A.N. — Hey y'all, I'm back with another story! I've spent a long time on this one, and although it's not finished yet, I will continue to update it regularly!
MAJOR STORY WARNING:
**This story is going to be much more angsty/serious than my last one, so be forewarned! It will still be sweet as well, I promise, but it involves much more real and serious themes such as anxiety/various mental illness', trauma, panic attacks, etc.**
Again, it won't be incredibly depressing throughout the whole story I swear, but it does revolve around these themes, so I feel the need to warn you guys!
Also, BIG DISCLAIMER: I do not condone irl shipping, nor do I encourage anyone to take these stories too seriously. The versions of Dream, George and all other irl ccs in this story have been FICTIONALIZED and do not reflect their true and accurate selves. This is entirely for fun, and to practice my writing skills!
Right, now that the boring-but-necessary stuff is out of the way, hope you enjoy :D
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"Her eyes and words are so icy
Oh but she burns
Like rum on the fire
Hot and fast and angry as she can be
I walk my days on a wire."
He lay on the pristine white sheets of his bed, fists clasping and unclasping, eyes squeezed shut.
"It looks ugly, but it's clean,
Oh momma, don't fuss over me."
His breathing steadied, the unbearable churning in the pit of his stomach slowly receding.
"The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine."
The gentle strumming and picking of the guitar brought him back to earth. The melody numbs his limbs; relaxing his tense muscles until he rests lax against the mattress beneath him.
"The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine."
But still, rest escaped him: at every flutter of his eyelids, each descent into peace, he saw her. The golden brown locks spilling over her shoulders; her delicate figure. The way her face lifted into a meaningful smile. The way her eyes sparkled, reflections of a glowing sun against dark waters.
And now the pounding in his chest returned, and the tight, contracting discomfort within him took control all over again, limiting every motion within his chest, his face cold and clammy, his vision compromised as he lost himself.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
"George?"
A brief knock on his door and the sound of a man's voice saves him from fully losing control.
He sat up just a little too quickly and cringed, disoriented, as bright spots danced in front of his eyes. He rubbed his forehead with one hand, reaching the other over to slam the "off" button on his clock radio. The gentle, melodic strumming stops abruptly, Hozier's smooth voice cut out of existence.
"George Davidson?"
The muffled voice inquired from the other side of the wall.
"Coming." George replied.
YOU ARE READING
The Most Formidable Thing
FanfictionA year after the Incident, George Davidson, son of the wealthy CEO of a prestigious tech company, leaves England to study abroad in New York City. Much to his frustration, his over-bearing parents hire him a bodyguard to look after him while he is a...
