behind the streams | dnf

thirty two | imperfect

GEORGE

My room is unfamiliar. 

Even though it's been a week or so, the guest room has that unaccustomed touch, with its tightly-drawn bedsheets and spotless floors. The amount of time I've lingered in here- for a place I'm supposed to be spending my nights - it's so sparse that even the mere layout is foreign to me. 

For half a minute or so I can't even remember where I tucked away my suitcase but I stumble upon it in a hidden corner. Rummaging through, I'm careful not to disturb the uniformly-folded stacks until I uncover a hoodie I still haven't worn yet. I hold it out in front of me, watching it unfurl before hugging it to my chest. It smells like home. 

It's larger than the one I've been wearing, a darker hue and oversized to the point where it's  draping over me, rather than hugging. I take a tentative seat at the edge of the bed, barely creating a divot even as I shift my full weight onto the fitted sheets. 

My gaze lifts to the door, scrutinizing my unchecked effort to shut it completely, allowing a fracture of the outside hallway to be visible from here. 

Farther down that hallway, is his room. Somewhere I do know, somewhere I don't know if I want to go back to. 

A breath lodges in my throat and my head drops, looking down at my lap and the sleeves that have swallowed up my hands. 

What has been happening there, I have the bizarre urge to laugh, what could possibly happen tonight? Truly the defining moments of this trip, the memories I'll remember over all else, of both good and bad and today has been a wonderful demonstration of the latter. 

It would be so easy, so easy, to just stay here tonight. Save myself from whatever awaits me there, get used to this intactness of where I'm supposed to be spending my nights anyways. 

It's not the first time this has crossed my mind, of course. It is the first time I'm truly considering it.  

I sit there for one, two, maybe ten minutes. Maybe more. And the decision is closer to a compromise but I'm getting up and my feet are moving and before I know it, I'm standing right in front of the imposing doorframe. 

My eyes trace over the shallow carves in paled wood, hand slowly grasping the brass doorknob, silently wishing I didn't care so much. 

I force out the knots in my shoulders, even though my stomach still flips at what feels like my own betrayal. 

My wrist turns. There's unexplainable relief that he's not there yet, and I fumble blindly for the remote I know he keeps on the nightstand. My fingers close around it, hitting the power on and switching them to white. 

Clean, calm, I need that tonight. Taking the remote with me, I wander back over to his set-up and set it on the desktop, right besides the speaker. His chair is slightly off-center and creased from years of use but there's a strange reassurance in the imperfection as I take a seat. 

Leaning back, I hunch my legs up to my chest and my fingers close around my phone, the cool glass a heavy weight in the front pocket. I'm in the process of figuring out how to work the speaker settings when I hear footsteps approaching. 

From the staircase, slowing as they near the door and I unknowingly tense in a breath as he nudges it open with a quiet creak. 

He takes in the lighting first, the absence on the bed second, before he meets my eyes and I force myself not to look away. "Oh."

I flatten my lips into a half-hearted smile. "Hey." 

"Hello." He shuffles in, closing the door behind him, passing me another skeptical glance before I hear him heave onto the edge of the bed. My eyes remain firmly on the dimmed screen, ignoring the taciturn air that's only an all-too-accurate representation of how the entire day has been.