If You'll Have Me | George Weasley

Chapter 14

THE WORLD FELT STILL as she lied with him, engulfed in those strong arms beneath the mess of white linen, the warmth of his body pressed against hers. And with each faltering breath that ghosts against her neck, she relaxes into him. Melts into the sensation that for so long, she had been desperate to feel; To wake up beside him. To wake up to safeness, and comfort, and a familiarity that went unmatched. She could have lied there for ages if time would allow it.

She decides, though, that it was best to get up before he did. To peel away from his arms before he got the chance to see her looking like such a mess, still wearing that same dress from the night before that he had complimented her so much on. That same dress that he had risen above her hips,  and where he had snaked a hand beneath the hem...

She smiles to herself with each passing memory of his flirtatious remarks, and his shameless, longing stare. And a part of her ached to stay with him, but reluctantly, she rises from the bed. Careful enough not to wake him, careful enough not to disturb his peacefulness or the soft flutter of his eyes. He slept so soundly, and sweetly, that she lets her stare linger a moment longer before tearing away, though that too, she could have done for ages.

Could have, had the room not begun to spin, and there was suddenly no denying the hangover that washed over her swiftly, and the longer that she stood made it increasingly difficult to withstand the motion of the room.

The bathroom offered her some relief, though, once she had finally managed to stumble in. She takes a seat upon the cool marble of the floor, and hardly glances at herself in the mirror as she passed it. She didn't want to confirm just how dreadful she assumed she looked, and wanted nothing more than to get out of this fucking dress. Her legs wouldn't aid her off of the floor, though, despite how uncomfortable it was beneath her.

She wanted Hermione, and Ginny too. To reminisce with them about the night before over coffee and tea. To recall the laughter, and the music pulsating throughout the pub. To hear of anything that she might have missed while she was off with George, or as they snuck away every now and then to order more drinks. Whiskey, and cosmos, all of which flowed and flowed as the night dragged on...

Unwillingly, her body heaves up the contents that she had tried so desperately to stomach, and she braces the porcelain of the toilet with her clammy palms. If only she hadn't drank so much, she'd still be lying with him. Soaking in the morning slowly, and calmly, contrary to how she was now; Miserably spilling her guts into the bowl before her with an ache pulsating through her body.

A part of her felt giddy, though. Something felt right. What had once been a bombardment of thoughts was now... Quiet. What should have been a cluster of nerves had turned into mush as she recalled the thoughtless brushing of his hands against her body. Those strong, calloused hands that excavated every inch of her as though she were some kind of uncharted territory.

And he was... Tempting. There was something about how she adored him so much as a friend that perhaps made it all the more thrilling; To know that she had some kind of hold on him despite only knowing him for over a month. Despite having kissed for the first time only a few days ago. Despite the obnoxious worry that after this summer, she wouldn't see him again, and that all of this would soon fade with the turning of the season.

That is why it is okay to be selfish. It is okay to be shameless.

England wouldn't be her home forever. She wouldn't always wake up to him beside her; Not on that couch at the Burrow which was too small for his long legs, or even in this hotel room for that matter. She wouldn't wake up to that comfort, and that sweet, crooked smile of his as his mouth fell agape while he slept.

George was the summer, and warmed her in some way that deemed the July heat pitiful.

He was the summer, and he'd be gone with it too.