If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 16

HIS FACE was soft in the morning, his features less hardened despite the slight furrow in his eyebrows that had grown to be so familiar to her. The morning was slow, and George had been sleeping for a long while after she had already woken up. That is, until he leans over to lazily plant a kiss upon her cheek as she lies still with her head turned to the window, watching the birds fly above the street beneath them.

London had been lovely for the weekend, but a part of her couldn't wait to return to the Burrow. To smell it's everlasting scent of cinnamon despite no candles being lit. To lie out on the lawn beneath the sun that had no buildings to hide behind, just the trees that outlined the creek.

She feels George roll out of bed after a few minutes pass, and he recovers her with the blankets that had shifted as he moved. "I'm gonna go shower, alright? Do you need anything?" He asks, and Eleanor shakes her head, turning to face him as he towers over her.

He was so calm, and so sweet when it was just them. When they were alone, and shut off from the rest of the world behind a closed door. Eleanor savors that sweetness in his voice. The drunken look of sleep still fresh upon his face.

"No, I'm okay. I think I'm gonna start packing." She finally says, and he nods, turning to head into the bathroom as she reluctantly rises from the coziness of the bed. A part of her had wished that Percy's bedroom was big enough for a bed like this—Big enough for her and George to lie comfortably—But she shakes away that thought. Finds it absurd to wish for more when she had already gotten so much this weekend. So much of him.

It had surprised her that he was in a much better mood this morning, considering what had happened the night before. The way that George's demeanor shifted the moment that Elijah had touched her. When he had asked for her name and helped her onto the sidewalk. But even despite him, and the girl in the bar, the weekend had gone much better than she thought it would. It was brief, but exactly what they all needed. What Eleanor needed to piece together her thoughts some more. To figure out just what this was that she felt for George.

She still wasn't sure.

But in a way, she was thankful for what had come from the past few days. That she had the privilege of waking up in his arms not once, but twice. That she had at least been able to piece together that she cared for him, deeply, despite the annoyance of not knowing in what way.

Some part of her already knew, though, but she brushes it aside. Feeling anything for him would be foolish, but she had already deemed herself a fool the moment that she agreed to share this room with him. Had already done enough with him that there was no point in punishing herself any longer for jeopardizing their friendship. They were already well past their friendship, and she knew that much.

George reappears only moments later, a towel wrapped around his waist as the steam follows him out from the bathroom, and Eleanor clears her throat as she tries to keep her focus on the folding of her clothes. But still, despite her efforts, she cannot help but peer at him as his back had been turned to her, droplets of water still trickling down his spine.

She hears him chuckle.

"I hope I don't drop my towel." He murmurs as he begins to open and close the drawers, aimlessly searching for a new set of clothes. "How embarrassing would that be?"

"Perhaps if you got dressed quicker, you wouldn't have to worry about that." Eleanor closes her trunk, and takes one last glance at him before sitting back upon the bed.

George sends her a playful glare before he quickly shimmies into a pair of sweatpants, and Elle feels her stomach flutter as she turns away, the heat rushing to her face solely by imagining just how good he looked when he wore sweatpants. How good he would look without them.