You lay next to Charlie. He just fucked your brains out and is sleeping it off. You sigh happily and sit up to put your underwear on. You love him but his futon is fucking gross. You notice your underwear landed on a notebook. It’s Charlie’s dream journal. You open it and see his wonderful masterpieces.
Denim chicken, Hans Vermhat, and a bird with teeth. You smile. He’s adorable. You hear rustling from the bed and look up to see his eyes glowing. “What the fuck are you doing?” He asks, it sounds like multiple voices, but they are distinctly his. You are terrified.
“I was just glancing at it, sweetie.” You assure him.
He stands, only he’s growing and the room is getting darker. He fucking murders you. Don’t read his dream journal without permission.