Dance of the Nightmare
Title: Dance of the Nightmare
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dark Themes, Horror, Graphic Content, Sex, Violence, Abuse, Mind Invasion, Dub-Con, Torture, Slight Blood Play, Mutilation,
Word Count: 34, 598
Disclaimer: Not related to anyone mentioned, and if this has really happened to you, get help.
Summary:“Welcome to the Dance, Tyson.”
Tyson keeps having these dreams, full of music and creatures and Him. He can’t stop them, and they keep coming. Every night, without fail. Madness was never this horrifying, was it?
Author's Note: This was meant for last Halloween, and has been an absolute Nightmare (haha, get it?) to Beta, so it’s taken a whole year! The biggest of thanks have to be given to
nuclearxsquid and xaritomene who were there every step of the way while I was writing this and allowed me to ramble at them incessantly for months, and then for having goes at Betaing this. More thanks again to xrysomou who had a go, and finally neon_footprint for finishing the Betaing and putting up with my ignorance of the English language. They are awesome and if you do anything, leave them a comment for how brilliant they’ve been. They’ve earned it.
Edit:neon_footprint has been all types of wonderful and has made a Mix for DotN!! It's amazing and awesome and definitely worth downloading if you don't have the songs :)
Posting everywhere, sorry for the spam guys!
Walking On Air - Kerli
There's a little creepy house in a little creepy place
Little creepy town in a little creepy world
Little creepy girl with her little creepy face
Saying funny things that you have never heard
-)-(-
There was music; soft, melodic, seductive, rising and falling as the song played. It was strangely familiar, yet completely alien. Opening his eyes, he stared at the sky – or what he assumed was meant to be the sky. There were clouds, rolling and churning, faster than any storm he’d ever seen. The sky was a disturbing mix of indigo and mauve, the colours twisting together violently as the clouds raced overhead.
Blinking slowly, he stared at the mass above him, trying to clear his confused mind. The last thing he remembered was going to bed in his bunk. How the hell had he gotten here? Looking around, he saw that he was lying in a clearing, of sorts. Surrounding him were trees, plants, but unlike any natural growth he had ever seen. Black bushes filled with jagged, twisted thorns and sharp leaves ringed the clearing, grey tree trunks struggled to reach the sky, branches bare of any leaves, but so thick and tangled that they blocked the view of anything beyond the clearing. Underneath him, blades of magenta grass poked into his skin, sharp and unforgiving.
The music suddenly surged louder, pouring into his ears like molten lava. Confused, he sat up, wincing as the unnaturally coarse grass dug at his skin, and stared. From behind the plants, figures were emerging, dancing and playing abnormal instruments. Choking down a cry, he flinched away from them, scrabbling backwards. The figures were strange, deformed; unnatural. Beings with elongated limbs, arms that stretched to the ground, legs bent and dragging, faces twisted into gruesome grins, teeth black and twisted, lips stretched across their face, eyes small. Others were like spiders, low to the ground, scuttling forwards, arms and legs moving in tandem, or large and bulky, limbs short and thick, skin tough looking and leathery. All were twisted copies of unnatural humans and animals, fangs, claws, limbs transformed into something terrifying, yet somehow entrancing.
Shaking, he tried to back away from them, but they were encircling him, forming a physical barrier between him and an escape, still dancing and playing their outlandish instruments and grinning at him, faces leering. Standing up, he held his arms close in an attempt to keep as far away from them as possible. Breathing shakily, he spun around, desperately looking for an escape. Where was he? How did he get here? Was this a dream? If it was, why did it feel so real? His back still tingled from the grass’s sharp edges, and the soles of his feet were beginning to hurt, sharp shots of pain edging their way up his legs. Where the hell was he?!
The music suddenly stopped. Restraining a whimper, he eyed the crowd. His panicked breathing sounded as loud as canons, disturbing the eerie silence. Swallowing, he was abruptly aware that he was only clothed in a pair of pants. The creatures simply stared at him, eyes dark and unnatural. And those that could, grinned at him, showing their black and pointed teeth.
“Greetings.”
Gasping, he spun around. He stepped backwards with a flinch. In front of him was a woman, or something that closely resembled one. Her hair was crimson, pulled back away from her face and trailing to her waist, and her skin ice white. She was wearing a red dress that swept to the ground, the ends tattered and ending in a train that was held off the ground by two goblin-looking creatures. It just kept her modesty, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered on her chest before he managed to flick them up to her face. Her eyes were large and dark, and when she grinned at him, parting blood red lips, she revealed long sharp black teeth.
