Dream really, really hates when anyone else wears his letterman. Yet when the boy he flirts with between cheap booze and loud music looks cold enough on his walk home to slug it over his shoulders, cold enough to be kissed, even—he can't help himself. He looks better than all the sweet-tongued, blonde girls who try to saunter off with it after games. The maroon fabric brings out the subtle pink in his lips and high cheekbones. His hands disappear beneath the striped cuffs. Dream’s heart thumps erratically at the sight of George in his clothes, in his letterman—unlocking something deep in him with a gentle click.