Smoke Break /Georgenotfound/

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Right as I went inside, my first thought was to shower quickly. But the hot water wasn't a very good choice. It felt excruciatingly uncomfortable on my sunburnt skin, and by the time I was finished, I could see the redness on my cheeks, nose, arms, and shoulders.

My hair was so tangled for whatever reason that I couldn't even brush it. Giving up after two attempts, I towel-dried it and put it in a bun.

I had to clean up the house as much as I could to make it somewhat presentable for George. One could say that I made a mess in the morning and paid the price in the evening.

The sound of his knock echoed through the room, and I took a brief pause before rushing to open the door. As I swung the door open, my eyes met George's, and a small smile crept across his face. I saw him standing with the food in one hand and the drinks in the other, balancing them perfectly.

"Did you order food, ma'am?" He asked with a little smile. I stepped aside to let him in, grinning as he walked past me.

"Didn't know it came with a snack."

His head snapped back to look at me, eyes widening as he grinned, "Whoa.. okay."

I think I'm starting to get comfortable with him. I know sometimes some risky things slip out of my mouth and make it seem like I'm flirting, but I'm still positive that if I try to flirt, I'm gonna embarrass myself.

George placed the food on the table and then proceeded to do the same with the drinks. As I helped him, I noticed that he got iced lemonades for both of us, but they were different flavors.

"Is that lychee lemonade!?" My eyes sparkled as I looked at the awfully familiar drink. I used to get the exact same one every day last month.

"It is," he looked proud, putting the beverage on my side of the table.

"How'd you know it's my favorite?" I can't remember if I told him or not. I probably did. I talk so much that sometimes I forget what I say.

"You said you're obsessed with it," yep, I did tell him. It's funny how he remembered, and I didn't.

"What did you get for yourself?" I looked at the color of the liquid and tried to guess, "Is it orange?"

He shook his head, "It's mango, actually."

Damn, now I want mango.

"Let's switch?" Even though I batted my eyelashes at him and tried to look cute to convince him, George still put the straw in his mouth and took a sip.

"I would, but I already drank from it," I rolled my eyes at his words, seeing him grin like an idiot.

"It's okay, I'm not squeamish," I lied, just to see how far I could push it.

George thought for a little bit, making me think that he was about to give in. But turned out he was thinking about something else.

"That's like an indirect kiss," he raised a brow, "we can do the real thing instead if you want to-"

"No, I don't want to," I shut him up quickly. I set myself up, it's my fault.

Anyway, the sushi was good.

We completely obliterated it while talking about everything and anything. The whole time, his phone kept buzzing and buzzing with notifications. I could see twitter notifications, instagram notifications, even youtube and snapchat. Eventually, he had to put his phone on mute.

"Wow, look at you. So popular," I mocked as he put his phone screen-down on the table, "are you secretly a celebrity?"

"What?" He looked at me, eyebrows slightly pulled together.

I can't tell if he didn't hear me or didn't understand the joke.

"I meant you're getting so many notifications, it's like you're famous," I think my answer was appropriate for both scenarios.

He blinked, then gave me a delayed half-laugh, "Oh, haha."

My joke deserved at least a genuine reaction, but fine.

"But for real.. if you were famous, what do you think you'd be famous for?" I grabbed a piece of pickled ginger with my chopsticks and put it in my mouth, waiting for his answer.

He struggled for a little bit, shrugging and trying to think of something.

"I.. um.. I can't think of anything I'm good at," he took a big sip of his lemonade, leg jittering on the floor.

"Ah, c'mon, there's gotta be something," I shifted in my seat to take a better look at him, "did you go to college?"

"How's that going to help?" He laughed, "I have a degree in computer science."

"Well, I don't know, you could've had a degree in acting or something," I raised my shoulders up in defeat, "so you work as an engineer now?"

George shoved the straw into his mouth again, gulping visibly on the last few sips of lemonade. Then he cleared his throat, adjusted the watch on his wrist, looked at the time, and finally spoke, never answering my question.

"I'll be right back."

He abruptly stood up and headed towards the balcony. His hand slipped into his pocket, and I knew he was grabbing a pack of cigarettes.

Instinctively, I rose from my seat and gently placed my hand on his arm from behind, causing him to turn around.

"Leaving to smoke?" I asked, my voice soft and laced with concern.

"I won't take long," if he thought that's what I was worried about, he's wrong.

"Don't go," tugging softly at his wrist, I was hoping to persuade him to stay on the couch.

"Aria.." he looked at me, his expression torn between wanting to go and not wanting to say no to me. The second option overpowered, and he followed me back to the couch, taking his hand out of his pocket in defeat.

I won't be able to sleep at night if I don't give him a lecture on how he shouldn't smoke and how harmful it is for him. I've been waiting for this moment for so long.

I settled on the couch in front of him and propped my legs up comfortably. "Why do you smoke?"

"I barely even smoke," he replied, resting one foot on the opposite knee and letting out a sigh. "Just one or two a day."

"Yeah, but why do you feel the need?" I inquired, genuinely curious.

"I don't know, it helps when I'm like- stressed or nervous. And it helps me sleep."

While I felt a tinge of sadness thinking about him being stressed and having trouble sleeping, I knew that smoking wasn't a solution.

"It doesn't help with sleeping at all. It does the opposite, actually," I furrowed my brows.

"I literally can't sleep if I don't smoke before bed," he maintained eye contact, his expression resolute.

"That's all in your head," I shook my head, "it's placebo."

Casually adjusting his position for comfort, George raised his shoulders in defense, "I don't know what it is, but the fact that I haven't been sleeping much lately is proof."

"So you haven't been smoking lately?" My voice came out gentle, quieter than usual, "Why?"

George broke the eye contact, eyes wandering around the room as he tried to stand up, "I'll go smoke now."

He put his hand on the couch to push his body up with it, but I took the opportunity and placed my hand over his. The skin contact successfully made him look at me, and he froze in his spot.

"But it's not bedtime yet," I maintained the eye contact, "or are you nervous?"

George moved his hand away from beneath mine, placing it delicately on top of my hand, switching positions.

"Nervous? It's more like the opposite," his accent grew stronger as the tone of his voice dropped, "There's something about you that just puts me at ease. Better than the cigarettes."