𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴 ~ dnf

⤜ chapter XXVI

~ French Toast ~
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Dream
6:05 AM

Me and George are sat down at a cafe. One that smells of apples and cinnamon. He's ordered french toast, and I decided to do the same. It reminds me of the day I first came to London. When we sat across from each other, eating our breakfast. It was a good day up until the point I found out he had a girlfriend. I didn't know why it pissed me off so bad then, but I realize now. It's because I loved him. I still do. I still love him with every last beat of my heart. I didn't want him to be hers, I wanted him to be mine. I still do.

But i'm giving him time. Letting him decide what he wants and how he feels. Sure, it's frustrating to have to wait, but i'd do it day and night, just for there to be the slightest chance that he ends up being mine. In my head, he's already mine. We already do everything that couples do. We hold hands, we kiss each other goodnight, we call each other cute names, and we go out to eat together. But I know he's not actually mine. He might not ever be, but at least I don't have to imagine what it feels like to kiss him, or hug him, or hold his hand anymore. Because I already know.

George is eating his french toast. I laugh at him, because he's getting the syrup all over his chin. This time, I don't hesitate to wipe it away. I'm taking my thumb to his chin immediately, wiping the mess away, and onto a napkin afterwards. "You're such an idiot." I tell him.

He laughs at me, the sound of it filling my heart with pleasure. I love hearing him laugh, I love the way the sound vibrates throughout the entire room. I like seeing him this happy. "Thanks." George responds, and I let out a short gasp. Not expecting him to accept my words, because he never does.

I'm starting to wonder if I really will get that answer today. I wonder if maybe he's stayed up the entire night last night, just thinking about what to say to me in the morning. I wonder if that's why he's got bags under his eyes. "Did you stay up all night last night?" I ask, putting a forkful of french toast into my mouth. The syrup devouring my tastebuds. Taking up every inch of my mouth with sugary goodness.

He looks at me, a guilty expression written all over his face. He doesn't even have to respond to me. I know the answer by the look on his face. He definitely stayed up all night. "Maybe." George responds, shrugging. Chewing on his breakfast.

I shake my head, looking down at my plate to stab my fork into my food. "Why?" I ask, even though I already know the answer to that question as well.

"I was trying to get an answer for you." George tells me, swirling his french toast into the syrup on his ceramic plate.

I'm swallowing my bite. Taking a sip of water. "I told you I didn't need one." I respond, picking my fork up again.

He shrugs, taking a napkin to his chin. Dabbing at the pesky syrup remains there. "I know." George states, shoving more food into his mouth. "But I felt bad not giving you one." He says, with a mouthful of french toast.

"And did you come up with one?" I question, raising a brow. Waiting for a response to emerge from him. I doubt he found one, because he hasn't had enough time. There's no way George has found out his feelings that quickly. Even I couldn't do that. It took me awhile to figure mine out.

George bites the inside of his cheek, staring down his half empty plate. His head sways back and forth. "No." George responds dryly.

It's exactly the answer i'm expecting. I wouldn't have expected anything else from him. I knew he wouldn't be able to figure it out that quickly. I sigh, placing down my fork. Crossing my arms on the table. "I knew you wouldn't. You shouldn't have wasted your night on all that hopeless thinking." I tell him, watching him bite his lip.