runaway

eight ~ more

- not proofread / edited.
- longer chapter !

Dream's POV

I reached up slowly and held onto George. My heart was racing so fast I prayed that he couldn't hear it. I hoped he couldn't see how much his words have affected me.

"What?" My eyebrows knitted together in a confused way. Confused of what he was trying to say, I ask, "what do you mean—?"

The rain didn't seem to matter now. Nothing mattered now. I timidly, slowly really, traced my finger down the side of George's face. I traced his cheekbone all the way down to his collarbone only to return them o his chin. I tip it upwards, causing him to finally look at me. Except, he wasn't looking at me entirely. His eyes bounced around anywhere but my face.

"George." I mutter quietly, something only him and I could hear in the abyss of the oceanic scenery. "What do you mean?"

"what do I mean." He repeats, shutting his eyes as he took a deep breath, "I—" His mouth hung open and shut repeatedly until he chose to answer, "I didn't mean to—" he gasps, "to say that."

I lean in a little closer, but not enough to where we were about to kiss, but enough to feel his breath on my nose, "then what did you mean to say, George?"

"Not that.." he whispers, "anything but that."

Another beat of silence passes before George wraps his slender fingers around my wrist, pulling it away before turning around and beginning to walk again, "M' sorry."

We walk in silence, the rain hitting the ocean being the only sound for distances. I wondered what was going through his head. What in the world made him switch up so quickly?

'It makes me want you more'

I didn't know he wanted me to begin with. I thought this attraction was one sided and it was just something I accepted was unrequited. Those six words gave me a sliver of hope. those five minutes made me believe that I don't really know George. I never know what's going on in his brain. He's unreadable.

"Hey, Dream—?" I look up at him, only being able to see the back of his head, "yeah?" I didn't know I fell so behind.

"Can we forget I said that?" He stops walking and kicks at the cold sand. "It's embarrassing and I know it's dumb— so just pretend I never said it."

"Do you want me to forget it, George?" It felt a bit awkward to say his name instead of some awful nickname I know he hates. It felt real. This wasn't a joke nor was it a tease, we were actually here. He actually said it.

"I don't know." He starts walking again, a little quicker, "maybe."

We step around 'maybe' a lot. It's a safe answer. It's a yes, but it's a no as well. It's something that can be figured out but we usually never take it as a 'no.'

This was a confusing 'maybe.' I didn't like this 'maybe.'

"What do you mean, 'maybe?'" He continues walking, never even sending a glance my way.

"George." I stop walking in hopes that maybe he'll stop too. That small sliver of hope he gave is something I'm holding onto. I don't want to forget about what he said.

It makes me want you more.

I'm such an idiot. It shouldn't affect me as much as it does. I shouldn't hold such hope for me. It's six words. Anyone could've said them to me, but it was George who said them. He's the one who told me them.

He finally stops walking and turns around to look at me.

It funny how time works. Just ten minutes ago, he looked like he was the happiest man on earth. The feeling I felt when watching him was so overwhelming. He looked truly happy,