Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If George looked at one more line of code, he might disintegrate on the spot.

This week of work had been devastating to his eyes, strained and buzzing from reviewing line after line for errors and bugs. He used to have eye drops somewhere, but they’d either run out or disappeared, and if they were in another room he didn’t have the time to get up and find them. Never in his life had George been so laser-focused and efficient, and for so many hours without a break. It was awful. But really, the whole thing was his fault. In his own levity, thrilled at the short and sweet list of items his boss sent at the beginning of last week, he’d missed the second page of tasks and only noticed yesterday morning. 

Or, rather, two days ago. Finally, finally , after almost 48 hours of only getting up for the bathroom and occasional Hot Pocket thrown in his microwave, he was done for the week, at about four in the morning on Friday, two hours before his deadline. 

Now what?

Normally he’d sit at the worn brown sofa in his living room and play a game or find something to watch, but he couldn’t stand to look at anything pixelated. George wandered to his kitchen, a quaint space attached to the room, and sighed with the idle hum of the fridge. There were ingredients, but no food. Sleep for dinner tonight , he decided and traced himself back to his room. Besides the desk, where he knew a shameful amount of dishes and wrappers were stacked tall, his room was clean, and his bed was undone and inviting. If it wasn’t for the rough thud at his window, startling him as he dropped his toothbrush in the sink, he would probably already be sleeping.

George swore to himself, uneasy as he paced back to his living room and stared at the sliding door that led to about two square feet of balcony. He was only on the third floor, but it was nice to feel the sun without having to get out of his pajamas some mornings. Now, he was staring at the curtain, too nervous to cross the room to the door and open it to the darkness outside. There was a little scratching sound against the glass, making George reel back. 

The scratching continued, unfortunately, loud enough that he’d hardly be able to sleep with whatever-it-was rattling on. George hesitated to remove the shade, lest he reveal something spooky enough to take his sleep, but whatever it was had clearly proven it couldn’t get in on its own. With a huff, he put his hand on the curtain edge and reeled it back. 

A cat.

Of course, it was. What else would it be? It was a little brown cat, with a white stripe on its nose.  The cat didn’t have a collar, but if it was a stray, it was a very well-kept one. There were no mats in its fur and besides a little scar on its left ear, it seemed healthy. George knelt down and got a better look at the cat. The moment he did, it stopped scratching the glass door and looked right back at him, right into his eyes. 

“How the fuck did you get up here?” he asked, almost expecting an answer in his exhaustion. 

The cat, whose fur has different patches of caramel and dark brown, turned its head to the side, an oddly-human response to being asked a question. George shook his head. He clearly needed to sleep, but he very well couldn’t leave the poor thing outside in the cold.

“If you scratch me, you’re going right back out,” he muttered, giving the cat a warning glance. He would give the cat some food and water, and in the morning he’d take it to a shelter, or something. Just so he could sleep peacefully. That’s it. 

The cat walked to the side, where the sliding door would open, and waited patiently. George watched the cat closely as he slid open the door, but the cat didn’t run inside as he was expecting. It sat poised as the door opened in front of it, looking up at George expectantly.

“What? Did you change your mind? It’s open, you can come in,” he said to the cat. To the cat. How many hours had he been awake again?

Talking to the cat didn’t seem so silly when the cat walked in after George finished welcoming it inside. It walked right up to George’s and nuzzled its face against his leg, then walked past him, straight to the kitchen. George was looking up “what to feed a stray cat” on his phone while keeping an eye on the cat to make sure it didn’t knock anything over.

Just over an hour later, after the cat was fed and drank well from the bowl George set out, he finally put his head down on his pillow, resolving to take the cat out to a shelter in the morning. Moments before he finally slept and the sun began to rise, he felt a warm weight down at the end of his bed, where the cat had bundled itself into a little circle at George’s feet and slept. 

________________________________________

A week went by and George had not gotten rid of the cat. 

How could he? It was the most polite cat he’d ever met. Cat, who he didn’t give a real name in order to “not grow attached”, never scratched, never pushed glasses off of his desk, never hissed, never left George’s side. Throughout his workweek, Cat would sit in his lab, or on his desk, or on the makeshift cat bed that George had crafted out of pillows and blankets. It seemed to like watching him code, not that he could imagine why that’d be interesting for a cat. When it got late and George lost track of time gaming in his living room, Cat would paw at his leg and try to get him to follow, into bed. His heart warmed at the gesture, and he found himself less lonely, even if Cat couldn’t answer when he asked rhetorical questions or thought out loud. Still, George had a feeling that Cat spoke English somehow- it listened to his instructions with eerie accuracy.

There was only one odd thing- every afternoon, when George was done working for the night, the cat would try to lead him to the front door. Cat would paw at the wood, brush his head against the door. After his work was submitted for the week the following Friday, George decided that Cat was well-behaved enough to take for a walk. 

It didn’t occur to him until they were halfway down the stairs to the street that Cat was totally free to run away, given he didn’t own a leash. It’d completely slipped his mind. Cat didn’t run, though, walking leisurely down the sidewalk, with George beside him, smiling with amusement at the curious creature. Cat led the way, not distracted by the cars and avoiding passers-by. After ten minutes of walking, George made a mental note to be outside more often; the early spring wasn’t as brisk as he thought, the fleece of his hoodie keeping him warm enough to enjoy the afternoon breeze. The foreignness of it made George feel like he’d been a shut-in for longer than usual; he blamed the long, bitterly cold winter it had been, and swore he’d make amends to himself and his poor sun-deficient skin as the spring brought warmth.

Cat was definitely looking for something, with a sense of direction George wasn’t sure cats were supposed to have. It couldn’t be aimless wandering if Cat never went down the same street twice, never made three right turns, and peered down some roads before turning his head, not seeing what they were looking for. Perhaps Cat really did have an owner, and George was being a kind escort to help Cat get home. It felt nicer than dumping the polite cat at a shelter.

As they continued, some hour and a half of walking later, George glanced skeptically at Cat. They were nearing the outer edge of what was familiar territory for George, where a street of houses lined a section of woods. He knew it to be the closest thing to a hiking path nearby, with silver tags on trees and a gravel path between the wood. Some kids used to call these woods haunted, plagued by some masked man, but George knew every forest in every town had similar stories. The very beginnings of spring showed as they walked down the tree-lined street, tiny, perseverant buds of pink and green creating a pleasant mirage of pastels as he peered into the forest. Cat was taking their time on this street; maybe their owner was in one of these houses. George glanced at the houses and thought living near the forest might be nice for a cat to have some freedom in nature without getting far, as long as they knew their way back. But this brought another thought- if Cat could navigate for an hour and find their owner’s house, why and how had they gotten all the way to George’s apartment?

This thought didn’t last long, because when George looked back at the sidewalk Cat had gone, suddenly dashing towards a hole in the gate that bordered the forest.

“Wh- Cat! Wait!” George called, startled at the change in pace. He wasn’t sure why, but he chased right after Cat as they jumped through the chain link fence, calling after, “Wait!”

The hole in the fence was just big enough for George to squeeze through as he scanned for Cat’s brown fur. Cat was yards ahead, darting between bare bushes and budding trees, “Cat! Wait!”

It’d been a while since George needed to run, especially for this long, with the evening approaching and the air getting sharp in his lungs. He wasn’t sure how long he chased after Cat, losing sight of them and finding them a few steps later, getting within a few feet before their speed increased somehow, pushing off trees to help himself up a hill. After a while, his run started to slow, and he noticed by the sound that the gravel path his shoes were initially stamping across had disappeared completely into the dark dirt, and there were no more littered bottles or silver tags on the trees. It had descended into the evening, the first signs of murky yellow showing as the sunset approached. How far into the forest had he chased?

But that didn’t matter now; there was a clearing up ahead, where the trees grew sparse and allowed a round gap in the wood. A soft brown silhouette in the center of the grass. Cat had finally stopped running. George took a moment to catch his breath, his muscles angry from use after their dormancy. As he traced a few steps out of the wood into the clearing, ready to reprimand Cat and really hoping they could understand it, something peeked out of the wood opposite him.

The figure has its back to the soon-setting sun and was captured in an orange glow from behind them that only traced a silhouette. They were yards away, but George could tell they were tall and looming by their slow gait, broad shoulders intimidating, even at such a distance. And at their face- a round mask that covered from the top of his head to just above his chin. It was hard to tell in this backlight, but it looked like light wood, chipped around the edges, with a comically simple, two-dots-and-a-line smiley face shallowly carved in. The spaced-out eyes might have been cute if George wasn’t so fucking terrified. He couldn’t tell where the person was looking with the mask, but all the alarm bells were hitting him at once. How stupid, chasing Cat so far into a forest he knew nothing about, just in time for it to get dark, just in time for whoever it was behind the mask to probably murder him and prove the kid’s ghost stories true. George was still as he looked between himself and the figure, trying to pick between fight or flight. Cat took notice of the figure. And-

And ran towards him?

Cat practically skipped to the masked man, walking around their legs and nuzzling them. The figure knelt down and pet Cat with big, tan hands, covered mostly by black gloves that cut off at his fingers. The man said something down at Cat, too quiet and too far for George to hear. Maybe the chance of George getting murdered was going down, as Cat seemed to trust him well, but the chances weren’t zero yet. George was still frozen across the clearing, startling when the mask turned to face him and his voice filled the clearing.

“Did you bring Patches back? She was gone for a while, ” the masked man said, still petting Cat; Patches. His voice was low, and a bit hoarse, but… disarming. 

“Uh- yes,” George said. In reality, Patches had led him here, but he’d rather be on the masked man’s good side, just to be safe. 

“She’s… your cat?” George said. What to make of Patches finding this stranger in the woods. If she was his owner, why not go to his house? How did she find him here?

“Sort of. It’s more like we’re friends,” the man said, and George could hear fondness in his tone and see it in the way he pet her. If George had the gall, he would ask about the mask, ask what on Earth he was doing in the middle of the forest, but that felt rude, and he still wasn’t completely sure the man wasn’t gonna stab him.

“Do you know your way back?” the man asked. 

Difficult question. George most certainly did not know the way back, and the trail had ended a while ago. And no less, the sun formally began to set, and he would have even less luck in the dark. Yet, this man was a stranger, and the only sureties that George had to go off were that Patches seemed to like him and he hasn’t been stabbed, yet. So, his choices boiled down to; definitely get lost on the way back in the dark, or take the man’s help and only maybe get stabbed. George sighed. Animals are supposed to be great judges of character, right?

“Honestly? I have no idea,” he admitted. 

“We can show you the way out,” the man offered, standing and starting to walk forward. Patches walked ahead of the man, greeting George at his feet much like when they first met. George looked wearily at the masked man,

“You- uh… you aren’t going to stab me, are you?” George asked, cringing at himself. He wouldn’t last ten minutes in a horror film, would he?

The masked man chuckled, honest, and rose his hands with his palms facing out,

“No, no. Wasn’t planning on it,” the man said, the low roll of his voice disarming and kind, “plus, Patches likes you,” it sounded like he was smiling, but there was no way to know for sure.

The masked man approached George to start to lead the way. As he got closer, George could make out more of his features in the sunset’s light. He was wearing an open duffel coat over a dark green sweater, scuffed with dirt in places, the hood pulled up over his head. Behind his pale wood mask and under his hood, wavy light brown hair stuck out in small tufts. His neck was mostly covered by the collar of a turtleneck shirt. George thought he could see stubble on the small sliver of the man’s chin left uncovered by the mask, but at that moment he tilted his head down, and George turned away, wondering if he’d noticed him looking.

As the masked man walked past and started to lead out of the forest, Patches close at his side, George followed a few feet behind. The masked man was tall, maybe half a foot taller than George, and if not for the friendly chat and the warmth with which he greeted Patches, George would still be frozen in fear. Only a few feet into the woods, the man looked at the base of a few trees before finding what he was looking for, an old flashlight, and storing it in his sweater pocket for when the sun finished setting.

“Where did you find her?” the man asked after a few minutes of wordless walking. George immediately preferred this to the eeriness of silently walking with a stranger.

“She just appeared on my balcony, last week. I have no idea how she got up there, but she wouldn’t stop scratching the door until I let her inside,” George said, “does she usually run off like that?”

