drag me in. {dreamnotfound}

Closer.

George never got another chance to talk to Dream that night. The bar got even busier and most of his time between performances was spent cooling down and fixing his makeup, helping serve drinks or finding Queen's lost mascara.

It was a normal night, but now it felt like there was an invisible cord pulling him towards Dream. It was distracting, and almost impossible not to give in. Even when he got up to sing-including especially flirty renditions of When I Get You Alone and Misery — George could never tear his gaze from the green eyed man.

When 404 Club finally closed, he knew it was too late to find Dream. He tried not to let the disappointment show as he cleaned the makeup from his face and changed into a comfy pair of yoga pants and an old sweatshirt. But the others teased him anyway.

"Please tell me you at least got his number. That ass deserves to be worshipped." Wilbur dug his elbow into George's ribs.

"Aren't you straight?" George cocked a brow.

"Doesn't mean I don't have eyes. Don't worry, I know you are gone for that boy. I won't try to steal him from you."

George rolled his eyes. "Yes, I got his number. Now, can I go home?"

"We still on for the game Wednesday?" Jack called across the room, still struggling to remove a particularly large cluster of glitter from around his eye.

"Of course. I'm bringing the wine and beer," George called back on his way out the door.

It wasn't until he was on the subway, swallowing the last of the fast food he had picked up on his way, that George checked his phone to see three texts waiting for him.

The first was from Tommy — he other roommate, probably asking if George had seen his new commercial, which he ignored. The other two were from an unknown number, which sent a thrill through his body.

11:46 pm — ;)

1:32 am — Hey, I'm sure you're probably busy but would you like to meet for lunch tomorrow?

George's stomach flipped at the invitation. He had been hoping Dream would text him first, but was pleasantly surprised that the blonde seemed just as impatient to see him again.

He sent back a confirmation, hoping that Dream was still awake. An immediate response asking if George was available at eleven — when Dream had his lunch break from work apparently — made him smile. George gave him the address to one of his favorite delis located in midtown.

He wanted to ask Dream where he worked, and a million other questions, but was too tired to text much longer. He reluctantly sent a goodnight text as he walked up the stairs to his apartment, figuring he could ask tomorrow.

—

That morning George showered (he had rinsed off the night before but was more thorough), making sure to remove as much glitter as possible from his face and hair. He destroyed his closet in his attempt to find an outfit to wear. He finally settled on a black polo crop top with tight red shorts, and a pair of white high top Converse to go along. He debated the hair clip, actually putting it in and yanking it out several times before deciding it had looked rather nice. Smoothing his shirt out with an exhausted sigh he stepped away from the mirror. He looked fucking hot.

Knowing he had plenty of time but not trusting the subway, George left early with one last glance in the mirror to ensure his hair was properly gelled.

Of course, he made it downtown a whole hour early. George made himself sit at the park for a while to calm his nerves. He chastised himself for acting like a scared sixteen year old on his first date. The possibility of embarrassing himself in front of Dream was mortifying, especially without the dress and makeup as a protective shield.