Good At Pretending ,, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 [EDITING]

6 ᬄ͙͘˚

lol early update again .
this chapter made me
kinda angry because it
all seems like filler
despite how long it is
mainly because I'm bad
at writing mr gogy

song above has some
relation to the second
-ish part of this chp ,
I recommend listening
to it either way because
it's lowkey a rly good
song haha yeah n e wayz

warnings—,, water / ocean . mentions of climbing things / fears of heights .

words—,, 2156

━━━៸៸  ᯭ⌗

      George had brought a lot of clothes. He figured it would be best since he was staying longer. It was hard to actually find them since most of his clothes were very simple. His school uniform was always neatly folded, sometimes there were things strewn around his room as well. But it was hardly ever dirty.

      It came to his surprise when he realized he had packed a yellow hoodie.

      He remembered it, from quite a while ago. Having worn it a bit more in middle school and even though he's grown since then it fit him. It had been baggier before.

      George remembered his friends had said he looked good in yellow. Even if he disliked the color a bit himself, as it appeared a murky green-ish brown. Although it was hard to dislike the color when he didn't know what it looked like in what was considered normal vision.

      Supposedly, yellow didn't look as nice on pale skinned people, but according to his friends from back then he pulled it off exceptionally well. He decided to shrug it on for the day, over the loose white t-shirt that clung loosely to his arms. Baggy black basketball shorts that hung lower on his hips, reaching just above his knees and short, black socks, that varied in length. Bunching around his ankles.

      It had been little over 12 hours since the night in the car. He had spent most of the previous time busying himself with unpacking things into a hotel room that didn't need to be done. He wouldn't be there for that long there was no need to unpack.

      But the nerves that flooded his burning system from the memories of intoxication messed with his head. It was fuzzy, and his face burned scarlet at the thought. Tingly and hot and an exasperated sigh left his mouth, nibbling on the inside of his cheek. It felt off to feel that way, considered; he hardly remembered any of it.

      He didn't necessarily know how to feel about it. If there were any completely definite feelings. He hadn't had any before. Not that he knew of at the very least. It had been simple, easy.

      Besides the small, short tinges of affection and admiration he had found the night before the party. Rather had been in the hotel room or the airport it had been nice. Did that count? The fact that he couldn't draw the line between affection and platonic happiness was worrisome.

      He glanced at the hoodie on his bed. Deep grey folds and the small, black and white smiley face in the corner.

      He had no clue how he always managed to find stuff with that same little face on it. The same as his fashion mask. That mask. He chewed on his lip.

      What would it be like to run his fingers over that mask? To lift it carefully from his ears and away from his nose and mouth. Run his pale fingers along his sharp jawline. How deep would it cut?