After Fire - Dreamnotfound

Seven|the blob is a pirate now

"I can say no, what do you mean?"

"I swear, George, you let Clay walk all over you like a doormat. You're a Georgemat, George."

"No, I don't."

"Do I need to remind you? Fine, I will." Wilbur cleared his throat. "Clay gave you ground rules the moment he met you and you followed them. You agreed to go to the beach with your host family even though they said you didn't have to go, and I know you didn't want to go. And your host mom gave you a curfew. Who the fuck gives their kids curfews?"

"Normal parents."

"Look, George, I know your parents fuckin' lose their shit over, like, everything you do, but that's why you left. You're allowed to say no. Especially to some oversized toddler like your host brother."

"I know, Wil. I chose to go on this trip."

"Why?"

George's mind drew a blank, and he blamed it on the fact that he had just woken up. Wilbur, however, didn't. As always, be blamed it on the fact that George was apparently a doormat— or as he'd describe him, a Georgemat. George braced himself for the inevitable rant that always came out of Wilbur when he decided to pick at a certain trait of his that his best friend was not particularly fond of. It took Wilbur a couple of seconds before speaking, except it had nothing to do with the subject at hand.

"Shit, what time is it? What time is your lunch break?"

"Eleven. Why?"

"Oh! I've gotta go, Gogy. I'm having my first FaceTime call with Techno today. I'm wearing my glasses with the round frames, my lucky blue sweater, and I took a shower yesterday so my hair is extra fluffy. Do I look good?"

George attempted to visualize a picture of Wilbur in his mind. As far as he knew, he never looked bad. Quite frankly, he cared far too much about his appearance to ever appear anything below natty.

"Yeah, you look dapper," George said, and Wilbur laughed.

"Great, well, wish me luck."

"Why? You don't need luck."

"It's me we're talking about. I'm going to somehow find a way to mess this all up. Bye."

George didn't get the chance to say goodbye as his phone died. He watched his screen flash with an empty battery at the center of the screen. He glanced over to Clay. The younger boy didn't seem to mind the blinding sun that had long since risen hours ago. He appeared infinitely more comfortable than George did throughout the night. The only way he knew he was still alive was by the light rise and lowering of his chest.

He threw his phone at the boy, disrupting the otherwise peaceful slumber as he groaned loudly and covered his face with his blanket.

"Fuck off, George," He mumbled.

"Yeah, doesn't feel nice, does it?"

"Whatever, mom."

"I'm hot," George said. "And hungry. And bored. My phone died. Give me money."

Clay didn't reply, and George grabbed at his blanket and pulled. The blonde boy hid his face in his hands before throwing his hood on and pulling at the strings. He leaned against the steering wheel as George grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" He nagged before Clay pushed him away.

"Holy shit, when did you get so fucking annoying?" He snapped, sitting up and throwing the money across to the passenger next to him.