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Dream is a simple man. A simple king, if you will. He wears a coat like many, long, silk of green and defined by stitches made by his own hands. He uses his heart for the purest of decisions, never goes with impulse, always thought out and precise. It’s the only way he can think, as a king. Growing up in his family passed down residence, two story but full of treasure and memories. But now he’s alone, supported by an army of townspeople who carry trust through Dream. He’s at peace. He has no strong ties to anyone else outside his town, and that is a relief in the idea itself.
But lately, things have been extra rough.
Dream was not pleased with his life at the moment.
He sat on his bed in the master bedroom where he lived with riches, and hadn’t even stressed this hard until now. All day he had been sweating and pouring his heart out with anxiety but it could never ease it completely. There was always anxiousness dripping from his heart at every moment, no matter how much he cried it out or beat himself up for it. It had been a long day, and all he wanted to do was lay down in bed and forget about all of it. He loved his life, he liked the idea of having control over his people. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t need a break, a break from all the stress and hard decisions. Whether his town was strong or not, there were constant changes occurring and constant situations that involved the king if anyone.
He missed the smell of clean air and the feeling of sun on his back. So, he slowly changed into comfortable clothes, something that made him a regular townsperson again, because that’s what he was, before he was anything powerful. Cargo pants and a soft green t-shirt. He finally felt normal for a moment, it was already helping.
So finally, he left his room and let his feet take him down the stairs and out of the complex, in no time. It felt easier to move, now he was out of that crowded room filled with hard decisions and stress. He had never hated his room more than he did now.
As he left and walked down the many flights of stairs, inside a house too big for him, he felt the embrace of wind and air on his skin. The sweat slowly drifted away against the cold air, and it was 100 times more relieving.
He walked down the path that led up to his house, and around the corner, down a walk sided by pretty bushes and trees filled with nature he could never clear out, because most of him was still appreciative of everything that wasn’t changed or adjusted by society. He wasn’t anyone greedy, he appreciated life. There was someone who helped him appreciate life! Whether it was a friend or his town that he protected. Because changing everything would be greedy and unfair to what helped shape him.
Eventually in the distance he could see the center of the town crowded by people who weren’t expected to see their leader leave his home. They didn’t bother him, it was rare he had visitors because they knew he needed his time. But when he turned on his heel to greet the people, concern washed over their faces. He gulped and stepped forward and through them all, who looked at him like he was a fish in a swarm of sharks.
They talked amongst him, and finally Dream laid eyes on a fountain that wasn’t occupied by anyone thankfully. Until he stepped closer, and saw a very familiar face.
A british boy, a friend of his. Someone who respected his privacy the most out of everyone he had met in this town. Ever since he was elected as the desired leader, the boy stuck by his side when he most needed him. The first thing Dream decided was to not tell George about how his decision was going. He was doing his best to get it all out of his head, and it was all working until he locked eyes with the pretty brunette.
Before he could sit down next to him, George sat up, eyes gleaming with beautiful possibility. “Dream! You look destroyed,” he comments, face wincing and eyes jokingly glittery.
The blonde slips his hands into his comfy tan cargo pants and laughs to himself. “And you look alive”
George squints his eyes and smiles joyfully, reaching out and taking Dream’s hand. “You should sit down”
So he does. He sits down at the boy’s wish because everything he says entices Dream. The way he sits close to the king and messes with his fingers once he has them in his lap. They sit back to the fountain, listening to the water pouring behind their ears loudly. He’s glad it’s all he can hear, over the yelling voices in the back of his head.
The soft voice of the brunette wakes him from the water’s music, “You’re tense”
He fumbles with the taller’s middle finger and touches his skin delicately, as if he let go it would shatter across his lap. He was always touchy with Dream, wanted to hold his hand and make sure he was okay. It was far from their normal platonic friendship but it was so calming that Dream didn’t want to move or say anything to ever change his mind.
“Yeah,” Dream agrees hesitantly, “I am.”
He looks down at the smaller and gives him an apologetic smile when George’s face falls slightly. “Why?” he asks kindly, a bit of worry at his tone. It makes Dream falter with grace.
