Asshole

8: Distraction

Brighton, England

Pretty privilege.

He'd heard that phrase many times before. It was as common as seeing the number fourteen in Darryl's stream chat, as frequent as birthday? appeared during any of Ranboo's gameplay (people were beginning to question if he even had a birthday). Wilbur was known for canonically fucking a salmon in-game - correction, being fucked by a salmon in-game. Each creator had their own thing. Their own jokes and memes, something to define them in a way.

Part of George's thing was pretty privilege.

So why was Dalton saying it?

"It's sort of a common phrase, I think. Maybe it's one he happens to use."

George rubbed the spot between his eyes. It had been over twenty-four hours since he received the Discord message that continued to eat away at him. Not like Dalton was aware of that at all - George had texted him throughout the day as if there was nothing suspicious about his choice of words. As if nothing was bothering him.

But something was bothering him and he needed to talk to someone about it.

"I don't know. He's complimented me before, saying things like how he knows I'm attractive even if he hasn't seen me, but he's never used that phrase. Not until I showed part of my face." He let out a shaky sigh and dropped his head into his hands. His elbows rested on the desk in front of him. "I think he recognized me."

"George-"

"And I don't know what to do about that. Do I ask him? How do I do it without practically telling him who I am?" He gave a pained laugh as he leaned back up and stared over at his wall while acting out his next words. He mocked his own British accent. "Hi! I'm GeorgeNotFound and a lot of people say I have pretty privilege, is that why you said it, too?"

He huffed in frustration. When he looked back at his monitor, he saw Darryl gazing back at him with such sincerity that it automatically made him feel a bit better. To know that he has someone as genuine as Darryl by his side to listen and give advice made the situation so much easier.

"Isn't that what you've wanted for years? For him to know who you are?"

George paused.

Darryl was right. That was exactly what he wanted, and for so long. Why was he trying to be so secretive now? Shouldn't he be jumping at the chance to reveal his identity? He contemplated, well-aware that his friend could see that he wasn't blatantly ignoring him by going silent. George looked to his lap and back to the screen. A small white dog had materialized in Darryl's gentle grasp.

"I think I want him to do it first."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He nodded, slowly becoming more sure of himself with each affirmative movement. "Yeah. He's only just now getting more comfortable with the information that he's sharing and I don't want to rush it. I don't want to rush him. I've waited this long, so I can wait a bit longer. You know? Things are going well." His face flushed at the thought of the picture he opened the previous morning. Darryl was unaware, making George wonder if he was curious about the blush. Darryl was too polite to ask if that were the case. "Really well."

"I think that's really considerate of you, George. But...what if he was just seeing what you'd say? Testing the waters. Trying to see if you're the man he thinks you might be."

George shifted in his chair. It creaked. "Maybe."

"I think you should ask about where he heard the phrase from." Daryl scooted his chair closer to his desk. Rat yawned and George thought it was adorable. "One of two things could happen. He either doesn't know that pretty privilege is a reference to your online life, and likely won't be able to figure it out with just your middle name. Or, he'll tell you that yes, he does know who you are and chances are he'll tell you who he is."