Clay pov

We were back in the teachers lounge, the storm continuing to rage at no one in the distance, it's wreckage far away from our place in the school.

I had been through many hurricanes by now, but any fool would know that it was too dangerous to be outside of the school with the weather as dangerous as it seemed.

My experience, however, didn't mean I could effectively predict how long we'd be trapped in here. And I wasn't all too upset.

Even though he didn't talk, being with George was like having a friend; he was someone I could say I knew well enough, but I could tell that no matter how many questions I asked, there would always be so much to unveil about his personality without me being able to understand the words he wished to utter.

There was no way for me to imagine what his past was like, what his parents were like, if he even had any.

There was no way for me to know what made him laugh, or know his interests without him being able to communicate.

And so, as the sun began to set on our third unproductive day, I decided to learn how to speak sign language at least better than I could before.

It felt like a necessity, talking to George.

Despite the amount I craved his voice, I was doubtful that he had any plans on using it. I was, however, hopeful that I might be able to convince him to try one day.

Until then, I'd settle on the contemplation of his thoughts.

He was currently looking through his bag, searching for something I could not guess.

I was practically useless to him at this point.

It has only been three days since the detention that led us here, and we still had no idea as to what to do.

The only thing we'd done, which I suppose could be seen as useful, was figure out the necessities.

Food, water, bathrooms, medical wing; we'd found it all.

But I seldom saw the point in those things if in between the use of them, we were bored.

It had been a few hours since I'd begun learning the foreign language, and I figured that I probably knew enough to make out what he attempted to say.

"George?" I said softly. I don't know how he did it. Every time I spoke to the brunette, my voice was gentle, fond. I didn't speak to anyone else the way I felt compelled to speak to him.

George looked up at me from his seat in the ground, the contents of his backpack spread all around him.

"So... I, uh..." it was a simple thing, telling him I'd learned sign language enough to carry out a basic conversation. I didn't know why I was so nervous, but the stutter that was rarely ever there returned tenfold at the admittance.

I shut my eyes, finding it easier to speak when I wasn't under the intense gaze of his chocolate brown eyes.

"What are you looking for?" I ask, my voice somewhat strained with something so effortless, yet still holding the underlying gentility it always has when directed at George.

I open my eyes only to be met with the unimpressed expression of the boy across the room.

"Just... tell me in the easiest way possible." I say.

George still looked a bit skeptical, but nodded nonetheless.

Looking... phone... find it... anywhere

I couldn't make out an entire sentence, but I understood clearly what he was trying to say.

My mouth fell open in a wide grin as I began to speak, confirming hit words.

"You can't find your phone?" I ask.

George nods, a small smile forming in his pink lips, his eyes not as scrutinizing as they usually weee, and for a moment, they softened, his pupils dilating fondly.

I had only just caught it before he put his guard up once more, nodding and continuing his searching.

This time, however, I opted to join him, taking a seat kn the ground beside the boy, I shot him another small smile before we began to work in silence.

........................
(new thing I'm doing for this books time skips)

It was almost morning when we found the brunette's phone.

He grinned when I handed it to him, taking it eagerly from my palm.

I chuckled at his child like joy, returning to the spot beside my own bag and beginning to stare at my own screen.

The Wi-Fi was extremely bad, worse than the faultiness it ran with even on a normal school day, but we made it work.

I could tell that George loved the rain. On the second day of our confinement, the storm had died down momentarily, the lightning stopping, the thunder quietening, and, finally, George relaxing.

It was nice, the careless look on his face, as though with the threat lessening, he was finally able to not give a damn once more.

I knew he liked the rain, because even in his moments of indifference to the world, a small smile danced on his face as the pattering of the raindrops continued their gentle song.

Yes, George liked the rain, but as much as I could tell that, it was obvious to see that he hated storms.

The brunette slept considerably more than I did, and he slept at times of the day that were skewed out amongst our schedule so randomly that it was impossible to plan anything.

However, something about his sleep that was always constant during the hurricane was that he always liked me to sit beside him until he fell asleep, finding comfort in... I don't really know.

The brunette was an interesting character, quiet, but not really in the sense of being a mute. His silence held meaning, his quiet stares portraying words he didn't expect to utter anytime soon.

He acted tough, and it was hard to see through that barrier sometimes, especially for people that didn't know him.

I knew him, not as much as I would have liked, sure, but more than a lot of people I knew could say they knew him.

I knew him, yeah, but I also was unable to penetrate the personal barrier that he put up between him and I.

But that barrier crumbled when I saw him sleeping at night, sitting beside him with my back against the wall, staying put at his side long after his breaths steadied and dreams filled his mind.

I liked being close to him.

I liked seeing him this way, the way I doubted anyone else his age had.