“A lot on my mind, that’s all.”
It’s more harsh than he had meant, but no matter how he talks to George, the boy will always take it and only make him fall harder. He was the most understanding boy he had met.
George digests the words and starts by leaning his head on Dream’s shoulder. It suddenly feels like it’s only them in the area.
“You know you can never fail us,”
Us. He means him and the town. He wishes he had said ‘me’ instead.
“I suppose that’s the whole reason I’m worried about this. There is no truth in the word ‘never’”
George hums below him and softly puts Dream’s hand down. He wishes he never did, he kind of needs the warmth in the moment. Suddenly the brunette is standing in front of him, sweater falling past his hands and making Dream’s heart flutter. He always took George as an adorable boy, whether it was love or just pure admiration. But he wanted to always be around him.
“If you want to relax, I can show you a place,” he speaks, voice full of adventure and dreams.
A place. Dream knows this whole town, there’s nowhere he hasn't been. But something about adventure makes his heart thump and his feet stutter. Especially with George.
“Okay, take me Georgie”
It leaves his lips before he can even protest, because it always will. His heart pours when he’s around this boy.
The brunette visibly smiles and grabs the blonde’s hand harshly, and pulls him along. Dream almost loses his grip and the whole way, George carries him by his finger. It’s intimate and cute, love spreading at his touch.
He watches as the boy’s hair jumps as he drags Dream along, feet light on the ground but heart full. He takes him through the town and down the path, taking turns as Dream tries not to figure out where they’re going. And suddenly, they take a narrow turn through a crack in the wall, the blonde heavily confused as he had never considered squeezing through.
“Wha-” he starts, but it's as if George had expected it.
“Shush, let me take you Dream. All you have to do is follow”
The blonde immediately shuts up at his mercy and follows him through the depths of the corner of mystery, only excitement pounding through his heart. He truly believes that the boy in front of him would never mean any harm.
And finally, just as they are about to slide out from the tight space they are squeezed in, George places two very warm hands over his eyes. It makes Dream’s breath hitch with confusion before he realizes he wants it to be a surprise. So they squeeze out slowly, Dream completely blinded of any trace in front of him.
“Ready?” the british voice asks calmly ahead of him, and the blonde sighs with relief, and nods. “Words, Dream.”
Dream gulps and smirks for a moment, “Yes George, now show me!”
And only moments later, the hands lift from his eyes, only to reveal the bright light of the sun.
He rubs his eyes briefly before opening them and looking at the brunette first, who gives him a bright smile and eyes that lead to the place in front of them.
In front of him lies the most beautiful field of flowers he had ever seen. Filled with sunflowers, roses, dahlias, peonies, tulips, lavenders, and more. Colors vast like the rainbow, painting the grass like it’s canvas, diverse and wonderful. He feels like his eyes gleam with color that he can barely comprehend, swirling like tie dye only for it to glow in front of him. The way George looks at the field with so much love and adoration. It’s beyond cute and he has to turn his head away so he doesn’t blush any longer. This is a very nice adventure, he concludes at the sight.
“Do you like it?”
Dream nods right away, completely blown away with the canvas of flowers that of course, George would know about, and the king wouldn’t. He worries for a moment how many other people know about this place, and if danger seeps upon it-
Interrupting his thoughts, is the curl of a pinkie around his, and he looks down to see George interlocking their fingers with a loving smile. It only causes Dream to melt further and for all thoughts to dry away.
“Stop looking so tense, cmon!” the brunette cheers and gives him an assured squint of his eyes, now beginning to take him further down into the field. They pass a white fence that opens the area, and suddenly he’s almost yanked down into the valley. He forces down a laugh at the smaller’s eagerness, and trips over his feet clumsily.
Although Dream felt as though he was abandoning his important work, the way George grasped at his hand eagerly, he could only focus on the soft feet that tranced through the sharp edges of pasture. It felt abnormal, something he hadn’t done in a while, breaking his consistent, stress induced life. And he was anything but surprised that George was the one doing so. They had always had a fun, exciting friendship, their conversations were always new and exploring. Dream learned new things constantly thanks to George, even though he was quite literally the king of this town, he still had so much to learn from the brunette. But they never had traveled far from the town, this being the first time they got to separate from their everyday casualties. So Dream couldn't prevent the spark that ignited every time they stumbled together and knocked shoulders.
