Stalker // DNF

29: Static

'Thank you.' George steps out of the taxi once he's collected the change and watches the driver pull away and merge with the queuing traffic.

He turns his back to the road to face Dream and catches a frown on the painter's face with his arms crossed across his chest.

'I said I would pay.'

'And I said screw that,' George smiles, tucking his wallet back into his pocket.

He starts walking forward toward his apartment and, on his way past, links his arm with Dream's crossed limbs, separating them and tugging him along.

'I'm not stepping into your flat, I'll drench the place,' Dream says, walking faster to catch up and be by George's side.

'Bold of you to assume I was going to invite you in,' George replies, not sure if he's teasing or not. The thought of Dream in such a personal space fills him with thrill and dread, both emotions battling over which will rule his actions.

Dream laughs, 'So I came here to keep you company on your travel home?'

George chews on his lip. 'Maybe you did - the trip home can be a long one. Besides - there's a bus stop over there and we're closer to your apartment here.'

He leads them over to his building and under the canopy surrounding, the shelter from the rain being an immediate relief. He navigates them to the side of the building, passing the doors of his neighbours before he reaches his own at the end of the row, recognising it by the brick wall by the side, separating his doorway from the staircase.

He lets go of Dream's arm as he comes to a stop in front of his door to fish his keys out, still unsure if he wants to let his company in.

As he searches his pocket with his hand, he hears Dream speak from behind him.

'I'm still sorry, George.'

George pauses his movements and turns around to grasp Dream's sad eyes staring at him. The misery in his expression triggers George's empathy as if a chain reaction had been set off.

'Dream,' he begins. 'It's not your fault, I'm sorry I blamed you. I just - I just am sensitive and... I dunno, I have a weird thing with my stomach.' He releases his hand from his pocket to hook around the elbow of his other arm, dangling down and holding the bouquet.

Dream steps forward to reach the hand George had just moved. He detaches the palm and holds it in his own hand, cold and damp from the weather.

'George, I really mean it, every part of you is so handsome,' he utters.

George throws his head to the side to hide the evidence of blood rushing to his face as he lets out a nervous chuckle.

'Cringe,' he jokes, turning his head back.

'I'm serious.' Dream looks down to gently lift the flowers from George's grasp and leans to rest them against the wall. When he stands up again, he brings George's other hand up with him.

'You have no reason to hide any part of yourself.'

'Dream -'

'I literally can't stop staring at you - it's like there's always more beauty to find.'

'Stop!' George exclaims, fighting the urge to hide his face with his hands in embarrassment.

'Like, when I see you -'

George rips a hand out of Dream's grasp to slap it over his mouth, stopping his train of speech. He tries to be gentle, yet still hears the harsh sound of skin slapping skin.

George reaches onto his tiptoes to speak nearer to Dream's face, the pitter-patter of rain falling onto the surrounding grass creating subtle background noise.