+to build a home+ // dnf

3

George woke up the next morning to sunlight shining unswervingly onto his face and an abrupt end to his dream. He rubbed the groggy feeling from his eyes and sat up, checking the watch on his bedside table. Glad to notice he had ample time before his first lesson, he began his Wednesday calmly.

Dream woke up to Sapnap shaking him awake.

"Dream! Dream!" Sapnap was pushing urgency into his voice as he shook him harder.

"Sapnap? What the h-"

"Sh! No time! It's ten minutes until first period!" He whined, shaking an untidy, black watch in Dream's face with distress.

"What?" Dream shot up, the both of them rushing to their respective bags, cursing themselves for not using the old alarm clock on the window sill. Once they had pulled on their clothes, Dream ran his hands through his hair a few times to neaten it. Together they ran down the hall, eventually turning their opposite ways with brief goodbyes.

George was just writing when he heard the door open quickly, a familiar face walking in.

"I'm sorry, I'm late!" He says to the English professor, breaking the previous silence the room had.

"I'll let it slide today, but make sure this doesn't become a habit..." she paused, eyes scanning the register in front of her. "Clay. Take a seat." She said finally. Dream dipped his head, looking up and down the room. Then, he made eye contact with George, who gave a small smile of permission for him to come and sit.

"I want you to discuss your work with the person sitting next to you, George, fill Clay in please." She said sternly, looking over her glasses at him. The class fell into chatter.

"I thought your name was Dream?" Was George's first sentence.

"Well, my mother is strange, but not that strange. I just prefer to be called Dream." He explained. It was now George noticed something. He had, in fact, been wrong with his assumption yesterday. Dream's eyes were green, a very beautiful shade of green, in George's opinion.

"Anyway, Professor Willis wants to get a scope on our writing skills. You have to pick what you think you're best at, like fiction or non-fiction. That kinda stuff, got it?"

"Yeah, thanks, George." Dream smiles a little. "What're you writing, if you don't mind."

"Just some dumb non-fiction." George shifts his paper away a little, Dream took the hint, deciding to try and come up with his own story. This was quite exciting, he had always enjoyed creative writing and found it to be one of his own specialties. Writing was wondrous, he could make up an entire new world and everything could go how he wanted it to. Regardless of professional opinion, Dream liked how everything in these little worlds he creates could go perfectly and smoothly. If he didn't want to add any conflict at all, he didn't have to, it was escapism.

Eventually the bell rung. George had to give his fingers a quick snap in front of Dream for him to notice the lesson was actually finished and everyone was gathering their belongings.

"See you around." George said, leaving Dream to finish putting his pens away.

The rest of the day went on hazily until, finally, last period arrived. They had four, one and a half hour lessons on the days they had them (most students worked three days a week).

George stumbled into his last class, music. This was the class he was least looking forward to, as much as he enjoys listening to music, actually playing it is not so fun. In childhood, his mother had hired a professional pianist tutor for him. His mother had always loved piano, and wanted George to share this love. He didn't. It took him a very long time to persuade her to let him stop.

Dream's last lesson was art. Out of all of them, art was probably his least favourite. He enjoyed painting, but he never felt his outcomes matched what he wanted - which was partly his fault due to the effort he had refused to put in himself. He always asked his mother for art lessons, but she had dismissed it, saying she was sure Dream didn't actually want to have these lessons and that it was a waste of time and money.

Eventually the day was finished, both of the boys returned to their individual dorms.

"...And then, literally after I said I prefer Sapnap, he was like 'oh Nicholas! Don't be late again or it's detention for you, young man.'. Changing the subject! I swear Professor Freint acts like he's my dad or something." Sapnap blabbered on. Dream sat, looking intently at a small figure of a boat, listening to Sapnap's wild stories of his first day.

Dream liked boats. He often incorporated something to do with boats in his short stories. He liked how they could be used metaphorically and physically. As a child, his dreams often consisted of boats, they would float in front of him on rivers and lakes. It was like a mind palace he could attend whenever he closed his eyes. It was peace, it was bliss, it was all he wanted.

"How was your day anyway?" Sapnap asked after what seemed like years of constant chatter. Dream didn't mind, it helped keep him company which he really liked.

"It was... a day I guess. No strong feelings." He shrugged.

"Nothing interesting happen on your first day?"

"Someone bumped into me in the hall, I dropped a book." Dream said, maybe that would make his day seem interesting. He really wasn't great at interacting socially.

"Woah! Calm down, Dream. Don't want too much happening on your first day!" Sapnap jokes mockingly. "You want some snacks? I grabbed some before I came back if you're hungry."

"Yeah sure," Dream leans forward to take the offered snack, putting down the small boat figurine on his bedside table. "And-" He pauses, noticing the clock- "we'll set an alarm this time." They both grin.