The last time George had been in a hotel was a blur. All he remembered was spending most of his time sitting in front of the mirror on the wall staring at himself. It was when he first learned about his mother's affairs, and he picked apart his appearance attempting to figure out what features of his were from his mom and what were from his dad. He had his mother's dark coffee eyes, though his hair wasn't as naturally wavy as her's. He attempted to mentally construct his real father's appearance based on his features that didn't match his mother's.
If he figured it out, he no longer remembered. That was back when he was a young boy— he'd estimate around seven-years-old when his mother contemplated running away and bringing him with her. And as the two boys entered their small hotel room, the first thing George did was look in the nearest mirror. He still had his mother's eyes. It haunted him to look at. It was as if his journey across the ocean wasn't enough to avoid her gaze. His hair stuck to his face after walking through the unwavering downpour outside their window.
Clay dropped his bags on the floor and walked over to the window where he threw the curtains shut. George stumbled over the bags on the floor and dropped his bag into the pile with the rest of the younger boy's belongings.
"You're an idiot. There's only one bed," He said as he kicked off his soaked converse shoes and climbed up the queen-sized bed, towering over the tall boy by the window. Clay turned to him. The natural fluff in his hair had flattened and covered his eyes before he slicked his wet hair back. It ended up springing back the moment he let go.
The room was no bigger than a large bedroom with a bathroom right next to the door they entered from. The bed took up most of the room with a small TV sitting across from it collecting dust. In the corner was a wooden desk with a notepad and two pens in a holder. The walls were a dark brown and were so thin that they could hear the arguing of the couple next door. Dark green curtains covered the window, though George could still see the flash of lightning that followed with booming thunder seconds later.
The rain had come down suddenly. Just half an hour ago there were barely any rain clouds in the sky. And now there were flash flood warnings going off on George's phone and rattling thunder that, admittedly, gave his heart a jolt.
"We get what we can afford," Clay replied, climbing on the bed and attempting to stand up before hitting his head on the ceiling. George laughed as the former shouted out profanity and stepped off the bed with his hand clutching the back of his head. "You're so short, I swear."
"Complain all you want, I'm not the one with a concussion." He laughed to himself as Clay turned back to him and stepped back on the bed, careful not hit his head again.
"You wanna bet?" He reached out as George stepped back. Clay grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards him. "Up you go, George!"
"Stop!" George exclaimed, squirming from the younger boy's grip before slipping and falling. Clay laughed as he pulled him back up to his feet and pulled him close.
"What? Are you ticklish or something?" He poked at the older boy's stomach, and the latter swatted his hand away with a laugh. "Oh, my God, you are!" He sat down next to George and poked every spot he could reach. Sharp rushes pumped from George's over-active nerves as he attempted to kick the taller boy as he somehow found all of his ticklish spots. Though, in the younger boy's defense, his entire body was ticklish. He could barely sputter out a coherent sentence without Clay finding a new spot to poke at.
George grabbed at his wrists, and, without thinking from either party, Clay pinned his wrists on the bed. George's heart suspended mid-beat. His stomach made a sharp curl, and all his over-active nerves exploded like the fourth of July. It became overly-apparent that there was a single bed and a small couch that wouldn't be a comfortable night for either of the two boys. George had never slept with someone before in any way. The closest he got was sleeping in the same room during a sleepover with Wilbur and Tommy. Even then, Wilbur insisted on sleeping on his bed while leaving Tommy and him on the floor. Perhaps a night on the couch wouldn't be the worst option. Maybe then the uncomfortable feeling of fluttering swarms of butterflies and bees in his stomach would go away.
Clay's curious green eyes widened and his face flushed as he got off of George and pulled him by his wrist up. Before the older boy could process what happened, Clay had thrown his hood over his eyes and pulled the string.
"Look, George, I have to tell you something," He said quickly as George pulled back his hood again. The soaked blond boy paced the room, his mood taking a plummet. He snagged a pen from the cup on the desk and clicked it over and over again. Spinning it around, he faced the confused boy on the bed again.
"What is it?" Asked George, his heart reaching an all-time high as it invaded his hearing. His mouth dried up as his palms became sweaty. After all the prodding and poking Clay did to his body, his nerves were still on intensive alert.
"Umm, look." He took a deep breath and sat down on the broken down couch and a couple of springs echoed. "I really appreciate you coming with me. We had to have racked up thirty-something hours. That's great."
George nodded. "Yeah, you learned fast. I can tell you really want your license."
