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My hands are buried under my pillow and the sun is peeking through the crevices of my blinds, forcefully waking me bright and early. I huff and roll from my stomach to my side, groaning when I feel my hand tingle from numbness. I force it to grab my phone off of my nightstand and open one of my eyes, checking the hour. It shows nine am, and I immediately want to fall back asleep.
My body is begging me for a stretch, so I rub my eyes and shoot my arms up over my head with a yawn. I sit up at the edge of my bed slowly when someone knocks on my door.
"Yeah?" I speak up, a groggy tone creeping up in the back of my throat.
The door to my room opens, and in walks a tall blond—the main reason my life has been all over the place for the past couple of years. Anything he does makes me soft and pliable, and his words and touch mold me in ways I never have been before, never dreamt of feeling, even.
He appraises me with his stare, and I suddenly become very aware of how little clothes I have on my body right now.
The Florida heat can become extreme for people who live here on a day-to-day basis, so for someone who's used to the dull and grimy demeanor of the British weather, it's safe to say some nights are easier to sleep through if the only thing kept on is underwear.
I look at him and wonder if he's about to ask me to go out with him like he cutely has been doing for a bit now. I would never dare to consider those as dates out loud, but Dream has been so amazing at making my heart do laps and knees change to cotton with his constant offers that it's hard for me not to think about them as something more.
It felt like I just barely stepped foot into the sunny state of Florida, and I already had more plans than I ever would manage to make for myself in a year. The blond hurried to tell me how bad he's waited for me to come here, partly because it would make him able to go out of his house with much less anxiety (I like to think that's because he can feel safer with me, even though it's undoubtedly due to the said and done face reveal). And by now, I've learned that Dream is not one to throw his words to the wind.
"Sorry, uhh.." Dream keeps his eyes on my face and clears his throat. "I wanted to check if you're awake and possibly go out to get breakfast together?" He drawls out his sentence with a ghost of a smile behind his words—my predictions were right. With my mind still half-asleep, I only smile and nod at first.
"Yeah, we can go. I'll be out in a minute," I respond. Dream's face lights up with warmth, and he nods back to me, walking out and closing the door behind him.
The sun rays bounce off of my light-colored walls and hurt my eyes lightly. I rub my face vigorously and run my fingers through my slightly tangled hair. I brush it to the side like I always do, taking stray charcoal brown pieces from over my eyes back to their desired place. Scratching my chest, I stand up and walk over to my closet, hurrying a bit to pick out an outfit. Sticking to my usual style, I throw on a black graphic t-shirt and black jeans, not forgetting the accent of a chain hanging loosely from my neck—one I got as a late 'welcome home' gift from Dream.
I remember how he stumbled over his words while explaining the thought process behind it. "Wouldn't it look so cool if we matched?" Dream said to me, and with a smiley face, I nodded along. He was so desperate to try and make it sound as casual as possible, yet my cheeks still warmed up at the gesture and my heart fluttered with awe. He stood behind me, softly placing the chain over my chest, taking his time to clasp it closed and let it fall onto my shirt. He loosened a bit of the tension between us by messing up my hair with a ruffle right after.
The whole day I still kept tense, walking on eggshells around the boy who had just casually, but thoughtfully, presented me a necklace, without really knowing how much that would undo me. Unless Dream knows everything—I let myself forget that thought quickly, but even as ridiculous it sounds, it still manages to surface from time to time, wrapping its arms around my brain and hugging it uncomfortably tight, knocking me down only to tug me back up and repeat it in an endless cycle. I quietly wonder when my mind will stop torturing itself.
I remember how I brushed my fingers over the cold metal that got draped over my chest so gently that day, and without much thought, I snap my hand to play with the chain hanging off of my neck now.
I take in a deeper breath and let my hand fall back down. Until this day, I wonder what the genuine reason behind giving me this present was for the blond, but right now's not quite the time to scratch and dig for stupid explanations.
Right now, Dream invited me along for breakfast, but the blooming flower field and butterflies fluttering around my stomach might as well get me to not fit any food inside at all.
–
Dream scrambles to get seated in the driver's seat of his sleek car after he held the passenger door open for me like a gentleman.
"Is the drive long?" I ask.
"If you're trying to figure out if you have time to take a nap, no, you don't," he responds, and I scoff jokingly before we both start chuckling; sometimes it's scary how he knows me so thoroughly, basically turning me inside-out with everything he notices.
We play music and share a few sentences, accompanied by cautious glances. With my eyes, I trace his stubble and the way his nose and jaw curve whenever I get the chance. His gaze remains on the road most of the time, of course, but whenever traffic or a red light stops us, I catch him peering over to my side. I can't help but feel my ears and face grow warmer as he does so.
