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It’s raining when you meet George for the first time.
You have found him out by the steps of the kindergarten you go to, lonely and sad as raindrops splash dangerously close to your new sneakers. There’s no one around: most who are sensible have decided to take shelter in their cozy homes, spending time with their family or just enjoying their own company.
However, due to the weather, both of your parents (or so you think) are stuck in the middle of a heavy traffic jam, phoning to inform and apologise to their teachers. When you receive the news, you pay no mind to it: in fact, you’re delighted as you get to spend more time playing with your classmates. But as they leave one by one, the numbers diminishing, you soon find yourself to be alone.
Somehow, your self-initiated small adventure of exploring the kindergarten has led you to the front porch, which leads to the discovery of a small boy, all hunched up and quiet.
With a small wave of confidence, you approach the brown-haired boy slowly. Upon hearing footsteps, he merely gives you a side glance, his hand outstretched lazily, catching droplets in his hands before letting it trickle away into the grass.
“Are you not cold?” you ask him, and you see the other shake his head, his wet hair splashing water everywhere. You laugh, and ask another question. “What’s your name?”
“George,” he replied, flicking some of the water he had caught in his hand onto you, causing you to let out a squeal. “I like the rain.”
You decide to shuffle closer to George. “Me too.”
You two watch the rain quietly, listening to its rhythmic patters on the tin shield roof. It’s soothing, and you’ve developed a liking to its melody, oftentimes falling asleep to its music. George interrupts the silence before you can start talking about the rain.
“Look, flowers.”
Your eyes scan the area that George has pointed out to you, and he proceeds to pluck a clover from the patch of weed. It’s wet, and a droplet rolls off its leaves as he hands you the clover.
“My mum said this gives you luck.” He grins, and you see there’s a tooth missing. Taking the clover curiously, you examine the leaves, your hand delicately holding onto the stem, afraid of destroying the gift that he just gave you.
“Thank you,” you say, and even though your eyes are still on the small clover, you feel George smile from beside you. Seemingly satisfied with himself, he turns to watch the rain again.
You sit there with him for a while, until one of your teachers comes running out and scolding you two for wandering around. She pulls you two back into the building, passing George to another teacher as she dries you off haphazardly, mumbling about your disobedience. All you can think of is, however, the clover, and whether the rough towel that’s wrapping around you will destroy it.
You watch George disappear into another room.
The clover is still intact when he reappears.
*
Somehow, your mum has decided to put the clover into a locket.
You’ve shown it to her as soon as you hopped into the car, boasting that George has given it to you, and upon inspecting it, she deems it worthy enough to preserve it.
At first, you scream and cry about it when the clover is being taken away from you. Your mum promises that she will return you the clover, but you watch through teary eyes as she grabs it carefully from your hand, and it’s as if a piece of you is being torn from your body.
You’re mad at her for an hour before she bribes you with candy.
The locket is returned to you, the clear side showing the contents, and you shake it curiously, watching the clover shift up and down. Delighted, you play with it for a while, until something more interesting catches your eyes and you forget about it.
The locket is turned into a necklace, and it’s been around your neck ever since.
*
The both of you go to the same schools.
You think it’s a weird coincidence, but you feel some sort of relief wash over you when you see a familiar face in a sea of strangers. In the midst of awkward high schoolers, you always seem to notice him first.
He seems to do the same to you.
It’s like there’s this strange sort of attraction between the both of you: you always gravitate towards him, while he gravitates towards you. It’s as if you two are destined to be together, be with each other.
Your heart skips a beat at that thought. You try not to dwell on it for too long.
The clover feels heavy against your chest.
*
“Dream?”
It’s a quiet night, and you two have decided to have a sleepover at your house for the fun of it. The fairy lights are on, mainly because you’re scared of the dark. You’re now seventeen, and George teases you about it, but you get your revenge by pushing him off your bed.
He’s now lying beside you, the mattress dipping due to his weight, and your heart is racing as the thought of George sleeping beside you repeats in your head. You know it’s stupid, because the sleepover is just a small catching up, more extra time for the both of you to be alone, together.
(Not that you two spend lunch and free periods together already anyway.)
Your name is soft and gentle from his mouth, so you turn to face him, only to find his brown eyes on you. Your stomach backflips, and there’s something lodged in between your throat as you choke out a ‘what?’.
“Have you kissed anyone before?”
It’s a simple question, really, but as you dwell on it for longer, you can’t help but try to think of why George would ask that in the first place. You're worried that he’d laugh at you if you tell him you haven’t had your first kiss, so you shift uncomfortably on your side, feeling his eyes on your face.
Finally, you meet his curious gaze, and you decide to tell the truth.
