a collection || dreamnotfound

his creation, 1/2

The room is silent apart from the quick, quiet taps of gentle fingers hitting the keys to the school's PC. Library books, all dusty or torn, line the walls inside decade-old bookshelves, George's favourite place; or so it had become. He momentarily tears his eyes from the screen in front of him to glance outside from the window beside him, droplets of rain race to the bottom of the glass and it makes the boy smile softly before returning his eyes to his software. His fingers run over the keys swiftly, as if they know exactly what to do on their own.

Hours go by, and it's not until an older woman approaches the boy when he realises how fast the time has gone.

"George, we're closing now. Do you need a lift home, sweetie?"

He smiles at the lady, who returns it with a warm smile of her own. "Yes, please...If you don't mind."

He blushes at his sheepish tone, but she doesn't seem to mind as she nods at him. "I'll wait in my car for you to finish up. Don't worry, it'll be all warm for you."

George thanks her once again before looking over his screen, his eyes wander from each piece of coding laid out in front of him. Sentences upon sentences of almost-random sequences scatter the screen, and somehow it all makes sense to the boy who has spent the last few months of his life typing it all out. Once satisfied with today's work, he logs out and closes the PC down before slinging his bag over his shoulder from where it previously sat by his feet.

He also makes sure to grab his notebook, which is titled with the name of his project, and shoves it into his bag. The boy sighs, walking over to the door and switching the lights off on his way out and he begins walking to the school's car park. He enters the beaten Honda as soon as he sees it and is instantly greeted with warmth which he's grateful for considering the rain.

The two bond through the short journey to George's home, conversing on school work and other gossip. The woman parks outside the boy's house, waving goodbye to him as she walks towards the house beside George's. He's glad she lives so close and is willing to drop him home in weather like this.

The boy rushes into his bedroom quickly, closing the door and opening his school bag to scatter it's contents on his desk. Random paperwork litters the desk, all littered with scribbles and messy, rushed handwriting as well as strange ink blotches he couldn't explain. He grabs a few notebooks, too, before opening one to its most recent page and continuing the work he had previously left unfinished. His eyes flit from one page to another as he frantically writes.

He had been working on this project for months, perhaps even almost a year, but it's all beginning to tie together; it's all working as planned, it's nearly complete. Excitement buzzes through George at the thought of this project being finished, and he can only grin at the words on the pages buried within his notebook.

Codes, lengthy sentences and mathematical formulas...more codes, more formulas, a quick snack...and back to the codes.

It's not long before he falls asleep, and while he does, an adventure begins to storm.

He awakes again with a yawn, casting a quick glance to his untidy desk which he knows he'll have to organise later and he groans at the thought. He makes his way downstairs, grabbing a plain slice of bread and biting into it as he walks out the door.

When he arrives at school, things are different. The students that usually chitter as they hang around the corridor are quiet, observing, and curious. George ignores them and makes his way to class, where he sits down with a sigh.

10 minutes go by smoothly, and another two go by just fine, until there's a quiet knock on the classroom door. George twiddles his pen between his fingers, boredom sinking in when he peers up at a new student.

"Ah," The teacher exclaims, walking towards the stranger, "you must be new. What's your name?"

George furrows his brows, staring at the new boy. It can't be.

"Not new, just visiting." The silky, American voice speaks, "I'm Dream."

No. No, no, no. Something is wrong.

"What a unique name! We're glad you're spending this time with us, Dream. So, do you mind telling the class a little about yourself?"

He smiles, eyes averting from the teacher to the rest of the students. "Well, I'm not sure there's much to tell; I was captain of my football team back in America... I'd say it's my favourite hobby."

This has to be some cruel, sick joke.

"Oh! Other than video games. I play a lot of those." The boy, Dream, chuckles. "I have a cat called Patches. My favourite subject is probably..."

English.

"English. I love reading." He pushes his perfectly messy hair with a hand, and it falls back into place the second he drops his arm back to his side. "My favourite colour is, uh-"

Green. Like your eyes.

"Probably green? I do love blue, though." He chuckles again, peeking at the teacher to see if she's satisfied with his introduction.

She grins at him. "And where in America are you from?"

Fucking Florida.

"Oh, Florida!"

He scans the room, eyes stopping when he meets George's. For a moment, the world stops. But he hurriedly looks away with a frown, and George is left wondering how the hell he managed to let this happen, or more importantly, how this happened.

His creation,

His soulmate.

So cluelessly sits in the empty chair in front of him, before cluelessly grabbing a notebook from his bag and cluelessly leaning back in his chair as if this is completely normal. Dream turns around to face him, and George's heart stops. His breath hitches in his throat the second he looks at him, and his chest feels like it's burning.

"Could I borrow a pencil, by any chance?"

So fucking clueless.

"Of course." George squeaks out, trembling hands reach into his bag as he finds a spare pencil. They tremble even more as he hands it over to the boy, and he holds it by the very tip so there's no chance of their fingers touching as he accepts the pencil.

Dream grins, a perfect smile on show, "thank you, George."

"How- how do you know my name?" He stutters, gripping the edge of his table. Could this get any worse? Why can't he function normally?

"It's on the top of your page?" He reaches to point at his paper, "right there."

George gulps as he looks down at his paper, reading his own name over and over again. "Oh..."

The man spins back in his chair, and George lets out a sigh, trying to steady his heavy heart. His codes were left unfinished, pauses in sentences where there should be none, numbers missing- it was fucking faulty.

His unfinished project.