Stalker // DNF

9: Discomfort

The glasses clink together in the centre of the table, all 4 of the attendees exclaiming 'Cheers.' Even George joins in with the acclaim, despite acting annoyed at having to pay for all of the beverages.

'Seriously, thanks for treating us all tonight, George,' Cole winks, raising his glass in George's direction before leaning back to take a sip.

Leila and Tom swoop in with their thanks and mirror Cole's movement, sinking into the backs of the pub chairs.

The previous lost bet had caught up to George and he was now holding up his end by paying the bill of an evening meal for his friends. He didn't truly mind, they hadn't all been together in a while, so it was nice to have an excuse to meet up and discuss all the little things going on in their lives.

George brings his drink to his lips, swallowing a small amount of the liquid. He had lost his appetite for the past few days, his empty stomach reducing his tolerance for alcohol. He hated the thought of walking home, and even being home, under any influence in the slightest. Since seeing Dream a couple nights ago, he pictured his face watching him from every surface.

The first thing George had done when he had arrived home was stuck thick stickers over every camera in his flat. Even the devices which were clearly powered off were smothered in the sticky residue. His phone, which lay quietly in his pocket, had 2, one on the front and one on the back.

'So George,' Leila begins, placing her drink on her coaster. 'Seen any more paintings centred around you recently?'

'Very funny,' George replies sarcastically. He hadn't told his friends about seeing Dream. He hadn't told anyone, actually. He could imagine building up the courage, then getting laughed at for lying, or somehow getting convinced he had misunderstood the interaction.

So he decided to keep it to himself, or at least until he had proof for the police or felt under serious danger. Because although his paranoia had shot off the charts, his privacy technically wasn't being invaded anymore. The webcam was routinely turned off, suffocating in stickers and chucked into George's wardrobe when not in use. Dream had no binoculars into George's life anymore, but this fact was not yet enough to comfort him.

'Seriously, though. I went into work thinking you were smoking something, what the hell was up with you?' Tom adds.

George feels his cheeks grow pink swiftly as he shifts his feet under the table in discomfort.

'It literally wasn't anything, he told us he hadn't slept properly, right George?' Cole asks.

'Yeah but he's always pulling the "no sleep" excuse, I wanna know where his wacky theory originated from.'

'It was from the flower painting, which was "identical to his picture."

His friends all laughed, turning to face George, expecting some comment.

George's mouth goes dry as he pulls his sleeves roughly over his hands, thankful for the privacy under the table. He looks down and catches sight of the menu's that had been abandoned in the past few minutes, each party forgetting about its presence.

He pushes his chair out from under the table and stands up abruptly, grabbing the menu as he gets up.

'How about I go order? They don't do table service here, remember?' George says anxiously, needing a second away from memories of his stalker.

He lets out a sigh of relief when his friends lean over to point their orders out to him on the menu as he attempts to note them down in his mind. He runs over them one time and, with their approval, hurries over to the bar. The bartender, who served him their drinks, looks up when he reaches the counter with a polite smile on her face.

'Hi, I'm guessing you're here to order your meals?' She asks, looking away briefly to angrily tap the screen above the till with her pen.

George nods, placing the menu on the counter for a closer view.

'Okay, I'm so sorry but the Internet went off a couple minutes ago, I have no idea if it's crashed or something. Give me, like, 2 minutes to see what's going on and I'll be right with you.'

George doesn't have time to respond before she hurries away from the bar, disappearing behind the "Staff Only" door that rests behind her, her heels clicking away into the distance.

George rests his palms on the counter and feels a shard of relief that he'll have a few minutes longer to himself.

He taps his fingers on the surface to the beat of the music playing from the corner. When his mind snaps out of his zoning out, he realises the song is "Crazy" by Patsy Cline, a song his mum and him had bonded over many times over the years. He fondly recalls her grabbing his hands and pulling him up to dance with her, him grudgingly participating, last Christmas. He thought he would have thrown up at any movement after eating a feast, but they had danced lovingly to the tune.

He turns his head to the source of the music and catches a jukebox lingering in the corner, colourful lights dancing down its side.

George makes his way over to the music box, curious to what other songs are available on the retro device and knowing he has a few minutes to kill. He reaches the corner, the chattering of the tables around him echoing as people are more densely packed nearer the edges of the room.

There's a middle-aged man stooping over the jukebox when George arrives. George gives him space and forms a singular queue behind the man, humming happily to himself as he is in no rush.

He looks around the room, tinted glass shining coloured light into the pub, glowing up the faces of families and couples who are huddling together this Saturday night. He skims the faces in the room, hoping no co-workers are sitting and he can therefore avoid small talk.

Satisfied with only strangers occupying the pub, he glances at the final table and sees a man sitting by himself, his face buried in a menu. A thin raincoat is draped over the back of his chair and his dirty blonde hair pokes messily above the menu.

George doesn't seem to recognize the haircut, so he begins to turn back to the jukebox as the man lowers the menu to reveal his face. He instantly freezes, stopping his rotation as the strong cheekbones and crescent eyes, that he had seen in the shadows a few nights ago, comes into view.

Dream is still staring at the menu, which had now been lowered to the table. However, within seconds he looks around the room, as if being able to tell he is being observed. He catches George's presence in the corner quickly, squinting a little to double check it was him. Dream's face lights up and a smile spreads across his cheeks as he lifts a hand off the menu to wave George over.