Graves was feeling restless deep within the night, he had just woken up from a dream... he was pondering if it was some sick trick his brain was playing on him -- he had no idea, either way, it was drawing him into confusion. Because he'd never had dreams this vivid before, if he had, then he'd long forgotten. This was just unnatural, like someone was calling out to him, it felt, oddly nice the more he refused to fight it off.

If he had told any of his friends, family, or even his damn soldiers... they'd all call him insane or say he needed to find someone to date already to ease his mind because it was becoming a problem -- He loved the dreams, everything about them had brought him solace after rough days of work: the way he walked along different places that seemed fake, finding the same man every single time. They never talked, Graves couldn't find the words to; every time before he could speak, the man held up a mirror or some sort of book.

Graves felt like he was being shown more than he should've known, that this man wanted to bring him to a sense of truth. Sometimes it seemed like he was showing Graves the life he could've chosen to have, others, it was reminding him what he did pick... the outcome of the actions he took that day or within the days before. Eventually, he drew affectionate to the man, seeing numerous different images weaved together within the mirror where they could've been together -- but he never heard the man's voice, he never would. Every beautiful city, every glimpse of that beautiful man, he's even made ideas of how this man would've acted.

It was almost pathetic how Graves wished to sleep more, dozed off within times by himself, drawing, and sometimes even writing about what was within his dreams -- about this man that stole his heart, Graves had no idea what twisted joke this was, but he wanted to know why he was repeatedly having these dreams, and why this man had decided to waste time on Graves. So every night, he spoke out his questions, Graves would do his best to remember.