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pushyourlackofchestout · 19 days

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| “you’re gonna be okay sweet, i’m here for you” | teacher ross AU | angst + fluff oneshot

(this goes out to my geography teacher for always believing in me when i always need that reassurance, and just existing to make my days more bearable before future exams / year 11. i love that man he’s an awesome guy honestly /gen)

TW: anxiety attacks, descriptions of an autistic meltdown, overstimulation, overthinking, intrusive thinking briefly touched upon / wc; 2211

Mental health had always been somewhat of a boundary for you ever since you’d reached your high school years, and you knew it was getting slightly more intruding as the years climbed on, making that burden on your shoulders never seem to lighten up.

And it didn’t seem to get better when you had to go and revise, with a group of others in which you had no idea what to expect, no idea how to convey ideas or present yourself in those situations, as it felt anytime you were to speak up or speak out towards any authority, you would end up cowering in your head again, like your voice locked up in your throat, held back with restraint. It felt, awful for you to endure, you hated the way your body shook, your veins pulsed through with adrenaline, body being stiff as a stone when entering a room, and the colour evaporating from your skin.

Entering a room in which would remain the place to revise on for upcoming exams, you seem to be intrigued after your friends coaxed that feeling, of ‘oh you’ll be fine, it’ll be so fun.’ Easier said than done.

You would sit down at a table, alone. The tables had seats vacant for two people, each way, yet you knew no one would desire for sitting next to you, given your introverted personality, or vice versa with you asking to settle next to a new face. It would’ve been easier if given ability for you and your friend to sit shoulder to shoulder, however she had other plans sitting by someone else. Typical, it just had to be that way to make the nerves just simmer with adrenaline, something in which you knew, but loathed. It also proved in the way you’d slump down as this unknown face would be the one you’d cast sight to.

You despised the fact that new people or things could rattle you so much, it felt like you’d nowhere to turn with help or anything, and that felt like even more anxiety on your end, fighting you back from trying to be normal while sitting on a chair for God’s sake.

The woman you’d not even recognise as a teacher you’d knew, it was like she’d just sauntered in for the sake of a payslip, that’s what it showed as. Without a doubt, it showed through how she’d be all over with her speech, how her movements around the room gave nothing but panic as she’d linger.. you swore your chest locked in your heart with your rib cage, but it felt it had jumped the boundary of safety, as you were just starting to feel the thumping, and the seize of your hands.

“Shit, why does this has to happen now? Fucks sake..” You were slowly succumbing to the pressure as it rushed in, your seizing more noticed by your second sense. As the time passed, you weren’t letting up for any relief it was just feeling like rocks crushing you on your back, not giving you any leeway which you felt was your only escape.

However, not all seems lost. There was a teacher you did confide to like that of a friend, if you could call the bond that. It was Mr Macdonald, the teacher that taught you in another class. You were timid at first, talking to him as a new school year unfolding did bring you with some unease and coyness. However.. when you’d met him when you realised you shared a class for geography with him upfront — it felt like you’d struck some gold. He was understanding of you, and plus he listened to your contribution, something you deeply appreciated given how you understood differently. It was like a tailored thing, something to adhere to like a rock.

He was taking registry, as the other woman teaching had barely any knowledge of most faces, including your own which you didn’t necessarily know if it was a good or a bad thing, given how you felt at this time. And, you seem to fiddle aimlessly with your watch, something to focus on. Breathe, you’d tell your brain, keep steady breathing.

The attendance got taken care of fairly quick, and then you’d watch just partly in a haze for your panic, as Mr Macdonald seems to just finally scoot to the side and post up by the wall with his list of pupils on him to refer to, as he was just inches from the open faced door too which you longed to dash through given how your palms gained new slick you disliked the feel of, wiping it down on a scuffed desk. Somehow, just catching his eye made you feel ease, but it was only a few moments of relief like you’d known to, it wasn’t sticking down.

You’d want maybe a few moments, but it was clear your body couldn’t handle even the pressure of a spaced out classroom, so the instinct turned fight or flight, you taking flight almost instantly as you’d rush out the door down to just maybe calm elsewhere. Getting caught out by another teacher, you really didn’t want, but then again mental seemed to be a priority, it’s even what you recall Mr Macdonald saying to you when in his class after a previous time with your anxiety which he bandaged up like some saint. Your heart felt genuinely fixed when you got that reassure, so you thought maybe to let your brain recall that moment back, to perhaps give that memory euphoria.

