63 enthusiast

He halts in his steps, adjusts the stack of papers in his left arms, and looks back at his friend. Lando has his hopeful look on his face while at the same time, he looks guilty too.

"Can we go grab something to eat, at least? My stomach's hurting really bad right now."

George glances at his watch. It's almost two hours past noon. They've been under the sun putting up the missing posters since 8. Well, he too is starving. Lando's face brightens up a little when he gets his wish and without wasting the limited time they have, they straight away step into the first diner they see.

"Ooh, they have fried chicken served with pancake here. Interesting…" As his friend is occupied with the menu, George's attention is at the TV behind the bar that's showing a furniture store advertisement with a rather loud volume, but it's cut short when the channel changes. He turns his head back to his friend in front of him.

"Take the pancake, Lando." He tells him before calling the server over.

Lando hums, still being indecisive over his meal, as usual. "The chicken looks nice, though…"

"Just don't order a big meal. We can't stay here long." George looks up at the girl and tells her his order, a cheeseburger and diet coke. Lando ends up getting the same thing as him, then proceeds to go back to listening to his cassette. Before the server walks away, he requests if she can put up the poster on their board. "Please? He's my friend." To which, the girl gives him a sympathetic look before doing as he asks.

He sits back while waiting, his eyes wander outside at a tall man in suits smoking a cigarette, then at the TV showing more advertisements, and then back at the poster stack beside him. If he can just put them all up today, more people will see. The more people sees it, the higher the chance that someone, anyone, can help find him.

George feels his friend staring at him quietly, so he stares back. "What."

Lando slowly takes off his headphones. There is some hint of nervousness in his body language while he seems like he's searching for the right words to utter out. George has a feeling that he knows what it's going to be about. "On with it now."

"I… it's, uh." Lando scratches his head. He looks nowhere but him at first. "I don't mean to hurt your feelings… but… Isn't it time to let go?"

Their food arrives right after, but neither starts eating yet. Even so, George has already lost his appetite. He's been told the same thing, over and over and over, by his families, his friends, and the police. Last week when he visited the police station to ask them to re-open the case, and last month when his family told him that he could stop and rest. And precisely six months ago when the detective personally told him exactly that.

"I'm terribly sorry, we cannot continue looking for him when there's absolutely nothing to look for."

When he doesn't reply with anything, guilt washes over Lando's face completely. "Sorry. I shouldn't have— I know how much you care about him. Forget what I said."

It's impossible to let go of the fact that one of the people you know and care so deeply for all of the sudden disappear without a trace, right before his eyes.

—

George has been doing a short grocery run while on his way home. He's parted ways with Lando just earlier, also reassured him again to not feel bad for what he'd said. He was right, anyway. It is best to let go of certain things, ones you cannot have any control of… George has to remind himself to tell his therapist about it next visit— she's also been trying to get it into his head all the time.

The supermarket he's going to surprisingly hasn't closed yet, so he makes sure to be quick to grab the stuff he needs. Mostly because it's already empty inside and only few workers are seen at the cashiers, ready to close up.

"Chicken stock… No, not here. Which…" He passes the isles one by one, looking for the last thing on his list. It's a bit annoying to navigate such a big place for one specific thing, especially when he has limited time. Not to mention the flickering lights above him. "They still haven't fixed them or what…?"

Right as he says it, the lights go off with a loud thunk.

George stops in his track as darkness surrounds him. "This is ridiculous." Even with the emergency lights on top of him, he can barely make out where he's going exactly. He goes on carrying the basket in his hand despite the situation. However, it's taking him a while to find his way in the dark. Worse is, there is nobody around him that he can ask for help. It's dead silent and empty and dark. What a good combination.

"Absolute bonkers." He tries to calm down his heart and swallow the anxious feeling when the lights are not turning back on.

"Hello…? Is it— Oh, okay. Hello, dear customers. We apologise for the inconvenience we are causing at the moment. We are trying our best to do everything to fix the blackout issue." The announcement does sounds reassuring, thankfully.

George sighs in slight annoyance and proceeds to finish this grocery trip of his. Sadly, it's taking him a while to find his way, given the situation. "Let's just get this over with…" Miraculously, after wandering around and squinting his eyes and trying not to run into stuff, he eventually has gotten all the things he needs. He turns back around and uses the arrow signs above him to head for the cashier. Maybe he has been a little bit in a hurry that he fails to see the drink can lying in front of him, causing him to slip on it and fall.