"That I do, but it was only for a particular reason. I've run away a lot, George. It feels like a routine at this point. Every few weeks I take my stuff and go to Sapnap's house or something while my family calls me and looks for me. It was nice. In a sick way, I felt needed. Like my parents actually cared about me." He glanced up at George, perhaps waiting for a response. Though, he didn't have one, so he continued. "They stopped looking for me. They already replaced me." He pointed at George. "And I was very mad at you for that, but not anymore. Because now I've talked to you and I understand that you didn't have any control over that. Hell, you didn't even realize this was a problem in the first place."
George's stomach turned sickly as he listened to Clay speak. He couldn't pin-point why, and turned to drink some water from his backpack instead.
"I don't want to go home, George." His eyes pierced into George's with a slow dagger. As if he wanted the latter to feel every emotion possible as he sipped on his water.
"You have to, though. Your parents are going to be worried sick."
"They won't. They'll get over it."
"Clay, they stopped looking for you because they knew where you were. They don't know now."
"You'll tell them when you get home. I can get you a plane ride home. I saved you enough money for one."
His mind struggled to wrap itself around the point. Either he was in denial or was far out of the ball park. Drista told him Clay always came home, and he'd drive them both home tomorrow morning. They'd be back in time for Drista's soccer game. Both of them would. Because both of them were important. Both of them were cared for within the family.
Even though Drista always complained about her brother, she had also told George all about how he inspired her to take up a sport because he once told her he believed she was the fierce competitor every team needed. She always stole his belongings not because she enjoyed annoying him, but because she admired the way he dressed and his passion for his interests. Clay may say that she was better off playing without him watching, but she lost the one game he missed.
Though, this wasn't about Drista, and George knew it.
Wilbur always told him he had a difficulty saying no, especially when it came to his host brother. Though, he never had a particular reason to deny him harshly enough to say an abrupt and harsh—
"No." The word slipped his tongue like a dangerous bullet. Based on the way the younger boy sat frigid with a blank stare told him it shot into his heart.
"What?"
"You said a roadtrip where we go up the east coast and back down."
"Well, you're going back down." He leaned back. "You really think you would have agreed if you knew I wasn't coming back? Come on, George. Be realistic."
"I'm not being realistic?" George said. "You're sixteen. You've never had a job interview, you have a learner's permit, you're living off your parents' stolen money, and you're across the country from your family. Realistically, you'll last a week."
Clay scowled, and George found it familiar. It was the same gaze he had when he looked at the older brunet for the first three months of their relationship. It was the same furrowed brows and hard, vibrant green eyes. Sometimes he pouted depending on how far under his skin George went. George was thankful. Finally his nerves calmed down and he was able to think past the younger boy's messy, wet hair that clung to his head and his hands fidgeting with the black ink pen. And it only brought more clarity to the fact of the matter that Clay was being an irresponsible child.
"You don't understand, George. Of course you don't. You're just so fucking perfect. You can kill me right now and everyone would be proud of you. Not everyone's like you. Some people have to actually try to be liked."
Just as his body calmed down, it fired back up. His blood bubbled up and boiled not just because of what he said, but because he always brought it up. "It doesn't help that you're a dick to everyone. You yell at your own mother. Not even I'm that much of a dumbass."
"You know, George, the most my mom ever talks to me is when she's mad at me. I scored the highest grades in my history class and she didn't bat an eye. I raise my voice even a little bit and she rants to me for half an hour." He took a deep breath and stood up. "But she talks to you and Drista. She asks you guys about your days and goes to her soccer games. The only time she's ever seemed proud of me was when me and Sapnap started going out. But that was all a lie. None of it was real because I'm fucked up. I'm just somehow broken and wrong."
"How does running away fix any of that? Why don't you talk to your mom about it?"
"Because I know who I am. I'm not meant for any of that family and friendship crap. It's always a lie. Sapnap was a lie, all of his friends weren't really mine, my parents only feed me and make sure I'm alive because they have to. None of it is real. I have no use being there. Technically, I have no use being anywhere, George. I couldn't even fall in love with my soulmate. I can't do anything." His breath came out fast and trembly. It was like a harsh wave of the ocean. Lightning flashed right outside their window, and seconds later thunder clapped and shook their room.
"So we're not real?" George asked. "Our friendship, I mean."
Clay glanced briefly at George, and it was like everything he had been previously hiding from him poured out like a waterfall, and he had his answer from his look alone.
"You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this. I can't stay there. I don't belong. I've tried so hard, and the harder I tried, the more alone I felt." His nose began to run. "I'm so tired of feeling alone around the people I love."
"So you'd rather feel alone because you are alone?"
