LOSING GAME ➳ dreamwastaken

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭

"How did you meet Dream?"

It was a simple question, asked casually by Technoblade as he and Reverie lay awake late into the dark hours of the night, their arms tucked beneath their heads, staring at the wooden beamed ceiling overhead.

The dying flame of a candle flickered on Reverie's bedside table, casting ghostly shadows rippling across her face. Bezzie was curled up at the foot of the bed, sleeping soundly. Gulping harshly, Reverie recalled the memory with a bittersweet taste on the tip of her tongue.

From what she could remember, Reverie was sixteen years old, as was Dream, though and Wilbur had just turned eighteen. Although Reverie and Tubbo had been living within the borders of Dream's kingdom for many years, not everyone within the kingdom was offered the privilege of meeting the King himself. However, as Wilbur and Dream were quite good friends, Reverie was met with the opportunity to meet Dream at an informal gathering in the Community House before Wilbur and Dream were to go hunting together.

Reverie always thought it astounding that, at the mere age of sixteen, Dream was in charge of an entire kingdom, and he had been ever since his parents were killed in battle. Everyone told the story differently: some say Dream was twelve when his reign began, others go as far as to say he was a mere eight year old child. Whatever his age was when the throne was passed down to him, Reverie found it most admirable that, being merely sixteen years old and still a technically a child, Dream managed to rule a kingdom alone.

"I can't believe you're friends with the King," Reverie said, unable to contain her joyous excitement.

Wilbur chuckled and smiled down at his friend. "He's just a normal guy, really. I think you'll get along."

Dream was already in the Community House when Wilbur and Reverie arrived. He was waiting by the stairwell in the centre, dressed in what would soon become his staple outfit—a green hoodie, black cargo pants, fingerless gloves and, of course, the ceramic mask that concealled his face from view. As the years passed by, Dream would begin to wear his mask slightly higher so that his mouth was visible, but upon his first meeting with Reverie, that was not the case. Every inch of him was covered, excluding his fingertips and lower forearms that were revealed by his rolled-up sleeves.

Reverie stood in the doorway, her head tilted to the side and a gentle smile of surprise painted on her face. A look of childish curiosity swam in her eyes. Excluding the ceramic mask, which Reverie actually found to be slightly daunting, the King was just a normal guy who wore normal clothes and sported a normal, albeit messy haircut.

"Wilbur!" Dream greeted. His merry smile could be heard in his voice. He strode forwards, fixing the straps on his fingerless gloves. "So this is your girlfriend?"

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "Not my girlfriend," he said pointedly. With a smile on his face, he glanced at Reverie then back at Dream. "This is Reverie, my best friend. Rev, this is Dream."

When she opened her mouth to speak, Reverie felt any and all words get stuck in her throat as her mind became clouded, ridding her of all comprehensible thoughts.

What was she supposed to do now? Was she expected to bow? Wilbur hadn't bowed but, Reverie reminded herself, Dream and Wilbur were friends.

As though he had read her mind, Dream chuckled warmly, the sound eliciting goosebumps on Reverie's skin, and he said, "You don't have to bow. Handshakes work fine."

Dream's grip was a lot more gentle than Reverie expected, considering he was the King and most renowned combatant in the kingdom. But Dream shook Reverie's hand gingerly, and even when the movement stopped, his gentle grip lingered for a moment longer before he let Reverie's hand fall.