Inception {Dreamnotfound}

35 | Letting Go | 35

-George's POV-

"I'm not letting you do this, sunshine."

"You don't have a choice."

Clay doesn't look angry, more concerned. There's no harshness in his tone, just something bitter that sounds like it could be the start of regret. "And neither do I, actually," I continue, trying my hardest to ignore him. "There's nobody else who can do it."

"Why not?" Clay protests again, folding his arms as if it'll prove his point. I notice his fingers curl into fists beneath his arms, but decide not to dwell on it. "There's got to be someone else who can do it. Why is everyone just agreeing that it's gonna be you?"

"Because I'm logically the person who should do it. Surely you must be able to see that." Although, the bitter look in his eyes says otherwise, and I'm stuck wondering if he's genuinely confused or just in denial that I'm right.

"Let's say it goes wrong, Clay. Perhaps the bands do something weird and kill the person wearing them, but don't reverse the system. The person wearing them should be someone who can be revived if things don't actually work."

"You, Tubbo, Bad and Karl can't be revived. That leaves me, Skeppy and Sapnap as the three people who could do it. I volunteered because you're the most competent to revive your soulmate if they die." Clay shoots me a conflicted look, half absorbed by his own thoughts still. It's almost sceptical, and I hope that somehow, he can't work out what I'm also thinking.

"It makes sense, okay?" I try to justify, offering him a shy smile and hoping he'll return it. Wishful thinking, I soon realise, when Clay resorts to staring at the ceiling instead.

I can't understand him, how his arm stays wrapped protectively around my waist from where I lay beside him, but it feels absentminded. Not really colder, but lacking the usual warmth I've become so used to associating with him.

"You know, you don't have to be the heroic main character who believes they have to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, or because they simply deserve it." Something about that comment of his makes guilt twist knots in my stomach, mixed sickeningly with dread.

"You owe nothing to this world, George. Not to the system, or to Bad or even to me."

It's my turn to stare awkwardly at the ceiling, knowing if Clay has something else to say, he'll do it anyway. For a few seconds it's quiet, and I wonder if he's given up trying completely until there's a soft prod to my cheek. I shoot him a glare, unimpressed but not bothering to protest when he starts tracing shapes out of my sparse collection of freckles.   

"What?" I ask quietly, trying to pretend the stutter in my voice was a laugh instead. That causes Clay to pause, and I feel a little better at the sight of sympathy in his eyes. Warm and strangely understanding in that way he always is, in that way I've learnt to be with him.

"You don't deserve to die that way."

"Most people don't deserve to die the way they did," I counter, trying to ignore the fact I know he's till watching me. "That's why we're trying to reverse the system. Even if we don't know it'll work for certain, we have to try the option we have. For the sake of everyone, and the people they've lost to this fucking second system."

Realistically, 'the people' probably is also everyone. I'd count myself as a part of it, and can't think of anyone I know who would be an exception. We've all been affected by the second system, just in different ways. Some of us more than others too, in ways I try not to think about too much.

"There's a good chance I won't die," I offer as comfort to my boyfriend, knowing I'm a little better with words than actions. "We're kinda predicting everything, including that." I've never been great with showing affection, something Clay caught onto pretty quickly. He seems to have decided therefore that it's his job to be extra affectionate.