Second Life

#9 Happiest In Centuries

The book lay discarded at their feet as they held one another. Something gods fought wars and ruthless battles for suddenly seemed so insignificant to the fear of losing each other.

They let go after a long moment. The absence of Dream's touch made George frown slightly. Dream bent over and picked up the book.

He held it gently. It held a secret the universe begged to know. It promised what people killed for. Now, it sat uselessly in Dream's hand.

"Well, you ready?" Dream asked, looking up from his hands at the ghost.

George crumpled under the gaze. The crushing realities of the whole thing pressed down on him like bricks. He had to choose now. He had to ponder what other people would have jumped at.

Only, there wasn't much pondering. He had to live with Dream. That was the end of it in his mind. He could always die again if he didn't like it.

"Yes," George decided. His hands fidgeted uncomfortably in his lap.
"I'm not entirely sure how this works," Dream said, "I'd like a small explanation if possible."
"Me neither. I really don't know."
"Now's a great time for us to find out, I guess"

He handed the book to George carefully. George untied the leather that bound it and opened it. The spine of the book let out an eerie creak.

The book was full of names. A list sprawled out in neat black handwriting. As the pages went by, the handwriting from before stopped. It was replaced by a messier one. Then a different one again. And again.

Every few pages was a collection of new letters and names. Finally, there was writing George recognized. It was XD's. Two names sat blankly on the page.

"Uh, George?" Dream prodded his shoulder gently.
"Oh, Um, yes?"
"You got all quiet for a second. It freaked me out."
"I'm ok. And I don't know what 'freaked' means but it sounds bad."
"Don't worry about it right now."

Dream looked down at the book. "Why'd the handwriting change so much? Didn't the book belong to only one god?"
"Not quite. It originally belonged to Mumza, goddess of death. Then, she gave it to her lover, Philza. Then it was stolen from him. Then it was stolen a few more times between people before ending up in the previous god's hands."
"Why did people steal it? They were gods, why did they care who lived and who died."

George shrugged. "Back then, it was common for gods to have mortal lovers," he said bitterly, "if they were having really bad luck love-wise, they'd steal the book to get past lovers back. Also, power. I mean, just think, if you could bring anyone back to life at your own will, you'd let people get their loved ones and family back. However, consider that people would beg and pray for you to help them. They'd make sacrifices in your honor and you'd be rich."

There was a thick silence. Both were aware that there was a discussion coming. Neither wanted to break the quiet peace.

George longed for slow moments like these. Bitter words drowning in warm touches and soft looks. He would have them soon enough, but he wanted —needed more in his mind— them now.

Dreams eyes occasionally glanced down at his lips. George shuffled closer by an inch. He could feel Dream's breath on his skin. Their eyes locked quickly. George's lips parted in anticipation.

Just when their faces were mere centimeters away, the book flipped open in George's hand all on its own. It rose to the air and began to glow.

The two jumped away from each other and looked at it. Dream could feel disappointment prickling at his skin, but decided it was too late now. "Again. Really?" he thought.

A golden quill rose from the book. There seemed to be a portal or rift inside it that allowed the quill to materialize from it. The quill moved towards George's hand.

He got the hint and held it gently between his fingers. The book shifted to be in front of his face.

It was on an empty page. A thick gold line embellished the page right at the top. George took the pen and carefully wrote out his full name.

"𝓖𝓮𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓮" Sat neatly on the line.

The book started to glow brighter and brighter until they had to shield their eyes. There was an earsplitting bang. It rang through the whole house, making it shake. A painting fell off the wall and some books from the shelf thumped to the floor.

The whole world was spinning under George's feet. He blinked away the dots in his eyes and the ringing in his ears subsided to a dull buzz.

It felt warmer. Almost like someone had wrapped a warm blanket around him. His vision was clearer. The wooden floor under his feet felt more solid —more real.

He looked down at his hands. White dots swam in his eyes but as he focused one thing was clear—he was a human.

The blueish haze that clung to his skin was gone. He was completely real, fully solid. He could no longer see wooden floor panels through his hands.

He looked up at Dream, who was staring in utter disbelief.

George's heart pounded in his chest, a feeling he wasn't quite used to. They rushed toward each other and embraced.

Dream was warm. Warmer than the fireplaces George used to spend his time laying by as a child in the castle.

The weight of Dream's arms was comforting. George hadn't felt anything real in centuries, but he was glad the first thing he ever did feel again was Dream.

They disconnected slightly, arms still draped around each other but faces back to gaze into loving eyes.

"I can't believe this is real," George whispered, "It all feels like a dream." He didn't know why he spoke so hushed, but it felt right for the moment.
"If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up," Dream whispered back, lowering his voice to match George's.

Something swelled in George's heart. He looked at Dream's eyes, then his lips, then back at his eyes. Dream did the same.

George slowly closed the gap between them. Their lips hovered inches apart.

"Can I..?" Dream trailed off.

He didn't have to finish the sentence. George pushed their lips together.

Both drew back a few moments later. It was natural. In all honesty, it was the best kiss Dream had ever had, even if simple.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that," he said, arms still wrapped around George. George smiled and put a hand up to hold his cheek.

With crickets chirping outside and wood creaking under his feet, George was the happiest he'd been in hundreds of centuries, dead and alive.