Good At Pretending ,, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 [EDITING]

6 ᬄ͙͘˚

      ‘heuy,.’

      ‘you'rew pre3ty’

      ‘i 8miss u’

      ‘go to sleep George.’

      Oh my god.
      He brought a hand to his face, partially covering his mouth out of pure embarrassment whilst a flush hurried his bright features. It was the kind of cheesy, iconic drunk messages that you'd see in chick-flics and stupid romantic comedies. Is that really what his life was turning into?

      Odd runes of confidence flicker in his stomach and he goes to type something. Something to say sorry, or make a joke. Anything, maybe lighten the odd tension that's surfaced. Could it be considered tension? One sided tension? Clay had seemed perfectly fine over the phone but something lingered floating heavy and thick in the atmosphere.

      He didn't actually know if he could pretend to act confident anymore, just etched nervousness and he stood up walking around the room and digging his toe into the light gray carpet.

      ‘remind me to never drink again’

      He would leave it up to Clay to figure out exactly what it meant. Not having regard for the other right now.

      Everything was going too fast.

      All he wanted was to catch up with an old friend, not suddenly turn into a landslide. Plummeting down to the concrete with vivid dances of star glittered skies and shady trees. Green grass and thick bark in long stalks up the branches. The worrisome glances to his older cousins while they climbed them.

       He had been here a full two days. His emotions were tantalizing him, over the verge of right and wrong. But was it necessarily wrong in any case?

      Read. 8:05 am.

      He had seen the message. One minute ago. It was too soon to call. Too soon to talk. Nick had talked about wanting to go to the pier and hang out. Maybe go for a night walk around the city. Which sounded amazing if he wasn't so invested in the thought of Dream right now.

      Was it so hard for him that perhaps it was because he was new?

      Clay had only met him personally once before. Back in sophomore year. And it was canceled because his parents had found out he was at the airport, cutting off any other form of getting to know each other.

      Was that why? As if he was seeing him genuinely for the first time.

      He was in a new light. A different perspective.

      Like the same night, in the parking lot, at the airport.

      Nerves. Was that it? Was that why he was nervous?

      Clay made him nervous.

━━━៸៸  ᯭ⌗

      Messy stone pathways lead down the pier. It's dark, and the sky is clouded.

      It's not fully black either, the sun leaves a ring of light below the horizon.

      George kept the yellow hoodie on, the same shorts as well, his feet adorned black sneakers.

      His eyes float to the water, deep murky aqua, foam. The shadows of lampposts and fencing reflect off of the slow moving waves as it crashes—cautiously against the stone walls.

      They hadn't spoken since arriving. Nick was the only one able to lighten the tension at the moment.

      Unspoken issues between them. George checked his phone as they both pointed over the wall, seeing who could reach farther down the side that faced the sloshing waves.

      It was 8:57. The moon curved into a thin crescent. Starting to be barely visible.

      "You guys are going to fall—" He warned, continuing his own trek along the cracked cement.

      Nick glanced over at him, "You're such a buzzkill,"

      "I am not!" He retorted, whipping around.

      Clay spoke up, mocking his voice. "Georgie— stop being a buzzkill."

      Green eyes met brown for a split second. He stopped breathing.

      Clay's gaze faltered for a moment, going from happy to knit brows. As if he had realized something he wasn't supposed to be feeling.

      His gaze turned to stone instead, sending a nervous stiffness to weigh down George's shoulders. It wasn't angry, just cold, maybe harsh. No one else would have noticed it but him.

      He laughed airily, slightly nervous whilst turning around, Nick caught back up to him.

      It felt impossibly cold so close to the water. Bitter chills ran across his shoulders and exposed legs.

      Clay trailed farther behind, his hands hung loosely from the pockets of his jeans. Choppy hair that looked darker under the quickly darkening sky. His eyes darted towards the concrete, switching to George who glanced back at him. His expression didn't falter. It kept the same blank, iciness.

       Dream is taking up much of his needed brain space. Coherent thinking whisked away long ago.

      "Where are we going." George asks, turning back around and continuing down the path.

      He knows Clay won't answer him. Nick does instead. Branches of pain stem from that small detail. It feels more about losing friendship, rather than ignorance of feelings.

      "Somewhere—" He responded, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "There's this place, near the end of the pier."

      Clay remembered what place he was talking about. The spray painted, cracked stone without railing, edged over rocky coast.

      The dark begins to lap up the rest of the light that's emitted from the setting sun.

      He glances at George as Nick races forward. Fueled by pure adrenaline he speaks up. "You look good in yellow,"

      So that was it? He was going to ignore him and then compliment him.

      "Thank you." George responds nonetheless. He wants to talk about before. He wants to speak up, but his voice ceases. It's lingering and awkward now.

      It blisters his face though, feeling like freezerburn against the whipping wind.

      Grains of sand build up on his clothes. He feels a little bit like those grains of sand, swiveled and piled. Burned by raw emotions that he thought here just friendly affection, turned to sticky, hot, molten clearness, cooled by the ocean breeze, dyed by moonlight, and turned into stained glass.

       He really hopes he doesn't shatter.

      Tampered with. Glass was tampered with.

      It feels tedious, talking to Clay. He feels like he's going to say the wrong thing and then it'll be all over.

      It was so easy two days ago, why does it feel so insufferably hard now.