“Not for that long, and not seeking someone out,” the man said, contemplative, “maybe you’re special.”

George smiled at that, the pleasant feeling of a cat’s approval. He wondered what he’d done for Patches to like him, to choose his balcony and keep him company. But he wasn’t long distracted from the mystery of the masked man. There was so much to know. How did Patches know to find him here? Why was he so deep in the woods? Why the mask? What was his-

“What’s your name?’ George asked. It was the least invasive question he could think of.

The masked man was silent for a few paces, and George grew more nervous for every passing second. 

“You can call me Dream,” he said, voice low.

“Dream?” George tested out, “Is that your real name, or just something I can call you?”

“Is a name not something you should call me?” Dream said. 

George decided to drop it, and not push his luck. Dream . Funny name.

“And yours?” Dream asked

He hesitated, wondering if he should give a nickname, too. But what was the anonymity for? Maybe George was missing something. Maybe it was part of the mask. 

“George,” he answered.

“Interesting,” Dream said to himself, holding up a branch for George to weave through.

“Interesting?” George chuckled, ducking under the branch and Dream’s extended arm, “just about as boring as a name gets.” 

Dream shook his head, his expression unreachable behind the mask, and made no comment.  He let George pass in front of him, and George assumed they were to keep walking straight. Every minute that passed, George thought of a million more questions to ask, curiosities multiplying by the second. His age? The man sounded young, but there was no way to tell without his face. Where he lived, was he from town? What did he spend his time here in the forest doing? Why the mask, if no one else treads so far into the woods? If his name was too personal, what was he allowed to ask? Darkness crept through the forest, the last licks of light appearing as slivers on the tops of the tall trees and at their feet and Patches’ paws. Cold followed, and George stuck his hands in his pockets. Behind him now, Dream reached for the flashlight and it flickered to life.

“A left, after the fallen log,” Dream said from a few feet behind, pointing the flashlight to the log. He kept a little more than a comfortable distance.

George seized the opportunity to start the conversation once more, “You really know your way, even in the dark. Do you spend a lot of time out here, Dream?” he said his name on purpose, hoping it might have some effect.

“I do,” he said. 

Simple. But the end of the phrase bordered another word, just barely unsaid. George wracked his mind as he did when he was looking for the error in a dense wall of code, looking for just the right wording to get Dream to spill a secret. He was so deep in thought that he missed what Dream said from a few feet back,

“And then look out for the- hey, George! ” Dream called, just as George had taken an unknowing step down a decline.

George gasped as he felt air under his right foot instead of the ground, like he had missed the last step on a flight of stairs, only it was the very top step and the lurch of falling hit him within a second. It was the incline he had scaled on his chase for Patches- the one so steep he needed to help himself up with the tree trunks to avoid toppling. He cringed his eyes shut and braced.

But there was no fall- just a tight grip on his left wrist, leaving his body standing at a forty-five-degree angle to the ground. The flashlight fell to the dirt, casting light at their faces. 

“- the hill,” Dream huffed; he had been quite a few paces behind, and it was a miracle he’d caught up in time to stop the fall.

“Right, right, hill,” George sighed in relief. 

The large hand wrapped around his wrist, texture hidden by the gloved part of his palm, was too warm for the chill that had fallen across the forest. Too warm for the visible air that left George’s lips when he exhaled heavily from the shock. The pair froze for a moment, George fixing his footing while watching Dream carefully. He wanted a secret, a peek under the mask. He wanted the error in the code. Dream pulled George up with ease, back onto the horizontal ground.

“Thanks,” George said. He leaned down and picked up the fallen flashlight that Patches was perched beside.

“You’re cold,” Dream said, quieter, despite being closer than he’d been the whole walk.

“S’okay, we’re probably almost back. I think I can see the house lights, down that way,” George said, turning and looking past the hill. When he heard no response, he turned back to Dream, who held his dark gray coat in an outstretched arm. George blinked a few times.

“You’re giving me your coat?”

“No, just felt like stretching my arm out,” Dream said. 

George blinked some more. Sarcasm? And … friendly gesture? He felt like he should be writing these things down, like he was documenting some foreign species for a nature program.

Dream sighed- it wasn’t audible, but there was a subtle drop of his shoulders before he spoke, 

“You’re cold and I don’t mind. My thanks for feeding Patches for a week.”

George thanked him and smiled, curiosity thrumming through his head with even more vigor. He took the coat and decided to simply wrap it around his shoulders. It smelled like pine needles. They took the long way down, far less steep, and wrapped in a quiet that wasn’t all that unpleasant, anymore. The afternoon- wait, had it really only been one afternoon? It felt surreal, like George had followed Patches into some strange dimension and spent the week there. He wasn’t sure he minded- this was the longest he’d talked to someone in person for a while, the longest he’d been outside, the only hike he’d been on since high school.

And as for the man who led him out of the forest, he was unsure what to think. Dream was just a person, surely. With a name, and a face, and an identity. Though odd in circumstance, his voice- the only thing he had to go by, really- was kind and honest. George couldn’t think of a reason for the mask, but if it wasn’t malicious who was he to judge?

Along the rest of the walk, Dream let George and Patches walk in front, giving directions when necessary. It was hardly conversation, but the tension seemed to fizzle out, replaced by a more welcoming quiet.

“Hey, we made it!” George said when the houses came into view. The streetlights were on, and he turned to face Dream and handed him his flashlight. Patches seemed to know George was leaving and walked around him in circles.

“Here, your coat,” George said, reaching for the collar to hand it back to Dream.

Dream shook his head, the mask catching the lamplight, “Keep it. Maybe Patches will bring you back here, sometime,” he said.

George turned his head to the side, furrowing a brow, “Are you sure? What about your walk home?”

“It’s not far,” Dream said, and George thought he heard a smile in his words. George already had one leg through the hole in the fence, then the other, standing on the street side. Dream stayed behind.

“I’ll see you around, George,” Dream said, and Patches looked up at George before turning back into the forest.

“I… I’ll see you around, Dream,” he echoed, confused as Dream followed Patches, headed back the way they came, back into the forest, where the light had left entirely. 

Another secret.

Chapter Text

Two weeks had never gone by so slow.

George had a terribly boring schedule, he was starting to realize. His weekdays were so similar that they were indiscernible, and weekends a blurry compilation of time-wasting games and television. He had the sense to know he didn’t make plans often; such was the reality of awkward years after university, when there weren’t any roommates or classmates to keep as a default set of friends. But he’d been fine for a year like this on his own, and only after a strange cat had appeared on his balcony did it occur to him that he was lonely.

Now, instead of waiting for the end of his work, he was waiting for the cat’s return. He’d even bought a little bag of cat treats the last time he’d left for groceries, hoping Patches would appear again. Somehow. To give him a reason to go back, to have an adventure, to get lost again.

To return a borrowed coat.

Curiosity from their first meeting had only spiraled; much worse, now that he had no new information for two weeks. He’d tried to look him up, but felt like a complete idiot typing “Dream” into his search bar and being greeted by stock images of beds and tips on how to get a good night’s sleep. So instead, he ran over what little conversation they had, over and over again, wondering if he’d learn something new with the lenses of hindsight.

George tried to extrapolate, to find something in the simple words and gestures. He likened it to the editing portion of his job, scanning walls of code for the one character that gave away the error. He’d reasoned that the man couldn’t be too far from his age, with the sound of his voice and the strength that he’d helped him up with. And with the way she approached him, he couldn’t have been lying about being Patches’ owner (or friend, as he’d put it). He knew his way around well and had a deliberately placed flashlight waiting for him, it was no mystery that he spent a lot of time in the woods. But why ? 

If he were a different person, he would’ve already gone back and asked. Hell, he would’ve just asked him outright the first time. But Dream didn’t ask any questions and had no issue spending the better part of an hour helping a perfect stranger get home and lending his coat, so it would be quite a jump to ask where the man lived or how he spent his time.

Still nervous to return to the woods- and feeling oddly uninvited without Patches escorting him- George started to go on walks every few days, in the late afternoon after work, trying to revive the feeling of the forest without stepping too close to its borders. Weather fluctuated with the uncertainties of spring, bitter chill some days and welcoming sun others. On nights the winter weather lingered, George wore the dark gray duffel coat, a size too big for his small frame and bearing the comforting scent of pine.

A cloudy Monday, a bit rainy for a walk in the mid-afternoon, George crossed an item of the list of tasks for the week. He’d typically segment his work when he got his week’s itinerary, organizing tasks so he’d have a similar amount of work each day. This was a new practice, prompted by the two-day nightmare he’d dragged through the last time he met his emails with vacuity.

He stretched as he got up, leaving his room to make himself a sandwich. George kept his headphones on, listening to music that he played in the background of his work. Simple, repetitive tunes for repetitive work. Behind that wall of noise and his humming alongside it, his open fridge buzzed, and rain started to hit his windows and sliding door, just a drizzle under light gray clouds. And behind that noise… 

Patches! There was a familiar scratching at his door, that he managed to pick out despite the clutter of sounds. She had come back, after all, making the same elusive climb unto George’s balcony and pawing at the same spot on the glass. George didn’t stop the grin that lit his face as he set down the headphones and scurried to open the door.

“You came back!” George smiled as Patches stepped inside, and knelt to pet the soft white spot on her head.

“Wait, I got you something-” George said, stepping back into the kitchen and finding the treats he’d bought. And a towel- Patches wasn’t terribly wet, but she might be cold with the wind and the drizzle.

He returned with an outstretched arm, a small fish-shaped treat in hand; Patches took it gratefully. But she dodged George’s attempt to pat her dry with the towel, the pads of her paws tapping against the wood floor as she headed to the door, sat there, and looked back at him.

“Already?” George asked. If he was worried about showing up at the forest uninvited, the worry was quelled. His work was done for the day, and he could just bring lunch along with him. The rain was light, and the jacket had a hood.

“Just a second,” he said to Patches, headed to his room to change out of pajama pants and into sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. He dug his boots out of the closet, better than sneakers for the drizzle and mud that might await him. And a drawstring bag, which he packed with a folded windbreaker, his sandwich, and an extra. He thought he might be forgetting something, but was too eager to follow Patches out the door.

Grabbing the borrowed jacket from the hook near the entrance, and the bag of treats from the counter, George opened the door and let Patches lead the way. They got to the forest faster, this time. Patches seemed to know the way better, or maybe George was walking a bit faster; to avoid the rain, he reasoned. The pair returned to the same hole in the fence, traced the same gravel path until it faded into the dirt, not wet enough to be mud but softened in places by the persistent drizzle. George tried to pay more attention to the way after the path dissipated, trying to remember which fallen trees to turn at and which tiny streams to hop over.

When they neared the clearing, George kept an eye out for Dream’s wooden mask. By the time George stood in the center, Patches darted across the wet grass; returning with a tall silhouette.

“You’re back,” Dream said as he approached, and if George had to guess by the sound of it, he’d say he was smiling.

“If I waited any longer, you might think I stole it,” George said, grinning easily.

 He shed the coat and set his bag down, leaning over to dig around for the windbreaker he’d folded- crumpled, really- to replace it. Before he realized it, Dream was right in front of him, crouching to greet Patches. They met each other’s eyes; well, eyes-to-mask. There was a dark mesh at the little holes in his mask, which George couldn’t make out much past. But he knew their eyes were locked, for that moment. The mesh was dark enough to make the eyes behind the mask blurred, and mar the color; another mystery. Dream turned his head to the side, mask rotating. Oh- George realized that he might have been staring towards his eyes a smidge too long, and stood up from his bag.

“Right, here-” George managed, pushing his hand out and returning the jacket. 

Dream stood as he took back his jacket and put it on, and George felt his eyes on him through the mask. George raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve been wearing it?” Dream mused, surely smiling with the tease in his tone. Something new.

Honestly, George hadn’t thought much of it. Most of the winter had gone without him leaving the house often, so his only sturdy coat was in some storage bin that he never bothered to dig up. when he considered it, maybe it was rude to be using the coat for two weeks before bothering to return it. But when he put on the windbreaker, he found himself preferring Dream’s duffel jacket, a size too big, smelling of pine, and heavy on his shoulders. 

