clocks

19

George

A week passes. I never phone my father. We fall into a familiar routine of him leaving me to sleep late, of him interviewing me over dinner that I make whilst he works. Each evening is spent doing something different. I feel closer to twenty then I do thirty.

It's a Thursday night, and the quiet outside and warmth of the bed gives it all away. Snow is falling all across the city, silence fills the apartment on this particularly dark night in late October, and I just know, I can practically see the flits of it behind the white curtains.

I'm not sure what time it is, I haven't been sleeping well tonight. It's still within the early hours of the morning, if I had to guess. My hands reach out and grab for my sweatshirt on the floor, pushing Dream slightly in my shove.

I'm pulling on my socks when he wakes, grappling for me across the bed, his hands loosely finding my waist. "Get up," I whisper out to him, shaking his hand around me. "It's snowing, get up."

He doesn't answer, just grips onto me even harder and pulls me back down into the bed with only one sock on. I laugh, aloud, letting him pull me, letting him fight his head onto my chest, keeping me down.

"Why do you care if it's snowing?" he mumbles sleepily, one of his legs almost thrown over both of mine. His hair is newly cut but it's still long, I want to ask why he didn't get more off, he's starting to look a little more like he did then.

"The snow is nice," I answer, his head feeling warm on my chest. "Come on, come outside," I ask, trying to fight my way out from under him, laughing as I do. He won't budge.

"It's cold out there," he says, though now he sounds much more awake and much more giddy. "It'll be freezing, you might turn to ice."

"Come on," I grin, finally getting away. He sighs, realizing he won't win the argument if that's what it comes down to. It won't, because he knows there's no use fighting me on it.

He keeps on his pajama pants, and his hoodie and he just pulls on a jacket and shoes whilst I search around for a hat, finding one of his in his wardrobe. The whole time Dream yawns, and tries to appear disgruntled about being woken up, but once or twice I catch him smiling a little as he looks for his keys, as he tugs on his jacket.

"I really don't see why you're so worked up about snow," he says quietly, locking the apartment door with another yawn. "You've seen it before, probably more than I have."

He slips the key into his jacket pocket and we start our way down the stairs, keeping our voices low, keeping in mind that there are still people sleeping, that it is the middle of the night. The dim white lights reflecting across all the walls as we transcend the stairs make me feel like I've been here before.

"You always have to go outside when it snows for the first time in a year," I tell him, partially lying, because I have already seen snow this year, and I would be willing to bet he has too. "That's— like— an unspoken rule."

He rubs his eyes. "Dumb rule," are the words that come mumbling from his mouth. Just to lighten him, I lift his arm that's bumping mine around my shoulders, fitting perfectly into his side, under his arm. The bobble on the top of my hat tickles against his ear.

Outside, the snow is still falling, though now it's not so heavy. There aren't any cars on the road, meaning the entire street is perfectly coated in it. Not a single drop is ruined or smudged, all of it lays still and silent. It soaks up all the noise, and keeps it within, holding it, giving the world what finally feels like peace, even if it's just for a few days a year.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Dream asks, arm still around my shoulders as he makes no move to battle away our closeness. We both pretend it's not happening as we continue and continue to let it happen. I realize we are still stood just outside the apartment complex.