Troublemakers • Weasley & Jordan

The Train to Everything

DISCLAIMER: homophobic language.

"I'm a troublemaker, never been a faker" - Troublemaker by Weezer

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Lee awoke the following morning to a couple of birds chattering back and forth- the window must have been open.

More noticeably, he was sprawled on a couch, the Weasleys' couch, a blanket strewn across his legs and the morning sun streaming in through the far kitchen. He squinted, blinking awake.

He slept over. He must've fallen asleep the night before- he didn't even remember. Funny.

The sound of clinking dish ware caused him to turn, still hazy from sleep.

George was in the kitchen, holding a white mug and pouring hot tea into it. He was wearing shorts and a tee shirt sticking to his chest, his hair scruffy and ears pink. He must have been working out. Of course he was working out at this time of day.

Lee rubbed his face, yawning. The sound caused George to turn.

"Ah," he said, setting down the kettle. "Early riser."

"Says you," Lee mumbled, sitting up. "I don't even remember staying over."

"That's 'cause you dozed off on my arm," George scoffed, walking to the living room. "Had to shove you off." He didn't, but he thought'd it be funnier to tell Lee that.

Lee rolled his eyes and watched George extend the steaming mug to him. He blinked, taking it.

"Cheers," he said. "How did I get up here, anyway?"

"You mean from the floor?" George fought a grin. "I just hauled you up and went to bed upstairs. You didn't even stir. Fuckin' weirdo."

"I'm not the weirdo who's up at the crack of down, already sweating from some presumed fitness extravaganza." Lee lifted a finger from his mug to point at George's appearance. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I run nearly every morning here," George replied. "You could join, you know."

"I could also hurl myself into a pit of acid," Lee sipped his tea- "but I wouldn't, because I'm not a psychopath."

"Oh, is that what those two scenarios lie under?"

"Mm." Lee nodded into the mug.

George grinned. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"Very good," Lee replied, "it was really your pungent stench that awoke me."

George stood up, heading to the stairs. "Oh, fuck you."

"Not even on your birthday."

George flipped him off over his shoulder and Lee snickered into his mug.

After George had taken that shower, he stood in the steamed-up mirror for a few minutes, a towel hanging from his waist as he messed with his hair. He had contemplated cutting it for a while that summer, wondering if the shorter look he had a few years back was better, but he found that something about it made him keep the longer, curlier style. His last girlfriend Caroline thought he should cut it. Alicia, who he was still friends with years after their breakup, said one time in class that it made him look a bit like a prince. Lee laughed and agreed.

So he kept it, but now, he was leaning forward and rubbing his lips, wondering if Lee was mostly joking about the facial hair. There was a bit visible above his upper lip, but nothing beneath– it kind of reminded him of the man from that muggle movie Hermione once had them see from a few years back. The Princess Bride. The one with the black mask– was he a prince? He couldn't remember.