A lot of things change after high school. Straight-A students become deadbeats, shy nerds are suddenly married with kids, guys who swore they were going to join the NFL end up joining the Marines instead. People make all kinds of weird decisions once they hit adulthood - like Sapnap, for example, decided to start inviting freaks to his parties.
It was late October, Halloween weekend to be exact. The night was cold, an icy breeze whipping up flurries of golden leaves down the quiet suburban streets. Sapnap's neighborhood was gated, requiring check-in at the gatehouse before anyone could even drive their car through. A list of guests had been left with the guard, and he checked it meticulously as George showed him his ID.
"George NotFound, hm?" he said, tapping his pen repeatedly on his clipboard. George gave him a tense, impatient smile, and glanced back at the line of cars that had begun to form behind them. Sapnap was known for his massive parties - dozens if not hundreds of guests would fill his parents' massive house, pool, and sizeable backyard. That was one thing that hadn't changed after high school: none of us had given up partying.
"And you are...?" the guard glanced past George to the passenger in his Corol la, George's best friend since Freshman year.
"Karl," he said, staring down at his phone as he typed. "Do you, like...need my ID or something?"
"No, no, you're alright. So are you boys headed to a Halloween party?" George could feel the guard's eyes lingering on his body - at least what guard could see of it through the window. Both Karl and George had dressed up as angels - slutty, sexy angels. George's sheer white bra would've shown off his nipple piercings if it wasn't for the pasties he slapped on underneath, and if he happened to bend over in his short satin skirt people would definitely be getting a view of his thong. Their angel wings were small, made of white feathers, clipped to the back of their bras.
George was getting really tired of this old perv trying to make small talk. He had no doubt about that guard has already seen their names on the list and was just trying to get them to have a conversation with him. George impatiently glanced back as yet another car pulled into line. The truck right behind them was shaking and rumbling, absolute hell for George's ears. Something about the ugly old beast looked familiar...
Then George saw the guy driving, and immediately remembered where he had seen the truck before.
"Fucking Dream Wastaken is behind us!" George blurted, as soon as the guard finally buzzed them through.
Karl immediately looked up from his phone, turned, and strained in his seat to look into the truck as they left it behind at the gate.
"You have got to be kidding," he said. "Are you sure? I can't see anything with those headlights."
"I saw him. And that's his same old shitty truck."
"You don't...you don't think..." Karl sat back in his seat, giving George a serious look. "You don't think Sapnap invited him, do you?"
"Oh God, hell no," George winced in disgust. "Sapnap wouldn't invite that weirdo. Not after what happened."
"Remember, Sapnap has been on that whole "acceptance for everyone" kick since he took that Philosophy class," Karl said warningly. "And it's not like Dream lives here. Why else would he be in this neighborhood?"
George shook his head. "No way have Sapnap's invite standards dropped that low. Besides, literally everyone from high school is freaked out over Dream. Yeah, it's been a couple years, but no one really forgets the kid who almost stabbed someone."
Karl folded his arms with a little shudder and George sped up, putting the old truck further behind them. All the houses in Sapnap's neighborhood were massive, sitting on wide lawns behind tall wrought-iron gates, shaded by old trees. George could hear the music before he even turned the corner onto Sapnap's street. Cars lined the sidewalk, but he managed to find a spot just a short walk away.
"Sooo, like, not to bring up shameful moments," Karl spoke slowly, popping his bubblegum before he went on. "But didn't you and Dream have, like, a thing?"
George sighed heavily. Why did Karl have to bring that up? "We made out in the bathroom once, but that's not a thing." Karl raised his eyebrows at George skeptically.
"It's not a thing!"
Karl made a face.
"I mean...Quackity thought it was a thing." George scoffed. "Quackity and I weren't even together. We were so on and off."
"Oookay, but were you on, or off?"
"Apparently Quackity thought we were on," George rolled his eyes. "That's why he was such an asshole about it."
"Yeah, but I mean, Dream did pull a knife on him. What kind of freak carries a knife to high school?"
