⟪ dream, per the definition of his function, is always more appealing than reality. it might explain his overall magnetism, and perhaps the reason why daisy wants him to come back again. he knows his purpose, and what he is; hope and desires. fantasies and fears. ideas and stories and ambitions. he’s used to his dreamers basking in every single thing he encompasses, but being wanted by the fully awakened object of his fascination strikes a chord he’d long forgotten, buried deep where he tends to repress all the things that threaten to drive him mad.
they surge all at once, stirred alive; daisy wants to see him again, the hesitance in her voice a hint of concern that she might not, and dream has to reach deep within the confines of his self-imposed inexorability to rein himself in, overwhelmed in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. for what feels like a small eternity, he simply stares, a wary glint in his eyes that soon dissolves into the reflection of all that warmth spreading through his chest, new galaxies bursting to life.
get it together.
his chest rises full, his nostrils flare, and then the tempest abates, leaving in its wake an agonizing little thing in the space between each heartbeat. he exhales soft, slowly coming back to his senses, but it’s already painted his expression more hopeful than it should be, ⟫
Look for me, when next you close your eyes. ⟪ and he wonders, not without a modicum of quiet excitement, what her dream will be like.
he rises at last, a bow of his head. and he leaves, in desperate need of a distraction. ⟫
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
⟪ dream, per the definition of his function, is always more appealing than reality. it might explain his overall magnetism, and perhaps the reason why daisy wants him to come back again. he knows his purpose, and what he is; hope and desires. fantasies and fears. ideas and stories and ambitions. he’s used to his dreamers basking in every single thing he encompasses, but being wanted by the fully awakened object of his fascination strikes a chord he’d long forgotten, buried deep where he tends to repress all the things that threaten to drive him mad.
they surge all at once, stirred alive; daisy wants to see him again, the hesitance in her voice a hint of concern that she might not, and dream has to reach deep within the confines of his self-imposed inexorability to rein himself in, overwhelmed in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. for what feels like a small eternity, he simply stares, a wary glint in his eyes that soon dissolves into the reflection of all that warmth spreading through his chest, new galaxies bursting to life.
get it together.
his chest rises full, his nostrils flare, and then the tempest abates, leaving in its wake an agonizing little thing in the space between each heartbeat. he exhales soft, slowly coming back to his senses, but it’s already painted his expression more hopeful than it should be, ⟫
Look for me, when next you close your eyes. ⟪ and he wonders, not without a modicum of quiet excitement, what her dream will be like.
he rises at last, a bow of his head. and he leaves, in desperate need of a distraction. ⟫