigma. He was otherworldly, in their little ocean town. Sapnap was more a fan of the locals, but of course Dream was breathtaken by this boy with his soft mannerisms and silver tongue.

“Just say yes, I’m trying to be your friend.” We have to get along if Dream plans on wining and dining you in the longterm, Sapnap didn’t say. He smiled innocently.

“Fine.” George glanced at Sapnap’s skateboard, shuffled nervously on his feet for a moment, then blurted, “On one condition.”

“Okay, hit me with it.”

The corner of Geoege’s lips tugged up impishly.

Five minutes later, Dream and Techno were rolling on the boardwalk’s planks outside the smoothie shack with full-bodied laughter watching George and Sapnap approach. Sapnap bailed early to run at Dream’s prone form and start wrestling him. George snickered as he brought the electric scooter to a stop, parking it between the smoothie shack and the towel vendor that was its neighbor. Quackity, behind the counter, had been watching with a face frozen in shock, but finally cracked into high-pitched giggles.

“Oh- Oh my god! Sweet ride, Jorge,” he wheezed out sarcastically, and a fresh wave of laughter erupted from him as George took off his helmet and shook out his hair.

“That’s the last time I’m ever being nice to George,” Sapnap grunted as he and Dream hauled each other off the ground. “You’re evil,” he said, pointing to the offending Brit, who looked quite proud of himself as he helped up Techno. “And he’s fraternizing with the enemy! Smh, dude.” He turned away, doing just that, leaving George confused.

“Sapnap’s dramatic. We’re not enemies. Any more,” Techno explained, dusting off his pants. He sized George up as they stood there. “Get The Nightmare.”

“What?”

“The smoothie.” Techno pointed to the board. “Get The Nightmare.”

“Can we all stop pitting George against me?” Dream asked meekly, falling into a stool at the bar counter. George took the spot next to him, an awkward air between them. Dream offered a hesitant smile that could almost be called shy. “I’m kind of an asshole, but not that much of an asshole.”

George nodded, looking down at the counter, suddenly interested in the stained, glossed wood. “Same.”

“And Sapnap secures another win for the Dream Team,” Sapnap announced, butting between them to throw an arm around each of their shoulders. “Wow, you guys are tense. Big Q, get Dream his usual and Gogy will have Phil’s Crow Dad.

“Gogy is not sticking,” George protested the nickname.

“Oh, but it is,” Sapnap told him.

“On it,” Quackity said, turning his back to begin loading up the blenders. Sapnap enjoyed the view, ignoring the elbow Dream dug into his side. “Techno? You want a Nightmare?

“Nah, I’m heading out. I’ve got work soon.” Techno punched Dream’s shoulder as he passed. “Don’t forget to knock on my RV door. Y’know, since no one else will,” he said dryly, and Dream chuffed, knocking elbows with him.

“Sure, Techno. See ya.”

Sapnap craned his head to watch Techno walk away, his long hair hanging around the small of his back. He turned back to Dream, brows arched. “Since when are you two all buddy-buddy?”

Dream shrugged noncommittally. “Since he kicked my ass last summer in the final competition. I think we’re friends now?”

“Damn. What’s he like? I mean, he’s been around the group for a few years, he’s invited to the bonfires, but… all I really know is that he’s an English major,” Quackity asked over the roar of the blenders.

“Ask him yourself. He’s cool,” is all Dream said in response. Sapnap thought it was kind of weird, but whatever. With one last pat to his and George’s shoulders, he took his own seat at the bar. “He’ll be at volleyball tomorrow, per usual.”

“Any parties tonight worth checking out?” Quackity wondered, pouring out each smoothie and handing them out one by one. Sapnap realized he hadn’t even ordered for himself, but he took a sip and found that Quackity had made the same smoothie he’d concocted for him earlier in the week. It held up. Maybe it really would be the one, and Sapnap would finally get his name on the board- besides Sapnap sucks eggs, which was still up there, to his chargin. What would he name it? Wait, he knew exactly what to name it if the time ever came. Pool Boy Special.

“Eh, Jimmy’s throwing, but Karl said it was gonna be a pretty tame, closed circle type of deal,” Sapnap explained, poking around his smoothie with his straw. Quackity had picked out a red one for him, a green one for Dream- their designated colors, according to Karl, who had color coded the feral boys one day. It appeared that Quackity had decided on light blue vibes for George, which despite the boy’s prickly personality, felt fairly accurate. “A few of us are going to smoke in the lighthouse, though.” An idea struck him. “Would you… want to come?”

Quackity’s face lit up. “Wha- yeah! Hell yeah! I’m not a huge smoker, so don’t make fun of me for coughing like a bitch, but fuck yeah.”

“I mean, you and I can take edibles while they smoke, if you want.”

“Sapnap… you’re a god.”

Sapnap grinned. “When does your shift end?”

“5:00.”

“Cool. I’ll keep you company, walk you to my place. You can shower, borrow clothes, whatever. We’ll take the edibles, give ‘em time to kick in, then walk up to the lighthouse with Punz. Sound like a plan?” Sapnap was flirting. Sapnap was blatantly flirting, so he plastered on a self-confident smile and hoped it worked. He’s give anything to see Quackity in one of his old football sweatshirts. Quackity wasn’t often outwardly flustered, but Sapnap had gotten good at picking up the signs, and it was definitely working.

He grinned back nervously. “Yeah, sure, it’s a date- uh.” It was really working. Quackity covered up with a laugh, subtly hiding his face as he turned to clean his workstation. As soon as he was looking away, Sapnap tilted his head to smirk at Dream, who rolled his eyes at him and mouthed, you’re whipped.

Dream cleared his throat. “We’re crashing at Sap and Punz’s house after, too, if you’re down.” He winked at Sapnap. Dream made that up on the fly. Slick bastard. The mutual wingmanning was strong that day.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Quackity wrung out his damp rag in the sink before hanging it to dry and finally facing them again, leaning on the far counter of the miniscule shack. “George, please, I’m begging you- let me take that dumb fucking scooter for a spin sometime.”

“Me too,” Dream added immediately, to George’s exasperation.

“I’ll give you a ride home, Dream. Quackity- you’re never getting your hands on it,” George said, trying his smoothie. Phil’s signature Crow Dad was chalk full of Redbull, watermelon, strawberries, and a hint of mint. George’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. This is good.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, asshole. I make you a delicious, perfectly crafted smoothie, and you refuse to let me ride your scooter. Is this the thanks I get?” Quackity complained, just for the sake of complaining.

Him and George bickered while Sapnap watched, content in the cool breeze coming off the ocean, the sun making him pleasantly drowsy. He leaned against Dream’s side, and Dream pressed into him as well. “So, what’s going on with Techno?” Sapnap asked, quiet so as not to interrupt Quackity and George’s conversation, which had already evolved to a more civil discussion about their home countries. Somehow.

“Oh, I stayed over his place last night and caught a sunrise surf with him. First waves of the season. It was nice,” Dream explained, offering Sapnap his smoothie straw. They traded sips, and Dream hummed his approval for Sapnap’s new go-to.

“So the infamous rivalry is over? Damn. Low key disappointing. There was a lot of potential for great sexual tension there.”

“No, there absolutely was not any potential for that,” Dream stated firmly, and Sapnap snickered, knocking their heads together. “You invited Q to the smoke sesh,” Dream noted, even softer than before.

Sapnap shrugged. “To be fair, I tried to invite George, too, but I don’t think it’s his scene. It’s a miracle I even convinced him to hang out with me long enough to grab a smoothie. Oh! And he’s coming to volleyball. Just to watch, but- he’ll be impressed enough to join. I’m sure of it.”

“He’s from England, he’d probably be trash at beach volleyball,” Dream admitted, glancing over at the sleepyheaded man to their left. Luckily, he was thoroughly distracted by Quackity’s expressive way of speaking, large gestures and reenactments and a hilarious impression of his Hispanic mother. George’s smile was big and bright.

“He’s got good teeth for a Brit.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“I’m a good wingman. Admit it.”

“Um, who was the one who just secured you a sleepover with Quackity?”

“...Fair.”

 

 

“How was your scooter ride with George?” Punz asked smugly, having heard everything from Sapnap.

“Did you lovingly hold his waist like the Titanic scene?” Sapnap jested at him. The two of them were awful together. Like the same person, but in different fonts.

“Did he sing My Heart Will Go On?” And then there was Quackity, who was just too good at bouncing off the energy in the room.

“Did you pop a boner?”

“Did he introduce you to his parents?”

“Did you fuck him in your mom’s Honda?”

The three burst into laughter at Quackity’s last question, Sapnap curling into a ball and falling into his lap. Totally by accident, Dream was sure, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on,” he muttered, just barely biting his tongue on a quip at Sapnap and Quackity’s expense. They weren’t quite established enough to make jokes about to their faces; they were still in the phase where too much too quick could scare them away. They looked real cozy, though, Sapnap settling his head on Quackity’s thighs and throwing his legs over Punz’s lap. Punz, currently holding the bong, threatened to light Sapnap’s leg hair on fire if he didn’t get his feet off of him.

“Fuck off, let me be comfy. I’ll kick you,” Sapnap threatened.

“I’ll pour bong water on you.”

Callahan silently took the lighter and glass from him before catastrophe could happen, and Dream shared a grateful nod with him as they cashed the bowl in a joint effort. It was set aside for the moment, all of them taking a few minutes to enjoy the high they had going. The old, abandoned lighthouse was their favorite smoke spot. It was small, isolated, no one ever visited it, and still in decent enough condition that no rats or homeless people hung around it. There were a decent amount of spiders, though. Otherwise, there were plenty of barrels to lean against, frayed rope to fiddle with, and neat little fishing artifacts around to look at. Someone had barricaded the stairs with the sparse furniture that used to populate the bottom of the tall tower, but it was for the better- they didn’t need anyone stumbling up to the top and causing an accident.

Punz had aux, which meant a good mix of their favorite high hits; Mac DeMarco, Frank Ocean, Childish Gambino, Yung Gravy, and some vibey shit no one’s ever heard of. Punz took pride in his music taste, for good reason.

“I think he’s cool with me now, at least,” Dream went on, stopping to cough. Punz tossed him a water bottle, which he caught, against all odds. Dream tended to feel numb and like his skin was buzzing when he was high, never sure exactly where his hands were. “Thanks. But yeah, um. Techno, too, which is cool. We should hang out with him more.”

“That’s whack. Who are you, and what have you done with Dream?” Sapnap wondered, reaching up to flick the brim of Quackity’s bucket hat. “What happened to hot boy summer, man?”

“That’s all you,” Dream chuckled. “I just want to surf, get my school shit done, and… and take George on a date.”

“Barf. Vomit,” Sapnap deadpanned.

“Summer lovin’,” Quackity started singing teasingly. “Had me a blast.”

“Summer lovin’, happened so fast,” Sapnap chimed in, making his voice crack to get them all to laugh.

“I met a girl crazy for me,” Punz joined.

“Met a boy, cute as can be.” Sapnap flicked Quackity’s hat again, making him giggle and push his hand away. Barf, vomit, Dream thought, but it was actually pretty sweet, seeing his notoriously slutty friend act so infatuated.

“How you doing, Callahan?” Punz asked, hoping to ignore the two flirting boys beside him. Callahan gave a thumbs up. “Right. You don’t talk much.” Callahan shrugged, offering a smirk. “I like you.” Callahan pursed his lips and put his pointer fingers together cutely. “Never mind, I take it back.”

Dream snorted, throwing an arm around Callahan’s shoulders. “Ignore Punz. You’re my favorite, Calla.” Callahan bumped fists with him, then offered him a Sour Patch Kid. “And this is exactly why.” He opened his mouth, letting Callahan feed him one.

“Damn, now I’m third wheeling twice over,” Punz muttered. “Fifth wheeling.”

“You had a chance, buddy,” Sapnap reminded him, and Punz sighed.

“Yeah. Too bad you didn’t.”

“Wow, okay, fucking roast me like that.”

“I will.”

“Fuck you.”

“You already tried.”

“Hey, your loss. Your mom got the W that time. And the D.”

Punz tried to lunge to his feet, but Callahan grabbed the back of his hoodie and forced him back down. Quackity’s laughter filled the echoing chamber, Dream’s wheezing floating alongside it. Sapnap looked awfully proud of himself, but still made sure to say, “Jokes, Punz, I’d never fuck your mom. She’s as butt ugly as you, anyways.”

“You literally just admitted to trying to fuck me, what do you mean butt ugly? Fucking idiot,” Punz huffed, knocking Sapnap’s feet off of his lap for the nth time, onty for Sapnap to stubbornly return them.

“You guys are awesome,” Quackity sighed, wiping fake tears of humor. “Oh, man. I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to the lighthouse smoke sesh sooner, you dick.”

“It’s not, like, an official thing like the bonfire is,” Dream explained, passing the water bottle to Callahan when he made grabby hands for it. “I guess the more people we invite, the more official it is, though. What should we call ourselves?”

“Bong Boys,” Sapnap said immediately.

“Keefer Club,” Punz suggested.

“Bud Buddies,” Quackity piped up next.

“You three are literally the same person, it’s freaking me out.” Dream rubbed his dry eyes. “Um. I like Bud Buddies. Callahan?” Callahan nodded in approval.

“Fuck yeah. Eat my ass, losers,” Quackity taunted Punz and Sapnap.

Sapnap grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Quackity froze, and Sapnap took the opportunity to steal his hat. He then shrieked and wrestled for it back, rolling around on the lighthouse floor with Sapnap. “Oh, you wanna go, asshole? Let me introduce you to Buff Quackity, he keeps two guns and a six pack on him at all times.”

“Makes sense, got that Divorced Dad Drip. Ha! Oh shit-“ Sapnap was caught off guard by Quackity’s strength. That, or maybe he just wanted to be pinned to the floor by the other man. The latter was actually more likely. Sapnap made bedroom eyes up at Quackity, his wrists held to the floor. “I can be down for this position.” Quackity faltered, and Sapnap flipped them, straddling Big Q’s waist and putting on the bucket hat in victory, treating it like a cowboy hat as he slicked and flicked the rim. He brought out his best Texan drawl as he said, “But I prefer to ride.”

Dream took the liberty of shielding Callahan’s eyes.

“Are you guys done with your softcore porn?” Punz sighed. “I want to pack the bowl again.”

Sapnap laughed.

 

 

“I’m just saying, watermelon is the superior Arizona Iced Tea flavor, and you can simply die if you disagree,” Tommy said. He was laying across two beanbags, his rear on the floor between them because he was so long and lanky. Ranboo laid on the floor beside him, except the opposite direction, one of Tubbo’s bee plushies tucked under his head.

“No, but- you’re wrong. You’re actually just wrong. Sweet Apple is an absolute delight and everyone sleeps on it and I won’t stand for it any more,” Ranboo argued good-naturedly.

“I like the grape flavor,” Tubbo said cheerfully as he played his piano in the corner of the treehouse, where the extension cord came up through the floor.

Both Ranboo and Tommy lifted their heads to meet eyes with mild disgust in their expressions. “I’m sorry, Tubbo, but no one likes Grapeade, that is disgusting.”

“Yeah, that really is the worst flavor,” Ranboo agreed. “I’m sorry, but it is just. Gross.”

Recently, Ranboo had come out of his shell enough to show both Tommy and Tubbo his face, and he and Tommy had gotten in the habit of sharing silent conversations behind Tubbo’s back based solely on ridiculous facial expressions. Right now Tommy was communicating I hate agreeing with you with his angry eyebrows and a downturned mouth like a blobfish. Ranboo was communicanting back but Tubbo is just so wrong with quirked lips and brows arched helplessly. When Tubbo twisted on his stool, they both went blank-faced and rested their heads again to stare at the ceiling.

“That’s not- wait, what was that? What were you two doing?”

“Hey Tubbo, you should play Megalovania on-“ Ranboo couldn’t even finish his distraction before it worked, Tubbo whipping back around to smash his fingers into the keys, aggressively playing the Undertale song. Tommy gave Ranboo a thumbs up. “Anyways. Agree to disagree. The real question is what candy you pair with it.”

“Skittles. You’re a madman if you say otherwise.”

“No, that’s the right answer. At least there’s that.”

“What color is the best?”

“Orange. Hands down.”

“You disgust me, Ranboo.”

“Personally, I think you need a chocolate sweet to balance out the iced tea,” Tubbo spoke over the music, silenced when Tommy and Ranboo simultaneously just said no, Tubbo. “...I liked it better when you weren’t friends.”

Friends and the only two braincell-havers present in the room are two very different things.” Tommy chuckled at his own joke. “Braincell-havers.”

“Aww, you think I have braincells?” Ranboo cooed affectionately.

“One. You have one braincell, Ranboo, and it bounces around your skull all day like the DVD logo. Every time it hits a corner, you have a coherent thought. Like Skittles and Arizona.”

“No, that’s- that’s true. That’s accurate,” Ranboo nodded. “Mhm.”

Tubbo ultimately ignored their banter. He started trying to learn Able Sisters by ear, to Tommy’s delight. Tommy hummed along pleasantly, which really only served to mess Tubbo up, but the atmosphere was too bright and warm for him to complain. The sole lamp in the treehouse cast everyone in soft yellow lighting, and the familiar scent of bug repellent candles sweetened the air. Crickets chirped beyond the wooden walls, music flowed from Tubbo’s talented hands, laughter tore from Tommy’s booming vocal cords, and Ranboo had never felt so at home. This… this was family.

He admired young Tommy and Tubbo’s scribbled crayon art on the walls, the color mostly faded from the wear of time, but Ranboo could make out distinct red, green, and yellow characters. There was a scrawled map of the so-called nation of L’Manberg on one plank, with odd little endearingly misspelled labels like space pogram and camarvan / hto dog van and fungi’s grave :(

“What happened to Fungi?” Ranboo asked, tracing his fingertips over the waxy crayon remnants.

“Oh, Fungi was a fox that lived under Niki’s porch. Sapnap shot it with his BB gun,” Tubbo explained.

“What? That’s awful.”

“To be fair, Sapnap cried for a solid hour afterwards,” Tommy reasoned. “He felt terrible. The BB gun didn’t kill it by the way, just scared it off and it never returned.”

“Oh. That’s less awful, but still pretty awful.”

“Yeah… now Sapnap will stop our volleyball games if he sees a crab in the sand, just so we don’t step on it. He’s a changed man.” Tommy shrugged. “Probably Karl’s influence. What a good man.”

“About that,” Ranboo laughed nervously, snapping his fingers into a finger gun and pointing at Tommy. “About volleyball… yeah, I’m going to keep it real with you guys, I have no idea how to play. Just. Just putting it out there, seeing as you’ve invited me on the team and we’re supposed to play tomorrow. Just saying.”

Tommy’s jaw fell in horror. “You tell us now? We could have been practicing all week! Oh, Ranboo,” Tommy wailed dramatically, throwing his hands up, gazing towards the heavens. “We’re doomed. You’ve doomed us!”

“Hold on, now. Ranboo’s quite tall, what if we made him a setter?”

“Ooh, like Kageyama,” Ranboo said excitedly. Tommy and Tubbo stared at him in confusion. “From… From Haikyuu. You know. The volleyball anime. The- No? Okay.”

“You’re so strange,” Tubbo told him, standing up and going to the shelves against the wall, where different bins stored odd items. One of them had a volleyball in it. Of course one of them had a volleyball in it. “Lay down on the floor again. I’ll teach you.” Ranboo did as he was told, and Tubbo stood over him. “Okay. Now put your arms up. Yup. And make a triangle with your two hands- no, not like that. Like that! Yes! But keep your other fingers spread, and make sure none of them touch.” Tubbo placed the volleyball gently into the support of his fingertips. “Brilliant. Okay. Now to toss it up, you just… push. Like you’re trying to scare a baby. Just push and spread your fingers.” Tubbo mimed it with his own hands. “And then add in some elbow movement to give it more umph, you know?”

“You’re a really shit teacher, you know that?” Tommy commentated, arms folded as he spectated.

Regardless of what he said, Ranboo was getting itz He set the ball up about a foot before catching it loosely in his fingertips again, only to spring it back up immediately. Watching Haikyuu was finally paying off. Ranboo knew this day would come.

“He’s got it!” Tubbo cheered, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah, okay, but this hardly gives him practical preparation for a real game. You have to be able to aim, set towards Tubbo, who will most likely be the one spiking-“ Tommy criticized, but Ranboo’s gasp cut him short.

“Oh my god… I’m Kageyama… and Tubbo is Hinata. It all makes sense,” he giggled giddily, still setting the ball, having gotten the hang of it.

Tubbo met eyes with Tommy. “Yeah, we’re doomed.”

“Please tell me Jack Manifold is the ace,” Ranboo begged. “He has to be. Tell me he is.”

“I don’t know what that is, Ranboo.” Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose. Tubbo trudged back to his piano to play a forlorn version of Megalovania with the strings setting. “It’s beach volleyball, it’s really not that serious. Please leave your weeb shit out of this.”

“Never. I now have Haikyuu headcanons for all of us. I can’t be stopped.”

Tommy shook his head slowly. “Only one man can save us now.”

Tubbo paused, glancing over his shoulder before scrambling to switch his piano back to its original setting. He began playing a slightly scuffed version of Everybody’s Rooftop Run.

“ That’s right…” Tommy saluted. To what, none of them actually knew, considering he was facing a wall. “Crow Dad Philza.”

“What are you saluting?”

“Shut up, Ranboo.”

Notes:

Twitter: Hour_of_Blue
Bummer playlist/Spotify: mcc_music

Chapter 4: Sleepover

Notes:

Hi. I took down and revised this chapter because I wasn’t happy with it before, but I’m much more comfortable about it. The beginning is all the same with the karlnapity content, but the rest is worth rereading because there’s new scenes and minor changes to the volleyball (which I glossed over entirely for all our sakes)

I also did NOT proof read the new stuff so :D suffer

Bummer playlist

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

Chapter Text

Nothing knocked Quackity out quite like edibles did. He was pretty sure Sapnap piggybacked his lightly dozing body halfway back to his apartment when they’d decided they were done at the lighthouse, with the chuckles of Punz and Dream and Callahan floating hazily around them. He remembered sitting at their minuscule kitchen table and sharing handfuls of shredded cheese with Callahan before the latter claimed the couch as his bed and Dream disappeared into Punz’s room to share with him. Which left Quackity to share with Sapnap. The night before, he hadn’t even thought twice about it, too pleasantly drowsy and relaxed on the high. He’d snuggled himself down into Sapnap’s bedsheets, smelling like his signature sweet rosewood cologne, and was already entering dreamland by the time Sapnap joined him. He had no idea how far apart they’d fallen asleep, but Quackity woke to find himself thrown over Sapnap’s stomach, head pillowed on his ribs, arms loose around his waist. He didn’t think much of it, at first, disoriented and comfy, a heartbeat under his ear lulling him back into unconsciousness. But then Sapnap’s hand shifted up where it was laid between Quackity’s shoulder blades soothingly, and his eyes snapped open.

What the fuck?

Sapnap’s head was propped up on two pillows, and he looked down at Quackity with a crooked smile, eyes still bleary from waking up. “Mornin’, Q.”

“Uh.” Quackity’s brain was still trying to turn itself on, booting up like an old laptop. “Hi.”

Sapnap snorted, playing with the hair on Quackity’s nape by then. Quackity lifted a hand to pat his head, and finding that his hat was gone, sat up abruptly. “Whoa. It’s way too early to get up. Chill, let’s sleep in a little.” Quackity wasn’t paying attention, eyes darting around the expanse of the bed, twisting his body to look around the floors of the small rustic bedroom. He couldn’t focus enough to take in the details of the dark wooden furniture, the black accents, little collected items on shelves and dresser tops. Sapnap furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Where’s my hat?”

They met eyes, and everything stopped for a moment. Sapnap appeared exasperated at first, but seeing that it wasn’t a joke, softly said, “I’ve already seen it, Q, it’s… a little pointless now. I’ll grab it before we go out to hang with the rest of them, but- relax. Come snooze with me before we have to get up for the day.”

Quackity put a hand on his head, eyes worried. He’d never felt so exposed or self-conscious in his life. Sapnap gently pulled his wrist away, though, coaxing Quackity to lay beside him. Sapnap rolled on his side, tucking his elbow under his head. Quackity was stiff, on his back staring at the wooden beam across the low ceiling, the ceiling fan attached to it, spinning lazy circles above their heads.

“Let me touch it,” Sapnap requested, trying to speak lightly. Quackity didn’t respond, just closed his eyes, lips tense. He heard Sapnap shift, felt body heat along his side, and then the first gentle slide of fingers through his fringe. It was an unusual feeling. Something he hadn’t felt since his mom used to stroke his hair as he fell asleep in the recliner with her as a kid. It was… nice. “It’s soft,” Sapnap murmured. His black hair was deceptively thick, but had a silky, straight texture. Sapnap’s hands were carding right through the strands, fingernails grazing deliciously over his scalp. “And long.” Probably as long as Sapnap’s, actually, but Sapnap’s hair had waves and volume and actually fucking looked good, Quackity thought bitterly. Actually framed his face all nice and looked good tied up and let loose and- and Sapnap was just attractive. Bottom line. “Pretty.”

“Shut up,” Quackity huffed, faking amusement.

“Whatever,” Sapnap grumbled. “I mean it.”

When Quackity opened his eyes, Sapnap was closer than he thought he’d be, gazing down at him with a carefully controlled, calm expression. Quackity’s heart was creeping up his throat, and he was abruptly too aware of his own breathing. The moment was intimate, the early morning encompassing them in a thick honeyed atmosphere with golden daybreak bleeding through the blinds and birds chirping in the trees beyond the windowpane. He could see every one of Sapnap’s acne scars, all his stubble, the bitten skin of his rosy lower lip, the varied intricacies of his indigo eyes. If he could see all that, what was Sapnap seeing of him? And did he find Quackity’s speckled moles and silvered eye scar and ruddy brown irises as breathtaking? Quackity couldn’t imagine a possibility where that would be the case. But Sapnap didn’t look away, mouth parted softly, somewhat entranced. His hand trailed from Quackity’s hair to his cheek, thumbing over a freckle, the back of his index finger catching another as they grazed the delicate slope of his nose. Cupid’s bow. The deepset corner of his lips. Chin. Sapnap tilted Quackity’s head, ever so slightly, with gently guiding pressure. Quackity swallowed, and exhaled unevenly. Sapnap was staring at his mouth, fingers on Quackity’s jaw, drawing them together by mere fractions of a centimeter-

Quackity pulled away, sitting up, a panicky laugh finding its way out of his throat. “That’s kinda- That was kind of gay, dude, not gonna lie.”

Sapnap’s eyes were still flickering over the space where Quackity had just occupied. He fell onto his back again, looking blankly at the ceiling. A quiet scoff. “Yeah. Kinda sus, low key.”

Quackity couldn’t do this. He climbed out of bed, stepping on something. He looked down. His bucket hat. He yanked it on and started collecting his discarded work clothes from yesterday. “I should head out, get ready for volleyball. I’ll wash these and return them,” he gestured to the comfy clothes Sapnap had lent him to sleep in, a high school football hoodie with his name and the number 4 on the back and plain black sweats. “Um. See you later!” He tried to wave cheerfully. Sapnap lifted his hand half-heartedly.

“See ya, Q.”

Oh, I fucked up. His thudding heart was telling him to flee as fast as he could, his hand on the doorknob, but brain screamed wait! He hesitated, fingers tightening on the brass knob, and looked over his shoulder. Sapnap had thrown an arm over his eyes, mouth stoic. I’m sorry, he wanted to say, but for what, he didn’t know. Can we talk? he knew was a better approach, but he was a coward. He wouldn’t know what to say, anyways. What needed to be talked about?

“Wanna…” Words spilled out of him, desperate, and he only had seconds to stop himself from derailing. “Get breakfast? My treat?”

I’m trying, you have to know that I’m trying , Quackity thought in Sapnap’s direction as the other man took a deep breath and released it. “Nah. I think I’m just going to go back to sleep.”

“Oh.” At Quackity’s crestfallen tone, Sapnap lifted his arm to peer over at him. Quackity just barely saved face, slapping on an understanding smile. “Yeah, I feel that, man. I’ll head out, leave you to it.”

Instead of responding, Sapnap flopped over onto his stomach, shoving his face in the pillow. Quackity lingered for a second longer, just to mentally beat himself up to the image of his upset friend, before slipping from the room.

Apparently it was a more ludicrous hour in the morning than he originally thought, and part of him wanted to believe that was why Sapnap acted the way he had, and that maybe he was so sleepy still that he’d forget later. The sun was only just rising, after all.

It felt like a walk of shame.

It was only twenty minutes to his place, but he really wasn’t in the mood for anything any more, bummed out by the events of the morning, angry with himself and sort of with Sapnap, too. I mean, what the hell, right? Kind of out of nowhere. It wasnt. It wasn’t out of nowhere. Quackity knew that, he was just living in blissful denial- though it wasn’t so blissful any more.

He chose the scenic route on the way back, walking on the ocean side of the street, passing by empty shops and restaurants and houses. Sapnap and Punz lived past the numbered streets, where the suburbs got a little more rustic. Their house was better described as a cottage, perhaps, with an outdoor shower and exposed wood and a tiny backyard, nestled into the woodsy part of the shore. Quackity’s place toed the line between cottage and middle class heaven, living in the last of the numbered streets, 12th Street. He stopped when he reached where he had to cross the road, which was dead quiet. Instead of going home, though, he drifted towards the concrete wall that separated the sidewalk from the beach, and took a seat to calm himself with the ASMR of the sea for a few minutes. He has nothing but time to kill, to be fair. He couldn’t have gone back to bed if he tried, too wired off the anxious energy of what could have happened. Sapnap almost-

“Hey there, stranger!”

Quackity nearly fell off the concrete wall, flailing and choking on his own spit, which sent him into a coughing fit. “Jesus- ack, Jesus fucking Christ, man!”

Karl hissed in sympathy as he dropped down next to Quackity, thumping his back to help free up his airways. All it really did was jostle him around. “Sorry. I tried to walk loudly so I wouldn’t scare you.”

“Walk lou- Karl, I love you, but what the fuck? Also it’s, like, five in the morning, why are you awake?”

Karl giggled, hugging his purple bucket to his chest and swinging his dangling legs over the wall. “Prime tide pool hours, baby.”

Quackity gaped at him in mix disgust and fascination. “You’re insane.”

“Okay, why are you awake then, Big Q?”

“Ah, well, you know- about that-“ Quackity promptly looked away, face getting hot, and Karl wiggled next to him in curious excitement

“Oh? What’s this now?” He could hear the playful grin in Karl’s voice, lilting suggestively. “What’ve you been up to, Quackity?”

“Just. Getting high and… having a sleepover.”

“With…?”

Quackity froze. Do I tell him? He wasn’t blind to the weird thing going on between all of them; he just willfully chose to ignore it out of fear of the unknown, of attachment, of being relied on, of relying on others. I need therapy. “it’s really not what you think, Karl,” Quackity mumbled.

“If it’s not a big deal, why aren’t you telling me?” Karl countered, and Quackity glanced at him with narrowed eyes. Karl beamed at him in victory.

“Okay. You know what- I slept over Sapnap’s,” Quackity blurted out, watching Karl’s eyes turn to saucers. If he was upset by it, then he was really good at hiding it, because all Quackity could detect was giddiness.

“And…?” Karl prompted, leaning close in anticipation. Quackity leaned away equal distance, like water displacement, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing,” he said plainly. Which was true, in his opinion, because something almost happened but it didn’t, therefore nothing happened. Right? That was how that worked?

Realizing something was off, Karl backed away, a crease showing up between his brows. He took in the pastels of dawn and the Sharks hoodie Quackity wore and the crescent indents where Quackity had been clenching and unclenching his fist anxiously the whole walk from the cottage. Karl took one of his hands tenderly and traced over the marks, frowning. “I… don’t think that’s true. But you don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry for pushing,” Karl murmured, blushing in embarrassment, releasing him quickly. Quackity’s heart really couldn’t handle all the soft touches he’d gotten that day, and it had only just begun.

He deflated. “I think Sapnap was going to kiss me.”

Karl’s head shot up, a quiet sort of intrigue in his expression, but again- not upset by this news. “And you didn’t want him to?” Karl guessed.

Quackity hated that his heart was pounding again, just when he’d calmed it. He shook his head, suddenly finding interest in staring at the sliver of concrete between them, grains of sand caught in the rough texture. “I think I- I think I did.”

“Were you scared?”

“I’m still scared.” Of this, right now. Of you. Both of you terrify me. Which was comical, because Karl was sitting there with his purple bucket and bare feet with each nail on his fingers and toes painted in pastel rainbow.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Karl asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Quackity answered honestly.

“Okay. What if you come to the tide pools with me for a bit and if you want to talk, you can. If you don’t, then don’t.” His features were so gentle with his downturned puppy dog eyes and sugary sweet smile.

So Quackity joined him at the tide pools near the jetty, at the opposite end of the beach from the cliffs, where the great boulders trapped microbiomes while the tide went out. Quackity had to stop and switch his crocs to sport mode, holding Karl’s hand for balance, and then just… didn’t let go as they helped each other along the rocks. Quackity had emotional whiplash, palm probably sweaty with nerves and the creeping heat of the day warming the morning, but Karl didn’t seem to mind. He only let go when they finally found a good pool, Karl gasping and crouching to cup his hands in the water, bringing out a teeny tiny crab.

“Hello! Hi there, precious baby,” he cooed at the little creature holding it close to inspect it. “You’re beautiful! Look at you.”

Quackity squatted next to him to take a look at its pretty sapphire claws. He reached over to pet it with a single finger along its shell. “A blue crab. That’s adorable.”

Callinectes sapidus,” Karl rattled off effortlessly, then gently turned the crab over. “A female! Hi, little lady.”

“How can you tell?” Quackity wondered, staring at its underbelly.

“This right here,” Karl explained, running his thumb over the wide abdomen with blue tinted vertical slats in the shell. “On a male, this part literally looks like a penis. Which it is. It’s kind of funny. I can try and find one-“

“I’ll pass on the crab dick, thanks,” Quackity chuckled, helping Karl put the crab back onto its legs. Karl was watching him fondly, not even looking at the critter any more.

“You’re surprisingly gentle with her,” he remarked. “To be honest, I kind of expected you to be afraid.”

“Of a baby crab? No way,” Quackity huffed.

“Well, you did scream when Sapnap threw a salp at you.”

Quackity floundered defensively. “Wha- I thought it was a jellyfish!” Karl laughed, that infectious giggle of his that hiccuped out of him uncontrollably, and Quackity grinned. “Honestly, though, you’ve convinced me that there’s nothing to be afraid of, as long as I’m careful and respectful of their habitat.”

At that, Karl looked overjoyed. “I taught you that? Me?”

“Yes, Karl.” Quackity almost reached to ruffle his hair, but stopped himself, remembering Karl didn’t like his hair touched. He adapted, clapping him on the shoulder instead. “You’re a marine biologist, I trust you.”

“Well, not technically. Not yet, at least.”

“So I shouldn’t trust you?”

“No! You should! Go on, dive your hands in there, I wanna see you find something since you claim you’re all brave now because of me,” Karl encouraged him, nodding towards the pool smugly.

“Well, okay, maybe not that brave-“

“Nope, go on, I insist,” Karl said confidently. “Here, I’ll help.” He carefully scooted the crab off this hand and into his bucket, not wanting to re-catch the same one. He took Quackity’s hand, lacing his fingers over the top of his, and dipped them into the water. It was warm- both Karl’s hand and the tide pool.

“It feels like I’m putting my hand in piss,” Quackity muttered.

“And you know what that feels like, why?” Karl jested, and Quackity rolled his eyes with a scoffed oh my god. Karl guided Quackity’s palm across the slick rocky bottom of the pool, simultaneously searching with his eyes. When they traveled to a dark little rock cove in the water, Quackity tensed and hesitated, but Karl tugged him right in. The water was cooler there. He sucked in a breath when his fingers touched something that felt like legs, and Karl giggled, slipping his hand free and shaking the droplets away. “Pick it up.”

“What is it? Will it bite me?”

“Hm… don’t think so.”

You don’t think so?

“Pick it up!”

Quackity felt a lot less brave without Karl’s guiding hand, but he held his breath and pulled the creature out. He stared at it dumbfoundedly, feeling like an overdramatic idiot. “A fucking starfish? You knew, didn’t you.”

“Course I knew, silly,” Karl teased, pressing against Quackity’s side so they could look at it together. “They’re technically called sea stars, but I’m not fussy about the names.”

“It has six arms.” Quackity brought his face closer to it, and nearly threw the thing when it started moving. “It’s walking. Why’s it walking? Oh my god, what are those?” He panicked at the sight of the thousands of tiny little feet sticking out of its appendages, helping it move. “No. Fuck that. Take it, take it, Karl-

Laughing, Karl took the sea star from him, stroking its bumpy surface affectionately. “Those are just its tube feet. Come on, Quackity, it’s cute.”

“No, no. The crab was cute. That thing is horrifying,” Quackity argued, wiping his hands on his pants. Or, rather, Sapnap’s pants. Whatever, he promised to wash them anyways. He shuddered. “Eugh. I need to wash my hands.”

“It’s not dirty,” Karl insisted, then tilted his head. “But, well, it does poop out its own mouth to eat before sucking it back inside.” He made a little slurping sound effect just to traumatize Quackity even more, whose expression was absolutely horrified. Karl put the sea star back in the tide pool, then released the crab as well. “Next tide pool! I see a big one over there. Maybe we can find some snails.”

“Snails. Yeah, I like snails. Snails are cool,” Quackity agreed, ready to move on.

“We can feed them to the seagulls.”

Huh?!

 

 

Dream got woken by a door closing somewhere in the house. He tried to fall back asleep, but after a few more hours of restless dozing and fighting Punz’s unconscious form for the blankets since the AC unit was right next to his bed, he gave up and padded out to the cramped kitchen and living room space. There, he paused, considering if he was hungry yet or not, then deciding against it. He didn’t want to be too loud with Callahan passed out on the couch. He poked his head into Sapnap’s room to check on him and Quackity only to find Big Q gone. Sapnap lifted his head from where he was sprawled on his stomach, squinting groggily at him. Dream peered down the hallway to see the bathroom door open and empty before entering Sapnap’s room, closing them in.

“Where’s Quackity?” Dream whispered. Sapnap groaned, shoving his face back into his pillow. Dream climbed into bed to sit next to him, chuckling. “Uh oh. Come on, tell big brother all about it.”

“I fucked up.”

“You guys didn’t… you know. Because I have money on that.“

“You what?”

“Nothing.”

Sapnap scoffed ruefully, flipping onto his back to gaze forlornly at the ceiling. “Classic Sapnap, just trying to get into everybody’s pants, right?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. Shit happens when you’re high and feeling good, that’s all I’m saying.”

He was silent for a few moments, jaw tight. He shook his head. “No. We didn’t fuck,” he finally said, quiet. “I tried to kiss him, and he pulled away. Said that was kind of gay and left.”

Dream floundered for a response, stunned speechless. “He actually said that?”

“Yeah. Feels bad, man. Guess I read him wrong.”

“You did not read him wrong,” Dream denied instantly. There was no way. He’d seen it with his own eyes, fond looks at the back of Sapnap’s head and dopey grins whenever Karl came along. No. Quackity was definitely crushing hard. “Maybe he’s just not ready. Are you even ready? I mean, you’re still fucking around as a pool boy and you have a sugar mommy. Hot boy summer or whatever. You’ve never really been the relationship type. That’s what you want, right?”

