Please Let Me Go (dnf)

Miami Sunsets

His eyes. The deepest brown Dream had ever seen, layered with flecks of silver and amber. They stared at him- they stared through him. It was like they were able to see directly into his heart, his soul. They could see every thought and desire Dream had ever had. There was no hiding from George's eyes, the way they made him feel so exposed. It should be nerve wracking. It should be terrifying to have someone see you so clearly, every flaw displayed in front of them. Dream didn't feel the fear and shame he always thought he would. He felt peace. He felt acceptance. He felt bliss.

His hair. The dark waves that slid through Dream's fingers like silk. The hair Dream had thought about running his hands through for months through a screen, finding himself jealous of George's hands. Jealous that they could run through those beautiful locks anytime they pleased, while Dream remained on the other side of the world watching with envy. Brunette curls that normally covered his forehead and eyes were now slicked back, revealing such a uniquely beautiful face. Freckles dusted like constellations over the highest points of his cheeks, the slight widow's peak that Dream rarely got to see, the faint scar through his dark eyebrow, everything. Dream could stare at him forever.

His touch. Cold hands Dream once recoiled from, even flinched away from at some times, now roamed over his body without hesitation or pushback. Fingertips that felt like ice against his skin, stimulating every nerve, made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. The short nails that feverishly dug into his back, clawing desperately for more, only to find their way to Dream's flushed cheeks. Hands that pulled Dream's face down to his, connecting their lips in a hunger so deep Dream wasn't sure if either of them could ever be satisfied.

His lips. The softness that Dream assumed must've been a drunken ideation was still there, somehow even better now. The lips that once shied away from Dream's now kissed him with such devotion, such lust, such longing. Lips that traveled across Dream's face, down his neck, and across his shoulders. There would soon be no inch of his skin that George's lips hadn't caressed, and Dream wouldn't want it any other way. The only thing that Dream may have enjoyed more than George's lips, were the erotic utterances that passed through them.

His voice. It wasn't just the accent that Dream loved. It wasn't even the words George said. No, it was the sounds. The heavenly murmurs and moans that escaped him without warning or reservation. The beautiful chestnut eyes that would squint closed after realizing the sounds echoing off the walls were from him. Dream would do everything in his power to hear them again- he did do everything in his power to hear them again. To make George's voice quiver in a way that only he could hear. The airy breaths that labored between his words when George said his name over, and over, and over again.

"Dream."

Dream opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. The cool-toned green walls littered with vaguely inspirational quotes and photos of Miami sunsets. The window that looked out to the water, the beach below barely in view. The frigid air conditioning circulating through the stagnant air of the room. Dream suddenly became aware of how uncomfortable the hard cushion of the couch was, shifting his weight as he readjusted. Dream's eyes met the man sitting across from him for a less than a moment before he looked away, letting out a nervous cough as he continually adjusted.

"Sorry, Dr. Stringer. What did you ask?" Dream finally allowed his eyes to land on the therapist's before him. He regretted it instantly, pretending that he suddenly found the same picture of a sunset he saw every night to be the most captivating thing in the room. He knew it was stupid to try to hide something from a mental health counselor, especially one that he had been seeing for months now.

"Please, just Jeremy is fine, Dream. I think we're beyond the formalities at this point. I don't call you Clay anymore, so you don't need to keep calling me doctor. Anyway, I'm more interested in hearing about where you've been for the last, wow, just about four minutes." His voice was always so calm, rarely wavering in dynamic. He sounded like the voice in all the meditation apps Dream was constantly deleting and redownloading. Maybe that was why Dream had kept him on as his therapist, even after the therapy wasn't what he was expecting. He always assumed therapy was telling someone your problems and then them giving you advice on how to fix it. Turns out the point is actually for him to find the solutions on his own.