Dream: Janus/Atticus
The jock sat at the end of the couch when Atticus turned to face the big room, empty no more. He was wearing his letterman again, big stitched white letters and brushed felt, his leather loafers stretched out in front of him and his weight on one hip. Elbow propped up on one edge of the couch, the carnival bear watching the scene from where it was tucked in one pocket. The fish and the cowboy's hat was nowhere in view.
"You look like shit," the jock said, rubbing the edge of one eye, which bled faint whisks of black smoke whenever he blinked too quickly. He wouldn't have minded some cookies either, not a bit. Or the cheeseburger, damn, that would be good too. But this room was damned bare, and it freaked him out a little bit.