The King

Meet the Davidsons

Being in University for art has been fairly easy. All you did was paint, draw, and sculpt, turning in the projects when they were due. It was your senior year of University and you needed to start working on your final portfolio, that had the chance to be in a museum. You had been sitting on your hands for a while, basically, you had encountered an artist block. All you knew was that you wanted to use your favorite medium, oil paint, but you weren't exactly sure what to make.
One day, you checked the trending page on Twitter, and #BlondeGeorge was trending. Out of curiosity, you clicked and explored why something like this was on the main trending page. You found out people were fangirling over a blonde version of what seemed to be a Minecraft youtuber. He was conventionally attractive and had a fairly good facial bone structure. To try and get creativity for your portfolio, you painted this George in a more medieval style. Taking a selfie with your work, you posted it, as you normally do with your other works of art. What you weren't anticipating was the tweet blowing up with hundreds of thousands of likes and this George person noticing it. You found that he had reached out to you in your dm's, he actually asked you to send it to him. This was the first time anything like this had happened. First your tweet blows up, then a semi-famous person notices, and wants it for themself. You agreed to send it to him, and with that you thought it would be the end of communication with him.
To your surprise, it was not. You and George started talking more, and what started as an innocent request for art blossomed into a friendship. Twitter dm's turned into texting and texting turned into facetime. Over the weeks, you realised that you hadn't worked on your final project yet. You had been so sucked into communicating with your new friend George. Mentioning it to him one day, George came up with the idea that would get you flown out to England.

. . .

Sitting on the leather seats of a black mercedes cab, clutching your luggage, you looked out the slightly foggy window. London in the wintertime. The ride was smooth on the cobblestone streets lined with houses of varying colors and sizes. A light snow dusted the streets and treetops, the almost frozen temperatures making the smoke rising from each abode very obvious. It was a week past christmas, but lights still sparsely decorated the streets trees. The cab drivers voice rang out, snapping you out of your almost daydream-like state.

"It appears that we are here madame," The elderly cab driver's eyes lit up with a smile.

The car slowed in front of a dark grey house, with the front rooms aglow. "Thank you sir." Handing him a few euros you slipped out of the car pulling your suitcase behind you.

Anticipation built as you opened the wrought iron gate that was about waist high. Grasping your bag, you lifted it up the steps. Approaching a white door with a sturdy brass knocker, you took the cold handle in your hand and slammed it against the door. Hearing the faint remarks of people and a small dog barking in response. It took seconds of the door to open, and for you to be greeted by George. Who was wearing a blue sweatshirt and black pants, looking at you with his trademark smile.

"Hello y/n, how was the trip?" His accent was surreal in real life.

"It was long, I know the time change is going to be hell on me," You smiled as you studied his face.

"This is the first time we have ever met," His smile faltered for a second as his eyes met yours, pulling your bag inside.

As the door clicked shut behind you, your arms reached out pulling George in, "I'm so thankful to have this opportunity George,"

"Me too," His hands gingerly wrapped around your back, his cologne wafted to your nose. It was a rich woody scent, almost like an evergreen forest.

"This must be your lady friend George," A strong but sweet british accent rose from behind you.

"Y/n meet my mother," George sighed.

You were greeted by a shorter woman, a smile similar to George's plastered on her face. Black hair cascaded over her shoulders, deep green eyes stared into you, with the crows feet of age only accentuating her show of joy. She was dressed in a long black coat studded with gold buttons.

"Hello Mrs Davidson, it's great to meet you," You extended a hand but she pulled you into a hug instead.

"Oh please call me Moira," Her motherly-ness was very apparent, making you feel at home. "When George told me that you were painting him for a University portfolio I was so excited," She beamed looking at you. "Most of his friends play Minecraft, he's never had an opportunity like this,"

"It was his suggestion, I give him all the credit, but I am very excited!" You tried not to sound too crazy as your nerves were still high.

You heard the clicking of what were soon to be dress shoes approaching. A tall and slender man came into view. He had sliver slicked back hair, his eyes were a deep brown almost black, they hid behind dark framed glasses. He had on a deep green sweater, black pants, and a longer unzipped coat.

"Paint me like one of your french girls!" A low thick accent sang out.

"Oliver be polite to the artist in the house please," Moira lightly scolded him.

"Father don't be weird," George sighed.

"The names Davidson, Oliver Davidson," He leaned down with a half smile.

"Hello," You shook his firm hand.

"Father, you have to stop with the stupid movie references," Looking back at George he was clearly unimpressed.

"Well, son, jealousy of your dad's swagger is not a good look," He cracked a humorous smile.

"Neither is that green sweater," George snipped back.

"That's not what your mother thinks, anyways, I can't be the only person entertaining the guest," He looked back down at you, "You seem like a nice person for my oh-so-bitter son,"

"Oliver lay off of George, besides we have weekend plans and we don't want to be late do we?" Moira tugged on Oliver's coat sleeve.

"Where are you guys going?" You inquired.

"We are doing a little staycation downtown! As much as I would love to stay and chat with you, George demanded that he have some alone time with his guest to paint without pesky interference," She threw a joking glare towards Oliver who threw his hands up in disdain.

"The cab is outside, it is time for you to leave," George opened the door trying to usher his parents out as they grabbed their bags.

"Bye George, have a wonderful time you two," Moira smiled at you and kissed George on the cheek. "I hope I get to see the finished product," She took your hand in hers that was gloved.

Oliver was close to follow but not without slipping in the last word, "Should I leave some rubbers behind?" He smirked, "Oh wait, I might need them!" He laughed as you heard Moira scold him for his indecency.

"By the way dad she's an artist not a sex object!" George shook his head. "Sorry, he's been thinking that we are a couple for the longest time," The heavy door slammed behind them, and it seemed as George had a weight lifted off his shoulders.

"All good George, parents are always in our business no matter how old or young," You tossed your coat on the banister, sliding out of your boots, looking towards the kitchen.

"My dad thinks he's such a comedian," George came up behind you, placing a hand on your back to guide you to the bar.