Work Text:
the best thing about having a god fall in love with you is that he is someone who could have anyone, but they chose you. they chose you among billions of others.
the worst thing about having a god fall in love with you is that you’re never sure if he’s going to leave you like dust in the wind. and you know that he could, at any time, on any day.
these thoughts have been circling george’s mind for weeks now. and he’s been desperately trying to push them away, away to the back of his head where he won’t think of them until he’s awake and alone - which is rare nowadays for him.
things remain unspoken between the two: they kiss and they cuddle and they hold hands, they whisper sweet nothings into each others’ ears as if it means something, as if it will last forever.
it won’t. not for george.
for george had found something within himself when he was with dream. he’d found himself dreaming of something that was theirs, just theirs. dreaming of falling to his knees and thanking whoever in the sky at that moment that he existed. that he and dream existed, together. no, george hardly ever prayed, but he’s had faith ever since he met dream. he has looked himself in the mirror and told himself not to ruin this. don’t ruin this. never ruin this. them. us.
in the cracks of dream’s mask, george found religion. in the dip of his hips he found something to pray for. with every look into dream’s self, he found himself believing in something that somewhat resembled love. he wanted to stop believing.
god was real, he slept beside george as he himself lay awake, unable to sleep with the thoughts pounding in his head. yes, dream was a god - but what did that make george? a conquest? someone to be used?
but this god doesn’t worry when george closes his bedroom door, and sometimes he leaves george alone. this is a trust they don’t talk about, what they had now that they’ve kissed under sunshine and water, held hands through forests and mountainsides. george doesn’t pray, never had, but some nights he finds himself looking up to the sky and wishing for something to change, for a clear answer to be bestowed upon him.
when people ask him what their relationship was, he does not answer immediately. he tells them it is flower-picking and flower-crown-making, he tells them that it is walking down the road of your childhood house, he tells them all the beautiful things about dream through metaphors no one but him and his god will understand.
they ask george how a god could grow to love a mortal, and george would say he did not know. because that was the truth. mortals withered like every flower on the earth, they shrunk and they corroded and they diminished, and he would too, eventually. he had no answer to the question, not for others and not for himself. dream gave him a crown of immortal flowers, but that did not make george himself immortal.
would dream stay as george grew older and older before eventually withering away? did god have the power to revoke george’s mortality or his own immortality? could dream do that himself?
would he?
this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. they were friends before, and now they were something else entirely, something so foreign to george that he did not know what to do with it. could he love dream as he was? as he himself decayed away and dream prospered?
could dream love him as he withered away? lost in time? only remembered through memories?
the best thing about loving a god is you’ll know he loves you back. he will fight for you, kill for you, settle down for you. he will call you an idiot affectionately, he will touch every body part you hate and praise it, he will make you feel loved.
the worst thing about loving a god is the thought of leaving it all behind because you are dying, dying, dying. everyone dies; everyone but a god.