I Wanna Be Yours

Part 1

It's a Friday afternoon, and Dream is sitting in the backseat of his best friend Sapnap's car. The windows are rolled down, and a warm summer breeze dances around them as music plays through the speakers of the old Toyota that Sapnap has owned since high school. It's as familiar to Dream as the winding country roads they're currently driving down, and he thinks the quiet familiarity must be the only thing keeping him sane on this balmy, summer day.

They're currently in Georgia, hours north of their hometown in Florida, headed towards a small summer home that sits beside a picturesque lake. The house belongs to Sapnap's parents, and they've gone just about every summer since they were little kids.

Dream had always looked forward to going, but this is the first summer where things have been different. He'd avoided the trip for as long as he possibly could, and now it's August and the summer is quickly coming to a close, and he'd finally given in when Sapnap had all but begged him to go for just one weekend.

In hindsight, he should have said no. He really should have said no.

"We're almost there," Sapnap says, glancing back in the rearview mirror. He seems excited, and for a moment, Dream feels immensely guilty. He tries to force a smile, nods but doesn't bother with a proper response.

He waits until Sapnap's attention is back on the road, one hand wrapped around the steering wheel and the other planted on his boyfriend Karl's thigh. Dream sighs softly, and then casts a quick glance at the seat beside him.

The backseat is small and cramped, but Dream thinks he's never felt more distant from George than he has in this moment. George's hands are tangled together in his lap, attention turned away and out the window. He's barely said a word the entire trip, and Dream worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He watches the breeze blow chocolate colored hair across George's forehead, watches it fall over George's eyes, and hears himself mutter, "your hair's getting long, George."

George tenses like he isn't sure if the words are meant for him, turns his head slowly to look at Dream for what feels like the first time since the trip started.

Dream watches the way his brow furrows, the way his left hand drifts up to push away the messy tendrils of hair. His own muscles ache and scream, physically sore from how he's been holding himself back from reaching over and touching George. He's not used to this distance between them just yet, and he thinks this weekend might just be the death of him.

"I know," George answers softly, "I need to get it cut. I just haven't had the time."

It's a lie, but Dream knows he's the only one who could possibly know that. George doesn't trust just anyone with cutting his hair, and Dream smiles despite himself as he offers, "I can cut it for you this weekend, if you want."

George doesn't answer right away, but then he nods and murmurs, "sure, as long as you don't mind."

Dream thinks about the small pair of scissors that he had tucked into his bag out of habit. Even though George and him had broken up over three months ago, he still hasn't broken all the little habits he had formed when they were together.

"I don't mind," Dream reassures him, and George smiles softly.

The car turns, and gravel crunches underneath the tires as Sapnap sings out, "we're here!"

The familiar house sits before them now, with weathered yellow paint and white shutters, and Dream can't help but smile, feeling more at ease as he looks past the house and sees sunlight reflect off the calm surface of the lake. He's always loved it here, and he has a lot of fond memories wrapped up within the walls of this house.

This is the house where he spent almost every summer of his childhood, the house where Sapnap and him proclaimed each other best friends for life while playing on the old tire swing in the backyard. It's the house where Dream watched Sapnap's relationship with Karl bloom from friendship into love, and it's the very same house where he met George for the first time almost three years ago.