shameless. | dnf au

VIII

George

Confliction. An emotion one can't truly ever explain in words. 

A mental battle between two different conflicting scenarios. 

Take my current situation, for example. Dream had just kissed me and left me alone in the bathroom. 

On the one hand, that kiss made me feel. Actually feel. It was nothing like the drunken kiss I shared with a stranger in a club. It made me forget. 

It made me feel.

I'd give anything to experience that kiss again. Sell my left kidney, climb the tallest mountain, and free-dive with sharks. Anything. 

I wanted him to stay, so I could kiss him again and again until my lips felt raw because the way that he made me feel in that kiss alone- I've never felt more alive and more willing to fight for what I want in my life. 

On the other hand, I am terrified. Absolutely petrified. It was nothing like the drunken kiss I shared with a stranger in a club. It made me forget. 

It made me scared.

I'd give anything to take it back. Sell my left right kidney, run the longest marathon, and bungee jump with a faulty rope. Anything. 

I'm glad he left because if he didn't, I'd kiss him again and again until my lips felt raw because the way that he made me feel in that kiss alone- I've never been more confused and willing to hide away from what I want in my life.

Confliction is like a wave. 

On the one hand, you see it returning the opportunities to you- to the warm sandy shores of some conjured-up, delusional fantasy. 

On the other hand, it's a want that is always receding. Lost in the churnings of the open ocean beyond. 

I think about this as I walk down the darkened corridor back to my dorm. There was no use looking for Karl anywhere else. A part of me wished I was smart enough to know he wouldn't have attempted to come back after hiding in a bathroom stall. A part of me is glad I decided to look anyway. 

Soon I'm standing in front of my front door, looking over at Dream's briefly before opening my dormitory door and shutting it behind me. A part of me is proud of myself for not caving in and knocking. A part of me aches for the 'what ifs' ruminating in my mind. 

"There you are," I sigh, taking my shoes off as I see Karl curled up on his bed, headphones on as his face rests on his knees. He looks over at me with confusion. Seemingly seeing my lips moving but not hearing a word.

"Oh," he starts, taking his headphones off, fully paying attention to me now. "Sorry, what did you say?" he asked.

"I said, there you are- what was that about?" I ask him as I make my way over to his bed, sitting at the foot of it, bringing my legs up to sit cross-legged beside him. 

He smiles softly. I already know why he's done it, but I need him to start in order for me to say my piece. 

"You're the royal, George. I'm the nobody. You have a reputation to tarnish. I never had a reputation, to begin with." His words leave a sour taste in my mouth. It's one thing for people to have such narrow-minded opinions about the American, but for them to fester so much that he believes it himself. It hurts to witness. 

"Fuck a reputation," I mumble to myself, which only makes his smile more genuine than it was before. 

"You know you don't mean that," he states, turning to look at me now fully.