lol early update again .
this chapter made me
kinda angry because it
all seems like filler
despite how long it is
mainly because I'm bad
at writing mr gogy
song above has some
relation to the second
-ish part of this chp ,
I recommend listening
to it either way because
it's lowkey a rly good
song haha yeah n e wayz
warnings—,, water / ocean . mentions of climbing things / fears of heights .
words—,, 2156
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George had brought a lot of clothes. He figured it would be best since he was staying longer. It was hard to actually find them since most of his clothes were very simple. His school uniform was always neatly folded, sometimes there were things strewn around his room as well. But it was hardly ever dirty.
It came to his surprise when he realized he had packed a yellow hoodie.
He remembered it, from quite a while ago. Having worn it a bit more in middle school and even though he's grown since then it fit him. It had been baggier before.
George remembered his friends had said he looked good in yellow. Even if he disliked the color a bit himself, as it appeared a murky green-ish brown. Although it was hard to dislike the color when he didn't know what it looked like in what was considered normal vision.
Supposedly, yellow didn't look as nice on pale skinned people, but according to his friends from back then he pulled it off exceptionally well. He decided to shrug it on for the day, over the loose white t-shirt that clung loosely to his arms. Baggy black basketball shorts that hung lower on his hips, reaching just above his knees and short, black socks, that varied in length. Bunching around his ankles.
It had been little over 12 hours since the night in the car. He had spent most of the previous time busying himself with unpacking things into a hotel room that didn't need to be done. He wouldn't be there for that long there was no need to unpack.
But the nerves that flooded his burning system from the memories of intoxication messed with his head. It was fuzzy, and his face burned scarlet at the thought. Tingly and hot and an exasperated sigh left his mouth, nibbling on the inside of his cheek. It felt off to feel that way, considered; he hardly remembered any of it.
He didn't necessarily know how to feel about it. If there were any completely definite feelings. He hadn't had any before. Not that he knew of at the very least. It had been simple, easy.
Besides the small, short tinges of affection and admiration he had found the night before the party. Rather had been in the hotel room or the airport it had been nice. Did that count? The fact that he couldn't draw the line between affection and platonic happiness was worrisome.
He glanced at the hoodie on his bed. Deep grey folds and the small, black and white smiley face in the corner.
He had no clue how he always managed to find stuff with that same little face on it. The same as his fashion mask. That mask. He chewed on his lip.
What would it be like to run his fingers over that mask? To lift it carefully from his ears and away from his nose and mouth. Run his pale fingers along his sharp jawline. How deep would it cut?
He sat down on the white, messy sheets of the bed. Picking up the clearly oversized piece of fabric. It had weight to it, it fit a bit loose on Clay, meaning it was much larger on George. It filled out most of his shoulders, yet hung loosely from his body.
He turned it over, squinting at the small design on the front corner. Maybe 2 inches in circumference, the outside of the face had a thin black edge, the inside white, the smiley on it in black as well. Upon running his fingers over it, he realized it was embroidered. It felt a bit bumpy as well, usually they didn't feel authentic like this.
Had he made it? Wow, was there anything he didn't try to do himself? It's not like he needed validation from other people to feel important, it was hardly that.
More-so just independence, instead of getting something that was plain, or that he didn't like as much, he had decided it would be better to make it.
Warm feelings of admiration bubbled in his mind as he smiled down at the design.
George had seen those eyes as well. The same weeping willows of green. But he wouldn't be honest if he didn't say they reminded him more of poison.
Not sure if it was because they were scary, or addicting. However, it killed him a little inside every time he gazed into them.
They weren't hazel either. There were no traces of brown besides the honey flecks that lingered in the headlights of the car behind them.
That was the one thing he remembered. How clouded they were. Waiting.
Not clouded physically, but he had watched them switch between dilated to pinpricks when the light arrived. A pretty mix between moldovite and peridot.
How deep was he into this already? Instead of agony he felt butterflies. Tickling his gut like a backwards stomach ache. His face was warm and he hunched his shoulders down slightly, closer together like at the party.
He wanted to bring his hands back up to his chest like when Clay had hugged him on the first night. Hands resting on top of the hoodie on his knees before he pulled up his legs, holding his arms around them.
“ "You spilled your drink—it was cold outside." ”
I can't stop thinking about it.
Can't stop thinking about you.
You're taking up too much of my thinking.
He grimaced. He wasn't upset, it wasn't that. But when he had really remembered, when the memories flooded in, he knew Clay had realized. He ignored it. Didn't tell him; didn't want to clarify what had happened. Left George in the dark.
It made him inclined to think this whole thing was stupid. That he should thoroughly forget that anything ever happened. As to not ruin their friendship. Everything was better this way, it was easier.
He knew that. He knew that Clay understood what had actually happened yet he wasn't explaining it. Did it upset him that he hadn't been there. That Dream hadn't been there when he woke up? Not in a weird way, but instead, tossing him a water bottle and laughing about what shenanigans he had gotten up to while intoxicated and Oh no.
George inhaled sharply. Standing up and tossing the hoodie off of him to look around for his phone. Thrown up by his pillow. He reached for it, turning the cold plastic case over in his hands. Pale fingers lingered over the icon for a moment. The red dot in the corner signifying he had an unchecked message. Cautiously, he opened the app, then—with sheer adrenaline. He clicked in his number.
‘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.
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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.