In Your Dreams: An Enorace Fanfiction

Chapter 4

"Children!" Miss Peregrine stood with her hands places upon her hips and her eyes shooting cold daggers at each and every one of the children. Horace shrunk into his suit and Olive clutched onto Bronwyn's arm. Sometimes not even the hollows could compare to their headmistress's icy glare. "Who thought it was a bright idea to go off without notifying me?" The children stared at the ground, obviously ashamed of themselves, even Enoch, but he was trying to hold back a laugh.

      "We're dearly sorry, Miss. We must've forgotten, we never would have on purpose," Bronwyn spoke up.

      "You also must have forgotten what time it is. It is merely lunch time, and the town is destroyed. I've told you all time and time again; your game is to be played after supper. Now, we have to wait twelve more hours to reset the loop. If you can't follow my rules, then you shouldn't be playing any games at all," she scolded. "Have I made myself clear?" Victor, Millard, Enoch, Horace, Bronwyn, Olive, Hugh, and Fiona all nodded before she smiled and stood tall. "Alright," she started, "let's enjoy some lunch, shall we?"

      Enoch smirked at Horace, and they walked into the brightly lit dining room to take their seats next to each other. He couldn't help but find it entertaining when the children were yelled at. Horace rolled his eyes before brushing off his tux and began to pile food onto his plate.

      The children had dismissed their previous scolding and began to chat happily amongst themselves, discussing meaningless things such as how many police officers were called from the island and how long they would take to arrive. But Horace didn't feel Enoch's eyes on him, admiring the way he did everything properly and elegantly, the way his eyes lit up when Millard complimented his bowtie. He sighed and shifted his eyes back to his plate.

Lunch was as peaceful and delicious as always, until Enoch looked up to see Horace rigid in his seat, his eyes wide and staring at the ceiling in front of him. His breathing was swift and shallow, his hand twitching and clutching his fork. Enoch reached over to shake his arm, but he didn't respond.

      "Is he having another vision?" Claire asked Miss Peregrine with wide eyes. Never had Horace experienced a vision during lunchtime. Enoch could only stare as his headmistress as she ordered Bronwyn to carry him up to his bedroom. He wanted to do anything to help him, to wake him up or even hug him, but he knew that could be dangerous, so he just sat silently in his seat. He looked so vulnerable, laying across Bronwyn's shoulder, his hand outstretched as if he were reaching for something. He looked away and watched everyone's reaction. Olive and Claire were bombarding Miss P with questions while Emma and Millard were predicting what he might have seen. Anxiety ran through Enoch's chest.

"Now, now, children. Who could use a nice walk while we wait for Horace to wake up?" Miss P suggested. The girls hopped out of their seats and the rest smiled in reply, but Enoch had no interest in doing anything productive but to wait until his friend was awake. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised as if telling him he had to.

"I ain't goin', miss," he replied, planted in his seat while everyone else was walking toward the door. She squinted at him, obviously worried about his recent mood and desire to do nothing but stay in his room and raid the village; he hadn't been on a walk in two weeks.

"Enoch," she warned him. He knew that she was a little upset, but he was not going to be persuaded. He wasn't in the mood to take a walk. The children were waiting not-so patiently by the door, muttering curses under their breath where the youngest children couldn't hear.

"You need it, pal," Victor teased him in a best-friend way, but Enoch wasn't in the mood for joking around.

      "Oh, sod off, you arsebadger," He exclaimed in his thick, cockney accent as he stood up and walked off to his room. Miss Peregrine didn't even bother scolding him for his language, so they just headed off outside. Enoch sat down at his desk and sighed, instantly regretting his hateful words towards Victor. He was his only pal other than Horace.

Why was he so angry lately? The slightest joke set him off, and he didn't want anything to do with anyone.... except for Horace, but he was an exception. Would he be awake by now? It had only been a minute or two, but building more clay men didn't seem too appealing at the moment, so why not just check?

He waited until the other wards were out before sneaking upstairs. The house was quiet and peaceful, which wasn't common. Enoch stood before Horace's door, pondering if he should risk waking the older boy up by knocking. But if he was awake, he wouldn't want to just barge in. Whatever, he though and knocked as quietly as he could and waited a few seconds. No response. Horace was laying still in a vast field of rumpled blankets and sheets when he opened the door. A slight snore escaped his open mouth and his hands were laid out beside him as if he were falling. Enoch smirked at the sight of him and felt a bit better knowing he was sleeping peacefully.

      "Wait...." Horace mumbled. Enoch was about to walk out the door, but turned around abruptly when he heard him speak. He must have been sleep talking as he usually does. He stood there, patiently waiting to hear him speak again before Horace turned over on his side and muttered something.

      "Horace?" Enoch whispered. Not a second later, he shot up out of bed, not from the slightest call of his name, but because of his busy  dream. Enoch almost leapt out of his shoes before calming down and addressing the boy. "Alright? Ya almost knocked me off my plates," he uttered. Horace looked up at him with wide eyes.

      "Bronwyn brought me up here?" Enoch nodded and sat next to him on his bed, head leaning against the wall. Horace sighed and shook his head, how many visions was that this week? Five? Could he not go a day without waking up with no an idea of where he was or how he got there?

"What's it about?" The dead-riser asked him while fiddling with a small lump of clay from a pocket in his filthy overalls, stained with now-dried clay and the blood of the unlucky animals from the forest just beyond the hill. Horace grimaced at the thought of getting clay in his bed sheets, but said not a word.

"I can't quite recall. There were falcons, if I'm correct," he explained, his eyes still attached to Enoch's hands. "That's about it." The clay was stretching and folding into a puny soldier that was anything but lovely. Enoch sighed and shoved the figure back into his pocket. He looked over at Horace who seemed to be off in his own world. His eyes held a desolate feeling, and only just now had Enoch noticed the red rim around them. They were bloodshot; he had not been sleeping, of course. He felt a pang in his chest as he realized what miserable nights he must've been having while no one noticed. But Enoch O'Connor wasn't one to pity, and Horace Somnusson wasn't one to be pitied. They sat in silence.

Enoch couldn't help but admire, despite his weary expression, the other boy's appearance. His deep, livid eyes, although quite emotionless at the moment, were the perfect tint against his fair skin. A cluster of freckles lay just above his prominent cheekbone, and a cute button nose to match. His lips were thin but light pink and....kissable. Enoch looked away. He had never kissed anyone before, and had no plan to. Horace probably thought the same thing, anyway. Would he, though? He had never said anything about liking anyone, let alone guys, but then again, neither had Enoch. Lately, it had been clawing away at his chest, he'd been pondering it all week; does Horace like him? How does he tell him? Would he freak out if he was to confessed? He might not freak out or shun him for he just wasn't like that, but they would never have the chance to be close friends again. What if he really did like him back, though? What if the world ended tomorrow and he never got the change to let Horace know what he thinks? Enoch cleared his throat and sat up straight.

      "Hey, Horace?" He glanced up from his staring contest with the floor and looked him in the eyes, making Enoch's chest flutter for a second. Before he could say anything, his throat tightened and, suddenly, speaking wasn't an option in that moment. Wait, what was he thinking? He couldn't tell him!

      "Yes, Enoch?" He asked patiently. Enoch muttered a curse under his breath and shook his head. What an idiot he was. Before Horace could say anything further, Enoch was up and out of the door. Horace sat there, dumbfounded by his previous prophetic dream. Enoch was obviously bothered by something, but what could it possible be?