"Of all liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears."
— Rudyard Kipling

Sleep schedules were something George was pissed off by (he didn't have one). He didn't sleep most nights, actually. He's kept awake at night overthinking, and he wakes up way too early in the morning... overthinking.

Today isn't an exception.

At seven in the morning.

On a weekend.

George lay in bed, tasked with tossing and turning to see if he could get comfortable and sleep again.

He wondered about his panic attack in front of Clay yesterday. If Clay had thought of him any differently. It didn't matter to George what Clay thought of him, just the fact that he knew. Knew about George's biggest insecurity. A person crowded with friends and popularity flowing his way like the wind in his blond hair.

George tugged his pillow from under his head and hugged it tight. Everyone was gonna know.

George squeezed his eyes shut. A static, fuzzy vision clouded his eyes from how hard he was squeezing.

When nothing was working, George eventually gave up and submerged his face in the pillow, letting it suffocate him. He just needed to stop thinking.

Eventually, after a realization that he needed air dawned on him, George tore his head from the pillow and let out a gasp for air. Maybe he didn't need to lose air; maybe he needed to gain it again.

It was hard to get up and dive through mediocre clothes to wear, but George accomplished his task through the sheer force of yearning to go to sleep afterward.

Kristy had always said that one of the main causes of insomnia is a lack of activity. You lay in bed all day and do nothing; you don't waste energy; you're up all night. And if you do waste energy, your body will shut down quicker when you go to bed. George was going to test that theory today because he was not going to tolerate a tired weekend just to be tired for five more days afterward.

The morning wind was a bit chilly and uncomfortable. It was just a fact that George would have to accept if he was going to plow through a morning walk. There wasn't much to do, and George had figured out he forgot his phone at home at a moment too late where he didn't feel like returning. Oh well, he'll only be out for about an hour. Anyway, his parents won't even know he left the house.

George didn't register the whistling of early birds that have been singing for hours already or the slight wind that didn't feel too comfortable on his nose and fingertips. The only thoughts on his mind were still the ones he had while in bed; he was now just in a vertical position and walking through a nearly deserted street. The people walking with their dogs and the joggers running down the sidewalks stared at George as he walked through. They probably felt the amount of distress and anxiousness that was being radiated off him. They probably hated him like George hated himself, too.

"George? Is that you?"

The voice made George want to throw himself off a mountain. That's exactly what he did. Well, he didn't throw himself off a mountain, but George did attempt to outrun and escape his inevitable demise.

"George!" The voice was louder this time, and George nearly screamed when he felt a large hand on his shoulder.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Clay!" George hissed out. He placed a hand on his chest in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Sorry! I thought you heard me! I called out to you a few times."

Clay had a neon yellow shirt on and baggy dark knee-length shorts. He had a band on his bicep that held his phone, and he opened the band up to put his airpods in their case before zipping it back up. He was slightly red from sweat that had mostly accumulated on his neck and face.

"Yeah, I heard you; I was walking away to avoid talking to you." George rolled his eyes and began walking off.

"George, come on, I was just saying hi; give me a break." Clay jogged up to George to keep up. "What are you doing this early? Do you go for morning walks as well? I like running; it's very refreshing. Have you ever given it a try?"

George glared at Clay. "Do I look like an FAQ page? Stop asking me question after question; they go from one ear and out the other."

Clay laughed. "What are you doing up this early?"

George bit the inside of his mouth. "Couldn't sleep."
"...Is it about the other day?" Clay asked softly.

"I told you not to talk about that." George rolled his eyes. He had lectured Clay on the car ride home about it, but it seemed the boy had some sort of major memory problem.

"I know, but I'm still worried."

George scrunched up his face and dismissively waved his hand in Clay's direction. He knew it was rude, but frankly, it was too early, and he didn't care.

"How's school been for you lately?" Clay asked after a bit of silence.

