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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"I'm still making sense of having nothing left to save" Bad Omens 5 Seconds of Summer
⚠️ panic attack. Minor injury ⚠️
"Um... George, Karl is looking for you." Sam scratches at his neck eyes averted. "And Dream... we, um the team we wanted..."
Silence is abundant here. This is incredibly incriminating looking at it from Sam's point of view. George's hair is a mess, lips kiss bitten, contusions scattered across his neck, sweats shucked down, me above him. I can still feel his hands in my hair and his taste on my tongue. Something is starting to burn in my chest and it is no longer lust.
George snorts, head falling back onto the blanket beneath us, his laugh strikes something a little too tight in my breath. "Fuck me."
"Seems," a cough. "Seems Dream just did that."
"No," I gasp letting everything come crashing down off its teetering cliff. "No. Wait. I... we..."
George hackles with his eyes closed, it rings in my ears, "Sam, nice to make your acquaintance."
"You as well." Sam, cleared his throat, "um so. I'm going to let you..."
"No! Wait! You can't say anything!"
Sam, startled at the tone, a hand coming up, "Dream, I swear I won't..."
"You can't." It's a bit hard to take in a deep breath in the cold. Sitting back on my ankles I press a weighted hand onto the concrete. "I... and you can't it's... George and we..."
"He already knew, Dream." George continuously giggles into the air each slowly turning manic the longer they progress. The air swims and warps and cuts my breaths swallow.
"What?"
"Yeah, I already... Dream, you alright?"
With a hand pressed to my thick throat I shake my head, "George... I don't..."
It must've been the pure panic in my tone because George reversed the languid pull in his limbs to alert within a second's notice. Snagging my hands from compressing against myself he grounds them to his cheeks. That's when I realized there is panic thrumming through every bone in my body.
"Hey, hey." He tucks my hair lightly behind my ear, "breathe dumbass. Sam already knew. It's not the end of the world. Breathe."
"I can't... I, everything is fucked. I've fucked it. You. And it's its.."
"What's the correct way to pass a puck to another player?"
What the fuck is he talking about? My entire life is fucked over and he wants to know how to play hockey. Hockey? George hates hockey. My chest is burning alive and the heat is in my lungs and he wants to talk about hockey? It's all a bit dizzying. The snow swirls a little too much in my vision.
