Stalker // DNF

18: Clay

You online tonight? 

George scans the message from Cole on his phone, glancing up immediately after reading it to avoid tripping into a pothole on the ground. 

He scrolls up slightly in the chat and gnaws the skin of his cheek in guilt. Cole had been reaching out often throughout the week, asking about George's whereabouts and curious about his recent silence. Some of his messages went unanswered, with George unable to make time to reply and consequently forgetting the texts ever entered his inbox.

Truthfully George was discarding his social life, this previous luxury suffocating under his heavy workload and meeting or thinking about Dream. He spent most of his free time doing meaningless tasks, with thoughts of how to get closer to the stalker plaguing his mind.

George makes sure the path in front of him is clear of obstacles before glancing down to type:

No sorry, but we'll speak soon :)

He was still yet to tell anyone of his plan, delaying the confession due to being aware it was borderline immoral to trick someone into friendship for a case. He was sure others would wonder why he was getting so involved, but being a victim himself and having met the criminal in his flesh made it difficult to walk away.

George snuggled the mobile back into his pocket, continuing his way down the unfamiliar street. His congested work clothes hang onto his body, his hooded jacket being the only sense of comfort in his outfit.

He pulls the sleeve back slightly, allowing the watch on his arm to breathe. He brings it up to his face and nods reassuringly to himself - he wasn't going to to be late.

George sweeps down the pavement in the darkening sky, relying on his memory from tracing the map on his phone, to carry him to his destination.

He squints his eyes down the street sparsely filled with pedestrians, finding lampposts and post boxes littering the footpath. In the horizon, a few yards ahead of him, lies a blurry outline of the building he'd revised before leaving his office. He recognises the logo hanging from a sign, just about making it out in the distance. 

Confirmation follows as he nears, a closer view giving way to the sunken windows and bright blue paint he'd seen on the image. The rescue center stands attached to its neighbors, however is isolated with its welcoming feeling and warm lights, reflecting onto the concrete outside.

He detaches his eyes from the building once he's reassured he's found the correct location and returns his pupils to the street. He sees a park bench resting parallel to the center, a fire hydrant perched next to it.

The bench is preoccupied with a man stooped over, his head hanging over his phone. The device lights up his face and George can easily recognise the familiar features and tousled hair. He walks slightly diagonally to reach the bench, a smile pulling at his mouth as he gets nearer and sees his target is yet to glance up at him.

'Boo!' he yells playfully, chucking himself on the bench.

Dream's head jerks up, yet no signs of shock possess his face.

George sighs, 'you didn't even flinch, freak.'

Dream's eyes tilt upwards as he passes a greeting beam. George hears a click as his phone is turned off and nestled by Dream's side and out of sight.

'You're right on time.'

'I am,' George rubs his hands together. 'Excitement got me here on the dot - I really wanna see this cat.'

He wasn't lying, he'd grown up surrounded by cats in the household and his love for the animal still remained with him in his adult years. And he couldn't pretend he wasn't curious to how Dream would interact with the animal, and in public without the shadows to protect his anonymity.

Dream pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek and a long exhale pushes past the barrier. He brings his hands up to forcefully drag the hair away from his forehead, once his palms let go the fluffy strands bounce back to protect his brow. He then twists his body so his chest and face are fronting George.

'Right, I may as well tell you now 'cause...' Dream pauses, flickering his eyes from George to the pavement behind him constantly. He cracks his knuckles before rearranging his hands to pick at the beds of his nails.

'Ah, I don't know why I'm, like - scared to tell you,' Dream resumes, chuckling anxiously.

George sits still by his side, his eyelids pulled wide and expecting. His palms cup in his lap, patiently waiting for Dream to continue.

'Uh, they call me Clay here. You'll see when we get in.' Dream's eyes remain glued to George's this time, awaiting a reaction.

George sniggers in surprise, his shoulders rising at the blurt of laughter. 

'Clay? What is that... like a fake name or something?'

Dream purses his lips, disguising an amused smile.

'No, George,' he giggles. 'That's my name.'

George's eyebrows shoot up and he leans his head to the side, processing.

He'd never really thought about Dream's name... had he actually ever considered that Dream wasn't his real name?

'Oh... I guess I never really...' George trails off, looking up at Dream and screwing up his eyes. He scans Dream's features again and observes their ability to have harsh edges yet somehow look soft overall. 'You don't - you don't really look like a Clay.'

Dream's face scrunches up as he laughs loudly at George's words. George listens to the outburst of sound, it's harmony sounding foreign as he realises he's never truly heard Dream laugh, other than a chuckle or scoff. It wasn't a evil cackle or spiteful roar, simply a hearty release, it's contagiousness spreading a grin over George's face.

'I don't know what the hell that means,' Dream says through a chuckle, his arms folding at his chest as he stops picking at the skin of his calloused hands. He presses himself up onto his feet, avoiding a pedestrian who swerves around him on the street.

'Neither do I,' George admits. He points his head in the direction of Dream, now standing in front of him, and then to the rescue center. 'Are we going in?'

Dream nods and releases an arm to extend it to George.

'We are - I'm guessing Patches is starting to get antsy.'