After Fire - Dreamnotfound

Fourteen|glaring eyes

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.