The Dream Case || Dreamnotfound

12

George lay awake in the bed for hours the next morning, staring at the white ceiling. Everything hurt: his broken arm, his bruised face, his swollen eyes, not to mention his splitting headache.

A quiet knock rapped at the door and George squeezed his eyes shut. He heard the lock click and the door open. Soft steps padded towards him and he felt the bed shift as Dream sat down.

"George?" Dream asked quietly, his voice still raspy and disguised.

George didn't move, trying not to let his breath quicken. He was laying next to a serial killer― a monster. That's what Dream was. Just because he was helping George didn't mean that he was a good person.

"I know you're awake. Your breathing has changed since I've entered... you don't have to be afraid of me."

The last sentence sounded sad to George, but it was hard to tell with the voice changer. Dream whispered, "I won't hurt you."

George opened his eyes and looked to Dream. He looked away after a moment and sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. George mumbled, "Can I leave?"

"Soon."

George exhaled in relief. The door to the room creaked slightly and a cat jumped on the bed. George blinked in surprise as the cat rubbed its head against Dream's hand. "You have a cat?"

"Her name is Patches."

George watched as Dream pet Patches gently, sitting silently in shock. Dream said, "You can hang with her while I make breakfast."

George nodded in response, holding his hand out to the cat. Dream watched quietly for a moment before leaving the room. He left the door slightly ajar, but George made no move to escape. It was no use.

He pet Patches for a long while and looked at his dirty clothes. His eyes darted to the clothes that Dream had given him the night before. George sniffed himself and his nose scrunched in disgust. He reluctantly put on the supplied sweatpants and the hoodie. It was hard to get on with his cast, but the hoodie was large, so it fit over the plaster with little struggle.

Once he was in the comfortable clothes, he walked down the hall to the kitchen, where he could smell eggs and bacon. Dream looked up as he entered, pausing his cooking. After a moment he cleared his throat and went back to cooking the eggs.

George stood in the kitchen awkwardly and looked around. The kitchen knives were on the other side of the kitchen, but George knew he wouldn't be able to kill Dream if he tried.

Dream placed a plate on the table and motioned for George to sit down. George listened, eyeing the food warily. Dream muttered, "It's not poisoned, George. I haven't attempted to kill you before, why would I now?"

George looked down and fidgeted with his hands. He mumbled, "Can you not tell anyone about..." George cringed as he finished, "...us kissing?"

"Who would I tell?"

George lifted his eyes to stare at Dream. The eerie smile stared back quietly. George felt compelled to ask, "Are you lonely?"

Dream froze. after a moment he replied, "I have Patches... and there's someone else."

"I have someone too," George whispered, "so please don't hurt him, okay?"

"Him?"

Clay. George shook his head, "I'm not telling you who, just please leave him out of this― out of whatever game you're playing with me."

"I don't play games... I would never do anything to hurt you."

Then why... George thought, why am I here? He looked away from Dream's stare and watched as Dream turned on his kitchen tv. A reporter was on screen, talking excitedly about the latest body. The background was filled with police cars and caution tape. An officer approached the reporter and told her to leave, but not before the camera angle caught on the victim.