― dust remaining

+| Chapter 7

George was so, so embarrassed.

He had gotten upset and ran away, only to get himself in deeper trouble than he could have imagined, forcing Dream to be his knight in shining armor and save him.

And then he cried in front of him, crumbling to bits.

George hadn't cried in awhile.

Maybe it was the pressure of the journey ahead of them, maybe it was the danger he got himself into.

But he had cried. And it was so embarrassing.

And to make matters even worse, he flung himself into Dream's arms like old friends. Crossing that delicate boundary between a knight and a prince into something more.

He wasn't sure what that something more was, to be completely transparent.

The dirt crunched under the hooves of their horses, side by side on a path Dream had charted last night. Using a map he had stored within his saddle bags, he estimated it would take around two weeks to get there if they kept on pace. He cut out sections of time and added in a few days for training and incase one got injured, and make that three weeks.

He wasn't even the one walking and he was tired. He was tired of the constant looking over his shoulder, the unease he held himself with. He resided himself to watching the scenery go by, aware that said scenery would soon turn into the ruins of war in a matter of weeks.

The pristine blade slide cleanly out of the sheath when he brandished it, holding it between two hands and rubbing his thumb over the handle. The stories this sword would tell if it could talk, he could listen to them for ages.

He hoped it would have more stories when he was through with it.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

George glanced over at his companion, his green cloak rested on his shoulders and spilling into either side of his steed. His hood was only pulled up enough to reveal a few strands of his hair, somehow brown yet golden. The way the sun was reflecting on it made him look straight out of a fairytale, and his lopsided smirk accompanied that.

"They're nothing special," George waved off, sheathing his sword with slight trouble and nearly poking his horse with a blade that was sure to hurt. "Nor interesting."

Dream scoffed. "Surely you must have some sort of knowledge to inflict on me? You spend all that time reading and scribbling away in a notebook, and not one mere idea can be shared with me?"

There was this comfortableness among them as they spoke, a breeze carried from their newfound openness. George had heard Dream's lowest from the man himself. Dream had seen George at his lowest. That made them mutually as broken as they were.

George hummed, his fingers grazing over the edge of the saddle. "I don't know what I'm thinking about, to be frank with you," he admitted.

Dream looked away, his eyes fixated on the road ahead. He seemed to be preparing himself for something. "I'm thinking about you, if that makes you feel any better."

"Me?" This was the second time George got taken back by his words. "Good or bad?"

"You're brave," he shrugged, his tone cool but his posture rigid with attempting to remain inconspicuous. "I've never heard of a prince who actually wants to earn his title. Most of them simply accept it."

George bit his tongue to rid the flames gliding across his face. "I'm one of a kind, aren't I?"

Dream muttered something he didn't catch, since he resumed to navigation as they reached a fork in the road. George played his words over and over again, you're brave, and that compliment meant the world.