George’s thoughts in the five minutes between calls, while Dream and Sapnap meet
As the silence emits from his headphones, so does the tiresome feeling of exclusion from his lungs.
And George isn’t even lonely, he doesn’t feel lonely or abandoned though he likes to be dramatic, he knows there is no reason to feel something beyond the unfairness that his friends would stand face to face as he was facing a screen.
He’s fine, happy even for Sapnap and Dream because god they’ve been friends for such a long time.
He’d asked them to turn their camera on, to include him in their moment because if it wasn’t for this goddamn virus, he would be there too.
They would meet at the airport, George tired from an endless seeming flight, Sapnap exhausted from an endless seeming drive and Dream euphoric that the waiting had come to an end.
George would hug them both, perhaps Sap first then Dream or the other way round whoever caught his eyes first and they would reunite or rather unite at last because they had never met before and this was supposed to be the moment that they would.
But George is in the UK, roughly 7,000 kilometres away from a parking garage in Florida.
And though he is still engulfed in the reminiscence of the laughter that they’d shared just seconds ago via a shared discord call - he can feel something boiling in the spot that cooks up jealousy and all those nasty emotions he tries to dilute with humour.
But there’s no one to joke with.
And it’s anger, mostly, that tears and tugs at his skin, as he sits completely still.
It’s the anger that twists and turns in his chest because he knows he can’t have what he wants and there’s nothing to do but linger in the second minute of silence that makes him mouth a little we’ll call in just a minute, mocking Dream’s words with spite.
He doesn’t want to feel it, he has no reason to feel the fury that churns and chokes him like a gas leak, going unnoticed as it leaves no chance to escape in time.
Why would they meet without him, why would they go through with it when they know that he can’t come?
Those questions swirl in circles in George’s mind though he hasn’t directly asked his friends why they couldn’t just wait.
Every thought is fuel to the fire charring his lungs, gasoline to the hatred he despises and he clenches his fists just a little, eyes glued to the clock as the latter two-digit number changes from 23 to 24.
And with that the anger mirrors and shows the faulty in himself.
If only he’d agreed to meet last year, when the UK wasn’t under a travel ban and Nick had time off school, he wouldn’t be sitting here now, desperate for his screen to show an incoming call.
But George was busy last year, busy with nothing important, busy with laziness and appointments he could’ve postponed.
He’s guilty of the way he feels because all those what if’s bear a truth.
A truth that makes him cringe because if he’d found a way to be with them right now, if he’d tried a little harder, tried a little sooner - another minute passing wouldn’t sink the burning ship that he is.
The anger and guilt quiets down into nothingness and in a way his friends do too. Everything becomes a little nothing.
George knows the loneliness that stems from an ended call isn’t long lasting, but somehow, that doesn’t even matter.
And he considers turning off his computer, watching the screen go black and ignoring his friend’s attempt to reach him, if they even would.
It’s barely a hum on his lips but the thought spreads and he wonders if the ecstasy of meeting in real life would disconnect them from that online place where he is stuck. Forgetting that he is waiting because nothing lacks, nothing is missing and ever since the first day of school it was obvious to George that groups of three were never incomplete to the two that found completion in the other.
And perhaps George is the isolated number three as the minute since he’s heard their voices is the fifth in a row and a small sigh escapes his lips.
He calls himself dramatic, whether it’s a way to cope or just an observation but it feels a little ridiculous now.
George would never call himself clingy or jealous, envious of someone else's happiness, especially not when it comes to his best friends who deserve the world but he has to admit, as over the top as he can be for show, there’s honesty in the way he feels and acceptance in the silence that derives his eyes from the screen to stretch out his arms.
They didn’t forget about him, he knows. They will meet, he knows.
Just not quite yet - and as the familiar sound of an incoming call emits from his headphones, so does the feeling of relief from his lungs.
i had so much fun writing this, if you have any requests on what i could write next lmk :)
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