It seemed pretty much all blank, even tripping down the halls felt unusual when you finally got to sit in a room to calm down in, where the students could go if they needed for this reason. Safe to say, you got in there a lot as well, with this time being the umpteenth one. Tears were now sticking to your cheeks, your eyes glassy, and your face clear you had circulation, coming up all red in the warmth of your cheeks, and the base near the throat. You felt breathing difficult as sobs being choked up mangled with actual oxygen, and you thought you’d perhaps be out cold in a fainting spell.

Minutes passing by bear down like deadweight, you feeling the ticking clock in your mind slowly counting, and the tears were so desperate to flow again. You got given something to distract yourself, being that of a simple colouring book with some tacky crayons for ‘intricate’ detailing if you could even class something cheap to be somewhat of a mosaic. You’d be amazed at the swipe of your hand at holding something, being that a light blue scuffed pencil crayon and colouring a bird which looked nothing like a parrot or any domestic bird out in open.

Colouring away, to try probably curb the brink off with your emotions, desperate to jump off the metaphorical cliff of your poor cerebellum, as you felt your emotions would cause you a shutdown for how worked up, how queasy your stomach sat. But, something seemed to actually hear your non verbal prayers.

Mr Macdonald seems to come out from the room that he’d previously took registry and seemed to be looking for something, or perhaps.. someone. Whatever he was trying to locate, you’d not expect the chill geography teacher in some frazzle like that. Not when he taught you in his own room. But, he’d find himself lightly acknowledging you from afar, and then coming over, even if ducking your head down again to not give away how this happened.

“Hey, just wanted to check up on you.” A calm voice would begin, settling next to you in your earshot, while the person crouches down. You weren’t sure who exactly asked, so you were hesitant for answering.. that was until you brought yourself to look up from your colouring that was far from piquing of interest, to none other than Mr Macdonald by your side, looking rather guilty as well.

You’d not built ability for response yet, as you’d be staring over with now less hazy eyes and just focusing to his hazel ones, before he’d sigh and continue. “Didn’t think that would’ve overwhelmed so much.. I didn’t mean for that, I promise you sweet.” By this point, he’d just lightly go to rub your shoulder, not too much, but enough to iterate a reassurance. “I just assumed revision like that may, benefit you for when exams happen, and alleviate the stress.. I admit, I should’ve been mindful.”

“It’s not, it wasn’t you that caused this..” You finally mumble out, just at the border of audible. “It’s just, I get anxious a lot sir, it’s not.. it feels more of an issue nowadays.” You’d admit quite solemnly, while wiping your eyes to look back to him. You wanted to prove it never was his fault for upsetting you, plus you knew that he’d never intend to break walls with you.

“Although it doesn’t make you less capable. You always seem to set bars so high, it’s not needed for you. In my class, you’re quite attentive, on the ball.. it’s quite impressive.” Mr Macdonald now gets a chuckle, not only from you but from himself at his praising, just again being that nice and truthful guy you knew him as. You liked many teachers, the top ones being Mr Daniel and him, but they were the go to for a talk.

“It’s because you understand me, and I always did want that.” You’d respond, now watching as his hand gets from your shoulder, and then he’d listen back. Again, something which you loved from him to do so. “I loved geography since I get the right knacks.”

“And again, you’re one of my best for it. Don’t forget that, you are doing great. But, going back on topic.. I really do mean to apologise for the overwhelm, it wasn’t my intent for you.”

As much as you appreciate the fact he'd cover the slight impacts on your heart, it couldn't help but seep through a wound or two that formed from the anxiety attack which made you want to start relapse for crying all over again, in front of him now.

“Erm.. yeah.. yeah.” You’d mumble, the tone significantly softer as you were resisting back that sobbing. “Thank you sir, no it means a lot to hear from you really.” You smiled now, and met his eyes more head on, seeing his smile contagiously mirroring your new one.

“I only tell a truth, if it’s someone with the ability. Remember that, I’m even sure Mr Daniel thinks almost as high as myself.” Again, this man being full of praise for you just for trying to knuckle down in his classes. That’s all you needed to hear, you needed that.

“Well, I’ll be back in the revision room okay?” He’d then say, as you’d watch him slowly extend from his crouch, which still baffled you he’d held for so long without his pelvis or legs aching like a pain in the arse. “Do you want to come with me back there, or would you want to stay here for the remainder of time? I don’t mind whatever you do, you need to be comfortable.”

Despite coming out of it and feeling guilty for doing so, you’d find yourself in some catch 22 with guilt if you were to not go back, since you knew Mr Macdonald had set it up where it would help you later in life and you didn’t want to fuck up more than you already knew you probably had in this moment.

