𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑺, 𝑴𝑪𝒀𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑺.

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯

PREY AND THE HUNTER.
FLOWERS FOR YOU.
[ dreamnotfound ]
AU; speed runner vs Hunter, but it's assassins in real life. George is paid to kill the highest bounty holder- Dream— by the end of the week.
WARNING.
GRAPHIC DETAILS (BLOOD, GORE,)
ANGSTY

—

The skid marks made a squeak within Dreams green tennis shoes, he turned quickly on the wet, rainy road and ran as fast as he could down the street. He had a green hoodie on, pulled his hood over his hair to hide his face, as well as a white smiley mask. He ran as fast as he could, his jeans bleeding from originally falling on his knee a little before. It had ripped his black jeans up pretty nicely.

A shorter man, around the age of 24, chased after him. He had brown hair, with clout goggles on the bridge of his nose, a blue jumpsuit jacket with a red stripe down the sleeves, and black pants with white shoes. He huffed tiredly, but didn't give up. He had to kill the man that was running after him, no matter what.

The man went by 'Dream' and no one knew his real name. He was a popular thief within the small town; a villain, if you will. Dream shot down an alley way, skidding to the right as George quickly followed after him. Dream jumped on one of the dumpsters, jumping up and lodging his foot on top of a brick, about to hoist himself up the roof.

George growled, suddenly pulling out his black gun from his belt, pointing it at Dreams back.
"Don't move, I'll pull the trigger!" He warned.
George wasn't afraid of murder, he was paid to kill countless amounts of people, and he wasn't afraid to do it again.

Dream froze, putting his foot back down on the lid of the large container he stood on. George's brown eyebrows furrowed low, almost hidden by the large clout goggles.

"Put the hands up, Dream. No one has to get hurt."

Dream snickered, his hands slowly going up and his arms slowly lifting up to show himself surrendering.

"Fine. You caught me, happy, Gogy?"

George oddly felt the heat rise to his face, but he ignored it. "That's a dumb nickname." He walked forward, his pistol still in his hand just in case. Dream just rolled his eyes, though you COULDNT see it, George could tell.

He grabbed Dreams hands, pulling him off the dumpster and grabbing hand cuffs and putting them around the boys wrists. He wasn't a cop, he just had them for interrogation if needed, and in this case, he needed it,

"Where we going, Gogy?" Dream asked as George grabbed his arm, making him follow himself. "Can you shut up?" He snapped, making the taller crack a large smile. "No."

George sighed, an "uGH" leaving his lips.

—

"Now. Why did you kill those five men?" George asked, his hands on his hips, a glass of water on the metal table, and the dim light flickering every once in awhile. George had decided to take Dream to his own house, it was far from civilization, and no one knew where it was. He also had a basement, perfect for killing his targets and getting rid of the bodies in the furnace.

Dream looked up at George exhaustedly, the mask gleaming in the bright light. "They deserved it."

George slammed his fists on the table. "You killed five innocent men, Dream! No one knows anything about you, other than your the masked bandit, and what the hell is your name?! Dream? More like- a Nightmare,"

Dream chuckled. "They did things to me. To my family, they were bad men. The police WOULDNT listen to me, so I killed them myself.
Also, the name is meant to be an illusion," his voice sounded dark, sinister, evil and cold.

George's eyes widened. He didn't know that part of the story, people just paid him to kill him for killing innocents.

"Are you, telling the truth?" George asked, removing his glasses so he could stare directly into the empty, black smiley face eyes.

Dream nodded. "I've never told a lie."

—

As time passed, George got to really know Dream. He wasn't going to just kill him straight away. He had gotten fond of him, began to enjoy his time around him, and it was only then he realized- the hunter had fallen for the prey. George genuinely began to enjoy Dreams company, his stories, his smile, his laugh.. and he was even able to take off Dreams mask and stare into the boys hazel eyes. His life felt content, but he knew he could not keep being this way. All good comes to an end, one way or another. George was going to have to be the one to end it though.

Dream sat in the grass, his mask lay over on the side as he grabbed a wine glass. "Do you want some, George? You seem bothered." George immediately looked at Dream, his thoughts leaving his mind, only partially once Dream spoke.

"Yeah, I could use a glass. I guess I'm just worried about the rain," George snickered, the rain did gently tap down on the two, but it was small. Nothing major.

"It'll be okay, lovely." Dream smiled, handing George his glass. Dream had honestly tried to change a lot, he really liked George and knew his criminal background messed with George's head more likely. He wore a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and it was tucked into his jeans in the side. He looked, nice in all honesty, and had the scent of a cherry pie candle.

The two sat in silence, sipping their wine before Dream gently took George's other hand, turning to face him as he placed his wine glass down. "I really like you, George. You make me so happy."

George's heart raced nervously. He had to do it. There was no escape. "I love you too, Dream."

"Clay. You can call me Clay, Gogy."

George felt tears prick to his eyes, he had to hide it. He suddenly grabbed Clay's collar, yoinking him down to his level and connecting their lips. Clay's eyes widened, before slowly shutting.

Red, maroon colored liquid pooled into George's hands as Clays breath hitched suddenly, his body cowering and sinking into George's. "I'm so sorry, Clay." George whispered, tears went down his eyes as he took the knife out of his hands, and in his arms, Clay passed away.
It was the only death George wasn't prepared for.

—

I placed a bouquet of white daisys on his grave. My heart still aches everytime I walk into these gates, but I always visit him. Somehow I feel as if maybe, in another life, we were soulmates. The smart, strong man I admired, loved me. I loved him, but it wasn't meant to be. Someday I will join him.

For now, I will whisper how much I love him everyday to his grave. How much I grieve his death, and how much I regret what I have done.

I love you, Clay. Forever and always.

—
Words; 1193.