“Jesus, just because I’m sexually active doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. I’ve never been the relationship type because I’ve never liked anyone this much,” he bit out, face tinted pink in frustration and embarrassment. “Am I supposed to suddenly be celibate just because I’m interested in someone?”

“I guess people have different views on that… and I don’t really know how to answer. I’ve been in a dry spell, and now all I can think about is George, so I’m not really interested in having sex with anyone because it wouldn’t be him. You’ve never had a dry spell, so I really can’t blame you for doing your thing, but don’t you ever wish it was someone you liked?” Dream tread carefully, not specifying, but Sapnap had to know what he meant. Karl and Quackity. It was ballsy of him to even bring up George, all things considered, but he’d already admitted to Techno (of all people) about how whipped he was, so why not Sapnap too.

“I don’t know… sex isn’t all that serious to me, you know this. But at the same time, sex is important to me. Sometimes I feel like thinking about people in a sexual context is invasive. I don’t have their consent to think about their bodies like that yet. So I don’t. I’m an in-the-moment kind of guy, anyways. My brain is blissfully fucking empty during sex. All primal.”

“I didn’t need to know that last bit.”

“Too bad, you brought this up.” Sapnap’s phone vibrated harshly against the wood of his bedside table. He sighed and rolled onto his side to reach for it, reading the dimmed screen. He sat up abruptly, unplugging it to look closer. “No fucking way.”

“What?” Sapnap showed Dream his phone, a series of messages open. Dream wrinkled his nose. “Gross, dude, I don’t want to see the sexts between you and your sugar mommy.” Then Dream tilted his head a little at one of the photos she’d recently sent him. “Wait. She’s kinda hot. Okay, I get it now.”

“Dude. Read the most recent text, idiot,” Sapnap rolled his eyes.

Hey baby, I’ve got 2k and a pair of real handcuffs for you if you- oh my god, who are the handcuffs for, you or her?”

“Me. Keep reading.”

Dream shuddered, but carried on. “If you watch Mars for me today. What, is that her dog or something?”

“That’s her fucking kid,” Sapnap deadpanned. Dream’s jaw dropped of it’s own will. Sapnap scowled at him. “So help me god, if you don’t wipe that look off your face-“

“Are you going to do it?”

What? We have volleyball today, hell no. I don’t want some four year old little bastard running around-“ The phone vibrated again. Sapnap checked it. “Please babes, I’ll drop him off in 10. My hands are tied and not in the fun way. I’ll make it up to you. Thanks.” He looked up in disbelief.

“This is awesome.”

“Suck my fuckin’ balls, this is awful.”

“You gonna put a car seat in the Mustang?” Dream chuckled, laughter beginning to bubble out of him. “Gonna put a leash backpack on the kid? Carry around a diaper bag?”

“He’s four, he doesn’t wear diapers any more, moron.”

Dream wheezed, and Sapnap punched him in the leg, no holds back. That only made Dream laugh harder, whistling like an incoming train as he clutched his leg in pain and choked on his own breath. Sapnap kicked his shin before getting out of bed.

“You’re on babysitting duty while I fuck her in her Porsche before she leaves.”

“I’m gonna p-pee myself,” Dream choked out, humored tears collecting on his lashes.

“Goddamn, dude, calm down. You’re more of a bedwetter than Mars.”

Callahan cracked the door open to blink drowsily at them in question, heard what Sapnap said, and immediately closed the door again with a shake of his head.

“Fuck me,” Sapnap muttered.

 

 

Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo had a bad habit of falling asleep in a dogpile, which usually resulted in a few bruises from misplaced elbows and knees as they fought for a comfy position throughout the night in their sleep. However, that day it resulted in even more havoc than usual, because they were all jolted awake by the sound of a blaring alarm. Tommy sat up, accidentally pushing Ranboo off of him and onto the floor with a thump, legs still twisted in the topsheet. Tommy peered over the edge of the bed at him.

“Whoops. Sorry, there.”

“What is that noise?” Ranboo asked, lifting his head, eyes squinty and sleepy. “Is there, like, an earthquake warning or something?”

“Earthquake? This isn’t California, buddy, we’re in hurrican territory. But no, that’s Tubbo’s emergency alarm,” Tommy explained, reaching over Tubbo’s- still sleeping somehow- form to grab his phone and turn it off.

“Emergency? Why is waking up late an emergency?” Ranboo chuckled in tired exasperation, kicking until his legs were freed before standing on wobbly legs.

“It’s only supposed to go off on-“ Tommy spoke through a yawn, which turned into a cough of panic. Beating on his chest, he exclaimed, “Sunday! It’s Sunday, oh my god, Tubbo.” He shook Tubbo, who groaned and tried batting Tommy away. “Tubbo, now’s not the time for beauty sleep, it’s 11:45 and it’s Sunday.

Tubbo’s eyes shot open, going wide. “Oh fu-“

Eight minutes later found the three boys sprinting down the street towards the beach, hastily put together and barely presentable. Ranboo’s Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, Tubbo’s bedhead getting worse by the second, and Tommy slathering on streaky globs of sunscreen as they ran. Tubbo screeched when the bare sole of his foot stepped on a rock, jumping onto Ranboo’s back to be piggybacked the rest of the way. How did he forget his damn shoes? Tommy rolled his eyes. Against all odds, they made it to the courts intact, resting hands on knees to catch their breaths and sweating under the Florida sun.

“Jesus. Late start, there, mate?” Phil laughed.

“I blame Ranboo,” Tommy panted, to the tall boy’s exasperation. “We were up all night teaching him how to play. And it better pay off, Big Man, or I’ll be really, really pissed.”

“Calm down, it’s not that serious,” Phil reminded him, patting his back. “Better catch your breath fast, because we’re up first.”

“Against?”

“Dream and Techno.”

Tommy should have stayed in bed. He sighed, feeling a conflicting mix of resignation and determination, and nodded. “Right,” he straightened up, rolling his shoulders with a stiff crack from sleeping in a strange position. “Let’s talk st- oh my god.”

His stare was pointed across the court where the American team was congregated. He elbowed Tubbo, who whined in complaint. “What?” Tommy pointed, and Tubbo looked, mouth falling open. “Oh.”

“I- well, to be honest, I’m not that surprised,” Tommy reasoned, pursing his lips. “Sapnap!” He called, catching the man’s attention. “Since when do you have a child?”

The kid was hoisted up on Sapnap’s shoulders, tiny fists clasping Sapnap’s hands for balance, only able to wrap around three of his fingers. The child giggled and squealed, shouting, “Hi!” Tommy’s lip curled in horror.

“He’s not mine,” Sapnap scoffed. “I’m babysitting for my sugar mama. I wrap it before I tap it.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Tommy decided, promptly turning away. Phil was laughing at him, and he scowled. “Can we focus? I’d rather not get my ass kicked by the likes of Dream and Technoblade.”

Ten minutes later, and Tommy found himself on the court, feet sunk into soft sand with the sun beating down on the back of his neck. He was stationed at the front, closest to the net, eye to eye with a grinning Dream. Dream was in his element, with George off to the side with stand-in referee Callahan watching on in interest. This annoyed Tommy. He thought George hated Dream- that was what Wilbur had said after the bonfire, anyways.

“Hello, Dream. How are you today,” Tommy greeted him boredly, getting into position with bent knees and floating hands. That’s what Phil always called it when he taught Tommy how to play- keeping his arms hovered and ready to adapt to either a bump or a set at any moment. Dream had won the coin toss, meaning Techno served first, and he always had unpredictable timing. Just then, Tommy could see him behind Dream, spinning the ball between his hands in contemplation. Did he have some odd strategy as he studied the volleyball? Tommy would never know.

“I’m doing good, Tommy. Someone sleep in a little late today?” Dream poked fun at him, lowering his stance as well.

“Maximum rest for maximum performance,” Tommy bluffed. “All according to-“ he cut himself off with a poorly timed yawn, “-plan. Christ,” he sighed under his breath.

“Tommy,” Phil warned, just as the telltale sound of the heel of Techno’s palm serving the ball reached his ears, and then they were all in game mode. They were definitely the four players who took volleyball the most seriously- save for Sapnap and Puffy, Tommy supposed. The rest were just there for casual games and a good time. It was always best when the try-hards were up against the try-hards, because it made for an interesting game to spectate and it prevented instant smoke-outs.

It was a particularly harrowing game that day. They went point-for-point the entire time. Tommy had just nailed another spike to put them even in overtime again when Dream called a timeout. They were all sweaty and red-faced, Tommy especially so- he’d called timeout earlier just to put on more sunblock because he was getting burned. When Callahan blew his whistle, Dream rested his hands on his knees in exhaustion, beckong Tommy and Phil closer to the net. Techno walked up slowly, arms thrown behind his head to open up his lungs, his pink hair falling from its high ponytail from all the movement and exertion.

“Listen. We’re going to die of heat exhaustion at this point,” Dream panted hoarsely, and Tommy didn’t even have the energy to call him a pussy and demand they go until someone’s won. He was bloody beat. “I say we call it a tie and go four against four in the final bracket with whoever else wins their way up to it.”

“Agreed. Fuckin’ hell, mate,” Phil sighed, ducking under the net to shake hands with Dream and Techno before throwing an arm around the latter’s shoulder and announcing, “I need a piss break and you’re coming with me.”

“What are we, teenage girls?” Techno grumbled, but let himself be dragged away by his friend. Tommy trudged to the sidelines where Callahan had his cooler full of goodies for them all and stole a water from the mountain of ice and freeze pops inside. He was tempted to just stick his whole head in there, but that would probably hurt. Besides, Dream was close behind him, shooing Tommy away to grab a handful of ice and rub it on his face and chest. He’d ripped off his shirt at some point during the gameplay and jokingly threw it to Sapnap, who had pretended to swoon, nearly dropping his kid- or not his kid, Tommy was still unsure about that.

“What’s going on here?”

Tommy spun at the sound of Schlatt’s voice as he approached, sunglasses perched on his nose, a glob of sunscreen on his nose that he’d forgotten to rub in. He- wow, Tommy really did not know what to say about his appearance. The hair situation alone was a lot to take in: a headband pushing back his grown out hair, mutton chops, handlebar mustache. He wore his usual red lifeguard tank, but apparently his look for the summer included denim shorts that were just ludicrously short. They looked like homemade cutoffs, the ends fraying against his thighs- Jesus, Tommy did not want to look at the amount of leg he had exposed. There were other, more pressing details to focus on anyways. Like the glittery pink reusable Starbucks cup in one hand, or the orange tabby cat wearing a matching lifeguard vest in the other.

“I could ask you the same, Big Man,” Tommy scoffed in disbelief, voice pitching up. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or stare into the sun until he went blind.

“What do you mean?” Schlatt asked, as if everything was just perfectly normal. He looked past Tommy, an amused smirk tugging at his mouth. “Ha. Of course they put that guy with the chick.” Tommy glanced behind himself to see Punz and Hannah taking the court, Ponk and Niki on the other side, warming up. “Let me guess, Sapnap’s on Puffy’s team. Am I wrong?”

“You’re… not wrong,” Tommy admitted, remembering the bracket sheet.

“That’s not even fair. That’s an OP team, they’ll sweep the floor. Forget it.”

“Can we- Schlatt, I can’t help but-“ Tommy struggled for a moment, head still woozy from being in his focused, competitive headspace for so long. Or maybe that was dehydration. Either way, his brain was still reeling through technique and form and strategy. He took a deep chug from his water bottle. More composed, he said simply, “You have a cat.”

“Oh! Yeah.” Schlatt grinned, offering the cat to Tommy, who hesitantly pat its head. “This is Jambo, he’s my new partner in crime.”

“He has… very big eyes.” And they were looking at Tommy without a single thought in that tiny cat brain. Tommy took his hand back, unsettled by the creature. “Okay. Um. Why that, then?” Tommy nodded towards the cup.

“Hold this.” Schlatt shoved the cat more forcefully at Tommy, who scrambled to take him, holding him under the armpits and being sucked into a staring contest with the bug-eyed, cheeto-looking thing. Jambo. He looked back at Schlatt as he unscrewed the lid of the cup, drawing out the straw and letting Tommy look inside with a self-satisfied smile. “Nobody questions the Starbucks cup. I’m telling ya, man, did this every day in college.”

“You went to college?” Tommy muttered distractedly as Schlatt showed him the beer can sitting inside the glittery, logoed cup. He had a fair point. Tommy pursed his lips and nodded, eyebrows raised appraisingly. “Okay, that’s pretty ingenious. Please take Jambo back now.” Jambo meowed, and Tommy turned his face away. “Oh god. He’s yelling at me. Jschlatt, please.”

Schlatt chuckled, screwing the lid of his cup back on and scooping the cat back into the crook of his arm, only to turn to Callahan and dump the cat on his lap where he sat in a beach chair. Callahan’s face lit up as Jambo started kneading his legs with his orange paws. “Look at him go. My son. Making friends. I’m so proud of him,” Schlatt pretended to sniffle, eyes passing over George standing there before doing a double take. They blinked at one another cryptically. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“Oh. That is George. George hates Europeans.”

“What?” George shook his head to clear it, brows drawing together. “I am European.”

“You’re a traitor, is what you are.”

George mouthed the word what? to himself, rolling his eyes. Of course Dream was there to come to his rescue, handing him a freeze pop and saying, “Ignore Tommy, he’s just salty you’re rooting for the Americans.”

“Who said I was on your side?” George asked, squeezing the plastic tube to make a slushie out of the ice inside. Hm. Maybe he did still hate Dream.

“What? Come on, did you see how I played?”

“You mean when you called a draw? I don’t know, Dream, not very convincing.”

Schlatt raised an eyebrow at Tommy, gesturing at the two. “Are they- is this flirting?”

“I think so, Big Man,” Tommy sighed disdainfully.

“They suck at it,” Schlatt said, then turned to keep listening, like it was a Lifetime movie. He slurped his beer loudly through his straw, and Tommy rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“I’m going to walk away n- oh dear. It appears Hannah has cut her foot open on a shell. Where’s your medkit, Schlatt?” Tommy observed as Punz helped Hannah hop off the court towards a beach chair on one foot, trying not to get sand in the cut. Ponk yeeted the shell towards the ocean.

“In my fanny pack. One sec, hold my beer.” Schlatt handed Tommy his Starbucks cup while he rifled through the neon orange fanny pack around his waist. Tommy snuck a sip, and made a face at the taste, nearly gagging. Why did people drink beer? He would never understand. Schlatt retrieved a small red medical bag and exchanged it with Tommy, taking his drink back.

“Wha- you’re the lifeguard, what are you giving me this for?”

Schlatt waved his hand flippantly. “I’m off duty. I’m gonna go harass Quackity now.”

Tommy groaned and jogged across the court to where Ponk, Niki, and Punz were crowding around Hannah. He butted through the small circle, grumbling, “You’re all useless. I’ve got antiseptic and bandaids. Dr. Innit at your service, ma’am.” Tommy waggled his eyebrows at Hannah, who giggled and rolled her eyes at him. Flyaways from her braids stuck to her in sweat, but otherwise, she seemed fine.

“My knight in shining armor, what would I do without you?” Hannah teased, letting Tommy see the slice in the side of her foot. He swallowed hard at the sight of the blood and sand.

He turned and shoved the medical bag into Ponk’s hands. “Did I say Dr. Innit? My bad, silly me, I dropped out of med school. Dr. Ponk, however, just got his MD,“ he shoved Ponk towards Hannah and scampered away. “You’re in capable hands, my friend!”

He ran away from the scene, stopping when he reached Tubbo and Ranboo, who were practicing different types of hits. Tommy just knew Ranboo had a smug look on his face under that mask. “Knight in shining armor,” was the first thing he said, mockingly, once Tommy was in hearing range.

“Shut up,” Tommy shot back without missing a beat.

“Tommy doesn’t do well with blood,” Tubbo explained, slapping Tommy’s shoulder in a way that was probably meant to be comforting, but it really just kind of hurt. Tubbo had no awareness of his own strength. “Looks like Punz and Hannah are forfeit-“

“Woo!” Ponk cried out in joy from a distance, double high-fiving Niki. “Default win!”

“Default win!” Niki cheered right back, clasping their hands and making them dance in a little circle while Punz and Hannah laughed with them.

The rest of the starting brackets passed quickly. Wilbur and Fundy, bickering like father and son ever since the Dream Incident, were no match for Bad and Skeppy’s synergy on the court. Sapnap and Puffy absolutely destroyed Eret and Jack, as expected, because those two were goofy morons who only wanted to outdo one another and nobody else. Puffy climbed on Sapnap’s back for a loud and overjoyed victory lap, catching everyone’s hands before stealing Mars back from Karl, who was the designated babysitter while Sapnap played. Tommy was really only looking forward to the last game in the first series of brackets: Tubbo and Ranboo versus Foolish and Quackity.

“You and Tubbo are up now, Big Man,” Tommy announced, turning to Ranboo to grab him by the shoulders and center his focus. Tubbo peered around him to listen. “You are extremely under prepared and you’ll probably make a fool of yourself. But you’ve got one thing, my friend… ans that is Tubbo. He will most definitely carry you.” He thumped Ranboo’s arm twice before standing back proudly.

“Oh gee, thanks,” Ranboo replied sarcastically, a nervous sweat on his brow. “No pressure,” he repeated absurdly. “Just none at all. Right. Got it.”

“I’m great at pep talks.”

“You’re really not,” Tubbo interjected, taking Ranboo’s wrist and dragging him away before Tommy could freak him out any more. It was reverse psychology. It would work, he was certain. Sort of. “Come on, you’ll do fine. Look at the competition.”

Tubbo was right, Quackity and Foolish were prancing around their side of the courts like idiots already. Big Q looked sleep deprived as hell, eyes tired, hopped up on pure adrenaline and white Monster Ultra, which he handed over to Karl before taking his position. Foolish slapped his ass on the way to the back of the court to serve. Ranboo stood at the net, stance uncertain, looking anxious but determined. Tommy would never say it outright, but he was rooting for the guy. He had faith in him. Hopefully Phil and Tubbo’s quick rundown would be enough to get him through the game with a reasonable score. From the looks of it, they might actually pull it off- Quackity’s first serve was a flop, and he chuckled in embarrassment before landing his second one. Mans was really off his game, and Foolish didn’t seem to care enough about winning to pick up the slack. He was more focused on making Quackity and the watching crowd laugh, dancing all over the court between volleys, doing a backflip after getting a point, diving for balls that really didn’t require the overzealous move.

Ranboo was nailing his role as a setter with surprising ease. Phil must have taught him how to aim, because when Tubbo called left, Ranboo tossed left like he’d been practicing for weeks, not hours. And when Tubbo had to save a point with a set, it was like Tommy could see Ranboo’s eyes laser in with focus; he saw an opportunity and adapted, jumping and using his long ass legs to smash a spike down across the net, winning them the last point they needed. When his feet met the sand again, he stumbled, having shocked himself. He stared at the indent the ball left in the sand, eyebrows up above his glasses. Everything was quiet for a split second before Tubbo screamed, bodyslamming Ranboo into the sand with infectious jubilation and triumph.

“We did it! You did it! Ranboo,” Tubbo cried, wrestling a confused Ranboo into the ground.

“What- Tubbo, why are you attacking me?”

“Because I’m excited!” Tubbo yelled. “That was brilliant!”

“New guy’s pretty good,” Foolish praised, a winning smile on his face despite the loss. Quackity had fallen into the sand, chest rising and falling with snores. Tommy couldn’t tell if he was faking it or not. Karl ran onto the court to nudge him with his foot, and called out, “He’s alive!” with a thumbs up before bodily dragging him off the court.

Against all odds, Tubbo and Ranboo secured a second victory against Bad and Skeppy in the second tier brackets, Tubbo once again raucous with his glory. It only took Ranboo gulping and nervously pointing to their final oponents cor Tubbo to quiet down, becoming pensive. Sapnap, Puffy, Techno, and Dream stood to the side going over tactics, and when Sapnap glanced over and caught eyes with the intimidated younger boys, he grinned and barked at them like a mad dog.

“We’re doomed,” Tubbo said.

“We’re not doomed,” Tommy argued.

“No, we’re doomed,” Phil affirmed, nodding his head with pursed lips. “Well. I’m proud of you all. Just remember that. We’ll give it our best go-“

“Phil,” Tommy whined, shoulders slumping. “You’re giving us the losers POV pep talk.”

Phil chuckled, eyeing the other team. “Tommy, I hate to break it to you… but the Europeans will be paying for dinner tonight.” That was the stakes they’d always had. Whichever side ultimately lost paid for pizza and ice cream for everyone. Tommy would have to ask his parents for money again. Shit.

“My mum’s going to be pissed,” he muttered, hanging his head in resignation. “Alright, boys. We fight like men. Let’s do this.”

Notes:

Twitter

More Sap and Mars content next chapter, I promise. Yes I named Mars after the dsmp fish. No, I do not know anything about that original donator or that original donator’s gender, sorry! If it’s a problem for them, they can contact me and I’ll do a lil name switcheroo, but it’s not based off of them technically- it’s based off the fish :)

Chapter 5: Dreaming

Notes:

This chapter is literally all DNF fluff. Eat it up, DNFers, but never forget that I am your resident dreamnap king who is selling out for the green and blue trope :)

 

Playlist

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

Chapter Text

“How’s your luck, George?”

George looked up, Dream’s shadow falling over him. He was crouched next to Callahan petting Jambo- funny how the quiet guy and the cat were his preferred company to the crazed volleyball players. Callahan peered up curiously, too, but ultimately minded his own business. George stood, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I want to make a bet. You know, since you have so little faith in me,” Dream proposed, cocky grin sliding into place. “The final game is about to go down. I want to bet my team will win.”

George arched an eyebrow at him. If he was being completely honest, he was fairly certain that Dream’s team would win, too. The four European players who’d made it to the final bracket were good, yes, but it appeared they had an inexperienced player in their midst who won his previous games by sheer luck and the talent of his partner. George would take the bait, though, if only out of spite.

“Alright, then. What’s on the line?”

“What do you want if you win?” Dream dodged the question. George knew that look on his face. He already had something planned, he was just waiting for dramatic effect. Cheeky bastard.

What did George want from Dream, though? He bit his tongue on a joking response like “for you to fuck off.” He was trying to be less of a dick. He also refused to say anything flirty, for fear of exciting Dream’s puppy dog personality, getting his tail wagging thinking George was anywhere near willing to entertain that. He almost said “buy me dinner” but that sounded like a proposition, and again, Dream would probably become way too hopeful.

“I want my Yeezy’s back.”

Dream’s expression fell blank in confusion for a moment, until the light bulb went off and a startled laugh erupted from him. “Oh my god. Are those still in my car?”

“Yes, you prick, and I want them back.” Oops. So much for being nicer. George could kick himself for how often he immediately went on the defensive. Dream’s pushy, teasing attitude certainly didn’t help. He had no idea why Dream was so adamant on being his friend, or whatever. It seemed to him that they were entirely incompatible. Dream frustrated him, and he frustrated Dream. And yet, begrudgingly, undeniably… George’s intrigue was piqued. Maybe he was secretly a masochist for enjoying the way he butted heads with Dream. Whereas George and Sapnap clashed in an annoying siblings way, George and Dream clashed like playground crushes. Which wasn’t far off the mark, he supposed bitterly. “And if you win?”

“If I win,” Dream started, looking giddy, which did not inspire any hope in George, “I get to teach you how to surf.”

“...What?” George was genuinely taken aback. He expected something dumb, like “let me take you on a date” or “a kiss,” something juvenile and basic, because Dream had yet to prove that he was anything but those two things. Well. Except for now, apparently. “You… want to teach me how to surf?”

Dream nodded, his smile wide, but there was an insecurity in his eyes that George hadn’t seen since the dreaded bonfire night. “Yeah. I mean, I think it’ll be fun, and I know I could never get you to do it otherwise,” he quipped, and while George rolled his eyes, it wasn’t like Dream was wrong. George was kind of horrified of the Florida beaches. They were beautiful and the water was always a brilliant crystal blue that had become his favorite color, but the amount of shark sightings and jellyfish warnings? Oh hell no.

“You’re right, there’s no way I’m doing that,” George agreed, putting aside his pride. He was much more worried about the ocean than he was of Dream’s perception of him. Dream’s whole demeanor fell, and dammit that George had to be an empath, because he could practically feel the tight ball of anxiety that Dream probably had in the center of his chest. So he blurted out, “Because you’re going to lose. Bet’s on,” and offered his hand to shake on it. George recognized that he was, in fact, a damned fool.

Yeah. George could picture Dream’s golden retriever tail going crazy, fluffy ears all perked up. He shook George’s hand firmly, muscles vibrating with a mixture of strength and pent up energy. Hopefully that worked against him in the match. George was banking on this tall, masked teenager to be a secret volleyball prodigy- but even so, beginner’s luck was no match for Dream’s technical mastery of the sport, especially within team dynamics. George had a bad feeling he’d be buying a wetsuit at some point that week.

 

 

George bought a wetsuit on Tuesday.

He showed up to the surf shop that Dream had texted him the location of- because they’d exchanged phone numbers during the post-volleyball pizza party. He hadn’t abused the privilege of having George’s phone number yet, but it had only been two days; he feared Dream would try to, god forbid, text him casually.

When George had walked into the shop, he’d been surprised to see Dream behind the counter. Then again, it only made sense that he would work at a surf shop. After picking out a navy blue wetsuit, he’d stepped up with a displeased scowl and said, “Hi, Dream.”

“Hi.” Dream grinned. “I have a board for you.”

“Rental? Is that a thing you can do? Rent surfboards?” George wondered, tone resentful as he begrudgingly followed Dream over to a stand where a surfboard laid facedown, showing it’s white underside and fin.

“Yeah, you can rent a board by the hour for pretty cheap, but you and-“ Dream interrupted himself with a snort, like he couldn’t contain it, before continuing. “You and my sister have similar measurements, so I just grabbed her old one.”

George’s mouth fell open, blinking at Dream dumbfoundedly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“5’8, pretty skinny.” Dream shrugged, doing a bad job at hiding his amusement as he stood on the opposite side of the surfboard, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“This isn’t funny.”

“Agree to disagree. Anyways,” Dream held out a strange looking black tool, like a cross between a small spatula and a comb. “This board is officially yours now, meaning I’m going to teach you all the maintenance basics.” What have I gotten myself into? George bemoaned as he took the item, inspecting it closer. “Step one, remove the old wax using this side right here,” he tapped the flat edge, the part without the teeth.

“Um,” George said, frozen.

“You just scrape it. You really can’t mess it up. Want me to show you?”

“Just to err on the side of caution… yes,” George requested, somewhat embarrassed, but it would be even more humiliating to ruin the surfboard somehow. Dream began rounding the surfboard, and George took a habitual step away when he started getting closer. “What are you doing?”

“Have you ever seen the movie Ghost?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Really? It’s a classic, and it’s honestly-“

“No, I mean you are absolutely not Ghosting me.” George held up the scraper between them like it was a weapon, and Dream laughed, holding his hands up innocently.

“Fine, fuck up your board, see if I care,” Dream goaded, backing away.

George stared at him with increasing vexation. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. Go on. If you’re not going to accept my help, then have at it.” Dream nodded towards the board encouragingly.

What Dream didn’t know about George quite yet was that: for as taunting and provoking Dream was, George was twice as stubborn. So George took one hard look at the old, greyish wax clumped all over the board, and got to scraping. It really wasn’t hard, nor was it as tedious as he thought it would be. He could be as haphazard as he wanted and it didn’t seem to damage the board in any way. He didn’t miss Dream’s scoff, or the way he trudged back to be opposite George again. Scraping the board was quite satisfying, he found, and getting all the gross discolored crap off left a mildly scuffed white surface left. George put aside the tool and looked up, pleased with himself.

“Done. Now what?”

“Rewax.”

Of course.

Dream walked George through the whole process of waxing up a board and striking it with the wax comb. He let George keep the tool and some honeycomb shaped blocks that were apparently natural, biodegradable beeswax- a basecoat and tropical wax. George had to admit, he was a little impressed as Dream rambled on about all things surfing and the ocean and the environment as they carried out the prepping process. Even when he got wildly off-topic, discussing a form of cremation that turned people’s remains into an environmentally friendly reef regrowth framework, he made it all sound so interesting. George nodded along, laughing when Dream added, “I’ve always wanted a sweet ass viking funeral, though. Like push me off to sea in a wooden box and then molotov it or something.”

“What is wrong with you?” George snickered as they flipped the board over, finally done.

“Me? You’re the one who said you wanted to, and I quote, die in a cool way like being murdered or falling out of an airplane. Like, first of all, you’re a psychopath. Second of all, how do you just fall out of an airplane?”

“You wouldn’t get it, only talented people could pull it off.”

Dream’s laugh pitched up into a tea kettle whistle. “You’re so fucking stupid. Let’s put that talent to the test and go catch some waves.”

George’s stomach dropped. Oh god, he wasn’t ready. “Now?”

“Why not? It’s as good a time as any, unless you’re busy today?”

He ran through a list of possible excuses in his head. Dentist appointment. Job interview. Family brunch. Impending bowel movement. Folding the dishes. Hoovering the driveway. Making sure Sapnap didn’t fuck his mom.

“Okay,” he said instead, and Dream smiled.

“Great. I’ll grab some zinc and we can head out.”

As it turned out, Sapnap was not out making love to George’s mother, which was… actually only mildly relieving. However, that meant that Sapnap was there, at the beach, where the tide was going out and the waves were at their calmest. Calm enough to be perfect for beginner surfboard lessons, but also calm enough for paddleboarding. Sapnap had decided to do the latter obnoxiously close to where Dream and George had waded into the water. He had that kid with him again, a bright red life jacket strapped securely onto his little body as he sat at Sapnap’s feet. At least he was well-behaved. Better behaved than Karl and Quackity, who were wobbling precariously on their own shared paddleboard, screeching and berating one another to stand still.

“Did you organize this on purpose?” George asked in exasperation, meeting eyes with Dream, a silent threat for the truth.

“Genuinely, no. Trust me, if I could shake them, I would. You can’t get rid of these guys, they’re everywhere,” Dream told him, shaking his head, but his gaze was fond as he looked past George at all his goofy friends. “Hi, Mars!” He said in a cutesy voice, waving animatedly to the little boy.

“Dream!” Mars cried back. “Hi, Dream! Are you- Um, are you surfing?” The kid asked.

“I am! I’m teaching my friend George here how, it’s his first time.” Dream’s tone was easy on the ears, upbeat and clear. George felt- something, listening to him speak to the kid. Was this his weakness? Oh no, what if Dream is good with cats, too?

“Whoa,” Mars gasped, his brown eyes wide, irises large and reddish in the sun like the planet he was named after. He had a white glob of sunblock on his nose from where Sapnap must have slathered him with it, like a responsible babysitter. Shocking. “That’s so cool. Pandas, can I surf, too?”

“Pandas?” George chortled under his breath, and Dream breathed a subtle laugh.

“His nickname backwards is pandas,” he whispered back.

George thought about it, brows furrowed. “Sa… Sadnap. No it’s not. Idiot.”

“Sure, little man, I can teach you sometime. Not today, I don’t have my board with me, but you can start practicing your balance. C’mere.” Sapnap scooped the kid up under the arms, shifting around so they were sideways on the paddleboard before putting him on his feet. The board was definitely more unstable that way, a weird distribution of balance, but Mars’ weight was so insignifcant that it was mainly Sapnap keeping the balance. He could let the kid pretend, though. “There you go. You’re a natural. Better than those two, am I right?” Sapnap jerked a thumb over towards Karl and Quackity. Quackity had since fallen into the water, and in trying to get back on the board, had knocked Karl in with him. “What do we call guys like those again, Mars?”

Mars squealed with laughter. “Morons!”

George spluttered. “Sapnap!” Dream was wheezing beside him, bent over the surfboard and pounding his fist on the white and cerulean surface. There was a red Supreme sticker Dream’s sister must have stuck on there, too, worn by water and shifting feet, faded by sunlight. George sent a splash Dream’s way. “Don’t encourage him!”

“Listen, if my sugar mommy’s going to dump her kid on me multiple times a week- no offense, little man, I like hanging with you- then I have the right to coparent. I’m teaching him how to be cool. Isn’t that right?”

“I wanna be a badass like Pandas,” Mars nods along dutifully, sending Dream into a fresh wave of uncontrollable laughter. “Don’t pee your pants, Dream,” Mars told him, and- okay, even George couldn’t help but snort at that, Karl and Quackity’s giggles chiming in. “I don’t pee my pants. Well, not a lot. Only sometimes.”

“Dude, you’re so awesome,” Sapnap ruffled Mars’ coily black hair, accidentally loosening the puff it was in atop his head. “Oops. If we lose your hair tie today, tell your mom the dog ate it.”

“She’ll never believe that,” Quackity chimed in. “Rule number one, kid. Never blame the dog, your mom probably likes it better than you. Gaslight her into thinking she never put one in your hair today. Say mommy, that was yesterday. Got it?”

“Big Q is smart,” Mars said.

“That’s the first and last time he’ll ever hear anyone say that,” Karl chuckled. Quackity pushed him off the paddleboard again even though they’d only just managed to get on at the same time, Karl shrieking as he went. George winced at how sexual his shout had sounded, and Quackity and Sapnap burst out laughing.

“Ignore them,” Dream’s voice drew his attention again. He was holding the surfboard steady as it bobbed over the waves. They were far out enough that they weren’t caught in the crests, low tide providing shallow waters and gentle surf. When Dream had suggested they go surfing then and there, George was afraid of what that would mean, if he would be thrown right into the monstrous waves he’d seen competitors tackle on television. He’d been relieved when they’d walked out into calm waters, Dream explaining that they’d just go over some basics that wouldn’t require waves or momentum to teach. “Let’s get back to your lesson. But first,” he offered up the cuff of the red leash attached to the board, “get used to having this thing around your ankle.”

“Um. Does it matter which one?”

Dream squinted at him. “Hm… What’s your dominant hand?”

“My left.”

“Of course you’re a goofy footed surfer,” Dream rolled his eyes. “Now I have to teach you everything backwards.”

“Did you just call me goofy footed? What does that even mean?”

“It means who the fuck is a leftie?” Sapnap scoffed. “Grow up.”

George threw his hands up, floundering on his words. “I- what do I even say to that? It’s really not that strange.” He reached below the water to strap the cuff to his left ankle, peering down into the water at the soft white sand below his feet. “Can we hurry up this lesson, please?”

Dream frowned at him, eyes drifting up and down his form, from his tense shoulders to his jumpy eyes. “What’s got you so nervous? We’re really not doing that much for today, I’m just going to teach you how to go from your paddling position on your stomach to standing surf position. Not too hard, I promise.”

“It’s not that. I don’t care if I fly off the surfboard or whatever. I just…” He hesitated, catching Sapnap’s narrowed eyes, knowing the dickhead was probably about to roast him. George sighed, resigned to his fate. “I just really hate the ocean. Well, not the ocean itself, but what’s in it.” George shuddered, looking off towards the horizon where the water turned to a richer blue. Deeper depths with creatures he’d rather die than be in the water with. Eels and jellyfish and stingrays and sharks-

“Oh my god, he’s scared of sharks,” Quackity pieced it together, a startled laugh punched from his gut, high-pitched and mocking. George’s face felt hot. He blamed it on the sun.

“What? For real?” Karl wondered, sitting criss-cross at Quackity’s feet as he wrung out the hem of his soaked t-shirt. “What for? Sure, Florida has the highest shark attack rates in the US.” George suddenly felt violently ill with anxiety. “But that’s not saying much seeing as there’s only a handful of attacks in the US each year. 33 in 2020, thats it!”

“How-“ George swallowed, mouth dry, the corners of his lips pulling down as he held in his panic. “How many in this state?”

“Only like half of them. 16, if I recall corre- hey, where are you-“

“George,” Dream sighed in exasperation, grabbing him by the wrist before he could trudge his way back to the beach. “Ignore him, he’s lying.”

“I’m actually not, but-“ Dream shot Karl a light glare, and the marine biology major mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

“George, you’re more likely to die from a vending machine. What, do you avoid vending machines?” Sapnap reasoned.

“Shut up,” George grumbled. His legs didn’t feel safe standing in the water. Maybe it would be better if he was on the board. “Let’s just do this. Can I get on? I’m getting on. Fuck you.” Dream chuckled, gesturing for George to go right ahead and getting on his own board, the leash having kept it close behind him. He hopped into the surface with ease, swinging a leg around to sit up and watch George struggle for a moment before flopping flat on his belly and adjusting ro straighten our his body. He huffed. “This is going to be humiliating.”

“Hey, Mars. If you see Gogy fall, make sure to clap, okay?” Sapnap told the kid.

“I hate you.”

Dream demonstrated how to stand once you’ve caught a wave, keeping crouched low on the still water for a few seconds of perfect balance before bailing. “It’ll be hard to stay up without the surface tension of a wave. I usually teach this part on land, but I figured you could handle the speedrun tutorial.” Dream smiled.

“Why did you want to do this so badly?” George braced his palms on the board, ready to try it, but psyched himself out and sighed. “It sounds like people usually pay you for these kinds of lessons.”

“Yeah, I do group lessons once or twice a week for the shop. This is an exclusive one-on-one with the famous Dream,” Dream teased, sitting and watching George get the courage to bite the bullet and try the move. “You should be grateful.”

“Cool, good job avoiding my question.”

Dream rolled his eyes, though his cheekbones were glowing pink beneath the wet strands of dirty blonde clinging to his skin. Don’t think he’s pretty, stop that, it doesn’t matter how party someone is if they’re a standoffish asshole. George was still wary of Dream, to say the least. “I just wanted to spend time with you. Hang out. But if I said that, I would have just sounded like a loser.”

“You’re right, you totally would have,” George agreed, getting a muttered oh, come on in response. “You didn’t need some stupid bet to just… ask me to hang out. We live on the same street, literally knock on my door.”

“Would you ever knock on my door?”

“...Probably not.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s embarrassing.” Dream arched an eyebrow at him, and George added, “But you’re you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re you, too,” Dream retorted lightly. George looked over his shoulder, grateful to see the other boys distracted, throwing seaweed at one another. “You already bruised my ego once, I have to tread carefully now,” Dream chuckled, and once again, there was that flash of vulnerability behind it.

Why did George always take it too far? “So forcing me to hang out with you through a stupid bet is considered you treading carefully?”

Dream grew quiet, pressing his lips together as he thumbed at water droplets clinging to his board. Say something else, George screamed at himself internally. Make it better. But he didn’t. He just waited for Dream’s soft, “No one’s forcing you to be here. If you really don’t want to-“ hang out with me was the unspoken phrase, George was certain of it. Dream shrugged it off. “Then go.” A tight smile. “No hard feelings.”

“Oh my god, shut up and teach me how to surf, you-“ George bit his tongue. “It’s fine. But if I get eaten by a shark, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Dream snorted fondly. “Deal.”

 

 

Dream’s bedroom was hot, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. If he didn’t have the sounds of cicadas and the hoots of owls to drown out his thoughts, he’d go mad. It was the type of night where gaming and music wasn’t helping; there was something claustrophobic about the blue light of screens and the overwhelming swell of instruments and voices in his ears. He wasn’t sure if that feeling made sense to anyone but himself, and sometimes on his sleepless nights, he felt so sure that he was alone in the universe. But he wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t, because he had memories of the day flickering through his head like a movie reel. If his mind was a room, it would be like this: the chorus of a Hayley Kiyoko song on repeat in the front left, his own heartbeat in the front right, his internal monologue in the center, bad memories lurking in the back left, a single word that’s lost all meaning repeating in the back right, and then his freshest memories playing on a projector against the front wall.

