#g63

You knew that George wouldn't bother to watch it. You knew he'd be holed up in his counselling office going over the week's charts, sorting them into 'match' and 'no match' piles with their respective notes. You knew he was going to stay focused on his work despite the occasion, like it was just any other day and the streets hadn't been blacked out for the purpose of stargazing. You knew why, and you sympathised.

The 'no match' pile was always taller than the match pile. The resulting heartbreaking appointments were a daily occurrence. Some Matchers did not like admiring the stars, not when they caused such pain.

Both you and George had become more and more jaded by it the further you progressed in your careers. Both Astronomical Matchers, both able to read the stars dotted on people's bodies. Able to decipher the marks that decided whether two people were soulmates or not, tasked with delivering the news. The more mismatched couples you had to see, the more you grew to dislike the stars. George hated them, so he was still holed up in his office when you stopped by, head buried in lamp-lit paperwork and turned away from the stars in the window behind him.

He didn't look up when you knocked. He knew it was you. "Do you need anything?"

"Not urgently," you replied with a shrug, leaning against the doorframe. The offices around you were dark and empty—you wouldn't be surprised if you were the only two left in the building. "Are you going to be busy for long?"

"That depends on what you want from me," he said as he glanced around at his work and then up at you with a tilt of his head.

"Company?"

A smile immediately tugged at his lips, betraying his sigh of mock annoyance. "Then I can be done now," he stated, putting his remaining work away in a drawer—out of sight, out of mind. "What're you thinking?"

You smiled back. "Anything but stargazing."

"Oh, of course," he chuckled as he got ready to close up his office. "I can close the curtains at mine?"

"Or we can go to some basement." George laughed at that again, eyes crinkling at the corners just above the dark circles.

"Mine'll be more comfortable." He closed up his office and shot you a smile. "But you're driving."

That was fine. You knew the way like you knew the stars.

George drew the curtains closed before he even took his shoes off.

You made yourself comfortable on the couch, despite the darkness, though you couldn't follow your usual routine of turning on the TV and finding the next episode of whatever show you two were binge-watching together at the time. There was no electricity, no WiFi, nothing else to do but stare at the stars or candlelit conversation.

That made it sound more romantic than it was. For you and George, anyway.

With his phone lantern as a guide, George found and lit some candles, using them to light up the space around you by placing them on the coffee table. When he eventually sat down, some snacks in hand, it was wordless and it was right next to you, shoulder to shoulder. Easy, simple, as it had been since you'd met and become closer through your careers. Electrifying, in a way, because the frequency of the contact between you didn't make your heart race any less when it happened.

It started to bloom before your career did, growing and taking root in your heart before being a Matcher could make it wither but just in time for you to resign yourself to ignoring it. The feeling was like a cactus in a hidden corner of your office—small but prickly, thriving in the harsh and hopeless conditions even as your ignored it. A bit of gravel in your shoe, a speck of dust on your glasses. Annoying, but small, and relatively easy to get used to. Not to ignore, but to get used to. After years, the hammering of your heart in your chest whenever George so much as smiled at you was normal. You hadn't even taken the time to analyse whether the little cactus was even romantic, you'd jumped straight to getting used to it in your ribcage alongside your heart; by now it was easy. Simple. You didn't see the point in analysing it because you didn't want to find out what the stars had planned for the two of you.

"Still haven't looked into your celestial mark?" you asked jokingly, making George shake his head and nudge you with a smile.

But where there usually would've been a chuckle or a teasing remark in return, there was an exhausted sigh. His smile dropped as he confessed, "No, I haven't. Haven't even bothered to see what constellation it is."

You couldn't imagine that. You'd analysed the mark on the back of your shoulder for weeks when it appeared before you could afford to see an actual Matcher. That was actually why you landed on the career of Matcher—you already knew so much about stars before studying them academically through your self-study. George's mark had come late, had made him dive into the stars hoping to find himself in them, but the years as a Matcher had made him turn his back to them. His mark had appeared then, like some cruel joke from the celestial.

George hadn't bothered to look into it. He hadn't asked you to stop teasing him about it, either. But he'd never responded to the teasing like this.

"I know." You tried to keep a joking edge to your tone but your voice shook around the edges, something he wouldn't miss. "You would've told me if you had, so-"

"I would've asked you to look into it," he interrupted, gazing at the drawn curtains like they held an answer, like his sentence hadn't just shook your world.

It made sense. It was very difficult for a Matcher to trace and study their own mark without pictures, and those could miss the smaller specks that could only be seen if your were analysing the skin directly. Despite how much you'd learned, only once you saw a Matcher did you find out the full truth of your mark. George could see anyone about his mark. Why would he ask you? Were you overthinking this?