After jogging against the current of wind for a couple of moments, they eventually slowed down to a steady walk through the grass silently. George had let go of his hand by then, the coldness embracing the blonde’s hand at which he didn’t want to feel. It was nice being held, something he wasn’t, on a day-to-day basis because of his torn up schedule and lonely house. So feeling grass tickle at his ankles and for his face to be hitting wind with every step, it was so, so relieving. The bubbly energy being released from George’s skin made it all the better, too.
Dream then looked down for the first time in a couple of minutes, being welcomed by patches and patches of flowers scattered around. Different kinds, different colors and pretty in their own way but again all together like a pack. While they could be beautiful all together, they were so beautiful standing alone as well. He watched the brunette in front of him, bend over to pick a light blue flower from the grass, standing back upwards and holding it with a calm look on his face.
“A forget-me-not, '' he said with a smile, holding it up so Dream could see it clearly. The flower was small but long, multiple sepals extending into their own group of petals, a delicious blue quite like the sky. He admired the cuteness of the flower, but he really couldn’t strain his focus when George’s face was blurred just behind it, just as cute and just as blue.
“Pretty,” Dream comments, taking the flower and softly touching one of the many petals on the forget-me-not. He could have easily been talking about the plant, but he was definitely talking about George. The brunette didn’t seem to dwell any further because he skipped off into the park to search for more flowers.
The king follows hastily, unable to comprehend what George was looking for, since they were trying not to trample on the bunch of flowers they were walking upon. He had to be looking for a special type of flower, since there were so many around them it would have been so easy to pick one. Dream makes accidental shoe markings in the dirt and quickly feels like he's trancing on George's private space, until the brunette casts him a scintillate smile that washes away all of his worries.
The boy turns around fully and approaches Dream who looks about the landscape, taking in it’s beauty once again. It’s only just a flower field but it could be so much more. He doesn’t know how long they plan to be there, but he has a feeling he’ll forget about time very soon.
“What’s your favorite flower?”
George asks, breaking the silence. He stares up at the blonde with a carefree grin, prompting Dream’s heart to melt. For a moment he forgets to answer, because really he can’t when George is looking at him like that.
He stares into the sky, with nothing but a head empty of answers. In true honesty, Dream knows nothing about flowers. But he wishes he did. And when George’s face curls into something more stumped than questionable, the king smiles.
“You,” he says after a breath. George gasps and rolls his eyes, turning away and Dream can barely catch the blush forming at the tips of his ears.
“You’re such an idiot,” he replies, laughing shortly afterwards. Dream smiles at his success for teasing the boy, and he walks forward a little quicker so they’re side to side.
They bump shoulders briefly, emitting an exhale from the both of them. “Are you sure you should call the king an idiot?”
He feels like he has said that so many times to George, considering how much they tease each other when they hang out. It rolls out so easily that it was bound to become flirting at some point. Neither of them minded it though, and as much as he wanted the slow burn to go quicker, it was really fine where it was. Even if he didn’t get to kiss his waiting lips yet.
“What would you do to me? Lock me up?” George prompts further, smirking with a quick glance to Dream’s pale, but slowly reddening face.
The blonde smiles deviously, cocking his head. “Never, you couldn’t last in prison”
George scoffs, turning to punch Dream in the shoulder, but really because he knows it’s true. Dream flinches slightly and George only smirks, further proving that somehow he knows what he’s doing to him.
They walk along the grass once more, smiling to themselves and softly thinking about whatever comes to mind. Dream watches as their steady breathing goes on.
Something catches the king’s eye for a moment, and he bends down to pick it up. It’s a pure white, peaceful flower that petals curl towards the middle. George watches him do so, quick to feed him with information.