George. It was all George.

The way he’d looked in that tight navy wetsuit, the material hugging his slim hips and angular waist. The curl of his wet hair against his forehead. Dream hadn’t been able to help himself at one point, reaching out to twirl his fingers around the lock and letting it slip free in a perfect spiral. George had blinked at him, sat straddling his surfboard, with eyes like a rain puddle, like Autumn in the North, like oversteeped Earl Grey tea. “What was that for?” George had asked. Dream, feigning boldness, replied, “Cute.” It was worth the risk of humiliation when George’s zinc streaked cheeks turned to rose petals.

God, Dream’s head was so loud. There was no way he was sleeping.

He rolled over, collecting his phone off the windowsill and texting the Feral Boys’ group chat. They’d all been speculating adding George to it since they’d had so much fun with him today. It had felt like sunlight on his skin when he’d finally heard George’s true laughter, after daring Quackity to try and do what he’d been trying to do on the board, only to have him fall off immediately and choke on ocean water. The laugh had started off typical, and suddenly veered into something higher-pitched and raucous, full of unbridled joy. Bunched cheeks and wide grin and crescent eyes-

Dream shook his head, eyes focusing on his phone again.

Dream
anyone up?

Quackity
my sleep scedulle is ducked
scedule

Dream
take ur time

Quackity
schedule
fuck u

Dream huffed in amusement. Quackity was a notoriously bad texter, and it wasn’t because he couldn’t spell, it was just because- well, Dream had witnessed him trying to type before. He had crack hands, his fingers went at the speed of light and for no reason. He could slow down and get it right, but where was the fun in that? So his messages were constantly littered with typos. Quackity’s contact name in Karl’s phone was every typo he’d ever made, and occasionally Karl would just let Siri read it to make them all double over with laughter.

Dream
wanna go to walmart

Quackity
whay?? No u spcyhopath

Dream groaned, tapping the back arrow to see the other contacts in his messages. He had an unread text from his dad asking if he wanted to grab lunch soon. He didn’t feel like planning his life around his absent father at the moment. He could go bother Drista, but she usually falls asleep around 1:30 at the latest, and Dream didn’t want to wake her if she’d just drifted off. He paused over Techno’s contact, mouth quirked in distasteful consideration. If Techno wasn’t awake and woke up to Dream’s text in the morning, he’d be clowned so hard for it. Not worth the risk. Techno woke up ludicrously early anyways, so he probably went to bed early, too. He was somewhat at a loss.

He wound up outside ten minutes later anyways, meandering aimlessly down the street, muggy air in his lungs and the pavement pressing into the bare soles of his feet. He probably looked crazy, wandering so slowly with only a tank and some sweatpants on, but no one was awake to witness him anyways. At least he didn’t think so, until his phone buzzed.

George
what the hell are you doing

Dream stopped in the middle of the road, brows furrowed at the text, before looking up. George’s house was the next one up, all the windows dark and the walkway lights off. Dream waved in the general direction of the upstairs windows.

George
ur dumb

Dream
come hang out with me

George
i just saw you like 5 hours ago

Dream pushed out his lower lip and pouted up at George’s house, shuffling closer to his lawn. His phone went off again.

George
stop that
my dog will bark if i try to leave

Dream
does gogy still have a curfew lmao

George
no but if i wake everyone up theyll be mad

Dream
sneak out

He grinned. One of the windows opened, then the screen slid up as well. George’s head popped out, hair messy. He scowled down at Dream.

“No,” he said, keeping his voice soft, but it carried easily through the still, quiet night.

“Please? Just climb out the window.”

“Dream,” George sighed. “I’m on the second story. I’ll break my legs.”

“I’ll catch you.”

“No.”

“Climb down that tree.”

“No.”

“I’ll climb up it.” Dream started walking through the dewy grass, the blades clinging to his feet, feeling nice and cool.

No!” George hissed more urgently, but Dream was already at the base of the tree, hands on his hips as he analyzed how he might scale it. “Dream-“

Dream jumped and held onto a low branch, swinging his legs up to wrap around the wood. He struggled to haul himself right-side until he was straddling the limb. He looked up again, catching George’s jaw-dropped expression. He smirked. “Hey.”

“You’re actually insane.”

“The best people are.”

“Makes sense that you’re friends with Sapnap, if you think like that.”

Dream got to his feet, a hand on the bark for balance. He was close enough to a split in the bark to nestle his foot in the crack and grab a higher branch.

“Don’t-“ George cut off anxiously as Dream boosted himself over the branch, little bumps and twigs digging into his gut. They both winced- George at the dangerous move and Dream at the twinge of pain. “You’re going to hurt yourself, idiot.”

“Hope you’re good at playing doctor, then,” Dream grunted, crouching on the new branch. He considered the parallel gap between himself and the edge of the roof where George’s gabled window was. George saw him eyeing the space and started climbing out of his window.

“Absolutely not. Just- stay there, we can talk like this,” George insisted, shoving his window up higher and sitting on the ledge, feet pressed to the slanted roofing. He was glaring at Dream, who sat back against the trunk, self-satisfaction in his crooked grin. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Shut your face up.” Dream started laughing, and George shushed him frantically. “Dream.

“I love when you say my name like that. Dream!” He mimicked shrilly, keeping his voice quiet as a fresh wave of giggles befell him.

“You’re so annoying,” George scoffed, but he was smiling. Dream took the moment to admire the way he looked, skin pale blue in the moonlight, hands swallowed by an oversized hoodie that fell over the tops of his thighs, hiding his boxers. Dream leaned forward for a better look, and George must have realized what he’d noticed, as his face swiftly began to flush. “Um. I-“

“Is that my sweatshirt? From the bonfire?” Dream asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“It’s- It’s comfy,” George said defensively, pulling at the neck to peer down the front. “I’d give it back, but um…”

It was Dream’s turn to blush. George was wearing his hoodie. Nothing else, save for his underwear. George slept in his hoodie. Oh god, the brainrot was real. He blinked away his racing thoughts. “Oh. Right. No, that’s okay. We can trade some other time- your shoes for my hoodie.” George nodded in agreement, clearly embarrassed. Dream cleared his throat. “Anyways… what’s got you up so late?”

George shrugged, looking up at the stars. The galaxy was reflected in his large, dark pupils. He was pretty. Fuck, Dream thought to himself.

“I guess I’m still not used to the time change. The first few days, I was falling asleep in the early afternoon, and now I fall asleep at like… five in the morning. It’s ridiculous.” He looked back down, meeting eyes with Dream before shyly looking away, surveying the peaceful neighborhood. “What’s your excuse?”

“Trust me, I’m exhausted. I was up at the crack or dawn for work,” Dream confided, shoulder blades pressing against the tree bark. It wasn’t the most comfortable seat in the world, but it would do. Anything to talk to George, uncover more about him. Maybe expose more of himself in the process. “I have ADHD, so my brain just… doesn’t stop sometimes, especially after long, eventful days.”

“Eventful,” George echoed in amusement. “You can say that again. I was laying in bed and I could still feel the waves. Felt like I was on a boat or something. It’s kind of creepy, I’m afraid I’ll have shark nightmares.”

Dream chuckled, relieved at how easily George accepted and bypassed the whole ADHD thing. Nothing felt shittier than when people treated it like it was a chronic diseas. No, it was just him. Just the way his head worked. “I’ve been surfing since I was seven and never had a run-in with a shark. Well- I saw a nurse shark once, but those are pretty docile.”

“You’re not helping. I can’t believe you convinced me to learn to surf. Does our bet include more lessons?”

“I was hoping you’d like it, in which case, yeah it was going to include more lessons.”

George brought a knee to his chest and wrapped his arms around it, regarding Dream with an unreadable expression. “Well, I did like it.”

Dream couldn’t help the way he snickered at that. “No you didn’t. You looked like a cat that fell in the bath. It’s really no big deal, George.”

“No, I enjoyed it,” George insisted, frowning. “The beginning stages of learning anything are never fun, but…”

“But?”

George shrugged, shoulders coming up around his ears. He picked at his cuticle, eyes trained on his hands. “You made it fun,” he admitted defensively. “Maybe you should teach Quackity, too,” he joked, aiming to cover up his admittance.

“For free? No way.”

“But you’re teaching me for free.”

“Yeah, but I have a crush on you.”

George choked on his next breath, coughing as Dream grinned. “Oh my god, shut up.”

Dream’s heart was in his throat, high on adrenaline, bold in the cover of darkness. He read something about how people found it easier to be honest in the dark, even when their expressions were clearly visible and vulnerable. He forgot why. Didn’t care. Dream would argue that he was always bold. Maybe he was just hoping George would be bold, too. “What can I say? I fell for you the moment I saw you.”

“I remember that. You almost ate shit on the boardwalk.”

“Pretty privilege.”

“Making dumb blonde surfer dudes trip over their own feet is pretty privilege?” George scoffed.

“Mhm,” Dream responded jovially.

“I hate you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dream argued in good nature. George raised an eyebrow, but Dream just smiled, enjoying the sea breeze kissing their scalps and the pleasant company he was in.

“Cocky prick,” George muttered.

Dream laughed. A dog started barking. He stopped, frozen. “Fuck.”

“Oh, god- look what you’ve done now. Hide,” George whispered, scrambling back through his window.

“Hide? I’m in a fucking tree!” Dream whispered back, getting to his feet and eyeing the gap again. “You’ve got a big closet?”

“Um.” George paused, mid-duck under his window. “Decently? Why-“ Dream stretched over the gap, foot just barely clearing the gutter, and held out his hand. Panicked, George grabbed it, not wanting him to fall. “What are you doing?!”

“Pull me over. Quick,” Dream urged, fingers gripping George’s, who pulled as he slid through his window. Dream following close behind, rolling onto the soft cream carpet as George slowly shut the window, wincing at the squeak it made.

“Go, go, go,” George shooed Dream towards a door on the opposite side of the room from his bed. He barely had time to take in the details of the room, the whites and blacks and blues, before he was being shoved into a rack of hanging clothes, stepping over different pairs of shoes. George left the door open just a sliver, and Dream stood in the darkness, nerves alight with the thrill of sneaking around, the thrill of being in George’s room. He heard George crawl back into bed and mess about with the blankets before settling. A few minutes later, George’s door creaked open, the hallway light bleeding into the room. George groaned, pretending to be roused, murmuring in his best groggy voice: “What’s going on? Why’s Dog barking?”

“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to wake you. She was sat right outside your door,” a woman’s voice came, just as soft and sweet as George’s, but high and feminine. The dog budged the door open wider with its nose, an adorable Hungarian vizsla. She trotted around the room, sniffing around, and George nearly fell out of bed trying to get her.

“Hey, no, Dog-“ He grabbed her collar, pulling her gently, glancing worriedly towards the closet where Dream resided. The dog whined and tugged at his hold, but he led her back to the door where his mom took the collar. “What’s gotten into her?” George said with faux bewilderment, pretending to rub his eyes sleepily.

“She hasn’t been in your room all that often, love, she’s probably still getting used to the new house.” She reached out to smooth George’s hair, having to reach up. She must have been pretty short, with a petite frame and pretty dark hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. Big brown eyes, lovely pale skin. They were just alike. “I’ll keep her in our room, dad will just have to deal with it. Goodnight, Georgie.”

“Thanks. Goodnight, mum.” George kissed her cheek, and gently closed the door, sitting back in bed. As soon ss the lights in the hallway went back out, Dream was pushing the closet open and peeking his head out.

“Your mom is hot,” was the first thing he whispered, and George threw a pillow at him. Dream held in his laugh, since it was apparently dangerous, and snuck over to the bed where he flopped down next to George on his side, tucking the pillow beneath his arm. George looked down at him, unimpressed.

“What are you doing?”

“What? I can’t sneak out now. Better get cozy and wait ‘til morning when your parents go to work.”

“You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.”

They stared in silent stalemate for a moment before George heaved a sigh and flopped onto his back. Dream was left gazing at his profile. He had such long, dark eyelashes. They fanned over his high cheekbones every time he blinked, eyes sleepy. His weird sleep schedule looked like it was exhausting him.

Eventually, feeling Dream’s eyes on him for too long, George said, “Look up.” Dream rolled over. Speckled all over the ceiling were little star patches that glowed in the dark, that faint greenish tint to them that most glow-in-the-dark things had. “A kid must have had this room before me. They forgot to take them down. I was going to, but… what’s the harm in some stars, you know?”

Dream was realizing that George’s full size bed wasn’t quite big enough to comfortably accommodate two men, at least not without them touching. Every second that passed, he became more attuned to the way their arms pressed flush against one another. They were sharing body heat, which was good because the house had blasting AC. Dream was cold in his tank, but didn’t dare move, not wanting to break their small points of contact.

“Stars never hurt anybody,” Dream agreed gingerly. He didn’t have it in him to poke fun at George just then. The moment felt different. It was one thing to sit in the moonlight and speak carelessly; it was another thing entirely to whisper words in the pitch blackness of George’s room with only stick-on stars for their sense of accountability to cling to. “What was Brighton like?”

“Sunny, this time of year. Pretty. I don’t know. Just another beach town in another country. It’s really different,” George explained, voice low and fond as he recalled his home. “Sailing is more popular than surfing, for one. Kayaking, too. My favorite is Brighton during winter, though, especially the ocean part of it. I’ve never seen anything prettier than snow caught in the lanterns at the end of the docks, falling on terrifyingly dark, calm waters. A still ocean is scarier to me than a violent one. Does that make sense?”

“Like a canary in a coal mine,” Dream suggested. His mind was trying its best to picture the scene George had painted for him, but he wasn’t very familiar with cold and snow. “When it stops singing, you feel your impending doom. There’s something… missing to an ocean that’s still, and you sit there waiting because something’s gotta give.

“Exactly. Like a predator about to pounce.”

“I’m sure this isn’t warding off the shark dreams you were worried about having,” Dream chuckled apologetically.

“Well,” George breathed in resignation, “I guess you’ll just have to protect me.”

It took everything in Dream not to reach out and hold his hand just then. He was practically asking for it. “Ask me something now.”

“Tell me about your friend group. How it all came together.”

So Dream did. They talked back and forth for a long time, trading stories and romantic imagery of their most beautiful moments in life. Dream heard all about rocky shores and Northern pastures and London daytrips. George heard all about the Everglades and hurricane season and the Nickelodeon Hotel.

“I can’t believe your fist kiss was in a hot tub at the Nickelodeon Hotel. Who else can say that?”

“Well, the girl I kissed can,” Dream stated the obvious, just to hear George scoff. “Tell me about your first kiss.”

“Sorry. 404 Not Found. I have erased it from my memories.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Dream was the first to move, after an hour of slowly becoming less and less comfy lying in the same position. He returned to his side, pleasantly surprised when George shifted to face him. “Come on. It can’t be more embarrassing than mine. My whole family was a few feet away watching, it was awful.”

“Mine was worse, guaranteed.”

“Hm. Sorry, won’t believe you unless you tell me.”

George rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He tucked his hand under his cheek, sweatshirt paw and all. Their eyes had long since adjusted to the dark. “I was fifteen. She was seventeen-“

Dream gasped dramatically. “George. You and Sapnap are more alike than you’d think.”

“Gross, shut up. I kiss people two years older than me, he kisses people twenty years older than him.”

“Fair, carry on.”

“The point is, she was older and more experienced and I was pretending I was just as old and experienced.”

Dream hissed in sympathy. “God, that’s the worst thing you can do.”

“Trust me, I know,” George muttered bitterly, shaking his head. “It was… fine, I guess. Nothing special. I was pretty disappointed, actually. No fireworks like books always told me there would be.”

“Ever?” Dream prompted, eyes trailing down George’s face to his lips, compulsory. George remained very still, mouth barely moving when he replied,

“Never.”

Dream’s gaze flickered back up to George’s. “Have you ever kissed a boy?”

George’s chest was tight with how carefully he was controlling his breath. Dream could tell. Dream opened his mouth again, to take pity on him. Sorry. You don’t have to answer that. But then George whispered, “No.” Dream closed his mouth, unsure what to say without scaring George away from this intimate moment. There was no need, though, because finally- finally, George was being bold. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Dream repeated.

A hand touched his cheek, long and slender fingers sliding delicately along his skin. They were cold against his suntanned face, jarring and electrifying. “Tell me not to,” George murmured, the space between them closing incrementally until hot breath feathered over Dream’s lips.

“Why would I do that?” Dream asked him, tilting his head, shifting George’s hand into his hair where they stroked through the blonde highlights and brunette lowlights. It probably didn’t feel the best, even with all the care he put into it after every surf, but it was just part of Dream and always would be so long as he remained in this little beach haven.

“Because I won’t know how to deal with this in the morning,” George admitted, swallowing. “And it will only hurt you.”

“Then we’ll pretend it was a dream.”

“Dream-“

“Exactly,” Dream chuckled, their nosetips brushing, George’s exhalations shaky in the inch of space between them. “Let me know if you see fireworks,” was the last thing he mumbled before George closed the gap.

George’s mouth was soft, uncertain. Dream pressed ever closer, capturing his bottom lip between his own, coaxing George to move, to take, to indulge. It felt like everything Dream thought it would, George’s kiss as sweet as his honeyed voice. Timid, like the way George shied from vulnerability- except he was allowing Dream all of him in that moment. George sighed into the kiss, like he felt relief, and slipped his fingers to the back of Dream’s head to keep him close between every press of lips on lips, tasting of toothpaste and starlight. Dream’s hand found George’s waist over his sweatshirt, cautiously resting in the dip created from laying on his side. He could feel George’s muscles jump beneath the unfamiliar touch, but relax not a moment later. And they kissed. Innocent, hesitant, sleepy, warm. He put everything into that kiss, hoping that maybe… maybe George would wake up and not want it to be a dream.

Notes:

Thoughts, questions, concerns, simply screaming? Please share

The next chapter will have a much fuller cast, lots of fun stuff planned

Chapter 6: Strange Clouds

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sunday. The holy day. The day of rest. The refreshing start to a new week.

Yeah, Sapnap didn’t have that luxury. God, he was hungover. Schlatt parties always ended in liver damage and heads in toilets. He felt around the bed for his phone, his alarm yelling at him, telling him it was 8:00. He could afford to snooze for another ten minutes.

Ten minutes turned into an hour, though, and he jerked awake to Punz slapping his back. Sapnap rolled over, blinking up through bleary eyes at his disheveled housemate, whose blonde hair was fluffy and sticking up all crazy. “Dude,” he grumbled, morning voice thick with sleep. “Your alarm’s been going off for, like, forty minutes. Your sugar mommy’s here.”

Sapnap’s brain was still booting up. “Huh?”

“Michelle. Here. Outside. Porsche. Mars. Baby seat. She’s putting a baby seat in your car,” Punz enunciated, then promptly shuffled out of the room to go back to bed.

“Oh. Fuck,” Sapnap muttered, rolling out of bed and nearly walking outside in his boxers before turning tail to grab some sweats. Outside, the sun was bright, scattered little clouds in perfect snow cone shapes swimming in blue raspberry syrup. He could go for a snow cone right about then. He’d have to take Mars to get one later. Michelle had his little hand in hers as she finished up securing the car seat in the back of Sapnap’s Mustang. Sapnap swept in, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her neck. “Ma’am,” he greeted politely, cheekily. “Little man,” he nodded down at Mars and held out his hand for a fist bump, both of them making explosion noises with their mouths as they did so. “Boom. There you go, you remembered!”

“Hi, baby. Thanks again for taking him. I just bought you an extra car seat that you can keep,” Michelle explained, smiling brightly. She was a beauty, truly. 45 looked good on her, smile lines that spoke of a life full of joy and dazzling white teeth that complimented her warm, dark skin. Mars had been a… surprise, at the age of 40, but his family (and Sapnap) were more than happy to have him around.

“Got any extra time today?” Sapnap asked, leaning against his cherry red door and grinning lopsidedly in the way he knew she loved, dorky and youthful.

She gripped his chin gently between her french-tipped nails, scrunching her nose cutely as she cooed at him. “You wish, don’t you, baby?” She laughed as Sapnap’s face fell into a pout.

“But Punz is around, he can watch Mars while-“

“Ah, ah. No whining,” Michelle scolded, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’ll get your prize later. The mister is coming home tonight.” She winked. “I think he missed you more than he missed me.”

“No shot,” Sapnap insisted, scooping Mars up and resting him on his hip, his lanky legs dangling and kicking lightly at Sapnap’s knees. “Hey, sweet kicks, you’re wearing our matching crocs. Everyone on the boardwalk will be mad jealous.”

“Q and Karl, too?” Mars giggled, little hand holding onto Sapnap’s shoulder.

“For sure. Give mommy a goodbye hug.” Sapnap leaned the kid over so he could wrap his arms around Michelle’s neck, who peppered his curly head with kisses.

“Bye, baby,” she murmured to her kid, then caressed Sapnap’s cheek one last time, tone more sultry as she repeated to him, “And bye, baby. See you both later.”

Sapnap and Mars watched her car pull out, waving from the rocky driveway that led up to his and Punz’s little rustic cottage. It was a tiny house, two bedrooms, one bath, the kitchen and living room sharing a space. They’d gotten it together after high school when they both decided college wasn’t for them, even though Sapnap had been a straight A student and they’d both gotten offered football scholarships. They much prefered roughing it together, doing all necessary repairs on their little place themselves. They were proud of it.

“Guess this means we’ll be hanging out every Sunday, huh?” He asked Mars, who nodded excitedly. Sapnap smiled. “Fuck yeah.”

Sapnap fed Mars breakfast, both of them sitting at the kitchen table eating Captain Crunch with Codename: Kids Next Door thrown on the television, volume low so Punz could sleep in. Sapnap was determined to raise this kid on the good shit, not whatever crap was on for kids these days.

“Stickybeard sucks,” Mars said conversationally.

“Yeah, you right.” Sapnap sipped his orange juice. “Watch, Five’s gonna kick his ass.”

“Why does Nigel look like Pitbull?” Mars wondered, and Sapnap nearly choked on his cereal with laughter. Mars looked at him like he was proud to make him nearly die on his breakfast.

“Oh my god, dude, you have to tell Q that.” Sapnap had to wipe the milk dripping from his nose. “Ugh, gross. That was awesome. Yeah, tell Q, he’ll lose his shit. He has this weird thing with Pitbull.”

“Mommy thinks he’s handsome.”

“Of course she does,” Sapnap scoffs, amused. “So do I.”

“So do we get to see Q today, Pandas? Do we, do we?”

Sapnap and Quackity had gone a whole week feeling kind of awkward around one another. He and Dream had moped around at his family’s pool on Thursday after he’d kissed George, who pretended it never happened in the morning. Sapnap was less sympathetic towards him, because he told George that he could do exactly that. And at least he got a kiss out of it. Sapnap straight up got rejected. The bonfire that night had been… interesting. George had been reinvited, and hung out with Quackity and Bad the whole time, leaving Dream and Sapnap to remain stuck together to wallow. They’d wandered off to share a whole bottle of wine as they walked the shore, the surf catching their heels as they went. It was honestly a nice time, but… still, it meant that nothing was fixed for either of them, and things only continued to fester.

“Yeah! Totally, we’ll see him at volleyball, remember?” Sapnap recalled himself at that moment. Group settings made it easier at lea-

“I wanna hang out with him,” Mars said firmly, blinking his big ol’ brown eyes at Sapnap. Do I have baby fever for this motherfucker? “Please?”

“Later, kiddo. Let’s hit up Dream, he’s been a major pissbaby lately. You can cheer him up, right?”

“Oh. Okay!”

Sapnap did a quick dropoff before picking up Dream. The girl buying from him looked really confused and concerned to see Mars kicking his legs in the backseat, playing with a hermit crab shell that Sapnap had laying around. He was pretending it was Mr. Krabs, muttering, “Money, money, money.” Business was business, though, and the weirded out teenager waved to the kid as they pulled away. Dream was waiting in his own driveway, shooting a basketball at the hoop attached to the garage, between the two large grey doors. He missed just as Sapnap drove up, and Mars called, “You suck!”

Dream let the ball bounce away until it rolled to a stop on the grass, hopping into the passenger seat with a huff. “You’re a terrible influence,” he muttered as he put on his seatbelt. He twisted in his seat to say hi to Mars. “What’s up, Mars? Cool shell.”

“Thanks! It’s Pandas!”

“Really? Nevermind, it’s lame.”

Mars laughed, kicking the back of Dream’s seat, to Dream’s displeasure. “Oh god. None of that.”

“Did he kick the seat?” Sapnap asked, focused on driving shift. “Little bastard, you know better. I’ll beat you up. I’ll turn this car around.”

“Dadnap,” Dream said under his breath.

“As if that’s insulting,” Sapnap snorted, running a hand through his hair. They were at the stop sign at the end of Dream’s street, giving him enough time to give his best friend a smug look over his sunglasses. “That just means I’m in my DILF arc.”

“What’s a DILF?” Mars questioned.

“Nothing,” Sapnap and Dream spoke simultaneously, the latter turning on the radio as a distraction. Just can’t get you outta my head, Khalid sang, and Sapnap sighed. He knew the feeling. He was sure Dream had a certain Brit running laps around his brain just then, too. “Hungover?” Sapnap decided to ask him. George hadn’t been at the party, at least, and Quackity had been distracted by Schlatt’s obnoxious flirting the whole time. Besides, the house had been so packed, it was a miracle every time Sapnap found even one of his close friends.

Dream groaned, head dropping back. “I woke up at the asscrack of dawn and was still drunk, feeling like absolute shit, so I pulled trig and went back to bed.”

“That’s rough, dude.”

“You don’t even know, man. Foolish convinced me to do tequila shots with him. The rest is hazy.”

“What a legend, I love that guy,” Sapnap grinned, and Dream groaned again at the memories coming back to him. “Gonna do it all again tonight?”

“Yup. Anything to get my mind off that stupid British fuck.”

Sapnap hissed in empathy. “You’re down bad, dude. You need to get laid.”

“We’ve been over this,” Dream mumbled into his hands, scrubbing his face tiredly. “I just- don’t really want to. Especially not after getting a taste of him, fuck.” Dream sank lower in the seat glumly. Sapnap had never seen him so whipped in all his 20 years of knowing him- it was kind of impressive that some dude like George could do that to him. Yeah, George was hot, objectively- but he was also a massive dickhead with the driest personality Sapnap had ever witnessed. Okay, that wasn’t true, George had shown a fun, goofy side to himself while surfing the other day… whatever. Sapnap was just salty. He was looking out for his brother.

“Did he really not say anything after you kissed him?” Sapnap prodded, pulling into a parking space and cutting the delicious purr of his engine. They got out and Dream started unbuckling Mars as he answered.

“He, um. He said… I see them.

Sapnap stared across the car at him, eyebrow raised. “See what?”

Dream flushed, turning his face away as he hoisted Mars out of his seat and onto the ground. “Don’t know.”

“Cap.”

“Shut up, we’re done talking about this.”

Sapnap bought them all snow cones, getting half cherry half lime for himself and an extra watermelon one to bring to Bad at work. Except Quackity was there behind the smoothie counter instead, a towel thrown over his shoulder as he chopped up a pineapple. Of course Quackity was there, why would the universe ever take pity on Sapnap? His cuts were precise and practiced, taking off the spiny skin with ease and swiping the blade across the cutting board to discard it. He glanced up, double-taking as they approached, carefully blank for a moment before spreading a grin across his face. Mars lit up, pulling his tiny hand free from Dream’s to run up to the smoothie shack. Quackity had to lean over the counter to look down at him.

“Mars! Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Hi, Q!”

Dream helped hoist Mars up onto a stool before taking one for himself. Sapnap stood behind Mars protectively so he wouldn’t fall, and offered out the extra snow cone.

“For you,” he offered, meeting Quackity’s eyes, dark like rich espresso and filled with an unspoken question. We cool? When Quackity took the paper cone, it felt like an olive branch was passed, a peace offering exchanged. Sapnap smiled. “Hope you like watermelon.”

“This was meant for BBH, wasn’t it?” Quackity caught on immediately, the corner of his mouth lilting up.

“Maybe…”

“Ha. Too bad, we traded shifts so I’d be free this afternoon. Wanna know why?” Quackity waggled his eyebrows, and Sapnap arched one of his own skeptically. “Technically, I’m not supposed to tell you, but Karl’s going to force us to have a sleepover in his pool.”

“First of all, in his pool? Second of all, I’m supposed to hang out with my sugar parents tonight.”

“But- wait, parents? The husband is in on it?”

“Yeah, he was just on a business trip.”

The two boys stared at one another, Quackity slack-jawed. He scoffed, shaking his head. “Your life is fucking crazy, man. Ditch them, come to the sleepover.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes, catching Dream’s pointed gaze from next to him as he did. If Quackity weren’t right there, he’d be calling Sapnap an idiot and stealing his phone to cancel on Michelle. It looked like he might do it anyways, so Sapnap hurriedly said, “Let me think about it. Karl hasn’t even asked yet. And I’m still concerned about what you meant by in his pool.”

“Well, you’ll just have to show up and find out,” Quackity challenged. “You don’t care if we steal Sapnap from you later, do you, Mars?” Quackity asked the kid, leaning an elbow on the counter and stooping to his height.

“Well… I want to hang out with Pandas… but Pandas likes you and Karl,” Mars sing-songs all giggly, mouth stained with sticky purple grape syrup. “So I guess it’s okay.”

Quackity’s cheeks swiftly flooded with color, the same cerise pink as his watermelon snow cone. “O-Oh. Um. What?” He glanced up at Sapnap, smile wavering in alarm, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling out of him. “Obviously he likes us, we’re his best friends.”

Before Mars could say anything more incriminating in response, Dream jumped in. “Best friend? Excuse me, who?

Quackity stood up straight again, folding his arms across his chest. The knife still grasped in one hand was a little concerning, and Sapnap carefully reached over to take it away from him, setting it aside, out of the child’s reach- both Mars and Q, that is. “Sorry, thought I heard a little bitch talking. You wanna fucking go, Dream?”

A smirk flickered onto Dream’s face before he stood, too, and suddenly Quackity was looking up at him. “Yeah, Quackity. Do you?”

“...anyways, as I was saying, obviously he likes us, we’re his friends.”

“But Pandas like-likes y-“

Quackity burst into a coughing fit, drowning out Mars’ little voice. Sapnap had to laugh it off through the twinge of pain making his chest tight. He had a bad feeling that Karl’s little sleepover was going to be an intervention, because the air between him and Quackity- it had been noticeable. He was hoping he could wiggle out of it and go lose his mind between the sheets with a married couple instead, because he really wasn’t in the mood to be emotionally vulnerable and get absolutely nothing in return. He was still bitter from last Sunday. He couldn’t even blame Quackity; if he didn’t want it, then he didn’t want it, there was nothing Sapnap could do about that no matter how much Dream insisted Quackity felt the same.

Whatever. He had to get over it eventually. Maybe Quackity ripping the bandaid off would be better for him.

It would just be a little humiliating with his other dumb crush sitting right there watching it happen.

 

 

George regretted getting out of bed that day.

Somehow, waking up at the reasonable hour of 11:00 and deciding to explore the coast some more had been a mistake, because he ran into Hannah who he recognized from volleyball last week and was reminded that it was, in fact, volleyball day once more. Which led to Hannah telling George that she wound up getting stitches from cutting her foot last time, and that the American side needed someone to sub in, and that George could be an honorary American for the day, and that Punz could trade teammates to be with Puffy so that George could be with-

Sapnap.

He was on the court, playing volleyball with Sapnap.

Though, he wasn’t sure if his contribution could be considered as “playing” because he was absolutely terrible at it. Sapnap made sure to remind George of that every time he sent the ball flying with a poorly executed bump. Sue George for not even getting a crash course on how to hold his arms- he was going based off what he could recall from high school gym class five years ago.

“You’re fucking dogwater, dude! Come on,” Sapnap growled after having to dive for what was supposed to be a pass from George that ended up going out of bounds. They were playing Wilbur and Fundy, who were fighting just as bad as they were, so at least there was that small mercy.

“Forearms flat, elbows together,” Hannah called from the sidelines.

“Arms don’t work that way!” George huffed in vexation, trying to adjust. He felt gross and sweaty and annoyed and he hated everything about it.

“It’s just uncomfortable because you’re not used to it,” Dream chimed in. He’d been standing with Hannah, the two of them snickering at his clumsiness and lack of coordination the whole game. At least they offered pointers. Sapnap just yelled at him and insulted him.

“Just ready up and don’t get in my way,” Sapnap told him grouchily, rolling the ball under the net so Fundy could serve.

“Wish you would do the same,” the Dutch boy muttered under his breath at Wilbur, who spun towards him with his hands on his hips.

“Oh, here we go again,” Wilbur sighed.

“Well, I’m just saying, if you could properly spike the ball then we’d have smoked these idiots by now-“

“Well, I’m just saying, if you could properly set the ball higher when you know I’m tall and jump high-“

To say the least, none of them felt like winners by the end of the game, but especially Sapnap who lost his first match ever because of George’s incompetentence. Wilbur was smug about it the moment he landed the last spike, immediately mouthing off to Fundy who’d earlier insulted his skill and then to Sapnap so he could rub it in his face. Sapnap bounced the ball off of George’s head in frustration, who scoffed in disbelief, “Ow! Sapnap.

“This is your fault, fuckface! He’s never going to let me live this down. His ego’s already bigger than Texas, and I’d know, I’m from Texas!” Sapnap ranted, throwing the ball at George again only for the Brit to dodge it.

He scowled at Sapnap, crossing his arms. “Yeah, that makes sense, yours is just as big.”

“You know what else is big, Georgie?”

“Sapnap!”

Dream covered Mars’ ears as Sapnap screamed, “My fucking cock, so suck it, little bitch! You owe it to me for that shitshow game.”

Wilbur was cackling at the interaction in delight, until Sapnap started going after him next, chasing him off the court. At least the next teams could play instead of having to witness the two teams’ bickering for another twenty minutes. George shuffled off the court to mope next to Dream and Hannah, the latter of whom tried to console him and tell him he didn’t do that bad for his first time. Dream just snorted and said, “Don’t lie to him, it was bad.”

“Wow, thanks, Dream,” George grumbled, elbowing him gently. Even that small touch left heat blooming from the patch of skin that made contact, spreading through him until he had to duck his head in case he’d began blushing. Things were fine. He’d made sure they were fine. He’d gone to the bonfire and acted normal. He’d surfed again with Dream Friday and acted normal. He’d answered a drunk call from Dream last night that he was pretty sure the surfer didn’t remember and acted normal. Things were normal. But still, every time Dream had handed him a beer around the warmth of the fire, every time he adjusted George’s footing with ghosting fingers when he practiced standing on his board, when he slurred, “You’re, like, pretty- and it’s annoying” down the phone line-

He would see them again. The fireworks. Blue and yellow and- well, that was it, really. He couldn’t make the distinction between other colors the times he’d watched real fireworks on New Years. It was all so stupid. He didn’t want to like Dream. Dream was cocky and codependent and loud and- and attractive- wait, no-

“Can I see your phone, Dream?” George asked, pulling Dream’s attention away from where Tubbo and Ranboo were absolutely destroying Bad and Skeppy. Ranboo had become a beast at volleyball in just a week, having a natural knack for it, improved by some technique training from his friends. It was unfair. Why couldn’t George have had an ounce of that natural talent?

“Um. Sure?” Dream handed it over, and George paused when he saw the lockscreen. He raised an eyebrow up at the tall blonde, who chuckled. “It’s Nickelback singing look at this photograph, except the photograph is-“

“A poorly censored nude of Sapnap? Classy,” George commented, swiping the screen and finding that Dream’s phone unlocked for him. “No password? What is wrong with you?”

“I have nothing to hide. Just don’t look at my school app.” Dream winced. “That’s, uh. Yeah.”

George huddled his face close to the screen to see better under the glare of the sun, opening Dream’s recent calls and deleting the evidence of his outgoing, seven minute call to George. Once he was finished, he made sure to close the app entirely and opened the weather app instead, pretending to check the temperature. “Hm. It’s going to rain later.”

“Don’t tell Karl, Q, or Sapnap.”

“Why?”

Dream grinned. “No reason. Anyways, what do you say to surfing more often? I’m trying to make a schedule to keep my life in order-“

“Lame.”

Dream chuckled, ears turning pink. “Yeah, I know. But I think we should go every Tuesday and Friday. What do you think?”

George had no job in the U.S., no schooling left, no friends except for these guys but Dream was the only one who had his number so… he shrugged. “That works for me.”

“Wanna squeeze some volleyball lessons in there?” Dream teased, glancing down at George, who glared at him.

“Yeah, no thanks. Hannah better heal quick.”

“Maybe Schlatt could sub in.” Dream tilted his head, gazing across the court where Schlatt stood, petting his cat perched on his shoulder. George followed his eyes, and both of them slowly squinted in confusion. “Did… Did his shorts get…”

“Shorter? I think so,” George supplied. They shuddered simultaneously. “Well, that’s my cue to leave.”

“What? No, you can’t leave me alone staring at that,” Dream whined, turning to face George fully, putting on a pout. George’s eyes flickered to his lips, and they both froze for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“Then come with me.”

“Techno and I are playing in round two though.”

“Sapnap can sub in. Trust me, he needs it.”

Dream considered that. He threw a look over his shoulder to where Sapnap was still fuming, talking Karl’s ear off about it. The blonde grimaced. “Yeah, he should probably blow off some steam… Alright. Fine. Where to?”

“First, your car.”

“My car?”

“My shoes.”

“Oh!”

Finally, after over a week, George got his Yeezys back from the back of Dream’s Honda. He clutched the black, sock-looking things to his chest and sighed, stroking their white soles. “Daddy missed you.”

Dream choked on his own spit, high-pitched laughter following. “You did not just say that to your sneakers.”

“I didn’t spend nearly $400 on them for nothing.”

“You’re a lot weirder than I originally thought you were,” Dream admitted in amusement as he closed the trunk of his car, locking the ugly vehicle with a hoarse-sounding beep. They strolled slowly back onto the sand, through the dune hills where the tall grass whispered hello in the salt-smelling breeze. The high noon sun looked good on Dream, illuminating the sheen of sweat on his bronzed skin. He didn’t have a shirt on, but what else was new? Sometimes George wondered if Dream and Sapnap even owned shirts, or if they perpetually went topless with board shorts. The only thing adorning Dream’s chest was a little white shell on a leather cord, a black pattern over its ridges that looked like a dumb, lopsided smile. It reminded George of Dream’s grin. “I like it.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty obvious,” George commented coolly, pretending to be really interested in his nail beds. Dream’s jaw dropped as he stared at the shorter man, scoffing in offense. George only shrugged. “I mean, I’m just saying.”

“You want to talk about this now?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” George insisted. Dream didn’t miss the way his lips twitched, fighting a coy expression for an innocent one.

“You’re literally baiting me. You know that as soon as I say it out loud, it becomes real, right?” Dream warned, turning to walk backwards so he could see George clearly, searching him for signs of discomfort. George was very loose and uncaring, though, pressing his lips together.

“For all I care, you’re talking nonsense right now.”

“George,” Dream complained, his whiny tone coming back.

“Dream,” George mocked petulantly.

“Sapnap was right, you are kind of an asshole,” Dream muttered, and something snapped in place for George. Dream turned his back, and George stopped walking, falling behind. Wait… Had he taken it too far? He groaned in frustration and hurried to catch up.

