― the artist on my wall

. crossing paths .

╭⋟────────────────────╮
| chapter 1 | crossing paths |
╰────────────────────⋞╯

It was a normal day for George as he pressed enter on his clackety keyboard. Within a few moments his blog, "ColorblindDream" was updated and published with the explanation of how he saw Dream's newest art piece, titled, "Shallow."

He clicked out of the tab and onto another where the said painting was blown up in full on the screen.

For once, Dream didn't use his usual bright colors, and instead dull grays and blacks. George gnawed his lip between his teeth, subconsciously concerned for the aspiring painter. In the last few months, the artist's work had blown up along with George's blog.

Dream's recent pieces had been awfully sadistic, too.

That being said, George was easily his biggest fan and noticed it quickly. Whether it was the three paintings scattered around his house or Dream's mysterious ego, George was addicted.

Dream had come out of nowhere, and fast. His first piece, "Empty" had gotten him the traction his work deserved. After his paintings sold everywhere, people wanted to see his face, and so in Dream's first ever twitter post, he posted a picture of him securely behind a smiley mask. He captioned it 'hi :)' and that was all.

It was ridiculous, but made everyone laugh. George would be lying if he didn't think it was a joke, but months later, and no one knew what the assumedly blond boy looked like.

George desperately wanted to meet him and go to one of his art shows (although one was yet to occur despite living in the same province), to shake his hand and introduce himself as the nearly-as-famous-blog writer. But it seemed so oddly stalkerish to George, and he never got around to going.

He worked from home writing professional newspapers for a fairly large company. He was known well from there as well and people looked forward to his articles interlaced with drama and humor, but stating facts and spreading no lies. He could be considered famous in that regard, but not many people recognized him thankfully.

His blog was similar, except much more jokingly and personable to the reader.

There was a very small part of George that wanted to know what Dream looked like purely because George was under the impression he would be hot. In fact, probably someone George would be friends with. Subconsciously he would ever consider having a crush on him, but only if he knew what he looked like.

He groaned, and stretched as he dragged himself out of his cramped chair and out the door. Wearing a grey hoodie and black jeans he paced down the foggy streets of the UK, the promise of rain glistening in the hazy sky.

Stepping inside a small coffee shop he was greeted by the cheery barista and the soft scents of pastries and baked goods. He strolled over to the counter and slid a few pounds across the countertop and ordered a normal black coffee.

He took a moment for self reflection as the red-head barista bounced to get his beverage. His phone buzzed with a tweet from the official Dream twitter, stating in a few weeks a Dream art show would occur, and he was very tempted to go to it. He could ask a friend of his, maybe Zak or Darryl, but the poor lads already heard enough about his obsessing over the masked painter.

The black coffee was placed in his hand with care, and the barista wished him a light-hearted "have a good day!" and he swung out of the door,

almost immediately crashing into someone. George yelped a frantic apology as the once steaming hot coffee in his cup was now effectively drenched in someone's shirt.