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25 months. Tik tik tik.
25 months since George has left Florida.
25 months since he broke up with Dream, because he wanted to explore the world.
19 months since he has felt anything other than emptiness.
George was laying in his hotel room, somewhere in Toronto, Canada. He had seen everything in the US already, had visited every single city he had ever thought about seeing. He had left the US, traveling around Europe and East Asia. He even stepped foot into Australia for two miserable months. And now he was lying awake in his hotel room, tracing the pattern of the ceiling with his eyes.
It was naive, really. He had everything he ever wished for. He had been in the US, in Florida with Dream and Sapnap, and even better, he and Dream had finally met and got to talk out their feelings. Or more, make out their feelings. And Dream had been his boyfriend. And George had been happy.
Everything had been new and exciting, he had wished life would always move in this slow but fast pace, that had his heart racing with love and his hands shaking with giddiness.
But life never worked like that and it never will. They grew tighter and more comfortable and that ended in domesticity George wasn’t prepared for.
They fell into a pattern, George and Dream woke up at fuck o’clock in the afternoon, and had breakfast. Sapnap always joined them ten minutes later, they talked about the plan for the day, and then they executed that plan. Dream would kiss George and it didn’t feel like butterflies in his stomach, and it didn’t feel like an explosion of emotions. It felt like a kiss, it felt boring, mundane.
George proposed the idea of a road trip to Dream about a year and a half into their relationship. Dream was not convinced, but said he would think about it. It never came up again. But George was bored, annoyed, of the same old routine. He wanted his heart to beat out of his chest again. He wanted adventure, something new. He wanted to wake up and feel energized for the new day. He wanted to kiss Dream awake and explore.
Dream didn’t. Because Dream liked their domestic life in Florida, in their house, in the comfort of their own home.
And George would be lying if he said he didn’t resent him a bit for it at the time.
So George left. Alone.
And Dream stayed behind. And they didn’t talk again since then, not in person at least.
George tore his eyes away from the ceiling and closed them instead. He tried to remember the last time he heard Dream say his name. But he couldn’t picture it anymore. His memories of Dream outside of the occasional video appearance he did, was hazy. It was scary to think he was forgetting the face of someone he used to wake up next to for over a year. But he cannot picture his freckles anymore. He used to be able to trace them blindly.
George had felt the urge to text Dream about something he had seen on his trip several times. He never did. It didn’t feel right. He broke Dream’s heart by leaving. He ripped his heart out of his chest and trampled all over it, all he ever left Dream was a “I loved loving you” and that was that.
He tried picturing Sapnap instead. Sapnap was easier to remember, less hazy, more vivid, because he had talked to him more often since he left. He stopped about a year ago though.
George had been vlogging his experiences. He had been filming every sight he went to visit, every pool he laid at, every piece of history he explored. And for the first six months, he had the time of his life. He felt high on the trip. He got to see so many new places, spoke to so many new people. He felt the sun on his skin in different parts of the world. George had heard more languages than he can remember, let alone understand. His broken spanish and his english had gotten him through most of the world so far.
He filmed and filmed everything, putting on a smile, feeling the excitement run through his body, until the point every hotel started to blur together, and he couldn’t be bothered to put on a more than fake smile anymore. He hated looking at himself in all the new vlogs, until one day he decided that it was it.
He tweeted out how thankful he was for this life, for this opportunity, but he felt himself grow out of Youtube and content. It was a blatant lie, but that was the only solution he came up with. Sapnap had called him that night, asking him if he was sure about that decision. George had waved him off, trying his best to not get emotional and spill all his thoughts to his former best friend.
He stayed strong. The last time he had talked to Sapnap, he lied through his teeth.
George lost contact with Quackity and Karl almost immediately after he left. Quackity claimed to be busy. They met up once, as Quackity showed George around in his town in Mexico, but that was the last time he had heard anything from Quackity.
Karl never bothered to answer George since he packed his bags. Judging by Sapnap’s instagram story, George had a pretty good idea why. Karl has been in Florida a lot since he left. George was glad he was there to look after Dream and Sapnap for him.
The only person George had sporadic contact with was Wilbur. Wilbur, who had grabbed Tommy and moved to California and then later New York City, claiming he wanted the whole America experience as he lived wherever he was called to next.
George envied his ability to choose a home so easily. The longer George thought about home, the more sick he started feeling.