The first thing he notices then is how the long it takes for his back hits the ground. Second, he lands on a damp carpet instead. Third, it's so bright around him and… yellow. George rubs his eyes in case he's cracked his head and woke up in a weird dream, but his head feels perfectly fine if not throbbing from sheer brigthness of the fluorescent lamps above him.

Why is he suddenly in a different place completely?

Slowly, he gets up and dusts himself off the ground. His nose also picks up the awful smell, to which he assumes the carpet to be the source of. He scans his surroundings and sees nothing helpful except just yellow wallpapered walls and ceilings. Not even a door or any sort of entrance. Which confused him further — where has he come from?

"Hello?" He calls out. Only silence answers back.

To his right, is a wide hallway leading to more empty rooms. At the moment, it only feels right for him to keep on walking until he finds a way out, hopefully. But as he walks down the hallway and into the next rooms, everything looks the same. Utter nothingness. The structures are impeccably questionable, in his opinion. Some walls are meshing with each other at an illogical angle. With the way the place is structured, one does wonder the reason behind the architectural design.

At some point, he ends up in another empty room with just a square hole on the wall which seems to lead upwards somewhere.

George doesn't know what this place is. And yet, something tells him to keep going. And so, he climbs over with a huff, crawls in the small space, until he enters another room. Only a pair of shoes lie before him. Or… Half of them. The other half looks like they are fused into the floor, in a way.

"What…" He crawls closer to take a look. His hand nears it to try touching it. He recognises them clearly and the initials inside prove him right.

CS.

The shoes are stuck inside the floor no matter how hard he tries pulling them out. They're just… stuck. Anger starts to overtake him more than the anxiety does. Then, he realises the tears are falling out of his eyes, blurring his vision.

Thud.

George becomes still.

Thud.

He looks behind him from where he climbed, sees nothing.

Thud. Thud.

"Hello! Is anybody there?" He stands up and continues moving. His legs pick up the pace a little as he walks down the deserted place, looking for someone, anyone that can help him. The more he walks, the more rooms he enters, the more strange things he discovers: half of an empty chiller coming out of the corner of the wall, stairs leading to knowhere in particular, a mountain pile of shopping carts in the middle of a room, and a red sign that reads, "POTS".

Behind said sign is a door.

"Goodness. Finally—"

George twists the knob and pushes the door open, with the hope of seeing the familiar supermarket he'd just been in.

It's… a large, underground pool. Across the water, right at the end of the place, he can see a metal door.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud! Thud! Thud! THUD! THUD!

The sounds are coming from behind him and they don't sound right. Instantly, he dives into the pool and starts swimming away from what, he doesn't want to know. Only panic and fear fuel him to keep on swimming in the cold water for the door. He can smell the chlorine deep in his nose and his eyes start to sting. Normal pool water doesn't feel like this, do they?

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

George glances over his shoulder when he hears the door swinging open and regrets it. He only catches a glimpse of it— there's someone swimming behind him.

"Shit."

He rushes to the edge hurriedly despite his tiring arms until finally, his hand reaches the edge. With ragged breaths, he pulls himself up as quickly as he can, though his right hand slips on the tiles, causing him to fall on his elbow. The thing in the water gets closer behind him, he hears it.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

He drags himself away and is about to stand, to make a run for the door right a few meters away from him. Suddenly, a hand grips his ankle.

George yelps and turns around, frantically pulls his foot out of the weak grip with ease. "Don't— Don't come any closer. Stay back!" His warning is ignored as the man slowly climbs out of the water, and slowly lifts his head.

No.

This is not true.

This is just a dream.

He looks just like him… if it isn't for the five lifeless eyes scattered on his face staring back at him, alongside the two mouths almost merged together and his nose slightly crooked to the side.

George knows this is not real, just like this whole place he's trapped in. Nevertheless, relief finds its way in him. Because after all this time, he's found him.

"Carlos..? Is that really you?"

—

"I like you, George."

Those were the words he wouldn't believe to be told to him, let alone by the someone he had more or less wished to utter such confession to him. It was a nice windy day at the beach, the sun was shy behind the bank of clouds, the ocean waves were crashing right below their knees, loud and lovely.