“No. Why?”
George hums, his eyes fluttering close for a moment, and you grab at the opportunity to let yourself admire him, let your eyes linger a little too long on his lips. Subconsciously, your hand reaches out to brush his hair away from his eyes, and when he reacts to your touch, your heart almost melts.
You remind yourself that you’re just a friend to him.
“I don’t know,” he confesses, and under the dim, yellow lights, you see a faint blush on his cheeks. “I kinda… I don’t know. I’m just worried that I… uh…”
You shuffle closer to him, raising an eyebrow to coax him out of his shell. The two of you stare at each other, and you swear the tension is so thick that even with a knife, you wouldn’t be able to cut through it.
He finally caves in. You see him lick his lips, looking down at his fingers and whispering something so quietly that you almost don’t catch it.
“Can we… can we practice kissing?”
The bold request throws you off, and when your hand stops moving along his cheek in shock, he misunderstands and moves further away from you. His cheek is red from embarrassment as he sputters out apologies, eyes wide in horror.
You grab onto his wrist, stopping him from widening the distance between you two, and tug him closer. He obeys, still refusing to look you in the eye, so you tilt his chin up gingerly.
You two make eye contact. There’s something in the air, something that you can’t seem to identify due to how fast your blood is rushing through your ears right now, almost blocking out George’s soft breathing. You think you see a familiar look flicker through George’s eyes, but they’re gone as soon as you noticed.
Cautiously, you lean forward, trying not to scare George away with sudden movements, because the other boy is so tensed up that you swear that with one snap, he’s going to escape and break the atmosphere. Your fingers are trembling, and you’re so, so close to him that you can feel his breath on you.
“May I?” you whisper, and it’s barely audible, but George nods anyway and you close the remaining gap, pressing your lips against his. It’s slow, and awkward, but through your palpitating heart and shaky hands, you feel George’s fingers run through your hair timidly.
Shit. You’re in too deep.
You really should pull back, really should brush it off with an awkward laugh, or even a ‘gotcha!’, but you let yourself fall. There’s this opportunity for you to wave George off, to protect yourself before you get more hurt, but foolishly, you throw it away as your fingers latch onto George’s shoulder, pulling him closer to you instead. You let yourself get immersed in the kiss, and you pretend that it means something more.
You hope he doesn’t feel the sense of desperation behind it.
He bites on your lower lip, and you gasp in surprise. Somehow, his hand is pressed flat against your back, pushing you closer against him, while the other is toying with the chain of your necklace. You don’t complain. Instead, you tilt your head, giving him more access to your lips, more ways to play with you.
More ways to break your heart.
In the midst of it, one of you pulled apart. The both of you are breathing heavily, but you’re still in each other’s arms. There’s this crooked grin on his face, the one he usually has on when he’s comfortable, and a wave of protectiveness washes over you. The three words are at the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill from your lips, so you clear your throat.
“George-”
Suddenly, there’s a series of knocks on your door, and he scrambles away from your grasp, away from your arms, while you do the same. The door swings open, revealing your mum, and she’s bringing in cookies that she has baked earlier.
You love your mum, but now you just want to scream at her for ruining the moment. You still accept the cookie.
As soon as the door closes, George turns to face the wall, mumbling a hasty ‘goodnight’ to you.
You do the same.
You realise later that George never asked you what you wanted to say earlier. You don’t know if you want him to.
*
Somewhere in your early twenties, the YouTube channel that you've started grows exponentially.
Along the way, you convince George to join you and make a YouTube channel. Somehow, he listens to you, so when you introduce him to the platform, those who are curious enough check him out. His channel grows alongside yours.
You meet Sapnap sometime around December. The both of you click because of your chaotic energies, and somehow George is dragged along into the friendship. Your viewers like the dynamic, so it’s a win-win, really.
You tease George more often on camera, and the fans eat that shit up. It’s hurting you inside with George’s every blush and flustered laugh, but you savour it. It’s fucking poisonous, and it’s slowly devouring you from the inside out, but you take it in more and more.
One day, George almost snaps.
You’re trying to ask him to say the three forbidden words, and of course, being a reserved person, he refused to. You don’t know when you crossed the line, but when you ask again, he goes silent and clams up, refusing to talk to you.
You cut that bit out.
*
“Y’know, when you tell me to say ‘I love you’, or flirt with me, do you… do you mean it? Or are you just fucking around with me?”
George is sitting in front of you, and you’re just lying on his couch. At first, you think he’s joking around, so you laugh a little, only realising the serious atmosphere when you meet his cold, hard gaze. You swallow the butterflies in your stomach, and bite on your lip.