“I’ll come back, yeah.. I’ll give myself a try with it.” Getting up after saying this, you regret what you came out with, like it was a swift slap to your face which left the handprint and stings.

“Mhm, okay. You want me to walk with you back down there, or you want to try going back down there alone? It’s not far, although I took the longer route.” Mr Macdonald was known for just being a light jokester, chuckling at the almost dad like humour, which you to have a soft beam towards while following suit behind him.

And sure enough, it didn’t take long for you to get back in the same room, and this time it was more filled in with partly unfamiliar faces, bringing you back to unease. Not as intense, but it wasn’t going to leave, it never fully did with how you were. So, after Mr Macdonald came back in, he’d let you sit on a chair by the door for if you’d desire to leave fully, and he stayed by if you’d need to give a sign.

Draping his blazer over the back of your chair in which you sat, also gave that ease in of comfort, as you’d give a soft smile once again. Maybe school, was hard. But, people like him gave you some reason to keep studying, and to push up more, building your resilience like never before. And it was safe to say, that day did mark in your head. No matter what, you always adored that comfort. It meant the world, and it’s how it stayed.

#my writing #the 1975 one shot #teacher!rossmacdonald #fluff #angst #comfort

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pushyourlackofchestout · 23 days

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| “it smells like chocolate” | george daniel | angst oneshot

TW: mentions of suicidal ideation, drugs, (weed, cocaine) and overthinking

Nightfall seems to be a time where you’d expect people to not really be awake. Sure, you had insomniacs, you had caffeine addicts, you even had those with sufficient brain space for nightmare, in which they couldn’t sleep it off and pack up to Bedfordshire for just a few hours to rid the woes..

Yet, not everyone was asleep. Not everyone was necessarily in the right mind for rest, or for just cocooning up in his house with his pet dog for his comforts, or calling his friends about the band shit they’d necessarily pull. George in fairness, seemed to be content in some alley, posing unusual for most people, especially as a near peak millenial. Alleys weren’t the place you’d hang out at, and stay quite content at. They were dank, dirty, smelling of cigarettes or piling up rubbish from overflowing bins, offering the streets of London that more of sewage scent more than urbanised society. However, despite all the negatives in this small town, he’d be in a casual outfit of a black hoodie blanketing his slim build, while his blonde tousled hair poked out in straggly ends that seemed to be more hedgehog like rather than nestled on his scalp before the hood covered it.

He wasn’t a stranger to the smell of nicotine, weed, cocaine. He was a Belgian, if anything, weed was the equivalent to cloud nine for George, as he’d then feel aimlessly by his jeans for a light so he could get the first bout of fixture, making him grumble and squint in the dark building up his tensions which frustrated quite easily given he’d not smoked yet, and his body jittered without. It was like an orgasm but in reverse, or getting off and not finishing. It was edging him, it felt unbearable until finally his fingertips ran the outline of a lighter, and he could finally have silent triumph as he’d pick it out and find himself lurching for the blunt a second time, and the flick of orange alight, oh how it made the man grin with such eagerness.

“Fuck yes, fuck yes.” He’d mutter, his dull voice coming out more reverberated rather than straightforwardly, while he’d watch the curl of the white paper shrink and disintegrate partly, leaving new ashes to wisp away into the darkness, with the fresh glow of ignition enticing him further, up until he’d place the stick from between his index and main finger, poising it into the crook of his mouth and feeling his previously abused respiratory become jacked up and caked in tar once again, with the bitterness of it running the tip of his tongue.

Again, while he’d be puffing on his cigarette, George looks out to what feels a dismal sighting, seeing as no one was really around him or his place of surrounding alleyway, — I mean who could blame them? Watching a Belgian just puffing away on some nicotine in the darkness, as he’d sit and watch the night pass by in stages, like the world saw him as pariah, and distasteful. Because, being George was distasteful here. Being not born there, was his issue. Not relating, or at least not on cultural grounds.. was a pain in the arse. The only thing jokingly in which he and Matty would share, was the love for a weed fix or doing the occasional line at a pub in the back where the boys were concealed, Ross and Hann watching them with their minds on speed dial a thousand miles an hour.

But, there was no Matty. No Ross, and sadly no Hann. Just, the lone George, and a half pack of cigarettes as he’d been smoking some on the way to this alley, which he’d not remembered until getting the most recent smoke out which was occupying his lips, feeling that highness just carry his sense elsewhere to his brain and what he’d puff out like a chimney through the nose. Smoke slow, and through his nose, and George adored his smokes like a child. A poorly cared for child, that was.

