i h8 u (seriously)

16

Good morning and goodnight texts became the normal between George and I after the weekend in Brighton. It'd only been a few weeks since, but it feels as though something has shifted since then. George comes over nearly daily and sends a text if he doesn't. Sometimes he gets too tired to walk home and falls asleep on the couch. We've also been learning how to cook more instead of getting food delivered every night.

"Ding dong," I heard George's voice ring out through the apartment. I was in my bedroom right now sitting on the floor having an existential crisis about folding my laundry.

I had been holding off laundry and basically every human function since dropping Tommy off at the train station and being alone again. The only time I've even gotten out of bed is when George forces me to get up. I've stopped caring about him warning me before coming over as well which is huge for me. I don't know what's been up with me; I've just been in a funk that I can't seem to get out of.

"Uh Isla, what're you doing?" George asked when he peaked his head in through the door.

"Struggling to live," I responded, laying down beside the massive pile of clean laundry that needed to be folded and put away.

"Do you, uh, need help living?" He questioned, walking over and sitting down beside me.

"I have laundry to fold," I pouted, "It's a lot and I'm overwhelmed."

"Let's fold laundry then," I looked up at him, "I'm serious! C'mon!"

"I fold my laundry a specific way."

"Teach me then. I'm a quick learner."

I sighed and sat up on the floor. I gave George the quick rundown of what goes in each drawer, what gets hung up in the closet, and how each article is folded. We put on some rap music and rapped along to the songs while we folded laundry. Somehow, George managed to make the task fun and smooth. It was like my brain shuts off when I'm around him and I can accomplish anything. I loved how easy it was being around George. And to think months ago I wouldn't even speak to George.

In the middle of folding, the music cut out and Tubbo's ringtone blared louder through the phone speakers. I jumped up and grabbed the phone to answer it just to turn off the noise.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Isla I know this is super last notice and I know your anxiety is really bad and I really wouldn't ask this if it wasn't the last resort--" He spit out at a rapid speed.

"Tubbo, it's okay. What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Ranboo's arriving today and I was gonna take a train or car or whatever to pick him up but I was researching like military planes and stuff and thought I set an alarm in case I got too into them, but I never set the alarm and now I'm two hours away from the airport and Ranboo's landing in like twenty minutes and I feel so bad because he has bad anxiety as well and he's in a foreign country and--"

"Hey, hey, Tubbo, breathe," I reminded him. I heard him take a deep breath in and breathe it out, "Which airport is he flying in from?"

"Heathrow."

"Okay, if I take the train I can be there in fifteen minutes. I'll pick him up and then we can road trip down to yours. It's no big deal. Is Ranboo aware of what's going on?"

"Yeah yeah, I'll text him. Thank you so much Isla, like you don't understand how much I appreciate this and I'm so sorry for putting this on you and not setting an alarm and planning my time better. I shouldn't have--"

"Tubbo, don't put the blame on yourself. It happens and everything will be okay. We'll see you soon, okay bud?"

"Yeah."