Jealousy // dreamnotfound

::34::

tw// mentions of abuse/addiction

The art exhibit is today.

And Dream is going alone.

He's sure other people from class will also be there, but Dream was looking forward to going with George.

He had decided to move his things back to Orlando and stay at his dorm room, wanting to be closer to George in case the brunette would let him visit. He hasn't, not yet, and Dream's heart aches because of it.

Dream feels terrible for George. It's not that he pities him, he's just so angry that people would erase all of George's progress unknowingly. Not to even mention the fact that he could've died because of it.

Dream brings his camera with him, looking around the exhibit. He finds their teacher and talks to her for a bit, the lady explaining how she absolutely loves George and Dream's paintings. Dream snaps some pictures of interesting paintings, then heads to their own corner.

As he looks at all ten paintings lined up on the wall, Dream feels a sense of nostalgia. The memories come rushing back and he finds it to be both overwhelming and underwhelming. He studies each one of the paintings, noting how some definitely look better than others. Some of the best ones were made when the two of them were most happy together, and Dream notices that easily.

Something he sees out of the corner of his eye, is a small piece of paper sticking out of a painting. As he inspects it, he looks to the other ones and sees identical papers behind them. They're all folded, and Dream sees on the outside of the envelopes that they're numbered 1-10, each corresponding with the order they had been written—and the paintings had been painted in.

Dream picks up the note labeled '1' and opens it, sitting on a small bench next to their exhibit.

Dear Dream,

If you were to ask me why I'm sitting in my bed at midnight writing a letter to you, I wouldn't be able to give you an answer.

I know you don't like me very much, but that's okay. I'm new, and I'm threatening, and you don't like that. But I like you. I like you in the sense that you're interesting (nothing more, I have a boyfriend). I like how you don't treat me like others, it's refreshing. So thank you, I guess.

You know, I was reluctant to show you my paintings. I figured you wouldn't understand them, would judge them like others. But then you told me they're captivating. Why'd you say that? I didn't know at first, but I took it as a compliment. I've been thinking about it so much though.

I'm glad you let me pressure you into throwing away all of our themes. You may not have known the reason I wanted to do that—you may not even know it as you read this—but it'll makes sense after some more letters. Trust me.

I don't have much else to say, except I hope you're reading this with a smile thinking back to how we were 'enemies' at this time. I hope we're friends at this point, or this note would be pretty awkward.

Anyway, this is painting one of ten finished, and I can't wait to see what we make.

George.

Dream reads the letter with a smile on his face, exactly how George had predicted.

He remembers how they weren't exactly friends at that time, how Dream tried to avoid him out of spite and jealousy. It's funny to think back to, and has the blonde temporarily forgetting about their situation, instead rolling his eyes. He opens the next letter.

Dear Dream,

Happiness.

That was the theme of our painting today. But you crushed mine. I would've much preferred to live in blissful ignorance as opposed to knowing that Aidan cheated...