i don't know if i want to scream, cry or throw up. or all of the above. anti-stall...... ok sure fuck but at least king made it back to fuckass p7. and then oscar dnf..............fucking HELL long day at the office. but at least max podiumed and that was a mega drive from lando!
so to sooth myself, here's a lil snipped of my gax au of childhood friends to lovers(?) to enemies to lovers again.
loosely inspired by a house in nebraska by ethel cain...but tbh now ive listened to preacher's daugther on repeat so this fic is just whatever i feel when i listen to her music.
cw: implied reference to child abuse, corporal punishment.
-||-
Kings Lynn was hardly London. And Norfolk was hardly the dazzling European continent.
On his walks back from school, he’d always try to take the longest way home. Unless he needed to be back for something in an urgent rush, in that case he’d take the bus. It saved him a few pennies, and let him buy a treat from the convenience store on the way home. A chocolate or something if he was feeling particularly adventurous.
The path home was mostly empty past a certain point. More farmland and less concrete roads. Alex, Lando and Charles would go in the opposite direction.
It was just him and the open road, which George found everlasting comfort in winding down. Hardly any cars would pass him by, at least, at a certain point, and he would hardly pay any mind to them.
His little iPod would be plugged in and gripped tightly in his fingers or in his pocket. A generous gift from Alex’s family for his birthday this year. Alex said it was an old one, one that his older sister, Alicia, didn’t use. But George had always suspected that it was a new device, just from how the sun reflected off the silver shine of its edges. There were no songs loaded onto it, beyond a few generic rock and pop hits, and definitely none off the slow melancholic indie that Alicia liked to listen to.
George had almost rejected it, handed it back when he saw its condition. But Alex’s mother, Cynthia, wrapped her fingers around George’s fingers, loosely forcing his grip over his new present.
The only thing that he could say or process in his mind was, “Thank you.”
George had expected the road to be empty today, and he was hoping for the peace that it could grant him.
Today, however, Max was there, walking a few paces in front of him.
George let out an annoyed puff, a rise of irritation from the other person who occupied his space. He puts his music in, letting Freddie Mercury take the reigns as he lets his feet walk the familiar path home.
He would just ignore him. Max and him weren’t friends. They were just classmates.
George had enough friends.
He reached for his iPod, trying to scroll through his installed music, bearing little mind to the staunch looking boy a few steps in front. George could only hope he’d feel the same.
A few streets down, he watches as Max ducks into the corner store, the same one that George would go to, to buy his chocolates. He grimaces at the sight of it, and another tick of annoyance rises through him. He tries not to think too much of it, how his road home was now not as peace ridden as it used to be.
Because God above had to take that away from him too.
Great.
Not that he believed in a higher being and divine intervention. But George supposed it was better than thinking nothing existed.
George walks past the store, glancing at the old creaky door, with the same hanging gold bell on the inside of it which ringed shrilly when someone came in. Not much has changed about the corner store. They still had old soda advertisements plastered on the side, the ones where the woman would be drinking it on a hot summer day, unknowingly spilling half the content on her body. There were also some old movie posters too. He vaguely makes out the candy section at the front of the cashier, filled with a colourful assortment of chewing gums and mints.
George sees Max by the cashier, paying for something. He couldn’t quite see it from the angle he was walking. Pursing his lips, he rolls his shoulders back and continues walking, hoping to make it a good few metres before Max would come out of the store.
The bell door rings, the same ring that he’s heard too many times in his life, and he instinctively turns to see Max step out of the store.
George continued walking, pretending to not see him. He just wanted to continue minding his own business.
But Max had other plans.
“Hey. Didn’t know you also walked in this direction.”
George closes his eyes, sighing. How could you? You’ve only met me today.
“Yeah, the way home’s this way.” He took out his earplugs, and pocketed his music. He notices that Max bought some Haribo gummies. “You alright?”
“Doing okay, the first day of school always sucks. You know?” Max placed his wallet in his back pocket, with a silver chain tying it from its zipper to the front belt look of his uniform.
