1 Work by liqueurs
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A knock at the bedroom door only partially snaps him from his reverie, the glaze in his eyes fading just to where he can feel the slightest bit of panic. He doesn’t stop, though, not even as the handle twitches with a click.
“Dream? I’m home,” the door opens slowly, George peeking around the corner. “Are you—”
—
Or; Dream doesn’t know how to tell George what he wants. George finds out anyway.