In My Life - George Harrison/The Beatles

Chapter Twelve: Morning After

The first thing Connie became aware of as she woke up the next morning was the raging hangover headache. The next thing she became aware of was the pair of hands wrapped tightly around her waist, those hands belonging to George.

In fact, it wasn't just his hands that were in contact with her, as his whole body seemed to be wrapped around hers, his head nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Savouring the calm of that moment, Connie took in a few careful breaths, trying to clear the haze in her mind, staying as still as possible to not wake George up.

What she didn't know was that George had been awake for a while, watching her sleep. Not in a creepy way, rather in a way that he wanted to memorise every little detail of her face since it had been so long since he'd seen her and who knew what they would next be together. She'd always been a peaceful sleeper, he'd first noticed that about her when they were teenagers in Liverpool when she once fell asleep on the bus, but there was something so beautiful about watching her that morning. The moment was only made better as he saw her eyelids fluttering open, and in a moment of stupid bravery, George decided to push his lips against her neck, watching as her face flushed bright red.

"Mornin'," he greeted, hushed, his voice thick from sleep, unable to fight the smirk climbing up onto his face.

"Hmmm," she mumbled tiredly, and as much as she loved his hold, she pulled out of his hands, rolling over to face him.

Her hands gripped the bedsheets to keep her bare chest covered, because even though he'd seen everything the night before, she was now sober and her dignity was in need of rescuing, or what was left of it. George noticed, the sight making him let out a silent laugh as he tugged on the sheets, pulling them away. Connie tried to stay serious, forcing a glare at him as he stared at her bare chest, but she couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"Last night..." she began, but trailed off, deciding she had no idea what she was actually going to say.

What could she even say? 'Last night was amazing'? 'Last night was a mistake'? 'Last night was only my second time ever'? Each option would leave her feeling foolish, especially considering the first two were true. It had been a drunken mistake, to sleep with your childhood best friend and first crush could be nothing but a mistake, but she didn't regret it for one moment, not since it made her feel alive for the first time in years. And as for the latter option... how could she own up to the fact that there had been no one but him? How could she even begin to tell him she'd only ever slept with him, whilst he was off living the rockstar lifestyle where he could have anyone he wanted? Telling him that would only leave her feeling like a stupid, innocent kid compared to him, who surely had his pick of any groupie he wanted, and she cared far too much for her pride to even consider that option.

Except for what he'd said, when he thought she'd fallen asleep. If it was true, if it was anything more than just a drunk joke, Connie had no idea where it would put them. What he'd said the night before was the exact same as how she felt, so if he was just speaking through the alcohol, Connie knew the situation between the two of them would grow awkward very quickly.

She didn't want things to be awkward, so as much as she wanted to know if he'd spoken truthfully, Connie sighed, ignoring the thoughts in her head and instead just savouring his company. She edged closer to him, moving her hand to his shoulder as she stroked his arm softly. George pulled his gaze up from her chest to look at her face, bringing his own hand up to her face as he pushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. Her eyes were fixed on his face, studying his contented expression, until she noticed the small clock on his bedside table.

"Shit!" she hissed, jumping up as she saw the time. George frowned confusedly, watching her as she jumped up from the bed and began rummaging round the pile of clothes they'd left the night before. "I was meant to be at work half an hour ago!"