“Who – who are you?” he stammered, edging further away.
She continued to grin at him. “Who I am is of no importance right now.” She took a step closer, and he hurriedly took one back. “Though, who you are is.” She chuckled and turned away from him. “Creatures!” she cried, raising her arms. “We have done well! A new member will join our ranks in six nights time!” She turned to look at him, eyes sharp and leering. “And an attractive member he shall be,” she purred, stepping close and raising a hand to stroke his cheek.
He flinched as she ran a long, red nail down his skin, the nerves tingling in its wake. “What?”
“You, Tyson, have been chosen to join us.” She chuckled, eyes staring deep into his. “And what a lovely addition you are.”
“What?! I don’t understand.” He edged away, ignoring how anxious his voice was becoming. “This is all a dream, right? It can’t be real!” He clenched his eyes shut and gripped his head, fists tightening in his hair. “I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming. I’ve been slipped something weird and I’m now OD-ing in a hospital. I’ll wake up and Nick’ll be ready to punch me for being an idiot.” He swallowed, tightening his fists. Please let me be dreaming!
Strong hands gripped his wrists, pulling them away from his head. Involuntarily he opened his eyes, gasping when he found the woman’s face within inches of his. “This is not a dream, Tyson,” she murmured softly. “This is very, very real.” She bent closer, her breath cloying and cold, swirling to caress his face. “In six nights you shall become one of us, and you will forever dance the Qntal Saltationem, the Dance of the Nightmare.” Her black teeth glinted in the light. “There is no escape.” Her eyes flicked downwards and she moved closer, her lips parting.
Crying out he wrenched himself away from her, tripping and landing hard on the ground, grass dragging lacerations into his skin. Terrified, he kept low, crouching over his knees, gasping for breath and clenching his eyes shut. Her scent still lingered in his nostrils, on his tongue, and her lips lingered in his mind, tempting and terrible at the same time.
“Oh,” she said, calmly. “Few have pulled away before. I wonder why you did.” He heard a rustle and suddenly her hand grasped his chin and ruthlessly pulled his head up to look at her, inch long red nails digging into his skin. Unwillingly, he looked into her eyes, losing feeling in his limbs as her eyes locked on to his. “Ah, that is why.” She smirked, and keeping her hand on his chin, she began to change. Her shoulders widened, chest flattening. Her hair became shorter, her dress shuddering and changing shape, her whole body changing colour until the all movement stopped and she was no longer a she. She was a he.
“Is this better Tyson?” She – he drawled, voice transformed to a deep baritone, somehow even more seductive than the purr. His hair was shorter, swept away from his head in spiky dark indigo locks, features sharp and chiselled, skin so pale it had a purple tinge to it. His body was long and covered in dark leather and silk, subtly muscled. The hand underneath Tyson’s chin no longer held long red nails, but was instead strong fingers and nails that were painted black. “Do you find this more appealing?” he asked in a low voice. His eyes still dark and teeth still black, but lips now a blackened purple instead of blood red.
“N-No,” he lied, unable to look away.
The man smirked and bent closer until his lips were brushing Tyson’s ear. “I think you’re lying.” Tyson shuddered as the breath crept down his back, icy and dangerous. The man pulled back until his face as in front Tyson’s, breath again swirling onto his skin, and his eyes locking on to Tyson's. “Welcome to the Dance, Tyson,” he whispered, and then he kissed Tyson on the lips, tasting of acid and sin, and although it burnt to touch, Tyson couldn’t help but shut his eyes and press closer. The man’s tongue invaded his mouth, sweeping possessively across his lips and into his mouth, tasting his teeth. It burnt, it burnt like nothing Tyson had ever felt, but at the same time it was bliss, and he couldn’t even care when felt himself get hard, pressing against the thin fabric of his pants.
The man pulled back, too soon and not soon enough, his hand gripping his chin tight and his lips parting into a smug grin. “I'll see you tomorrow night, Tyson,” he murmured, letting go.
Tyson jerked up with a gasp, breathing hard, drenched in sweat, and shaking. Swallowing, he fumbled around blindly until his hand came in contact with his bunk’s curtain. Shoving it back, he rolled forward, needing light. Landing with a thump on the floor he sighed in relief as the familiar sight of the bus came into focus; clothes, shoes, junk spread out over the floor and the empty bunks.
Almost crying in relief, he rested his head against mattress. He was back, he was back! It had all been a dream! Breathing deeply, he sat there, body shaking, sweat cooling and drying. It had all been a dream.
