"I can't believe it's me that wound up bringing your ass back home." You grumbled, flipping on the light to George and Alex's flat, illuminating the kitchen and living room, letting the light guide you inside.
Tossing your phone and clutch onto the small table near the door, you brought George's arm around your shoulders, letting him press his weight on you as you drug him inside. Pulling him from the door, you remembered your thoughts from earlier in the night - you were going out to get drunk, to get your mind off the stresses of life and let your friends drag you home. Now here you were - still mostly sober with a very drunk George on your hip.
Less than 20 minutes ago you were still at a nightclub in London, shoulder-to-shoulder with your friend Brett at the bar, drinking a vodka tonic when Alex rushed to your side, more tipsy than anything else, pointing to George in the corner of the room while simultaneously asking you if you could take him home. Your eyes cut through the lights in the body's to see George standing on a table, a bottle of Grey Goose in his hand while Will and Callum cheered him on from below.
"Are you shitting me, Alex?" You asked, your voice barely carrying over the beat of the music. "It's like eleven o'clock."
He laughed, the one where his nose scrunched and he threw his head back. He wasn't laughing at what you said, it was more at this whole scenario of him on the table and you have to drag him down, which is exactly what you had to do. Saying a quick goodbye to Brett, you took the last drink of your vodka tonic before grabbing your things and heading in George's direction.
You were entertained for a few minutes, ordering an Uber to pick you two up so you watched on as George dance on the table while downing beers in the middle of it, but a few minutes later when the car arrived, you were forced to try and coax him down while with a chorus of boos in response, causing you to tell everyone the piss off while you pull George to his feet on the floor.
And that's how you wound up shoving him in the back of an Uber, but not before he tried to kick open the club door, and bringing him floors up to his flat.
"You didn't have to bring me home." George said with a whiney tone.
You rolled your eyes, pulling him in further to the living room. "Yes, I did. You were dancing on a table, George. What ever happened to standing in the corner and watching?"
"But you wouldn't be having fun if you fell off the table and busted your nose. Again."
George grumbled in response, unable to form proper words to convey the betrayal that he felt as you dropped him to the sofa with a loud sigh. By the time he had kicked off his trainers and laid back, you realized his eyes or fluttered shut. Typical.
"Oh piss off," you whispered, partly jealous that it wasn't you sprawled across a sofa and tempted with sleep.
Carrying yourself down the hallway, your heels clicking with each step, you snatched a blanket and a pillow from George's room, tossing them onto the sofa as you walked back in - the pillow hitting George directly in the face, causing you to laugh but him groaning and muttering something under his breath.
He pulled the pillow from his face and watched you walk past him, his vision a blur of movements as you walked into the kitchen. Through his blurry vision, he could pick out the distinct shimmer of the top you were wearing, the way your cheeks sparkled in the faint lighting of his flat.
"I used to think you were well fit, ya know?" He finally said after a moment of silence. His eyes were closed, head leaned back against the arm of the sofa. He was drunk, he had nothing to lose with a few admissions here.
At the fridge, you raised a brow as you stared forward, not turning to face him. You were used to this kind of conversations with George, with any of your guy friends. Most girls would find it awkward if their best mate admitted their feelings or attraction to them, but you knew that he was drunk, that he wasn't thinking straight.
"Used to?" You teased, shutting the refrigerator door after you grabbed a bottle of water. "I'm offended that you don't anymore."
"Well you seems to like that other bloke a bit more so-"
You sat the water bottle down on the table, next to a bottle of ibuprofen for his headache in the morning. "He's a friend, George. Nothing serious."
"Well in that case I still think you're well fit. Just didn't want to admit it."
"You wouldn't say that sober, ya know."
"Maybe not," George hiccupped, causing you to laugh lightly, "but I'd think it."
Reaching up, you patted your friends cheek before pulling the blanket up over his body, over his shoulders. His trainers had been toed off next to the table, his baseball cap tossed elsewhere.
"Hope I didn't muck this up." He said.
"You didn't muck anything up. We'll just talk about this in the morning, yeah? Over breakfast?"
You let out a laugh. "Yes, George, you can have pancakes."
"Hell yes," he buried his face in the blanket, turning over to where he faced the cushions, "goodnight."
"Night, George," you smiled.
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