“I could’ve returned it sooner, if Patches came to get me,” George settled on. 

Dream laughed, a good honest chuckle, and George was smiling again.

“Sure, blame the cat,” he said, and then they were both laughing. 

When they winded down, George was reaching back into his bag, “Patches visited as I was making lunch, so-” he took out the two sandwiches wrapped in plastic, and handed one to Dream. Dream hesitated before taking it, and George watched uneasily. Maybe they were still strangers, maybe he should’ve dropped off the coat and been on his way.

“Uh, sorry- too much?” he asked. Dream shook his head.

“No! No, not at all. Really nice of you, actually- I just…”

George put two and two together. The mask. He was such an idiot.

“Oh! Right-” he said. He was thankful he’d never dared to ask about the mask- it was clearly more personal than he’d originally thought.

Dream turned and nodded his head, signaling George to follow, and he did. After they re-entered the wood, he could see where they were headed; some sheets of plywood were sitting at the edge of an overhang, tall enough to stand under and covered well from the drizzle that was starting to get heavier. 

Dream sat on the plywood sheet with his back to the dirt incline that wrapped into the overhand,  and George followed suit next to him. Patches settled into a ball on what looked like a make-shift cat bed nearby, made of leaves and moss. The drizzle was heavier now, and they could call it rain.

“I know it’s odd. The mask. But I don’t think I can take it off, yet.”

George turned to the mask in question, looking away, spotted with loose drops of rain. This is the first time the low, rolling voice sounded small against the rain. George felt guilty for being so curious.

“You don’t need to explain,” he said, “you can share whatever you want to.”

A beat. The rain got heavier. 

“You’re a good person, George,” Dream said. George blinked, with a laugh that came out like a scoff.

“Hardly. I nearly stole your coat,” George said, and they laughed again.

After a pause, the silence happily replaced with the rain, Dream asked what George did, when he wasn’t taking care of cats and getting lost in forests.

“I’m a programmer,” George said, unwrapping his sandwich, “lots of being a shut-in and staring at code. I think I was supposed to get a partner like a month ago, but they never showed, so I’ve been getting extra work.”

“Programmer,” Dream repeated to himself, almost inaudible in the rain.

“Hm?” 

“Do you like it?”

“My job? It’s alright. It’s a little less fun when it’s mandatory, but I like to code. Editing, especially. It makes sense. You always know there’s an answer,” he paused to take a bite of his sandwich, “what about you?”

“Hard to explain,” Dream said. George added that to the list, another mystery that was off-limits. For now.

“Hmm… so, how do you spend your time?” George tried, “you don’t live in the woods, surely,”

“I do, actually.”

“You- wait, you’re serious?”

Dream nodded, “I don’t live here, this little spot is new. There’s a little cabin, further in. It’s quiet.”

“I had no idea there were houses in here,” George said.

“Most people don’t. That’s the idea,” Dream said, sounding a little proud.

George disguised his thinking, eating his lunch. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure wasn’t that. If Dream wasn’t so friendly, the isolated cabin in the woods would put him right back up George’s likely-to-murder-me’ scale. Still, he took notes, as always. They were here rather than under a roof; the cabin went on the list of secrets. 

“Have I ruined your sanctuary?” George asked, only half-joking.

“No, no. It’s… nice. Having someone to talk to. I was a bit of a hermit if I’m being honest.”

George chuckled, “At least you see the sun. Before Patches came over, I’d hardly leave my house if not for groceries.”

“And after Patches?”

“Well, outside wasn’t as bad as I thought. Never saw myself as an ‘afternoon walk’ person, but it’s relaxing,” George said. He spoke easily, like Dream was an old friend.

“With my jacket?” Dream asked. 

George scoffed, still getting used to humor from someone so reserved, and giving Dream a nudge in the arm with his elbow, “Shut up.”

They spoke for a while after, and Patches came to sit between them and collect twice as many pets as usual, Dreams left thumb tracing over the little white spot on the top of her head and Georges right hand tracing over her back. Patches was the opposite of what George thought cats were supposed to be; outdoorsy, affectionate, and not afraid of rain. George reached for his bag and took out a few treats for her.

“Do you have a cat, or did you go out and buy them just for her?” Dream asked. 

George grinned at Patches, who accepted a treat happily, “Just for Patches. She’s a special cat,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.

Dream didn’t say anything, but George liked to think that meant he was smiling. They spoke casually. George learned that Dream’s favorite color was green, he’d never had sushi before, and he’d help animals out of hunter’s traps in the shallower part of the woods.

“You cut them out of traps?” George asked, taking his mental notes frantically. This was very new.

“Yeah, I go out to check for them most mornings with Patches. It’s not like anyone survives off them for food, or anything. They just want a lucky rabbit’s foot, or antlers for their walls. It’s creepy,” Dream said. It might be the most George has ever heard him say all at once.

“I’m sure they’re thankful. The animals.”

Dream shrugged, “That was the point, originally. Now there’s a bonus. It’s really funny, seeing how annoyed people get when their traps are empty,”

George laughed at the thought, and Dream laughed at the memory. Patches enjoyed all of the attention, sat content between them. Dreams hand brushed against George’s, tips of his fingers still warm compared to George’s despite the cold that came with rain. Maybe that was why Patches liked Dream so much; he seemed to run like a furnace. Dream’s hand moved quickly though, retracting back to scratch behind Patches’ ear. George keeps the thought to himself.

“The rain’s getting worse,” Dream said, looking up at the sky. He’s right; the light gray clouds have gotten dark with storm and evening, more foreboding than earlier, “I might have to board up the cabin if it goes on too long.”

“It’s not weatherproof?” George asked. Houses were supposed to be good at that, right?

“I’m not the best engineer,” Dream said.

“You- hold you, you built the house? That’s insane!”

Dream chuckled, “I didn’t build it from scratch! It was like, half-built when I got there, and I just replaced the wood that was rotting and some holes in the ceiling. Shit insulation in there, though.”

George was trying to understand the mortgage situation on building a cabin in the woods, and Dream laughed harder at his dumbfounded expression. George smiled, but still looked utterly lost, and Dream laughed harder still, losing his breath until his laugh was so hard it went silent, and he doubled over. George couldn’t help but laugh too.

“I’ll have to see this cabin of yours sometime,” George said as they winded down, not thinking. He worried he might have ruined it, that Dream might feel invaded by the statement.

“Yeah,” Dream mused, “you probably should.”

It wasn’t a surety, and it wasn’t a promise, but it made George smile. Thunder rumbled in the distance, threatening their peace.

“You should probably get back,” Dream said, with what George thought sounded like disappointment, “I have to brace the house, and it might get hard to leave if the rain gets any heavier.”

George knew this was true, but it was still with a sigh that he looked at Dream as he got up. He had to lean to the side, so his hood-covered head wouldn’t hit the roof of the overhang. Dream extended a hand to George. He stared for a moment at the mask, which seemed a lot more friendly than he’d first thought, and then at the hand offering to help him up. Short nails lined with dirt, palm and knuckles covered by worn, black leather. The hand twisted at the wrist and his fingers fanned out more- George had been looking too long, again. 

He shook his head briefly and took the offered hand. How were the very tips of his fingers still warm, even as evening cold approached? Dream pulled him up with ease, enough force that George stumbled forward when he got up. They stepped out into the rain, the drops hitting heavy at George’s head and the tip of his nose. 

“ That’s what I forgot! An umbrella!” George said, and Dream laughed. 

There was a shuffle behind him; warmth grazed his ear for the briefest second as Dream pulled up the hood of George’s windbreaker for him. The moment passed quickly, and they set out into the wood, headed to the fence. Patches went back to the makeshift cat bed and curled up there.

Maybe it was selfish, but about ten minutes in, George thought he might be able to get back on his own as he recognized the landmarks. He wanted to convince himself he’d surely still get lost, and that Dream needed to be there, and he wouldn’t have said anything if he wasn’t worried about the man’s house.

“Are you sure you can leave the cabin for this long?” George asked, “will it be alright?”

“It’ll hold up for now. Better the cabin have a leak then you get lost in the rain,” Dream said. George was walking behind him, following the hooded figure through stormy woods, and let himself smile.

“Can’t believe I thought you were a serial killer when we first met. You’re a big softie,” George joked when Dream held up a branch for him to cross under. He said ‘first met’ like they’d known each other for years.

“Oh come on, I’m the softie?” Dream said, amused, “you brought me a packed lunch, and bought treats for my cat!”

Damn, he got him there. George opened his mouth, trying to think of a comeback, “You let me borrow your coat for two weeks!” he said.

“Yeah, because you were clearly freezing. Your skin’s like, ice, all the time,” Dream said.

George paused. He could comment on Dream pulling his hood up for him, or helping him out of the woods again, but he was stuck on the thought; Dream noticed, too? 

Thunder rumbled above, growing louder. The sky had dropped into the evening, darker than normal all at once. The mirage of trees didn’t help, and the hope of light from the moon was gone with the black clouds.

“Damn,” Dream said, “I left the flashlight at the cabin. It got darker earlier than I thought.”

This was fine for a few minutes, but the night got impossibly darker, and it wasn’t long before George tripped right over a rock that Dream didn’t think twice about stepping over. He caught himself with his hands, knees surely bruising, but thankfully not hitting his head.

“Shit! Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” Dream said when he heard George fall. His voice was louder to compensate for the rain. George got himself up and wiped his muddy hands on his pants. They could hardly see each other at this point, between the thickening rain and dark sky.

“You okay?” Dream asked.

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright. Haven’t got night vision like you, though,” George said.

Dream reached out for George’s hand and held it in his own. They didn’t interlock fingers, but Dream wrapped his much larger hand around George’s fingers in a loose grasp. 

“So you don’t fall,” he said briefly and continued to walk. George made no protest. Dream’s hand was warmer than his pockets, and he wasn’t sure he could catch himself if he fell a second time.

That was a smart decision; Dream helped George avoid falling a few more times during the rest of their walk, between rocks slicked with rain and mud that sunk in more than George anticipated. It went the same way every time; George would get caught with his foot under a branch or stuck into uneven ground, Dream’s grip would slip onto his forearm to stabilize him, George would laugh to shake off being embarrassed, and they’d be on their way. 

For the life of him, George couldn’t figure out how Dream could see so well in these conditions while he couldn’t even make out the man’s silhouette two feet in front of him. Dream knew the forest, sure, but he couldn’t possibly know by heart where every single rock, stick, and bush was on the forest floor, or exactly where to reach to push low branches out of the way. All of that, and with a mask on, dark mesh over his eyes. 

George made a note. Another error in the code that he’d have to find.

They noticed the street lights easily in the harsh contrast, and George could start to see where he was stepping, make out the outline of Dream’s coat ahead of him. Dream didn’t let go of his hand. George didn’t make an effort to retract his.

“Do you think Patches will be alright?” George asked. The rain was coming down less aggressively, but he still needed to raise his voice to be audible.

“She’s probably still dry as a bone in her bed,” Dream said as they approached the fence, “And you? You’re good to get back, from here?”

“I’m much better with streets than trees,” George said.

They stopped a few feet from the fence, watching the glow around the street lights that the rain created as it fell. Dream slowly let go of George’s hand.

“Uh- so, I’ll be going, then,” George said, “I hope the cabin’s alright.” 

His hand was cold again, already. He ducked through the hole in the fence.

“George?” Dream asked from the other side.

 George looked at him. His mask was damp with rain.

“You...  don’t have to wait up for Patches, next time,” he said. 

George smiled at the statement, but mostly at ‘next time’ .

“I’ll see you around, Dream,” George said.

“I’ll see you around, George.”

Chapter Text

George stared at the chainlink fence and the expansive forest behind it, hesitating to climb through the gap. It wasn’t much warmer than last week, but the sun helped the last chills of winter fizzle out into spring, leaving room for the forest to be filled in with greens budding into pinks. He pushed his weight back and forth between his two feet. Was a week too soon to come back?

Actually, less than a week- it was only Friday, five days from his last visit. It was an odd crossroads that came by whenever Dream was on his mind. When they spoke time went quickly and easily, as if they’d known each other for years rather than days. The feeling bled into the days between; George would try to picture Dream’s face with what little he had to go off or take guesses at his name as he went through his work tasks. It was only a few hours they’d spent, only so much they’re shared. Why was it so easy to fall into a friendship with a yet-faceless stranger?

