Baby, Will You Kiss Me Already? [Dreamnap]

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Sapnap had loved him for ever, and ever. Forever, not quite, but damn close to it. He loved them when they were both thirteen, when Dream's claims of blowing up, being the biggest streamer out there, seemed like silly childhood declarations of grandeur. After all, kids think they're hot shit, and Dream was no exception.

Dream. Where could Sapnap start on his best friend? Yes, that was it. Dream is his best friend. Dream was also gorgeous-- dirty blond hair just barely too light for it to be brunet, little fangs in the corners of their mouth, faint freckles dappling pasty skin that never seemed to get enough sunlight. They're tall, too; Sapnap always thought he was taller than he turned out to be when he finally came face to face with Dream's imposing six-foot-plus visage. But it was okay. He loved feeling Dream's arms around him, pressing close to his chest in the kind of tight bear hugs bros give each other, crushing closer until neither can breathe, cackling as broken wheezes of amusement escape the blond.

They're best friends, and if it weren't for the ache in Sapnap's heart, he might see him as a brother in the same way he sees Bad-- truly family, to the point where it felt disgusting to even entertain thoughts of intimate nature of him. But that's not how things turned out.

Sapnap was sprawled on his bed when Dream told him they were now dating George. He had blankets pulled up to his waist, eyes half-closed, unprepared for the sinking, horrified gut feeling seeing those words.

Dream: hey!! sap! george and i are dating now :D

George. Oh, George. Sapnap groaned and looked away from the phone, even as he typed out an auto-response void of meaning.

Pandas: good 4 u! glad it worked out

Where to start on George? Same place as Dream, really. He's Sapnap's other best friend, but he can't help harboring a quiet resentment for the Englishman. He was dainty, pretty, and-- Dream liked him. Dream doted on him, followed his actions over webcam with adoring pear eyes. Dream talked about him, filling up his conversation with soft affection that should've been Sapnap's.

...No, that was unfair. He chastised himself, as usual. George was a dear friend, and in the end, it was Sapnap's quiet bitterness alone that even started to drive a rift between them, regardless of how slight. People can often detect when they're unwanted or resented, after all.

And days that grew into weeks, months...years, of hearing Dream ramble their pretty mouth off about how much they adored George and would die for him to return his feelings-- it was venom to Sapnap's heart, seeping in and shutting things down piece by piece until he almost couldn't bear to think of George.
The bitterness that was planted grew into a flourishing courtyard of ivy tainted with the poison, creeping vines that hung down around his secluded gazebo where the long-hidden ceramic pots housed the fragile primroses of his hidden longing. Dried yellow and purple hyacinths litter the floor, haunting his mind with the guilt and regret of rejection he'd never opened himself to receive; but he knew it was there, between the lines of Dream's affectionate rambles.

It's only appropriate that the bouquet he gives Dream on the anniversary of their friendship is comprised of carnations; striped, red, purple. Dream didn't think anything of it. Why would he, when George's was the same yellow hyacinths from Sapnap's mind mixed with hydrangeas? If the orange lilies brought up any questions, they weren't asked. Sapnap threw himself into his bed and screamed, voice muffled by the pillows.

They didn't care. Why would they? They were probably tongue deep in the middle of making out, after all. And Sapnap wasn't a part of them making out, duh.

So much sorrow. So much pining, begging for notice, crying when he realized he would never get those lovely eyes to rest on him with the same expression Dream reserved for George.

It should've seemed like a payout when Dream broke up with George. It should've seemed like some kind of-- compensation, for the pain it had all caused Sapnap, when he became the rebound.

George thought it was funny, even if he felt bad for how Dream had reacted so poorly. Little Sapnap, the baby of their group, got to be the rebound. He got to have something.

So why was being the rebound not enough? Was it not enough that Dream pressed their lips to his, nipped with their fangs, held him close when they slept alongside each other? Was it not enough that he chose Sapnap to rebound on? At least a little, this was what he had been hoping for when he slipped those venomous orange lilies into George's bouquet with a burning sensation in his chest. Orange lilies, with their hatred, and yellow hyacinths, with their jealously. Maybe he had wanted this.

That...

...was a pathetic lie, and he knew it. He wanted the adoration, the love; not this. Not Dream leaning towards him when George spoke, not Dream making George's favorite foods by accident and ordering the wrong drinks, because his head was still full of his ex.

He didn't want to go walking with Dream as the sun set so he could see the sadness behind his 'boyfriend's' eyes. He kept his eyes angled towards the concrete, watching his scuffed trainers pad over the wet ground. Dream's worn-out dirty Nikes were half a step ahead. They always were. As fast as Sapnap walked, he was never as fast as Dream-- and it scared him. Because as empty as this relationship was, it was more than he had before, and he knew in his heart it wouldn't last; Dream would move on, as quickly as he rebounded.

Dream moves fast. He always has.

So when they gently press Sapnap to an alley wall, the scent of rain on the breeze as electricity hums through the taut air, Sapnap closes his eyes. He lets Dream kiss him, welcoming him warmly.

Yet, even though this is their moment, their quiet scene of intimacy where nobody else will see, Sapnap feels hollow.

He knows he's a stand-in. With his eyes closed, back against the pitted brick wall, he can pretend that Dream is kissing him for real-- and that Dream isn't just pretending Sapnap is someone else.

Because Sapnap isn't stupid. He's not a naive young teen anymore, head full of cute ideals and a giddy crush on his best friend. He can tell when someone actually loves him; when they actually want him; when they really are in love with him.

Dream still isn't any of that. He still isn't Sapnap's, even if he wishes that they were.

But Sapnap isn't George.