sparks

23

He looks like a respectable, knowledgable man, who I immediately feel inferior to once I study him a little better.

He has spectactles sitting low on his nose, with little chains on either side so that if he were to take them off they'd hang down his chest.

He has a beard, a grey one, grey like his hair. His eyes are a striking green, even more so then Dreams.

Dream got his fathers eyes.

The chair looks comfy, and he looks comfy in it. He has jeans on, but they look like suit jeans, but they aren't suit jeans. I don't know what you would call them.

He has a sweater on too, thats loose around the neck, exposing an even looser white collared shirt hanging from his neck lazily.

Theres a fire, too, just inbetween where the wine red couch and green armchair are. Its lit, and its a blazing, fiery orange.

I can also see a small hallway past the kitchen, which I suppose is where whatever bedrooms are here are.

"Well, this is a very pleasant surprise" his dad smiles. "You've brought somebody new."

His smile is warm, like his sons.

I hadn't thought they looked alike until now.

Its all in the smile.

"Its lovely to meet you" I cough suddenly, walking over to where his dad is sat to hold out my hand.

He takes it, his smile growing again. He waves to the deep red couch, asking me to sit. I do just that.

I can hear Dream somewhere behind me in the kitchen, doing god knows what. I can't look around though, I don't want his dad to think I'm uncomfortable.

"And what might your name be, young man?" his dad asks, still not having gone back to his book, or pages, or whatever he was doing before we came in.

"I'm George" I answer, "I'm George Davidson, Mr-"

"Oh, please, do call me Richard" he insists. "Its a pleasure, George."

"We can't stay very long" Dream calls from just behind me, "I just wanted to check in, see how you were, let you know I'm home."

"Home you are" his dad nods, his attention shifting from me to his son. "And how were the beautiful sights of Rome?"

"I don't even know where to begin" Dream chuckles, the sound of cups clinking and water pouring following his actions.

"That sounds like Rome alright" his father confirms.

I watch as he turns back to me. "I lectured there, you know" he tells me.

"In Rome?" I ask.

"In Rome" he nods.

"What did you teach? If you don't mind me asking" I ask him, settling back into my chair.

"I don't mind at all, young George. I taught Latin, and English Literature" he answers. "Those were very well some of the best years of my life."

"Do you still teach?" I ask, though I think I know the answer.

"Goodness, not now, no. Outgrown it, I'd say" he nods.

Dream hands his dad a fresh mug of tea to replace the practically empty one, and then asks me if I'd like one. I accept, smiling at him gratefully.

"What's brought you here, then, George?" his dad asks me suddenly. "I know a Londoners accent when I hear one."

"Nothing, really" I answer honestly. "School, thats all."

"And why school here, of all places?" he ponders.