Frankly, the line has been so blurred that you don’t even know if you’re overstepping his boundaries or not. A part of you knows that it’s fake: because you know that George will never like you; yet there’s a part of you that’s pretending that it’s an alternative reality: one where you two are actually together and all those flirtatious words mean something behind the screen.
You swallow. “What do you want to hear?”
“You know what, never mind.”
He resumes coding on his computer, but you know the damage is done.
Like a coward that you always are, you put on a mask and pretend that nothing is wrong.
*
You take off your necklace.
It’s getting too heavy, and it’s a constant reminder that George is always with you. You feel dirty, feel weird, because you know you’re not supposed to be fantasizing about your best friend like that, yet you seem to never know when to stop.
The cold metal lies at the centre of your palm. You stare at it, and it stares back.
You decide to put it in a small box.
*
“You don’t have your necklace with you.”
George somehow notices it, that bastard. Out of all the things he sees, the necklace is one of them
You nod, and try not to make a big fuss out of it. “Yeah. I took it off.”
Something unreadable flashes across George’s face, but he shrugs and goes back to whatever he’s doing.
You don’t know what to do.
*
George mutes all donations about shipping.
*
George doesn’t join you and Sapnap in streams as often anymore.
The funny thing is, you’re not the one who noticed this. Instead, it’s your fans who’ve asked you about it, and when you check your past livestreams, you realise that George isn’t as active anymore. You ask Sapnap about it, but he only shrugs and tells you to ask George yourself.
So that’s what you do.
You manage to catch George one day, asking him to call you. Surprisingly, he accepts the call, and there’s this moment of awkward silence before you two launch into a conversation. It flows naturally, and the both of you are joking about and making each other laugh, and it’s that one moment again, that one atmosphere that seems to make everything okay.
The same atmosphere you feel that one night during your teenage years.
Your heart is racing, and you think you’re ready to confess. You’re reaching out for the right words, scrambling to form a sentence to tell George how you truly feel. The both of you are silent, and you’re clearing your throat.
“George-”
“Dream-”
You chuckle awkwardly as George laughs. Somehow, the two of you have decided to speak at the same time. You let him go first.
“I… uh, I just wanna tell you something.”
You suddenly feel nervous. You don’t think it’s good.
“I have a girlfriend.”
And it’s that moment when you feel your world shatter.
You stare at George’s icon, the butterflies in your stomach turning into hornets as they sting at your heart. The four words, the four stupid fucking words that you wished he will never say, has decided to slap you in the face. You want to scream at life, at fate, but deep down you know it’s your own cowardice that leads you to lose George.
Not like he’s yours to begin with anyway.
“Oh,” you choke out, and you think there’s tears starting to form at the edge of your eyes. You cough. “Oh, well, that’s great, George. I’m… I’m really happy for you.”
George doesn’t catch onto the way your voice is shaking, and you don’t know if you should be grateful for it or not. “You really are?”
It hurts to hear how happy he is to get your blessing (it’s not like he needs your permission in the first place), but you put on a fake smile and respond with a cheerful ‘yeah’. You hear him giggle a little, but you just want to rip your headset off and bury yourself in blankets and cry with your cat.
“Dream, what did you wanna tell me again?”
You decide to throw your emotions away.
“Huh? Oh, nothing.”
*
You don’t know if it’s good news or not when George announces it to his stream.
You’re there, with him, and he asks if he should crack the news. At first, you don’t know if he’s joking, but then you look back at your screen and find out that there’s no trace of humour on his face.
“Uh, sure,” you reply, because what else can you say?
George smiles, and he’s taking a deep breath. You mentally prepare yourself for his announcement, because announcing it to the stream would mean announcing it to the whole world, and you don’t know if you want them to know it.
It’s not in your control anyway, so it’s useless to try and stop the words from flowing out of his mouth. The chat instantly explodes, and it flies by so quickly that you feel kind of dizzy.
You hope it’s a fever dream, but George is laughing and he has that stupid, fucking grin again.
Your persona cracks for a moment, but you quickly mend it back again.
You don’t want to slip now, do you?
*
You don’t go onto Twitter the next day.
*
It was kind of an accident.
You were just chilling in the call with Sapnap, waiting for George to join. The both of you are talking about nothing and everything at the same time, but the topic revolves around ideas for the next video. When you receive the message from George that he isn’t free, you sigh and break the news to Sapnap.
“God, I swear, he’s probably on a date with her,” Sapnap mumbles, and you bite on your lip, forcing a chuckle out as Sapnap continues to ramble. “Like, he doesn’t even spend as much time with us anymore. I know his girlfriend is like… important and stuff but dude, I-”
You hear Sapnap’s mouse clicks, and assume he’s switching between tabs. You clear your throat. “Yeah. He’s a mega simp now. I can’t believe he’s a bigger simp than me.”
