Philophobia || Dreamnotfound

8

George's POV

Yes, George was avoiding Clay... again.

It had been four days since he'd seen the prince last. Four days since he'd heard the voice.

Most of his time in those four days was spent in his room, hiding, or in the library, also hiding. George found Maia in the library on a couple of his visits. They wouldn't talk much, just read. George could tell that Maia knew something was bothering him, but she said nothing, keeping out of his business.

George was currently in the library, hiding in a corner, unable to read past the first sentence of the book sitting in his lap. You could say he was brooding, his mind replaying that day's scene over and over again.

It's like listening to the same song over and over. You find a good song, but you listen to it so much that it becomes old and repetitive and you can't bear to listen past the first lyric. George was feeling something similar to that.

His mind repeated Clay's worried expression time after time again. The voice echoed in his mind, not currently speaking, but George couldn't stop hearing what it had said to him on that day. It's almost as if the voice was not speaking because it knew what it did to George.

The image of Jesse's happy face and Clay's wary one kept repeating. The prince's expression had morphed from stoic to happy when he talked to Jesse. George couldn't stop hearing Clay forgive him and comfort him.

And his touch... as soon as Clay touched George's chin, the voice in his head stopped, not even the essence of it remained. The presence of the being in his mind evaporated and he could think clearly. He could think without being afraid of an unwanted second opinion.

George's fingers traced where Clay had held his chin, only a simmering feeling of what had been remained. He closed his eyes and swallowed, his fingers still touching his chin.

He sighed and closed the book in his lap, not even bothering to attempt to try and read the first sentence again. George placed the book on a stack that had been slowly growing since his time in the library, just another reminder that he couldn't get over what happened.

George's stomach grumbled and he realized that it was nearing sunset. He didn't want to leave his chair in this newly familiar corner, sleep already calling to him.

George traced a finger over the arm of the chair, his fingertip gliding over the old, ornate wood. His eyes watched tiredly as he lazily went over the same pattern again and again. The library started to darken, so George lit a candle and placed it in the center of his small table, away from the flammable books.

It wasn't dark enough to need a candle yet, but George needed a reason to stay awake. If there was a candle burning, he knew he wouldn't fall asleep and let the magnificent library burn down.

So he watched. He watched the candle flame flicker atop the candle, swaying from side to side in unpredictable movements. Warm wax dripped down the side onto the candle holder and created a small pool. George's heart burned with the flame, its beat a steady rhythm that could not be compared to his thoughts.

Contrary to George's promise to himself, he felt his eyelids droop and his breathing slow.

But he didn't need to worry about staying awake, because a loud noise echoed through the library, coming from somewhere near George, followed by a loud curse.

George straightened in his seat as a head peeked out from behind a bookshelf. Floppy hair pooled over the newcomer's forehead. It was Clay. The prince's eyes brightened when he saw George. Dread pooled in George's stomach, but he also felt relaxed in the presence of a familiar person.