"What's that supposed to mean?" I blinked, purposely giving him a bewildered look.

"You're a good guest," Spencer shrugged, chuckling for the hundredth time already. I shake my head, looking toward the steaming lump of circle-shaped spaghetti blankly. It was only then I noticed a small error, "You forgot the silverware."

"Oh, right," Spencer immediately stood up, hurriedly walking over to that stupidly large kitchen of his, and stepping through the doors with a burst of casual vigor. It was weird watching him go in with that much energy, for someone who seems so slothful. Maybe he's getting more comfortable with me? I hope he doesn't become like those girls who turn my ability to see dreams into an excuse for entering the intimate hour, but I feel as if he'd make it feel less discomforting. He'd be too lazy to make it sensual and too nice to pass beyond my boundaries. Plus, he seems to be my age, so it isn't weird. I should ask him his age when he comes back, just to be sure. I have to be sure! I have to not slip up.

Spencer's still not back yet.

Still, I'm sitting here, nothing happening. Each time the marinara sauce on the circular noodles glistened, I'd periodically glance at them, judging the shine's glare and shriveling up at each bubbly pop. Perhaps it was a good thing for him to take so long to find some silverware due to how hot these noodles were.

It's been at least four hours since I last entered a sleep state. I could tell because my body's completely settled with the transformation. It feels as if my human body has been sitting here all this time with a fuzzy blanket tightly pressed against every individual pore of its skin. Though it's probably around 6:45 right now, I don't feel very tired. I bet Spencer does, since he, despite being so lackadaisical, doesn't seem to doze off as much as I do. Maybe I've been cursed with sleep, but in return, I was given the ability to observe and recall any stimulating dream of everyone and myself. It's corny to think about it like that but nobody else was blessed with this ability and it's never been given to anyone else. I was merely born with it and everybody seems to question me about it. I'm about as dumb as everyone else is, yet people assume I'm more knowledgeable than they are.

Spencer busted through the doors, lightly panting. Is it seriously that difficult to find silverware in his own house? He made his way back over to where I was seated, plopping down back beside me. "There," A smile regrew back onto his visage, handing me a fork. "Take it."

I did so, grabbing its handle promptly. My eyes darted to the steaming bowl, blinking at the vapor striking my eyes repeatedly. To test its heat, one of my lower hands reached to touch the plastic covering of the bowl. It was lukewarm, warming up my fingers like a warm fire radiating its tamed energy from afar. I recalled that I held it before. Then, it was much hotter, but still hot enough to hold. Still holding the bowl with my lower hands, I used one of my upper sets of hands to stab a bundle of circle-shaped noodles with my utensil. Reluctantly, I drew the food up to my lips, letting the aroma waft through the particles of the air and toward my nostrils.

"Have you never eaten this before?" Spencer blinked, watching me closely.

"No," I murmured. "Why are they shaped like that𑁋"

"Kids are meant to eat them," Spencer shrugged. "I just buy them because they taste good and they're cheap."

Everything he does is cheap, which I expect, at this point.

Giving in, I shoved the helping of food into my mouth.

It tasted surprisingly wonderful. The noodles were slippery and soft, easy to chew through with the large fangs I bore. Though the sauce was bubbly and hot, it added a unique tomato flavor to the food, despite it being a bit bland. If anything, I could relate it to chips, something you'd constantly shove into your mouth without questioning the quality all that much after the first taste, which is exactly how I treated the pasta dish.

I was already close to being finished after only a few minutes since the can's serving size didn't seem to fit the entirety of the can, but even then, I could see how Spencer would like it. After all, it's cheap and tastes great. Even if his standards are so low, they're still serviceable ones.

My eyes swiftly glanced to meet Spencer's, who has been periodically looking over to me from his food that he's been shoveling into his gullet like a gluttonous sea star vacuuming its prey into its maw. After our eyes met once, he sat up and swallowed the food that was once resting in his mouth. "So do your spider teeth make eating better?" Spencer questioned.

"Depends on the food," I responded, resisting the desire for my eyes to dart back to the spaghetti I've been devouring. "Have you ever dozed off before?"

"Yeah."

"Have you dozed off in this town?"

"Not yet," Spencer chuckled. "I just moved here."

"So you have no idea what you look like, not even your sister?"

"No clue," Spencer sighed.

I whined quietly, though I did return to ravenously eating the rest of my food. My parents have always told me that the rich always eat spectacular food, but this man proves that the poor people have some nice food too, nice enough for the rich to consume. After finishing, I looked back to Spencer, who was also nearly finished with his food. "Well, it's almost nighttime," I murmured.

"Yeah," He replied, his voice somewhat muffled from the last mesh of grains slushing about his mouth.

"Are you ready?"

"Of course!"

