Beauty In Death [DreamNotFound]

chapter eleven

In brief moments like this is when George is the most thankful to be alive.

To feel that relief of a smile tear across your face, the ache in your cheeks as it takes over your whole body. The breath taking feeling of stress being lifted from your shoulders which leaves you feeling like you're floating, bursts of laughter erupting from God knows where but you're just happy that it's there, that it's back. The epiphany of knowing that you can just be free in that moment, not worrying about anything but the warm feeling in your abdominal as finger tips brush past each other, two heart beats becoming one, a peaceful baseline synchronizing two souls together. George was sat crossed legged with Dreams head in his lap, heart hammering in his chest.

The tips of George's fingers drew patterns on dreams scalp, golden strings of hair slipping through the cracks between his phalanges like soft silk, tickling his skin. Dreams skin was littered in bruises and George didn't know quite what to do about it, so he just continued to gently rub his fingers over them in circles, drawing stars around his scars, naturing him and caring for him in the only way he knew how. Gently.

A crease between Dreams eye brows crumpled up every time he winced, his eye brows knitting together in pain, George wanted to smooth the lines out with his caressing hands. The tips of his fingers were burning everytime skin clashed together, incinerating his finger prints, dissolving the patterns from his skin but George continued to press his hands over dreams wounds, doing his best to ease him of his pain. Thankfuly there didn't seem to be any major injury besides a large scratch which poked out the nape of his t-shirt, a sinful line etching across his torso.

Dream noticed George's lingering eyes hovering over the wound, he knew it was bad but didn't want George to see his weakness. George knew this was his mind set anyways, he could read him like a magazine. George's hand gently pressed down on the tear in Dreams skin, he winced under the pressure and flapped his hands to shoo George away from the injury.

"No Dream I need to tend to it," George whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

"No, no, no," Dream muttered, responding, the words were soft like the gentle shake of his head, his eye brows pinched together. "I'm fine."

"No you're not come on let me help." George insisted.

"No."

"Dream. "

"I said no George!" Dream snapped. George couldn't help the twinge in his heart as he curled backwards, hands slipping from his hair as the sound of birds erupting from trees fluttered across the terrain. Dreams serpent eyes met George's coffee ones, their irises staring into one another, trying to decipher each others thoughts behind the black void that was their pupils. Dreams eyes were sharp and hard but they were notably softer as they bore into George's.

Golden and bronze specks of colour dashed across dreams irises, melting under the shiny glaze of the cornea, but the main pigment that flooded his eyes was green; the colour of moss which grew on the oldest and most robust trees, so protruding and deep, catching in the natural light of the sun peering through the canopy. His bright eyes were framed by coal lashes that were so beautifully positioned around each eye that they had to be hand crafted. He was included in the rare percentage of people in the world who have green eyes and God they were beautiful, a prize possession to be preserved and locked in a glass cabinet in a museum to be looked upon, to share its beauty with the world who had yet to see such magnificence. They were mesmerizing to look into, eyes which could turn your darkest nightmares into your brightest daydreams and mold you as if you were clay into whatever they desired.

But right now they were kind and gentle, gazing into George's as if to soothe the previous wrath of his harsh words before. He motioned to start to sit up and winced in agony against the strain of the wound rubbing against taut skin. Hesitantly George moved his hand towards his cut, Dreams eyes followed his out stretched fingers with a stern glare which made him still his movements. Even with Dreams jaw clenched and his eyes burning into his hand, he continued to move forwards and reach for his shirt, tugging it up over Dreams head whom then led his head back down on Georges legs, chest heaving up and down.