George was beyond flustered upon hearing it. Perhaps too shocked, even, that he's speechless himself as he stares back at Carlos's face. And, well, of course he had to take a moment to digest them first, so he looked away.

"Eh? I know you heard me!" Carlos shouted aloud. It made George laugh at the look of his face.

"I know, I know. I needed a moment," He covered part of his face because he didn't want to be seen blushing rather furiously. After some time, he eventually turned around to face the other. "I like…"

Carlos was nowhere to be found.

"Carlos? This isn't funny."

“Did you like my gift?”

George asks him first thing first the moment he sees him and Alex out on a brunch. Charles isn’t in the mood to talk much with him. Unfortunately for him, his sweet Alex uses this moment to tease him and hence starts a conversation with Carmen. It’s just rude to stop them. So now he’s stuck with him at least for a few minutes.

“George.” He greets with a smile he hopes looks polite enough to mask his wince. If anything, though, he can just blame… the sun. “You went out of your way to make me have that one framed. I was surprised.”

George’s grin widens. His head tilts to the side, and Charles glances once at the perfect curls falling over his sunglasses that do little in hiding those blue eyes. “It wasn’t much of a faff for me anyway.”

“A… what?” He doesn’t get his answer because the Brit is busy calling for a waiter. “What are you doing?”

“The girls seem to enjoy their conversation. Why not we eat together?” George simply offers and before Charles can argue, the order is made after a waitress stops by with a notepad. “Tea or coffee?”

“Espresso. Double shot.” Charles grumbles, crossing his arms. Alex glances at him and giggles — she’s liking this so much.

Months ago, when he had gotten the name he’d be a secret santa for, he hadn’t any idea what to give the man. Well, of course it couldn’t be that difficult considering they are already familiar with each other for many years, though he isn’t close like George is with Alex or with Lando. Those three are sort of their own friend group at this point.

With George, he’s mostly alright with him. What fights they have only happen on track, and maybe in the steward’s room.

That being said, he’s still, only a little, tiny bit, affected after the Dutch GP race. It did hurt his pride having been criticised in such passion for pulling out that move at the turn. George had been so bitter even though he was the one who got to finish the race with P4 and a damaged floor, while he had been taken out by his young, careless teammate. The guy had been bitter as if the DNF wasn’t enough of a punishment.

The idea to gift him a framed picture of their cars side by side at that corner was to poke fun at him and his reaction back then.

Alex, the woman Charles has been complaining to back when he’s still exasperated by his DNF after the weekend, has gone into a laughing fit. “C'est mesquin, non ? Mais aussi drôle.”

Petty? …A little.

Once he’s seen the reaction to the gift in the video, he still feels disturbed by it. Maybe it’s the insincere thanks he’s gotten.

“Thanks for nothing” — yet said with such a fond smile he can’t seem to get it out of his head.

Clearly George is still bitter about it, to take it further and actually given him a gift of return like he joked in the video. Who’s the petty one now?

Charles doesn’t know what to do with the annoyance blooming in his stomach at the question whether he likes the framed photo of his DNF’d car or not. As for now, he’s so much as want to rub the smirk off the man’s face. “Did you end up hanging that photo, by the way?” He asks with the same teasing tone the other has used.

George pauses before taking a sip of his own espresso after it arrives. His smile curls cheekily. “I have it in my boxers’ drawer.”

“You—“

Charles scrambles to come up with a comeback but has none at the moment. Instead, he huffs and starts sipping his drink. But he forgets how hot it is still. “Ow. Merde.” His tongue burns in his mouth.

“So did you like it?”

“It’s rude to throw away a gift,” Charles mutters. “Ou placez-le à un endroit inapproprié…” He turns his head after only silence he gets, but nearly causes himself to jump out of his chair at how close George is into his personal space. This man… “What do you want me to say, George?”

George suddenly looks down at the table before he chuckles in his hand. Charles waits for what the man has to say but he continues to laugh instead. He narrows his eyes at him. “Are you done?”

“Sorry. I was being very petty, wasn’t I?”

“Un peu..” He folds his arms and half-expects George to move away. Up close like this, it’s harder to look annoyed.

Finally George leans back to give him back the space again. “I’ll behave next time, Charles.”