i think you think too much of me (Matty Healy/George Daniel)

7: sometimes george makes bad life choices too

"He is. He is your type."

They were sat out at the back of John's garden, smoking away a pack of cigarettes between the two of them, as they sat hidden away behind the shrubbery. The world was fading away around them into dull tones and decaying browns, and George sat there feeling such a statement reflected not just the season him, but something trapped up inside of him too.

George flashed a look reminiscent of that of a petulant child. "He's not my type. I don't even have a type, and even if I did, why would it be... Matty?"

John smiled: entirely too amused by this all. "Because you like him. And if you're so head over heels for him, he must be your type."

"Who said anything about being head over heels?" George exclaimed, burying his face into the palm of his hand as he let out a breathy kind of defeated groan. "I don't, John, come on."

"You were the one who wanted to talk about him." John made a point of reminding him.

"Yeah, just because he's all I can think about doesn't mean I'm in love with him or anything." Anyone would have thought George was being entirely satirical, if not for the deadly serious tone to his voice.

John just stared at him in disbelief.

"What?" George blushed, doing all he could to defend himself.

"You do." John told him, knowingly.

"I do what?" George uttered perhaps too slowly, as if he dreaded John's response.

"Fancy him." John supplied - like it was simple, like it was easy. When for George, it was perhaps anything but. "You absolutely fucking fancy him."

"I-"

"Come on." John grinned across at him. "We both know it."

George breathed a desperate sigh, wishing things could make anywhere near as much sense up in his own head.

"Well maybe..." George trailed off, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Okay, you know it. But I don't. I don't know. I don't know what's going on in my head, I don't know what any of this means. They're like... feelings, but like new feelings, and... I don't know what to do with them."

John raised his eyebrows. "What's new about them then? What are they like?"

"Different." George declared: finding it to be perhaps the only thing he could utter with any sort of confidence.

"How?" John thought for a moment, attempting to infer the mess George had left between his words. "Like... different to... girls? Like when you had crushes on girls... it feels different to that?"

"Yeah." George gave a nod, taking a drag of his cigarette in a desperate attempt to clear his head. "That's why it can't be a crush, because it doesn't feel like a crush. I've had loads of crushes in my life - I know what having a crush feels like. This doesn't feel like that."

John stopped himself, taking a brief few moments to think. "But those were all crushes on girls?"

"Yeah, but does it make any difference?" George let out an exasperated kind of sigh: sounding entirely too caught up in his own mess.

"I don't know." John gave a shrug. "I've only had proper crushes on boys. Maybe you should go and talk to someone who's bi or something."

"Yeah, where exactly am I going to just find a bisexual, like off the street or something?" George snorted, detracting from the slightly more serious nature of their conversation. "Doesn't seem likely. Look, John, I'm not going to go parading around screaming about my stupid fucking feelings. I'm not even going to talk to Ross about this - he's far too smug about it all. Like he knew, or something. It's unnerving."