What can I do, honey, I feel like the color blue...
I gave you that look.
That comment did two different things to Morpheus, at exactly the same time. It made that look, that dark smile that Dysnomia was claiming responsibility for (and while she did have a lot to do with it, she had not put the dark streak in Dream; it had always been there) get a little darker, just a shade, and it also made him want to push her away from him and across the room.
He did not like the implication that she'd 'made' him anything. Into anything. That he was 'hers' in the way that she was indicating. Her creation. Morpheus was the best mimic that existed; did Dys think, did she really think, that if he spent a large amount of time with any god in the pantheon he would not take on their personality traits?
Easy as breathing, for him. Easy as lying.
You're packin' up your stuff and talkin' like it's tough and tryin' to tell me that it's time to go ...
Dysnomia was practically purring against his chest and Morpheus had to remind himself that this conversation had to happen. Those little arms were wrapped around him, and a few years ago, he'd have killed for this. A few years ago, Dream would have been in seventh heaven.
Right now, he wanted to grab her and shake her. Hard. And make her understand that if she kept acting like she did, things like dying were going to happen again. And again. And again.
And her mother and her aunt were not helping.
Being dead sucks, the goddess said.
"I know," Morpheus murmured. His heart jumped in his chest. "So don't do it again."
Part of him, a very big part of him, wanted to hug her and kiss the top of her head and tell her he was so glad she wasn't dead. But you couldn't do that with Dys. Things like that... she didn't respond to them.
Instead, he gave her a quick squeeze and looked down at her, looked her in the eye before dipping her backward with a laugh and pulling her back up, slowly, back against him. The old men were laughing, now, and Dream grinned. But that darkness was still there.
But I know you ain't wearin' nothin' underneath that overcoat, and it's all a show...
"You can't let things like this happen, Dys," he said softly, lips moving a few inches from hers, voice soft but not entirely kind. "You keep pushing... this is what happens."
It wasn't a lecture. It couldn't be. Because to everyone else in that bar, it looked like he was about to kiss her, their faces were so close.
"What," he said, carefully, "if I wasn't here this time?"
...Makes me wanna pull down the shade...
Morpheus smirked at her, and leaned his face downward so that his cheek brushed against hers. "You gave me that look?" He smiled, and the muscles in his face moved against her hair. Morpheus reached up and moved the bright strands, then pulled back to look at her, tilting his head. "There was a war, Dys." His eyebrow rose. "I was on the other side. I was on two other sides and you..."
He shook his head.
Yeah now I'm never, never, never, never gonna be the same...
"You have," he whispered, eyes full of emotion--most of it not for Dys, but for Makaria, who was livid right now and raging-- "no idea what you pulled me away from. What you do to me."
Fuck it.
Morpheus kissed her temple and took her hand again. "Don't do it anymore."
A beat.
"Because I won't come running every time. I can't. Not anymore."