Ty Lee's POV. Enjoy.
You awake clutching at the air and reaching for something that once existed, perhaps on a different plane than this one; a dream, though it felt far too real for that. The warmth of her body against yours is still lingering in your thoughts and something in the pit of your stomach begins to tingle at the thought of it.
You shift your position so you're laying on your back and, tentatively, your hand begins to travel downward, memories of the dream still fresh in your mind.
And for a moment she's actually there with you and it's her hand that's daring to touch you in such private places, and in that split second suddenly you don't feel so alone anymore. It's in these moments you can pretend she's really here and not locked up alone somewhere, with no one but the pigeons to keep her company. It's in these moments that you feel the most happy (and so so so shameful because this is so very wrong wrong wrong).
As your body spasms and shivers her pale, beautiful face and sharp features and flowing hair begin to fade into a pathetic little thing with a body (andaheart) so brittle you could snap it between your fingers. That pretty pretty face becomes gaunt and tired and it's crying out for help; a call you're not sure you want to answer.
In those intimate moments you're with the pretty pale girl closer than you'd ever been in a long while, and everything's perfect and wonderful (and such a bigbigbig lie), and it's not until after -- not until now that the truth bares its fangs at you.
But unlike those moments, your dreams (and sometimes nightmares, but in the end there's never a difference) whisper promises of never-ending lies and a truth that doesn't hurt quite as badly (but if it doesn't hurt, it's not really the truth).
You retract your hand, quickly, and lay back down to let sleep overtake you.