Stalker // DNF

13: Reflection

George leans his head against the cool glass, imagining all the previous people who had lay in his exact position, tired and craving the familiarity of their home turf.

His seat is firm and the knees from the person behind him are digging into his back, increasing his discomfort and reminding him why he always walks home from work, instead of taking the bus.

But George was exhausted, the thought of dragging himself through the streets had been less appealing than catching the cramped bus. The fact that it was rush hour meant the seats were filling up more and more at each stop, increasing George's claustrophobia on the public transport.

He'd tossed and turned all night after arriving home the day before, his mind swimming with anxieties and plans to gain Dream's trust. He yawns whilst bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, his body now pleading for him to recover from his lack of sleep.

The bus jolts to a stop at another shelter, the opening doors allowing a fresh batch of freezing air to rush into the bus and hit his exposed skin. He tightens the coat around him and presses his face away from the window, instantly feeling a rush of warmth return to his cheek.

George sees a line of people, much more than the previous stops, rush into the bus. The coach was parked outside an office estate, which George could have guessed judging the suits and briefcases that cling to each member of the queue.

He scans the bus and sees he's one of the very few people who still has both chairs to himself . He quickly counts the free seats and calculates there is no chance he would still be travelling solo once the line cleared.

George picks up his bag, which had been resting on the seat by his side, and snuggles it between his legs on the ground. He then returns his cheek to the window pane and stares out into the busy street, hearing high heels clicking and trouser legs swishing together outside. People squeeze by each other in confined gaps and some run down the tiled pavement, everyone's rushing feeding George's fatigue.

He hears the bus doors close and a presence plonks themself next to George before the bus pulls off. George feels a rush of relief when no word is said, not having the energy to engage in impersonal small-talk with another.

He returns his droopy stare out of the window, toward the buildings blurring past, as the bus returns to its previous speed. His eyes begin to unfocus and he catches his reflection in the window. He sees his cheek squish against the glass in close proximity and his messy hair falls over his forehead, its thickness supplying a grateful layer of warmth.

His eyes catch something looming by his side in the reflection. He squints as he forces his eyes to re-focus. By his shoulder, on the seat which had previously been bare, was the man who had thrown himself on the seat in silence. George first catches the grey beanie resting on his head, wisps of dirty-blonde hair escaping from the root of the hat. His eyes dance down to catch those intense eyes looking at George, but avoiding his reflection, and a small pout relaxing on his lips.

George immediately jolts upright, ripping his face from the chilly glass and turning his body to face his seatmate.

'What the...? What are you doing here?' George exclaims in shock, attempting not to raise his voice over the quiet hum of chatter echoing around the bus. His chest had tightened since recognizing the figure and he pulls his sleeves protectively over his hands.

'Hi,' Dream announces in a sweet high-pitched greeting, his pout transitioning into a wide grin. 'How was work?'

George shakes his head and finds himself pushing past an amused puff of laughter at Dream's sudden appearance and consistent calmness. At the sound, Dream's entire face brakes into his smile and his eyes returned to their crescent shapes. His head rolls to the side and his ear rests inches above his shoulder, giving a small tilt to his beaming face.

'Seriously,' George resumes, forcing his stern attitude to return and ignoring Dream's question. 'What are you doing?'

Dream sits upright, shifting his knees to fall to the side, nudging George's leg gently. He reaches an arm down to tap a bag on the floor which George hadn't noticed, resting on his ankle.

'Trying to get you to forgive me,' Dream replies.

George is hyper-aware of Dream's leg touching his, the unfamiliarity of the friction bothering his thoughts. He pushes away the distraction to ask, 'What?'

Dream picks up his rucksack and chucks it onto his lap with a silenced grunt, clinking sounds of metal canisters being heard from inside the, presumably, heavy bag. He draws open the very top of the zip and points the opening in George's direction.

George leans over to glance in the bag, catching sight of spray paint bottles piled up near the entrance, leaning messily over one another.

He looks up at Dream and says, 'I'm still confused,' before leaning back in his seat.

Dream shakes his head softly as he closes the bag and returns it to his foot.

'You'll see,' he utters softly, retracting to turn his body more in George's direction.

They look at each other for a brief second and George thinks, okay, this is it. I'm willingly spending time with this man to gain evidence for the case, this is it.

'So I'm not allowed to go home and get changed?' George asks, the discomfort of the clothes he'd been wearing all day apparent on his skin.

'Mmm, unfortunately not,' Dream replies with a grin, his eyes darting back to his bag quickly. 'But luckily, I have a change of clothes ready for you.'

George jolts his head back in surprise. 'What... why?'

'You'll see,' Dream repeats in a sing-song voice.

George thins his lips in defeat, sinking back in his chair and feeling the rush of tiredness, which Dream had cast his mind away from, return.

'Don't get too comfortable,' Dream mutters, reaching forward to press the Stop button resting on the metal pole, next to the seat in front.

'Hm?' George wanders, forcing his remaining energy to straighten his spine as he hears the ping echo through the bus.

Before he has time to properly gather his bearings, the bus is slowing to a stop, Dream has jumped up and chucked a strap of his bag over his shoulder and reaches down to scoop George's arm.

George has just enough time to hurriedly snatch his bag off the floor before Dream's hand guides George, arm first, down the alley of the bus and outside into the unknown territory.