George got out of the queen sized hotel bed and walked to the little balcony. He overlooked the pool side the hotel had that George wasn’t planning on trying out. The night made it look magical. Lights right of a movie, something he should be sharing with a lover, a partner, someone who would wrap their arms around him from behind and keep him safe from the demons in his mind.
But he was alone. And he will continue being alone. And nothing in this world could stop his spiraling thoughts anymore, as he watched the pool water be completely still, nothing there to disturb it.
George knew the tears were coming before he felt them drop out of his eyes. But his heart was empty. Nothing was squeezing itself uncomfortably into his chest. Air was flowing freely, his breathing as unrestricted as any other day. His eyes would be red rimmed, but he would not rub them, or stop the tears. His hands were shaking, and it took him off guard. He hadn’t had such a visible reaction to crying in a while. He usually just let it happen. Tears fell out of his eyes like his life fell out of his hands.
George did not believe in the existence of a soul, but if there was one, he would have ripped it to shreds and killed it many months ago. His entire body felt empty. Not even his heart was speeding up as quiet sobs shook his body.
Life was empty, and George was losing himself in it.
He hadn’t bothered taking care of himself in so long, but his hair didn’t bother him. Neither did the pit in his stomach that would go away, if he would just sit down and feed himself properly for once. But why would he take the energy and find something to eat, if he can just have the same thing for breakfast every single morning? It was easier that way, than trying to figure out what his body was trying to tell him, after he spent so long ignoring it.
He clutched the fence of the balcony as tears dropped onto his hands. And not for the first time, he wanted to go home. But home did not exist anymore. And he was alone. Because of his own actions. Because he wanted excitement, that wouldn't last.
Back then he had not been ready for domesticity. But now he missed the warm embrace that would follow a shower. He missed the smell of terribly prepared food, that tasted like it had been burned and was undercooked at the same time.
He had not been ready, but it was everything he was craving. He was craving the love he tossed aside, because his own mind told him that if it wasn’t exciting, it was bad.
Thinking back, the kisses he shared with Dream weren’t boring. They weren’t exciting, and tasted like sunshine and rollercoasters, but they Dream, through and through. And George had tossed that aside, like it was something bad, like he hated it.
He heard his phone ring, and for a split second he considered leaving it alone. But his brain was making him spiral deeper and deeper into the hell he made for himself, so maybe someone talking over the noise would make him calm down.
George hoped it was his mother, but it was Wilbur, He answered regardless.
“Hello..?”
“George!” Wilbur greeted in a less thick english accent than the last time George had talked to him.
George made an affirmative noise and Wilbur started rambling. He asked how George was doing, but never actually expected an answer. He simply threw himself into George’s space, without regard to whether George wanted to talk.
George appreciated it.
Wilbur talked and talked about a new vlog idea Tommy came up with, he had also just dropped a new album with his band and George congratulated him in a broken voice. But Wilbur didn’t ask about it. He never did. Because he wouldn't get a reply anyway.
Hearing his friend talk so freely made George think that maybe the world wasn’t broken, and it was only himself that was the problem.
And when Wilbur had talked for almost an hour and he was ready to hang up, George took a restricted breath. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk. He almost forgot to panic in the middle of his own amazement that he was still able to feel the restriction in his throat like this.
He croaked out: “Wilbur…”
And Wilbur replied immediately, George imagined he nodded, but his face was so blurry in his memory. His throat felt even tighter. “Yes, George?”
He decided to not beat around the bush. The words might suffocate him anyway, why try and make a big deal out those words, even if they were the last ones he ever where to utter into the miserable world he made. “Wilbur, I don’t wanna be alone anymore.”
He heard a breath hitch on the other side of the phone. Someone still felt for George. And George wanted to scream for him to stop, but only a sob followed the admission.
“Where are you right now, George?”
“Toronto,” he replied on autopilot.
“Canada, nice. Listen. I will book you a flight. For tomorrow. And you come here to New York, to me and Tommy. And you don’t have to be alone anymore, okay?”
“Okay…”
It was not okay. George didn’t want Wilbur to care about him.
“Great. Great. I will message you the ticket, okay, Georgie? And you won’t be alone again.”
“Okay…” George replied again. He repeated the word even as Wilbur said his goodbyes and hung up.
George looked at his suitcase. All his belongings, his entire life and personality, squeezed into a single backpack and one suitcase. Everything he was, everything he will be in the future, was less than 20 kilograms, because more was extra money on the airplane.
Wasn’t his life pathetic?
He was pathetic.
25 months. Tik tik tik.
25 months since George left Florida, and Dream.
25 months, but he won’t be alone anymore.