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It rained the first day George came to the SMP. However long ago it was – harder to remember with each passing year – the memory of that day hadn’t yet faded from his mind. He’d had an argument with Sapnap when a friendly scuffle ended in George’s new blue cloak soaked through and stained with mud. Their boots were all similarly browned and George remembered muttering when they had finally stopped to rest that it was lucky they weren’t being followed.
As far as we know. Dark laughter under a green cloak; that’s what he looked like in George’s memories.
Fortunately for them, their trail of footsteps had not lead any would be assassins on their path that day and after a cold lunch of drenched sandwiches they continued to trudge through the rain. It was not until they had stopped beside a large lake that the sky decided to ease up on them and allow a beam of shimmery sunlight to streak across the surface of the water. It looked so much like a path of gold that George almost felt tempted to walk across it – he might have tried if not for the fact he was finally dry for the first time that day. Instead he kneeled by the bank, stooping low enough to strangle his cloak beneath the surface in futile determination to revive its sharp blue shade.
Dream lounged beside him, bare feet dangling in the water in spite of how cold it felt on George’s fingertips alone.
It won’t rain anymore. A hand shielded his face from the sun, a makeshift mask when his own overheated. The hand muffled his whispers, hid his eyes – George had a hard time believing him. Even so, little surprisingly, Dream was right.
As clearly as George could remember that rainy first day they spent in the land Dream had not yet claimed for them to settle in, the following weeks were nothing but hazy flashes. Soft white clouds in skies so blue they almost made up for George’s ruined cloak, long since tossed in favour of stealing Dream’s. Gentle breezes that rippled the surface of the lake they had begun building walkways over. The sun tanning Sapnap and Dream’s skin to warmer tones as they took turns petrifying nails into wooden planks that formed first a base, then four walls at the centre of the lake. Meanwhile, George’s own pale complexion remained unchanged as he lay beneath shady trees at the water’s edge, enduring loud complaints from Sapnap. George loitered with ease, even under threat of bodily harm if he didn’t help them. Dream only hastened his efforts to finish construction on the roof so George could continue to exist lazily, but at least closer to them.
It wasn’t until the final brick was cemented and the last tile laid that the clouds stitched themselves back together again. They crashed into one another in a thunderous roar and the three friends had hardly closed the front door behind them as the rain fell with such ferocity it was easy to believe it had never stopped.
George pulled Dream’s cloak tighter across his shoulders.
The lake was on fire. Destruction had feasted on every board, every nail, every mite of dust that had been unfortunate enough to drift in through the windows milliseconds before detonation. There was a house here once. Now there was only charred wood. Flames taller than the chimney. Half a blackened walkway, fractionally crumbling to pollute the once clear water further. Smoky air that burned George’s throat.
The sky growled above his head. Soot discoloured the edges of stolen green fabric. George hoped it would rain soon.