"Blue, I have to go. You want to know why? Because we almost got into a fatal crash and I didn't feel scared." His voice sounded on the brink of shattering similar to that of brittle glass. "I don't want to die, but at the same time, I'm tired of being who I am."
"Why? You're a wonderful person. You're just a little lost right now." He had more to say, but he bit his tongue.
"I've been lost my entire life. You know, I know you don't like your parents, but I understand why your mom did what she did. Because when you don't love your soulmate, it's almost as if you don't love yourself when you're supposed to. It's so fucking painful looking at a part of yourself and feeling nothing. It's like watching your favorite show and no longer seeing the appeal. It's broken my heart time and time again, and I know your mom feels the same way because she's still with him."
George's parents argued every time they came across each other. They always brought their son up and how he was a constant reminder of everything that went wrong. He remembered seeing his father sit by the window on countless nights with a drink in his hands. Those were the times George attempted to speak with him, and those were the best conversations he had with his father. He'd mumble something about infinity in the stars. About how, just like the stars, there were infinite possibilities their life could take. It simply depended on their choices. Was George to sit and wait for the possibilities, or run away in hopes that his next life would be better?
His mother handled their relationship differently. When their arguments inevitably went sour, she ran. She'd wake little George up in the middle of the night and take him to various hotels where they'd stay the night. She'd stay on the phone, speaking to anyone who'd take them in. He never knew what happened, but they always came home the next morning.
"I'm not going home without you." Crossing his arms, he faced the younger boy.
"Trust me, I want you to stay here with me, but I know you can't. You have your own life, and my family loves you. My friends invite you to hang out with them. My sister goes to you for everything. You have the life I want."
"Okay, well, in my life, my parents actually hate me, and I didn't run away from all my problems."
Clay frowned, and his eyes looked similar to sad puppy-dog eyes. He swept past George and grabbed his belongings from the pile of bags.
"What are you doing?" Asked George.
"I'm not arguing with you again. You're instigating me like you always do. I'm leaving."
"We're in the middle of a thunderstorm, though."
"I was going to leave anyway. That's why there's only one bed. Except now you don't get a goodbye. You get a 'fuck off'." Throwing open the door, he walked down the hallway. George chased after him. The rest of the hallway was quiet with a warm, yellow-ish glow. All the doors were an identical dark oak color, and the numbers descended as the two reached the front desk.
"No, you can't leave," George said, grabbing the crook of Clay's arm right as they reached the double doors leading to the outside. He pulled the younger boy towards the hallway leading back to their room.
"Why? What reason do I have to go home? Nobody will miss me. Sapnap refuses to talk to me. I've messaged him over and over and he never even read it. Quackity blocked me, Karl never reached out when he used to every time I sounded even a little bit off, my mom called me just to yell at me." He rummaged his pockets and handed over the rest of his money. "This should be enough for a plane ticket."
It took all his effort to not tear his eyes from the younger boy's as he said, "I'm not taking the money."
"Then have fun alone in Rhode Island." He stuffed the money into George's sweater pocket and glanced over the older boy's shoulder. "Maybe that creep over there will give you a place to live."
Behind the two of them, sitting down on a clean white sofa with his arms wrapped around a throw pillow and his legs kicked up on the coffee table was a boy who looked around their age. He had lighter bleach blond hair than Clay, and his eyes were crystal blue. His smug expression quickly leapt into a surprised one as the two boys glanced at him.
"Oh, I'm sorry," The boy quickly apologized.
"Don't be. Take him." George was pushed toward the boy as Clay rushed out the door, leaving the older boy alone with the stranger.
The boy smiled. "Sit down. Talk to me. Was that your soulmate?" His voice radiated calmness, and George felt brought down from his anxious high already. The boy slipped back into his old demeanor that was previously interrupted. He flipped up the hood of his oversized white hoodie and pulled his gold chain out from under it.
"No, I haven't met mine," George said when he remembered to reply. The young man pushed up his bold, black glasses and brightened up.
"Let's test our luck then. Name's Luke, but you can call me Punz." He held out his hand, and George's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach with sickening curls that nauseated him in both an exciting and repulsive way. Right in front of him was Punz's soulmate marking.
And the dots for eyes that ingrained his wrist glared at George in the identical way his own did.
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PUNZ MY BELOVED
Ngl punz is like my favorite character in this fic and he appears near the END. Nevertheless, you'll hear more from him in the next chapter ;)
I wrote Punz in for Libby and I don't even think she reads this anymore smhsmhsmh fake fan amirite???
Welp... see you guys tmrw LOL it's not the end quite yet
Remember that you are worth it <3