“Tyson?” Jumping, he jerked his head around. It was only Chris. “You all right?”
“Y-yeah,” he managed, trying to stop his voice from shaking. “Nightmare.”
Chris stared at him for a moment before nodding and climbing into his own bunk. “Okay then. Try to lay off the sweets next time then. Save it for Halloween, it’s only a few nights away.” Chris tugged his blankets up before glancing at him. “And did you kiss a Goth chick or something? What’s with the purple lipstick?”
Tyson stared, raising a hand to his lips. Pulling his fingers back he saw purple smeared on the tips. Choking on a gasp, he stumbled to his feet and lurched to the bathroom, ignoring Chris’ curious stare. Fumbling to get the door open, he fell inside, hands gripping the sink, knuckles turning white.
His lips were purple. The same blackened purple of the lips of the man in his dream. Fingers coming up to touch them again, he suddenly became aware of other things, how his feet and back felt sore and scratched, how his chin ached, how the palms of his hands felt grazed... how he could still taste the scent of the man’s breath on his lips.
Trembling, his frantically wiped at his mouth, trying to get rid of the purple mark, hand rubbing fiercely. It smudged, trailing across his cheek, and his stubble rubbed against the raw skin of his palm, making him flinch. Ignoring the way his hand throbbed, he rubbed harder until all the purple was finally gone and his lips and cheek were swollen and red from the friction.
Staring at his now clean face, he grimaced, still able to taste the man on his tongue. Grabbing his toothbrush, he squeezed a large blob of paste on to it before shoving it into his mouth and scrubbing, hard. Once his mouth felt raw and numb he spat the paste out and rinsed, turning the tap on to hot. Grabbing the soap, he scrubbed at his hands as well, trying to eliminate all traces of the dream, needing to.
Finishing, his hands red and sore, he stumbled out of the bathroom. Chris’ bunk curtain was shut, and no one else was awake. Halting by his bunk, he hesitated, looking at the inviting depths of his sheets before turning his head away and heading for the front lounge. He couldn’t sleep, not after that, not after... he shuddered and sunk down on to the couch, burying his head in his hands.
-)-(-
Tyson cradled his fifth cup of coffee in his hands. Fuck, he was tired. Sipping it, he watched as Mike stumbled around the kitchenette, making breakfast while managing to dodge Chris who was making coffee.
“You look like shit dude,” Chris told him as he sat down across from him, coffee finally finished. “What’d you dream about? A world shortage of glitter?”
Tyson managed to dredge up a snort, sipping his coffee. “Gaylor, your adoration for me is simply astounding. And no, for your information, it wasn’t.”
“What’s this?” Mike asked, sitting down next to Chris.
“Ritter here had a nightmare last night,” Chris informed him. “Seems to have shaken him out of his little glittery booties.”
Tyson would have hit him but he seriously couldn’t be fucked. Instead he flipped him off, lazily rolling his eyes. “You’d suck as a parent, Gaylor. Aren’t you supposed to be supporting me, not mocking me?”
“Ha, see? I’m not your dad, I’m allowed to mock.” Chris sipped his coffee before adding, “Girl.”
Tyson scowled and buried himself in the hoodie he had managed to steal out of Nick’s bag earlier. He felt cold damn it. “Fuck you Gaylor.”
“Why’s Tyson fucking Chris?” Nick asked, appearing out from the bunk area. He stopped and blinked. “Jesus, Ty, you look like shit. You all right?”
Tyson pointed at him. “See! See! That’s how you’re supposed to react, Gaylor. Like that!” Chris shrugged and went back to his coffee.
“Wait, so what’s happening?” Nick slid down to sit next to him, stealing a sip of Mike’s coffee.
“Tyson had a nightmare last night, and Chris isn’t being sympathetic enough,” Mike informed him, scowling and taking his coffee back. “And leave my coffee alone.”
Nick ignored the coffee remark and turned to Tyson. “Nightmare?”
Tyson nodded, trying to ignore the way his back crawled as he recalled the dream. He had managed to avoid thinking about it all morning, passing the hours by reading or listening to music, but he could feel it, crawling around the back of his mind. “Yeah, it was pretty fucked up.”
“Wanna share?” Nick asked, grinning.
Tyson hesitated, half opening his mouth when Chris interrupted. “If Ritter’s talking about his dreams, I’m leaving.”
Tyson snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, firmly. “No. No I’m good.” He carefully avoided Nick’s eyes as he took a sip of his coffee, which tasted strangely bland and unappetising. “It was no big deal.”
