the wall that divides us | DNF au

seven

george

Dream was far too nonchalant for George even to comprehend. How was it so easy for him to make a joke with such intimate undertones to someone he barely knew? How could he not possibly consider the consequences of doing something so bold and out there?
Was George offended by the comment? No. That fact in itself was hard for the brunette to understand and fully take in.

The brunette's mind was racing, but he decided it was best to obey the wishes of the tall blonde. It was his territory anyway; why would the petit boy try to push any boundaries he didn't place to begin with? He pushed his tiny arms through the long sleeves and nuzzled his head through the top, the clothing hood falling comfortably on his head. 

"Let's get going, pretty boy," Dream said with a tilt of the head, leaving his room of a house and running up the fire escape. Up? Why up?  
Again, George decided not to question the blonde's choices and followed closely behind. Soon the pair were at the very top of the building, looking over the city's lights. George couldn't hide his expression; he was in shock and awe. The lights- lights he'd never seen before. All he knew was lit-up torches and lanterns but here? The lights were iridescent and colorful .  

"Like what you see?" Dream asked from behind his mask. Even though George could never see the expression on the blonde's face, it was like he knew exactly where the lines on his face wrinkled when his brows furrowed or raised to a certain degree. He could hear the coy smile creep onto the hidden face and feel it in the air when his nose scrunched, but he'd never be entirely sure; all he had to go off of was that pathetic spray-painted smile on what was once a blank canvas.

"It's beautiful; I've never seen anything like this before," the brunette admitted while crossing his arms over himself. The boy used to do this often as a sign of nerves. Everything about this side of the wall made him anxious and scared, but he couldn't ignore the other nerves- the good ones. The butterflies in his stomach when faced with a sight as beautiful as the evening's horizon. The butterflies he got when he heard Dream speak. They were all so prominent- so loud. Sometimes, they even managed to drown out the bad nerves. 

Dream walked over to the edge of the building, turning back to look over his shoulder at the smaller boy for a moment before extending his hand. "You uh- you might want to hold on for the next part."
George didn't hesitate this time; his newfound love for adrenaline kicked in almost immediately, and the boy stepped forward, holding onto the masked one. 

With a swift motion, Dream threw a rope-like material with a hook on end across to the building before them, and before he could even piece things together, George felt the air kiss his skin, the hood flying off his head as the pair swung from the one building to the other. 
This continued for some time; crossing the rooftops in Dream's arms felt like a fever dream. 

"Here we are," the blonde said as he climbed down from the final building, helping George jump down. Once his feet were safely on the ground, George checked his surroundings. "What is that?" he asked, noticing the large circular structure. 

"The ones before us called it a Ferris wheel, it used to spin around, and people would sit on it- apparently, it was quite romantic but fuck if I knew." George noticed the lack of faith Dream had in love and trust. He hadn't known the other for that long, but if the petit boy was sure of anything, it was that the people that grew up around this area of their world didn't support each other like his people back home. Home- could he even call it that anymore? 

He remembered what people said about his father, that if there were a slight chance Phil Watson was alive, he wouldn't be if he showed his face around again. George's heart ached with pain; he felt like an outsider regardless of what he wanted to consider home. He wasn't from here; he was nothing like Dream - did this side of the wall bring out a different side to him? Of course, it did, but was George cut out for daily rooftop hopping? Were his eyes meant to find the lights here so captivating?