Matthew lightly skipped his weight from foot to foot as he waited at the bus stop outside his work-A hospital. He rubbed his hands together before cupping them in front of his face, giving a deep chest-drawn breath into them to try and warm them up, the air that escaped them solidifying into a white cloud in front of him. Though his shoulders were hunched to bunch his plaid printed scarf higher around his neck, his cheeks and nose were rosy, body giving small shivers under his crimson woolen coat. The sidewalk he was on led back to the hospital, a rather modern-looking building, with most of its walls consisting of nothing more than glass due to the high number of windows.

The teenager of nineteen worked as an intern to the nurses there, helping with minor things, and allowed to simply observe on more important procedures. When Matthew was little, his toys consisted of plastic thermometers and stethoscopes, slowly taking a transformation into computerized surgeon simulators and virtual procedures. He'd always loved the idea of being a doctor, finding it a great way to help people. His father, Francis, did what he could to support Matthew's dream job, despite the fact that his simple job as a hairdresser had trouble paying for his schooling.

Matthew and Francis had a close relationship as father and son, and did a lot of things together in their free time. They cooked together, cleaned the house together, and did the occasional day of ice skating or ice hockey in the winter time. The latter mostly consisted of Francis using the hockey stick to hold himself up and Matthew skating circles around him. But nonetheless, they both had fun.

The younger teen was quick to hop up onto the warmth of the bus when it pulled up, shoving his monthly-paid bus pass into the scanner before taking his seat, saying nothing in reply to the driver's comment that his pass only held a few more days. He'd need to get that renewed at the local motor vehicle department soon. He headed to the back and sat in an empty seat, tugging his bag close to his side as he glanced out the window. Having a long journey ahead of him, he laid his head back and closed his eyes to rest them, a hand draped protectively over the top of his bag.

Soon enough, the teen was dozing off where he sat, head having lolled over to rest against the window. As he dozed, he dreamed of impossible things-As he always had. Small people with wings, talking animals, houses with legs, inanimate objects that acted of their own accord... Foolish things, he was aware, but things he'd always found in dreams. Matthew simply blamed it on an overactive imagination, since that's what Francis described it as.

Matthew was just starting to delve deep into a dreamscape of a world when the bus hit a rough bump, the jolt of the vehicle banging his head rather roughtly against the window and waking him immediately. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing the affected area, glancing around a moment with a sigh. "Did I fall asleep again?" He mumbled, his question being answered when a yawn rose up his throat. After seeing a familiar couple houses pass by, he figured he'd been woken just in time to catch his stop, quickly straightening his coat and standing in the isle with the others who had to get off next.

The old vehicle squealed and creaked when it stopped at the street corner, and the passengers filed out slowly, one by one. Matthew was right behind them, taking a right and heading down the block by himself. His shoes clicked faintly against the concrete of the sidewalk, the old yet familiar streetlights casting a sickly yellow glow on the younger, a few of them flickering rapidly, trying vainly to stay alight. Once Matthew reached the correct house, he drew his keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door, heading inside. He unpacked quickly, setting his bag on the nearby couch and tossing his uniform to the laundry room. It was late, so he didn't bother announcing to his father that he was home, like he usually would. He simply got into his pajamas and climbed into bed, stretching out for a moment before taking off his glasses and setting them on the bedside stand, dragging the covers up to his neck, and rolling onto his side to relax and get comfortable.

However, the moment his hand slid under his pillow to support it, like it always did, his eyes blinked open again to the abnormal feeling of something under there. Something papery and thick. With a confused expression, he slid it out and held it up to examine it. Even with eyes squinted, he had to hold it out a bit to read it, briefly considering spending the energy to put his glasses back on before the words came into focus. It was an envelope, with just his name scrawled on the front in messy blue writing. It certainly wasn't his father's fancy script.

Slowly he sat up, turning on a small lamp that was nearby and sliding his glasses back onto his face before slowly tearing open the envelope. He took out the enclosed letter, unfolding it and holding it into the light, mouthing the words silently as he read.

Matthew C. Williams,

It is with deepest regret that we must inform you that you have violated the fifth section of restriction 3 set by the DOM, in that you have continued having unregulated dreams past the age of five. Stop immediately or we will be forced to take action and custody.

Understandably, the teen was quite confused, hesitating for the shortest of moments before rereading the small paragraph to see if he wasn't simply imagining the printed words.

You are given one day's notice. We will know if you continue with the forbidden. Sleep well.

~ Dream Faction Administrator

Matthew stared blankly still at the letter, before meticulously folding it back up and sliding it back into the envelope it came from. The envelope sat in his hands for a few more minutes before he slowly set it on his bedside table, thoughts swimming. How was he supposed to control his dreams? He didn't even know he was breaking a law. He'd never heard anything about laws restricting dreams, or what this DOM was. He wondered what it stood for, making a few guesses as he laid back once more, staring up at his ceiling with round eyes.

The letter, and the tone it used, worried him. He didn't even want to close his eyes now, in fear that he'd dream somehow wrongly once more. Turning his head, he glanced at the door to his bedroom, his bottom lip catching between his teeth. Perhaps it was simply a prank. He considered telling Francis about it, but he didn't want to worry him any more than usual. He was already distressed about bills as it was, he didn't need to concern him with some silly joke.

With a sigh escaping his lips, the teen rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, deciding to dismiss the letter as nothing. It had to be nothing.