Sapnap laughs on the other end, and somehow it fills in the cracks in your heart. “Wow, you? A simp? Dream, what have you hidden from me?”
A silent wheeze comes out of your throat. “What do you mean? I don’t hide shit from you guys.”
“People hide stuff, dude,” Sapnap says, and sometimes you forget how smart he is, how he’s able to read people easily. “I don’t know, you seem happier around George. I just kinda wish he’s around more.”
You go quiet. You don’t know why, but the secret is in between your throat, threatening to spill. You’ve bottled it up for about ten years, and you’re starting to get sick of it. It begs to be released, to be free from your captive, so with a defeated sigh, you decide to let the stress go.
“Sap, I have something to tell you,” you start, and when Sapnap doesn’t respond, you take that as a cue to continue. “I uh… I actually like George.”
You hear nothing from the other end, so you almost call out to Sapnap again, when you hear a small chuckle. “Of course you do. I should’ve known.”
“What?” You don’t want to think that you’re too obvious, because that would mean that everyone knows about your big, fat, stupid crush, and the last thing you want is for people to send death threats to George’s girlfriend, George’s happiness.
Sapnap must have heard the distress in your voice, because soon he’s assuring you, trying to calm you down. “No, like, it’s… I don’t know. I just get that vibe.”
You hum. You don’t really know what to say to that.
“So… how long? If you don’t mind me asking,” Sapnap mumbles, as if he’s afraid he’s going to overstep a boundary, and that’s the part you like about Sapnap: how he’s making sure everyone’s always okay.
You aren’t sure if he’s doing that to himself, though.
“Uh… eight years? I don’t know, since high school?” You admit, and you hear a small ‘holy shit’ coming from Sapnap. “Yeah.”
“Did you try to confess to him?”
Memories resurface, and you’re not sure if you like it or not. “No.”
Sapnap doesn’t push further. You’re grateful for that.
“I’m sorry, but- wow. It must’ve hurt. I’m sorry, dude.”
You accept the apology with a half-hearted chuckle. You feel sorry for yourself, too.
*
George tells you that he’s going to get married over lunch one day.
Sapnap is sitting beside you, and when he hears the news, you swear his eyes almost pop out from surprise. George is across you, a thin layer of pink dusted on his cheeks, sipping on his glass of water as if he didn’t just break your broken heart into a thousand pieces again, as if he didn’t just kill you over and over.
You could be bleeding out in front of him, and you are, but that bastard probably won’t even notice it.
“When?” Sapnap asks, but it’s all muffled. You put your cutlery on the plate, the piece of steak in your mouth suddenly tasting like rubber, and you feel like throwing up the food you just ingested.
“Uh… November. We’re still choosing the date.”
You should’ve known this day is coming: George really likes the girl, and even introduced her to you guys at one point of time. Her personality is somewhat similar to his, so it’s no surprise that they fit together like peas and carrots.
You kind of feel jealous about that, but you brush it off.
“I was wondering, uh… you guys wanna be my best man?” George asks. You feel Sapnap’s eyes on you, and you realise that George is waiting for your answer, chewing on his spaghetti.
There’s a silent storm brewing at the bottom of your stomach, the taste of hate sitting at the tip of your tongue. You want to reject it, but then George gives you his stupid puppy eyes that makes your heart turn into nothing but a gooey mess, and you can’t find it in you to say ‘no’.
You agree to it.
It’s probably the second worst decision you’ve made in your life; the first being falling for George.
*
George announces it on Twitter the day later.
You don’t check it.
*
It’s dark, and quiet, saved from the splashes of rain that beats at your window.
Music is blasting in your ears, a shitty heartbreak song that you pay no attention to, earbuds in merely to attempt to fill in the void in your heart. The contents are ripped up and thrown away by none other than George, which ironically, is who you trusted your heart with.
George, who’s getting married tomorrow. Getting married to someone who isn’t you.
You feel your heart clench in disappointment and frustration, and there’s tears flowing down your face again. You feel silly, because you’re his best man and you’re supposed to be happy for him, yet there’s this selfish part of you that wants George all for yourself, that wants to be the person George is going to marry tomorrow.
You wonder how you’re going to survive the ceremony tomorrow, how you’re going to watch your crush kiss another person that isn’t you, how you’re going to watch your crush confess their love to another person that isn’t you. Your stomach writhes, and you gag again before realising that you’ve thrown up your lunch and breakfast, and that you’re merely surviving on plain water that doesn’t even fill you up.
You ignore that thought as you curl up into your blankets.