“Magnolia,” he smiles over his shoulder, the breath of his nose feeling visible to Dream. “It’s used for medicine, you can even eat the petals”
The blonde nods slowly and turns his head so their faces meet. It startles him for a moment, before the king, who regains his confidence, smiles so cockily. “Who would ever eat this pretty of a flower?”
George shrugs, humming and turning his face away so they aren’t close anymore. It tugs on Dream’s heart for a moment, before the brunette interlocks their hands. He continues to survey around them, pretending that they aren’t holding hands for some reason. Dream couldn’t care less though, it didn’t take long for blush to rise to his cheeks at the warmth of his hand encasing his.
“Idiots, probably.”
Dream chuckles, and tugs on George’s hand so they’re facing each other again. The boy’s face is flustered, obviously, so it clicks in Dream’s head why he turned away so fast. It makes his heart beat faster at the realization that despite his tendency to be touchy, he still turns red when initiating. Dream takes the moment to interpret every crevice of his smile and eyes who peak with curiosity from the gesture. His hair is lightly ruffled, brown locks curly behind his ears and his bangs droop over his forehead with ease. He’s effortlessly beautiful and it sucks.
The quirk of an eyebrow startles Dream out of his stare, and suddenly he’s lifting his hand without really thinking. The flower in between his fingers, gently gets placed behind the brunette’s ear, George completely still. He lets it become wedged between his ear and his head, brown hair naturally curling around it. The whiteness of the Magnolia contrasts his milky skin, and George’s smile only lets it shine more.
The boy’s head tilts down with slight embarrassment, but it’s not long before they’re walking again. Silence creeps up on them before they know it, hands swaying quietly. It couldn’t be more intimate than this, right?
They approach a kind fence, one as white as the magnolia behind George’s ear. George is the first to initiate a sitting position, as best as he can without sitting on any flowers. There are still many around them, and it’s very questionable how so many different flowers are growing from the grass. It must be a magical place.
Dream sits down after him, resting nicely on the slight incline of the grass. But they aren’t sitting for long, because George goes on further to lie down, now his brown locks scattered on the landscape like petals laid across a mattress on a rather intimate evening. Dream has to stifle some laughter because he’s about to lay down next to his best friend, in a field of beautiful flowers but with an even more beautiful boy. It was perfect.
The king finds himself laying down nicely next to the brunette, letting his own golden locks feel upon the grassy meadow. Their hands remain connected in the space between them, before George leans upward so he’s on his side, scarily close to Dream’s chest. All movements afterward become natural and easy.
Dream lets the other play with his fingers as they lay in the pasture, flowers scattered about their feet that carry dreams and wonders, hope and sadness. Everything about a flower is life, growth, friendship, love. Dream wonders if it's all love, everything he sees. But the thing that stands out the most is George.
Flowers stand out in the field, their petals are wide, colorful and paste. Loving, embracing, unknown. He knows nothing about each of them, but something about learning etches at his thumping heart. George mumbles a hum and spares a flash of innocence through his eyelashes, tilting his head to meet Dream's chest.
Dream inhales deeply before meeting his gaze, and only now realizes the brunette carries a darker blue dahlia, intertwined between his pointer finger and middle finger, held slightly above his stomach as an offer. Dream only sees it as an offer, nothing more or less. An offer that withholds thousands of wishes and love. It's lapiz tainted, spread from the tips of each petal to its base. The only color his brunette friend can really see and appreciate, but he'd like to be wrong in that case. The boy seems to read his mind.
"This, this is life and love, all in one" he says softly, each word graceful as it falls off his tongue. "My favorite color. All my favorites carry the beauty of who I am”
Dream smiles at the choice of words he portrays, thinking deep at his meaning and thought. But he doesn't have to try because George likes to guide.
"What is your favorite color, Dream?"
Dream tilts his head back again to the feeling of grass on his temple, avoiding George's curious gaze as it would interrupt his thinking. It's such a simple question, but never is his answer going to be simple if it was asked by George.
"Green. It seems to hold the weight of the world, don't you think?"
The brunette smiles widely, incredibly joyous and filled with appreciation. "Yes, yes I do think."
Dream chuckles fondly to ease the tension, the tension that is good and curious. He likes this tension.
