Missed Chances || Dreamnotfound

8

George paces in his room all day after speaking to Dream's parents. His stomach twists with dread as he looks for a solution for this mess.

The day passes faster than George would've liked, and soon the sun is setting. George sits in his chair, palms sweaty because he's certain Dream is going to kill him after this. There's a knife in the drawer, which is within George's reach. He hears shouting from down the hall and freezes.

His door is slammed open, and guards shove Dream inside, closing the door quickly. The lock clicks within seconds and Dream is pounding at the door, shouting, "I demand you let me out! You have no right to do this!"

He gets no response. George is frozen in his seat, his knees locked in fear. He can see Dream's chest heave from across the room. Dream's fists curl and he snarls, "You had no right to do that."

Carefully, George replies, "Listen, I had no idea they were going to―"

George cuts off when Dream turns around, approaching with fury. He leans over, gripping George's shirt collar tightly. His hot breath reaches George's lips as he seethes, "You snitch, I should've killed you when I first saw you."

For some reason, George doesn't feel terror like he was expecting. Instead, he feels cold arrogance wash over him. Dream won't kill him. Dream can't kill him. He would've done so already if he could.

Dream must see the smug look in George's eyes because he spits, "You think I won't?"

"I dare you."

Dream bristles, eyes flicking between George's. They're close, too close for George's comfort, but George doesn't back down. He can count the freckles on Dream's nose from here. He can taste the rage on his breath.

Dream pulls George's shirt tighter around his fists, chest heaving with anger, before he pushes George back into his chair, stomping off.

George grins, relief coursing through him. He almost manages a laugh, but he frowns in disdain at his rumpled shirt. Smoothing down the fabric, George mutters, "You had it coming."

Dream freezes across the room, a low laugh leaving his mouth. He glares at George, eyes piercing. "I was helping my city―saving my people―and you had the audacity to stop me."

"Your family already has guards patrolling the city," George dismisses, "let them take care of it."

"They're not good enough," Dream replies, venom coating his words.

George's arms fold across his chest, his brow lifting. "And you are?"

Dream gives him a look like it's obvious. He strolls to George's bed and sits with little care about messing up George's sheets. They both seem to stiffen as the realization settles over them. The last of the burnt orange rays of the sun disappear from the room, leaving them in a candlelit room.

George's lips twist down. "You better not snore. You used to always snore."

"And you better not talk in your sleep," Dream shoots back. "I could never sleep when you did."

"In that case, I hope I do," George says spitefully.

Dream laughs bitterly, eyes sliding to George. Amongst shades of emerald and gold, George catches a trace of tiredness, of their arguing. But if it's there, it's gone within a fraction of a second. George dismisses it.

Dream looks away with a blank expression and sighs. He lays on one side of George's bed, facing away from the middle and on top of the sheets. George realizes he should go to sleep as well, but he stays in his chair, too stubborn.