hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)

color association

tw+cw:// substance use, slight nsfw

a/n: omg 2 part REALLY LONG chap!!!

bases booming of some overplayed mainstream media rap, mediocre lyrics, and the smells. too much body spray to coat themselves in liquid confidence for the night and the sweat of pushing their bodies far too past their limits.

but they won't stop. no matter how their limbs grow tired, feet become sore, ears begin to ache, or eyes sting with rage; they won't stop. the music in their souls that fuel them on and remind them that the night isn't timeless. the sun will rise and the problems put on hold will all come rushing back. when that happens they'll have only a hangover and last night's regrets to comfort them, and so they listen to their mainstream media rap, and they remind themselves to never stop dancing no matter what.

because if they can power through the pain of now then they can procrastinate the pain of the future, or be distracted from it at the very least. because this- this is physical.

this can be controlled, this can be taken in more and more until the poison coursing through their veins makes them drop. this can stay in the moment and it can be oh so special with the right person. this can be taken to an upstairs bedroom and be left by the time morning comes as if it never happened, and for that, the bruises will fade.

all of that will go away after a good night's sleep and some time. but the problems hung up and kicked off by the door; they won't go away so easily.

so the door comes open and shut with passing faces that blur in the vision of the many, and nobody pays quite enough attention to the ones picking back up their baggage on the way out.

but that's just how it goes, and maybe that's the beauty of parties.

it's flashing strobe lights when george walks in and a wrinkle in time when he spots the pretty face he knows so well slumped against a countertop accompanied by sapnap and quackity talking amongst themselves quietly, apparently fed up with dealing with drunk dream.

a tap on the shoulder sends him stumbling backwards; a shit-eating grin breaking on his face when he recognizes who it is.

"georgeeee!", he yells over the music.

laughter at the already slumped posture and even more languid eyelids. "dream, i see you've been having fun already without me."

the blonde's eyes drift lazily to an empty spot on the wall with a mirthful smirk that for sure would be the type to claim 'cmon i'm not even that drunk.'

"yeah, well i need to be wasted tonight", he says like it's nothing.

george's amusement falters for only a split second.

'need?'

and does that mean need to even be around him? is he so unbearable that intoxication is a requirement to his presence? or need for the sex they alluded to? which is worse? george isn't sure, and although he knows the old phrase of 'drunk words are sober thoughts', he decides to brush it off.

because dropping the baggage at the door and everything, right?

he sighs and picks up a mini pong shot glass off a stack on the countertop. "alright well at least let me catch up to you."

dream exclaims a small "wooooh!" before leaning over the white marble counter and picking up a bottle of vodka by the tippy top.

the cap slips through his fingertips and the bottle comes hurtling back towards the counter, letting it nearly fall over into a pool of other previously spilled drinks.