“Dream. Wait. I’m-“ Dream’s eyes met his, and his mouth went dry. He shook it off, continuing, “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll drop it.”

Dream rolled his eyes, facing frontwards again, squinting against the harsh sun. “That’s, like, the problem, though. You’ll drop it, meaning you’ll ignore it again, right? Even this is better than nothing. Teasing, but at least it’s some form of acknowledgment.”

George searched the sand ahead of them as if it would untangle the mangled thread of confusion they’d woven over the past few days. George knew it was unnecessarily defensive when he muttered back. “I didn’t think it was that serious.” He didn’t realize until a beat later how easily that could be misinterpreted. But wasn’t it true either way? No, that dumb part of himself that he’d tucked away said- the part of himself that was starting to like this stupid blonde surfer dude. “That- that came out wrong-“

“Forget it. Let’s just…” Dream turned off the distress on his face, like shutting out the lights, closing the doors, shuttering the windows. He sighed, and he nodded towards a bench near the volleyball pits. “Nothing like a little prank to bring two people together. What do you say?” He offered, slipping on a sly grin. It irked George to know that it was just a coverup for hurt, but he nodded in agreement anyways. It wasn’t his business, if Dream wanted to refuse his apology.

On the bench, laid over errant grains of sand and what had to be Tubbo’s South Park beach towel, was a speaker and two discs. Dream picked up one with a clear case that looked homemade with messy sharpie scrawl adorning it in red and black. George inspected the second disc, the Hamilton soundtrack. “Who listens to CD’s any more? Tubbo?” George wondered.

“Looks like these are Tommy’s, actually. Their friend group always has them, it’s like they come with their own soundtrack. Tommy plays the same dumb song every time he’s on the boardwalk,” Dream explained, flipping the disc case over. George caught the scribbled title Mellohi as he did.

“What, the Minecraft disc? He plays that?”

“No, but that’s on here. Look-“ Dream shifted closer so they could read the tracklist on the back together. The handwriting was awful, slanted harshly to the right, both jagged and looping at the same time. It took Dream a moment every time he read off a title. “Luvbird. Able Sisters. Wii Shop Theme. Cat. Coconut Mall-” He cut off with a laugh. “What the hell is this?”

“Don’t know, but it’s ours now.” George shared a mischievous smile with Dream, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re down a volleyball player for at least another Sunday, right? These are your negotiating chips,” George explained, wiggling the Hamilton CD between his fingers before offering it to Dream. “Either Tommy plays with Sapnap for the American side, or he can kiss these discs goodbye.”

“That’s so mean,” Dream muttered, and for a moment, George was concerned that he meant it. But then Dream’s eyes became devilish, and he accepted the CD from George so he could find a place to store them later. “I’m down. Does this make us partners in crime?”

“...For now,” George said lightly, coquettishly. “The discs are in your possession, so if the police get involved, you’re on your own.”

Dream snorted. “It’s Tommy, he’s not going to call the police. Besides, even if he did, they’re not going to take it that seriously. All of you Europeans are terrified of the cops around here.”

“Do you blame us?”

“No, fuck 12. Sapnap’s dad is a cop, and yeah he’s a bastard, but he’d also get us out of trouble if anything ever happened. Stealing Tommy’s discs, busted party, speeding ticket- whatever.”

“Everything makes sense now,” George said, and they began making their way back to the parking lot again. It was an unspoken our work here is done, now flee.

“What do you mean?”

“Sapnap’s dad is a cop. He moved out. Now he’s- Sapnap. Sugar baby, pool boy, cougar bait, DILF hunter, drug dealer- you get what I mean,” George waved it off, because the list could certainly go on.

“Are you saying he has daddy issues?”

“Are you saying he doesn’t?”

“No, he totally does,” Dream chuckled. They’d reached his silver van again, and he opened the passenger door to toss the CD’s into his glove box. Then he stepped back, and gestured. “M’lady.”

George hesitated, eyes narrowed skeptically. “Where are we going?”

“I trusted you when you said let’s go, do I not get the same courtesy?”

“It’s not my fault you’re a nimrod.”

“I was honestly just going to drive around until inspiration struck. That’s what I usually do.”

George got in the car. “See? Honesty is the best policy.”

“Good advice. You should take it for yourself.”

George flipped him off.

 

 

Karl woke up to raindrops on his face. He groaned, squinting his eyes open, finding himself face-to-face with the universe. Before his brain could register much else, he was thinking, pretty. Stars speckled like freckles on navy blue cheeks- then a fat raindrop landed in his eye, and he sat up. He’d put a blow-up pool in his actual pool, lined with blankets and pillows and a mosquito net; a makeshift boat where he, Quackity, and Sapnap slept. He didn’t know it was supposed to rain. The movement of him sitting sent the pool rocking gently, rousing the other two boys slowly. Sapnap had demanded to be in the middle for maximum cuddles, and it seemed like Quackity had accidentally indulged him in his sleep, curled along Sapnap’s back. It was nice to see. Their awkwardness over the past week hadn’t escaped Karl. Quackity would have to talk about the almost-kiss and why it freaked him out eventually.

“Well good morning, sleepyheads,” Karl said cheerfully, then yawned, which set the other two boys off.

“Fuck,” Sapnap muttered, voice rough with sleep and he sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “‘S rainin’.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Quackity grumbled, holding up his hand and watching it get wet with the sprinkling precipitation. “Ugh. Now what?”

“Now we go inside,” Karl answered, throwing off the mosquito net and getting on his knees for a better look at their position in the pool. “Uhh…”

“What?” Sapnap shifted to look. Quackity followed.

“Oh, god damn it, Karl,” Quackity sighed. They were floating smack dab in the center of the deep end.

“Think we can wiggle our way to the edge?” Karl suggested sheepishly.

“And risk tipping the whole thing? Yeah, sure,” Sapnap scoffed. He shook his head, and pat his pockets, emptying them. Phone, keys, wallet, pocket knife. Then he shimmied off his sweats and yanked off his sweatshirt, leaving him in his t-shirt and boxers. “I’ll take the L.”

“Wait, what?” Quackity wondered, still groggy, but burst out laughing when Sapnap hurled himself over the inflated edge of the pool. He emerged on the surface, shaking out his dark hair, looking grumpy like a wet cat. Karl couldn’t help laughing, either.

“Thanks, Sapnap,” he sang as Sapnap pushed the inflatable pool to the edge of the bigger one. He held it still while they got everything out and onto the pool deck, only letting go once the other two were safely on dry land. He pushed it away for them to deal with in the morning, and started up the ladder, reaching a hand out for help. Naively, Karl took it, only to squeal as he was jerked forwards into the pool. He surfaced, spluttering and flailing, treading water. “What the honk!”

Quackity snorted. “You deserved that, falling for the oldest trick in the book.” Sapnap settled his gaze on him, eyebrow quirked. Quackity scrambled back a step, pointing an accusatory finger. “Nope. Nuh-uh. Not a chance, motherfucker.”

“Oh, Quackity,” Karl sang, giggling as he swam to the side of the pool, hauling himself out of the water to approach the other boy with open arms. In a jokingly deep voice, he asked, “Where my hug at?”

“Never say that to me agai- ah!” He shrieked when Sapnap darted towards him, just barely dodging, but that put him right in Karl’s path. He was enveloped in soaking wet arms, Karl’s dripping sleep shorts and t-shirt soaking Quackity’s as he pressed himself closed. “No, no, no,” Quackity protested as Karl clung to him and started walking them backwards. He tried to brace his feet on the ground, but then Sapnap was suddenly behind him, sandwiching him between the two wet boys. He groaned, going limp in resignation. “If I drown, I’m gonna haunt the shit out of y-“

They toppled into the pool.

Karl felt Quackity pushing on his shoulders underwater, trying to keep himself at the surface. He fought him off and swam up, gasping in air and pushing his hair back. “Quackity!”

“I can barely swim, asshole,” Quackity reminded them, thrashing in the water until Sapnap wrapped his arms around him from behind again.

“Chill, chill, I’ve got you.”

Karl swam over to offer support from the front, letting Quackity cling to his shoulders. His beanie was drooping into his eyes, and Karl laughed, pushing it back a little. They were chest to chest, practically nose to nose, and Karl waggled his eyebrows at him. “Are we about to kiss right now?”

Even in the moonlight, Quackity’s blush was vibrant. He turned his face away, scoffing. “Fuck off. Why does everyone want to kiss me, huh?”

“Oh, so now you’re willing to talk about it,” Sapnap teased, but there was a twinge of exasperation in his tone. “My legs are getting tired, let’s get out before we all drown.”

They wrung out their clothes before sneaking in through the back door, tiptoeing through the dark and silent house. When Karl looked back, he saw that they were leaving wet footprints, but figured they’d be dry by the morning. His mom wouldn’t care anyways. They brought all the bedding and snacks with them, dumping them in a pile on the floor.

“I’m taking my undies off,” Sapnap warned, turning his back. “Look if you want. This ass is free real-estate.”

“I’m stealing your clothes,” Quackity told Kar, ignoring Sapnap as he rifled through the dresser. They all changed into dry pants and shirts, raking towels through their wet hair. Quackity hesitated, hand on his hat, before stealing himself and taking it off. It wasn’t like Karl hadn’t seen his hair before- it had just been a long time. It wasn’t all that different from what he remembered. Whatever tragic haircut he got that made him wear hats all the time had long since grown out and gotten re-trimmed. Karl thought Quackity’s hair was cute, like skater boy hair, curling at the bottom where it was trained to be flattened under beanies.

They all crashed onto Karl’s bed, the queen size fairly accommodating, but they all snuggled up again like they had in the pool. Karl yawned against Sapnap’s neck, tucking his nose- cold from the chill of the rain- against his skin. “Smell like pool,” he mumbled.

“So does Quackity,” Sapnap said, cheek squished onto Quackity’s shoulder, who laid on his back with an arm tucked under his head.

“Go to sleep,” Quackity said, eyes already closed.

Why won’t you kiss us? Karl wanted to ask, but it wasn’t the right time. Not here and now, late at night, in the cover of darkness. Karl knew how easy it was to say and do anything at three in the morning, half in a dream. It would have to be a conversation for another day. At the very least, the discomfort felt somewhat resolved between Sapnap and Quackity. Karl was determined to keep them all close no matter what, this sleepover was just step one of many.

“Goodnight, Sapnap. Goodnight, Quackity,” he whispered, nuzzling closer to Sapnap’s warm back, feeling toasty and cozy and happy.

“Goodnight, cuties.” Sapnap’s smirk was audible in his sleepy voice, and the bed moved as Quackity elbowed him. “Ow. Love you, too, asshole.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Ah, I love these boys.

Notes:

Hey y'all, sorry for the strange lil chapter after a hiatus, I had a death in my close family and it was difficult to emulate the good vibes of Bummer when I felt so down :) hope y'all liked it regardless

Chapter 7: First Time He Kissed A Boy

Notes:

So much alcohol consumption. And so much more in the next chapter.

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

Chapter Text

“Code red. Code fucking red, dude. I fucked up big time.”

Dream glanced up at the customer he was supposed to be serving. He held up a finger, expression apologetic, and clutched the store’s phone a bit tighter to his ear as he half turned away. “How bad?” Dream asked quietly, mind already running through the possibilities. Sapnap broke his wrist again. Sapnap owed his pot supplier money. Sapnap was in jail.

“I was cleaning a pool, right? And-“

“Wait, wait, wait. Is this a real emergency or not?” Dream sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dude, I have a customer.”

“It’s real! Listen up, okay? I was cleaning a pool, and there was this MILF-“

“I’m hanging up on you.”

“I banged Schlatt’s mom and now he’s invited to the bonfire!” Sapnap rushed out, and Dream foze, face to face with the waiting person again. The guy shifted on his feet, offering a patient smile as Dream slowly spun away again.

What?!” He hissed into the phone.

“I told you it was a code red! What do we do?”

“Um. Cancel the bonfire? Dude, he can’t come. Why’d you invite him?!”

“Because I banged his mom!”

“Didn’t you just have a heart-to-heart with your man crushes like two days ago? Why are you still-“ Dream cut himself off before he said something incriminating or offensive in front of the customer, who sounded like he was playing Candy Crush on his phone to pass the time.

Sapnap scoffed. ”If by heart-to-heart you mean absolutely nothing has changed? Yeah. So I’m still fucking MILFs, what about it.”

“Whatever. Look, I have to go. Sort this out. I get off in an hour and I swear to god, Sapnap, if you haven’t fixed this I’ll…” He had to stop again, clenching his jaw. The customer definitely had an ear out for Dream’s conversation, trying to listen in nosily. Dream couldn’t blame him. It was never a dull day with Sapnap as his best friend. “I’m actually hanging up now.”

“Fine. Fuck you. If I end up on Schlatt’s shitlist, you’re going down with me.”

“Don’t care. Bye.” Dream hung up and finally addressed the customer with a tight smile. “Sorry about that. Family emergency. I’ll make sure to handle it on my own time in the future.”

“Sapnap?” The man asked, apparently having overheard Dream say his name.

“Um. Yeah. Nickname…” Dream finished ringing the guy up, pausing in confusion when he was slid a stack of cash way fatter than it needed to be for some sunblock and aloe. “Sir, this is-“

The man picked up his supplies, wiggling the bottles in one hand, smirking as he said, “Gotta keep my favorite white boy safe in the sun.” He winked.

Dream stared, dumbfounded, watching him walk out of the store and towards a familiar silver Porsche in the lot.

“Did I just meet Sapnap’s sugar daddy?” Dream muttered to himself.

He clocked out at 2:00 and immediately headed for the beach, positive he’d at least find one of the three idiots he was looking for: Sapnap, Schlatt, or Tommy. He wasn’t disappointed when he found the latter two together. Schlatt was on his lifeguard tower, legs dangling off the ladder, licking a chocolate ice cream cone. His cat was napping in the sun beside him, his orange fur looking especially fiery. Tommy stood below, arms folded and brows in their permanent, aggressive state of anger. As Dream strolled over the hot sand to get to them, he heard the tail-end of their conversation.

“-on Tubbo’s dad’s boat, because he’s a fuckin’ Tory, did you know that? And- oh, look, another prick who's stolen my property,” Tommy was saying until Dream caught his attention. “How are my discs? Are you enjoying them? Schlatt here is certainly enjoying my ice cream cone.”

“You stole a child’s ice cream cone?” Dream asked, looking up at the lifeguard.

“You stole a child’s CD’s. I’d say that’s worse, pal,” Schlatt responded, taking a lick of the ice cream. “Hey, Tubbo. Hey, other guy who’s not Tubbo.”

Dream turned in time to see Tubbo and Jack bound over, kicking up sand. “Boat is secured, and dad has no idea. Oh, hi everyone.”

“Tubbo, Dream stole my discs.”

“What?” Tubbo’s eyebrows shot up. “I made one of those! Illegally!”

Dream would have to deal with the Schlatt situation later, it seemed. He had a feeling Tommy wasn’t going to let go of the CD thing so quickly. “Listen, you left them there, and I needed leverage.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tommy groaned, gripping his wild blonde curls in frustration. “What do you want?” He asked tiredly. “Dream. Pal. Old buddy. I am the designated red character. Do you know what that means? That means I’m the main character. So as far as I’m concerned, Sapnap is the big man of your group. I don’t know where you get this- this ego of yours, but it’s entirely misguided. I mean, really? The green character? You’re the second male lead at best, my friend. And I heard George was in on it! Bastard blue character! What does he do, sit there and look pretty? Pathetic, Dream, truly. Red characters like me shouldn’t even be dealing with petty thievery from a green character.”

“Wait, but aren’t I a green character?” Tubbo wondered, offended.

“Yes, but you’re part of my friend group, the primary friend group, therefore you are better than Dream and all of his friends because they are the secondary friend group,” Tommy explained.

“...What?”

Dream laughed. It was all very convoluted, he really wasn’t keeping up either.

“Just say got it, Boss Man and move on,” Tommy grumbled.

“Got it, Boss Man!”

“I wear blue a lot,” Jack murmured.

“Shut up, Jack Manifold,” Tommy silenced him, aggressively clearing his throat. “Anyways. Hand them over, Dream.”

“I’d be happy to,” Dream told him with a sly grin. He watched Tommy’s hopes rise and fall in an instant as he added, “On one condition.”

“What is happening here?” Schlatt muttered, watching the scene unfold as he lazily continued devouring Tommy’s ice cream cone. Dream hoped no one was drowning while he blatantly wasn’t paying attention.

“Business,” Tommy and Dream said simultaneously. Tommy scrunched his nose and said, “Never do that again. What is your condition, Dream?”

“Play for us this Sunday.”

Tommy spluttered, mouth falling open. “Wha- for volleyball? You want me to betray my country? You want me to be an-“ Tommy paused for a dramatic gulp. “American?

“Oh, it’s so cruel,” Tubbo wailed, throwing his hands up and turning his back to pace away. Dream couldn’t help but be amused by their antics. If there was one thing Tommy and his friends were good for, it was entertainment. Sometimes it was hard to tell if they were seriously that theatrical or just playing it up as part of their ongoing childhood plotline of a place called L’Manberg. It was as if they lived life like it was one long movie. But eh, why not do it that way?

“No. Absolutely not,” Tommy denied firmly, standing his ground. “There has to be another way.”

“I don’t know, Tommy… We have an injured player, we could really use a stand-in.”

“Then who will take my spot?!”

“George.”

“Geo- no. No, no- wait a minute. You don’t expect me to be Sapnap’s partner, do you?” Tommy asked incredulously. Dream just smiled. “You do! Oh god, I’d rather eat my own sock than- no, keep the bloody discs. I’ll find a way. Mark my words, green bastard,” he jabbed an accusatory finger into Dream’s chest, face screwed in rage, “I will find a way.”

Dream lifted his palms in compliance. “Fine. The offer still stands. We’ll see how you feel by Sunday.”

Tommy stormed off, cursing under his breath to himself, his entourage following. Tubbo talked animatedly as they walked, jumping up and down and gesturing wildly. The kid was a young genius, he was the one actually capable of formulating a game plan to get the discs back. Fortunately for Dream, Tommy tended to bastardize every well thought out scheme Tubbo cooked up.

“Damn. You’re kind of an asshole,” Schlatt commented.

Dream sighed. He didn’t care what Schlatt thought of him, so instead of dignifying that with a response, he said, “You’re not coming to the bonfire.”

Schlatt’s eyebrows shot up beneath the brim of his cap. Embroidered on it read: women want me, fish fear me. Where the fuck did this guy get his clothes? “Excuse me? How do you plan on stopping me, big guy? Gonna fight me? Think you’re all tough?”

“What? No, I’m not going to fight you.” Dream rolled his eyes, bracing his feet in the sand and crossing his arms. “Look, I think you’re a fun guy. You always bring the party- but that’s kind of the problem. Bonfire nights are a lowkey thing. You can’t be… stumbling off into the ocean to box a shark or riling people up by pushing all their buttons. I just don’t think it’s your scene. Really, that’s all.”

“I can be cool,” Schlatt assured him, a cocky grin forming beneath his handlebar mustache. His facial hair was both impressive and horrifying, between the mustache and mutton chops.

“Can you?” Dream threw back flatly.

“Yeah! Fuck you, man, I can totally be cool. Calm, relaxed night, yeah? I’m down for it, no worries.” Schlatt threw the rest of his uneaten waffle cone remnants at a seagull. It was less of a food offering, more of an attempt to hit it. Dream sighed.

“Fine. First sign of trouble, and you’re out, though.”

Schlatt snorted, muttering, “You and what army?”

“Schlatt.”

“Kidding, kidding! Jesus Christ, can’t you take a joke, pal? Now get the fuck out of here, let me do my job in peace, will you?”

Schlatt shooed him away, and Dream was more than happy to oblige. Even just that ten minutes between Tommy and Schlatt was exhausting. He had a headache forming- but that could have been from lack of sleep, too. Probably. He decided he deserved a nap, CS homework be damned. It wasn’t due until Friday anyways. He’d crash by the pool, work on fixing his wetsuit tan. Yeah. That sounded nice.

 

 

George wanted to get fucked up. Absolutely obliterated. He’d had a shitty day, leaving the house after a fight with his dad, and the bonfire was just the excuse he needed to get plastered. He’d decided to bring along his own handle of alcohol that time, something called Pink Whitney that Wilbur had suggested at the last bonfire. George still kind of thought he was a dick for what happened at the first bonfire, but the other Brit was growing on him. Rambled on about his hometown in Suffolk, threw slander at London when George told him he was from the city, claimed that his few months there gave him asthma and crippling depression. George hadn’t known how to respond to that, but it didn’t seem to matter; Wilbur did enough talking for the both of them. George tended to like those kinds of people. Maybe it was the same reason Dream was growing on him, too.

But not too much.

No, he’d keep Dream an arm’s length away. He’d learned his lesson, in a moment of vulnerability under the cover of his dark bedroom and sticky-stars’ light. When everything suddenly got exposed in the brilliant glow of fireworks.

George flicked the cap off the Pink Whitney and began drinking as he walked there, hoping no lurking cruisers were around to arrest him for public intoxication. Dream wasn’t around to escort him that time. Well, to be fair, he had offered to swing by and pick him up if he wanted. He’d spent the day surfing with Techno and hung out with him at his RV apparently. George had waved off his offer. They needed space. He was afraid of Dream getting his hopes up after- the thing. The kiss. He was… also afraid of himself after the kiss, too. Just because it felt nice didn’t mean he wanted Dream. He had to keep reminding himself of that. They weren’t compatible, it would never work, Dream was annoying, George was quite frankly a little bit mean to him. Seriously, he had no idea how Dream was still so persistent when George had been trying his best to create a rift between them. Yes, he wanted to be friends with Dream, but he had to leave enough breathing room for the idiot blonde to get over George. George was a shit guy, there was really no reason Dream should still want him. I’m bad for people. It was why he only let himself socialize in small doses. It wasn’t about his own social battery, it was about the length of time he’d carefully calculated in which people wouldn’t get sick of him.

Sometimes he hated himself.

He was going to stop caring for that night.

He arrived later than usual, about a half hour after sunset, ambling between the dunes towards the raucous laughter and voices coming from the circle of firelight. Someone hollered when they saw him approaching- was that Schlatt?

“Hey! It’s the man of the hour. Get over here,” he called, his New York accent slurred. “Gotta catch up to the rest of us, haha!” He met George halfway to wrap an arm around his shoulders, his tank top soaked through with the stench of spilled liquor. He shoved a solo cup into his hand, barely any liquid inside, and said, “Time for shots, motherfucker.”

“What- What is this?”

“Jose Cuervo.”

“Oh god.”

“Haha, yeah… now drink it, pretty boy.”

Well. It was surely a way to kick off the night.

George knocked it back with little hesitation, and heard Sapnap cheering him on. “Let’s fucking go, Gogy!” Suddenly, there was a weight against his back, shoving Schlatt to the side. “You’re my designated date tonight. You know what that means?” Sapnap said in his ear, making George wince at the volume.

“Get off me, idiot,” he rolled his eyes, letting Sapnap escort him closer to the group of people around the fire. Schlatt had already wandered off to terrorize Quackity. “What’s it mean?”

“It means: you drink, I drink.” Sapnap grinned and downed whatever was in his cup, then crushed it against his head. “And if I drink, you drink. Dre, pour us another!”

“Already got ‘em lined up,” Dream stepped back from the fold-up table to show a line of the actual mini solo cups meant for shots. George’s throat still burned from the first one, mouth bitter with the agave aftertaste.

“Who’s your designated date, then?” George asked him, shouldering Dream playfully as he stepped past to take a cup. One whiff told him that it was, in fact, more tequila.

“I called dibs tonight. Sorry, George,” Wilbur spoke suddenly, popping his head over Dream’s shoulder. They both looked like giants next to him. “Though, Schlatt was the one who started this whole mess.” Wilbur sighed dramatically. “Well, he’s good for one thing at least. And that’s getting the party started. Cheers.” He held up his solo cup briefly before taking the shot, easy as if it were water. George both feared and respected him. “Your turn, Dream,” he said cheerfully.

“All together?” Sapnap offered, holding up his cup. The three of them clinked plastic and took their tequila, Dream and George coughing slightly at the taste while Sapnap let out his disgust by shouting. “Woo! I’m not gonna wake up tomorrow, let’s fucking go!

“I’ll drink to that,” George muttered.

“That’s the spirit! Catch up, man, I’m one Loko and three shots deep. Chop to it. Chug a bit of that Whitney and I’ll call it even,” Sapnap encouraged, and George held up his bottle incredulously.

“Chug it…? I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” Dream snickered. Upon closer inspection, he was teetering on his feet, eyes glassy and cheeks rosy. He was drunk drunk. “Don’t be a pussy.”

What?” George spluttered, laughing. “Oh my god, you’re messed up.”

“Mans is a lightweight,” Sapnap whispered to him- except it wasn’t really a whisper, since he had absolutely no volume control when drunk.

“Cap. Fuck you. I could outdrink you- okay, maybe not you, Sapnap,” Dream admitted, then drunkenly pointed a finger at George, swirling it in the air. “But you, I could outdrink you any day.”

“Looks like you already did,” George commented, mouth pulling up in a grin. Sapnap giggled beside him, holding up his fist for a bump, and George indulged him.

“Damn, Dre, I’m really Mr. Steal Your Girl tonight,” Sapnap teased, clinging onto George again. George let him, just to see Dream roll his eyes. “C’mon Gogy, you getting on my level or what?”

They were looking at him like they expected him to scoff and say no. Normally, he would have. Normally. He was in a mood still. So he shrugged, handed Sapnap the cap of his Pink Whitney, and said, “Tell me when.” Then he tipped his head back and chugged.

“You know what? Maybe I was wrong about you, George,” Sapnap laughed, watching the Brit’s throat work as he took gulp after gulp of pink vodka. “Which is why I don’t really want you to die from alcohol poisoning, so let’s call it quits now, dude.” George lowered the bottle, coughing weakly and panting. He was already starting to feel warmth blooming in the center of his chest from the tequila shots. He was screwed whenever the Whitney decided to hit him. Sapnap pat him on the back, nodding in approval. “Fuck yeah. You’re sticking with me tonight. Let’s go talk to our friend Eret- he’s throwing a party tomorrow and you’re so getting on the guest list.”

“If we all survive that long,” George wheezed out, throat stinging until he cleared it. Sapnap was dragging him away from the table, away from Dream and Wilbur who had gotten caught up in a petty, lighthearted little argument over something. George couldn’t help but wonder if Sapnap was going to try and hook up with him. He was sort of… infamous for that. Having sex with anything that moved. At least, that was what he’d gathered. He wouldn’t do that to Dream, though, would he? Because as much as George tried to ignore it, Dream had a painfully obvious crush on him; his best friend simply had to know about it. Well. The alcohol was kicking in, so on the way towards this- also very tall- Eret person, George furrowed his brow and asked, “You’re not trying to have sex with me, are you?”

“What? No, Dream has a painfully obvious crush on you.”

“Oh. Okay, good, we’re on the same page.”

Sapnap huffed in amusement. “Besides, your internalized homophobia is a major turn-off.”

If George was in any other mood than the strange one that had its fist around him that night, he would have been offended. But it was a fair statement. He shrugged it off. “Hey, do what you will with this information, but… I was talking to that Tommy kid, and apparently him and his friends like to hang out on a boat in the marina at night.”

Sapnap stopped dead in his tracks. It just so happened to be right in front of Eret, who was drawn away from looking at their phone, eyebrows raised. He glanced to George. “Uh oh,” Eret chuckled.

“You two… mingle. I’ll be right back,” Sapnap promised, a devious smirk creeping across his face. He turned, marching back into the thick of the crowd, calling, “Schlatt!”

“Whoops,” George muttered.

“Whoops indeed,” Eret agreed.

 

 

“I had grippy socks once,” Ranboo declared.

Tommy blinked in his direction as the taller (thought with absolute rage) man stared off into the distance beneath his mask and glasses. “You okay, Big Man?”

“To be determined.”

“Okay. Well, anyways, if I had a pair of grippy socks that were actually grippy like lizard feet, I’d be unstoppable. Climbing the walls and shit. How would they catch me? They couldn’t.”

“Who’s they again?” Ranboo wondered, then tilted his head as he considered this scenario further. “And why are they trying to catch you?”

“Because I’m a big, powerful man. The authorities always want me. I am too strong and muscular and huge, and it intimidates them,” he explained, puffing out his chest. He was sat rather meekly on one of the plush seats at the stern of the boat, looking short in comparison to Ranboo. Tubbo, as always, insisted on sitting in the driver’s seat to look back at the other two. Jack had ditched them to hang out with Niki. Bald bastard.

“Public Enemy Number one. But- I mean, you’re really not that-“ Tubbo tried to argue, but Tommy cut him off with a simple, sharp, “Yes I am. I am massive.”

“An absolute unit, if you will,” Ranboo offered.

“See? Other Big Man over here gets it.” Then, under his breath, “Don’t tell anyone I agree with you on anything, ever.”

“Mhm,” Ranboo responded easily, already knowing the protocol well by then. He and Tommy had grown surprisingly close, especially after Tubbo went home early from a beach day and left them to their own devices. They’d sat on their towels in awkward silence for a whole minute until Tommy blurted out what are your thoughts on onions? Which had sparked a whole conversation about how Ranboo’s favorite flower, allium, was technically an onion. So Tommy looked it up, snorted, and read out the first search result. Ornamental onion, it says. What does that even mean? I love it. Fuck you, this is my favorite flower now. It had devolved into a conversation about why Shrek 2 was the best Shrek, which they also agreed on, and then why Merida from Brave was the best princess, which they also agreed on-

They had a lot more in common than Tommy would like to admit. His aggression towards Ranboo was all in good fun, though, their own little secret to giggle about.

Tubbo decided to move on, knowing they could sit and argue for hours about Tommy’s imaginary physique- and have done so before. He cleared his throat. “So. I think God’s biggest mistake was ostriches, Wilbur thinks anteaters. Thoughts, opinions? Questions, comments, concerns?”

“Humans,” Ranboo said placidly.

“Geoduck, I reckon,” Tommy pondered, mindlessly bypassing Ranboo’s answer. “Just the giant willy of the sea, innit? Second only to sea cucumbers.” He tsked, shaking his head. “Out with the whole ocean ecosystem, I say.”

“Wha- no, do not do that,” Ranboo countered. “Ocean good. We need ocean. We love ocean.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t need the ocean. I am simply built different.”

“You know, I’m starting to agree with Ranboo’s answer,” Tubbo sighed, resting his cheek on his palm as he gazed lifelessly at his redundant, obnoxious, lovable best friend.

“Wait, what was his answer?”

“Um. Guys,” Tubbo interrupted the train of conversation, slowly sitting upright. He was looking past Tommy and Ranboo, at the expansive docks of the marina. “I think we have a situation on our hands.”

“What?” Tommy questioned- and then he heard it. Faint, at first, but steadily becoming louder. He whipped his body around, looking towards the parking lot of the marina, mouth fallen open. “My discs!” He screeched at the sound of his Mellohi CD blasting through the bay. With it came the terrifying sight of a horde of 20-something-year-olds sprinting towards the docks.

“Forget the discs, run!” Tubbo cried, leaping from the boat. “We have to make it to land before they make it to the docks, or else we’ll be trapped.”

“We have a boat, Tubbo! Tubboat!”

“I don’t have the keys, Tommy!”

Tommy screamed, following Ranboo’s route off the boat and running towards the end of the docks. It felt all wrong to be running towards the group of rowdy, drunk men. “He’s a runner, he’s a trackstar,” Tommy panic-sang.

“Now is not the time for memes,” Ranboo scolded.

“They’re playing Trance Music for Racing Game, how can I not meme during Trance Music for Racing Game?!

“Shut up already, they’re gaining ground,” Tubbo called over his shoulder, and the three boys strained their legs to carry them faster. It was also a precarious game to not fall into the water; with all their stomping feet, some of the looser outer docks were unstable beneath them, bobbing in the ocean. Making it to the concrete was a short-lived victory, immediately having to cut a hard left across the parking lot and up a grassy hill. They were in dangerous territory. Surrounding the yacht club were rich homes, mansions on the water’s edge, with lights inside bedrooms flickering on as a large group of young adults ran shouting past with strange video game music playing.

“Why?!” Tommy screeched, glancing over his shoulder to find Schlatt and Sapnap leading the pack, and- “Is that Gogy? What the hell, man!”

“He’s gone feral,” Karl cheered, jumping and clicking his heels together mid-run, only to nearly stumble and eat the pavement right after.

“One of us, one of us!” Quackity chanted.

“Good god, this is madness,” Tommy mumbled to himself, chest heaving for breath. How did these pissed idiots have so much stamina? It had to end. They couldn’t run all night, and it’s not like he could go home- not with half the town after him, between the bonfire group and the angry residents they were all waking up. He wasn’t supposed to be out at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck- “Enough is enough, boys,” Tommy decided, slowing to a jog before stopping. He took a deep breath, and turned to the oncoming crowd. “We’ll handle this like men.”

The pack caught up to the three boys, surrounding them in a semi-circle. Schlatt was the first to reach up, hook an arm around Tommy’s neck, and pull his head down for a noogie. “Hey, Tommy. Crazy seeing you here.”

Tommy squirmed, batting his hands to try and fight the lifeguard off of him. “What do you mean crazy seeing you here , you literally chased us. Asshole.”

“Ah, come on, none of that,” Schlatt chuckled, taking a pause to slurp from his glittery Starbucks cup. Tommy wondered if it was beer again or something harder. Tommy knew the smell of beer better than he did other alcohols, and whatever was spilled down the front of Schlatt’s tank top was not just beer. “Just me and my pals, out for a stroll on a lovely Thursday night. What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re all… sopping and drunken, that’s what’s wrong.”

“Tommy…” Tubbo said softly.

Tommy ignored him. “And why is George here? I thought he was the boring and normal one.”

George scoffed. He was leaning against Sapnap for support, like he could barely stand on his own without wobbling, looking flushed and sweaty and absolutely hammered. Not that Tommy really had a point of reference. “Fuck you. I’m loads of fun. Right, Sapnap?”

“And since when are you two friends! God damn it. You’ve got ghosts in the head from hanging around all these Americans, George.”

“Tommy,” Ranboo urged more firmly.

“Quiet, Ranboo, I’m about to monologue about our- my great country. Christ, can’t you just be British, Ranboo? I’d like you so much better,” Tommy grunted.

Tubbo planted himself between Tommy and Schlatt to grip Tommy’s shoulders and shout, “Pigs!”

“Pigs…?” Tommy repeated, and there was red and blue reflected in Tubbo’s eyes, a distant wailing siren approaching- “Pigs!

“Scatter!” Schlatt bellowed, grabbing the closest person, who just so happened to be a disgruntled-looking Dream, and booking it in a seemingly random direction. And just like that, everyone followed suit, splitting off in every possible direction with one or two other people at their sides. Tubbo took both Tommy and Ranboo’s hands to get them moving.

“Oh fuck, my dad’s going to kill me,” he cried.

“Not if we run fast enough,” Ranboo said determinedly, his long-legged stride nearly dragging the other two along.

Tommy, with burning lungs and probably plummeting blood sugar, simply groaned and continued to run.

 

 

“In here!”

Sapnap jogged between gas pumps to get to the 7-eleven, holding the door open for a swaying and stumbling George while he kept an eye on the roads. They’d lost the cruiser that was after them a while ago, after Sapnap dragged them through several backyards and thin stretches of woods. He’d worry about ticks and poison ivy later. He had bigger worries for the moment: namely, George.

George could handle his alcohol, he’d more than proved it at that point, but at what cost? The guy had been looking queasy for the past half hour, yet still insisted on running. He’d grown extremely unsteady on his feet. He was worse off than Sapnap, which- it was rare that anyone was ever worse off than Sapnap.

He finally ducked into the store, following George to the Slurpee machines, where he stood and stared at the swirling colors with parted lips and blank eyes. Oh boy, Sapnap thought. He’s fucked. We’re both fucked.

Wordlessly, he pulled out two Big Gulp cups and handed one to George, who accepted it like a baby learning how to grip things for the first time, with both hands. He stared down at it uncomprehendingly. Sapnap gestured to the machines.

“Go crazy, get a Slurpee. On me.”

George blinked, then grinned, muttering, “Poggers.” Sapnap snorted, watching George go for the blue raspberry while he went for the cherry. He bought them some taquitos and waters while George was busy testing every size lid until he finally found the right one, figuring they should try to soak up the tequila in their guts before they started vomiting.

Ten minutes later found them wandering the streets, taquitos thoroughly devoured, waters chugged and discarded, sipping on their Slurpees. “This reminds me of Brighton. I only lived there for a few years. London- can’t do this in London. Wilbur hates London. I don’t mind it. I quite liked it,” he was rambling aimlessly, Big Gulp clutched to his chest so he could dip down and take sips after every sentence. “Never had the police after me, though, that’s new.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Sapnap said proudly. “Happy to take your chased-by-cops virginity.”

“Ew, why would you word it like that?” Sapanp just wiggled his eyebrows in response, and George rolled his eyes. “Anyways... guess what.”

“What?”

George shot him a sly look before digging a hand into his pocket and pulling out a Titos nip bottle. He held it out, slowing to a stop on the sidewalk. “I dare you to take this shot.”

“You know what, George?” Sapnap produced a matching nip from his own pocket. They both must have stolen them from Schlatt. George grinned. “We are dating tonight, after all.”

“Don’t tell Dream,” George joked, and they clinked bottles before tucking them between their teeth and tossing their heads back. Straight vodka was never good, but using the Slurpee as a chaser made it bearable. “Are we bonding?” George continued teasing as they started walking again- more like ambling. From afar, they probably looked like zombies with their drunken gaits.

“We are. And it’s about time,” Sapnap declared. “I have a fucking bone to pick with you.”

George groaned, already knowing where the conversation was headed. “Nooo,” he whined ineloquently, head too cloudy to defend himself. “If we’re talking about that, then I deserve… um… what’s the word… whatever. You’ll have to tell me about your little love triangle. Compensation.”

“What? No way. That has nothing to do with you.”

“Now you’re just being a hypocrite,” George accused. “We’ll talk some other time, alright? Just- not now, I can barely see straight, let alone think straight.”

Sapnap snorted, muttering, “Ain’t nothin’ straight about you.”

Sapnap,” George protested. “You don’t know that.”

“Pretty sure I do.”

“You do not.”

“Better than you know it, actually. How’s that closet treating you?”

“You-“ George began angrily, but cut himself off when a cruiser turned the corner. It didn’t have its lights on, but it was clearly out looking for anyone who had been at the marina. Not only were they publicly intoxicated, but George was pretty sure Sapnap was underage. He shoved Sapnap to the side. “Hide, hide!” He whispered, and Sapnap ushered him through the fence gate they’d just passed. It was a little playground, woodchips crunching beneath their feet as the crouch-walked towards the play structure. Sapnap was giggling, grabbing George’s wrist and pulling him into one of the inner tubes. They’d just squeezed into the small space together when the headlights of the cruiser passed, the car going at a crawl as the officer inside surveyed the area. They bypassed the playground, though, and George couldn’t help but snicker alongside Sapnap. “Oh my god. We’re hiding from the cops in an inner tube.”

Sapnap shook with suppressed laughter, pressed shoulder-to-hip all curled up in the structure meant for a child. “You say tube funny.”

“Oh, shut up,” George nudged him, which turned into a game of elbowing each other until they hissed in pain and melted into chuckles.

Sapnap choked on a laugh and pointed at him. “Oh my god! Your tongue is blue, dude. Check this out, is mine red?” He stuck out his tongue, looking like an idiot.