An awkward laugh left your lips. "Right, because I'd do it for free? Cause actually-"

"No," he interrupted again, with finality this time, though he still wasn't meeting your eyes. "Because I trust you."

You had absolutely no idea why this had turned so serious all of a sudden, nor why it was making that cactus in your ribcage more noticeable, nor why all you could do was try to swallow the dryness in your mouth.

"And I'd pay full price," he continued and finally glanced at you with a smile that was like a plaster over the seriousness. "I know you do very good work."

"Thanks." It was an automatic response, an absent one that you hadn't even noticed as it left your mouth. You didn't smile back. You couldn't.

George tilted his head and let his smile fall, wordlessly asking for an explanation you couldn't provide because you didn't have one. The trust wasn't confusing, you'd been close long enough, it was what he was trusting you with that didn't feel right. He didn't even know what your mark was, you two hardly spoke about it seriously, why would he ask you if not to get an appointment at a cheaper rate? Why did he trust you with something he never spoke about beyond responding to your teasing?

"Why?" you blurted out.

He let out a confused laugh. "Why what?"

"Why me?"

"I-" Another laugh left his lips, but no smile accompanied it. "I trust you, I said-"

"Why trust me with that?"

It came out more aggressive than you meant it and it made George flinch away. He didn't stay away for long, though, and his eyes narrowed pensively as he thought so loud you could hear the cogs turning behind his eyes.

"You'd…you'd understand that I don't want to be matched," he answered finally, scanning your face for a reaction and finding just your patient and slightly terrified blinks. "I'd just want you to tell me what it is. And you'd understand that."

The problem was that you would try to match him. To you, subconsciously. You didn't want to know what his mark was. You didn't want to know if it matched with yours or if it didn't. You were happy to be in limbo if it meant the stars didn't give you a resounding no.

The cactus pricked you and made you bleed with the sudden realisation that the feeling it was housing was completely, utterly, devastatingly romantic.

You nodded slowly, automatically, but George could tell you weren't really there. He placed a hand on your shoulder to try and ground you and it did, just more violently and suddenly than he intended. It was like you'd hit the ground after floating among the stars themselves.

"What?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, just…" No matter how hard you swallowed, the truth fought its way up your throat and onto the tip of your tongue. You let it out with a sigh. "I wouldn't…want to. Look at your mark, I mean."

George blinked. "It's not like it's on my ass or anything-"

"I'm not joking." You didn't try to hide your bluntness that time, and didn't mind that it made him flinch again. His hand stayed firmly on your shoulder, though, and you were sure that it burned. "I don't want to look at it."

His brain worked again, cogs turning and turning as they examined through the information you'd given him and coming to such a sudden conclusion that his eyes widened.

You hated that he knew you like he knew the stars.

"You know what yours is," he said finally, and your eyes fell to your lap.

The silence that followed was awkward but you didn't try to fill it and neither did he. You stared at the candles, feeling their warmth through his hand on your shoulder, and watched the wax melt off the candle. A part of you felt like that, like the warmth of his hand had eroded the layers of wax hiding the truth behind your words. As if he knew, he placed his other hand on your shoulder and you had no choice but to meet his eyes again.

"It would be okay…" He trailed off to take a deep breath and you took one with him. Both of you were bracing and you didn't know for what. "If they didn't match. That would be okay. It…doesn't change how I feel about you."

And you didn't have to ask him what that meant.

It was in the softness in his eyes and the way it made your heart basically vibrate in your ribcage.

It was in the smile he gave you when the words hit you, sweet and gentle, and the way he pulled you in afterwards. You let your forehead rest on his shoulder and let your slow breathing speak for itself.

Until you just had to make another joking remark.

"We do hate the system, anyway," you muttered into his shoulder, feeling his laughter vibrate through your body.

He patted your back with mock approval. "That's right."

"Fuck the celestial?"

"Fuck the celestial."

You laughed and held him closer. Never mind that the celestial was what gave you both your jobs. You kept the curtains closed, ignored the stars, and enjoyed the candlelit night you shared in a completely different context now that the truth was out there.

You didn't end up checking his mark that night, and you were sure you wouldn't for a long time. Eventually you'd see it, by accident or intentionally, but whether it matched wouldn't matter.

The stars couldn't tell you how to feel.

Thank you so much for reading! I am so glad that I finally wrote George I need to write him more. Maybe for one of the Taylor Swift one shots...

Any and all interactions are very much appreciated, and make sure to check out the other fics in #starry valentine for the rest of the event <3