Play your part (and avoid the look in his eyes)

Part 7

"You're Clay, right?" The boy asks, squinting his eyes as if the name was a stupid guess and not written across half of the posters and items left around the property. He's excited to be seen talking to the man nonetheless, a permanent smile on his cheeks. Dream nods back, though he does take the time to correct the boy and his preferred nickname a moment after. "Dream, cool! I'm Karl." He sticks out a hand to shake, which is quite rudely ignored by a laugh and a shake of a head from Dream.

Almost embarrassed, Karl drags his hand back to his side before bringing it up to his grown out curls. A change in mood, a conversation sparking in his eyes. "George and I were actually talking about you earlier!" He plays it off like a joke, as if George and Dream are best friends and this news will bring a smile out of Dream. It does, but not in the same way Karl would have hoped. "You did?" Dream mumbles back, an eyebrow raising in set curiosity.

It was like a slap back into reality, with Karl's smile faltering and his mind suddenly going blank. "Yeah, I can't remember exactly what we were saying but I know it wasn't anything bad." He swears on his life that the words were harmless and that nothing discussed between the two was laced in malice, but with George around a topic containing Dream the lies don't seem very trustworthy.

But that's the least of Dream's few worries. George talks about him, boo-hoo, a pathetic reason to cry himself to sleep later on, if he's in the mood for it. He talks about George behind his back all the time, it's obvious. They make it obvious, and neither of them care if the other finds out about their harsh words and rude comments because it's harmless. George and Dream are harmless when they want to be - and for the majority of the time, the pair are too lazy to try and inflict any real damage upon one another. The source of interest in Dream's mind is Karl. The 5 '11, happy brunette placed right ahead of him.

Talking behind George's back is one thing, speaking the words to his face is another, but stealing his friend? Dragging one of the people he enjoys hanging out with out of his life just to make him annoyed? Well, that's where Dream wants to hit next.

He knows the pair briefly talking will cause a rift in their smooth sea of friendship. It'll create a tidal wave against soft shores, a harsh hit on a small body like George's. He knows that the pair becoming friends will create a dam between shared water. An instant split between a calm land, a war amongst friends. They'd either fight for Karl's attention, or give up and let the other entertain him. And Dream isn't one known to quit.

He doesn't need to make fake rumours and start trouble for Karl to be his friend. He doesn't need to act overly nice and force himself to be someone he isn't just to get Karl to greet him every time they cross paths. Dream just needs to be Dream, and his large ego will do nothing more than remind him of this every second of everyday.

It's evil for Dream to be this way. For him to want to make George miserable and want to steal everything that brings a smile to the boy's face. But hatred is strong, stronger than Dream's overly soft side that only dies away at the sight and hearing of George and his hideously thick British accent. The same one that interrupted Karl and Dream's talk to bark out a harsh, "Dream" and catch the attention of the ginger boy.

His look is nothing but mockery, Karl looking as innocent as ever while Dream smirks. George shoots daggers into the pair, directing hits for Dream and occasional ones for Karl for agreeing and holding the conversation.

"We're working." George simply says, throwing out an arm to point out the small bench ahead of a blue screen. The words are harsh and not at all meant to be anything but harsh, and Dream finds a small fire lighting in his stomach at it.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, Karl, speak to you later?" The brunette nods with excitement, wishing Dream luck with shooting before he leaves Dream to himself and lets him strut over to George with enough confidence to kill someone.

"Don't look at me." George spits, turning a cold shoulder towards the cocky boy as he takes a breath. Dream wants to grab at his waist, turn him around and force his eyes to meet his. He wants George to look at him when he's angry.

"Jealous?" He teases, waiting for a reaction. The most he gets is a scoff, a witty remark thrown back into his broad chest telling him to resist the urge to flatter himself. "I don't need to, Karl did a great job doing that for me." George's aggravated groan pulls a laugh out of Dream's lungs, his attention steering away as a feeling of satisfaction washed over his body.

This is going to be fun, Dream likes to think. George can barely meet his eyes, nevermind compliment him and hold a conversation designed for a couple.

Anger boiled along George's veins, his face feeling hot and his palms feeling hotter as he sat, his knee touching Dream's as the younger rambles on about something written along in the script. Dream passes the one line, the line George was supposed to interrupt. He almost freezes and locks eyes with the camera but he holds himself, letting Dream ramble towards a new line as he finally spits out his words.

"My parents don't want us to talk." The words stop as soon as they start, Dream falling silent with him as if it weren't planned at all and the action was genuine. "What?" He asks, quiet out of fear of being judged. George sucks a breath through his nose, turning his head to look the opposite way of Dream and down at the blue fabric coating the floor. It's yet to be changed into a beautiful park but that doesn't matter.

"They-" George sucks in another breath, holding it in his lungs until they start to burn and his eyes flicker with newly wept tears. "They don't think you're good for me and I- We-" George is silenced by a small squeeze of his hand. Dream's touch is cold despite his warm hold, his body cooling at the feeling of Dream, of all people.

"It's okay." Dream promises, squeezing George's hand once more for effect. He encases the fist in another hand, lifting them above the small space between them. "Look at me." George doesn't listen. Half of the warmth is left from his fist, leaving the now exposed skin to burn and radiate despite the cold atmosphere. "Theo, look at me." The name is foul on his tongue, but even then, George finds his neck flexing the muscles and turning his head to face the man.

His smile is soft, with softer tears lining the rims of his eyes. A tear falls from George's eyes and he tries to look away again before a quick hand reaches for his jaw and guides him back, lifting his eyes to stare through wet lashes.

"And... cut!" George's hand is released at the call, his fist falling onto warm wood as it replaces the air Dream had once blocked. He stares at the open fist, finding himself missing the unwanted warmth and pulling his fist back into his lap with a look to be confused with pain.

He wipes his eyes to dry the forced tears, sniffling when a stream of snot teases at the bottom of his nose. What a dick, George thinks to himself. He forces himself up off of the bench and tears his eyes away when he sees Dream in his line of view, his all too tall body towering over the small screens displaying the newly shot scene.

Wc: 1361