“Tongues are always red, idiot.”

“No- shut the fuck up, you know what I mean.”

George’s cheeks were full with a smile. “Yes, it’s red. We could make purple if we-“ He stopped himself short, shocked by the words coming out of his own mouth, then burst into a fresh wave of laughter. He was too inebriated to overthink, it just hurt his head. “Do you think that works?”

“No shot I’d ever kiss you anyways. I’ll take your mom on a Slurpee date and let you know, though.” Sapnap answered coolly, trying to cram his Big Gulp out the tiny window of the- ironically, purple- inner tube. When he succeeded, it made a wet splat onto the woodchips, so George did the same.

As he was forcing the cup through the hole, shit-eating grin on his face, he said smugly, “What if I dared you.”

Sapnap lived by one rule and one rule only: always take a dare. George seemed to know this. But… “George. My best friend is literally in love with you, moron.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” George grumbled, and splat went his cup outside the tube. “Besides, I… want to see something.”

Sapnap scoffed. George was lucky he was still plastered, and that the shots they did were pulling him deeper, or else he might have genuinely been angry. “Oh yeah? What is it?”

“Just- ugh, you’re- you’re being a wimp,” George said. He hoped the deep blush spreading through his cheeks was desaturated in the watery yellow glow of the streetlight through the tube’s windows. That, or it could be mistaken for his insobriety. The truth was, his kiss with Dream had scared him, because it was different than every other kiss he had. He had to know if it was because Dream was a boy or because Dream was… Dream. He’d never kissed any other boys before, so his drunk brain was telling him to get a larger sample size. He wanted a point of reference. Why can’t I just accept that I liked it and move on? Oh yeah, because I’m a complete nimrod.

“Are you baiting me?” Sapnap asked, eyebrow raised in his direction. And it wasn’t like George wanted to kiss him. Though, he didn’t not want to either. He was drunk and he was curious and… well, Sapnap was here. He was a dirt-brained himbo, but that actually made it a little easier. They were already sharing breaths in the small space between them. Was it really unfeasible for Geoege to want to just lean in and… try it?

He batted his eyelashes at Sapnap intentionally, making him roll his eyes. But then George licked his lips, blue-tinted tongue flicking out, and Sapnap’s eyes caught onto it. They narrowed in suspicion and apprehension. “Is it working?” George asked him cheekily.

Normally, Sapnap’s resolve would be higher. Much, much higher. But Quackity rejected him and Karl wasn’t taking hints and they’d been hanging all over each other at the bonfire so much so that Sapnap had to turn to George to be his drinking buddy-

God, but Dream-

“My conscience would be way too guilty,” Sapnap mumbled. When had they gotten closer? Did he move? Did George move? Either way, he suddenly realized that Geoege’s eyes were much bigger, soft and open and tired.

“That’s assuming you’ll remember tonight,” George huffed in amusement. That was the thing, though- they would. They’d had a lot of water before running for the marinas, more at the 7-eleven, and yeah they were still sufficiently sauced, but they were way too coherent to be blackout. If Sapnap was blackout, he’d already have his tongue down George’s throat.

“Sounds eerily similar,” Sapnap noted, and George’s breath hitched, because Sapnap knew. What else could he expect, though?

“Fine then. Let’s remember,” George snapped, the zing of bitterness in his tone. “And as far as I know, it’ll be the first time I kissed a boy.”

“Oh, fuck you-” Sapnap growled, grabbing George’s shirt and shit, wait, I was supposed to kill him he thought as he crashed their mouths together. He jerked away, and George blinked at him all pretty and dazed, and then they were kissing again: Sapnap sucking on George’s lips, George pliant to his dominance, their hands clasping at loose clothes and overgrown hair. His tongue was sweet with the flavor of blue raspberry, and Sapnap offered him a taste of cherry.

And so they made purple.

 

 

Dream slapped the inner tube twice. “Wakey wakey.” He and Sapnap had each other’s locations on in case of emergencies. When he’d woken up to the sunrise, his first thought was oh god, where did Sapnap end up last night? A playground, apparently. And if the two Slurpees splattered on the ground were anything to go by, he and someone else had slept in an inner tube.

His second thought had been why am I on the seawall? He’d sat up with the pattern of the concrete pressed into his cheek to admire the cotton candy sky- and then immediately threw up onto the sand.

It was a rough morning. He’d stopped by a gas station to grab a big water bottle before going to find Sapnap and make sure he survived.

Someone groaned inside the tube.

“George?” Dream laughed in disbelief. “Is Sapnap in there with you?”

Another groan- lower, definitely Sapnap’s.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” George’s garbled voice echoed, then a bunch of banging and shuffling until the two men crawled out on either side of the tube. George was stuck towards the top of the jungle gym while Spanap emerged close enough to the stairs to stumble his way down them. Dream dutifully handed him the water bottle, and he took it with hands shaky from dehydration, looking pale as death with blue tinted lips. “Ugh,” George sighed, sitting down on the slide at the top and spiraling down.

“I think that’s the least fun I’ve ever seen someone have on a slide,” Dream told him, grinning.

“Shut up.” George was a grumpy morning person, made tenfold by a hangover. He had an equally ill pallor as Sapnap, but red-stained lips. Sapnap handed the bottle to him next, and George took an air-sip. His tongue was…

Blue?

Dream looked back at Sapnap. Then George again. Then the ground, where melted Slurpees made two pools of color on the woodchips. Red and blue.

There was a logical answer. Dream was certain.

He studied Sapnap, who raised a sleepy brow at him, expression flat. He looked dead inside. “What?” Sapnap wondered.

“Nothing…” He turned to study George, who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to catch the water he’d dribbled down his chin and neck. Dream froze. “Not nothing, what the fuck.”

“What?” George yawned, then tried to scramble backwards up the slide as Dream abruptly started marching towards him. “Dream, what? Stop-“

He planted a hand on George’s shoulder to keep him seated and tilted the boy’s head with the other, inspecting the fat line of hickeys down his throat. George’s eyes widened, meeting Sapnap’s past Dream’s form looming over him. Dream said nothing. He let go, rather harshly, shoving slightly as he backed away. He held his hands up, then dropped them in defeat, shaking his head. All he could do was scoff.

“Dream,” Sapnap tried. “Listen-“

“No, you know what?” Dream whirled on Sapnap, who stood his ground firmly, patiently. “That,” he pointed back at George. “Hurts. Okay? But the fact that it was you,” he gave Sapnap’s chest a light push with his fingertips, just enough to make him take a half-step back. “Kills me, Sapnap.”

“Can we talk about this?”

“What the fuck is there to talk about?” Dream snapped. He took a moment to contain himself, sucking in air through his nose before shaking his head again. He pivoted on his heel and started walking away.

Sapnap glanced at George, who was staring off into the distance pensively. He growled in frustration under his breath and went after Dream. “Just chill, Dream, let’s-“ He grabbed Dream’s arm, which was a mistake, because Dream retaliated by turning and shoving him again. “Don’t fucking do that,” Sapnap warned him, short-tempered even when he was in the wrong.

“As if you have a right to be mad at me,” Dream spat, trying to do it again, but Sapnap caught the elbow he tried to throw. Dream glared at him, breath coming in harsh pants. “You fucked up, Sapnap,” he said lowly, and it was then that Sapnap remembered just how much taller his best friend was.

“Will this make you feel better?” Sapnap asked him quietly, which only made Dream tense with more rage.

“Don’t act like you’re the bigger person when you-“ He clamped his mouth shut, and then out of nowhere, he threw the first punch.

They wound up wrestling on the woodchips, tiny pieces jabbing their skin as they fought for control. Dream was trying to land actual hits while Sapnap was just trying to pin him or contain him somehow. All the while, they threw curses at one another, spitting out vile misplaced words and grunts of profanity.

“Can’t keep it in your pants for one fucking second-” Dream pressed Sapnap’s head into the woodchips.

“-ow, my face, you prick-“ Sapnap rolled so he was on top of Dream, both of them on their backs like stuck rolly-polly bugs.

“-man whore piece of shi-“ Dream forced Sapnap off of him and onto his knees where he could wrap an arm around his neck.

“-not my fault you chose a dickhead like him-“ Sapnap choked out, lifting his foot until he nailed Dream in the balls and could roll away.

“-kiss my ass instead-“ Dream dove for him again, missing as Sapnap dodged and finally got the upper hand, getting behind Dream. Then he paused.

“Wait!”

They halted, Dream caught in a headlock, elbow still in Sapnap’s gut. The slide was empty. Sapnap released Dream, letting him fall to the woodchips coughing. They dragged themselves to their feet, brushing off errant wood fibers and splinters.

“He left,” Sapnap said, a hysterical laugh creeping into his voice. “He just dipped on us. What a pussy.”

“No fucking way,” Dream muttered into his palm as he scrubbed a hand down his face in mental and physical exhaustion.

“Why do you even like him?” Sapnap asked, still staring at the vacant spot where George had been. “He treats you like shit, always assumes the worst- he’s the one being the real snake.”

“Shut up. You’re not in the clear just because I stopped beating your ass. It takes two to tango.”

Sapnap sighed, facing Dream with sincerity in his expression. “I know, alright? We were fucked up. And to be fair- there was, like, zero sexual tension. It just happened. I wasn’t going to, in fact, I was about to literally choke him out in the non-sexy way when-“

“Okay, but he’s the one with a hickey, Sapnap. No sexual tension, huh? Then why would you be sucking on his neck like Buffy the fucking vampire slayer. Did you see the size of that thing?”

Sapnap grinned at the memory, “Haha. Yeah.” Dream elbowed him in the stomach again. “Oof, don’t make me barf, man. Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You know how it is! I’m a horny dude in my 20’s, I was just in the moment. I feel like ass, dude, I wouldn’t try to steal your man. Especially not George. No offense, but I question your little crush on him every day, like what do you even see in him?”

“Right now?” Dream gazed off into the foggy morning, breathing in muggy that threatened rain. “I see a prick who’s just trying to string me along and get his rocks off on hurting me at every possible turn.”

“You still like him, don’t you?”

“Suck my dick. You’re buying me breakfast.”

Sapnap fake moaned, loud and high pitched. “Mmh, Denny’s.” Dream cracked, tea kettle noises coming out in full swing. Sapnap grinned. “Atta boy, right back in the saddle. Let’s get out of here before any children show up.”

“Good call.”

Notes:

:)

Chapter 8: That’s Life

Chapter Text

When a knock on Sapnap’s door roused him and Dream from their midday nap, the first words he yawned from his mouth were oh and fuck. Dream let his head flop back down onto the pillow, spreading his limbs into the space Sapnap left as he dragged himself off the mattress. Ever since they were young, they always fixed any fights between them by taking a nap together. How could anyone be angry after a good nap? So he’d let Dream sleep while he took care of the door; maybe it would win him some extra forgiveness points.

As he padded through the living room, bare feet smacking lightly against the hardwood floor, the possibilities of who it could be ran through his head. None of them were good.

His dad, the cop, having somehow found out that Sapnap took part in the chaos last night.

His brother, asking for money.

His supplier, telling him his last turnout was short- which it wasn’t.

Schlatt’s mom, vying for round two.

Schlatt, holding a baseball bat.

He opened the door.

“Quackity,” he said, stunned. To be honest, that had been the last person he suspected to turn up at his house at… five in the evening, according to his watch.

Quackity looked nervous. He was wearing a beanie instead of his usual summer bucket hat, plain navy blue against his shiny dark hair. He was dressed nice, too, and Sapnap belatedly realized that he was already dressed for the party. Short-sleeved button up, or divorced dad shirt as Sapnap would teasingly call it. Basic black jeans with rips in the knees from the countless times Q had wiped out on his heelys going down the hills coming from the clifftop neighborhoods while completely smashed. Noting Quackity’s footwear, Sapnap had a feeling it would likely happen again that night at Eret’s party- and, Jesus Christ, there was suddenly a blur of blue in Sapnap’s face.

The smell hit him first, fresh and sweet. Then he realized what was in front of him. Flowers.

Bluebonnets, he recognized most promptly. He wasn’t all too familiar with the other mix of blue flowers and complimentary greens except for the added white variant of the bluebonnet, but- bluebonnets. They smelled like visiting his mom and step-dad in Texas, summer nights on their porch in a dry heat, him and the flowers begging for the rain. His mom tended to them every year. She had to call poison control when Sapnap, as a wild little four-year-old, decided to eat one of the toxic flowers because it had smelled so sweet on that drizzling April day. He’d spent hours puking it up, along with everything else in his stomach, but he still ran out there the next day to stroke their hundreds of little petals and say hello to the bees buzzing around their centers.

“Fuck. Um,” Quackity stumbled over his words. His eyes were huge, panicked, dark like espresso. “Please take them before I shit my pants.”

“Please don’t shit your pants on my doorstep,” Sapnap requested politely, slowly taking the bouquet, wrapped in white paper that crinkled under his touch. He couldn’t stop staring at them in awe, shocked to the point of numbness, but a slow and creeping feeling of warmth was fluttering in his gut. Like flaming butterfly wings, flying in circles around his stomach. “I…”

Quackity squirmed, hands behind his back as he rocked from foot to foot. “Come on, man, you’re killing me,” he whined, clearly stressed at Sapnap’s response- or rather lack thereof.

Sapnap blinked himself out of his daze, looking up from the flowers to find Quackity’s cheeks blooming in contrasting pink. Sapnap wondered if flowers came in that color, too, and where he could get some. He was utterly swept off his feet, just from this little gesture. It didn’t feel little to him, though, it felt momentous. He’d never been given flowers before. Never thought he would be given flowers, to be honest. It touched him more than he ever could have anticipated.

“Fuck. Shit. I’m sorry. Ah, hell,” Quackity cursed, anxiously adjusting his beanie, eyebrows pinched together. “I fucked up. I’m- listen, man- oh my god, I don’t even know how to…. unfuck up because- because I just gave you flowers, and there’s really no hetero explanation for that- fuck me- no, don’t! Don’t fuck me. Shit. Piss. Balls. Can I use your bathroom? I have anxiety gas.”

That broke Sapnap. He snorted, Quackity’s rambling falling quiet as Sapnap started laughing.

Quackity’s cheeks flushed darker, his mouth turning into a wobbly frown as he took a step back on the front stoop. “You don’t have to laugh, man,” he mumbled despondently, humiliation weighing down his voice.

Sapnap’s humor choked off into a slight cough, and he cleared his throat. “What? No. Dude, I- I wasn’t laughing at you.” Sapnap reconsidered this statement. “Well, I was, but not at the flowers. I like the flowers. Like, a lot. I was laughing at your anxiety gas.”

“It’s a real thing,” Quackity scowled. He shuffled nervously in place, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… you like them?”

“Yes, idiot,” Sapnap rolled his eyes, finally breaking out into a soft grin. “So what are they for?”

Quackity blinked at him blankly. “You.”

“You’re a moron.”

“Look,” Quackity sighed, looking stubbornly down at his feet. His struggle to form words was really endearing, and Sapnap would have waited there all day just to watch him act all flustered and adorable. He was honestly just overjoyed to have Quackity here, being open and honest, extending any small part of himself to Sapnap after the torment of their awkwardness following the almost-kiss. “I’ve been an asshole, okay?”

“Same,” Sapnap admitted, leaning against his doorframe. Quackity scoffed.

“Shut up, Sapnap, no you haven’t. I was the one who… who freaked and made this a whole thing.” Quackity gestured wildly to encompass said thing.

“You made your boundaries clear, Q, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sapnap murmured before he could say anything else. “I was the one who got butthurt about it when I had no right to.”

“Okay, sure, even if we go with that narrative, I didn’t have to say what I said,” Quackity argued, wincing at the memory. That was kind of gay, dude, not gonna lie. This wasn’t the best means of communication, all these airy and ambiguous statements- but they were both on exactly the same page, and it was the best the two emotionally constipated boys could do. Sapnap would say they were doing pretty well so far. Progress was progress. “I was being a pussy. I wanted to…” Quackity glanced up at Sapnap’s face, his lips, his eyes, the ground again as he blushed furiously with a furrowed brow. “Want to,” he amended under his breath. “But I’m not ready. And I can’t ask you to wait because it’s not fair to you. The things I know you’ll want scare me, Sapnap.”

The moment was raw, brutally honest, and it made Sapnap a little sick inside. He glanced behind himself into the quiet house before stepping outside, closing the door behind him. He nodded towards the stoop, and Quackity took the cue, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants as he and Sapnap sat. The sun was hot, much too hot for the jeans and sweatpants they were respectively wearing, but they could suffer for a few minutes of alone time. Sapnap worked the ribbon tying together the paper of the bouquet between his hands, unsure how he was going to word his thoughts. It was so important to him, this exact conversation. He needed to get it off his chest.

“Quackity… Sex is important to me,” he started off bluntly, and didn’t miss the way Quackity swallowed, throat clicking. “Which is why it’s not a requirement.”

“Huh? But… you… want it,” Quackity filled in, confused.

“I have sex for connection. I’m… kind of fucked up, Q,” Sapnap said lowly, eyes trained on the bluebonnets. “My parents’ divorce put me in a weird place. Having four parents, but never getting enough attention from any of them. Cooking my own dinners, taking care of my siblings, seeing them all off to school in the mornings- all while the real adults were wrapped up in their own lives.” Sapnap shrugged. “And I’m not mad about it, I turned out okay, but l crave attention and connection. Sex gives me that, and it’s easy, and I like it. But you don’t see me having sex with Dream, because he’s my best friend, and our connection is different. It’s more fulfilling than the mindless hookups, honestly. My infamy of being a man whore or whatever is just a part of my ego at this point. So I don’t need sex, Quackity. I just…” Sapnap fought for his finishing statement, mouth opening and closing. “At the risk of being a sappy motherfucker… I just need to be loved. One way or another. So yeah, sex has become important to me, but I would never make it a requirement. Because it’s not one. It just fills in the gaps where my love life has fallen flat, but- but it would be enough. More than enough.” You are enough. Sapnap, at last, looked at Quackity, who found the courage to look back. God, he just wanted to love and be loved by him, even if both their brains weren’t ready to admit that. He chuckled softly. “Was that all convoluted as fuck? Did that make sense?”

Quackity’s brow was still drawn, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, it makes sense.” But then he was shaking his head, trouble in the skew of his features. “It’s just a whole different realm of terrifying, though. It’s hard to see myself as being- enough.”

“Moron. You already are. I just want you in higher doses. I fucking missed you this past week,” Sapnap sighed, setting aside the flowers and tugging Quackity into a startled hug. His shoulders felt small and stiff under Sapnap’s embrace for all of one second before Qauckity relaxed and sank into the hold. His hands gripped loosely at Sapnap’s t-shirt, nose tucked against his neck. “No wonder I slept with Schlatt’s mom, I was experiencing Quackity withdrawals.”

“God, you’re so gross for that,” Quackity huffed, amused, into Sapnap’s shoulder. His breath fanned skin that was still warm from napping under the lazy circles of a ceiling fan all afternoon, the smell of rosewood and sleep soothing Quackity’s hammering heart. “So you’ll sing karaoke with me tonight, then?” He prompted, needing a break from the emotional wringer he’d been put through for the past two weeks. He pulled away, catching Sapnap’s amused grin.

“Is that what the flowers were for? So you could ask me that?”

“Maybe.”

“I think… I think I have an idea.”

 

 

“Are you talking about… talking about Tracy?” Karl asked into the mic, hanging over Quackity’s shoulder. “Tracy with the ass? Tracy with the… with the Honda? Honk… Well-“

Oops, baby! Fuck up on your bitch like oopsy daisy,” Sapnap took over, jumping up and down on the mini bar as he screamed the words, “Hit her five times in the coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie dai- yeah-

“Oops, baby, Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy,” Quackity sang the next verse, “I just tried to hit, it's my duty, baby. Sippin' on the Goose, like Boosie, baby!

“What is wrong with them?” Punz called to Dream over the backing track of Oops! by Yung Gravy, the two of them camping a spot on the couch with solo cups in their hands, watching the karaoke spectacle go down.

“So much,” Dream responded, shaking his head fondly. He shook his cup, only about a sip left of the vodka cran, and said, “I’m getting more. Need anything?”

“I’m good.”

Dream stood, and was unsurprised when his spot was immediately stolen by Puffy, talk of the latest anime she’d been binging on her tongue. Dream didn’t mind, he wanted to get deeper into the party anyways. He had a buzz going and was ready to let go and have a good time. When the three lover boys were done with karaoke, he might drag them into a drinking game, but for the moment he’d stow away to the kitchen for a refill and a breath of fresh air.

The kitchen was normally less packed than the rest of the house, the only room with proper lighting and not string lights and strobes. It was meant as a refill station and nothing more, liquors and mixers and solo cups arranged semi-neatly on the breakfast bar.

Except he found Foolish laid out on said breakfast bar instead, with several girls that Dream vaguely remembered knowing back in high school taking body shots off of him. He glanced up as Dream froze in the entryway with raised eyebrows, and Foolish spit the lime out of his mouth to grin and say, “I think we have our next participant, ladies.”

They all giggled, one of them grabbing Dream by the wrist to pull him towards the circle of people around the bar, spindly fingers tight on his skin. Another girl was already pouring tequila into Foolish’s bellybutton and the muscular divots in his collarbones. Dream grimaced, muttering, “Three?

“What, can’t handle it?” Foolish quirked a challenging brow at him.

And that was game over.

You simply could not challenge Dream to anything- he would have to do it. “Oh, shut up.” He reached for a slice of lime, pressing the skin to Foolish’s lips before he opened his mouth to hold it between his teeth. He eyed all the shots again, lips pressed tight, his stomach already churning at the thought of doing more tequila shots after last night’s travesty. He was still hungover when he’d shown up to Eret’s house just to drink some more.

But then again, Dream deserved to get fucked up after the shitty morning he’d had.

He dipped his head, tongue lapping against the smooth, hard planes of Foolish’s abs until he reached the pool of tequila in his bellybutton, slurping it out. Holding back his wince, Dream quickly ghosted his mouth up to the left collarbone, the right, swallowing harshly before snagging the lime with his own teeth and pulling back to suck on the juices. When he finally spit the wrung out peel into a cup and wiped his mouth with the back of the hand, the girls around the table were cheering and laughing, one of them taking the opportunity to pat Foolish’s toned stomach dry with a hand towel.

Foolish chuckled, propping himself up on his elbows and dapping Dream up. “That’s it. You’re my drinking buddy tonight.”

“I heard you wrecked Sapnap’s liver last week. I guess it’s my turn,” Dream sighed in acceptance, helping him slide off the counter. He gestured to the bottles strewn around the kitchen. “Do your worst.”

“That’s a dangerous request.” Foolish winked, plucking two solo cups from the stack and getting to work, his broad back blocking Dream’s view. Dream had no choice but to trust him. Which he didn’t. At all.

It came as no surprise when Foolish turned around with two tequila sours, emphasis on the tequila. Foolish was infamous for his tequila-induced behavior, after all. Dream took one sip and knew he was done for. “So it’s that kind of night, huh?”

“Yup,” Foolish said proudly, gleaming white smile spread across his face. He was a classic type of handsome that always had half the party swooning for him. That, plus his fun, dorky personality. Dream couldn’t think of a better man to boost his mood and get him wasted. “No offense, but it looks like you need it.”

“I do,” Dream conceded.

Foolish gave him a devilish look, and Dream knew that he was in for it that night.

Dream spotted George on his third tequila sour; the ratio of tequila to sour had become even more absurdly imbalanced with the waning amount of mix in the bottle, but Dream’s taste buds had left the building, as they often did the more drunk he got. He was at the point where seeing George only fueled his degeneracy. He was already dancing on the minibar with Foolish, who was giving a strip tease to Industry Baby and slowly raking Dream’s shirt up his stomach to encourage him to do the same. All it took for Dream to full send it was meeting George’s eyes where the British man had gotten distracted mid-conversation with Fundy- Fundy, of course with Fundy- to stare back at Dream. So Dream did what any sane guy with a slightly crushed heart and ego would do, and started stripping. The cramped room of people whistled and cheered as he and Foolish swung their shirts over their heads before tossing them haphazardly into the crowd. Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity were nowhere to be found, and Dream thought, good for them.

Foolish had no qualms about going pantsless, wiggling off his jeans. Dream was a bit more reserved at least- if grinding on Foolish while he bent to push down his jeans was considered reserved. Foolish was laughing, cheeks glowing pink and his hair wild, strands falling loose from its gel to feather over his forehead. Dream could only imagined how he himself must have looked, drunk to the point where all the colored lights blurred together, and only getting drunker as he chugged the rest of his drink. Tequila spilled from the sides of his mouth as he lifted the cup up higher and higher, most of the drink splashing onto his skin and rolling down his chest. He crushed the cup and tossed it behind the bar, feeling freer now that he had both hands. Before the drink hit him, he got off the bar, head still clear enough to be cautious of an accident. He lost George’s face in the crowd, even as one of the tallest heads in the room. The amount of bodies swarming him to try and get a dance or a conversation or a snapchat exchange in was also overwhelming his senses, eyes traveling from blurry face to blurry face. Oh god, it’s hitting me.

He didn’t care. He needed this. More than anyone, he needed this.

George slipped from his mind entirely as he sank into the atmosphere of lights, sound, and sweaty bodies. If George was so certain Dream was just another fuckboy (hypocritically, as it turned out), then he’d act the part.

Foolish jumped from the bar, clapping Dream’s shoulder and shouting, “Hot tub time.”

Dream couldn’t agree more.

 

 

George wasn’t sure why he came. He fucked up. He knew he fucked up, and yet he came anyways, hoping that somehow it would all just be forgotten. That Sapnap would throw an arm around his shoulder and tell him he was a shitty kisser, and they’d get into a friendly argument like they normally would. That Dream would roll his eyes, act all tough, and George could get to tell him I didn’t see them. In retrospect, that hopeful thinking was laughable.

At the very least, it appeared that Dream and Sapnap hadn’t told anyone what happened. Though, that just made George feel worse about it. They were better people than he was. He’d moved here and messed up their whole summer, maybe even their friendship with the way he’d seen them fighting in the woodchips before he ran from the playground that morning.

He was quite obviously brooding when Fundy came up to him, two Mike’s Hard Lemonades in hand, and offered him one. “Dream?” Was all Fundy asked, having to call it over the booming rap music and loud chatter.

George took the bottle, muttering back, “Dream,” not in the mood to explain that he was the asshole, not Dream. Fundy seemed to pick up on George’s guilt, and left it at that. “What actually happened with you guys?”

Fundy’s sigh was suffering, gazing off towards the ruckus happening across the room. George followed his line of sight, freezing when Dream’s eyes zeroed in on him from atop the minibar taking up a corner of the sleek black and white living room they were all crowded into. “When I moved here from the Netherlands, he was one of the first people I met. He talked me up, acted all sweet and nice, said yes to a date- or what I thought was a date. We went out to dinner then watched Treasure Island. And then… we hooked up in the back of his minivan at the bonfire. And he ghosted me.” Fundy scrunched his nose at the memory, shaking his head. “If it weren’t for Niki and Wilbur becoming my friends, I probably never would have been invited to the bonfire again, or even be in the same social circle as him.”

“Dick move,” George said sympathetically, remembering thinking that the exact same was going to happen to him at the first bonfire he went to. Maybe it would have. Maybe Dream had been trying to cover his ass, playing victim, telling George he wasn’t like that. “You’re still friends with him, though. Is he…” George wasn’t sure what to ask, exactly, but Fundy seemed to catch the gist of it.

“Dream’s a complicated guy. It doesn’t excuse his shitty behavior, but I get it now. He’s changed a lot, too. He’s put in a lot of effort to make things right with me,” Fundy admitted, and George was trying very hard not to watch Dream rip his shirt off and spill his solo cup down his tan, toned chest- “But I do have to say, it was a little concerning to a few of us when he brought the new foreigner in town,” Fundy pointed at George, “to the bonfire. It just felt like history might repeat itself. But Sapnap told us-“ Fundy cut himself off, brows drawing together. “I… don’t know if it’s right for me to say this.”

“It’s not like it’ll change anything,” George said glumly, picking at the wet label on the bottle, the glass slick with condensation.

Fundy looked at him, trying to read him, but George kept his face carefully blank. Shaking it off, Fundy relented. “That night, Sapnap told us that we didn’t need to worry. Apparently Dream wanted to ask you if you believed in love at first sight when he first walked by you.” Fundy winced, but there was a small grin on his face. “Kind of cute, honestly. He had a pretty serious crush on you, and it only got worse once he started getting to know you.”

That changes things, George thought, feeling stupid for saying it wouldn’t. He thought whatever Fundy had to say would make him feel less guilty, not more guilty. Then again, I should have known. The way Dream’s puppy love was so painfully obvious, seeking George out every time the Brit was on the beach, offering to teach George the sport he loved, climbing the tree outside George’s bedroom window just to talk under the stars. And I kissed his best friend in a playground tube just to see if I really liked Dream or not. George was really beginning to hate himself at that point. His stomach was tight with nerves. He kind of wanted to go home. He kind of wanted to kiss Dream again, make it all better, see the fireworks and feel the sparks. He missed surfing lessons and sitting on his windowsill to catch Dream’s smile in the moonlight and telling him about London and Brighton and home.

“You okay, George?”

George blinked his way back into reality, the sounds of the party overtaking his pounding heart, Fundy’s face bathed in flashes of pink and blue and purple replacing the fond reminiscence reeling in his head. “Yeah. Um. I think I need to step outside for a moment.”

Fundy let him leave, squeezing his way between dancing figures, swaying hips, careless grips on drinks. He left his bottle on the TV stand, not in the mood to drink, not after he’d made a fool of himself drinking the night before. He found his way to the kitchen, ignoring the scant amount of people pouring drinks and talking, stepping out the sliding glass doors and onto the stone flooring that made up Eret’s backyard, large enough to encompass a pool, a hot tub, a cabana with another minibar, several lounge chairs under wooden beams with strings of lights. Eret was floating on a blow-up flamingo in the pool with Niki and Techno, each in their own colorful inner tube. Eret waved when George came out, and George waved back, shoulders sagging as he kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of the pool to let his legs dangle in the water. With the pool lights on, his skin looked ghastly white, wavering under the ripples.

“Hey, George. Enjoying the party?” Eret asked sincerely. “You look a bit down, my friend.”

George glanced at Niki and Techno, uncertain of their presence, not having spoken to them enough to gauge their personalities. But Niki was smiling softly, encouragingly, and Techno appeared disinterested enough that George didn’t feel disconcerted by his presence. So he gave in. “It’s great. You have a beautiful house. I’m just in a weird… situation right now, trying not to be invasive but also trying not to lose this friend group,” he navigated his words carefully, picking at his cuticles. Eret’s expression was far too empathetic than George deserved.

“You won’t lose us,” Niki promised, spinning gently in her tube, arms slung over the side with her body in the middle.

“Yeah,” Eret reassured him, sprawled on her back, wet hair sticking to the flamingo’s plastic sides. They had a very comforting tone of voice, rich and calm. “Just don’t be a stranger.”

That was the issue, though. George never knew if he was wanted. If his presence was warranted. Lately, he’d been feeling more alienated than ever.

For good reason- and said reason strolled through the back door just as George opened his mouth to speak, words falling flat as he looked over his shoulder to see who’d arrived. Foolish was dragging Dream behind him, a few stragglers in their wake who must have enjoyed the show the two put on; some girls, Charlie, Wilbur, Puffy. They didn’t even look his way, heading straight for the hot tub. George wanted to crawl in a hole and die. He faced frontwards again, all three pairs of eyes in the pool trained on him with varying levels of understanding. Surprisingly, it was Techno who seemed the most comprehensive, nodding to himself as he glanced between Dream and George. Then again, George could remember Dream telling him offhandedly that he had begun to become closer to his longtime surfing rival, paddling out in the early hours of the morning after spending the night in Techno’s little RV. Techno could possibly know more than George wanted him to.

“Ya like books, George?” Techno asked suddenly, changing the subject. At first, it puzzled George, until he realized it was just a distraction. So Dream didn’t engage with George, and George didn’t engage with Dream. It felt a lot like damage control, and while George hated that he’d created such drama to which they needed damage control, he was grateful.

“Sure, I pick up novels every now and then,” George shrugged. “I’m guessing you do?”

“Oh, Techno was an English major with a concentration in literature,” Eret informed him, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“Was?”

“Yeah, about that…” Techno trailed off, pressing his lips together. He brushed a strand of pink hair from his face and said, “Anyways! I’ve been reading this book lately, East of Eden, Steinbeck- and it’s so long and dry and God I love long and dry books. Stop me if I get annoyin’, by the way,” Techno added in a whisper, and if it wasn’t obvious that this was a distraction before, he’d just made it quite apparent. George didn’t mind.

“Tell me all about it.”

And maybe… maybe the toxic little part of George that kissed Dream’s best friend wanted to keep his chin high through the crippling shame by being seen having a chat with his surfing rival, too. George wasn’t a bad person, or at least he’d convinced himself as much, but he was prideful. He had barriers up, and he couldn’t let anyone make it through the frozen features to see and feel the hearth within him. It was for his own good to be cold. He was just sorry that Dream was caught in the crossfire of George’s warring emotions. Though it’s his fault they started warring in the first place.

He still found himself throwing looks behind himself, unsure if he wanted to catch Dream’s eye again or not. Every time, Dream was too busy laughing or throwing on a playful smirk or gesticulating wildly as he told a story. George had to find contentedness in hearing Techno ramble on about biblical themes, with small amounts of input from Niki and Eret, who had gotten genuinely invested in the conversation.

Over time, Niki got too cold just sitting in the pool, with the others agreeing and climbing out to drip all over the stone and hug towels around themselves. George didn’t want to follow them inside when they asked, knowing he wasn’t about to have any sort of fun that night, so he waved them off and opted to be alone. Well, as alone as he could get with the low voices coming from the hot tub nearby. George pulled out his phone to text his mom, a simple I want to go home. She wouldn’t ask questions, wouldn’t shame him for being at a party, would only ruffle his hair when he got in her car and smile apologetically at him. Why did everyone treat him so kindly when he was such an asshole? What was wrong with him? Why am I always so defensive?

He got up not twenty minutes later, when his mom texted back saying she was at the end of the driveway. He shook out his damp legs, considering putting his socks and shoes back on, but opting just to carry them. He looked for a gate to the tall, white fence surrounding the pool deck and spotted it to the left side of the house. Past the hot tub.

It’s fine, he told himself, walking steadily. One foot in front of the other. Voices growing louder. An unmistakable laugh. I have a right to be here.

“George.”

George stopped, just beside the hot tub, and squeezed his eyes shut for a minute of regret before turning to face the group soaking in the hot bubbles. Dream’s hair was wet, curly dirty blonde locks clinging to his forehead. His chest and neck were blushing from the heat of the water, a light sheen of sweat on his face. George resolutely did not look down.

“Dream,” he murmured, glancing at the other faces, both familiar and not. Wilbur had a small smirk curving his lips, resting his elbows on the side of the hot tub behind him. Puffy looked confused, as did Foolish. Charlie was either oblivious or doing a really good job of acting like nothing awkward was going on. The two other girls with them nudged one another, mouthing words, not bothering to be subtle about their curiosity. But in the end, Dream was who George landed on once more, drawn to his focused gaze.

“I just wanted to say… no hard feelings.”

George felt faint. He couldn’t believe that. His guilt and Dream’s hurt couldn’t just end like that. There was no way. Nonetheless, he swallowed past the dryness in his mouth, nodded curtly, and said, “Thanks.” Say you’re sorry, idiot. But George didn’t, tongue-tied, wanting to flee more than anything.

He went to turn again, but Dream stopped him once more. “Stay. Hop in.”

George clenched his hands at his sides, then flexed his fingers, anxious energy coursing through him. He felt an urgency to leave, didn’t want to be at this party for another second. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Dream was pushing him. Purposefully. And Wilbur, the only one with a shred of an idea of what was going on, was letting him. Obviously all these people would take Dream’s side- they were all friends. Even if they weren’t, George was clearly in the wrong. Had been from the start.

He’d take cruelty from his brainless, dickhead friends from home over this public humiliation in front of these genuinely kind, close-knit people.

He smiled tightly. “I don’t feel well. I’m going home.”

Dream might have said something more, but George didn’t stick around to catch it, escaping the backyard and hurrying down the driveway, the pavement cool beneath the soles of his feet. He slid into the car waiting for him at the mailbox, letting out a shaking, frustrated sigh as the leather seats welcomed his hot, shameful skin. He slowly lifted his head, his mom already peering over at him with a gentle concern creasing her forehead.

They had to talk, but George would fight that battle in the morning.

For then, he gave her a reassuring nod, and sat back to let her drive them home.

 

 

Dream felt anger watching George leave. Or maybe something closer to anguish. He had the gall to show up in the first place, but couldn’t take the heat when Dream extended his olive branch, offered neutrality, opted for a clean break instead of this shattered, sharp mess. There was broken glass between them, all around them now. Taking steps away from each other would hurt just as much as taking steps towards each other. And George had chosen to pace backwards.

Fine.

Dream acknowledged that his drunk brain probably wasn’t thinking about the situation properly- and yet it felt like the most clarity he’d gotten on the situation all summer. Situation was the perfect word for it. Relationship sounded too pleasant to describe the tangled wires that connected them.

Foolish, Charlie, and Puffy distracted the girls in the hot tub by urging them to jump in the cold pool, claiming the heat would feel twice as nice after. Dream and Wilbur lingered, sitting close to talk lazily to one another.

“That was awkward,” Wilbur scoffed after George had scurried off and the others had clambered out of the hot tub. Splashes followed as they dove and canon-balled into the pool. “Did you… you know?”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. I was a perfect gentleman. He was the one who-“ Dream cut himself off, cutting his eyes towards Wilbur. He was probably the last person Dream should tell about what happened. “He fucked up, is all, and he’s not doing anything to make it better. So… fuck him, I guess.”

“Alright, fine, don’t tell me,” Wilbur raised his hands placatingly, grabbing his cup from the edge of the hot tub. Dream could smell the wine, sitting so close, especially when Wilbur sighed deeply after taking a sip. “You know, I was surprised when you went for him, given your distaste for us Englishmen.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Tommy’s the only reason we had any bad blood.” Dream tipped his head back, trying to get a peek of the stars through the slats of wood and lights. They were spinning slightly, perception skipping like a broken record. Uh oh. “But maybe you British idiots are all the same.”

“Well to be fair, you do terrorize the poor child,” Wilbur reasoned, his posh voice lilting with amusement. He rested an elbow on the edge, his cheek against his fist. Dream could feel his eyes on him. “Personally, I think you Americans are all the same.”

“I’ll compromise,” Dream offered, shaking out his hair before meeting Wilbur’s eyes. “We’re equally as bad.”

“Oh, are we?” Wilbur inclined, cocking his head as he often did.

Dream had once thought of George as soft like a drizzle of rain in London, skin cool like foggy cobble streets and smile sweet like the smell of tea with cream and sugar. He’d been wrong. George was all sharp points, like the jagged peaks of old British architecture, with a cold shoulder like the bitter winds sweeping off the Thames. He was as aggravating as the maze of the city’s map and as confusing as the lines of the subway system. Dream was just an American. He didn’t understand this European boy, could only romanticize him based off the country he came from and the two seconds of lovely he got for every two hours of nasty. Frankly, Dream was tired of London. It was wrong. God, he knew it was wrong, and shitty, and probably entirely pointless because George apparently had no emotions, so how could Dream expect him to feel jealousy? But Dream wasn’t out to make good decisions. Not at an Eret party. So Dream decided he wanted to sample a taste of Suffolk tonight.