"Then let's go already," I stood up, giving him a gaze that I hope he interprets as an expectant one.

"But what about our bowls?" Spencer crossed his arms.

"Oh right," I blinked, eyes drawn to my lack of edible content in the plastic bowl before me. I quickly lifted it in my lower set of arms and began walking back to the kitchen alongside Spencer. "And no more stalling," I huffed sassily, trying to ensure that I finally get to see his dreams and whatever's plaguing him.

"I'm not trying to," Spencer chuckled another time. "I'm only trying to be a good host to my guest."

"Well, you are," I reassured, or at least, tried to, as he opened the kitchen doors for me once again. "You've been the most hospitable of people who bring me over to see their dreams."

"I take it you expect people to immediately want you to see their dreams?"

"Yeah. For some, they only want me over because they forgot to buy melatonin."

"You make people instantly fall asleep?"

"That's what happens, most times."

"When does it not work?"

"When I'm interrupted," I paused after that answer. As we conversed, Spencer had been leading me around the metal maze of shiny cabinets and stove tops sprinkled haphazardly around the place to what I'd assume to be a dishwasher. It still bewildered me that anyone would want to live here. Not even the owner likes this place. Why is it that𑁋

"You gonna say something?" Spencer blinked, nudging my shoulder with a noticeable gentleness.

"Oh, I'm just..." I look down, eyelids lowering partway in instinctual guilt. "...thinking."

"Sorry if I intruded on something," Spencer apologized before stepping over to a corner of the kitchen. He was standing in front of a dishwasher, metallic and shiny like the cabinets and drawers surrounding it, with his fingers curled around the handle. With a casual grace, he opened the door and revealed its innards, plastic racks rolling out from within its chrome cocoon. After the top rack ran along the rail leading it outside of the dishwasher, Spencer placed his bowl in the center and moved the bottom rack back inside the dishwasher to reveal a small compartment for silverware that he quickly put his fork in, which I wasn't expecting, but I should have expected it. Even if he doesn't seem like it sometimes, he's still rich. The mansion probably came with it, or maybe he installed it himself because he was so lazy. For some reason, the latter feels more likely, even if he is cheap. After indulging in my thoughts for a bit, I placed my bowl near where he placed his, same with the utensil I've eaten with. "Thank you," I thanked him once more.

"You're welcome, Thomas," Spencer smiled brightly.

Something spurred within me each time I saw him smile, a feeling deeply hidden. It was shaky and tried to hide further within me, but it was as adamant as it was fickle. Each smile was genuine from him. There were no undertones of malevolence accompanying a sweet smirk or a genius scheme masked by gracious grins. He stopped being so put off by my sleep state after just a few hours of living here. Maybe it's because he knows it's normal or maybe because sleep states are natural? He's... sweet. He's sweeter than sweets like cakes, cookies, and brownies. His aroma isn't sweaty, meek, or moody. Nothing about him is the same as the others. Perhaps I should know him more, more than what I'm getting from him now. A lazy rich boy staring at me, wondering what I'm thinking about or maybe my hobbies and more. It's a nice thing to think about, what a wonderful person seems to think about me, and the negative thoughts that they could be reminiscing about me.

"I don't want to interrupt you again, so uh𑁋" Spencer spoke up.

"I'm still here!" I squealed.

"You blanked out for a bit𑁋"

"I'm fine, I'm fine! I just was𑁋"

"Staring at me for a bit?"

"Yes! No! Yes, I was, but not in a weird way!"

"I trust you," Spencer laughed, not a chuckle for once. He walked past me, heading towards the doors. "Think it's about time?" His eyelids fluttered about.

"Yeah," I nodded. "I don't usually do it while I'm still in a sleep state, but it should still work."

"Got it," Spencer nodded, pushing the doors open for me, which I quickly ran over to make it through.

I made my way across the dining room and out the doors leading into the grand yet disappointing lobby room, Spencer following me slowly. Assuming his room was upstairs, I waited for him by sitting on the bottom step. Despite my impatience, it's easy for me to wait for someone, even if I'm unsure whether or not they'd even consider being a friend of mine. Both him and Bronson have truly been the kindest people here so far.

Spencer finally made his way out of his own dining room, stepping towards me with no haste to his pace whatsoever. I watched him closely from afar, examining his footsteps and his posture, or lack thereof. His whole body was at a slight slant, slumping sleazily to the left as he stepped along the path towards me. He had his hands in his pockets while he walked, his thumbs resting on his sweatpants' skin. I noticed his eyes were focused on where I was, slightly closed like bedroom eyes. If he's tired already, then making him dream should be incredibly easy. "Waiting on me?" Spencer asked as he planted a foot beside where I was seated.

"Yeah," I nodded as I stood back up.

"Follow me," He instructed as he made his way up the stairs, much like I predicted he would go.

