we are the liars | ✫

◡◠◡◠► 𝟣𝟥

this whole fic has been in first pov and for the last two chapters it hasn't been, this chapter and the next (yes the last chapter) will be quite short as i dont want to drag out a fic that doesn't need to be :)

also yes, george and dream are fine again, because necessarily i think its stupid to make them mad at each other still and i think that the last chapter is pretty alright for getting back on good terms. seeing as i literally used my real life experiences for it HAHA

anyway enjoy please!

❛ cigarettes out the window - tv girl ❜

Thoughts are often-times desolate things; they float like islands and sometimes collide, sometimes tumble and crash. Mine crash now, they once floated carefully, thoughts even and I could predict their turnout.

Now they burn me.

In the dead of the night, when the moons saccharine voice told me to quieten my screams, for the world would wake up and the people would judge me.

Do they judge?

In the sweet of the morning, when the suns downing looks told me to find somewhere else to complain, find someone else to listen.

Would they listen?

I believe so, I guess. In a way, everyone listens. Some listen with their eyes, looks decaying with age and they hand over flowers to your emotions funeral. Some listen with their ears, nodding every so often to remind you that they can be your comfort, if you let them.

We listen now, my mind remarries my heart, they co-exist. Strings attached and my eyes follow their lead, listening, through ears that hide through strands of blondes. I tuck them away, not that it does much to help my vision, here, in the dead of the night.

A voice, gentle and drugged up brings me from thoughts too quiet — too loud. "Zoning out..." He trails off, the man beside me, merely a boy. His features soft and relaxed, the drinks of the night slipping through his eyes. Hoarse, as he coughs, the burning sensation sitting at the back of our throats. Hands belonging to a four-foot Mexican cradles the chicken tenders box from Carls Jr. Theres only about two left in his box, all five of mine remain untouched, discarded to the side of the bench.

I don't even know how we got here, probably through drunken laughs and crooked smiles, the corners of our eyes all wrinkly. Maybe.

Maybe, because.

I can faintly remember shuffled steps and uneven patterns of breathing, hands stuffed in pockets through the gnawing fresh breaths of air of the good morning.

Bitter. We were.

Were we?

"Sorry." I reply finally, the single word tumbling out like the lost cause it was, an empty excuse. Yet it rots away through my lying teeth. Was I a liar, after all.

Yes?

Indeed.

"I— uh. Thank you... for leaving with me." Quackity struggles to talk too, it seems.

Throw my head to the side, resting on barely nothing. Hand splayed back on the grass that lies behind the backless bench. "Yeah sure, I pissed off George again so I was in the mood to get out."

Quackitys breath of laughter makes me frown, downturned lips and unamused eyes, expressions laced with knitted brows. "What?" I ask.

"God! How are you two so bad at being on good terms."

"We are on good terms." Pause. "We have been for a couple of weeks now."

Quackity throws me a glare, "Yeah true, you're no longer moping and Sapnap's not freaking out." He deadpans. I hit him. Playfully, of course. I don't need Sapnap hitting me back tomorrow or Karl yelling at me about hitting his boyfriend.