Under the Weather - Dreamnotfound Oneshots

Crimson Prince

in which Dream is royalty and George, yknow, isn't 

This is kind of a different style of writing than usual, let me know if you like it :] 

enjoy! <3 

Clay hated it. 

He hated standing above it all, both figuratively, and literally. 

Now, he forced his spine straight, chin lifted, gazing down his nose at the people below the majestic white balcony. Of course, he wasn't listening to what his mother was saying, he had learned it didn't matter. 

She flourished her arms with such a natural beauty, her strength and power showing through each word, each movement, her very existence dripping with pure glory. To be in her presence was a literal blessing to the townsfolk, according to Clay's father. 

Because she was the Queen. 

The very person with every right, every ounce of power, things that even the King nor Clay possessed. 

And that was who Clay called his mother. 

Well, not technically. Usually he referred to her as ma'am, or even your Highness. 

And he hated it.

What he would give, to drop the deep crimson red he wore, to be part of the crowd below, to not be standing here now. 

But there was one benefit, just one, to being the only son, the prince to the throne. One benefit to be able to walk where he pleased, without the rules or restrictions the townsfolk had.

And that was him. 

The small boy who darted amongst the people, always wearing a dull blue shirt. He had soft brown hair that he found himself usually having to brush out of his eyes. His soft, cocoa and golden eyes that shone like honey in the sunlight, as if they were a sunset, a stunning kaleidoscope of colours all their own.  

He was always there, gazing up at the castle with a soft, innocent curiosity, but not longing. Just simple respect. 

Clay swallowed hard, his own green eyes scanning the area desperately to catch a glance at the beautiful boy. 

The prince often saw him, but something about the brunet made his stomach flutter with butterflies and his heart speed up.

Maybe someday he'd talk to him. 

It was ironic, really.

The confident crimson prince, afraid to speak to the small blue boy. 

{~}

Their first encounter was probably the strangest. It wasn't exciting, nor did it last. 

Yet it was the first thing that brought them together.

Clay was clad in more casual attire than usual, a clean white button up with crimson buttons.

Clay didn't like crimson. 

He strolled through the village, keeping a low profile as it was rare he was able to get anywhere without being bombarded by people. 

This time, however, Clay had been lucky. 

He wasn't watching where he was going, though, too preoccupied by the simple, ragged beauty of the town. 

That was when he collided with another, smaller body. 

"Ah!" A soft, quiet voice yelped. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that-" 

Clay's gaze flicked to whoever had bumped into him in confusion. His eyes went slightly wider. It was him, the brunet. He was scooping up a few papers that had been strewn across the ground from the collision.