Chapter Text
It was hazy, a rosy overtone screened over the world. The soft fuzziness of the sky with its painfully vibrant blue stung his eyes when he first blinked them open.
It was warm, so warm - and he immediately knew where he was. His hands shuffled beneath him to brush against concrete, legs splayed out on the road.
George was sitting on a driveway. He refused to turn around, simply letting his eyes glaze over as he stared at the mindless asphalt under his feet. The pressure building in his chest served as a reminder of what was behind him, eyelashes coming down to rest on his cheeks.
It’ll be over soon.
But it wasn’t; not this time. The sun shone down relentlessly, George’s pupils being met with the same harsh light as they were when last open. Brushing his hands on the rough surface beneath him, he hoisted himself up and stumbled.
It was cruel how the air rushed into his ears, the breeze dancing on his skin. The sky carried the soft plucking of a guitar, a sound that had etched itself into his brain.
Fuck, fuck. Panic rose in his chest, tugging on his stomach as the guitar was accompanied by a voice. George didn’t want the name to resurface in his head, insides pounding from the strain of blocking the sudden onslaught of memories.
When he finally turned to face the garage, he couldn’t help the few tears that trailed down his cheeks at the sight of the man. He stood alone, swaying as the sun and oversaturated environment silently mocked him.
It was definitely the worst one in a while, as he woke up with wet cheeks and an ache in his limbs. He’d gone so long without looking at him, waiting out every single nightmare to avoid the memories.
The nostalgia always so harshly overtook his senses, and George hated himself for it. He despised the way his body yearned to turn around and walk up close to the other, only to break down with a single look.
God, he hated Dream. It’d been so long and he still couldn’t let himself forget. George pushed away the stirring of emotions; he’d deal with it later, as he always said he would. The five years he had spent telling himself the same thing was nothing to go by.
With a fleeting, somewhat harsh rub of his eye, George hoisted himself out of bed. The blankets lay crumpled as he messily crawled out of them, similar to the sheets. He still hadn’t completely rid himself of the vibrant blue stinging his eyelids, piercing in contrast to the muddy grayish light filling his own room.
Outside was somewhat better; the fresh, crisp air that danced on his skin froze the pinpricks of warmth left over from his dream. George looked down at the sidewalk as he walked, absently trampling leaves just to hear the satisfying crunch. Fingers nearly numb, he fished his phone out from his pocket after a few slight buzzes.
Messages from his friends lit up the screen. It wasn’t abnormal for them to text him at nine in the morning, as they were his coworkers. What bothered George was the increasing fervor of the vibrations, his fingers stumbling to type in his password as his brows furrowed. Why the fuck are Karl and Q spamming so much at nine in the morning?
George was interrupted by an incoming call from none other than Karl, which he hastily picked up.
“Karl! What the hell?” he hissed instantly upon answering.
“Good morning to you too. Have you, uh, looked at the group chat yet?” Karl’s voice came through the speakers with a slight edge, almost anxious. It was so out of character that George felt his heart rate spike.
“No? I was about to when you called though,” he said. “What’s happening? Why do you sound so… nervous ?” He no longer steered towards the dead leaves, instead shifting his vision upwards in the direction he was walking.
“How far are you from the building?” Karl deflected.
“ What? ” Only a faint crackling noise came through the speakers, and George let out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh- like five minutes, I’m almost there. Karl, is everything alright?”
“Just meet me outside,” Karl said before hanging up. It left George shaking his head as he pocketed his phone. Unfortunately, the cryptic behavior was very in character for his friend, and he found himself fiddling with hoodie strings in anticipation. What could possibly be so anxiety-inducing in his life as a fucking audio engineer?
He turned the last corner after what felt like ages of dealing with his swarming stomach, catching sight of Karl leaning against the front of the building talking to someone else.
Quackity.
Their backs were shielding their words as they spoke in hushed voices, faces painted with a worried look. They reluctantly broke apart upon George’s arrival.
George’s eyes flickered over their apprehensive expressions expectantly.
“Alright what’s going on?”
“You didn’t read the group chat?” Quackity teased, but even his voice was weighted by a nervous lilt.
“Oh shit, I forgot. I just put my phone away after Karl hung up on me.”
“You- okay,” Karl sighed, fingers massaging his brows and then running up through his hair. “We’ll just fill you in, I guess.”
“ We ?” Quackity piped up.
“Okay, you. ”
“No, no, we is better.”
“Uh, alright. Well, you know how we’re gonna be working with some new artists? And we didn’t really know who until today because of the short scheduling notice?” Karl started. George nodded slowly. They used to work with a pop singer that George had no interest in before being moved because of the singer’s demands for new producers. Karl glanced over to Quackity, effectively pushing the rest of the conversation on to him.
