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"Empty promises, that's what drew me to him."
Cloaked in ethereal green hues, the god turned to the man who had just spoken. A man, who despite what others may believe, was just like them - fragile and half shattered as most mortals are prone to become.
"The one I remind you of?"
"Yes… He told me he would give me all I ever needed, all I ever wanted."
"Is that so? If there is something you wish for, George, I can grant you that desire. Say the word, and it is yours."
George stared straight ahead, resolutely looking at the dying sun, rather than the god who had just offered him the world beside him.
"I'll keep that in mind."
With anyone else, this moment may have been serene. And in fact, if one were to walk onto the unlikely pair, and watched them from a distance, with how relaxed the two of them looked sat in a flower field watching the sun go down, one might still think that.
But they were themselves. A god and a mortal. A disconnect patched over with a lifelong oath like duct tape. And a heartbreak that trailed every uttered word, sideways glance, and carried out action.
Leaning towards the man it had claimed, the god took his face and held it in between his palms, watching, with no little amount of fascination, how George made no move to squirm out of the grip, but only stubbornly kept his eyes away from its face - away from the porcelain smile that mocked all those other pesky emotions that human beings seemed to needlessly experience.
"I still don't understand,” it muttered.
“Hmm?”
“If it was lies of glory that drew him to you-"
"They weren't lies."
“Then why do my truths not hold stronger?"
Breathing in the cool air George closed his eyes and spoke softly, reverently, “It’s hard to put into words. What he said he would do didn’t matter, It was the way he said it. He couldn’t actually do any of the things he promised. No riches, no power, no glory... not then. He and I both knew that.”
Letting go of the mortal, DreamXD hummed, "Is this a human thing that I am not aware of?"
At that George laughed, a sound tinged with bitterness.
"No, I don't think so."
George thought of sinful greed and remorseful cruelty; of gentle hands and taunting words; of passion ingrained into every action, thought, and breath. He imagined breathing life onto those thoughts, imagined reaching for the words, he couldn't.
"I met him at his worst, and he met me at mine, does that make sense?"
"No."
George sighed.
"I wanted someone to strip away everything that made me- me. To take everything I hated and mold what was left into them. Dream did that all too well I think."
He ripped out a blade of grass and fiddled with it.
(Imagine pure and utter devotion. A true love so twisted and bent that it might not be considered love to any person but that who experienced it. A smothering, suffocating kind of thing that enveloped you like a blanket - comfortable until you realized you couldn’t breathe.)
"Well I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it?” He muttered, “He's stuck in that prison.”
“Yes, Pandora’s vault.”
“Whoever named it that had a funny sense of irony. If he’s the only thing left in there, what does that make him, hope? Hah, what a joke."
"I believe he misses you."
"I know he does."
(Actions speak louder than words. Dream was always one for blustering speeches and embellished poetry, while George let his choices speak for themselves. Dream would say ‘I love you’ and George would stand outside of a prison, holding his breath, and waiting. Not stepping in, but staying still for hours and hours on end. Waiting.)
"Should I tell him you do as well?"
"If you'd like."
"Would it be true?"
"Does it matter?"
Darkness had long since fallen by the time the two finally parted ways.