He watches George fiddle with the flower once more, touching softly at the petals and suddenly, letting it drop onto the space between them. The blonde watches it drop and he thinks for a moment that George had an epiphany.
"You are green, your soul Dream"
The blonde boy laughs but it's breathless and kind. He can only think to ask, "What do you mean?"
George only hums, developing words to say in that vast brain of his. Dream watches the way his eyes look at the sky and clouds, searching for the wisdom he carries. His mind contains the most vast field of flowers, different, foregein, diverse. And maybe he can see all the colors, despite his colorblindness. He seems to hold the power in seeing beauty in everything.
“Well, you are the king. You carry the weight of the kingdom on your back, mostly on your own. You don’t need soldiers, because your greenness steers the enemy away”
Dream laughs gently, chest rising up and down like bubbles rising to the tops of his stomach. The way he describes colors makes his chest ache with such a curiosity and urge to know more, that only they can fulfil. He’d listen to him describe things for hours.
After he settles to silence once more, Dream takes the brunette’s now empty hand and thumbs over his palm with a delicacy he wishes he used on people his whole life. But all he can recall is thinking about the blood he’s seen drop and fall from people he didn’t want to see die, and it hurt. It was sinful looking at all the red painted flowers beneath his feet.
“You have some of the weight, I’d like to think.”
George blushes and that’s the first time he’s seen Dream try to hide his face from him. His pale skin buries into the softness of Dream’s shirt until he can hear the quick beating of Dream’s heart. It’s comfortable, having the brunette in his arms like it’s the only person he can hold before he goes to war. But there’s no war coming, unless he makes a mistake.
“I’m colorblind, so all I can see are dark yellows, browns and blues. But it’s like I can feel them Dream. The sting of each bright color, the strain when I pick one up and smell it’s scent. I feel like I have some type of power in that sense,” George explains, giggling helplessly at the ridiculousness of the observation. Dream only watches him with open, loving eyes. Maybe it's the verdance of his orbs, or the softness of the grass below him, but Dream feels blessed with green right now.
Dream was a simple man. But at this moment, in this time, he wanted to be anything but.
George’s giggles continue to rumble through Dream’s chest, and he only finds the feeling comforting. He wonders if this is what it feels like to live lavishly, in surrender to any hardships. He wonders if one day, he’d like to lay in the grass with a boy in his arms until death calls upon him.
Dream continues to wonder, like it’ll be the last thing he’d get to do. Answers feel worthless at this time.
But he’ll ask, and ask and ask.
“If you’re colorblind, how do you enjoy this?” he wonders, lifting an arm to trace it on the smaller’s back. George shivers and hums with a breath.
“Well..” he starts, and for a second Dream feels like he doesn’t have an answer. He could live with that, hypothetically.
But he has no idea why he underestimated him.
“Whether I am with or without the prettiest colors, this lovely place is lonely,” he turns and stares into the sky, reaching out with a hand to trace a stranded cloud. “My company shall be appreciated the most, since I am less fortunate with sight. They know I’m here, seeing and smelling”.
Dream smiles, heart swelling at George’s sweet words. He can feel everything, the fluence of his intent and its love that’s rooted beneath it.
“You are the most fortunate of all,” Dream says close to a whisper, turning onto his side so he gets a clear sight of the other’s side profile. His skin is pale but soft and gentle. Quiet but filled with thoughts that he would never be able to hear. And he watches, watches as the whiteness of his skin tone alters to a light red, entirely different from the blood coursing in his veins. The pink is welcoming and Dream falls in love with the battle color all over again.
George tilts his chin down into his chest and laughs, researching for that hand he had dropped only minutes earlier. Dream welcomes it back into his own, intertwines their fingers and stalls his finger traces on the boy’s spine.
“How can you say that? You have a kingdom at your feet Dreamie”
The blonde tuts at the nickname, his own cheeks turning feverishly pink. He wonders if George sees blush in the same light as he.
“How can I appreciate a kingdom, knowing you have a vortex of hope and love?”
Silence enwraps them and the only sound in earshot, are the critters who think they are silent, scrambling in the bushes. The king catches sight of a yellow flower by their knees and watches it sway.
