Last Christmas- DNF

~3~

Things were slowly flashing before him, like fast cars speeding down a highway on a cold winters night, heading towards their families for a cosy Christmas Eve. The lights accompanied by a ringing in his ears, similar to the bells you here in many songs associated with Christmas time. Though these bells weren't to the tune of Jingle Bells or Jingle bell rock, they were constant, paining his head.

A groaning noise left someone's lips, possibly his, but he couldn't be too sure in his hazy state. Then, a voice was echoing through his mind as well, one he recognised as the man from before.

"Sir?", they spoke softly as George could feel a someone shaking his shoulders, "Sir, can you hear me? Are you awake?", their questioning was gentle, tearing him like a fragile china doll.

Only then could the brunette be certain that the groaning had come from his lips, letting out another as his hand rubbed his forehead, trying to ease away the pain he was feeling from the ringing. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the light, discovering that the flashing from earlier was just his eyes slipping open and then closed again.

Reaching an arm out, he felt his hand grab on to what he assumed to be a cushion of some sort, putting his weight in to it in order to help him sit up as his mocha eyes were adjusting to the light.

The first thing that came into his view once fully adjusted to the bright light above his head was the thing he had meant himself one, seeming not to be a cushion at all. Instead of being met by fabric, his gaze was met by two viridescent irises that were studying him carefully.

The eyes looked him up and down, as his did the same, taking in whatever he could about this mysterious man in front of him. Messy blonde hair with slightly tanned skin, wearing a brown sweater over a white shirt, coordinated with brown trousers.

It was a style he hadn't seen presented in this way except for in books, the types you would find in a library behind all the dust that had accumulated atop them. Despite the style, George would say the man was relatively attractive, his tan skin glinting under the light.

Leaning back from where he had accidentally leant on this mans arm instead of a cushion, he relaxed himself back against the sofa, it being less comfortable than his own yet still nicer than a wooden chair. The room surrounding him was bland, hues of beige against the walls with a brown coffee table and a large bookshelf in the place of where he would've put a TV.

"Why don't you have a television?", his voice came out wobbly, trying to make conversation with this man who he'd just met. The man looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, head tilting to the left in confusion.

"Tele-vison?", the word being broken up by the man in front of him, "What do you mean?", George felt the mans eyes look him up and down once more.

"I was just saying that- oh", the man had told him it was the year 1921, meaning they didn't have televisions in homes yet. Mentally facepalming himself, he bit his lip, attempting a small small chuckle to lighten the mood yet being met with a dead straight face from the blonde, "Sorry, I forgot."

The brunette shrugged his shoulders with a dry chuckle, only to dive right back into the awkward silence they'd had before he'd spoken. His gaze moved to the floor, inspecting the patterns on the wood below, anything to distract him from the current situation.

Silence filled the room, neither one wanting to speak in fear of saying something the other wouldn't understand, not knowing truly what was going on.

"Who are you?", the blonde asked after a while, looking down at the brunette whose head was still angled towards the floorboards, "As in, what's your name? Where are you from?"