Nightingale - Dreamnotfound

||Big Blue Bird Book||

When I had finally awoken, the sun had since made its presence known. It couldn't have been noon yet, though. The sun was still well in the east. The tranquility of my thoughts had since passed as I sat up and looked around. Not a single person in sight. No commons, no specialties, no George. Wait, no George.

I bolted upright, every single possible scenario running through my head. He had disappeared without a trace. None of his belongings were around aside from the pillow I had just been sleeping on. No Specialty was supposed to know about the place. Not even Sapnap knew.

I heard a laugh behind me. When I turned around, George entered through the small crevice entry with his bedsheets in hand. "Morning, Sloth."

"You're an idiot," I groaned, standing up and towering over the older boy in front of me.

"You slept well, I see," He laughed, handing over the bedsheet. "This is for tonight."

I dropped it on the floor. "I could've grabbed it for you. You know, not everybody is going to fall for your charming smile. Some—no, all—Specialties just shoot."

"My house is literally right there. I can take care of myself, Clay. No need to worry. Anyway, are you going back home now?".

"No, I'm not leaving you."

He smiled, "You sure? I'm used to being alone."

"I won't let them kill you," I reassured. "I brought a gun this time."

"Whoa. That's so scary," He teased and threw some of his clothes at me.

"What is this?"

"Specialties aren't allowed here. Commons come through here every day. It's off with my head if they find out I let a Specialty in."

Fair enough. I took off my jacket and glanced up at him. He stared back.

"Can you turn around?"

"Oh!" He was awfully giggly today. "Sorry!"

"Where did you get the spare clothes?" I asked. It wasn't anything special. Just a soft green long sleeve shirt and navy blue baggy jeans. They both looked to have had their fair share of use. The shirt also had a smiley face on it. It looked to be drawn on by a white marker, and it was so faded it was like it wasn't there anymore. There was a rip in the side as well as faded, dark red stains surrounding it.

"They used to be my dad's. I don't have a lot of them. I only took the ones he didn't wear often."

There was something about wearing George's clothes. Maybe it was that it fit me perfectly, although more on the snug side. Or the fact that I knew he had worn it before, and it felt as if he was just a bit closer to me.

"You kept a lot of stuff from your dad," I remarked, glancing down at the clout goggles hanging off his bag. "You can turn around now."

He turned to me and his eyes dropped and made its way back up to meet mine. His cheeks brushed pink. "Yeah. Over time I lost a lot of them, though. People would come steal them or I'd have to give them up for food. I did keep the important ones, though." He grabbed his clout goggles.

"What's so important about sunglasses?"

"He always went to work with them on. Wilbur was actually the one who gave it to me," He said, fidgeting with the glasses. "He told me my dad wanted me to have it. You know, to remember him by."

There was still so much I didn't know about George. A whole new world he had refused to show me previously. There was more to him than poetry. Poetry Boy sounded like an outdated name now. He was intelligent, incredibly observant, kind, patient. He was swift and a quick thinker. His mind worked in a way I had never seen it work before. He never failed to amaze me.