“Do you not have hope, king?”
Dream falters at the accusation, chest suddenly thumping with unknown. He doesn’t think of that often, only in serious situations. Time was still here, it didn’t move at the furious pace he is used to. So he can’t come up with an answer like he is used to. He’d like to get used to this.
“It’s not… I feel-” a finger taps generously at the back of his hand to pause his thoughts. The brunette male is staring up at him with a calming smile, one that eases him immediately into a state of no interruption. It’s quiet suddenly, his thoughts are bombarded with a wall, abolishing any struggle. Words come out more easily than ever.
“Sometimes I have hope, sometimes I do not. The stress builds up, overloads, and suddenly all I can hear is red.”
He uses a color comparison he knows the brunette would understand. He uses it in memory of that color he despises the most lately, but can only see it’s pretty outliers with a boy that he does not despise.
Dream looks up back to George after he had found that his eyes drifted to the minimal grass between them. He smiles like he always does, listening, always there. And finally Dream felt a sense of familiarity that didn’t bother him.
His eyes drift away again and back to that yellow flower, instinctively leaning down to pick it up. His arm unwraps from around George’s shoulder so it’s between them, and their hands unlatch. George rests his hands intertwined on his own breathing chest, so peacefully Dream wants to lay his head down on top of it, and rise with every breath.
He holds the flower quite like George had done and brings it in between George’s eyes, but at a comfortable distance.
“How do you feel about yellow?” he asks, already forming an answer in his own head like he would always. Nothing could really take away Dream’s sense of preparation, no matter how calming the environment is.
George clears his throat gently, and Dream is back to wondering things. Wondering how on earth could someone make a sound like clearing his throat, sound so soft?
“Yellow is perception, conjecture, questioning, hope. But it can be scary if you don’t approach it correctly, if that makes sense”
Dream nods quickly, closing his eyes and imagining the color yellow for a moment. “Makes a lot of sense.”
George laughs suddenly and the blonde is overwhelmed with confusion. He opens his eyes to the brunette burying his face into Dream’s shirt again. “You don’t have to lie Dream. I’m... complex. You can admit it,”
His words tumble with laughter in between, being so close to Dream’s heart, it curls in all sorts of ways. He laughs in return, curling his arm back around his shoulder and beginning to knead his fingers into his soft hair, swirling around in every which way.
“Yes, but I like it. It puts things into perspective.”
After a little bit of more laughing, George looks up so their eyes lock, and Dream sees tears rimming at his eyes. Dream gasps lightly and pauses his hand movements, stopping at the base of his neck. He frowns at the sight, but George is just smiling through it.
“Are you okay love?” The king asks, a softness in his voice that carries into the air and gets lost in the wind. George shuts his eyes and a single tear cascades down his cheek. Dream quickly drops the flower in his free hand and cradles his chin into his palm, dragging his thumb to wipe the wetness away.
“I’m okay. Just... emotions.”
Dream laughs silently and carefully puts George’s head back onto his chest with a sigh. George’s arm that is resting forgotten in the grass, lifts up and stops at Dream’s chest, dipping his finger into the fabric of his shirt and swirling it around.
Dream lets him, while he himself touches his hair precisely, massaging his scalp and intertwining his fingers between the locks with care as it’s soft on his skin. He’s so sure this is what love is.
George’s voice is barely heard through the cloudiness of love surrounding them. “What about red, Dream?”
The blonde should have known this was coming, and his chest tightens so quickly when all that fills his mind now is red. George notices the tenseness come back, and he lifts his head to stare into Dream’s eyes.
He almost feels like his eyes are green no longer, but a sharp crimson.
George’s mouth gapes open, looking for words, but Dream denies, by tugging on his hair lightly. The brunette smiles softly but it’s sad and accepting.
“Red is my memories. When I look back, its all remembrance but in the worst ways. Bad things, bad times. Red like- like blood. Like the snap of an arm or plants being crushed. I haven’t seen a single good red thing in a while,”
He finishes explaining and he realizes George had been intently listening the whole time. He smiles deeply when they lock eyes and all of a sudden he feels hot.
