It was rare that Adam felt aware of his dreams. Work kept him too busy to sleep fitfully, the exhaustion of the day blessing him with a kind of easy, effortless rest when at last he slipped between his sheets. Only a calming blackness remained of the night when he awoke, not a single wayward thought distracting him from the day to come.
Tonight would be different. Adam realized that not when he first lay down, but soon after; his eyes had drifted shut, heavy with torpor, but what came was not the darkness he recalled. It was cold here, strangely illuminated and bright, and the silhouette he saw - though memorable, impossibly so - was the last he might have expected.
It was a dream, at least, and so his logic followed the sort any dream-logic might. The cold climes, the likes of which he had never lived near, much less in, were less strange to him than the appearance of this ghost from his past - but neither proved odd enough to deter him from drawing nearer, his hopes of gaining some sort of understanding growing with every step. He furrowed his brow, his unhurried gait carrying him ever closer to the one acquaintance Adam had never truly been comfortable labeling. Whether he was friend or foe, even here, in his own dream, remained to be seen. He stopped a pace away, just shy of arm's length. When he spoke, all his hesitation, all his uncertainty lay bare in his soft tone.