CHERRY FLAVOURED || Original

SEVENTEEN *

His face begins to fade away, the room twisting away. "Yes, Spencer." And the dream spoofs away.

"Yes? Love."

You lift your head from his shoulder, a warm tear falling down your cheeks. You wipe away the wetness under your eyes, taking in deep breaths from the disastrous dream you experienced. That was something you never want to go through ever again. Seeing the same throb of loathing in his eyes from eight months ago makes you sick to your stomach. Not only that, but he looked happy with Maeve.

The feeling of his rough hand brings you comfort, and you sigh as he rubs your back--up and down until your breaths steady. "Nightmare?" He asks, slight concern lacing his voice.

You nod, keeping your eyes downcast. You know the eyes you'll meet won't be the same ones in your dream, but the sight is still petrifying. You guide a waving piece of hair behind your ear, your sweaty fingertips wetting the strands.

"What was it about?" He continues.

You shrug your shoulders. "It was nothing, don't worry about it.

"About sixty-four point seven percent of nightmares are about falling, being chased following in at sixty-three point three percent and death at fifty-four point nine percent. Is there any way yours was about either one of those?"

You purse your lips and lean back in your seat, closing your eyes shut to see the stars dancing behind your eyelids. "It was about you and Maeve," you whisper. Your words seem to quiet him instantly, which unsettles you. "But, um, nothing happened. I just...danced."

He chuckles. "Danced? Was I dancing too?"

The corner of your lips pull into a crooked smile and you open your eyes, blinking to keep your eyes from straining. You look at him, allowing a smile to take over your lips. "Yeah, you were slow dancing. You both looked good."

His adam's apple bobs in his throat, like his brain is fighting away the memories of him and Maeve. He's told you of the dreams he used to have of them dancing, how alleviating it was to hold her in his arms. And in this moment, after you remember the conversations about her, you feel shame and embarrassment seep into your skin and bones.

"I'm sorry. That-- I shouldn't have said anything."

He laces his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. "It's okay." He smiles forgivingly, the smile extending farther than his face. You swallow down the guilt in your throat and resume laying on his shoulder.

He rests his cheek on the top of your head while his thumb brushes over your gentle skin. Even though you aren't physically growing closer to him, you feel him pulling on you, his heat wrapping your body in a tight hug.

And as you close your eyes once again, your dream comes back, except Spencer is now holding you. His eyes are honey, his smile so large and poisoning it could kill everyone in the room if it were projected. The music is dark, previewing the self-pity you're in.

And Moonlight Sonata is a perfect fit.

+++

"God, that case was something else," you say, entering the cold apartment. You kick your shoes off by the door and drop your bag on the ginger colored couch, paying no mind to where it lands. You drag your feet to the kitchen, exhausted from the sights you had to see.

You open the refrigerator and take out a cold bottle of water, twisting the cap open and chugging down the cold liquid. You run back to the living room where Spencer is, running his fingers over the bindings of the books on his wall. You maneuver around his cluttered desk, placing your water bottle on the corner.