Again, George chalked it up to his loneliness, maybe naivety. Honestly, it must have been pure luck that a masked stranger in the woods would become a friend, and not ill-intended as he’d first guessed. They were friends, weren’t they? Could you call someone a friend in such a short time? He didn’t even know his name.

The thoughts were procrastination against heading past the fence.

George’s apprehension came from what he thought he should be feeling. He knew this was odd, that he was too trusting, that he really ought to get some work friends or something. He even tried to blame the coding-partner he was supposed to have, who flaked before they started their first project. But that wasn’t how he felt. It surely wasn’t what brought him through the fence for the third time.

By now he had a good idea of the path to the clearing, with the path guiding him about a third of the way. This was his first time traveling the walk completely alone, but he wasn’t half as nervous as before, feeling welcome by the gentle greens that started to shade the woods.

George was impressed with himself for having made it this deep into the woods and still meeting eyes with the familiar parted trees at the clearing. When he approached and saw it empty for the first time, it occurred to him that they hadn’t exactly agreed on a time and place. George smacked a palm to his forehead. He’d planned his day around visiting, and he didn’t even know whether Dream was here. And it wasn’t as if he knew where the cabin was or had a number to call him with. What an odd situation this was.

Too stubborn to walk right back, George walked over to the overhang they’d sat at the week before, in shelter from the rain. He wondered if Dream’s cabin suffered any damage after the storm. He wondered if Patches caught a cold, or if Dream did. The overhang was empty. Even Patches’ little moss bed was abandoned. But it was the only ground to sit on that wasn’t dirt, and it had a view of the clearing through the trees. George resolved to wait for a while, to sit with his back against the overhang and get his hour of nature in, and head back if Dream didn’t make an appearance.

Surprisingly, this wasn’t an issue for long. George stared off into the forest, watching the light shift on the ground as the branches swayed in the breeze, tracing their patterns in his mind, and yelped when he felt a big hand on his shoulder.

“Hah! I got you!” Dream said, and if George could see his face he was sure he’d find a smug smile. It was still brisk enough to justify a coat, but Dream wasn’t wearing his, just a different green sweater, the hood pulled over his head like usual. George tried to frown, but the chuckle from Dream shook through the forest tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“And just when I was thinking you weren’t evil,” George said as Dream caught his breath.

The masked man leaned down and sat with his back to the steep hill, beside George. Afternoon sun cast down at them in designs that shifted with the trees above them. The sound of the half-grown leaves brushing against each other reminded George of crashing tides, strong and comforting.

“Back so soon?” Dream asked.

“Finished this week’s work early,” George lied. This week was an overload, one he’d normally just distribute over his weekend instead of forcing himself through during the week. But he wanted to get it done sooner. He had something to look forward to.

“Do you come by here every day?” George asked. They were both looking towards the deeper side of the woods, opposite where George had come. Dream’s cabin must be in there, somewhere

“Not until recently,” Dream said, and got quiet towards the end. George beamed.

‘You can just admit you’ve been waiting for me. It’s okay, I won’t laugh.”

Dream huffed a lone chuckle, shaking his head and giving George a nudge with his elbow, “Yeah, yeah. I was actually out looking for something I lost the other day.”

George turned to him and eliminated the question that sat on his tongue- the little scratches that once lined the pale wooden mask were gone. The planes of the slightly domed shape were a little different. It was a new one, albeit practically identical.

“Did you lose it on your way back, in the storm?” George said. He wasn’t sure why, but he avoided the word. Mentioning the mask felt forbidden, somehow.

“Yeah, actually. The tie undid itself, the twine probably got too weak to hold. This one’s better though, see-”

Dream took his back from the wall and turned his head away from George. His hands reached up to the lining of his hood and pulled it down. He didn’t intend to, but George gave a quiet gasp and hoped it was disguised by the wind.

“-I braided the strands this time, instead of twisting them. I hope I don’t mess this one up, wood carving’s a pain,” Dream continued casually.

It wasn’t casual for George- a whole part of his code had been cracked open, inputs falling apart into binary as he watched the hood fall, revealing sandy brown hair just barely long enough for the elastic it was pulled into. Wavy with darker, curlier ends. It looked soft. The lip of Dream’s turtlenecked shirt brushed up against the nape of his neck, an inch before his hair started, tapered short under the longer strands in the short ponytail. His ears were lined with a few silver rings and studs on either side, he could see their backings. He hadn’t noticed them before- he feared to stare too long at Dream’s mask, lest he make him uncomfortable. But now, with Dream turned away, George edited his notes rapidly, the sudden influx of information adding line after line after line of code to his log.

Right. The twine.

“It- uh, looks sturdy!” George manages, thankful Dream isn’t facing him. The simple gesture shouldn’t have had this much of an effect on him or sent his brain reeling. But Dream was a puzzle, and he’d just been given a prized corner piece. Dream pulled his hood back up before he leaned against the wall again.

“How’s Patches?” George asked a little too quickly.

“She’s good- found a sunny spot on the way here and she’s probably still lying there.”

“And the cabin?”

“Got really lucky on that. Just a little leak near the entry, but I can fix it up soon,” Dream said thoughtfully.

“I like your hair,” George thought he said in his head. He heard the end of his sentence and winced.

“Oh- I guess you haven’t seen it before now, huh?” Dream said, “thank you.”

George almost let out a sigh of relief. For a moment he was completely sure he’d crossed a line, that Dream’s walls were too high to allow the compliment, but it was clear he wasn’t upset. Word by word George was figuring out what every lilt of his voice meant, not afforded the shortcut of reading his face. The tone of the ‘thank you’ was new; it reminded him of the spring and made him smile.

“It suits you, I think,” George said.

“You think?” Dream chuckled.

“Well,” George said with a shrug, “I haven’t known you all that long. What if it doesn’t suit you at all?”

Dream laughed, and George felt his smile get wider. There was a clear pause, which George hesitated to fill, wondering if the short, sharp breath from Dream meant he had something to say, words stuck on his lips.

“What do you want to know?” Dream asked.

There were thousands of questions George could have asked, many he shot down right away- he wouldn’t ask about the mask, about his name, or things Dream had deliberately kept private. His curiosity tore away at him, wracking his brain for the right questions, ones that wouldn’t cross the terribly gray line between them. He wanted to know so much.

“Why do you stay here? In the woods?” George asked cautiously. That was definitely pushing it, but he couldn’t help himself, “You- uh, don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to,” he followed.

Dream shook his head, “No, it’s okay. It’s just hard to explain,” there was an unfamiliar strain in his voice, “but I’m… sick, I guess. I have been for a while. And usually, I feel worse when I’m around people. A lot worse.”

George didn’t understand, but he nodded. If he could see Dream’s eyes beyond the mesh of the mask, he thought he might find them looking back at him. Dream was fidgeting with his hands, tugging at the ends of the half-fingers on his gloves. George heard it again, the small intake of breath, and let Dream finish his thought.

“But not with you. It's better with you, actually. Does that make any sense?”

It didn’t, honestly. George was still trying to work out whether Dream was really ill, or if it was some kind of metaphor he was missing. But the sentiment was there. George was something good for Dream, whatever that meant in this context. He must have taken too long to respond, because Dream started again.

“It’s like- like I can forget about it. When you’re here. I can forget about everything,” he tried.

George was still confused. and wrote down ‘it’ on his mental list of questions, but he offered a genuine smile, “I’m happy I can help,” he said.

Dream’s hands continued to fidget, “It’s not much of an explanation, I know,” he said, voice fragile.

“Hey, it’s alright,” George said, “really, it’s okay. You don’t need to tell me more than you’re comfortable with.”

There was a long pause between them, and George wished more than anything he could see Dream’s face; only to see his expression, to know whether he was alright. Curiosity was screaming, buzzing and entropic in the confines of George’s head, but he quieted them in the name of sympathy. He still didn’t understand Dream’s kindness, and he really wanted to, but not if it meant unearthing something private. George decided then that he wanted to be kind to Dream more than he wanted to unveil his mysteries.

“Your company is enough for me,” George added.

“I’m not sure how it is,” Dream said, “but I’m glad.”

“What’d you mean?”

Dream chuckled, but the air of fragility didn’t leave his voice, “It’s like you said, you hardly know me. I haven’t even been able to tell you my name, or take off my mask- and you still come back.”

“‘Course I do. You’re my friend,” George said easily. It wasn’t much of a question, anymore.

“A friend you wouldn’t be able to pick out of a crowd?”

“Of course I would,” George said defensively, “you’re like, a whole foot taller than me!”

Taking George by surprise, Dream laughed, balmy and booming. He put a heavy hand on George’s shoulder, trying to steady the growing laughter. The tension dissipated into a chorus of the two of them. Dream laughed so hard it went silent, punctuated only by his shoulders jumping and his body doubling over. It sounded like music. George had a new favorite song.

“That wasn’t even that funny!” George said between fits of giggles, tears in his eyes.

Winding down with sighs laced in chuckles, George ended up closer to Dream than before, leaning more on Dream’s shoulder than the wall behind them. He didn’t turn to Dream; if he did, he might see the curve of his face from the side, amidst the gap between the mask and his skin. Dream trusted him, to some degree, and he’d be a fool to break that trust. But he didn’t move away, keeping his back against his side, leaning comfortably. Pine. George could smell the pine again, from behind him, and feel comforting heat like he’d wrapped himself in the too-big jacket once more.

“Remind me to thank Patches again,” Dream said when his laugh finally ceded. George thought he might know why, but he wanted to hear Dream say it, so he asked anyway.

“What for?”

“For bringing you here.”

Smiles were becoming less and less voluntary, and one crept up on George then to prove it. Dream took a slow breath, one George could feel at his back when his shoulders rose and fell. He listened carefully, staying still. It was impossible not to read into every move Dream made, given so little to work with. Every drawn breath and gesture was factored into a long equation George was still working out the variables of. All of this fell against not wanting to make a fool of himself, or startle the masked man at his back. Dream was awfully charismatic for someone who lost out on the influence of expressions and smiles, and he was strong, independent; yet there was so much more to him than that, more that George wanted to unravel.

“George?”

He startled at his name- it was nice to hear Dream say it.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna pay Patches a visit?”

Excitement tore through him. An adventure. Somewhere new. And of course- an excuse to pet his favorite cat.

“Lead the way,” George said, turning his head to the side in Dream’s direction, but not enough to see the mask, not close enough to catch the curve of his face in the shade.

The support behind him withdrew. Dream got up but held his gloved hand to cradle the back of George’s head, so he wouldn’t fall back. The unexpected gesture brushed by the nape of his neck, and his hands, again, were impossibly warm. George blamed this for the heat rising to his cheeks as he got up and tried to brush the dirt from the wall off of his back.

For the first time, Dream was leading George further into the woods, unknown territory. They faced the horizon, the sun just high enough that George didn’t have to squint, and low enough that it chipped away at the brisk air of early spring. The forest was denser here, and denser still with the leaves and extensions that came with the new season. Of course, this did not affect Dream’s navigation as he tread confidently through the foliage, turning precisely, and checking over his shoulder periodically to make sure George was still there. After the third time Dream turned to him over five minutes of walking, George sported a pout.

“I’m not going to lose you in broad daylight, y’know,” George said, half-joking, half fishing for an interesting response. He followed closer this time than last- if Dream were to stop suddenly, George might’ve bumped into him.

“I know,” Dream said. George could hear the smile in his voice- what for?

“Then why do you keep checking?”

Dream slowed and stopped walking, looking down over another steep decline, like the one near the entrance to the woods George had nearly tumbled down. He turned back to George and extended a hand.

“Your eyes are different in the sun,” Dream said like it was the most obvious answer.

Oh. George stood, his eyes widened, and opened his mouth but found nothing to say. Only now did it hit him how unfair it was- Dream could hide anything he wanted under that mask, but George had no escape from the red tones surely blooming at his cheeks. How could he even see George’s eyes in the dark mesh from his mask?

“You coming?” Dream asked, gloved hand still extended.