But, on the other side of this situation, his friends were worried back. They’d texted with solid left on read, they’d call with nothing but a voicemail response which was far from George’s rumbling vocals which they’d adhered to. And this for the boys back at Hann’s at the time, finally would spark back up with concern.

“I think we should check on George, it’s been over two hours without no contact from him. Bloody worrying over here..” Hann starts, while he’d watch over a partly distracted Matty playing with his son on the sofa beside him, and jokingly lifting him up and down with a cheeky grin. “Hann, you said that like half an hour back. Y’know George, he’ll find his way to us with his tracker, ‘cos we all have each other’s places on our locations.”

But, Adam wasn’t so sure. Neither was Ross by the look of things, as they’d share nervous uptight glances, all while Matty lay oblivious to everything, and only Hann’s child was in the picture.

“Has a point though.. he usually would go for a quick drag and then come back. He’s not usually this late out. Maybe one of us should go find out where he’s got to and go from there?” Ross would then ask, as he’d move from his partly recline on the sofa to sit up and ask openly to the other two, in which Hann was secretly begging for even without notice.

“Belgians do love a smoke, he told me that when going Brussels in 2016, even I still remember him sayin’ it like yesterday.” Matty responds unhelpfully, as this would cause Ross an instant standup.

“Next thing you’ll say is that because George is from Brussels, it makes more sense.” Then, you could see while Ross would pick up his once discarded jacket in which he’d worn before making it inside into homely warmth from a new radiator Adam and Carly bought to help with their son as well for in the nights. “One of you is gonna come with me too, I’m not prying George out alone.” He’d state after his jacket was now on his shoulders and running down the sides of his waist.

“What’re you being like? Acting like a dad for George’s sake?” Matty sneers, looking with a playful smirk at what Ross meant firmly and that’s when Hann would seem to side with their bassist on that matter. “Fucks sake, be serious Matty.” It was also a little bitter, as the frontman just exhaled and would finally make his way to his feet after placing Hann’s child down on the sofa to crawl to his actual dad.

“Fine, Ross you wanna go and find him?” He’d start, partly defiant from the light blows they’d given before about not being serious. “To be fair I have an idea of where he could be, but that’s just me being me.” And again, the usual forward thinking Matty was just being as vague as possible, while trying to also get his jacket on, while Ross seemed to act with the patience of a saint.

“Yeah. We’ll find him, and Hann stays here with his son. Don’t want him getting all worried for his dad.” Ross would then turn himself to crouch down to ruffle his friend’s son’s hair and watch as the light smile formed as he extends back up. “You’re alright mate, we’ll be back soon, hopefully with a Daniel if we find him.” He’d joke, but you could tell he was feeling nervous, while the other who was joking was now waiting for his cues. “C’mon, I’ll have to babysit you too on the way so let’s go out now so it won’t be too much trouble.”

Matty would just squint and look up to Ross, exactly proving that point of acting like a child, and clicked his tongue. “Oh shove off Ross.. let’s just go. You wanted to find George so damn desperate, so I’ll push ya around for it.”

————————————————————————

Being out in the cold though, it really did feel more of a test. Sure, Ross and Matty knew the cold like a friend you couldn’t rid no matter what time of day, however, knowing it was dark and their friend George was nowhere to be found. “Ross.. I’ll give it to you. I genuinely am a bit scared shitless for where he’s at right now.” Matty spoke, partly through chattering teeth from the cold that enveloped his body plus his puffer in nothing but anxiety, with Ross feeling the cold through to his chest in the same way, looking out to darkness like lost cause.

“It feels dead.. what if George didn’t come by here? What if the track was wrong all this fucking time?” Ross felt angry, but he didn’t project it to anyone in particular, while Matty would feel his own heart slow and sink down while they’d share breath of cold like given, a joint of weed. Another reminder of what George could be doing to himself right now with them none the wiser.

“What the fuck do we do now?”

“Well I don’t bloody know, it’s been nearly an hour and a half, and this dark is clearly not helping us find any person, is it?” Matty mumbles, looking quite anguished himself, like he’d probably encountered a dead body on the street. “Wait, the alley.” He’d then look over to said dank alley, which causes Ross to also look over where Matty’s hand gestured, and not having much to go off, Ross seems a bit puzzled.

