November 1
18 years ago today, I cried my vocal cords out in a blindingly white hospital room in the hands of a man dressed in scrubs (and could have very well been one as well). In other words, today was my 18th birthday. Just like all my other birthdays since I turned 13, it was a normal day. Though, I did have a particularly interesting run-in with my host brother.
As the three siblings were dropped off at the front of the school, Clay immediately broke away from the other two as he found his soulmate waiting against the wall right outside of the building. George had never personally talked to him. Despite being defiant with listening to a boy who flips him the bird whenever they cross one another's paths, he still followed their rules. He never spoke to the younger boy, never touched him, acted like they didn't even know each other, and never told his parents. That was to keep them off not just Clay's back, but George's as well. However, George had been around long enough to inevitably figure out who was on the other end of the fire birthmark.
The boy was about George's height and wore the same hoodie every day with jeans that also looked the same, but George would give him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he owned ten of the same pair. And every morning, without fail, they'd greet each other with a quick kiss before entering the school with their fingers interlocked.
"Can you come to my soccer practice again after school?" Asked Drista as they entered the high school. "I'm kind of nervous for this game. We're going against St. Francis on Thursday and they're a private school. And you know private schools. They're rich with inflated egos."
"Oh, God, it's an entire team of Clays," George said. "I can help you prepare. I'd call myself a pretty decent forward."
"Sweet! Thanks, George." She scanned the quad. There weren't many people as of yet, leaving the tables and benches filling the open area vacant aside from a few early birds who sat on the benches alone while playing on their phones. George knew where she was looking. She was gazing down at the fourth tree that was next to the band room where her friends always met up. Typically, she was the second or third one to arrive, though today looked as if she was the first.
"You can stick with me 'til you see them if you want."
The young girl shook her head. "No, it's fine." She started forward before George reached out and stopped her.
"Let me give you my number. If they don't show up, just shoot me a text or call me. I'll keep you company."
Drista rolled her eyes with a laugh. "That won't be necessary."
"Okay, well let me give you it anyway in case of emergencies." He pulled out his blue notebook and, on the first page, wrote down his number.
"Oh, my God, George," She laughed as she pulled out her phone. "Why do you act more like an older brother than my actual brother?"
"I don't know. I'm an only child."
"It's a shame your parents didn't have more kids. They'd have a very caring brother."
George strained a laugh. "Yeah, but I think it's good they stopped with me. I get all the love they can offer."
George's phone vibrated in his pocket, and when he checked, it was Drista sending him a picture of him she had taken of him over dinner the night before. It wasn't the most attractive George had ever been, and he didn't know Drista had even taken a picture.
"Alright, I'll see you after school."
"Bye, George."
The two went their separate ways. George hiked upstairs and into the library to find his friends sitting at a table with their faces stuffed into a shared book. He approached them and dropped his bag by the chair across from them, and they both glanced up.
"Hi, George!" The first one, nicknamed Bad, had said. It seemed like everyone at this school went by a nickname, though George couldn't find one for himself that properly fit. Bad pushed his glasses up his nose before glancing at the second boy.
The second boy's hair fluffed up as he ran a hand through it. "Hey, George."
"Skeppy, today's a special day. It's George Day."
"Why today?"
Bad nudged him, and Skeppy sat up. "Ohhh. Today's his birthday, isn't it?"
Bad nodded.
"Happy birthday, George," Skeppy said, and it sounded so scripted that George glanced into the book they were reading to make sure he wasn't reading off a literal script. They had been reading about Greek Mythology.
"Happy birthday, George!" Bad said with far more enthusiasm. "How old are you turning?"
"Eighteen," George mumbled.
"Oooh! Very exciting. You can legally drink in your country now."
"Yeah, just unfortunate I'm not there to drink the school day away." He plopped into the uncomfortable wooden chair. "Why'd you tell me to meet you guys here?"
"Because I thought a good birthday present would be for you to meet some of my other friends," Bad replied. "You know, once you meet them, we can start hanging out altogether as a group."
"Ah, yeah." George dropped his gaze to the book.
"Do you not want to meet them?"
"No, it's not that." George tapped on the desk. He knew who Bad's friends were. He had overheard Clay telling his host mom how Bad would befriend anyone, even George. And, in a desperate attempt to not be a lonely Brit stranded in the midst of America, he took his chances and approached him the next day. His host brother probably wasn't expecting George to actually find him, and he wouldn't have had he not broken their rule one time to follow him around until he found them.
"What is it then?"
"You really think Bitch Boy's going to fit in with the rest of the group?" George groaned as he glimpsed at the door and watched Clay with his posse walk in. He was the tallest member of said group, though the second tallest was only off by a few inches. Clay's soulmate clung to him and stuck his tongue out at George.
"Both of you, stop it!" Bad exclaimed.
"No, he's right, Bad. I don't think I'd fit in with a group of underaged assholes," George snapped back.