As I followed him closely from behind, I decided to start up a conversation in the safety of an enormous mansion's privacy. "So... are you in my class?"

"Are you a senior?" Spencer asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Then yeah. Eighteen years old already."

"Good," I smiled. That makes what'll eventually happen tonight less awkward. "Where's all of the damage you mentioned?"

"Er... it's more of in this corridor," Spencer answered as he opened a door with a set of two large holes that tore through the oak, accompanied by two smaller dents that barely made it through the back of the door to its front. It led into a long hallway, mainly filled with stands with pots of flowers placed on its surface and carpets. The carpet was wrinkled and torn while the pots were cracked or laying on their side. I expected it to be in more distress, minus the holes in the door, which I'm not sure how that even happened, but I could see how this could evolve into a problem if this constantly happens every single time he falls asleep.

"So this is where the whole rampage happened?" I asked.

"Yeah..." Spencer sighed, stepping into the corridor and stepping along the messy floor. "It's been like this since yesterday. I haven't gotten a chance to clean it up since I had to go to school."

I'm not sure why the thought even occurred to me, yet his kindness spurred me to reply with, "I could help you with cleaning this all up."

"It's not necessary," Spencer shook his head. "If we don't figure out what's happening, it's just gonna get all messed up again, right?"

"I... guess so," I blinked, carefully stepping into the hallway. "There were not any shards here, right?"

"Shards?"

"Shards from the flower pots."

"Nope. The ones that were on the floor, I picked up already. None of them broke, thank goodness."

"How convenient," I commented softly, hoping he didn't hear that. So far, he hasn't made a remark, so I think I'm safe.

It's odd that in all this chaos, none of them broke. Maybe his sleep state is soft or squishy? Something that's destructive enough to tear holes in the carpet and walls yet kind enough to keep the porcelain pots from cracking apart and into pieces. What kind of animal would do that? Maybe his sleep state isn't an animal? It could be that his sleep state is kind, somehow. Kind animals could exist. If a spider could describe me, then maybe whatever describes him the most is as kind, generous, and rich as he. Despite his kindness, maybe the destruction shows something else about him that I haven't seen yet? I hope not.

I watched as Spencer opened a wooden door in the hallway that he initially tried to open, but without him even barely touching the door, it crawled open as if its hinges were faulty. "Yeah, that... usually doesn't happen," He chuckled softly, stepping inside his room slowly. "Come in."

As I entered, an odd aroma wafted through the air, one that smelled crisp and sweaty, yet it was clear that it was profusely blasted with a perfume that gave it a strong, flowery scent that barely masked the strong, dank smells that slid between the air particles. The room was lit up by a tall lamp that had a lampshade shaped like a dog cone on the very top, giving the square room a dim orange glow. There was far too much space in the room for what was inside, though this was probably the smallest room here. If I were to stand still with my arms outstretched, I'd need three alternate versions of me to measure one wall's length. In the center wall furthest from the door laid a grand queen-sized bed that took up most of the room. At the foot of the bed was a chest and in front of that chest, pressed against the wall close by the door, was a cabinet holding up a television screen that was a bit bigger than the average monitor. Within one of the cabinets was a small console, probably for video games. It's hard to tell if it is since I'm not that into those gaming console things.

"Some of this stuff is from my parents," Spencer informed as he seated himself on the edge of his bed.

"Is this the smallest room here?" I asked out of curiosity.

He nodded, plopping his back down on the surface of his bed, causing a few of the pillows to leap away from their group hug. His body sunk into the blankets, likely creating a mass of wrinkles. I seated myself beside him, watching him sink inside and sigh in immense comfort. "This is a nice bed," Spencer smiled.

I laid down on the bed to check. He wasn't wrong. My body was washed with relaxation and soothing, fabric fingers, gripping around me gently and pulling me deep into its body. It was unlike anything I've ever slept in before. Does he sleep like a king every day?

"...I-It is..." I murmured, my arms wrapping around my body.

"Told you," Spencer smirked. "Anyways, are you going to do the dream thing?"

"Right," I nodded, turning on my side so that I was facing the other side of the bed. "Face me."

Spencer quickly flopped onto his other side, facing me directly. "Do the thing," He instructed swiftly.

I nodded again, placing my upper set of hands on his sides. "Is this a sensual thing?" Spencer asked.

"Shut up. This is how it works 100% of the time," I sighed, closing my eyes. "Close your eyes and don't move."

Once I sensed he shut his eyes, my lower set of arms outstretched and wrapped around what was presumably his body in an array of embraces. My eyes shot open. I couldn't recognize anything in the room anymore. All that was there was a pastel turquoise glow that illuminated the entire area like an intense spotlight. Each of my limbs felt weak. His body felt weak. We were weak. We were uniform. We were together.

We were dreaming.