Get your tickets now for the tour of band The Sex havers making a headline around the world. Opening for them will be the hot new alternative band 3:15.
Dream is the lead singer of a band formed during his high school years. After years of work the...
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"Too high, can't come down." Toxic Brittney Spears
⚠️Drug use warning. Mentions Of theoretical overdose. Mild panic⚠️
Dream quite frankly felt alive for the first time in two years. On an outside stage in Australia he let his head fall back to the raining sky. Dripping slowly over his tired eyes and shaking hands he exhaled desire and breathed in a burn of smoke from the stage fire. Press was content with any and all cover ups Dream and George made, Sapnap seemed docile in this continent, Wilbur's band was cordial, and Dream... well he couldn't complain. Falling apart never felt so good to him. A burning beneath his veins every time he had the will power to resist the urge to take a bump was liberating, if not a destroying measure. He was hanging on by the smirk in the crowd.
Right in front of the VIP section, George leaned up against the barricades spinning a drumstick between his fingers. When all of his songs started applying to George, Dream didn't know, but suddenly it all made sense. How the brown haired girl in their top single was now George every time he sang it on stage. And it was like the drummer knew, as he had that beautifully sinful glower on his face when Dream looked at him during it.
Girl's screamed over both of them, and yet they could only stare at each other. Secretive about what happened behind hotel doors and tour buses. Dream groaned to himself remembering George's hands. Both pushed his back up against a club bathroom stall in Turkey a week ago, he could still feel the ghost of George against him. Kisses on his neck and chest. Hands in hair, touches gentle and wanted. It kept him from wanting, from spiraling, from falling too deep. He was completely held above stressing about the demand of a new song, the warning for messing with press again, or the disappointed call from his parents.
Dream felt like he was drowning and yet surviving by a single deflated life-raft. It was a secret from Sapnap, but even that still didn't keep the man from pulling Dream off to the side after the show.
"You're playing with fire." His words felt like flames and burned a scar into Dream's cheek. The singer brushed it off with a scoff.
"I have it under control."
"That's what you said last time!"
Dream leaned over his friend used his heigh as blatant intimidation, "this isn't last time. It wasn't him last time."
Sapnap shoved his shoulder, "I don't give a fuck if it has to do with the British prick or not. I'm talking about this." A sweaty palm gripped his chin and despite his attempt to look away the other man forced their eye contact. "You're blown wide. You never perform high, I never perform high, what are you thinking?"
"Fuck off." The hand was combatted by his own ending this friendly assault. "It's just molly."
Incredulously, Sapnap backed away, "what the fuck has he done to you? Do you even hear yourself? When we started this tour, Dream, you hadn't taken a sip of alcohol since before your Happy Day's vacation." Dream flinched at the mention of the facility's name. There were too many shoved down memories of it, of hearing it's name, of hearing his friend say it. Sapnap continued on seemingly uncaring or unknowing of his internal PTSD. "Not to mention the way you were stable! Now you are a basket case falling over some alternative drummer with a bad attitude because he gave you attention."
