thus with a kiss i die

3- spelling errors

An odd feeling nestled in the pit of George's stomach as he waded through the crowd of students all filing out of the double doors like ants to a crumb. He craned his neck to see if Will had gotten out already and was waiting for him at the gates, alas, he was not. Awkwardly, George stepped away from the stream of kids on massive bikes, scooters, skateboards and narrowly dodged a small boy sprinting down the road, his bag swinging from his hands. He resided by the railings of the gates.

Tapping his foot, he pulled his phone from his pocket and scanned the messages sent the night before, reading and re-reading them to make sure that he hadn't misunderstood anything. Then he got frustrated at himself for dwelling on the issue so much, and slipped his phone back into his pocket, resorting to scanning the crowd for Will.

"George!"

George's head snapped to the source of the sound (as did some of the other students) and sure enough, Will was bobbing among the stream of kids, his hands cupped around his mouth. George noticed that he also had a friend with him, who was frantically tugging at his arm and begging him to shut up. Will either didn't notice or didn't care.

George offered a subtle smile to Will, which grew as he hurried down to the gates. He practically shoved everyone out of the way, tugging his reluctant friend with him, despite his protests. He darted past a taller boy on a massive bike just as he reached the gate, and the boy whirled around with a fierce glare in his eyes.

"Fuckin' watch where you're going!" he spat, in a hideously strong British accent.

To which Will gave him a look of clear distaste and spat back, "Shut it you wanker."

The boy attempted to whirl around again, clenching his fists by his sides, but his other friend held him back, mumbling something about him 'not being worth it'. Will's friend chuckled lowly.

"It's a miracle you haven't been properly banged up yet, mate," he commented, to which Will shook his head and muttered something inaudible.

George watched the two slightly anxiously but with a bemused expression, finding great enjoyment in watching them bicker. Until Will turned to him.

"Sorry, George," he apologised. "This is Stephen."

Stephen raised a hand in greeting, pressing his mouth into a line that almost resembled a smile.

"I'm George."

"Oh I know," Stephen scoffed. "Will doesn't shut up about you now he's in all your classes! It's always 'George is so clever! George is so funny!' George this, George that! Ow!" Stephen's mocking was cut short when Will elbowed him in the rib, causing him to double over and clutch his side, spluttering.

George could feel his face burning scarlett and pretended to be incredibly interested in his shoes.

"Clear off, would you," Will muttered, his cheeks also slightly pink. "Haven't you got places to go? People to see?"

Stephen, still basking in his glory, straightened up and smiled.

"I suppose I do," he commented. "Bye Georgie!" Will stamped on the heel of his foot as he turned around, causing him to stumble.

For a few short moments, while Stephen walked away and the last of the kids trickled out of the gates, Will stood, rubbing his neck awkwardly, before George, both of them waiting for the other to speak. George eventually bit the bullet, and with a small, amused smile, he lifted his head.

"So, I'm clever and funny, huh?" he resisted the urge to laugh as the pink in Will's cheeks spread slightly.

"Take everything Stephen says with a pinch of salt," he laughed. "He's a pathological liar."

George returned the smile.

-

Albeit small, Will's room was cosy and cluttered but in a neat way. The abundance of items that consisted of plants, speakers, headphones and other trinkets strewn around all seemed to have a place- it was quite nice.

"Oh, you've...spelt that wrong," George pointed out, gesturing to one of the words on Will's English paper.

They were crouched together at Will's desk, which, although slightly bigger than George's, was difficult to sit at with two people. George found it hard to concentrate when their shoulders and knees were pressed against each other.

"How do you spell it?" Will asked, crossing out the word with his pen.

"Uhm...come here."

Tentatively, George took the pen from Will's open hand, and gently brought the palm of it closer to him. In silence, he scrawled the word onto Will's hand. When George looked up to give Will the pen, he found that he was already met with his warm brown eyes, he blushed and looked away, placing the pen on the desk.

"Thank you," Will whispered, as though not wishing to disturb the comfortable silence, and then he turned back to his paper. "This is so boring." He complained after a while.

"You think?" George asked. "I loved writing this paper."

"That's because you love English," Will rolled his eyes playfully. "I don't know how you do it sometimes."

George hummed quietly in response, and turned to look around Will's room again. In the corner of the room, leaning against his bed, was something that George had not noticed before- a guitar. It was an electric, mint green one. Will must have noticed George staring, because he piped up.

"Ah, that thing," he said. "Haven't played that in ages...I don't even think it's tuned."

As he spoke, Will stood up from the desk (seemingly thankful of the distraction from his work), and picked up the guitar, slinging the strap over his shoulder. Butterflies erupted in the pit of George's stomach while watching him fiddle with the strings and dial until he seemed satisfied with the tuning. Will's nails were long. His knuckles looked like they had been bleeding.

The riff that Will rather sloppily played mesmerised George, who had the musical skills of a carrot, and he watched intently as his fingers skipped from string to string, from fret to fret, and he listened the punk-ish sound that streamed from the guitar as he did. Will finished the short succession of notes with one, long hammer-on chord which seemed to echo around the small room.

"Yo!" George courteously clapped his hands, to which Will's cheeks flushed slightly. "Where did you learn that?"

"My older brother," Will shrugged, carefully placing the guitar against the wall and his bed. A strange look faded into Will's eyes as he said this, and they seemed to glass over. But then he blinked and composed himself.

"Have you got any other distractions for me?" he asked. "Preferably ones that involve me showing off."

At this, George flung a pen lid at Will's nose, ordering for him to finish his essay. An intense tirade of groans ensued, and many protests that included Will claiming to have broken his hand. He even flopped it about for dramatic effect. George rolled his eyes and caught Will's flapping hand in his, again insisting that he finished his essay. Will did not reply. All went silent as his eyes flitted between their entwined fingers. George hadn't noticed how close they were. How he could feel Will's breath on his face, warm and quiet. His lips parted ever so slowly, pink as a rose petal and as delicate as one too. Will blinked and broke their locked gaze, causing George to slowly drop his hand, almost reluctantly.

Will picked up his pen and began to write in silence with an unreadable expression for a moment, his pen scratching at the page the only sound filling the room. George could do nothing but sit in silence, regretting the past few seconds that had seemed to so quickly dampen the mood.

"George?" Will piped up.

George hummed in response.

"Have I spelt this right?"