"They happen to be my best friends, George."
"What about me?" Asked Skeppy, and Bad appeared unimpressed by his needy question.
"We're soulmates, Skeppy, did you really just ask that?"
"Hey, just making sure."
"We're literally bound together. I couldn't get rid of you if I really wanted to."
"Wait, so you're saying you would if you could?"
The couple began to bicker, and that gave George's host brother the perfect opportunity for him and his friends to strike. George rose from his seat and grabbed his belongings to leave.
"There are a thousand students in this school, George. A thousand! And you chose one of my friends?" He said.
"Sorry. I didn't know Americans gatekept their friends." George faced the gang in front of him. Clay's soulmate had a permanent cheeky grin as if he had some plan that George should be worried about. He had a bandana wrapped around his head and his black sweater had a fire symbol on it. When he noticed George staring, he grabbed Clay's hand and gave it a kiss, and George caught a glimpse of the flaming symbol imprinted onto his wrist. Behind the two were two more people. One had fluffy brunet hair that covered his eyes, and he wore a button-up shirt and straight jeans. He smiled and waved. The last of the group had a beanie over his hair and a light jacket zipped all the way up. He avoided George's eyes entirely.
"Well, back off," Clay said.
"Make me."
"Wait, why do we hate him again?" Whispered the brunet boy behind them.
"Because Dream does," The boy next to him replied.
"Dream?" George said.
"Yeah, it's what my friends call me, which is why I never told you."
"Why does Dream hate him?" The brunet continued.
"I don't know, Karl," The boy next to him answered.
The Karl boy stepped between Dream and George and cleared his throat. "Well if Bad and Skeppy like him, I don't think he's a bad person and I think he deserves a chance."
"He called you an underaged asshole, Karl," Dream said.
"Probably because that's how you've been treating him." He turned to George with striking blue eyes. "Hi! My name's Karl, what's yours?"
"George." Karl held his hand out, and George wearily took it. George took a quick glance at his wrist and found his mark to be a rather sharp spiral.
"Yeah, rebellion!" The boy Karl had been talking to said, cutting between the two soulmates to greet George. "Name's Alex Quackity. Now tell me, do you put the milk before the cereal?"
"No."
Quackity grinned. "Then we're going to get along beautifully." He shook George's hand, and when George glanced at his wrist, he found what looked to be a small duck. He took note of it, finding that animal markings were rare. It usually represented them as a person, though George didn't know what a duck meant. He'd have to research it later.
"Come on, Sapnap. Greet our new friend," Karl said.
Sapnap glanced up at Clay, and the latter rolled his eyes as he let go of his hand. "Go."
Sapnap's eyes alternated between Clay and George before slowly approaching the older boy.
"Hi." He spoke softly despite looking outgoing from a distance. He shook George's hand before fake-gagging. "Why are your palms sweaty?"
"Probably because people keep grabbing it," George said, and Quackity laughed.
"He's got sass. I like him," Quackity said, grasping George by the shoulders and pulling him closer to him. "Can we keep him?" He stuck his bottom lip out in an attempt to look more like a tiny puppy begging for a treat. Dream glared at George and shook his head.
"No. You don't live with him. He is Hell on Earth to live with."
"Oh, how? Because your family actually likes me?"
Everyone froze, and it was as if time itself had stopped. George gazed at the four of them. Karl and Quackity looked at one another with wide eyes, Sapnap stared blankly at George, and Clay rolled his eyes. It was as if George had just stabbed the younger boy and left him to bleed out despite what he had said being the same caliber as the rest of their arguments.
"So, what? My parents pulled you aside one day and told you they hated my fucking guts?"
"Your sister told me I'm a better brother than you are, and I'm an only child."
Clay scoffed, though he didn't say anything.
"You're kind of fucked up, George," Sapnap said.
George crossed his arms, feeling every single beading stare both in front of him, and behind him. When he turned around, he found Bad and Skeppy staring at him despite having just been too busy bickering only moments ago. He sighed, looking up at Dream and nodding.
"Alright, maybe you're right. Maybe that was a bit messed up to say," He admitted with a rather heavy chest. "I'm sorry, Dream."
"Don't call me Dream, dickhead."
Suddenly, the heaviness in George's chest disappeared, and he rolled his eyes and swung his backpack over his shoulder. He checked the time to find there was a little over ten minutes before the bell would ring.
"I'm leaving," He announced, and Bad and Skeppy waved to him while Dream and his friends remained cemented in the positions they stood.
"Bye, George," Bad said with a slight frown. "We'll see you at lunch."
"I hope the door hits you on the way out," Sapnap said as George brushed past them. As he left, he checked his phone to find a text from Drista.
drista: soccer field is open rn. If you meet me quick enough, we can get a few minutes of practice in
***
"You idiots are late. It's already almost midnight." Thunder boomed above and shook the house. George leaned back in his chair, laughing. His birthday was to end in twenty minutes and his best friends had waited until the last half an hour to finally speak to him at all that day. And right before he was about to fall asleep, he had been spammed text messages demanding that he opened up his laptop and answered their desperate Discord calls. He flicked on his desk lamp.