"Fine... I guess. I got an A on the physics test you helped me with, so I have a better grade in the class now. Hopefully it'll be enough to bump it up to a B+ by the end of the semester or something." George kicked a rock that was on the sidewalk and sent it flying ahead of the two boys.

"That's great! I'm glad I was able to help! Do you have any subjects you're passionate about? Maybe we could both learn from each other."

George gave a shrug. "I guess I like computer science; it's been my favorite subject for as long as I can remember."

"I like computer science too! You like coding?"

"Yeah."

"Which programs do you use?"

"Python is a really good one; it's easy to make small, silly games and plug-ins."

"You make games? That's amazing!" Clay's eyes lit up. "Can you show me?"

"Um... I guess I could give you a flash drive for you to try out."

George let out a sigh. What if he doesn't like it? What if he thinks it's stupid? Would he think the models are underdeveloped and dumb? Or if he finds an error in the code and knows how to make it better than me, ultimately proving me to be a failure?

"Hey, if you don't want to, you don't have to. I was just interested."

"Oh. It's fine. I can show you." George gulped down the trembling knot that was forming in his throat.

"You look really frightened. I won't judge you or anything; there's nothing you can do to make me dislike it. Making a game takes a lot of work, and you should be proud of the effort you put into your life to make your game possible."

"Thanks, Clay." George's lips twitched into a smile. The knot in his throat disappeared.
"The sun is starting to rise; have you had breakfast yet?"

George shook his head.

"I know a really cool diner nearby; want me to take you there to eat? It's my treat."

"Um..." George stuttered. Usually this is his cue to make an excuse and leave, but strangely, he didn't want to do that. He took a deep breath and hesitantly nodded. His bubble shrank in an almost protective way around George, making him feel lightheaded from the pressure he was feeling from the tightness of the bubble. It'll be better if he just left-