If he were more focused on me, I'm sure he'd point out how unfair it is that whenever I stare at him he doesn't budge and lets me take him apart with my stare, yet when he does it, I turn into a mushy mess. I would then blurt out an embarrassed response, and he'd laugh at the incoherence of my words, turning the situation into nothing more than friendly banter. It would agitate me enough to wash away the sleep from my eyes later that day, leaving me to squirm and shuffle under my sheets because of the disturbance he's caused to my mind yet again.
But now I keep giggling at his jokes and humming along to the songs we love. Dream keeps driving, and at one point his hand shifts closer to mine. His moves are swift enough for me to realize what's happening only after he's already done it. His touch is delicate when my palm gets wrapped around the shift gear of his car, making me feel like I'm living out a moment taken straight out of a sappy love story. Dream keeps his larger hand right over mine, covering it almost entirely. I observe the way they look and feel my skin tingle when he changes the gears, squeezing my hand tighter against his.
He's a flirt, and I hate him for it.
I don't notice him acting like this with others. On one hand, I'm happy. We seem to be close in a way that we don't share with anyone else, allowing me to feel a soothing kind of uniqueness. But on the other hand, I simmer and rage inside because he keeps tugging on my strings—opens my heart, and desolates it through and throughout without seemingly caring about how it might make me feel.
Either Dream is stupidly clueless or he's deliberately messing with me, with whatever intent he could have behind his actions.
He searches for my eyes in rooms full of people and bores holes into the back of my head with his gaze, then doesn't acknowledge the weight of our shared glances, acting like they're nothing but meaningless, passing looks. His hands reach and fumble around eagerly to find a sliver of me that he can touch when we're close enough.
Because I want him to want me, I let it happen. But then again, it hurts when he takes whatever without giving back, as if he possesses me without needing to reciprocate. I'd gift myself whole for Dream to keep in his hold, only if he asked, even though I'm always left to wonder if maybe I'm just putting my efforts into the wrong person.
I've fallen for the pretty blond mercilessly, there's no denying it.
He's not even nearly mine, but I'm afraid of losing him as if he were the most precious thing in my life, which, in all honesty, is how I treat him. And neither am I his, but I can't seem to let anyone else in besides Dream either way.
He may not know it, but he's always been the cause of the fog that pools in my mind and blurs over my vision. He's the one that makes the air around us dense and stifling, like the air before a raging thunderstorm—a thunderstorm that pours down on everything it passes over, ruining forests, cities, buildings, lives.
My hair frizzed up as a sign that the thunder would hit right where I stood, but I noticed that sign way too late in my life, and before I knew it, the damage was done, and I was left to deal with it on my own. The walls around me shook and crumbled, electricity coursed through my body and shot my heart into a beat I wasn't familiar with back then. Ever since that moment, it beats for Dream only, because of the thunder that I figured was him in the end.
We park, and he frees my clammy hand from under his. I wipe it softly on my lap and step out of the car, waiting patiently for Dream to lock the doors and join me on my side.
We walk slowly to the pleasant-looking café with our shoulders velcroed to each other. Although we leave it without notice, I find it comforting. He holds open the glass door for me, and I scrunch my nose, chuckling slightly. He shoots me a look like I shouldn't expect less of him. In my head, I agree, but his gestures are still stupidly jabbing at my tender heart.
The café is relatively empty for the time we have arrived, so we have plenty of tables to choose from. We find a table for two that is slightly more secluded from the view of the staff, which we both silently agree is the best option.
The lady greeting us is calm and genial. We both get our menus and flip through them in comfortable silence.
"What are you getting?" he asks me, breaking the silence.
"Just chocolate pancakes, I think," I respond without looking up from the menu. He hums in acknowledgement.
I'm still reading through my options just in case, but I feel watched as I do it, so I move my head up curiously.
There it is.
Dream is smiling softly, looking right at me. The thought of him admiring me in a moment so quiet and intimate, like getting breakfast together in a café, is electrifying, making my stomach plunge deeper into love for him. His eyes glow with a shade of yellow, but I imagine how much better they must look in his favorite color. I furrow my brows as he continues to stare, yet I can't help but smile back at him.
"What?" I chuckle.
"Nothing," he states, and I reach over to send a flick to his forehead, which he flinches from a little and scoffs playfully after. "What's that for?"
"You're being an idiot."
