Today, though?
“Georgie.”
I liked how he said my name. Soft. Almost a whisper. Like he still couldn’t bear to say it like he meant it. My name. I’d also clocked him on the pavement, getting out of his car, then walking slowly towards me. Hands in his pockets. So effortlessly perfect.
“Hey.” I tried to be composed when I just couldn’t.
“I texted. You never replied. But I…”
“Still stalk me onFind My Friends.”
“Busted.” He smiled.
“You coming up?”
Stupid question as I unlocked the door and stood aside, letting him inside.
Him. My stupid best friend from college. Still the same. Calm. Quiet. Reserved.
Beautiful. Even standing with his back to me, waiting for the lift. An old hoodie. His hair all mussed at the back from where he’d probably been sat in a car for too long. I’d known him…years now. And he was still here. Spending time with me. Messing with my head.
“Want a drink?” I offered, watching him toe his shoes off in the hallway. Always polite. My small one-bed studio in its usual state of disarray.
“Nah. I need to drive.”
“You okay?” He didn’t look it. He looked rattled.
Normal state of him, lately. Every time I saw him, he was a little weirder in the way he behaved. Today, more weird than usual.
I loved his weirdness. His quiet. The way he threw himself on my unmade bed and just stared out the window. It was almost too dark for this time of year. The start of summer. A fly buzzed in the corner of the open window that I’d once again forgotten to close this morning. I liked how it broke the silence. I needed to get better at looking after things. Including him.
“You know you can talk to me,” I offered. He nodded.
Not that we didn’t talk. We texted every day, pretty much non-stop. He was the highlight of my waking hours and the…keeper of my dreams. I didn’t tell him that. But yes. I had been in love with him, pretty much constantly. So in love that I couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t monopolised my wanking sessions. When I hadn’t doodled his name in the corners of papers.
He had such a beautiful face. Sharp lines and edges. Small freckles at the tip of his nose. I probably knew every little mark on his face. The small scar at his temple. All of it was mine. Mine to keep in those dreams.
I could read him pretty well by now, the way he was slightly curved into the middle of the bed. Like he was expecting me to fill the space he’d created.
Sometimes he let me cuddle him. Hold some parts of his body close. Not close enough, but today I let my head fall onto his shoulder. My arm bent up towards his chest. Just a small amount of body contact, but I took everything I could. Every little scrap.
My love for him was ridiculous. Oh yes, I was well aware of that. I just couldn’t help myself.
“Hey,” I said, leaning my head up to look at him. Check where he was. Sometimes, he was so deep in his head I felt I had to drag him back out. Sometimes, like now? He was present. Far too present.
Almost raw.
“Georgie. It’s fucked up. It’s all so fucked up in my head.”
“No, it’s not,” I said sternly. “You’re great. You’re good. And you have me.”
“I know.” He sighed, turning his head away.
“Hey,” I said again, letting my fingers gently grab his jaw. Turning him back to me. I loved it when he looked at me. Loved how he made me feel in those small stolen moments.
He wasn’t mine. Never would be. But this? This was mine. This second right here. And the next. And the one I stole when he looked at me. Really looked at me.
“I don’t know why you let me,” he whispered. “Why you let me come here and spill my shit on you. Why you’re doing all this for me when I give you nothing back.”
