The Dream Case || Dreamnotfound

3

~Two Months Later~

"What can I get you tonight?" Karl asked.

George rubbed at his temples and muttered, "The usual please. Thank you Karl."

Karl gave him a smile and went to get George's fries and water.

George sighed. It had been two months since his meeting with Technoblade. Two months of more murders and more courtroom cases. Dream had racked up a total of sixty-eight victims. The amount had increased by fourteen.

Yet, George was nowhere near finding him. More flirtatious messages were left for George to find. Things like, 'This one is for you <3' and even something so simple as the question, 'How are you?'.

Well, George was tired, both mentally and physically from lack of sleep and the amount of energy drained from working on this case.

Karl set George's fries and water in front of him and George mumbled his thanks. He had yet to take up Karl on his off to show him around.

Even thought George had been in Orlando for three months now, he knew little on how to get where. The main places he knew were his work, his apartment, the shooting range, and this pub.

He had been to many places, considering he went wherever the victims were found. Places like apartments, public toilets, alleys, even a restaurant. Yes, Dream was bold enough to kill publicly, but he never did it often.

The thought made George sigh in frustration, but that thought was interrupted when the seat next to him at the counter was pulled out.

George glanced to his left to see a young man, about his own age. The man gave George a smirk as he called Karl over. He had wavy, blonde hair with green— or what George assumed were green— eyes and a few freckles.

He was undeniably good looking.

His tan skin was smooth under the pub lights and his clothes even smoother. He was dressed in black pants and a white button up shirt, the top buttons left undone and his sleeves were rolled up loosely— like he had just got done with work and was going out for a drink.

George studied himself. He was wearing dark brown pants as well with a beige button up shirt and black jacket. The tie that hung from his neck was loose from how he had tugged on it after his work shift.

Karl placed a drink in front of the man— the beverage not being water, instead some sort of alcohol— beer— George assumed.

The man took a sip and winked at George. George opened his mouth to comment, but he closed it and looked away, confused.

"So," the man spoke, his voice smooth and practiced, "what's a pretty guy like you doing here?"

George cleared his throat, unused to people flirting with him. "I, uh, just got off of work. I come here almost every night."

"I know."

George blinked and glanced over at the man, who was openly staring at him. George asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Long day," he replied with a shrug, "I needed a drink."