"You like when-"
"Are you two ready to order?" We snap our heads to the side when the waitress interrupts, and I'm honestly glad she does. We tell her what we want, and she takes the menus before scurrying away to the back. I sigh with quiet disappointment as I watch Dream reach for his phone, and do the same shortly after.
The food comes quickly and we thank the cheerful waitress. I'm about to put my phone away and pick up the cutlery, but Dream's camera points at me without any hint of shame.
"Dream-"
"Say cheeese," he speaks, and I laugh softly before sitting up straight, taking the plate in my hands, and smiling at his camera like he asked. "Now, instead of Wilbur, you're gonna do it with me."
"Do what with you?" I ask, and he turns the screen of his phone towards me. It shows the snap he took, tagging me as a caption.
"Take a picture of me, too." I shake my head at the smiley boy in front of me and take my phone, while he posts the photo he took. I turn on the dog filter and point my camera at the blonde. Dream changes from a full grin to a composed smile, allowing me to do what he asked me to do; I snap two photos either way. The first one where Dream's smiling widely, trying to calm himself down, stays for me only as I quickly save it to my camera roll, while the second one I take displays the words 'cute date' and his at over his slightly less enthusiastic mimicry. I post mine just like he did and put the phone down quietly.
We talk through eating breakfast and giggle like children at each other's jokes—moments like these make it hard to believe that soulmates don't exist. No matter how much I want to deny it, it's as if I can feel a real-life string connecting our hearts together; tied with pretty bows and colorful ribbons, they tighten a little when we get closer, tugging us both towards each other even further. The yearning only deepens and all I can do is hope that Dream can feel it too.
Our feet kick and tangle together under the table but on the surface, we act like nothing is happening. I accept it unarguably, but I can't believe this man is playing footsies with me in a non-joking manner.
I'm both enjoying myself and the sweet taste of the pancakes I ordered. There's fruit on the side and I feel the sudden urge to share it with the blond. I put one of the strawberries on my fork and dip it into the swirl of whipped cream that's sitting on my plate before I extend my left hand toward his face. I gently kick his foot with mine to, hopefully, catch his attention—it works. His green eyes look up towards me and then down at the red fruit. The corners of his lips twitch upwards and my stomach flips as I watch it happen. I imagine him taking the fork in his hand to get what I'm offering him, but instead, he clasps his hand over mine and pulls it a bit closer. At this point, I freeze and let him guide me where he needs it. Holding eye contact, as if how he's acted up until now wasn't enough, he closes the distance between his lips and the food, brushing it against his mouth. I watch him do it so intensely that I catch myself parting my lips too, mimicking his movements subtly. He takes the sweet fruit off of the fork and lets go of my hand. I can finally feel my chest rise back up again after holding my breath. The left side of his upper lip is swiped with a tiny bit of whipped cream. I point at it softly before I can force my mind to create words.
"You're- you have uh, your mouth, it has cream on it-" I force out, embarrassed about how unable I am to speak.
"Does it?" He asks. "Can you get it?"
I don't think, instead, I reach my right hand over to him and graze my thumb against his lip quickly, tracing my moves with my stare as if I can't believe that I'm actually doing this. He kisses what I wiped off of my finger and my breath hitches. What the fuck is happening?
My finger lingers over his lips for a brief moment before I gulp and force my hand away from the blond. I'm unable to talk, to look at him, to control the flush on my face, ears—hell, my whole body is burning up severely. I can't help but notice Dream's cheeks tint with rose, too.
We grow quiet, but not uncomfortable, and finish our food quickly. I don't know about the other boy, but personally, I'm barely able to contain myself at this point. My body is stiff, the air is dense with sweetness, my mind doesn't form any coherent thoughts and my throat is drier than ever. I'm sweating and my foot is tapping quietly against the floor, but I know it's a good type of stress—it's the type that will bring the honest side out of you, that will make you do what feels best in the moment without sparing you the time to think it through. I'm slightly scared it'll drive me towards something I'll regret later on, or maybe it'll push me toward exactly what's needed between us. Nonetheless, I don't want this feeling to go away anytime soon.
My insides are wrapped around with the prettiest flowers you could think of—clusters of lilies, dahlias, and irises interwoven with carnations and lavender and spotted with daisies, that I'd love to pick and tie into a crown that could then sit softly on Dream's golden curls. And maybe they're twisting around my gut a little too tight, but it's Dream who prepared the soil, and it's Dream who planted them carefully into it, and it's Dream who brought the sun and the water to them to help them grow healthy, tall and beautiful, so I will never have it in me to complain about the feeling.
