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Summary
“You don’t like her, do you?” The blond finally breaks up the quiet.
The question startles him, halting his folding. “She talks a lot.”
“She wants you to feel welcome.”
The anger returns to bubble in his chest and fights tirelessly with his tongue. Clenching his fist in the fabric of a half folded t-shirt before snapping the wrinkles out of it and finishing the fold. His hands begin to shake with irritation, words like acid on his teeth.
“Would’ve felt more welcome if she wasn’t here.” They spill out, barely above a whisper. However, the silence he is met with was confirmation that he has been heard. “Sorry, that was harsh.”
“You said you didn’t want anything with me, George.” Dream sounds small, like the words he offers aren’t meant to be spoken either.