𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 // 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

Beseeching Things

AN: Some of Dream's internal dialogue is kinda spicy, so beware ;)

-Beseeching Things-

Dream's POV:

I woke up panting, my chest heaving with shallow, sharp breaths. My back felt damp with sweat, a darkened circle staining the neckline of my shirt. After squinting around my room with heavy eyes, I saw a soft light filtering through my blinds. It couldn't be too early, then. A quick check of my alarm clock flashed 7:30 am.

Okay, it's kinda early.

I'd gone to bed at around four in the morning, and the three-hour window of sleep I'd gotten had been turbulent, intense, fervent. Subconscious realms were strange things, and usually I didn't explore them in my sleep. My dreams were scarce, but recently, they'd started coming back to me. I'd dreamt more than usual, and my lulls of sleep was less empty, less simple, less easy. Now, I had dreams wrack my brain as my mind tried to decipher and divulge any shred of anything from those nights.

Last night, my dream had definitely been ardent. My subconscious projections had been intense, more so than usual, more so than right. Romantic? Probably. Erotic? Maybe. Whatever it had been, my dream left me reeling, with my breaths heaving and my eyes wide and petrified. Whatever it had been, I remembered enjoying it.

My phone buzzed with a new notification, the sudden noise jolting me closer to consciousness.

Yawning, I flipped onto my stomach and set my phone on my pillow. I unlocked it and saw a notification from Snapchat. Apparently, George had sent me a photo a minute ago.

"We live in the same fucking apartment." I groaned quietly, opening Snapchat and clicking on my messages with George. The blankness of a new day of soon-to-be messages shone up at me.

A tantalizing red square hovered by George's name, begging me to open it with its pulsing rhythm. Without a second thought, I tapped the square and waited for the photo to load, lips pursed in expectancy. In a split second, I mentally prepared for a meme or a photo of me from an unflattering angle, like the one I'd received last Tuesday.

But when I saw the photo, my heart stilled.

In the faint golden wash of morning sunlight, was the bottom half of George's face. The exposed ivory skin of his neck, the straight dips of his collarbones, the smooth lines of his jaw and the blissful smile on his soft, rosy lips. His elegant cheekbones were slightly pink, faint freckles forming a constellation across the slim bridge of his nose. His hand cradled his chin in an effortlessly attractive manner.

The text stretching across the black tinted bar on-screen read good morning.

"Oh fuck." I whispered slowly, blowing a messy strand of hair out of my face to get a better look at the photo. As my heart began fluttering erratically, I felt a flustered heat creep beneath my skin. Sweat beads formed along my hairline at the feverish feeling that had risen onto my face.

Immediately, I saw the blurb and three dots appear, indicating that George was typing something.

george: dont let me catch you simping again

I nearly laughed aloud at the words. Was George trying to bait me now? Biting my lip, I fired a quick response back.

me: who said i was simping?

george: i can sense a disturbance from your room

me: your senses are trash. u fucking see me as piss yellow

george: this is colorblind abuse

I pictured a mock-offended look on his face, and laughed aloud at the expression my imagination conjured. The amount of emoting and expressing George's face could achieve was under-appreciated.