The kind of freak who anticipated George's ex's anger and came prepared for it. Quackity had always been an asshole to Dream - he'd been an asshole to everyone, but Dream in particular. He was the perfect victim: quiet, head down, usually dressed in black, with a denim jacket covered in patches. Dream had run with the Goth crowd, the skaters, even the anime kids. He'd somehow managed to get his foot in every reject group possible. He was a good punching bag for Quackity, especially once Quackity realized that Dream and I...had...
Not a thing, no. But as much as George had teased Dream - little stuck-up cheerleader that George was - Dream teased back. They had the misfortune of their lockers being next to each other, so there was no avoiding the sight of Dream's annoying face. There were days they would bicker back and forth in the halls all the way to class, name-calling, insulting, laughing -
George wasn't really sure if it was normal to develop a crush on his nemesis, but one thing led to another and...then Quackity found out that George has actually kissed Manson. It was social suicide for George, but it was a great way to piss off his ex.
Quackity and his three friends had cornered Dream in the boys' bathroom. They planned to beat him - Quackity told George some shit later about "defending his honor." But Dream had came prepared.
Dream had to have known what he was getting into when he kissed George: he was Quackity's ex, Captain of the cheerleading squad, one of the most popular guys in school.
He'd tugged Dream into the bathroom, four days after Quackity and him broke up, and made out with Dream against the cold tile wall.
"You know it was all just to make Quackity mad anyway," George said briskly, re-applying his lipgloss in the visor mirror. "He hated that kid. Plus Quackity had dumped me for Sam! Obviously I had to piss him off."
"Yeah, well, it worked," Karl shrugged. "Quackity got mad, you got back together, and then you broke up again anyway." Karl rolled his eyes. "You could've picked someone else to piss him off with. Dream looks like he'd be into, like...killing small animals."
A sudden, intense urge to deny Karl's assessment rose up in George. George has said worse things about Dream to his face, but when someone else said it, it irritated him in a way he couldn't fully understand.
George shook it off. That was the past, petty high school drama. He was better off not dwelling on it. George reached into the backseat to grab his bag, and Karl suddenly clutched his arm.
"Dream at twelve o' clock," he muttered.
George looked up slowly. Dream's big truck had pulled over to park in front of them. Oh my god. No...no, he couldn't actually be here for the party...
The truck door opened. Dream was a tall, slim guy, and he looked even taller in his tight jeans and lace-up leather boots. He was wearing a black t-shirt that hugged his chest and was criss-crossed with some kind of leather straps - a harness? He had a mohawk in high school, but now his dirty blonde hair was slicked back. As he hopped out of the truck and slammed his door shut, he carefully fit a shiny vinyl officer's hat on his head.
"Oh my god, look down, look down, look down!" Karl tried to warn George, but it was too late.
Dream walked past their car and locked eyes with George, freezing him in his seat. He had one white contact in, giving an eerie look to his face. George gulped as Dream passed, unable to look away, unable to blink.
He grinned at George - a slow, appraising grin. Then he was gone, down the sidewalk toward the party. George sighed, slumping in his seat. Maybe Dream hadn't recognized him. Maybe he didn't remember him at all!
But George could remember. He could still picture Dream's face when he was escorted to the principal's office. He has known what Quackity was going to do, and he has texted Dream the night before, the only text George has ever sent him, telling him not to come to school. He came anyway. When all the boys were finally dragged out of the bathroom, Dream had been the one taken away by the two campus guards. He had that big purple bruise on his left cheek, a drip of blood running down his chin from a split lip, and a grim smile on his face.
George felt weird as he thought about it, and squirmed uncomfortably. There was something scary about the way Dream looked, but George couldn't get his face out of his head.
Dream came that day knowing what was going to happen, and pulled a knife on six-foot-three Quackity and his jock friends.
George wanted to kiss Dream again as he saw him escorted off. He wanted to text Dream when he found out he has been expelled. George wanted to tell Dream that he was proud because Dream defended himself, that Quackity had deserved the scare, that he didn't blame Dream for bringing the knife.
But George never did any of those things. He had a reputation to uphold and Dream didn't fit into it.
"What. A. Creep." Karl said, opening the door. "We're avoiding him like the plague. Hopefully he gets kicked out."
"Hopefully," George muttered, as he slid on his heels.
The shoes were strappy and tall, with a white filigree pattern that zipped all the way up to his knee. George caught his reflection in the car window and smiled. He loved making an entrance.
