A True Leader //MCYT//

Chapter 3

"...will you ever forgive me?"

~~

A whip of the white bandana flung over the black haired boy as he continued to run, pockets full of stolen jewelry and goods. Laughter rang out from his throat as he kept pace by leaping across buildings and rooftops, eyes wide with excitement and adrenaline. God, this felt good.

Sapnap dipped into the dark shadows, slipping behind a box and listening to the footsteps of the running guards as they slipped by him easily, undetected. Oh it felt amazing to be on the run again, out of that nasty holding.

Waiting till the footsteps faded far away, Sapnap relaxed against the wall, pulling out the gems from his pockets and checking the haul.

Several blue-green pearls, a few sparkling green gems, a cyan one, and a couple of red pouches of valuable dust. These would sell for a hefty amount. Proudly, and without a single bit of regret, the thief walked onto the street, striding confidently to the road ahead. Time to head to rendezvous.

His steps were large, confident. No one bothers you if you look like you belong. And thats exactly what Sapnap did as he slipped into the crowd, a relaxed air to his being. Bustling shop keepers and shoppers alike surrounded him on all sides as he effortlessly slipped between bodies, dodging shoulders, and revolving around swinging bags, heading straight to the forest.

Finally. God, George better not have gotten himself killed in the 9 or so months he had spent in that jail. Sapnap found his steps quicken at the thought of his friend, his brotherhood. He must have been worried sick. Hopefully their mountainside base hadn't been robbed by bandits or the redstone destroyed- he'd spent a longass time trying to get the redstone working.

Well, he had about an hour to kill as he walked, so might as well get started.

~

George couldn't think. The Dream was sleeping in a bed 2 blocks away from him. The Dream that had murdered his best friend years ago.

The Dream that had taken Clay away from him.

George shuddered, remembering that fateful day. The day they had all been caught by the damned Royal Guard, the day his house had been burned down, the day Clay was caught and never returned, the day everything was stripped away from him.

That damned birthday.

Sleep was impossible now.

George could easily kill the taller in his sleep. He knew that.

But George didn't want to yet. He wanted reasons. He wanted answers.

He wanted to cling to the hope that Clay was fucking alive.

Tears had started falling down his cheeks, despite his lack of notice. Dripping down the delicate skin that was rough with dirt and scars and mild stubble. Glasses that fell askew as silent sobs racked his body. He missed the tallers freckled face and stupid smug grin-

Sleep remained unattainable. So George got up, walking to a chest that lay inthe corner of the room. It had dust layered on top of it, so thick that it would not rub off no matter how hard George tried.

A loud creak echoed as George unlatched the buckle, lifting it to expose its contents. A green sweater lay there, looking neatly folded. Just as George had left it last time. Reaching in, he pulled out the clothing item, slowly pulling the soft fabric over his head.

Clays sweater.

The smell of the taller had long since faded. Even the enchanted axe that lay beneath the sweater shimmered, like it missed its wielder. The wood of the handle and the sheen of the diamond reflected Georges tears back only brought more to the mans eyes.

Unknowingly to George though, Dream had slowly sat up. He had woken to the sound of Georges muffled sobs, curiosity getting the better of him as he looked over to the smallers shivering form.

It was to dark for him to be able to make out the color of the sweater George had pulled over his brown tufts of hair. But it pricked at him in familiarity.

However, despite the burning ache in his chest to pull George closer to him for some unbeknownst reason, Dream silently layed his head back down on the mattress. Soon enough, shuffled steps padded across the stone, a creak of the bed next to him signelling Georges return to sleep.

You really shouldn't look at the chest.

Dream's thoughts drifted back to the wooden holder, cursing himself inwardly for what he was thinking.

Well, curiosity killed the ocelot.

Once Georges diminishing breaths finally faded into silent snores, Dream picked himself up from the bed himself. He silently began to move, noting the sunshine that had begun to peak through the cracks in the redstone door, padding across the cobblestone that lined the floor.

The chest was taunting him. Dream could feel it. This whole place felt strangely familiar, and he hated to admit it. The tugging at his heart, the subconscious desire to protect the brown haired guy he had just met, even if it felt like he'd known him before, everything here felt so strangely familiar.

Deja vu tugged at him once again, before he finally gathered his courage and leaned down, unlatching the chest and peering down.

But as soon as he did, the coolness of a blade pressed to the side of his neck, startling Dream into a tense state. Freezing all his movement.

"Who are you, and why are you here?"

Dream nearly tossed himself forward at the sound of that voice he couldn't forget. The sound of a voice that had been calling his name all those fateful years ago.

"..Nick?"

~~

Word Count: 937