He’s dreaming and it’s the most vivid of dreams.
Or he’s being haunted by a man speaking in riddles at the foot of his bed.
The man stares at Mike for a moment longer, a look of faint distaste on his face, before he turns and—
He’s not there. He turned and now he’s not there.
Mike closes his eyes.
Mike opens his eyes and there’s things above him, shapes that he can’t quite make out, but their spindly fingers are on him, they’re holding him down and shoving tubes down his throat and he can’t breathe, oh god, he can’t breathe and—
He jerks up in his bed.
Martin glares up at him, tail twitching.
The sun is rising outside his house. He can hear the birds chirping. His alarm will be going off in another ten minutes or so.
His heart pounds in his chest. His skin is slick with sweat.
But there’s no one in his room.
There’s no riddle man standing at the foot of his bed.
There are no things holding him down, shoving tubes inside of him.
He’s not haunted.
It was just a dream.
He’s fine.
He’s fine.
He’s fine.
“YOU LOOK terrible,” Mrs. Richardson says as she and her four followers enter Bookworm. “Those bags under your eyes. Your unkempt beard. My word, Mike. Are you trying to sabotage yourself before you even go on the first date? I didn’t work this hard to let you fall by the wayside now.”
“I didn’t know you worked at anything having to do with this,” Mike says. He knows she is right, however. He is tired, more tired than he’s been in a long time. He feels off, slightly. He contemplated not opening the shop today, but decided against it. It is only a half day, after all, and the more the morning goes on, the less he thinks about or even remembers why he had such a hard night to begin with. He supposes that most dreams fade, if what he’s read in books is anything to go by. They are bright and real when they happen, but fade in such a short amount of time.
Truth is that Mike hasn’t even really thought about his dream. He’s been more focused on his plans for this afternoon. Sean told him the night before to not worry about a thing, that he’d pack the food and everything else they’d need. All Mike needed to do, Sean said, was be ready at twelve thirty on the dot, not a minute later.
It is now a little before ten, and Mike… well.
>
Mike is nervous.
This is a date.
With his fella.
And didn’t that thought make him feel warm.
Which is why he’s distracted when the Amorea Women’s Club arrives through the door, Mrs. Richardson announcing her apparent disdain for his uncouth appearance. She’s frowning at him like he’s committed some cardinal sin, already removing her white gloves with a flick of her hands.
The ladies gather behind her, but remain quiet.
“You’re lucky,” she says, “that I have a vested interest in this.”