The walkway up to the house was lined with jack-o-lanterns, candles flickering inside their wide grinning faces. Plastic skeletons hung from the pillars beside the house's entry doors, and fake gravestones littered the grass across the front yard. The thumping bass of a live DJ pounded through his chest as he pressed the doorbell. It was only seconds before a middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair and a glass of Sangria flung open the door.
"Oh my goooodddd, Georgeeeeee!" she screeched, wrapping George in a tight hug that squished him against her fake tits. "And Karl, oh my god, welcome boys!"
"Hi, Mrs. Esther," George gave her a smile as they stepped into the entryway.
Mrs. Esther was the literal definition of a "cool mom" - she was always present at her son's parties, laughing, dancing, and drinking. She was one of those parents who didn't really seem like a parent - but every now and then would drop some wisdom that could only come from decades of experience on the planet.
The pale cream walls and decorative mahogany table in the entry room had been strewn with fake cobwebs, and the light bulbs in the chandelier overhead switched out for blacklights. Lifelike mannequins of zombie babies were tucked into the corners and stared down at us from the stairway. The house was packed, as George expected. There were dozens of people he knew - some friendly, some not. Being captain of the cheerleading squad and dating the football team's star quarterback had definitely earned him some enemies, even after graduation. George knew he hasn't been the nicest person in high school either - but whatever. The past was the past.
Karl and George poured themselves some drinks and wandered the party, meeting up with friends and making small-talk, admiring the house's creepy decor. Sapnap had always made sure to go all-out with his party decorations. The sangria was held in a giant witch's cauldron, the cheese dip had been molded into the shape of a brain, and even the hors d'oeuvres looked like creepy little spiders and severed fingers.
Outside, people dove into the heated pool and played drinking games at the several tables that had been setup to host beer pong and King's Cup. The DJ played on the cobweb-strewn gazebo, wearing a bright red suit and devil horns. The backyard was large, covered with grass, with rows of bushes lining the stone wall that surrounded it.
Near the beer pong tables they finally found Sapnap, shot-gunning a beer before he leaped - fully clothed - into the pool. But he hasn't been drinking alone. He's been chugging alongside none other than Dream, who tossed aside his empty beer can with a smile and laughed as Sapnap went diving.
George felt like he stepped into the Uncanny Valley. George's been a little out of the loop since he started college, but this was all wrong. Why the hell was Dream's gaze finally broke as Sapnap clasped his hand companionably and said, "Nice job, bro. Just not fast enough!"
"This is so fucking weird," Karl whispered. "Since when are they friends?"
George shrugged, trying not to linger on the topic. The more he thought about it, and the more he looked at Dream, the more awkward he felt. And "awkward" wasn't a normal feeling for him at all.
A round of beer pong had just ended, so Karl and George stepped up to challenge the winners. George had always been a competitive person - whether it was cheerleading or beer pong, he hated to lose. They sank the opposing team's cups quickly, taking them down within a few minutes and getting a nice buzz while they were at it. With the game over, George realized that a small crowd had gathered to watch them play. Dream was watching too. Watching George.
Again, the fear that Dream hated him gripped George's chest, but George couldn't wrap his mind around why he cared. He haven't seen or thought of Dream in years. Their kiss had faded into the background of their memories, as had all their tense interactions, all his cruel words and haughty looks. It had faded - until he saw Dream tonight. Now it all crashed back into George like a punch to the chest.
George thought of the bruise under Dream's eye after Quackity had gone after him...the blood on his lip...but none of that shit was George's fault. Okay, maybe some of it was his fault...and sure, most of his interactions with Dream had been George teasing him and calling him names...but Dream teased him back! All he has done was kiss him.
And Dream kissed him back.
George spent way too much time since then trying to figure out why. Why Dream?
It hasn't been because Dream's quiet, brooding looks that had always scared George, and things that scared him were irresistible. It hasn't been because behind that shy, withdrawn exterior George was certain there was a beast lying in wait. It hasn't been because Dream's lips were surprisingly soft, and when George kissed him Dream wrapped his hand around George's throat, and his heart had fluttered for a second -
No. It hasn't been because of any of that. At all. It was just petty high school shit that they were all better off forgetting.
