Heatwaves Dreamnotfound (NOT MINE)

Chapter 6: Darkness

Breathlessly, George asks, "did you?"

Rain drums heavily on Dream's roof. His nerves are sheathed now by the comforting mask of darkness, and his faceless confidence grows with every inhale.

Shameful desire creeps from its hiding place in the crevices of his heart.

I can look at you. He sinks deeper. I can know you.

"I—I did," Dream answers, "I don't get to see you that way, normally."

George's voice is careful, lightly tugging on the strings of Dream's restraint. "What way?"

He can see it all so clearly in his head—the vine of wick curling through his thoughts, winding deeper, waiting to be hit with one spark that ignites a network of gasoline, and burns him and George alive.

He softly heats his words. "Up close," they hover over the fuel, "so private." His chest tightens, and the flames tilt threateningly towards doom. "Just for me." 

George's eyes flutter. "Oh."

Observations in the chat trickle in slowly, one by one, then become a unified confusion: is he blushing? George is blushing?

"Yeah, are you blushing?" Dream mirrors in amusement. Red undertones in his own face are masked by glowing, yellow-orange light. The scent of melting wax settles on his upper lip.

George takes a deep breath of sobriety, and returns to the game. "I'm not red, chat. It's warm in here."

A prideful smile sneaks onto Dream's face. "You seem to do that a lot, when I talk to you."

George ignores him.

"Why is that, George? Do I make you uncomfortable?" His voice intentionally slows to a gentle rumble, "or do I make you feel something?"

The movement Dream witnesses is glorious.

George subtly lolls his head to the side as an inhale drags his bottom lip between his teeth, radiating heat and a sudden restlessness Dream has never seen before.

His stomach drops.

"Is that it?" he says quietly, "my voice?"

George nods slightly. A rush of air leaves Dream's lungs.

Insatiable warmth braids tension into the sinews of his muscles. "But people can see you, now. A lot of them."

"You think I don't know that," George mutters.

Dream touches a hand to the flaring pulse on his throat. "Makes me wonder what you'd be like when the camera isn't on you." His skin hums. "Or if I was with you." 

The game on the screen pauses. "Shut up." 

Dream refuses. "Maybe we could do more than just talk."

George covers his face with a hand, elbow propped on his desk. The chat is tangled by questions and alarm—what is Dream saying? What's going on?

"Are you a physical person? I don't think I've ever asked," Dream says, trying to bait away George's shyness, "with friends and stuff—are you affectionate?"

"I don't know," George muffles from behind his palm, "sometimes."

Dream feels his heart leap unexpectedly. "Would you...with me?"

George shows no hesitation. "Yes."

A tingling sensation rushes down Dream's neck and chest with a dangerous thrill.

"Good," he murmurs, "I like that."

George sinks back into his chair as a nervous smile peeks out under his fingers. He asks, "what about you?"