George took his hand with a pout. Maybe this was his karma for how he’d been trying to solicit bits of information from Dream every time he spoke- Dream was messing with him now, too. They head down the harsh downhill, and George found himself thankful for the extended hand once again, warm as always in his own. He’d lost his footing once, his shoe skidding down as a rock slipped from under it. Dream caught him before he could fall, one strong arm keeping him from tumbling down.

“Right- thanks. I’ve got to work on that,” George said, embarrassed again.

“I’m fine with helping you along,” Dream said. George heard the smile in his words- that was getting easier to do. What formed in his head was less of a picture, but a feeling, kind and gentle.

They reached the bottom of the decline and the ground leveled out. Their grip on each other’s hands loosened as the excuse of the sleep decline faded, but neither retreated. George knew why he didn’t; Dream’s hands were cozy against his clammy ones, and after a little while Dream would trace tiny circles on the back of George’s hand with the calloused pad of his thumb, maybe without even realizing it. It was comforting, and if Dream didn’t want to let go, he sure didn’t either.

“Look- there,” Dream said, nodding ahead of them, to the right.

How beautiful.

Another few yards ahead was a stream, running peacefully between the trees. It caught the afternoon light well, shimmering the orange glow. It couldn’t have been more than three feet deep, the rushing sound of the water more of a relaxed trickle. On a long, flat stone on the opposite bank, Patches was lying down in a day of sunlight, napping. This must have been a picture from a storybook.

George followed Dream as they crossed the stream, luckily narrow enough to be a doable hop across, and headed to his favorite cat. Patches must have heard them coming, because her head popped up suddenly and stood at the edge of the rock, waiting for her greeting.

She was greeted, of course, with a treat that George plucked from his bag and a loving hand petting her head. Dream stood with his back against a tree a few feet away, watching George smile down at her. Chill air started to dance atop the water’s surface, but George’s hands were still warm from holding Dream’s. His words from earlier echoed, watching as the sun was starting to set and drenched the setting in a campfire-orange glow. Your eyes are different in the sun.

“What color are your eyes?” George asked, still looking down at Patches.

“My eyes,” Dream repeated, voice just loud enough over the sound of the stream. What was this emotion? George thought it might be amusement, maybe wistfulness that weaved into his tone, “green, I think.”

“Thought so,” George beamed.

Dream laughed, and George wondered again what was so funny, but he wasn’t complaining.

“I think Patches likes you better than me,” Dream said, watching as George sat on the rock next to her and she settled immediately into his lap.

Dream twiddled with the frayed ends at the fingers of his gloves and leaned his head back until it hit the tree he stood against. He still wore a high-necked shirt under his sweater. There was a faint shadow of stubble lining his jaw. George looked back down at Patches.

“It’s probably just the treats. Aren’t cats supposed to like warmer people?”

“What, you think I’m warm?”

“Wh-” George opened his mouth to retort, but he really did say that, didn’t he? He ought to roll with it- he’d been caught off-guard enough time today to make a quip back. It was only fair, even if he wouldn’t get to see the look on Dream’s face.

“Yes. You run like a furnace, actually,” George said.

“You’re an idiot,” Dream said after a short pause, and even if George hadn’t memorized what his smile sounded like and added it to his code, it still felt like a compliment.

Their little bubble of quiet formed again, bordered by the rhythmic hum of the stream and bristling of leaves against one another, louder now with the winds that came with the evening. Dream was staring in George’s direction, his mask static against the moving trees, but that could mean he could be looking at the forest behind them, or the stream, or the half-sleeping Patches. Or George. George didn’t have such anonymity in his gaze, so he was content to let Dream live in his peripherals for now. Something made him apprehensive to stare towards the mask- he didn’t want to come up with his own face. It felt intrusive, even if he kept it to himself.

In the corner of his eye, the little blur of a white circle shifted quickly, like a flinch. He should have missed it, lost in thought, but he must have been paying more attention to the figure than he thought. The movement was sharp and unnatural, accompanied by a matching intake of air, almost quiet enough to be hidden by the sound of the forest. George looked up from Patches, who noticed at the same time.

Dream was clutching at the chest of his sweater, shoulders rising and falling harshly. He’d hunched over slightly.

“Dream?” George asked.

Patches leaped from George’s lap to scurry over to Dream, and George stood up with her. His mind ran a mile a minute, stunned still as Dream huffed labored breaths behind his mask.

“Are you okay? What’s-” George’s voice faltered as Dream grunted in pain, clearly trying to stifle the sound. Is this the sickness Dream mentioned? He thought with horror that it might be his heart, but his hand held lower, at the center of his upper abdomen. Dream’s gloved hand knot into his sweater, knuckles going white. George stood two feet away, stunned. What do you do in these situations? What do you do, what do you- right!

“Do I need to call-”

“No,” Dream managed, thought the strain in his voice spoke otherwise, “don’t. it’ll go. It’ll-it’ll pass.”

George wondered if the last bit was for him or Dream. His breaths still came out heavy, his legs looked like they’d buckle at any moment. The mask surely wasn’t helping. This wasn’t something George knew how to react to. He worked in his bedroom and attended a meeting maybe once a month, he didn’t even have to go through obligatory CPR training- hell, the only thing he knew about first aid was which brand of aspirin worked best for his screen-induced migraines. But God, he had to do something-

“Sit down,” George said, startling himself, “here, lean on me-”

George helped him down, with dread settling in as Dream didn’t respond. Dream was consumed with getting air into his lungs, each breath like he’d just resurfaced from a dive. When he finally sat, heels crushing the long blades of grass, George sat with his back against Dream’s. Every other second he would twitch behind him, further stuttering his breathing.

“Take your mask off,” George said, and when he heard no response, continued, “you can hardly breathe in that thing. I won’t look. Take it off.”

A heavy gust of wind punctuated his sentence. George heard the brush of grass at his side and saw the mask lying there by Dream’s hand. He told Dream to breathe. In, then hold, out, then hold, even though his own breath shook. It seemed to be working- the back against George’s own, broad and tall, slowed in its trembling.

“Is- are you still-”

“It’s coming down,” Dream exhaled.

“Good,” George sighed in relief.

On the ground beside him, Patches pawed at the mask, and George watched Dream’s gloved hand raise weakly to greet her. She brushed her face into his hand. The scene took place in the corner of George’s eye; he had fixed his head straight to avoid the temptation of turning around.

“Does that… happen a lot?” George asked. He wasn’t sure what that was, but he hoped it didn’t happen often.

“It hasn’t in a while. I thought it might’ve stopped for good, but…” he trailed off, defeated.

“Can I help?” George asked.

“You have,” Dream said. His voice was coming back, “I didn’t even think about the mask. Thank you.”

Dream’s head tilted back until it hit George’s behind him. He must have taken down the hood to remove his mask- George felt the short ponytail brush up against the nape of his neck. The tall grass shifted again at his side, where Dream seemed to reach for his mask; only to pass it, placing his hand beside George's, not quite touching. There was such fragility in the gesture, a woundedness he could see without needing to look at Dream’s apparently-green eyes. George inched closer, letting their hands touch. After a beat, seeing no retreat from the man against his back, he took the calloused hand in his own. George thought that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who had trusted too much, or too soon.

George noticed the sun was near setting, but didn’t say a word. The stream ran a bit harsher, the gusts of wind more entropic. The pair sat statuesque. Content.

Chapter Text

Spring’s warmth finally came around with its pastels and chirping birds. Air always smelled sweeter this time of year, as if the flowers’ fragrance had been carried up into the wind. The sky was bluer than it’d been since fall. 

Dream had his back against George’s as they sat in the clearing; they’d grown accustomed to the pose. George had visited twice, this being his third visit to the woods since Dream had fallen in pain to some illness George couldn’t determine. He’d looked it up that evening once he got home, but the one incident proved difficult to diagnose. Each visit George felt like their friendship bloomed in tandem with the spring, each flourish adding to the ever-growing binary he’d titled after the masked man at his back. At least, that was how it felt when compared to the days he stayed home.

Work was boring, and no matter how many times George reminded him Dream still seemed interested in his projects and would ask every time. Nothing new this week- he was working on rewriting a portion of a MacOS X program for a game that was originally fitted to Windows. Though he’d sped through it like he usually did to make time to see Dream, it was still an awfully tedious procedure. His trips to the forest fell into a loose routine to compensate for the wearisome work, at least two trips every week. Needless to say, they were a spot of brightness in an incredibly dull schedule. 

“There’s no way you used to be a hype beast,” Dream said with a laugh. 

Back-to-back like this, George couldn’t see any less of his face than he normally did- it was nice, actually, not to be reminded of the mask. After the first time, Dream had started to take the mask off when they faced away from each other, unprompted. He didn’t mention it aloud- he just placed the mask at their side and trusted that George wouldn’t look. And he didn’t.

“I’m telling you, it’s true! You just like, stand on line early and people buy t-shirts off you for double- why are you laughing?”

George felt the laugh before he heard it, the broad shoulders behind him jumping. He smiled to himself, knowing Dream couldn’t see.

“I can not picture you waiting-” he paused between another wheeze, “- waiting in line outside a pop-up store-” he was lost to laughter again, breathing life into the center of the clearing where they sat. Laughter came easy to Dream, and George would be lying if he said it wasn’t contagious.

“Not fair. I dunno enough about you to make fun of you,” George protested, only half-joking.

He learned more about Dream over the last few weeks, of course- he’d been a self-proclaimed problem child in high school, for one. George still couldn’t decide if that surprised him or not. Some of his hobbies, run-ins with hunters in the woods, and old school shenanigans, but nothing of his present. Dream was backward, in that way; most people would mention their job or family upon meeting, and take weeks to speak about their past. It was part of what made figuring out the code so challenging.

“Y’know you could just ask?” Dream said. He turned his head to the side- George felt the short hair from Dream’s ponytail brush against his neck; a gesture George knew to accompany a genuine tone.

“It’s not as fun that way,” George said, his smile audible. The words lingered for a moment, and George wondered what he meant by them.

Was it selfish to feel challenged by his privacy?

“You’re an idiot,” Dream said with a chuckle. George knew the phrase well by now, and he dismissed his worry.

“Yeah, yeah. But actually- I do have something else to ask you.”

“Hm?”

The initial nerves George felt around the masked man were faded by now, but they resurfaced at the thought. Patches purred under his hand where he’d been petting her, as if coaxing him to get on with it, just ask. It would break the boundary, perhaps, or brush past the faded line in the sand between them. But it was worth a shot.

“So, it’ll be raining all the rest of the week,” George started, “pretty badly, I think. But I didn’t want to ditch you for next time, so I was thinking- would you want to come over? To my apartment?” 

George braced for impact. Dream had never been offended by one of George’s questions or given him reason to think so, but the thought of striking a chord made him nervous. He had already let down some of his walls around George, that much was clear as he felt his once-concealed hair brush against the back of his own neck. They’d created normalcy here, no matter how odd their circumstances were- would a change in location shatter it? 

“Really?” Dream said, in that small voice George didn’t hear often. He cleared his throat after, but that didn’t erase what George heard.

“Well- yeah, of course. I’ve been showing up here all the time, ‘s only fair,” George said, “er- how’s Friday?”

“Sounds great, George,” Dream smiled, quickly turning to a laugh as he felt George’s sigh in relief against his back.

________________________________________

When was the last time George was so excited for a Friday night?

It had to have been university- but that sort of excitement didn’t hold a candle to his hurried pace to the clearing, umbrella in hand. The rain coming down from the gray sky wasn’t violent, but it was present and showed no signs of letting up. George’s boots would need to be soaked clean after this, collecting more mud and rocks between the treads with every step.

The trip to the clearing was much shorter now that George had it memorized, turning and clambering under branches without thinking about it anymore. He had to mind himself given the slippery conditions, but he made it to the clearing without a scratch.

Even in the gray haze of the downpour, George could see Dream’s tall silhouette from yards away. 

“Dream!” George called over the rain. He was facing the opposite direction and turned to his name.

Oh.

Oh .

The round white mask George had never seen Dream without was missing. In its place was a black cloth mask like a surgeon might wear, covering his face from under his eyes, hooking around his ears. George tried not to stop in his tracks or leave his mouth ajar, walking closer and burning the image into his brain.

