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Everything is grey under this skies, wet mascara; hiding every cloud under a smile, when there's cameras . . .

The very next day, Molly found her son out of his bedroom. He had a bed head, but he had put on a sweater and a pair of pants. Molly quickly pulled him into a hug, her eyes closing as she held him tight.

"Good morning, George," she softly said, before she looked up at him. George scratched the back of his head.

"Where's Y/N?" He softly asked, frowning to himself.

"She hasn't come yet, love." Molly returned to her cooking, keeping an eye on the boy all in all.

"She's usually here by now." He frowned even more at his mother.  Molly frowned softly to herself but didn't reply.  In fact, she didn't know where you were at.  The only thing she knew was that you were probably sick and tired of everything that was going on - which was ultimately true!  George sat down at the dining room table, frowning to himself.  He crossed his arms over his chest.  Molly set the table and walked over to her boy, gently running her fingers through his messy hair to fix it. 

"Sweetheart, she'll be here soon," Molly said.  "Don't forget that she still loves you, dear."  She kissed his forehead before she shouted that breakfast was ready, to the rest of her healthy children.  One by one, they each arrived to eat their breakfast before they were set on their way.  All except for George.  He sat at the dining room table, for most of the day.  However, it was an improvement; he went from sitting in his bedroom all day to actually where he could socialize and eat something if he wanted to.  George slowly leaned against the table and buried his face in his hands. 

He was slowly realizing that his love wasn't going to return.  She either didn't want to, or she was kept from coming back.  Either way, he missed her voice dearly.  He could only wish to hear it that day, as she never showed up.

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