i wrote a Dream having Floor Time and not knowing what that means/trauma response/eventual fluff thing under the cut and also saved in my ao3 drafts what is happening to me
The hour is late. You exhale a sigh.
“I don’t know where he is this time,” you whisper to yourself.
You keep your steady pace around the quiet palace corridors. There’s no urgency to your steps; you know he’s close, but you hope it isn’t as easy as it seems to get lost if you take an unfamiliar turn. How does Lucienne keep track of this labyrinth , you wonder. A figure in your peripheral causes you to pause at the study door.
“Dream?”
You almost walked right past him. Such a pale thing. Wreathed in his black-indigo coat, he lies perfectly immobile on the stone floor. A sizable ornate rug is lying to his side, yet it seems he has deliberately chosen not to lie on top of it. His slender hands are folded together, resting neatly below his chest. Eyes like the deepest blue lake are fixed on the ceiling. He has the look of one who is seeing beyond the physical limits of the palace. You tilt your head quizzically, assuming he hasn’t noticed you.
“Dream.” You turn into the room and step closer.
The corner of his mouth creases into a soft smirk as he finally blinks in acknowledgment.
Hello, you.
Just two words are more than enough to cast that spell again. His voice captures you in a net of calm. Deep, melodious, resonating, softly wistful. All your tension relaxes. It’s as if the music of a gentle lullaby is being played in another room. He really is the King of Dreams.
“Hi there,” you exhale. This room is smaller than his throne room but no less grand. The ceiling here is also that of a swirling galaxy of cool-toned stars and celestial bodies. Various writing instruments are neatly organized across several wooden and stone desks throughout. It smells faintly of eucalyptus.
You approach the edge of his cloak and kneel beside him, smoothing your dress. He finally turns his head to match your gaze.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
I have been found. There’s a brief twinkle of mischief in his eye, but then it is gone. At this, your brow furrows. Maintaining eye contact is uncomfortable, but your growing concern precedes it.
“Yesterday, the un-making was…trying for you.” His eyes narrow slightly. Speaking out loud about the rare occurrence of Dream having to destroy a dream-thing is a tender subject, and mentioning the event directly to the King is another matter entirely. “How are you?”
Morpheus responds with a slow blink and turns back toward the ceiling. Indeed.
You inhale and fold your hands respectfully in your lap, watching as tears threaten to spill from his red-rimmed lids. He will never answer that question. You can’t help but be reminded of the image of your own grieving self after past trauma. So many days, months, years spent just thinking . Trying not to think. Trying to will yourself out of existence. A thin, graying form splayed on the carpet of your childhood bedroom, staring, seeing nothing. Sometimes, you would fall asleep like this, which is how you first met Lord Morpheus. To this day, even minor inconveniences sometimes have you falling back into your practice of silent floor time. Although you think you could never appear as graceful and with such restrained beauty and terror as Dream.
You’re suddenly struck with a notion. You unfold your legs from underneath you and proceed to gather the extra fabric of Dream’s galaxy cloak. His clothes always have an otherworldly quality, besides the existence of an undulating cosmos instead of fabric lining. The cloak feels weighted in your hands, but at the same time, it moves like fog between your fingers.
You catch Dream giving you a curious side-long glance out of the corner of your eye, causing a tiny smile to creep up your lips. You finally stretch out beside him, nearly touching his elbow.
“Floor time it is, then.” You tilt your head back to watch the ceiling twinkle and change colors.
Floor. Time. He is looking directly at you. I. Didn’t realize mortals do this. Had a. Word for it.
“We have quite a lot of words for everything,” you observe. Dream blinks in agreement. “Floor time is essential for some of us. I know it helps keep me very grounded. I let the surface absorb my worries and practice my breathing. Better still if I can be outside in nature.”
He lets out a little rare chuckle. That seems. Wise. You are always very calm.
You give him a genuine smile. “It’s in my nature to be. But sometimes, I forget who I am. Hence, floor time.”
You sound a Lot. Like one of my sisters.
You nod thoughtfully. “She…visited often when I was young. I suppose she influenced my personality early on.”
A sudden pained expression crosses Dream’s face. I am. Sorry. For all that you hold inside of you.
You frown and shake your head slightly. “It’s nothing that you must apologize for.”
A comfortable silence falls between you as the Dream Lord seems to become lost in thought once more. After a beat, Morpheus sits up. He props a long arm on one knee.
Thank you. For allowing me to just. Be. It is not often when I am not required to. Answer many questions.
You slowly sit up, matching Lord Morpheus’s lengthy form, if only because he tends to hunch. You bend one leg beneath you.
“As King, you have your subjects to answer to. As Endless, your siblings.” You place a steady hand on his arm, causing his lips to part ever so slightly. “I am neither your subject nor sibling. I don’t intend to burden you with more expectations, Dream.”
In a swift movement, Dream gently holds your arm by the wrist and faces you on his knees.
Do you not. Expect. Anything from me?
Still holding onto your wrist, he pulls you closer and places two fingertips from his opposite hand under your chin. His suddenly brilliant blue eyes search yours.
You lift your lips to his in response. The sensation of him is tender yet utterly overwhelming. A fathomless nighttime sea crashing on a black sand shore. His fingertips move across your chin and soon his whole hand cradles your jaw, encouraging it forward, chasing his deliberately slow kisses. He releases his grip on your wrist and places that hand at the small of your back.
You’re falling into him now, or he’s pulling you on top of him, you can’t determine which in your breathless haze. Truly breathless because he hasn’t remembered your mortal lungs until your hand in his hair is gripping it tight. Dream finally relents, his eyes still closed and swollen lips pouting. He is impossibly gorgeous this way: head thrown back, neck muscles straining, wild hair and darkened daring eyes. He is actually grinning.
It takes you a few breaths before you manage to grin back and roll your eyes at him.
“Look at the state of us. Dream. Of the Endless.” You are completely entangled in his robes and his limbs. All the activity has caused a blanket of fog to cover the entire floor of the study. You lean across his chest and rest your head on your knuckles.
I will not apologize. He’s still watching you with a smirk. You shudder slightly when both of his hands come up to grip your waist.
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” His eyes close again briefly at this sentiment and at the feeling of your fingers brushing a bit of his hair away from his face. “I, on the other hand, have entirely disturbed your floor time.”
As you prepare to stand, the hands at your waist expertly pull you back down and underneath Dream. He weighs nothing, making the strength of him uniquely startling and solid. You look up at him, incredulous. His soft lips are at your neck.
We will therefore continue. This. Floor time. Together.