“Not particularly, no, “ he responded flatly. So, Max was used to starting new schools? It would explain his enthusiasm that leaked through every interaction he had with them. “I’ve been here all my life.”
“Lucky,” Max groaned.
“Move around a lot?”
He nodded, “Yeah. It’s for my Dad’s job. Some stuff in environmental engineering I don’t really understand. So, we move around a lot.”
“I see.” He cringed at how stilled he sounded. “Where’ve you lived?”
“Belgium, Netherlands, Germany and Poland,” Max responded, listing them with his fingers. He opens the bag of gummies, and puts it in front of him. “Want one?”
“Er,” He eyed the candy for a minute. “No thanks. I’m good.”
Max nodded, reaching to eat one with ease. “These were always really expensive in Amsterdam.” He pops another one in his mouth. “I like sweets.”
“I can tell.”
“You’re not very talkative, are you?” Max inquired curiously.
George narrowed his eyes. “I suppose not, no.”
“Don’t see reason to?”
“Not really.”
“Talking doesn’t excite you?”
He thinks about it for a minute, “No, just…tired of bullshit,” George responded honestly. He wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him to answer as candidly as that. Small talk always seemed stupid to George, like a layer of fat that needed to be skimmed before they got to the good part of their stories. It’s useless, and adds nothing but needing to navigate awkward silence.
“Hmm.” Max thinks, popping another gummy into his mouth. “Well, you don’t have to bullshit around me.”
“I barely know you.”
“You haven’t tried to know me.”
“We just met today.” As if that answered anything.
Max shrugged, “We all begin somewhere.”
“Are you always this optimistic?” George asked, half in earnest curiosity and half in annoyance.
“Are you always this pessimistic?” Max fired back, cocking his eyebrow up. “I don’t think I’ve met another fourteen year old this uptight in a while.”
“Another? Gee, would love to meet them,” he comments.
Without missing a beat, Max responded. “Too bad, they’re in Belgium right now.”
“Drats,” George shrugs. “What a shame. What a shame.”
Max chuckled. “Maybe you’ll meet one day, who knows.”
“I don’t think I’m going to Belgium anytime soon,” George said. I don’t think I’m going anywhere soon for that matter.
“You never know.”
“Mr Optimist strikes again.”
“Do you really think you won’t leave England? There’s so many places to see and to go,” Max asked.
“My family doesn’t really go on trips.”
“I’m not asking about your family. I’m asking about you.”
George quietened. The question runs a deep vine into his brain, crawling through his memories and dreams. There weren’t many– dreams for that matter– so George just pursed his lips. “I guess I never really thought about it. But I like big cities, like the ones I see on the telly.”
“So you’ll leave then.” It’s not a question. “That was easy.”
“Uh,” George stammers. “Maybe. The answer is maybe.”
“I think you should start dreaming bigger.”
“I think you should stop being so noisy,” George huffed.
Max looks at him, a smile glistening his lips. He didn’t seem bothered at all by George's stilted and half-baked answers. Bless him for being new, George supposes.
“Maybe,” Max chides.
They walk down the road as a beige car vrooms by, the wind catching in both of their short hair. George looks to the side, taking a look at Max from his side. He had a soft and round cheek, curving into his chin. His hair was sandy blonde, adding to his boyish nature that George noted when they met in school.
“You live around?” George had to stop himself from pinching the front of his hand. “I figured since you’re walking down this path…”
It was awkward. God, it was awkward.
But Max didn’t seem too phased by George’s delivery, and if he did, it didn’t show it on his face. “Yeah, just down the road and to the right. My Dad and I just moved from Amsterdam.”
“Ah,” George nods. “I see. Where’s your Mum?”
Max’s expression darkens, eyes going momentarily hollow as he reaches into his bag of candy. “She stays in Belgium with my sister.”
George’s lips parted. “Oh. Do you see her often?”
“No.”
And George has a feeling that this was the wrong avenue to go down.
