-George's POV-
"Good morning, sunshine."
I blink the sleep from my eyes in blind panic, trying to focus my vision on the owner of that voice. His face is only inches from mine, watching me with childlike amusement as I blush yet again at the pet name. He boops my nose gently, and I watch his freckles merge as he wheezes, the sweet yet husky sound evident he woke up barely minutes before.
"Good morning, idiot," I mutter, scowling when the insult only makes him laugh harder. Clay smirks at my irritation, mumbling a signature 'oh c'mon' under his breath.
"What's with all this stuff?" I ask, noticing pale clumps of yellow dusting him. I reach a tired hand into his hair, brushing away the pollen and silently begging the rest of the bedsheets aren't as covered in it as he is.
"You look like a fucking flower."
"Is that a compliment?" he asks in mock innocence, and I shrug, not really knowing the intention of the phrase myself. "More of a statement to describe how much of it there is."
Clay grins evilly, suddenly shaking his head like a dog and creating a powdery cloud of pollen. "Hey! Stop that!" I yell, throwing my hands up in hopes of shielding my eyes. A mischievous laugh fills the room, and I open my eyes again unsurely.
"That wasn't funny," I scowl, pushing my hands against Clay's chest in the hope it'll knock his balance. Which it does, thankfully, sending him crashing back into his blankets beside me.
"I thought you liked flowers, Georgie!" he splutters, and I shoot him a glare, knowing he's only doing this to irritate me. "Do not call me Georgie," I snap, not quite meaning it.
"Oh, but you like being called sunshine?"
"Sunshine is special, you know that."
I think back to when Clay used the phrase a few minutes ago, realising it's identical to the very first thing he said to me. "The look on your face tells me you only just got the joke," Clay smirks, and I throw the blankets over his head to shut him up.
"Whatever," I mutter quietly, pretending I didn't appreciate the little reference. At least this time the name makes sense, and I can appreciate the meaning behind it. It's enough to make me blush just thinking about, which is embarrassingly sappy.
"I'm going to check on Tubbo," I tell my still laughing boyfriend by means of goodbye, leaving him to sort out the mess he's created in our room.
Clay was the one who suggested we stay in this camp instead of the ones we used the last time we were out here, and I was surprised to find he wasn't exaggerating about how big it was.
From the ground it didn't look like much, but once inside the camp itself, I couldn't believe so much space could be hidden in a tree so well. It's perfect for the six of us to stay in.
Maybe forever...
The thought of having somewhere like this is comforting after so long of uncertainly. Of spending months not knowing if our current home will still be there for us tomorrow, or if our supplies will last.
The risk of being attacked is still present out here, but it's far less likely. Nobody would get anywhere near before being spotted by at least one of us, which makes me feel more at ease. Not quite safe, but as safe as I think I could ever be anymore.
But what I see when I enter Tommy and Tubbo's the complete opposite.
The older of the two is curled up on the far side of the room, hands clasped over his ears like he's trying to block out noise. His legs are tightly curled into his chest, quivering with every shaky breath he manages to gasp out.
"Tubbo?" I ask, hoping to catch the boy's attention. His eyes cautiously open, darting around the room nervously before settling on me. I debate if it's just my colour-blindness, but his eyes look the same colour.
"What's going on, Tubbo?"
The teen cringes, suddenly screwing up his eyes again. Not in pain, but more in discomfort. "Do you want me to get Karl?" I suggest quietly, receiving a startled response.
"He doesn't know about him!" Tubbo whisper-yells, and I suddenly realise what the problem must be. "So it's one of those... episodes again," I more question than state, and Tubbo nods silently. He removes his hands from his ears, revealing Tommy's band as his shirt slips down his arm.
It's grey, not white.
"The band always does that when he goes there," Tubbo explains upon noticing my reaction. "It starts darker, then fades lighter when he comes back."
"And your eyes do the same?" I question, now starting to believe I am right after all. "Maybe it's just me, but your eyes look like they're both dark. Just like they used to be." I think back to when I first met Tubbo, realising his eyes definitely matched then. They looked like they do now, different from when I saw him again much later on.
"Maybe it's a side effect of it too," Tubbo shrugs, now a lot calmer than when I first entered the room. "It would make sense. Tom-" he cuts himself off. "We decided that the band changes colour because he leaves this world. That would explain why my eyes revert back to what they used to be, replacing the one that's usually his colour. It's like he disconnects from me while he's there."
I nod, connecting the new information back to what Tubbo told me after the last time this happened. That when Tommy disappeared, his band never seemed to ache anymore. That it got worse suddenly when he returned, as if his presence in 'this world' suddenly came back. Like he switched between the two places, never in both at once.
Tubbo looks lost without him here.
It must be strange, having someone by your side for so long, and having to endure the pain that comes with it. Until they start to disappear, suddenly, for who knows how long or why. I'd imagine it's sort of empty, the lack of pain or feeling making the experience almost numbing.
"It's strange how much these bands can actually do," Tubbo mumbles suddenly, twisting the still grey item around his wrist in wonder. "Like, people always refer to them as soulmate bands, but I've been wearing Tommy's for months now, and he's not my soulmate-"
"Since wearing his, I've seen them a different way."
There's a sense of concerned admiration in Tubbo's eyes, the way he's so happy to talk about Tommy but also so scared. "He feels like my platonic soulmate," Tubbo smiles wonderingly. "I think we have as close a bond as soulmates do, though. He's like my Devotion, but in a best friends sort of way."
"I guess that's what happens when you spend so much time with someone, you become attached to them."
"That's sweet," I smile, touched by how much Tubbo means to Tommy. I still remember how he was when I first met him, so much quieter and reserved. He's always seemed so much happier now that he has Tommy, more life in those multicoloured eyes than ever before.
"I guess I don't see them as just a romantic sign anymore," he shrugs. "More like they represent how close of a bond you have with someone. A connection, as such, but not always in that way. Isn't that what Devotion means? The idea that you're devoted to someone, like a trust thing."
I think about those words, what I've seen these bands do. Change colours, snap and re-join. Symbolise life and death, as well as friendship, in Tommy and Tubbo's case. Reform again and be crushed into millions of tiny pieces...
Just like that band I found.
"Tubbo, have you ever seen an Outcast's band before it fades?" I search through my pockets, pulling out the pile of broken, black pieces. The band itself looks on the brink of crumbling completely, evident that whoever it's attached to doesn't have long left.
Tubbo only stares at the pieces to begin with, mouthing something inaudible before speaking. "Oh," he mutters dully, as if recognising something.
"Tommy's band does this occasionally. I think it's the system getting mad at us, or me, for not taking off a band I'm technically not supposed to be wearing." The almost proud tone behind his words is defiant, as if he doesn't care the system hates what he's doing anymore.
He takes the pieces from my hands, searching through the largest before picking out two and holding them next to each other. "They aren't hard to fix, actually," he explains. "Normally they fix themselves, like this..."
Suddenly, the two pieces snap together, as if drawn to each other like magnets. Once two have been connected, more willingly follow, and it's not long before the whole band has reformed, thankfully all pieces still somehow there.
"I've always wondered what happens if you wear two bands at once..." Tubbo ponders aloud, twirling the black band between his fingers. He glances at the grey on his left wrist, then to his empty right one.
"Well-" I drawl, watching as the teen holds the second band over his other wrist, asking for approval before putting it on completely.
"-Only one way to find out."