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Dream's fingers carded through Tommy's hair, pushing back at the blonde strands and letting them fall through the softened gaps. His face, hidden behind that blank, staring mask, was a picture-perfect portrait of pure passive neutralness.
There wasn't a twitch in his eyebrows; there wasn't a jerk of his lips; there wasn't even a flicker of emotion in his vacant, glacial eyes. Eyes, that had never once seen the light of day that hadn't been obscured by the glide of a mask. Eyes, that were so impassive they struggled to prove a soul was even behind them at all. Eyes, that held no care whatsoever for the boy leaning carefully between his legs.
From an outsider's point of view, the two might have appeared to be good friends, good brothers, good everything. But they weren't. How could they be, after everything that's happened?
What they were, however, was smart. They both knew far better than to let themselves fall into the lull of a fake serenity or a counterfeit peace. (Or at least, Dream knew better. Tommy was... bordering on the idea of a new, hesitant friendship that had formed between the two men.)
Oh, how Dream couldn't wait to break it to him.
He couldn't wait to see the moment that Tommy would crack. The moment when all of that childish, demeaning hope he'd been so desperately clutching onto would tumble from between his fingers like sand through a curving hourglass.
Sometimes, Dream would fantasise for hours about the devastation that would cross over the teenager's expression – his lips down turning and wobbling hopelessly; his blue, blue eyes watering with rivers of unshed tears; his admirable strength blazing alight until the only thing left was ashes of a forgotten power.
Tommy would be broken, and Dream would be the victor.
"Dream?"
A tired, weak voice flooded through Dream's senses and had the masked man quickly shifting himself away from his darker thoughts.
"Yeah, Tommy?" He hummed, tone inexpressive.
The blond blinked, his fingers curling where they were gripping onto the dark and worn material of Dream's pants. Unlike the other man, expressions came easily to him, more easily than most things, one might say.
His face had morphed into a pure, unadulterated look of an emotional agony – an emotional war. He was drained, considerably so. Completely done with everything that he'd been through for the past few weeks - from the exile to the abandonment, to the lonely party, and now, to the fresh news of Tubbo burning away his compass.
Everything hurt for Tommy. His heart was in a constant state of shrieking, clawing anguish – containing a pain that ran more profound than the mineshafts hidden far down within the coarsened rock and tempting ores.
He didn't know how to explain himself, didn't know how to put an end to his overflowing mind. So, he'd sought out Dream – waited and waited for hours on end at that glistening, shimmering portal of alluring lavender and mystifying blue, nestled within the sweltering nether.
Tommy had cried and wailed: clawed at those unyielding obsidian blocks till his nails were breaking and blood was spilling over his aching fingertips.
Only a few moments later, Dream had stepped through.
"Tommy? Tommy!"
Dream's voice, something reassuring and somewhat soft, had easily penetrated the looming walls of Tommy's distraught mind, washing over his frantic thoughts like a soothing lullaby of enchanting choirs and the most delicate of symphonies.
Tommy's wails had slowly died down (though they were still somewhat audible) even as Dream had begun to carry him away from the groaning, hissing portal.
They'd ended up in a heap along the broken, nether-rack and obsidian mixed bridge.
Dream had settled back, his legs spread just slightly to accommodate the hiccupping weight that Tommy had dissolved into. It wasn't something the older man enjoyed - wasn't something he even remotely sought out a flicker of emotion from, but in the end, he knew that it would be a benefit.
Gaining Tommy's trust and utter loyalty was something that Dream needed to earn bit-by-bit. (And he was getting very close, too.)
"When are you going to let me go?"
Dream could barely suppress a hearty snicker at the innocent-laced question, his chest burning with the desperate need to splutter and laugh. Oh, Tommy, poor, naïve Tommy. How could he have not realised that Dream would never let him go?
"What do you mean?" He inquired anyway, even despite his earlier thoughts. His impassive gaze was fanning out over the fiery expanse of the nether as he spoke. A ghast's keening, bleeding cry could be heard from some miles away.
Nothing to worry about, just yet. Dream mused, though made sure to keep an ear out for it for further notice. (He was sure it would be fine though, it wasn't like ghast's could sneak up on anyone, after all.)
Tommy's own gaze had shifted down to the bubbling, steaming lava that was directly below him. It was almost calling out to him, in a way – the torrid, searing liquid whispering sweet berceuses and enticing songs just to draw the blonde closer, to have him set foot within the pernicious form.
He knew that he shouldn't. Knew that he shouldn't want to let his skin slowly, slowly melt away from his tired bones; knew that he shouldn't want to let the blazing heat lick away at his insides; knew that he shouldn't want to let himself go in such a way. But a part of him felt that he had to.
"I want to go down there." He admitted, crimson fingertips hesitantly pointing out into the sizzling lava lakes.
Dream stared.
"Oh, Tommy," he sighed, fingers tightening in the blonde's hair.
"It's just not your time to die yet."