Metanoia // George Ezra Fanfic

Gingerbread War Paint

~ Everly POV  ~

George and I have been texting for several days, ever since the night that we saw each other at the internship program. George was a little awkward at texting, but he didn't make me uncomfortable. In fact, the fact that he seemed to at least be trying to hold a conversation and cared to some extent is exactly what I need right now. 

It is the Monday after Thanksgiving. I've just been released from class and am now pulling on my Smoothie King t-shirt over my long sleeved shirt. I had to run to work if I was going to be on time. Since today was the day I had to order supplies, it meant that I couldn't be late at all. 

As I smooth out my shirt, and stuff my earbuds in my ears, I start stomping down the stairs, although my white converse don't make much noise as I hoped they would. 

Suddenly, without warning, an unwelcome scent fills my nostrils : sandalwood and blue cedar. 

I know the smell well. It was the exact scent that Samson would wear everyday. It's scent would normally drive me crazy, but upon smelling it now, a deep sadness fills me to the brim. 

Samson still hadn't reached out to me at all. 

Like an absolute jerk.

I stop on the staircase, whipping my head around to see if it really was Samson that I just passed. However, the man who walked past me is much too skinny to be Samson and wears glasses. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I march down the rest of the stairs before I stop at the bottom and pull out my phone to text Emma. 

"I just passed someone who wears the same cologne as Samson. :("

A minute later, she texts me back. I've almost made it to my car, but I pull out my phone anyway and keep on walking. 

Emma: "I'm so sorry, hun. I hate that you're feeling upset."

I text back quickly, "You're not working today, are you?"

"No -- I have usually have Monday's off."

I sigh to myself. My days would be a lot easier if I had my friends to keep my company. 

    *    *    *    *

When my break at Smoothie King starts, I shrug on my cardigan. 

I can't wait until the day that I can have a real job and not work in a freezing smoothie shop. Fast food is not the life for me. I grab my free smoothie off the counter and head to the table and chairs in the backroom so I can enjoy my break without the noisy drone of blenders in the background. 

Glancing at the notifications on my phone, I immediately notice a text from George. 

George: Would you like some company this evening? I don't have as much homework as I thought I would.

I stare at the text for a moment. This was his response to finding out that I was planning on putting up Christmas decorations this evening and making gingerbread men. Ironically, I think back to the beginning of my shift - I'd thought to myself that it would be nice to have company. George is starting to seem heaven-sent.

I wonder if George has some kind of telepathic ability to always know the exact right thing to say. 

Is George my friend?

It's not like we have known each other very long at all. In the exchanges that we had I was either emotionally distressed or highly embarrassing. If we are friends, I don't know why George wants to be. But, I guess, you can't have gone through what the two of us have together without either being great friends or hating each other. I certainly don't hate George.