The waitress comes back eventually, just in time when we finish our food, to give us our bill. I try to pay for the both of us first—Dream refuses. Then, I insist on splitting the bill since he's so stubborn, but soon enough I end up in the same position as always—being paid for by the caring blond, who we all know shows his love best by presenting others gifts. I pretend to be irritated, but when we both stand up from our seats, he jams his fingers into my side, making me squeal from surprise and bump into him. He chuckles, and I clutch my side at how unpleasant the feeling was but still laugh along.
We get to the car and make the drive back home without much disturbance. This time though, I sneak my palm onto his when he changes gears, and he spares our hands a single, quick glance. With a shaky inhale, I slip my fingers in between his and he manages to look at them once again, then at me—I smile delicately, and he looks back on the road, exhaling out of his nose as a gentle laugh. I look out the window until we get back home and keep our hands close by.
–
The engine turns off its roar, and I get out of the car right after, standing in front of it to wait for the blond. There's a need nagging at the back of my brain when I see Dream's head pop up from over the car. I want it to perish, to be taken away with the wind that comes here to ruffle up our hair, I want it to evaporate immediately and disappear into the atmosphere. Yet at the same time, when he walks in front of the car from his side to mine and I see him slowly get past me, I find myself reaching out my whole body towards him and pulling on the sleeve of his crew neck softly, making him stop in his tracks.
He turns and I catch his gentle face.
"Hi," I breathe out, seconds before I lose my rational thinking completely.
I peck him, my head falling down immediately after. My arm loosens its grip from his sleeve and I try to walk away towards the door with no hope for it in the end. I feel his palms press on my cheeks. My head gets pulled back towards him, and his lips press into mine harshly. I close my eyes tightly; I feel like I'm going to fall any second so I squeeze his forearms firmly.
He kisses me silly.
My head is spinning; it's so eager we can barely find a common rhythm, quite similar to how you feel as a desperate teenager, kissing the person you always had a thing for behind the lockers with your head pulsing and heart threatening to jump out. My whole body tingles and my lips twitch against his. They're not perfectly smooth, but soon they'll soften up thanks to the way our tongues graze against them. I feel how warm we both are when our bodies bump together after Dream pushes on my back with one of his hands. I'm pretty sure I forgot how to breathe, so I pull back my lips before he can capture them again with his own into another loving dance. His eyes are staring into mine now, with a gaze so soft it makes me forget about anything bad.
Just Dream and his stupid freckles that you can only see from this close and the blush creeping up on the skin under them. His pretty eyelashes that frame his perfect green eyes flit without sound, but I still pay attention. I take notice of the loose strands of hair that fall into said eyes; I reach to tuck them away quickly, and Dream responds with a warm smile that I reciprocate shyly.
One of his hands clasps over my wrist with ease. He's done it to me before, but this time it won't keep me awake at night, wondering if all the touches meant anything more to him than just something dumb and friendly, because they always did to me. Right now it'd be hard to think this means nothing to him.
His lips press into the top of my hand and brush over my knuckles. I find this gesture stupidly endearing and pretend that my cheeks don't start glowing even redder than before. His eyes flutter shut while he keeps the kiss on me for as long as possible.
How he can say so much to me without speaking any words is crazy—I can't make it make sense, but he does. His light touch tells me everything about how soft he wants to be toward me. In all honesty, he always has been, but right now I know that all of it is strictly for me. His gaze pulls me apart as if he doesn't already know every inch of me—I feel vulnerable under it, but his steady hold on my waist lets me know how safe and protected I am when I'm in his reach.
I chuckle before kissing his jaw and pressing my forehead into his firm chest. His heart is pounding and I leave a soft kiss over where it sits, much like a mother kissing her child to soothe its uneasiness. The sound steadies slightly but keeps its loudness—I never want to lose this.
We stand in each other's hold for quite a while, but for me, it might as well have been a mere couple of seconds—I don't want him to let go of me yet. So I stand and grasp at his shirt with trembling fingers; I stand and let myself be held in his broad shoulders and warm arms. I press my cheek against his upper torso and let him lift my head carefully so he can kiss the rose of my cheeks, and right after—lips. My breath is stolen away yet again, exchanged with the one passing from the other's soft magenta lips.
I'd want to say that Dream keeps me steady or level-headed but it sure doesn't feel like it.
With him, my knees go soft like a plush pillow and my head spins in the best way possible. When his smell wraps around my mind, it's almost like a wind that blows away my rational thinking—everything's so much better with him. His touch makes all of my muscles twitch and tingle, wanting more, never feeling like I'm getting enough.
With his eyes in my vision, the world becomes brighter, and with my fingers tangled between his, I feel I can conquer it.