one fleeting first

p1.ch2

Despite everything he did, all Dream did to get a reaction, to get under his skin, George rarely ever got mad at him.

Well, at least truly mad. Mad enough to make Dream feel guilt tug his mouth down into a frown, mad enough that he wanted nothing more than to take back whatever he did or said.

Even if he just rolled his eyes and huffed his breath and argued even further to dig them even deeper into shit.

Maybe due to the semester closing in, slowly but surely, pressure building for finals and exams and an overload of AP's that Dream was less prepared for than he boasted, it was making him snap at George more often than usual. A lack of sleep and growing headaches after squinting at computer screens was only making him increasingly irritable. In just a span of three weeks, Dream had made the other more furious than he had ever seen, each instance topping the last.

Tuesday morning, a few weeks after midterms, started with Dream waking up in the worst fucking mood and state of his life. George wasted no time in pointing that out.

"You look like shit."

"Fuck. Off," Dream bitterly spat, annoyed at everything. How his car was cold for the first time this season and he forgot a hoodie, how his cat spilled water all over his carpet, how he missed his alarm and his back-up alarm that made him have to rush and nearly be late to class. And especially how George would see him like this. How he could witness Dream at such a low point, in disarray and weakened from his usual cocky demeanor.

George was clearly taken aback by his words, but instead of laying off, he muttered under his breath in the exact told-you-so matter that made Dream want to dedicate his life to destroying George in the first place, "I knew that you couldn't handle this. Should've listened to me."

"Why am I doing better than you, then?"

With a disbelieving expression set into his jaw, George defied that with an edged, "You aren't. We just checked the grades yesterday."

Being the first thing to make him smile today, Dream gladly compared their updated marks, seeing as George's face fell when his previously near-perfect AP Lit grade had sunk down to a dangerously low A.

"What?" his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, "How? I don't- what was this assignment? What did you get?"

"Oh, you don't remember?" Dream mused, his finger tracing over the writing scratched into the wooden desk, his cheek resting on his knuckles, his grin devious, "We did that one together. I was filling you in on what we did last class, like the saint I am, since you so carelessly missed school. But.. you know, maybe I got a couple of answers wrong, here and there. Didn't happen to notice until you already turned yours in."

George's gaze was puzzled, soft, not understanding what Dream was implying until he finished his sad excuse of veiled schemes. His eyes went hard, sharply digging into Dream's, something different in his tone than usual when he spoke, not in rivalry or annoyance, but genuine hurt.

"You- you sabotaged me?"

Dream didn't really know what reaction he expected, but it wasn't this. It wasn't how George's hands shook, tightly wound around his phone, how there was no sense of amiable sparring.

Only anger. Disappointed anger.

Not liking this feeling, leaning back in his seat and trying to pass off the weight of this act, Dream brushed it off, "You would've done the same thing to me. Don't even lie."

"I wouldn't have."

George's tone was flat, unhappy. Dream swallowed, regret crawling up his throat.

This wasn't fun. He didn't get what he was looking for in this. George snarky and countering with exaggerated irritation, swearing he would get Dream back, do something even worse. That upping the ante would make George deliciously vengeful.