Stalker // DNF

22: Comfortable

Dream and George stroll along the park path, small stones being tossed into the bordering grass  as their feet hit the ground in unison. Neither of the men had known what to do with themselves, George only knew that he wasn't ready to go back home yet. So they had trudged along to a park nearby the rescue center, following the path for inspiration and a lack of other ideas.

Winter's symptom of an early sunset was apparent in the coal black sky, even at the early evening. The guarding trees' branches droop down overhead, their bareness giving way to small traces of the moonlight.

George's hands are shoved tightly in his pocket as he fights away any thoughts that arise of where Dream's palm had previously met it, traced it and held it.

'I was going to paint something there once,' Dream comments as they pass a crumbling wall perched amidst the grass to their side. A few aged bricks is all that's left of the ruins, yet George can picture just enough room for a small painting to lay.

'Oh yeah? What made you decide against it?' he responds, his head beginning to ache at all the thoughts that were pleading to be heard, yet he refuses to listen to in this moment.

Dream sweeps his hand as a motion whilst saying, 'There were too many people around - it was in the summer when the park was heaving, even at night.'

George thinks back to all he had known about Dream in the past summer. He'd known there was a painter who popped up around the city as he pleased, leaving the traces of a ghost. It had always confused him how he'd managed to remain anonymous in the huge city, especially on the populated streets he would occasionally work on.

'Do you struggle to keep your identity a secret?' George asks, genuine curiosity coating his vocals.

Dream thinks for a second, the absence of voices flooding George's ears instead with the wind whistling through the trees, causing the branches to dance and brush one another.

'Sometimes... it's why I primarily paint at night with less people around - and I work quickly, making sure no ones really paying attention to what I'm doing - like if they're drunk, for example, they generally don't see the guy in the corner with his hood up.'

George smiles at the thought of a hooded Dream, concentrated and painting as he had been a couple nights ago. He recalls the focus, talent and mystery which constantly vibrated off the painter.

'Why is staying anonymous so important to you?' George wonders. He looks to his side and catches Dream biting the inside of his cheeks, he assumes he's probably not thrilled at having to answer the firing questions. Yet Dream answers with a neutral tone, letting go of the skin of his mouth to allow his tongue to speak.

'I think it's because I'm a pretty private person. I didn't intend to gain so much attention, and when I did... I guess I kind of hid,' he shrugs. 'I wouldn't change it. I can go about my life with no one knowing who I am - it just works.'

George had guessed Dream liked his privacy, based on the very little personal details Dream had allowed past his lips.

'What were your early paintings?' he asks, curious how Dream had planted his seeds in the art industry.

Dream gives way to a small smile, brightening his face in reminiscence. 

'They were pretty crap - I'd just go to really remote places and practice graffiti on walls, mainly.' He turns his head to glance down at George, 'I'll show you next time I see you.'

A comfortable pause followed his words as George hides a smile at the assumption there will be a 'next time.' He looks ahead at the path with the end hidden by branches and darkness. A soul was yet to pass them, however faint laughter and traffic horns could be heard in the distance.

'What about you?' Dream questions, slowing his pace slightly to kick the pebbles by his feet as he steps. 'Tell me something about you.'

George matches the slower pace and ponders the question, hating its vagueness and wanting Dream to continue rambling about himself.

'I don't know what you don't already know,' he expresses. 'I don't know what you heard.'

He looks up and catches Dream already staring at him, looking away often to avoid tripping with his heavy footing. George observes the vivid eyes once again, wondering how one could ever become familiar with their intensity.

'Can I have clarification on one thing?' Dream asks, clearing his throat once the end of his sentence is reached.

The pinpricks of unease return to prickle at George's skin as he worries for what will follow.

'On what?'

Dream's slowing pace comes to a stop as he steadies himself in the middle of the path, halting George in his place to spin around and face the unexpected cessation.

A sheepish expression paints Dream's face as he continues to kick the stones on the floor and rolls them beneath his heels.

'You said you were starting to like me earlier.'

George raises his eyebrows is surprise, 'I... I,' he stutters, caught off-guard. He zips his legs together, acknowledging Dream hadn't resumed his walk. 'I said I was starting to like Clay.'

Dream smiles at his response and mannerisms, stepping closer and tilting slightly so he was opposite George and blocking the breeze.

'Which is me,' he grins, any previous embarrassment melting away from his features, allowing room for his usual confidence.

George pauses, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to recover from the sudden change in topic. He wishes Dream hadn't stood in front of the gust of wind, the air now unable to sweep his face and blow the blush away. His hand emerges from a pocket to rub his neck briefly before dropping it to his side.

'... Which is you,' he admits, pushing the other balled fist further into the material of his pocket.

'What did you mean by that?' Dream asks, ending the kicking of his feet and standing still.

George feels his throat tighten, yet pushes it down and into his stomach. 

'I told you - I feel like I'm more comfortable around you now,' he mumbles, not sure if he's adding to the depth of his lie or being truthful.

Dream takes another step closer, his smoky scent tickling George's nostrils as he nears.

'How comfortable?' he asks, his voice deepening.

George discards his urge to tread backwards and swallows harshly, feeling like he's under a microscope with Dream's unwillingness to divert his eyes.

'What do you mean?' George asks, his eyes darting across Dream's face, avoiding the artist's pupils.

Dream's eyes drop to George's newly freed hand, dangling to the side of his thigh. George looks down to follow his gaze, his head facing the ground as Dream replies, 'you said you're more comfortable with me...'

His hand inches from its placement by his hip and floats nearer to the other's, allowing for George to watch its slow motion and feel his limbs freeze in place.

'It makes me wonder what you really mean by that.'