The SouthBay Murderer

Chapter 15

It seemed as though everything was out to get him. No matter what George did, whether he draped an arm over his eyes, the light still got in. If he stuck his head under the pillow, he could still hear each creak and croak of the world. George groaned with annoyance. He vigorously shifted, the sheets began to stick to his legs as he grew hotter and hotter in the poorly ventilated room.

Finally giving, he sat up with huff. His nose scrunched while his eyes desperately wanted to close. His mind however, willed him to stay awake. The brain in his head seemed to scream to stay awake, betraying him to the greatest of feats.

The reason for his mind's actions was unknown to him. Begrudgingly he lifted himself out of bed, to make his way downstairs. He figured a nice glass of water might calm his restless body, and allow him to succumb to the void of sleep.

He stumbled out of the cushiony mattress, stepping quietly onto the cold unwelcoming floor. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, so he hurried down the stairs quickly. His mission; to get a glass of water, relax his mind, and escape back upstairs.

However, of course, his plans were interrupted. He turned the corner into the kitchen only to startle with a gasp as two green eyes fixated on his own brown ones.

The blonde sat there, unmoving. The only light came from a small lamp, in the eerily quiet setting.

"What are you doing here?"

It almost shocked George that he spoke, he looked so much like a statue just a moment ago.

"I.. I couldn't sleep. I don't know why." George shuffled closer to the small counter where Dream was sat.

A low huff emitted from Dream's chest, a raspy voice following. "Same."

George's eyes flicked over the scene once again, a cool cup of water placed in the slender fingers of the blonde. Seemed that they had a similar idea.

The brunette stepped past the blonde to the fridge, suddenly he was more hungry than thirsty. His eyes flicked over the contents. Guacamole, old pizza, a few displaced beers. Y'know, the classic shit found in a 21 year old's fridge.

His ears picked up a shuffling noise behind him, though he did not turn. He continued rummaging through the fridge without acknowledging the screech of the chair as, he assumed, Dream stood up. Although it was very hard to ignore when his breath hitched and he felt the blondes hands firmly plant themselves on his hips, veins popped out all along his skin. George felt his knees weaken as the man's chest was pressed against his own back.

It reminded him an awful lot of their first encounter. Though so much had changed, but in reality it was still all the same. George's brow furrowed as he went down the rabbit hole.

The man behind him, the one so intimately pressed against him, was a murderer. The one he almost felt domestic with.

He was not here on his own free will.

He was kidnapped.

Kidnapped by the very kind of man he had feared.

The kind he does fear.

What the hell was he thinking?

It seemed as though just very early this morning, the time between night and day, everything was fine. They talked, had a conversation. Dream had shown emotions, he had cried. And they laughed as well. It was pure bliss, but it didn't change who Dream was.

The most terrorizing of them all, at that.

He was, after all, Dream.

He snapped back to reality as he felt two lips press gently against the side of his neck, a soft breath flew across his skin in between each peck that trailed further down.

"You okay?" The blonde murmured against George's ivory skin. The large hands still kept George pressed close as the blonde's slim lips continued placing soft kisses down the curve of his neck down onto his shoulder.

George felt a fluttering feeling in his stomach. Whether it was a glorious butterfly's wings flapping, or angry flaps of a dark moth; he could not tell. He gulped his adam's apple bobbing with realization.

He should not be here.

He should be teaching his students, complaining about life with Darryl, and feeling safe in the comfort of his home. The home back in SouthBay.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He barely choked out the words, the only thing pushing them out now was the fear of the blonde catching on. "I think I'm just going to go to bed now."

The hands slipped off his hips as he stepped away, closing the fridge with a soft thump. He had almost made it through the doorway when the deep voice interrupted the silence once again.

"You didn't get anything to eat or drink." Suspicion was clearly creeping onto the blonde's face, especially when a crinkle formed in between his eyebrows.

"I— I just realized, I wasn't really hungry or thirsty. Stupid, I know. I really am tired though, so, uh, I'll be off." With a quick wave of his hand, George disappeared around the corner. His heart seemed to beat slightly faster than he was used to, and for once, it was not caused by the seemingly strong chemistry between the two.

The brunette made his way into his room with haste.

No, not his room. This was not his home.

Why me?

He tried not to stress as he slipped under the duvet. It amazed him how it seemed even more heated in the room. Sweat, not only caused the sheets to stick, but now formed along his hairline. His hair stuck to his face, almost as if he just woke from a nightmare.

Although, he argued to himself, I think I am living a nightmare.

-

Sorry this is kinda short, I just wanted to give y'all something.

Balls

Anyway, keep being hot, you're doing great.