"Who's next?" Karl laughed, sipping down the last of his drink. "Come on, who's the next challenger?"
"I'll give it go."
George's heart sank into his shoes. Dream had stepped up. Now that he was closer, standing almost directly in front of George across the table, he could see that Dream become muscular since George has last seen him. Dream wasn't bulky, but his biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirt and his chest was tight beneath the leather harness he wore. What was up with that harness anyway? What the hell was he supposed to be dressed as? Was it some kind of fetish thing?
"Uh, sure, okay," Karl sounded irritated. "Who's your teammate?"
Dream shrugged. "Just me. Me against him." He pointed at George. It was a struggle for George to keep his mouth from falling open. He hid his discomfort behind the best resting bitch face he could manage.
"Yeah, maybe you haven't noticed, but we're playing in teams," George said slowly, sarcastically.
"Aw, scared you'll lose if you play alone?"
His voice was taunting, familiar. It was the same way Dream has spoken to him in high school when he'd snap back at George's teasing. Except now his voice was steadier. He was almost cocky in the way he carried himself, his mannerisms, his tone. Dream knew how to get to George.
George laughed. "Oh, honey, no. More like I'll be bored with how easy beating you will be."
"I take it you accept the challenge then," he said, bouncing the little white ball on the table. "I mean, it's an easy victory for you after all, right?"
George's jaw clenched. He wanted to snap out something rude, but Sapnap interrupted them.
"Woah, guys, if you're gonna go one versus one, let's make this a little more interesting!" Sapnap came up to the table, sharpie in hand, and began to write on their cups: a single word on some and nothing on others. As he wrote on one closest to George, he glimpsed what it said: DARE.
"Drink or dare!" he exclaimed. "Same house rules except if you make it in one of your opponent's "dare" cups, they have the option to do your dare instead of lose the cup." Sapnap smiled slyly. "Any dare you want. No boundaries."
The crowd began to cheer, then chant, "Drink or dare! Drink or dare! Drink or dare!" It was exactly the kind of spectacle a bunch of shit-faced college students would love - and with that many eyes on George, he'd never live it down if he backed out.
"Fine," he said, picking up his ball. "I hope you're ready to be humiliated, Dream. Oh wait...but you're already used to humiliation, aren't you?"
The crowd rippled with laughter. They knew exactly what George was talking about. They all knew. Dream may have managed to get on Sapnap's good side, but that didn't mean everyone had forgotten where he came from.
Dream just smiled as they went eye to eye.
"So you do remember my name. I'm flattered, George. Mr Popular remembers who I am, oh wow!" His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He lined up his shot, and said, "I guess I was such a good kisser that you can't forget my name."
Less people knew about that. Far less. But there were still murmurs and gasps of "oooh, shit!" from those who did know. George winced, instantly irritated as his face grew hot. That grin of Dream's was unnerving - so unnerving that George missed his cup and lost the eye to eye. He swore softly. George couldn't let Dream get under his skin.
"So how's Quackity been, Gogy?" Dream said as he lined up his first shot.
"I wouldn't know," George said sharply. "We're not together."
"Aww, too bad. Prom King and Queen didn't get their happily-ever-after. What a sad world. Shocking, honestly." Dream's ball flew through the air and sunk - luckily not in a dare cup.
George didn't know what kind of dares Dream might come up with, but he didn't want to find out. George guzzled down the cheap beer and set the cup aside.
"I was surprised to see you here, Dream," George said, taking aim. "I didn't know Sapnap was extending invites to dogs."
More laughter, even from Dream. The words bounced off of him like ping pong balls. The routine felt familiar. The longer they snapped back and forth, the more George's heart raced.
"Everyone likes dogs," Dream said, leaning down behind the cups so that as George aimed, he was forced to meet his eyes. Dream was so damn distracting - and creepy - with that one white contact in. "And those who don't, well...only assholes kick a dog and expect not to get bit."
"You still carrying knives around?" George tried to sound condescending, but his voice shot up in pitch.
"Always." So serious. So damn serious.
George's hand shook, and the ball flew - made it in! A dare cup too! He folded his arms victoriously
"So what's your dare, Gogy?" he said, looking at the cup musingly. "I might just take it."
