feral boys

7 • It's a deal.

"Hey!" They yelled in unison, "Snitches don't get bitches!"

Tommy crossed his arms, rolling his eyes sassily and taking another sip of his sixth coke can while pointing at them both.

————

George lead the man back out of the building, addressing to everyone that there was not actually free concerts. Lots of them complained, getting into their cars and driving away.

"Alright, Tubbo and Purpled." They lifted their heads up to look at George. "Clean the spray paint off the wall."

They both slouched, grabbing sponges and buckets filled with soapy water that were handed to them by Tommy.

They looked back with pure annoyance in their face, the blonde shooting them a quick thumbs up.

"You're not so bad after all, Tommy." He nudged his shoulder.

Tommy looked up at him, "Couldn't say the same thing about you."

"Oh piss off." He turned, walking away from him. "I take everything I said back!"

Tommy grinned and walked outside to see their progress, their sleeves were soaked in water as it traveled from the sponge down their sleeves. Their faces were hilariously melting from the heat.

"Okay, idiots. Come back inside." He said as he realized the sign was completely washed off.

-

"How are the lyrics coming up?" Sapnap leaned onto Dream's desk with his elbows, holding up his head.

He quickly skimmed over his own lyrics, "Great, actually."

Sapnap nodded, walking back to karl who was drinking his monster, adding each empty can to his tower against the wall. "Wow, Karl."

Karl smirked, patting the spot next to him. Sapnap sat down and let him lean his head against his shoulder. He played with his hair, running his fingers through silky strands.

-

Dream had the recording of George's guitar on his laptop, constantly repeating it as he sang along softly. Switching up some words and pumping his fists once he succeeded, he loved it.

Personally, he loved the vibe of the song, the tune and the lyrics. It was one of those songs where if you were to be happy, you'd enjoy the tune. If you were feeling under the weather, perhaps you'd pay more attention to the lyrics.

It was exciting. The thought of growing popular one day, having people who actually attend the concerts. Having tours and meet in greets.

His writing was messed up as there was a light tugging on his pinky, pulling his hand and smudging the writing. It was a good thing he was writing with an erasable material.

The tugs matched up with George's arm as he swung it back and forth while walking out on the stage. Dream was not one to be good with paranormal activity.

George watched as the string loosely fell under the stage curtains and to Dream. As he walked back and forth, it grew and shortened. The only other thing shortening was his patience to just admit it. Ruin a good friendship while he was at it.