“But she does call on the holidays,” Max’s tone becomes lighter as he crinkles up the plastic, folding it in half as he tucks it in his side bag pocket.
George tried to think of anything to respond to Max, guilt riding up his spine as he realised he probably dredged up something Max didn’t want to talk about. “I’m sorry.”
“What about?”
“Your Mum.”
Max gave him a small smile, “There’s nothing to be sorry about. She’s not dead.”
“Yeah, but she’s so far away.”
“It’s for the best that my Mother and Father stay far away from one another.” And George knew exactly what he was alluding too.
“I see, I understand,” George responded.
“No need to be so solemn about it.” Max brushes it off, as if George didn’t see the shift in his voice, a storm that shifted from sun to rain and back in a matter of minutes. “The grey around the cheekbone is something to be sorry about. That looks miserable.”
George stilled, thumb pressing on his cheekbone. The swelling had gone down significantly, and he made sure to apply concealer that he nicked from Sophie’s makeup bag to make the ghastly red and blue paint itself away. “I was careless with the door.” An automatic answer at this point.
“Hell of a door,” Max says, giving him a look.
“You should’ve seen the door,” George said, saying the same stupid joke from this morning. “Man v. Door. It’ll be a new telly series.”
“I don’t think the viewership will be particularly high when there’s one winner,” he said. “And by winner, I mean the door, not you.”
“I’m sure I have a few beatings within me.”
“Boy v. An inanimate object. I can see nothing wrong with that.”
George let out a laugh. It felt good to let out a chuckle, even if his ribs did hurt from it. “Don’t make me laugh.”
Max grinned, “Put a warm compress on it, it’ll help with the blood flow.”
“I iced it when it happened.”
“When did it happen?”
“Friday, I was biking. Tripped on a rock, you know.”
Max frowned, “I thought you said it was a door.”
An ice bucket felt like it was being dumped onto George’s head, with ice water running down his shirt and tingling his every nerve into paralysis. “It was,” he stammered. “I tripped on the bike on Saturday which is why it’s so fucked up. After the door, you know.”
“I see,” Max nodded.
George looked onto the horizon, he wasn’t sure if it was uneasiness or embarrassment that held in the pits of his stomach. Maybe it was Max’s lack of answer, or his simple acknowledgement that made George feel oddly exposed by his observation.
He didn’t remember the last time someone noticed the irregularities with his story. He didn’t really remember the last time he talked to someone new.
“You, uh, play any sports?” George asked.
Max looks up at the sky to think, “I play mostly video games. Football. I’m a halfway decent water polo player.”
“Water polo? Sounds intriguing. I’ve never played.”
Max let out a small chesty laugh, eyes folding as he put his entire chest into it. A real giggle if George has ever seen it.
“Something funny?” He inquired, giving him a strange look. He didn’t say anything titillating did he? Unless he managed to embarrass himself again.
“No,” Max shakes his head. “Just the way you say that word.”
“Water polo?”
“Intriguing,” Max says, curving his voice down to mirror an English accent. It was horrible to hear, he much rather liked hearing Max’s regular accent.
“What’s wrong with it?” George bites the inside of his lip. Was his accent not good enough?
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he responds quickly. “Why are you so quick to assume that there’s something wrong?”
“No, I don’t,” he said defensively. “Stick with your regular accent, it makes you more tolerable.”
“Tolerable?” Max says, with a quirk of his eyebrow. His question previously dropped into the wide expanses of Norfolk's fields. “We’ll get up to more than that.”
“Mate, you wish,” George said with an amused chuckle.
“Okay, this is me,” Max said, as he approached the intersection of the road. “It was nice talking to you, George.”
George waved, “You weren’t half bad yourself,” he smiled.
“Warm compress it!” He yelled, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
George nodded, “See you.”
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and yes i know i need to be working on grief has a funny way of finding us' epilouge but i just ARGH this came first in my brain. we're 74k and counting tho !
more to come :)
-a
