Dreamnotfound oneshots

Unhelpful hand

George chose hidden option number three; creep up behind the figure and knock it the fuck out.

It worked relatively well, if you asked him.

But, well, then he had an entirely different issue. He then had an unconscious thing on his kitchen floor and no sure-fire way to deal with it. Not safely at least.

He decided, with an embarrassing sense of stupidity, that identifying it would probably be a good first step. And so he strode, rather calmly mind you, to the light switch on the wall and flicked it on.

"Nope." And then he flicked it off again.

Because well, with the kitchen light off, George could pretend that he hadn't just knocked out a fully grown human man who had evidently broken into his home.

He wasn't even certain how he didn't figure it out earlier - there were no bears or big cats in London that it could have been. The closest they had was the old guy down the street - and he wouldn't just break in like that unless it was a national emergency.

So, now, George was tasked with somehow disposing of a very alive, very unconscious and very large human being that was likely dangerous. Wonderful.

Well, his ever loyal companion was already making a start, ferociously tearing and pulling at the man's pant leg when George flicked the lights on again. For a moment, George smiled before realising that he had no idea where the other had been and promptly pulled the puppy away.

"What do we do?" He murmured, raking his eyes up the black-clad man and to his half-hidden face. "We can't just leave him here, he's going to wake up."

Despite himself, George used the end of his umbrella to carefully push the hood back and off of the man's face. His excuse, should he need one, would be the possible need to identify him in a line-up.

He didn't look dangerous at all. Much the opposite, even.

He looked young, cheeks still softly rounded with youth. He had a sun kissed tan - foreign then - and dirty blond-brown hair that was tousled over long, fair lashes. George could even make out a ruddiness in the man's cheeks and the hints of freckles across his nose.

Great, the man was barely even a man. Had he been shorter, George would certainly pass him as a late-teen, at best. Somehow, that made things so much worse for George.

"This is a bad idea." He decided, and the puppy still cradled in his arm seemed to agree.

George did it anyways, because he's stupid.

It took embarrassingly long to haul the man (Dream, George had nicknamed him, because that was what he was interrupting and keeping George from currently. Definitely not because George may have found him vaguely attractive in some way, because that would be crazy and stupid, two things George most certainly was not) over and onto George's couch. So long that George was very nervous that Dream may regain consciousness before he had the chance to secure his own safety.

But he did, eventually, manage to lay Dream across the couch and swaddle him tightly in a myriad of blankets, creating a mock straitjacket for the other to stew in. He then went around checking the locks on his doors and actually closing and locking his windows after figuring that Dream had gotten in through a partially open back window.