You know you can call Sapnap, because he knows about your feelings towards George and he (most probably) knows that you’re feeling miserable, but you barely have the strength to breathe, let alone reach out for your phone that’s sitting on the table beside your bed. It’s too far away, and you don’t feel like moving, so you turn up the music to drown out the painful thoughts that are racing through your mind.
There’s this darkness that’s manifesting inside you, eating you alive from the inside, but you’re too tired to care. You let it do its thing. You let it win.
You try to crack a smile, but the dried tear stains remind you that there’s nothing to be happy about. Your soul weeps alongside you, and at the back of your mind, you kind of wish you died so that you don’t have to go through this pain, this seemingly endless suffering.
The aircon that you turned on is loud, but it hums a soft tune as it goes to work, unbeknownst to your situation. You try to focus on the rain, but all it tells you is how you should’ve confessed during the sleepover, how you should’ve taken the chance before someone else stepped up and snatched it off of your hands, grabbed it and ran so that you won’t be able to get it again.
You wonder if you even stood a chance in the first place at all.
It’s pathetic, you feel pathetic, but your mind can’t stop replaying the kiss that you two shared that night, how George seemed so shy and timid when he asked if you could practice kissing with him. The both of you were teenagers, making decisions recklessly without any thought for consequences at all, so you should’ve known when you agreed to his stupid request that the kiss probably didn’t mean anything at all. You should’ve known better than to cling onto the thin thread of hope that maybe George returns your feelings, that he feels the same way.
But you’re foolish, so instead of letting it slide, you hold onto it tightly, gripping on it like it’s your lifeline as you reciprocated it into the kiss by grabbing onto George’s shoulder. You’re naive, and innocent, and when the both of you pulled apart and went to sleep, you almost whispered into the air, almost confessed your feelings.
You didn’t, and now you wonder if you should’ve.
Your guts twist again as you think of the big day tomorrow, and you make the mistake of accidentally spotting on the suit that hangs against the wall, neatly pressed and free of any wrinkles. You feel energy (or what’s left of it) drain from your body, the remains of your heart shattering further as tears flow down your face again.
You’re so fucking pathetic.
And before you know it, the floodgates open and you’re crying once again.
Your cat hops up onto your bed, and you feel her paws on your hand, as if offering support. Reaching out, you hug the small fur ball and bring it closer to your chest, her warmth radiating comfort as she flicks her tail front and back in satisfaction. You bury your face in her fur.
Your phone lights up. You ignore it.
The rain pitters against your window.
You wonder if the rain is in your heart too.
*
You’re at his wedding.
Frankly, it’s your worst nightmare, and you try to avoid the crowd by grabbing a drink from the bartender and positioning yourself at the corner of the room, as far as possible from the centre. You are never one for parties, so when George asks you to be his best man, you almost say no.
Not because you can feel yourself shattering into a million pieces. It’s definitely not because you are feeling bitter and angry at the world, at fate.
But then you see his pleading gaze, the warm brown eyes that try to convince you, and you’re painfully reminded of why you love him in the first place. Sapnap is beside you, glancing at you worriedly, but you force out a smile and agree to it with probably too much enthusiasm.
George doesn’t pick up on that, and you wonder if it’s because of his usual carelessness and unawareness, or if it’s because he doesn’t care about you in the first place.
You try to not think too much about it.
Swirling the drink in your hand, you can see Sapnap engaging in a conversation with George, a wide smile on his face as he slaps George’s shoulder. You’re thankful that the mask (which you put on for jokes and laughter, but really, you feel the opposite) hides your true feelings, because the last thing you want is for yourself to throw a tantrum at George’s wedding, embarrassing yourself and possibly George.
You shove the sob that’s threatening to rise back down your throat.
You accidentally make eye contact with George, and you feel your breath hitch as he starts making his way to you, giving guests a charming smile as he excuses himself. It’s unfair how he still looks so fucking perfect, because you know you can’t hate him.
Even if you can, you doubt you’d even stay mad at him for long.
“Dream! What are you doing here?” George grins, and there’s this stupid twinkle in his eyes when he’s talking to you, because it’s a telltale sign that he’s happy. You shrug, and smile despite your muscles’ protest.
“I just don’t like crowds,” you answer truthfully, because you can’t find a reason to lie to him. Technically, you aren’t lying to him, so you stomp at your conscious that’s gnawing at the back of your mind.
“Okay, well, that’s fair I guess.” He looks out at the sea of people, and you can see the tension in his shoulders fading a little. You’re reminded that he hates crowds as well. “Well, you can join Sapnap if you want.”
“Sapnap? No way,” you groan playfully. Your heart flutters when he laughs. “He’s like, a party animal. Hell no.”