They are both leaning on their elbows now, George slightly leaning forward and picking at the grass simply. But their eyes remain locked, Dream wants to kiss him. But listening to the silence has never felt so right.
“What about this red thing?” George asks, and lifts a thumb to brush underneath Dream’s eyes, at his cheeks. The king laughs fondly, figuring out that he’s signifying the blush and it makes him roll his eyes.
“It’s only good because you caused it, silly,” the king answers, dipping his head so they’re both leaning forward and blushing like dumb teenagers.
Mind you, Dream did not like his past, and he did not think of it. He only wished to stay in the present, and that’s what led most of his decisions. He hated regret, and tried not to pursue it. He didn’t look back on his young age, because he had grown and he did not need to revisit his childhood. Whether it was bad or not.
But finally, feeling young-, felt good.
George’s thumb rests at his cheek still, unmoving. George threatens to drop it, but he keeps feeling his skin like it’s a soft cushion keeping him sane.
“Red might be danger, or destruction. But it’s also… love. It’s full, large, dominant.”
These words might be the most hard-hitting he has heard all afternoon.
Dream nods slowly, fully aware of how close they have gotten, but neither of them continue forward. They stay close, because it’s contained with lust, allure, sweet sugar mold.
Dream takes George’s silence as a sign to reply. He thinks his words carefully, but he’s not as careful, or insightful as George. But that’s okay, because that’s just George.
“Just for now, can we change that to pink?”
The smile returns on the brunette’s face, as bright and bold as it was before. His eyes close and he stifles a laugh visibly. Dream giggles as well, trying to use it as a way to block out the love in his eyes that are showing. He’s pretty sure it’s obvious, but a king’s gotta try, right?
But when he opens his eyes again, green and brown ones interlock with a power and drive that neither of them expected. He’s so close, but so far. His breath is so hot, so red but so sweet. So…. Pink.
George bites his bottom lip hesitantly from close contact and inhales. Every moment is slow and taken, Dream can feel it all. It’s so much stronger than anything he’s ever felt.
“Pink,” he starts, collecting his thoughts and blinks tiredly but bashfully, “Is a lovely color”
And finally, George leans in so they are mere inches apart, lips hesitantly hanging over Dream’s. The blonde’s breath hitches but he tries so hard to remain calm. Nothing can stop the pounding in his heart. The brunette starts with the most gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, low and inviting, and mysterious. It starts purple but Dream mistakenly turns his head as a reaction, but its impulsiveness is only for good, anyway.
Their lips connect sweetly, and it blooms pink all around. George holds his chin with delicacy, pulling him strong onto his lips so their foreheads bump but it’s painfully right. They lean together rightfully and Dream pulls his hand into the brunette locks once again because he wants to feel how close they are without opening his eyes. And he’s successful, because his hand feels so close at the back of George’s head and it only makes him smile on his lips. He gently tugs on his hair, because he knows George was always one for surprise, and he squeaks joyfully. They kiss harder if possible, and the pink he had first seen, bleeds into red.
First Dream is taken aback by the strong maroon color rising in his brain, but he remembers that the boy that had been with him for so long, helping him with so much, was kissing him with tender, candy flavored lips, and nothing feels wrong anymore. He tastes of color and wonder, and mystery but adventure. And it even tastes like joy when George’s tongue prods at his bottom lip, but Dream pulls away before they can move further.
Their foreheads are connected and George just smiles, he smiles like who he is and it only makes Dream smile as well. His lips are so red, so smitten. Dream could faint if it wasn’t for the only thing keeping him alive, the aftertaste of George on his tongue.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been waiting to kiss those soft lips, but he hadn’t adored it until now. He hadn’t been able to appreciate its fondness until they were so close that it hurt. But George only smiles and everything snaps into place.
They breath together happily, Dream’s eyes flutter closed with relief tugging at his chest. His hands resume their fumbling with the brown strands of hair and he just wishes he could hear what George was thinking. It would probably be a lot of things, but he would love it nonetheless.
