agent 03 // dreamnotfound

-six-

dream rested solemnly at the far edge of the now deserted wildflower grassland, peering up at the dismal sky and sighing deeply.

No guards ever bothered investigating the flower field nightly. It was so seemingly endless and would be exasperatingly dull to walk the entire thing, checking over each and every nook. If they didn't have to do something, they weren't going to.

Dream concluded it was most manageable for him to simply relax in the garden rather than to creep out of the palace grounds to someplace in the village. It may have appeared to be overly risky, but he had his reasons. Firstly, he wouldn't have to slink furtively back into the densely guarded areas every single day. He was perfectly capable of it, he just found it to be more of an inconvenience than anything. Secondly, he wouldn't have to speak with painfully drunk townspeople sauntering about at ungodly hours entreating him unusual questions or pleading for a few dollars, presumably for another beer that the tavern should have already denied the request for.

Lastly, the grass was surprisingly very pleasant to lay into. The stars that freckled the sky were delightful to study with their soothing, radiant luminosity. Truthfully, the crickets were ordinarily a nuisance, but on this rare occasion, they were instead a pleasant addition. He let out a faint breath as he propped his head up stiffly on his arms behind his head. The midnight air was warm but not muggy, the ideal temperature. He wondered what George was up to in his regal life.

Dream discerned that he was probably sleeping, when in reality, he was gazing upon the very same stars as George was in that same moment.

Dream dissipated into thought fairly quickly. He was appointed to execute the pitiful prince. He typically didn't have much of an issue with eliminating members of the royal family since he had already done it various times, so he didn't know why he felt so uncertain about having to kill George. He was just like any other prince, why was he feeling sorry this time? Perhaps it was the circumspect way he chose his words. Or his particular mannerisms? Maybe it was the way he so absentmindedly made sure not to harm the wildflowers that besieged him.

But he had only known him for a fleeting time. So far, he had solely communicated with him in person once, and it hadn't exactly gone flawlessly. Dream didn't want to get attached to him; that was the plan at the dead bottom of his mental to-do list. It hadn't worked out strongly in the past. Thoughts correlating to that conflict were not welcomed with open arms in his head, but sometimes his thoughts engulfed him like an inescapable tsunami.

Distinctly, he could recall the roaring, raging flames that snapped at the atmosphere and the choking fumes of soot that flooded his lungs with no regret. Tormenting outcries from the individuals attempting absolutely anything and everything they could to get their beloved families out of the blaze played like looped cassettes in his mind. Jeopardizing their own lives, adrenaline taking charge. He could remember the very second he released that matchstick over the heap of books. The second everything went up in sparks. He could evoke the one sound he'd never forget. One last desperately fearful scream. One that would plague him for his entire life, never giving up. The scream that indicated his target was successfully eliminated.

Dream detested remembering that outcry with every fiber of his being. He had even gone as far as to deliberately attempt to give himself amnesia so that there was the chance he would no longer have to remember it. To give him the chance to sleep a full night without any issues.

He had, by mistake, befriended a target once. Additionally, it was not just an average friendship. It was that of a soulmate connection. Not the affectionate, lovers' soulmate variety, it was a friendship bonded together by two souls. The kind of friendship you would give anything to keep safe and healthy. You would die just for the other person to be satisfied and beaming because to you, they deserved it more than anyone else.

Dream never considered he'd encounter that type of admiration. He cherished him so profoundly. He was his most faithful friend even though he had only known him for four abrupt months. It felt as if he had known him for several lifetimes the moment they first spoke.

Those four months were packed to the brim with beaming smiles, goofy midnight conversations, merriment, and acceptance, but trepidation and guilt poisoned the final week.

Dream's life was endangered when he brought up a potential exemption from his target. He was taught a lesson and that lesson was to never create authentic, genuine relationships with your targets. Gain the trust and eliminate. As simple as that. But it wasn't simple when you had to kill the one person you wanted to live forever with, listening in extensive torment until their cries of limitless agony subsided to an eerie quietness.

Dream had even contemplated giving up his own life before the date arrived so that he wouldn't have to take out another, but he knew thoroughly that his organization would just send another agent out. He didn't want to be selfish by taking his own life so he wouldn't have to undergo the strain.

So he drained the gasoline over the mound of novels the two had spent incalculable hours reenacting and ignited the match. The severest mistake of his life. He wished he had also burned in that fire so that maybe, just maybe, their souls could be together again, and he could just explain.

Alternately, he had to exist with that guilt his entire life. And he was only twenty.

---

Dream snapped out of his hopeless reverie. His breathing was rapid and irregular. He was balled up in the grass, sweating bullets, his nails digging crescents into his palms as an involuntary punishment. His subconscious was racing with so many negative thoughts, switching like television stations. He felt so incompetent, so trivial, so vexatious. He wanted to shred out all of the grass and let all of his emotions out but he was told that displaying negative emotion was wrong. He would never confess it to anybody, not even himself, but he was crying. The mockingly warm tears spilling upon his cool skin were subtle, but they were there. Slowly taking long breaths, Dream eventually gained authority over his emotions. He sat in unbroken silence for a few moments, his head rested on his knees as he plucked small shoots from the ashen soil.

"I still miss you. A lot. I... I'm sorry."