Spellcatcher - Dreamnotfound

Stories

"Can you.. Tell me a story?" 

"A story?" Scoffs George incredulously, his fingers tracing up and down his own slightly glowing forearm. 

It's dawn, both know, but neither have moved from their place slotted together, simply because of their lack of wish to do so. 

Dream twists to roll his eyes at the back of George's head, a breath of light frustration escaping his lips. "Yeah." 

They lay back to back, each somewhat lost in their own thoughts, yet with their minds focused on one another, the gentle lull of delicate breaths their only chain to reality.

The Magic shifts, moving his hand to trace long cracks in the cement wall. They crumble slightly beneath his careful fingertips, and he hums in thought.

"I'm not a storyteller." He says finally, dragging any emotion from each letter and holding it tightly, far away from Dream's calculating gaze.

"Then tell me something," Dream ponders, half to himself. George listens anyway. "About magic." 

George stalls with an exhale, long and soft and slow. Eventually, he nods, somewhat absently. "Okay." 

Dream waits— He doesn't mind waiting. Neither are exactly sure when George begins to speak, let it be seconds later or hours. 

Soon, though, his voice finds the assassin's ears, seeping into his skin and soaking him to the bone as it washes over his shoulders.

"Magic is something even we don't know much about, really. It's like.." A pause, where silence replaces the smooth accent on George's tongue. "It's like the sky."

Dream hums distantly, a cue for George to continue.

"Endless, and ever-moving with the day and night." The Magic presses his lips together for a moment. "You have to reach for it, I think. But it doesn't run. It never runs." 

"What do you mean?" Dream asks hesitantly. "Reach?"

The other clicks his tongue mindlessly. "You know how.. If something's on a shelf, and you have to grab it? It's like that." 

Dream only nods, beginning to lose himself. He doesn't want to break this sort of trance he and George find themselves in.

So he doesn't.

"For me, at least. The more exposure I get to the moon, the easier it is to reach." George's eyes flutter shut. 

"What's it like?"

"What do you mean?"

Dream searches his mind for an explanation. He finds one.

"What's it like to be.. magical?" 

It's not a very good one, but in his defense he's only human.

George isn't, though. 

"It's.. A bit strange, I suppose. It's cold.. Really cold. But pleasant.. Until you become trapped in your own power, and it overcomes you. Then, it hurts." He chuckles bitterly. "When you use your power, it's more relieving than anything else. The more powerful you are, the harder it is to contain yourself."

Dream shifts.

"But then, it's also beautiful. It's like being able to go anywhere, do anything." Dream can hear the smile dancing across George's lips. "As long as your magic is within your reach.. Things are okay. A comfort, I guess."

"That doesn't sound dangerous." Whispers Dream, his fingers splaying in the cold air in front of him. "It sounds.. Nice."

George nods slightly, smile fading as quickly as it had come. "Humans don't understand. They try to trap our magic, which makes us hostile. The more magic trapped inside our cores, the more difficult it becomes to remain passive, remain.. Sane."

The peaceful air suddenly turned eerie.

"They're afraid."

Dream's breaths shook. 

"So they kill us."

This was all wrong.

George stopped. "Are you okay?" He asked cautiously, his eyes opening again. 

"Yeah." Dream mumbled, focusing on the gentle warmth radiating from where George's back pressed against his. "I'm okay." 

George sat up, and so the moment breaks. "I hate war." He states flatly, the words stinging his skin with their truths.

Dream sits up too, gazing at him with a deep curiosity. George looks back, his eyes slightly round as their irises lock, clicking into place. Swift blue and brown eyes flit between green, drawing them both in as if magnetic. George opens his mouth to say something, anything— 

Before huffing out a soft exhale of laughter and ducking his head in mild embarrassment. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you with what I was saying."

Dream smiles softly, and George hates the way he easily brings out his quieter, less harsh emotions with ease.

It's terrifying.

"That's okay.. I agree." Dream pauses, weighing his options. "This war is shit, I doubt anyone even knows what it's about anymore." 

George snorts sarcastically as he stands. "Right. At this point it's just meaningless bloodshed."

Dream hums distantly. "There's another meeting today." He says quietly.

"Oh, yeah?" 

"Yeah. I'm not invited, though."

George pauses in surprise, but he takes it in stride. "Why's that?"

"No reason." Dream mumbles. George doesn't press, despite the vague answer. Instead, he opts to continue folding the cloak. 

Dream watches. "Aren't you cold?" He asks cautiously.

George hums absently. "I was, but it's warmer today." His breath freezes in the air before fading away.

Dream tips his head to one side in gentle curiosity, but drops it nonetheless. George casts him a slightly suspicious sideways glance before rolling his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. Carefully, he  drapes the cloak over his shoulders and lets it fall in waterfalls over his chilled skin.

"Happy?" He huffs. Dream only smiles and turns away.

George ducks his head to hide the tiniest of giggles, quite disgusted with the soft feeling in his chest. 

"I wonder," Dream begins quietly. "I wonder what the meeting's about." 

George's gaze flicks back up. "What are you trying to imply, here?" He asks dryly. "What, do you want to break in or something?" 

Dream rocks back and forth, to his heels to his toes. 

"What do we have to lose?"

George spins around in shock, eyes going slightly round.

"Are you insane?" 

Dream's lips tug upward at the edges, the winter chill biting at their exposed skin. George stares at him pointedly. 

The assassin shrugs. "I mean, why not? It's the least I can do for you, seeing as.. You're going to die soon enough."

The other rolls his eyes, slumping back down onto concrete. George strains to hear the harsh winter wind from last night, it's chill tearing the building apart at the seams— But even through the silence, he cannot hear anything. 

"I guess we're breaking into a meeting, then."

✾☾✾

—

Word count: 1069 (oops)

so remember when I said I'd have a proper schedule for this story?

ha ha

oops.

Have a wonderful day! <3 

-Melli-