A Demonic Dance

Chapter One: Nightmares

3rd Person PoV

The demon lay splayed out on a sofa occupying the small living room he slept in. After he'd been summoned well, he hadn't really done anything. This George fella didn't really have any demonic things for him to do, and seeming the human seemed too dim witted to realise he should probably 'un summon' the demon. He'd just stuck around.

The downside if that however, was that he was bored as hell. Humans needed to do so much damn sleeping. He glanced up at the ceiling, the immortal scanning his eyes over the groves in the paint and slight sploges of different colour. He had nothing to do. Nothing.
Nothing!

Nothing!!

Nothing!!!

Nothing!!!!

Nothing!!!!!

Nothing!!!!!!

Nightmare

Dream shot up into a seating position, his brain screaming at him like an alarm that refused to turn off. Screaming and Screaming at him, like a 6th sense, repeating the same word over and over again loud enough to drown out all of his other senses till all his mind could fixate on was of that one feeling, and the person inside the room it radiates from.

NIGHTMARE

And it was coming from George's room.

"Fuck." Dream muttered, placing his head in his hands, sighing heavily. Ignoring a nightmare was a very hard thing to do for a demon of his kind to do. And you may think 'Dream, you dumb arse, ehy don't you just not ignore it?'

You see, if Dream went in there, if he indulged his craving, his presence and hunger would magnitude said nightmares tenfold. Going from what might have been a slightly scary dream to something that would leave you choking on your breath, soaked in sweat and tears, shook to your bone from the creation of your own mind, at least what you think is your mind.

And as much Dream needed that, needed the negative emotions, no matter how much he wished it would consume yhr human, make him writhe and scream from the horrors in his dreams, the demon succumbed to none of that. All though it had only been a few weeks he'd been with the short male, he was growing annoyingly attached, and he wouldn't do that to his friend.

He may be a demon, but he most certainly was not a monster.

Dream didn't bother to try get to sleep after that. He sat unmoving, scared that (seeming even at this distance his presence was making the nightmare worse) a single movement may cause the smaller more discomfort.

He stayed like this for a long, long time, only differentiating in his stance between staring out at the vague shapes surrounding him and closing his eyes to greet the even blacker darkness that lay await for him there.

Even as the feeling subsided, signalled not only by the loss of his hunger but also by the sound of a tired shout and heavy breathing from inside the room.

This routine continued for the next four nights, Dream waking to the sensation of a nightmare, sitting it out and spending the time after that staring into the darkness. In these times he'd realised simply that he was the complete cause of these nights, the cause of George hanging around him so much. His meer presence to his friend was sparking them.