𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌.

generation why

Hardwired into his mind since the day it could understand anything, George's always been a good kid. He never failed to provide his parents with honorable grades, behavior, and even kept up the facade with proper speaking skills. The boy was golden.

Rebellion never came across his mind, it's vicious arms never reached him. He was shown to be apathetic, if you don't let others see your inner self then you are protected. That was the principle of his home; don't reveal your secrets.

Hence why every relationship ended like this one. George was a liar, he made up tales to keep them happy. Secretive, he intrigued many people. But he always knew to never let them get close enough, that not telling them how you really felt was better than revealing the entirety of your safety. So, when they finally got sick and tired of the same old habits that he fell to, they confronted him. And of course, that was when he ghosted them.

"Never approach confrontation; it only ends in heartbreak," fell from his mother's lips simply.

He wasn't exactly not interested in romance. It fascinated him: the psychology behind human nature prevailed once again. That was why his peers considered him bitter and cold, reserved for no single person. That was his reputation back in secondary school, where maturity got you nowhere.

College wasn't any better, but at least he could start fresh. He wasn't stuck with the same kids for the past four years like before, and nobody knew about his personal life.

As the life of adulthood crashed onto him within months of turning eighteen, his thoughts were final, and filled with wonders of how he single-handedly was gonna spend the rest of his life alone. But then his parents decided to start their business. One with growth that never failed; a perfect example of self-made wealth.

It was always an idea, a spark of inspiration that his father reached for off a high shelf. Unfortunately, for most of his life, that shelf was too high. After George's departure from the house, that spark apparently grew into a flame, and soon were the Davidsons millionaires. Hell, George wasn't even working in the company at nineteen yet had a net worth of two million.

The business was the leading provider of engineering, production of materialistic components were given to bigger companies such as NASA. It seemed like they were on the news every other day.

Which meant long interviews of what it was like being the golden child of the modern age, and even Davidson Tech's (the name of the company that his father and mother ran) origins. As if George had a fucking clue. As his twentieth birthday approached, soon did his father try to drag him into it.

And into it he went, with no other option. The man had more power now, and the last thing he wanted was to displease him. He didn't overload himself with work at first, it began simply with George attending conferences and working more as a apprentice to his father he learned the ways of business, soon regretting not paying attention to that Intro to Business class he took for half a semester.

After that, he got his own office and as the years passed by quickly became tired. Tired of this perfect boy facade.

Rebellion grew in odd ways, to George's demise.

A fresh breeze greeted George as he hurriedly made his way down the walkway, his brown eyes finding themselves glancing up every now and then. One wrong move into the street and you were—

"WATCH IT!" A shout from behind him echoed through his headphones, he was tugged backwards, and as he looked up to who he was about to send his rude remarks to, two overly-fast cars darted by, barely missing him.

His eyes stood still for a moment, the shock processing in his mind. Then, they rushed around, looking for the person he was grateful for.

"I've tried telling them to stay out of the city, but it's no hope..." The blue-eyed brunette shook his head, as if he hadn't just saved a life.

"Uh... thank you?" George said, a hint of confusion clear.

"It's all right! This actually isnt the first time I've had to do this."

George was oblivious but not surprised. It was a regular thing he had noticed, the dangerous (and illegal of course) street racing was a big scene in most popular cities these days. Though he didn't involve himself in it whatsoever, as with dangerous races came the risks of getting caught, or worse, getting into an accident. He would rather stick to a boring office job than to have to risk that.

"Do you know the people driving then?"

The brunette laughed in a silly manner, one that was light and childish. To be honest, the other man's entire demeanor seemed to reflect upon a child. The way he carried himself, his steadily blinking eyes, even his clothing was bright and unique. George didn't like that. Why do people think they need to act differently than everyone else? Why can't they just fit in like literally everyone else.

"You aren't a cop, are you?" The man's face darkened, and George felt a little worrisome about his safety.

"A dangerous job that could get you killed? No thanks. I'll stick to my ordinary office one." He chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Okay, well, yes. They're my friends, and I always tell them to keep out of the city center in case an actual cop finds them. But do they listen? Not at all."

Stereotypical street racers, he thought. Very typical of them to be impulsive and immature like that. Did they even bother thinking about the people that could unknowingly cross the road in front of them? Do they not care about sidewalks? How dare they.

"I guessed so. Don't even bother stopping for the crosswalks, eh?" He remarked, deciding against saying his mind incase this brown-haired guy was also a racer. Everyone knew not to fuck with them, they could probably get you killed.

"Well, it isn't like that." He rolled his eyes, meeting George's gaze like he just knew all about it.

"...Okay. I ought to be off, lord and savior whatever your name is."

He bit back a 'how is it like then,' knowing better than to try to start a fight. George wasn't good at them, that had been clear since primary school. He was the skinny guy who wasn't in any sports his entire life, not the all-star quarterback.

"It's Karl, but wait," He paused, looking down at his phone for a minute, and then shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket, "You should come meet the crew. I promise you we're not monsters like I'm sure you think."

This man's words had been true, George one-hundred-percent thought of street racing as the activity for monstrous people. It was full of addiction, illegal activities, and was a crime itself!

However, another part of George wanted to rebel and go anyway. He knew he shouldn't, but why did he want to so bad? What was this newfound interest in things he had never found himself doing? Was he out of his mind? Had Karl's touch drunken him to the point of insanity?

"Sure," and with that, the realization that hit him was the fact that he was doing the thing he regretted the most, he had damn impulsively agreed.