George gets home and collapses onto his bed.
Slight NSFW? idk if it really is
"Ugh. I hate school!"
He's mentally and physically drained and falls into a deep sleep. In George's deep slumber, he has a dream.
---(George's view in the dream)
I'm in a bedroom. It's not mine. I'm laying on the bed, half-dressed. I hear footsteps approaching the door, it clicks open.
"Hey babe," I hold my breath "sleep good?"
Who is this man, he looks familiar. He has blond hair from what I can tell, and a yellow sweatshirt, and some gray sweatpants.
I know who he is.
"Clay, where were you?"
The man moves in closer to me "Getting a gift for you." He says with a cuddly smile, he hands a bag over.
It's chocolate, he really knows me, but how? I just met him?
Clay grabs my hips and brings me over him. I'm on his lap I keep repeating it in my head. A feeling comes over me, I've never felt this before. It's comforting, safe, and warm.
"Can't things stay this way forever" I smile.
I'm can't control myself anymore and I lean in, almost hesitating before my lips brush his and we're swarmed into a kiss.
It feels like it's only us in the world until his lips fade and I'm lying in a white room alone.
---
George wakes up.
There's blood on his pillow. He wipes his face. Shit, bloody nose!
After George's bloody DNA is kept onto a tissue "What was that dream? Why was Clay in it? WHY were we kissing? WHY DID HE MURDER ME?"
Tuna looks up at him, her eyes glowing as the light reflects off of it. "Shut up" George say as he lays back down on his bed tossing the practically dead phone aside.
3:47 am George's phone reads. Why was Clay in his dream? Is it because he was thinking of him ever since he barged in on George singing, catching him in an embarrassing moment?
YOU ARE READING
Bored~DreamNotFound
FanfictionGeorge and his girlfriend ended badly. He doesn't want to date again in fear of it ending badly again, but when he's practicing music in the school band room a boy walks in. That boy is just so perfect, when he joins his band and finds out he likes...