Knowing it was from pettiness alone, he murmured, “Is it just me, or is there a lot of potential for hate sex between us?”

“Oh, thank god I’m not the only one.” Wilbur stood, jarring Dream, and was halfway out of the hot tub before raising a brow at the blonde surfer. “Are you coming or not?”

“Are you going to make me come?” Dream challenged back with a teasing grin, and Wilbur scoffed at his lame joke. Nonetheless, they stumbled through the house with Dream’s wrist in Wilbur’s slim hand, leaving wet footprints leading up the stairs to the guest room, which Eret left unlocked for one purpose and one purpose only.

The door closed behind them, and Wilbur smirked, crowding Dream’s space until his back hit the wood. He reached past Dream’s waist, and the click of the lock echoed through the spacious room.

“Well, well, Dream,” he purred, dipping in until they were nose to nose, his eyes half-lidded. Dream’s stomach was in knots, but the knots were hot and threaded with sexual desire. “Let’s see if the rumors are true.”

“I just have one condition,” Dream requested, head falling against the door, looking slightly up at the few inches Wilbur had on him.

“Mm?”

“Leave bruises.”

 

 

Karl was putting Peppa Pig bandaids on Quackity’s freshly scraped knees outside of the 7-eleven while Sapnap stared up at the glowing red, orange, and green sign with a grimace on his face. “I kissed George last night,” he blurted out, and Karl and Quackity’s heads turned in sync to look up at him.

“Ew. Why?” Quackity asked, not sounding upset, which was relieving.

“I don’t know,” Sapnap answered honestly, frowning. “I meant to punch him, but kissed him instead.”

“Ah. The good ol’ punch-turned-into-a-kiss, gotcha,” Karl hummed in understanding.

Sapnap stared at him. “What?”

Karl tossed out the bandaid scraps, shrugging. “I was trying to make you feel better about it. Did it work?”

Considering this, Sapnap decided, “Yeah, it did.”

They helped Quackity back to his feet and began wandering the streets again, talking about nothing in particular, yet everything at once. The night was mild, bugs humming in the thin spread of trees that lined most of the side streets, their skin sticky from spilled drinks and dried sweat. The sickly yellow hue of the streetlights overtook their view of the stars, light pollution leaving only the moon visible above their heads. Karl ambled along with his neck craned back to look at it, directly over them as they became the nocturnal wanderers of the witching hour.

Quackity complained about his knees until Sapnap sighed and crouched to let him hop onto his back. Quackity eagerly jumped onto him, hands clasping over Sapnap’s clavicle and legs squeezing around his sides.

“What was that one country song you played on the way to the party? Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” Karl giggled.

Sapnap snorted. “Wait until I make you guys listen to Dicked Down in Dallas.

“Jesus Christ,” Quackity muttered, but he had his face tucked down into the crook of Sapnap’s neck. He wasn’t a heavy drinker, and all it took was a few beers to get him buzzed and drowsy. Sapnap was basking in the warm breaths fanning his skin, the press of Quackity’s pretty little nose against his shoulder. He felt one of Quackity’s hands loosen, and watched as he reached out towards Karl. Karl, eyes sparkling wide with fond joy, laced fingers with Quackity. They continued walking like that, all secretly smiling to themselves like idiots.

They were all running out of steam by the time they made it to the main road, the one that cut straight between the surf and town, the one that all of their streets branched off of. They’d agreed to crash at Karl’s house since it was the closest, and they were so close to making it… but as sleepy and ready to sleep off the booze as they were, Quackity still mumbled, “I don’t wanna go inside yet.”

Sapnap agreed. He didn’t want the night to be over. Whatever was cultivating between them felt magical in the stillness of the night, with cricket chirps and the rolling waves to their right, the fireflies winking in and out of sight.

“Okay. Break time,” Karl said easily, stopping right where he was in the middle of a white-painted crosswalk and sprawling onto his back. Quackity lifted his head to see what he was doing, and immediately wiggled off Sapnap’s back to follow suit. Sapnap gladly laid with them, each of their bodies strewn in a different direction, their heads closest to one another. Karl hummed happily, palms pressing into the rough texture of the asphalt, and asked, “Do you wanna go on a date?”

Quackity lifted his head again nervously. “Who, uh. Who are you asking, man?”

“Both of you. At the same time. Together.”

“Isn’t that…” Quackity trailed off, conflicted. It’s not like he hadn’t known that this thing was all three of them, obviously he knew, but- he never pictured the day it all became real. Didn’t think it would ever happen. Hadn’t dared to want for it.

“I’m in,” Sapnap said. “I’ll even drop my sugar parents for y’all.”

Karl laughed, and Quackity snorted softly, mind still reeling, slightly panicking. “We’ll, um, talk about that,” Karl pushed it aside for the moment. “Q, it’s okay to say no. I worried you might. If I assumed wrong about you liking us, I’m sorry and it’s okay. Pinky promise.”

“Why would you… ask me, too?”

“Because I like you, silly.”

“What the honk,” Q breathed out jokingly, and they all laughed.

“So what do you say?” Karl prompted gently. Sapnap rolled onto his stomach, head propped up on his hands. Quackity peered at him, upside down, his cheeks the same dusted rose as when he’d anxiously offered Sapnap flowers earlier.

“I- um. Yeah. Yeah, I’m down,” Quackity stammered, and Sapnap smiled at him. He was still tense, though, apparent in the way his shoulders were nearly hiked up to his ears. ”Can we go to Denny’s?”

“Oh! Tonight? Date tonight?” Karl sat up excitedly, and Quackity hesitantly propped himself up. “Breakfast date?”

“I mean. Yeah. Let’s fucking go, baby. Babies? Ew, that felt weird to say,” Quackity chuckled to himself, voice high and terrified. ”Babes,” he finally settled on, reaching for humor as his shield, his safety blanket.

Sapnap grinned, “This is going to take some getting used to.”

“You’re telling me. I’ve never even been with a guy before, let alone two. Jesus fucking christ,” Quackity tried to admit casually, but he was red in humiliation, curling up to hug his knees and fiddle with his fingers.

“Hey, that’s okay,” Karl assured him soothingly, sitting criss-cross, knees bouncing with happy energy. “I’ve gone so long without liking anyone that I thought I was asexual for a while. Which, you know, means that I’m…”

Sapnap’s eyes widened. “Are you both gay virgins? Oh my god, I’m the most experienced one here?” He fist pumped. “Oh my god, I’m gonna rock your worlds. And your beds.” Quackity looked horrified, and Sapnap remembered their conversation from the morning. “But, like, in the future. When you’re ready. If that’s even on the table. Doesn’t have to be. Socks on. No homo.”

“Crocs on, full homo,” Karl countered playfully. “Wait. Does this mean my first time will be a threesome?”

“That’s so metal,” Sapnap murmured in admiration, mind straying into the gutter with this new door opened- potentially, later, maybe months later. He didn’t care. He was going on a fucking date with Karl and Quackity. His chest felt like it might explode.

“Can- Can we get pancakes now before I pass out from the thought of a dick going up my ass?” Quackity asked, looking faint.

“It doesn’t have to work like that if you’re not- you know what? Conversation for a different time. Let’s get pancakes,” Sapnap aborted his line of thought, thinking better of it.

“Oh thank god.”

Chapter 9: You

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Eret was a good host. She cared for her friends a lot, and always made sure to go around putting heads on pillows and laying blankets over curled up forms and placing water bottles in reach of everyone who crashed in the house- or on the pool deck, in Charlie’s case, facedown shirtless on a lounge chair. Eret laughed softly at the sight.

He found Bad and Skeppy in a guest bedroom, fast asleep with their hands clasped loosely over the covers. Bad was neatly tucked in, free hand under his cheek angelically; Skeppy, on the other hand, was sprawled haphazardly with half his limbs sticking out of the comforter.

Eret left them waters on the nightstand and made sure to be cautious in closing the door behind himself. When they peered into the other guest bedroom after a soft knock with no response, their eyebrows shot up.

Wilbur groggily lifted his head off the pillow, his loose curls fluffy and wild. He smacked his lips, mouth dry, and reached out a lanky, naked arm. Eret entered slowly, handing him a bottle, eyes flicking to the person in bed with him. Messy hair, pale from hours in the sun. Skin, with a summer tan and a speckling of freckles dotting a muscled shoulder. Eyes, sage green as they cracked open, glassy and sleepy and hungover.

Dream breathed in deeply as he pushed himself onto his elbows, laying on his stomach. The sheet slipped down his back, uncovering more bare skin. When he craned his neck to look at Eret properly, it became quite obvious what had happened the night before, if the blooming blood vessels in shades of red and purple trailing down his neck and collarbones were anything to go by.

“Well, good morning,” Eret said, shell-shocked.

Dream twisted his head the other way, and he and Wilbur drowsily met eyes.

Dream flopped back onto his stomach, shoving his face into the pillow. “Fuck,” he groaned.

“Mm. That, we did,” Wilbur hummed, seeming mildly perturbed by that fact. He shook his head loosely, and cleared his throat, putting on a classic Wilbur-winning-smile. “Good morning, Eret.”

“Find everything okay last night, boys?”

“Oh, of course. You’re very hospitable, as always,” Wilbur told her, glancing towards the top drawer of the dresser, where Eret kept an… inventory of sorts.

“Good!” Eret said cheerfully, with the internal addition of I think? They hadn’t gotten the impression that Wilbur and Dream were at all interested in one another, but… “Well, feel free to go back to sleep, I’ll be making lunch later for whoever wants it.”

Dream sighed heavily, back rising and falling, and Eret took that as acknowledgement. He didn’t linger longer than necessary, giving them water and slipping from the room fast, feeling an awkward energy in the air.

Once he’d gone, door clicking into place behind him, Dream picked his head up again and repeated, “Fuck.”

“Yes, we’ve established that already.” Wilbur pressed his lips together, leaning back against the pillows to study Dream’s face. “You’re… okay, right? This was okay?”

Dream dragged his hands down his face, releasing his breath all at once. “Yeah,” he murmured. “This was okay.”

“Do you regret it?” Wilbur asked carefully.

Dream snorted, the tense line of his back deflating. “No. No, I needed that.” He shook off the serious atmosphere, lifting his eyes to Wilbur, and smirked. “So. Were the rumors true, then?”

“I don’t know… I might have to gather more data,” Wilbur said airily, checking his nails, but his glance at Dream was suggestive. Dream must have looked hesitant, because Wilbur raised his hands defensively. “Or not. If you’d rather leave it as a piss drunk hookup, that’s fine. However... I think it would be good fun sober as well.” Wilbur beamed at him.

“How are you not, like, nauseous and literally shaking from dehydration?” Dream scoffed, reaching for the water bottle Eret left him. His hand was, in fact, shaking.

“I’m not the one who got dragged to Tequila Town by Foolish.”

“Touché.” Dream checked his phone while he sipped slowly from the bottle, not wanting to upset his already angry stomach. He had 3% battery and several texts from Sapnap. And it was 5:07 in the morning. “Well. The day is young. I say we sleep off this hangover and go for round two later.”

“Brilliant.”

“I call big spoon.”

“Let’s spice things up and knife instead.”

“What the fuck is knifing?” Dream snorted, shifting onto his side and hiking up the blankets again.

“It’s when you just awkwardly lay side by side on your backs and don’t touch.”

“Perfect.”

Wilbur laughed. “Shut up and get over here.”

 

 

“So you slept with Wilbur?”

Dream was laying on his deck, back feeling like it was cooking on the hot wooden planks. Even with his eyes closed behind his sunglasses, the world was still too bright and saturated. His skin was littered with evidence of last night’s (and this morning’s) tryst, and Sapnap was standing over him, having invited himself over after Dream texted him I slept with Wilbur. Dream’s mom had poked her head out the back door, seen the state of her son’s body, and ducked back inside deciding she didn’t want to hear the conversation. Dream sighed.

“Yeah. I feel bad, but also, I don’t.”

Sapnap snorted, kicking Dream’s calf lightly with his croc. When Dream cracked his eyes open to look up at him, his friend looked exhausted, but relaxed and content. More than that. Happy. “Why? Because of George?

“He- Look, even now- I don’t think he means it, Sapnap,” Dream lamented, watching Sapnap meander away to lay belly-down on Dream’s diving board. “But maybe I still just have the rose-colored glasses on. I don’t know.”

“No, you’re right, he’s definitely not a bad person,” Sapnap relented, to Dream’s surprise. Maybe that kiss between them did some healing or something. Dream scowled at the thought, and then brushed it away, because he’d just slept with a rival perhaps greater than Techno. “I feel bad for him more than anything. He’s clearly fucked up over all this, but that doesn’t give him the right to fuck you up over it, too.”

Dream laid there pensive for a moment. He’d been so decisive the night before, with his inhibitions on the floor and the haze of alcohol- though it had felt like clarity at the time. He wished it were that simple. It just wasn’t. Feelings didn’t go away overnight, even with the help of an inebriated hookup. “Is he… worth it?” Dream found himself asking, unsure if he was asking himself or asking for Sapnap’s opinion.

“Dream, listen,” Sapnap said, chin in his hand, the other dangling down to graze the pool water. Dream sat up, muscles aching from twisting into a pretzel and slut-dropping on top of the mini bar. “I had a similar issue, I think, where I was ready but the other person just… wasn’t. And they- he didn’t expect me to wait for him. Wasn’t worried that my feelings would disappear if he went slow. Was hardly even aware of his own feelings. And sure, he handled the situation a lot better than George is, but that’s because he’s been friends with us his whole life. His gay crisis was padded with way more love and acceptance than George’s probably was- George is still holding back, still terrified, and I’m thinking it all stems from his dumb British friends back home or, like, his family or something. So… if you’re willing to wait for him, if you’re okay letting your feelings stagnate for a while, then yeah. He’s worth it. But you don’t owe him that, either, you know? So think about what’s best for you, what’ll make you happy in the end, and make your decision for yourself. And be decisive. He needs to know if you’re all in before he’ll open up.”

Dream gaped lightly at his best friend, who spoke so smoothly and assuredly, not an ounce of tension in his body. Then again, Sapnap always tended to surprise Dream. It was easy to forget that he was the most emotionally intelligent one in their entire friend group because he acted like a fun, crazy idiot most of the time. “What happened, dude?”

A cheek-splitting grin spread over Sapnap’s lips, his eyes and nose scrunching with the force of it as Dream witnessed it fondly. “I got two boyfriends.”

Dream shot upright. “What?” Sapnap was nodding, trying and failing epically to stifle his moronic smile. Dream leapt to his feet, whooping and confirming, “Karl and Quackity?” When Sapnap kept nodding, Dream jogged his way over, giving Sapnap a hand up to his feet and pulling him into a ferocious hug that was sweaty and hot and too tight, but they were both laughing with glee. “Oh my god! Sapnap, that’s- holy shit-“

“I know, dude, I fucking know,” Sapnap giggled, chest heaving with a joyous release of breath as he squeezed Dream one last time before letting go. “I’m so… happy.”

Dream was an emotional bastard, his sinuses prickling with the threat of tears. He punched Sapnap in the arm. “You look happy. God, that’s- that’s great, Sapnap. I’m guessing that he you were talking about was Quackity. You resolved everything?”

“Yup. We’re all good now,” Sapnap was practically glowing. “We went on a date to Denny’s-“

“Didn’t we go there the day before-“

“Shut up. Anyways, we went on a date to Denny’s and daddy paid obviously-“

“Please don’t call yourself daddy ever again-“

Shut up, dude,” Sapnap laughed, jumping up and grabbing Dream into a headlock. Dream snickered, wrapping his arms around Sapnap’s middle to try and throw him off balance. “Let me finish my story, dickhead!”

“Fine, fine, let go of me.”

Sapnap gave him one last kick to the shin before shoving him away, nearly pushing Dream into the pool. “So,” he finally continued. “We went on a date to Denny’s, I paid, and then we all crashed at Karl’s place and we snuggled in his bed, all three of us, it was so perfect. Ms. Jacobs was so happy, she’s already planning the wedding. I walked Quackity back to his house earlier and he told his mom, too, and she hugged me so hard I thought my bones cracked but it was fucking awesome,” Sapnap gushed. “His dad shook my hand and said I had good taste for loving his son and I think that means he approves of me? Q seemed really relieved, so I’m not too concerned. They sent me home with a tupperware of tamales.”

“You are so down bad,” Dream told him, grinning, basking in his best friend’s overflowing warmth and excitement. Then he nearly choked on his own spit. “Oh- speaking of Bad, guess who Eret found in the other spare bedroom.”

Sapnap’s eyebrows shot up. “Cap.”

“Bad and Skeppy.”

Cap, no way. BadBoyHalo is a sex-haver? Don’t believe it.”

Dream shrugged helplessly. “Just relaying what Eret told me over breakfast. They were still up there, doing God knows what.”

“So what you’re saying is, we’re going to the beach right now to look for BBH at Planet Duck? And hopefully catch my sweet, wonderful, gorgeous, handsome boyfriend there, too?”

“You’re so whipped, Sap.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap agreed, stepping onto the deck to grab Dream’s discarded shirt and throwing it at his bare chest. “Now cover up those hickeys, you freak. As much as you can, at least,” he grimaced, watching as Dream tugged his tee on and still had visible purple splotches down the column of his throat and disappearing into the neckline. “Jesus Christ, what are you, sixteen?”

Dream shrugged, hand coming up to cover the skin, palm sliding over oily sunblock and disrupting the familiar scent of it. They started walking through the house to get to the front, soaking in the last free seconds of blessed AC before they’d be thrown into the summer sun for the rest of the day. Dream’s stomach lurched when a thought struck him- do I have homework due tonight? He shook it off, saying, “I wanted George to see. Now it feels… juvenile, but I asked for it.”

“You poor bastard,” Sapnap sympathized. Sapnap either thought Dream’s sexscapade with Wilbur was no big deal, or he might be slightly peeved at Dream for using sex as a weapon. Or maybe, for now, Sapnap was still on cloud 9 from his date with his new boyfriends and he wasn’t thinking twice about it. “Kind of awkward that he’s…”

At first, Dream waited for elaboration, confused. But then he followed Sapnap’s line of sight up the street, to the left, and- ah, George’s house. Dream wanted to not feel guilt, but found it simmering in his belly anyways. That slight heartache, that flutter of unpleasant butterflies, that newsreel of remorseful thought flying through his head. “Yeah. But you’re right. I think I just need to be all in or all out.”

“Have you decided?”

Against his better judgement, Dream had decided. He nodded.

Sapnap stopped walking, and Dream faltered next to him, looking at him with pinched brows. Sapnap nudged him. “Well? Go get him, tiger.”

Now?

“That’s what all in means, dipshit. It means now, it means all the time, it means being there for him in any way he needs you to be until he’s ready for more,” Sapnap explained, shoving Dream lightly in the direction of the house. “I’ll keep you updated on the Skephalo situation. Go on.”

“But-“

“No buts. Go.”

And that was how Dream wound up on George’s stoop, fidgeting with a loose thread on the outer seam of his board shorts. He tugged on the neckline of his t-shirt, giving it a quick sniff, displeased to find that he smelled like chlorine, sweat, and sunscreen. He turned around, ready to go home and at least change- and probably get distracted and not end up going back- but Sapnap stood in the middle of the road still with his arms folded and his expression pointed. Dream sighed, facing the navy blue door of the house again. He opened the outer screen door, realized there was a doorbell, and let it shut again. He checked his phone for the time. They’re probably eating dinner. I shouldn’t interrupt. But Sapnap was still on the street and, knowing his best friend, he wouldn’t be letting Dream back out of this.

He raised his hand to push the doorbell, and yelped when the door opened before he could even touch it, jumping back half a step. George glowered from the other side of the screen. Dream stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, floundering.

“Uh-“

“Would you stop loitering on my front steps please?” George asked flatly.

“Hi.” Dream wanted to smack himself. Hi? Really? Idiot. George raised an eyebrow at him, then leaned sideways to see around him. Dream knew he was looking at Sapnap, and closed his eyes to rein in his embarrassment before opening them again. “Ignore him. He’s leaving- which is why I wanted to see if you were down to… hang out.” Please say yes. His ego wouldn’t be able to take rejection at that moment. He’d probably melt into the bricks.

George looked at him ludicrously. “Hang out?” He repeated with a skeptical tone. “You want to- ow,” George hissed. A cat had placed its paws on his leg, stretching its spine and digging its claws into his sweatpants. It meowed sweetly, gazing up at its owner with large, adorable eyes.

Dream gasped. “Let me in. What’s their name? Let me in, I need to pet them,” he demanded.

What?

Without waiting for an answer, Dream opened the screen door and stepped inside, immediately sinking to the floor to coo at the cat and offer his hand for it to sniff. “Hi, sweetie. You’re so pretty.”

“Dream, what the fuck,” George sighed, but didn’t try to kick him out, so Dream took that as a win. “Her name is Cat.”

“Of course it is,” Dream muttered fondly, giggling when she nosed into his hand. He scratched her head and ears, grinning when she leaned into it. “You really have a cat named Cat and a dog named Dog?”

“What about it?” George asked defensively as he closed the door to prevent the AC from getting out. He folded his arms across his chest, cozied up in a crew neck sweater.

Dream shook his head, slowly standing again. There wasn’t a lot of space in the entryway, their bodies close. George stood his ground, even as his throat bobbed, jaw unshaven. “It’s just very… you.”

After a moment of blankness, George’s expression melted into one of slight puzzlement, but he shook it away quickly. “Whatever.” Without another word, he started walking down the hallway, only stopping once he reached the archway to the kitchen. He glanced back at Dream, frozen on the rug. “Take your shoes off.” Then he disappeared. Dream scrambled to kick off his flip-flops and follow.

The house was nice. Then again, they were in suburbia, all the houses on their side of town were nice. George’s was neat and clean in that new-owner way, though, still in the phase where it didn’t quite feel like home yet. All the decorative cushions were perfectly placed in the corners of the couches, all the coasters stacked on the low coffee table.

“Where’s Dog?”

“Mum took her to the beach.”

Dream hummed, trailing George slowly as they made their way to the stairs. “Why didn’t you go?”

“I was napping. I woke up and the first thing I see outside my window is you and your idiot best friend staring at my house from the street.”

“Sorry.”

George’s room looked different in the daylight. It was strange to think Dream had only really seen it at night, with the sticky stars casting the faintest green glow on the ceiling. Everything was in shades of dark brown and cobalt blue and pristine white. Wooden headboard, crisp ivory pillows, plain comforter. The walls were a light, cool-toned grey with a white baseboard, large spans of empty space between the occasional picture frame and a blank cork board hanging above his desk. Dream wandered over to it while George flopped back into bed, sprawling carelessly with his arms folded behind his head. The desk had an impressive PC setup with two monitors, but was bare of any miscellaneous items that would give away little hints about George’s likes and interests. It was a little disappointing to Dream- but then his eyes fell onto the pad of sticky notes and the pen next to it, and he had an idea.

“What are you doing?” George asked as Dream bent over the desk, body blocking his line of sight. Dream didn’t answer, and George muttered, “Whatever.”

Dream was not an artist by any means, so in place of a proper doodle of himself, he drew a funny little blob with a big old smile. With it, he wrote let’s stop being morons with a little heart at the end. He signed it love, Dream. By the time he was finished, George had begrudgingly sat up and scooted to the end of the bed to read it as Dream stuck it to the cork board.

“Michael,” George said.

Dream turned to him, puzzled.

“Joshua.”

“Uh-“

“Christopher.”

“George…?”

“Matthew. You look like a Matthew.”

“Is that a good thing?” Dream chuckled awkwardly.

Jacob.

Dream shook his head, bewildered. “What is going on?”

George’s mouth quirked in vexation. “Your name. None of those are your name? I looked up the most popular baby names in Florida in 1999 and those were the top five.”

“Did you not read the note? I said let’s stop being morons,” Dream joked, grinning. George rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Tell me your real name, then. End this dumb guessing game,” George said.

“Never.”

“Nicholas. Top five in the country now.”

“Nope. Want a hint?”

George frowned. “Yes.”

“There’s no way my name is on that list.”

“Joseph.”

“No.”

After a few names, a bit of googling, and another handful of names, George gave up at number 20. “Justin.”

“No.”

Dream had been doodling on a new sticky note for the entirety of the ordeal, trying to capture George’s sprawled form as he laid on his bed with his phone above his face. But, again, Dream was no artist, so when he got frustrated with the fluffy-haired stickman he’d made, he started putting random little things all over the sticky note. Cats, mushrooms, little thought clouds above George’s head where he dreamt of a stick figure sword fighting the blob he’d created earlier. It may have been a euphemism, but George didn’t need to know that.

With a groan, George threw his phone to the side so he could glare at the ceiling grumpily. “Fine. If you won’t tell me your name, at least cook me dinner.”

Dream looked up from his drawing, where he was giving stick-George clout goggles. “What? Why?”

“Because mum just texted me asking if I would, but I’m lazy.”

So they wound up downstairs again, Dream sifting through a pantry for seasoning as he steamed broccoli and carrots with a pot and a metal strainer because George’s family didn’t own a proper steamer. There was a weird urge within him to impress George’s mom. The selection of groceries he’d found in the fridge and cabinets hadn’t offered much room for creativity, but he figured a well-balanced, well-seasoned meal would do just fine. Pan-fried chicken breast, rice, vegetables. Very basic, but George had assured him that his mom had a plain taste, so it would be perfect. Besides, he had créme brûlée in the oven for dessert, which earned him a raised brow from George. Or maybe that wasn’t why- he’d been getting constant curious gazes from George while he cooked, who would duck his head back down towards his phone whenever Dream caught him.

It was only as George was setting the table with three placemats, napkins, forks, and knives that Dream found out why.

“So.” George cleared his throat, silverware clinking together in his hand, the sizzle of chicken cooking. Dream almost didn’t hear it, but half-turned to keep an eye on the food while giving George his attention. “There’s love bites on your neck.”

“Love bites?” Dream snorted, and slid a self-conscious palm over the marks for the nth time that day.

George rolled his eyes. “Hickeys.

“Yeah… um.”

“Do I want to know?”

Dream winced. George didn’t sound mad. He didn’t sound… anything. Any emotion. Bored, maybe, but it was surely feigned. “Better you hear it from me than someone else. You know, after what happened the first time we hung out.”

“Oh. Right. The bonfire,” George noted lightly. He was taking his time straightening out each placemat. “Well, it shouldn’t-“

“Don’t,” Dream blurted, surprising himself with how quick he spoke. He shook his head, prodding at the chicken, checking the underside of each piece. “I mean- don’t say it shouldn’t matter because… Well, I guess you might feel-“

“Just tell me, Dream,” George asked quietly, which didn’t give Dream much of an answer on how he felt, but feelings were difficult for George. All in means now, it means all the time, it means being there for him in any way he needs you to be until he’s ready for more. George probably wasn’t quite sure what he felt yet, or how to comprehend what he felt, or what he wanted from Dream. All he seemed to want was the truth and transparency. Dream could do that.

“Don’t judge me,” Dream said, slipping humor into his tone. George took the bait, breathing a little laugh, shoulders visibly deflating. “But- Wilbur.”

George’s head shot up. “Wilbur,” he repeated.

“Wilbur.”

Wilbur?” George burst into laughter. It was unlike anything Dream had heard from him before, seeming to come straight from his diaphragm without control. “Oh my god, Dream. What, did you find the nearest British guy as a replacement for me?”

Dream said nothing.

George coughed, and stopped laughing. His cheeks were flushed, amused, even as he fought to flatten his expression. “No.”

“Sorry that I have a crush on you,” Dream muttered jokingly- half jokingly. He turned fully to the stove again and flipped the chicken

“You’ve got to stop saying that.”

“Well, it’s true.” He wanted so badly to look back at the frustrated blush he knew George would be wearing, but held his ground. He needed to keep the admittance casual, because yes he wanted to be transparent but he also didn’t want to freak George out. “So you’re not mad?”

“No, I’m not mad.” George said it like he was offended. “I have no right to be mad. I kissed your best friend after refusing to acknowledge that I kissed you. I’d call us even.” George paused, self-reflecting. “I’m sort of a prick, aren’t I?” He shook his head, repeating, “I’m not mad. But I have… unpleasant feelings about it.” Dream arched his eyebrows over his shoulder at him, and George groaned, scrubbing his hands down his face. “I’m trying, Dream.”

Dream couldn’t fault him there. It was the first time George admitted any sort of feelings- even if unpleasant. Because it meant that he was jealous. Or upset. And Dream secretly wanted him to be. “I appreciate that you’re trying. You just happen to suck at it.”

After a brief struggle for a response, George ignored him and guessed, “Alexander.”

Dream chuckled. “Nope.”

And everything felt okay.

 

 

Wilbur was unsure as to how he became friends with Tommy, or why he was sat in a treehouse with him listening to his high schooler problems. The thing about high schooler problems was that they were so small, so insignificant, yet he knew that in Tommy’s mind that it was the hugest and most important thing in the world at that moment. Or maybe that was a Tommy thing, not so much a high schooler thing. A combination of both, one exacerbating the other, most likely.

“Are you paying attention? So when-“

“No,” Wilbur answered before Tommy could continue barreling on in his explanation of… something. Wilbur’s eyes refocused on the world around him, and he squinted at the crayon drawing Tommy was making on the wall. “Is that supposed to be me?” He pointed at an absurdly tall purple stick figure.

“No, no, that’s Ranboo. You’re the yellow one,” Tommy explained, scowling. Ah. The yellow stick figure, difficult to see on the wood but also freakishly tall compared to the other stick figures. A tiny green one- Tubbo, presumably. An angry red one- Tommy, undoubtedly.

“I’m lost.”

“Wilbur,” Tommy whined. “Tubbo, Ranboo. You understood the plan, right?”

Tubbo and Ranboo froze mid-whisper to one another, and sat up straight in their bean bags. Ranboo cleared his throat. “Um. No. We weren’t listening, either.”

Tommy folded his arms across his chest, the crayons still gripped in his fist, looking very much like a child. He was pouting like one, too. “I need better friends.”

“I was listening,” Techno said, raising his hand.

Wilbur looked over at him, alarmed. “Techno? When did you get here?”

“What do you mean? I’ve been here the whole time,” the pink-haired man insisted. “Wow, you were really spaced out, man. What’s on your mind?”

“Yeah, Wilbur, what’s more important than getting my discs back, huh?” Tommy challenged, and Wilbur pressed his lips together, trying to stifle his amusement.

“Oh, nothing.” He pointedly looked out the window sawed into the side of the treehouse, a smirk tugging at his lips. He and Dream had a good laugh about the discs over lunch with Eret. Not that he would tell Tommy that- no, Tommy would hear absolutely nothing about Wilbur’s tumble in the sheets with Dream, for all the obvious reasons. One, Wilbur liked to (falsely) believe that Tommy had absolutely no idea what sex was, just for his own peace of mind. Two, Dream was Tommy’s sworn nemesis, or something equally as absurd and dramatic. Three, Wilbur didn’t want this information getting to Fundy, who would probably be arriving to the treehouse shortly with Niki and Jack. It was a little shitty of Wilbur to go and hookup with the guy Fundy used to crush on- the same guy who fucked Fundy in the back of a minivan before trying to ghost him.

When he looked frontwards again, Tommy’s eyebrows were raised. “Anything to do with the love bites on your neck? Hm?” He asked, voice getting high with suspicion. “Does Wimbly Boot have a girlfriend?”

That was a fun little thing Tommy liked to do, mess with Wilbur’s name. “God, no.”

“Not even one… Nihachu?”

Wilbur burst into laughter. “You’re joking. She swore off dating when she got into university for pre-med.”

“Oh yeah. Who then? I can’t think of anyone who…” Tommy’s eyes drifted to Techno.

“Don’t look at me,” Techno deadpanned. “I don’t like anybody like that. Trust me. Especially not this guy.”

Wilbur gasped. “Technoblade. I’m offended.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’m really not,” Wilbur agreed.

“Wilbur,” Tommy interrupted, growing more and more perturbed. “Who on Earth have you been snogging?”

“Wilbur’s been snogging someone?” Jack asked, head popping up from the ledge as he climbed the ladder. Ah. Jack Manifold and his impeccable timing. “Oh, good lord. You have been,” Jack nodded to Wilbur’s neck.

Wilbur sighed. “Yes, yes, I know, I have hickeys. Can we all stop drawing so much attention to them? Who I snog is none of anyone’s business but my own.”

“I know who,” Techno murmured, a smug smile spreading onto his face. Wilbur gaped at him. “What? He tells me things.” Wilbur’s mouth flattened into a tight line. “Oh. Oops.”

“So it’s a he,” Tommy exclaimed, pointing. Why was he pointing? “A man. I hate men. Speaking of- let’s get back on topic, shall we?”

“Yes, please, I don’t need to hear another word about Wilbur’s sex life,” Techno agreed. “From him or the guy he-“

“Enough,” Wilbur cut him off. “There are children present.”

“Wilbur, I know what intercourse is,” Tommy said.

“No you don’t.”

Niki laughed, taking the empty seat next to Wilbur. She waggled her eyebrows at his ravaged skin, to which he rolled his eyes, elbowing her gently. Fundy fell into a bean bag, looking as disinterested in Wilbur’s sex life as Techno, thank god. Ranboo and Tubbo appeared to have been distracted for the entirety of Tommy’s speculating, heads bowed together over Tubbo’s phone as they watched TikToks. The two were grossly obsessed with the app, quoting it frequently, and it never made sense. Ranboo found the piss bottle Tommy kept in the treehouse earlier and called it good soup for some reason. It was quite strange.

As Tommy began speaking again, Wilbur began daydreaming again. He wasn’t looking for a repeat with Dream, but it had been a good time. Actually, he was mostly thinking about Dream and George. Their dynamic was terrible. Stilted and tense and filled with miscommunication. Barely anything in common, save for a slight interest in video games. Yet the two were adamant on keeping up this game of cat and mouse, circling around each other, hurting one another and getting hurt, over and over and over again. George was stubborn and chaste, Dream was… Dream. Overly attached, heart on his sleeve. Yet Wilbur knew that if George had said yes to him any sooner, Dream would have gotten scared of feeling too much and pulled away. He knew Dream better than most people thought he did. They’d been running with the same friend group their whole lives, after all. Wilbur was observant, he’d picked up the patterns on Dream just as he had for everyone else they knew.

The real question was… what could Wilbur do about it? Because Wilbur and Dream were alike in the sense that everything they did was out of boredom. In need of entertainment. That was why Dream took Tommy’s CD’s, and that was why they both decided to sleep together, and that was why Wilbur was suddenly invested in Dream’s summer romance with George. What else was there to do in their small beach town but meddle and cause mischief?

“Wilbur. You are on distraction duty.”

“Hm?” Wilbur focused on Tommy again.

“Oh, that shouldn’t be hard for him,” Techno said under his breath, and Wilbur cut his gaze over to him. Were Dream and Techno really so close now? Wow. This summer was breaking walls down left and right.

“What was that?” Tommy asked.

“Nothing. Distract Dream. Got it,” Wilbur said quickly, silencing whatever Techno had opened his mouth to say. Wilbur didn’t care about getting Tommy’s discs back, not really. In fact, he was rather sick of hearing the same songs over and over again, the echo of Able Sisters seeming to follow Tommy wherever he went. Getting them back was another cure for boredom though, and a convenient way to get closer to Dream in the process. Wilbur wanted to grab his popcorn and watch this summer romcom starring Dream and George go down with front row seats. And maybe stick his foot out to trip them up in the process, to giggle while they stumbled into each other’s arms.

 

 

Sapnap was a little eager, but Karl thought it was tooth-rottingly cute, so what was the harm? And Quackity was a little terrified, which was also devastatingly adorable, so Karl had no complaints. Especially when he got to watch Sapnap try to teach Quackity how to skateboard, leaning his chin on his fist with his elbow on his knee as he sat on the curb. If he were a cartoon character, he’d have literal heart eyes for those two idiots.

Every time Sapnap slid a hand onto Quackity’s hip to steady him, Quackity turned beet red and tugged his bucket hat down in embarrassment. Every time Quackity nearly fell and clung onto Sapnap in a wild flail to stay upright, Sapnap’s ears tinted pink as his eyes turned to crescents with a massive smile.

The Peppa Pig bandaids on Quackity’s knees remained unscathed as Sapnap did everything in his power to prevent him from falling. Karl could squeal at how sweet his boyfriends were. My boyfriends! He always got a little thrill in his chest when he thought of it, and could contain himself no longer, jumping to his feet. He bounced over to where Sapnap had put his foot on the board between Quackity’s to keep it still, their bodies close, and Karl wormed his way against their sides.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey, handsome. Come here ofte- whoa!” Quackity cut off as he wobbled, a panicky sweat on his forehead. His hands shot out, one on Sapnap’s shoulder, one on Karl’s. “Fuck this, I’m done for now.” With his boyfriends’ support, he shakily stepped onto the street again, releasing his breath in relief. “Oh my god. I almost died. I can’t believe it. I literally almost passed away.”

Karl giggled, moving to hug Quackity from behind, having to bend at the waist to prop his chin on the shorter man’s shoulder. “Yeah, Sapnap, I can’t believe you almost killed our boyfriend.”

“Oh, shut up.” Sapnap stepped on the end of the skateboard to bring it to his hand.

Quackity stared. “That was hot.”

“Right? Come on, Q, be the Langa to my Reki. Our colors match and everything,” Sapnap implored, but the reference went right over Quackity’s head.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Sapnap grumbled, petulant.

“I’ll be your Langa,” Karl offered, and Sapnap lit up at the fact that Karl knew what he was talking about. Sapnap’s face immediately fell as he added, “You know, because I’m better than you even though you started learning before me.”

“You’re a nimrod.”

“I’m your nimrod.”

“Gross, get a room,” Quackity jested, trying to shake Karl off of him, to no avail.

“It’s okay, you’re my nimrod, too,” Sapnap told him, swooping in to place an overzealous kiss on Quackity’s cheek, just barely missing the corner of his mouth. Quackity squirmed, unsure if the fluttering of his insides was pleasant or nauseating. Both. “Oh right, I got word back from Michele and Justin. They’re cool being my stevia parents, as long as I still babysit.”

“Stevia parents?” Karl prompted.

“Yeah, like- they don’t get real sugar from me any more, but they still drop me some cash every now and then just for being an absolutely delightful young man.” Sapnap grinned proudly.

Quackity shook his head in disbelief. “You’re literally being paid to look sexy and hang out with the coolest four-year-old I’ve ever met.”

“What can I say? I’m a catch. All my money will go to spoiling you two anyways.”

Karl squeezed Quackity tighter and squished them all closer together so he could butt foreheads with Sapnap. “Cute.”

“No, you.”

“No, Quackity.”

“True.”

“True.”

Quackity wiggled. “I’m sweating my ass off, it’s like 100 degrees out, get off of me,” he complained, but he had his head ducked to hide the soft expression on his face. Sapnap didn’t miss it. “Are we still meeting up with the boys for a lighthouse sesh?”

“Oh, totally.” Sapnap finally untangled himself from their cuddle huddle, but Karl remained latched on, not that Quackity actually seemed to mind.

“I call aux.”

“Honestly? Deserved.”

Karl wasn’t a fan of smoking, it didn’t mix well with his brain. He tended to bug out and get scared when the feeling in his limbs started to fizzle out. Apparently Sapnap liked that sensation, but Karl couldn’t deal with it, and no one ever pressured him to. Even his pothead, weed runner boyfriend. Quackity was a much more casual smoker with hard limits that he stuck with down to the very last puff. His high was a carefully curated experience for him, between his playlist, his tolerance, the people he smoked with. And Karl. Karl was his emotional-support-sober.