Dream’s eyes weren’t green like he said. They were the leaves of a flower, the moss at a riverbed, the lush of the forest. They were bordered by short lashes that curled at the ends,  and under his eyes was shadowed in a dust of sleepless purple. Under his right eye, George thought he might have seen the tip of a mark, a skinny pink line creeping up his cheek, but Dream pulled his mask up before he could decide. His sandy brown hair fell loosely over his forehead, some stuck to his skin with the rain, bordering straight brows. The rest swept back into an elastic under the hood of his duffel coat. From the top of his nose, almost covered by the mask, was the light brown dust of freckles, some creeping up to his brows. Each of his ears had a few small silver studs and rings. In his mind, Geroge was typing as fast as he could, assigning a one or a zero to every detail. 

“-re walking. Uh… George?” Dream said. He’d been talking. George shook his head and blinked hard.

“Sorry- what’d you say?”

With this mask, Dream couldn’t hide his smile- his face gave it away when his cheeks rose and pushed up, making crescents of his almond-shaped eyes. The mask was pulled taut enough against his face that he could trace the outline of his nose and jaw, but not his lips pulled into a smile.

“I was saying I didn’t want to get you any looks while we’re walking, so I switched out the mask,” Dream said.

“Right- right, yeah,” George felt his face heating up and cast his eyes away, turning back to face the way he came, “uh, ready to go then?”

“Lead the way,” Dream said, smiling loud.

Patches joined them of course, the unspoken third member of their group, inarguably the most important. She walked alongside the pair and deftly avoided the mud by leaping between rocks and gravel when she could. George was proud of himself- a month ago, he was completely lost at this point in the forest, and now he was the one leading Dream out instead. George made a point of pushing branches out of the way and looking back to Dream, mirroring his past behavior, and was rewarded each time with a smile from the man behind him. 

The trip went quickly to the edge of the forest. Every so often Dream would pinch at his nose to pull his mask up higher as it shifted down his face, making sure it didn’t reveal anything past his eyes. George tried to keep his eyes on Deam’s when he looked back, not wanting to make Dream nervous. When George ducked under the hole in the chain-link fence, Dream took his umbrella and held it over him, and they swapped as Dream followed. They didn’t speak much over the rain until they met the sidewalk, where George walked a foot ahead of Dream, who was closer to the road.

“How far out is your place from here?” Dream asked.

“Not long- sorry, I haven’t got a car-”

“No, no, it’s fine. Good, actually.”

“Oh, do you like the rain?” George asked as they crossed the first street, keeping a close eye on Patches. Smart or not, she was still a cat.

“Rain’s alright- just not a fan of cars,” Dream said, almost lost behind the rain.

George wasn’t sure what to make of the comment- maybe he was an all-natural sort of guy, who didn’t like all the pollution. He added the question to his log as the rain came down harsher and the thuds against his umbrella grew louder. Deep puddles formed between the road and the sidewalk, and the streetlights blurred with water. George didn’t ask for more details; to his notice, if Dream was quiet, it was because he had nothing to say.

“It’s a good thing we’re going to be inside,” George said and saw Dream give a shallow nod behind him.

The pair were walking along a major road now, the slick sounds of tires against the asphalt multiplied across several lanes of traffic beside them, competing with the growing roar of the rain. On the other side of the sidewalk, a long field of grass ran parallel, where on nicer days children would chase after soccer balls, and couples would set up picnics. It was empty now, but the thought of the park in the sun was warm. When Patches first took George to the forest, she used side streets, weaving between quiet roads and houses George hadn’t seen before; but this route was quicker, and he was growing nervous as the rain got heavier from the darkening clouds.

Dream was fidgeting with his hands, pulling on the fraying ends of his fingerless gloves as George had seen him do on occasion. George had found the movement charming before, though now Dream’s mind seemed to be elsewhere. Walking ahead, George couldn’t watch his eyes, but he noticed Dream’s head turn to the side often, towards the street. In the very corner of his vision, George saw that he wasn’t tugging at his gloves, but picking at his own nails, running them under each other.

Unsure whether to say anything, George watched Dream’s change in behavior. Was it because they left the forest, where he was comfortable? Was it the rain getting worse? Was there more to his comment about the cars?

George slowed his gait, and Dream took an extra second to notice with his eyes on the road beside them. In the delay, George walked over and situated himself on the other side of Dream, now between Dream and the roar of traffic and Patches walked alongside Dream, furthest from the street. George was thankful he could see his eyes now; he could tell they were focused on him, rather than the street behind him. George switched the umbrella to his other hand to cover both of them again. It was getting harder to hold, with the storm picking up and growing more violent.

“You can’t read my mind, can you?” Dream asked. George chuckled and shook his head.

“If you could though,” Dream said, “would you?”

What a question. George knew his reflexive response, one fueled by curiosity, by the completionist nature fostered by his work; yes, in a heartbeat, I want to transcribe every one of your secrets into code and encrypt them. I want to know everything. I want to know you.

Though curiosity answered first, reality shook up the thought. That wouldn’t be fair, and it wouldn’t be kind. Dream didn’t owe him a retelling of whatever he kept hidden. It would be an insult to the boundaries Dream set up, and neglect of how much he’d already let them down around George. No matter how casual Dream tried to make things, it was clear in his mannerisms that the open speech and less-conservative mask were out of his comfort zone.

“No,” George decided, “You telling me stuff works just fine.”

George looked back at Dream, his back to the rushing intersection, wondering whether he would find a smile. But at the moment he turned his way, Dream’s eyes went wide, and his shoulders jumped. 

“Wh-” George started, soon cut off by a harsh, screeching sound of rubber against the asphalt behind him. Dream yelled something, drowned under the torrents of rain and the skidding behind them.

Before the sounds were all factored into George’s head, Dream reached out with both hands and grabbed George’s shoulders, shoving him behind himself. The world spun in a whirl of the gray sky and the red glow from the traffic light as George stumbled to the ground on the grass bordering the sidewalk, his umbrella rolling away.

And then the crash. The skidding stopped on a dime, silenced by a cracking sound and a slow whiz, like a meter-wide tree was seconds from being timbered. Rain continued to wail. Some pipe exhaled a puff of smoke in a sputtering cough. A hinge whined, and George finally centered himself, sitting up on his knees and scanning around him. Some car made too harsh of a turn for the rain and ended up nose-first into a light post a few yards away, which had no trouble deciding which way to fall as the wind picked up. Thankfully it fell away from them, at a different angle into the grass before them. It landed with a thud and the shattering of the glass that held the bulb.

George whipped his head around and found Dream quickly, thanking whatever powers responsible that he was standing a foot away and unharmed. He traced the black skid marks on the pavement that lead to the crash. Unmistakably, they passed over where George had been standing, or at least within a foot or so of him. If not for Dream, he’d be faring a lot worse than a skinned knee. Black smoke started to bellow from the popped-hood of the small silver car, and a middle-aged man tumbled out of the driver’s side, picking himself up and distancing from the car. All of this in less than sixty seconds. 

Stunned, George felt Patches press her head into his side and sighed in relief that she’d evaded the crash as well. Clever cat. He only thought to get up when Dream turned to him and extended a shaky hand. A trembling hand.

“Are you alright?” George asked. He took Dream’s hand but didn’t pull, lifting himself up mostly.

“I’m-” Dream started, cutting himself off with a grunt. He doubled over, clutching at his chest. He was having one of those attacks again, only the second George had seen.

He thought to help Dream sit down, but the black smoke pouring from the crashed car, not all that far away, was making him nervous. On top of that, George’s umbrella had been picked up by the wind at some point, and the rain made the hood of his sweater grow cold and heavy. A few yards away in the field, George found a tree that might serve as a shelter. 

Without words, George kept Dream’s hand in his own and walked him over to the tree. Though its leaves had barely started to emerge, its branches were better shelter than nothing. Dream reached his hand out and steadied himself against its trunk, putting his back to it and siding down to the ground. This was worse than last time- he was breathing as if trapped under the surface of a violent wave, gasping and heaving. He couldn’t tell if it was the sudden crash, the pain in his chest, or the combination of the two that had sent Dream spiraling. George had no idea what to do. Patches pawed at his feet.

George sat down in front of him and placed a hand on each of Dream’s shoulders. He had to be loud over the rain but tried to speak as softly as possible.

“Dream. Dream, it’s alright- we’re okay! Patches is okay,” George recalled weeks past, the only time he’d seen Dream like this before, and repeated what Dream had said, “it’ll go. It’ll pass, Dream.”

Though his breaths still came fast and shallow, Dream managed to look up at George, and place one of his hands on his shoulder over George’s. For the first time ever, Dream’s hands were cold and clammy against his own. George repeated the phrase, it’ll go, it’ll pass , reciting it like gospel in hopes the words would sink in. The green of Dream’s eyes was swallowed in part by dilated pupils, trembling along with his body. Despite the sting at his knees where they’d met the ground and the growing chill as water seeped through his clothes, George was determined to keep looking back until Dream steadied.

The rain was starting to cede, the torrents relenting to a less aggressive downpour. It wasn’t clear how much time had passed with George holding Dream’s shoulders and ensuring it’d be over soon, hoping to provide stability to the tremors of his body and his mind. The return came gradually, more so a harsh grind than a rolling stop. George thought Dream might be feeling better when his head focused on something past George’s eyes; a police car or an ambulance had arrived at the scene behind him, the blue and red light beaming, but George kept his eyes on Dream.

“Dream? Are you alright?” George asked gently. He watched the man’s eyes blink and refocus on his own, the mossy green restored.

Dream took a deep breath- not without a shake at the end, but a deep breath nonetheless, “Better,” he managed, his voice weightless, “thank you.”

“Thank me? You fully just saved my life, Dream. Thank you! ”

From what George had picked up on, the slight wrinkled at the corner of Dream’s eyes meant he sported a weak smile, his eyes falling to Patches and giving her a scratch on her head. George looked over his shoulder, and sure enough, two police cars and an ambulance had arrived, along with a tow truck.

“D’you think they’d want to talk to us for an accident report or something?” George said. It was a reasonable question, but Dream saw right through his attempt to get Dream talking, to distract him from the remaining trembling in his hands.

“Don’t really wanna stick around to find out,” Dream said with a shrug. George mocked surprise, placing a hand over his chest, corners of his mouth tugging up when he saw the smile in Dream’s eyes at his dramatic gasp

“You’re suggesting we flee a crime scene?” George said.

“Ready when you are,” Dream said, and when George stood up and offered his hand, Dream took it.

The pair were lead back to George’s apartment by Patches. George wondered now if the quiet side-streets she took them on were deliberate attempts to keep away from traffic. Now that they’d started to walk again, he really felt the fabric of his hood soak through with water and wet his hair, and a shiver started to rattle through his body. The rain was inconsistent, picking up with wind and violence for a few minutes before mellowing once again. Dream wasn’t faring much better, his coat only a bit thicker than George’s. After one particularly harsh shiver, George felt Dream’s hand brush against his and took it without thinking. His hands were warm again. How were they warm?

The walk wasn’t long, wordless as neither addressed the other’s shaking hands in their grasp. George knew he shook with the cold, but given the heat from Dreams hand, even though the gloves at his palm, Dream must’ve still been tense from earlier. Not wanting to bring it up again, George traced circles with his thumb on the back of Dream’s hand, like Dream usually did to him. In the corner of his eye, George noticed Dream turn to watch his face on occasion- but when he’d try to look back, he averted his gaze.

A few feet ahead, Patches turned and sat in front of the door to George’s building and waited for them to catch up.

“We’re here,” George said, and pushed open the door. They climbed the stairs to the third floor, and George shuffled through his pockets for his keys, unlocking his door.

Dream looked at George, who nodded towards the door as permission to enter. He’d been meek since the crash, his usually strong voice reduced, but George thought he might appreciate it if he didn’t point that out. He walked in slowly looking around the room as Patches headed straight for her spot on the sofa.

“‘S really nice in here,” Dream said. 

George smiled and scratched the back of his neck, “thanks- but you should see it when I’m on a work bend. Scary sight.”

“Hey- are you alright?” Dream asked. George followed his eyes to his knees, which upon being acknowledged began to sting again. His pants were frayed and muddy enough that George couldn’t tell if they were bleeding or just raw.