“Well, at least get something to eat!” George tries again, pulling at your wrist for effect, and your feet betrays you as you cave in and follow George. When you walk past Sapnap, he raises his eyebrow, but you dismiss it carelessly while George leads you to the buffet.
Reluctantly, you pick up a plate and try to pile it up with food of various colours, hands trying to busy themselves and distract from the fact that George’s fingers are no longer on you. Once you feel happy with the weight of the plate, you turn to George, waving the food in his face.
“Okay, well, what’s next, wedding boy?” You try to lighten the mood, but you feel your heart sink at the two words that have carelessly slipped out of your mouth. George doesn’t catch on your faltered smile; instead, he blushes and walks to the front of the stage with you, where your table is.
It’s the perfect view of the stage, the perfect view for you to watch George marry someone, watch George kiss someone, and you wonder if George is setting you up for torture instead. You bite on your lip as you force the thought out of your head.
A staff member approaches George, and you see him give the other a nod and a smile. When he leaves, George pats your shoulder. “It’s time for me to go. It’s starting soon.”
The sushi in your mouth suddenly becomes hard to swallow, but you still manage to meet George’s eyes as you shoo him away. The twinkle in his eyes is back, and you want to bash your head against the nearest wall as you let him walk away again, let him slip through your fingers.
This time, it’s too late to get him back.
The food in front of you becomes unappetising, so you push the plate away, your stomach already threatening to throw up whatever you’ve ingested moments prior. A loud announcement informs the guests that the ceremony is starting, and there’s excited chatters everywhere as most make their way back to their tables, some stubborn ones refusing to comply as they continue on with their conversation.
You don’t feel anything. The void in your heart grows.
There’s a finger tapping on your shoulder, and you turn to see Sapnap standing behind you, motioning for you to go. The tie that’s almost strangling you reminds you that you’re one of the best men, the looming threat of seeing George once again suffocating you as you stand up. You stumble a little, but thankfully, Sapnap is there to catch you.
George, unfortunately, didn’t catch you when you fell for him.
“You good?” Sapnap shoots you a concerned look, but you dismiss it with a wave and a fake smile as the both of you make your way backstage. There’s people rushing here and there, preparing for the big event, yet the loud thumping of your heart blocks them out.
You don’t talk to Sapnap when the two of you make it to the dressing room, and you try to focus on your appearances instead, combing your hair and checking if your tie is straight. You’re readjusting the paper plate that’s blocking half of your face when you see Sapnap frown at you.
“What?”
“Are you actually gonna keep that up for the rest of the wedding?” he asks, tilting his head a little, and you nod. He groans out loud, which earns a chuckle from you. “You’re not gonna keep that stupid plate on.”
“I am. What are you gonna do ‘bout it?”
You know Sapnap’s trying to make you feel better; and you do, even if it’s just for that one moment. You appreciate how he’s trying to make you laugh, but when Bad comes in and gives them both a tight hug, you still feel the emptiness in your heart.
“I’m so excited!” Bad grins, and you can’t help but mirror it. “George is finally gonna get married!”
“What a simp,” Sapnap says, which earns him a loud snort from you. The room soon erupts in laughter, and before you know it, you’re holding your stomach and wheezing, your lungs aching and begging for oxygen. Sapnap is leaning on you, gasping for air, while Bad collapses on a chair.
As laughter dies down, you wipe a tear off your face. Sapnap seems content on leaning on you forever, so you give him a playful shove, hearing him yelp in surprise as he stumbles onto the ground.
“Dude, not fair,” he whines, but you roll your eyes and stick your tongue out, him returning the favour. The both of you, despite being in your twenties, still act like literal children, and you don’t know if it’s a good thing or not.
You decide not to dwell on it for too long.
“I think it’s starting,” Bad mumbles softly, and the three of you check your appearances for one last time before stepping out of the room.
Somehow, you don’t remember making your way to the stage, but then a loud announcement snaps you out of your daze, and you realise that you’re standing in front of hundreds of people. Sapnap is right beside you, looking at George with pride and George-
George is slightly in front of you, at the centre of the stage, but you can still see the side of his face. You don’t see these moments often, but George has a slightly crooked grin on his face that makes your heart beat faster every time, and he’s so relaxed and focused that you almost forget that you’re on stage, about to watch your best friend get married.
The doors open as the pianist plays the first note, and you almost stop breathing as you watch the bride walk down the aisle. Her wavy hair is tied neatly in a bun, the shawl partially covering her face, and you recall the times George has boasted about her to you. One of her hands is in her father’s, while the other is holding a bouquet of roses.
She’s practically glowing. You realise you’re no match for her.
