𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 // 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

Fraying Rope

AN: This is a chapter that kind of preludes a more important one, so count it as a connecting chapter between filler and major plot points. Enjoy! (btw I use ropes as an analogy, and if you make it too weirdchamp I'll delete your comments)

-Fraying Rope-

Dream's POV:

As it always was with Wilbur's parties, the driveway was full when we got to his manor.

Once George was finished complaining about the lack of parking, we parked the car down the road and made our way to the manor's entrance, the doors of which were located through the sprawling front lawns and up a grand staircase. Wilbur Soot stood by the open doors, a small table at his side. Judging by the juxtaposition of how opulent the table looked in contrast to the outdoor environment, he'd dragged it out from somewhere inside the manor.

Likely, it was somewhere to put his drink.

George and I ascended the staircase swiftly, mostly due to my eagerness to get inside to the party and George's reluctance to make any sort of objections to my excitement. We stopped to greet Wilbur as soon as we got to the front doors, as even in these casual house parties formalities must be kept to some degree.

"Nice to see you guys." Wilbur said with a greeting smile, standing by the open doors with a cup of beer brandished in one hand. He eyed us up and down when we approached him.

"Damn, look at that makeup." He whistled. "Never took George for the makeup type, but it looks good. Actually, I didn't take you for the party type either, George, but I'm not objecting. Dream, that eyeliner is truly impressi-"

"It was a swap deal." George cut in. "Dream's posting a partial selfie later this week, so it was all worthwhile." A small, foxy smirk followed his words. Wilbur looked taken aback, his hand arching up to cover his mouth like it was a scandalous thing to hear.

"You mean...Dream's posting a partial picture of himself? Online? For real? Like, actually him? Not a fake? Really?" He started slowly, his questions speeding up as he processed what George had said.

George nodded smugly. "Yup." I huffed at his tone.

"Holy shit." Wilbur exhaled. "What timeline am I living in?"

"The one where your Twitter timeline has a selfie of me later this week." I sighed. "At least I got to do George's makeup. I haven't been able to convince him for so long."

"Simp." Wilbur teased, taking a sip of his drink. I rolled my eyes at the comment, shaking my head. Ignoring my reaction, Wilbur continued speaking. "But yeah, it looks good. If the fans ever found out you were this good at makeup, the world might just implode."

"Thanks to the selfie, we might get to see the world implode anyway." George exclaimed with a laugh. I glowered at him, but failed to retain any sort of displeasure any longer than a mere glance.

Wilbur set his drink down once again. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from the party." He said apologetically, running a hand through his hair.

"No problem. Thanks for hosting, Wilbur. Only your place can handle parties like this." I chuckled. "Seriously, yours are the best parties, by a long, long shot. It may be the swimming pool or the several bars, or the fact that there are so many people you couldn't swing a cat once the drinking starts-"

"I host the best." Wilbur grinned. "Anyways, do you need a refresher of the rules?" I was about to say no, but remembered my plus one was very inexperienced.

I smiled. "For George, yeah." Wilbur cleared his throat and set his cup down on the table. He held up his hands, probably ready to list the rules.

"Rule one, no going into my bedroom, because of privacy and shit. Rule two, no major illegal activities or I report you to the police. Rule three, no weird shit in public places, get a room. Rule four, no spiking drinks or I kick you out. Rule five, find your own ride home, I can't be bothered. Rule six, no weapons or physical altercations with weaponized objects." I carefully kept that rule in mind. A quick glance to George showed that he maintained a studious caution as he listened to each rule, and as he processed all the underlying connotations that came with each of them.