"Worry often gives a small thing a great shadow."
— Unknown

New people. There's something George really despised, and it was just that. A new person, getting in the way of everyone's routines and not understanding the mechanics of how things worked.

George was content with the feeling of being in the shadows. No one ever paid attention to him. Not his classmates, not the teachers. He did well in homework and tests, and they left him alone. George was more than content with that.

While he hated socializing, he liked observing. He created lists of information about each person. He knew who to avoid, who wouldn't approach him, who had what grades, who went to which club after school, who would pay no attention to him.

So of course, George didn't even need to quietly observe to learn that the new kid at his school was the polar opposite of George. Tall. Funny. Outgoing. Had tons of people flocking him and saying hi. He's been in this school for less than a week and he was already friends with nearly all his classmates and people from the entire grade. And worst of all... he was a football guy. It just heightened his seemingly endless popularity.

George despised him. He quickly understood he wanted nothing to do with this kid, who, on top of it all, called himself Dream instead of using his actual name. George refused to acknowledge it, and referred to him the way Dream should: Clay.

George didn't even realize it as Clay took up his whole mind. His hatred for him. George didn't dare look at his face. He frankly didn't know what people's eyes looked like — he's never looked someone in the eye before. All he was brave enough to do was lift his eyes high enough to see that million dollar smile on his face, full of enthusiasm and joy. There was a small piece of him that was thankful for Clay, for the fact that 100% of everyone's attention was diverted from the quiet kid that spoke to no one; it still didn't make him feel any less infuriated with the boy with seemingly flawless blond curls and fit body structure.

George was snapped out of the trance of his Dreamland as the bell rang. George was pleased that it did; he didn't like algebra much anyway. "Too many letters" he'd always said to himself.

George quickly gathered his stuff and lingered around in the back to get out without suffocating with the other students. They always wanted to fight to the death to get out of the classroom first, for some reason. First came out the kids that were getting on their buses, next the kids going to after school clubs started to push through...

"You aren't in a rush to leave?" George's neck quickly snapped to his right in terror. Someone was talking to him. He considered lying to Clay's face and faking being mute, but admittedly, George did speak out when his name was called for attendance. He hasn't talked all day. There wasn't a need to, so he knew his voice was hoarse. George just shook his head and stubbornly stared straight ahead of him. His bubble will protect him. His bubble will protect him. It will protect him. It always does.

George eyed the door and prayed for the rest of the kids to trickle out the room faster. The people getting picked up by parents and the ones that walked to school were coming out next...

"You don't like crowds then? I get that. I've noticed you're always glooming around in the background and just wanted to say hi! What's your name?"

George felt the side of his nose twitch. He picked up his backpack and waved Clay off.

For a second, he felt the confidence to say something to him, to just say bye, or gotta go, but he ultimately chose to just give Clay a half-assed wave. George didn't even bother to look at him as he walked out.

And just like that, he was out in the hall, feet carrying him briskly to the exit. He only felt safe when he reached the safety of his school bus. Clay had football Monday through Wednesday, so it meant there was no way the other would have followed him. He'd be late for his dumb football practice.

George situated himself near the back. He always sat near the back, just pleased with the fact that people were so disgusted by him, never sat with him. Especially now. He felt sick to his stomach. George put a finger right below his jaw to feel his pounding pulse. The dryness in his mouth wasn't helping him breathe normally. George pulled his backpack open and hurriedly searched through his backpack, to find out he left his pills on his desk at home. He did find Kristy's stress ball. George settled on that instead.

He reached for a phone with his increasingly shaking hands and called his emergency contact. She picked up within seconds. George began to quickly and repeatedly squeeze his stress ball so hard he feared it would rip.

"Mom, I don't feel good. I think it's a panic attack."

🫧 The next day:

George often felt nervous, that much could be said about him. His teachers knew about his condition and gave him passes to leave class for a few minutes if it got too overwhelming for him to sit in a room with too many people. That time was right now.

He didn't want to suffer long and caught onto the signals straight away. His body slightly convulsing, the shivers, the inability to focus.

He subtly raised his hand and pointed to the door, which his geography teacher gave a nod to. George crept through and tried to shut down the feeling of eyes on him as he made his way to exit the room. George leaned against the wall right outside the classroom and gave a big sigh.