“Oh- yeah, yeah I’m fine. Should change out of these pants though- you can sit, I’ll be back.” George said, heading to his room.

Not without hesitation, Dream sat on the couch beside Patches. Though it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one who was nervous, George wanted Dream to feel as comfortable here as he’d felt in the forest. Another shiver went down his back, and he realized Dream hadn’t been spared the rain any more than he had.

When he returned, having taken off his hoodie and changed his pants, he saw Dream with his duffel coat sitting in his lap, hair exposed and a shade darker where it was damp with rain. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he was silent as he stood behind the couch and placed the blanket over Dream’s shoulders. Dream turned to look at him, and the warmth in his eyes brought an involuntary smile to George’s face. He looked away, not used to being able to look him in the eyes.

George walked around the couch and sat down next to Dream, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and flipping between channels. That’s what you do when you’ve got guests over, right? He flicked through, not unaware of Dream’s eyes flitting around from the screen to George’s hands, still with little chilled tremors, and down to his own. 

Dream shrugged one side of the blanket off and extended it to George’s shoulder, wrapping the both of them. It was a different closeness than being back-to-back in the clearing, and George didn’t mind it. Despite only being inside from the storm for a few minutes, Dream still ran hot, and soon George was leaning towards him. When Dream shifted, George thought he might have made him uncomfortable- but soon there was an arm wrapped around him, heavy and comforting. He didn’t realize his shoulders were bunched up until the tension left and his face felt warm. If he turned his head, they’d be terribly close, but George kept his eyes forward and simply lulled his head to the side, resting on Dream’s shoulder. He could've stayed like that for days with no complaints, cozy and sheltered, any memories of his loney last few years washed away with the rain. Thoughts of solving Dream’d code dissolved- if they could share this, there was nothing more George could ask of him.

“Is that where Patches first showed up?” Dream said over the clips of audio from the TV, pointing to the screen door of the balcony with the hand around George.

“It is. Still don’t know how she got up there the first time,” George said, and Patches turned her head to him and tilted it, like she knew he was talking about her.

“She does stuff like that all the time,” Dream said, “once we were crossing a deeper part of that stream- the one I took you to- and I could’ve sworn I saw her fall in the water, but when I turned back she was on the other side.”

George chuckled and Dream shook his head, “it was not funny,” Dream said, but George could hear a laugh threatening to spill from his lips, “I literally dove into the water and dunked my head in and she was just sitting on a rock, fuckin’ dry as a bone.”

Patches flicked her tail into Dreams face. George laughed, his head nestled into Dream’s shoulder as he rolled his eyes.

A buzz sounded from George’s phone, making both of them jump. He normally turned it to silent when he was with Dream, wanting to be present. Though, he did leave his email notifications on in case something important came up, which could only mean-

“Shit,” George said before fully reading the email. The ring only came now, but the email was dated hours ago- maybe the building wifi was down. He only really needed to scan the word “error” to justify rolling his eyes.

“What’s up?” Dream asked.

“Work. I have errors somewhere and I need to find them within…” George’s eyes skimmed the email text, sitting up straight, “the hour ? Is he serious?”

Of course this would happen today. George sighed, looking to Dream apologetically.

“Hey don’t sweat it. Me n’ Patches can be moral support,” Dream offered, voice smooth and kind, and George forgot why he was annoyed for a short moment.

He sighed again, dramatically hoisting himself up and walking back to his room with Dream and Patches following. George walked over to his desk, clicked on his computer, and pulled out the extra chair near the foot of his bed for Dream; normally it was the designated clothes-he-didn’t-want-to-fold chair, but it was cleared now. He thanked himself for cleaning it this morning- he’d gotten up too early and didn’t know what to do with his restlessness. 

George clicked into the text he’d submitted, the wall of inputs filling his screen. Edits were normally something he enjoyed, but the time crunch was a hefty weight on his shoulders- shoulders Dream was looking over, his poor guest shoved aside to make room for work. He didn’t seem to mind, but that didn’t stop George from feeling bad about it. He’d been scanning for a while, not unlike proofreading an essay for a typo, and he thought he heard Dream say something behind him. 

“Hm?” George said as he turned to him, eye-level despite the noticeably shorter chair Dream sat on.

“Oh- nothing. I’ve just never seen you so focused,” Dream said, turning away and looking at the screen, “‘s cute.”

George opened his mouth and closed it, instead watching Dream’s tight stare to the screen, avoiding his eyes. He was quieter when there were walls around, but he felt closer all the same. It would be easy to tease Dream to avoid his own embarrassment- that was what George usually did- but he left it, smiling at the compliment and returning to the screen as his face grew red. If he was going to take that leap, teetering on the already gray line of their friendship, he’d rather do it without a rapidly approaching deadline on his mind.

Maybe it was the storm, which had picked up again and raged at his windows, or the crash earlier, or the fact that he could feel Dream’s side brush up against him every few breaths- but George couldn’t find the issue for the life of him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t lock onto the words like he usually could, his eyes jumping between lines and missing his spot. Patches was sitting on the desk watching the static screen like it was television made for cats. George gave a heavy sigh.

“Uh, George?” Dream said. George turned and raised his eyebrow as an answer, starting to feel hopeless. It must have been a half hour already.

“The fifth line from the top. Could you- uh, here-” Dream reached out for the mouse and keyboard, and George withdrew, confused. 

Dream highlighted a segment- the moment he did, George saw the issue- and typed the correct input himself, not looking down at the keyboard. He scrolled down and did the same to a different error. And again, further down. George blinked, looking between the screen and the reflected white box in the green of Dream’s eyes right in front of him.

“Wh… what? When were you going to tell me you could code- and you’re good? How did-”

Dream started to smile under his mask, still typing. With a quiet chuckle, he said, “don’t worry about it.”

“Wh- Dream! You’ve just been sitting here watching me struggle pretending you’re not some kind of programming wiz-” George tried to sound offended, but he was nearly laughing, completely bemused, “you- oh fuck off! That one was fine-”

He was cut off by Dream laughing, struggling to keep typing as George swatted at his hands. He joined in the laughter, not without that old chatter forming in the back of his head- he knew less about Dream than he thought he did, another code itching to be completed. But it was an easily dismissed thought. The wall’s of George’s room hadn’t heard this much laughter in a while, the warm sound draping over the pelting rain.

Still coming down in fits of giggles, Dream took one last scroll through the terminal and leaned back in his chair, putting his hand behind his head. 

“Really, though. How’d you not think to mention we’ve got the same job?” George said. He jumped to a conclusion that Dream must work in the field, with the skill he had.

“It’s complicated,” Dream said, and George held his tongue from asking, what could be so complicated that you wouldn’t tell me? What else haven’t you told me?

George settled back over the mouse and keyboard, saving the file to put it back in a reply email. Dream chuckled behind him.

“What?” George asked, petulant, still pretending to be annoyed that Dream waited so long to intervene. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he could’ve finished on time without his help.

“You’re sending it back without looking it over. What if I was just fucking with you and you sent back nonsense?” Dream said, amusement  in his eyes with the white glow of the screen.

George shook his head and pressed send , then turning to Dream “First off, the first few ones you did looked right- and second, I trust you.”

He didn’t think much of it before he spoke, but the words hung in the air. If they were still in the forest, the words would have been whipped by the wind, flitting in different directions and caught in between leaves and branches- but here, in the sudden stillness of George’s room, they stood strong and present. George knew they had some level of trust, between their first encounter in the woods and Dream’s recent trade in mask, but saying it aloud was… different. No matter how he felt,  how much could he really trust someone, without knowing their name? George hoped Dream might see the shift in his eyes, and let him drop the subject before he had to think too hard about-

“You trust me?” Dream asked. Of course he asked.

Chapter Text

“You trust me?” Dream asked. Of course he asked.

George hushed his mental ramblings and turned his head to Dream, trying his best to look into his eyes. He ran through the disclaimers in his mind, the justifications he’d come up with when he took his help that first day in the woods, the excuse to visit him the second time, the levity with which he’d visited every time after. 

“Sure I do,” George said, surprised at how easily the words tumbled from his lips. 

Rain pelted against the windows, worse than he’d heard all night. For the first time, thunder rumbled, low and omniscient, as if watching the interaction unfold. Patches startled, her brown tail flinching. The silence between them grew against the angry storm. The events of the day flew past him quickly- Dream’s new mask, the inviting green of his eyes, the crash, the shake in his broad shoulders as George tried to steady him. Their walk back, hand in clammy hand. It wasn’t lost on George how the mask moved with his jaw as Dream opened his mouth once, twice, before finally speaking.

“I… don’t feel like I’ve been fair to you, George.” Dream said. His eyes flitted between George’s eyes and past his face.

There was a pause. It was George’s turn to say something. More than anything, he wished he could resist, to tell Dream he was being silly and not to worry about it. It was the right response, the kind response. But part of him was reeling, desperate to add lines to the code he’d compiled. What was behind the mask? He wouldn’t push, he wouldn’t pry, but if the opportunity to learn more was in front of him...

“What’d you mean?” George asked, a compromise.

 He swiveled his chair to properly face Dream, who was fidgeting with the ends of his gloves again. He hadn’t adjusted his mask in a while- the little red mark under his red eye was peeking out, thin and sharp. George tried to look back at Dream’s eyes instead of studying it.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you more, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but it’s…” Dream trailed off, casting his gaze away. 

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to rush you,” George said. It was a reminder to himself, too. No discovery would be worth hurting their friendship. 

“I’ve been putting it off long enough. I wanted to tell you today, honestly, but after what happened-”

Lighting struck. It was close enough that George’s room flashed white and they both flinched along with Patches. 

Guilt prickled at George again for taking such interest in what Dream kept private. He should be able to respect those boundaries, especially with all of the lines Dream had crossed to let them be closer. Dream was an anomaly, so willing to share and smile and yet so guarded that George couldn’t find the door. And it wouldn’t be right to just break in. 

George’s hands moved on their own, closing over Dream’s as he leaned forward in his chair. They’d done this a few times, each with their respective excuses- to help George avoid tripping in the dark forest, to steady each other as they headed down a steep decline, to keep warm when a storm reeled. But now there was nothing more simple about the gesture, the easy way their fingers slipped together. Dream’s hands were bigger and covered with callous and black leather, but they slowed their writhing with a light squeeze from George, and he squeezed back.

They finally met eyes, both wavering. Once again, they were close, the space between them mere inches. George thought he might be able to count every spec of yellow in his green, green eyes.

“Tonight,” Dream said, just above a whisper, “I’ll tell you everything tonight, I promise.”

George nodded, afraid to sound either pushy or disinterested, afraid to change the space between them. This was still different from the forest, the walls keeping them closer, the rain boxing them in. But George didn’t feel trapped. They hung there for a moment, until Dream became aware of their closeness, eyes flitting up and down over George, before leaning back into his chair. 

George cleared his throat, and couldn’t help the wave of disappointment as he withdrew, “So now that’s done, I’m sure you found everything,” he said, and started to head back to the living room. 

“You have a lot of faith in me,” Dream said as he followed.

“Should I remind you again that I was still nervous you might be a serial killer when you let me borrow your jacket?”

Dream chuckled behind him, muttering what George assumed was another ‘you’re an idiot’. The words had so little bite when he said them that way, dripped in honied fondness.

The pair ended up on the couch again, with Patches and a blanket on their laps. George thought Dream had changed his mind about closeness and wanted space, but was proven wrong when they returned. Not a moment after they sat, he reached his arm around George again, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And there they were again, just as before they were interrupted, with George’s head leaned on Dream’s shoulder and Dream’s arm slung around him. Dream was still like a furnace at George’s side, a warm and welcoming hearth. Patches purred quietly with the little head-scratches from George’s hand. 

Cable had gone out with the storm, so they were stuck with whatever was on DVR. They poked fun at the movie- some over-produced action film- and George quickly remembered why he was so fond of Dream’s laugh. It was a full-body event, and he felt the broad shoulders beside him jump as the sound filled the room and overshadowed the storm. It made him wonder if Dream has always been here, so close and so far, and if there were months or years he could’ve been hearing the chorus of bells he’d come to love.

“That did not need a zoom!” George said with a chuckle. The editing really was dramatic.

