(ooc - is this okay?)
Icarus dreams were often like this. When they weren’t nightmares of falling, of endless blue beneath him and burning wax down his arms, they were of this. The partners changed – for years it was only College and whatever mortal men or women he’d stared at that day or that week in his classes. More recently, other immortals had been making more recent appearances. College, still, but now his dreams included Adonis or Hades. In the last week it had been Nerites almost every night. And often – since he had found him in the alley - often it was Asterion. His oldest, closest friend and he would never dream of wanting him while he was awake – not really – but in his dreams it was safe, and Asterion might have been the only one of any of them who loved him, so he tried not to think too much about it when he was awake.
He loved him.
But the dream wasn’t as good or loving or comforting as it usually was. His friend shifted – his dream version of him, beautiful and whole and bright, turning into flashes of the bloody mess he’d been when Icarus had found him months ago. And the things he was saying made no sense. Loved him, wanted him – yes. Those things he expected. Those were a part of this dream. But the others?
Find who? Who was so important?
Icarus woke aroused and terrified – feeling as if Asterion had been ripped away from him. And he didn’t understand why, or how. But he knew he had to find out, and he got dressed as quickly as he could and headed out toward Asterion’s studio. Trying his friend’s cellphone over and over again as he crossed the city.