finding happiness

searching

ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ɪɴ ᴏᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ

:]

george hums to himself as he stands by the toilet, peeing but not really paying attention as he stares off to the side.

wilbur has a large mirror hung over his sink, one with fancy lights and a hidden cabinet behind it that he uses to store spare toiletries for guests. george has never thought to have anything like that in his own flat but, then again, he never really has guests.

the brunette is staring at himself, eyes locked on his own as he evaluates the brunette before him. wilbur had mentioned how george 'even looks drunk' and, whilst he originally hadn't understood, he gets it now.

his hair is ever so slightly messy and, when he runs his fingers through it, it only makes it worse. his eyes are bloodshot along his waterline and creeping up the sides. the biggest giveaway is his rosy cheeks, bright red only right on the apples, not spread through his pale skin like a usual blush might be.

he really is pale.

his eyes look sunken in too, and george knows that he can't blame it on momentary tiredness because he looks like this all the time now. unless he is always tired, he supposes, in which case maybe his excuses are valid.

the brunette flushes the toilet when he is done, still appraising himself in the mirror as he tucks himself away and pulls his joggers back up around his hips.

he can't help but wonder if wilbur notices his sunken eyes and pale skin; or the darkening yellow of his teeth; or the hint of grease already sitting in his hair, even though he feels as though he showered just yesterday.

he steps over to the sink, met with a closer view of himself as he flips on the tap. he doesn't often bother washing his hands but he can't help but think wilbur will hear if the tap never runs, so he sticks his hands under the cold water despite hating the feeling of it against his sensitive skin.

george doesn't even feel like he is looking at himself in the mirror. he doesn't look how he remembers. he remembers one time when someone, he thinks karl, mentioned facial dysmorphia in a passing conversation. they hadn't been talking about george, but the brunette had related to what was being said and, now, he wonders if that is what he is experiencing.

or maybe he is just trying to tell himself that so he can avoid the harsh truth that he is getting uglier, and that every day he looks more tired and more dead on the inside and more drained. it's hardly dysmorphia if he feels it every day, right?

george flips off the tap and steps away from the sink, tearing his gaze from the stranger in the mirror and stepping over to the towel that's hung over the radiator. it's damp when george goes to dry his hands, meaning wilbur definitely washed his, and suddenly george feels some sense of inadequacy.

of course, wilbur washed his hands, everyone does. george just doesn't because he's disgusting.

he shakes his head as he steps away, hands still slightly wet, and pulls open the bathroom door to step back out into the warm flat.

he didn't bother locking the door upon entrance since it's only him and wilbur there, and the brunette obviously knew he was leaving to pee. george can't help but tell himself that wilbur probably always locks the door because he is normal and doesn't skip out on daily necessities just because he thinks he can save himself a beat of energy.