“Mate, being cryptic won’t get us farther than we already have now.” He’d seem unimpressed with the sudden splutter, squinting over at Matty for a moment, with the headlight they neared just catching the mid of his iris and causing his dark eyes to flicker for a split second, which got Matty’s attention to finally elaborate, not necessarily with words but with motions, as he’d be trudging past his friend then, and heading to said alley.

“Put your faith in me for once, knobhead.” The other responds sharply, still walking with somewhat confidence that George may be there, and leaving Ross in a cesspool of either doubt or relief, or even regret for letting their friend wander and not come back, like he’d despised housing. It felt, so alien.

Eventually after a short plod on, the two men found themselves at the foot of said alleyway, as the musty smells of cigarettes, malty beer cans, and whatever else toppled rubbish bins seemed to produce, that stirred their determinations, yet again for finding George.

“It looks even more dead than the street did we were just on, bloody hell.” Matty would say, a little exhaled out rather than spoken, while the pace of the two walking down now was significantly slower and more calculated, skimming the sides of the alley and would just see blacked out silhouettes and shadows from lingering bins, and there were times that they thought it was George’s shadow. Face it, they were getting more desperate by now, as the day has just kissed the borderline of dusk and is now being enveloped by asphalt beginnings.

Just as they’d give up, or at least turn back for Hann’s abode, Ross spotted something himself in the dark, which was a flicker of light. Although it was unclear, the colour seemed to briefly reside between an orange and yellowish, like a flame. “Wait, could be him.” Again, being vague to Matty in reciprocation while he’d take the lead now and watch while the frontman would trudge on behind and would be blowing air into cold palms.

They’d not take long to trace where the sparks were coming from, and there was a hooded guy, puffed hair. Knees up to his chest with his socks pulled up, a trait that George had for his mannerisms. His trainers were also the giveaway with the black and the custom flames design on the soles. “George?” A shocked but relieved Ross asks, waiting to see if he’d look up.

“Wait,” he’d laugh. “Ross, the fuck are you doing out here?” George seems almost dumbfounded but smiling with perplex, as his head tilts and his cigarette matches the rotations, still glowing faintly as he’d blow back more nicotine. Only then would Matty look over and almost give a childlike finger guns. “That’s how a smoker goes, Danes got it in the bag.”

“Shut the fuck up Matty.” Ross snaps unintentionally, caught off from what he’d actually come out with now that Matty veered off the trail of thought needed in this situation. “Mate it’s nearly been three hours.. we needed to find you. Why’ve you been out here so long?” He’d look down to again a puffing George, using one hand to fix his hoodie, bundling his legs up farther to his chest.

“Called having a smoke, you know I can’t go without my smokes Ross.”

“Becoming worse than me at this rate, Jesus George.” Matty would notice how his drummer’s pockets were littered with cigarettes and butts from used ones, almost half a packet used up within three hours. “Your lungs must be like your balls, bloody steel.” Again, he was joking to cover up the fact both him and Ross had visions of seeing George dead in the streets.

“Listen, it’s late. Hann’s worried, I’m worried, and Matty was. Your smoking has gotten worse since you’ve been touring. Plus, you’re not discreet with Jamie with you sneaking off after sets to take a smoke or blunt. Just saying for your benefit.”

He’d brush it off, again with a soft grin like it was all just a funny joke Ross said, dragging out his cigarette. “Listen it’s not that bad.. might be a Belgian born and bred, doesn’t mean I’m addicted to weed.”

“But that’s a cigarette, not a blunt?”

“I’m so fucked on these, blunts wouldn’t get me further, trust me.” George puffs out more smoke, some filing from his nostrils as the rest clouded out his mouth, while he’d finally give it in and stub out the ashes beside himself. “This is my chocolate.. Matty’ll get what I’m saying.”

And that, Matty got almost immediate. Their song ‘Chocolate’ was a flat out reference to weed, and knowing George’s nationality as well.. made the joke, well the song more apparent, in being Belgian with chocolate being quite popular. “Your hair probably smells like chocolate.” He’d gesture the air quotes when he’d accentuate the word chocolate, before his trap kept unwinding with more rant.

“And we all remember the Brits 2017.. ah yeah definitely not hypocrisy either.” Matty jokes, obviously recalling how George smuggled not only a blunt, but also a half bag of cocaine, to only then egg Matty on to duck under the desk they received their award, and do lines without being seen to. Except George busted them when the crack covered all of his formal wear with white powdery substance coating nearly every part of his torso and crotch.

“Oh fuck off Matty..” George seems to exhale, as you saw him bear another smile to accompany a snigger. “But, did we get caught?”

