Without actually asking if I want to stay at his house, George turns on the engine and drives in that direction anyway. When we arrive outside, he parks the car in silence before getting out of the vehicle. For a quick second, I'm hesitant to do the same but then I remind myself that I let him bring me here. So I get out of the car and follow him silently inside. Once I take my shoes off, I inhale the overwhelming smell of George and I can't help but embrace it all.
I settle comfortably on the familiar couch while he takes the other and switches the television on. The news pops up and their main focus is the current storm. It had taken us almost double the time to get home since George was being extra cautious in the snow. Not only was it falling badly and therefore his vision was impaired but the ground was also getting real deep. If this was just the beginning, who knew how deep it would actually get? My eyes slide over to the window where I can see the snow fall has increased. My hands reach into my pocket to pull out my phone so I can message dad. My father is the top contact in my messages (which is rather sad) making it easy to type and fill him in.
We got sent home from school early because of the storm (like you said). I hope they didn't wake you up? Or are you in work?
A few minutes go by as George comments on the storm and the news before my phone BINGS!
George's voice interrupts my amusement at the very parental text on the screen, "Who's that? Dad?"
Looking up, I see him watching me intently, "Yeah, he's freaking out because I haven't eaten properly since Sunday. He's in work."
If possible, George looks worried. If possible. His eyes narrow to slits as his eyebrows furrow. There's a little annoyance in the look he throws my way as he gets up from his seat. What? I was sick.
"What the hell Luna?" He questions, "Why didn't you say that in the car?"
My eyes widen slightly at his accusing tone, "What are you talking about?"
George ignores my question and walks towards the living room door, "I'm making food."
With that, he leaves me in the living room not having asked me what I fancy or if I'm even hungry. What if I throw up and the cycle begins again? I don't think I can do another week in that state. I roll my eyes at his bossy behaviour but decide to let him carry on doing whatever he wants as I reach for the remote to turn Friends on. The couch's warmth engulfs me, encouraging me to get comfy, as I lay down with my head resting on the arm. As the episode goes on, I get a whiff of the lovely smell coming from the kitchen and, for the first time in a couple of days, I'm excited to eat whatever George is making. I wonder what it is... hopefully nothing too heavy. As I go over all of the possibilities, I feel my eyes drift close. Maybe for just a couple of minutes.
Someone shaking my shoulder interrupts my very comfortable sleep and the smell of food invades my senses. My tired eyes flicker open to see George taking his seat on the other couch and placing his plate on the arm. Stretching, I sit up and excitedly pick the plate up onto my lap. Mm. George has made pasta, a small portion, with veggies and a tomato sauce. I don't fight the small smile that tugs at my lips when I swallow the first bite. Okay, this was good. However, I'm careful, waiting, incase the sickness appears but the urge to throw up doesn't arrive. An even bigger smile grows as I come to finish the plate, thank George, and take it to the dishwasher. I'm very thankful that he didn't listen to anything I said and proceeded to make some food. I definitely feel more energised now. While I'm in the kitchen, I make us both a drink and wonder about George once again. So, he can cook, he's kind, he's charming, and a good friend but he's also a mystery, dangerous, and intimidating. Admittedly I still had many, many questions about his life but I'm choosing to respect his privacy on the matter.
In my thinking, I've stopped to stare out of the kitchen window. George's arm wrapping around my waist wakes me up from my day dreaming as he lifts me off the floor and carries us upstairs. I giggle at the grumpy look on his face throughout the journey. Well, if he didn't want to carry me up the stairs then he shouldn't have picked me up.
Once inside his neat room, he starts rooting through drawers as confusion passes over my face. While he does that, I take in his room which hasn't changed at all since the last time I saw it. It was still clean, tidy, and organised. Feeling bored at just standing there and staring, I ask:
"What are we doing?"
He looks at me before checking a black top in my direction. No bottoms? My eyebrows furrow as he replies, "Getting changed, princess."
"What for?"
He tilts his head, "You're sleeping here, right?"
Oh. Right. I didn't have pyjamas. My eyes flicker to the top in my hands before returning to him and giving him the are you serious look. George's lips lift into a very smug smirk, one I've surprisingly missed, as we stare at each other for a moment.
