Stalker // DNF

15: Fumes

Dream pauses, looking away in consideration.

'Ah, well with you it was a bit different,' he confesses, resting a hand at his hip. 'I'd watched you for much longer and wanted you to come and find me - So I painted things you'd said or done to try and grab your attention.'

George runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back into place after the wind had drifted it across his forehead. He recalls the paranoia when he discovered Dream's paintings and convincing himself he had lost the plot. Telling his friends and not one of them hearing him out, his heart sinking when he found the flashing webcam, still not feeling safe in his own home.

'It wasn't fun,' he admits. It's still not. 

He catches a flash of emotion dash across Dream's face, not having enough time to read it.

An awkward silence begins to flow between the two, not even the whistling wind disguising the tension. Dream stands still and George turns his attention to the wall and the paint canisters resting in front of it, avoiding Dream's eye.

'Anyway,' he cuts the quietude. 'You're the nearest person to me, so let me take some inspiration from you.'

'Me? What... like, you'll paint what I'm wearing?' Dream queries in confusion.

'No - I'll do what you did for me,' George explains. 'Tell me something about yourself and we'll paint it.'

'Like what?'

George shrugs, nearing the wall. 'Anything.'

Dream blows compressed air through pursed lips, barely halting to think. 'I'm not really that interesting.'

'Oh don't give me that,' George exhales. 'Come on, you know everything about me - let me know one thing about you.'

Dream sighs and takes a step nearer to George, a cheeky expression tugging up the corners of his lips.

'I like seeing you in my clothes.'

George takes a stumbled stride back, Dream's response having caught him off-guard. He shakes his head loose to fight back surprised laughter.

'That's not,' he pauses, flustered. 'That's not what I meant.'

'It's not?' Dream asks, smiling widely at George's stutter.

George composes himself and shakes his head. 'No, idiot. Tell me something about you, like a hobby or a pet or... I dunno. Anything.'

Dream looks up at the sky, his smile gradually fading. George can imagine the clogs in his brain turning, pondering over what to reveal.

'I like... cats?' Dream admits finally, uncertainty coating his tone. He looks back down to George, his face squished together. 'It's not great material, is it?'

Getting that small confession had been near painful, George couldn't bear the thought of having to squeeze something larger out of Dream.

'No, no! Cats is fine - we can work with cats,' he stutters quickly, crouching down by the spray cans. 'You have a few shades of brown and natural-looking colours. That'll work, right?'

Dream nods, walking over to squat by George's side. 'Yeah, it'll work.'

Dream runs his fingers over the cans, the metal creating a sonorous sound against the friction of Dream's skin. His index finger lands on a black canister and he throws it into the air, cupping it in his palm when it floats above the others.

'Have you used spray paint before?' Dream asks, picking himself up and away from the floor.

'No,' George admits, following Dream's action and standing back on his feet.