I liked knowing I was the only one.

And so I stayed. My eyes tracing across his face in a way my fingers would never dare to, despite their desire to try.

I would reach my hand out, readying myself to brush through his hair the way he did mine, only to retract it once more with a sigh of defeat.

My reverie was diminished when I heard an electronic voice begin speaking from the opposite side of the room, tearing my gaze away from my phone and averting my attention to George's.

He was sitting on the floor beside his bag, his legs crossed, and biting his lip as he held the phone as it spoke.

"Hey, Clay. I'm glad I finally get to talk to you."

It takes a moment for me to collect my thoughts. I was finally able to talk to George!

"Hey, yeah, I'm glad we finally get to talk, too."

I sit there in silence while the brunette begins to type. His head was bowed and he still was biting his lip as his fingers and eye started rapidly over the device.

Suddenly, it speaks again.

"Thank you for being here for me. I know we're stuck together and all, but you could have left me to care for my self. I'm not familiar with hurricanes. I don't know what to expect."

I furrow my eyebrows at him.

"Are you not from here?"

He rolls his eyes, and somehow I know it's at the fact he's had to type so much rather than the fact I didn't inherently know that.

"No, moved from the UK when I was 13." his answer spoke it's way through the phone.

"That's cool. Did you like it there?"

"I wouldn't know if I would've liked it. I was only allowed to see a few places."

"Why?"

"... controlling parent, I guess?"

"Sorry for prying. Do you like it here in America at least?"

"Yeah, it's nice. I wish it rained more, though."

"You like the rain?"

"Yeah, just not storms."

"Why?"

"Don't always know what to expect."

"That's fair. Are you alright with the hurricane though? You're not, I don't know, scared or anything?"

"I'm getting used to it. What about you? Do you like storms much?"

"I... we're good acquaintances, I could say."

George let's out a stiffled giggle, quiet and gentle, but filled with enough mirth to make my stomach flutter at the sound.

"I like your laugh." I mutter quietly.

He stops laughing, but the smile never leaves his face.

Did he hear me? I wasn't sure, and I didn't know if I would mind him hearing my outspoken thoughts anyway.

We continue our conversation all day, George moving closer to me when the storm got louder until we were sitting side by side.

I liked being close to George.

As the sun went down, the brunette lay dow beside me, staring up at the ceiling in silence while I continued to talk to him.

It was quiet, the thunder outside being much louder than my voice, but somehow my words were easier to focus on, allowing the boy beside me peace and comfort as he drifted off to sleep.

I was tired too, and I knew I would doze off soon, but my hand was right there, outstretched toward the deep brown locks that were practically at my fingertips.

I wanted to rub my hand through the strands of his beautiful hair, the hair that flounced perfectly agains his forehead at all times, the hair that blew in the wind enchantingly.

I wanted to bring George the same comfort he brought me when he ran his hand through my hair by returning the favor.

And this time, my want outweighed the anxiety that had been holding me back, and my fingertips indulged themselves in the silky curls they'd been longing to touch.

I could feel a fond smile on my lips as my hand traveled over the brunette's scalp, my eyes watching his sleeping face carefully.

He was pretty, I couldn't lie, and it was something I didn't even have to admit to. Anyone could see it. He was beautiful, I might go as far to say he was ethereal.

I scrunch my nose up as I feel a blush coat my checks. No, probably not ethereal. Might not want to use that word.

Not yet.

I had some kind of feelings for George, I knew, despite me not being privy to what those feelings were, I couldn't ignore that they were there.

And something in my gut told me that these were feelings that would only expand and envelop me.

It was easier to accept them now.

My hand continued to travel over George's head, and his eyes opened a little as my finger caught on a tangle, the only imperfection to the voluptuous locks that were doused in an elegant brown.

My movements pause as I wait for the brunette to either reprimand my actions or fall back asleep.

Instead, he raised his hands a small amount and sigh es two words.

Don't stop.

I smile again, my hand moving once more.

George was fully awake now, both of us gazing into each other's eyes.

Soon, though, I layed down beside him, resting in my shoulder with one hand underneath my head the other atop the brunette's. I continued to gaze at him as he fell asleep now, looking to the ceiling as though it held all the answers he would ever desire.

I liked George.

I enjoyed his company.

Being stuck here with him... maybe wasn't so bad...

Yay!

I like this chapter!

I'm so sorry I've not been on the platform much lately, I promise I'm still alive and here in wattpad all the time.

As for updates... I have no excuse.

I just have a 2,000+ worded chapter for you guys as penance...

Much luv to you all!

Somehow this book managed to hit 100 reads already... you guys are actually amazing!

I'll write more hopefully later

2122 words