Polaroid Cameras (Dream X GeorgeNotFound)

A Car Ride to a Temporary Home ~ 1

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told in Georges pov :)

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          "Ladies and gentlemen, we've arrived at our destination, please take your packages from the cabinet overtop, and start to depart from the end of the plane." I've arrived in Cambridge, Massachusetts; to start my studies as an international student in the U.S.A. I've recently gotten accepted into Harvard University, located in North America. Every person whos ambitious would die for my position.

          Growing up,  I was always top of my class. Naturally, I averaged 99 percent in all of my classes, though it came from hard work. I studied day and night for these marks, it cost my social life, but those who laughed at me would feel humiliated to insult me now. I'm in the number one university in the world, living off of a 200k scholarship I got from my leadership within my high school years.

         I have to admit that this is a lot different from what I'm used to. Everyone seems to be a lot more talkative and expressive, compared to how sketchy and quiescent England is. Regarding how many parts of the world idolizes North America, It doesn't live to the expectations I would've thought of. It feels quite modern and diverse compared to my life back in England, though many peoples of colour, there's barely anyone that you could tell is an immigrant. I still have my hopes up though, this isn't an experience that someone would have every day.

      My new roommate should be coming around to pick me up at the airport; having the description of a dirty blond, green-eyed, 6'2" masculine man doesn't help much when one-third of the population looks almost exactly like how he described. Have I mentioned I'm colourblind? I can't really tell what is green overall of what looks to be yellow around me.

      "OOMF" I feel a sudden and aggressive push on my back, quickly panicking to keep my balance. I swiftly look over my shoulder to see the exact description of the man I'm supposed to meet. His eyes are the most beautiful I've ever seen, despite me being colourblind. The small traces of freckles splattered across his face stood out against the sunlight facing towards his left.

       "hey there! you're that George guy, am I right?"  He slaps my back with a softer force this time, making sure to not startle me again.

       The way he speaks is pretty informal and seems awfully friendly but this is how I expected most Americans to act. Though I'm not informed much on how they are in reality, so I shouldn't judge. It wouldn't be right of me arrogantly assume based on stereotypes.

      "Yeah, you're Dream if I'm not mistaken?" I coarsely spoke. My voice came out more unfriendly than I intended to. I could see the grin on his face slightly lessen, the look in his eyes going from optimistic to slightly judgemental. I can't help it, it's been how I've grown up to speak.

     "Follow me," Dream walked a bit forward, using his hand to signal me to catch up to his pace, "I'll give you a ride since taxis are expensive; especially in this city." His voice had an extraordinary warm tone, similar to how it feels to watch the sunset on New Years. Just converted into a live audio version. If his grades didn't get him into Harvard, it was definitely how well he'd be able to charm the admission committee with the flick of a pen.

    "All that luggage must be heavy for you, right? I'll open up the trunk of the car," He lifts the boot of the car open, revealing his luggage taking up about a third of the space in the back. While Dream taps his hand on the front of the trunk, nonverbally asking me to carry my stuff onto it. "here, I'll help you with that." He takes the luggage out of my flimsy arms. I feel my face go slightly red; it's embarrassing to have another man help you with something you could easily do yourself. 

      Compared to Dream, my body structure is lanky and scrawny. I don't do much lifting nor exercise. for a while, my mindset was more directed at my academic success. I wouldn't say I deeply regret those thoughts, but now that I'm older and an adult, I barely have time for other hobbies that will possibly stress me out more than relaxing me.

     Dream opens the car door on the right side for me to get in. 

      "I'm sorry?" My voice cracked a bit while my face awkwardly smiled. He gestures for me to go inside, him also having a confused-yet-friendly expression. I take a look inside and make a realization. "Ohhh," I chuckled nervously. "In the U.K., our driver's seats are to the right as we drive on the left side." I sat down on the seat my face starts to redden into the same strawberry red. I fiddled with my fingers while dream gets in the car from the left side.

     The car's engine roars as he twisted the key in place. He must've recently gotten his driver's license; his hands are stiff and firm on the driver's wheel mildly implying he's still learning the basics on the road. The confidence from earlier formed into more of a stern expression, Focusing his energy into paying attention driving.

      He takes a quick glance at me but quickly looks back towards the road. I see that silly grin form upon his face again, as if he's about to say something again. 

    "What part of the U.K are you from?" Dream stuttered a bit when it came out of his mouth, his confident tone is turning more into a forceful friendly one.

     "England," I replied I didn't want to make much small talk with someone I barely know. It's already a journey itself getting to the U.S.A.

    "What County?"

     "London."

    "Can I hear more about it if you don't mind?"

    "There's a lot of pollution. People complain a lot about it."

      The atmosphere almost felt like a deep groggy smoke. As if there was a brick wall between him and me; the silence engulfs the vehicle. I watch us pass all the various buildings on the road. The orange rays of the rising sunshine directly into my eyes, coming and going in short waves. Keeping my eyes outside of the car, closing myself off of any possible interaction. Though, he seems to be more frustrated when I block off his attempts of communicating. My chest feels a bit heavier with guilt, he's trying his best to treat his roommate for the next four years with respect but I'm just lazily replying. 

      I don't intend to act so cold-heartedly, yet it's simply a routine built into me. As I gradually got older my studies separated me from my "friends", to the point where I treated them the same I treated strangers around me.

     6:02 p.m. the car reads. Pinkish-orange clouds stares into my eyes at the red stoplight. The jet lag finally kicking in. On average, I sleep around 10-11 p.m. on school days. You can't have good grades if you don't take care of yourself well. That being said, I feel my eyes giving up on me. The car interior feels hazy as my head keeps falling down, and bopping back up again. I feel myself giving out as my head lies on the cold firm window.

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(1242 words)