Can't Take a Joke? // Dream x OC

That motherfucker Dream.

- dream -

Dream smiles in satisfaction. What's that German word that means taking pleasure in other people's pain? 'Schadenfreude'? Yep. That's the feeling. Then his smile drops. George. He is doing this for him. As much as a pain in the ass she is, George would pop a blood vessel if he found out that she left the airport without him. Shit.

"Libby."

She keeps walking, quickly gaining ground.

"Liberty!"

She doesn't even turn around. Dream starts to chase after her, cursing under his breath.

"Libby, come back!"

"I'd rather play in traffic." Finally, she starts to slow down, hindered by the crowd in front of her. Dream is catching up.

"Libby, please come back."

"I'd rather fuck a chainsaw."

Dream gets closer, advantaged by his long legs, and grabs her suitcase so she can't go any farther. "Liberty, please."

"I'd rather..." Libby Fox turns around and loses her train of thought. They are a lot closer than she thought they were. Quickly she steps back, refusing to make eye contact. "I'd rather... I'd- I'd-"

"Out of comebacks already?"

Libby looks back at him, resisting the urge to slap the smugness right off his face. "What is stopping me from walking out of this airport right now?"

"One, there are no available hotels. We've been over this. And two, we are doing this for George, remember?"

The longest sigh ever recorded sums up Liberty's exasperation.

"Fine. But you are buying me Starbucks first."

- libby -

Thirty minutes of bickering later, two people with a whopping foot in height difference walk out of the Florida airport. One giddy and caffinatied, one looking inches from hurling himself off a cliff.

One point Libby, one point Dream.

Once they get in the car, and snide comments have been made about both the condition of the interior and exterior of the car, the air between them grows silent. Finally, over an hour after the plane had landed, they are leaving. Hand in metaphorical and spiteful hand.

"Can I play some music?"

"No."

"I don't know why I even asked." Libby rolls her eyes as she turns on her spotify.

Now that interstate is paved with memories

"Turn it off."

"No way! This is my favorite song!"

"You're just playing it to make fun of it! I said turn it off!" Dream shouts with such a scary rage in his voice that Libby immediately shut off her phone.

"What's the matter, Dream? Can't take a joke?"

With that final nail in the coffin, the car is filled with suffocating silence, and remains that way for the remainder of the drive.

Two points Libby, one point Dream.

As soon as the car stops moving, Dream gets out, leaving Libby all alone to carry her luggage.

"Asshole."

She steps out, shakes out her legs, and admires the architecture. At least the man knows how to house hunt. Walking through the front door, she is underwhelmed by the lack of furniture and generic setup of appliances that obviously hadn't been changed since he moved in. Knowing Dream, it all checks out.

"Guest room is upstairs, first door to your left," calls a voice from the kitchen, the first spoken words from Dream in 20 minutes. "If you're hungry, order doordash."

So he's still mad. Prick.

Poor Miss Liberty Fox carried her suitcase all the way up the stairs. The guest room was exactly as you would imagine- completely plain. It was like she was walking into a housing catalogue. Taking index of the room, she found an attached bathroom- with no shower. Shit. Libby felt disgusting, but no way in hell is she going to walk back down there and ask where it is. Instead, she got out her night bag, changed into her comfortable clothes, and sat on the bed.

What a frustrating day. That motherfucker Dream.

Scrolling through her missed messages, she didn't have the energy to respond to any of them. That motherfucker Dream.

She settled on her favorite app, Spotify, and shuffled the 'Ok Computer' album. That motherfucker Dream.

How is it, that without even trying, he gets on her every last nerve. They should have a contest for being an asshole. He would win every time. What did Liberty do to deserve this?

The rest of the night was spent in that same melancholy. She wasn't hungry, and she could always get breakfast at the airport in the morning. That's where her thoughts kept going. Freedom, escape, the morning, the morning, the morning. Instead of sugarplum fairies dancing in her head, planes, tickets, and George danced while she fell asleep, still on top of the covers. 

~ A/N ~

So like I didn't realize that 'schadenfreude' wasn't a word that people just? knew? Anyways I'm leaving it in but don't feel stupid if you didn't get it. Also funny story this story in my google docs is "enemies to gamers".