runaway

six ~ goodnight

Dream's POV

"I don't think I heard that boy speak at all." My mom says as I slide on my shoes rather quickly, "yeah, sorry about that. He isn't really a social type."

"Oh" she says. You can practically hear the smile in her tone, "it's a good difference."

"Difference?" She hums in agreement, "you usually find people that are- they're nice, but they seem to tire you out, dear. I can tell you genuinely like spending time with George." She pauses, "not to mention the whispers, the nicknames, and constant staring you guys do."

"Mom-" she giggles before giving me a new book she's been wanting me to read.

"He's good for you, Clay. I'm sure he'll grow onto us soon."

I say my quick goodbye before racing to the drivers seat in my car. I open and close the door quickly and take a deep breath before turning my head to look at George.

He had his knees curled up to his chest, but he wasn't crying. It didn't look like his was sad either. He just stared at the glovebox, keeping his breathing even. If I didn't know George, I would just think that he was sleeping with his eyes open.

"Are you okay?" He nods, still keeping his stare on the glovebox. "Are you sure?" He nods again before smiling, "you really do have a lovely family, you know?"

"Yeah...I know." He unfolds himself and looks over at me with a large smile, "it was my first time around a family in ages, and it-" he stops talking for only a second before letting out an airy laugh, "it was amazing."

I kept my eyes on him as that smile only dies down. He clears his throat, "sorry for causing a scene, I just couldn't sit in there anymore."

"Why not?" He shakes his head, "I didn't want to ruin it."

What would he possibly ruin? The worst he could've done was insult us, which George doesn't have an insulting bone in his body. Well, not a serious one at least.

"Ruin it?" I question, the confusion probably so prominent on my features.

"You know. The whole-" he chuckles, "'George ruins stuff' thing."

"What thing?" I question again, genuinely confused of the name. He finally looks at me, his expression no longer the way it was.

"It's a very popular thing, Dream. I figured you know." He looks at his hands, all his fingers intertwined with each other. "It isn't something to joke about, sorry."

We sit in a short lived silence, "I don't like pity."

He kept his eyes on his hands as they continually fold within each other, "I don't like the look you give me whenever something wrong happens." 

"You know I'm here for you, right?"

"I'm okay, Dream, seriously." He smiles, "you act like I haven't been alone with this for years."

"But you have me now-"

"I know, I know." He smiles, "can we get me home, please?"

I let out a deep breath and start the ignition, the car roaring to life as the warm air hit us harder than before.

I wonder what he meant by himself ruining things. For as long as I've known him, he hasn't ruined a single thing. He was always organized, always got stuff done. He never did anything that would cause even the slightest bit of conflict.

As the quiet drive went on, the more I started to focus on George's breathing. I didn't look at him until we made it to the small house though.

I admired him. That's the right word, right? His breathing was even, slow, as he curled in on himself, asleep. His eyes were covered by his long hair but you can still see them partially. They were shut, the street light just outside his house shone bright on his features, causing shadows to form under certain parts of his face. He always complained about the street lamp, claiming it keeps him up, but I can't help but thank it right now.