mr. loverman

chap. 1

Chapter one.

A subtle sigh escaped the young male's thin lips as he ran his slim fingers through his own hair. The winter breeze was soft, almost welcoming, if it hadn't been so cold. George didn't exactly mind the weather, but it for sure wasn't his favorite.

His face flushed a strawberry pink against the crisp air. Shoes pressed footprints into the blue-tinted snow. It'd been a few years since he has last taken a nightly stroll like this. It refreshed his mind.

George faintly eyed his surroundings, taking everything in with a keen interest. Sleet-covered pines with aging snow piled atop of it. Patches of fresh grass splayed like polka dots across the fields, being buried by a light, cold blanket. They seemed comfortable, he had thought.

Flakes of ice fluttered, danced even, beyond the midnight sky, enchanting the world below it with its presence. George knew this oh-so well. He vividly remembers every snowy night that had dared to make itself known.

A loose makeshift scarf wrapped around the base of his neck, sheltering it from the cold. Little stars and polar bears scattered across it. He wore a somewhat tight, white collared shirt from a previous interview he had partaken in. Over that, a dark blue and green clad jacket with a hood, almost too large for George's head.

It was cold tonight.

Nonetheless, he didn't pay much attention to that. It was now far in the back of his head, as he inched closer to a plain, average looking house. The house he lived in, but refused to call his "home".

He lightly scoffed, barely rolling his eyes as he, hesitantly, walked up to the porch as the dim light hovered over his now wet hoodie. He then pulled the hood down, pausing for a moment as he stared at the door handle. Twisting it with a gentle shove, he opened the door, eyeing the room in hope nobody would have spot his return.

He barely finished closing the door before his name was faintly called across the room, causing him to wince.

i'm heading straight for the floor,

He slowly turned his head, pulling his other hand from his jacket pocket, fidgeting as he waved back. He had an almost obvious look of discomfort spread across his face as he barely waved a hello.

"Hi, mom." His voice croaked. She was shifting around in the kitchen, cooking up what seemed to be an omelette. It smelled nice. He spared a glance to the pan she held, looking back up to her with more than wary eyes. "I'm back."

His mother clicks her tongue in a rhythmical matter, her arms sliding the spatula under the omelette and delicately placing it upon a plate. She slid the pottery into the sink and ran warm water over it, turning to George and motioning for him to come and join her.

He, begrudgingly, nodded, shutting the door as he didn't have time before. As much as he disliked her, (and most of the family in general,) he at least respected most of the rules within the house. He did live under their roof, afterall.

He placed the bare palm of his hand against the marble countertop. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down for a moment as he gulped, seeing the look on his mother's face. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

She spoke before George could speak, "How did the interview go?" She looked him up and down. She lifted a brow.

George cleared his throat, voiding eye contact. He tugged on the collar of his shirt, mumbling. "I haven't gotten a full response yet. They said they'd get back to me as soon as possible." His voice was slightly raspy.

His mother placed the omelette in front of George, gesturing to it. She seemed to have made it for him, surprisingly. It wasn't often she cooked for him, usually only when she wanted to speak her mind.

He turned his gaze to meet her eyes for a moment. He shifts in place, nervously placing his fingers atop the rim of the plate and picked it up, nodding his head in thanks without saying a word. He knew she wanted him to sit down and talk, but he really wasn't in the mood for that right now. He already knew she was going to say something George didn't like.

So, before his mother could reply, he slightly dipped his head in thanks and turned around, treading up the stairs to the top of the floor.

Floorboards creaked as he, step by step, made his way up to the intersection of rooms near the lengthy hallways. A wooden desk, seemingly to be on it's last few years of life, stood tall in between the hallway and his own room. It was littered with astray keys and a random assortment of untouched candies. A few candles lay on each end of the table, as well as a large picture frame he's much rather not notice right now.

George found himself at his door, sighing lowly to himself as he reached for the handle. He twisted, jiggling the knob a few times before it decided to budge open. He really needed to fix that.

As he made himself comfortable, he placed the untouched dish aside on the nightstand. He most likely wasn't going to eat it. He then quickly turned over, flopping into the warmth of his bed sheets.

He buried his face into the bed, letting out an exhausted, hefty sigh. He didn't even bother to pry off the wet coat from his body. He was fatigued.

His mind wandered for a bit, and his eyes were beginning to feel heavy. It was nearly pitch dark outside, if you excused the poorly lit sidewalks from dimmed street lamps. Most of the bulbs were old and needed changing. He wasn't exactly sure who was in charge of that.

To his side, a wooden based lamp stood still on the nightstand beside him, followed by his phone and a now chilled dinner left unscathed by his hunger. In the pit of his stomach, he could feel the urge to eat, but let that feeling sit aside unattended.

Speaking of his phone, he had forgotten to bring it out with him. Which, in the long run, was a good thing he didn't. Otherwise, he'd have been bombarded with notifications from his discord friends and twitter followers. He honestly needed a break from it all, but he was well aware of all the pleading comments he would get by his fans asking if he was okay. It wasn't that he minded it, he honestly thought it was kind of them, but it often got overbearing.

He also didn't want to face the wrath of having to explain everything to his friends. He was already imagining all the questions they'd ask, wondering where he was, why he left, how long he would be gone -- it made him tired.

Before his mind could flutter into the repeated dullness of sleep, a loud chime came from his phone that startled him back into reality. He lifted his head warily from the pillow, eyeing the device to the side. After a long moment of hesitation, he reached his hand over, plucking the phone from the table and powering it on. The screen lit up, a vibrant notification hovering eagerly at the top.

dreamwastaken has sent a message. open?

//AN: hi!! this is my first fic so there's likely a few mistakes, sorry about that!! i don't have an official proofreader yet haha

but thank you all so much for being here!! i genuinely hope you enjoy this first chapter! :D you can check it out on AO3 with the same name!! a big. BIG kudos to this on discord server im in. (yall know who you are wink wink) for helping me stay motivated throughout this!! 

see you all in the next chapter!