“First, smoothies. I promised Dream I’d get the scoop on Bad and Skeppy.”

“Fuck,” Quackity groaned, dragging out the vowel. “I just got off work, I don’t want to go back there.”

“But I want a smoothie,” Karl pouted, and Quackity froze.

“Fine.”

Sapnap and Karl snickered behind Quackity’s back as he marched them towards the beach again. He was a massive softie, even if he tried to hide it.

Bad did not disappoint. He was leaning on the smoothie bar with a fond smile on his face while Skeppy told some story while gesturing wildly and pointing at the ocean. As they approached, Karl could make out something about getting pinched after stepping on a crab, and he had to resist the urge to ask what type and if it was okay. Bad glanced over, noticing their approach, and cut off Skeppy’s story to say, “Hey, guys! Congratulations!”

“On what?” Quackity asked dumbly.

“On finally getting together, silly. Smoothies on the house, for all of you. The usuals?”

“Yes, please!” Karl replied. “And right back at you!”

“Thank- wait, what?” Bad asked, puzzled, as he began washing his hands so he could cut fruit.

“Congrats on finally getting together, silly,” Karl parroted Bad’s words. Skeppy’s mouth fell open, but it appeared that he didn’t know what to say.

Bad looked around skeptically. “Are you talking to… me?” He giggled, wiping his hands dry and getting the big knife out. “Who did I get with?”

“Bad. Come on, we know,” Sapnap said confidently.

“Know… what?”

The three lovers looked toward Skeppy, who was very pointedly not looking back at them. Or at Bad, for that matter. He was pretending to read the menu intently.

“Did you and Skeppy not…?” Sapnap insinuated, and Quackity made an obscene hand gesture to elaborate when Bad’s confusion only deepened.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bad lied, scowling at the gross finger movements.

Quackity rolled his eyes. Ever the blunt speaker, he asked, “Did you and Skeppy fuck or not?”

What?!” Skeppy and Bad barked at the same time, briefly meeting eyes before promptly turning away from one another.

“That- See, that is not helping your case,” Sapnap pointed between them, eyebrows creeping up. Karl could hardly contain his gleeful giggling watching the two squirm. He loved love, and they were so obviously in love.

“No!” Bad cried, and began furiously chopping fruit.

“You know it’s okay to be an adult and do adult things, right?”

“I know, Sapnap,” Bad grit out between his teeth, but it didn’t sound very convincing. Sapnap once again looked at Skeppy, who was watching Bad with a strange expression. Karl touched his shoulder gently, wondering if they were going too far.

Apparently not. “We slept together,” Skeppy said.

“Skeppy!” Bad screeched, putting down the knife and spinning to face them with hands on his aproned hips. “He’s making it sound like something it’s not- and I’m sure whoever shared this gossip with you did the same thing.”

“All assumptions came from Dream,” Sapnap insisted, raising innocent palms. He would absolutely throw his best friend under the bus. It was fine- Dream would do the same to him if Bad tried to accuse him later.

“Like Dream’s one to talk,” Skeppy scoffed, his usual demeanor returning as he relaxed into a barstool. “I had to hear him moaning Wilbur’s name all night.”

Bad growled under his breath and continued preparing smoothies, probably hoping the blender would drown out the conversation. Sapnap sort of hoped it did, too. It was too much to hope that news wouldn’t spread like wildfire among their friend group- but Bad already knew about his boyfriends, and Skeppy already knew about Dream and Wilbur’s hookup, which meant there were probably texts being sent all night and morning about these recent events. He was too used to it to be mad. He just prayed Dream wasn’t a dumbass. If he lied or hid this from George, it was going to bite him in the ass.

“For real?” Quackity side-eyed Sapnap, like he should have been the one to tell them. Sapnap shrugged.

“Yup. I assume that’s going to be messy.”

Sapnap shrugged again. “Dream’s a big boy, he can make poor decisions and reap the consequences all he wants. Besides, he’s hanging with George right now, so it’s probably fine.”

“Dream’s kinda tapped,” Quackity muttered, and Sapnap laughed.

Bad slid three smoothies across the counter, brow still low and tone still cross. “Maybe we should all take a bit of advice and stop making assumptions. $14.97 please.”

“I thought they were on the house?” Karl pouted, taking his Time Traveler smoothie as Sapnap sighed and dug into his shorts for his wallet.

“That was before you were all a bunch of naughty muffins.”

“I don’t know, Bad, I’m starting to think you like naughty muffins. I mean, you like Skeppy, after all,” Sapnap shot back bitterly, handing over a flat $15, adding sweetly, “Keep the change.”

Bad growled again, and Skeppy put his face into his palm.

Sapnap, Quackity, and Karl cackled as they walked away, throwing up hands in a casual wave as they started heading for the lighthouse.

Notes:

Lighthouse gang next chapter :)

If you’re following Kyrie Eleison, y’all can expect a chapter for that soon, too. Sorry for the hiatus! I’m a senior in university and it’s kicking my ass!!! I’ll upload a bunch during winter break, promise!

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Chapter 10: Golden

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Punz’s frat brothers from university were at the lighthouse when Sapnap showed up with Karl and Quackity in tow. The lights were aglow and the great tower was still warm from the sun as they slipped in, greeted by Boomer squealing freakishly high in excitement.

“Sapnap! Dude, what is up?” He jumped to his feet, yanking Sapnap into a bro hug, patting each other’s backs aggressively. “Haven’t seen your ugly mug since Alpha’s end of semester party you crashed.”

“Not my fault you become a hermit in the summer. The fuck have you been doing?” Sapnap shot back, grinning and letting himself be shoved into a rickety old beach chair between Boomer and Sam. He glanced apologetically at Quackity and Karl, but they waved him off, going to bother Puffy who had the bong. Sapnap tossed her a bag. The pros of being a weed runner: anything he took for himself came right out of his payment, which made it feel free.

Boomer launched into his summer itinerary as they smoked a few rotations, from traveling across the country to California for his sister’s wedding to making a man cave in his mom’s basement for sports betting and gaming. Sapnap only grinned and rattled off his summer adventures, taking joy in watching Boomer’s jaw fall to the floor at stories of running from the cops, trying his hand at the stripper pole for his sugar daddy’s birthday, getting not one but two boyfriends-

“Ayo?!” Boomer clapped a hand on his shoulder, then immediately got distracted as someone handed him the bong for the somethingth time. Sapnap had lost count of how many times he’d hit it and how many times Puffy had repacked it. Boomer took a rip, speaking through a thin stream of smoke as he said, “That’s fuckin’ metal. Congrats, guys.”

Quackity blushed, like he always did whenever it was brought up, but it wasn’t in the shameful way he may have once shied from the compliments. He glowed with a bashful happiness about it, leaning heavily on Karl’s shoulder where they sat on the concrete floor with overlapping legs and elbows.

“God, they’re so fucking cute,” Sapnap muttered, absolutely toasted, and Sam cooed at his lovestruck expression. He punched Sam in the arm. “Shut up.”

“So where’s Dre?” Boomer asked, chair creaking as he leaned back in it, passing the bong to Sapnap.

“True, I thought you guys were coming together,” Punz chimed in.

“Oh, uhhh… Ugh, I could totally throw him under the bus, but I was the one who told him to ditch,” Sapnap admitted, taking the reminder to check his phone. He didn’t know if no word from Dream was a good thing or a bad thing. Dream was a clingy friend, though, if something went wrong, no doubt Sapnap’s phone would be blowing up with frowny face texts and FaceTime notifications. “Probably for the better. He has a competition this weekend, he should probably lay off the pot in case they test.”

“Why would they test?” Sam wondered.

“Oh!” Karl perked up, and Quackity hid his face in his palm, grimacing as his boyfriend spoke. “They started testing randomly ever since Quackity showed up high and almost drowned because he didn’t know which way was up. Schlatt had to give him m-“

“No he didn’t,” Quackity denied.

“He did,” Sapnap confirmed. “Quackity didn’t need it, he was breathing fine, but Schlatt tried to give him mouth-to-mouth anyways.”

Quackity scowled while Boomer and Sam cackled. Puffy pat Qauckity’s back comfortingly, lips pressed together not to burst out laughing herself. She’d been competing that day, too, and almost had to forfeit after laughing so hard she gave herself an asthma attack.

“You don’t know trauma until you wake up from nearly dying to see mutton chops coming for your face,” Quackity grumbled, surprising a giggle out of Karl. Quackity looked at him with betrayal. Sapnap was just glad no one was digging for more answers about Dream’s whereabouts- poor idiot needed to figure his shit out before being put on the hot seat about it. Whether him and Wilbur intended it or not, everyone knew about their hookup last night, so Dream being at George’s house so soon after… probably best to keep that wildfire from spreading, too. Their friend group was pretty good about not making assumptions, but in some cases, it couldn’t be helped. Wouldn’t be the first whorification of his best friend.

He checked his phone again, just to make sure, and felt his blood slow and turn to ice in his veins as his bleary vision focused on a new text. Sam noticed him freeze and nudged him. If he spoke, Sapnap couldn’t hear him, blood rushing in his ears. His eyes lifted, glazed as they swung around the room before landing on Punz. Punz arched an eyebrow at him, his mouth forming the words you good, bro? Sapnap looked away, finding Karl’s puzzled gaze instead. He was already up and careening his way towards his boyfriends, crouching in front of him and handing his phone to Karl.

“Tell me I’m tripping sacs right now,” he muttered. Was his hand shaking? Quackity grabbed it, palm warm, and he felt a little more stable. It probably was shaking. “Today’s…”

“Monday,” Punz said, behind him, and cursed under his breath. Sapnap turned his head towards him, mouth falling open. Punz winced. “You have dinner with your dad on Mondays.”

Fuck. Dude, Karl,” he faced Karl again, free hand reaching until he got his phone back. He double checked the text from his stepmom. Are you still coming? 8pm still works for you? It was 7:50. “Karl, tell me honestly. How high do I look?”

Karl hesitated to answer, which immediately wasn’t promising. Quackity put a hand on his shoulder, still holding Sapnap’s with the other, fingers squeezing. “Sapnap. Just call it off. Say you’ll reschedule. It’s your only hope, man.”

“Yeah, your eyes are pretty red… and just pretty, but that’s besides the point,” Karl said remorsefully. Sapnap groaned, letting his head fall to his chest.

Someone’s hand immediately went to the back of his neck, massaging gently, and he had a feeling it was Punz. “Need Karl to text her back?” He asked.

“No,” Sapnap said, shaking his head. “No, I have to go. Dinner’s definitely already done cooking, dad will fucking murder me if I cancel now. Unless-“ He lifted his head, zeroing in on Puffy. Puffy, who grew up down the street from Sapnap’s house- rather, his dad’s house, where Sapnap spent most summers before moving in with Punz. Puffy, probably the only one who knew quite the extent of Sapnap’s distaste for his own father. “Puffy. Break my arm.”

“Br-“ Her eyebrows furrowed. ”Huh?

“Break my arm. He’ll only let it slide if I’m, like, in the hospital or something.”

“Dude, no,” she scoffed. “Hold on.” She dragged her backpack closer to her, the one she stored all her stoner necessities in, and started rooting around in the small front pocket. She pulled out a tiny bottle and wiggled it. “C’mere. Time for a Puffy makeover. Let’s go outside and try to start airing you out or you’ll reek of weed.”

Not a minute later, Sapnap found himself sitting on a rock outside the lighthouse, the cool sunset breeze doing its best to carry the smoke from his clothes. He’d already taken his shirt off- it wouldn’t be unexpected for him to show up without it, as he often went shirtless in the middle of the summer. Besides, he’d already decided he was going to jump in the ocean to mask the pot smell with salt. It was either that, or let Puffy soak him in her perfume, which would just make his dad think he was coming back from a hookup- which was almost equally as bad, because his dad liked to treat him like he was still a teenager living under his roof. Quackity and Karl had calmed him down a lot, helping Sapnap text back his stepmom to let her know he’d be a few minutes late. Some excuse agout losing track of time sunset surfing with Karl.

When he was finally deemed ready to go, after Puffy wrestled some eyedrops into his eyes- he never got used to that feeling- Quackity helped him to his feet. Sapnap blinked at him, still slightly teary from the drops, Quackity’s face a little blurry. He looked like he was made of honey in the golden hour, skin dewy and glowy, looking gooey through Sapnap’s wet eyes.

“You look good,” Quackity assured him, the sunlight masking his rosy cheeks. “Better,” he corrected, then again, “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He lifted his hand, stopped, almost put it down, then thumbed Sapnap’s soft undereye. Sapnap rubbed his other one, clearing his vision, blinking rapidly a few more times. Quackity came into focus, the hair sticking out of his beanie feathering against his neck. “Um.” He looked worried. Sapnap, stupidly, had the thought I feel bad for ruining his high.

Then Quackity kissed him.

A fleeting exchange, Quackity’s soft little mouth fitting neatly against Sapnap’s. He barely realized what was happening before Quackity was pulling away with a sharp exhale, like he’d just done something that gave his heart a thrill. Sapnap knew the feeling, pulse spiking and evening in a matter of seconds- from elation to comfort.

Quackity smiled crookedly at him. “For luck.”

“What about me?” Karl cut in, pretending to pout. “The brave and handsome knight in shining armor that’s gonna be Sapnap’s alibi and walk him home?”

Quackity took a step back, chuckling with mild panic. “Uh, well, I mean you put me on the spot here, now I’m under pressure, do you know how much I had to psych myself up for that, I-“

Karl stepped in and quickly pecked Quackity on the cheek. Then he hooked arms with Sapnap, looking content with himself, and said, “Well, we gotta go now, but I expect a proper smooch from you later, mister. Got it?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Quackity saluted, looking a bit faint.

Puffy ushered him back into the lighthouse and waved the other two boys off, expression apologetic as she said, “Good luck, Sap.”

He was going to need it.

 

 

“Don’t make plans for Saturday.”

Sapnap looked up from his dinner. His stepmom was refilling her wine glass across the kitchen, but they shared a private glance before Sapnap turned his attention to his father. He was cutting his food, cold eyes focused on the steak beneath his knife. Sapnap always hated the dismissive way he spoke to him.

“The first surfing competition of the summer is this Saturday,” Sapnap replied cautiously, pushing a green bean idly around his plate. He froze when his dad’s eyes flicked up to him, expression flat. A silent don’t play with your food. Sapnap could practically hear the muttered what are you, five years old? that would accompany it, too. “I’m not competing this year-“ because I got banned from participating for failing drug testing too many times last year, is what he didn’t say. “But I promised Dream I’d be there.”

“Well, you won’t be,” his dad told him, teeth clicking against the metal fork as he took a bite of meat. Sapnap held back a grimace. His stepmom sat back down, remaining silent as she swirled her glass, aerating the cabernet.

“Why?”

The room was stiflingly quiet as his dad chewed and his stepmom drank and Sapnap’s leg bounced under the table. His dad swallowed, washing it down with a sip of scotch, sighed, and said, “I signed you up to take the Civil Service Exam. 2p.m., sharp.”

Sapnap’s mouth fell open and, before he could stop himself, he scoffed. His father placed his fork down and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He raised his eyebrows at his son, daring him to have an outburst. If Sapnap’s temperament ran hot, then his dad’s was comparable to the flames of Hell itself. If Sapnap started, his dad would explode. So Sapnap swallowed his immediate fuck no and spoke calmly. “Dad. I don’t want to be a cop. We-“

“And why is that, Nick?”

Sapnap grit his teeth. Because I prefer running weed and selling my body, go fuck yourself and your laws, you- “It’s an honorable job, I know,” he said instead, wondering if the physical strain it took to lie was detectable in his voice. “But I don’t think it would make me happy.”

“It would make you money.”

I have money- probably more than you. “Money isn’t everything, dad.”

“It is to me.” God, it was such a slap in the face every time his father admitted something so harsh. Not that Sapnap was surprised. Of course not. On the list of his dad’s priorities, Sapnap would start from the bottom up if he were looking for his own name. “And I already paid the hundred dollars for the exam, so you’re going.”

Sapnap knew better than to fight. What was the saying? Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission? Except there would be no forgiveness when his dad found out on Saturday that Sapnap skipped the exam to cheer on his best friend. There would only be punishment. No negotiation. Sapnap would scream that he was an adult, he could do what he wanted. Dad would tell him he was practically a child for the way he acted. Sapnap would try to storm out. Dad would stand at the door. It would take all of Sapnap’s will not to throw a punch. If he did, then it would take all of his dad’s will not to arrest his own son for assaulting an officer. Sapnap would throw $100 on the floor between them. Dad would snap that he deserved more for the migraine Sapnap’s outrageous behavior gave him. Sapnap would give him as much as it took to let him leave- like paying bail. They wouldn’t talk for a month and then Sapnap’s stepmom would cautiously invite him over for dinner again, and since Sapnap was apparently the world’s biggest sucker, he’d say yes.

The whole unfolding of events ran like a flipbook through his mind’s eye before he blinked and was back at the kitchen table, half-eaten meal forgotten in front of him. His dad had returned to cutting and eating, cutting and eating, cutting and eating. His stepmom’s plate was untouched, but her wine glass was nearly empty again.

“Okay,” Sapnap said quietly, eyes lowered, not wanting to invoke any further conversation. If what just happened could even be called that. Table talk with his father only ever consisted of two things: interrogation or criticism. Get a real job. Your hair is too long. Did I hear you were dating men again? Cut that bullshit out. Look at these college catalogues. What are you doing for work these days? How do you even afford your house? You were always a lazy, distracted, troublesome, embarrassing excuse for a-

“Good.”

Sapnap stood abruptly, silverware rattling as he bumped the table. His parents stared at him, one with pinched brows and tight lips and the other with scowl lines and a creased forehead. “Dinner was great, Rosamie, thank you. I have to go… go tell Dream I can’t make it Saturday. Try to make it up to him.” He pursed his lips, nodded once like he was affirming his own lame excuse, and left. And his father let him, knowing he had won and that his son was still the loser.

 

 

“Wilbur? Wilbur, come through, Wilbur. Over.”

Wilbur took the walkie-talkie from his pocket. Whoever named these things must have also named anteaters. Fucking ridiculous.

He held down the button. “Tommy, I’ve literally just gotten to the beach. I’ll ring you if there’s anything to update you on.” There was a loud silence following his words, in which Tommy had pressed his button but said nothing to get his point across. Wilbur sighed, clicking his own device and muttering, “Over.”

“Wilbur. Don’t forget to say over, Wilbur. Over,” Tommy’s crackly voice told him. Wilbur ignored it, shoving the walkie-talkie back into his trousers and continuing his stroll towards the boardwalk. He slowed as he approached, someone’s voice on a microphone carrying down the coast. There were pop-up tents leading up to the great wooden structure, where there were cameras, speakers, a temporary stage, a large screen- “Fuck.” He rang Tommy. “Uhhh we may need to call off the plan, boys. Over.”

“What? Why? Over.”

“Because the surfing competition is today. Over.”

Niki’s voice came over the channel. “Tommy-“

But Tommy’s walkie-talkie intercepted hers, cutting her off. “No. It happens today. He’ll be properly distracted, and if he loses, we can rub it in his face by taking the discs back from him, too. Double whammy. Over.”

“I’m starting to think you’re a bad person, Tommy,” Wilbur said mildly, trying to figure out when the competition was going to happen and if Dream was already there. Techno’s RV was parked close to the event, the pink-haired man stretching and warming up just outside of it. No glaring white wetsuit or obnoxiously green surfboard in sight. “I really don’t think we should- fuuck,” he repeated, dragging out the vowel. Dream’s minivan pulled into the boardwalk’s lot, surfboard strapped to the roof. Out stepped not only the man of the hour, Dream himself, but also George. “Over,” he muttered glumly into the walkie-talkie.

“What? What is it? Over?” Tommy pestered.

“Wil…” Niki tried to reason once again. “Who’s to say Dream even brought the discs with him on a competition day?”

“Oh, he hasn’t,” Wilbur replied, watching the events unfold from atop the sea wall, hand on his hip. A fiery red Mustang had just pulled in next to Dream’s car, three loudly singing voices coming with it. “Sapnap did, though.” He kept holding the button so they could hear Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity screaming along to Say No To This. Wilbur scrunched his nose in distaste.

“What the fuck,” Tommy said flatly.

“Mm, what the fuck indeed. Anyways, I am now one hundred percent on board, and I’m moving in for the kill immediately, lest my ears have to hear even one more second of this so-called singing- both Lin-Manuel Miranda’s and the fiances.”

“Fiances?” Niki echoed.

“Ah, yes. The three idiots known as Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity. They’re dating now. God help us all. I’ve taken to calling them the fiances because they act like a disgustingly adorable married trio.” He watched as the group started making their way towards the sand, walking in the direction of Techno’s RV. There were way more people in play than Tommy’s stick figure drawing had planned for. But… Wilbur was their friend. Wilbur was their bonfire friend. That counted for something. “Goodbye,” he told the walkie talkie before shutting it off and hiding it. He jogged to catch up with Dream and George, trailing behind the fiances. Karl was making wild gestures towards the ocean while Quackity nodded along and Sapnap shoved the Hamilton disc back in its case. “Dream! Hey,” Wilbur called.

George looked first, catching Wilbur’s eye and- triple fuck, he knows. This looks bad. Damage control, damage control-

Wilbur slowed as he got near, smiling broadly. Dream’s eyebrows raised slowly. “Well. I’m sure you have several unpleasant feelings about me right now,” he said, and George’s lips parted in surprise at his bluntness.

“Oh, come on,” Dream sighed. This could work. Wilbur could work with this. They could go right back to being nemeses.

Wilbur raised his palms innocently, blowing a raspberry with his mouth. “I’m just being transparent here. Something you two should learn to- BadBoyHalo,” Wilbur cut off, looking ahead where Sapnap was handing the CD to Bad. Skeppy snatched it first, flipping it over to inspect it, a mischievous look on his face. Quadruple fuck. “I… love BadBoyHalo. In fact, I’m going to go speak to him, right now. Break a leg, Dream. I’m rooting for Techno. Ta ta.” He shouldered past George, knocking him lightly into Dream, and spared a glance over his shoulder just to watch them wrench away from one another like they’d been burned. Ah. Young love.

 

 

“Noah.”

“No.”

“Christian.”

“What? No.”

“Robert.”

“Close.”

George paused, hand on the zipper of Dream’s apparently infamous white competition wetsuit. “Really?”

Dream smirked at him over his shoulder. “Not at all.”

George sighed. “Samuel.” Dream shook his head. Whether it was in exasperation or just saying no again, George couldn’t tell. Likely both. “Kyle.”

The muscled back beneath George’s hands shook with laughter. He blinked, and started zipping up the suit again, making sure the hair at the nape of Dream’s neck didn’t get caught. The blonde waves were thick and smooth with protective product, his fingers gliding right through the strands. Dream turned, and suddenly George’s view was of his chin, then his lips, quickly to his nose, his eyes, then somewhere past his shoulder.

“What number are you on now?” Dream asked, voice coming softer than intended in the space between them.

“29. Benjamin,” George responded, the air feeling thin despite how thick and muggy it actually was.

A smile crept over Dream’s face. George felt it without seeing it, like the sun shining on his skin. “Nope,” he enunciated, leaning forward.

“I have a feeling this will take all summer,” George murmured, frowning slightly. His eyes flicked to Dream’s, but they were still too intense to meet, and darted away once more. He could happily stare at the small brand logo embroidered onto Dream’s chest instead.

“Well,” Dream mused, tilting his head, “I guess we’ll just have to spend all summer together, then.”

“Jordan,” George whispered.

Dream leaned in closer, taunting. “N-“

“Are you two done? We have pre-comp interviews on the boardwalk in, like, five minutes,” Techno interrupted them, and Dream finally broke their close, quiet bubble to finish putting zinc on. “I’m trying to figure out how to dodge the whole how’s school going question. I don’t think I’ll be getting any brand deals if I tell them I’ve dropped out.”

“You dropped out?”

“Uh… no.”

Dream rolled his eyes, tossing the zinc bottle to Techno, who caught it easily and carefully started smearing it onto his perfectly pale face. “At least you won’t have to tell them you’re failing out.”

“I knew I could rely on you to be a bigger disappointment than me,” Techno sighed in relief. “Thanks, man.”

“Sure thing,” Dream responded drily.

George caught his breath as he stood back to watch the surfers banter, even as they helped one another prepare. Part of him wanted to make a joke about how close Dream had gotten to all his so-called rivals lately. It was kind of nice, though, seeing him so pensive and focused for once. If George had learned anything about Dream over their sporadic summer of hanging out and being at odds with each other so far, it was that he was usually all over the place- physically, mentally, emotionally. Something about surfing always grounded him, though, funnily enough. The water brought his brain back to Earth, put the sea breeze back in his lungs, and made him finally calm down.

George.

So much for the peaceful atmosphere. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, or whatnot.

George turned, and found Wilbur peering around the side of Techno’s RV. He beckoned George over. Dream and Techno were distracted, Dream trying and failing to help Techno braid his hair. “Don’t you have a sister?”

“Two.”

Techno tsked. “Waste of a perfectly capable brother.”

“Pspsps, come here, Gogy,” Wilbur called under his breath. “I hear you like chocolate raisins- well, guess what I’ve got.”

“I’m not a cat,” George hissed back, looking around before slipping around the side of the RV. Wilbur leaned back against the metal grate and folded his arms. He had a cocky half grin that George didn’t like the implication of.

“So you don’t want the chocolates?”

Wilbur offered the box. George stared at it. He hadn’t had chocolate raisins since Britain… With some degree of shame, he took the bribe, shoving it in his pocket and asking, “What do you want?”

“Glad to see you have your head on straight, mate. Us Englishmen have got to stick together, especially dealing with this guy,” he gestured vaguely, but George knew he meant Dream. George narrowed his eyes at Wilbur.

“You really enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?”

Wilbur shrugged. “I dabble in some pot-stirring. I’m not here to discourage you, though. I’m here to strike a deal.”

“What could you possibly want from me?” George was trying not to let his confusion get in the way of his suspicion. Things were finally feeling okay again. He didn’t want to go back to being the outcast again, the guy everyone thought of as a stuck-up prick. Even talking to Wilbur like this, in secrecy, felt wrong. He glanced nervously towards the front of the RV, but Wilbur snapped his fingers to draw his attention back.

“Ah, ah. Pay attention, George, this is important. Well, it’s not really important, not to me, but- the discs. Tommy’s blasted Hamilton and Mellohi discs. Skeppy’s got Hamilton and I’ve a bad feeling he’d sooner toss it in the bonfire than hand it over- that’s fine, but I want Mellohi.

George stared at him blankly, guard completely thrown. “What?”

Mellohi. I want it. Get it from Dream for me, pretty please.”

“What makes you think I know where it is?” George shook his head. “This is dumb. I’m not-“

“George, George, listen.” Wilbur snagged George’s elbow before he could walk away. George had to close his eyes and will himself not to yank his arm away.

“What.”

“I frankly don’t give an arse about Tommy’s discs. Really, I mean it. I also don’t care to antagonize Dream- or you, for that matter.” The thing about Wilbur was that he spoke like a proper businessman- always talking but never really saying anything, using his ability to circle about a conversation to distract from the whole point of it. George wasn’t about to get any hint of his true intentions from this. “The only reason I’m even asking is for Tubbo, you know.”

“Tubbo?” George pried reluctantly. He was anxious to return to Dream, who was hopefully being bombarded with interviews, no room to spare a thought as to where George had disappeared to. Though, if he was going to be stuck in Wilbur’s ensnarement, he may as well do his best to investigate.

“Oh yeah. Tubbo. It’s always been Tommy and Tubbo against the world, but then this Ranboo character comes along- and don’t get me wrong, I like the fellow, he’s a neat guy- and Tommy sort of coerced him into, um, stealing your scooter-“

“They stole my scooter?”

“Oh. Yeah, they stole your scooter. Anyways, Tommy threw himself under the bus- plot twist, right? And so Tubbo is mad at him because they’ve done some shitty things, but never flat out illegal shitty things, you see. Then Dream found out-“

“Dream knew?”

“Yes, I told him mid-fuck, it was quite funny.”

George’s expression fell blank.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. That’s besides the point. Dream found out, threatened to tell Tommy’s mum, Tubbo tried to defend him- albeit, not very enthusiastically- and so Dream said fine, just return it, then. But apparently! Apparently Tommy crashed it on the way back home and left it in a broken pile somewhere, so then Dream was really pissed and-“

“What does Tommy stealing and breaking my scooter have anything to do with- with flipping Mellohi?” George burst out as the story began to get muddled. He had a headache building behind his brow. The scooter- sure, he wasn’t particularly happy about it, but he’d trade a thousand scooters to not be involved in whatever disc war Tommy and Tubbo’s teenage brains were exaggerating all this into.

“Well, Tubbo seems to be the only sane one amongst the Europeans, which is rather unfortunate considering he- never mind. Tommy trusts Tubbo. If Tubbo gets Mellohi, perhaps… perchance… Tommy will fucking relax, and all this will be over, and no one will steal it from Tubbo because Tubbo is Tubbo.”

“You’re all insane,” George deadpanned.

“It’ll work, though! Think about it: if Skeppy has Hamilton, that means once Dream gives Mellohi to Tubbo, he has no further involvement and can spend all his time pining after you.” Wilbur batted his eyelashes at George. “So, what do you say?”

George arched an eyebrow. “Do you remember who stole the discs in the first place?”

“Yes, that’s why they stole and broke your scooter,” Wilbur explained. “It’s honestly in your best interest to withdraw your involvement as soon as possible, and the quickest way is by giving me Mellohi.

“I… don’t even know what to say,” George laughed humorlessly, squinting towards the ocean. No surfers on the waves yet. He poked his head around the RV and noticed Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity’s heads turning this way and that, looking for George. He sighed, hiding again to face Wilbur. “Fine. I’ll get Mellohi. And I’ll give it to Tubbo.”

“Me.”

“Tubbo.”

“No, me, then I give it to Tubbo.”

“I’ll just give it to Tubbo.”

“You’re not- no, I have to be the one to give it to him.”

“Why?”

“Um… glory?”

George rolled his eyes. “I’ll give it to whoever’s geographically closest at the time.”

Wilbur waggled his eyebrows. “Then we’re about to become very close, my friend.”

“I’m leaving.”

George turned, heel sinking into the cool sand in the shade of the RV, and heard Wilbur call jovially behind him, “Pleasure doing business with you, George!”

It was a cold day in Hell that George was actually pleased to be in the presence of Sapnap, but he couldn’t deny himself the exhale of pure relief when he was finally stood next to him, where he should have been all along.

“Where did you sneak off to, sus ass?” Quackity asked him.

“Toilets,” George muttered, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach. Karl nudged his arm, brows pinched in concern, but George put on his best befuddlement as if he had no idea what Karl could be so concerned about. “When does the competition start? And why are there massive cranes?” He squinted up at them, towering into the sky, hovering out over the ocean. “Are those cameras?”

“Yup. They’ll broadcast it on that massive screen up on the pier,” Sapnap pointed up towards the commotion, and sure enough, there was said massive screen currently running ads. “Gotta capture every move up close for slow motion replays and shit.”

“And to make sure there are no sharks,” Karl chimed in, to George’s horror. He supposed it was better than not knowing there’s a great white five meters away while you hang ten. “Or jellyfish!”

“I didn’t realize this would be so big,” George admitted, recalling back to when Techno said something about brand deals. Do they really get brand deals?

“I mean, it’s a state event,” Quackity shrugged. “Both Techno and Dream made it to junior nationals before, too.”

“Yeah, but now they’re in the big leagues with the adults. Shit’s tough- and sure, they’re good, but they haven’t had the luxury of putting in the same amount of time and work as the vets,” Sapnap explained. “They’ve had college and family bullshit and summer romance to worry about.” He winked at George, who looked mildly disgusted. “That’s why they’ve kinda hyped up their personas into the rivals duo, Techno versus Dream, cool nicknames and signature tricks and their own branding- the whole shebang. It keeps them relevant, makes them crowd favorites even though they’ve fallen just short of nationals so far.”

No wonder they were both so particular about the way the world perceived them all the time, even in private with their friends. Even then, Techno often relaxed more than Dream ever did. Sometimes it felt like Dream was always putting on a show. Except maybe… that one night, when he climbed the tree to George’s windowsill-

He coughed. “Wow. Um. So… how does that all work? How do they qualify?”

“It’s like uh…” Sapnap’s mouth quirked to the side as he thought of a way to break it down. “You know how in football-“

“No.”

Quackity snorted, but said nothing. Sapnap glowered at him and charged on. “Yes you do, just listen. You know how in football, there’s like an ever-changing leaderboard based on how many games a team wins? It’s kind of like that, but with first, second, and third. If you get third place every competition for all 6 competitions, then you get third overall in the state and go to nationals. If you get first once, a few seconds, don’t place at all- you still might get to be third overall in state and get to go to nationals. It just- it depends, you know?”

“…Sure,” George said.

Quackity put his face into his palm and whined, “It’s based on fucking points, nimrods. First, second, and third are just the medals they give out, but you know how you get those medals? By having the most, second most, or third most points. Same goes for nationals! Oh Dios mio…” He started groaning to himself in Spanish. George and Sapnap shared a side-eyed look, shrugged, and returned to watching the massive screen, where Dream’s face was now displayed next to-

“He got sponsored by Kid Cuisine?!” Karl cried out, sucking in all his breath before screeching. George winced as his ears were pierced by the, honestly impressive, high pitch of it. “What the honk? This is huge! This means free-“

“-free Kid Cuisine for my groupies? Hell yeah, it does.”

George heard the smile in Dream’s voice before seeing it, all of their heads falling from the boardwalk to the sand. Dream had two Kid Cuisines in hand, and immediately offered one to Karl, then one to George, who was rather confused.

“What the hell is a Kid Cuisine?” He murmured to himself, inspecting the little blue tray he’d just been given. It just looked like an ordinary microwave dinner. Except on a blue tray. And with a weird pink cake. Karl had pudding in his tray. George didn’t know which was more horrifying.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing interviews?” Sapnap asked, completely ignoring George.

“Yeah, but this will make for great promo footage, so let’s all just laugh and pretend we love Kid Cuisine,” Dream told them, then immediately burst into a fake, overzealous laughter that Quackity was so shocked by that it sent him into an actual fit of laughter. Even George couldn’t help but snicker.

“Um. Pretend? We do love Kid Cuisine,” Karl corrected Dream with a mouthful of chocolate pudding. He pointed the spoon at the blonde accusingly. “And if you don’t, then I’m not letting you come over and nap in my new waterbed.”

George was getting whiplash from this conversation.

“Wha- you got a waterbed?” Quackity could barely get through the words, trying to catch his breath, only to start cackling again. “What the fuck!”

“Quackity, no, listen. I have never slept better than that night in the pool inside the pool,” Karl said.

George officially gave up on trying to understand what was happening, and decided to hesitantly try a piece of popcorn chicken. Not bad. He wondered if there was a Kid Cuisine tent up on the boardwalk with mountains of blue trays and a single microwave to heat them with.

“Oh my god,” Karl gasped. “Can I lose my virginity on the water bed? Please, pretty please?”

And that was George’s cue to step way, handing off his Kid Cuisine to Sapnap only for Quackity to snatch it right from him. Dream followed, grinning. George wanted to blame him for the chaos that had ensued upon his arrival, but then again, it had been a matter of time before the three boyfriends devolved into their insane, quirky banter anyways.

“You’re paying for my therapy,” George joked.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m sponsored by Kid Cuisine, because I’ll be needing some, too,” he quipped back. George was unreasonably angry about the way he was glowing, tan cheeks and white teeth outshining the glittering ocean and the midday sun. “I gotta get out there soon, but… cheer me on?”

“Okay, Thomas.”

“Is that what you were doing behind Techno’s van? Looking up more names?”

Crap. “Uh… Well, no, not exactly.” If George had learned anything from UK schooling, it was how to bullshit: half truths. “It was Wilbur. He called me ‘round for a chat.”

Dream shifted on his feet nervously. There was still a love bite just barely visible above the neckline of his wetsuit. George still felt a confusing mix of feelings about it. “Oh. What did he want?”

“He said…” George stopped himself, sinking his teeth into cheek, heart pounding. He hated lying. Half truths. No- small truths. “He said he didn’t want to discourage me from, um. You know.”

Dream seemed to also bite back whatever he immediately wanted to say, being more cautious with his words. Instead of teasing George, asking in that obnoxious tone of his discourage you from what, George? He intoned, “Yeah? He- He wasn’t, like, saying anything weird to you or anything?”

“Well, I didn’t say that,” George countered, a smile tugging at his lips. “He told me Tommy crashed my scooter. And he told me the, er, context of when he told you.”

Dream went pink, which was such a rare sight that George felt an almost manic glee to have caused it to happen. “That- Yeah, I was little distracted. I would have told you, but I-“

George held up a hand to stop him. “I really don’t need to know what your butt was distracted by, Dream.”

“That’s not what I-“ Dream started, voice pitching up, but then he squinted at George and folded his arms. “You’re making fun of me.”

“It’s called teasing. I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine,” George mused, then yelped when Dream made a go at him, leaping back. “Nathan!” Dream laughed, trying again, until it began a small scale chase while George called out his next ten memorized guesses in an increasingly panicked voice. “Cameron, Kevin, Jose- Hunter, stop! Dream- Ethan! Fuck, what was the next one? Aaron!” George’s feet, used to the rocks of Brighton and the pavements of London, tripped on the soft sand and he screamed, “Eric!” His palms caught him, knees sinking into the hot grains. Not a moment later, and he was knocked to his side, Dream tackling him much like he would Sapnap or Punz.

“Guess again, nimrod,” Dream giggled, grabbing George in a headlock. George grasped at the white fabric covering Dream’s arm.

“What the hell, Dream,” he huffed. He was wracking his brain for name number 40. He froze as he caught sight of Sapnap and his boyfriends watching them. If George weren’t already flushed from running around, he’d have surely blushed in annoyance. He squirmed. “Get off me, you oaf.”

“Take another guess, come on,” Dream crooned, breath on George’s ear, heaving chest along his back.

“Um. I-I don’t- Dream,” George gasped as all the air was pushed from his lungs, his back suddenly hitting the sand.

“Holy shit,” Quackity murmured, whispering- albeit, not quietly- to Sapnap, “Are they about to kiss?”

“Dude, shut up,” Sapnap hissed back. George wanted to tell them both off- and Dream, for making his heart beat in his throat.

The sunlight was creating a halo behind his golden hair as he leaned over George- but the cheeky grin he wore was fading. George waited for the come on, George… but got nothing. Dream’s hands on his shoulders loosened their pressure, no longer pinning him down. George’s mind was reeling. Why was he stopping? Why did Dream keep holding himself back?

George flipped them, feeling bold but terrified as he suddenly found himself between Dream’s sprawled legs. A shocked face peered up at him, eyes cracked open as he sun cut into his pale irises, making them shift with colors that George couldn’t see. George moved so his shadow blocked the harsh light, making him lean over Dream’s body, balancing with hesitant hands braced lightly on the surfer’s ribs. It felt like picking up where they’d left off earlier, except a thousand times more intimate, as George made another guess. “Jason?”

Slowly, Dream shook his head. He looked conflicted, eyes flickering over George’s face, down to where his palms pressed into white neoprene.

“You’re acting strange,” George accused him quietly. Sapnap really didn’t need to hear this particular conversation. Karl and Quackity even less.

