𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦?! | 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟐𝟐. 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

Like your first meeting, you surveyed the door and checked the address; this time, however, Clay was by your side.

You fidgeted the sleeves of your favorite sweater; the material swaddled you in perpetual warmth and comfort, the color and cut worked together to highlight your best features, and you'd found it a year ago on sale. For all these reasons, it dominated your wardrobe leaderboard.

So why had it taken you an hour of dressing and undressing, swapping, and styling to finally make up your mind? By the end of it, you had been swamped in a pile of fabric, indecision, and despair. And what for? On a subtly colonial, egregiously American holiday, to meet the family of some guy who expressly did not want to date you?

Regarding family: a weeks-old conversation recurred in your mind. Had she been right? Clay was beyond nice, and your well-being seemed to matter to him at least a little bit. But people usually had only one partner, and many more friends–it would make sense to choose the former much more carefully. Would he be better off with another social media star like him? There'd even be the added benefit of combining fanbases, which could launch his fame into the stratosphere... In comparison, what did you have to offer? Your stomach turned.

Why were you even considering this? You knew why.

Shifting on your feet, your wonderings were interrupted by more immediate concerns. How you'd met: out of options, you'd desperately asked to stay in his house until your visa got sorted out... How would you explain that to his parents? Would they judge? But there was no backing out now.

"This is the place." He gestured in front of you. He pulled a key from his hoodie pocket–a Christmas-exclusive prototype, you noticed; he was really ahead of his merch game–and turned it. The door swung open.

Crossing the threshold, you were slammed with the image of a family: five pairs of eyes, a spectrum of colorful fabrics and heights, a motley crew. But similarities undergirded all their features, and there was no doubt they were related.

"Clay! Is this [Name]? I've heard so much about her–I'm so glad to finally meet!"

He ushered you through a whirlwind of introductions: his mother, who greeted you warmly; his father, who shook your hand with a firm grip; Brooke, his older sister–distant but polite; Oliver, twelve years old and already almost your height; and finally–

"Hi. [Name]. You can call me Drista."

"Drista...?" You'd never heard that one before.

"Nobody actually calls her that," Clay laughed, nudging your shoulder. "Her real name is–"

Drista moved to protest.

"–It's okay, I don't have to know. I'll call her whatever she'd like me to call her!" The whole situation confused you, but this seemed like the most respectful response.

"Yeah, Dream, she'll call me whatever I want her to call me! Actually: my name is Alpha Male."

You could concede to Drista, but that was a bit much. "Is that... what it says on your passport?" At least she had one in a usable state.

"Yep–would I lie to you?"

"Maybe you just can't read."

"Alpha Male" opened her mouth to reply–

"–No, she can't," Clay broke in, shaking his head sorrowfully.

"Hey! Siding against me? You're such a bully."

"You're the bully–!"

"What are you gonna do, sit on me? Don't make me take out the fork–!"