Who Lies in the End?

Ch 48: 21 "May I?"

art by: unknown (name in the photo, though)

Their breathing was unsteady as their hot breath ghosted over the other's lips. They lingered close to one another, but the inch of space felt like miles. Dream wanted more, he craved more, and he wanted nothing more than to dive into everything that George was; however, he knew he shouldn't. He already crossed a boundary by stealing a kiss, but he couldn't help himself, nor did he regret it: he just hoped George wasn't mad at him.

Lightly tanned fingers trailed along the pale jawline before dropping back to the cold ground. It took every practical voice in Dream's mind to override his heart's pinning cries as he leaned away from George; fortunately, he was rewarded by the fully blushed face of George whose eyes were wide with shock, but not disgust.

Dream could only stare for a few seconds before he had to look away.

The whole room was quiet as Dream floated back to reality.

"Wow."

"What-"

"The-"

"Fuck-"

"Was-"

"That?"

"Nice!"

Dream could feel his face heat up as the collective stares flickered between him and George. Their emotions were positive and negative and confusion mixed together with the spontaneous shock. He couldn't stop the goofy smile on his face, nor the fluttering butterflies in his stomach. His hands twitched with excitement and strived for him to do something. To move. So he slammed the white ceramic mask down to completely hide his face as he stood.

Dream stretched his arms above his head, trying to ignore the awkward happiness he felt, "Well, I'm gonna hop off now. See you all tomorrow."

"Wait, you're just-"

The outlaw didn't know who was speaking, but he didn't want to look. He focused purely on walking towards the door and opening it before anyone could stop him, "Goodnight!" he slipped past the door and then booked it down the hallway.

He needed to think through his thoughts and organize his emotions. Did he do a good thing? It felt good. To be fair, the question was without fear of consequences. Then again, he didn't have to actually act on it. But damn did he enjoy it. He selfishly enjoyed the feeling of having George close and the feel of his heat brushing against his lips. They were smooth against his chapped lips, and Dream was already craving more. But what if George didn't want that? What if Dream was the last person he wanted to be close to like that? Did he hate him? Would he want to work with him, still?

Dream threw his door open and slammed it shut, but his hand lingered on the iron handle. Should he leave? No, he promised George he would help with Redne and he would not be made a liar.

Dream sighed as his hand slipped from the door. They would have to talk about this: clear up the air. It would make him feel better if he got it off his chest and was honest to George about it. No lying. Full honesty. Dream hated lies, whether they were to himself or others.

For now, though, he needed to do something. Anything to help distract him from the fluttering feeling in his heart.

Grey eyes flickered around the room before landing on the crafting table shoved off in the corner. His feet carried him over and his fingers brushed the surface clear of dust and random trinkets. There was a chest beside it, and one peek inside revealed small scrapes of materials for projects. He grabbed a bundle of sticks, a bag of feathers, and arrowheads, intent to at least stock up his supplies.

His hands moved as fast as his thoughts as he wove the materials together. He tried to calm his beating heart, but the feeling it gave him was pleasantly warm. Minutes passed by and the focus helped Dream filter through his thoughts. And he decided that the best way to start was to be blunt.