“Barely, more like near miss.” Ross interjects, exhaling and smiling softly at that seeming lost memory. “Can we just be a bit serious though for a moment, and just say that smoking in quantity like that isn’t gonna get you anywhere?”

“Back in the tour bus to Brussels-”

“George, don’t you dare.”

Matty watches as Ross cut off George by shushing him brief with a finger to the other’s mouth, soon removing it and watching as the drummer’s shoulders slumped down with sigh. “No need to shush me up, that’s a bit of unneeded dominance.”

“George, I’m looking out for you. As much as Matty might be joking about the tours..” he’d look over to said Matty, looking a little sheepish now as his hands ran through his hair raking his scalp a little. “We can’t have you fucked, like, it’s just a gimmick. It’s not meant to be how it goes.”

“Right, fine no smokes for a bit. Just, lay off from just a bit of anger from me. I’m fine, my lungs might be dying but I’m not dying, yet.” George jokes, but you could again watch as Matty and Ross both sigh in unimpressed notion.

“Let’s just get back to Hann’s it’s freezing out and I’m pissed about being in the cold.” Matty spoke again to most likely break building tension

The pair would just let out light laughter at watching their frontman shiver in his seeming heavy puffer jacket, and would then prod to make yet more banter, however when the sound of Ross’ phone could be made out, they knew they’d have to calm down the probably frenzy of Adam. “We can have more banter back at Hann’s.. for now let’s just get the child out of the cold.”

“Hey, I’m 35 you twat!” Matty exclaims, again lightly dithering in the cold that was getting more brisk out. “Besides, George is the child, he’s the youngest out of all of us. Ross tell him off, don’t have a go at me for Britain’s shit weather.” He’d conclude, huffing like said toddler when they couldn’t get a game they’d demand, or maybe if something broke that couldn’t fix.

“Well, I’m not even from here and I’m not complaining with cold, plus my hoodie is thinner material than your coat.” George would then bend down to get his cigarette pack back in his pocket, and Matty stores his hands in his pockets far in the crooks. “Shut the fuck up, you’re the reason we got in the cold in the first place.”

By now, they’d all start to walk back, and then they’d be greeted with yet another buzzing from Ross’ phone, in which he’d answer as the trio made their way.

“Where are you guys it’s fucking late out, even Carly got worried for you.” A rather flustered Hann stammered, seeing Ross and Matty’s faces only on the screen. “Did you find George or were you just pissing round all night?”

“Woah woah, calm your tits..” Matty slips into view to calm a clearly stressed Hann, and would beckon George to come into the camera shot so he himself could see they’d found him on their travel.

“Hi Hann.” Simple response from George, as he’d give a light chuckle, obviously not appeasing toward the seeming tired dad, with a child babbling in the background. “I’m fine mate, we’ll come home then talk. Matty’s complaining too much of the cold.”

“You know that gave me some heart attack, you’re gonna pay me back for it Ross.” Hann would say that loud enough for George to retract the phone to Ross, and watch as Hann sighed pinching his nose bridge.

“I’ll buy you a pint when we get back, or when we next go out.“ He’d respond, now laughing himself while the others walked alongside, as you could hear Matty and George chattering faintly. “I’ll pay you back for being an ass pain.” Again, you could tell it was a light poke at himself while Adam now seems to just laugh softly and shaking his head.

“You guys, you can be nutters but.. I love you for just being around.”

“Right, well don’t beat us up when we’re back.. maybe you can beat Matty up but I wanna be safe from Hann.” Ross laughs out, while catching Matty’s attention as he’d call out, “Piss off, it’s not me all the time.”

“Just.. get back here in one piece and not too high in the clouds. My wife and I want you guys together, and my son wants his uncles to behave.” Adam informs satirically, before soon adding. “See you when you’re back. Glad to see you George.”

But if George was even happy was hard to even feel. The smokes dying out, made his spirit die out. But, alas.. his friends wouldn’t know unless this all unfolded again, maybe for fatal.

— hope you lot enjoy this! although it is rather angsty, i kinda wanted to manipulate the concept of the song Chocolate and indeed make maybe a joke or two of George’s Belgian nationality, (not intended purposely🙏) but, yeah! hope you like this, and send me more prompts for the rest of the boys! love you all sm, you’re all such awesome people <3

(feel free to respond with your ideas or prompts in comments or dm, i’ll do my best to read them and convey them out in reality!)

#fanfic #the 1975 #george daniel #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #angst

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