Dysphoric (DNF-ftmGeorge)

Part 8

-next morning-

Triggers
-dysphoria

Third person pov:
Much to George's disappointment he woke up alone that morning, both Dream and George hadn't really talked much yesterday and it the brunette was starting to overthink things.
Unfortunately the boy had once again woken up to the oh-so familiar feeling of hating himself, the way his body made him feel would always be something no cis person would understand, being born in the wrong body is not a fun experience.
He hated that same crushing feeling, so many times over and over throughout his life he felt it lingering, but he still never knew how to get rid of it.

George just lay there in his bed. For hours. He didn't want to move, he didn't feel like doing anything. He just didn't feel like he had the energy for it.
He would rather just lay in the comfort of his sheets and mope.

Sometimes his mind would wonder as he stared at the patterns of his ceiling, the way the paint dried that created scattered bumps and swirls. His eyes would trail across around them like a maze, sometimes shapes could be seen, sometimes he could make out different objects by the way the crusty paint was shaped. Like looking at clouds only from the comfort of your warm sheets.
As his gaze switched from crack to crack in the dried pale paint of his ceiling, his mind drifted in and out of different thoughts.
But everything thing his mind wondered to would always end up back to the same subject his mind turned to in this situation.
His body.
All he could ask was why.
Until eventually his thoughts would dissipate and he would be left with his white ceiling once again, counting and tracing every crack, chip, swirl, dip and bumb with his dark brown eyes.

Occasionally the brunette would turn his head to obverse how much time he had wasted, his digital clock on his nightstand being his answer. So far the boy had been lying there for 5 hours. He had woken up at 8am and handnt moved from where he lay until 1pm.

'God I'm so pathetic.' He sighed, 'sitting here and complaining isn't going to change anything... but neither would getting up and hating myself more.' He rolled back to his original position, looking back up at the ceiling above, 'why couldn't I just be born in the right body? It makes no sense. Why do I have to feel this way?' He complained.

A loud vibration on his bedside table brought him back to his disappointing reality, without breaking eye contact with the ceiling he grabbed his phone that sat beside his clock. He pulled it up over his face, his gaze empty. He really just didn't care about anything right now. Though he preferred it that way, feeling nothing sounded better than feeling dysphoria.

Quackity: wake up now. I know how to play 6 of the most annoying songs on the acoustic guitar. This is a threat.

Usually this would have made George laugh and get up to see what they were up to, but in his current state of mind, he could only seem to think negatively, he was not in the mood.

George: Rule number 5: no playing musical instruments in the house unless everyone currently in the house agrees.

He shut off his phone and dropped it back down on the table carelessly.
George was about to go back to his previous activity of staring mindlessly up when noises prevented him from doing so.

Quick and continuous knocks, rapidly in no particular pattern sounded at his door. "Ggeeeeeoooorrrrggggeeeeyyyyyy" a silly voice whined through knocks.
George pulled a pillow over his head and groaned loudly.
"Goggyyy~! Googgyyy~!" The voice giggled, clearly oblivious to the boys current state.

George threw his pillow across the room and angrily stomped over to the door, swinging it open to reveal a shorter male with longish black hair that escaped the edges of his blue beanie.