Setting Sun

2 | First Snow | 2

"What do you say, George?"

"What, sorry?" George said, startled.

Luke rolled his eyes at George, used to his remissfulness. "Do you want to come to the celebratory dinner tonight or not?" he reiterated, running a hand through his fluffy blond hair to get it out of his face.

"Oh! Um, sure," George responded shyly. He was surprised they'd even bothered, no one usually invited George to anything. "What for, though?"

"To celebrate another successful year, duh!" he said, enthusiastically, though George felt that he was a bit more excited for his Christmas bonus than anything. "Thank heavens, we all made it through another year working with that mean old man without being fired." George nodded, but he figured Luke couldn't know how close he had been to just that.

"Where at?" George interrupted, wanting to avoid the conversation of being laid off.

"Captain Puffy's, where else?" Captain Puffy's was a popular sport's bar that the boy's in the office always loved to go to. It was owned by a woman named Cara, who George happened to know personally. She was one of the first people he had met when he moved to America. He'd gone to the bar with some "friends" from college, but they ended up leaving him alone when they went off with some girls, who George wanted to go nowhere near. Cara, better known by the nickname Puffy, hence the name of the eatery, had seen him sitting all alone and came to sit by him. They talked all night before George inevitably had to leave. He'd been back a few times afterwards to visit her when he was feeling especially lonely, but their friendship never extended beyond that.

"Nice, okay," George said, satisfied. It worried him a little less knowing that he'd have someone to talk to if he got bored of the guys from work.

"Seven o'clock, don't be late!" Luke called as he walked away.

For the first time in a while, George felt a spark of hope. He wouldn't be desperately lonely, hoping for any kind of comfort as he sat on his couch binging whatever knew TV show he was into, delaying sleep because he knew that once he woke up from the blissful world of which he found so much comfort, he'd be back to his pathetic life with the same routine: wake up, go to work, go home, go to sleep, and repeat.

Puffy understood him, this George knew. He'd confided in her on many occasions, seeking refuge at the bar and fighting the urge to drink his worries away. Puffy helped him then, she somewhat knew of the things George had gone through, her own home life not being the best, similar to George. But George didn't know a whole lot about that, being that she'd never gone into depth about it. George knew better than to push, and when he went to see her, it was to spill his guts about his own issues, not hers. He only knew about some of the things because she'd used her own experiences to comfort and support him in his times of need.

He also knew that she had a four year old son by the name of Noah. She didn't know the father, but she loved him more than anything. She would do anything for him. George ached for that connection, the love of a mother and son that he'd never known. Maybe that was why he enjoyed talking to Puffy so much, she, in some way, was like the mother he'd never had, though she was two years younger than him. She treated him like her four year old, but George didn't mind because it meant she was caring and thoughtful while also giving him the tough love he needed.

George hurriedly went about finishing his work, trying to get done earlier today so he would have time to get home and get ready. It worked, as he was able to stay focused and get done a half an hour earlier than he would on a normal day, one where he didn't have to stay late to get all his work done.

Once he made it home, he rummaged through his closet, sorting through different combinations of clothes until deciding on something: black jeans, ripped at the knee, with a blue crew neck Levi's sweater. He decided to wear a white collared shirt under the sweater, to give it a fancier look. He finished it off with his favorite pair of white Converse. He looked himself over in the mirror which he never used, finally taking a moment to admire his appearance. His dark brown hair was messy, but in a stylish way, his skinny frame hidden cleverly by the oversized sweater that was tucked into his jeans, his pale skin flattered by the pastel blue of the sweater, which was why it was his favorite color.

Inevitably, he directed his gaze to his chocolate brown eyes. The eyes which he hated, for they matched the color of his father's. His mother had always loved them, even when it was just her and George, they were always the thing that calmed her, the deepness of them that brought her comfort and warmth. You'd think that this would make George appreciate them, the fact that they made everyone happy, but it was quite the opposite. They reminded George of the false happiness that he and his mother shared when he lived in England, the façade she put on when she saw them because they brought her back to happier times with her ex-husband. It wasn't real, just a fantasy.

He shook off the memories, checking the weather on his phone. He didn't like the snow or the rain, but couldn't stand the heat, which was why he had moved to Denver. He clearly hadn't thought it through, however, as it snowed constantly there. But at least he wouldn't have to deal with the humid summers of Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Alabama, and Florida. Or the ceaseless rain of Washington, Oregon, and Maine. George had done his research, and he decided on the lesser of two evils. He didn't mind snow as much as rain, and he escaped the disgusting heat.

With that final thought, he grabbed his winter coat, slinging it on, and left his apartment, the probability of winter's first snow present in his mind.

(Word Count: 1,065)

A/N: Here's chapter two! I know it's pretty short, but I promise they start getting longer and more interesting after this point, I've never been one for slow burns so just keep that in mind and know this story won't be one :)