It's Called: Freefall

|The Bars Are Closed|

Ft: Too much Shakespeare (a.k.a. my current hyperfixation)

Lmk if there are typos!!

Enjoy! Vote and comment while you read <3

There was no casual chatting with Dream and Wilbur. There was more friendly bickering, and not as friendly debates, and embarrassing stories spitefully shared with George, and, at one point, a thrown shot glass.

George wondered how they ever worked together functionally. They probably don't, he thought.

"George, what do you think?" Dream asked suddenly, with a look of such conviction it nearly made George laugh.

"I can't even keep track of what you two are arguing about at this point," he admitted.

"Who would be a better president! Or political leader... whatever. Who would be better, though?" Dream stared at George with such intensity, and George knew the blond was begging for him to side with him.

Instead of following suite with Dream's bit, he pretending to think for a moment. He pointed at Wilbur and tried to look like he was really weighing his options. Dream smacked his arm. "Be serious!"

"I am!" George shouted back with a laugh. "Dream would be a total dictator. I don't know enough about Wilbur, though."

"So you're saying you're choosing me?" Dream asked with a smug grin.

Wilbur shoved Dream roughly, but not with enough force to knock him out of his chair. "He literally called you a dictator!"

"So what?!"

If he was being honest, George didn't feel like clarifying his answer. He enjoyed watching the two argue. He was starting to understand that their friendship was a very complicated one. It seemed to mostly consist of traded favors and the occasional meet-up where they both acted like public menaces. There were clearly moments where the two did seem sick of each other, and their mutual disdain seemed genuine. But there was also some underlying friendliness neither seemed to be able to shake.

Or maybe their behavior was being amplified by their drunkenness and George was looking to far into it.

It wasn't like either were wasted or anything of the sorts. Dream was definitely tipsy, while Wilbur... No, actually Wilbur was definitley wasted.

"If you were a king I'd form a coup and overthrow you," Wilbur said factually.

It was insane that he was still able to bitch to Dream and say things that made perfect sense, even though George knew he was so out of it that if he stood up, Wilbur probably wouldn't make it too far without dropping.

After all, the tall brunette had had three more shots before Dream could get to the bar and close the tab Wilbur had started when he stole Dream's wallet. Not before Wilbur walked over with another six shot glasses.

He offered one to George— which he took (only one) and gave two to Dream. Then, Wilbur took two of the remaining three quickly, barely making a face, even though George knew it burned his throat. He waited a little longer before flipping the third up to his lips and drinking it all before "lightly tossing" (throwing) the glass at Dream during a particularly heated argument about... a hotdog van? Or maybe it was about drugs? Or something about getting sued over land-ownership? George didn't know. It was very hard to follow.

They talked animatedly and loudly until it was very late. George had never been anywhere so long that they had to be asked to leave because it was closing time past midnight, however that changed. A woman walked over to them, ushering them out. George felt pretty much fine, while Dream was... struggling a bit. George found out that night that when Dream was nearing being full-on drunk, his favorite pass-time became annoying Wilbur the best he could.