Smoke Break /Georgenotfound/

՜՞՜44՜՞՜

I felt both awful and extremely happy for getting George sick. Awful for apparent reasons and happy because he was... well, he was stuck with me, quite literally. When his friends found out he was sick, they freaked out and told him to stay out of their house. Germaphobes, apparently.

The tricky part was that both of us were sick, rendering neither of us eligible to take care of the other. Getting a thermometer to measure our temperature? No, slapping each other's foreheads and guessing a number was far easier. Mustering the energy to make tea or soup? No, opting for the leftover pizza, likely already on the verge of rotting through the table, seemed easier. And the painkillers. Oh, the painkillers. Even if we survive this virus thanks to the pills we're taking, we'll eventually die from liver failure because of the amount we're taking.

And with all of those struggles, the most tiring part was having to listen to each other's exaggerated complaints.

"I'm dying," George sniffled, breathing through his mouth.

"You're so dramatic," I attempted to roll my eyes, though it hurt to even keep them open and straight. "If I'm not dead yet, trust me, you'll be fine."

"I'm telling you this is something serious," he persisted. "I get sick all the time, but it's never this bad. I'm quite literally dying."

I slapped his forehead with my palm to check for a fever, and he yelped, sensing my annoyance through the sting. I waited, but all I could feel was skin. I was probably running a fever too.

"Maybe go grab the thermometer? It's in the-"

"No," he interrupted before I could finish the sentence.

And honestly, I wasn't doing much better. The couch seemed and felt like the best place to die.

At least he tried to sit up straighter... well, just to slump back down like a piece of meat.

"Do you think we got covid?" I narrowed my eyes.

George looked terrified of the possibility. He shook his head violently. "Oh, it better not be. I'll kill you if it is."

"If it doesn't kill us both, then sure, go ahead." I rolled my eyes.

"No, I'm not joking. I literally have a flight in a few days."

For a moment, I couldn't read his expression. But judging by the way his voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, yet he stayed stoic to downplay the word vomit that just left his mouth, it felt like he had just said something I shouldn't have known.

"A flight?"

He proceeded to ignore or dodge my question completely. "Do you think it's covid?" He asked again, worry lingering in his voice.

"What flight?" I was pushing something I probably shouldn't have.

George huffed, wearily shifting in his seat as his hands came up to his face. He combed through the dark curls that were matted to his forehead and glanced at me.

"If it was something that needed further elaboration, trust me, Aria, I would proceed without needing you to ask twice about it."

I frowned at his curt response. He was probably planning something like meeting a friend, attending an event, or filming a video, and that's why he was being secretive. We both understood more than we admitted, and my pressing him despite this knowledge pushed him to his limit.

"Wow... alright." I said indifferently, a slight tinge of hurt pulling at my features.

George's face softened immediately, and he sighed, "Sorry."

"As if your sorry changes or answers anything." I shrugged and tried to wiggle to the edge of the couch, attempting to create some distance between us.

George was having none of it. He grabbed the curve of my knee and yanked me towards him, quickly embracing me with his arms before I could even protest.

"Now don't be so sour, all I meant to say was that it's not that big of a deal."

I sighed, feeling the tension between us. George's arms were still around me, and despite the heat radiating from both of us, his embrace was oddly comforting. Once he felt me relax, he pulled me closer, settling me into his lap, my back against his chest.

"Let me go, I'm hot," I muttered, reluctantly pushing his arms away.

"Oh, you're so hot," he teased, a mischievous grin on his face. I huffed, shifting to find a more comfortable position on his legs as his arms tightened around my waist, holding me securely.

"Overused joke. Not funny," I retorted, leaning my head back onto his shoulder.

Without missing a beat, his lips found my cheek. He began to plant playful pecks in the same spot, over and over again. The sensation tickled, sending vibrations through my ear, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't help but giggle.

"You're insufferable," I laughed, trying to squirm away from his ticklish kisses. It was nearly impossible, as I was trapped in his arms.

"Guess what, I'm also suffering," he said with a stupid grin, being more proud of his word play than he should have. Finally, he relented and pulled away, giving me a chance to escape. I cringed as our hot bodies peeled apart, sticking slightly from the heat and sweat.

We were, in fact, running a fever.

We ran out of medicine. I don't know how it happened, but we did. It was an issue that could've been easily fixed if our stubborn selves hadn't decided we no longer needed it. We'd get better, we thought, but hour after hour, our pointless jokes and giggles only increased along with our rising temperatures.

Our conversations jumped around a lot, going from one thing to another without much order. We were both surprisingly open, maybe because we were feeling so out of it with our current state. It was like we were in a fog, a fever dream, where everything felt a bit unreal and we just said whatever came to mind.

"Being sick is sort of growing on me, though," George declared proudly. "I needed more excuses to stay over at your place."

My head was nestled on his thighs, and his fingers delved into my tangled curls, attempting to smooth them out despite the stubborn knots.

"You don't need a reason to stay over." I looked up at him. "You know you're always welcome to stay. And it makes me happy when you do."

"It does?"

"Of course it does. What kind of a question is that?" I almost sounded offended. The answer should have been pretty obvious, in my opinion.

George looked down at me, his warm smile showing how glad he was to hear that.

"I like being here because when I'm not, it's like I can't focus on anything else," he began, speaking faster than usual. "It's like you're on my mind constantly, and the only time my brain's not buzzing with thoughts about you is when I'm actually with you."

As I listened, a sharp breath escaped through my parted lips. I noticed his hand went still in my hair, as if he was just realizing something while speaking. Yet, the words continued to spill from his lips.

"When I see something, it triggers thoughts of you. When I eat, I mentally list every ingredient, recalling your preferences, and analyze if you'd enjoy the meal overall. And what's even funnier is every song I listen to reminds me of you-some have a certain melody that 'sounds' like you, some have it in the lyrics, some I just imagine us listening to together. It feels like you're everywhere, and it's overwhelming. And the only time I don't think about seeing you is when I am infact seeing you."

My face was frozen with the same expression, and his fingers were frozen in my hair. My heart was burning, though. And it wasn't the fever.

"I know I sound insane, Aria, but it's because you're driving me insane. And I know you're not doing anything purposefully, but I am not either. I just don't know how to stop it."