His Protector | DreamNotFound

Chapter 29

TW: death

He blankly stared at his bedroom wall, George's words still freshly ringing through his ears.

'But I was never in your room....'

Had he been joking? Was all of this to confuse him on purpose? For the first time in what seemed hours he looked down at the still asleep boy in his bed, his hair messily spread out over his forehead. The sweet smell was still radiating from his wound, but after all this time he had managed to control himself around him.

Without making any noise by his feet hitting the floor, he walked over to the bed, laying down on his side next to the dangerously beautiful human. His chest was now steadily rising and falling. The only noise in the room was the soft breathing. It calmed Dream more than the most classical music could, more than a peaceful morning in bed with birds chirping all kinds of different songs, more than a quiet night of carelessly running through the empty cold streets.

His fingers moved up to remove the strokes of hair out of the other's eyes, the boy softly humming but not waking up from the touch. It may sound creepy, but Dream could watch him for hours and not get bored a single bit. He wanted to evaporate every bit of hate George felt towards him, but he knew he had done too much for that to happen. Even if he could convince George he didn't kill June, which he didn't, there were still countless other hateful things about him he could not rectify.

Parts of what George had said to him were true; he could switch up from caring to insensitive pretty fast. It had always been like that, but he couldn't help it. Yet, when he was in an insensitive mood, a part of him still desired to keep George happy, and usually, he hated it more than he hated humans.

The wound on his neck was now fully healed. It had only taken a few sips of his blood to completely make any trace of blood disappear. Still, it didn't solve his main problem. The attacks, the suffocating, the aching for a bite- It would only get worse. Dream needed to find something fast, but he didn't know where to even start looking. He had been living for over five hundred years and he had never heard of even a rumor of a cure.

He snapped out of his thoughts when George woke up, slowly sitting up, using his elbows to rest his back against the wooden bed frame.

'Were you staring at me?' His sleepy voice asked him. He grinned in response.

'It's interesting.'

'What? My face?' He rolled on his back, breaking their gazes.

'No, just your- humanness.' Dream could practically hear him rolling his eyes behind him.

After a long time of silence, George spoke up.

'I had a nightmare.'

'Okay,' he dryly responded.

'Can you at least pretend you care?' He let out a deep sigh before sitting up and crossing his legs, facing the brunet.

'Alright,' he began, resting his head in his hands, his elbows on the sides of his knees, 'what happened in your nightmare?'

If this had been anyone else than George, he would rather deeply bury himself alive for fifty years than talk about nightmares with them.

George cleared his throat. 'You, uhm-,' he started quietly, 'you died.'

He burst out in laughter, but stopped as soon as he noticed George wasn't laughing with him.

'I'd think you rather thought of that as a nice dream than a nightmare.' The brunet shook his head.

'That's what makes it a nightmare for me, I actually would care if something happened.' He couldn't help but notice the tone of sadness behind the words.