Deep breaths... Deep breaths...

That's what he kept telling himself. He placed his palms on the wall behind him and closed his eyes. The darkness eased him a little. Never-ending darkness was comforting. There was no one in this realm he traveled to just by closing his eyes. He didn't have to worry about people openly judging him, not desperately worrying about avoiding people's eyes, not getting crowded and laughed at by people.

After a few breaths, he calmed down. George took the opportunity and strolled over to his hallway. It was a part where not many people went to. There weren't any classrooms in here, just the janitor's closet and unoccupied rooms.

George made himself comfortable at the bottom of a set of stairs that lead somewhere. He never bothered to find out where they went, but he knew it led to the second floor. That much was enough for him.

George brought his feet up and leaned his side against the wall to help him find more strength. He felt the warmth and encouragement his bubble gave him. The way it cuddled him close, and told him no one could harm him as long as it was there to protect him. He trusted his bubble. He could almost feel it holding him and telling him to ease the pain in his chest.

George reached into his pocket and pulled out a blister back and pushed out a pill, which he swallowed dry. The fact that his mouth was lacking any moisture didn't help, and it took a while for the pill to go down. It was painful. He almost felt that the pill was stuck in his throat, leaving him to suffocate on them. George, admittedly, felt more stressed.

After forcefully pulling enough saliva out of himself, he managed to swallow the pill. George felt he could finally breathe again. He didn't like referring to the pills he drank by their brand name, it was wordlessly settled that he and his family called it "Alprazolam".

"Hey, what are you doing here?" George nearly jumped when he saw no one other than Clay slipping out of one of the classrooms.

"What were you doing in that room?" George threw back a question of his own. That room was just an empty classroom that had no purpose. Empty. What could Clay have been doing there?

"Oh, that! Our physics teacher asked me to take one of her experiments and put it there! It's where she stores all her equipment. Are you alright? It's class time... or are you skipping?"

George's nails pierced his jeans. What the hell was he doing? He couldn't decide if he was mad at Clay for eagerly speaking to him, when George clearly wasn't interested, or he was mad at himself for falsely leading Clay on into a conversation George didn't even want to have.

"I'm not. Just need a break." George turned away from the boy that thought it was completely fine to plop himself down on the stairs next to him.

"What's your name? I'm Dream." He reached his hand out to George. George just stared at his hand and turned further away toward the wall.

"I know what your name is, Clay. The whole school is buzzing to talk about you." George scoffed. "Me saying I need a break is a polite way of telling you to fuck off, yet you seem to not be getting the signal to do so."

George's body gave an uncomfortable lurch. He was talking way too much. Sure, he was being rude and disrespectful, but he said three whole sentences on his own volition. He prayed for his medication to kick in so he wouldn't fall into another panic attack induced by Clay.

"Oh... um... is... everything okay? Is something bothering you?"

"You are." George scowled through gritted teeth. He was using all his defensive tactics to get Clay to just leave him alone, but it wasn't working in the slightest.

"Ah. Alright. I just thought you needed a friend to talk t-"

George felt him. Right there, pressed up against his bubble. Piercing his hands into it, as if wanting to get a closer look at George's face beyond the material he'd encapsulated himself with. His bubble was strong. It warned him to leave. George and his bubble fought back.

"We are not friends." George spat out furiously.

Friend.

The word was a phobia George had within itself, but someone referring to him as a friend? Hell no.

He didn't think twice before getting up and storming off to get back in class. He was missing his geography lesson, anyway, and he'd been gone for more than enough time. The last thing he needed was for his breathing privileges to be taken away. His bubble protected him from others, but it only did just that. It couldn't save George from himself, from his crippling anxiety disorder. His pills did that, but even they weren't enough sometimes. George would desperately coax them to heal him, to not throw him into a panic attack each time he spoke to anyone. To live in solitude together, only with his bubble.

George almost contemplated telling his mom about his well-being, but he figured he shouldn't be too clingy. Besides, he bothered her about it yesterday. He just had to wait until the medicine kicked in and calmed him down.

George hesitated before placing his hand on the cold, metal handle and opened the door to head to class again.

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