"What's the issue, Luna?"
He wants me to spell it out? "I'll be cold..."
The smirk grows as he nods slowly and returns to the drawer to give me a pair of shorts. Well, that's better than nothing. A sense of warmth passes through me as the smirk on his face moves into a smile.
As the day transitions to night, the storm does get much worse. George's car is covered in white as the snow reaches to the top of his tires. Not that I was planning on but there was no way he could drive me home tonight. Although, it is unusual for us to spend the whole night inside. Usually, we find somewhere to go for a late night snack or just to go for a drive. Maybe that's why I had so little money lately.
"Princess," the pet name shouldn't be acceptable, I shouldn't respond to it, but I lift my eyes from my phone while turning to face the boy laying next to me. We are currently watching something - well, he's watching and I'm scrolling - in bed since it was quite cold downstairs. Offering him a nod, he continues, "I was thinking... we should both sleep here."
A laugh leaves my lips at the suggestion, "Well, that's what I was hoping for."
That causes a smirk to rise, "In this very bed, together, princess."
The amusement on my face disappears very quickly. Quickly enough for George to chuckle at my new expression of confusion. We usually slept in different rooms, one of us taking the sofa bed, whenever I spent the night.
"George, I know we're friends but—"
The laughter that leaves his lips interrupts my interrogation and causes my cheeks to redden. Why was he laughing? What was funny? Was there something on my face or in my hair? After he calms down, he looks at my with a huge grin on his face.
"You think we're friends?"
The overwhelming and absolute feeling of embarrassment takes over my entire being. Oh gosh. What? Why did he spend the last week trying to talk to me then? He doesn't think we were friends? Of course he doesn't. He has his followers, why would this bad boy need another friend? Gosh, why did I even say that out loud? I could have just said 'I don't know about sharing a bed, we've never done that before' but no, I had to go too far. Now, I wish the ground would swallow me up so I could avoid the face filled with amusement sat beside me.
George takes in my expression, one filled with horror I'm sure, until his laughter dies down, "You actually think we're friends!" There's no humour in his tone now and he sounds almost accusing, like he can't quite believe that I would ever think that. Was is absolutely disgusting that I thought we were friends? Was the idea too absurd for him?
"I, I guess. I mean, well, yeah. Yeah I did - I do."
When he laughs at my reply, it sounds different. Instead of humour, there's a dull sarcasm there. George turns his body so he's facing me with an arm supporting his head upright. Taking in my expression, his face turns serious as he opens his mouth to speak. Unfortunately for him, and for me, I am suddenly overcome with the urge to defend myself.
"I don't understand why we wouldn't be friends. I mean, we spend so much time together. You let me take your bed more times than not, we spend hours in your car, you've met my dad who always invites you into our house, and we argue like friends. I don't get why you're too serious and mysterious to have another friend. I know I don't wear black all day like some of those boys you hang around and I don't smoke and I'm not a lover of violence, plus I'll never just nod and smile at you if you're in the wrong, but I just thought..." My mind goes blank then. But what Luna? What did we really have in common? I bite my lip at the thought as my embarrassment reaches a new high.
In response to my outburst, George reaches over to the side of my waist furthest from him so he can pull me on my side to face him. His eyes slowly rake over my figure, from my waist to my face, taking their damn time.
"God," he chuckles, a deep chuckle that settles in my stomach, "You're fucking cute, princess. You know that?" He offers me another smirk at my expression, "Don't ever repeat that. Me and cute don't go hand in hand."
A sigh escapes my lips at his cheekiness, "Is this the part where you change the subject and we forget this ever happened?"
George shakes his head in response as his hand comes up to my face to release my bottom lip from my teeth's grasp. Once his hand is back to his side, he speaks, "Fine, we're friends."
It feels like he's just saying that to make me feel better which doesn't kill my embarrassment. I ignore what he's said and choose to ask, "if we're not friends, why do you keep talking to me?!"
Another laugh. Another knock at my pride.
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A bit of a longer chapter to make up for the last shorter ones. Happy reading :)