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Dream awoke, sweating profusely under the covers. He could hear the early morning bustle of the city through the window, mixed with a gentle rain steadily hitting the glass panes. An ambulance drove past blaring it's sirens into the night as if it wanted the world to know it's presence. Dream watched the silhouette of the car's against his wall and admired the graceful way they carried themselves through the night, like swan's in a pristines lake's waters.
He sighed in content and turned over to face away from the lights against his wall. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he focused them slowly on the outline of the man in bed beside him. His mind fogged over and his breathing quickened as panic took over his body. However much he was sweating before, it was in no comparison to the amount of sweat he was emitting right now.
He grabbed at the bed sheets trying to clear his mind as he blinked, trying to clear the man from his vision.
"It's a dream, you're dreaming," he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and clinging to the bedsheets like a cat clinging to the arm of a sofa. However, when the man started to stir what Dream appeared to be experiencing felt all too real to be a dream.
The man was shifting in bed beside Dream, his smaller frame no longer predominantly taking up Dream's vision and as he turned to face him, he could feel his heartbeat practically in his throat.
Dream closed his eyes, willing for it to be a dream, hoping more than anything that he would wake up alone in bed, with Patches curled up by his feet and or near his head.
He opened his eyes.
His breath stuck in his throat and his pupils dilated in shock.
His hands clutched the bed sheets even harder and he struggled to breathe and comprehend the face of the man infront of him.
"George?"
"Hey Dream."
The light from the streetlamps outside illuminated the boy's face, casting dancing shadows across his face and highlighting his features, giving him a glow that to anyone would seem unearthly. His hair was ruffled and spread across his forehead imitating a bad case of bedhead with tufts of hair sticking out at odd angles. His skin was pale and beautiful like the surface of a car after it frosts over in the early morning in December. His beauty was so unmatched he seemed almost unreal.
"George, why are you here." Dream watched him with wide eyes, tracking every moment the beautiful boy made.
He ignored the question, looking down at Dream's sweaty hands still ravelled in the bed sheets. Slowly he reached out to touch his hand, George's eyes as wide and wondrous as Dream's.
"Are you real?" his voice was gentle and reminded Dream of being younger and his mum wrapping him in a fuzzy towel that had been warming on the radiator for several minutes. It was comforting and warmed Dream from the inside out.
"Yes." he replied, letting George run his finger over his hand, barely grazing his skin and sending a wave of goosebumps scatter up his arm.
George looked at him, a glowing Floridian boy with a halo of blonde curls, his disconcertingly gentle blue eyes and mouth upturned in his usual knowing smile.
Their eyes met and both held in a deep breath, allowing themselves to glance over each others faces, each looking the other up and down.
Dream never once considered how George had got into his house, and why he would get in his bed instead of just him waking up.
