Pigment (Millard Nullings X Reader)

Dreaming of Birds

I didn't normally dream, but when I do, it's the weirdest shit. I could have ten perfectly dreamless weeks in a row, and out of thin air, I'd begin dreaming of Sherlock Holmes threatening me with an orange as he danced around my room in pink tights and a tutu. (Not like I'm speaking from experience though, but if I was, no one should be allowed to judge me, because I didn't want to dream about it, so Heather needs to stop calling me Sherlock now, okay? Okay??) Normally, the dreams have no rhyme or reason, and I typically began to forget them after a while.

But the dream I had that night in Heather's room was different. It wasn't just random things put together, but actually made sense in a creepy sort of way.

I was walking around on a beach, with sand in between my toes. Unlike any beach I'd ever been to, it was abnormally cold, but I still played in the water like a child. My baggy overalls were rolled up to my thighs, and as the sun began to rise, everything was tainted orange. It was like being inside a photograph, in which everything was slightly off-color, no matter what it was.

I was happy in my dream, and I kept kicking at the water. I started to get out, when a bird flying by caught my eye. It seemed to be some sort of hawk, which wasn't completely strange to see at an English beach.

But the weird thing about the bird was the fact that it didn't look orange like the rest of the world. Instead, its feathers were blue and gray, which made me become homesick for cooler colors. I then realized how strange the world looked in hot lighting, especially with the environment feeling so cold.

And that was the other weird thing about my dream. Despite it all being fake, I could physically feel everything. I felt the cold water hitting my ankles and the wet sand that stubbornly stuck to my calves. I could even smell the salty breeze as well.

In my dream, I started to chase the blue bird, as it began flying away from the shore. It took me through houses and swampy marsh land. I kept following it, until I reached a large house with children happily playing inside. One girl played with a small ball of fire, which danced in between her fingers. She seemed sad, but gave an older girl a smile when she walked by.

I felt a whole surge of emotions when I followed the bird into the house. The children really did love the home, but the teen with the fire's sadness kept coming in through waves. A younger kid with a crown on her head pulled at my hand, and muttered gibberish to me. I would have stayed, but I needed to follow the bird.

An old tune was being played from inside the house. The song had something to do with rabbits, I was positive about it, but the words seemed muffled. If I had ever heard the song before, it would have been forever ago.

The hawk flew out through the house's back door, and I had to run to catch up to her. She perched on the arm of a smartly dressed boy, who smiled mysteriously at me. Somehow, I felt like he already knew quite a lot about me.

"Hullo, (Y/N)," the kid said. "We don't have much time before you wake up, but-"

I looked to the bird for answers.

"Miss?" I asked it. "Where am I?"

The bird opened its mouth, and that was when I woke up.

* * *

The next morning, I sat down at the breakfast table with Heather and her parents. The radio cheerfully played The Beatles, and I watched as Heather's father dropped bacon on the floor for the cat to eat. Obviously, he wasn't aware that he was doing it, since he was so invested in his newspaper. Although that's how all dads were, right?

"How did you sleep, dear?" Heather's mother kindly asked me.

"It was fine," I replied. "I had the strangest dream last night, though. Something about birds and beaches."

At this, Heather began coughing at the orange juice she was currently drinking. She spit it back into the cup, and gave me a funny look. Her dad muttered something about manners, then turned the page of his newspaper. 10/10 parenting skills, right there. At least her mother didn't seem to care at all, and just ignored her weird daughter. 

"What did you say?" Heather asked, flabbergasted.

I looked at her curiously, and repeated myself. "I had a dream last night about birds. Why?"

Heather looked down at her food. "Nothing too important."

We finished eating, and I slowly watched as Heather's parents went their separate ways out of the door. They told their daughter about how much they loved her, then quickly left. This made is so the house was ours and only ours, and I immediately turned the television on.

The first thing to come on was a sci-fi show about an older man with crazy white hair and a velvet suit running around alongside a blonde, much younger than himself. I couldn't remember what the show was called, but somehow knew that it involving blue telephone boxes and bad special affects. It seemed almost illegal to live in England and not know what it was. 

"(Y/N)?" Heather called out. "Did your dream involve a peregrine falcon, by chance?"

I paused the show to turn to Heather. I remembered seeing a bird in my dream, but I didn't recognize it as that exact animal.

"Yeah, it was, actually," I answered suspiciously. "I was at a beach, and had a weird instinct to follow the bird around."

"Did you see where the beach was at?" Heather asked, although I had a feeling that she already knew.

"No. I woke up before she-- the bird, I mean-- could tell me."

"Well, I remember it being called Cairnholm. I thought it was just some odd thing, but this morning I pulled up a map of Wales." Heather then grabbed a map from the back pocket of her pants.

"Why do you even have that?" I questioned. My cousin then ignored me, and continued on.

She laid the map out on both of our laps, and pointed at a small town near the coast. To my surprise, it was labeled Cairnholm, just like she had said. And with where the town was placed, it would make sense for us to have seen a cold beach.

"What are you saying, Heather?" I asked curiously.

She folded the map back into a tiny square, and slid it into her pocket. She had a look on her face that I recognized too well. It was a soft grin that just barely showed her teeth, and one of her eyebrows raised up higher than the other. I wasn't even quite sure she was aware that she made That Face, but I currently did. It meant she had some horribly brilliant plan, and was going to give it a dramatic pause before telling me. 

"My parents didn't get me a present this year, but instead gave me permission to ask for anything this month," she finally said after a minute.

I raised my eyebrow. "Including a trip to Wales?"

"With my favorite cousin, of course."

I nodded, smiling. In the background, the television was still playing the strange show, as the older man held up a finger and looked straight into the camera. In his posh British accent, the man said, "Well, isn't that just brilliant?"