“Wha- okay. Well the new artist we’ve signed is the Dream Team.”
“You could’ve cushioned it a bit more,” Karl muttered, elbowing Quackity. George stood for a few seconds, eyes blinking rapidly before his face twisted into disbelief.
“You’re joking,” George gaped. He was certainly familiar with the Dream Team. The name never seemed to escape him, always popping up in some morning news article or in the music topic on his twitter. Every time he would just set his jaw and scroll , the pulsing in his finger betraying him with how badly he wanted to click.
“We are, in fact, not joking,” Quackity stated awkwardly. He couldn’t help out but let out a small chuckle, gulping down the sudden, churning nausea tickling his throat.
“I’m going to quit. I’m actually going to quit. Or maybe that other singer will take me back-”
“George, you’re not going to quit,” Karl cut him off, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine, it’s been like what? Five, six years? I know what happened was bad, but maybe seeing them will help you out a little bit.”
“I went so long, so long without clicking a single article or trying to contact them. Why now?”
“Maybe it’s the universe trying to tell you something,” Quackity smirked, putting his hands up in defense when Karl shot him a pointed look.
“Whatever. Let’s just go inside.” George pushed past his friends and scanned through the glass doors, his reflection framed by the reddish leaves falling around him. It was a sharp contrast to the destructive bits of excitement blooming among pools of dread. Fuck, why was he even the least bit excited ?
He felt sick to his stomach as his footsteps echoed on the tile, the minutes ticking by in a rippling slow motion. They don’t know I’m here. The thought flashed by George’s mind, doing nothing to ease the nerves pumping his veins.
Karl and Quackity had overtook him by that point, creaking open a meeting room door and filing in. George followed and slid into one of the chairs placed around the large wooden table, hands grabbing the tiny water bottle in front of him to fiddle with.
“You good, dude?” Karl whispered next to him, Quackity nodding from his other side.
“Yeah, are you okay?”
“Fine,” he whispered, exhaling. “Just, nervous. I’m gonna see those two after so long and it’s not as a big a deal as I’m making it out to be but it is to me and-”
“Dude,” Quackity hissed as two more people entered. “Look, it’s gonna be fine. We’re here. If you need something to look at to avoid eye contact or something, just look at me or Karl and we’ll like, talk to you or stare back, I don’t know.”
“Okay,” George whispered, feeling a little lighter. But he could feel his stomach pang every time the door squeaked until the last people entered. His breath hitched when the two artists settled down in the chairs in front of him, dressed in simple clothing. The room felt too small.
The taller one one wore a black t-shirt with checkered pants, hair resting messily in waves. The other wore a white shirt with black cargo pants, and it made George’s insides flip. He kept his gaze rested off of them.
They haven’t recognized me yet.
“Alright, hello everyone. We’d like to welcome our newly signed artists…” The main manager, Wilbur, started the meeting while Dream and Sapnap smiled politely. But George couldn’t seem to keep the conversation anchored in his head, heart squeezing in his chest with the sheer static of them being just feet in front of him.
With a shaky exhale, he hoped he would leave the room unrecognized. Tuning back into the discussion, George let his eyes flit over Sapnap, who shifted a bit. A small crack in his composure was a price worth paying to see his old best friend. George recalled the countless days he’d spent at home alone wishing he could just call Sapnap again, talk like they used to. But he was nothing, and Sapnap was some big shot musician who’d probably long forgotten about him.
Maybe he’d stared too long when the man’s eyes met his for a minute, startling him. The slow recognition and Sapnap’s sudden rigidity was like a stab in the gut, his own head snapping to Karl when Sapnap’s snapped to Dream’s. He grabbed Karl’s hand under the table and felt a squeeze back, a silent reassurance. It sure as hell didn’t help much.
It was extremely unhelpful when Dream spoke for the first time that meeting, and it was just so different .
Tone hollow and covered in a blank smile, Dream sounded so much older, nothing like he used to. It was jarring, to say the least, and George tried not to dwell on how his throat closed up.
“Yeah, we’re excited to work with you guys after our last record label. They weren’t exactly the best,” Dream chuckled. “Wouldn’t let us do what we wanted.” His hands fidgeted on the table, thumb running over his clasped hands.
That
was familiar, the image of the same hands drumming on a run-down table hazey in George’s brain.
He expected his bitterness to show through a clenched jaw or a harsh pointed gaze
away
from the two, but he managed to keep himself looking indifferent. The rushing of blood in his ears every time Dream’s absent glance was tossed his way never ceased, though, his own eyes dancing as far away as possible from the other’s.
“We’ve got a lot of suggestions and plans for you guys, and these are the people you’re going to be mainly working with.” Wilbur gestured to the people around the table, George’s head tilting slightly in customary acknowledgement. “Introduce yourselves guys.”