You zone out a little when her father passes the bride to George, because you’re so fixated on how in love George looks. He’s so entranced by her beauty, and your eyes pick up on his thumb rubbing circles on her knuckles. There’s this stupid, silly smile on his face that he only shows when he sees something he likes, and the fact that he’s looking at her like that breaks your heart further.
You kind of want to hide away and cry, but you stand your ground and put a stupid fucking grin on, thankful for the plate to hide part of your face so that the audiences doesn’t know that you’re hurting.
Their fingers are entwined, and you feel a little dizzy. Your face hurts, but you keep that darn smile on. It’s disgusting how close they are, but you feel even more disgusted at how bitter you are right now.
“You may kiss the bride.”
You want to look away, but you can’t bear to as you watch George kiss her, slow and lovingly. You feel the remains of your heart shrivel and die, and it’s almost physically painful to be standing here, watching who you thought was the love of your life kiss another who is the love of his life.
You’re still smiling. Your cheeks hurt.
You forget how to breathe for a moment, but then your chest starts aching and you don’t feel like making a fool out of yourself by stealing George’s spotlight, so you force yourself to take deep breaths. George’s fingers trace her cheeks softly, the stupid grin still on his face as he traces her features with his eyes tenderly. You watch him lean in, and place his forehead on hers.
There’s so much love in between them that you think you might suffocate, but you realise that you’d drown in your emotions regardless.
Sapnap nudges you, and for a moment, you see an unreadable emotion flicker through his eyes, but they’re gone as fast as they arrived. He asks if you’re okay, so you reply with a smile, one that he can read it’s fake.
You really don’t give a shit anymore.
The pastor is reading out something, but you tune out of his talking, instead focusing on how sickly sweet the two newlyweds are. You want to dig your eyes out, want to wash your mind with bleach so that you remember nothing from today. It’s cruel, how you’re still watching the couple, George now whispering something into her ear, which causes her to blush, and you wonder if this is better than crying by yourself in the bathroom.
“Dream?” Sapnap calls you, so you look at him expectantly, only to realise that everyone’s eyes are on you. Your face burns in embarrassment. “Your turn on the speech.”
Right.
Your hands are trembling, but you carefully unfold the speech that you have typed out months prior with Sapnap and Bad’s help, not trusting yourself to not screw it up. George’s gaze is burning in you, and through your peripheral vision, you see him look at you with pride and happiness.
Whether it’s from her or you, you don’t want to know, so you quickly smooth the paper out as you stand behind the podium. You clear your throat, and will yourself to look out into the crowd.
You’ve never told anyone this, but you have stage fright, and in that moment, you freeze. Your palms are sweaty, and your legs are about to give out underneath you. You let yourself glance over at George, who gives you an encouraging smile.
It’s too late to back down, so you look back into the crowd and spot a few YouTubers you recognise. You take a shaky breath, and put on your persona.
“In this event, we coded it so that George is a simp-” There’s a few laughs from the crowd, and you ease into your fake identity easier. You can hear Sapnap snicker behind you, while George is as red as a tomato, but you merely give him a wink. “If he marries someone, he wins.”
The words are tough to process, though you let your natural charisma take over. “Well, what can I say? Congrats, George.” It’s bittersweet at the tip of your tongue, yet you ignore the ache in your heart as you continue. “I can’t believe after all these years, you’re getting married before me. Can you imagine that?
“You were, and still are, one of the shyest people I’ve ever met, yet there’s this aura of confidence that surrounds you. You’re fun to be around, and you’re really sweet, which is why you’re still one of my best friends even after… what, twenty years? Generally, a really fun person, so when you said you were gonna get married, I never had a single doubt that she’d be the luckiest person ever.”
It feels like there are knives stabbing at your chest, yet the people watch intently, waiting for more, waiting for what you’re giving them, and you almost laugh at how absurd the situation is. You almost feel sorry for yourself, but you get your shit together before you lose it.
“I’m really happy for you, George. I wish you all the best, and according to YouTube statistics-”
George groans, and snatches the microphone from you before you can complete the sentence. The audience is laughing, yet you don’t feel satisfaction at all, because you’re so, so tired of putting up a show for everyone. All you want to do, really, is to sit in a corner and cry, but the smile is slapped onto your face: a mask of defence, the last piece of ego and pride.
George leans in and hugs you, whispering a ‘thank you’. You realise that this is possibly the last time you can return his affections without feeling guilty, so you hug him with all your might. You hear George laugh beside you, but all that contributes is more pain.
George pulls apart. You walk back to your position before you can do something you regret.
Sapnap grabs the microphone from George, and starts talking about George, but you pay zero attention to his speech as you let your persona slip. Bad asks if you’re okay, and you give him a nod as you try to compose yourself once again.
