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The cold grass poked into his back, wetting his shirt and pricking him.
What did the grass think, he wondered.
Was the grass sad, or angry, or happy?
Probably it just wanted him to get up.
He was too tired to, though, he needed to rest for longer, just had to. “Sorry grass”, he whispered, unknowingly.
Rain started to fall on him, soaking him. He shivered. It was cold out here.
Boots, thumping. Not Dream. They weren’t Dream. He’d ran away. Dream wouldn’t know where he was. Dream couldn’t know where he was.
It was too heavy for Dream, anyway. He always walked like he was sneaking, said the silence made him more terrifying.
That was true, he guessed.
So who was it?
Probably someone who wanted to kill him, but that didn’t narrow anything down much.
Red eyes. Making contact. With his eyes.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
It’s not real.
Can’t be real.
Techno’s in the arctic, not a random meadow.
He’s dreaming.
He’ll wake up any minute now.
Besides, he’d be dead already if it was actually Techno.
Wow, he can hear his own heartbeat. That’s kind of funky. It’s going pretty fast. Probably not good, but oh well.
Then warm, muscular arms were wrapped around him and he just slumped into the hold. This was nice. And real.
Oh. It was Techno, still. So he was probably about to die. Well, the hug was nice anyway. He’d die happy.
And then Techno was rumbling, gently, a soft, comforting sound, and damn Tommy was on the verge of sleep and fuck that was not good but this was nice.
His head drooped of its own accord (traitor) and rested itself on Techno’s shoulder, face buried into the fluff of his cloak.
“Stay?” He said incoherently, muffled through the fur, but Techno understood.
“Always.”
It was a lie, probably, but he was too tired to care.
One, two, three seconds passed, and then he was out like a light