“You’re acting stranger,” Dream returned defensively.

“Yeah, trying to get you to stop acting so strange,” George shot back, then sighed. Dream’s eyelashes fluttered as George’s breath kissed his face. “I mean, do you still…” like me? But he couldn’t just ask that. Not that it mattered, because George’s brain-to-mouth filter was on holiday apparently, and he winced as he asked, “If I kissed you, would you let me?” He wanted to blame Quackity for putting the thought into his head, but the truth was, George had been thinking about it all day. Had been thinking about it since Monday. Since Dream woke up in his bed after crashing after dinner and George had whispered Jonathan? to startle a deep, sleepy laugh from him first thing in the morning.

“Should I?”

That wasn’t what George wanted to hear. He sat up, and wiped the sweat that had been collecting on his palms onto his shorts. “I don’t know,” George said, head feeling suddenly numb.

Dream sat up, shaking sand from his hair. George half expected him to get up and leave it at that- he couldn’t even be mad if he did. The competition has to be starting soon. Was George killing his hype, messing up his focus?

A hand squeezed George’s arm. “George…” And George hated that tone of voice. That was the tone of voice his first and only girlfriend had when she broke up with him for not feeling enough. It was the tone of voice his mom used when she asked him to please, come with me, darling. Somber, serious. Dream looked so sincere, it scared the hell out of George. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know. We can be friends. This doesn’t all have to be leading to something more. You don’t have to try so hard to meet me halfway or force yourself to kiss me or… Just tell me no, George. We can just be friends. I just need that no or I’ll always have hope, so please, make it easier for both of us.”

George blinked at him, lips parted. “But… I don’t want to say no,” he said plainly.

Dream stared at him. In the distance, an announcer was rattling off an introduction to the competition. An upward glance told George that the big screen was displaying each competitor’s name, image, and stats. Dream had to go. George tried to say as much, but Dream blurted out, “Then I wouldn’t.”

“What?”

There was that hope Dream spoke about, worn alongside his heart on his sleeve. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

Oh, George thought, nerves feeling like live wires, buzzing with electricity. He reached out, hand finding Dream’s shoulder, curling around the muscle there and slipping towards the back of his neck. “Would you kiss me back?” George whispered, arm trembling slightly.

“I don’t know,” Dream echoed, a familiar lilt to his voice that brought George simultaneous relief and vexation. “Why don’t you find out?”

George surged forward, their noses grazing. Dream’s eyes had feathered shut on instinct, but batted open when the kiss never came. His eyebrows drew together. George smirked.

“Maybe if you win.”

“Or lose epically,” Quackity chimed in, and both their heads whipped to the side. He held his hands up innocently. “I’m just saying, if that happened, he could definitely use the pick-me-up!”

Sapnap yanked Quackity’s beanie over his eyes.

“Hey!”

Notes:

I swear this story is gonna be 20-something chapters by the time I get it where it needs to go. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! More rivalsduo in the next!

Chapter 11: Nervous Wreck

Notes:

TW: the end of a panic attack/mention of a panic attack

Playlist

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

Chapter Text

Dream laid on the beach panting, a sopping wet arm slung over his eyes to block the harsh, high noon sun. He couldn’t tell if the roaring in his ears was from crashing waves or his own rushing blood. Despite the burning hot sun and the tepid ocean he’d just come from, he was shaking like he was cold, the muscle of his bicep quivering where it shielded his head. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath in the stiflingly humid air. The sand thumped with racing footsteps beneath his back. Suddenly, the world became bright again.

The first thing he saw was pink hair showering down over his face, glowing neon with sunbeams backlighting the bubblegum strands. Then he was in shade, a set of narrow shoulders blocking the brightness, and he saw Techno’s usual carefully vacant face contorted in concern. The cacophony in Dream’s ears had formed into a single, high-pitched tone that made his head spin and his vision seem vivid and choppy like oversaturated camera film that got wrecked by sunlight in the darkroom.

Techno’s mouth was moving. Dream squinted at it, pale with SPF chapstick, but he couldn’t make anything out. Dream tried to say as much, coughed, and felt water dribble from his parted lips instead of words. Realization dawned over Techno’s eyes, and then Dream was being manhandled to lay on his side with his arm extended up under his head. Vaguely, he thought of a memory: Techno encouraging them both to take a CPR course, Dream agreeing, going through the motions of the class with creepy dummies that fell into the uncanny valley, the online testing portion. The recovery position. Dream felt firm pats on his back square between his shoulder blades. He absolutely refused to be hauled to his feet for the Heimlic, so he started forcing himself to cough up more water.

“Fine,” he finally croaked, wiping his mouth with the back of a trembling hand, trying to rid his chin of salt and spit and sand before the cameras came. “M’ fine.”

“-it your head?” Techno’s calm voice penetrated through the thick wall of white noise in Dream’s mind.

“Wha-“ Dream’s throat spasmed, and he coughed again, salt scraping his windpipe. “What?”

“Did you hit your head?” Techno repeated, and Dream could detect the veiled urgency despite his best efforts. Maybe they’d just gotten to know each other a little too well this summer. Honestly, if it were any prior year, Dream would have been shocked and mortified to have Techno be the first one at his side in a situation like this. He only felt relief right now, though, not wanting it to be anyone else.

He could breathe again, and his vision was stabilizing. Panic. That was all. He was coming down from a panic attack. Dream was tempted to tell Techno yes to hitting his head so he wouldn’t seem so dramatic, but at the same time, he wanted to be back on his feet to put on a brave face for the crowds. He was already humiliated. He needed to prove he wasn’t a complete moron.

“No,” he muttered, chest still rising and falling rapidly, heart beating up his ribcage. He was still panicking. How had he messed up so bad? “Help me up, please,” he whispered, slowly getting his arm under him to prop him up and offering the other to Techno.

Techno grabbed his forearm securely, but hesitated. “Dream…”

“Please,” he said again, hearing the medical staff on standby approaching, and Techno reluctantly helped him to his feet where he had to fight not to waver.

“Sir! Sir, he could have a spinal cord injury, don’t-“ One of the EMT’s approaching called as Dream staggered upright.

“I’m fine,” Dream reassured her, holding out a palm. “I didn’t hit my head or anything. I just- just fell in the water and washed up on the beach. Promise.” He was still shivering too hard to speak properly, and clamped his mouth shut in embarrassment.

“Can I please evaluate you first, sir?” The woman asked, brows pinched as she reached for his arm, but Dream shook his head.

“I’m conscious, I’m level-headed, I’m refusing medical services. Thank you,” he said firmly. He nudged Techno with his elbow, murmuring under his breath, “Help me to the pier.”

Techno guided him the whole way to the great wooden steps of the pier, where Dream stiffly took a seat at the bottom and buried his face in his hands. Techno picked a piece of seaweed from his hair sympathetically. “Dream, I’m gonna go keep everyone up top at bay. Your friends are on their way over. Okay?”

Dream nodded, unwilling to look up and face the world at that moment. Techno’s footsteps ascended the steps behind him, and several new pairs kicked up sand as they made a half-circle of shadow around him, shielding Dream from the prying eyes of onlookers, interviewers, and announcers. He felt someone’s presence before him, and a gentle touch came to his knee.

“Dream.”

George.

Dream wanted to throw up. He hunched further, trying to quell the nausea thrashing his insides from a mixture of swallowing sea water and raging anxiety.

“Here.” George pressed something cold against Dream’s wrist, and he heard the accompanying crinkle of plastic. “Sapnap got you a water bottle. You should have some.”

Something snapped in Dream’s head, and he jerked to attention, blinking past withheld tears of frustration and embarrassment. He refused to look at George, crouched in front of him with wind-fluffed hair and a pensive frown. Instead, he zeroed in on Sapnap. “My board.” Sapnap’s expression went blank, and Dream’s stomach gave another gut-wrenching twist of apprehension. “Where’s my board.”

“You fell off pretty far out, Dream,” he said apologetically. “Maybe we can have a jetski go grab it, but right now it’s- it’s drifting out to sea, dude.”

Dream reached up to grip the wooden railing and stood, stumbling past George. He only made it a few paces before Sapnap was at his side, slinging an arm over his shoulders to stop him. Any other time, Dream would have made fun of the way he was on his tiptoes to reach, but his head was a mess and all he could focus on was the sliver of white and neon green past the point where the waves crested, drifting lateral to the shore. Below the taste of saltwater on his tongue was the bitterness of failure, and it permeated his entire body like a poison. He sank to his knees, slipping from Sapnap’s hold, and forced his lungs to stop heaving.

“He’s freaking out,” Quackity spoke softly somewhere over his shoulder.

“I’m… gonna go see about getting his board back,” Sapnap told them. “George, try to-“

“I’m not a fucking child,” Dream said flatly, sullenly. There was a numbness spreading out from the core of his chest.

“No, you’re not. So don’t act like one and let us take care of you.” Sapnap ruffled Dream’s hair, shaking sand from the damp blonde locks. “Idiot. Drink some water. Get in the shade. Find your chill. There’ll be more competitions.” With that, he walked off to find- Dream had no idea who he’d find, but he was certain that Sapnap’s assertive, self-assured attitude would get him anything he wanted.

“Wanna sit under the dock while I go whip up some smoothies?” Quackity asked, and when Dream nodded, he laughed. “Atta boy. Karl, come help.”

“But-“ Karl began.

Karl, come help.

“Oh. Right. Okay!”

Dream sighed, body going lax. George remained silent behind him, letting Dream take his time calming down. Dream appreciated it. He just needed one goddamned second of peace where he didn’t have to feel like a headcase. He knew he was falling apart at the seams, it was just a lot easier when no one else knew. Now everyone knew.

“So much for my Kid Cuisine sponsorship,” Dream joked drily, startling a snort out of George. He looked over his shoulder and shielded his eyes dramatically. “Jesus Christ, you’re so pale you practically reflect the sun. Edward Cullen looking ass.”

With complete composure, George replied gravely, “This is the skin of a killer, Dream.”

Dream laughed, which broke George’s serious expression into a small smile. They migrated their way to the shade under the pier and sat with their backs to one of the massive wooden posts stained from years of in-and-out tides. There, they passed the water bottle back and forth, comfortably quiet. Though, Dream was hyper aware of the tiny sips George was taking, silently encouraging Dream to drink more. Dream didn’t mind. It was better than outright coddling him. His pride was already damaged enough, having people dote on him was just kicking him while he was down, no matter how pure their intentions were. It didn’t change the fact that he was utterly destroyed inside.

“You’re a giver.”

Dream looked over at him, taken aback by the abrupt statement. “What?”

George shrugged, fingers sliding idly through a little mound of sand he’d made between their thighs. “I don’t know what you need from me right now, if anything… and I want to trust that you’ll just ask or initiate if you do need something, but you’re just such a giver that I don‘t know if you will. It’s annoying.”

“Sorry? I don’t really- I don’t know what I need. The silence was okay, but so is this.” Dream shrugged. It’s because I just need you. Someone who didn’t press, only pondered. Someone who didn’t force, only nudged. “So I’m a giver, then. What does that mean?”

George exhaled through his mouth like he was preparing for something awful. “This is going to sound so dumb.”

“You’re only saying it to distract me, right?”

“I don’t know. Take what you will from it, I guess,” George shrugged noncommittally. He cleared his throat, glancing into Dream’s eyes, but only briefly. “You’re a giver. You lend yourself to everyone around you, and you be whatever they want you to be. You never ask for things- it’s like you’re only motivated by what you can do for other people. Even your coping mechanisms all serve other people in some way,” he explained, as if it was all obvious to him. George’s brain worked in unique ways, Dream was coming to realize. He was as neat and organized in his head as he was in the physical world. Dream could imagine bookshelves ordered by categories and boxes with sharpie labels, a shelf for everyone important to George and a cubby for every interest he had. “See, I’m the opposite: I’m a taker. I think about it all the time. Esp-“ He stopped himself, frowning, but he charged on anyway. “Especially with you, because if you’re a giver and I’m a taker, that’s just- toxic. I think we need to find our balance. And this is my shoddy attempt at giving something to you. Food for thought or whatever. A distraction, if that’s really what you wanted. Take it, ask for more. I don’t know.”

George had slowly receded into himself the more he spoke and the longer Dream stared at him, shoulders climbing up to his ears self-consciously.

“I think you give plenty,” Dream spoke somberly, watching George’s restless hand in the sand again. “But maybe you’re right about me, just a little. Every time I think I’ve become a giver, someone comes along and calls me selfish or greedy, and so I take less and less. At this point, I’m just spread thin and exhausted. And it’s still not enough.”

“I was one of those people, right?” George clenched the sand in a tight fist, and watched it all shower down as he loosened his grip. He looked guilty. “The first time you took me to the bonfire… Eret’s party… The kiss. I just keep taking everything you give and throwing it back in your face.”

“Our extended metaphor is getting convoluted,” Dream chuckled. “I don’t think any of this is that simple. I just think we need to work on some things. It sounds stupid, but maybe… communication?”

“Okay. Then communicate to me what it is that you need right now.”

“Remember when Quackity said I’d need a kiss if I epically failed?” George whacked Dream’s arm, making the surfer hiss, but it fizzled out into amusement. “Okay, okay, fair enough. I didn’t earn it.”

“Maybe next time, Caleb.”

“I’m just not going to react to the names any more.”

“What about when I say your real name?”

If you say my real name… Can I kiss you, then?”

George stared up at him, chin lowered and mouth tensed, entirely unreadable. Sometimes Dream got tired of being an open book. When would he be able to read George by the slightest twitch of his cheek muscle or the minor moments of his eyes? “That’s how you’ll let me know?” George clarified, and Dream nodded, hoping he wasn’t overstepping boundaries. But George had said I don’t want to say no. Was that permission to pursue him? Dream was an impatient person- more impatient than Sapnap. He didn’t want to walk with George, he wanted to skip ahead and hold a hand back to encourage George to move forward with him. Otherwise they’d be stuck, inching along and then falling back again until they stopped moving at all. George, for his part, seemed to need Dream to take the leaps and was willing to be dragged along with heavier steps. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Dream grinned, and George’s cheekbones were glazed with shimmering pink, sweat and blush and sunscreen. “You want to guess again, then?”

George’s lips parted in surprise, and he fumbled for his phone, opening his browser app to some baby name website. He skimmed the list before landing on 42, just after Caleb. Dream didn’t see his name anywhere from 40 to 50 encompassed within the screen between Jason and Charles, and snickered to himself.

“Can I make your life a little easier?” Dream asked, holding his hand out for the phone.

George squinted at him. “Are you trying to help me cheat so that you can kiss me?”

“No. Yes. Well- I just don’t want it to take so long that you give up.”

Still suspicious, George handed Dream the phone, muttering, “Don’t be too generous.”

Dream shifted so his body was turned facing George, hiding the screen from view as he searched the list for his name, eyebrows arching higher with every passing hundred. He scoffed at he past the 300 mark, 325, 350, 375, 400-

“Oh no,” George lamented, watching Dream’s expression morph into hilarity. Dream scrolled back down to the 40’s and handed the phone back. George sighed. “What’s the prognosis?”

“You’d have better luck counting down from 500.”

George groaned, and scrolled all the way back up to find it. “Why did your mum have to give you a rare name?”

“It’s not that rare.”

“You told me to go backwards from 500.”

“Okay, yeah, but-“

“Julius.”

“No.”

George locked his phone and tossed it to the sand. “I give up for today.”

“Aww, come on,” Dream pandered, but George resolutely shook his head.

“I doubt your name is Mohamed, so what’s the point?” George griped bitterly. Dream leaned in, and George jerked away in shock, mouth falling open. “No way.”

“Nah, I’m fucking with you.”

George whacked his arm again.

 

 

“You were a good sport, mate. You did everything you could.”

Techno watched the sun sink into the ocean glumly, hardly able to enjoy the cooler breeze of the dawning night or the beautiful colors streaked across the clouds like oil paint. Even the calming presence of his surfing mentor, Phil- nicknamed the crow of the central Florida surfing scene for the way he looked like he flew on the waves- couldn’t stop Techno’s mind from snagging on the events of the day. He’d placed second, but without Dream in the top three with him, it felt almost… pointless wasn’t the word, but Techno’s abandoned English degree wasn’t able to properly fill in the blank at that moment.

“I know,” Techno responded tiredly, watching beachgoers swim with the heat shimmer and the glimmer of vibrant orange glancing off the waves. He was worn out from the competition, his social battery having gone dead by midday. Phil was the one person that didn’t deplete it in any way. It didn’t take effort to talk to him, no brain power needed when Phil could interpret Techno’s silence and vice versa as if they were telepathic to one another. “I think he’s going through somethin’, though. I wish I could help, but it’s not my place to.” He shrugged, swinging his legs idly. They were sat at the very end of the pier, legs under the bottom of the wooden railing, arms folded on the lowest of three horizontal bars that ran between the vertical posts.

“Maybe it is,” Phil argued gently, playing with the silver medal Techno had won, flipping it over and over between his fingers with the red ribbon dangling in the breeze. “You’ve been a good friend to him lately.”

“I don’t know, Phil. I think it goes deeper than our talks about college and how much it sucks the life outta us. Although, that’s probably a big part of it. His summer classes aren’t going so well and it sounds like he hates his major.”

“Mans just has to find the right path,” Phil said serenely, as if that were some simple task. “Or maybe not stress so much and just see where life takes him, you know? Kind of like you.”

Techno tilted his head in consideration. “I guess I am doing that, huh?”

“And how’s it working out for you?”

“Well, I have pink hair, I live in an RV on the beach since I can’t afford rent, and all I do all day is read, surf, and annoy you,” Techno listed off thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’d say it’s going pretty well.”

Phil chortled, knocking their elbows together with familiarity. A fragile peace blanketed them. The ocean whispered sweet nothings to the shore. Voices murmured with a cadence like the waves at far off outdoor dining venues. Techno inhaled, senses enveloped by the distinct smell of hot sand going cold, mellow earth and salt scents infused with wafting food vendors down the pier. He considered himself. He considered Dream. He considered their friendship. How they’d laughed even as Dream tangled Techno’s hair trying to braid it, and their quiet talks about school on the water as the sun cast them in orange sherbet and made the morning feel citrusy sweet.

He sighed again, quite heavily, and disfavored the knowing look Phil shot him before he could even open his mouth to speak again. “Wilbur’s up to somethin’.”

“I expect nothing less. What’s the sneaky bastard up to this time?”

“I don’t know exactly, just that it has to do with Dream, which can’t be helpin’ his stress. Seems like he’s getting everyone involved, though. Tommy, Tubbo, George-“

“The guy Dream’s been following around like a lost puppy?”

“That’s the one.” Techno picked at a splinter in the wooden railing, pressing the tip of his thumb to its sharp end and dimpling the whorls of his fingerprint. “I just don’t get why. He-“ Techno frowned, side-eyeing Phil. “How much have you heard?”

“Well, I know Wilbur and Dream slept together, if that’s what you were going to beat ‘round the bush about,” Phil said, slightly amused. “But besides that, not much else. Should I be concerned? Disappointed?”

“Maybe,” Techno shrugged. “I think Wilbur could do with some wisdom right now.”

“Ah,” Phil hummed, nodding. “And that’s my job.”

“I mean, who else?” Techno pandered, making Phil roll his eyes. He cleared his throat. “I’m being serious, though,” he muttered, darkening his voice again. “He pulled George aside before the competition today. It looks to me like he’s meddlin’- and not in a good way.”

“Homewrecker arc,” Phil joked, but it was spoken dully, the humor subdued. “God knows Dream’s got enough shit to deal with. It’s times like this that it hits me how young you all are. I remember thinking life was just a competition- some people you want to beat, others you want to conquer, and in this context those two words mean very different things. It shows, that you and Dream are a bit more mature in that aspect. I can’t say the same for Wilbur. I’ll talk to him.” Phil smiled. “Look at you, being a good friend.”

“I am capable, contrary to popular belief.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Not always. Don’t think I’m goin’ soft, you hear me?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Sure, Tech.”

 

 

Once again, Sapnap found himself reduced to his kid self sitting on the stoop of his childhood home. He felt like he was waiting with salty crocodile tears that burned his eyes as his mom got him the Ben 10 bandaids instead of the plain tan ones. He kept hoping she’d come out and crouch in front of him on the brick walkway, a sweet smile on her face that was just as mischievous and lopsided as his own. ”Don’t tell dad,” he used to say every time he fell off his bike. It wasn’t because he felt like a failure- only because he knew his dad would see it that way, and his dad was wrong, because mom always told him it was okay to fall as long as he got back on.

Instead, it was his step-mom sharing sympathy with him. She was leaning against the front door behind him smoking a cigarette under the watery yellow cast of the walkway light. Tobacco was a smell he associated only with her, every time they hugged or got in her car or extra rare moments like these when she tried to be a stand-in for his real mom. A shitty one, at that, but Sapnap didn’t feel any ill will towards her for it. Sapnap’s mom was an unbeatable standard, pure grace in a human form, one of his best friends. It was cruel that Rosamie even had to try to compare to her.

“You don’t have to tell me he only wants to help, or that he only wants what’s best for me,” Sapnap told her quietly, pensively.

“What else can I say?” She wondered, mostly to herself, probably rhetorical. Sapnap let it be.

He was thinking about 2005, coming home from preschool raving all about how he wanted to be a cowboy when he grew up. When he got a little older, his mom signed him up for horseback riding lessons and his dad signed him up for peewee football. Mom had taken the time to ask Sapnap all sorts of questions about what kind of cowboy he wanted to be. Dad never cared, and assumed he was shooting for the NFL. His dreams were never allowed to be his own, not with dad.

“I don’t think I-“ Sapnap’s throat tightened, and it clicked as he swallowed. When he looked over his shoulder at Rosamie, she had a pinch in her brow. She knew. “I don’t think I want to see him any more.”

Crickets chirped. The leaves sighed with the mild night’s breeze. Rosamie exhaled a plume of her stress-addiction. She flicked some ashes, frowning down towards the brick beneath her crossed ankles and slippered feet. Sapnap felt something invisible being pulled from his body- a long, winding string of tension from his muscles that had been being woven since the day he was born, finally unraveling. It made him nauseous. He was relieved to purge.

“You’ll break him,” Rosamie whispered, voice thick with repressed emotion.

“He breaks me every time I see him,” Sapnap replied, nibbling on his thumb nail and twisting frontwards to face the placid night again. He didn’t want to sit here waiting for his father to come home from his rampage drive, because while he always said that it was to clear his head and calm him down, Sapnap knew he’d come back just as enraged. All it did was let him prepare the worst possible words he could throw at Sapnap. Sapnap was done being a verbal punching bag for not living the vicarious life his dad wanted from him. So he stood, dusting off his shorts, and ascended the steps to envelop Rosamie in a hug. “I’ll keep in touch.”

With a small noise of distress, she dropped her cigarette to hug him properly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to crush him in closer. Sapnap stepped on the lit bud to stifle it, letting himself be held like a son. Maybe Rosamie wasn’t his real mom, or even remotely close, but she was still Rosamie. She wouldn’t stop Sapnap from doing what he needed to do, wouldn’t tsk at him or turn up her nose.

“Let’s get lunch sometime,” Sapnap said, pulling away and pretending he didn’t see her pat under her eyes with the edges of her silky bathrobe sleeves. “I’d love it if you met my boyfriends.”

She laughed wetly, shaking her head fondly. “More than one?” Sapnap shrugged, and she smiled, squeezing his arm. She was used to Sapnap’s unconventional life, accepting him when his father was only repulsed. “More to love, then. Text me when you get home safe.”

Sapnap nodded, digging a crisp 100 from his wallet and handing it to her. “For dad. So I don’t owe him anything.”

“I’m so sorry, Nick.”

“He may be a shitty father, but at least I got a pretty cool step-mom out of it.” He basked in her proud little grin as he backed down the steps, exchanging a wave before he turned and went with a weight off his shoulders. He heard the door close as he was stepping off the curb into the street, kicking his skateboard off the sidewalk where he’d left it. As he pushed off and began a slow roll towards the main road, he took out his phone to FaceTime Karl. The camera opened to a dark room with blue lighting that cast over a sleepy face like moonlight refracting through the ocean’s surface. It was a special lamp Karl’s mom bought him to fit the ocean theme of his bedroom, along with a whale decal on his wall behind his bed and many other displays that let the whole world know he was obsessed with his marine biology major. “Hey, cutie. Is Big Q still with you?”

“Hi,” Karl cheesed, and Sapnap could imagine him happily kicking his feet under the blankets. “He’s here, he’s just showering.”

“And you didn’t join him? Lame,” Sapnap teased, giving himself a push. “Can I come over? I just cut off my dad and Dream’s too busy being emo and George is George so I don’t want to hang with him-“

“Sapnap! Of course you can come over, nimrod. Do you wanna talk about your dad?”

“Nah, I kind of just want to make out on the water bed.”

Karl giggled. “We can do that, too.”

Sapnap fist pumped, skateboard wobbling and nearly throwing him off. He caught his balance, and as he came up to the end of the street, turned right towards the cul-de-sac Karl lived on. “Bet, be there in five- pause, make that ten.” He swerved across the barren, quiet main road towards the glow of the 7-eleven. It was such a liminal space at that hour, eerily vacant, only the hum of the gas station lights and the rumble of Sapnap’s wheels on the pavement. “I’m getting us a massive Slurpee to share, hope y’all like cherry.” As soon as Sapnap said it, he was hit with a fuzzy memory of tequila, police lights, woodchips, and George. He stumbled off his skateboard, letting it roll away and bump against the curb as he walked past it towards the 7-eleven’s doors. “Uhhh… on second thought, it looks like they have a pina colada flavor, Big Q will go wild for that one.”

“Fine by me,” Karl said obliviously. Sapnap had told them about the kiss- obviously, everyone knew, secrets didn’t exist in their friend group and especially not between them. Never for long, at least. Still, it wasn’t a memory that he revisited often. Or ever. So he hadn’t gotten into the gritty details about the Slurpees and making purple. “Can you get me a-“

“White Mega Monster?” Sapnap guessed, picking out the largest Big Gulp size from the dispensers and putting it under the swirling white pina colada flavor. “Wouldn’t dream of not getting you one every time I go to the store. I’m prime husband material. Just saying.”

“Yesss,” Karl hissed with joy. “Love you.”

Sapnap’s hand slipped off the Slurpee knob, leaving the cup sitting there half-filled for half a beat before he continued, shaking his head and clearing his throat. Karl’s sweater-pawed hand crept up to cover his mouth, staring at Sapnap’s gross low angle through the phone screen. He considered not saying anything. Their friends, especially himself, his boyfriends, Bad, Dream- they’d all been throwing around I love you’s since they were kids, it was just their casual platonic affection. The context was different between Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity now, though. Sapnap brought the phone close, so it was just his eyes in view. “Like… really?”

“Not yet.”

Sapnap was glad he’d angled his screen the way he had. It hid his embarrassed flush- but he understood, and he wasn’t upset. “Okay,” he said softly, hoping he delivered it deliberately enough. “It’s okay,” he added.

“Later.”

“What?”

“Yeah. When I can say it to you and Quackity, and mean it in the way I’ve been meaning to let you know I’ve meant it for a long time now.”

“Huh?” Sapnap glanced up. “Shit.” He let go of the Slurpee knob and took the cup to lick up the slush that had started overflowing. “Okay. Okay, I’m on my way. Give Big Q a fat forehead smooch for me when he gets out of the shower.”

“Aye, aye, captain-“ Karl began to say, until Qauckity’s far off voice in the background called, “Come do it yourself, pussy!”

Sapnap made sure to apologize to the cashier as he rang out.

He made it to Karl’s house in record time, leaving his skateboard out on the grass, not really giving a damn if it rusted from the dew in the morning. Karl’s mom greeted him, and he blew her a kiss before racing upstairs just to make her laugh, Monster in one hand and Slurpee in the other. He barreled into Karl’s door, knocking with his whole body and obnoxiously repeating, “Let me in, let me in, let me in, let me-“

As soon as the door opened, Sapnap leaned in and planted a wet kiss on someone’s- nose, meaning it was Quackity. If it was Karl, Sapnap probably would have missed and hit his chin instead.

“Oh my god, I’m blushing,” Quackity joked, but he actually was, a dusting of pink over where Sapnap had just had his lips. His hair was damp and free of its beanie, stray inky strands plastered to his carmine cheeks.

“I brought you a Slurpee. I would say maybe that will cool you down, but you’re so hot it’ll just melt before it even touches you.”

“Spit it into my mouth, then.”

“Whoa,” Karl stopped them, popping up over Quackity’s shoulder and resting his chin there. “Not without me, right?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Is your water bed fucking king sized?”

They all settled onto Karl’s water bed, which sloshed under their weights and made them all fall towards each other in the center, not that they were complaining. Sapnap had called middle, to which Quackity complained that he always called middle, but then Sapnap said, “Okay, fair enough, but my daddy issues got hands tonight.” That was all the convincing Quackity needed to sidle up to Sapnap’s right side and feed him some skittles that he was mysteriously pulling from his pocket. Karl cozied up to Sapnap on the left, abandoning his Monster by his pet turtle tank on his dresser in favor of sharing the Slurpee between them all.

When he offered it to Quackity, who gasped dramatically when he found out it was pina colada and ducked his head in for the straw, Karl giggled and said, “Indirect kiss.”

“Shut up,” Quackity said, mouthful of Slurpee, and kept drinking.

“You’re gonna get a-“ Sapnap tried to warn him.

Agh! Brain freeze,” Quackity winced, flailing sideways to put the Slurpee on the nightstand and hiding his face in a pillow. “Ow, ow, oh my god, I’m dying. Guys. Guys, please.”

“Quick, Sapnap, give him mouth to mouth!” Karl cried.

“Fuck off, that doesn’t even make sense,” Quackity wailed dramatically. Sapnap turned onto his side so he could tug at at a sleek lock of hair that they so rarely got to see and feel. Quackity kicked him and blindly slapped his hand away, flipping onto his back to glare at Sapnap and sending a goopy sounding wave through the water bed. “Hey, what the hell, man?”

“Sorry. Wanted to see that cute face of yours again.”

“Suck my dick.” Sapnap raised an eyebrow. He felt Karl sit up behind him, likely with a mirrored expression of provocation. If the room weren’t so blue, Sapnap was sure Quackity would be red as he scrunched his face up. “Not- Stop that. You guys are gross. And so fucking horny all the time.”

“Not really,” Karl disagreed.

Sapnap cleared his throat. “Speak for yourself.” He reached out to touch Quackity, wanting to hold his soft cheek in his palm and thumb over the pretty little mole near his lips, but Quackity shied away with a flash of panic in his eyes. Sapnap only paused a moment, long enough for him to give Quackity a small tilt of his head and receive a tiny nod in response before trying again. Sapnap kept his touch delicate but firm, hoping it was grounding. “Quackity… Do you like affection?”

“I- Huh?” Quackity’s chest was rising and falling a little too quickly for Sapnap’s comfort.

“Because you don’t have to.”

“I do, though,” Quackity blurted out, forehead pinching. He lifted a hand to wrap his fingers around Sapnap’s wrist, keeping his palm in place fitted to the curve of his jaw. His voice softened, melting into that slightly raspy, deeper tone he got whenever he was utterly sincere. “I know that sounded like a lie, but I do. I’m just- I’m not used to it. It wasn’t normal to me growing up. I feel like I’m not giving you guys enough because you’re both causally affectionate and I’m not, so I pull away without even thinking about it. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Karl told him gently, reaching over Sapnap’s body to take Quackity’s free hand. “It’s as easy as telling us hey nimrods, I want affection right now or hey nimrods, I don’t want affection right now.

“I mean, same goes for all of us with all kinds of boundaries.” Sapnap shrugged.

“Yeah! Like, I don’t really want to have sex right away,” Karl chimed in. “I know we joke about it sometimes, but I’m not ready. I’ll let you know when I am. If I am.”

Sapnap could physically feel the tension seep from Quackity’s shoulder, where his forearm was lightly rested. “Okay. Well, first of all: hey nimrods, I want affection right now. Second of all, I’m, um, still unsure about… kissing. Which is dumb, but-“

“It’s not dumb.”

“-but I like it and I want to, it’s just hard for me to let myself when I’d been telling myself in my head for so long don’t be weird with them, they’ll figure it out, they’ll know. It’s all just ingrained in me. I had to, like, condition myself not to touch you guys too much for too long.”

“Q, my beloved but dense boyfriend,” Karl sighed sweetly, “Sapnap and I weren’t nearly as subtle. That’s how I knew he was in for this trio in the first place. I probably would have been too scared to ask if it weren’t so obvious.”

“Listen, I didn’t even know I liked guys until you came around, can you blame me for repressing and freaking out half the time?” Quackity admitted meekly, exhaling botheredly. “Can we skip to the part where you guys make out and I get to watch?”

Sapnap burst out laughing, making Quackity roll his eyes in defeat. “Is that where this was going?”

“Yes,” Quackity pouted.

“I mean, I won’t say no to that, but… you’ll tell us if you want a turn, right?” Sapnap grinned at him crookedly, and Quackity looked like he wanted to hide. Sapnap was proud of him for not doing exactly that. “Karl and I actually haven’t kissed yet.”

“Yeah, Q, you got the first kiss of the three-lationship,” Karl confirmed.

“O-Oh,” Quackity said, surprised. Sapnap wondered why- he thought there was an unspoken rule that they’d all be there for every first in their three-lationship, as Karl called it. That was dumb of him to think, though. There probably shouldn’t be any unspoken rules if they wanted this to work- and he really wanted it to work. Quackity seemed to agree, muttering, “Right. Communication. We’ll do that, right? Tell each other everything?”

“‘Course.” Karl beamed at him confidently, then wobbled to his knees on the unstable mattress. Sapnap sprawled on his back to look up at him, only to be met with a lapful of Karl straddling him. “Is this okay?”

“Jesus, I forget how bold you are sometimes,” Quackity observed quietly, and Sapnap nodded in agreement. Karl had a very direct way of communicating what he wanted. It was perfect, given their circumstances. He was perfect. Freckled skin tanned from hours spent crouched over tide pools that was soft to the touch where Sapanp ran his hands up his thighs, exposed by his sleep shorts. “You guys are so hot.”

Sapnap chuckled, shooting Quackity a wink. “Just remember, this could be you. Whenever you want it.”

Karl brought Sapnap’s attention back up to him with guiding fingers on his chin, something domineering in the demand for focus. Sapnap knew that these two would never stop surprising him. He licked his lips, and Karl’s sweet puppy eyes went lidded as he tracked the path of his tongue. Sapnap was far from virginal, so the excited nerves pooling in his stomach was something he hadn’t felt in years, but this was one of the few times a kiss had been important to him. In the same way that Quackity’s kiss left him serenely overjoyed, Karl sitting in his lap was invigorating but it felt so right that he was calm. Then Karl’s eyes slid fondly to Quackity, and he smiled in that refreshing, carefree way of his.

“I love you guys,” he said casually, tenderly. Quackity’s breath hitched. Sapnap had already heard it, but it still caught him off guard. He turned his head to quickly peck Quackity’s cheek before gripping the front of Karl’s purple aquarium t-shirt and pulling him down. The collision of their lips was soft, Karl’s mouth well-chapsticked and plush under the gentle sucking pressure of Sapnap’s capturing his bottom lip. Karl made a happy little noise, palm planted on Sapnap’s chest, and melted into him.

Sapnap wasn’t used to sweet kisses, usually driven by the heat and hunger of a rushed, passionate hookup. In the case of his sugar parents, he had rarely been kissed: a carefully detailed boundary made between himself and the couple. So to have Karl kiss him, over and over with warm little presses of skin and breath, going no deeper than gently yielding lips- Sapnap felt like he’d never been properly kissed before.

Coaxing but not forcing, Sapnap slid a hand behind Karl’s nape, mindful not to touch his hair as he guided them together one last time. Sapnap savored it, nipping with the lightest graze of teeth and feeling Karl smile. When they parted, they were both pleasantly breathless. “See?” Karl tilted his head at Quackity. “Not so scary.”

There was a spray of darkness over Quackity’s cheeks, making his blush visible even in the shimmering cobalt light. When he turned his head to Sapnap with questioning eyes, and Sapnap turned his own to meet his gaze, their noses nearly touched on the meager amount of pillow space they shared. Quiet, like he was trying not to scare Quackity away, Sapnap offered, “Want to try?”

“I-“ Quackity licked his lips, then pressed them together to hide the shine of wetness. He spurred some devilry into his tone. “I think I promised Karl a turn.”

Karl looked utterly delighted, hips wiggling with joy. Sapnap had to bite his tongue and still him with hands on his waist, not wanting to accidentally excite anything while Quackity was still so nervous and Karl had clearly stated he didn’t want to have sex yet. “Really?” Karl moved suddenly, and Sapnap held his breath as his sharp knee grazed dangerously close to his crotch. Karl wound up straddling one of each of their legs, inadvertently pressing their thighs together. Quackity also appeared to be holding his breath, but he nodded. “Do you want me to hold still or- oh!”

In a very Quackity-esque fashion, he rushed in before he could overthink, his movement swift as he sat up, wrapped an arm around Karl’s waist, and pulled them flush. Quackity brought Karl into a molten kiss while Sapnap watched raptly at the deliberate, deep connections of their lips. Sapnap suddenly felt warm even in his muscle tank and shorts, bending an arm under his head for viewing pleasure. He took note of the way Karl’s fingers squeezed the fabric of Quackity’s shirt, and the flexed muscles in Quackity’s arm keeping their bodies tight together. They were a vision. Quackity’s tan, freckled jaw working Karl’s mouth. Karl’s long eyelashes twitching against his cheeks while he allowed Quackity take control, clearly enjoying every second of it. Sapnap couldn’t help himself, stroking Karl’s thigh and thrilling in the shiver he visibly caused.

When they pulled away, Quackity whispered, “Holy shit.” The tension in the air snapped, and they all snickered. Karl was glowing with happiness. Quackity’s hands were shaking, and he flopped onto his back again, releasing a shuddering breath. “Okay. Oh my god. I have such a big, dumb crush on you guys. Holy fucking shit.”

“It’s mutual,” Sapnap chuckled, pressing yet another kiss to his satiny soft cheek. He lingered there to do it again, and again, and again until Karl joined in on the opposite side of Quackity’s face. Feeling the smile grow and squish up his features was addicting, bashful giggles shaking the whole water bed.

“Stop. Guys, stop,” Quackity tittered, not serious considering he was drawing his hands up to his chest instead of pushing them away, encouraging them to crowd closer against him.

“No,” Sapnap responded blasely, finding the corner of Quackity’s mouth. Quackity turned his head to kiss him back, letting Karl bury his face in his exposed neck while Sapnap finally got to taste his shy boyfriend again.

Fuck his father. Karl and Quackity provided all the love he needed here in Florida. He could already picture inviting them to Texas for Christmas with his mom, showing Quackity the homegrown blue bottles as a reminder of the bouquet he’d given him with his first confession. He could take Karl to the murky lake in the woods behind his house and share his knowledge on the mushrooms and the lilies and the fish. They could swim and sip on beer and his mom would adore them just as much as she adored her son.

Something had shifted in Sapnap’s life, slots clicking into place. For the first time, everything felt right. He wasn’t fighting his own anxieties and inhibitions to put on a facade any more. He was just happy.

Free.

Notes:

Hour_of_Blue on Twitter if you want to yell at me

Sorry for the short chapter, blah blah blah university, blah blah blah mental health, you know how it is. Let me know whose POV you’re dying to see in this!