To whom does love belong?

Chapter the first – Tall Dark Stranger

A/N: I came up with this story when my imagination and insomnia fed me a scene that is coming later. From there is kind of spun out in all directions. I hope you like it. Before you get antsy about my pairing, remember that it is not without precedent for Dream to fall for mortal girls.

Disclaimer: I have nowhere near the level of creative genius needed to have played a role in creating the Sandman books. That is all down to Neill Gaiman and all the other fabulous people that got the chance to work with him. I also don't own Chocalat (the book mentioned); that belongs to Joanne Harris, although I do own a copy of every book she has written. And audio books. And the movie. Oh, you get the point.

Warning: Potentially heavy language. I tried not to, but this is rated T and I always get annoyed when people make adult character's out to be saints by their language.

Anyway, Enjoy.

Sarah's POV:

I sat in the park. On the same bench as always. Reading as always. Next to the same dark stranger as always. I didn't know his name, but we had done this same thing every day for nearly a month. I would come here to read during my lunch break and he would be sitting there, not doing anything, just sitting.

He seemed to be waiting for something, or someone. Watching; looking at the people through his strange, dark, intense eyes. Eyes that seemed to have no whites, I figured he wore contact lenses, and it was certainly not as weird as the things some people did to stand out, to feel special.

The first time I had seen him there it had irked me. He was sitting on MY bench, just as comfortable as if he owned it along with everything else. But I was never one to be daunted by strange people; a girl on her own had to learn to be strong. And so I sat down. He didn't seem to react in the slightest to my presence. He didn't do the uncomfortable shift, as most people would have. He didn't even make a sound.

At first our silence had made me nervous, but it didn't bother me anymore. I had grown used to his presence. Occasionally I would sense his eyes on me, and would feel a strange tingle on the back of my neck; but I never showed this, in case it was what he wanted. I wouldn't give some creep the satisfaction of making me show fear.

And so the days had moved on. By now I was so used to my silent companion, that I almost didn't hear him when he spoke. "Is that book any good?"

I looked up in shock to see him staring at me with those black eyes. His face was gaunt and paler than I had realised. His voice was quiet and deep, dark as the night. His expression was serious and from the way he was turned to face me I could only assume he meant to talk to me.

It took me a moment to respond. "Um… yeah, it is." I watched him in confusion, waiting for him to speak, either to respond or to explain himself. But he simply stared at me with eyes that twinkled like the stars. "Why do you want to know?" I asked after a moment. Such were the years of politeness, that my voice sounded quiet and stilted, rather than harsh. Again, he didn't respond, merely shrugged and looked away.

I tried to return my focus to the story, but I kept looking over the top to stare at this unusual man who had chosen, after so many days, to break our silence.

After about five minutes, without turning around, he spoke again. "What is it about?"

I looked up at him, some of my usual snarkyness replaced by confusion. Why had he suddenly decided to talk? "It's about a French woman who opens a chocolate shop during Lent, and how all the people in the town react. It's very good" He didn't react to my words past a short nod, and I returned to staring at the page, working very hard to keep my eyes down.

I was just beginning to get into the story again when the stranger spoke for a third time." Excuse me, but what is the time?" I looked at my watch. "Aw crap! It's five-to-two." I was going to be late.

As I stood up, a little unsteadily due to my hurry, I thought I saw him smile. "Weirdo." I muttered under my breath. He smiled wider, showing very white teeth, almost as if he had heard me. But I didn't have time to ponder this as I rushed back to the office.

I ran all the way to the office of the publisher where I worked. I was severely out of breath as I opened the door. The Boss, Mr Anders, was standing in the front office talking to Alison, the receptionist. Without turning around he said, "Late again, Ms Jones. Second time this fortnight."

I ducked my head in a show of apology "Yes, sir, I'm sorry sir, I lost track of the time. It won't happen again."

"See, that it doesn't. You're on thin ice as it is." He turned away from me, back to Alison who flashed me a Cheshire Cat grin, seeming to enjoy my discomfort. Smug bitch!

I walked into the back room and flopped down in front of my computer. I breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to slow my heart, which felt like a jackhammer against my ribs.

Amy looked over the top of the divider between our cubicles. "You get chewed out by the boss again?"

I nodded, "Yeah, stupid really I was only ten minutes late."

"I'm surprised he even noticed, with how distracted he seemed." She laughed her trademark dark chuckle, the product of years of smoking. And pointed towards the door where we could see that Alison was now leaning over her desk, twirling her hair around one finger and giggling like a schoolgirl at whatever the hell Mr Anders was saying.

Despite the great difference in our ages and personalities, Amy was actually the closest friend. I had met her in my first week working here, and I think she'd taken a shine to me as a daughter figure; she had lost her son some years previously and was very lonely. Poor woman.

With a sigh I got back to my work. I was designing personalised stationary for Mrs Ross, from her trademark vague instructions. Newest girl always got the shit jobs.

A/N: Well there's the first chapter. I am afraid that I can't promise a regular update schedule, university has an annoying habit of blindsiding people with piles of work, so if you really don't want to miss out, perhaps follow the story. I hope you liked it and that you can take a few moments to review. Go on, the button is right there, you know you want to.