His blood ran cold, back straightening as the first person started. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There were only a few people before him, and they were talking way too fast.
Quackity turned to George apprehensively before he cleared his throat.
“I’m Quackity, um, you can call me Big Q. I’m one of the main producers and sound mixers, so you’ll be seeing me a lot.” He talked with an ease only he could pull off in such a silent room. George’s heart rate spiked to the point of lightheadedness when Quackity didn’t say anything more.
All eyes turned to him, Sapnap’s gaze especially calculating. His brain fogged up into panic as Quackity nudged him slightly and Karl squeezed his hand; George was surprised Karl was still holding it, especially with how clammy they’d gotten.
“Uh, I’m George,” he started, gulping down the nerves. It only resurfaced a second later. He felt awkward as he became increasingly aware of his tell-tale British accent and twitching fingers. His peripheral vision caught Sapnap’s eyes lowering as he nudged Dream, who was now staring at him bewilderedly. “I’m the main audio engineer here, I help with producing and recording studio and live performances. You can tell I work pretty long hours.”
It earned a couple of dry chuckles as his own mouth pulled off a half-hearted smile. George’s throat was filled with cotton, any attempts to swallow infuriatingly unsatisfactory. Dream was staring at him openly now, eyes flicking down when George moved his head towards him.
“I’m Karl, I’m a music producer or record producer, whatever you want to call it. I work really closely with Quackity and George, we do pretty similar things.” Karl’s hand left his and came up to pat his back in recognition, and Dream’s eyes tracked the movement. It left a small stirring feeling in George’s stomach.
“Quackity, George and Karl will be your main people if you have new ideas or suggestions for music related things. So you better get along,” Wilbur teased, Sapnap and Dream sharing an unreadable look before nodding.
“Yeah, we can’t wait to talk,” Sapnap smiled, and he sounded the exact same as he did years ago. George couldn’t help but watch the way Sapnap and Dream communicate without speaking, and he felt so out of place. That used to be him.
“I think we’re going to have a meeting in a few days with the marketing team, but for now you’ve met your studio helpers and producers. I think we’re done for today, see you guys soon.”
George was the first to stand up with Karl and Quackity following suit, chair scraping against the thin carpet as it pushed back. He shimmied it back into place with his foot, not sparing a glance behind him as he pushed open the door and sped out, taking a deep breath.
He hated the meeting rooms. They were so closed off with the thin dark carpet and large oval wooden tables, and he wanted nothing more than to just leave.
“George,” Karl called out from behind him, the three of them grouping up ahead of the room. “Are you good?”
“Yeah,” he exhaled, mind still cloudy. “Sapnap definitely recognized me, I think, uh, Dream did too.” Their names felt weird in his mouth after he’d spent so long training himself to keep them out.
“I kinda forgot about the introductions part,” Quackity muttered. “Maybe they’ll think you’re just another George who looks suspiciously like their old best friend who also has a British accent and works in the music industry.”
“Quackity that was largely unhelpful. Besides, I’m one hundred percent sure that Sapnap knows who I am, he kept looking at me and nudging Dream.” He kept his voice hushed as other people passed them. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
“Wait till tomorrow,” Karl snorted, earning a dirty look. “Too soon?” George wasn’t given a chance to answer before two people approached them, hands shoved in their pockets.
“Uh, hey,” Sapnap started. He seemed almost shy when talking, words jumping out with hesitance. The three of them whirled around to meet the others, George unfortunately at the front. His heartbeat skyrocketed and his ears became hot when he realized he was a mere foot away from Dream. “We wanted to say hi and meet you guys, uh, outside of the meeting room and all.”
George bit back the scowl threatening his features. A small part of him hoped that they would at least acknowledge him differently knowing who he was.
“Why so shy?” Quackity smirked, catching Sapnap off guard. His eyes widened as he blinked a few times, mouth slightly open in speechlessness. Dream let out a small snort, the first little announcement of his presence since they’d been standing there. George caught him from the corners of his eyes. Had he gotten taller? Probably not.
“Um,” Sapnap stumbled.
“As eloquent as your lyrics,” Karl giggled, retracting his statement after a small angry nudge from George. “I’m joking, I’m joking, your guys’ lyrics are actually really good. Your old record label did you dirty though, tried to push you into bubblegum pop. At least it feels like that.”
“Exactly!” Dream exclaimed. “The songs from that era are like a whole mess, because we were fighting for a different style and they kept trying to make it the ‘latest thing’ so we would be more marketable.”
George shuffled his feet as the talking continued; he hadn’t listened to their songs yet, after insane levels of self-restraint.
“But our demos from like five years back are some of my favorites. Before we had a label.” Dream’s voice had softened into something else, a rushing tidal wave of nostalgia disorienting George. It was the same tone he remembered on late summer nights, floating through the air with a giddy carefreeness.
