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Tommy woke with a gasp, his heart pounding like it was trying to tear out of his chest. The tent around him was cold with morning wind, soft light bleeding through the thin canvas.
For a moment, he thought it was just another nightmare—
until he felt Dream shift.
The body on top of his was warm. Heavy. Definitely real.
His breath hitched. “...Dream?”
The name falling from his mouth made him feel sick.
Dream didn’t move right away. He just lay there, head tilted slightly, the blank smile of his mask inches from Tommy’s face. That empty smile made Tommy’s stomach twist. He could almost feel the smirk hiding behind it.
Tommy tensed, trying not to tremble. “Get off me,” he said, his voice cracking.
Dream hummed softly, as if pretending to think about it. “Why?”
The sound of Dream’s voice made Tommy’s skin crawl.
“Because,” Tommy shoved at him, his palms hitting unmovable muscle. “Because you’re weird! Because you’re a freak! And because I said so, you psycho!”
Dream shifted, rolling onto his side but keeping close enough for Tommy to feel his breath. He tilted his head, studying Tommy—slow, deliberate—like Tommy was something fragile he could break with just a look.
“Always so angry,” Dream murmured, almost fondly. “You think it makes you strong.”
Tommy swallowed hard.
“No,” Dream said softly. “It just makes you loud.”
He reached out—not roughly, not violently—and brushed his hand against Tommy’s shoulder. The touch made Tommy flinch anyway.
“Don’t do that,” Tommy snapped.
Dream smiled under the mask. “You always say that. But you never mean it.”
Tommy froze. He hated how calm Dream’s voice was, how creepy it felt when he spoke like that. Like he knew everything about him. Like he owned him.
“I don’t need you,” Tommy muttered. “I don’t—”
“Of course you do.” Dream’s tone sharpened. “You need someone to yell at, someone to blame. You need me to be the villain, Tommy, or you’ll have no one left to fight.”
“Shut up.”
“No one else came back for you, did they?” Dream whispered. “No one stayed. But I did. I always stay.”
Tommy’s chest burned. “You don’t stay because you care! You stay because you’re obsessed with me!”
Dream laughed softly—and that was somehow worse than shouting. “Maybe. Or maybe you can’t stand to be alone.”
He leaned closer until the mask brushed Tommy’s forehead. “You’ll understand one day,” he whispered, “what it means to need someone so badly, you’d rather they hate you than forget about you.”
Then he stood, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t look back as he stepped toward the tent’s flap.
“I’ll see you soon, Tommy,” Dream said, voice light again, casual—like they were friends meeting for breakfast. “Try not to miss me too much.”
The flap closed.
Tommy sat there, staring at the empty space Dream had left behind, his hands still trembling.
He wanted to scream. To cry. To tear the whole tent down.
But all he could do was whisper, under his breath,
“I hate you.”