Though he desperately refuses the conformities of modern novel tropes, George acknowledges he's just the same as every book character. A side character that is. Studying his way into writing a hit novel George has to master the ups and downs of his...
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"Why you gotta go get lost in emotion?" Talk About Love Zara Larsson, Young Thug
George
"Alright, over there."
Dream groans and falls face-first into my bed mumbling whatever guilt he showed up with. I don't understand him sometimes. He's guilty today, he's sad tomorrow, what will he be in the future? Elated? Idiot.
"So, you're not giving me a heads up anymore when you're starting a hook-up?" Karl barely glances at us from his comfortable side of the room. Light from the laptop casting shadows as he continues the movie without me. The spot next to him still looked warm and cozy in my absence. We were in the middle of The Amazing Spiderman with Andrew Garfield inches away from kissing his MJ and then the call came in. I sigh. "Just gonna do it in front of me?"
"What, want to join?" I'm clearly being sarcastic but Karl's expression darkens. I want to immediately apologize but Dream starts to become persistent with his groans, tugging his clothes off like he's on fire. My attention is, once again, scattered.
"George?"
"Alright, I'm here," I grip his shirt and pull it off. Then in my drawer, I hesitate. My clothes won't fit him and neither with Karl's, I have one option. Before I can think better of myself, I find my most prized possession and slip it over his head. His brows furrow comically at the fabric.
"I thought I lost this shirt." He thumbs over the collar and seems to find it the most intriguing innovation of this century.
"You're giving it back?" Karl asks tossing me an oversized pair of sweatpants. They'll be a little short on Dream's legs but at least they'll fit better than my own would.
Maneuvering my best friend down against my small dorm bed, his kaki slacks are next on the list. Pushing them off like he's a Barbie doll, Dream uselessly helps me replace them. Softly, I mutter "guess I am."
"What happens when you're crying over this again and you don't have it."
Normally, Karl would have been crucified for having this conversation in front of Dream but I doubt he'll remember it, if care at all about it, so I let this slide.
Sure, that shirt has stayed in my drawer since the first time Dream and I slept together. But it wasn't like I couldn't give it back. I did steal it.
That morning when Dream was the quietest I'd ever heard him, I balled it between my palms and hid it away from the frantic eyes. I was mulling over my first time while he threw on his clothes so fast. Maybe he was hoping he could pretend it never happened. Either way, it still did and I've held onto that stupid black shirt ever since. A happy memory to put on when I hate everyone and everything else. It's not a big deal, really, I get attached to things I shouldn't all the time. I can part with a stupid shirt.