Part 2
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dark Themes, Horror, Graphic Content, Sex, Violence, Abuse, Mind Invasion, Dub-Con, Torture, Slight Blood Play, Mutilation,
Word Count: 34, 598
Disclaimer: Not related to anyone mentioned, and if this has really happened to you, get help.
Summary:
Tyson keeps having these dreams, full of music and creatures and Him. He can’t stop them, and they keep coming. Every night, without fail. Madness was never this horrifying, was it?
Author's Note: This was meant for last Halloween, and has been an absolute Nightmare (haha, get it?) to Beta, so it’s taken a whole year! The biggest of thanks have to be given to
nuclearxsquid and xaritomene who were there every step of the way while I was writing this and allowed me to ramble at them incessantly for months, and then for having goes at Betaing this. More thanks again to xrysomou who had a go, and finally neon_footprint for finishing the Betaing and putting up with my ignorance of the English language. They are awesome and if you do anything, leave them a comment for how brilliant they’ve been. They’ve earned it.Edit:
neon_footprint has been all types of wonderful and has made a Mix for DotN!! It's amazing and awesome and definitely worth downloading if you don't have the songs :)Posting everywhere, sorry for the spam guys!
There's a little creepy house in a little creepy place
Little creepy town in a little creepy world
Little creepy girl with her little creepy face
Saying funny things that you have never heard
-)-(-
There was music; soft, melodic, seductive, rising and falling as the song played. It was strangely familiar, yet completely alien. Opening his eyes, he stared at the sky – or what he assumed was meant to be the sky. There were clouds, rolling and churning, faster than any storm he’d ever seen. The sky was a disturbing mix of indigo and mauve, the colours twisting together violently as the clouds raced overhead.
Blinking slowly, he stared at the mass above him, trying to clear his confused mind. The last thing he remembered was going to bed in his bunk. How the hell had he gotten here? Looking around, he saw that he was lying in a clearing, of sorts. Surrounding him were trees, plants, but unlike any natural growth he had ever seen. Black bushes filled with jagged, twisted thorns and sharp leaves ringed the clearing, grey tree trunks struggled to reach the sky, branches bare of any leaves, but so thick and tangled that they blocked the view of anything beyond the clearing. Underneath him, blades of magenta grass poked into his skin, sharp and unforgiving.
The music suddenly surged louder, pouring into his ears like molten lava. Confused, he sat up, wincing as the unnaturally coarse grass dug at his skin, and stared. From behind the plants, figures were emerging, dancing and playing abnormal instruments. Choking down a cry, he flinched away from them, scrabbling backwards. The figures were strange, deformed; unnatural. Beings with elongated limbs, arms that stretched to the ground, legs bent and dragging, faces twisted into gruesome grins, teeth black and twisted, lips stretched across their face, eyes small. Others were like spiders, low to the ground, scuttling forwards, arms and legs moving in tandem, or large and bulky, limbs short and thick, skin tough looking and leathery. All were twisted copies of unnatural humans and animals, fangs, claws, limbs transformed into something terrifying, yet somehow entrancing.
Shaking, he tried to back away from them, but they were encircling him, forming a physical barrier between him and an escape, still dancing and playing their outlandish instruments and grinning at him, faces leering. Standing up, he held his arms close in an attempt to keep as far away from them as possible. Breathing shakily, he spun around, desperately looking for an escape. Where was he? How did he get here? Was this a dream? If it was, why did it feel so real? His back still tingled from the grass’s sharp edges, and the soles of his feet were beginning to hurt, sharp shots of pain edging their way up his legs. Where the hell was he?!
The music suddenly stopped. Restraining a whimper, he eyed the crowd. His panicked breathing sounded as loud as canons, disturbing the eerie silence. Swallowing, he was abruptly aware that he was only clothed in a pair of pants. The creatures simply stared at him, eyes dark and unnatural. And those that could, grinned at him, showing their black and pointed teeth.
“Greetings.”
Gasping, he spun around. He stepped backwards with a flinch. In front of him was a woman, or something that closely resembled one. Her hair was crimson, pulled back away from her face and trailing to her waist, and her skin ice white. She was wearing a red dress that swept to the ground, the ends tattered and ending in a train that was held off the ground by two goblin-looking creatures. It just kept her modesty, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes lingered on her chest before he managed to flick them up to her face. Her eyes were large and dark, and when she grinned at him, parting blood red lips, she revealed long sharp black teeth.