George felt uncomfortable in front of Dream and Sapnap as he hadn’t said a word, his eyes trailing the ground instead of the two people in front of him. The pressure to say something to not come across as resentful or weird or awkward was just overwhelming, and he hated the feeling of being so foreign to people he thought he knew.
“Yeah?” Karl said. “What were they about?” Dream visibly stiffened as Sapnap threw him a quick glance.
“They had some mixed emotions,” Sapnap offered carefully, “but I think we might like to revisit them and possibly record them?”
“Yeah,” Dream mumbled, looking over George.
“Sounds good,” Quackity nodded. “Maybe we can meet in one of the studios in an hour or so? For more discussion? You guys probably don’t have the demos on you right now, but we can still talk.”
“Yeah, I think that would work,” Dream agreed. His mind was clearly far off, disconnected from his words. George couldn’t help the small spark of warmth in his chest when Dream ran his hand through his hair and curled it behind his ear, an old habit. The spark was followed by a guilty pang.
“Alright, see you guys soon,” Karl smiled as he and Quackity started to back down the hallway, Karl’s hand securing George’s wrist to pull him along. Again, Dream tracked the movement almost intensely.
“Um, actually,” Sapnap stopped. Dream had already turned down the hallway, head jerking when Sapnap spoke. The man waved Dream along, ushering him to leave and that he’d join him in a few minutes. “Can I talk to George for a minute?” George’s hands suddenly felt the stale, cold air, clamming up as he tried not to fidget.
“Uh, sure,” he said, cursing himself when his voice choked on the way out. Karl and Quackity shrugged and gave him a small look of sympathy, gesturing that they would be just around the corners near the studio.
“Hey,” Sapnap said when it was just them, leaning up against the glass windows. It did not seem very comfortable.
“Hey.” The silence that followed flattened into a sheet of tension hung in the air, as George’s eyes scanned the man in front of him. His hair had gotten longer and he had slight facial hair, eyes the same soft, dullness that they used to be.
“This is… really-,” Sapnap sighed, cutting himself off. “This might sound weird as fuck, but are you, uh, the same George?”
“There’s a few different ways I could respond to that,” George said, his words finally getting out without everyone watching him speak.
“What’s one of them?”
“Well, I’m extremely offended you even had to ask that question, for one,” George scoffed. Sapnap broke out into a grin, pushing himself off the glass with his elbow and surging forward to hug him.
“I knew it! Dude, this is insane,” he laughed as George slowly reciprocated, stumbling slightly after being caught off guard.
“Yeah, it is.” George’s face couldn’t fight off the slight smile, despite the brewing uncertainties in his gut. Was he not going to address anything? Was he going to move on and ask to “catch up” like they hadn’t cut contact for five years? His tongue, however, lay dormant, compensating for the unsaid words by melting it into a bitter taste. “How are you and Dream?”
“Good, good. Our band kind of took off, I’m not sure if you’ve listened to the songs.”
“I haven’t.” The words came out more clipped then he would’ve liked.
“Oh, well, yeah. We’ve been on tour once- we even came here for one of the shows, I didn’t know you moved to New York City.”
“Yeah, I moved here like three years ago after coming back from London.”
“Oh yeah.” Sapnap visibly bit back his next sentence, instead looking around for a few moments before nodding. “Right, well, I should go meet with Dream and get ready before we meet with you guys.” George’s stomach recoiled at the mention of Dream in such a sentimental setting. “He’ll be damn surprised that you’re the real George.”
“Did he not recognize me? Really?” It slipped out of his mouth before he could think.
“No, he did, I just don’t think he believed it. You know how he is, stubborn and all.” Yeah. “He’d be happy to see you, I think,” Sapnap murmured after a few seconds of deliberation, facing the direction Dream had left. George could feel his throat constricting, letting his hair fall over his eyes as he looked down.
“Yeah,” was all he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll um, listen to some of your songs before we all meet again. How about the bubblegum pop era?”
“God no, please,” he chuckled. “Go for like, our oldest ever released songs, there are like three that are from our pile of demos.”
“Noted.”
“Mhm.” George rocked on his heels as Sapnap scratched behind his ear, both unmoving. The awkwardness was weighing on his chest and crushing him as he messed with his hair. “Uh, yeah, see you soon then.” Sapnap leaned forward and gave him another hug, one that George was more prepared for. “I missed you.”
The faint whisper had George biting his lip to keep from crying, hugging just a little harder. “I missed you too.”
When Sapnap disappeared down the hall, George didn’t feel any better than when he’d first seen him enter, his eyes burning as he rubbed the tears away for what felt like the millionth time. An intense feeling of deja vu overtook him as autumn stared back through the glass, standing alone yet again.