After Fire - Dreamnotfound

Sixteen|after fire

Perhaps it's similar to that of After-Fire.

"Where the hell are you?" George snapped. His heart pounded, and he struggled to contain the intense shaking of his hands.

"A phone booth," Clay replied with minimal worry. "You know, it's kind of stupid to put your phone number on the first page of your notebook. You're basically asking to get your information stolen."

"Come back, you idiot."

Clay sighed through the phone. "Look, I can return your notebook tomorrow—"

"I don't really care about my notebook, honestly. I can always just get a new one." The rain hit the window like that of bullets. Tossing the red notebook on the bed, he later lied down in front of it and flipped through the notebook. His entries stayed true to his character; they went pages long, front and back. Personally, George's only went on for a few paragraphs per entry, maybe running into the back of the page at most. No reply came from the other end, yet he didn't hear the slam of the phone against the receiver either.

"I care about you, Clay," He whispered slowly.

"You..." Clay trailed off before clearing his throat. "There's a park a bit west from where the hotel is. We can meet there tomorrow. I accidentally took your backpack on my way out, so I can return it then."

"And you'll come home with me?"

"No, George. We swap bags and go our separate ways. I could even drive you to the airport if you want. By the way, you didn't look inside my bag, did you?"

George's heart leapt into his throat as he slammed the spiral notebook shut and sat up. "No. I've been out in the lobby waiting for you."

"I'm not coming back, go back to the room. And don't look in my bag, okay? Please?"

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then. What time?"

"Noon should be fine. And also— actually, nevermind. I'll tell you tomorrow. Bye—"

"Wait," George blurted out, his entire body paralyzing in place soon after.

"Yeah?"

"I just—um—" He ran a hand through his hair. It was still a bit damp from the rain. "I wanted to say goodnight. So... goodnight."

The other end of the line was quiet for a moment. Except the phone could pick up the soft pattering rain from the outside.

"Goodnight, Blue," The boy replied quietly after an extra drawn out silence.

Before any additional words could be said, service was lost, and George listened to the dead ringing until even that sound disappeared.

He carelessly tossed his blue phone onto his pillow and gazed down at the taunting red notebook again. It was begging to be opened, he just knew it. Wasn't that a notebook's whole purpose; to be written in and read? Knowing Clay, he was flipping through his blue notebook at that very moment. Most likely reading through his new entries, he'd know all of George's secrets and desires by the time they met up tomorrow. The least George could do was know just as much about his host brother before their final encounter.

Unlike George's journal, Clay didn't mention him often. Occasionally he'd bring him up, but it only lasted about a paragraph long before he'd move on to a new aspect of his thoughts— and he thought of a lot of different things. That was until he reached yesterday's entry. It seemed that the entire page was written all about the older brunet boy. Because of that, George couldn't help but read it.

11/06/21
Today I was pleasantly awaken by the little shorty drawing on my arm. It was cute. I woke up right when he started drawing, but I let him keep going until it got so hot under my blanket that it became unbearable. I expected him to have drawn a dick or something, but he drew the March to the Sea.