“Who – who are you?” he stammered, edging further away.
She continued to grin at him. “Who I am is of no importance right now.” She took a step closer, and he hurriedly took one back. “Though, who you are is.” She chuckled and turned away from him. “Creatures!” she cried, raising her arms. “We have done well! A new member will join our ranks in six nights time!” She turned to look at him, eyes sharp and leering. “And an attractive member he shall be,” she purred, stepping close and raising a hand to stroke his cheek.
He flinched as she ran a long, red nail down his skin, the nerves tingling in its wake. “What?”
“You, Tyson, have been chosen to join us.” She chuckled, eyes staring deep into his. “And what a lovely addition you are.”
“What?! I don’t understand.” He edged away, ignoring how anxious his voice was becoming. “This is all a dream, right? It can’t be real!” He clenched his eyes shut and gripped his head, fists tightening in his hair. “I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming. I’ve been slipped something weird and I’m now OD-ing in a hospital. I’ll wake up and Nick’ll be ready to punch me for being an idiot.” He swallowed, tightening his fists. Please let me be dreaming!
Strong hands gripped his wrists, pulling them away from his head. Involuntarily he opened his eyes, gasping when he found the woman’s face within inches of his. “This is not a dream, Tyson,” she murmured softly. “This is very, very real.” She bent closer, her breath cloying and cold, swirling to caress his face. “In six nights you shall become one of us, and you will forever dance the Qntal Saltationem, the Dance of the Nightmare.” Her black teeth glinted in the light. “There is no escape.” Her eyes flicked downwards and she moved closer, her lips parting.
Crying out he wrenched himself away from her, tripping and landing hard on the ground, grass dragging lacerations into his skin. Terrified, he kept low, crouching over his knees, gasping for breath and clenching his eyes shut. Her scent still lingered in his nostrils, on his tongue, and her lips lingered in his mind, tempting and terrible at the same time.
“Oh,” she said, calmly. “Few have pulled away before. I wonder why you did.” He heard a rustle and suddenly her hand grasped his chin and ruthlessly pulled his head up to look at her, inch long red nails digging into his skin. Unwillingly, he looked into her eyes, losing feeling in his limbs as her eyes locked on to his. “Ah, that is why.” She smirked, and keeping her hand on his chin, she began to change. Her shoulders widened, chest flattening. Her hair became shorter, her dress shuddering and changing shape, her whole body changing colour until the all movement stopped and she was no longer a she. She was a he.
“Is this better Tyson?” She – he drawled, voice transformed to a deep baritone, somehow even more seductive than the purr. His hair was shorter, swept away from his head in spiky dark indigo locks, features sharp and chiselled, skin so pale it had a purple tinge to it. His body was long and covered in dark leather and silk, subtly muscled. The hand underneath Tyson’s chin no longer held long red nails, but was instead strong fingers and nails that were painted black. “Do you find this more appealing?” he asked in a low voice. His eyes still dark and teeth still black, but lips now a blackened purple instead of blood red.
“N-No,” he lied, unable to look away.
The man smirked and bent closer until his lips were brushing Tyson’s ear. “I think you’re lying.” Tyson shuddered as the breath crept down his back, icy and dangerous. The man pulled back until his face as in front Tyson’s, breath again swirling onto his skin, and his eyes locking on to Tyson's. “Welcome to the Dance, Tyson,” he whispered, and then he kissed Tyson on the lips, tasting of acid and sin, and although it burnt to touch, Tyson couldn’t help but shut his eyes and press closer. The man’s tongue invaded his mouth, sweeping possessively across his lips and into his mouth, tasting his teeth. It burnt, it burnt like nothing Tyson had ever felt, but at the same time it was bliss, and he couldn’t even care when felt himself get hard, pressing against the thin fabric of his pants.
The man pulled back, too soon and not soon enough, his hand gripping his chin tight and his lips parting into a smug grin. “I'll see you tomorrow night, Tyson,” he murmured, letting go.
Tyson jerked up with a gasp, breathing hard, drenched in sweat, and shaking. Swallowing, he fumbled around blindly until his hand came in contact with his bunk’s curtain. Shoving it back, he rolled forward, needing light. Landing with a thump on the floor he sighed in relief as the familiar sight of the bus came into focus; clothes, shoes, junk spread out over the floor and the empty bunks.
Almost crying in relief, he rested his head against mattress. He was back, he was back! It had all been a dream! Breathing deeply, he sat there, body shaking, sweat cooling and drying. It had all been a dream.