You just want this to be done and over with.
Time seems to crawl at snail’s pace, and you’re almost sure that you’re about to lose it, until the emcees announce that the dancefloor is open. A sigh of relief slips past your lips unintentionally, and you shuffle to sit at your table, sandwiched between Sapnap and Bad.
The plate of food is gone. You don’t need it anyway.
Your eyes flick over to the couples who have occupied the empty space in between the tables, swaying to a slow love song, but your mind is still on George as you wonder where he went. You’re about to turn to Sapnap, who’s busy stuffing food down his throat, if he’d seen George, when a spotlight shines on a particular spot.
In the middle stands George in a blue blazer and black bowtie, and your heart lodges at your throat at how annoyingly attractive he is. His hair seems more fluffier than usual, a charming smile on his face as he holds out his arm, welcoming-
Oh.
You really want to cry.
She saunters to join him, her hand wrapping delicately around George’s forearm. In place of her wedding gown is a silky purple dress that goes past her knees, flowing smoothly in the wind that you’re almost mesmerised by it. Giving George a sly smirk, she puts her hand on George’s shoulder while George places his on her waist.
You look away. You’re scared that if you watch them dance, you’d actually break down, so you don’t. You try to divert your attention to somewhere else, so you poke at Sapnap as he yells at you through his mouthful of food.
You can’t bear to see them dance, and you find it ironic because you’ve seen them kiss and shouldn’t that be a crime? To be bitter about George finding happiness that isn’t him? You feel as if you’ve sinned, that you should be happy for George.
And goddamnit, you really want to be, but when the fact that you could’ve, would’ve, stood a chance if you’re fucking brave enough to confess is eating away at your insides, you find it hard to search for the light at the end of the tunnel.
Before you know it, you’re standing up, and making your way to the exit. Sapnap is by your side, his food forgotten, as he holds onto your wrist and stops you from making any further moves.
“Where are you going?”
You wring your wrist out of his grasp, and push the wooden doors open. “Home.”
He doesn’t stop you.
*
You lied.
A box is sitting by the passenger seat, and in it sits a necklace that contains a single clover. The remains of the paper plate lies beside it, all torn up and sad, and if you could do that to your memories you would’ve torn it up too.
You don’t know how you end up by the beach, but somehow, your heart has led you here.
It’s almost dark, but the path is illuminated by streetlights, standing tall in their glory. You’ve parked the car by the roadside, and if you get a fine, you really don’t give a fuck about it, because you’ve stopped giving fucks to a lot of things a long time ago.
Or you just gave the wrong fucks to the wrong situations, to the wrong person, but you ignore it.
You turn the car engines off, and step out of your car, the box in your hand. Your tie is all undone, hanging loosely by your neck, and you’ve unbuttoned the outer layer of your suit. It makes you feel a little bit better, makes you feel less restrained, so you take off the black coat and place it in the backseat before slamming the door shut.
The box feels heavy in your hands.
You’ve never loved the beach. The wind is too strong and ruffles at your hair, getting it all tangled up and messy, while the sand finds a way to get into your shoes. There’s something ominous hiding in the sea, and you hate the fact that you have no idea what it is, and the waves mock you for your ignorance.
You’ve never loved the beach, and you know the beach feels the same way about you, too. The waves seem to crash louder at your presence, threatening to pull you into its grasp and drown you with its power. Your feet sink as the shore eagerly tries to nip at the edges of your shoes, leaving grains of sand in the process of doing so. The stars twinkle dangerously in the night sky, and the moon laughs at your misfortune as she shines brightly.
You let them.
You can feel the necklace shifting in the box, trying to escape its jail, but you ignore its cries for help as you search for a spot that you’re satisfied with. Finally, you stand in front of a coconut tree, its leaves swaying as a form of greeting.
You smile back at it, placing the box down by its trunk. It seems to watch you with a curious gaze as you start kneeling down and digging at the area, creating a small pit. Satisfied, you take the box and place it in the pit, and the necklace rustles as it tries to plead for you to keep it.
You don’t listen to it.
Slowly, you start to fill in the sand, the box disappearing from your watch bit by bit. You bury the necklace, hoping that through this, you’d be able to bury your feelings for George too.
As soon as the tip of the box is under the pile of sand, you pat at the spot for one last time. You hope the tree will take care of it for you as you brush the sand off your hands and stand up.
You turn and walk away. It bids you a sad goodbye.
The waves don’t seem to be as aggressive anymore, and the stars don’t shine as bright. The moon seems to pity you.
You really don’t care. You’ve never loved the beach anyway.
The first drop of rain hits the ground.