Inception {Dreamnotfound}

14 | Subdued Trauma | 14

-George's POV-

Apparently today was never an option.

Not when Clay was so tired, and Tubbo was evidently still shaken by Tommy's last disappearance episode, despite not wanting to admit it.

I understand that they both wanted to be stronger, wanted so desperately to find Skeppy as quickly as possible. But I was adamant that the job would be easier if everyone were in the right mindset, so I insisted that we all at least sleep first.

Now I'm severely regretting it.

Sleep seems to be the last thing on my mind currently, much to my disappointment. At first I thought that maybe I just wasn't tired, but it quickly became apparent otherwise. When my thoughts refused to shut down, and my heartbeat felt faster, not slower.

The feeling is awfully similar to the anxiety I felt staying in Central City, reminding me of the long and sleepless nights.

I don't know why. Why now, why here of all places, so far out in the forest that nobody should find us. It had never crossed my mind before, not once had it bothered me. I'd actually felt safe somewhere, so content to stay here forever until now.

So what changed?

Maybe it isn't our location. Maybe it's something else, something that I thought I'd come to accept a long time ago now. A part of me already knows what it is, and I think that's the worst part. The state of denial it has left me in, attempting to shove the thought aside, leave my troubled head blissfully unaware of the past.

In some sick way, it's like the amnesia all over again. Almost like I want it to come back, erase the things I'll never be able to forget.

I never thought this day would come. Where I'd want the dizziness to swallow me whole once more, throw me back into the dark. At least then I wouldn't be reminded of it, what I'm potentially getting myself into again with this.

There's so much wrong with this, all of this. Having to see Skeppy again, most likely be warned of something else sinister heading my way. How will I ever explain any of this to him? That I found his soulmate band, that I decided to take it. I'll have to explain Tommy too, as well as what's happened to Darryl.

Darryl. The person I killed to get Clay back.

I'll have to face him again. If Skeppy puts the band back on, I'll have to. He'll be revived, brought back to this world right in front of me. I could be the first thing he'll see when he returns, the face of his own murderer. And I'll have to face him, be forced to stay around him while he tries to help Tommy. "I thought I was over this."

"Over what, sunshine?"

There's shuffling from beside me, and I feel someone else tug against the blankets. Glittering green eyes strain to see in the darkness, squinting at me sleepily. "Nothing," I mumble quietly, too embarrassed that I said anything aloud. "Go back to sleep, Clay."

Those green eyes flutter, blinking the sleep from them without much success. Clay sighs, more of a sad noise than an irritated one, and I hear his hands scrape lightly against the floorboards, as if searching for something.

"Where are the candles?" he asks huskily, and I try not to dwell on how cute he sounds when he's tired, occupying myself with finding a candle before he does. My hand hits against smooth metal, and I push the object further away in the hopes Clay won't notice.

"Someone else must've taken ours," I try to innocently reason, knowing I've failed when I hear an agitated scowl from the man beside me. "George I heard something hit the candle," he smirks, and I can picture the cocky grin on his face. I'm about to give in when I feel him reach over me instead, grabbing the candle and sparking a flame to life with a matchstick.

When the light adjusts, I notice the position we're in.

Clay has an arm stretched across my chest; the rest of his side tightly pressed against mine. There are fingertips tangled in my shirt, nails digging into the skin beneath as he tries to steady himself. I'm suddenly made aware of how warm it is with our bodies this close, and feel a similar heat rising to my face.

"Serves you right," Clay quips, but I can see the rosy blush staining his cheeks. I roll my eyes, trying to act as unfazed as possible. "You act like we aren't dating," I retort, amused by the sudden stretch of silence that follows.

"So, what's wrong?" he asks to cut across it, and I'm bitterly reminded of why we're both awake in the first place. "Oh, nothing," I repeat, a part of me still hoping he'll take my word for it. Which I know he won't, especially not when it's me. Clay won't take an 'I'm fine' from anyone unless he's completely convinced they're being truthful, and he can see straight through my lies.

"Is it Skeppy?" Clay asks after another long moment of silence, and I nod, contemplating what to say. "Sort of," I admit finally. "But more... his boyfriend, I guess. Or what this plan means for him."

Clay stretches his arms out above his head, nodding to signal he's still listening. I'm more inclined to watch the candle's flame flicker than to speak again, so I let the quiet draw out again. It's not uncomfortable, not for me at least, more comforting than talking everything out.

I distantly notice one of Clay's arms fall back to his side, the other framing the shape of my shoulders. Silently, I nod to him, letting him encase me in the comforting warmth of him as I'm leant against his side. My head finds home in the crook of his neck, feeling a tiny smile ghost my lips as I relax a little.

"George, you can't worry about what you did to Darryl forever," Clay mumbles into my hair, content to rest his head atop mine. He pulls away occasionally, only to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses to my forehead.

"But I killed him!"

"You killed two people," he corrects, and for some reason, I find myself smirking at how casually he states it. I laugh out a breathy sigh against his neck, a quiet giggle slipping past his lips at the prickling sensation it causes against his skin. "One of them was me," he continues, and I'm suddenly much quieter than before.

"But I'm okay now, aren't I?" Clay tries to reason. "It doesn't matter anymore." He pulls away a little, peppering sweet little kisses across my face. I debate moving away for a second, and it must show, as Clay does just that upon seeing the look on my face. "That doesn't change the fact that I did it," I answer to his quizzical glance.

"No, it doesn't," he sighs, tentatively cupping my cheek. I lean into the touch, lacing a hand over his until it becomes more certain. "But you can't change that." There are hands resting on both sides of my face now, and I don't remember them being so warm, or me being so unnervingly cold.

"There's nothing you could've done differently then, George. Nothing that would've made you feel any better, at least." Clay's attempts at reasoning my actions do nothing to settle the thoughts in my head, so I'm left clueless in the moment. I let him trace circles into my cheeks, featherlight touches igniting tiny sparks under his fingertips. If nothing else, at least I feel safe right now.

"You did what you did, you can't change the past," Clay sighs, a bitter smile on his lips and a lost look in his eyes. His hands still, burning a warm sensation in my skin that I'm desperate to keep there, if only for a distraction.

"You need to let go, sunshine."

In the following silence, I find the strength to lean forward, press an endearing kiss to his cheek. Then to reciprocate his actions when I'm kept there for more, numbing the dread in my stomach with the feeling of his lips against mine.

I drag my hands through his hair, irritatingly slower than usual, made apparent by the groan uttered from Clay. His fingers slip from my face, wrapping over my hands in a silent plea for them to grip harder. And I'm happy to, if only for the distraction it provides.

If only to keep the present here, and subdue the past.