"We have lives, George." Tommy grinned through the camera. His room in the background was a mess with the floor being more messy clothes than actual carpet.
"Yeah, and it doesn't help that you're terrible at answering your phone," Wilbur added on as he plucked random strings of his guitar.
"It's not even my birthday where you live anymore."
"Ah, but it is where you are," Wilbur corrected. "Therefore it's still your birthday."
"That's stupid. I was born in the UK."
"Do you want us to say happy birthday or not?" Tommy said.
George laughed. "I had my phone on me all day just waiting for your text messages."
"We wrote you a song, actually," Wilbur said. "Wanna hear it?"
George cringed with a smile. "Alright. Let me hear it."
Wilbur began to strum his guitar, counting down for Tommy to sing with him.
"Happy birthday, Gogy,
you're finally eighteen
we hope your day's been colorful
even if you can't see"
Tommy was delayed with the rest of the music due to being over a video call, and he immediately broke out laughing as soon as they got the final lines out. Wilbur finished off the song with a brief sequence of chords before applauding himself and Tommy.
"I can still see, you know," George said. "I'm colorblind."
Tommy laughed even harder. "That's basically the same as being just blind. You can't even see what color shirt you're wearing."
"Wha- he can see blue, Tommy." Wilbur laughed as he placed his guitar somewhere off-camera. "Did you do anything cool? Did your parents remember this time?"
"Which ones? My real ones? Obviously not." George attempted to laugh it off despite the somber clouds invading his overall fine mood. "But my host parents remembered. They threw me a small party with balloons and a cake and stuff."
"Ahhh that's cool," Wilbur said. "Did Clay give you a bad time?"
"He wasn't even home. He's with his friends."
"Who gives a shit about him?" Tommy said bitterly before smiling once again. "Gifts! Did you get gifts?"
"I did. I left them in the other room. You want me to get them?"
"No, just explain it in great detail." Wilbur scoffed sarcastically. "Yes, obviously, go get them."
"Alright, alright. I'll be back." George muted his mic as he pushed his chair out, wheeling across the wooden floor as he got to his feet and carelessly threw open his bedroom door. Dream's bedroom door from across the hall was still open. He couldn't make out a lot aside from a vague silhouette of a twin-sized bed and the cat jumping off of it to follow him.
He sauntered down the hallway and into the kitchen. Streamers still hung from the ceiling and the room still smelled of birthday cake. The sink was full of cake-stained plates that his host mother would tend to in the morning. Under the table, George had left his gifts. He had re-bagged them as he always did with his birthday gifts, and he pulled the bags out by the handles as the front door behind him made a click sound and opened up.
He glanced over his shoulder, spotting a tall silhouette walking in from the harsh storm outside. George had hoped for it to be Clay, though he couldn't tell by the loose detail from across the room, so he flipped on the living room lights.
Clay's blond hair stuck to his face and over his eyes before he combed it away. Within his eyes were a mix of confusion and concern. Wide and bright, though they were always bright. However, this time it brought about chills up the older boy's spine.
"You're past curfew," George said to the drenched boy. Raindrops dripped from his dampened clothes. They had all darkened in color.
"Ah, shut up," Clay huffed as he shut the door. "What are you doing up?"
"Celebrating my birthday the way I should be."
"Today was your birthday?"
George nodded. "How did you not know?"
"Like I give two shits. But how old are you now?"
"Eighteen."
Clay's eyebrows raised and he nodded. "Oh. I didn't know that." He approached George, hesitating before he placed a hand on the latter's shoulder. "Umm, happy birthday."
"Thanks." George glanced down at the hand on his shoulders before trailing back to the younger boy's eyes. "Are you okay?"
Dream retracted his hand quickly. "What? I can't say happy birthday?"
"No, it's not that. You just seem—"
"Nope. Moment's over. You ruined it. Night, George. No, wait— you don't even get that. Later, Bitch Boy." Dream nudged George forward as he rushed down the hallway, and right before he entered his bedroom, he stopped and turned back to George. "You tell my parents I was late, and I'll burn your visa."
George held his hands up in a surrender stance, his gifts hanging off his fingers. "I wasn't going to."
"Good." He lingered in the hallway as he waited for his cat to run inside before entering his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.
George gathered the last of his presents and checked the time on the oven. Midnight had passed, and his birthday was officially over.
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Shoutout to the swag fanfic server because everyone in there is poggers and someone in there asked me to shout them out LOL
Hope you guys are enjoying the book so far even though we're only 1 chapter + a prologue in lol I honestly have no idea how long this is going to be, but judging by the chapter lengths so far, it might end up long soooo
whoops.