The next morning, I was woken by a burst of sharp knocks at my door. My body's in perfect synch and always wakes at 6:00 am, but I considered I was off-track due to jet lag and the show last night. I groaned and looked at my alarm clock. It was 7:30. Late for me, but too early for anyone I knew to be here.
Ignoring the obviously lost person who was banging on my door, I slid out of bed and put on my thick-framed cat-eye glasses before throwing my long hair into a messy bun. I stuck a K-Cup in my machine and was eager with anticipation of my morning ritual: Coffee, check phone, brush teeth, shower, makeup, hair.
Except the obviously lost person continued their banging, and I couldn't ignore them anymore. I huffed toward the door and opened it before remembering I was wearing only panties and an oversized Rolling Stones shirt.
There stood George, with two white paper bags and a smile from ear to ear, the sun beaming off his face in all the right places.
"Good morning," he said, his deep and melodic.
"Hi," I managed to say.
He looked down at my legs and smirked.
"Did you just wake up?" he asked.
"Maybe," I said, returning his playful stare.
"Are you going to let me in?"
I opened the door for him and he strolled in, walking into the kitchen before sitting the bags on the table. He arranged two coffees and two pasteries, both at chairs comfortably close together. George motioned for me to sit down, and I did, not bothering to put on any additional clothes.
He couldn't see much, but I caught him lingering at my backside as I walked past him and sat down.
"Nice," he muttered to himself, taking a big bite.
Joy stretched at my lips as I downed my coffee.
"What are you doing here so early?" I inquired.
George was never an early bird. When he were kids, his mum used to practically drag his lanky ass out of bed.
He shrugged. "Just wanted to hang out with you."
I fluttered my lashes at him and joined him in eating, my bare leg resting comfortably against his. It took me a while to realize I might have been making George a little uneasy, and I moved my leg away from his.
"Aww, aren't you just a sweetie pie?" I teased him, bopping my finger against his nose.
George's face flushed as I pinched his cheek. He rolled his eyes in protest, but seemed to be enjoying it.
"Did you have a late night?" I asked him.
Translation: Did you fuck any of your groupies?
George nodded. "Oh, hell yes. I don't even know what time I went to bed. I just woke early and wanted to see you."
I looked down at the table and fiddled with the fabric of my shirt, letting out a little yawn.
"Well, I don't mind seeing you," I admitted.
George slurped his coffee and crossed one arm over his chest, clenching his opposite bicep in his hand. Drumming so much has sure toned his arms.
"So, you met Hann and Matty?" he asked.
I saw Hann. I nearly fucked Matty. Naturally, I couldn't tell George that.
"Yeah," I told him. "They seem awesome. Hann is kinda shy. Matty, on the other hand...." I trailed off.
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