polaroid angel - dreamnotfound

˖⋆࿐໋₊ 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘵𝘸𝘰

the sun shines in through the windows in the living room as i enter, clad only in a white robe. dream is already awake, sitting on the leather couch with a box in his lap. i know that box all too well by now. you could say it's his own secret photo gallery. every night he brings it out again to add new polaroids to the collection. i find it sweet, that he'd wanna save a whole bunch of pictures of me. and i find it hot that he takes them in the first place.

"morning sunshine," he greets me the moment he spots me limping over.
"good morning, baby."
"you sound so cute when you say baby."
"shut up," i mutter to his amusement.

i take a seat next to him, peeking at the polaroids he's holding. it's the ones from a few nights ago, when he hogtied me so hard that faint bruises still decorate my wrists and ankles. my ass hurts just looking at them. but it sure felt good.

"horny this early, huh?" i tease, poking his side.
"no, just.. admiring the art," he chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer.
"let's only do that one once a month, please."
"what? can't handle more pain?"

i roll my eyes, letting my head fall back.

"i'm just kidding," he wheezes upon seeing my reaction, "what would i do without you, george?"
"i don't know, jack off five times a day?"

my eyes focus back on him when he doesn't respond right away. his lips are pressed into a thin line, like i've hurt his feelings but also pushed him to the brink of hysterical laughter.

"am i wrong though?" i smirk.
"i guess not."

he shoots me a goofy grin, tapping his fingers on the box.

"anyway, i'm bored, should i go make you breakfast?"
"uhh, you don't have to," i shrug.
"but i want to," he points out, "come on, wouldn't that be nice? some proper, cooked breakfast for my princess?"
"okay, sure... go ahead then."

he practically bounces up out of the couch as i say that, skipping into the connected kitchen behind me.

"god, how do you have so much energy in the morning?" i groan, stretching, "it's like.. early."
"maybe i'm just excited to make breakfast for my baby."

i smile at that.

it's been weeks since our argument, and things have been going surprisingly well, for the most part. dream did end up getting hired, with that extra help from me.

working alongside him every day is amazing. whenever we're alone and no one's looking, he steals kisses and hugs like we're high school sweethearts. i love it. not one day is boring when he's around. he treats me for dinner at fancy restaurants multiple days a week, and buys me way too many things. i don't mind at all, though i'm not used to being spoiled with dates and gifts like this.

i've been staying at his apartment a lot more too. it just seems inconvenient to travel back and forth when we're craving each other constantly anyway. and here, he's got all his fun stuff. the rope he ties me with, the collars he chokes and shocks me with, the toys he teases me with. just when i think he's run out of shit to test on me, he whips out something new. it's lovely.

but not everything's been perfect, like flowers and sunshine. because of my migration here i've noticed smaller, concerning details. things i wouldn't have noticed as an occasional visitor. for the most part i've brushed them off, thinking they're nothing important. but other things.. i've heavily questioned. silently, of course. i've been overthinking them at night, or in the shower.

like that one event the other day, when i went to use the bathroom and a mirror was laying by the sink. it was one of those detachable makeup mirrors, shaped like a square. i'd never seen it before. and it's unlike dream to leave stuff out on counters, normally he's very tidy. maybe it sounds dumb, but i ended up overthinking that one for several days. bundled on top of the other little odd events, it's created a new kind of anxiety in me.

and the drug test he made me fake. my thoughts keep drifting back to it. did he lie to me? he said he smoked weed with his friends. that's it. nothing more. just a little bit of weed. no big deal. i believed it at first, but now? now i'm not so sure anymore.

maybe i should speak up about it. actually question him for once. he's my boyfriend after all, and we've agreed to be open and upfront about our personal lives. this could be silly, unecessary trash that i'm wasting time on, walking around worrying about without good reason. but it could also be serious problems that need attention.

whatever it is, it has to be brought up at some point. i know that. because something doesn't feel right. something is definitely off, whether it's a bad thing or not.

a sizzling sound from the kitchen brings me back to reality. the smell of eggs and bacon fills my nose. i yawn, getting up from my comfortable spot on the couch. once i've redone the knot on my robe, i approach dream who's supervising the stove as the food gets cooked.

"thank you for being my personal chef, dream," i grin, reaching up to ruffle his fluffy blond hair.
"no problem, it's an honor," he jokes, turning a strip of bacon over in the frying pan.

i crack my knuckles, gazing at him with mounds of adoration.

"so, any plans for today? it's the last day of freedom before another week of work."
"i was thinking we could go check out that fair," dream suggests, "it was set up in like the park off of fifth avenue. i think it'll only be here for a couple days, might be cool to have a look."
"yeah, sure," i nod before going back to secretly admiring him.

he brings out a plate and utensils for me, placing them on the counter next to the stove. we make small talk until the food is nearly finished. my mind is almost too tired to comprehend the jokes he cracks, but that doesn't make them any less funny. dream is such a comedian at times.

in fact, dream is a lot of things. i mean, he's a talented photographer, he can play guitar and bass, he's intelligent, attractive, can cook almost anything, and is funny on top of that. it's almost like he doesn't have any flaws.

but dream is also having another nosebleed.

red comes pouring out like waterfalls.

"shit shit shit..." he gasps, scrambling to get to the sink.

his palm fills with blood on the way there.

"are you okay?" i ask, voice shaky.
"i'm- it's fine."

i hand him a bunch of paper towels to stop the flow with. he pushes them up against his nostrils, craning his head back.

with his free hand he turns the tap on, letting clear water mix with the red at the bottom of the kitchen sink.

the blood washes away down the drain, but my worries still remain.