#darthwheezely

am i too old to be this stoned?

George blinked in what felt like slow motion at the crumbling ceiling above him as he took another long drag of his joint. He breathed out, his lungs and mind relaxing under a slimy green haze. The bed was spongey, destroyed from one too many sexual escapades and one night stands and full body tantrums that left him kicking and screaming.

His mind never really woke up after the day you packed up and took the bus downtown back to your parent’s. He usually laid there in a collapse of old cassette tapes and cannabis flecks, generally shirtless and wearing wear bleached boxers and lost.

George was never really awake after you.

was it your breasts from the start?

they played a part

You were stunning to him that day in London. You always were. That hadn’t been any different. But the day you walked into the pub everything about you just ached to be adored, he thought. He wanted to know what it was like to attach his mouth to the skin of your collar bone and nibble, knead at your breasts and have his fingers gripping your thighs the second you struck up a conversation.

“Two whiskeys and a beer later and I still don’t know your name,” he gave a little half smile and watched you bite your lip, a chuckle erupting from your throat.

“Y/N.”

“No last name?”

“Don’t need one, not yet anyway. You?”

He looked at you softly and nodded to himself.

“Let’s see if I can change that. I’m George.”

George needed you. Or at least, he thought he did.

for goodness’ sake

i wasn’t told you’d be this cold

He passed out on the couch, the old and relatively shitty TV left on static due to inactivity and refusal to be fixed.

You were supposed to have date night. At least, that’s what George thought. He knew you’d be out and about all day at work and then picking up dinner on the way home, but when you stumbled through the door at 2am, he shot awake. And in a flash of anger, he just picked up on the idea that date night didn’t really matter to you then, at least not tonight.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me,” you had growled, looking at him with streaks of mascara running down your face. You sniffles and wobbled off to the bathroom, leaving an albeit confused George on the couch. He listened to you cry in the bathroom, and suddenly realized it didn’t matter if you were pissed at him or scared or whatever was happening.

At least you came home.

you smashed a glass into pieces

that’s around the time i left

“Fine,” you had shouted, picking up the now empty wine glass from the table and throwing it at the cabinets across from you.

The night had started off fine, the dinner was neutral - that had been your new normal with George. Neutral. You two weren’t really angry anymore, just tired. Until you both got in that heated argument and were screaming, the radio getting blown out your earshot due to the high intensity yelling in the room.

The minute the glass hit the cabinet you jumped ever so slightly, not really realizing you had done it, but knowing the lashing out of yourself had scared you just enough. You had let out a choking whimper and quickly enough, your boyfriend had rushed over to you and held you up.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed against his chest. “Georgie, I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad at me anymore.”

He knew you weren’t really apologizing for a wine glass, or missing a date or two. He knew it was everything, and the idea that you were getting blamed for it all in your mind due to things you didn’t feel safe telling him about crushed him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, his nose and mouth pressing into the top of your head.

He pulled off the top of your head, brushing the tears from underneath your eyes “I love you so much, and you can push me away as hard and as much as you want but I’ll come right back, every single time.”

You nodded and fell back into his arms, and George regrettably swallowed.

He had just made a promise he knew he wouldn’t keep.

then she said, "i’ve been so worried about you lately"

"you look shit and you smell a bit"

“George,” you had cleared your throat and sat up a bit straighter in the chair.

It had been approximately two months since he had pushed away from you, and since then you had heard radio silence from the man that had stolen your heart and left your mind mush. But here you were back in the apartment at the behest of Fred who had been, admittedly, “worried fuckin’ sick” about his younger twin.

The apartment was disgusting. Dishes from weeks left in the sink that had most likely caked mold and other major nastiness. Everywhere it smelled like cheap beer and even cheaper weed. It was nauseating to be at the dining room table, looking at the face that used to be George Weasley, but was now puffy, like he’d been getting over crying every single day, his eyes red rimmed and purpling, his usually pale but still vibrant skin tone sallow and raw.

“Georgie, they’re worried about you,” you said softly. He snorted and took another bite of his Ramen.

“George, you look shit, you’re just a-a shell, and your mom has no clue what’s going on, Fred can’t keep up with demands for the record store without you and god, everyone just misses you-“

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he cut. He clenched his jaw before finally looking back up at you, nodding ruefully to himself.

“You saw to it that I always was.”

i feel as though I was deceived

i never found love in the city

i just sat in self-pity and cried in the car

“Pass the damn thing, Fred, Jesus, you bong hog,” George playfully slapped his older brother on the chest. It was their best friend Roger’s nineteenth birthday, and as such, it was 4 in the morning, everyone either knackered as hell or making out in the corner. But Fred always opted to light up with George, especially since he knew it’d be the last time before the Big Move to the City as they referred to it.

“I am, I am, calm your tits, mate!” Fred had puffed into the air, sliding the bong to his brother and watching him inhale. He coughed, George always coughed - as much as he said he was the more mature and worldly one, he still got these little flashes that proved only to Fred that George was his baby brother.

“You know what I’m gonna do once we get to Londontown, Freddie-bomb?”

“What would that be, Georgie?” He smirked, leaning back against the couch. George grinned to himself and finally looked at Fred.

“I am going to find the most beautiful girl and marry her outright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And she’s going to have the most gorgeous mind - her brain, y’know. And and we’ll talk about music and art and shit I don’t care sex and whatever the hell else she likes, and I’ll buy her flowers and perfume and pretend I know what I’m doing because I’m a dumb kid and hell, I’ll fall in love so fast...and I hope she does the same...”

George sat in his beat up old Volvo, took in a shaky breath, and started to sob. His fists delivered downward strikes against his steering wheel at his memories, the feelings of love and joy he knew were still there begging to be freed.

But for now, he’d cry.

oh, i just had a change of heart

The answering machine clicked on, the voicemail ringing through the silence in the bedroom. “Hey, Y/N...sweetheart, we - I - can’t do this anymore,”

i just had a change of heart

“It’s not your fault, baby, but...angel, we can’t do this anymore,”

i just had a change of heart

“I loved you so much and we’re killing each other and I-I couldn’t do anything to stop it except hope that it would pass one day, because we could always make it pass, we could do that,”

i just had a change of heart

“But baby, it’s time to...it’s time to stop. For now, at least until things are better - until we are better,”

i just had a change of heart

“Until we can fall back in love again...I just know we can.”

The machine stopped clicking.