[ by the time the clown-less, hell-less dream has ended, boothill's stopped them from swaying, standing them still in the middle of the floor. for a moment he's still far away into this dream, wanting to step into it, for it to be real. instead they're back in elysium, in the little tea break room. he feels the cold cage of his body beneath him, warm only where it presses against her skin. they're not in that sunlit cottage in a field of green. not yet, but maybe someday. it's the warmest, sweetest dream he's had in ages.
he holds her cheek and squeezes her waist, finally pulling himself back into reality. ]
You saw that, right? [ he says softly. his chest feels tight. his heart feels wound like a spring, ready to burst. he wants that vision to be real. ] It ain't just me?
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he holds her cheek and squeezes her waist, finally pulling himself back into reality. ]
You saw that, right? [ he says softly. his chest feels tight. his heart feels wound like a spring, ready to burst. he wants that vision to be real. ] It ain't just me?