nails like god | georgebur

my body decides

George slips his fingers between the blinds in Wil's living room. He spreads a few, peering outside. It's dark, now. They've been inside for so long without even realizing it.

The sun has set, and the moon has taken its place, shining down onto Wilbur's apartment like the eye of a hungry lion to a wounded gazelle.

Wilbur is in the kitchen, preparing something for the two to eat. When he asked what George wanted, George said he didn't care. He always says that, but in reality George is a very picky eater. He hopes Wilbur doesn't make anything too foul on his senses.

George walks toward the kitchen. Wilbur is stirring a pot. He hears the shorter approach and begins defending himself, as if George is accusing him of something. "I'm just making something simple, since I don't have much food right now."

"That's okay." George says. He's relieved, stepping up to glance into the pot. It's Mac-n-Cheese.

George feels like a child again. He remembers, although vaguely, living with his mother during his early life. He would stand next to her while she makes Mac-N-Cheese, and occasionally, she would ask him to help. Really, all George did was stir, but it always tasted better when he helped.

Simpler times, George thinks. When all he had to worry about was stirring the pasta. Perhaps Mac-N-Cheese is somewhat of a comfort food because of those memories.

George is zoning out. He shoots a glance back at Wilbur's form, immediately focusing on his arms and hands as he mixes. Blotches of pink spreads over George's face. He takes his dark eyes away, asking, "Am I going to stay here tonight?"

Wilbur is quick to answer, like he's prepared for this question beforehand. "Yes, if you'd like to."

"You should sleep in your own bed. It's yours, and I bet the couch is uncomfortable two nights in a row." George states.

"No, you're the guest. It's fine." Wil argues plainly.

George scowls, shifting on his feet. He turns, leaning his back onto the counter. He speaks without thinking, stopping himself halfway through his sentence. "Well, we could..."

Wilbur inquires, "Yeah?"

"Oh, I don't know..." George slouches. "I mean-- we could both sleep in the bed, maybe? I'd feel bad if I made you sleep on the couch again." Excuses, excuses.

Wilbur pauses for a split second, considering silently. "If you're comfortable with that, sure." He looks over with a soft expression, making brief eye contact with George.

George forces his head down, breaking the staring contest. He stares at the floor. Wilbur puts butter in the pot, tsking at himself still for not having milk. It won't be the best meal, but neither of them care.

Once the food is done, the two sit back down together on the couch. Wilbur eats much faster than George, who's picking at his bowl like a bird in the early morning searching for worms.

Wilbur clicks the TV on. He only has cable, owning no streaming services. He thinks they're a waste. Usually, Wil just watches movies from his phone or old laptop anyway.

He goes through the Guide carefully until landing on horror movies. It's past Halloween, as it's November, but George nods at the suggestion anyway.

They watch The Shining, which is one of Wilbur's absolute favorites. George likes it too, he quickly decides. He enjoys psychological horror, the fear and unsettlement is more subtle as it rests beneath his skin.

Halfway through the movie, both of them are done with their bowls, setting them on the coffee table irresponsibly. Wilbur notices George's half-lidded eyes when the next movie begins. "Are you tired?"

"A little. My sleep schedule has been bad lately."

"Want to go lie down?" Wilbur moves, preparing to stand. George nods. They both use the bathroom -- separately -- before walking to the bedroom together.

It's awkward, laying in Wilbur's bed. The two are on opposite sides, facing away from each other. George wonders if Wilbur feels the same odd tension that lies between them, or if he's overthinking it.

Wilbur takes a breath in, one that sounds almost shaky. He hums himself to sleep, songs trapped in his head. He asks if George minds, to which the shorter says no.

It's a while before George feels tiredness begin to drag him away. Wilbur's deep breathing next to him acts as brown noise, soothing him to sleep. He's calm here. He's comfortable. Which is odd for him, as George has lived his entire life in a constant state of uncomfortableness.