a/n: as i've mentioned before, i really find it hard to have motivation to write something i'm not a fan of/interested in anymore, so i'm writing from the perspective that this is no longer about mcyt and pretending it's not lmao. i still appreciate all the good times and all you good people, cheers :]

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If there was one thing George didn't like to do, it was to wait. Waiting had become a devious activity that has always haunted him. Was he impatient? Not necessarily, but he did have a knack for wishing things went by quicker than they did.

Waiting for results of a test, waiting for a letter from his family, and most importantly, waiting for phone calls so long ago.

So as George stood in line, he tapped his foot on the ground, trying to pass time. He found importance in what he was waiting for and just wanted it to happen already.

"Number 867!" A voice called, and George's head perked up at the sound. He looked at the slip of paper in his hand that read the spoken number and walked over in rhythmic steps on the brown tiled floor to the counter.

"Here you go" The man who called had handed him a brown, greased up paper bag with a smile.

Yes, he indeed was waiting for his fast food order. What can he say? Food was of importance, he considered himself to be quite justified in over-hyping the idea of it in the aforementioned paragraphs.

This was life now, and life was good.

Well, when there wasn't a plot to kill you and you were being followed around by a medium who claims to have contact with an old friend.

"Can I have a fry?" Charlie asked as he entered the passenger seat of George's small car. He grabbed a fry without waiting for an answer as George started it up.

"So.."

"So?" George spoke with a raised brow.

"Want to tell me how you know this Clay character?" Charlie asked, his mouth now full of fries. George had started to drive when he answered.

He sighed, "Can't you just ask him?" He suggested, but Charlie shook his head rapidly. Indicating this was indeed something he could not do.

"No, he hates when I ask about it." He explained, "Said it's a long story." He pushed up his glasses as he watched figures move by in a blur out the car window.

"More like a 50 year old story." George mumbled under his breath.

Charlie looked over, "What was that?"

"Nothing." George brushed it off, trying to deviate from the current, quite uncomfortable conversation, "He's not with you right now is he?"

Charlie's head movements indicated his response was a no. "Whatever you say now is safe with me." He reassured with a grin, "I think."

"You think?"

"Well I don't kno- YOU JUST RAN A RED!" Charlie jumped in his seat, gripping the handles at the top of the car as though fearing for his life.

"Didn't notice, thought it was green," George shrugged, "I'll tell you how, but you can't freak out."

"I don't care just please don't get me killed in this car I haven't had my first kiss yet." Charlie dramatically pleaded as George chuckled. He sighed, clearing his throat and preparing to relay a story he hasn't told anyone about in his life since it occurred.

---

Charlie was open mouthed, his wide eyes looking from George to down at his french fries.

"Charli-" George was going to ask if the man beside him was okay, but Charlie shushed him. "What?"

"Let me process this, please," he said, making hand motions as if putting two and two together, "the math isn't math-ing."

"What part of it doesn't make sense?" George said, quite annoyed now.

"George, out of curiosity have you ever actually, you know, talked to another human before me?" Charlie asked as George looked at him questioningly.

"Why are you asking?"

"Because a normal human being with average, even low social interaction understands how your story just doesn't make sense." Charlie said accusingly and George appeared offended.

"And walking around with a ghost does?"

Charlie raised his eyebrows, "Well I don't know! It's more normal than that."

"This is why I shouldn't have told you." George shook his head.

There was no person he had told the entire story to start to finish. Not even Wilbur, who he considered one of his closest friends he had made. He left out the part where he had fallen for Clay for obvious reasons, given how immature he had taken Charlie to be.

The men were at a stoplight now as Charlie looked at him with a blank face, "I told you to let me process it first, can't you wait?"

George shook his head jokingly, "I hate waiting."

After a few moments of silence, Charlie spoke again, "So Clay's your friend from another time, huh?" He asked and George nodded.

"Yes I was." A voice spoke from behind them that only Charlie could hear. Clay was grinning in the backseat of the car, taking the appearance of the interior in a curious manner.

"AAH! George! Help me! There's a ghost!" Charlie cried until he realized it was Clay, "Oh, it's you." He said, his face suddenly flat

"Please tell him to leave my car." George said scoldingly, groaning as his foot became more inconsistent on the brakes due to his anxiety, making for a bumpy car ride, which Charlie made very clear by holding on to the handles at the top of the car again.

Clay uttered a response and urged Charlie to tell it to George. Charlie turned his head to George slowly, an awkward grin growing on his face.

"He said uh-" Charlie began while scratching his head.

George raised a brow, "Charlie. Tell me what he said."

Charlie spoke fast, "He said, 'or else what? You'll kill me?'"

Clay laughed at George's reaction to this response, (pinching the bridge of his nose in disappointment). The three (ish) men sat in the car in silence as George continued the drive home.

It was interesting for Clay to see George this way in person. Though he felt terrible about how everything had ended, there was a sort of peace.

Granted in the week that Charlie and George had been hanging out and talking (sometimes including him), he understood there was a lot he had to fix.

Sapnap had mentioned that they are brought into the afterlife not only maintaining their old appearance, but their mind from when they last, truly felt real while they were alive.

Clay had married, had kids, and divorced. Because he had loved his children so much he retained the idea of them, but other than that it's like the rest of his life never existed, or at least he could not remember anything for the most part.

It was as though death were a time machine and he had been twenty-one again. He had lost all memories of growing past that age, and was brought back young with a young mind.

Clay of course was unaware that this was all happening, he had entered the afterlife only knowing he was twenty-one years old and had children, and retained his best memories with them. He never tried to understand anything that required higher thinking than that. He forgot he was ever even older than twenty-one.

Everything was a blur. He knew he must have been older at some point but he never thought about it that hard.

He was aware of the situation with George and the phone calls having been fifty years apart, but swore up and down that he doesn't remember anything past his twenty-second birthday.

"Clay, you're being miraculously, and surprisingly silent now." Charlie had joked, and Clay looked at him.

"Is that an invitation to talk more?" He took the opportunity to say as he started taunting him with "Na na na na na" and blowing raspberries.

George had taken Charlie's reaction to this and assumed that Clay was once again being obnoxious.

For a little while all hard feelings were lost. It was just Clay and George sitting in the same car, joking around while Charlie looked miserable.

George was in the process of moving in with Charlie to ensure his safety from the threats, which means that Clay had been able to be near him more often.

They could not talk unless Charlie had been around to relay messages to George, but Clay knew everything he had wanted to say was private and it would have been betrayal to let another person hear them.

For a little while, all is well.

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