“Tyson?” Jumping, he jerked his head around. It was only Chris. “You all right?”
“Y-yeah,” he managed, trying to stop his voice from shaking. “Nightmare.”
Chris stared at him for a moment before nodding and climbing into his own bunk. “Okay then. Try to lay off the sweets next time then. Save it for Halloween, it’s only a few nights away.” Chris tugged his blankets up before glancing at him. “And did you kiss a Goth chick or something? What’s with the purple lipstick?”
Tyson stared, raising a hand to his lips. Pulling his fingers back he saw purple smeared on the tips. Choking on a gasp, he stumbled to his feet and lurched to the bathroom, ignoring Chris’ curious stare. Fumbling to get the door open, he fell inside, hands gripping the sink, knuckles turning white.
His lips were purple. The same blackened purple of the lips of the man in his dream. Fingers coming up to touch them again, he suddenly became aware of other things, how his feet and back felt sore and scratched, how his chin ached, how the palms of his hands felt grazed... how he could still taste the scent of the man’s breath on his lips.
Trembling, his frantically wiped at his mouth, trying to get rid of the purple mark, hand rubbing fiercely. It smudged, trailing across his cheek, and his stubble rubbed against the raw skin of his palm, making him flinch. Ignoring the way his hand throbbed, he rubbed harder until all the purple was finally gone and his lips and cheek were swollen and red from the friction.
Staring at his now clean face, he grimaced, still able to taste the man on his tongue. Grabbing his toothbrush, he squeezed a large blob of paste on to it before shoving it into his mouth and scrubbing, hard. Once his mouth felt raw and numb he spat the paste out and rinsed, turning the tap on to hot. Grabbing the soap, he scrubbed at his hands as well, trying to eliminate all traces of the dream, needing to.
Finishing, his hands red and sore, he stumbled out of the bathroom. Chris’ bunk curtain was shut, and no one else was awake. Halting by his bunk, he hesitated, looking at the inviting depths of his sheets before turning his head away and heading for the front lounge. He couldn’t sleep, not after that, not after... he shuddered and sunk down on to the couch, burying his head in his hands.
-)-(-
Tyson cradled his fifth cup of coffee in his hands. Fuck, he was tired. Sipping it, he watched as Mike stumbled around the kitchenette, making breakfast while managing to dodge Chris who was making coffee.
“You look like shit dude,” Chris told him as he sat down across from him, coffee finally finished. “What’d you dream about? A world shortage of glitter?”
Tyson managed to dredge up a snort, sipping his coffee. “Gaylor, your adoration for me is simply astounding. And no, for your information, it wasn’t.”
“What’s this?” Mike asked, sitting down next to Chris.
“Ritter here had a nightmare last night,” Chris informed him. “Seems to have shaken him out of his little glittery booties.”
Tyson would have hit him but he seriously couldn’t be fucked. Instead he flipped him off, lazily rolling his eyes. “You’d suck as a parent, Gaylor. Aren’t you supposed to be supporting me, not mocking me?”
“Ha, see? I’m not your dad, I’m allowed to mock.” Chris sipped his coffee before adding, “Girl.”
Tyson scowled and buried himself in the hoodie he had managed to steal out of Nick’s bag earlier. He felt cold damn it. “Fuck you Gaylor.”
“Why’s Tyson fucking Chris?” Nick asked, appearing out from the bunk area. He stopped and blinked. “Jesus, Ty, you look like shit. You all right?”
Tyson pointed at him. “See! See! That’s how you’re supposed to react, Gaylor. Like that!” Chris shrugged and went back to his coffee.
“Wait, so what’s happening?” Nick slid down to sit next to him, stealing a sip of Mike’s coffee.
“Tyson had a nightmare last night, and Chris isn’t being sympathetic enough,” Mike informed him, scowling and taking his coffee back. “And leave my coffee alone.”
Nick ignored the coffee remark and turned to Tyson. “Nightmare?”
Tyson nodded, trying to ignore the way his back crawled as he recalled the dream. He had managed to avoid thinking about it all morning, passing the hours by reading or listening to music, but he could feel it, crawling around the back of his mind. “Yeah, it was pretty fucked up.”
“Wanna share?” Nick asked, grinning.
Tyson hesitated, half opening his mouth when Chris interrupted. “If Ritter’s talking about his dreams, I’m leaving.”
Tyson snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, firmly. “No. No I’m good.” He carefully avoided Nick’s eyes as he took a sip of his coffee, which tasted strangely bland and unappetising. “It was no big deal.”
Part 2
