George walks through the rows and rows of bookshelf's, staring down at him with their musky, warn scents of children whom had picked them out of their places and basked in their stories.

A hard, red book with illegible images and large golden words is pressed onto his chest, as he pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose so they don't fall off his face.

He blinks, his long eyelashes making contact with his rose tinted cheeks and he looks up, stopping before a large shelf, with a small, rather noticeable jab where another book should rest.

Standing on his toes, he pushes the book into it's fold and he brushes his finger on the cover before tearing his hand away, a small smile finding it's way onto his face.

Harry Potter. The story never got old.

George loved the series dearly, and he would hold it towards his chest for all eternity because his love for it was too strong.

He had never resonated with characters much like the ones in Harry Potter, and he was thankful for them, because without their courage and brave grins, he would have never found his way through life.

You could call him a nerd, a dork, a child, or perhaps even a greek and he had heard it all before, but it didn't matter, because the opinions of those folks who judged his favourite book series held no meaning, and so he didn't care.

He loved this place too much, the library. He had been to every corner of it and yet it still held surprises that warmed his heart.

He had the amazing opportunity to work here, and the first time he heard of the job from his friend Wilbur, he took it without a second thought.

Because the library was sort of a second home to him, one that was large and quiet and filled with his favourite things in the whole world, stories that were timeless to anyone who read them and still held up to this very day.

George pushed his brunette locks out of his eyes and lifted his head as the sound of shuffling reached his ears.

Taking a step back, he peered through the gab between two bookshelves and saw a rather tall man standing there, with a book in his hands, his emerald green eyes trailing across the cover with a smile resting on his face.

George bit his bottom lip at the sight of him and became paralysed. Dirty blond hair, with a dark, pickle green hood covering it, beautiful emerald green eyes, sun-kissed skin with very evident freckles spaced out on his face like stars in the nights sky, ripped jeans, green converses, his jacket and a rope necklace with a small silver rectangle hanging from it.

It was Dream. The Dream.

The Dream from the band 'The Diamonds' that George listened to everyday and the band that were currently on tour and the people he was saving up to go see.

He bit his tongue really hard and blinked for what felt like a dozen times. But he was still there, living, breathing, like a normal human being- He wasn't dreaming. This was actually happening. The Dream was right there.

He stood quietly, trying to get himself to move, trying to stop himself from staring but he just couldn't- He was right there. His idol was right there.

Chill out George, he's just a human being, just like you and everyone else in the world.

George knew, he knew it well enough, but he and the rest of his band were people that have helped George so much through his life, had made his darker days brighter, a shinning layer of hope that he clung onto and went back to almost everyday for comfort.

Dream had helped him so much and he didn't even know it.

And so, George couldn't tear his eyes away but he had to, god he had to, but he couldn't, he just couldn't.

Emerald green eyes arose from the cover of his book to face George's chocolate brown ones and he swears that life has left him for good. George fumbles in his thoughts, trying to think of a reason to be standing there, staring, and he bites his tongue harder then he ever had before.

But it doesn't hurt. It never hurts. But it sure as hell snaps him out of his dazed state.

With a shaky arm, he lifts his hand up and stares to the ground, looking away for once in this whole experience. "C-Could I help you?" His words come out quite yet quick and he curses himself once more for stuttering.

He lets himself wince when Dream looks away from him and to the book, his cocky yet sympathetic smile growing wider on his face. "Yeah, actually. Could I check out this book?"

George looks up and stares into Dream's eyes once more. He's afraid he'll get lost in there, afraid he'd find himself in an etherial void and never have the chance to escape, so he tightens a grip on himself and looks away, to the book in Dream's hand.

"Yeah," He chokes out when he realises he needs to reply, and looks once more to Dream before he feels like he'll pass out. "Right this way, please."

He waits quietly for Dream to stand beside him before he moves, out of the fantasy section and to the front, where he usually sits, his computer closed and a flopped book on his desk with a mug of tea by his side.

Their hight difference is all too noticeable. George feels like a gnome next to a giant like Dream. If he wasn't mistaken, he was about 6'3 or something- That was too tall.

George hangs out with to many tall people.

He takes the time to stare at what book Dream had chosen.

Percy Jackson and the lightning thief?

He hears Dream chuckle at the thought and only then did he realise he spoke it aloud. His face feels like it's burning red when the sound of a small bell, jingles in his ears, and makes him blush even more then he thought was physically possible. "What's wrong with Percy Jackson?"

"Nothing." George is quick to say. He coughs into his hand and pushes the bridge of his glasses up once more. "It's just- It's kinda boring."

"Boring?!" Dream jumps at the words and stares down at George as if he's announced world domination infront of his very eyes. "No it is not!" And then he went on a full blown discussion about Percy Jackson and how awesome, and cool it was (In his very own words.)

George admired the way he spoke, the way his words fumbled against certain letters because of the accent that laced his vowels, the way he used his hands to exaggerate everything he said to it's fullest potential, the way his smile lifts and flattens as he speaks about different subjects.

George couldn't believe it. George couldn't believe he was standing next to Dream, The Dream, and wasn't screaming into the air right now because of his excitement.

Though he must admit he's rather lost in Dream's eyes.

"Or are you just one of those people who enjoy Harry Potter more?" Dream ended, pointing a finger at George, causing him to flinch and feel his heart tear apart and give birth to new life once more.

He blinks a couple times to take ahold of the situation and realise where he stands. Was he really being asked if he enjoyed Harry Potter by his favourite person in the entire world (other then his parents, of course)?

Yes, yes he was. What a way the world works.

"Hey, are you-"

"Yes! Oh my gosh, Harry Potter is much better." And then George was the one who went into a full blown discussion about Harry Potter and all it's great qualities. Finally, he had found a position that made it easy for him to talk about whatever he wanted and not stumble on his words like the idiot it was.

It was fun, talking to Dream. The way he reacted to everything he said, with a small smile or a larger grin, the way his eyes glint at whatever George says and yet there's still a playful look in that George was blinded by.

And all the while, George scanned his book and stopped when he had handed the book back, softly saying, "I ramble a lot."

"No, it's fine. I do it too." He says in return. George stretches his hand out for Dream to grasp at his book, and just when Dream reaches out in turn, their fingers brush against one another, before Dream grasps the book entirely.

Butterflies erupted in George's stomach and sent distant euphoria to his emotions before Dream coughed into his hand and glanced back at George, snapping him out of his dazed state and to reality once more. "I have to go now, so um- Bye." He waved. But before he left, he went closer to George, squinted his eyes and said, "Harry Potter is overrated."

With a cocky grin, he went out of the library, and George was to stunned to say a single word.

What the hell just happened?