Tommy was right. Tommy was fucking right.

George didn't expect it at first. He didn't expect the doors of the library to burst open on a chilly, Thursday morning and a man to stride up to his desk and stare into his soul as he trailed his eyes across the page of his book, specifically the body, by Stephen king that had been adapted into a film he had watched when he was no older then six.

It was a rather interesting read.

"You were right." He paused at the sound of the words, the honey soft tone that escalated from the man's voice like rocks falling off a cliff and into a large pond.

He grew stiff. He was too scared to look up, to scared to look up and realise that it wasn't him. That Tommy wasn't right, that he had been dreaming, and he had met his favourite singer in the entire world.

And quite frankly speaking, he was probably better off believing in good then in bad.

But it wasn't a dream. He was standing right before him. And it took George a lot of courage to stare up.

When he did, he was met with the silly, goofy emerald green gaze of a man that he had only watched on screens and had never seen before a week ago, a man who looked too good to be a dream, someone who was too good to be true.

But he wasn't. He was right there, standing, smiling. And George couldn't help but feel his cheeks heat up when he gazed at the man's grin. "I need a better read." The man began and George was broken out of his trance. "Something that's full of adventure, but grounded. Looney enough to make me laugh but not so much that it replicates Bugs Bunny. Something thrilling, adventurous, full of friendship and a pinch of sadness."

Dream grinned wickedly at him and only then did he realise he had spoken too fast, and George was ashamed to have caught every word. "Oh. Sorry. That might be too much- Shit, I talk too fast."

But George stood up, glee playing with the glints of his eyes and making his glasses fall down his nose so he would have to push them up again. "Follow me."

And he would walk through the rows and rows of books, shelves taller then he would ever be, leaving behind all his memory of speaking to a popular bandmate and pretending that he was speaking to an old friend.

He finally reached the section and had to stand on his toes to reach the book, but only then he could brush his fingers on the cover. With a hard attempt, he pulled the book out with two fingers and let it slip from his fingers like butter before Dream caught it beside him.

"Dead poets society?" He asked, looking at George with a cocked brow. "Isn't this a film or something?"

"Have you watched it?" George let out a sigh of relief when he heard that Dream had in-fact not watched it. "Good. Well, it's exactly what you asked for. Thrill, excitement, friendship, something grounded, not too loony, and a hint of sadness." George bit his tongue and looked away, "Well, it might be more then a pinch but-"

"You heard all that?" He heard Dream say, his words lifting with happiness like an air-balloon being set to the sky, reaching the clouds and gazing at the world around them, the beauty that most had forgotten was still hidden in-between shops and in the soft feeling of leaves in the summer time.

George felt like he was on that very air balloon when he saw Dream's face. His ears had dipped in a pool of pink and a relaxed smile was pressed onto his face. He had to stop himself from staring by pushing up his glasses up and turning his attention on the cover of the book.

"Well- I get asked a lot of things, and I-er- need to make sure I listen or they'll be angry with me." George coughed into his hand and mentally winced at how he worded that sentence. "Do you want to check it out?"

Dream nodded with a grin and followed George to the front where he scanned the book and handed it to Dream. "Thank you," He said, and looked up at George. "What's your name?"

The words repeated again and again in his mind. He asked for my name- Get it together George, stop being smitten and say your name. "George." He replied and was pleasantly surprised that he didn't stutter.

"George." Dream felt the word around on his tongue and little did George know, it rather fit his liking. He turned back to him with a cocked brow. "I take it you know who I am?" He stopped right after he said that and reflected on the words. "Oh wow, that sounds really bad." His ears became redder and the glint in his eyes sharpened.

George was too embarrassed it was true.

"Oh no! No, no, it's fine. It's happened." George consoled and clicked his tongue at the thought of the question. "And yeah- I do."

There was an awkward silence within the room, and George wished that the heavens wouldn't crash upon him and forever silence him for his sins. But they didn't. They never did. "That's cool." His phone dinged and he took it out and looked at it. George noticed the bracelet attached to it, one dangling from a green string and attached to a red colour that he couldn't see.

"The crew's callin'. They want me back." Dream pressed the book to his chest and George could've sworn he'd died. "Bye George!"

He waved farewell, and watched as Dream parted ways with his humble abode. When the doors had closed, George felt he was going to lose it.

He knows my name. The thought didn't seem real, like something he'd hear in a strange, fantastic Dream. But it was real, he knew it was real, he knew that The Dream of The Diamonds had come twice to his library and said hello.

He couldn't look like more of a fool.