Chapter Text
The sun beat down on Dream's back as he picked through the patch of forest-like grass around him.
It quietly, gently, warmed his skin, which was already lightly tanned, though it would soon deepen as summer lazily wound on. The warm light softly kissed and embraced him, not quite harsh enough to urge him back to shelter, but not cold enough to require anything but his shirt, shorts, and satchel.
The bag lightly bounced against his toned thigh as he walked, already lightly heavy with the weight of several plump and ripened berries. They grew throughout the vast yard in small bunches, scattered throughout the green sea a trillion times his size. They were slightly rare scavengings, but they were so rich in flavor and sweetness that they were more than worth the afternoon-long hunts.
He sighed as the grass thinned out, the familiar and towering house coming back into view.
The thing was absolutely massive, made out of bricks almost as tall as Dream himself. Vines, softly glistening in the summer light, scaled up the length of the two stories, clinging onto the roof's dark shingles. Several latticed windows gave view into the home inside, a warm glow seemingly always emanating from within.
He picked his way up a small hill and past a portion of the well-loved garden that was kept in the back of the house. There, he was able to climb the vines up onto a windowsill, settling into the cool shade behind a potted plant.
Dream set his bag down, pulling out one of the berries. They looked like strawberries, but were just the right size to fill two of his hands-- and then some. He took a bite from one end and leaned further back into the shade, letting himself enjoy the sweet taste.
He sighed again with quiet satisfaction, letting his eyes finally slip shut. Fresh air washed over him, carrying that inexplicable yet sweet and happy air of a summer afternoon.
The back door creaked open, followed by the quiet slam of the screen door. Dream cracked an eye open, shuffling a little farther behind the plant.
George had come to enjoy the day as well, he supposed.
Of course, George being the man who owned and lived in the great brick house. He had no knowledge of Dream's existence, and the borrower was glad to keep it that way. He had heard enough horror stories from all of the other borrower's that he'd talked to, never mind his family.
He watched as the giant walked out of the house, in a wide-brimmed sunhat and sunglasses. George had brought a book and some sort of drink as well, condensation gathering on the rim. Dream subconsciously licked his lips to wet them, in silent envy, though he didn't dare move from where he sat.
He simply watched as George set his drink down and went to the shed across the yard. Watching the giant do anything, even a task so simple, always made a wave of awe wash over Dream. Awe and almost reverence, to see a being so large in comparison to himself. Awe and fear that twisted down deep in his gut, a generational knowledge of horror. But also, against his will and very nature, an innate curiosity. It was what kept him bound to the windowsill, day after day, just to watch. Just to watch George work, to exist.
The giant soon returned with a gardening shovel, gloves, a watering can, and an old red radio.
He turned the radio on first, hastily turning at one of the knobs when static blared out. But soon the peaceful sound of music filled the garden: a symphony accompanied by the voice of a man.
George filled his can at the hose then got to work at his beloved garden. Dream, now confident that he could go unnoticed, leaned forward ever so slightly to see and hear better.
As the giant slowly worked, careful to be gentle with the plants, the song changed. Dream closed his eyes to listen, the sun warming his small body once more.
He listened to the song build, letting himself be wrapped up in it, surrounded by the music. Woodwind instruments lightly serenaded him under the higher strings and the vague tinkling of bells. A woman sang to the melody, her voice so deep and passionate that it transcended words and language itself. Dream could feel the emotion in every note, feeling as if it were being directed straight into his soul.
The song held and soothed him. He willingly breathed in its warmth, which smoothly filled his lungs before seeping deeper into him. He sunk deep into it, submerging himself in its sea.
George soon quietly joined, his normally rumbling voice now just as light, melodic, and rich. It was light not only in the way that it sounded, but the way that it felt -- glowing gold and soft, yet still so bright. It nearly felt tangible, something Dream could hold and wrap himself up in.
The garden around them added their own pieces-- the chirp of birdsong, the whisper between the grass, and the quiet songs of the flowers.
All too soon, the song slowly ended, and he emerged. Below, George hummed a few final notes before continuing to work.
Dream stretched, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin and the good food. And though he wouldn't first admit it, George was comforting company (granted, it was at a good distance. And George had no idea that he was there.). He watched the man at work, checking on the flowers and vegetables that he was growing before watering them, the soil becoming dark, damp, and rich.
George's large fingers carefully picked a ripe strawberry off the plant, its color a deep red and its shape plump and ripe. He took a bite and hummed at the taste, softly looking down onto his garden through dark lashes.
Dream wondered at what it tasted like as he finished his own berry, licking at his fingers. He always had, but he knew it would be too much of a risk to take one, or even to cut a small piece out. He wouldn't dare bring George looking for him, wouldn't give him even the smallest hint of his existence. It was just for the best. For both of them.
Eventually, George finished. He put his things back, then took his glass and book across the yard to sit under a tree. Dream watched for only a few moments, just to see him settle against the broad trunk, then open his book and begin to read.
He stood and stretched, deciding to head inside while the giant was distracted and so far away. Dream scaled back down the vines, carefully walking against the house to the grate at the side of the house, which would eventually lead back to his home under the floor.
He cast a final glance over his shoulder at the peaceful George, relaxing in the grass. Some odd emotion washed over him, too fleeting for him to pin down exactly. He shook his head and headed inside, picking his way through the dark and damp space into the cool shelter of his home, no bigger than a shoebox.
It was only later, after he lay in bed, George somewhere deeper in the house doing the same, that he realized that feeling had been loneliness.