George’s voice is honey and soft, all that the king could have imagined. “You are so green!” he laughs, smearing his thumb across Dream’s jawline.
Dream scoffs and it flows into sweet laughter, then gently tugs the brunette onto his chest again so they lay in the sun amongst the grass.
They are delivered into calm silence once again, just looking at the sky and tracing each other’s hair more confidently now. Dream is a little more assured than he was when he got here. This could be a safe place for them, and only them. A place they can go and lay and fantasize about flowers and colors, reminiscing on old times. Dream feels like he could grow old here, laying in the meadow with his favorite boy. Giggles could be shared and feet will entangle. Hands will wonder and lips will go on their own adventures. It smells, looks, and feels like home.
Home. It has been a while, hasn’t it?
But Dream can’t bring himself to move, he’s superglued to the humanoid form of hope. He’s stuck and tied to someone of love. George would have to be the one to move.
But he talks instead.
“I actually kind of thought you didn’t like me..” he murmurs at Dream’s chest again, hand flat on his shirt where he can feel the thumping of his heart. His other hand is high, touching the aureate hair on Dream’s head. Dream leans into the soft touches, slowly taking in the words George says.
He doesn’t answer, and they both fall into an abyss of questioning- no, yellow .
“I once figured you were annoyed with me, because I talk so much about everything and nothing,” the brunette continues, circling a finger on his chest in simple figure eights. “But time grew on, and you proved to me that it was just deep, deep thought”
Dream hums in delight, stifling a kind chuckle. He leans to the side so he cradles George more gently in his arms, forcing George’s head to rest nicely under his chin. Brown hair tickles his jaw and Dream can barely smell the faint fragrance of cherry.
“I- I think I’m in love with you”
He stumbles on his words a bit, then clearing his throat with worry afterwards. He worries that it might have been the wrong thing to say, but he can’t tell, the trace of George’s lips on his chest drawing no sign to his expression. His heart squeezes with the most hope he’s ever had to come up with, and he’s sure that the brunette can hear how loud he’s hoping.
It sets in after a while, and George lifts his head so they are inches apart, and the boy’s hand that was once lost in hair, comes down and he holds Dream’s jaw again.
“Does that make me your queen?”
Out of all things, Dream laughs. He laughs and suddenly there’s tears at his own eyes just from the way his heart stops squeezing and he’s happy. He leans into the hold on his face and kisses the palm caressing him. He shuts his eyes closed with a generous smile and nods feverishly. George places a soft peck on his lips and before Dream can reciprocate, their faces are pulled away.
“Hmm” Dream says, although it’s really nothing. His eyes open to the brunette looking at him with a glorious stare, intaking all his features like it’s a sculpture on its final day in the shop; making sure it’s in tip top shape before sent off to the most famous museum. It’s scary at first, but George is the only visitor, so it’s okay again.
He thinks about their time in the open park, filled with picking flowers and envying each color and it’s true meaning. He thinks about being with George for the rest of his life, and if he could even live with the wise boy who addresses everything with contemplation as if he’s walking on eggshells.
He wonders how George resembles nature in the best ways, how he is so true to himself and the world without even trying. He never even looked at George in this way until now, never seen how beautiful this place was until George had shown it to him.
He comes to terms with the fact George is who he is and it’s beautiful, full and himself. If he gets to hold George like this for the rest of his lifetime, he’d stare at the color red for hours.
George really is a flower, isn’t he?
Dream builds words on the tip of his tongue, but nothing really feels right enough. So he chooses the simplest words, because he is a simple man. He has always been a simple man. And right now he is not just a king, not a leader, not what the world sees him as. But he is a man, a boy, George’s boy. So what is George to him?
It’s like George can hear him thinking. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
The king assembles his thoughts and peers down at the boy with a kind smile. “You’re no queen, but you could be.”
George hums in appreciation, but Dream is not done.
“You could be rich, wealthy, in my arms every sunny afternoon, like this in the flowers. You’d look really pretty in a dress-” he jokes, relaxing his arms around his boy, without searching for his reaction, because he doesn’t need to look to know he’s smiling at him with the world in his eyes.
“But right now, you are only just my flower.”