vote and comment! ik this took forever to get out, sorry<3 incredibly short chapter because i needed to rush to get it out
You were having quite the eventful dream before you woke up, the sun boring into your eyes -- even though they weren't open. Your first reaction was to screw up your face and bury yourself under the covers, but the light illuminating the room didn't seem to like that idea. That didn't stop you from turning over, however, until your nose was pressed against the pillow and you could barely breathe.
Most of the time, you preferred silence. Silence was practically heaven for you, seeing as back with Jacobs there never seemed to be a moment without chatter. Birds chirped, and instead of adoring the sound, you groaned. How early was it? Certainly not very late, seeing as the birds were practically screaming in your ears. You glared at the windows, wishing the curtains would magically draw.
Ignoring how hot you were under all the sheets, you scrunched your eyes closed once more. Maybe, if you were lucky, you'd fall back into a peaceful sleep and be awoken in many hours. Maybe, if you were lucky, you'd wake up the next morning.
You rolled over, unaware that George was standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs. He hadn't been there for long, but it was a wonder how you hadn't heard his footsteps. You put one leg over the blanket -- with your eyes still shut -- and flipped your pillow so that your head would be resting on the cold side.
George cleared his throat, tapping his foot against the floor to gain your attention. He waited until you had noticed him to speak.
"Uh, it's half past ten." He shifted on his feet, and from where you were laying, you could faintly see his gaze flicker from you to the ground multiple times. "Thought you'd want to be awake."
He thought wrong. If anything, you wanted to sleep all day, and only get up the next morning. That would be the dream, but seeing him stand idly, you curled your lip and stared up at the ceiling, dragging yourself out of bed no more than a moment later.
You stretched and yawned, but managed to haul yourself to your dresser. Rummaging around the smallest drawer, you pulled out an oversized shirt. Usually you'd wear it to bed, but yesterday you were lazy and left it for now. You draped it over your shoulder and looked around the drawer beneath it until you found a loose pair of pants. That, too, you draped over your shoulder.
George rocked on his heels as he waited, watching you curiously.
You searched around for your undergarments, smiling in triumph when you found your socks, too. Spinning, you tossed the clothes onto the bed and, when you were certain none of them had fallen onto the floor, turned to look at George. It was quite obvious that he wanted to continue on with what he was saying, but couldn't find the right words.
You propped a hand on your hip, motioning with the other for him to proceed.
"I made eggs, if you want to eat," he said. "Um, I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."
Without saying anything more, he whirled around -- and with that, he was gone.
You took the time without anyones presence to glare at the sky, squinting your eyes to look at the sun with frustration. It was days like this that you wished for clouds -- it was days like this you were irritated, and would do anything for a wink of sleep.
When you had finished silently cussing out the world, you rolled onto your mattress, crawling to the edge in order to retrieve the clothes you had thrown. If it meant you would get to eat sooner, perhaps you should have kept them in your arms. You were terribly hungry, and your dry throat practically begged to be watered down.
You only wore undergarments when the thought of closing the curtains dawned on you, but you merely shrugged. You were at the top of the building, and you could hardly see down to the ground, so no one else could see through.
Yanking socks on, you yawned. George was ridiculously wrong, and if you had known him longer you would have scolded him and flicked his forehead.
Just as you had put on the last of your clothes, you blinked and decided to change back. Pyjamas were much more comfortable, anyways.
You were down the stairs not much later, dragging your hand on the railing and internally screaming. There was no reason to be so exhausted, seeing as you had passed out early in the evening and woke up only and hour and a half before noon. You had gotten at least thirteen hours of sleep, which was a lot considering your old sleep schedule consisted of fifteen minutes, at most.
The door to the kitchen was open, and you could hear the kettle whistle. Maybe George was preparing tea. You knocked thrice on the door before scurrying in, rushing for food so you could rest your legs.
George turned to you, quickly, but averted his eyes and continued on with what he was doing. "Lucy and Lockwood went out for breakfast, so it's just us," he spoke.
"Oh," you said, chewing on the bottom of your lip. You had wanted to get to know Lucy a bit more, see if you could be friends. It would be incredibly awkward if you couldn't be, which was why you were so eager to ask questions and (hopefully) have pan easygoing conversation.
You scanned the kitchen, wondering what there was to eat. At Jacobs, it was always the same thing; cereal or a sandwich. You had never really thought that sandwiches were a breakfast food, and opted to have the cereal. No matter how many times you had it, you never seemed to grow tired of it.
George, who had apparently noticed you were hovering at the door, waved you over, motioning for you to sit. When you did, he turned around (once again) so that his back was facing you. "I made pancakes, if you'd like some. Lucy wanted something, which is why they left." You could practically hear him roll his eyes. "I can hardly imagine why she would pass pancakes, especially ones I made."
"Dunno," you shrugged, shifting in your seat. "Maybe she just doesn't know how good you make them." Though, you wanted to add, neither do I.
George seemed content with the compliment, and the two of you continued on in silence. You watched him flip a pancake and set it on a serving plate, going until their was no batter left and the pancakes stacked like a leaning tower.
After flicking the stove off, he whirled around and balanced the plate on one hand, and using the other to open the fridge to grab condiments. One, which you could recognize as maple syrup.
You had always liked it (what was there not to like? It was practically all sugar), but never really bothered using it. Most of the time it left you with a sticky face, and you would really rather someone you had met simply hours ago not see your mess. That was precisely the reason you rejected his offer, shaking your head no.
"Alright," George sniggered. "Suit yourself."
You rolled your eyes, swiping a plate from the middle of the table before pilling on a bunch of crepes.
Silence consumed the both of you, and your heartbeat pounded faster with each passing moment. For some odd reason, you were sensitive to both noise -- and quiet. It never really made sense to you, how you needed the right amount of noise to be comfortable in your own skin.
You shifted your weight from one side to the other, letting your head rest in your right hand, your elbow aching as it dug into the table. You wanted to say something, anything so that it wouldn't be unbearable anymore, but you couldn't find the words. The air smelt warm, heat gathered around you.
Before you could process what you were doing, you had already shovelled one in your mouth, looking at George through your eyelashes, who was watching with wide eyes. Your brushed it off and resumed your meal. It wasn't like he was going to judge you, anyway. He was the one who had made the food, and so it must have been flattering for him that you liked it a great deal.
Wiping your mouth, you stood, picking up your plate to put it in the sink. You washed your hands and dried them on a towel, staring out the window for a second before turning around once more.
Hurriedly, you stepped around the table. In any other situation you would have laughed at the flower print apron George was wearing -- he resembled oddly like a teenage girl whose mother had spent the entire day teacher her how to cook -- but you were desperate to leave the suffocating room.
"I'm going to the library!" you called out from over your shoulder, relaxing your posture (which had been slumped, anyway) when you made it to the front door.
You looked around the mudroom to find your shoes, playing with your fingers. Eventually, after an agonizing minute in which you could have been gone already, you found them under the bench. Unfortunately, you weren't quick enough in finding them, and the moment you had slipped them on George had already scurried out the kitchen.
"In pyjamas?" he questioned.
It probably would have been easier to answer, but your mouth wouldn't open. Instead, you gave him a meek nod and small smile.
"Oh, already then." He shuffled around the room, looking for something. He muttered under his breath, and you watched him curiously. "Aha!" he said, waving whatever it was he looked for in the air. You tried to move your eyes along with it, only to drop your eyes not long later because it made you dizzy.
You rubbed your eyes, and when you let your hands fall, you couldn't help but notice the big brown boots that hadn't been on his feet before.
"Mind if I join you?"
IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO SHIT - 1725 words