“What, you don’t think a tight zoom of his eyes was important to the plot?” Dream joked.

“Hardly.”

George felt a hand at his chin, and suddenly he was facing Dream. The way he was leaning made him need to look up to find his masked face. They were close again. Maybe more than before. Definitely more than before. In the flickering light from the television, George could count the faint freckles across the top of the masked man’s nose, the same dusty brown of his hair. Hair that had, at some point during the film, left its tie at the back of his neck and was laying free, just a few inches down his neck above his shoulders. Dream’s hand was on his chin. Dream hand was on his chin?

“Dream…?” George asked, without fear or distaste. Just curiosity, light and airy.

“I’d say this is pretty important,” Dream said. It took George a few blinks to connect what he’d said, still dazed by their proximity, the low rumble of his voice.

George reached with his hand up towards Dream’s face. He could have pulled down the mask before he was able to stop him, printed the image there into his mind, and burned it into binary. But Dream didn’t think he would, didn’t flinch, and he didn’t lay a finger on the black fabric of the mask. George took a little tuft of hair that had fallen into Dream’s face and tucked it carefully behind his ear. He wasn’t quite sure what this was, why his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest, but he didn’t want to leave. Their noses couldn’t be more than two inches apart.

“I’m sorry…I… ” Dream whispered. His eyes flicked up and down. George raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“Close your eyes,” he said, even quieter.

George didn’t hesitate to do so, weightless, tethered only by the gentle hand at his chin and the barely-there feeling of breath through Dream’s mask.

And soon, a new tether- lips against his own, warm and real. Unmasked. Tentative, featherlight in their press against him. Eyes still closed, George reached a hand up to cup Dream’s face, mapping the skin with his fingers. 

In the few seconds it lasted, and the few seconds after, George wired his eyes shut. He wouldn’t betray this faith in him for the world. His hand was careful on Dream’s face, and even when they pulled away he traced the line of his jaw. 

“You trust me, too,” George said, not bothering to word it as a question. He felt Dream nod in his hand.

The gloved hand at his chin moved to mirror George’s- though now the glove was gone, replaced with calloused palms that easily held the side of his face. They trembled slightly, the tremors tapping against his cheek. George felt engulfed by the large hand, covering the side of his face, cupping his jaw and brushing against his ear. There was no rain, no thunder, no crash. Just a content feeling of floating, bound only to each other. George leaned forward again, fully confident Dream would be there. They kissed once more, twice more, unhurried and feeling each other's smiles. Patches flicked her tail at the both of them, her wordless way of saying ‘ get a room ’ and the pair shared a soft chuckle.

“I do,” Dream answered, “I trust you, George.”

His other hand took George’s, moving it over slightly to the curve of his cheek, the bridge of his nose. George felt the thin lines there, shallow and short grooves scattered across Dream’s skin, with thin ends like he’d seen peeking out of his mask. Whatever they were from, they must have been the reason he wore the mask. George brushed his fingers over them, eyes closed in focus. He’d always wanted to know what Dream looked like, of course he did. But with the stuttered breaths that left the man’s lips, he dismissed the thought. The selfish reason, curiosity- it had dissipated, replaced with the need to read his features and see if he was alright. Dream’s hand over his was still a bit shaky, and so was his voice when he spoke,

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Dream said, and George felt the words in the breaths that hit his face.

“Here?” George asked. Dream shook his head, knowing George would feel it in his palm.

“Not the here here. This is the only place that feels right. I mean I shouldn’t have…” Dream pauses, “fuck, I knew this would be hard but it’s worse than I thought.”

“I’ve got time,” George said. 

In truth, he was still processing the last few minutes, the way Dream’s eyes bore into his, the raw vulnerability of his voice, every last ridge and curve of his lips. George’s eyes were still closed, hanging on to the image he’s constructed with his hands, filling in the gaps in the code left there by the mask. Chapped but soft lips, square jaw spotted with stubble, a few round studs on his ear, the scarring that sowed lines into his skin.

Their hands fell, settling into each other's fingers lying between them. Dream’s hands were bare and tepid, and his fingers laced with George’s tighter than they had before. George traced circles into the side of Dream’s thumb, a wordless display of patience. He heard Dream take a breath,

“It was months ago. I was stressed about something, or spiraling, I don’t remember. So I went for a drive. It’s the only thing that used to calm me down.”

George was confused but didn’t let himself show it. If driving was a comfort then why did the mere sight of the road make him tense up? He waited, giving Dream the space to continue. After all the selfish anticipation he’d created, all the sensationalization he’d festered to hear the story of the man in the woods, George found himself stunned silent, filled more with concern than curiosity. 

“When I’m like that, I drive fast. By the time I’d gotten off the highway I was too in my head to realize, and I was still going god-knows how many over the limit. And before I knew it… ” Dream paused, gathering himself again.

“I crashed. Real bad. Which is why I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be here.”

George was at a loss. He was still missing something, something that connected the dots, but the broken sound of Dream’s voice had his head spinning. He wanted to help. If he could read his eyes, offer him a smile… 

“Can- can you put the mask on? I want to look at you.” George asked. 

He heard Dream take a deep breath, but he didn’t let go of George’s hands to move the mask.

“‘S okay. Go ahead.”

The instinctive gasp didn’t do much to hide George’s surprise, and he heard a soft chuckle in response. George opened his eyes.

Of course, he was beautiful.

George’s eyes darted across his face, trying to take it all in at once. The deep green of his eyes suited his face well, tying the sharp edges of his stubble-lined jaw and the smooth contours of his cheekbones The freckles he’d spotted earlier dusted across his features, darker with the swell of his cheeks and bridge of his nose. Compared to the rest of his face, the sleepless purple under his eyes seemed darker still, fanned over by his bottom lashes. The scarring was there as well, the reddish pink marks spread all over as if splattered paint, but they did nothing to distract from his smile. Shy and wavering, but his smile nonetheless. 

George was beaming, suddenly, unapologetically, ear to ear. He couldn’t help it. Dream’s smile grew nervously, with a slight shift backward and a raised brow.

“Why are you smiling?” Dream asked, incredulous.

 George only smiled wider, devolving into a chuckle. His face was incredibly expressive- working with little to nothing, George had figured out all the cues he could. Now, he could watch the beginning of a smile creep up on Dream’s face before he heard it, the swell of his cheeks when he held back a laugh, the way the long-forgotten television cast shadows against the planes of his face.

“Would you rather me frown?” George teased, and Dream shook his head with a mock scoff.

They hung there for a moment until they started to hear the rain again, creeping up on them. Dream still had more to say. George could tell easily- he’d picked up on Dream’s mannerisms when a mask covered most of his features, so now the signs were overt. When he was nervous, he’d open his mouth a few times before he actually spoke, and flick his eyes away when he did so. George hushed his fondness, quieting the happy buzz that danced across his skin, and nodded, giving Dream his space to speak. He held Dream’s hand a little tighter, noticing his hesitation.

“I… I should be dead, George,” he said. His eyes were cast down again.

George felt his heart sink. Was guilt the weight on Dream’s shoulders? Did he feel responsible for whatever damage the crash caused?

“Dream, you- it was a mistake, I’m sure you-”

“No, no, that- fuck, I don’t know how to…” his expression tensed, his lips pursing before speaking again, “it’s not that I should be dead. I felt it. George, I- I felt myself die, in the crash.”

Thunder punctuated the sentence. Their quiet bubble suddenly ruptured, as if all four walls and the ceiling had burst away at once. George had taken Dream’s words as hyperbole before, but the vehement weight of the words was proof enough. Now unmasked, he could better see the distress that overtook his features, characterized in his quickly-shifting eyes and tendency to tighten his lips before he spoke.

“It was so fast,” he continued, words tumbling and piling up, “everything happened so fast- there was a screech from when I tried to brake, then the crash and all the metal and glass went everywhere-” Dream’s expression twitched for a moment as if the scars were calling at their mention, “it was head-on, the nose of the car was crushed and-” he swallowed then, hands tensing against George’s. 

“I felt it. Fuck , I felt myself die and a second later, I woke up in the woods. I don’t-” he was starting to breathe heavily now, and George placed his hands on Dream’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey- Dream, you’re here now. That’s got to count for something,” George offered. 

His head was spinning as well. He couldn’t say he completely understood, but he didn’t need to understand to help. Dream’s fingers writhed between George’s, and with no gloves, he could feel every tremor, the slight bit of sweat that gave way to his stress.

“I’ve been in this weird state ever since. Everything feels so… liminal. I tried to leave when I woke up but people couldn’t- they could see me, but it was like I wasn’t there. And I only remember bits and pieces of before the crash. I couldn’t eat or- I half thought I was a ghost until you showed up,” Dream said, all at once. 

Patches was brushing her head into Dream’s side, the closest she could get to a hug. 

“I must sound insane,” Dream said as he looked down to pet Patches.

“I don’t completely understand, but I believe you. And I believe that you’re here now, and look pretty alive to me,” George offered. Dream’s expression softened for a moment before sobering again,

“That’s the thing,” Dream started, making an effort to look up at George, “I don’t know how you do. The few times I tried to leave the forest, people sort of… saw through me. I didn’t melt through walls or anything, but they would forget I existed the second I looked away,” he explained.

“So, when you gave me your coat…” George started, trying to put it together.

“I was hoping it might make you remember me. That, and you were clearly freezing,” Dream said, smiling weakly.

“I didn’t have any trouble remembering you,” George said, “er- if I’m honest, I had trouble not thinking about you.”

Dream raised an eyebrow.

“Wh- oh, god, don’t make it weird! I’m trying to be supportive!” George defended, even though they’d quite literally kissed a few minutes ago. But soon Dream was laughing and it was too late to stop him. Not that he wanted him to. If Dream had really been alone all that time, the toll that must have taken on him… 

“I do mean it, though. You’ve always felt real. Mysterious, sure, but real,” George said.

George was beginning to piece together Dream’s words with the events of the last few weeks. The familiarity Dream had with the woods, the way he hardly spoke about himself, the fear of the rushing cars in the busy intersection. He’d been holding in all of this for months, and George felt his heart break that much more for him. He wore a small smile now, but this moment’s laughter couldn’t possibly make up for spending weeks in the woods, confused and alone.

“I still don’t understand all of this,” Dream said, “but you’re the only good thing I’ve had since the crash. I was… alone, for a while.” 

Patches turned her head up sharply at the comment. Dream smiled down at her.

 “Sorry, sorry- alone with Patches. I don’t know why you remembered me, but I’m really glad you did,” Dream paused, looking up at George,

“How do you know?” Dream asked, “how are you so sure I'm here?”

George gave a little squeeze to Dream’s hand in his own, feeling his heart sink at the vulnerability in his voice, before letting go to throw his arms around him. What better way to prove his presence than to embrace it, as much as a bear hug as he could manage with his smaller frame. Dream didn’t take long to hug back, holding tight and resting his chin on the top of George’s head. The sound of rain was gone again- George couldn't tell if the storm had truly stopped, or it had been muted by the soft sigh Dream let out above him, and the small circles being traced into his back. George let one of his hands reach up and cradle the back of Dream’s head, slowly combing through his light brown hair. 

He’d spent these last weeks compiling his code of Dream, trying to program every detail that came to light. Originally the intent was selfish- Dream was a mystery he wanted to solve, a puzzle to complete. The things he learned about Dream were clues, slowly accumulating input until he could create a program. But now, watching and listening as the man’s voice shrunk, his walls completely down, there was a better use for the data.

“You smell like pine needles,” George said into Dream’s chest, ignoring the flush surely forming on his cheeks, “I wore that jacket every day when you gave it to me. I started going on walks because it reminded me of you.”

“George-” Dream started, but George wasn’t done. Dream had given life to his routine after months of monotony. That wasn’t something a ghost could do, and he wouldn’t have Dream believe it for another second

“Your laugh is my favorite sound. You fuck with the ends of your gloves when you’re nervous. You’re so warm, all the time. Your hair curls a bit at the ends,” George took a breath, “you- Dream, you’d better be real, or I’ve been looking forward to seeing a ghost twice a week.”

Dream laughed against him a bit, holding a bit tighter. George couldn’t see his face, but just as he could tell in the woods, he knew Dream was smiling.