When I write things during writers block other things appear here, strange.
There might be a few things other then YouTube on the occasion
This will be imagines, preferences, legit anything for anyone you request.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Things were slowly but surely returning back to normal in London, including for George. Euro’s were quickly approaching and managed to show the public that the world could indeed have some normality even after all this time. Over a year and a few months everyone had been locked inside their homes, only glancing out at the few birds that flew past the windows and listening to the occasional car go zooming past through the area.
George was starting to feel good about himself and how things were going. His and Alex’s new flat had finally sorted itself out and stopped with the serve leaks - George can finally just sleep at night without the fear of water puddling in his room beside all the electrics. Although the bittersweet ending of the Eboys had approached (a long time coming Will had told the lot of the boys) but now George could finally begin to focus on his own channel once again. George could finally leave the comforts of his own home without the worry of seeing the fear-stricken faces while going through the blank isles of Tesco just trying to stock up on food.
Though one thing felt missing. Since the world shut down with what felt like overnight, George missed out on his visits to the local bar situated on the edge of Canary Wharf that overlooked the Thames. George wasn’t one for largely packed spaces full of sweaty, dancing, intoxicated men and women all around him. However after being dragged there one night by Alex and Will after celebrating some Milestone of one of the many members of the UK Youtube scene that George wasn’t even fussed enough to remember - all he remembered was being dragged down the stairs by Alex as his hollered through the hallways with a gurgling Will starling slightly behind.
George still remembers the atmosphere of the club. It was high up on the highest floor of the building and had a glorious view of the Thames and London on the large balcony where George spent most of his time with a can of coke in his hand. He lost his friends rather quickly, only seeing Alex when he found George and passed him the can and then ran off to wherever he was before back into the building.
There were only a few other people outside on the balcony, each talking amongst each other rather loudly and left George feeling quite empty and rather isolated.
Most things while he was in his own bubble was blurry and full of his own thoughts and the loud drone of music that he managed to block out. He wasn’t quite sure how it happened but he was stuck in a deep conversation with a girl close to his height. He remembers that she told him her friend had dragged her there with the promise of a fun night, however after only an hour or so she was ditched for the strong tang of alcohol and its devastating effects.
So the two stood, looking over the Thames and taking in the stunning view of the bustling city.
When he glanced towards her, he took notice of the purple lights from back in the building shining against her back and giving her face a purple shine. He took notice of the overly large Misfits T-shirt that well and truly swamped her frame and sat just above her mid-thigh.
As he looked back on that day, he only wished he managed to get that girl's number. He returned many times and spoke to her again multiple times but never once did have the guts to just ask her for it. All he could ever seem to say was “there's always next time”. However no one knew that there was a global pandemic just around the corner waiting for the worst time to pounce.
Now George was left pining alone, as he walked through the streets with his eyes peeled at everyone that walked past. He felt fucked up every time he thought he caught a glance at her. However with the fact that almost everyone he has seen in the last year has had a mask on made it ever so hard to notice any distinctive features from anyone walking past.
Despite the small area of Canary Wharf - even with the Isle of Dogs included - George just wasn’t ever able to depict the face he saw from that balcony.
Walking on his own by the small bridge over the part of the river that ran through Canary Wharf towards the popular and packed station. It was just past rush hour at this point so George just managed to miss all the busy business men that had just finished their long day in the office. Canary Wharf was well known for some of the most successful and high earning businesses throughout the whole country, so George couldn’t be more glad that he gets to miss all those miserable people finishing the rough jobs they spent all their days working through.
Tapping his thigh with his fingers over and over again, George tried anything to keep himself busy. Despite missing rush hour, there were still many people all around on the lower platform in the humid, muggy air suffocating each person waiting on the platform.
Looking forward towards the tracks after hearing the train whistle through the tunnels, George felt a light tap on his shoulder. Quickly darting his head to the side, he felt as though he might just melt into a small puddle on the dirty underground floor.
Although a dark navy mask covered most of their face, George noticed that same Misfits T-Shirt that he saw that very night that seemed more like a dream at this point. The train George was due to get on had pulled up with a loud scream but George didn’t take his deep eyes away from the pair that was beside him. She giggled slightly as she put a slip of paper in his hand before pushing him slightly towards the open carriage in front of them. “I’ll be seeing you soon George.”
George couldn’t quite understand what was going on as he clambered onto the train and took a seat. He glanced out seeing her stand there waving as the train made its way off further into the centre of the massive city.
However as he looked down at the paper that warm feeling bubbled around in his stomach. A number was hand-written against the torn piece of paper.
