Stalker // DNF

34: Reversed Roles

The church comes into view as George shuffles along the pavement, the final pieces of late afternoon sun peeking through gaps in buildings and shining into his eyes. It had been a few rough days of heavy rain so he's taken advantage of the pause in the showers to go for a walk and try to clear his head.

So far he has been failing - the action, or rather lack of action - from Dream's case has been plaguing his mind, the quietness of the outside only expanding the space for more worries to fit in his head.

The application of the search warrant has been unsuccessful so far. It turns out George's poor evidence was not a firm enough reason - they needed solid evidence to search Dream's apartment.

That frustration had set a blockade in George's plan, but he'd maintained high morale and continued to email and talk to Kai and his superiors to try and re-open the case. They said they would look into it, but over the past couple of days, which George hasn't been in work, there has been radio silence.

Kai had seemed suspicious of George's claim to a confession, confused at why Clay would have ever told George he was the offender. To be fair, George had been very sparse with the details. He was reluctant to reveal what he had been doing for the past few weeks, without him having told a soul or kept any records. But he's been telling himself once the case re-opens, he will reveal Dream's identity and tell the whole truth, to hopefully soothe Kai's skepticism.

In his attempt to take a break from the whole situation, George had set off for a walk about an hour ago and found himself drifting towards Dream's street, despite it being further than he had anticipated from his own home.

Now he's arrived at said street, he wonders why he even came here.

A delusional, tired part of his brain thinks if he walks by the criminal's house, maybe a piece of evidence will fall out of the window and land in his outstretched palms. But then the louder, subconscious part of his mind, which had controlled the movement of his legs, brought him here because it had felt weird not talking to the painter in a little while.

George ignores both sides and tells himself it's a coincidence that he ended up on Dream's street. His walk had unintentionally carried him to this random neighbourhood, that was all.

He continues down the street which is reasonably cluttered with pedestrians, people cruising past him on several occasions. George spots Dream's flat and crosses the road, his walk transitioning into a jog when he spots a car shooting quickly towards him.

As he nears the apartment his pace slows - what was he actually doing here?

His steps come to a stop outside Dream's building and he looks up. He knows from the database that there's a guy named Clay renting an apartment on the third floor, and George had put two and two together. Part of him was shocked that Dream had given him his real name as George had been carrying around a small suspicion that it was a lie.

But alas, Clay's name had sat perfectly innocently among the other tenants on the database, with no criminal record contaminating his image. To any other, he was just a regular guy living in London.

George glances up at the third floor, curtains pulled across all windows but one. From his low angle, catching sight of anything through the dark window is difficult, so he quickly gives up and migrates towards the shop under the apartments. He rests his back on the wall to move out of the way of others walking, who were becoming frustrated at the obstacle he had been creating by gawping up at the window in the middle of the busy street.

He stays in his easy position for a couple minutes, a meditative state washing over him before he forces himself to think what was the plan here? Why was he just standing a few floors below his stalker?

As he lifts his head to think of resuming his walk, a door to the side of him, presumably the door to the apartments, flies open. George's head jerks to the side in his startle, revealing Dream apprehensively poking his head around the door, his head angled as it tilts over the floor.

'Have we reversed roles?' he says, releasing a small smile.

George can't help but reciprocate the expression once his initial surprise dims. He looks down to see the drawstrings of Dream's hoodie hang from his neck and dance in the wind. His eyes then drift back upwards to catch Dream's ruffled hair, sitting unruly and slightly untamed.

'It looks that way, doesn't it?'

Dream's jaw muscle relax at the sound of George's soft tone, not still carrying the anger from before. He steps forward to place his entire body outside, swinging the door shut behind him and wandering over until he's stood opposite George.

'How did you know I was here?' George asks.

Dream flicks his hand upwards towards his flat.

'I saw you through the window,' he pauses, his nervous smile returning. 'You always get my attention, George.'

Dream's words are slow, uncertain. He digs his hands into his pockets, scanning the tint of pink he always manages to paint onto George's cheeks.

'Why are you here?' he adds softly.

George looks down to the floor, Dream's question echoing the thoughts in his head.

Why am I here?

'I'm sorry I accused you of... things you didn't do,' George mutters, recalling the last conversation he'd had with the artist. 'It was just scary seeing you so close to my mum and - I guess I jumped to conclusions.'

He looks back up to see an unreadable glint in Dream's iris, pulling his eyes down.

'You're here to apologize?' Dream says quietly. 'You don't need to, George. I mean - it's not like I haven't done worse.'

George nods, bringing his arms to cross over his chest. The warmth he'd accumulated while walking was starting to burn off in the chilly air and still stance.

He allows his gaze to trickle down Dream's face, looking again at the features that had grown familiar to him, yet he could never get sick of.

'I haven't seen you in ages, Dream.'

Dream laughs inwardly, his shoulders shrugging up from the force of the chuckle.

'It's literally been a couple days,' he replies.

'Yeah, well - I'm used to you being on my back all the time.'

Dream presses his lips together before releasing them to respond, 'So, pushing past that mild insult... you missed me?'

There's no glee or smugness in his expression, still that hidden glint and the corners of his lips tilting down ever so slightly.

George's reply pushes past his mouth and is pulled towards the magnet of the painter.

'Yeah... I guess I missed you.'

He can feel his focus drifting again, that same feeling rushing in which made him decide to stop this stupid plan with Dream in the first place.

What am I doing?