Good At Pretending ,, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 [EDITING]

5 ᬄ͙͘˚

yes ! mega early update,,
I've been writing non-stop
and uh, yeah- this chapters
kinda a mess. I keep checking

it over and over again to see
if it's written alright. I think it
came out okay though. Worse
than last chapter.

Warnings-,, language. mature
themes??? not really though.
Dre being an asshole.

Descriptions of deep water and
oceans for my Thalassophobia babies

Words-,, 1851

━━━៸៸ ᯭ⌗

He really had gotten himself into something he desperately wished he hadn't. The gurgling pain of thoughts and bitter poison that swam in mossy pools of green. Green like queasiness, green like jealousy, green like weeping willows of sorrow. Green like his eyes.

It's so early. He mused, exhausted even now. Not mentally, somehow physically.

Willow trees could have flowers. Usually overflowing with baby pink cherry blossoms. But then their value of the title "willow" was entirely striped down to that of a Weeping Yoshiro Cherry Tree. Those of which looked blue under the moonlight.

Clay shifted against the coarse material of his car's seats. His hands splayed out against the black, faux leather of his steering wheel.

The stars where just beginning to fade beyond the horizon. Bringing down a whitened blue-grey sheath of morning.

Blue. Blue is how he felt at the moment and he wished he didn't. Because blue reminded him of pale skin under party lights and a navy t-shirt carefully gliding over the same skin. Swimming in pools of that same ivy queasiness

He would never take advantage of a friend. Guilt was something he was familiar with and it wasn't the guilt he was worried about of course rather, ruining a friendship. Completely sure that George had just been drunk.

He hardly showed any reciprocation to his actions in the car besides not moving away. If he had actually closed that small space, pressed pale lips against his own, tasted bitter alcohol on his tongue while George was out of his element, not knowing right from wrong.

Would he have closed the gap if the situations were switched? Certainly not.

They were friends. Being closer to his face didn't mean anything.

Consent didn't mean anything aside from emotions and when that mask cracked. Porcelain, shattered in glassy shards in his hands. Would he have blamed George for that?

All too much to take in at once in his dreary state in-between awake and asleep-not that he had actually been thinking about every aspect of this at the moment.

Having stayed in his car outside his house for far too long. The peaks of sunlight riding over the shimmering glass of the large city. He couldn't say it was much better than the dark, LED lit party.

Galled by the bright sun; more white today, cold and aching on his head. It was ironic as he hadn't dranken anything yet the overwhelmingness of a hangover flooded his senses. Clay desperately didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to grab his phone and check the alerts. Didn't want to hover his thumb over the "call" button for a troubling amount of time.

There were multiple drunken messages. Slurred between "hey" and "You're pretty", "I miss you" Random numbers and letters in between the two messages.