Stalker // DNF

28: Lurker

George leans back in his chair, the lumbar support straining in attempted resistance. He runs his hand over his forehead and up through his hair, finally dry after having clung onto the rain for most of the day.

He'd stayed later than usual at work due to complications with files and a bunch of issues he was finding it hard to focus on. He was again running on a lack of sleep; an occurrence that had been repeating too often recently.

He'd replayed the scene of Dream lifting the hem of his shirt over and over in his mind, cringing and squeezing his eyes shut each time it surfaced. Maybe he'd overreacted... maybe. But he couldn't help it - his flight reaction was set off full throttle at the exposure of an insecurity he was not ready to acknowledge.

Non-rational guilt still swarms him, even now, when he imagines the scenario over again and pictures Dream left alone in the darkness, probably confused and remorseful.

I don't want him to hate me, George thinks. For the case, he quickly adds.

He shakes his head free, trying to redirect any energy to the work pleading his attention from his computer screen.

His unfocused eyes blur and smear all the writing together. He stares for half a minute before realising nothing will ever be completed without external help; caffeine.

George drags himself to his feet and out of his office, politely smiling at any coworkers that remain, most packing or finishing up to go home.

He migrates to the kitchen, the bright white lights alone injecting a shot of energy into him. George shuffles around the communal table to switch the kettle on, the rising crescendo of whistling and bubbling beginning to sound.

As the water heats, he leans his forearms onto the counter, flattening his spine and turning to look out the window into the dark street, shiny pools of rain being illuminated under the bright streetlights and lighting from buildings.

The rain has resulted in fewer crowds cluttering the streets, but a handful of people still rush through the wet puddles, most protected by the shielding of an umbrella, or at the very least a hood.

George traces his eyes up the street and along the fence protecting the police station. He sees more hurrying pedestrians run the opposite side of the fence, a continuous flow blurring together.

His stare stops as the gates, concluding the fence of the station, come into sight. A dark figure leans against the open gate, their body facing the building and face hidden in the darkness.

George presses himself to an upright position, suspicion creeping in from the individual standing near the police station so late at night. Were they in danger?

His fingers graze the underneath of the cabinets, searching for the switch. He quickly locates the raised square and flips it on, brighter lights consequently turning on and giving him the extra surge of light needed to observe the features of the lurker.

George's eyes return to the gate through the window as they sweep to find their original position. His eyes catch just as his heart freezes, causing his body to jolt in shock.

Dream, for the figure is Dream, still leans against the gate, his eyes piercing through the glass and directly into George, easily spotted in the well-lit room. One arm is hidden behind his back and the other raises once George spots him, the casual gesture paired with an anxious lip bite. His hair is straight and sticking to his forehead, the rain gluing it in place, yet he doesn't seem bothered and doesn't move it from hanging over his eyes.

George panickedly spins around and only returns with his back to the kitchen door when he's sure no one is looking at him. He forces the initial shock down as he flips his palms out, mouthing, 'What the hell?' at Dream.

Dream's waves transforms into a gesture, telling George to come outside. George observes the weather and the sinking feeling in his stomach, but doesn't hesitate for a second as he swiftly turns around and makes his way to the exit of the building, avoiding attracting any attention to himself.

He hurries to the door and pushes it open, anxious someone will see Dream, despite no one knowing who he is.

'What are you doing?' George demands as he leaves the sheltered station, not caring about the rain pelting down over his hair and clothes as he nears Dream, a few meters away.

He feels his shirt stick to his skin and his hair begin to flatten and knot in the rain, but he can't concentrate on anything other than the unexpectedness of Dream's appearance.

Dream takes a step forward and away from the gate, his shoe leaking water that had seeped in as it hits the ground. His hand emerges from behind his back and reveals a bouquet, dim blue plastic wrapping around a bundle of colourful lilies and flowers alike. The rain has weighed down most of the petals and some have collapsed in on each other, small beads of rain dripping from their ends.

'I'm sorry,' Dream says sincerely, extending the bouquet outwards. 'God I'm sorry, George. I'm sorry for getting so near your stomach when... when you've literally told me you hate - looking at it and stuff.'

George looks at the flowers for a brief second before accepting them from Dream's grasp, the weight of the bundle heavy with the water collected in the wrapper.

Dream pushes his soaked hair away from his eyes and to the side with his, now free, hand while continuing to talk.

'And... the flowers suck and - I didn't know how to apologise and... I didn't know how to see you other than come to your work. I'm sorry if I scared you coming here, I'm sorry I'm here at all really...' he trails off, widened eyes desperately scanning George's face.

George grabs the material of Dream's coat laying over his arm and drags him to the side, into the darkness and out of the spotlight from the kitchen window.

'Dream - thank you. It's really not necessary and -' George speaks mindlessly while turning his head around distractedly, paranoid someone is observing from inside. 'Thanks... but - you can't be here.' George turns back to Dream and catches droplets of rain fall from the points of his hair and the tip of his nose, continuous and rapid under the worsening weather.

'You're getting soaked,' he pauses, chewing his cheek in thought and in guilt of just shooing Dream away. He pats his pockets and acknowledges their lack of contents, all of his possessions laying on his desk inside.

'Okay, I'm gunna grab my stuff and we're going somewhere dry, alright?' He shifts his gaze back to Dream who nods quickly. George hands back the flowers as he darts back inside, water splashing into his shoes from the wet cement.

He quickly navigates his way to his office, throws his belongings into his pockets and rushes back outside, this time with his coat. However, the dry jacket over his wet clothes ends up adding to his discomfort instead of solving it.

He hurries back outside into the heavier rain, squinting his eyes to try to prevent the weather from pouring into them. George finds Dream and takes the flowers again in one hand and grabs Dream's palm in his other, dragging him away from the station and down the damp street.

George leads them to the road and jogs over to a taxi, its headlights beaming through rainfall. He bends down to speak through the window and gives his address, not wanting to wait in damp clothes and shivering conditions for the bus.

Both parties shuffle into the car, George cringing when he feels the water saturate the seat from his clothes.

Dream slides the door shut behind them, preventing any excess rain seeping in, but not stopping the pelting raindrops hitting the roof of the car and echoing loudly around the vehicle.

George sits back in his seat with the bouquet between his legs and turns his head to lean his scalp on the headrest, observing his workplace being left behind as the driver pulls off.

Buildings and traffic lights form a fog in his unfocused eyes as he tries not to think about the fact that he is leading his stalker back to his home.