Eyes Bright, Uptight {EDITING}

// i like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful, yet so unaware of it//

George made a strange noise that was something between a scoff and a laugh.

"He's uhm- he's great," I said, stopping myself before I seemed starry-eyed.

Ugh, what was I doing?

"Hann's the shit. He's so fucking talented. He'd do anything for a mate. Matt's the same too, except he gets wrapped up in himself," George began. "He's brilliant and charismatic, almost a cliche but you gotta love him anyway."

I don't think I could have said it better.

"Yeah, I could listen to him talk all day."

Did I say that out loud?

George frowned at me.

"Aw, fuck," he groaned.

"What?" I asked innoently.

"You've got a crush on Matty? Already?" he said, his voice sounding like I told him I ate out of the garbage.

"No!" I said, too dramatically.

"Don't," George said quietly, shaking his head. "Seriously."

I let out an annoyed noise. "I barely know him."

Not entirely a lie.

"Tread carefully, my friend. I don't want you getting mixed up with him," he begged.

I let my hair down and re-tied my bun, buying some time to think of something to say. I couldn't have this fucking conversation with George. What is wrong with me?

"Who says I'm interested?" I asked.

"Your face," George answered.

Fuck.

"Not true. And who says he's interested in me?" I said with sass.

George rolled his eyes. "Have you seen yourself, Claire? You're beautiful. So damn beautiful."

The way he said beautiful felt like the first moment of putting on fuzzy socks.

"And once he realizes you're smart, and funny and look hot in an old T-shirt...done deal. He'll fuck you the minute he knows you're into him," George said, his voice changing in inflection.

"Oh, please. I'm not into him. I mean he's cute and interesting, but I'm not into him," I said, more to myself than George.

"Claire," he huffed. "You don't know him. Don't be like those girls. Don't get me wrong, he's my best friend. But all Matty has to do is run his fingers through his fucking stupid hair and blab on about philosophical crap and naive girls flock to his dick like flies on shit."

I sighed, and took in what George was saying. He couldn't have been wrong, but I didn't want to ever admit I had an incling of desire for Matty Healy to George, so I quickly changed the subject.

"And you?" I asked him.

"Me?" he returned my question with a question.

"Oh, what? Like you don't do the same?" I played.

George exhaled a throaty chuckle. "To get girls?"

I nodded, beaming up at him.

"Ah, I don't have to do anything. Just sit still and look pretty."

He wasn't too bad at it.

George just looked at me for a minute, his eyes glittering and focused on mine. He then followed my contagious yawn.

"I'm still sleepy," he groaned.

In all honesty, I was too. The dreary, rainy weather didn't help out either. I gave him a knowing smile before suggesting we do our favorite morning tradition, like we did when we were kids. George and I would wake at the crack of dawn and eat breakfast, then decied we were too tired and he would find his way into my bed. We'd watch some silly TV show until George fell asleep. I'd lie there and watch him for a while before I did the same.

George kicked off his shoes and flopped into the bed. I clicked on the tv and sat next to him, pulling the plush blanket over us.

"Top Gear?" I asked.

George shook his head and draped his long, muscular, tattooed arm over me.

"No, too loud."

"Gordon Ramsay?"

"Way too loud," George yawned again, this time bringing me closer to him.

"Two Fat Ladies?" I offered.

This one was our favorite, as our mums watched it.

"Perfect," George mumbled with delight.

The Two Fat ladies were going on about how you shouldn't keep eggs or butter in the fridge. I disagreed with this, but continued half-watching the show, half-watching Geoge's eyelids become heavy.

"Missed you," he said into my ear, an ease coming over me.

I turned the TV down to where it was just faint background banter, and turned onto my side, facing away from George.

"Missed you too," I whispered.

I felt so at peace here, with my ....friend? I loved this country, but I hadn't quite felt comfortable in a while. And being here, in this tiny bed with this big man, made me feel so at home. I found comfort in the way his body heaved as he breathed in and out, his chin resting on top of my head, his hand casually smoothing my hair.

"Georgie?" I asked.

"Mmm?"

His bedroom voice was on fucking point.

"Are we cuddling?" I asked, not entirely rhetorically.

He chuckled into my ear, and my heart went squishy.

"Kind of," he answered.

I raised an eyebrow and turned my head back toward his face. If I were to move just a few inches, my mouth would be on his. Ugh, that little mole on his cheek was so cute.

"Is this weird for you?" I questioned.

"No," he answered, kissing me on the forehead softly.

I must have laid there for half an hour, just watching George Daniel. His mouth was open slightly, soft snores coming out every so often. His well-defined stomach rose and fell as he slept. I was enthralled with him, my dear friend. My eyes began fluttering as they gazed at his tattoos, and I fell asleep in his arms.

It was ever 12 when I woke, and I felt groggy and displaced. George was gone, and a note in his terrible handwriting was left on my bedside table next to my phone.

Had to run. Stop by my place tonight around 10 if you're free. Miss you already friend- George