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"How have you guys been?" George tried to keep his voice light. He could feel a lump forming in the back of his throat, and he almost wanted to cry.
Almost.
Karl's voices didn't contain nearly the same amount of emotion. "George, what do you want? Did you leave something? You want money?"
"I— No! Of course not!" he assured Karl. "I just wanted to see how you and Quackity have been. I mean, I'm surprised you haven't blocked me."
"It's not too late now," Karl deadpanned. George could almost see him picking at his chronically paint-chipped fingernails, as he always did when upset.
George was beginning to regret this. In his combination of boredom and mixed emotions about what had happened a few days ago, he'd, for some reason, called one of the two people on this earth that couldn't stand him. He bet this is what it felt like to text an ex while drunk.
Though, unfortunately, George didn't have the privilege of being drunk for this conversation.
"Sorry, I know I shouldn't have called. Things have just been weird lately," he admits.
Karl sighed. "Yeah. Getting kicked out of your apartment must be pretty weird for you." There's a pause for a moment, as George finds himself at a loss for words. "Do you need something?" The cold tone Karl spoke in didn't sound right. Karl had never been a mean person— even opting to stay out of arguments between him and Quackity.
"No," George said quietly. "I guess I don't. Just wondering how you two are doing on the nice side of town while my place is broken into and my roommate and I are being threatened with murder." George really wanted to hang up now, but he kept talking. He didn't know why, but he just wanted Karl to know he didn't need anything from him. "But yeah. It's really weird not fighting with Quackity and you twenty-four-seven and not being forced out on the street while at my lowest. Thanks for asking."
Karl spluttered, searching for words. "I stayed out of those arguments!"
"Silence is a side, Karl." George took a deep breath. "Sorry for calling," he admitted.
George was about to hang up, when Karl added, "Sorry about the break-in thing, by the way. I hope your roommate can deal with everything better than we could." A long pause cuts through his words, like Karl's contemplating saying something. "Quackity moved out, too. A few months ago. Not exactly... willingly."
Some sick sense of joy sweeps through George. He nearly says something cruel about karma, but restrains himself. "So it's just you there?"
"I've got a new roommate myself. I was alone for awhile."
"God, I wonder how awful that must feel," he said sarcastically. He found himself with a lack of empathy. He wanted to feel bad for the other, but he didn't— maybe he and Dream aren't all that different.
"Sorry, George, but I've got to go."
"It's fine. I was just bored anyways." George could almost hear Karl roll his eyes as the phone beeped and he hung up. Once again, George's phone took the brunt of his anger and he tossed it on the floor once more. "Fuck. Why did I do that," he groaned, tugging at his hair a bit.
George knew he should open his computer and start working again, but he just didn't want to. The day was moving by achingly slow and he hadn't heard anything from Dream since their short talk.
Finally, he decided sulking in his room wasn't going to fix anything, so George grabbed his light blue hoodie and decided going for a walk was his best bet.
It was cold outside. The wind blew his hair in the exact direction to make it fly in his face, and the grey sky loomed heavy. The roads hadn't been redone in years and snowy winters and ice had wrecked them, leaving poorly "patched" pothole here and there.
George chose to live in this area because it was cheap and it was wildly difficult to rent a place around where he'd lived with Karl and Quackity. Their building had been nice, with the cute name "Kinoko Apartments". Now George lived across the city where he couldn't walk anywhere without the constant smell of cigarette smoke and burnt rubber in his nose or being begged for money.
George was about to turn back around and head back home as he neared the laundromat that definitely was used to launder money, but something caught his eye. Down the alley right before the flickering "Schlatt's Laudr-o-mat" sign, he saw a figure moving. It was dimly lit whoever it was was wearing dark clothing. The only definable feature he could spot was the dim light shining a reflection around what looked like a porcelain mask. George immediately knew something was off and turned quickly on his heel to speed home. He could've sworn whoever it was was staring right at him.
He walked home quickly, using the keypad to open the front door, then his actual key to open his apartment. He sighed, finally alone, and glanced over at the couch. George hadn't noticed Dream on his way out, and he heard nothing now, so he must still be out.
George hated being home alone. Christ, that's why he'd wanted a roommate so badly in the first place. But it wasn't like he could ban Dream from leaving whenever it was inconvenient for him.
The TV still played quietly, though he could barely hear it. He looked around for the remote to turn off the TV, but it didn't seem to be anywhere, so he gave in, flopping onto the couch.
Dream must've left the news on, because a missing person's report was splayed on scene with the caption "Search Continues for Victims; Strain of Mysterious Disappearances Continues" with a news woman talking in the background.
George decided he didn't really want to watch something so grim, and his mind wandered back to whoever he'd seen standing creepily in the alley. Again, he decided the best course of action would be to simply ignore the whole thing, as he usually did when he saw something shifty going on while out for a walk.
Less than a half hour later, Dream returned and said nothing to George. He wore a black sweater with a white smiley face on the front. The faint smell of iron lingered around him, but he stayed silent, returning to his room without giving George another glance.
Fuckin' weirdo, George thought.
1100 words
Spoiler, The iron smell is blood
YOU ARE READING
It's Called: Freefall
Fanfiction--- "Are we out of trash bags?" Dream finally asks, removing his head from the cabinet. "No. I moved them just to fuck with you," he snarks. "Yeah, we're out," he concedes when he gets an annoyed look from Dream. --- OR: George hates his lonely apa...