"Awesome! Let's go!" Clay gave a smile and dragged George with him.

~~~

"How can you even think about choosing pancakes?!" Clay scoffed as the two were handed their plates.

"Yeah, as if waffles are so much better." George rolled his eyes.

"Waffles are objectively better than pancakes! There is no competition here to begin with!"

"Uh huh. No competition because pancakes are better."

"No! Waffles are crispy and full of texture, unlike pancakes. Because of the grid, the syrup pools inside the waffle, and it stays inside the waffle, unlike your pathetic pancakes. Look at how the syrup rolls off your pancakes and soaks them up. That's why your pancake is soggy and icky! And you can put literally anything on waffles. Have you ever had a pancake sandwich? No? I didn't think so." Clay squinted his eyes at George. "Waffles are better."

"Okay, yeah, says the person with two waffles on their plate. It's encouraged for pancakes to be stacked for maximum enjoyment! It's not socially acceptable to have more than two or three waffles. But you know what? I can eat all the pancakes I want." George squinted his eyes.

Clay went to open his mouth, but George put a finger to his face.

"I'm not done." George grabbed his fork and knife threateningly. "Along with stacking pancakes, you can get syrup to drip all the way down the sides, so you don't have to keep reaching for more syrup. You have syrup in four of your squares, and I just know you're gonna get more. And your little grids are made with a waffle iron. It costs a lot to have a waffle iron that you need to clean, while you can just cook pancakes in a pan, which I'm sure you have multiple of in your house. And you can make different-sized pancakes, but you can only make one type of waffle. No creativity equals you're just one basic, unoriginal bitch."

Clay's eyes were rounded in shock, but he let out a laugh. "Sorry for hitting a sore spot!"

"I- It's fine; I should be the one apologizing." George shrunk back into himself and focused on his pancakes.

"It's the most talkative you've been." Clay smiled. "I like it."

George looked up at Clay's forehead to indicate he was looking at the boy.

"Your eyes are really pretty." Clay complimented.

"Um... okay." George nodded.

"...Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Everyone does; it's nothing to do with you specifically."

"You just... never hold eye contact with me. I thought it was because I made you uncomfortable."

"I don't look people in the eyes." George ate a bite of his pancake. "'ts scary."

"Do you know what my eyes look like?"

George shook his head.

"They're green, if you were interested."

Clay's eyes. Something he didn't want to look at was a color George wasn't even able to see. How ironic.

"That's cool." George nodded anyway.

"Do you look at your eyes in the mirror, then? Or do you avoid eye contact with yourself as well?"

George stuck out his lower lip to pout in thought. He'd actually never thought about it.

"I don't know; I don't pay any mind to it."

Clay peered over at George's plate.

"Do you mind if I try some?"

"What? Pancakes?"

The boy gave a nod.

"Sure. If it'll convert you." George pushed his plate toward Clay, and the latter eagerly broke off a piece of the pancake and brought it to his mouth. George finds himself looking at Clay, chewing the pancake for longer than necessary.

"It's fine, I guess. Not my thing." Clay shrugged. "Do you wanna try mine?"

George did as requested. It was crunchy, but certainly wasn't something he was into.
"I guess people can like what they wanna like, waffles just aren't for me."

"Yeah, let's agree on that."

There was quite a pregnant pause after that, with the two boys just sitting with their plates.

Clay offered to pay, and George didn't mind one bit. He didn't have any money to start with, so refusing wasn't an option.

"Want me to walk you home?"

George paused. It was quite a long one, but once Clay made it clear he was going to wait patiently, he sighed.

"Sure... I guess."

They headed home in silence, and it was quite out of character for Clay, but George quietly appreciated the act. They could listen to the rustling of trees and the tweeting of birds. There were very few cars around, given it was an early weekend.
George found it strangely calming to walk with a figure beside him.

Did George like being with Clay? He could be hanging out with anyone right now. His many friends, his parents, or just being at home playing a video game. But no. He's with George. Little, lonely George that no one talks to. The George that won't let anyone come within a foot of him because of a bubble that restricts anyone from getting close to him.

"Woah, look at that view. Let's go see it!" Clay shook George's shoulder and darted off to a wood railing that looked out to a forest that broke into a field. As George walked closer, he could make out a waterfall that flowed in the distance.

"This is so cool! Why have I never seen it?" Clay peered over to get a better look at it. George could see him close his eyes and smile, tentatively breathing in the air around them.

George hadn't seen it either, but he didn't voice his thoughts.

"Do you like it?" Clay turned to grin at George.

"Yeah... I guess it's nice."

"Is everything okay? You've gone all quiet."
George mindlessly nodded and looked off into the distance.

The two looked at the view for a while, while George slightly dissociated to crawl around in his own thoughts. He just repeated words in his head, trying to form a sentence and keep himself on track. He wasn't sure what he was saying, but he wanted to be by himself for a while.

"Are you lonely, George? I've never seen anyone talk to you." Clay shook George out of his thoughts.

"I'm not lonely, no."

"But loneliness is so terrifying. You don't have anyone to fall back on, to rely on. Everyone needs a friend."

George gave out a pitiful chuckle, and Dream turned his head in George's direction at the noise he gave.

"I'm not lonely. I just like living in solitude. Everyone leaves. They always do. But I can't ever leave myself, can't I? I'm bound to myself. I won't ever leave."

Clay opened his mouth, but nothing came out. After a few seconds, he closed it again.
"That seems sad."

"It's not, Clay, I promise. You don't have to feel bad."

The boy looked up at the sound of his name.
"Why are you calling me that?" He gave a slight pout.

"Because that's your name."

"I don't like it. I told you to call me Dream."

"Why?"

"I dunno... just don't like my name. Is that bad?"

George thought for a second before shrugging. "I guess not."

"Do you get me, then?" Clay turned to George and leaned off the wood railing. George stood straighter as well and looked up at his friend.

"I get you, Dream."

He heard a piercing crack that made him wince from how loud it was. He looked around to see where the noise came from, only to look dead-on at a small crack in his impenetrable bubble.

-
I'm not dead I just had a wee little writers block

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