Howdy Cowboy. ★ DNF FIC

★ CLASH

🐎

Giving You Up - Kameron Marlowe
What If I Never Get Over You - Ryan Hurd
(you get to pick which one to listen to 💔)

3rd Person POV

The morning sun cast a soft glow over the Davidson ranch, its golden rays gently waking the world from the shadows of the night. The aftermath of the hoedown lingered in the air, a mixture of laughter, music, and untold stories. George, still fueled by a mix of frustration and hurt, was more than thankful he was in the comfort of his home.

The journey back to the house had been a silent one, each red light echoing the unspoken tension that hung in the air. The group, now including Quackity, Karl, and Sapnap, retreated from the lively barn to the familiarity of a quieter space.

Walking down the stairs from his bedroom greeted a living room full of lively people. Exactly what George didn't want this morning, seeking another moment to himself he wandered off into the kitchen without a word. Nash and Tommy exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the unresolved emotions that lingered among them. George spilled all the beans lastnight, through heavy sobs, and a little bit of angry screaming at the moon. Dream was not a family favorite at the moment.

Back in the living room, Quackity, Karl, and Sapnap sank onto the couch, nursing their lingering hangovers. Quackity, with a wince, remarked, "Note to self: don't challenge Sapnap to a 'spirited' hoedown duel next time."

Karl, groaning in agreement, added, "I second that. My head feels like a banjo string about to snap."
He continued with "I think I've discovered a new frontier of pain, and it's called the hangover West. We should've stuck to line dancing instead of competing with moonshine." Karl, attempting to be both insightful and witty, added, "I read somewhere that cowboys rarely had hangovers, but I'm starting to think they weren't hitting the same 'spirits' we were." He giggled.

Sapnap, with a hint of amusement, quipped, "At least we made it back in one piece. The hoedown got the better of us, but hey, we'll live to dance another day."

Laughter filled the other room, a momentary reprieve from the complexities that awaited outside. Meanwhile, George, leaning against the kitchen counter, contemplated the events of the night. The unresolved tension with Clay, the unexpected twist with Emma—all these emotions collided in a silent storm within him.

*knock knock!*

The morning sun painted the porch of the Davidson's house with warm hues as Clay stood on the other side of the door, waiting to collect his brother. The air carried the echoes of the previous night's confrontation, and Clay couldn't leave without addressing the unresolved tension with George.
Watching the red eyed boy leave last night was enough to sober Clay up. now he must man up and apologize.
He said his good mornings to his little brother and urged him into the truck. not wanting him to hear anything.

Seeing Clay at the door, George, Nash, and Tommy exchanged wary glances. Nash nodded, silently acknowledging the need for this conversation. George stepped onto the porch, the air thick with unspoken words.

Clay, eyes locked with George's, began hesitantly, "Can we talk, George? I need to explain some things before I leave with Tubbo."

George, folding his arms, replied with a stern gaze, "Make it quick. I'm not in the mood for games, Clay."

Clay took a deep breath, attempting to choose his words carefully. "Last night was a mess, I get it. But you need to understand, things have been weird between us, and with Emma, i mean it was so easy."