Spellcatcher - Dreamnotfound

Nervous

The next day, George decided he'd really rather not speak to Dream.

Or, really, interact with him at all.

He wasn't sure if the anger was genuine or simply just the two being petty, but something about even such a rapid argument hurt more than George would like to admit.

So he didn't admit it, of course.

Instead, George sat silently in the corner of his cage, watching with piercing blue eyes as a Dream stood, dark green hood pulled over his head and back facing the Magic. 

George huffed softly, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms without a word.

His own cloak was strewn a ways away from him despite the cold.

Speaking of the cold— It was cold. So, so cold. 

The winter was growing far more bitter than George had expected, even inside his cell the merciless wind seeped through cracks in the concrete and reached for his exposed skin. Each breath he took was icy and sent chills swirling around his throat and lungs.

Dream began to pace.

It was ironic, really— The guard was like a caged animal, but in reality it was George who was in the cage.

Each step was loud and cut through the painfully tense air, in near perfect sync with George's heartbeat, which echoed in his head with each shiver that dragged itself through his chilled body.

"Stop it." George snapped suddenly when the rhythmic, pounding ache in his head became near unbearable.

Why was it that no matter what George did to keep himself isolated, Dream always managed to find him?

Dream scoffs, the steps abruptly stopping. "What are you going to do about it?" 

Silence, for a moment.

Then the steps start again.

George groans audibly, slumping back against the cold wall and cringing at the sudden overwhelming chill that seeped into his skin.

"Why are you even pacing?" The Magic's words spill from his lips, dripping with annoyance.

Dream pauses again, this time in front of George's cell.

"No reason."

The brunet snorts disbelievingly, crossing his arms. "You never pace like this."

"How would you know?" Dream challenges irritably, his chin turning just a little to look at George from underneath his hood. He knows the Magic is right, no matter how much he hates it.

George rolled his eyes. "When you're in a cell for weeks with nothing to do but look around, you become very observant." A pause, where he seems to hesitate— But his voice grows slightly softer, ice melting gently to water. "What's eating you?"

George tried, he really did, to be remain angry with Dream.

"Something happened."

It didn't work.

George's eyes fluttered in gentle surprise at Dream's sudden flat, quieter voice. Maybe it's how tired George is, maybe it's the cold, but he can feel annoyance gently pulling away to reveal a softness he very much dislikes.

"What happened?"

Dream slumps to the ground, leaning heavily against the bars of the cell. George's curiosity grows gently, reaching, reaching, reaching for answers he knows Dream has.

"Tell me, please, Dream." The Magic gradually approaches the guard, moving carefully with cold fingertips and a steady hope for something he's not sure he will be able to gain.